Travis Audubon Society
3710 Cedar St.
Box 5
Austin, Texas 78705
512.300.BIRD (2473)
info@travisaudubon.org
3710 Cedar St.
Box 5
Austin, Texas 78705
512.300.BIRD (2473)
info@travisaudubon.org
Winner of Best Birdathon Story:
Flying Solo
By Terry Banks
Editor's note: Terry, birding solo, named her "team" the “Wandering
Albatross” – that solitary wandering bird of the open seas. She
birded St. Edwards Park, the Great Hills Greenbelt, Buescher-
Bastrop State Park, Hornsby Bend, and the Schaetzlers’ Warbler
Woods.
Terri saw 118 species; 18 warblers:
WARBLERS
1. Black-throated Green Warbler 2. Yellow-breasted Chat
3. Golden-cheeked Warbler 4. Common Yellowthroat
5. Yellow Warbler 6. American Redstart
7. Magnolia Warbler 8. Nashville Warbler
9. Wilson’s Warbler 10. Chestnut-sided Warbler
11. Ovenbird 12. Northern Waterthrush
13. Northern Parula 14. Black and White Warbler
15. Pine Warbler 16. Tennessee Warbler
17. Canada Warbler 18. Mourning Warbler
FLYING SOLO
Going birding by yourself is a curious thing. It is peaceful, and your
really can pay attention to birdsong and the habitat. If there are no
other people around, it is a different sort of experience. It is just you,
the birds, and their natural habitat. Most of the time I birded it was
cool, green, wildflowers were blooming and the air was fresh with
the promise of spring.
But when you are birding by yourself, you notice your weaknesses.
Birds that previously were identified by another member of your
group are your responsibility to identify, and if you are trying to get as
many species as possible for a Birdathon, there is that added
stress; a sort of pressure to learn that can actually be good – you
realize how inadequate you are, and realize you just have to get
better.
There were adventures, to be sure. One morning before daybreak I
did my rather poor imitation of a Barred owl at Buescher State Park.
I had tried a Screech owl, but when I had no luck, I tried the Barred
owl. I whooped what is my best maniacal hooting (probably
insulting the barred owl in the process) when a large form crashed
into the bushes in front of me, unseen in the darkness. At that
moment I remembered the story told me by a respected and
reputable birder - the story of an angry Great Horned owl that
taloned to death a camper who played the song of a Great Horned
Owl on tape. I wondered if Barred owls could be equally as
dangerous. I never did see that creature in the dark, but I was quiet
after that.
And one day a bird that I thought was an Eastern Pewee let out a
sound that I never heard an Eastern Pewee make; it was more quiet
and one syllable. I wondered if it could be a Western Wood Pewee,
and e-mailed some very experienced birders to ask them about the
possibility. In very diplomatic terms, I was informed that a Western
Wood PeWee had never been seen in central Texas. Of course, I
had listened to songs of both species after the sighting on my
birding software, but I couldn’t be sure what I heard exactly. Memory
is a tricky thing – you just can’t go back. I was left feeling both
embarrassed at my lack of skill and baffled by the bird. I wrote e-
mails apologizing for my probable mistake, but one very kind and
expert birder told me something I will never forget about birding or
any other venture. He said, “I think if you don’t make mistakes, you
are not trying hard enough.”
I learned a lot about distribution of birds; I considered how
numerous the American Cardinal is, for instance – or the Carolina
wren or the White-eyed vireo. I learned that even if you see a bird
commonly, it is not dependable during a Birdathon. I was hearing
and seeing Broad-winged hawks the weeks before my Birdathon,
but not during. I remember one birder mentioning that during
migration, mirgrants “disperse”, and dispersal of migrants seemed
to be the rule for me. The migrants didn’t appear to be in any one
place that I birded, but there appeared to be small samples of birds
such as the Yellow, Wilsons, and Magnolias in all the places I
went.
One day about 1:00 pm I decided I would go to Hornsby Bend. Here
I met another birder, and she and I birded in the lawns in front of the
CER building there. We were seeing and hearing warblers in the
trees, when suddenly she noticed a warbler dropping down from the
branch of a tree into a little depression in the parking lot. I think it
was a Black-throated Green warbler. Then another warbler dropped
down into that depression, and another and another – about 20 in all
of an assortment of species. At our vantage point we could not see
into the depression, so we moved slowly so as not to scare the
warblers, and the attraction became obvious – a shallow little
puddle. It had been a hot afternoon, and the warblers were thirsty. It
had rained that morning, and a pathetic little puddle was all that was
left of the rains; it was shallow, dirty, and quickly evaporating. These
thirsty warblers wanted water, and this puddle was the best offering.
After seeing this I was reminded of something that I’ve read and
heard often: water, something that always seems plentiful to us
humans, is sometimes the greatest need for a bird just trying to
survive.
The last day I birded I was very tired. My previous days’ tally was 103
total species, and I needed to get about 47 new species. The more I
thought about this, the more unlikely it seemed for me to find that
47. The common birds I was seeing over and over again, but the
more unusual birds were just that – unusual and hard to come by.
By the 4th day I had given up my other life; neglected my children,
husband and dog, my house was a mess, and the family did not
have decent meals that week. I was exhausted with my early
morning expeditions, and my enthusiasm for birding was in a
slump, That morning I dragged myself out of bed and headed to the
place I was most likely to pick up those 47 species – Hornsby Bend.
I arrived at about 6:30 am – the earliest I’ve ever visited Hornsby. I
had heard that you don’t need to visit the ponds early, that any time
will do, but I wanted to see for myself. I was delighted to see
sandpipers foraging in the grass by the ponds early, a thing I have
never seen sandpipers do. Millions of miniscule bugs milled
around like a thick fog, and I wondered if these bugs were attractive
to the Least and Pectoral sandpipers foraging there. 10:00 am,
however, found me driving around the ponds rather listlessly. I did
marvel at the hundreds of Wilson’s Phalaropes that were there that
day, and I wondered if anybody thought to scrutinize those hundreds
of Wilson’s for perhaps a Red-necked or Red.
I was thinking about doing just that when a small group of three
adults and 4 teenagers approached me. The woman, whose name
I later learned was Ann, approached me.
“Do you know what all those birds are?” she asked. I told her they
were Wilson’s Phalaropes, and I noticed the small group was toting
books and binoculars, and they dutifully looked up Phalaropes in
their guides. Ann explained that she and her group were from Grace’
s Academy in Georgetown, she was a teacher, and instead of
teaching today’s nature lesson in a classroom, she took the kids
actually out to a natural setting; today’s lesson was birds, and she
had learned that Hornsby was the best place. She confessed she
didn’t know much about birds, so I volunteered to take the small
group birding. I figured what the heck, TAS is better served with a
little public service than with me trying to track down a few unlikely
birds.
So that’s how I ended my Birdathon on that last day, I took the
group into the woods, and found out that they were naturals – one
man, Ann’s husband, spotted a Swainson’s thrush in the
undergrowth; the only boy of the group gently picked up an anole
lizard to study it, and the three girls admonished him not to hurt it.
They studied the lizard until it hopped off. Birds were not plentiful but
were singing, and even the singing of the Cardinal was new and
fresh to this group of budding naturalists. One bright young girl was
more eager even than the rest, and I wondered, could someone like
her be the next Ken Kauffman, Connie Hager, or Roger Tory
Peterson?
I guess these people were the best thing of all; they, with their love of
nature, were perhaps my best birds; to be sure – birds in a
metaphorical sense; but if people learn to love nature, they protect it.
That is my hope. And that is my Birdathon.
Flying Solo
By Terry Banks
Editor's note: Terry, birding solo, named her "team" the “Wandering
Albatross” – that solitary wandering bird of the open seas. She
birded St. Edwards Park, the Great Hills Greenbelt, Buescher-
Bastrop State Park, Hornsby Bend, and the Schaetzlers’ Warbler
Woods.
Terri saw 118 species; 18 warblers:
WARBLERS
1. Black-throated Green Warbler 2. Yellow-breasted Chat
3. Golden-cheeked Warbler 4. Common Yellowthroat
5. Yellow Warbler 6. American Redstart
7. Magnolia Warbler 8. Nashville Warbler
9. Wilson’s Warbler 10. Chestnut-sided Warbler
11. Ovenbird 12. Northern Waterthrush
13. Northern Parula 14. Black and White Warbler
15. Pine Warbler 16. Tennessee Warbler
17. Canada Warbler 18. Mourning Warbler
FLYING SOLO
Going birding by yourself is a curious thing. It is peaceful, and your
really can pay attention to birdsong and the habitat. If there are no
other people around, it is a different sort of experience. It is just you,
the birds, and their natural habitat. Most of the time I birded it was
cool, green, wildflowers were blooming and the air was fresh with
the promise of spring.
But when you are birding by yourself, you notice your weaknesses.
Birds that previously were identified by another member of your
group are your responsibility to identify, and if you are trying to get as
many species as possible for a Birdathon, there is that added
stress; a sort of pressure to learn that can actually be good – you
realize how inadequate you are, and realize you just have to get
better.
There were adventures, to be sure. One morning before daybreak I
did my rather poor imitation of a Barred owl at Buescher State Park.
I had tried a Screech owl, but when I had no luck, I tried the Barred
owl. I whooped what is my best maniacal hooting (probably
insulting the barred owl in the process) when a large form crashed
into the bushes in front of me, unseen in the darkness. At that
moment I remembered the story told me by a respected and
reputable birder - the story of an angry Great Horned owl that
taloned to death a camper who played the song of a Great Horned
Owl on tape. I wondered if Barred owls could be equally as
dangerous. I never did see that creature in the dark, but I was quiet
after that.
And one day a bird that I thought was an Eastern Pewee let out a
sound that I never heard an Eastern Pewee make; it was more quiet
and one syllable. I wondered if it could be a Western Wood Pewee,
and e-mailed some very experienced birders to ask them about the
possibility. In very diplomatic terms, I was informed that a Western
Wood PeWee had never been seen in central Texas. Of course, I
had listened to songs of both species after the sighting on my
birding software, but I couldn’t be sure what I heard exactly. Memory
is a tricky thing – you just can’t go back. I was left feeling both
embarrassed at my lack of skill and baffled by the bird. I wrote e-
mails apologizing for my probable mistake, but one very kind and
expert birder told me something I will never forget about birding or
any other venture. He said, “I think if you don’t make mistakes, you
are not trying hard enough.”
I learned a lot about distribution of birds; I considered how
numerous the American Cardinal is, for instance – or the Carolina
wren or the White-eyed vireo. I learned that even if you see a bird
commonly, it is not dependable during a Birdathon. I was hearing
and seeing Broad-winged hawks the weeks before my Birdathon,
but not during. I remember one birder mentioning that during
migration, mirgrants “disperse”, and dispersal of migrants seemed
to be the rule for me. The migrants didn’t appear to be in any one
place that I birded, but there appeared to be small samples of birds
such as the Yellow, Wilsons, and Magnolias in all the places I
went.
One day about 1:00 pm I decided I would go to Hornsby Bend. Here
I met another birder, and she and I birded in the lawns in front of the
CER building there. We were seeing and hearing warblers in the
trees, when suddenly she noticed a warbler dropping down from the
branch of a tree into a little depression in the parking lot. I think it
was a Black-throated Green warbler. Then another warbler dropped
down into that depression, and another and another – about 20 in all
of an assortment of species. At our vantage point we could not see
into the depression, so we moved slowly so as not to scare the
warblers, and the attraction became obvious – a shallow little
puddle. It had been a hot afternoon, and the warblers were thirsty. It
had rained that morning, and a pathetic little puddle was all that was
left of the rains; it was shallow, dirty, and quickly evaporating. These
thirsty warblers wanted water, and this puddle was the best offering.
After seeing this I was reminded of something that I’ve read and
heard often: water, something that always seems plentiful to us
humans, is sometimes the greatest need for a bird just trying to
survive.
The last day I birded I was very tired. My previous days’ tally was 103
total species, and I needed to get about 47 new species. The more I
thought about this, the more unlikely it seemed for me to find that
47. The common birds I was seeing over and over again, but the
more unusual birds were just that – unusual and hard to come by.
By the 4th day I had given up my other life; neglected my children,
husband and dog, my house was a mess, and the family did not
have decent meals that week. I was exhausted with my early
morning expeditions, and my enthusiasm for birding was in a
slump, That morning I dragged myself out of bed and headed to the
place I was most likely to pick up those 47 species – Hornsby Bend.
I arrived at about 6:30 am – the earliest I’ve ever visited Hornsby. I
had heard that you don’t need to visit the ponds early, that any time
will do, but I wanted to see for myself. I was delighted to see
sandpipers foraging in the grass by the ponds early, a thing I have
never seen sandpipers do. Millions of miniscule bugs milled
around like a thick fog, and I wondered if these bugs were attractive
to the Least and Pectoral sandpipers foraging there. 10:00 am,
however, found me driving around the ponds rather listlessly. I did
marvel at the hundreds of Wilson’s Phalaropes that were there that
day, and I wondered if anybody thought to scrutinize those hundreds
of Wilson’s for perhaps a Red-necked or Red.
I was thinking about doing just that when a small group of three
adults and 4 teenagers approached me. The woman, whose name
I later learned was Ann, approached me.
“Do you know what all those birds are?” she asked. I told her they
were Wilson’s Phalaropes, and I noticed the small group was toting
books and binoculars, and they dutifully looked up Phalaropes in
their guides. Ann explained that she and her group were from Grace’
s Academy in Georgetown, she was a teacher, and instead of
teaching today’s nature lesson in a classroom, she took the kids
actually out to a natural setting; today’s lesson was birds, and she
had learned that Hornsby was the best place. She confessed she
didn’t know much about birds, so I volunteered to take the small
group birding. I figured what the heck, TAS is better served with a
little public service than with me trying to track down a few unlikely
birds.
So that’s how I ended my Birdathon on that last day, I took the
group into the woods, and found out that they were naturals – one
man, Ann’s husband, spotted a Swainson’s thrush in the
undergrowth; the only boy of the group gently picked up an anole
lizard to study it, and the three girls admonished him not to hurt it.
They studied the lizard until it hopped off. Birds were not plentiful but
were singing, and even the singing of the Cardinal was new and
fresh to this group of budding naturalists. One bright young girl was
more eager even than the rest, and I wondered, could someone like
her be the next Ken Kauffman, Connie Hager, or Roger Tory
Peterson?
I guess these people were the best thing of all; they, with their love of
nature, were perhaps my best birds; to be sure – birds in a
metaphorical sense; but if people learn to love nature, they protect it.
That is my hope. And that is my Birdathon.
| BIRDATHON 2008 |
Birdathon 2008 WINNERS |
Most Species Seen:
162 Species
High Island Hoppers
Team Captains: Anne and
John Donovan, Barbara
Anderson
Rarest Bird Seen
Tropical Parula
Bamberger Birders Team
Captain: Marsha May
Rarest Bird –Second Place
Cerulean Warbler
High Island Hoppers
Team Captains: Anne and
John Donovan, Barbara
Anderson
Most Dollars Raised
$2,754.00 and counting
Gone Pishing
Shelia Hargis & Laurie
Foss
Best Team Name
Gone Pishing
Team Captains: Shelia
Hargis and Laurie Foss
Most Mockingbirds Seen
61
Bamberger Birders
Team Captain: Marsha May
Most Golden-Cheeks Seen
4
Legal Migrants
Jane Tillman, Mark Lyon
Best Birdathon Story
Terry Banks
Wandering Albatross