To the North

It has been so nice being back in Winnipeg for the end of the summer. The weather, for the most part, has been beautiful, and early migration is already under way.

This is the first time I've been able to walk around Assiniboine Park while the gardens are still flowering, and the change from the normal dead leaf- or snow-encrusted visage is magnificent. The riot of color and smell is enough to transport you from the everyday mundane into a world of beauty and transquility.

The place is also virtually a birder's paradise at the moment, though much patience is needed to successfully ID the small birds flitting amongst the trees and flowers. To add extra difficulty, many of the birds are still in juvenile plumage, while many more are in fall plumage... meaning they are much more drab-looking than normal. Warblers in particular all look very similar once they molt their breeding plumage.

Nonetheless, during two trips to Assiniboine Park during the last two weeks, I've managed to pick up American Redstart, plus Tennessee, Nashville, Chestnut-sided, and Yellow Warblers. There have also been Red-eyed, Warbling, and Blue-headed Vireos hanging around, as well as Indigo Buntings, House Finches, Ruby-throated Hummingbirds, Rose-breasted Grosbeaks, and Chipping Sparrows.

A female Ruby-throated Hummingbird dining on red flowers.

A female American Goldfinch munching old seed heads.

A juvenile Chipping Sparrow.

An immature American Robin.

I'm getting very excited because on Monday, August 30, I leave for a week-long field course that takes us all throughout Manitoba, ending in the famous tundra town of Churchill, nestled against the Hudson Bay.

Our first stop will be the Delta Marsh Field Station on Lake Manitoba, where we will learn about the wetland and the waterfowl research that takes place there. Next is Riding Mountain National Park, where we will learn about park management and ecological integrity. Onward to the Duck Mountain Provincial Forest at Swan River with an emphasis on forestry and resource management. North-ward takes us to The Pas and learning about northern agriculture and Aboriginal self-government. Then to Pisew Falls Provincial Park and Thompson, where we will learn about mining and hydroelectricity. And finally... an hour plane ride will land us in Churchill, the polar bear capital! Besides polar bears, Churchill also boasts beluga whales, some fantastic birds, and a rich Native heritage. It can only be reached by plane or train.

Thinking of the distance between Winnipeg and Churchill (1465 kilometers) really brings home how incredibly large Manitoba is. In the time it takes to drive to Churchill from Winnipeg, I could almost drive from Winnipeg back home to Rochester, NY!

Anyway, I believe this will be a trip of a lifetime, and I cannot WAIT to get started. I'm looking forward to seeing all that Manitoba has to offer, and itching to do some boreal and tundra birding.

Winding down

Although I haven't kept up with this blog for quite some time (for various reasons such as internet problems and lack of time), I've been wanting to share some thoughts lately.


Saturday night, our local buddy Kevin invited us out to a wedding dance in Val Marie. I had my reservations, as it seemed strange to crash some stranger's wedding. He shrugged it off though, saying that anyone could come. It was definitely the oddest wedding gathering I've ever seen, and one of the most memorable. For one thing, no one besides the bride and bridesmaids were dressed up. Jeans and cowboy hats seemed to be the order of the day, which was just fine with me. A live local band played country music all night, while people two-stepped along. I've been taught how to two-step now, and I think I can keep up alright. It was a LOT of fun.


By 4:30 AM though, things started to get ugly. It has been my experience this summer that a mixture of booze, small towns, and social gatherings tends to bring out the worst in some people. A fight began to break out, with many people jumping in to defend one side or the other. Eventually everyone was kicked out of the hall, and the tensions began to escalate in the street. Small groups broke out, each one trying to hold someone back while they shouted at someone else. The rest of us stood back, watching it develop. Kevin assured us that no one would even remember what the fight was about come morning. Indeed, everyone involved were either friends or relatives! It was a fascinating, and scary, thing. Amazingly, no punches were actually thrown. I was very impressed. By 5:30, everyone had finally dispersed to sleep it off. We slept for a couple hours ourselves, then headed back home. In the course of the night, I also had discovered that people from one small town always seem to think differently of people from the next small town. As in, "people from Val Marie are always a little crazy." Maybe it's just pride in one's town that brings out this attitude, but I found it amusing nonetheless.


That night (Sunday), Debbie and Brian invited us over for dinner and horse riding. These were the people who had hauled Amy and I out of the road when her truck got stuck earlier in the summer. I swear, that was the best thing that happened to me this summer, as it led to me meeting these wonderful people. Dinner was absolutely wonderful, and afterwards we saddled up the horses and set out into Brian's land.


On one side of the horizon we could see a distant storm shedding rain on the land. On the other side, we could see the sun setting in a blaze of brilliant color. The evening was utterly peaceful, and taking in this perfect scene from the back of a horse, I imagined that life could not get any better than this. At the end of the evening, Amy, Kevin, and I rode his horses back to his house, a couple miles up the road. As I had been dying to lope on a horse all summer, and we were finally on even ground, we decided to give 'er. I drove my horse into a canter, and I swear I felt like I was flying. I had never in my life ridden like this before, and it was one of the most exhiliarating experiences I've ever had.


My final summer here is drawing to a close, and I approach it with mixed feelings. On the one hand, I will be very grateful to get away from the crowded living conditions, which have not always brought out the best in me these past months. On the other, I will miss experiencing the wonders of the prairie every day. One of my very favorite things about field work is that you see so much more than you would if you were just visiting a place. Some things can only be seen when a significant amount of time is spent in a place. You get to know the rhythm of the land; the sounds and smells and feel of it. You get to hear the waxing and waning of birdsong throughout the season, as the birds first establish their territories, then depart them. You get to watch the growth of the mule deer's antlers from week to week, until you feel amazement that such huge racks can be supported on such dainty skulls. You see the rippling bloom of wildflowers, each synchronized perfectly, as the colors of the prairie move from purple, to white, to orange, and finally to yellow. You see things being born, living, then dying as their seasons are spent.


A first for me, I will also miss the local people I have met here. These people are so hardy, living each generation on land that is unforgiving and often cruel. Yet it gives them a strength that others don't have. And more importantly, it gives them a sense of family, community, and generosity that I have never before experienced from those living in suburbs or cities. One thing that continues to make me sad, though, is the ranchers' attitudes toward many animals living here. If you speak to a rancher, you can feel immediately how much they love this land. It is their life and their well-being, and they would fight to preserve it. Yet they hate many of the land's creatures. I find this such a heart-breaking contradiction. They see "land" as only the landscape and the rooted things that grow there. Yet I see "land" as an amalgamation of all the things, living and not, that exist there together. It is so difficult for me, because in getting to know them and their way of life, I can understand their point of view. Coyotes take their livestock, costing them thousands of dollars. Badgers and ground squirrels create holes that their horses can fall into and break a leg, making the animal essentially useless. And having ridden horseback through areas with gopher holes, I can appreciate all too much the stress and anxiety (and danger) caused by leading a horse through a pockmarked landscape. But as an ecologist and environmentalist, it hurts me to see such little regard given to animals that are only trying to eke out their own existences. I wish with all my heart that I knew how to reconcile these two very conflicting ideologies.


That is all I have to say for now. Immersing myself in ranching culture as I have tried to do this summer has given me a lot to think about, and offered the opportunity to speak with and understand people with very different lives than my own. I think that of my entire two years being spent in Canada finishing this degree, that has been the most rewarding part, and the part I will carry with me the longest.

Branding, flooding, and dancing

I apologize for waiting so long to update, but our internet has barely worked this past week. A combination of 12 people using it and constant cloud cover has made it limp slowly along. Unfortunately, I won't be able to upload any pictures into this post at the moment. When the internet picks up again, I'll add them back in.

A LOT has been happening out here of late. The first was the addition of two plant biologists from Ontario who came to stay for a week and complete some field work. Our already cramped living conditions almost reached a breaking point, and tempers have been running high. With so many people in close quarters, different personalities and clashing wills come to a head. The two extra guys have now left, but this week we're receiving yet another addition, Darcy Henderson, who helped to develop the grazing experiment out here. He comes out every summer to help train the crew on plant identification.

As a continuation of last time, our little baby robins are getting close to fledging. It seems amazing to me that the parents haven't abandoned the nest, what with the constant disturbance of us going in and out of the nest.

Last Sunday (June 6th), we were invited to attend a local branding. I'd never been to one, so I was excited to see what it was like. My first thought upon arriving was horror at the gory process of castrating the bull calves. I was told repeatedly that they heal quickly and with no lasting damage (psychologically as well as physically I hope), but it was still difficult to watch. My next thought was how impressed I was with the efficiency at which the calves were processed. The calves were all inside a corral, and several ranchers on horseback were roping them one by one and hauling them over to where everyone waited. The calf was then wrestled to the ground, branded, castrated (if male), given two innoculations, and given an ear tag. A different person was in charge of each part, so the calf was only restrained for 3-4 minutes. There were three or four "lines" of people waiting to process each animal, so though there were over 100 of them, the entire operation was over in a couple hours.

I wanted to help in some way, so I was allowed to help wrestle the calf down and hold it while it was processed. For only being babies, those calves were STRONG! They definitely didn't like to be poked and prodded, and they let you know it. I had the time of my life though, enjoying the test of my strength against each animal's immensely.

One of my favorite parts was watching one of the horseman. In fact, he was a horseboy. He must have been only 6 or 7 years old, and he was atop this huge horse, roping calves with the best of them. I was immensely impressed with his skill, and how early the children are exposed to their parents' trade.

After the branding was complete, everyone feasted together. I was struck with the overarching sense of community that prevails out here. For an event such as a branding, all the neighbors come to help, and everyone relaxes together after. Everyone knew each other, and most had lived their whole lives here. Much time is spent swapping stories of this relation or that friend. I'd never experienced anything like this close-knit group of people who depend upon each other for their livelihoods.

Thursday night, (June 10) it began to rain. And it didn't stop. It continued all the way through Friday night, leaving the prairie soaked yet again. Apparently this is the most rain this area has had in many years. Even the farmers, who normally welcome and bless the rain, are cursing it. Their fields lay unseeded because the ground is too soggy to plow. Yesterday when we went to check nests, I was horrified to find that many of them were abandoned because of the rain. Chicks, some nearly fully-grown, were left to die in their nests, tiny reminders of the harshness of nature. The only good news about this is that birds re-nest very quickly, so I'm hoping that within a week or two, we will see an explosion of new nests being initiated.

Friday night was open mic night in Val Marie. We missed the last one, and were sad to realize that we'd miss this one as well. With all the rain, the road was unpassable. We decided to attempt a trip last night instead, figuring that if we showed up at the bar with instruments, we could start a second open mic night. Maggi and her crew left before us, as I was waiting for Chris to return from the field. They called and informed us that the road was still very bad, but that they had made it through. Amy and I, who still wanted to go, decided to attempt it. Most of the road to Mankota was fine, but there is a notoriously bad patch that we needed to cross.

Alas, after traveling a mere 30 meters or so into the bad patch, we got stuck. The ruts in the road were over a foot deep into the sticky clay surface. Unable to get any traction, we were trapped. Attempting to call Josh and Chris at the house only resulted in "busy" tones and failed signals. Very luckily for us, a couple pulling a cow trailer on a perpendicular road spotted us. They offered to give us a lift to a nearby house, where the people there would be able to get our truck out. We were left with Debbie Skinner, a wonderful lady who entertained us for the next two hours with conversation and cake. Her husband returned with some friends, and we visited for a while longer, now plied with good drink to supplement the cake. With the guys' help, our truck (which, unlike theirs, had only 2-wheel drive) was out in no time. One of the guys, Kevin, invited Amy and I to a dance a couple towns over, and since we had wanted a night out, we agreed. The dance was a fundraiser for the local hockey team, and we had an absolutely fantastic time. We have so few opportunities to get out, meet new people, and have fun, so when they do come along, we don't take them for granted. Apparently I was a topic of conversation at the dance for being American. I imagine some of the people in these small towns rarely get to meet new people either.

On the way home, Kevin's truck got stuck in the EXACT same place that Amy's had. So at almost 3:00 in the morning, we had to call the Skinners yet again to bail us out. I felt awful about it, but they were as kind and gracious as ever. This goes back to my musings about the community here. If someone is in need of help, you help them without a thought. I've never lived in a place like that, and it's a wonderful feeling. All you need, really, is to meet one person, who can then introduce you to ten more, and suddenly you find yourself invited to all sorts of events. The Skinners invited Amy and I to their branding this coming Saturday, and I can't wait to go. Hopefully I can help repay in part the kindness they showed us yesterday.

I can't believe that June is already half over; the month is flying by. Today was the first hot, sunny day we've had in over a week. Hopefully it's a sign that summer is getting a stronger hold and will beat out the cold and damp once and for all.

Achin' shoulders

The last couple days have been really rough. I've been purposefully holding off on dragging some of our lowland plots, hoping they'd have a chance to dry up a bit. Lowlands are areas that are lower in elevation than other surrounding areas, and have streams running through them. Around here, they are characterized by having a LOT of sagebrush. Basically, sagebrush (and greasewood) is the mortal enemy of nest draggers. Dragging a heavy rope with cans through the prairie is physically challenging enough, but dragging said rope through sometimes waist-high bushes can be complete hell. The rope constantly gets caught, and you spend every moment yanking on it or trying to "skip" it over upcoming shrubs. You can see below what such an area typically looks like. Well, the last two days we've dragged through some of the most difficult, shrubbiest areas. Needless to say, I'm completely exhausted and my shoulders are just a bundle of knots. To top it off, yesterday I actually found a blister on TOP of another blister on my ankle. Field work sure ain't for sissies.

Yesterday, while out checking nests in one of our ungrazed pastures, I looked up to see a female Northern Harrier, and I found myself watching an aeriel pursuit in progress as she chased down a Brown-headed Cowbird. She swooped and turned, finally grabbing the smaller bird out of mid-air with what looked like no effort at all. After a moment, the cowbird got free and began tearing straight towards me. It flew straight over my head, with the harrier still pursuing farther overhead. She chased the cowbird straight to the ground, then back up again, finally snatching it again. With what must have been a more secure grip, the harrier flew away toward the east, clutching the bird in her talons. I imagine she must have a nest somewhere, and is bringing the hard-earned meal back to her chicks.

On the way back, I stopped on a beautiful hillside and sat for awhile, just soaking up the view. For just a minute, the wind dropped, the birds ceased singing, and I found myself in complete quiet and peace.

The hillside was covered in flowering Death Camus which, as its name suggests, is poisonous if eaten. I also spotted a blister beetle, so called because of the blister-producing liquid it secretes if disturbed. Nature has certainly produced many defenses to protect its creations.

Just as I was leaving the hill, I looked behind me to see a huge storm cloud coming up right behind me. It's definitely intimidating to realize the wind is blowing it straight towards you.

I made a mad dash (as best as can be done with a heavy pack on) towards my ATV, which was still about a kilometer away. I made it to the vehicle just as the first drops began to fall. It was only about a 15 minute ride back to the house, but the rain began to pick up quickly. I was soon caught between wanting to get home as quickly as possible, and the fact that the faster I went, the more painful the rain struck me. Even going only 40 km/hr or so, each raindrop felt like a miniature bullet against my exposed skin. I was soon steering with only one hand, with the other trying in vain to shield as much of my face as possible.

To make matters even worse, I began to see lightning strike. Normally it isn't something that would concern me too much, but two ranchers were struck last summer while standing too close to a barbed-wire fence. One of them died, and the other was seriously injured. All this was going through my mind on my race home, realizing that I had to go through two barbed-wire fences. Perhaps I should have just sat the storm out, but at this point I was soaked, exhausted, and wanted only to get home. Luckily I made it back to the house just fine. It was an impressive storm, but I was very glad to be out of it.

Most of the crew was gone all week doing point counts in the West Block, so the nest crew had the house to ourselves. It was quiet and very nice. I like everyone here very much, but the cramped conditions are definitely difficult for everyone. They returned today, and in addition, we're hosting two additional researchers for the next week. We now have 12 people here, which is even more of a stretch than normal.

After our last couple days of hard work, I decided to give the nest crew today and tomorrow off. We've been invited to a calf branding later today, which I'm looking forward to. I've never been to one, and it should be exciting.

And in other fun news, the robin chicks under the porch have hatched!

(I'll post a picture later, as the internet isn't cooperating right now)

Enter June

Things have really begun to pick up around here, nesting-wise. June is our busiest season, as the majority of the birds around here begin laying eggs this month. As if to emphasize this point, my crew found 15 nests on June 1st! We've now found a total of 76 nests, 59 of which we are monitoring. We have 4 more plots to drag, then we'll be done with the first round of nest searching. Last year we only managed to complete two rounds, but I'm hopeful that this year we'll at least be able to start a 3rd one. We complete "a round" once all 26 plots have been dragged, then the next round begins right away. Obviously the more times each plot is searched, the more nests we will find, especially as the season progresses and new nests are begun.

Sometimes we find nests of species other than 7 species of songbirds we're monitoring. The other day, Amy and I managed to find this nest of an Upland Sandpiper. There's always the possibility of finding all kinds of nests out here, including shorebirds, ducks, and sometimes even raptors!

On Monday night, Bonnie, Chris, Amy, Barb, and myself decided to head to Mankota for dinner. Even though it's a 40-minute drive, sometimes it's nice to get out of the house for a little while. Things like restaurants and being waited on are definitely luxuries during the field season. On the way back, we were treated to a beautiful sunset.

We've definitely had some strange weather the last few days. Every time it isn't forecasted to rain, it does. When it forecasts rain, we get sunshine. It definitely makes it difficult to plan ahead. The problem is that weather out here is extremely regional. It may be raining in one pasture, but not in the next one. It all depends on where the clouds are heading.

This morning it was raining, so we waited until the afternoon to check nests. One of my favorite things about this job is seeing the progression of the nests from start to finish. I almost feel like a proud mother when I see the chicks getting bigger and more developed by the day. This is the same nest of Chestnut-collared Longspur chicks. In the top picture, they are approximately 2-3 days old. In the bottom picture, taken today, they are about 6-7 days old. Most of the songbirds out here fledge within 8-12 days of hatching, so they need to grow up fast!

Sometimes I get a nice surprise, like I did in this nest. The last two times it was checked, four chicks were seen. But today I noticed there were five. The chicks are so fuzzy and bundled together when they're young, sometimes you can't tell how many there really are.

Almost everywhere I go, there are cattle. The cows and calves spook easily, and generally keep their distance. The steers (castrated males) are much more curious though, and will sometimes follow me around. It's amusing until they begin investigating an area where I just checked a nest, then I get nervous they'll step on it.

Of course, the cattle aren't the only ones that are ever-watchful. Today I was lucky enough not to scare off this male pronghorn antelope, who was relaxing on a hillside.

It's amazing how much wildlife you can see right from the roadside. Many people may look at this landscape and think it barren. But take a walk or even a drive through it, and immediately you find yourself surrounded by critters of all shapes and sizes, like this Richardson's ground squirrel.

There is wildlife surrounding our house as well. Though the bird migration is all but over, some of the locals have decided to settle down. I have no farther to walk than my own front porch to find nests, as this robin nest proves.

Mist and blooms

The bad weather continues here in southern Saskatchewan. It has been raining on and off for the last several days, keeping us from getting any substantial amount of work done. I awoke yesterday to a fog so thick I could feel the miniscule droplets of water on my skin. I didn't want to check nests in such weather, fearing the cold humidity would immediately drench any chick left unprotected, but all our nests needed to be checked. We waited a bit for the fog to lift somewhat, then headed out, with the threat of rain hanging over our heads the whole while.

Certain organisms out here are definitely thriving in the moist conditions. As I walked across the community pastures, I spotted more mushrooms than I have ever seen out here. They appear to lie dormant in the ground until enough water arrives, then they sprout up like so many miniature umbrellas, shielding the ground beneath.

As the season progresses, new flowers have come into bloom. Golden bean plants line the roads and spread across the uplands, bringing vibrant color to the drab landscape. Occasionally interspersed with these are smooth goat's beard, lending their own beautiful blue highlights to the scene.

I have begun to see more and more primrose, which will soon blanket the bare areas with their showy petals. They like to grow in disturbed areas, so these too can be seen along the roads out here.

While some are reaching the peak of their short seasonal lives, others are reaching the end. The prairie crocuses, some of the earliest bloomers, have already shed their petals and become "prairie smoke."

Everyone I look out here, I can see signs of both life and death. Often I will come across remains like this skull and mandible of a Richardson's ground squirrel.

Yet life always continues. Our searches for nests have been going very well, and a couple (both Horned Larks) have fledged chicks already. Today we found 4 nests in a single nest plot, which is about the most we can hope to find. One of them was this Sprague's Pipit nest.

Sprague's Pipits make good mothers. They sit tight on their nest until almost stepped upon. Once the intruder has left, they immediately return. Pipits build their nests in fairly dense vegetation, making a sort of "tunnel" that leads to a cup overhung with a roof. They lay 5 eggs that are whitish-brown covered with brown speckles. These birds are classified as "threatened" in Canada, mostly due to the loss of their prairie breeding habitat. Luckily they are common here, and with any walk you will be presented with the sound of the male's descending song as he displays high up in the air.

Flooded plains

Today I woke up to a beautiful day (late of course, due to the electricity's habit of turning off and on). It wasn't until my crew was ready to go that we discovered the road we take to the pastures was completely washed out due to all the rain.

There were only two nests to check in the high community pastures, which are accessible by another road. As for myself, there were 6 nests to check in the closest pasture. Since the road was off limits, I decided to just walk there. Streams that are uncrossable by ATV can sometimes be crossed by foot, if you don't mind getting a little wet. In my case, I got a LOT wet.

The prairie is more flooded than I've ever seen it. The ephemeral wetlands that have sprung up are beautiful in their own way, though I'm glad none of the nests were drowned in them. The downside, however, is the army of mosquitoes that seem to have hatched overnight.

On my walk, I travelled through a section of the community pastures I've never been through before. It was clear the ground had once been plowed for some crop or other. It was a sad sight, as the entire area had been over-run with crested wheatgrass, which is invasive. The original prairie flora had not re-colonized the area, and it was a somber reminder that this monoculture is all that may remain of native prairies if invasives are allowed to over-run.

I was pleased to find that one of the Horned Lark nests now has three fuzzy nestlings in it. These chicks are probably 2-3 days old, since their eyes are already partly open and they are able to beg for food. The dark spots inside the mouth are characteristic of Horned Lark chicks. Though you can't tell, there are actually 3 chicks in this nest.

Once the chicks hatch, the parents will remove the eggshell fragments and deposit them far from the nest. The less evidence, the less chance a predator will find the nest. Occasionally I'll find these eggshell bits lying amongst the rocks and biocrust of the prairie. This one likely came from a sparrow nest.

The sky was absolutely beautiful today. The wispy clouds were making fantastic shapes, unmarred by buildings, jet trails, and other signs of human habitation. Saskatchewan is nicknamed the "Land of Living Skies," and the title is very fitting. In fact, Grasslands National Park was recently named one of the top Dark Sky Preserves in Canada, due to its magnificent night skies.

Tomorrow is supposed to rain again, so not much hope of getting out. Even if the weather stays nice, it'll take a couple of hot sunny days to dry up the streams enough for us to take the vehicles anywhere.

Rainy days

It has been a very wet couple of days out here in Grasslands, raining nonstop from Monday night through this afternoon. About 2 inches of rain fell, making the roads impassable and leaving the lowlands more flooded than I've ever seen them. This is the current view from right outside our house.




Friday night we meant to drive to Val Marie for wing night, but impending rain meant we only made it as far as Mankota. We had a pretty nice dinner at the restaurant/inn, and on the way home we spotted a swift fox. It was only the briefest glance, but the small size and black-tipped tail let us know it wasn't a red fox. Swift foxes were once completely eliminated from this area, but the park re-introduced them a few years back. This is the first one I've seen, and hopefully I'll get a better look later on.

Saturday a few of us took a trip to Moose Jaw for some groceries. Though Mankota and Val Marie both have stores, they are small and the selection is very limited (and expensive). Occasionally we take these trips into a larger town in order to stock up. Moose Jaw, at 2 1/2 hours away, is our closest center of "civilization." Normally we make it an all-day trip, but this time the rain made the trip a relatively brief one.

On the way to Moose Jaw, we were stopped by two ranchers moving their cattle. It's a pretty awesome sight, watching the cowboys rounding up their herd.




Monday morning my nest crew took advantage in the short lull between rainstorms, and checked some nests. We have now dragged 13 plots, which means we are halfway done with our first round. There are 26 plots in total, and last year we only had the time and people to complete two rounds. This year, though, we're already well on our way to completing three rounds. We have already found 32 nests (about 20 of which we are monitoring), which is FAR ahead of last year.

While out checking nests, I saw a female pronghorn with something moving at her side. Looking closer, I saw it was a coyote. The pronghorn was chasing the coyote away from her, wary of his presence. I then noticed a group of about six Marbled Godwits about 100 meters away, making quite a racket. They all took wing, and I looked up to see that a Ferruginous Hawk had spooked them. I was struck again by the wild beauty of this place as I found myself completely surrounded by all these amazing creatures, each going about their lives just as I was.

I'm hoping to get outside and work tomorrow, as Thursday is supposed to rain again. I know it's sentimental and not very scientific of me, but I always worry a bit about the nests when the weather is bad. Luckily it serves to remind me again how tough nature really is. Even if a nest fails, female songbirds will begin building a new nest just a couple days after. Life always finds a way, even out here on the unforgiving prairie.

...And here we go

I am very happy to report that nesting has really picked up in the last couple days. That seems to be how to goes. You find nothing... nothing... then suddenly they all start at once. We've now found a total of 16 nests. Most have been Horned Lark nests so far, so I've decided to put them back in my study. I monitored them last year, but we only found a total of 9 nests, so this year I decided to leave them out. Nine just isn't enough for good statistical analysis. But seeing as we're finding more this year (and we have the time to do it), I've decided to start monitoring them again.

Horned Larks typically lay 3 eggs (though we've found 4), light-colored with small brown speckles completely covering them. They like to nest in very open areas with sparse vegetation. Their nest is an open cup with no roof, typically placed next to a tuft of grass or cow patty. Though the nests are easy to see, they can sometimes be hard to find, as the female will often run along the ground for up to 10 meters or more before flushing. That means you're looking for the nest where the bird flushed, rather than where it actually is.

Today, while rope dragging in one of the Mankota community pastures, I was thrilled to have us find 2 McCown's Longspur nests! Last year we only found 5, two of which were outside my study sites. To find 2 of them in the same plot, on the same day, within about 100 meters of each other, is pretty exciting. McCown's Longspurs are classified as a "species at risk" under Canada's Species at Risk Act (SARA). They have seen a 98% population decrease since 1968, mostly due to the loss and degradation of their breeding habitat. They are endemic to North American prairies, so no prairies equals no McCown's. This goes for many other plant and animal species out here as well.

McCown's Longspurs typically lay 3-4 eggs. Their nests and eggs are almost identical to Chestnut-collared Longspurs, as are the females. The only way to tell the nests apart are by the slight difference in markings on the birds' tails. So if you never get a good look at the adult's tail when it's flushing, you can't identify the nest.

Longspur nests are my favorites. Like Horned Larks, they prefer nesting in open, sparse areas. Their nest is an open cup, again usually placed near a tuft of grass or rock. Unlike the larks, though, longspur eggs have less markings on them, some of which are distinct squiggly lines.

Yesterday I gave the nest crew the day off, and Amy and I decided to go adventuring a bit. We ended up taking a road I've never taken before, and found ourselves outside the park. We came to an almost badlands-type area, with strange mounds of barren dirt rising out of the ground.

On the way back, we got some great looks at a (possibly female) pronghorn antelope. Despite their name, they're actually related to goats, and are the fasted land mammal in North America. Apparently they used to be prey for the now-extinct North American cheetah. Pronghorns are absolutely beautiful animals, and it always makes my heart soar to watch them racing across the prairie.

We also found a new friend while crossing a stream... Western painted turtles are pretty common out here.

We're definitely ahead of schedule for finding nests and dragging plots compared to last year. I suppose having twice the number of people on the nest crew doesn't hurt :)

Early summer days

The last few days have been absolutely beautiful. Out in the sun it's been in the 70's, which I declare to be justified tank-top weather. We've gotten three plots dragged already, which is ahead of last year. Unfortunately, we haven't been finding much. Not beyond a couple of Horned Lark nests. They're very early nesters, and will often have eggs before other species have begun laying. Horned Larks like to build nests in very open, bare ground, often with only a tuft of grass (or less) for cover. When disturbed, they will sometimes run 10 meters or more along the ground before flushing, making their nests more difficult to find. They typically lay 3-4 (sometimes 5) eggs.





Someone asked me to explain rope dragging, so here goes. It is a method developed awhile back to help researchers find nests in a large area. It can only be done in open areas like prairies. The process involves dragging a 20-meter long rope (weighted down with rock-filled cans) back and forth across the ground. The sound of the cans, as well as the rope passing by overhead, scares a bird into flushing from its nest. The grass is thick enough that the rope passes through without harming the nest or eggs. It simply causes the bird to flush, allowing us to see where the general area of the nest is. Even so, most nests are ridiculously difficult to find. They have to be, in order to prevent them being found easily by predators, like this Richardson's ground squirrel.




The area around here has a rich history, from early First Nations people, to homesteaders struggling to scrape a living from the harsh prairie sod. Evidence of their passing can be seen from time to time.




Besides the decades- and sometimes centuries-old signs of human habitation, there are often bones left behind by animals (mainly cows and deer) that lived and died here. Sometimes these remains resemble a sort of graveyard, with the only signs of life being the teeth-marks left by coyotes.




Some of the flowers have also begun to bloom. The nice thing out here is that each flower blooms at a different time during the summer, meaning that each week there is a different brush of color against the brownish-green background.

The migrant sparrows at our feeder all seem to have left for the next stage of their long journey. The grackles and cowbirds have still been gorging, though. Likely they'll continue to be daily visitors for the remainder of the summer. Yesterday a Vesper Sparrow stopped by. They breed here in the prairies, and are one of my study species. Out here, they are distinguished from the other 7 or so sparrow species by the dark cheek with a lower white border.

I was also asked to define what a life bird (or lifer) is. It is a term used by birders to recognize a species they have never seen before. Typically the "rules" are that it has to be wild, alive, and unrestrained to be counted. Many birders keep life lists, to keep track of how many species they have seen. Many different types of lists can be kept, including North American, country, state/province, county, town, or even backyard lists. Year lists are common as well. Typically I only keep a life and North American list, though since coming to Canada I've also kept Manitoba and Saskatchewan lists. My life list currently stands at 441, while my Saskatchewan list is 108 (over 30 of which were lifers!).

Tomorrow my crew will go out and drag another plot. The nests we are hoping to find belong to these species: Baird's Sparrow, Savannah Sparrow, Vesper Sparrow, Chestnut-collared Longspur, McCown's Longspur, and Sprague's Pipit.