Red is a very emotional color. I say this in my own defense, since even the most ardent bird lovers are seldom moved to tears by woodpeckers. I can imagine the crustiest of field biologists blubbering like a baby at spotting an Ivorybill, and who wouldn’t feel at least a tingle when a Pileated swoops in to scatter lesser birds from a feeder? But woodpeckers of modest size, average shape, and non-endangered status don’t usually inspire spontaneous outpourings of emotion.

Getting to Ecuador was a long, grueling process, so Pam, Tom, and I didn’t emerge from our cozy rooms at San Jorge Quito that first morning until it was well light. Mist shrouded the lush, green landscape as we ambled along the trails, stopping every few steps to give our lungs a chance to strain oxygen from the thin Andean air.

Ahead an incandescent blur blazed across the trail. “RED!” was all I could manage as I fumbled for my binoculars. The blur stopped abruptly at the base of a small tree, bringing its true form into focus. From studying the field guide, I recognized it instantly.

Crimson-mantled Woodpecker © 2009 Sheri L. Williamson

“Crimson-mantled Woodpecker!“

Tom and Pam got on the bird with their binoculars as I whipped the tripod into position and swung the scope toward our prize. We each looked in turn, and again, and again as she probed unconcernedly at the bark and grass in search of breakfast.

My breath was coming in gasps only partly attributable to the thin air, and my eyes began to burn. As Pam and Tom continued to take turns at the scope, I turned away to try to regain my composure. I failed. Tears flowed.

After over 30 years of birding with me, Tom would understand. Pam, on the other hand, barely knew us and might be wondering what she’d gotten herself into. “I’m sorry,” I gushed, my cheeks an anemic reflection of the bird’s glorious plumage, “I don’t usually get this emotional, but she’s just so beautiful.”

An improbably red woodpecker, among the first of many life birds, and a stunning beginning to our equatorial adventure.

Empress Brilliant © 2009 Sheri L. Williamson

Early this week I returned from my first trip to Ecuador, a legendary destination for birders in general and hummingbirders in particular. The country’s bird diversity is hard to pin down, but based on The Birds of Ecuador field guide it’s nearly 1600 species, a staggering 132 of which are hummingbirds. The Tandayapa Valley alone has recorded 41 hummingbird species.

This was primarily a working trip, organized and financed by fellow members of the Southeastern Arizona Bird Observatory’s hummingbird banding team (mil gracias, Bill and Pam!), so of course we spent most of our eight days in the country watching hummingbirds, but we got in some general birding, too.

Between now and the New Year I’ll post on some of our adventures with photos of a few of the natural wonders we enjoyed. Here’s a male Empress Brilliant as a taste of visual treats to come.

Well, the cat’s finally out of the bag: I’m going to be a columnist for WildBird. Editor Amy Hooper recruited me to take over the backyard birding beat covered most recently by Val Cunningham of Minnesota, who stepped in to fill the (figuratively) gigantic shoes of the late Texas birder and naturalist June Osborne. These ladies will be very hard acts to follow.

Though I’ve been a quasi-regular contributor to WB for quite a while now, mainly in the annual hummingbird issue, this new gig will give me opportunities to tackle topics I’ve never been asked to write about before. I’m also looking forward to honoring June’s legacy by bringing a touch of southwestern color back to WB’s coverage of backyard birding.

My new column will debut in the March/April issue. WildBird is available on newsstands, but a subscription will give you more money and time to spend on enjoying birds. And need I mention that WildBird also makes a great any-occasion gift for the bird lovers in your life?

A modern haiku inspired by yesterday’s Hummingbird Field Clinic:

Summer sun reveals
dark continents adrift in
seas of boiling lava

see more lolcritters

From the Lindsay Post (emphasis added):

Also included in the list is the Bee Hummingbird, which measures two inches long and weighs half an ounce making it the world’s smallest bird.

Field Sparrows and Violet-green Swallows weigh around a half ounce, which is 14.17 grams. At about 1.8 grams each, it would take almost eight Bee Hummingbirds to weigh half an ounce.

But seriously, I’m troubled that this article was written, and presumably researched, by the Chief Librarian at the City of Kawartha Lakes Public Library. This was the most conspicuous error, but several other statements betray the author’s inadequate research into birds and birding. On the plus side, the article recommends A Supremely Bad Idea: Three Mad Birders and Their Quest to See It All and The Young Birder’s Guide to Birds of Eastern North America.

A recent post on Tetrapod Zoology in which blogmaster Darren Naish rails against the well-meaning tradition of feeding bread to ducks got me thinking of another bird-feeding issue: chumming for pelagics.

Westland Petrel by Pablo Caceres Contreras (licensed under Creative Commons)

My pelagic experience is limited, but on a couple of the trips I’ve been on the chum of choice was stale popcorn. This strikes me as insane. Gulls can probably digest almost anything, but the procellariiform birds that are the most sought-after prizes of pelagic excursions (shearwaters, petrels, albatrosses, etc.) have digestive systems adapted to digest protein. Why, other than economy, would we feed them almost pure carbs? The soft parts of popcorn probably disintegrate readily, but what do the hard bits do to the birds’ digestive systems? Given that these are pelagic birds, would we even know if they were dying like flies from popcorn impactions? Has anyone studied this? Talk me down, somebody…

Addendum: Procellariids do ingest some pretty formidable items. Bones, even fish otoliths, are rapidly dissolved by the birds’ digestive acids, but squid beaks (one of the hardest materials in nature) take weeks to break down. Gulls, terns, and many other seabirds can simply barf up indigestible materials, but procellariids have difficulty regurgitating solids (Furness et al. 1984). Combined with relatively small gizzard capacity, this makes them “especially susceptible” to deleterious effects from ingestion of indigestible materials (Azzarello & Van Vleet 1987).

More complex organic molecules require particular enzymes for processing. Just as many adult humans don’t produce the enzyme lactase and must avoid milk products, some birds such as thrushes (Witmer and Martínez del Rio 2001) don’t produce sucrase and must avoid sucrose-rich foods. Given their naturally low-carb diet, would we expect procellariids to produce starch-digesting amylase? If they don’t, does popcorn cause them intestinal distress similar to that suffered by lactose-intolerant humans and sucrose-intolerant thrushes?

But even if procellariids that eat the popcorn we chum with eventually end up barfing it up or breaking it down, is it their best interests or ours to trick them into wasting time and crop space on something that is at best of low nutritional value when more appropriate alternatives are available?

Srsly…

more animals

I’ve been having fun the last couple of days designing custom items for the Southeastern Arizona Bird Observatory’s new gallery on Zazzle (a print-on-demand company similar to Cafe Press).  Zazzle offers a wide range of products to customize, including T-shirts, caps, tote bags, mugs, mousepads, notecards…and Keds shoes.

Shoes? I wasn’t expecting that, but after looking at a few examples created by other customers my brain began to churn. About an hour later I had designed this:

Meadowlark Lace-up
Southeastern Arizona Bird Observatory

Like ‘em, ladies? You can have a pair of your very own, and proceeds will help SABO help birds. (Sorry, dudes, they’re only available in women’s sizes.)

Jeff Gordon is hosting the latest edition of I and the Bird, with a seasonally appropriate theme: Christmas Count Tally Rally.

My first CBC of the season is Monday, in the beautiful and birdy Sulphur Springs Valley (Elfrida). Someone else will probably get assigned to the plum territory that includes Whitewater Draw Wildlife Area (with its Sandhill Cranes, waterfowl, Barn Owls, Vermilion Flycatchers, etc.), but roaming the back roads can be pretty productive (if not quite as heart-poundingly exciting as watching thousands of cranes spiral in for a landing).

Whether you’ll be trudging through ice and snow dressed like the Michelin Man or counting birds from a comfy chair, steaming mug in hand, thanks to everyone who contributes to the largest citizen science effort in history!