2007 Lifers, Ay? Bay...., and Clay Day

North American life birds are few and far between these days. So when a day comes that one makes its appearance in the bins, it is indeed a good day, one to celebrate. Today's lifer brings back memories of #369, two Bay-breasted Warblers in the Mark Twain National Forest last spring. And those Bays bring to mind a spring whose warbler numbers I may never see again. I hope I'm wrong about that.

But, today, the Bay has turned to Clay, as in Clay-colored Sparrow, and that is what I am celebrating. I know how this species can be confused with the Chipping Sparrow, but I have gone over my field notes, run through field guides, looked at internet photos, and called my bird savvy son. He says that they are seen in mixed flocks with Chipping Sparrows (as Sibley guide mentions), and that the field marks and observations that I describe are consistent with the species.

I met this bird as it flushed with a flock of Chippies. It fed alone on asphalt near a maintenance building at Fellows Lake, 25-30 feet from the small flock of Chipping Sparrows. It's head was rounder and larger than a Chipping Sparrow giving it an overall larger appearance. It had a very buffy supercilium, clean facial markings, clear white patches around its moustache, a buffy overall appearance, and an indistinct rump that contrasted with the highly visible gray rumps of the nearby Chippies. I can't remember a gray nape, but the clean, contrasting marks on the head were strikingly different from the more ratty appearing Chipping Sparrows. This caught my attention. The bird was feeding on the ground which could have partially hidden its nape.


At any rate, the Clay-colored Sparrow had entered my life list at number 370.

So, hip, hip, hooray for bays, and clays, and days like these!

Red-tailed Hawk poses for me at Fellows Lake

Ozark Riverwalk Trail Dedication

"With hard work and committment, dreams CAN come true", said Neal Grubaugh, former mayor and visionary for the town of Ozark, Missouri, at the official opening of the Finley River Trail on Saturday, September 22. Mr. Grubaugh, a highly respected gentleman and long time public servant of Ozark, spoke softly of the dream that began 24 years ago when he led this rural Ozarks town into an uncertain future. The jewel of the town, then as now, is the clear, swift running Finley River, a tribituary of the James River which flows into what remains of the legendary White River, now dammed by the Corps of Engineer to provide hydroelectric power and recreation to a fast paced, consumption-driven society.

At the center of Ozark, the course of the Finley River has remained largely unchanged since the turn of the 20th century. Its waters have endured the seasonal algal bloom, a sure sign that pollution has taken its toll as the small town has evolved into a city. Erosion, caused by gravel dredging and the clearing of riparian zones, has also significantly damaged a portion of its stream bank, but it is still free running, with only a slight slow down for a mill pond at the site of the historic Ozark Mill. It's this site that captures a bit of the essence of what the city of Ozark once was.

On Saturday, however, a group of 57 civic-minded and conservation-oriented Ozarkians gathered to begin the restoration of this aquatic treasure. These people, ranging in age from Ozark elementary students to senior citizens, worked together to beautify and showcase the Finley River as the center of this lively community. They celebrated the completion of phase one of a nine phase project designed to focus on the river and to imprint it indelibly on the hearts of all its residents, both old and new.

In a leisurely conversation under the shade of a stately cypress tree near the trail head, I commented to a fellow volunteer that this riverwalk trail will eventually connect to all the tributaries of the Finley River, providing many linear parks and wildlife corridors within the region. Furthermore, this trail will hopefully merge, near the new Ozark Recreational Center, with the old Chadwick rail line, which will carry it out of the Finley River watershed, into the James River watershed, where it will join the extensive Ozark Greenways system in and around Springfield.

I took a lead from Mr. Grubaugh and dreamed of the day when the waters of the Finley River are treasured and again run crystal clear, when its banks are held firmly in place by native forests, and its people join hands on this extended riverwalk park project to connect it and our community, in ecologically sound ways, to surrounding communities.

Thanks, Mr. Grubaugh, for the strength of your vision and the power of your dreams. May they become even stronger in the hearts of all who share this vision and dream of conservation for our beautiful city.

A Letter to the Editor: Missouri Conservationist

To both of my readers,

I officially edited and sent a Letter to the Editor of the Missouri Conservationist magazine regarding their article on utility birds. I post it here, as I'm not very confident that a letter critical of the MDC will ever reach the pages of the Conservationist.

"Dear Editor,

I just finished reading the article entitled "Utility Birds" in the September issue of the Missouri Conservationist, and I would like to express my concerns. In the article, MDC's Jim Low encourages hunters to "tune up for the fall hunting season" by shooting Wilson's Snipe, American Woodcock, Sora, and Virginia Rails.

Although the term "utility birds" used to describe these unique species clearly devalues them, it does not concern me nearly as much as the fact that the two rail species occupy the same habitat as an endangered species that can be mistaken by hunters for a legal target. As a birder, I know that size itself can be deceiving as a tool for identification. With this in mind, it is possible that a King Rail might easily be mistaken for a Virginia Rail, as both have similar field marks.

Low's article even warns that King Rails are present in rail habitat during the hunting season. In light of this disclosure, failure to offer Missouri Conservationist readers and hunters keys to differentiating the two species seems irresponsible. We Missouri citizens rely on the MDC to take seriously its mission to educate the public and, more importantly, to responsibly manage and sustain our precious wildlife resources.

I know firsthand that mistaken targets account for a certain percentage of hunter kills. During opening weekend of dove season this year on the Aldrich arm of Stockton Reservoir, I watched as an MDC agent picked up a dying Killdeer that had been shot by a dove hunter. Hunters do make mistakes, and we know all too well the stories surrounding past mistakes leading to the death of Whooping Cranes and other endangered species by hunters. How many King Rails can we sacrifice and still justify this "utility bird" hunting season?

Let's all show a bit more respect for these incredible bird species and their close, endangered relatives. And, if hunters need to "tune up for the fall hunting season", I suggest they sharpen their skills on clay pigeons and leave our native "utility birds" alone.

Respectfully,

Greg Swick
Christian County
Missouri

Busiek Racers

This morning 17 GOAS birders and guests "raced" down to Busiek State Forest, a Missouri Department of Conservation Public Use Area 15 miles south of Springfield, Missouri. We were eager to greet fall migrants, and the cool, crisp morning held promise. The weather was ideal for humans, as we were met by many in the parking lot of the conservation area, including a group of cross-country "racers" getting in an early weekend practice.

The weather apparently proved to be less than ideal for birds as our fall migrant expectations exceeded our observations. However, it was great to be out in the field again with a great group of people. We successfully kicked off the fall field trip season, and it should be a season full of terrific sightings. On this morning, however, the birds took a second seat.

Where birds were concerned White eyed Vireos ruled the day at Busiek as we heard and saw over 20. but the true highlight for me was not avian, but reptilian. As others' eyes were on the sunlit edge of the forest, scanning for Nashville and Palm Warblers, my sights turned to a gray streak in the grasses. There I spotted this beautiful Blue Racer.

Many times in the past I've tried unsuccessfully to catch these speedsters, but today was the day that Nature sent me favorable conditions. The snake's metabolism had been slowed considerably by unseasonable overnight lows. I slowed its progress with my foot, and gently lifted it out of the grasses. Lisa, a warbler expert, quickly quipped, "Look, it's just like a Nashville." And indeed it was, its body transitioning from gray to blue-green to bright green to yellow. Its moist skin glistened in the morning sun.

Showing no signs of aggression, the cold blooded creature clung to the fingers of my hand, content to stay and to gather some of my inner warmth. For a moment I wanted to take it to my classroom to educate young people of the beauty and grace of this misunderstood reptile, but Sue reminded me of my conservation ethic, that of "enjoy, then release". So, I released this "racer" back to its grassy domain, where rather than speed away, it paused in the morning sun, long enough to let me capture its memory. I post it here, and give thanks for another day when Nature revealed her incredible beauty up close and personal.

Bittern Sweet Birding

I gaze at the glistening water through the dense, brilliant green of the rushes and sedges. This is a familiar place that reaches back to my childhood. I recollect a vast string of memories not unlike the constant V's of ducks and geese that once winged high overheard. It was then that I silently sat at the bottom of a duck blind peering from beneath old and young men, firearms, and vegetation. But today, I stroll with tripod, scope, and binoculars on a similar quest to draw birds in or to sneak close enough to shoot them...... this time with a camera.

The water depth was perfect, and a dozen or so Great Egrets appeared on the horizon as I climbed the levee to the impoundments. I was surprised to see decoys and hunters concealed in the weeds, awaiting early teal that were restlessly darting through danger from one section of the bottoms to another. Since it's designated status as McPherson Wetlands came into being, I frequent this large "Basin" in the middle of the Kansas wheat country. But this time was different. There was change evident in the cool northerly breeze and the activity level of the waders. Great egrets were in great abundance, their shimmering white contrasting with the dark plumage of the White faced Ibises, also in abundance.

Immature Black-crowned Night Herons occasionally lifted their heads above the vegetation, and I was delighted to see a mature one 100 yards away in the clear.

As the sun's rays shifted toward perpendicular, its golden hues brought the landscape to life. It was then that another golden hue appeared in the reeds. At first there was only one golden bird, but I scanned the area more closely. Then, they appeared! American Bitterns, lined up and randomly spaced along a 1/2 mile stretch of the slough. They glowed in the waning sunlight. I stopped counting at 15, and set up the scope to see if I could capture the image. See if you can count the four bitterns in this photograph! If you see more, please let me know! Up to this point, I had seen 2 or 3 American Bitterns in my life. I quickly surpassed that number tenfold! What a sight!

Gunshots broke the hypnotic spell and my eyes turned upward as hundreds of startled egrets, night-herons, bitterns, teal, and mallards rose into the orange and purple twilight skies. The flocks twisted and turned above the waters, seeking solace in the marsh once again. Three Northern Harriers scanned the flocks for easy prey.

Soon, the sun fell beneath the horizon, and the guns silenced. I started my slow meander back to the car as four Sora flushed from the side of the levee. One hundred or so White-faced Ibises sailed overhead. Around seventy five Blue-wings confidently tipped their wings and fell into the wetlands, safe for the coming dark hours. The symphony of rails, frogs, and insects filled the air, and night fell again upon these wetlands. I smiled and remembered the joy of this evening, its movement, light, color, smells, and sounds. I awed at this extraordinary ecosystem, which, through the years, has firmly implanted in my heart.

The Basin, aka McPherson Wetlands

When I was a child, this place was magical. In fact, I trace my passion for the outdoors and specifically my love for waterfowl to the “Basin”, now known as McPherson Wetlands, a fairly recent land acquisition made possible by Ducks Unlimited and the Kansas Department of Wildlife and Parks. It was here that my dad and I spent many hours before dawn setting up decoys and clearing out and camouflaging our blind with frost bitten brown sunflower plants, only weeks after their splash of brilliant yellow painted the Kansas landscape.
McPherson Wetlands is truly a well kept secret, existing in the shadow of Cheyenne Bottoms and Quivira National Wildlife Refuge, where nearly extirpated flocks of Whooping Cranes and tens of thousands of flocks of various waterfowl wing their way through the plains of Kansas during their semi-annual sojourns.
But for me this “basin”, as locals still call it, was far greater than the legendary duck hunters’ paradises just an hour to the west. It was in this “basin” that I found my first salamander, a treasure even greater than the bag full of lifeless ducks that Dad coveted with their gorgeous iridescence and contrasting Earth tones decorating each feather. Yes, this salamander was extraordinary. Photograph © Larry L. Miller
I found the yellow spotted and striped, black and rubbery, 8 inch long creature at the bottom of a pit style duck blind located at the still-existing McPherson College Pond, bordering what is now the “Wetlands”.
It was a bright summer day when my friend and I rode our bicycles four miles out of town in search of a new fishing hole. It was on this journey that I discovered the marvelous amphibian,

an animal that, up to then, I had only seen in books . We placed him in a rusty tin can and raced for home, as I couldn’t wait to tell my big brother what I’d found. The Barred Tiger Salamander made a great pet for me. It gobbled up earthworms, crickets and grasshoppers in my tank for the rest of the summer. I amused friends and relatives, and I began to develop quite a reputation as a wildlife collector.
As always, around Labor Day weekend, the north winds brought cooler temperatures, large flocks of doves, and seemingly endless strings of migratory waterfowl against clear, blue Kansas skies. It was then that I developed a lifelong conservation ethic. With great anticipation, we were on our way to the “basin” to scout out the ducks for the coming season. As we were leaving, I asked Dad if we could stop by College Pond, and on that day I returned the salamander to its original home, where I believe it must live to this very day.

Conservation Euphemisms: "Utility Birds" in Missouri

I just finished reading the article entitled "Utility Birds" in the September issue of the Missouri Conservationist, and I would like to express concern over Missouri bird hunting seasons. In the aforementioned article, Jim Low of the Missouri Department of Conservation encourages hunters to get out there and "tune up for the fall hunting season" by killing Wilson's Snipe, American Woodcock, Sora, and Virginia Rails.

Although the term "utility birds" used to describe these unique species concerns me, it does not concern me nearly as much as the fact that these species occupy the same habitat as threatened and endangered species that can easily be mistaken by hunters for legal targets. To an average hunter, a snipe might look like any other shorebird, including many protected species.

The same scenario holds true for rails. The article even warns that King Rails are present in Virginia Rail habitat. In light of this disclosure, failure to offer Missouri Conservationist readers/hunters the keys to differentiating between the species is simply irresponsible. The Missouri Department of Conservation must pay closer attention to its vital mission to educate the public and, more importantly, to responsibly manage and sustain our precious wildlife resources.

I know firsthand that mistaken targets account for a certain percentage of hunter kills. During opening weekend of dove season this year on the Aldrich arm of Stockton Reservoir, I watched as an MDC agent picked up a dying Killdeer that had been shot by a dove hunter. We all know that hunters do make mistakes, and we know all too well the stories surrounding past hunting mistakes leading to the death of Whooping Cranes and other endangered species. How many King Rails can we sacrifice and still justify this "utility bird" hunting season?

If hunters need to "tune up for the fall hunting season", I suggest they sharpen their skills on clay pigeons and leave our uncommon, easily misidentified native species alone.

photo credit to Keith Button