I stopped by the lake on my bike ride home from work and found it teaming with ducks as it has been most evenings this winter. A handfull of Ruddy Ducks, a couple Pied Billed Grebes, coots, and larger numbers of Northern Shovelers and American Widgeon, the widgeons numbering over a hundred. As I watched I heard the call of a female Wood Duck, which has been seen sporadically since early winter. Even with her distinct "comet-
like" white eye markings she was still hard to find among the other groups of swimmers on the lake.
Two Egrets were on the opposite shore, one distinctly shorter than the other. I focused the bins on the smaller more delicate bird, knowing it's counterpart was the Great Egret. The narrow black bill, and yellow feet dragging behind as it took flight. The Snowy Egret is a rarer visitor to our lakes and I rushed home for scope and camera to get some pics.
The photograph would have been beautiful, the breeding plumes just out far enough for a perfect shot...if the autofocus would only cooperate. The bird flew and I did a hasty wipe of the scope lens, which did have some dust. I turned to see a raptor over the lake. Its identity didn't reveal itself immediately since it seemed to be in relative slow flight, almost stalled. Another bird caught my naked eye, twenty five feet above the raptors head, fluttering it's wings rapidly in suspended motion. I couldn't see color but its behavior indicated Vermillion Flycatcher or Say's Phoebe.
The raptor turned its body upward, and pumped its wings, projecting himself in practically vertical flight, appearing as if he was "swimming," upstream. The talons clutched the bird in a confident manner, as if he was catching a ball. Despite appearances to a gentle "catch," my heart sank, for I knew this was a bird I had appreciated many times at the lake, regardless of which flycatcher species it turned out to be. I raised my bins and watched, the thick dark mustachial stripe helping to create the helmeted appearance of this species. My emotions were so mixed. I was awed at seeing such a powerful falcon, touted as such a destroyer when hunting it's prey, use such a gentle approach in this circumstance, swimming upward rather than plummeting in a jet-like downward spiral.
I was also heartbroken for the victim. As I walked slowly back toward home I heard the mournful whisled call of the only Say's Phoebe in the area, technically confirming that the victim was probably the Vermillion Flycatcher. They had just started their spring displays the week before, in which they flutter upward while producing a call like the strumming of a pick against metal guitar strings. It is an extremely vulnerable position for these beautiful birds while attracting their mates. The next day (today) I visited again, and as I walked by the pool I heard the single-noted call of another Vermillion Flycatcher, looking like an overly ripe cherry hidden deep within the protective branches of a small dense mesquite. I sent a thoughtful peace offering to his friend on his future journeys.
Thank you for appreciating our unique and wonderful neighborhood wildlife.
Two Egrets were on the opposite shore, one distinctly shorter than the other. I focused the bins on the smaller more delicate bird, knowing it's counterpart was the Great Egret. The narrow black bill, and yellow feet dragging behind as it took flight. The Snowy Egret is a rarer visitor to our lakes and I rushed home for scope and camera to get some pics.
The photograph would have been beautiful, the breeding plumes just out far enough for a perfect shot...if the autofocus would only cooperate. The bird flew and I did a hasty wipe of the scope lens, which did have some dust. I turned to see a raptor over the lake. Its identity didn't reveal itself immediately since it seemed to be in relative slow flight, almost stalled. Another bird caught my naked eye, twenty five feet above the raptors head, fluttering it's wings rapidly in suspended motion. I couldn't see color but its behavior indicated Vermillion Flycatcher or Say's Phoebe.
The raptor turned its body upward, and pumped its wings, projecting himself in practically vertical flight, appearing as if he was "swimming," upstream. The talons clutched the bird in a confident manner, as if he was catching a ball. Despite appearances to a gentle "catch," my heart sank, for I knew this was a bird I had appreciated many times at the lake, regardless of which flycatcher species it turned out to be. I raised my bins and watched, the thick dark mustachial stripe helping to create the helmeted appearance of this species. My emotions were so mixed. I was awed at seeing such a powerful falcon, touted as such a destroyer when hunting it's prey, use such a gentle approach in this circumstance, swimming upward rather than plummeting in a jet-like downward spiral.
I was also heartbroken for the victim. As I walked slowly back toward home I heard the mournful whisled call of the only Say's Phoebe in the area, technically confirming that the victim was probably the Vermillion Flycatcher. They had just started their spring displays the week before, in which they flutter upward while producing a call like the strumming of a pick against metal guitar strings. It is an extremely vulnerable position for these beautiful birds while attracting their mates. The next day (today) I visited again, and as I walked by the pool I heard the single-noted call of another Vermillion Flycatcher, looking like an overly ripe cherry hidden deep within the protective branches of a small dense mesquite. I sent a thoughtful peace offering to his friend on his future journeys.
Thank you for appreciating our unique and wonderful neighborhood wildlife.
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