ON THE WANT LIST: JUST A SONG (AND A DANCE) AT TWILIGHT

American Woodcock - photo courtesy Robert Smith
(This bird was unusually co-operative on a soccer field in Biloxi at 9pm!)

This article was published in December 2005 

  One of my unfulfilled wishes as a birder is to watch an American Woodcock sky-dancing in the winter twilight of southern Mississippi.

   This most furtive member of the tribe we call shorebirds (the term itself is a misnomer), is most closely related to the Wilson's Snipe (a mud-lover). The woodcock may be better known to many locals by such colloquial names such as a timberdoodle, woodsnipe or bogsucker.

    It is most active and at its best at twilight. If you know this bird and are lucky enough to be privy to its song-and-dance routine, which runs locally in the winter months, please report it; there are many other similarly deprived birders, and you could be our hero(ine).

    The American Woodcock is actually a common bird, but it is crepuscular (in the context of animal behavior, that's a term describing low-light activities, such as at dusk). The woodcock blends with its leafy or earth-toned surroundings, hiding or sitting unmoving (sometimes in plain sight) during the daytime, so finding one is often a happy accident. It favors thickets along the banks of moving streams, rich bottomlands, scrubby hollows, damp second-growth woods --- anywhere the soil is moist and earthworms are plentiful.

    During migration, or when moving from places made inhospitable by inundating rains, it may be found in unexpected areas such as parks, yards, gardens, orchards, and lawns.

    The woodcock hardly qualifies as a handsome specimen; it is short, squat, and dumpy. But it is a fascinating natural example of form following function. Note the cryptic plumage (the better to blend with its background), the very long bill (an earthworm probe), and eyes set well back in its head (allowing it to keep watch for danger even when the bill is probing to its limit).

    We don't have an accurate picture of woodcock status in southern Mississippi; it is a game bird, and hunters probably know it better than birders. I've heard the significant "peeenting" call of this bird at twilight from various clear-cuts in Hancock County (Editor's note: this does not necessarily indicate breeding in that area, as it is not unknown for wintering birds to call and perform.)

   The "peeent" sound is similar to that of the Common Nighthawk (which isn't present here in winter) and it is given from the ground, before the song and dance goes into high gear.

    On dark nights, courtship performance begins soon after sunset, subsides with darkness, and may resume at dawn. In moonlight, it is often almost continuous throughout the night. One or several male woodcocks may strut their stuff simultaneously, but with some distance between them. The end-all is in attracting a female.

    After a "see me" and "peeenting" period, the male woodcock lifts off and flies at a rising angle, circling higher and higher in increasing spirals, until it attains a height of two or three hundred feet. During the upward flight, the dance is accompanied by a whistling sound made by certain modified wing feathers, and some musical chirps that are vocal in origin. The downward flight zigs and zags, and is punctuated with staccato chip notes; the dancing bird often lands squarely at its point of take-off.

    Even though I've seen nothing more than a 10-second sample of this dance during a cold and cloudy dusk in the Mississippi Delta, I still recognize the inadequacy of words. I really want to see the whole show. Now that would be worth a barrage of less-trivial adjectives, not to mention a bushel of bravos!

And so ends our Year With Judy Toups. It has been our pleasure, and privilege, to file all of them, and select a timely subject each week from over 1,300 articles. Most of the people on the coast who are holding binoculars and enjoying birds have Judy to thank for their passion. Her teaching skills were exemplary and because she wrote, and wrote well, her lessons are everlasting. She is quoted often and missed greatly. I don't know if Judy ever got her wish of seeing an American Woodcock sky-dance, but I hope she did.

 "Bushels of Bravos" go to the editors mentioned on the home page. Special thanks to Sharon Milligan for providing beautiful photos for almost every week and to Robert Smith, Brian Johnson and Ian Butler, who were able to fill in with some great rarities where necessary. We are grateful to Ned Boyajian who kindly read most of the articles and, where possible, made suggestions for updating material.

A Happy New Birding Year to all!

A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME

? Holly Drake

This December 1984 article makes an amusing follow-up to Ned Boyajian's, more informative account of CBCs!

"If a name makes the bird-watcher, then these are certainly the prime, A-one article"

'Twas the day before Christmas. A mountain of Great Black bottomed cookies and a fruitcake with a sinkhole dead center proclaimed that one does not necessarily find peace on earth in the kitchen.

In the spirit of the season, I tossed my fruitcake folly out under the bird feeder where Blue Jays, immediately raping and plundering it, proved once again the belief that the little ruffians have absolutely no taste.

It was my moment of truth. I would waive kitchen tradition and depend upon the kindness of friends for Christmas goodies.

Meanwhile, I had a column to write. I wanted to produce something light and airy: obviously that would not take place in the kitchen.

I sought inspiration in American Birds, the voluminous Christmas Bird Count issue which contains the names of the more than 36,000 bird watchers who participated in the great games. When what to my wondering eyes should appear but a marvelous name. Isaac Stout-Robin. A name to conjure with if ever there was one, more so because Isaac Stout-Robin is not a bird, but a bird-watcher!

I would tap this wellspring for all it was worth. Here is what I found by dint of day-long sleuthing with a magnifying glass.

There was Sherry Bird, and Jerry Bird and Elsie Burd and Marion Boyd. What a feast! Cheers for Paul Eagles, Vonnie Heron, Joe Woodcock and Henry Swift. Hurrah for Davis Finch, Bob Swan, Julia Larke,  Margaret Wren, Delano Crowe, Dave Brant (and even Virginia Thrasher). Oh, why can't I be a Paula Thrush or a Sandy Sparrow, a Margaret Hawk or an Aline Dove?

Not to be outdone by those with bonafide bird names, there were those whose names instill confidence in their birding skills - Wade Wander, Joan Twisdom, Norman Hopgood. Jack Peachy, Clare Victorious, Faith Avis and, I kid you not, Jessie Soars!

I found four Ruffs and a dozen or more Reeves (the distaff of Ruff). There were oodles of Robins, flocks of Jays, a smattering of Cranes and a cluster of Knotts. Then there were Harold Winger, a number of Fowlers, an Earl Covert and a well-documented Quackenbush!

Some birders I would want with me on a Christmas Bird Count, but others I'd shun - Able, Smart, Noble, Devine, Hardy, Wise, Sweet, Best, Werst, Famous, Talent, Strong, Clinch, Sharp, Wham, Early, Earnest, Luckey, Doubt, Gross, Shove, Bull, Stillman, Bragg, Huff, Rusty, Slack, Coward, Guess, Loser, Sleeper and the ever-affable Umble.

They evidenced their own special styles, the Swishers, Wisslers, Singers, McPeeks, Spiers, Schmokers, Benders, Trotters, Pacers, Backriders, Walkers and Wileys.

And they came equipped with a variety of birdable habitats - Tors, Deltas, Knolls, Prairies, Brooks, Dikes and Updikes, Weirs, Hedges, Pooles, Piers, Rivers, Sands, Reeds, Stumpfs, Goodpastures, Mountains, Landings, Weeds, Hay, Hills, Twiggs, Valleys, Mudd, Saltmarsh, Parks, Quays, Branches, Pitts, Orchards, Cliffs, Bridges, Vales, Heaths, Cooling Pons, and fields of Wings, Mans, Scops, Mays, Browns, Littles, and Blooms. And, not to be outdone, there were Richard Ditch, Frances Hindmarsh, Paris Trails, and a pair named Updegrove and DeForest!

Weather is important to all birders and I found an interesting variety of it! Fairweather and Starkweather, Rainey, Threatful, Freeze, Hazard, Snow, Frost, Storm, Shine, McCloud, Hale, Fairman, Savage, Torinado, Slusher, Soggi (which I have been too often) and a refreshing Dawn Breeze.

There were Coveys and Webbs, Hatches and Drakes, Teels and Springers, A Peigen and one Sundove.

By no stretch of the imagination could I relate to birds the following names but they are just too wonderful to leave out. Consider, if you will, the extreme unlikelihood of encountering Eleanor Roosevelt behind a bush, Honey Bunny in birdwatcher's drab, or Marsha Mello roasting in the noonday sun.

But they are all there, in the prodigious summations of the Christmas Bird Counts, along with a birder named Toups, whose name - according to one source - means "one who raises and sells pigeons".

A merry Christmas to all!

CHRISTMAS BIRD COUNTS, by Ned Boyajian

Ned Boyajian, one of the best birders on the coast, was a good friend of Judy's. He has fact-checked most of the "Year with Judy" articles published this year. We are so grateful for that, as information has obviously changed over the years. He is the current compiler of the Hancock County Christmas Bird Count. This year's Hancock count is next Tuesday, December 20th. The Jackson County count is on Monday, January 2nd, 2017.

House Finch - photo courtesy Sharon Milligan
...."Were purple finches really unrecognized House Finches"...

To me, Christmas Counts have always been the most enjoyable events of the birding year, even outranking that epitome of goofiness, the big day.  I’m not sure just how many I’ve been on since my first in 1947, certainly well over two hundred, in seven states and three countries.

So I think I have a pretty good feel for what they are really like from an “in the trenches” perspective and have always wondered a bit about whether they are as valid a source of data as we like to think.

I assume that there are statistical techniques that can deal with some of the inevitable variations in input, and allow for interpretation of data in ways that are both valid and meaningful. Certainly on a continental basis good information has been obtained on such things as major wintering areas, cyclical invasions and the more pronounced long range trends.

But I’m thinking more of the state and local levels, where, I suspect, “smoothing” or “averaging out” techniques might not work too well.

We need also to consider variations in quality of effort, both in terms of participant competence and commitment. My experience strongly indicates that these can vary considerably from count to count. I particularly remember participating in two sets of side-by-side counts (one set on the east coast the other on the west) in which year after year one of the sets was peopled by keen and dedicated enthusiasts while in the neighbor the majority of the participants were incompetent. The problem here is not about the reporting of improbable sightings, an albatross in the birdbath or whatever. Compilers and editors can easily handle that sort of thing. Rather it is all that went unrecorded because the observers simply didn’t know how to search for, detect, identify and count birds.

I’ve also been on counts on which none of the participants would dream of beginning until well after sunrise or of lingering after dark, and on others in which virtually all coverage was from the car with perhaps an occasional roadside stop. 

So there is a downside to the otherwise commendable policy of inviting and encouraging one and all to participate 

Then too there is the often stated convention that Christmas Counts are purely a cooperative venture in which competition should have no part. Foo. I haven’t been on a Count yet that wasn’t competitive. And why not? It’s a major motivating factor and a good part of the fun.

But let us assume that all this was back in the bad old days and henceforth all observers will function as though they were clones of ole’ Roger P. himself and be as dedicated to lofty ideals as is a congressman. Just how accurate will be the state or local information garnered?

Coverage?

Personally, I have never been on a count that had adequate resources to cover all the worthwhile territory within its circle. Further, access can vary significantly from count to count. Some coastal counts may have the resources to cover open water within their circles, others may not. Some counts may be able to at least make a pass at most of their area, on others large tracts of prime habitat may be inaccessible. 

Distribution?

Yes we can determine that there are a lot of Carolina Chickadees in Mississippi.  But can we really determine where in the state they are most abundant by comparing counts with twenty-five participants to those with only twelve  or with even as few as two participants?

Trends?

I recently had the opportunity to browse through the entire history of one of our local counts. In doing so some trends were clearly noticeable; the recovery of the Brown Pelican, the decline of the Loggerhead Shrike.

But in other cases I wondered whether what I was seeing may not have been participant-driven. The Purple Finch was recorded in fair numbers on the earliest counts but crashed just about the same time the House Finch first began to be recorded. Was this real or were many of those Purples really unrecognized House Finches?

In another case a certain water bird, which should not be here in winter, was seen in relatively good numbers for a period of several years with virtually no records before or after. Was this real or was there a participant active during that span of years who was particularly adept at detecting this species (or conversely, had a penchant for misidentifying it)? 

Well then just what can a Christmas Count do?

  For one, it can tell us with a fair degree of accuracy the number of species that x number of observers are likely to find in a day under a given set of circumstances.  (How this number relates to the number of species actually present at the time is something else again.)

It can highlight major fluctuations in relative abundance from year to year and trends over a period of years at least on scale of “a whole bunch” to “hardly any”. 

But most importantly, it can provide us, at a season filled with a host of festive occasions, one that is uniquely our own. Enjoy it.

This article was written around 2007

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TAKE HEART. WINTER AND ITS BIRDS WILL COME

Ruby-crowned Kinglet
Photo Courtesy, Sharon Milligan

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             This article was published in December, 1990

If you want for feeder activity, rest assured you are not alone. I was in Jackson early this week and the complaints are the same there. This winter (1990, but it applies to 2016) has been unseasonably warm. True, after the last front, there were a couple of days when it looked as if activity would pick up, but it didn't last. I could be run out of town for saying this, but what we really need are one, two or even three strong Canadian or Arctic cold fronts, something to set winter and winter birding in motion.

I have no doubt that winter will come, and with it the birds that take us to the cleaners every year, but for now, all we dedicated feeder watchers can do is wait and count the bird-seed money we're saving.

Meanwhile, here's a fanfare for a common bird - the Ruby-crowned Kinglet. In my learning days, it took me months to identify it, even though it put in numerous appearances in the yard, almost close enough to touch.

There is no reason to think that your yard, assuming you have a few trees and bushes, is without a requisite kinglet. At about 3 1/2 inches in size, the Ruby-crowned Kinglet is one of the smallest birds in North America. It is widespread here in winter, and it usually makes its presence known by its husky call notes "ji-dit, ji-dit, ji-dit" (ad infinitum).

In his field guides, Roger Tory Peterson calls the kinglet "a tiny, stub-tailed birdlet" That says a lot. It is greenish above, dingy yellowish below. It has whitish wing-bars, and broken white eye-rings surrounding what look like staring, beady eyes. The male has a bright red crown patch, which is often concealed. The female, of course, lacks this adornment.

This kinglet gives the impression of being agitated. It moves above in the foliage with constantly-flicking wings. It is often found quite low, especially on very cold days. It responds well to "pssshing", and the male, when responding sometimes raises its scarlet crown patch.

When I was a beginning birder I was loathe to trust myself when it came to identifying certain birds. I would see the female or immatures (for reasons that have little to do with frustrating potential birders, there are always, or so it seems, more females and immatures than there are obvious adult males). I withheld identification until I finally saw a male raising its crown feathers. Now, it seems so easy. The Ruby-crowned Kinglet is so identifiable for so many reasons: the constant "je-dit" call, the flicking movements in the foliage, the tiny-ness of it.

One of the nice things about this kinglet is that, even though it is not what we'd consider a feeder bird, it will come for sunflower hearts, suet mixtures or peanut butter balls. It seems to like being where there are other birds. It has become something of a habit to look and listen for the little sprite when titmice and chickadees pay a visit.

Out in the woodlands, the Ruby-crowned Kinglet is one of our commonest wintering species and is much more evident that its congener, the Golden-crowned Kinglet (another small guy, but more colorful and more readily identifiable). The former seems more inclined to use a variety of habitats while the Golden-crowned shows a preference for conifers and mixed woodlands.

Before the Ruby-crowned Kinglet leaves our neck of the woods, in April (it nests far to the north in Canada and the very northern U.S., as well as in the high mountains farther south), it tests its vocal chords to our delight. The song is remarkably varied and musical, and louder than one would expect of a small singer.

I hope you see a kinglet, and that you will know what it is when you see or hear it.

A SIMPLE GIFT BEGAN A LOVE AFFAIR WITH BIRDS

White-throated Sparrow in Fraser Fir tree
Photo - courtesy Robert Smith (www.photobiologist.com)

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Many years ago my mother gave me a gift, a little plastic bird feeder and five pounds of commercial bird-seed mix. She hung the feeder from a bare tree just outside my window. 

By that simple act of love, she changed my life.

I think of her so often when the finches come, and I hear the lilt of her voice when White-throated sparrows whistle sweetly on still winter mornings.

And I have wished, over and over, to have her back for just a little while, so she could know how long the gift has lasted.

Oh, the feeder itself had broken into pieces by the following March, but the gift of the birds has been endless.

Christmas is near, and I'm sentimental. I would wish my mother's wisdom on all gift givers. And then I see signs that the wisdom was not hers exclusively.

On Saturday, I helped a grandmother to select bird feeders for each of her grandsons, and I wanted to hug her. If only one of those grandsons comes to appreciate birds, she will have enriched his life immeasurably, and maybe someday, he'll pass it on, with love and wisdom.

Few of us become "bird people" by our own premeditation. It is usually the influence of family, friend or neighbor, sometimes vigorously resisted, that bids us to stop and watch the birds.

And there are many "little" things that we can do to make that happen.

I suggest a bird watcher's starter kit - a feeder, some seed, and a guide book - as the logical first step, and a person is never too young, or too old, for a starter kit. And just think, for a small price you can help someone discover a whole "nuther world"!

There are many low-priced items that can serve to sway a potential bird watcher. A hummingbird feeder, a field guide or two. Some thistle stockings and the seed to fill them. A couple of suet logs. Maine Manna. (See first article of January for hummingbird nectar and bird pudding.) Those darling feeders that adhere to the window and bring birds up close. Bluebird houses. A hundred pounds of oil seed for cardinals and finches. A tube feeder to hold it. A house for an Eastern Screech Owl or Wood Duck. A bird bath. A mister. A dripper. A how-to book for making birdhouses. A Purple Martin apartment house! A trip or donation to a local nature center (Editor's note - 2016: for example, Pascagoula River Audubon Center). Binoculars. Spotting scopes. Photography equipment. A subscription to a birding magazine. (See *footnote about birdsong recordings - our current information source)

Decorate an outside tree with food for the birds; do it with the children or grandchildren and watch their interest percolate! Start a wildflower garden in a small corner of the yard, just for the birds.

One last observation. I think if mother hadn't taken the time to stock and hang that first feeder, it would have gathered dust on a shelf. If you really want to share your own joy of birds, give a little of yourself in whatever gifts you choose.


This article was published in December 1985

*Footnote: In the original version of this piece she also recommended cassette recordings, and video tapes! Nowadays, phone Apps are available (e.g: iBird Pro) as are numerous on-line videos, but it was charming to think about what was available then.

It has to be said that Judy passed on the love of birds to so many Coast birders, who then passed it on to others, and for her gift to us, we are truly thankful.

OWLS ACTIVE THIS TIME OF SEASON

Great-horned Owl chicks - photo courtesy Sharon Milligan
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For this week's field trip, go to the end of the article

This week is a combination of two December publications -(1989 and 2001)

It has taken me three decades to see or even glimpse all of our regularly occurring North American owls, but I would have to live at least three lifetimes to say that I know them beyond what they look like and the types of habitats they prefer. Any reader who has an owl on his premises, either at a roost or actually nesting, is lucky indeed. Let’s put that in perspective: there are over 180 species of owls in the world, 23 of which have occurred in North America, 9 of which have been found in Mississippi, 6 of which have been found in the coastal counties – and only 4 of them are resident.

Owls are provocative creatures. To most of us they are birds of mystery, inscrutable and elusive. Perhaps we like it that way.

Few sounds in the  bird world fire the imagination like the voices of owls.

They may rise out of the deepest woods and float across the broadest fields – even disturb the peace of one’s own backyard. No matter how expected, how often heard, owl voices are electrifying.

Authors use words like hiss, hoot, bark, scream, or whinny, among others, to convey some of the vocal qualities that help to separate one owl from another, but all transmit poorly in print. Unearthly owl voices in the dead of night do not lend themselves to pat descriptions.

Owls are mostly nocturnal. Active at night. Their voices carry far. Their eyesight and hearing are extraordinary, for much depends on search and seizure in the dark. They fly silently, as if their wings were velvet-fringed.

They sleep in nooks and crannies, or cloak themselves in leaves and shadows – there, but unseen in plain sight.

Is it any wonder that owls rank high as birds of lore and legend? Is it any wonder that even the birder who may have seen it all, or almost all, never tires of owls.

Here on the Coast it is near the time when owls are most frequently heard and most easily seen.

Most of our resident owls nest in winter and early spring, at odds with our perception that all birds nest in late spring and summer. Early nesting is quite an adaptation. It gives owls a great advantage. They have their young at a time of the year that, not so coincidentally, sees the annual population peak of small rodents, the mainstays of owls’ winter diets.

They will be hissing, hooting, barking or screaming, or whinnying to the tempo of the mating ritual and the care of the young (where many a hair-raising night-sound originates.)

They will be busy hunting, keeping a mouse or a mole ahead of the demand, and therefore, more visible. In leafless trees, the Great Horned Owl may be silhouetted against moonlit skies. On foggy mornings, the Barred Owl may take to day-hunting in the bottomlands. On any day one may roust a Common Barn-Owl on guard duty, or catch an Eastern Screech-Owl taking a yellow-eyed peek at the world.

More owls are heard than seen. An owl voice may travel a mild on a windless night. A screech-owl may whinny mournfully from twenty feet away and still escape detection. If you have a wooded lot and no old woodpecker holes, an owl box should be on your want list (Christmas is coming).

In the most rudimentary breakdown;

The hooters are the Great Horned Owl (deep, soft, resonant 6-hooter) and the Barred Owl (“Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all”)

The “hisser” is the Common Barn-owl

The “whinny” comes from the Eastern Screech-Owl.

(Additionally, one might look and listen for two rare winter-visitors. The Short-eared Owl yaps like a small dog, but infrequently, flies moth-like over open fields or marshes, often at dusk and dawn, and the Burrowing Owl - seldom heard, but may chatter when disturbed and often perches by day in the open (fenceposts, wires, sand dunes)

Hearing an owl, any owl, is a fascinating step in the right direction. Seeing one could begin a hopeless addiction to night-time birding.

Judy quoted from one of her favorite poets, Thomas Gray, as written in his “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard”. She said “This verse lends a certain mystique to any Barn Owl, which is, after all, the sum of pale apparition, rasping shrieks, old church belfries and a romantic’s slant on the subject”

"Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower,

The moping owl does to the moon complain

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower,

Molest her ancient, solitary reign”

----------ooooo-----------

It’s Mississippi Coast Audubon Society’s last field trip of 2016, and it’s special.  All are welcome, but spaces are going fast —  Don’t “miss the boat”!

Saturday December 3,  2016 - Grand Bay NERR by boat, Jackson County

LEADER: Mark Woodrey (Mark.Woodrey@msstate.edu)

(Limit 15 Participants) Our focus on this boat trip will be waterfowl, shore, wading and marsh birds.  This is a great time of year for birding in the Grand Bay NERR/NWR with a high species diversity guaranteed. Bring along some water/drinks and snacks appropriate for the field. Rubber knee boots or other footwear you can get wet and muddy are recommended.

Place and time:  8:30 AM – about noon. Meet at the Bayou Heron boat ramp at the south end of Bayou Heron Road (MAP - same road the Grand Bay NERR office is located on). The NERR/NWR office (6005 Bayou Heron Road, Moss Point, MS) will be open from 07:45-08:15 am so folks can use the restroom, fill-up water bottles, etc.

YOU MUST REGISTER FOR THIS TRIP and there is a fee of $30 per person.  To register, contact Dr. Mark Woodrey (Mark.Woodrey@msstate.edu). First come, first served – capped at 15 participants, so sign up early!

LES BLACK SHOWS UP ON COAST JUST IN TIME TO SAVE THE DAY

Lesser Black-Backed Gull - breeding plumage

Photo - courtesy, Ian Butler

Ian is a professional photographer from England

You can see more of his wonderful photography at www.ianbutlerphotography.co.uk

This article was published in November 1995. Click on the blue title for more. See end of article for this week's field trip.

I don't do grits. I don't cook them, and I don't eat them. My experience with grits is that they make a great "extender'' (uncooked, of course) for a dish called "bird pudding,'' (the recipe for which appeared in "A Year With Judy Toups" – Jan 1^st 2016).Except for being part of my bird pudding recipe, grits have nothing to do with birds. But my feelings about grits are analogous to the feelings some people have about certain groups of birds.

I hear it all the time -- same tune, different words. "I don't do sandpipers.'' "Hawks are always too far away.'' "I never look at sparrows.'' "I ignore any flycatcher smaller than five inches.'' "Immature hummingbirds are impossible, so I don't try.'' "All gulls look alike.''

For as many seasons as I've had students in tow, I have used many a subtle ploy or dirty deception to get them to try sandpipers, hawks, sparrows, flycatchers, female hummingbirds and any gull of any age, size, sex or geographical persuasion. This is sort of like hiding the grits under the eggs.

Most often, the ruse is discovered before the first bite. There will be a collective turn-off at the sight of 1,000 back-lighted sandpipers or a bird of prey soaring into the sun at the limits of conjecture. There'll be studied indifference to huddled masses of gulls.

Every now and then, though, one of those turn-off birds will be the answer to a leader's prayer. It becomes the bird that puts the gloss on a day in the field. In some cases, it becomes the bird that saves a months-long session.

It may be the Marbled Godwit that puts all sandpipers in a new light. It may be the Red-tailed Hawk that actually shows off its black patagial marks. It may be the immature hummingbird with sun glinting off emerging purple gorget feathers. It may be the gull that cannot be ignored.

That's what happened on Sunday afternoon, a time given over to "beach birding". We weren't exactly coming up empty, but it wasn't the best of days, either. The Dunlins flew off before they could be studied, and the color of the Snowy Plover's legs seemed to change from light to dark. There were no Caspian Terns where there should have been, and we missed the Piping Plover altogether.

Like too many other days during this fall session, which started way back in August, birds -- the specific birds I wanted for live instruction on why they are or why they are not Magnolia Warblers, White-crowned Sparrows or Franklin's Gulls -- were in short supply. I had promised more birds than I had delivered. As improbable as it may sound, I felt responsible.

I had taken my small group of intent and intelligent (and absolutely delightful) learners to all my favorite places in three counties and always felt that there was a shortfall of birds in the places where they should have been.

So there we were, on Sunday afternoon, making rapid progress down the beach between Long Beach and our ending point at the Broadwater Marina. We were making such rapid progress because the beach, despite miles of exposed tidal flats, was virtually devoid of birds, except for those we had seen many times over. I mean, how many Brown Pelicans must one see to be able to say, "Yes, I know a Brown Pelican.'' How many Sanderlings to be convinced that they deserve the appellation of "little wind-up toys.''

The west side of Broadwater is a good spot from which to look for birds. And there were birds there: lots of Willets and Sanderlings and Dunlins. A Great Blue Heron or two. Black Skimmers. Hordes of Laughing Gulls. A Herring Gull. A few Ring-billed Gulls.

This last-ditch effort on the last-ditch day of learning birds "a la Toups'' was about to end, not in a burst of glory but in a maze of mostly back-lighted birds. One good bird would save the session.

In fairness to a wonderful group of students, my perception that the birding this fall has been dismal was not one they shared. But I had promised so much, and I felt that I had let them down.

It was then that I saw him, the one gull among thousands that I recognized as an individual. The one (could it have been him??) I have known since March of 1983, when he was 3 years old, and I was not yet a senior citizen. It was Les Black, the sexy European, a gull among gulls in this geographical corner of the bird world. And he was just there, in good light, moving only enough to come front and center, flaunting that bright yellow bill with the red spot on it, the bright yellow legs.

We saw him. We studied him until the light began to fade. I saw a new appreciation for gulls in their faces. And I told them this capsule version of the Les Black story:

The Lesser Black-backed Gull is accidental here on the Gulf Coast. (Editorial note 2016: Currently the LBBG, though of European origin, occurs regularly in North America but in 1995, when this article was written, its status was as described.”).   I recalled the excitement the day that Mickey Baker, Marianne Towell and I found Mississippi's first, in the Least Tern nesting area south of the U.S. Naval Home. It stayed for two weeks, during which time, everyone with an interest in gulls came to see it. A little black mark on its bill identified it as a gull in third winter plumage, thus we were able to know how old it was.

When one wintered in the same place the following two years, we wondered if it was the same individual and we named it Les Black (though it may easily be a Leslie). He became my sentimental favorite.

And it became a November odyssey to look for Les. As the years went by, the looking was fraught with worry. How old is too old for a gull to make another winter sojourn in the Deep South?  If this IS Les Black he/she is approaching 16 years, and  has spent at least 13 of his winters with us.

I had made an empty search just two days prior to last Sunday, and I was beginning to think we had seen the last of Les. But he's a mighty gull, and I should have known better.

So here's to a gull who makes me look good. Thanks Les, and welcome home.

All are welcome on Mississippi Coast Audubon Field Trips...

but they are almost over for 2016!

Saturday November 26, 2016:   Graveline Beach, Jackson County 

Leaders:  Janet Wright (jwright01@cableone.net) and Charley Delmas

Great combination of beach and marsh habitat rich in shorebirds, waders, marsh inhabitants, and more. 

Place and Time:  E end of Beach Boulevard, Ocean Springs (St Andrews area, MAP) 7:30 AM. 

Conditions:  This trip involves a 3/4 mile walk up the beach and return.  No restrooms.  Plenty of parking.

JUST ONE MORE TRIP - GRAND BAY NERR Dec 3 - check it out at mscoastaudubon.org

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AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, A RUFFLED TURKEY SWALLOWS HIS PRIDE

Birding advice: Don't ever ask a turkey if he is dimwitted!

Wild Turkey - photo courtesy Robert Smith
For more articles, click on the blue title

This Saturday's MCAS field trip, see end of article

Recently, while checking out the birdlife near the Pearl River, I was hailed by a gravelly voice from on high. Above me, on a gnarled branch in a moss-bearded oak, was a scrawny, unkempt Wild Turkey. He spoke English, persuasively.

He was a venerable old bird. He said he was hungry, so would I "gather a few handfuls of berries from yonder bramble patch?" and thirsty, so would I "run down to yonder flowing well and fill a canteen with fresh water?"

Having done so, I was invited to join him in his leafy bower,  he being "too weak to help myself get down".  With little ceremony, and no "thank you", he ate the berries and drank the water, and followed it with a profoundly appreciative belch. I noticed then that there was a lift to his berry-stained chin and a hint of mischief in his rheumy eyes.

We sat in quiet contemplation of the waning Autumn scene. Soon the old bird dropped his wattles to his chest and nodded off. As I myself was hanging on for dear life, I seized the chance to break away. In the doing I created a storm of quaking branches, breaking twigs, and falling leaves. He woke with a ruffle of feathers and sputtered, "You're not leaving?!" "Yes, I must go home to write a column. I write about birds."

"This must be Karma," he said, "you being a writer and I being a bird" I immediately grasped the implication. 

I reached into my pocket and brought up a pad and pencil and a wilted peanut butter sandwich - my lunch - which he grabbed and ate.

"Now then, I will tell you all about me. But first, tell me what day this is."

He was jubilant when I answered "November 15th." He flapped to the ground in a great burst of energy. I tumbled after him. We strolled through the woods as he told me this story..

"I've been on the lam since 8th of November, the first day of turkey season, which always comes as a nasty surprise. I was with the other gobblers, eating acorns, when I was overcome by a yen for something meatier. So I took off on my own. I was finishing off a meal of grasshoppers and beetles when I heard a seductive call. From afar it sounded like Veronica, with whom I used to dally under the sweetgum trees. I made great haste, through the deep woods, to parlay my natural charms into an out-of-season love tryst. I was about to step into a clearing where I could strut my stuff and "vut-v-r-r-o-o-o-m-m-m into her auriculars, when it occurred to me that sweet Veronica and the other hens were foraging far to the east. I sensed (you'll suffer the pun) fowl play. There were hunters in my woods, and I was not about to become the roast of the town. So I turned on my tarsi and sped away - five days on the run, five nights roosting in trees. Alone. With nothing to eat or drink. You saved my life you know."

"Any beneficent birder would do the same," I said. "Now, tell me about yourself".

He hrrumped self-importantly, trotted up to a log podium, and, like one of history's great orators, he began. "I was born in a humble hollow made of sticks and grasses. To poor peasant stock.... on a dark and rainy night..." he added.

I looked at my watch. By the time he had milked his first three years of every superfluous tidbit, I knew my beneficence had been sadly misplaced. "Let's cut to the chase" I said. Just how old are you?"

"Nine, this past March. That's pretty old, in turkey years. And what a life it's been. Did I tell you about....."

I checked my watch again. "You are a most interesting bird, and I'm sure you have many fascinating miles behind you, but I really do have to leave. Just let me jump in here with a couple of questions, and we'll cal it a wrap.... Is it true that turkeys are dimwitted, with no sense of survival?"

"What? What? Dimwitted? You are talking here with a bird that has conned you into picking berries and climbing trees, so who's the dimwit? I'm descended from a long line of survivors who were smart enough to retreat when necessary, and wily enough to give a hunter the slip.  Why, I've seen you and your Tuesday bird club in these woods dozens of times, but you haven't seen me. Not until I wanted to be seen. So, who's the smart one?'

"I didn't mean to rattle your wattles; maybe I should leave."

"Champion idea. It's late and I'm in a fowl mood. Maybe I'll catch you next time. Do lunch, finish my story. Now go."

"Before I do, I have some things in the glove compartment that you may find useful. Would it compromise your integrity if I left them as tokens of my good intentions? I'll just put them here, on this log."

He didn't answer. Nor did he look up when I drove away. But I caught sight of him in the rear view mirror. He was leaning on a tree, eating stale trail mix and studying a yellowed, dog-eared hunting schedule.

This article was published in November, 1992

All are welcome on Mississippi Coast Audubon Society Field trips!    Check out those shorebirds in their winter plumage.  HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL.

Saturday, November 19, 2016: Hancock County Beaches

Leader: Barbara Bowen (bbwilletslp@yahoo.com)

Shorebirds and more!  Including but not limited to Washington St. Pier, the new Marina, the Yacht Club & some of the forested areas north of Hwy 90. 

Place and time: Meet at Washington St. Pier in Bay St Louis (MAP), 7:30 AM.

DON'T PUT AWAY HUMMINGBIRD FEEDERS JUST YET

Rufous hummingbird, photo courtesy Sharon Milligan
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(THIS SATURDAY'S MCAS FIELD TRIP INFO AT END OF ARTICLE)

THIS ARTICLE WAS PUBLISHED IN NOVEMBER1999

 In 1986, when Jerry Jackson and I wrote finis to the text of ``Birds and Birding on the Mississippi Coast,'' there were two species of hummingbirds known to occur in Mississippi. Of course, one was the Ruby-throated Hummingbird, the only hummer that is known to nest in the eastern United States. The other was the Rufous Hummingbird, which was added to the official state bird list on the basis of a specimen which was found dead on Jan. 21,Dalton King (who, incidentally, did the illustrations for B&B).

Dalton's bird, while it was the first Rufous to be documented, was not the state's first. Various reports of Rufous Hummingbird had surfaced since December of 1960, but since there are pitfalls to identifying hummers of the Selasphorus genus without them being in-hand (because there is cause for confusion between Rufous and Allen's hummers), the state records committee had to be absolutely certain. Certainty comes from a specimen in good condition, a very good photograph, or in-hand examination.

The 1987 publication date had come and gone when Lydia Schultz's yard in Bay St. Louis became a famous stop along a birder's winter route. On Thanksgiving Day of 1987, Lydia looked out at her still-blooming garden, and its array of hummingbird feeders, and saw what proved to be Mississippi's first Buff-bellied Hummingbird (primarily a Mexican species). Mal Hodges and I both managed to get good enough photographs of that bird to serve as documentation of ``Buff,'' as Lydia refers to it, before it got away without being hand-held and banded.

The Buff alone was a serendipitous event, but while Mal and I were busy looking at it, there was another questionable hummer using Lydia's feeders; we suspected that it was a young Black-chinned. Serendipity came to the fore again when Nancy Newfield, master hummingbird bander, arrived at Lydia's to attempt to band ``Buff.'' She had no luck there, but she did capture the other hummer, and it proved to be Mississippi's first documented Black-chinned Hummingbird (the Black-chinned is widespread in the western United States); it is now one of the most frequently banded species in the southeast during the winter. The problem with adult female and immature Black-chinneds is that they look so very much like adult female and immature Ruby-throated Hummingbirds that it required great hummer acuity to even raise one's suspicions.

What began in Lydia's yard soon spread coast-wide, and even to the northern Mississippi counties. It no longer raises eyebrows to hear reports of Rufous and Black-chinned Hummers from anywhere in the state.

If you are keeping count, you will see that by fall of 1987, Mississippi's hummingbird list had doubled -- to four. There was a great rush among bird enthusiasts to get in on the excitement, and it became something of an art to garden for winter hummers, and to keep nectar feeders fresh and filled in anticipation of something wildly wonderful on a gray winter day.

The roster of Mississippi hummingbirds has multiplied in succeeding years. A Broad-tailed Hummingbird in Pearl River County became the state's first. An Anna's, an Allen's, and a Calliope (all in Lydia's yard) became official members of our avifauna. In 1995, a Gulfport reader who responded to my December column about hummers became briefly famous (and ornithologically very important) for hosting a White-eared Hummingbird, which is certainly a rarity among rarities anywhere in the United States except southeastern Arizona, where it may nest in remote canyons (and is usually seen post-breeding, as a nectar-feeder find).

All of the above species have been documented, either through photographs or banding. It was once a problem to get on-the-scene coverage of hummingbirds. We either called Nancy Newfield in New Orleans, who was busy at banding Louisiana's increasing numbers of hummers, or Bob and Martha Sargent, master banders who live all the way up in Clay, Ala., near Birmingham. They would often drop everything to come at our behest, never knowing whether the subject had gotten clean away, as they say. It was through their banding efforts that Calliope, Anna's, Allens, and Broad-tailed became ``official.''

 We Mississippians got lucky when Gulfport enthusiast Bennett Carver became the proud overseer of a feeder that hosted a great male Black-chinned Hummingbird; Bennett became so enamored of hummers that he went through the extensive study and training necessary to obtain a banding permit. It was Bennett who banded the White-eared Hummingbird. I don't know who was more excited -- Mrs. Payne, who was feeding it, Bennett, who held it in his hand, or the numerous birders who hit the trail to the Coast for a look-see. (Editor's note 2016: Mr. Carver is no longer banding hummingbirds)

Except for repeat performances by all the hummers noted above (with the exception of the astounding White-eared), the only other potential frenzy-producing hummingbird was the very large Blue-throated Hummingbird, individuals of which have been briefly seen by three observers (unfortunately not long enough for anything approaching documentation, so that one is still on hold).

But the thing about birds is that the excitement truly never ends. Just when we thought it was safe to look away, a first Mississippi record Broad-billed Hummingbird (a very identifiable male) came to sip and rest at a feeder at the home of Leslie Wilder in Ocean Springs. My friend and upper-level birder Tish Galbraith happened to be visiting, noticed the striking red bill of the hummer, and called Bennett Carver. The rest, as they say, is ornithological history. Leslie kept a list of the visitors and it looked like the "Who's Who of birders.

I wanted to highlight hummers right now for several reasons, the first being that many people have taken down their feeders since the Ruby-throated Hummingbird parade trailed off, and that's a no-no. There's just no telling where or when a hummingbird will show up, and the worst thing that comes to mind is that it will choose your yard and you won't be ready for it. So if you have cleared the table, reset it, at least with one or two feeders. Remember that it will serve no purpose if those feeders are not clean and the nectar fresh. We refer to them as ``winter hummers,'' because the vast majority of these exciting sprites show up during their fall migration or during the winter months, and it pays to be especially alert.

Your chances of getting an oddball hummer are not great. I will admit that, after having nothing more esoteric than a Rufous in all the years I've been trying. But. Imagine the excitement if you do! The thing to keep in mind is that virtually all Ruby-throated Hummingbirds have flown the coast-coop after a pretty good show in September. Therefore, one should become immediately suspicious if any hummer comes to call. The chances favor a rarity (one of those mentioned above), with an errant Ruby-throat a small possibility. You might be the host of the next hummer to become an official Mississippian.

 So sweeten your own hummingbird pot. The sooner the better.

Last chance to visit the Seaman Road Lagoons this fall!  All are welcome on Mississippi Coast Audubon Society field trips.

November 12, 2016: Seaman Road Lagoons, Jackson County

Leaders:  Sharon Milligan (2sharon123@gmail.com, 228-861-1622) and others

One of our richest and most popular birding sites, normally only by restricted access, last chance this fall to visit it! IMPORTANT: This is a working facility. You MUST stay with leaders while on site. Call Sharon (above) if you have questions about policy. 

Place and Time: Meet at the park and ride at 7:30 AM I-10 exit 50 (Ocean Springs).  (As soon as you exit the interstate going south, park and ride will be on the right.)