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Category: Birds

(not so?) Big Day

Posted on 2024-10-132024-10-13 by Allison J. Gong

Yesterday, 12 October 2024, was October Big Day, an annual community science event hosted by Cornell Lab of Ornithology and their eBird app. Each Big Day is a snapshot of bird diversity, and the October date is timed to catch migratory birds. The goal is to record how many of each species you observe, either by sight or hearing, at some location for some period of time. Due to circumstances beyond my control I was constrained near home, but I managed to get three sets of observations in.

Back deck at home 15:30-16:00

SPECIESNUMBER
Anna’s hummingbird15-20
Lesser goldfinch4
Chestnut-backed chickadee2
House finch2
Northern mockingbird1
Spotted towhee1
Scrub jay2
California quail1
California thrasher1
Bewick’s wren1
Song sparrow2
Golden-crowned sparrow2
Red-tailed hawk1
California towhee1
Wrentit1
Bushtit1 (really? only the 1?)
Hermit thrush1

TOTAL: 17 species

Long Marine Lab 16:43-17:30

Distance traveled: 0.61 miles

SPECIESNUMBER
Mallard2
Rock dove (i.e., pigeon)14
Western gull2 for sure, plus probably many others
Brandt’s cormorant33
Brown pelican80-ish
Black phoebe5
American crow3
Bewick’s wren1
House finch2
Golden-crowned sparrow1
California towhee1

TOTAL: 11 species

Natural Bridges State Park 17:30-18:20

Distance traveled: 1 mile

SPECIESNUMBER
Anna’s hummingbird4
Red-shouldered hawk1
Northern flicker1
Black phoebe1
American crow3
Chestnut-backed chickadee4
Oak titmouse1
Pygmy nuthatch1
Bewick’s wren1
Golden-crowned sparrow2
California towhee2
Song sparrow3
Spotted towhee2
Townsend’s warbler1

TOTAL: 14 species

If I counted correctly and didn’t double-count anybody, that makes for 30 species observed in about 3 hours. I’m not really surprised that I saw the most diversity at home, compared to the marine lab and Natural Bridges. Our back “yard” is literally a canyon with lots of habitat diversity, although not as much native vegetation as I would like. It’s a bit of mostly-wild nature in the city. We also know that we have larger wildlife—deer, foxes, skunks, raccoons, and the occasional mountain lion—prowling around down there. I’m very lucky to live here.

The most interesting thing to come out of these observations is the question “Was there really only one bushtit?” Because you always see them in a group of 12-30, forming a twittering mass of tiny objects flitting around in the bushes. But I kept looking, and saw only the one.

People who consider themselves good birders would scoff at numbers like mine, and some would wonder why I would even bother counting birds I see at home. But I’m not a birder. I am a birdwatcher, and there can be a big difference between the two. I literally just watch birds. I can do so for a long time, observing the same species (maybe even the same individuals) over and over again. Sometimes I count them, sometimes I draw them, and sometimes I just watch them. And it’s a delightful hobby! I don’t keep a life list, except for when I remember to enter observations into eBird, which doesn’t always happen. I don’t travel to see a rare bird that got a little lost, like that poor snowy owl that ended up in Southern California and attracted the attention of hundreds (thousands?) of birders and photographers. For the most part I’m perfectly happy spending time with “my” usual friends, watching the hummingbirds fight-fight-fight and taming a chickadee to take peanuts from my hand. We put out a couple of bird houses and keep hoping that somebody moves in to raise a family, but so far that hasn’t happened yet.

Maybe next year!

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Black and white

Posted on 2024-06-062024-06-28 by Allison J. Gong

One of my favorite seabirds is the pigeon guillemot (Cepphus columba). According to the Cornell Lab of Ornithololgy, pigeon guillemots should be present along the California coast year-round, but I seem to see them only during the summer breeding season, when they forage close to shore. Having first to incubate eggs, and then to feed hungry chicks, the adults cannot venture too far from land. At this time they are central place foragers, which just means that they make short flights to find food, then always return to the same site (where the nest is). During the nonbreeding season the pigeon guillemots are still around, but forage farther out to sea. Once their young have fledged and are feeding on their own, there is no need for the adults to spend much time on land at all, and they certainly are no longer tied to any particular location.

Black bird with white patches on wings, resting on a rock
Pigeon guillemot (Cepphus columba) at Terrace Point
2024-05-28
©Allison J. Gong

This morning I was at the marine lab looking for the black oystercatcher chicks that hatched recently. I didn’t seem them today. However, patience was rewarded and I saw a pair of pigeon guillemots land on one of the cliffs near where I was sitting. For a while they just rested, then they rose up onto their feet and started circling around each other. That sure looked like courtship behavior, so I brought up the camera and snapped away.

Given how conspicuous those red feet are, it’s no surprise that they are indeed used in courtship displays. The birds walk around each other to show off their feet, and touch their bills together. The inner surface of the mouth is a matching crimson color. Presumably the redness indicates vitality that would be desirable in a mate.

I’ve seen pigeon guillemots nesting in cliffs up at Pigeon Point. I’m not sure where the birds at the marine lab have made their nests, though. Must investigate further!

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An inadvertent voyeur

Posted on 2023-02-182023-02-19 by Allison J. Gong

A week ago I was with a group of students at Moss Landing, where we spent a couple of hours watching birds on our way down to Fort Ord Natural Reserve for an overnight camping trip. The visit was well-timed: we arrived at low tide so there was a lot of mud flat exposed, meaning ample real estate for foraging shorebirds. By now the students were pretty comfortable using binoculars, and it warmed my heart to see them getting used to one of my favorite tools in the naturalist’s kit.

Two people wearing jackets and backpacks, sitting on a log facing away from the camera. They are looking through binoculars at the ocean.
Students observing birds at Moss Landing State Beach
2023-02-11
© Allison J. Gong

The real stars of this particular tale were the birds. Specifically, a pair of willets (Tringa semipalmata). As we walked along the road towards the dunes and beach, I caught sight of a pair of willets involved in what appeared to be an altercation of sorts. I snapped off a bunch of photos and continued on.

When I had time to review the photos a few days later, I saw that what I had thought was some display of aggression was actual mating, or preliminary activities to actual mating. Oops! That hadn’t occurred to me at the time because somewhere in the back of my brain I thought that willets are winter visitors here who breed elsewhere. Of course, courtship and pair-bonding involve multiple bouts of copulation, and any single copulation event may or may not result in successful insemination. It does make sense for copulation to occur before migration to breeding grounds, whether the “real thing” happens here or in the birds’ summer range.

All this to say that I captured a series of photographs that, if they were of our species, would be considered pornographic. But since the subjects were willets and not humans, I can call them wildlife photography!

This is a series of 21 photos, presented as a slide show. The entire sequence of events took about 10 seconds.

I didn’t catch the exact moment of cloacal contact, if indeed there was any. It does still feel a little bit voyeuristic, but that’s why I like watching birds in the first place—they carry on their lives and don’t care about human morals or pruderies. It is always an honor and a privilege to witness nature doing its thing. And who knows, perhaps a new generation of willets was conceived by this pair!

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Shooting white birds

Posted on 2023-01-072023-01-08 by Allison J. Gong

Since the fields at the marine lab flooded, birds have been gathering in the vernal pools. It’s frog-hunting season for the herons and egrets! This morning there was a group of about a dozen egrets were stalking prey in the area near the old road, and I finally had my camera with me to take photos and it wasn’t raining horizontally.

For anyone interested in such things, I took these photos with a Sigma 150-600mm lens on my Nikon D780 DSLR body shooting mostly in the 200-400mm range.

Snowy egret (Egretta thula)
2023-01-07
© Allison J. Gong
Snowy egret (Egretta thula)
2023-01-07
© Allison J. Gong
Great egret (Ardea alba)
2023-01-07
© Allison J. Gong
Great egret (Ardea alba)
2023-01-07
© Allison J. Gong
Snowy egret (Egretta thula)
2023-01-07
© Allison J. Gong
Snowy egret (Egretta thula) and butt end of a mallard drake
2023-01-07
© Allison J. Gong
Snowy egret (Egretta thula)
2023-01-07
© Allison J. Gong

No great blue herons today. Another storm is blowing in now, and the birds will take shelter until the wind and rain are less violent. Forecasters predict that today’s storm will be stronger than the one that tore up the coast a couple of days ago. Fingers crossed we keep power!

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Brunch al fresco

Posted on 2022-05-012023-01-05 by Allison J. Gong
Brandt’s cormorants (Urile penicillatus)
2022-05-01
© Allison J. Gong

It feels like forever since I’ve checked in on the cormorants at Natural Bridges. I simply haven’t had time to mosey down there, take a gajillion photos, and then deal with them on the computer. But today I thought I’d give myself until lunch time to play with photos and such, before I hit the grindstone again and work on a lecture about the natural history of Big Sur.

And for the update: The Brandt’s cormorants (Urile penicillatus) chicks are growing up! They’re still mostly fluffy but some have a few feathers, and they’re getting big now. I watched for about half an hour before realizing that the parents were feeding them; after that it was pretty easy to see when a feeding was imminent.

First, there’s the behavior of the chick(s). Most of the time they are flopped like sacks of brown fluff, but when there’s possible food they perk up and pay attention. It’s funny how long their necks can be when stretched up! The chicks don’t seem able to hold their heads up for very long yet. As we all know, however, food is a powerful motivator.

The parent also demonstrates what I think of as an about-to-regurgitate movements. It sort of reminds me of the cats’ convulsions right before they hork up a hairball, only not as fast or violent. The parent cormorant stands up and sort of undulates front to back a few times, then bows low. This gets the chicks’ attention and they start looking alert and expectant. The parent might go through the whole routine a few times before leaning towards the chick. The chick begins poking at the parent’s bill, which seems to stimulate the actual regurgitation. Nom nom nom!

What I want to showcase this time is a series of photos showing a feeding session. The whole thing took about five seconds.

Large black birds in nests on rock. Chick pecking at parent's beak.
Brandt’s cormorants (Urile penicillatus)
2022-05-01
© Allison J. Gong
Large black birds in nests on rock. Chick's head inside parent's mouth.
Brandt’s cormorants (Urile penicillatus)
2022-05-01
© Allison J. Gong
Large black birds in nests on rock. Chick's head inside parent's mouth.
Brandt’s cormorants (Urile penicillatus)
2022-05-01
© Allison J. Gong
Large black birds in nests on rock. Chick's head inside parent's mouth.
Brandt’s cormorants (Urile penicillatus)
2022-05-01
© Allison J. Gong
Large black birds in nests on rock. Chick's head inside parent's mouth.
Brandt’s cormorants (Urile penicillatus)
2022-05-01
© Allison J. Gong
Large black birds in nests on rock.
Brandt’s cormorants (Urile penicillatus)
2022-05-01
© Allison J. Gong

Look at those stubby little wings! These youngsters have some growing to do and have to make real feathers before they can fledge. Maybe they’ll have done so by the time I finish up with school for the year.

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Springtime in the sea and in the air

Posted on 2022-03-272023-01-05 by Allison J. Gong

This week was my spring break, and although I have more than enough work to catch up on, I decided that each day I would spend a few hours doing something fun before or after getting stuck in with adult responsibilities. I didn’t set up formal plans, but knew I wanted to collect a plankton sample early in the week. Monday 21 March 2022 was the vernal equinox, which seemed as good a time as any to see what was going on in the plankton.

And the plankton was quite lively! I was very pleased to see a lot of diatoms in the sample. Diatoms are early season bloomers, able to take advantage of nutrient inputs due to coastal upwelling. They are usually the most abundant phytoplankters from about March through July.

Mixed marine plankton
Mixed plankton sample, collected from the Santa Cruz Municipal Wharf
2022-03-21
© Allison J. Gong

All of those button-like round objects are centric diatoms in the genus Coscinodiscus. They can be large cells, getting up to 500 μm in diameter. Coscinodiscus is in some ways the quintessential centric diatom, as you will see below.

Take a look at these objects:

Clearly, one is a circle and one is a rectangle, right? Well, yes, but these two objects are the same type of thing—they are both cells of Coscinodiscus. The easiest way to understand diatom anatomy is to think of the frustule (the outer skeleton of the cell) of Coscinodiscus as being constructed like a petri dish. Because that’s actually what it is: an outer casing of silica with two halves, one of which fits over the other exactly the way a petri dish lid fits over the bottom of the petri dish. If you place a petri dish on a table and look down on it, you will see a circle. But if you pick up the petri dish and look at it from a side view, you will see a rectangle. If you don’t believe me, go ahead and try it with any canned food item in your pantry. Coscinodiscus is the same. If it lands on the microscope slide lying flat, it will look like a circle; this is called the valve view because you are looking down on the surface of one of the two valves of the frustule. Most of time when we see Coscinodiscus we see it in valve view. Sometimes you get lucky and a cell remains “standing up” even after you drop a cover slip on top of your sample, and you see the cell as a rectangle. This is called the girdle view. So in the photo above, what you see on the left is a Coscinodiscus cell in valve view, and what you see on the right is the same type of cell in girdle view. Same object, two perspectives, and two shapes. By the way, this is the answer to the question posed in the previous post.

And this is what a valve view of Coscinodiscus looks like when you zoom in:

Circular object with golden-brown spots
Coscinodiscus sp. under brightfield lighting, showing true colors
2022-03-21
© Allison J. Gong

You can see some of the sculpturing on the frustule, and the beautiful golden-brown color of diatoms. The diatoms are related to the brown algae and share the same overall set of photosynthetic pigments, which explains why diatoms are often the same colors as kelps.

Another of the common diatoms around here are those in the genus Chaetoceros. The prefix ‘chaet-‘ means ‘bristle’, and the cells of Chaetoceros have long bristles. Unlike Coscinodiscus, Chaetoceros forms chains. Some species form straight chains, others form spiraling chains, and still others form a sort of meandering chain that is embedded in a tiny blob of mucilage. The cells below are forming a straight chain.

Chain of rectangular boxes, each containing amorphous golden blobs. Long bifurcating bristles protrude from the corners of the boxes.
Chaetoceros sp.
2022-03-21
© Allison J. Gong

In addition to all of the diatoms, there were more dinoflagellates than I expected to see. Ceratium was very well represented, often in chains of two cells.

A golden cell with two points at one end and a single point at the other. Three golden ovoid cells in a chain.
Dinoflagellate (Ceratium lineatum, top) and an unidentified diatom
2022-03-21
© Allison J. Gong

I was even able to capture some video of Ceratium cells swimming in the thin film of water under the coverslip. Dinoflagellates have two flagella: one wrapped in that groove, or “waistline”, and one that trails free. Usually it’s the trailing flagellum that’s easier to see, and if you watch you’ll be able to see it in each of the cells.

Protoperidinium was another common dinoflagellate in the sample. Unlike the diatoms and photoautotrophic dinoflagellates, which have that sort of golden-brown color, Protoperidinium is a heterotroph. It eats other unicellular protists by extruding its cytoplasm out of the holes in its cellulose skeletal plates and engulfing prey, similar to the way an amoeba feeds. Because it does not rely on photosynthesis for obtaining fixed carbon, Protoperidinium comes in colors that we typically don’t associate with photoautotrophs. Pink, red, and grayish brown are common colors. This time I saw several that were bright red.

A disc-shaped object with a single point on one side and two points on the other side. Object contains small red blotches.
Protoperidinium, a heterotrophic dinoflagellate
2022-03-21
© Allison J. Gong

So that’s a glimpse of springtime in the ocean. Now let’s look up!

Legend has it that the swallows return to San Juan Capistrano every year on March 19, which is St. Joseph’s day. I don’t pay attention to St. Joseph’s day, but I do pay attention to the vernal equinox every year and keep an eye out for the return of our swallows to the marine lab. We get both cliff swallows (Petrochelidon pyrrhonota) and barn swallows (Hirundo rustica) building mud nests on our buildings. Last year (2021) the cliff swallows showed up first, with the barn swallows arriving a few weeks later; I remember being worried that they might not show up at all.

This year the swallows returned right on schedule. I saw my first barn swallows on the day of the vernal equinox, 21 March 2022.

Barn swallow (Hirundo rustica)
2022-03-21
© Allison J. Gong

They are so pretty! I haven’t seen any nest-building yet, but did witness what might have been a territorial spat. The bird in the photo above is the one on the left that is retreating in the photo below

Bird perched on a sign
Two barn swallows (Hirundo rustica) expressing a difference of opinion
2022-03-21
© Allison J. Gong

Look at that gorgeous outspread tail! Barn swallows migrate to North America from southern Mexico and Central America. The cliff swallows come all the way from South America; no wonder they’re a little late arriving in California! I think they’ll show up any day now, and both they and the barn swallows will begin daubing mud above doorways and under the eaves.

Somehow, no matter what else is going on and what the calendar says, it never feels like spring until the swallows are zooming around again. Spring is my favorite season, as there’s so much going on, and I begin to feel energized again with the longer days. I have a busy spring teaching schedule and don’t know how much time I’ll have to do fun things like look at plankton for the hell of it, but will try to slow down often enough to take note of what’s happening around me.

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New kids on the rock

Posted on 2022-03-212023-01-05 by Allison J. Gong

For the second year in a row (that I am aware of, anyway), the Brandt’s cormorants (Urile penicillatus) have claimed the last remaining arch at Natural Bridges as a breeding rookery. I remember being so excited at “discovering” them in 2021. Anyway, they’re back again, building piles of algae into nests.

Rock with dozens of black birds, some sitting on nests of algae
Brandt’s cormorants (Urile penicillatus) on top of the arch at Natural Bridges
2022-03-20
© Allison J. Gong

BTW, if you’re keeping score at home, the genus name for the North Pacific cormorants has been changed from Phalacrocorax to Urile. A 2014 study showed this North Pacific group to be a sister clade to those in the genus Phalacrocorax, and in 2021 the International Ornithologists’ Union formally adopted the genus Urile for them.

Adult cormorants with white breeding plumes on neck and back
Brandt’s cormorant (Urile penicillatus)
2022-03-20
© Allison J. Gong

During the breeding season the Brandt’s cormorants develop long, wispy white plumes on the cheeks and in two smaller tufts over the shoulder blades. In my head I’ve been calling them Einstein plumes because although they probably do have a real name, I don’t know what it is. When you see a face portrait of one of these birds, you’ll know what I mean.

Male cormorant bringing algae to mate on top of rock
Brandt’s cormorants (Urile penicillatus)
2022-03-20
© Allison J. Gong

The color blue also features in the breeding phenotype of Brandt’s cormorants. Cormorants are related to pelicans, which of course have that huge gular pouch that can hold gallons of water. The gular pouch of cormorants isn’t nearly as large. For the Brandt’s cormorants, the blue gular pouch indicates sexual maturity. And can you see the color of the eye of the bird that is bowing? The eye of a sexually mature bird turns a brilliant cobalt blue during the breeding season. Brandt’s cormorants nest on rocks or cliffs, with the male gathering most of the nesting material. At Natural Bridges, the nests are made up mostly of algae, but I’ve seen a few birds flying by with surfgrass in their mouths. This male above has brought back a nice clump of red algae (a species of Cryptopleura, maybe?) to an appreciative mate.

So those are the Brandt’s cormorants.

This year there is a second species of cormorant hanging out on the sides of the rock. These are pelagic cormorants (Urile pelagicus).

Three cormorants on rock cliff
Pelagic cormorants (Urile pelagicus) at Natural Bridges
2022-03-06
© Allison J. Gong

I first noticed the pelagic cormorants early in March. I saw those white patches on the flanks and thought, “But that’s not the right body shape for a pigeon guillemot!” I came home, looked them up, and sure enough, they are pelagic cormorants. The pelagic is a little smaller and more slender than the Brandt’s, and has a red face and glossy black-green plumage with the white rump patches during the breeding season. These three pelagic cormorants are on small ledges on the side of the same rock where the Brandt’s cormorants are nesting, providing a nice demonstration of resource partitioning.

So, are these pelagic cormorants really the new kids on the rock? Going by my photographs from 2021, I’d say yes. I looked back through the photos I took when I discovered the Brandt’s cormorants, and did not see pelagic cormorants in any of them. Of course, absence of evidence is not necessarily evidence of absence, and it could very well be that the pelagics have been there all along with the Brandt’s and I simply never noticed them. Given that my area of expertise is absolutely not birds, I’m quite prepared to learn that I am wrong about this. But the pelagic cormorants are new to me, and that’s reason enough to be delighted by them.

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Great Backyard Bird Count, Day 2

Posted on 2022-02-202023-01-05 by Allison J. Gong

Date/time: Saturday 2022-02-19, 08:00-09:30
Location: Natural Bridges State Park
Weather: Chilly (8.3C), as sun hadn’t yet risen above the roofs of the houses nearby; very light breeze

For Day 2 of the 2022 Great Backyard Bird Count (GBBC) I went to Natural Bridges, not suspecting that I would be able to ID and count so many species literally just inside the park boundaries. I ended up dividing my observation period into three locations and spent about half an hour at each.

Observation spot #1: Just inside the park boundary on Delaware Avenue (see map below)

  • Ruby-crowned kinglet (Corthylio calendula): 2
  • Anna’s hummingbird (Calypte anna): 3
  • Lesser goldfinch: (Spinus psaltria): 4
  • Golden-crowned sparrow (Zonotrichia atricapilla): 14
  • Purple finch (Haemorhous purpureus): 2 (1 female + 1 male)
  • Spotted towhee (Pipilo maculatus): 1
  • Chestnut-backed chickadee (Poecile rufescens): 4
  • California towhee (Melozone crissalis): 1
  • Red-shouldered hawk (Buteo lineatus): 1
  • American crow (Corvus brachyrhynchos): 4
  • American robin (Turdus migratorius): 12
  • Bushtit (Psaltriparus minimus): 4
  • Song sparrow (Melospiza melodia): 1

TOTAL = 13 species

Observation spot #2: Along the boardwalk of the monarch butterfly sanctuary

  • Yellow-rumped warbler (Setophaga coronata): 4
  • California towhee: 1
  • Chestnut-backed chickadee: 2
  • Ruby-crowned kinglet: 3
  • American crow: 13
  • American robin: 10
  • Bewick’s wren (Thryomanes bewickii): 3
  • Anna’s hummingbird: 4
  • Song sparrow: 2
  • Downy woodpecker (Dryobates pubescens): 1
  • Spotted towhee: 4
  • Lesser goldfinch: 2
  • Dark-eyed junco (Junco hyemalis): 2
  • Red-shouldered hawk: 2

TOTAL = 4 new species

Observation spot 3#: Sandy beach

  • Mallard (Anas platyrhynchos): 13 (5 female + 8 male)
  • Snowy egret (Egretta thula): 12
  • Brown pelican (Pelecanus occidentalis) on water: 4
  • Western gull (Larus occidentalis): 4 (on the arch)
  • Snowy egret: 2 (on the arch)
  • Brandt’s cormorant (Urile penicillatus): 46 (on the arch), starting to build nests
  • American crow: 4

TOTAL = 5 new species

For my nature journal I did more of a formal Grinnell-style entry, which works well for this kind of observation set.

Nature journal entry for 2022-02-19

I was enjoying myself so much that I honestly didn’t realize how much time had passed. Super fun morning!

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Great Backyard Bird Count 2022

Posted on 2022-02-182022-02-18 by Allison J. Gong

This weekend, 18-21 February 2022, are the four days of the Great Background Bird Count. This is a global community science project in which people go out and document bird life. The beauty of a project like this is that is available to anyone who has a window to the outside. Of course, anybody can look at birds any time. To participate in the official project, people need to add their observations to eBird, which is similar to iNaturalist only specific to birds.

Day 1

Date/time: Friday 2022-02-18, 09:00-10:00
Location: Younger Lagoon overlook
Weather: Sunny, with very slight overcast; no breeze at first, but light breeze after about 09:30

  • Canada goose (Branta canadensis): 6
  • Mallard (Anas platyrhynchos): 4 female, 4 male
  • Bufflehead (Bucephala albeola): 4 female
  • American wigeon (Mareca americana): 4 female, 5 male
  • American coot (Fulica americana): 12
  • Northern harrier (Circus hudsonius): 1
  • Red-tailed hawk (Buteo jamaicensis): 1
  • Red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus): hard to say, but at least 20 lekking away in the field across the lagoon
  • Osprey (Pandion haliaetus), carrying a fish!: 1
  • European starling (Sturnus vulgaris): murmuration of ~100
  • Bewick’s wren (Thryomanes bewickii): 1
  • Song sparrow (Melospiza melodia): 2
  • Yellow-rumped warbler (Setophaga coronata): 2 male
  • Anna’s hummingbird (Calypte anna): 2 male
  • Bushtit (Psaltriparus minimus): ~15
  • American crow (Corvus brachyrhynchos): 2
  • California quail (Callipepla californica): 1 male
  • California thrasher (Toxostoma redivivum): 1
  • Golden-crowned sparrow (Zonotrichia atricapilla): 1
  • Black phoebe (Sayornis nigricans): 1
  • Spotted towhee (Pipilo maculatus): 1
  • Common yelllowthroat (Geothlypis trichas): 1 male

In addition to this tally of species, which is fine in and of itself but not all that interesting, I did get to see some interactions. The northern harrier is a perennial resident, and I often see it either perched on a fence post across the lagoon or soaring low over the fields. Today the red-tailed hawk was perched on a fence post, and I didn’t see the harrier until it flew in several minutes later. The harrier crossed in front of the hawk, flying low, and flushed out a murmuration of starlings. It chased the starlings around for a little while, obviously not hunting them. And as much as I wish starlings hadn’t been introduced to North America, the flow of a murmuration is fascinating to watch. Even a small one of about 100 birds is rather impressive. Anyway, the hawk on the fence post watched all this activity for a few minutes and seemed to be rather peeved by all the kerfuffle. It ruffled its feathers and flew off. The harrier flew away later, and the starlings kept up their murmuration until I left.

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Butterflies

Posted on 2021-11-072023-01-05 by Allison J. Gong

I go to Natural Bridges quite often, to play in and study the rocky intertidal. But at this time of year, before the low tides really get useful, there is another reason to visit Natural Bridges—to see the monarch butterflies (Danaus plexippus). Natural Bridges State Park is a butterfly sanctuary, providing a safe overwintering spot for migrating monarchs.

Yesterday morning, while it was still cool enough for the butterflies to be hanging in clusters, I went out and photographed them. Last year’s count was only 550 for the winter, but I’d heard that there were more butterflies this year and it was definitely worthwhile going out and looking for them.

Monarch butterflies clustered in eucalyptus tree
Monarch butterflies (Danaus plexippus) at Natural Bridges State Park
2021-11-06
© Allison J. Gong

The butterflies rest with their wings up, so when they are hanging like this you see the duller underside of the wings. A few of them were starting to warm up their flight muscles and showing off the more brilliant orange of the dorsal wing surface.

Monarch butterflies clustered in eucalyptus tree
Monarch butterflies (Danaus plexippus) at Natural Bridges State Park
2021-11-06
© Allison J. Gong
Monarch butterflies clustered in eucalyptus tree
Monarch butterflies (Danaus plexippus) at Natural Bridges State Park
2021-11-06
© Allison J. Gong

I am really not good at counting things like this, but my guess is that there were hundreds of butterflies, all told. Based on the 2020 season, when I didn’t see any monarchs at all at my house and only a few scattered individuals at Natural Bridges, this year’s population seems to be doing much better. 2020 was an awful year in California in general, and in the Santa Cruz region in particular. The CZU August Lightning Complex fire put air quality into the unhealthy-for-everybody range for several weeks. Much of the rest of the western U.S. also burned, with much habitat loss for nature. Maybe that’s part of why there were so few monarchs last winter in Santa Cruz. Of course, the monarchs’ populations have been declining for years, so last year’s population crash may be only a dip in the grand scheme of things.

Whatever the cause, it really was good to see even this many butterflies at Natural Bridges.

Oh, and before starting my butterfly hunt in earnest, I spent about an hour watching and listening for birds. I wanted to get the birdwatching in before human activity drowned out the birdsong. Unfortunately, most of what there was to hear was the cawing of crows.

Nature journal page of birds seen and heard
Page from my nature journal

Next time I’m at Natural Bridges, I’ll try to remember to check in with the visitor center to see what the official count for monarchs is. Fingers crossed the number is a lot higher than 550!

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