Crossing Lines

and taking time to notice, enjoy, and learn from the intersection of paths.


There are times when I get so busy in what I am doing, so ready, at times, to be doing something else somewhere else that I stray from the important task of living in the present. Paying mind to where I am now, and less about where I am going.


These past 8 months or so have been difficult at times; for a variety of reasons, none of which are unique to my life.


So once in awhile the Great Organism, call it what you will...no need to scream it, yanks you back from the there and elsewhere to the here and now.


The following is a brief account of one such happening, as a more elaborated account has been asked by a staff member of a publication of such things to be illustrated:


Migration is a wonderful effort by fellow beings to move from the cooling temperatures of where they have been toward warming temperatures of a different latitude. Birds, along with marine mammels, butterflies, and others make such journeys.


Our species used to.


Nevertheless I have been checking vegetated areas around San Clemente Island this late summer and early fall for migrating avifauna that I have not been made as familiar with; those that travel only the Pacific Flyway twice a year.


I have been enjoying what are generally fairly common migrants in this area. Actually, I've enjoyed common migrants in any of the areas I have lived. Nevertheless, living along the Pacific Flyway as an "aware" -ologist has been made quite enjoyable due to sheer novalty of the West Coast Passage seekers.


"Lemon Tank." This is a location on the island that was built to serve as a freshwater catchment system for the island, many years ago. For whatever engineering reasons, it never worked as it was supposed to; that is, supplying the Homo sapien sapien population here with usable and perhaps drinkable fresh water. Fresh water is actually barged in to the island, by the way. So this contruction of a water tank was a "lemon", never worked correctly. "Lemon Tank."


It is also the only year-round body of standing water on the island; granted the water is at varying levels during that year. Anyhow, as such, it is quite the attractant to migrating aves at times.


On the afternoon of Sunday the 14th of September, post-work, myself and three co-workers went to Lemon Tank to check out the silt, water, willows, concrete, rock, twisted metal, for any interesting migrants that might have stopped by.


I was still hoping to see MacGillivray's Warbler (Oporornis tolmiei); a familiar songbird of the Mountain West and Pacific Coast, making it to southernmost areas during migration on its way to other Americas.


I was on one side of Lemon Tank that held some willow trees (Salix spp.). It was in these willows that a pair of MacG Warblers were seen the previous trip out here.


During my traipse through the tallish forbs I could see out of the corner of my subconscience a co-worker running toward the direction of the two others on the opposite side of the tank. I felt for my radio in my pocket. Checked the other one. Checked my jacket. I wasn't wearing a jacket. Nor my radio.


It was an at once sinking and exciting feeling seeing my counterpart running on the opposite side from where I was. I knew that something "good" was spotted, but I also new I was a long ways away from them. Now Lemon Tank isn't that large a place. But I was on a precarious ledge and I was certain I couldn't walk on water, not yet.


So I clumsily and muddily(is that even a word) sauntered off that ledge as quickly as I could; though I am not sure one ever "saunters" quickly.


A few agonizingly slow minutes later, seed-covered, and realizing these were not running boots and wondering if they made running boots I heard these words over my labored breath:

Old. World. Species.


I wont bore with the details of the four of us methodically working together to properly document the bird we were seeing. It did happen with organization, and collaboration in spite of our giddy and nervous knowing that this was huge in a few circles of the science, both citizen and greater ornithological, world.


The following is a grainy picture, one of our first(several better ones followed in the days to come) taken from a very timely pocketed point-and-shoot camera through a scope at who we were observing:










by Jason Fidorra
Bluethroat (Luscinia svecica) , first fall/winter female


AND first documented record of this species in the lower 48.
Ever.
As illustrated above, this member of the thrush family breeds on the tundra of the high arctic in Alaska but mostly in Siberia.
It winters in Asia and North Africa.
It should be noted that "Lemon Tank" has also played host to a Stonechat (Saxicola torquata) and Red-throated Pipits (Anthus cervinus).
When I left the island, "Lemon Tank" held 3 Red-throated Pipits. I was lucky to be afforded, as I had been with the Bluethroat, long views with very few people around. Each instance, we left the bird. Meaning, the bird didn't flush and fly away never to be seen again. Each instance we left the bird foraging and otherwise performing normal behavior. From all appearances, not stressed nor bothered otherwise by our observances.
"'LEMON Tank'", hm?
Interesting what we label as lemons, or broken down, or not working correctly. Birds that travel thousands of miles, some over open ocean, and some of them thousands of miles off-course would not characterize it as so. Perhaps we should take a second look at some "LT's" in our life. Perhaps I should. Perhaps I have.
Remember that somewhat common, certainly expectant migrant songbird I alluded to earlier? Yeah, MacGillivray's Warbler? We'll I finally saw a pair. I saw them on THE day I learned the Bluethroat had not been spotted again.
That is 6 days after that historic Sunday when we first observed our Siberian visitor. I have to be honest, I got just as much enjoyment out of seeing those two warblers as I did being a part of the first group to have ever seen a Bluethroat in the lower 48. Heck, the first group south of that little range map I provided above.
Our little group of 4 people. So, I guess I was actually the Fourth individual to see it. Call me #4.
On second thought, don't call me anything. Perhaps lucky enough to be aware and alive, such an infintesimal happening really; this world - my existance. Call me grateful. Grateful for the common, the once-in-many-lifetimes, the Lemon Tanks.
How have you guys been, by the way?
peace,
mwyork

Faint Dashes

I saw a stream of shearwaters far out into the ocean,
below the horizon, this morning.

I saw an albatross, far out into the ocean,
beyond the horizon, this morning.

They took this moment to remind me how humans
normally view them, faint dashes through a scope,
if they are fortunate.

On the verge of tears, I silently thanked them.

Thanked them for sharing their home with me.
For the knowledge imparted,
and understanding conveyed.

Always a part of me they were, are, and will be.

But now, to my physical eyes,
they are faint dashes.
Only slightly less mysterious now.

Sigh.
again, faint dashes, if I am fortunate.

For I am only human.
And I am fortunate.

-MWYork, 08.03.2008
Too far into the Pacific on some days.
Not far enough on others.

The 'Blog Has Been Sputtering..

... I have not.

So what's been happening with the island's shrikes?

Well, we are now to the point where every fledgling has reached independant status. In the 1990's, there were only 14 San Clemente Loggerhead Shrikes. As of the other day, adults and hatch-years combined, the island has over 170 known LOSH.

That number will go down in the coming months.

Still, not too bad, eh?

The shrikes are all pretty much in post-breeding dispersal.

After the adult pairs are finished nesting, egg-laying, incubating, caring for nestlings, and caring for fledglings and all other parental duties at the natal sites... the birds peace out to parts unknown.

Generally the adults split up, the fledglings(hatch-years) are now independant and must fend for themselves and biologists scatter to find out which birds are where, who's alive and who is not, etc.

One important exercise we have been up to recently is trapping unbanded Hatch-Years. During the course of the breeding season there have been nests that we could not reach in order to band nestlings. There have been a few nests that we have just flat out overlooked. There are also areas that we are not allowed into. With these shrikes nesting in the canyons(you guys have seen some pics) one can understand how having some unbanded Hatch-Years around the island is possible.

The trap we use was a new design to me so I was and certainly still am eager to help trap "--/-- HY" when one is found.

The trap (Santolo), made of a mesh hardware cloth, has a small compartment in the bottom, which we occupy with a mouse. The mouse is actually protected from the shrike as there is the mesh "floor" above its little holding cell.

There is then a door/lid on the top of the trap which is propped open. A dowel rod, or even a conveniently sized twig is attached and put within the trap, below the door and ceiling. It acts as a perch and then the trigger mechanism that closes the door/lid on the bird.

It's incredible to observe very well, just how far these birds can notice movement of a prized, choice, mouse scurrying around in a small square cell. Perhaps one day I will have the presence of mind, and luck of finding a "--/-- HY" that cooperates, while I have a camera set in "movie mode" and document with motion how this methodolgy works. For the moment, a few still shots taken by a co-worker.

It often takes the shrike a little while to find the entrance in order to get closer to this convenient prey-item. So the bird will go toward the trap from different sides. Hovering about, it hopefully, and does often enough, find the opening at the top and drops down to that dowel rod perch, near the mouse. Lid closes. Shrike isn't too happy about it. We sprint to the trap to extract the bird before it has the chance to even remotely injure itself. The bird is then put into a "bird bag" and it calms down a degree or two.

We work this bird as we would any other nestling that I have described in previous posts. A color band combination and metal service band, both to be unique to that individual bird is selected. The bird is weighed, feather samples taken for DNA analysis, etc.

Remember shrikes have a beak that is specially designed to quickly sever the spines of their prey. They also like to chew off color bands. Do to that affinity, we continue to heat seal the color bands with a butane-fuel torch iron as seen below.

This biologist is particularly talented with this instrument.

Having a bird in hand is always an excellent chance to check out the feather tracts. Due to wear-and-tear, the molting of feathers, and other happenings, one can age a bird more easily. Now obviously, this is a HY bird, i.e. within year # 1 of its life, but knowing that helps reinforce what the feather tracts are to look like this time of year in a bird hatched this year. Here are some pics...

Say hello to 2008 Hatch Year, origin Unknown, Green-Service/Blue-White. Or just GS/BW.

GS/BW and some guy.

peace and good evening,

MWYork

**photos by M. C. Cammarota

One.

"Land is immortal, for it harbors the mysteries of creation." - Anwar al-Sadat, (1918-1981)

This morning I took it upon myself to accomplish three things. Two of the three were not entirely in my control, the other would take time regardless of how long and hard I spent hiking in the chaparral-coastal sage foothills of this county.

This evening I'll write on One.

As you guys might have surmised, I am interested in many things. Certainly ornithology, for occupation as well as avocation. But it certainly doesn't stop there. The order Lepidoptera also occupies my mind, my energies, my wonder, my weekends. Lepidoptera = Moths & Butterflies.

The butterfly life cycle is the amazing process of metamorphosis. That is the transition from egg to larva (caterpillar) to pupa (or chrysalis) to the winged adult.

This process begins with the female lays egg(s) on or near the plants that the larva will like to eat. Caterpillars are quite picky, and most cannot survive on the wrong plant. This plant is called the host plant. Host plants can range from ancient, towering oaks all the way down to blades of a native grass.

Caterpillars skin can only stretch so far, and the larva passes through ~ 5 growing stages (termed instars); so it must shed its skin each time.

The final time it sheds its skin is infact the next phase of its life, the pupa.

Remember it is a majority of moths that spin a protective cocoon, not butterflies. Butterfly larva reach the pupa life stage as a chrysalis. When the development inside is complete, the pupa will split open and the adult will emerge.

Though much is known about butterflies' metamorphosis. It could still be regarded, and rightly so I think, as a miracle of sorts.

Ha, so that was the lesson.

I went hiking today in the chaparral-costal sage scrub of the western foothills of San Diego County. Near Santee. There is a large and quite beautiful park in this sprawling suburban area. A large, quite beautiful, and vitally important park.

"Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell" - Edward Abbey (1927-1989)

There is a butterfly that ranges only from a portion of San Diego county and a small part of Northern Baja California, Mexico.

Beautiful and highly sought after by lepidopterists of all persuasions, it is occasionally common at chaparral near stands of "Redberry" (Rhamnus), its One larval hostplant.

It is also disappearing. The chaparral. The Redberry. The butterfly.

Disappearing to "development". Housing. Sprawl. "Progress."

The adult of this insect favors nectering on One particular plant; flowering California Buckwheat (Eriogonum fasciculatum).

This butterfly has always been scarce it would seem, even back in the '20s. Said early California butterfly enthusiast John A. Comstock, "It will always be a rarity, and may in fact someday become extinct, if San Diego continues to grow at its present rate."

Urbanization, wildfires, and other factors threaten their tenuous existance.

For me, this morning, it was hiking in the foothills; enjoying birds, looking out for butterflies, and breaking in some new boots. I knew this area had Redberry. I was aware that California Buckwheat was in bloom. In fact, it was in bloom all over this particular area.

Hours of carefully glancing at blinding white flowers of buckwheat, and fatigued from the hike, I was nearing the area where I had parked my vehicle.

Nectoring on these flowers for much of my morning had been a couple of species of "Blues". "Blues" are generally erratic flyers, about the size of a nickel to a dime.

As I neared the end of my trek I passed by some small "Blues" erratically flying in a corkscrew pattern up above the gravel path.

One, though similar in size, was of a different color.

I feel very fortunate. Time well spent. I only saw One.

I took a few pictures as well.

Hermes Copper (Lycaena hermes)

© M. W. York

© M. W. York



© M. W. York

© M. W. York

It is my hope that you all had as good a Sunday morning as I had.

I wonder.

Whether on pages or flowers, perhaps we studied the same....thing.. this Sunday morning.

I know I was attentive.

peace,

mwyork

Flutterbys along an estuary.

Lorquin's Admiral

(Limenitis lorquini) ©M. W. York

Marine Blue, female

(Leptotes marina) © M. W. York

Mourning Cloak

(Nymphalis antiopa) ©M. W. York

Tijuana River Estuary, south SD County.

The Kids Gotta Eat...

(Xantusia riversiana reticulata) San Clemente Island Night-Lizard, ret.

The Sound of Plenty (Depends Where You Are Standing)

I would like to begin this post by letting folks know I finally saw my first member of the Family Alcidae back on 8 May. Members of this family have rapid, shallow wingbeats; wings particularly adept for underwater propulsion. When on land, they have an upright stance, are generally black-and-white, and thus are sometimes referred to as "penguins of the North." Yeah, I'd seen puffins in captivity (Fratercula spp.), but no Alcids in the wild; a good many members of the family occur off the northern portions of this continent's coast. A few do not. Like the species I had been eagerly anticipating in this location, Xantus' Murrelet.(Synthliboramphus hypoleucus) Click the scientific name for a link that illustrates.

Sound of Plenty (Depends Where You Are Standing)



As a little boy I used to watch and listen to such things with utter reverence.
The greatest, most incredible thing in the world to behold.

I am older now. While no longer a little boy I still think about him while taking this in.

Only the little boy doesn't look like me this time.
The little boy doesn't talk like me this time.

The little boy's "Saviour" he is supposed to grow up believing in doesn't look like mine was to in pictures and paintings and murals.

His house looks different.
Neighborhood different, w/a not-so-eerie sameness.

His name is different.

But, he is still silenced......by the same....sound.

The men and women who pilot such machines most certainly have an incredible responsibility they strap on their backs every morning they wake up.

They know this ofcourse. I am glad they are protectors; though wishing there were no need.

It's just that I hope their commanding officers
And their bosses' bosses read history books
And all got good grades in math.

I hope so,

For that little boy.

-mwyork, 1800hrs, 19-May-2008


Papilio rutulus

Peace, shalom, salaam,

-mwyork

Remembering Old Friends on a Tiny Atoll...

in a galaxy far, far away...

"It is a good thing memories last a lifetime, because moments are so short." - anonymous.

There are certain memories that become such a part of you that you carry them alongside the rest of this particular walk. Beings that had such a profound impact on your life that you can't let go of them, and shouldn't let go of them. Their influence on your life was so paramount that they are now part of you; an improved, evolved, and knowing you.

Some of these beings are at such a personal level that I will most certainly keep them within. Some are at such a personal level that I will most certainly keep them within; but, I feel like sharing them again with my old audience and revealing them to any new members.

Sundown With Brown Noddy

We both found our seat for the falling of our star.
Mine, new
His, same old
A front porch step shared
On our island in the middle of the blue---

What creatures have done for ages
Sun. Down.
My eyes grew wider
His, closing
I enjoying the fire palette of the evening horizon
He, getting sleepy.
We have met every day since my arrival.
Perhaps since his?
Now we may congregate each evening,
to down our Sun
There are very few moments in this world that matter.

This is one.

©M.W. York, 09.19.07

No Name

Albatross.

They surf the waves
if a human on a surfboard
rides the incredible swell
just touching the water
Albatross rides
just not touching
needing no board

The Ocean's elders
They were not made for the open ocean.
the open ocean was made for them.
how can it not be so?

one only need witness the glide
and only once

everything else out here is a bird
a respectful occupation
Albatross, though,
Albatross is at an even higher level

one only need witness the glide
and only once

a mediator?
to whom from whom
a messenger?
to whom from whom

It may be none, any, or all these things
may be more

It's basic..
It is a bearer
of one thesis

a reminder
a teacher

what ever It may be,
it is clear
it says with no words at all...

YOU ARE NOT ALONE
YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE

Stop acting like it

one only need witness the glide
and only once

call me what you will

Albatross.

-©M. W. York 10.28.07

Atoll at Night

I am writing by very poor candlelight.
I cannot make out my scribbles on the paper
Nevertheless…

A definitive calm comes over me at night, here in this place.

Out the window I hear what is meant to be heard.
Not mechanical, techno phony
It is life, It is death.
It is give, It is take.

Waves, pound away at the shore
Taking a little back
A newly hatched sea turtle was released.
Giving back.

The night sky is staggering, humbling
I will now, extinguish the only light.

This, not so good, candle.

-©M.W.York 09.05.07

wait until

I.

I am a Sooty Tern.
This spring and summer there were
Over sixty-thousand of us on the island.
It’s like that every year, the elders tell us.
So many adults flying like a tern should;
Fast, free, you should see us!
You should see us when we are able to fly!
I can’t wait when I grow up and can fly.
Fly like a Sooty Tern!

I, with all my adult and young tern friends
took up every space of this island.
They even named the island after us.
Tern Island.
For Sooty Terns, that’s what I am.
I can’t wait until I can fly!

When summer grew late, lots of my terns began to leave.
That’s okay. I’m told that’s when some of us
begin to leave.
Lots of the young have left the nest and can fly
so they begin to go out to sea.
Lots of young have left the nest like I have.
I can’t wait until I can fly.

Some young terns are later to hatch than others.
We are still attended by our adults.
They fly out and back, bringing us food.
Fish and squid.
I can’t wait until I can fly.

There are many of us Sooties around,
even into late summer.
I remember being so excited when my close friend learned to fly.
He urged me to come with him.
It wasn’t my time. I’m still on the ground.
I can’t wait until I can fly.

It’s October now.
All my friends are gone.
I told them I would meet them when I could.
I can’t wait until I can fly.

I hear an adult once in awhile.
What am I supposed to do?
Nobody hears me.
All my adults have been gone for awhile.
I can’t wait until I can fly.

I don’t hear many chirp-chirp-chirp’s
from young Sooties anymore.
I don’t chirp because I can’t anymore.
My adults, and my voice, have left me.
I can’t wait until I can fly.

I really came up looking good.
All my chick down is gone.
All my feathers have grown in,
even though juvenile colors and pattern.
I should be able to fly pretty soon.
I can’t wait until I can fly.

When I was just a downy chick
I was told of my good fortune.
Other creatures jealously thought
how lucky to have been born a bird.
Other birds spoke of our good luck.
I can’t wait until I can fly.

I can still only stand and walk.
Wobbly now, the former.
Barely, on some days, the latter.
I am so lonely.
So hungry.
I can’t wait until I can fly.

II.

Cruel.
Cruel to be born of this world, see its potential
and not be able to live it.
Even worse than cruel, to have been born a bird.
Not just a bird, a tern, a tern of the open ocean.
I can’t even move anymore.
Certainly not off this patch of dirt.
Cruel.

III.

Why then?
Why?!!!
Would have rather been born a moth.
A moth only lives a couple of weeks.
BUT he flies, and lives a full moth life on this earth.

I am so hungry I’ve forgotten.
So tired I’ve forgotten.
So lonely I’ve forgotten.
The only wonder I now have is if I’ll finish out the week, oh, and what happens next.
I hope it’s something. This time was too cruel and unfair.

IV.

Why am I here!!?
Could it be for the one who
is currently writing about me?

V.
I can’t wait…
until…
I …
can…
fly



-©M. W. York, 10.07.07

Chance

I lay here, listening to the ocean that surrounds me.

Earlier, I stood there looking at the ocean that surrounds me.

Wondering.

Wondering, this time, how in the hell that hatchling sea turtle will make it.
Smaller than my palm.

It is his world we released him to, after all.
His chance was zero had we not met.
Now his chance is zero, if one were to round down.
Miniscule.
A chance, though, was given.

It was also eagerly taken.

I was happy.

Life is chance.

Maybe.

-©M.W.York 09.05.07

____________________

Well.

A portion of my writing while I was on that 37 acre atoll in the remote of the remote.

Good morning.

peace,

mwyork

Refreshing Rewards and Reminders

Boat Day.



Every Tuesday the United States Navy is under contract to pick us up off the east side of the island. So we utilize this day to hit nest sites, currently being used and check those that have been in the past, on the incredibly steep canyons on the east side of San Clemente Island. These slopes are at such a gradient that by the time you reach the last terrace before the rocky beach, you really don't have the time or energy to attempt to hike back up.



We have a little raft that one of us takes aboard a Navy S.A.F.E boat and paddle it to the shore of one of our active LOSH sites. Then, in the afternoon, the Navy comes back, and we paddle back and forth from their boat picking up biologists. It is generally quite the tiring day.



Sometimes when you are fatigued and just want to get into some dry clothes and shut the door, pick-me-ups in various forms come along to remind you.



To remind you..... :

.....Where you are;

.....Why you are;

.....& What you are.

Due to poor internet connection on the island for which I return tomorrow morning, I probably won't post much or anything until 10 or so more days. I do check email. I do check replies. I can, at times, respond.

But perhaps until I get back to the mainland;

Good evening. Good morning. Good day.

Peace.

- mwyork

Kids Grow Up So Quickly

I remember when they were just one to two days old...

The above picture is obviously a nest we can get to, and have a number of days before these guys need to be processed.

At times, it doesn't work out that way. Nestlings turn to Fledglings before you get to them. Not ideal.

It's then when you get a couple of co-workers together for a nestling round-up. Not an easy thing to do on flat-land, much less canyons. We try to surround fledglings and persuade them to fly down ultimately to the ground. This time is then critical as they can quickly disappear into Morning Glory patches, rock crevices, shadows, etc.

The other day, we sat atop a ridgeling with 4 fledling LOSH in our scope. These guys were why we were there. We needed to round them up and process them. Four, very Shrike-looking fledglings, roosting on a Prunus spp. branch. Hmm, there was a fifth when this nest site was visited before. Nevertheless, we descende the ridge, down the wall, down canyon from the fledglings' Prunus on the canyon bottom.

Two co-workers were on opposite rims, just above the bottom, respectively. I, on the canyon bottom. The idea; to get the fledglings to fly down canyon toward me. Shrikes, fledglings suredly, are built to fly downward, not so daft to fly up as this seems like labored flight somewhat. So lets get these Fledges to flush down canyon to me. Alright.

Somewhere, an adult Shrike's alarm call is heard. So much for stealth.

We are nearly underneath the tree the Fledges are perched on. They are aware.

Ok, I let co-workers know I'm ready.

Alright, this one is about ready to move. See the tail? Here it comes...

ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooommmm.

Oh Man!! That's no Fledgling, that's a Shrike!

It turned out that these Fledge's, while not adults this soon, where quite far along. Quite shrike-ish. Quite flight-worthy.

That particular kid flew, not only down canyon, but across and over to another drainage. "I wonder how long we'll keep at this?" I found myself wondering.

Another Fledgeling flew...up....canyon a bit. A third flew down canyon quite a ways. Mission, cough, Not Accomplished.

We eventually found ourselves under one of the shrikes that had flown down canyon, but was now back up the drainage, perched on a tree branch. This kid eventually was persuaded to fly down to the drainage bottom, a drainage bottom full of boulders and cobbles and dead Russian Thistle tumbleweeds.

A co-worker quickly put a butterfly net over the young LOSH. Nets work best when used on flat, without obstacles, land where the rim can lay flat not allowing any escape routes. This was not such ideal topography. BUT, we have it, we got it, I never saw it scurry out. Where is it? Where is it?

Co-worker then heard the the grating call of a young Shrike behind us, and just above canyon bottom. WHAT?! How in the?

Hey, there's a Shrike....is that an adult??.....no, thats a Fledge... GO!!

Co-worker armed with nothing but sharpened spidey-senses and a rounded butterfly net dashed for the slate gray-backed bird.

I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it. With a fluidity and quick judgement of one blessed with ninja pouncing skills and Jedi adept tendencies, he was one with the butterfly net as the net was one with him. An extension of self. Fledgling contained.

One down.

Did this guy really escape us down at the bottom?? Let's continue checking the rock and boulder crevices before you heard the apprehended.

I ended up finding the 2nd FL wedged under a boulder and dead Russian Thistle.

Two down.

Two, when zero looked inevitable. This site has had enough disturbance, we didn't see how we would be able to ge the other two where ever they went plus it was already 1000 hrs. Let's get these guys worked on and get out of here...

Aged at 24+ days-old. Healthy, very far along, young SCI Loggerhead Shrikes.

*thanks to M.C. Cammarota for the following pics*

Each bird gets a metal Service band with a set of numbers unique to that bird alone.

Nevermind the look on this kid's face. It's not that bad. Like a child going to the barber shop when it hears those electric trimmers turn on, the bird, like the child, is not hurting. I'm glad I was never like that as a kid...

A perfect fit.

Now to the color bands. We put on the color bands with a simple metal device commonly called a "spoon." You can see a white band, on a spoon, ready to go on my right leg in the above picture.

As the colorband is pushed up the slightly widening "spoon", the color band spreads out.

The spoon is of a concave shape that slips atop the birds leg. When the band is sufficiently spread out, the biologist holds the band and leg and slips the "spoon" out. This, ideally, then allows the color band to safely wrap around the leg.

In past work, I have always closed a color band with banding pliers much like the metal Service band.

Shrikes have a beak that is designed to quickly sever the spine of their prey. Consequently, it also is adept to tearing off color bands. The color band combination is also unique to a specific bird, allowing the biologist to identify (difficult at times) the bird in the field from a distance.

We need those color bands to stay on as long as possible. Thus bringing us to method of heat-sealing colorbands. The colorbands are a good bit longer than "normal" color bands, as they wrap around the LOSH's leg. This is quite noticeable with trying to spread them out with the "spoon." Anyhow, this extra bit of length gives some material to work with as the biologist takes a butane-fueled soldering iron-type instrument to melt, and fuse the seal.

This was a new methodology for me. Initially, taking a searing hot iron tip to an endangered bird nestling, or in this case fledgling, was a little disconcerting. Now, though, I have performed this numerous times and don't give it much extra thought. Obviously, care must be given not to burn most importantly the bird, secondly the biologist holding the bird for you, and leastly you. The pad of my index finger has taken a few hits. Never flinched.

Oh, I nearly forgot, we also take four feather samples.

The samples go in an envelope labeled with the date, nest site acronym, colorband combo, and Service band #. These are sent to a genetics lab for DNA analysis. From this, we learn the sex of the bird, and continue to track the bloodline of this endangered guy.

We also take weight and some other measurements as well.

After all this, we let these guys go. Nestlings go back in their nests. Fledglings of this grand old age go back to a branch near where we scoped them out way back on the ridge. After they successfully hop on a sturdy branch and away from us, we get back up the canyon as quickly as possibly. We then do a post-observation. This to make sure adult LOSH's are around, or come back to the site.

This is how I spend some of my mornings at work.

peace and good morning,

mwyork

**editors note: Seriously, I don't know what is going on with this huge space below. I guess just keep on a-scrollin'. **

He Has The Whole World In His Hands

He atleast had the whole world of this fellow being in his hand, at that moment.

I know my whole world ceases to exist, or perhaps I should say focuses all the way down to what is in my hand, at these moments I have pictured.

We work with nestlings like the guy pictured above. It might have taken an incredible hike to get to the nest, you guys have seen some pictures of many of these canyons on the island. Regardless of how tired, sore, cholla ridden, hot, or uncomfortable you may be; when it comes to times such as these one must bring everything down into focus. A focus on a great responsibility, entrusted to me. Entrusted not just by those I work with, or the permitting USFWS, but some other that has never needed a name, All Things and No Thing.

Nestlings must be atleast 9-days-old. When the reach the 14-day-old mark, they are beginning to get too old. Too old, because at this age they are able to hop out of the nest. Upon seeing us approach, the may take the moment and jump out of the bowl, and onto the ground making things quite difficult for all involved. That action is called a "force-fledge." We take all necessary precautions to avoid such an event.

Some birds we just don't get too before they get too old for us to approach the nest. Reasons might be we aged the nest wrong, or perhaps we found the nest late in the season and the nestlings were already fairly old, or (and this happens sometimes) the nest is unreachable...remember some of the pics of the canyons. You might be, I certainly am at times, surprised the nests we manage to get to.

In the next post I'll show pictures of young LOSH's that are now Fledglings. Fledglings are those that have had first flight from nest.

peace,

mwyork

Field Notes

This video is of a male San Clemente Loggerhead Shrike (Lanius ludovicianus mearnsi) [LOSH] vocalizing on the opposite rim across canyon from a male Homo sapien not vocalizing. The female LOSH of this pair is incubating a nest down in the canyon in a Rhus integrifolia. Rhus, the sumac genus, dominates some of the canyon slopes and bottoms on San Clemente Island. It also is a popular nesting substrate for LOSH this year.

There are many LOSH pair in the Incubation stage presently. Meaning, in the near future, the Shrike Monitoring Crew will become very busy checking on nestlings, and then banding, recording morphological data from, and pulling feather samples from them before they fledge.

The LOSH incubation period is generally 15-17 days. During this time the female will spend long times on the nest. Sometimes I won't even see her, even during observations over an hour long. Other times I will see her very briefly. During these short times off-nest, she will preen, stretch her wings, defecate, and otherwise perch for a moment. The male will periodically bring her food. As he approaches the nest, the incubating female will often give her begging call.

Otherwise, at a site still in the incubation stage, one generally sees the male out foraging for himself and sometimes for the female on nest.

Should everything go right, in 15-17 days, the successful incubation stage leads to these guys.

When a monitored site shifts to nestling stage, it is often quite apparent as the characterized description of "male seen foraging, bringing food to nest. female heard begging as he flew to nest site. female only seen twice during observation." moves to --> "both male and female seen bringing food to next every few minutes" or something similar.

There are far, far too many sites and too few personnel to visit every one of them every day. So when a site now is at Nestlings(NE), we don't know the exact moment, the very day the hatch took place. Some sites, that were not known to us earlier, may even be at NE. Nevertheless, we need to find out how many nestlings there are, and how old.

The above picture shows part of the methodology. We try to time when both parents are off the nest. It is then we hike, descend, ascend, slide gracefully, slide not-so-gracefully to the nest location. Using EXTREME caution not to destroy any surrounding vegetation on our way to, at and around, the nest, we use a "mirroring pole." A mirroring pole is precisely what its namesake is. It is a mirror affixed, often by wrapping of duct tape, at an angle at the end of a long pole. The pole is then carefully moved into a position...if possible... to an angle above the nest where we can take a picture of the bowl. This allows us to count how many nestlings there are and, by physical characteristics, age them.

How many nestlings do you count in the picture? They are 3-days-old, by the way.

When they become older, the absolute minimum is 9 days old, we band the chicks and take necessary morphological data and feather specimen from them.

Clutch size is usually around 4-7 eggs/nestlings. Ideally, the lower an organism is on the food chain the more offspring it produces; for reasons that become obvious if you think about it. The higher the organism on the food chain, the fewer offspring. Ideally.

Not all nestlings make it. One example of a nest site we are monitoring: the nest had 5 nestlings banded and worked up, it now only has two of those five that survived. Those two are quite the successful fledgelings and near the end of their "dependant" status. In fact, I believe that ends today. It's Saturday, right? A nestling becomes a fledgeling upon "first flight" or "first leaves the nest." When one approaches a nest to work on nestlings that are older, the biologist takes great care in not causing a "forced fledge." These kids, at a certain age, have a bit of locomotive ability. Atleast enough to jump out.

Anyhow, not all nestlings/nests make it. Its just part of it.

This vid is a nest predation event by an Island Fox (Urocyon littoralis clementae). The Island Fox is the smallest fox species in the U.S. Smaller than a house cat. Recall me alluding to the feral cat problem on the island, and for that matter on the continent? Native birds on the island have enough predator pressure on them already, from Island Fox to Common Ravens (Corvus corax). Native birds on the mainland have enough as well. Its a balance that was set a long time ago. We all know this. We all know this to some degree if we take a moment to think about it.

Now..., do we care?

Moving on. Regarding my work with the SC LOSH, I plan to share more pictures in the future directly illustrating methodologies and my time with this species.

The pictures of butterflies, other bird species, herps, canyon vistas, and beautiful mornings are all taken getting to work, after work has been finished, or my time off-island.

On the subject of beautiful mornings, I hope you are having one. If not, perhaps you can take a moment to step outside, if not able; just look outside, and make this morning what it is.

Good morning and watch your step.

Peace,

mwyork

Exit Light.

Enter night.
Grain of sand...

- Metallica, Enter Sandman


This quick posting is directed particularly for my herpetology-minded counterparts and friends.

San Clemente Island has a number of endangered plant species, a couple of birds, a fox, and a reptile.

A week or so ago a work truck had been "high-centered" on a very bad road that was made worse by unusually copious amounts of rain the island has experienced. The rain had stopped many days before, but due to the soil being mostly clay, water seepage into it takes awhile.

Nevertheless, thankfully for the crew in that vehicle, my group of three where scheduled to use the same road.

After going through one tow strap, we were finally able to pull the stuck vehicle out of the rut. Man, that left wheel well was buried.

We also used many rocks to put behind that tire, and then to attempt to level out the road afterwards.

Under one large cobble was this guy:


San Clemente Night Lizard (Xantusia riversiana reticulata)

The Island Night Lizard (X. riversiana) was listed as Threatened in 1977. The San Clemente subspecies, pictured above, was de-listed in 2006 in part due better control of munitions-sparked wildfire, and the continuing revegetating effort underway since the Navy removed cattle and particularly goats from the island.

One issue that still remains for not only the SCI Island Night-Lizard, but for other wildlife as well is the population of feral cats. Back in the day, when the island was used as a working ranch, before it changed over to the Navy, some humans let their cats roam.

The descendants of those cats, generations since, are feral, wild, stealthy, efficient hunters that have added an enormous and quite unneeded and ill-prepared for predator pressure.

The company I work for has a predator management team on the island.

Often found within the gastro-intestinal tract of theses descendants of Fluffy are Island Night Lizards.

Friends, neighbors, fellow countrymen and women; for the health of the wildlife, for the health of your cat, and to prevent reproduction of feral born kittens, keep your kitty indoors.

Google "feral cats" on some rainy day when you have time. Check out some studies and peer-reviewed studies, all the while petting your happy and quite content HOUSE cat.

Back to Island Night Lizards:

Island Night Lizards are known only to occur only on Santa Barbara, San Nicholas, and San Clemente Islands; with the San Clemente population recognized as a subspecies.

Like other Night Lizards (family Xantusiidae), the Island Night Lizard gives birth to live offspring rather than egg-laying.

Night Lizards may have originally been mistaken as nocturnal due to their somewhat secretive lifestyles. They are in fact diurnal. I will see these guys, not too uncommonly, sunning themselves, scurrying under vegetation, and once, under a rock.

Have a Night Lizard story to share? Please do.

Kidding. Kind of. Not really. Any herp-folks, please elaborate and discuss should the mood strike you.

Brilliant creatures. The Island Night Lizard I mean; not herp-folks. Okay, maybe herp people too....on occasion.

Good morning.

Firebug

Is no bug at all, I don't think.

Look at the landscape afterwards.

It might be those rocks, I think.

Sure, they play dumb to it when you look at themBut listen to their mocking.

Hear that?

In Green and Purple and Poppy?

There has always been fire.

Humans never invented it.

For whatever reason, we were allowed to discover it.

Modern day has Prescribed Burns.

Prescribed because we suppress fire.

"Put it out!" "Put it out!"

Modern man does not prescribe it near enough.

Modern man does not allow Natural Fire.

Fire promotes Life.

The Trees can breath again

Have elbow room again.

It occurs naturally.

Entire worlds depend on it.

The way it had always been.

Had.

Nature taught native.

Modern human learned of it from native human.

Now Modernity suppresses, stops it, snuffs it out.

Can you not hear the mockery of those clever rocks?

In Green and Purple and Poppy?

Full Circle. Sometimes when the baton isn't passed
at that critical point in the team's race

It is taken.

© -mwyork