Saturday, November 3, 2012

Florida dry prairie and the Lost Bird Project

Yesterday for work I took a trip to Kissimmee Prairie Preserve State Park (KPPSP), located in Okeechobee, Florida. This park is home to one of the last populations of Florida Grasshopper Sparrow, so it's a place I am hoping to become very familiar with.

There are several rather common bird species down here in peninsular Florida that I haven't seen yet, but will be able to with relative ease. Just on the drive to KPPSP I managed to get my lifer Mottled Duck and Crested Caracara. I've been wanting to see a Caracara for years. They're related to falcons, and seem to have a fierce and prideful demeanor. I actually saw about 7-8 that day, including two that were mating.


The office building had a lot of foot traffic from animals that would normally be hunted elsewhere, but here are protected, like these Wild Turkeys and white-tailed deer.



The dry prairie down here is quite a bit different than the northern mixed-grass prairie I became accustomed to in Saskatchewan. At first glance they seem similar, in that they were both large, tree-less expanses filled with low-growing forbs (herbaceous flowering plants) and grasses. However, the plant composition is very different down here. In fact, one of the predominant plant species is saw palmetto, a tropical-looking plant that can grow to six feet if it isn't burned regularly. It lived up to its name, as the sharp "teeth" can leave you with some nasty cuts if you're not wearing thick pants while walking through it.


Coming from New York, I'm used to bird numbers dropping off drastically during the winter months. However, Florida is the kind of place that birds escape to, not from, and even during this time of year, the prairie is enjoyed by a multitude of bird species, including these White Ibises. The white ones are adults, while the brown ones are juveniles.



Humans aren't the only ones that use the roads out here, and a close look can reveal some pretty interesting critters, including this ribbon snake:


And this velvet ant:


Velvet ants, or "cow killers," are actually wasps. They pack a painful sting, and shouldn't be handled if you come across one. Their bright colors mean "stay away, I'm dangerous."

Unfortunately, not all animals make it across the roads safely. Roadkill is a very common occurence on most roads, especially highways. When cars are moving so fast, especially at night, it can sadly be very difficult to avoid hitting an animal crossing the road. However, roadkill on park roads is very avoidable and should be taken more seriously. Besides human recreation, state and national parks are predominantly in place to protect an array of species or ecosystems. When animals are killed in parks simply due to human negligence, it is simply a sad waste, and every step should be made to keep it from happening. So next time you're driving through a park, please slow down. Nature isn't meant to be enjoyed from a speeding vehicle, and you'll help prevent animals like this black racer from becoming a casualty of human impatience. I would much rather have seen this racer alive than dead.



Luckily, I did get the chance to view some alligators up close and personal. I saw at least five of them, and they're definitely not an animal you want to accidentally stumble upon. I have a very healthy respect for these ancient reptiles.



This may be my own human feelings and assumptions coming into play, but I swear, looking into this one gator's eye, I felt... diminished. Humbled. I could almost feel a primeval intelligence in this animal. This was an animal that is at the top of its food chain. It saw me, and was unafraid. Unequivicably uninterested and uncaring. It was quite an experience.



I had one other very humbling experience yesterday, and I'd really like to share it with you. You may or may not have heard of the five "famous" extinct birds: the Passenger Pigeon, Great Auk, Carolina Parakeet, Heath Hen, and Labrador Duck. All of them disappeared in North America in the last couple centuries. These birds are forever branded in the minds and hearts of ornithologists today, as each went extinct due to man, some in more direct ways than others. Whether they were over-hunted, their habitats cut down, or their food sources removed, they each fought - and failed - to survive. The Passenger Pigeon, in particular, was so numerous that the mere idea of extiction was at one time inconceivable.

The Lost Bird Project (http://www.lostbirdproject.org) was created to remember these five species. A large bronze statue was built for each of them, and the artist traveled to locations around the country in order to find a place that best represented each bird. A documentary of this journey was made, and very unfortunately for me, the premiere (with the artist and all five sculptures present) was screened at the George Eastman House back in my very own hometown (Rochester, NY) this past July. Had I known about it, I would've been the first in line for this astounding event.

Here is the scuplture of the Carolina Parakeet. The only parrot endemic to North America, its last captive individual died in 1918 at the Cincinnati Zoo. However, new evidence has been brought to light that places its final demise in the wild in the 1930's.


It was then that the very last (to our knowledge) nests of the Carolina Parakeet were found, right in Kissimmee Prairie Preserve State Park. The eggs were taken by a collector, and the parakeet's very last hope was lost. The statue faces the slough (a swampy area with trees) where the nests were located, and the fate of the species was sealed.


The artist's hope in creating these statues was so that people would remember. Ornithologists may know about these birds, but very few people outside of that community do. In his words, "these birds are not commonly known, and they ought to be, because forgetting is another kind of extinction." If we can't learn from our past, if we can't remember these lessons, then the same thing will happen again and again. In fact, more North American birds have disappeared much more recently. Some, even within our own lifetimes. And they've disappeared so silently, because barely anyone even knew about it, and fewer cared. So if you remember those five birds, please also remember these: Bachman's Warbler. Ivory-billed Woodpecker. Eskimo Curlew. Dusky Seaside Sparrow. And possibly within the next decade: Florida Grasshopper Sparrow.

Take a bird as common as the robin. How would you feel if your children, your grandchildren grew up having never even heard of it? Having never seen it searching for worms in their backyards after a rain? We take these species, every species, for granted. Take even the woods or fields in our backyards for granted. Definitely take animals and habitats in far-off lands that we'll never see for granted. Please, don't take our earth for granted. And please don't forget to remember what we've already lost, or else there is no hope for what still remains.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

First trip to the Hammock

On Friday I took my first trip to Highlands Hammock State Park, which is only about a 15-20 minute drive away. It's located just southwest of Sebring, and is apparently one of Florida's oldest parks. It was my first time visiting a hammock ecosystem, and although I'm having a difficult time getting an exact description of what defines a hammock, it has to do with the geology and plant community of the area. They seem to be very tropical-looking (at least to my eyes), and very swampy.

Although the park had several trails to choose from, all of which traversed a slightly different type of habitat, I made a rookie mistake and wasn't able to explore many of them. As an upstate New Yorker, the last thing I thought of to bring on a hike in mid-October was bug spray. But I should have realized that mid-October in Florida, on an 85-degree day, was a completely different situation. The moment I stepped out of my car, I was completely bombarded by very hungry mosquitoes. I couldn't believe what an idiot mistake I'd made! I almost gave up right then, and got back in the car to drive the main loop instead of walking the trails on foot.

Within a couple minutes, however, I came upon two older birders, poised in the classic "I've got something" stance. I couldn't pass up the opportunity. The fantastic thing about birders, is that they are, almost without exception, very nice and welcoming people. It's the one thing that makes me able to go up to any stranger and, as long as they're holding binoculars, ask them what they're doing. So I stopped, got out of my car, and asked the couple what they were seeing. I spent about ten minutes birding that one spot with them, as there seemed to be a concentration of birds hanging around. That's the thing with birding. One patch of woods will be teeming with birdlife, while another is completely dead. Especially during fall migration, when birds tend to be more gregarious and group up, even forming mixed flocks with other species.

This time of year down here, some of the birds are still singing. I'm not used to that, as the birds fall silent much sooner up north, where breeding seasons are much shorter and winters are much harsher. Unfortunately, I'm a little out of practice with birding-by-ear, and am not used to the cocktail of species moving through the woods down here. It makes for very frustrating birding, as I know I'm not "catching" half the species that are actually present, because I just don't know what it is I'm hearing. If I don't get a good look at it, it's hopeless. And fall birds are tough to identify even by sight, as many of them are in confusing fall plumage that makes many species look alike. It's something I would really like to work on and improve at.

Anyway, with the help of the very nice couple, I managed to spot my very first yellow-throated warbler (not to be confused with the common yellowthroat... which is also a warbler). They're quite common down here, and hang around all-year round. It was still exciting for me, though.

Once I got into the birding groove, I was able to better ignore the myriad of buzzing insects and brave one of the trails. The one I chose was definitely worth it, as it took me out onto a wooden catwalk that traversed a cypress swamp, a habitat I'd never seen before.


It was beautiful, and haunting, and filled with birdsong. I loved every minute of it. Despite my difficulties, I was able to identify a handful of birds, including this black and white warbler.


They cling to the trunks and branches of trees, much like nuthatches, gleaning insects from the bark as they move up and down. The trees themselves, bald cypresses, were quite a sight. They are deciduous conifers, meaning that, unlike pine trees, they typically lose their needles during the winter. Their trunks near the base are surrounded by "knees," which help keep them anchored in the saturated soils they grow on.


I even found this one growing right onto the planks of the boardwalk!



The highlight of my walk was watching a red-shouldered hawk fly into the trees right ahead of me. It must have caught something, as I could see it using its razor-sharp beak to tear into something it was holding.


It must be used to the passage of people, as it allowed me to walk right under and past its tree without flying off. It also didn't seem to faze the small group of immature white ibises, some of which were perched in branches only meters below it, and others of which were nonchalantly feeding in the swampy waters below it.


As I passed through the swamp and emerged onto the trail at the other end, I felt like I was passing through a jungle. Which maybe I was, in some sense. The air was hot and humid, the air felt and tasted different. Every step I took sent tiny lizards skittering into the bushes. I felt that, at any moment, I could encounter some primeval monster of the swamp. I loved it. I think I'm really going to enjoy living and working down here. And as I was leaving the trail, I was lucky enough to get some great looks at a pileated woodpecker. Certainly a beauty of the swamp, if I ever did see one.



Welcome to central Florida

It has been a long time since I've written in this blog. Too long. But since my recent permanent move to Avon Park, Florida, I thought this would be the best way of keeping my friends and family up to date with my daily adventures. For anyone who doesn't know, I recently was hired as a research assistant at Archbold Biological Station, a non-for-profit research station dedicated to the biological exploration and conservation of Florida's endangered wildlife and habitats. I will be working primarily with the red-cockaded woodpecker (Picoides borealis), an endangered species that is found only in mature pine forests of the southeastern U.S., and also with the Florida grasshopper sparrow (Ammodramus savannarum floridanus), a critically endangered subspecies endemic to central Florida and currently numbering only in the hundreds.

I moved down here just over a week ago, and tomorrow is my first official day of work. My hope is that by reading my upcoming posts, you will not only become familiar with the type of work I'll be doing, but realize just what kind of challenges accompany the research and conservation of a declining species. More importantly, I hope to convince you (if you're not already) of the reasons why it's so important to save these little birds, and how much emptier our world would be without them.


http://www.archbold-station.org/