Two-Fisted Bird Watcher

Who’s what?

Two-Fisted Bird Watcher — Sat, 18 May 2013 19:33:30 +0000

Today I watched a couple of Red-headed Woodpeckers working to build a nest in a hole, high up on an old tree.

He.

Good. This is a species that’s in decline, officially described as “near threatened.” But they haven’t been classified as “rare,” yet.

What is rare is this: the two birds I saw, one male, the other female, looked exactly alike.

In the bird world, sexes are usually identified by differences in color.

In the people-world we’ve got all kinds of ways to announce our gender.

Most birds just use color. Like: a male Scarlet Tanager’s red; his mate’s olive drab. Even Robins have shades of difference. And so on.

She.

But, with Red-headed Woodpeckers there’s no way to tell. According to experts, even experts can’t do it.

Both sexes are the same size and build, with identical coloration.

So how do the birds know who’s what?

This has even stumped the world’s greatest know-it-all, the internet.

That’s okay. The internet can be stumped, and so can we.

The Red-headed Woodpeckers are the only ones who need to know, and somehow, they do.

Where you find ‘em.

Two-Fisted Bird Watcher — Fri, 10 May 2013 18:39:11 +0000

A while back, I was in a Chicago bar. Through an alley window I saw a fairly uncommon Eastern Towhee.

There were some city weeds among the cracked pavement there. Still, you wouldn’t go in that alley to see birds. Maybe you’d go to see rats.

But when it comes to birds, you gotta expect the unexpected. Birds are found where you find them.

Same thing goes for finding two-fisted birdwatchers.

I know a guy, six-one, two-twenty, mostly muscle. Played starting center years ago in high school. He’s been known to scare bouncers in night clubs.

These days he’s into the wife & kids, pizza, workouts, and real estate deals. Not exactly the old-school image of a birder.

(We don’t like the old-school image of birders. That’s what this website is all about).

Today I got an email from this guy with some excitement in it. He wrote: “Hey, I just saw a Ruby-throated Hummingbird out my bedroom window!”

Little bird. Big guy. Is it surprising that he cared? Hell, no. Two-fisted birdwatchers, like birds themselves, are found where you find them.

Navigators.

Two-Fisted Bird Watcher — Sun, 05 May 2013 20:42:55 +0000

The trees in May have small movements in them. Most people don’t notice, but you do.

They’re recurring migratory birds called warblers. And like most things, they have good and bad points.

The bad is their name. It demeans these tough little guys. They don’t warble. If they make a sound, it’s more of a buzz.

They fly in squadrons for thousands of miles, and are pure stamina. They ought to be called navigators, not warblers.

Yellow Warbler, Prothontary Warbler, Chestnut-sided Warbler, Blackburnian Warbler (shown below), Wison’s Warbler, Tennessee Warbler, Palm Warbler, Hooded Warbler and many more; the warbler family is big.

But the family name’s not fair to these athletes. If you were naming a sports team, would you pick: “The Warblers?”

Now, here’s what’s good about them. Continuity.

Every year, they muscle their way over oceans, lakes, gulfs, rivers, woods, mountains, canyons, forests, through storms, and around tall buildings, only to show up in your backyard for a while.

You can count on them. As warbler seasons pile up behind you, you appreciate that kind of thing.

Ducks ain’t birds.

Two-Fisted Bird Watcher — Sat, 04 May 2013 00:30:08 +0000

The views expressed by guest essayists do not reflect the opinions of Two-Fisted Birdwatcher or anybody else for that matter. Especially when the guest essayist is the recurring Bob Grump. But we still publish his stuff, whether we agree with him or not. And besides—the guy’s just playing with us. Or is he?

~ ~ ~ ~

Ducks ain’t birds.

By Bob Grump

They’re ducks. Geese ain’t birds, either. And neither are seagulls. Chickens sure as hell ain’t birds. Don’t care about ‘em at all. Loons ain’t birds. Now you might be thinking I’m one of them. A loon.

A duck butt not a bird in my book!

I wouldn’t blame you, because all that stuff I just said is loony. But it makes sense to me.

Coots ain’t birds, either. And you might think I’m one of them, although you’d have no way of knowing if I’m a coot or a loon.

Looniness and being a coot go together, most of the time. But not always.

But, where was I? Oh yeah, if ducks and the like ain’t birds, then what ARE the real birds? Hold on. I’ll get to that.

I’m a guy who spends half his life in wild parts of the upper Midwest. I walk through weeds, into woods, along lakeshores and up and down rivers.

I get mosquito bites, ticks dig me, I get scratched by thorns and I get covered with those sticky burrs that come off plants I wade through. I’ve seen bears, but mostly their ass ends because bears like to run off when I’m comin’.

I watch a lot of birds when I’m out in the sticks. And they ain’t ducks!

They’re bird-shaped honest to Pete birds that look like birds. Robins, swallows, thrushes, woodpeckers, hawks, meadowlarks, bobolinks, kingbirds, orioles, tanagers, bluebirds, finches, sparrows, you know what I’m talking about: real birds.

When I’m out in the wild and I see a real bird there, say a Brown Thrasher, I figure, awright! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!

"A Dick what...?"

I have started thinking of myself as a two-fisted birdwatcher, thanks to your Johnny-come-lately web magazine of this name.

You are two-fisted in some ways I guess. (I like the picture of booze on your Facebook page). But in other ways you’re smartass, talkin’ about books and all.

Still, when I hold binoculars in my scratched-up scabby old two fists, and I see some real birds, I do get a two-fisted kick. Wanted you to know that, pal.

It’s not because the birds I see are unusual, either. Although sometimes they are. Hell, I saw a Dickcissel. A bird with a stupid name that I commented about in an earlier guest essay.

No, I get a kick because real birds are little bits of red, white and blue freedom.

Now, okay, you duck lovers, you seagull lovers, you coot, loon and goose lovers—you’re probably sayin’….what the hell!

How about these birds you like so much? They’re free, and sorta colorful, too. I refuse to argue about this. All I’m sayin’ is that they don’t do it for me.

For me a bird is a bird that looks like a bird. I wouldn’t walk across the street to look at a duck. I’d walk across a mountain to look at a Clark’s Nutcracker, though.

That’s how it is, as far as I’m concerned, and I don’t care if anybody likes it or not. I’m going birdwatching now, not duckwatching, so enough talk.

April’s bird found. Can you find May’s bird?

Two-Fisted Bird Watcher — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 03:13:17 +0000

April’s hidden bird might’ve been a fossil but it wasn’t buried. The Archaeopteryx, believed to be the world’s first bird, was in our Viewpoints category under the essay “Two-Fisted Birdwatching and Science Fiction.”

We collected the names of everyone who told us where the Archaeopteryx was hidden.

We tossed them into a hat. Then picked one name at random. Aurora Rose D.

Congratulations, Aurora Rose. You get a Two-Fisted Bird Watcher coffee cup. Same kind that made a cameo appearance in the movie, “The Big Year.”

Now on to May’s contest.

May’s Hidden Bird: Wood Duck

We’re not talking about a wooden duck. This is a Wood Duck. A photo of a living bird. This duck is so colorful you might expect to see him in the tropics. But Wood Ducks are fairly widespread and common, even in Illinois.

Not a wooden duck...a Wood Duck. Easy! I'm gettin' that mug!

The photo of a Wood Duck, with no caption, is tucked into the writing somewhere on this website.

You can go birding right from your keyboard.

When you spot the Wood Duck, tell us exactly where by using our Contact page. Please don’t use the “comment” option below the listing. When we hear from you, we’ll let you know your entry has been received.

Then you’ll be in our random drawing around the end of the month. If your name’s picked, you’ll receive a Two-Fisted Bird Watcher mug. Good luck.

Rare birds.

Two-Fisted Bird Watcher — Sun, 28 Apr 2013 15:36:16 +0000

Saturday April 27. Dateline: my couch. There’s a sprained back in the picture, but it can kiss my butt. If that’s the pain meds talking, they can kiss my butt too.

I’m doing two kinds of bird watching.

One: I’m looking out the window. We’ve had floodwater so I’m seeing an uncommon Caspian Tern circling. He’s lost or nuts. We’re not the Caspian Sea.

Two: I’m watching a rare bird named Robinson make history in the Bulls playoff against the Nets.

This guy is a five-nine one-man show in a world of giants. He’s turning the tide in a game that was going downhill. It takes Robinson and his two-fisted teammates three overtimes to win, but they do, with historic stats.

Nate Robinson proves that little is big. Impossible is possible. Man can fly.

But what about the Caspian Tern? I saw it through my window, a sighting appreciated in Illinois. But it wasn’t the rarest of the day. Not with Nate Robin-son making the rare bird life-list of the season.

Search Caspian Terns on the net for your birdwatching fix. Then search Nate Robinson’s game four performance in the Bulls-Nets playoff game for your two-fisted fix.

Strong.

Two-Fisted Bird Watcher — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 00:16:40 +0000

You might think you’re strong. You work out. You’re a two-fisted hardass. But you’re a featherweight compared to a Golden Eagle.

You think you’re strong enough to drag a 14-foot steel rowboat up a beach. Can’t weigh more than 150 pounds, way less than your own weight. So you throw out your back.

(“Gotta weak back—when’d ya get it—‘bout a week back—slap, smack, bonk.” –The Three Stooges, circa 1935. Two-fisted guys).

Meanwhile, the Golden Eagle has been said to carry off goats and even heavier prey. The bird can lift three times its weight. About 540 pounds, if it were you.

And it’s got no problem. No weak back. No week of pain meds just to get out of bed. Two talons trump two fists.

Many birds out-muscle us. Ospreys, crows, woodpeckers. To say nothing of Ostriches—which hardly count as birds, but still…

They’re all stronger, pound for pound, than we are. Another reason to appreciate watching birds in the wild, even if your hike’s cut short because your back is killing you, rowboat boy.

“The grebe is back.”

Two-Fisted Bird Watcher — Sun, 14 Apr 2013 23:43:45 +0000

What kind of grebe? C’mon. If somebody says, “The grebe is back,” is that the first thing you’d ask?

More likely, you’d say: who is this guy, and what the hell is a grebe?

But wait. You have some interest in birds, so maybe you do wonder what kind of grebe, of all possible grebes, it could be.

We’ll get to this grebe’s identity. But first, another observation.

In Illinois, American Robins used to be the birds that told us spring was coming. Not any more. Now, they stay through winter. You see them year ’round.

This means little, except that things change.

But grebes don’t change. There’s a pond here, and every April it’s got a grebe in it, meaning that spring has arrived.

Grebe migration is happening. We see it in action by spotting this single grebe.

A Pied-billed Grebe, in case you want to know. Since you’ve read this far, you probably do.

Let’s drink to that. Here’s to people who want to know about grebes. And things that don’t change.

Time and a favorite bird.

Two-Fisted Bird Watcher — Tue, 09 Apr 2013 14:21:39 +0000

Take your kids to Disney World over the years, and they change like time-lapse photography.

This place makes you notice time passing. You also notice birds. Including a favorite, which I’ll get to in a minute.

First, quick impressions: A Mockingbird on an umbrella table. A pair of Ospreys hunting over Bay Lake. They don’t care if the lake’s manmade. Its fish are real.

Anhingas and Double-crested Cormorants are on the shoreline. White Ibises walk among crowds. Long-legged tropical birds acting like pigeons. Goofy.

Black Vultures and Turkey Vultures watch. Maybe a goofy Ibis is dead. Or a feral pig rots in the palmettos. There’s a lot to eat at Disney World.

A Wild Turkey walks the golf course. Boat-tailed Grackles are common. American Coots float in Fantasy Land. A Bald Eagle circles above it all.

Then there’s an all-time favorite bird. He was around when you were a kid and still is. Things change, but not him.

Birds of few words.

Two-Fisted Bird Watcher — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 20:44:57 +0000

The terse writer Cormac McCarthy comes to mind. His writing has little excess language. (“No Country for Old Men,” “The Road”).

I thought about him recently because we got a question about the identity of a tan, black and blue bird seen in the Old World.

Jay, I figured. Just Jay. No excess language needed.

Here in the New World we don’t have that kind of simplicity. We have Blue Jays, Steller’s Jays, Gray Jays, Scrub Jays.

In Eurasia, just Jay.

According to field guides, many Eurasian birds are commonly known by single names: Nuthatch, Wren, Blackbird, Kingfisher, Teal.

While here, there are White-breasted Nuthatches, Marsh Wrens, Brewer’s Blackbirds, Belted Kingfishers, Blue-winged Teals.

Old World birds must have been the originals, first to get named. Our regional variations of these species had to carry further instructions.

Here, we have a Black-billed Cuckoo. And a Yellow-billed one. In Europe they have a Cuckoo. One word.

Such short bird names are good. Easy to read and remember. Like something Cormac McCarthy would write. Enough said.

"Jay."