Message from the President

Hello again my friends,

I hope the sweltering summer has been treating you well.  Personally, I have been traveling quite a bit, which has made it hard to participate in many CMNA activities recently.   As fun as traveling can be at times, mine has mainly been just chocking up lots of interstate miles trying to quickly move various items from one spot to another as I've helped my wife relocate several times for her work. Fortunately, it hasn't all been just back and forth driving.  I'm also visiting family out west; in fact, as I write this, I'm in Star Valley, Wyoming, sharing a long weekend in a lodge with my father, three of my sisters, and all their spouses.  This, all my travel, and some other recent adventures, have made me choose this column's overarching theme: the value of patience and persistence to a naturalist---in all manner of situations.

Before even heading out of South Carolina, I had an experience I wanted to share where persistence paid a premium, and a bird behaved in the opposite manner they usually do, at least for me.  I enjoy the challenge of trying to identify sparrows, and as I learn more about them, I come to appreciate their understated beauty more and more.  However, the Bachman's Sparrow has been my nemesis for years. This bird likes long-leaf pine savannas, similar to those preferred by Red-cockaded Woodpeckers.  The sparrows are not as endangered as the woodpeckers, but, being sparrows, are frustratingly secretive and hard to id.  I've been told in the past that a particular chip (or squeak, or trill, I really don't remember) was a Bachman's, but that is not a satisfying way to "count" a life bird, at least not for me.  However, on a recent trip to Donnelley WMA, I was driving on some of the less-traveled side roads looking for woodpeckers, and at one point my Merlin sound ID claimed there was Bachman's singing nearby.  I was off to try to get eyes on the critter.  I finally got this distant view of it, mostly obscured by leaves:

It was nice to actually see something and not just hear it, but still, not very satisfying.  I mean, let's be honest, do any of you feel confident identifying that as a Bachman's Sparrow?  No?  Not me, either.  However a little patience (after years of persistence) and keeping my eye on this particular bird as it flew around, led to a much better view:

This is what I'd been waiting for!  It was also the opposite of my usual experience with a life bird: first a poor distant view and then a series of worse, more distant views!  This delightfully cooperative fellow was just the opposite.  What a rare pleasure!

The banner image at the top of this column is another example of a bit of persistence (and local knowledge).  That is a view of the Snake River in Swan Valley, Idaho.  [I know, there are lots of "valley" names out here.]  This was taken from a muddy National Forest road (Fall Creek Rd), just off the main, mostly boring, main road.  It had been raining, but let up a bit, so it was very much worth the drive: a gorgeous view as the fall foliage is just starting to turn.  In case you are wondering, here is the water fall the road is named after and where the banner picture was taken.

A bit of patience with the weather and persistence with the muddy roads was rewarded and made a welcome break in a long road trip. It might also shed some light on where and why I learned to love and appreciate nature as a youngster.

The reward at the end of the road trip, was the previously mentioned lodge and family get-together. My whole family likes nature, but they are not as rabid about it, especially birding, as am I.  However, one evening we could all hear Sandhill Cranes calling from nearby, and that wild, primordial call enticed everyone into trying to see them.  I'd actually found some on a hillside field the previous day, and that seemed to be near where the calls were coming from.  With a bit of the patience required in getting any eight non-birders loaded up and heading out, much less family members, we eventually reached the spot.  There were cranes there, indeed.  I set up a spotting scope and everyone was soon looking at cranes.

Hmm, well, two of the seven folks visible were actually looking at the birds, which is the same ratio of folks with their backs to the action.  That seems about right for my family, I think.  [Aside: Yes, that is snow on the mountain tops in the background.  It was the first snowfall of the season the day before and about half of it had melted by the time of this picture.]  Again however, patience with myself in recognizing that everyone was already having a good time, birds or not, and a gentle persistence paid off.  Everyone eventually got good scope views of the cranes and I now have a new favorite picture of my 88-year-old father and two of my sisters. Totally worth it!

Oh yeah, the cranes.  They were pretty awesome too.  There were 27 of them feeding on a relatively recently cut hay field.  In fact, they started dancing for us, which is usually a mating behavior, as I understand it, but these may have just been the younger birds getting in practice.

Unfortunately, this distant still image does not capture the grace (and occasional goofiness) of the dancing birds.

My last anecdote is another personal one where I'd like to offer my heartfelt thanks for the persistence and patience of my fellow participants in the Battery Warren herping adventure: CMNA members Gabe Shuler, Dianne Kincaid, Colin Hocking, Michael Patrick, Bill Reehl, Bill Twomey, and ARC participant Ben Morrison.  You can read Colin's excellent write-up but what he fails to mention is how I became overheated about halfway through the return leg and had a very difficult time making it back to the vehicles.  I thought I had plenty of water, but I wasn't prepared for that much time in the heat and humidity.  I felt deceived by my body at the speed with which it went from "I'm hot, but fine" to "Woah, I'd better sit down before I fall down."  I've been overheated before, but not like that.  However, with the patient, gracious help, water, and snacks from my fellow naturalists, and their persistence in sticking with me, I made it back... eventually.  I am truly grateful to all of you who were there and I encourage all of us to be especially vigilant about the heat.  I thought I had adequately planned and prepared forit, but was woefully incorrect.  Please don't underestimate as I did; "extra" water is heavy, but worth it.  That situation could have gotten very bad very quickly.  Again, my heartfelt thanks to all.

Thank you for letting me share a few stories with you that are more personal than usual.  I hope they will inspire you to be patient with yourself and your own limits, with others as we try to share our passion and to be patient and persistent with nature as it takes its own sweet time occasionally to reveal what we are seeking.

Cheers,

Dave