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
To read more articles, click on the blue title
(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.)  

IT'S HARD TO PUT THE WONDER OF A PEREGRINE FALCON IN WORDS

Peregrine Falcon - photos - courtesy Sharon Milligan
For more articles, click on the blue title

For this week's field trip, go to the end of the article

  Whatever I might say about the Peregrine Falcon has been said better by many other writers, in many different ways. There is simply nothing left in my writer's bag of tricks with which to touch you, reader, in the way other writers have touched me. How I wish I could.

   Having said that, I still have three double-spaced pages to fill with thoughts and words that are bound to sound either borrowed or contrived, because my subject is the Peregrine Falcon, and it's all been said before.

   It is Saturday morning last. The sky is blankly grey; there is no sun glinting off the water; the tide at Clermont Harbor is low. We (my class and I) have found what we've been looking for -- ideal conditions in which to cull a Franklin's Gull or two out of flocks of Laughing Gulls .

   Satisfaction is immediate. There are two Franklin's Gulls; I go through the often-repeated process of pointing out field marks and making sure that each observer sees what he should see to feel good about the identification of a bird they are meeting for the very first time.

   There are other birds there; I call them the birds because getting to know them forms a foundation upon which new birders can build an impressive repertoire of beach-bird savvy.

   There are four species of herons, from the gangly Great Blue to the delicate Snowy Egret. There are four species of plovers, the stop-and-go birds of the beach. There are five species of sandpipers, from the wind-up-toys called Sanderlings to the businesslike dowitchers. There are four species of gulls and two species of terns. There are Black Skimmers. And cormorants and Brown Pelicans on pilings offshore.

   In retrospect, my guesstimate is that there are several hundred birds between us and deep water. Each of them is doing its own thing, and unmindful of us, as long as we keep a decent distance. There are no beachgoers to shoo the birds away; no running dogs to test their latent hunting skills. Perfect!

   Then it happens. As if by some form of telepathic communication, every bird, from the mighty Great Blue to the miniscule Western Sandpiper, receives an urgent message. Danger is coming, fast, from the west.

   There is an explosion of movement on the beach as each bird seeks escape. Pandemonium reigns. Some run, some swim, some fly, some dive beneath the water. In the blink of a human eye, the beach in front of us empties of birds.

   We have yet to grasp what the birds already know. With acuity born of instinct, they have seen the lightning and heard the distant thunder of nature's most perfect flying predator -- a Peregrine Falcon.

   We, mere mortals, have seen no lightning, heard no thunder. But we react to their reaction, and look skyward.

   A dark wedge appears -- it flies fast and straight as an arrow. Overhead, it becomes known to us for what it is -- a Peregrine -- and we begin to appreciate the high drama that is unfolding.

   Time seems to have stood still, but only seconds have elapsed between the sound of the silent alarm, the flight of the birds, and the arrival of the most feared, and fearless, of avian warriors.

   This avian warrior lives on birds -- pigeons, ducks, shorebirds, and many others, some of them smaller, some of them larger, but none of them faster. A Peregrine seldom fails to get what it is after.

   Before it has mounted this attack, it has preselected, drawn a bead on the bird it is after, and nothing will stay it from its course.

   Like a heat-seeking missile, it follows the flight of its intended victim, a dowitcher, behind it and above it. The dowitcher is doomed; surely it knows that. We watch as the remainder of its life grows shorter with each wingbeat -- the swift, sure beats of the menacing falcon, the frantic, darting, dodging beats of the hapless dowitcher.

   The falcon stoops, folds its wings and dives downward -- literature credits it with speeds of 180 mph to even 275 mph in such a stoop. It must only hit the dowitcher, or rake its talons once, in passing, and life for the dowitcher is over.

   But wait. The stoop is aborted, the falcon regains altitude, pursues the same dowitcher from above. It stoops again. Aborts again. The dowitcher is zigzagging frantically. It is not flying faster, but it can fly erratically -- flights which the powerful Peregrine is incapable of performing.

   The falcon repeats the same stoops, four of them, stopping short of actually hitting its target. By this time, there is not another bird in sight -- only the falcon and the dowitcher.

   It makes one last stoop and pursues the dowitcher just above the water. Soon now, the falcon will claim its victim.

   But it does not. It rises again, high in the air, and sets a steady course toward the northwest. It flies out of sight, and there is reprieve for the dowitcher, a gutsy little bird that, despite great fear, earns our respect and a silent cheer.

   As quickly as it began, the drama is over. Western Sandpipers are back, probing the mudflats. A Forster's Tern flies in. Some loose flocks of dowitchers, shed of fright, feed in water up to their tarsi. We leave, before the end of the closing credits.

   But this we believe: a Peregrine Falcon in search of a meal will not fail to bring it home. Was it play? Practice for a time of real hunger?

   I don't pretend to know.

This article was published in November 1996

All are welcome on Mississippi Coast Audubon Society field trips!

November 5, 2016:  Clower-Thornton Nature Trail, Harrison County.

Leader:  Gerry Morgan (gerrymorgan@cableone.net)

This was the favorite birding spot of Jay Morris, whose enthusiasm and expertise inspired many of you.  Right in the middle of Gulfport, it was a famed migrant trap for songbirds before Hurricane Katrina, and the habitat continues to improve slowly. 

This site is part of the Mississippi Coastal Birding Trail.  More information at http://mscoastbirdingtrail.audubon.org/harrison-county.html

Place and Time:  Meet at Clower-Thornton Preserve in Gulfport (MAP) at 7:30 AM.