Sandhills and Mountains

I saw four volcanoes yesterday, and they weren't even the biggest sightings of the day.

One of the sandhill cranes that flew over as I walked the
Kiwa Trail at the Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge.

The drive to and from the Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge had views of Mount Rainier, Mount St. Helens, Mount Adams, and Mount Hood. That, by itself, is enough to make a day remarkable. At the refuge, however, I logged my very first sighting of sandhill cranes, turning remarkable into breathtaking.

Yesterday's spectacular views began to take shape several weeks ago when I visited the Web site of the Black Hills Audubon Society. They had planned a trip to the refuge at Ridgefield with the hope of seeing some sandhill cranes. Previously unaware that the cranes visited the refuge, I became interested in making my own trip there. With birders reporting sightings of the cranes at Ridgefield over the weekend and with sunny weather coming this week, I made up my mind to go. I'm so happy I did.

Mount St. Helens watching over the
Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge.

On the drive to Ridgefield, a haze shrouded the Cascade Mountains, hiding Mount Rainier, but the three volcanoes to its south proudly made their appearances as my mom and I neared our destination. The towering giants served as an exciting prelude to what the refuge had in store for us. We heard the sandhill cranes before we saw them, and then, after photographing a green heron and some cedar waxwings at the beginning of the Kiwa Trail, we sighted our first group of cranes about a third of the way down the trail. Never having seen a sandhill crane in person before, I felt like I had just discovered some priceless artifact. As we continued down the trail, another group of cranes flew over head, we saw a great egret, and Mount St. Helens peeked over the hill. We had amazing sights all around, and at the center of it, I found those cranes and the sense that they had given me an experience everyone should have at some point in life. Something special exists in those birds, a charisma and a power that compels us to take notice.

Before leaving the refuge, we also saw a pied-billed grebe. After lunch in Ridgefield, we began our return trip. Mount St. Helens, Mount Adams, and Mount Hood remained out for viewing, and Mount Rainier finally presented itself.

Four volcanoes, three birds added to my 2018 list, which now stands at 124 species, and, to top it all off, my first sighting of sandhill cranes: a day to remember for sure.

A Mythical Event

With the right combination of anticipation, waiting, and surprise, some life events channel a magic so powerful that they become instantly and forever mythic.

Last weekend my favorite bird, the cedar waxwing, made one such event happen. It was something I had always hoped to see but wasn't looking for at the time.

My affinity for cedar waxwings goes well beyond my general liking of birds. We click. Social but free-spirited, subtle but with a unique style, peculiar but charismatic, these birds make their own rules and plumb a special joie de vivre. Anyone who pays attention can see them do amazing things.

Two cedar waxwings share a berry.

I've had plenty of opportunities to witness their behavior, and many of those occasions turned into cherished memories. I remember the day I first identified them as they fluttered through some Indian plum bushes in search of fruit; I remember sitting on the bank watching them hawk insects over a creek; I remember their whistles and trills by heart to the point that I instinctively respond to them with a smile and a look to see where the birds are. Usually, they're gobbling down fruits or berries, lounging cheerily together in a tree with their crests carelessly falling back over their heads, or flying off in effervescent earfuls to look for more berries.

For all my various encounters with them, before last Saturday, I had never seen them execute one of their most quintessential behaviors. Cedar waxwings will sit in groups or pairs and pass food, including berries, insects, and flower petals back and forth with their beaks until one of them decides to eat it. Sometimes, they do it as part of a mating ritual, and other times, they appear to do it just for fun. Whatever the reason, it helps define their nature as unique, social, and joyous birds.

Eager to see this sharing of food and long disappointed, I began to think I might not have the chance. It turned into something like the sasquatch (well, more like the auroras actually--some storied thing I knew existed but had never been in the right place at the right time to view in person). After a while, the reality of not seeing it pushed the hope of seeing it to the background. Then, last Saturday, I saw two waxwings in a bush along a walking path. As I started taking pictures, they leaned toward each other. Although blocked from the point of exchange, I knew exactly what I had just seen through the camera lens. The surprise and happiness of at last witnessing the pass of a berry from one bird to another locked the moment into my memory hard and in a way more clear than the picture I ended up taking. All the waiting and dashed hopes came together for an epic scene time can never take from me.

The stories of waxwings sharing berries are myths for me no longer, but my own experience with it sure seems mythical.

The Madness

For the second year in a row, the Cornell Lab of Ornithology will be running its March Migration Madness tournament, in which birds compete for the title of people's favorite.

This year, the lab is taking nominations for the last four slots in the tournament, so go nominate your favorite on Facebook. Last year, the cedar waxwing was runner-up to the black-capped chickadee.

Go, CW.

For more information about March Migration Madness, click here or watch the following video:

Waxwing in the Tree

Twice, I've blogged about cedar waxwings, so my affinity for them is no secret. However, I usually see them much more in the summer because their search for fruits and berries leads them far and wide in the winter.

This year, my mom got me a waxwing for the Christmas tree. The ornament doesn't flutter from its perch to pursue flying insects or give off the distinctive trilling whistle of a waxwing, but it's a nice holiday companion nonetheless--one of my favorite birds decorating the season.

Just a Memory in the Future?

I was feeling a little down today, so I looked for some things that would put a smile on my face. After listening to some music and watching some comedians do their work, I felt better, so I stopped actively seeking pick-me-ups. Then, after a while, a seemingly unrelated urge to get some information on cedar waxwings overtook me. (As you may recall from an earlier post, the cedar waxwing is one of my favorite birds.)

I decided to go to All About Birds for my waxwing information. Along with tons of information about birds, the Web site has recordings of bird sounds, so I clicked on one of the waxwing calls. As they do when I hear them outside, the familiar trilling and whistling brought a smile of happiness to my face. However, I recognized the presence of another feeling sparked by the sounds. This one was deeper, and I realized just how connected I am to cedar waxwings.

That may sound fanciful, but in truth, I think the feeling is quite grounded. I have a number of special memories tied to waxwings. For instance, I remember my grandma yelling for a gun to keep the birds out of her berry patches; I remember my personal rediscovery of them near my home ten years ago; and I think of how this summer, while I was fishing, I decided to take a break and just sit and watch as a group of the birds fluttered over the creek in pursuit of bugs (I was so happy to see these old friends there).

Through those memories and others like them, the cedar waxwing has become part of me, and I think that is why I ended up at All About Birds, looking at, reading about, and listening to them today: Needing to tap in to something strong, I reconnected with an enduring element of my life.

Afterward, I thought about what would happen to me if cedar waxwings were not around anymore. I am in a part of the world where the birds live all year round, and I usually don't have to wait very long before I hear them outside (as opposed to finding the sound on the Internet); but I wonder if global warming might change that, forcing them farther north or even driving them toward extinction. I think if either of those scenarios were to happen in my lifetime, I'd lose part of myself, a part that would be hard to live without. (This is an example of what I meant when, in my top five reasons for addressing global warming, I said I didn't want to see the place I grew up changed by something we can stop.)

Tips and Top Photos

Photography is a great way to connect with nature. It's like telling someone you'd like to get to know them. Then, after interacting with that person for a while, you realize you've got a great friend and some wonderful memories.

As it turns out, the National Wildlife Federation provides some tips for those hoping to capture their environment in photographs. Check out the tips here.

Also, each year, NWF holds a photo contest for professionals, amateurs, and children. The following video is a promotion for last year's contest, but it also contains some great tips. Plus, check out the bird in the YouTube still image. For those who don't recognize it, it's a cedar waxwing, which is one of my favorite birds. For me, the photo captures the character of these birds perfectly. (Waxwings always seem a little cavalier and irreverent--maybe it's the black masks.)



When the information for the 2011 NWF contest becomes available, I'll post it.

Now, get out there and shoot away.