First week

Well, I've made it through my first week at the Albany Pine Bush!

Unfortunately it rained during almost our entire period of training. And since this is a field job, it meant a lot of time spent slogging through areas that looked like this:

But it's all good fun. So far, I think this is a really neat place. It's completely different from anything I've done before. I've always worked in places that were very remote, like on an island in Maine or in the middle of a Saskatchewan prairie. The Pine Bush, however, is an example of an urban ecosystem. Not originally, of course, but now the remainder of it is fragmented and interspersed with both housing and commercial developments. In other words, houses, businesses, and sometimes even malls can be seen from many of my study sites. It's unusual for me, but good, too. Not all habitats can be preserved in far-off places. Sometimes the most important are the ones right in people's backyards.

Most of the work I'll be doing this summer involves surveying for butterflies. Namely, the Karner blue butterfly, which is federally endangered, and the frosted elphin butterfly, which is threatened in New York State. The Karner blue, in particular, depends on lupine plants.

The Karners don't actually feed on these plants, but lay their eggs on them. No lupines = no Karners. Luckily, lupines are really beautiful, and I think most people wouldn't mind having them around.

The lupines have particular habitat requirements, needing sandy soil in which to grow. The Pine Bush is the perfect place, because it's made entirely from sand dunes! I just love these flowers. Occasionally, I'll come across a white one as well.

The Pine Bush is home to many threatened or rare species, which is what makes it so special and so important. This plant, called a birdfoot violet (for the shape of its leaves) is found nowhere else in New York State.


There are some really neat critters here, too. Yesterday, on my first day out by myself, I found this awesome little guy:


It's an eastern hognose snake, which is threatened in New York State. I've actually only seen its cousin, the western hognose, so I was really excited to find it. They're probably my favorite snakes. When they get scared, they puff up and hiss, which is what this one did when I picked it up. They've also been known to roll right onto their backs and play dead.

And that wasn't my only cool find of the day:

I stumbled right on a Song Sparrow nest! A couple years ago, I never would have found this nest. But my graduate work on prairie songbirds in Saskatchewan was entirely based on my ability to find nests on the ground. A lot of that ability comes from recognizing when a bird is flushing from a nest by observing its behavior. When I was walking along yesterday and saw a Song Sparrow fly very suddenly from close by on the ground, I knew there had to be a nest, and within a few seconds I found it!

What I found especially interesting is that these eggs look exactly like the eggs of both Savannah and Baird's sparrows, which I studied out west. I'm willing to bet these species are all closely related (clay-colored and Brewer's sparrows eggs, for example, are a solid robins-egg blue).

I might be doing some nest-searching for prairie warbler nests later in the summer. That will also be a bit different for me, because prairie warblers nest in shrubs that are off the ground, instead of right ON the ground.

Springtime in NY

Welcome back!

As I proved last summer, I'm not great at keeping up with these things. But I thought I'd try again this summer, as I'll be in a whole new place and doing some entirely new things. In a week and a half, I'll be heading to the Albany Pine Bush Preserve in NY's state capital to do some work with Karner blue butterflies and prairie warblers, to name just a couple.

But before I get to that, I thought I'd share some of the beauty of springtime in my hometown of Greece, NY.

Despite the rainy conditions we've been having over the last week, the warblers seem to have arrived in full force. Without even having to leave my yard, I've seen yellow, yellow-rumped, blackburnian, black-throated blue, black-throated green, mourning, and northern parula.

On the non-warbler sides of things, I've been having the usual chickadees, robins, cardinals, and grackles, as well as white-throated sparrows, hermit thrushes, and at least one VERY persistent eastern phoebe.

I even had a few Canada geese visit my yard yesterday.

And one VERY cute baby bunny, which I suspect is living under our wood pile.

Unfortunately, with all these birds coming through, some tragedies are bound to happen. The back of my house has many large windows, which have been the demise of more than one bird through the years. Luckily, most of them do live to fly away. But last week, a very loud BANG led me to find this poor guy:

A beautiful juvenile Cooper's hawk. He died quickly, but it still saddens me to see such a wonderful bird, and such a young one, meet its end.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to sharing my experiences this summer in a whole new place. All the field sites I've worked at in the past have been extremely remote. As the Albany Pine Bush is right on the outskirts of a major city, it will definitely be a change for me, but a good one I hope.

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.