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
