ABA Blog

Open Mic: Repatriation & Reintroduction Revisited

At the Mic: Stacia Novy

Stacia Novy is employed by the US military and also does contractual work for The Peregrine Fund. The latter led to her co-discovering a Solitary Eagle nest in Belize’s Mountain Pine Ridge on 30 June 2011.  She has traveled around the world birdwatching, fishing, and hunting. Her adventures have been  published by the Illinois Ornithological Society, The Journal of the North American Falconers Association, American Falconry, and several online birding magazines.

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    In the August 2012 issue of Winging It, I penned an article on the word “repatriation”, intended for a general audience without a strict biological background. Since, Rick Wright has voiced criticism of that article on his blog. It has become clear to me that the two terms may warrant examination in a scientific, as well as etymological, context.

    A standard biological definition of an “Introduced Species” is: "an alien, exotic, non-indigenous or non-native organism that is present outside of its native range or distributional habitat...” Similarly, the US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) defines an "introduced species" as those organisms that are "surviving and reproducing outside of the habitat or environment in which they evolved or spread naturally..." In both definitions, the qualifying phrase “outside of the native range, habitat or environment” is a key consideration in defining and determining a species that has been introduced. Thus, the process of “species introduction”--which ultimately results in an introduced species--applies to organisms or species which conclusively fit that description. It excludes those which are released, accidentally or deliberately, into distributional ranges where an evolutionary history or a history of natural dispersal exists.

    Therefore, it is counterintuitive to suggest that “species introduction” or subsequent introductions (i.e., “reintroduction”) results in species that are surviving and reproducing inside of the habitat, native range or environment in which they evolved or dispersed naturally.

    This definition being established for an "introduced species", and adopted by many conservation biology texts, is such that it can be applied only to those species that are alien, exotic, non-indigenous, non-native and/or living outside of historical ranges. This distinction was noted in my article. Even if one disagrees with semantic variations on the prefix "re-", the root word “introduction" cannot and should not identify conservation programs devoted to the release of native species into historical areas and/or distributional ranges.

Peregrine Falcon, repatriated or reintroduced? photo by Mike Baird

    Wright’s suggestion that species reintroduction implies “….a species being led back or put back…” into a former environment is simply not correct from an evolutionary or biological perspective: a native species cannot be “introduced as new”, “introduced as for the first time”, or even “led back into” an environment in which a genetic and ecological legacy has existed for eons. The premise is this: a native species that has evolved within such contexts already holds a long-standing interaction with its environment and, genetically, has never been separated from it.

    The original definitions of “introduction” and, especially, “reintroduction” have been corrupted since the implementation and widespread use of wildlife release programs in the past 30 years or so. The vast majority of these programs were designed to release captive individuals of a given species of concern into native environments and/or historical distributional ranges to replenish dwindling or extirpated wild populations. Hence, the terms “introduction” and “reintroduction” do not properly identify the historical origin of the species in question for such projects.

    Although an advocate of the term “repatriation”, I am not the first to realize its application to conservation biology. U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service biologists educated me on the subtle differences between repatriation and reintroduction. They, too, were dissatisfied with the latter word to describe the release of native species into historical distributional ranges. Other astute biologists have proposed the following terms: “reestablishment”, “reinforcement”, and “restoration—in lieu of “reintroduction”.

    As far as it being “so silly that there is no danger of it catching on”, it’s too late now. Research will reveal that zoological parks, nature centers, and wildlife rehabilitation agencies employ “animal repatriation” to transition captive individuals to wild locations of native origin. I see little difference in the activity of these wildlife release programs and those of conservation biology.

    The field of wildlife conservation is rapidly expanding, gaining in popularity, and experiencing the associated “growing pains” of any new discipline. Standardization of nomenclature is a much needed improvement. “Restoration”, “reestablishment”, and “reinforcement” are solid terms to describe the augmentation or return of a species to any environment, regardless of origin and evolutionary history. They are also applicable to single species or multi-species projects (e.g., “the reestablishment of a wetland” or “prairie restoration”). However, to specifically differentiate between wildlife projects involving the return of native species from those involving non-native species, the terms “repatriation” and “reintroduction” are ideal. Repatriation recognizes the evolutionary and/or historical connections that exist between a native species, its environment, and its place of origin; reintroduction does not.

    As an example of the contradiction in terms, consider the paper, “Guidelines for the in situ Re-introduction and Translocation of African and Asian Rhinoceros”, published in 2009 by the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN). In it, species “introduction” and “re-introduction” are cited as follows:

“Introduction: Introduction of an organism is the intentional or accidental dispersal by human agency of a living organism outside its historically known native range…”

“Re-introduction: An attempt to establish a species in an area which was once part of its historical range, but from which it has been extirpated or become extinct…”

    The first definition is similar to the one presented by the EPA and specifically identifies those species “living outside [a] historically known native range” (i.e., not-native, foreign, exotic, or non-indigenous). In contrast, the second definition identifies species that are to be established “in an area which was once part of its historical range”. Thus, it identifies species which will be living inside or within a historical, distributional range (i.e., native or indigenous). The two terms are nearly opposites of one another. The only difference between them is the prefix “re-“.

     I checked many dictionaries in the course of my investigation and none listed a potential meaning of the prefix “re-“ as an “opposite” to introduction. “Re-“ can mean the opposite of “de-“ (e.g. recurved and decurved), but I have never seen the terms “de-introduction” and “re-introduction” promoted in the scientific literature. As Mr. Wright also noted, “re-“ can “indicate withdrawal or backward motion”, as in retract or retrace. However, “re-introduction”, as it’s commonly applied to wildlife biology now, does not indicate “an introduction over and over” and it certainly does not indicate “withdrawal”. On the contrary, it represents the “opposite”.

     In the preceding 30-40 years, semantics on the prefix “re-“ have been distorted in the conservation field to include definitions like the one offered by the IUCN. This corruption in meaning has been widely adopted and applied by laypersons and experts alike.

    In fact, the ICUN editors applied the following disclaimer, “….The views expressed in this publication are those of the authors”, and rightly so. In the paper, the authors acknowledge that species “reestablishment” has been used in place of “reintroduction”.

    Wright’s assertion that “[his] dictionary is better than [mine]” is an amusing and philosophically unsound argument. The dictionary quoted in his blog is likely more recent, not “better”. Dictionary editors are known to update newer versions with words that have gained widespread use since the last publication. However, popularity does not make a word “accurate” or “correct” in application.

    I deliberately referenced an old dictionary, prior to the advent of modern wildlife conservation practices, to gain an uncorrupted definition of the word “reintroduction”. And while misapplied terminology might not have so great a negative impact among the general populace, it most certainly has a negative impact among scientific and academic communities. Clear communication is critical to the dissemination of knowledge, replication of experimentation, the evaluation of research methods, and the promotion of ideas and goals. One of the first scientists to realize the dangers of inaccurate and inconsistent nomenclature was Linnaeus. It is an ideal that we are still struggling to achieve today.

Open Mic: More Than Just a Number

At the Mic: Tom Leskiw

Tom Leskiw lives outside Eureka, California with his wife Sue and their dog Zevon. He retired in 2009 following a 31-year career as a hydrologic/biologic technician. His essays, book and movie reviews have appeared in a variety of  journals. His column appears at www.RRAS.org and his website resides at www.tomleskiw.com

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Saturday, 15 January 2011. 9:15 am. Estero Llano Grande State Park, World Birding Center, Weslaco Texas. Sue and I once again worked the area where the White-throated Thrush had been seen yesterday. A light rain was falling, as were my hopes for relocating this notorious skulker. Rain jacket and pants seemed a bit overkill for this semi-tropical woodland, but experience had taught me that long hours in damp clothes, well…they dampen one’s spirits. And I was determined to get this bird, even if I had to continue my vigil until darkness fell. I snuck a glance at another birder who was working the far corner of the open area, when a birder wearing flip-flops and track shorts burst into the clearing. “I’ve got the bird!!” he whisper-shouted.

We raced to follow him down the narrow gravel lane that bounded the preserve. A man and woman stood there—not celebrating, but, rather, looking sheepish, nonplussed. Then, came perhaps the most-dreaded phrase in a birder’s lexicon. “It just flew,” they stammered. “Somewhere off to the left.” “How far?” Flip-Flops wanted to know. “Did you see it fly across the lane?” “I don’t know. We lost it,” was the reply. So, we started scanning for the bird, searching high and low in the dense, shadowed woodland. After some time passed, I figured it would be best to not have all eyes looking in the same general area, so I made my way slowly back down the lane. “There it is!” said someone. I moved back to where the throng of birders had assembled. There, wet and sodden, was my life White-throated Thrush. Flip-Flops—sorry, I’ve forgotten your name—smiled broadly, winked at me, and spoke. “And just like that!” And just like that, indeed, I said to myself. Then, aloud: “My 700^th bird for the Lower-48 states!”

     The birding bug bit me in 1983. At the time I was a landscape photographer who spent a portion of the winter in desert locations that included Arizona’s Organ Pipe National Monument. Before I knew it, I’d purchased a 300mm lens so I could photograph the birds that frequented saguaro “cactus condos.” However, upon my return to California, I didn’t know any birders, and trying to see birds in the low-light, dense confines of redwood forests never caught my fancy. Thus, my interest lay fallow for a time.  

    Then, in 1987, I read that Gary Lester was leading a field trip to Elk Head to look for Tufted Puffins. I had entered the wrong date in my day planner and missed the trip. However, Gary returned to Elk Head with me the following day, my first inkling into the generosity and sense of sharing within the birding community. Later that spring, I took his bird field seminar that was offered through Redwood National Park. Gary, Lauren and their family lived several blocks from me, so the next several years were frequently punctuated with his impromptu phone calls. “There’s a male Costa’s Hummingbird on our fuchsia.”… “Black Swifts are passing over the house again.”… “I’m looking at a Cape May Warbler in our birch tree right now.”

    Following an Audubon Christmas Bird Count (circa 1990), I asked John Sterling and John Hunter if I could tag along to chase some local rarities. A year or so went by, and I began to dream about reaching 300 bird species in Humboldt County. Somewhere along the line, I began to envision that 700 species in the ABA area might be attainable. Later, I began to ponder if it might be possible to reach 700 in the ABA area without going to Alaska. I have absolutely nothing against Alaska, somehow, it just never seemed in the cards to get there.

     But I’m getting ahead of myself. Throughout this sometimes crazy, (nearly) quarter-century quest, I’ve tried to focus on the experience itself, on the goal of learning—as intimately as possible—about this great country of ours. I saw only one of my ABA area birds in Canada and I’ve still yet to make it to Alaska. It’s difficult to put into words, but my reason for steering clear of the “Land of the Midnight Sun” had something to do with loyalty. Because Alaska’s union with these “united” states is merely a political fluke (Attu being situated west of the east tip of Siberia), tallying the birds there seems somehow unfair, contrived. Furthermore, limiting my search to the Lower 48 allowed me to focus on the amazing biodiversity to be found here.

    I’m reminded of lyrics from Dave Mason’s “Can't Stop Worrying, Can't Stop Loving”:   “A man needs the challenge or a man couldn’t be.” Not a few times during this past decade, I reconsidered the wisdom of excluding Alaska from my census area. Maybe it can’t be done, I’d concede. At least not unless I drop everything and do a Big Year, which wouldn’t exactly “Play in Peoria,” if you know what I mean. 

    It’s only human nature to dwell on the one that got away. In this case, the one that eluded me wasn’t a bird, but, rather, a boy—a potential birding convert. I was in Texas’s Big Bend National Park, retracing my steps along the Window Trail, jubilant and basking in the glow of having found my life Lucifer Hummingbird. A group of boys caught up with me. Elated, they recounted the incredible view from the Window and how they’d just witnessed a snake swallowing a frog. One of them pointed to my bins and asked me why I’d traveled to the canyon. I explained that I’d come in search of a hummingbird, as the area—at least at the time—was the most-dependable place in all the U.S. to see it.

     As some of the other boys began to sidle off, the inquisitive one asked what the hummingbird looked like. Quickly, I sized up their group. Red-faced and sweating, they clutched their empty (pint!) water bottles. Clearly, the rest of the group wanted to beat the heat, get back to camp. I considered just how difficult it can be to get someone onto a hummingbird and how easy it might be to turn a group of tired, hot boys against birding. Just then, their leaders appeared. “Let’s hit it, guys,” they said. If only there’d been a little more time… maybe I could have gotten the kid onto the Lucifer.

    It goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway. I’ve shared this journey with many good friends, birding acquaintances, and guides across the country. I never would have realized this goal without your help. There isn’t room here to mention you all, but know that you have my thanks.

     As I studied the Texas Rare Bird Alerts this winter, I realized that I lacked a bird-finding  guide for the Lone Star State. So, I contacted my birding compadre, Erika Wilson, who agreed to lend me her brand-new copy of the ABA guide for the Lower Rio Grande Valley. Paper-clipped to the guide was a note: “Have a great trip! Keep me posted on all your bird finding as you go.”

     In 1992, an event occurred that prompted me to resume writing after a lengthy sabbatical. Doc Harris, the dean of Humboldt County, California birding was poised to record his 400^th species for the county, the first to accomplish what was then regarded as an improbable feat. So, I chronicled the occasion in the Sandpiper, our local Audubon newsletter, starting contributions to this and other venues that continue to this day. My writing has improved during the intervening years. I’ve tackled many subjects, but birds, birding, and bird chases remain at the core of what inspires me to write. It struck me that Erika’s note applied, not only to the Texas trip, but also to my writing in general: recording my experiences in the field—for me, and to share with others.   

    Looking back, I think of all the out-of-the-way hamlets, urban parks, wildlife refuges, fish hatcheries, sewage treatment plants, sod farms, migrant traps, people, islands, and oceans I would never have experienced, were it not for birds. The images emerge, fade, and are renewed in my cerebral cortex’s own PowerPoint projector: Black and Brown Noddies, Masked Booby, Sooty Tern, and Magnificent Frigatebird soaring above the azure waters of the Dry Tortugas. And later, a Swallow-tailed Kite and Stripe-headed Tanager with Wes Biggs. A Thick-billed Murre in Humboldt Bay—thanks to a timely call from David Fix. Machias Seal Island for Atlantic Puffin and Razorbill followed by the Bluenose Ferry to Nova Scotia for Great Skua and Wilson’s Storm-Petrels with Brian Patteson and Ned Brinkley.

    And solo, a long night trying to sleep upright in a Jeep Cherokee near the Lesser Prairie-Chicken lek near Campo, Colorado. Ferruginous Pygmy-Owl with Jeff Gordon in the oak mottes of the King Ranch. Slaty-backed Gull, courtesy of Rob Fowler and Matt Wachs. Running alongside Guy McCaskie after hearing the shout that the Fork-tailed Flycatcher had been relocated. White-tailed Ptarmigan—and Grizz!—at Logan Pass in Glacier National Park with Jude Power. Green Kingfisher along the San Pedro River and Montezuma Quail and Five-striped Sparrow in Sawmill and Sycamore Canyons, with Troy Corman.

     The adrenal rush of confirming a beyond-improbable, second-hand report of a White-winged Tern at the Arcata Marsh one sunny Saturday morning. Island Scrub-Jay on Santa Cruz Island with John Sterling and the rest of the merry band of “Vagrants.” Great Gray Owl in a Yosemite red fir forest with John Hunter. Streak-backed Oriole near Tacna, Arizona with Erika Wilson and Elaine Emeigh. Craveri’s Murrelet and Baird’s beaked whale with Debi Shearwater. No one could forget the olfactory affront of the Brownsville Dump for Tamaulipas Crow with Joseph Brooks and Garry George. And a two-fer, the day before #700: a Crimson-collared Grosbeak amid the restored splendor of Allen Williams’s backyard in Pharr and the clockwork-like 4:45 pm appearance of the Black-Vented Oriole at the Bentsen Palm Village RV Resort.

    Each phone call, every set of directions I obtained from folks I might never meet face-to-face reinforced my belief that I’d joined a continent-wide community. Some of the fond memories center around birding comrades who are no longer with us. Running into Stuart Keith and Arnold Small while searching for the Crescent-chested Warbler at the Patagonia sewage treatment plant. Chasing the Lesser Sand-Plover with Luke Cole while attending a meeting of the Western Field Ornithologists in Humboldt County. The pilgrimage to Scheelite Canyon on Fort Huachuca for Mexican Spotted Owl with Smitty (Robert T. Smith). Swapping stories with Northcoast Environmental Center’s executive director Tim McKay at a Del Norte CBC compilation.

     Yes, 700 stories and more. All tangible, memorable, genuine. No tepid, pixilated, ersatz excuses for real encounters in real places. If the legions of those mesmerized by Wii and Xboxes only knew…    

Open Mic: Bird Feeders for the Environment

At the Mic: Ernie Allison

Ernie Allison is a nature writer with a particular interest in birds. He is dedicated to using his writing skills to bring awareness to conservation issues concerning birds. To help further this mission, he writes for the hummingbird feeder provider, birdfeeders.com.

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When I tell people about my bird feeding hobby, I get a lot of different responses. Some people go off about how much they love nature too. Others ask, confused, “aren’t bird feeders actually bad for the environment? Birds ate just fine before people fed them, right? Do they really need you?”

Of course, the short answer to this last question is no. Birds do not NEED people to put feeders up for them. But that in no way means that bird feeders are bad for the environment. In fact, if done correctly, your bird feeding hobby can definitely enhance the natural environment around you.

The reason that people think that bird feeders are bad for birds and the environment is because of a select few practices that are, in fact, harmful. By feeding birds product with refined sugars and preservatives and failing to maintain feeders in a hygienic manner, yes, you can harm the birds. If the right practices are followed however, you can turn your yard into a nature paradise that neither you nor the birds will want to leave.

 

The Feed

With the big Scotts Miracle-Gro lawsuit all over the news, a lot of people are wondering if their bird food is safe. As is made apparent by the Scotts case, it is difficult to know. But you can be intentional in your choices and make sure you are providing the healthiest food possible. Here are some ways how:

• Look at the ingredients in your birdseed
• Research what the native birds in your area eat and provide only those items
• Buy grains separately and in bulk and mix them yourself. This eliminates unnecessary ingredients, reduces the risk that pesticides and other harmful chemicals have been added, and can be cheaper in the long run.
• Birds like variety, and different birds have different diets. By providing suet, syrups and nectars, native plants, and a variety of seeds, you can attract the most birds and provide them a well-balanced diet

 

The Landscape

Feeding the birds is not limited to the bird feeder industry. You can install native plants and landscape your yard in ways that attract birds. Nectar-producing flowers and berry-bearing bushes can attract all sorts of wonderful critters to your lawn. It also promotes a healthier environment.

Look into what plants are native to your area, and what species are attracted to them. If you plan right, you can ensure that you’ll have visitors year-round.

Birds are also attracted to an area based on what it looks like. Feeders should be semi-visible, but birds should also feel safe and unexposed when visiting them. This means that large trees and areas with lots of shrubbery may attract certain species more. If you have issues with hawks and other predators waiting around your feeders for their own snacks, then consider taking the feeder down for a week and moving it to a new location.

 

Promoting Health

If your feeder frequently has a large number of visitors, it is important to make sure that it doesn’t become a breeding ground for disease. Here are some tips on proper feeder maintenance:

• Clean your seed feeders at least once a week, removing any droppings and half-eaten food.
• Rinse out your hummingbird feeder with hot water every time you refill it. Wash it completely every couple weeks.
• Provide a bird bath with fresh running water. Be sure to clean it often, and if you leave it out for winter, be sure to provide a water heater. Birds won’t always be able to tell if water has frozen over and may get hurt.
• If you see an increasing number of sick birds in your yard, take the feeders down for a week or two. Clean everything thoroughly before replacing it.

 

So why Bird Feeding?

Now that I’ve shared some tips for bird feeding, I want to talk about why you would take this up as a hobby in the first place. Personally, it is my connection with nature. I like to sit in my back yard and watch the feeders. Sometimes there are birds, sometimes there aren’t. Sometimes I can see evidence that there were visitors in my absence.

I also do see it as a contribution to nature. Though birds can certainly survive without us, there is no doubt that humans have messed with their natural habitat. Providing food is a small gesture of gratefulness and apology. It does make things easier on them, especially during migration season.

The “nature” contribution doesn’t just concern the birds though. Plants benefit from their presence, and insect life is positively affected as well. Attracting a variety of birds with a variety of plants promotes biodiversity. Since I started researching native plants, my yard has become much more pleasing to the eye. Even the plants that were already there are flourishing more thanks to my efforts.

And of course, there are the photo opportunities. While I am no nature photographer, I do enjoy the challenge of getting pictures of my avian friends. I now keep a camera near the back window, and am learning very well how to tell when a bird is about to fly off (usually my photos are taken right after these signs are shown. I’ll get quicker eventually).

These are the reasons I love bird feeding, and do not subscribe to any theories that it’s bad for the birds. Of course, if I chose to be lazy with it and not make deliberate choices, it could be. But that’s how most of our hobbies are, isn’t it?

Remembering Rich Stallcup

We at the ABA were very sorry to hear of the passing of California birder Rich Stallcup, who died this week following a long illness.  Rich was undoubtedly one of the giants of North American birding, the recipient of the ABA's Ludlow Griscom Award for Outstanding Contributions to Regional Ornithology in 2002, and a man whose kindness and knowledge are felt far beyond his Marin County home. 

Though we all felt his influence, none of us at the ABA knew Rich quite like those in the California birding community, and Tom Leskiw, of Eureka, California, offers a memorial to a man who will be missed very much. - Nate Swick

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Each blade of grass has its spot on earth

whence it draws its strength;

and so is man rooted to the land from which

he draws his faith together with his life

                             --Joseph Conrad

 

 

photo by Juliet Grable

    I can’t count myself among the fortunate folks who’ve spent a lot of time in the company of Rich Stallcup.  However, occasionally, our paths crossed and we corresponded via email.  The timing of Rich’s passing has re-impressed upon me the mysterious ways of the universe and how events seem to intersect far more often than the laws of probability and chance might suggest.

 

    Several days before he died, I read a captivating piece of prose by David Gessner in Orion magazine entitled “Brant’s Requiem.” Gessner’s work of fiction focused on the last week of life of writer-poet “Kenneth Brant.” Firmly grounded in the naturalist tradition, Brant’s work embodied bioregionalism—drawing inspiration from the patch of ground and surrounding area he called home. Brant’s final days at his homestead near “The Cape” were enlivened by spending time with a younger poet and videographer who’d offered to help Brant put his field notes in order and tape several interviews...  before it was too late.

    “Brant’s Requiem”—at once taut, reverent, and playful—compelled me to write a letter to the editor of Orion:

    David Gessner's "Brant's Requiem" was a moving, evocative work of prose. More importantly, it reminds us of our place in the Circle of Life. Namely, that mentors and others who have inspired us deserve mention before their walk down the Great Passage. We're limited only by our imagination: newsletter articles, interviews, or simply connecting with a mentor for a walk to look at birds or plants are all suitable tributes.

    Rich’s passing got me to thinking: one measure of the Great Ones is their ability to influence people they’ve never or only rarely met. Rich is well known, along with C.J. Ralph, as the discoverer of the amazing spring and fall vagrant phenomenon on outer Point Reyes and other migrant traps along the coast. To say that we birders have followed in Stallcup’s--as well as Guy McCaskie’s--footsteps is to state the obvious.

    For instance, I birded Humboldt County hard—Elk Head, the Rose Patch at Clam Beach, Fairhaven—on September 6 and 7, 1996, without a migrant to show for my efforts. I’d heard that Rich sometimes employed his vagrant-chasing “lite” strategy: driving coastal locations slowly, with the windows rolled down, to listen for chickadee flocks. So, the next day, I emulated his technique along Scenic Drive between Westhaven and Trinidad. Bingo! I got onto a megaflock that included five species of warblers, with a Magnolia Warbler being the highlight.

    My appetite whetted, I returned on September 27, heard chickadees, and stopped.  The flock included a Yellow-throated Vireo! Over the next two days, a grand, local "Patagonia Picnic Table Effect" ensued, with many of Humboldt’s most-ardent birders tallying the following species: Willow Flycatcher; Blue-headed Vireo; Chestnut-sided, Hooded, Blackpoll, Nashville, Palm, Hermit, and Black-throated Gray Warblers; Sage Thrasher;  and Vesper and Brewer's Sparrows. Finding  a 3rd Humboldt record Yellow-throated Vireo would have been fulfilling enough, but to have discovered a hotspot delivered an adrenal rush not soon forgotten—one I owed to Rich.

    On November 5, 1997, the Kure oil spill occurred in Humboldt, affecting both bay and offshore waters. My birding compadre John Hunter, an employee of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, was recruited to monitor its impacts on seabirds. While working offshore, he garnered his county Black-vented Shearwater. Because we took our “home ground” county list seriously, after mentally congratulating him on his finding, my thoughts immediately turned to “How the heck do I get offshore?”

    I didn’t have any contacts, so I did the next best thing: went to Table Bluff to do a seawatch. About a half-hour of searching produced nothing noteworthy. Then, a lumbering Pink-footed Shearwater suddenly appeared in the same field of view as my target species. Success! And having the two birds side-by-side for comparison made me certain of the ID. 

    Although I felt good about my sighting, I knew that my desire to keep pace with John had the potential to cloud my judgment. So, you can imagine my relief when Stallcup visited Humboldt a day or two later... and saw Black-vented Shearwaters offshore from Table Bluff.

    Rich led an annual spring herpetology trip that brought him to Humboldt. The skilled überbirder that he was, you’d better have your schedule cleared for several days or have an incredibly understanding boss or professor, because you knew you’d be springing into chase mode. Tufted Duck and Franklin’s Gull come to mind, and there were undoubtedly other noteworthy birds located during the search for amphibians and reptiles.

    Clam Beach lies near my former home in Westhaven, adjacent to Trinidad. Sand dunes end abruptly at an alder-willow grove along a creek: perfect attributes for a vagrant patch. So, I braved the mosquitoes and cleared some trails, dubbing it the “Rose Patch” in honor of the feral bush near the patch’s entrance. My efforts were rewarded with multiple American Redstarts that first summer, although I was unable to confirm breeding. Then, on September 28, 1996, I reported a Northern Waterthrush from there to NWCALBIRD. Rich promptly emailed me. “Tell me more about this Rose Patch. Where is it? What else have you seen there?” That’s the kind of person Rich was, one with an innate curiosity for all things avian within the borders of our Golden State... and beyond.

    Rich’s status as a respected ornithologist and accomplished writer made him a logical choice to be asked for a jacket quote for the “Atlas of the Breeding Birds of Humboldt County, California.” His generous words in support of the publication furnished a welcome capstone to the 10-year effort. Rich’s enthusiasm for avian projects large and small was well-known. When my first piece appeared in Birding—detailing a Barred Owl’s probable predation upon a Spotted Owl—Rich’s email was the first I received offering congratulations.   

    Fittingly, the first time I bumped into Rich was during fall at Point Reyes. John Sterling and our merry band of Vagrants were venturing beyond the Redwood Curtain, en route to desert oases. Rich was leading a field trip, which didn’t allow much time for chatting. But he had a presence about him, one amplified by meeting him on his home ground. I read yesterday online that in the 42 years since he’d co-founded the Point Reyes Christmas Bird Count, he’d never missed one, underscoring his relationship to that special place.  

    It seems to me that Kenneth Brant’s Cape and Rich Stallcup’s Point are an apt analogy: people whose lives have been replenished on a daily basis through their interactions with their home ground.  And they’re not the only ones: Witness Guy McCaskie in the Tijuana River Valley and Salton Sea. Jon Dunn in the Owens Valley. Kristie Nelson near Mono Lake. Todd Easterla in the lower Sacramento Valley. Bruce Deuel in the northern Sacramento Valley. Gary Lester and David Fix in Humboldt. Alan Barron in Del Norte. Jim Lomax, John Luther, John Sterling, and others who’ve expanded the definition of home ground to encompass all of California’s 58 counties. Space precludes mentioning all of you, but you know who you are and what your home ground means to you.

    Thanks, Rich, for sharing your knowledge and illuminating the unique nature of each spot—and the benefits of becoming intimate with our home ground.

Tom Leskiw

December 18, 2012

Open Mic: Big Year Memories

The Big Year beat this week is covered ably by Al Levantin.  Al was one of the three birders whose 1998 ABA Area Big Year was memorialized in the Mark Obmascik novel, The Big Year.  He lives in Snowmass Village, Colorado.

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1998 was a fabulous year for me with my achieving a Big Year and celebrating the birth of two grandchildren. When I broached the idea, to my wife, of doing a Big Year, she said “Go For It!” and so began my adventure.

To see at least 700 species in the year was my goal and I surpassed that number.   My 700^th species was a Himalayan Snowcock, seen by helicopter in Nevada, which came the same week that my wife, Ethel, was trekking in Nepal.  While I couldn’t celebrate in person with her, I had six close friends over for a home cooked steak dinner to share in my excitement of reaching the 700 mark.

At the end of the year, when I was ready to hang up my binoculars, I learned that a Black-tailed Gull was seen off the Chesapeake Bay Tunnel Bridge.  In spite of having Christmas week houseguests, I was able to secure a last minute airline ticket from my home in Aspen and flew to Virginia to see the bird. 

I became aware that my son, Don, had hired a woodcarver to commemorate what he thought to be the last bird of my Big Year, a Woodcock. (Coincidently, he lives on Woodcock Lane in Westport, CT)  To Don’s dismay, he had to quickly tell the woodcarver to make a model of a Black-tailed Gull, my 711^th of the year.

photo at left by Eric Greisen, CBBT, Jan 1999

 Several years later, Mark Obmascik decided to write a book about Sandy Komito and Greg Miller’s 1998 adventures.  When Greg informed Mark that there was a third Big Year birder, the rest is history.  Not only was there the success of the book “The Big Year” about the three of us, but also 20^th Century later made a fictional movie based on the book.

Just when I thought that the excitement of 1998 finally settled down, Bob Ake and Chris Hitt thought it would be fun to arrange a get-together in the Rio Grande Valley for the eleven birders who achieved the 700 mark in one year.  Meeting, trading stories, birding, recounting experiences and going together to a friend’s ranch to see a Ferruginous Pygmy-Owl made for an enjoyable four days.  What more could one ask of a hobby of almost 68 years.

Before writing this short blog, I went to a Chinese restaurant and received the following quote in my fortune cookie, “Everything you do, you do to make your heart sing”.  That says it all.

Open Mic: How to Navigate the Ongoing Battle with Squirrels this Winter

At the Mic: Ruth Bloedorn

Ruth, of Chilton, Wisconsin, is co-founder of Birds Choice, a bird feeder design and manufacturing company she founded with her husband Dan in 1995. Birds Choice seeks to build only the best products for attracting birds and enhancing backyards for outdoor enthusiasts everywhere. For more information on Birds Choice, check out www.birdschoice.com.

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If you enjoy attracting and feeding beautiful birds in your backyard this time of year, you are probably dealing with the frustrating job of keeping relentless squirrels off your feeders. The winter season can be especially challenging for both birds and birders for two primary reasons: 1) Snow under the feeders makes the distance from the ground to the feeder shorter, making it easy for squirrels to access their next meal, and 2) the harsh winter elements make natural food sources more difficult to find, driving squirrels to bird feeders out of desperation.

So how do you ensure your backyard birds will have enough food to last during the cold winter months? Consider these suggestions.

 

Monitor feeding activities.

When placing bird feeders in your yard this winter, you should put them in an area where you can easily view them from inside your home. This will help you determine whether or not squirrels are posing a threat to your feeders. If you see them lurking around the feeders, chances are they may be taking away from the bird food. That’s when you know it’s time to act.

 

 Put up your best defense.

If you prefer to hang your feeder from a tree, keep it away from the trunk and hang it from the smallest branch possible. Place a squirrel baffle above the feeder to prevent access at the top. While some squirrels may be able to get around the baffle, it will make it more difficult for them.

If you prefer to have your feeders perched on a pole or post, consider adding a squirrel baffle or seeking out a feeder with a built-in baffle, which will cut off their access. Some birders even get creative by greasing feeder poles or putting items such as a Slinky on the pole to deter squirrels.

Another option to consider is a specially designed squirrel-proof feeder. These feeders are designed to close the feeding ports when too much weight has landed on them. Other squirrel-proof feeders use different means to discourage the squirrel, such as perches that fall or motors that knock the squirrel off entirely. Neither is intended to hurt the squirrels, but it’s enough to give them a good scare.

If squirrels in your yard persist, consider changing your seed. Bring out the safflower or NutraSaff. Squirrels do not like safflower products, but cardinals, chickadees, finches and other birds will gladly eat it. Another idea is to consider changing from traditional to hot pepper suet. This tasty treat for birds does not appeal to squirrels.

 

If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em!

If you still have trouble driving squirrels away from your feeders, set up a separate feeding station for them in a different area of your yard by using foods that they like better than bird seed. Birds Choice produces squirrel munch boxes and a squirrel arrow that holds a corncob, just to name a few. These products will appease the squirrels, all the while keeping them right where you want them – out of your bird feeders!

Believe it or not, people watch and feed squirrels almost as much as they do birds. While they can be a challenge, they’re also very entertaining. So sit back and enjoy the show!

Open Mic: Bionic Birding - Microphone Assisted Birding in the Digital Age

At the Mic: Rob Fergus

Dr. Rob Fergus is an ornithologist who specializes in urban ecology and human/wildlife interactions. In addition to researching and consulting on human/bird interactions in cities across the United States, Latin America, and Europe, he currently teaches at Rowan University in Glassboro, N.J. and Rosemont College in Philadelphia, Pa.  He also writes at The Birdchaser and Urban Birdscapes blogs, and contributes to Birding is Fun.

Other Open Mics by Rob include Dreaming both big and small: saving birds one county (and box of donuts) at a time.

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This past spring I started recording the nocturnal bird migration over my house with an Oldbird 21c microphone.  The microphone sits out in my yard, and I run a cable from the mic to my computer inside my home.  Every night my computer automatically records the sounds picked up by the mic, and each morning I use several other programs to review the recording, locate bird calls, and make spectrograms of the calls. Then I identify and catalog the calls by referring to online resources and other published night flight call (NFC) libraries.

I was quickly amazed by the number of birds calling over my home each night.  Early in the spring, most of the calls were White-throated Sparrows--sometimes hundreds a night.  Other birds weren’t as easy to identify.  One call was particularly puzzling, and in consultation with more experienced listeners on the NFC email list, I was finally able to identify it as a Virginia Rail call.

This was amazing!  Virginia Rails are almost impossible to find in my county, but one had flown over my house while I was asleep!  I recorded another one flying over a couple days later.  I didn’t want to miss rare birds like this.  As a birder, it wasn’t enough for me to study migration by finding and identifying bird calls after the fact, I wanted to hear the bird live! 

So I started spending hours each night listening to the microphone by plugging headphones into my laptop.  As I sat at my kitchen table, I could hear the birds flying high overhead--it was like having a telescope for my ears!  While I might hear only a few dozen calls outside with my naked ears, the microphone could pick up hundreds of higher or more distant birds and soon my listening was rewarded--I heard and recorded the passage of such local rare migrants as Whimbrel, Short-billed Dowitcher, Black-crowned Night Heron, and American Bittern.  My yard list was booming!  While a local birder might be lucky to hear one or two Black-billed Cuckoos in a given year, I could often hear a half dozen or more before bedtime!  And since I was recording everything I heard, I could go back later and review the recording to help me identify the nearly impossibly short and similar sounding flight calls of warblers, sparrows, thrushes, and more!  I wasn’t just counting birds that went bump in the night--I was documenting my identifications with sound recordings and spectrograms.

I was making all kinds of discoveries, learning a ton, and enjoying migration more than ever before.  Everything was great.  Or so I thought.

Turns out several of my birding buddies were ticked off that I was reporting these birds on my personal eBird account.  My county year list was now tainted.  They told me that birds heard through a microphone shouldn’t count for your personal lists.  Counting birds heard through a microphone feed was cheating.  Whereas I found listening to high flying migrants through a microphone similar to watching distant birds through a spotting scope, one of my friends said he thought it was more like counting birds that you saw on a closed circuit camera feed.  Not cool.

As far as I can tell, the ABA listing rules do not prohibit counting birds heard live through a digital device.  Since I was hearing the birds live, albeit with the aid of digital enhancement, I counted them.  But maybe I was wrong?  Maybe digitally assisted listening shouldn’t count?  In this digital birding age of microphones, digital cameras, and other devices, what are we to make of bird encounters mediated by digital technology?  We are way beyond arguing over the countability of heard birds.  Now we have to ask if birds heard through a digital listening device count. 

So where do you come down on this issue?  Is listening to birds through a microphone a legitimate and even cutting-edge birding technique, or is it cheating--a fly by night dirty trick?

Open Mic: Birds in Art at the Woodson Museum

An opening message from Woodson Art Museum Director Kathy Kelsey Foley: I had the pleasure recently of walking the Leigh Yawkey Woodson Art Museum’s galleries with Susan Ford-Hoffert – an experienced and well-traveled birder and also a longtime Museum member and enthusiast.

While Susan and I do share a love of art, her bird-watching skills far eclipse mine. Her keen observations are beautifully presented in the post that follows. We’re grateful that Susan took time to share these thoughts with us.

The Woodson Art Museum prides itself in offering the best indoor bird watching on the planet thanks to the talents and creativity of hundreds of international artists.

Birds in Art is the Woodson’s flagship exhibition, organized anew each year. Information – including the exhibition prospectus – is available on the Museum’s web site at www.lywam.org. The exhibition opens in Wausau, Wisconsin, on the first weekend after Labor Day. Following the close of Birds in Art at the Woodson, sixty of the more than 100 artworks travel to additional venues each year. The 2012 exhibition travels to: The Wildlife Experience, Parker, Colorado, December 1, 2012 through February 18, 2013; Newington-Cropsey Foundation, Hastings-on-Hudson, New York, March 9 through May 5, 2013; Frank H. McClung Museum, University of Tennessee, Knoxville, May 25 through August 18, 2013; Rockport Center for the Arts, Rockport, Texas, September 14 through November 16, 2013.

A fully illustrated, 132-page color catalogue accompanies Birds in Art. It’s available online [http://www.lywam.org/birdsinart/index.cfm?room=catalogues] or by calling the Woodson Art Museum at 715-845-7010.

Enjoy Susan's Birds in Art bird-watching expedition!

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by Susan Ford-Hoffert

When I’m asked why I love birding, I struggle to articulate my passion. Do I say I love the birds--these alien creatures of wing and feather who fascinate me with their diversity as well as their behavior? The link to the outdoors in an increasingly urban world? The hunt to find the scrap of color in a monochrome winter setting or identify which streaked, brown tiny peep is scooting back and forth in front of the lapping waves on a windy beach?

Wandering through the clean, light spaces of the Leigh Yawkey Woodson Art Museum, taking in Birds in Art 2012, I realize all my answers are here, beautifully represented in the works of artists from around the world. This is no field guide on canvas. This is a loving tribute that in many ways recreates what I, as a birder, see and feel in my birding adventures.

Birds are here of course, up close and personal. An American Kestrel (Todd Wohlt) perches on a pine branch, so realistic I expect its dark eye to blink. I see in three dimensions every rufous back and tail feather and its slate-blue wings; the telltale falcon mustache.

A spotted dove (Gail Stanek) rests on a banana palm, a tropical counterpoint subtly colored but with an arresting half-collar of black and white spots. It sits tucked into a curve of the palm, quiet and still.

A hooded crow (Zev Labinger) sits on a wire, backlit but still identifiable through its silhouette of fanned tail feathers and the white belly with an equally fanned throat patch – assuming of course I was familiar with this European bird. But how often do I peer above me, amazed that in bright light I cannot make out any color and need to rely on the outline of the bird in question?

Its American cousin, a common raven, grasps a piece of deadwood (Miki Harder) and gazes gravely into the distance; I see the strength of its bill and the grace of its wings. Somehow in this bronze sculpture I also see the intelligence of the bird; perhaps because of the juxtaposition of its awkward stance with the dignity of its gaze.

A tiny yellow-rumped warbler in winter (Larry Barth) is not the bright blue and yellow of courtship but a quiet soft gray, just as beautiful as in spring. I am reminded again of the delicacy of birds – they are small; light puffballs that soften the bleakness of a northern January.

I begin to feel like I am walking along a birding trail . . .without the heft of my binoculars and dressed normally (no knee boots or sun hat or pocket vests).

Over there, a snowy egret (Sandra Blair) basks in a concentrated spotlight of sun, easy to identify. But wait; look again. The light glows, and I now see the prism of colors in what I thought was a white bird. I knew this was a beautiful bird but this artist has given me the luxury of a long look in open sunlight, and now it takes my breath away.

A European coot (Alan Woollett) glides across a gently moving body of water – plain, black, numerous as the ones I see here at home and yet it fascinates me. The play of light and movement captures a serenity that I didn’t anticipate, and I appreciate this common bird’s beauty in context with its surroundings.

Also familiar is a red-shouldered hawk (Catherine McClung), peering through palm fronds and a breath away from lifting off for the hunt. But here and with the gift of time to observe, I become aware of how the lines on this bird’s breast, tail, wings help camouflage it in the lines of the fronds.

Many of these artworks hint at the behavior of birds that capture my attention and lead me to stand still and just watch. The sandhill crane (Janet N. Heaton) in full courtship display is an easy example – the full, in-your-face ritual of every feather spread to make the bird look huge; the ballet steps of the dance lifts my heart. Equally fascinating is the busy endearing focus of a wren (Harro Maass) feeding chicks in a tongue-in-cheek piece that makes me laugh, especially since I could see a wren making a nest in a curl of paper – “make do” is this species’ motto, I think!

A western screech owl (Tony Angell) postures in an inquisitive manner, easily identifiable to me as one of those moments when I wonder who is watching who.

Like birding, this exhibition also offers the hunt – stunning scenery that an experienced birder will appreciate for what it contains.

There! First, I see only a pool reflecting the late summer clarity of a spring-fed pond (Al Barnes) and admire the calm beauty. But quick, look! There’s a barn swallow streaking by, scooping up water on the wing. I have to look twice to truly SEE what is in front of me.

What looks like backlit reeds on what could be a flooded field (Chris Bacon) on a still day reveals a tiny dunlin, stage right. Like real birding, I didn’t see it at first . . . but I just knew there had to be a shorebird somewhere – its perfect habitat.

I pass through the seasons and the regions--here is a frosty bay (Jim Bortz) and yet I detect movement and THERE . . . three common goldeneyes on the wing.

A Wisconsin stand of birch – all white and black against golden underbrush (Mike Anderson) is less challenging. The pileated woodpeckers pop out--an easy but thrilling find.

A steamy summer morning in a flooded valley out west (Edward Aldrich) and I see the almost abstract shape of a great egret, easy to identify but somehow also blending into the light and dark of the water, grasses, shadow and sunlight.

The drama and spectacle of two bull hippos (Jan Martin McGuire) challenging each other – all roars and tusk slashing and gigantic bodies charging through the water – was a visual reward. And then I saw the bonus: three oxpeckers zooming away from the fight. One looks frightened, but the other two look resigned to dealing with this kind of disruption in their feeding.

These artists capture the essence of birding. They appreciate the beauty – paring down the elegance of a perched bird (Bill Price) to smooth, exaggerated arching lines that capture stillness, speed, movement and grace. A family of Dunlins (Hank Tyler) are reduced to plump round bodies contrasting with textures of mud and water – they blend in and yet they don’t.

Several pieces feature house sparrows, an invasive species that many of my fellow birders disdain. I generally agree but in looking at a cluster of them on an old brick wall (Kathleen Dunn), I saw the contrast of their feathers against the hard shapes, their implied activity, and the blend of their browns and grays against the worn yellow and red and saw the beauty that they bring to the most urban and (at first glance) ugly of environments.

And that’s what birds do. They bring beauty and mystery, spectacle and comedy into our world. They are everywhere – in impenetrable forests, along sandy coasts, across mountain vistas, and right there on the sidewalk in front of us. We just need to look. Birds in Art gives us the opportunity and the luxury to look and look again and appreciate birds for all they are and all they represent.

Open Mic: Tips for attracting the best birds this fall

At the Mic: Ruth Bloedorn

Ruth, of Chilton, Wisconsin, is co-founder of Birds Choice, a bird feeder design and manufacturing company she founded with her husband Dan in 1995.  Birds Choice seeks to build only the best products for attracting birds and enhancing backyards for outdoor enthusiasts everywhere. For more information on Birds Choice, check out www.birdschoice.com.

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As the weather changes and leaves begin to fall, many people believe that it’s time to stop filling their bird feeders for the season. Wild berries, fruit, and crops are abundant, causing many to believe that birds will have more than enough to sustain them.

One important detail that is often overlooked is that fall is migration time. Birds instinctively know when to migrate, not only by the change in climate, but also by the decreasing number of daylight hours. This is the time to ensure your backyard offers a variety of seeds and feeders, along with a water source, for migrating birds so they can remain healthy and well fed for their long journey south.

Birds Choice offers the following tips for attracting the best birds to your backyard during the fall and winter months. By heeding this advice, you may be surprised to see beautiful birds at your feeders that you have never seen before!

Tip #1: Offer bird foods that have high oil content and are high in calories.

Black oil sunflower seed is a must! A good blend of seed for the fall and winter would contain sunflower seeds, white proso millet, and nuts. Make it easy for the birds to feed by using a fly-thru feeder. They’re favored because you can easily see the birds as they pick up seeds or nuts, and the large platform area on fly-thru feeders will attract the most birds. Nyjer seed offered in a separate feeder is another high-energy food for those looking to attract finches.

Tip #2: Seek out suet! 

Suet cakes and logs are made from rendered animal fat. Suet is high in protein, fat, and calories and is enjoyed by birds when seed and insects are getting scarce. Suet will help you attract a steady stream of woodpeckers, jays, chickadees, nuthatches, thrashers, and kinglets – all of whom will be awaiting a turn to get a taste of this high-energy food.

Tip #3: Keep fresh water available.

Birds are attracted to moving water, so this is a great way to bring them to your backyard. To make sure your birdbath always has a steady supply of water, add a dripper or mister that connects directly to your outside faucet. Further enhance your birdbath by adding water wigglers or flow rocks, both of which will help recirculate the water and keep it from getting stagnant. As the days get cooler, add a heater to your birdbath to keep it from freezing. And remember that birds like shallow water, so be sure your source is no more than 1.5 to 2 inches deep.

Tip #4: Do some fall cleaning!

Fall is the time to open up your birdhouses and pull out abandoned nests. In the winter, birds share birdhouses to keep warm. Cleaning out your birdhouses will give birds the extra space they need to come together and stay warm.

Tip #5: Put decals on your windows.

As the leaves fall and the trees become bare, birds see reflections in the windows and mistake them for real trees. We have all heard the thump at the window and know what it means. Prevent window collisions by putting specially- made decals on your windows to deter birds from striking them. The good news? Most decals simply cling to windows, making them easy to put up and take down.

Tip #6: Provide distractions for squirrels.

Believe it or not, people watch and feed squirrels almost as much as they do the birds! Deter squirrels from visiting your bird feeders by installing baffles on your feeders. You could also set up a feeding station in a different area using foods that squirrels like better than bird seed, such as cracked corn, corn on the cob, and critter mix. If they persist, buy a squirrel-proof feeder.

As winter approaches, natural food sources for birds will start to dwindle. Be sure to provide the best for the birds you love! Keeping your feeders clean and full will keep birds well nourished and give them every reason to visit and keep coming back year after year.

Steve N.G. Howell: So You Want to Write a Bird Book? Six Decrees of Superation, Part 1

Steve N. G. Howell is a senior international bird tour leader for WINGS and has written several books including A Guide to the Birds of Mexico and Northern Central America, Gulls of the Americas (with Jon Dunn), and the recently released Petrels, Shearwaters, and Albatrosses of North America.  He lives near Point Reyes, California.

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In a world full of bird books and book reviews, it often seems to be a free-for-all in terms of writing, design, illustration, and the subsequent success (or lack thereof) in conveying information. Having contemplated this subject for some years, I put together the following essay to organize my own thoughts. I'd be curious about other thoughts and pet peeves from readers, users, and writers. 

Ideally, field guides should be so easy to use that the birds can identify themselves for you! Hood Mockingbird on Isla Española, Galapagos, 18 July 2001. © Steve N. G. Howell.

 

    We’ve all used bird books and articles that “work” for us, and at least looked at some that don’t. But what is it about those that work, and why do we not like the others? Having written several bird books and many articles, both popular and scientific, I wish there had been a summary of tips available before I learned the hard way; not so much tips about writing style (which is obviously important, and covered by numerous manuals), but about organizing text and information, working with illustrators, thinking about plate layout, etc.

      And so, as I risk skipping into a minefield of criticism, this article is a collection of suggestions to consider before putting pen to paper, finger to keyboard, or paintbrush to palette. The suggestions extend beyond books to articles, both popular and more formal, and reflect learning from mistakes and, importantly, learning from others. If this article helps any prospective writer, pushes buttons, or just entertains the reader, then it has been successful.

      The six points are here broken into two installments, to allow for rumination and digestion, not just because "What part of attention span do you not...?" is a burgeoning part of society these days.

 1) Identify your Audience – and Yourself

    Whom are you writing for and what do you want to communicate? It is difficult, at best, to write a book or article that pleases both beginner and expert, so don’t be afraid to identify the spectrum of readers you are aiming for, and write accordingly. Consequently, your product will fall somewhere between Finnegan’s Wake and the white pages of a phone book. But remember: Nothing is so simple that somebody can’t misunderstand it, and you will never please everyone, even in your intended audience. Don’t patronize but don’t make things too complicated. Whatever your audience, try to entertain as well as educate. Dry and dead writing will soon send people to sleep, and you will have failed. A good example of writing for an audience is Steve Hilty’s Birds of Tropical America, which distills numerous scientific studies into very readable prose for the curious layman. Another is Kenn Kaufman’s Focus Guide to Birds of North America, aimed at beginning birders and an audience many of us might not even consider as birders.

      Also identify what you, the author, want to get out of writing – to share information, to make money, to become famous? The first is perhaps the purest motive, but few authors object to the last two possibilities. I suspect that most of the best bird books were written by people who wanted originally to organize their own thoughts, which then morphed into something useful to others; and a few have even made money in the field. (It has been said that writing is a lot like sex: first you do it for the love of it; then for a few friends; then, if you’re any good, for the money.)

      Be aware that you, the creator, represent only one member of the writing triad. The second is the publisher, who provides a service (for money, of course) linking author to consumer, the third member. Consumers want information, entertainment, and value for money, not necessarily in that order.

      And know your limitations: Don’t be afraid to say NO to publishers and colleagues. If you know only about New World swifts, then write only about New World swifts, don’t write Swifts of the World, or a monograph on Vireos of Britain and the World. One of your limitations will be revealed with experience: Time. How long does it take you to finish something? Ideas are great, and lots of people start to write things, but seeing something through to publication invariably takes more time than you had thought. As a rule, the last 5% of a project seems to take 50% of the time. Working with co-authors can speed up (or slow down!) the process. These are things to be learned first hand, but be aware of them before you start.

 2) Understand your Subject and Organize your Thoughts

    The best writers know what they’re writing about and can communicate it well. If you don’t understand something, then it will be difficult to explain to others. I remember writing my university thesis and struggling to synthesize masses of information, much of which I didn’t really understand. The result was awful (in hindsight), although at the time I thought it was quite good, or maybe it was just the relief of being done! But even if you understand a subject, concepts are often multidimensional, not linear, and organizing them to be clear on paper is a challenge. Remember those teachers who were brilliant in their field but who couldn’t teach? And the others who were great teachers but who might never experience much original thought? You may benefit from identifying which of these types you fit best, and then working to improve your weaker side.

      Once you understand your subject well enough, synthesize and organize logically. This is perhaps where most bird books fall short. Some fault often lies with designers, but the responsibility for logical presentation of information is that of authors and illustrators. Certain books exhibit greater clarity of organization than others, and you can learn by checking books and articles in a similar vein to your chosen subject. Evaluate their strengths and weaknesses, find their best features and adopt them. Read book reviews, which can be a good resource to highlight the pros and cons of other people’s work. And don’t be afraid to ask for feedback (see point 5, part 2). Here I must acknowledge my debt to Guy Tudor, a genius for the organization of text as well as artwork. I remember a book project about which Sophie Webb and I thought all was great until Guy explained why it wasn’t (and in no uncertain terms!), and how things could be improved, greatly.

      Organizing information extends beyond the written word to illustrations, which are a critical component of bird books and articles (see point 6, part 2). In particular, give serious consideration to how figures are arranged on plates and how plates are referenced to text. European designers and publishers in particular seem to love using numbers and letters as labels, but this user-unfriendly approach is thankfully dying out. Even if there’s no space on plates to write bird names in full, allow room when planning plates to write widely understood symbols or abbreviations for male, female, juvenile, breeding plumage, etc.

      Explaining how to organize plates and their captions is a book in itself (and see Figures 1-4). Foremost, the illustrator and author should work together. Things to think about include:

      (1) Different species, or even related groups of species, can be subtly grouped, rather than having a plate of 30 evenly spaced figures, 15 of which relate to 15 other figures of these same species. Something to avoid is mixing up species all over a crowded plate.

      (2) In monographs or regional field guides, it can be helpful if species within a genus or family are arranged “geographically” on a plate, when possible (northwestern species in the top left, etc.).

      (3) Within whatever sequence you follow in a field guide, similar species should be grouped when possible, but only if they occur together; there’s no need to confuse unnecessarily by grouping all mostly yellow warblers if they won’t be seen in the same place. The facing page captions should note geographic ranges, so you can eliminate species that occur elsewhere and more quickly identify the bird you are seeing.

      (4) In an identification guide, similar and sympatric species can be portrayed in comparable poses, assuming these are appropriate, rather than in quite different poses. The various sparrows in various iterations of the National Geographic field guides are in all sorts of "artsy" poses that do not enable easy comparison and thus are not overly helpful for identification. Contrast this strategy with that of the Sibley Guide, which is a superb example of organization. Sibley’s writing and standardized illustrations are disarming in the way they empower almost anyone to identify most species of birds in North America.

     Here are some plate layouts to contemplate, before part 2. I thank Princeton University Press, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, and David Sibley for permission to reproduce these plates in this informal setting.

 

Figure 1: An example of lack of correspondence between the numbering of captions and facing illustrations. The book Waterfowl, by Madge and Burn (Houghton Mifflin, 1988), is overall an excellent work, but (at least with 20:20 hindsight) it is easy to ask what happened to the plates and facing captions? How could anyone let this happen? And Plate 9, shown here, is far from unique in its illogical layout.

      Yes, we can read the numbers, but it would have been rather more user-friendly and visually intuitive to place paintings and relevant text opposite each another. On more crowded plate layouts one obviously can’t have direct correspondence with facing-page text, but an overall left-to-right, top-to-bottom plan is still helpful (and cf. Figure 2a).

 

Figures 2a-2b: Here are two examples of plate layout – which is easier to use? Yes, Figure 2b has the luxury of fewer figures and space to write names in full, but many of the White Wagtails (bird number 2) in Figure 2a could have been grouped by subspecies (subtle adjustment to plate layout also could have arranged other species into intuitive visual groupings). And numerous letters could be replaced by symbols for male, female, etc. To find that illustration number 2l is of a non-breeding male requires skipping back and forth between plate and text – an unnecessary step that could be eliminated easily. Plate 100 from Robson's A Guide to the Birds of Southeast Asia (Princeton, 2000); Plate 24 from Pipits and Wagtails by Alström & Mild (Princeton, 2003).

Figure 3: Quick, how many species are shown? Seven? One? Three? Well, five, actually. Subtle grouping of figures could have conveyed this information visually and effortlessly, vs. having to peer at all of the captions. But at least the names are on the plate, not simply numbers and letters. The plate number, however, is only on the facing page with text, which does not leap out as one flips through the book looking for Plate 17... Designers? Got to love them. Plate 17 from Pipits and Wagtails, by Alström & Mild (Princeton, 2003).

 

Figure 4a: This plate shows Western and Semipalmated Sandpipers with a total of 16 whole-bird figures (plus heads, bills, feet, and feathers). As well as the species being mixed almost randomly, two figures of heads are unlabeled, and five whole-bird figures lack letters to designate their plumage. Consequently, the plate is rather cluttered and not so easy to use; compare this with the elegant simplicity of Figure 4b. Plate 75 from Shorebirds by Hayman, Marchant, & Prater, (Houghton Mifflin, 1986).

 

Figure 4b: Standardized comparison between species and plumages is only one benefit of the Sibley Guide (compare this plate with Figure 4a); annotated pointers add greatly to the power of the illustrations. From The Sibley Guide, by David Sibley (Knopf, 2000).

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Look for part two in the coming days.