Lights of home

There's nothing as homey as the lights of your own house beckoning to you when you've been away for a while.  I'm looking forward to being home for a bit!

One last look

One final day in Costa Rica, one final vista across the glorious forest that cloaks much of the mountains around the town of Monteverde. It makes my soul happy to know there are still such extensive wild places left in the world.

Abundance

One of the things that's most impressive (and most important) about the tropics is the incredible abundance and diversity of life. Every square inch of everywhere is covered with something: plants, mushrooms, lichens, dying leaves… Here's a rock along one of the trails at Santa Elena National Park. We got to study it for a while while waiting for the Three-wattled Bellbird (which was bonging and bonging and bonging from a nearby perch just out of view) to make a reappearance, and I must say, I was particularly impressed by the ferns; a six-foot bank nearby had 8-10 species!

The buttresses of a huge nearby tree were equally thick with growth, well up the trunk.

Black and white

Most things in life aren't really black and white -- except when they are, like this Black-and-white Owl, which we spotted today in the middle of a bustling town. These owls have been there for years, putting up with car horns and barking dogs and the talking, laughing, shouting people who share their square-block park. It amazes me how many people immediately start looking up as soon as they see a group of birding tourists approaching with binoculars and telescopes; they want to be the one to point the owls out to us. It's equally amazing to me how many people have never noticed the owls until they see us looking at them. How sad to be so unobservant of the world around you!

Just peachy

I never tire of sunsets, of the way the light changes as the sun sinks out of view. I'm sure I could quite happily take a picture a day of the evening play of light on clouds or water or mountains or trees. I'm equally sure the rest of you would quickly grow bored with it. Today, however, you'll have to indulge me!

For Shell

My sister-in-law is a big fan of the color orange. Her house has some fabulous orange accents, and her wardrobe has some stunning pieces in the same color. Somehow, I think she'd approve of the spectacular male Orange-collared Manakin we spotted this morning. He was resting on a vine, waiting for a female to pass by his dance stage. Wow!

Electric blue

There's no denying it: feeder birds in Costa Rica are a lot more gaudy than anything we have in New Jersey. Yes, we have Northern Cardinals and Blue Jays and American Goldfinches, and they can be bright and colorful. But somehow, they don't have the neon intensity of tropical species. And when a feeder is swarming with dozens of species like this Red-legged Honeycreeper (here taking a break from nibbling a nearby banana), well, the eyeballs are very nearly overwhelmed!

A male Red-legged Honeycreeper

A walk in the woods

The oak forest above the Savegre valley in Costa Rica must surely be one of the most beautiful forests in the world. The trees are huge, hung with orchids and vines and bromeliads, and interspersed with the small, densely leaved native bamboos. The air smells clean, fresh, earthy. Soft mounds of green moss carpet the ground, liberally sprinkled with the scattered carcasses of fallen leaves. It's a habitat that's beginning to disappear, given the relentless pressure of development in the area. And for those of us who need the wild places, that loss will be a damned shame.

Red faced

I nearly forgot to take a picture today. As it was, I downloaded photos tonight and found I'd only snapped the shutter four times. Four. That's the second lowest total all year -- not good for someone who's on a self-imposed mission to post a picture a day. Sadly, though I tried four times to get "the" photo of this Red-headed Barbet, none of the four was a particularly good shot. The shadows in the verdant green forest were just a little too deep, the bird just a little too distant, the blue sky in the background just a little too bright. But take my word for it, in real life this wee beastie was spectacular!

Freedom

The skies over Costa Rica are full of raptors these days. In addition to the many locals, there are thousands of migrants headed north. The other day near La Selva, we hit the motherlode as the sun sank lower and the shadows lengthened over the marsh we were visiting. From horizon to horizon, hundreds and hundreds of Turkey Vultures and Swainson's Hawks circled in towering thermals, like bubbles in boiling pots. There were places in the sky where there were quite literally rivers of birds streaming over, so high they were just scraps of darkness against the high cirrus clouds. The sheer number of birds was goose bump inducing.

A hunting Swallow-tailed Kite, newly arrived from South America, surfs the airwaves.

Thief

Initially, I was rather disappointed with this shot. I'd meant to get a good clear photo of this bold thief, a Variegated Squirrel that lives on the grounds of Rancho Naturalista. Unfortunately, it spotted an incoming Montezuma Oropendola and bailed just as I snapped the shutter. Arg! But the longer I looked at the picture, the more I liked the sense of motion and urgency it conveyed -- the blur of the squirrel's quickly moving legs, the spin of its body and the near motionless balance of its tail. Not perfect, but a fun reminder of our stay.

Flutter by

Costa Rica has some 1250 species of butterflies and more than 8000 species of moths -- and we're seeing big numbers of them on our current tour. Perhaps the country's drought has something to do with that (maybe fewer are succumbing to fungal infections), or perhaps the fact that we're having lots of sunny days this year just means they're flying more. Whatever the reason, we're certainly reveling in the  subtle and the splashy, the large and the small, the cooperative (and photographed) and the flighty (and seen only).

Banded Peacock (Anartia fatima)

Bats. In tents.

Most of us have seen a bat or two in our day -- typically winnowing over a field or backyard as summer  days stretch into twilight, maybe dipping low after some insect and then fluttering rapidly away. But finding them resting during the day is less common, and finding them resting in a tent of their own making is rarer still. We found this trio of tent-making bats in La Selva's rainforest today. The bats nibble along both sides of the midrib of a big leaf, which weakens the leaf and causes it to fold. Then they hang themselves up under their leafy green roof, safe from predators and the elements. The only thing they hadn't counted on was inquisitive photographers!

Who, me?

We spent this evening wandering in the rainforest at La Selva Biological Station, looking at owls and frogs and nocturnal mammals and anything else we could find. This little Vermiculated Screech-Owl was one of the highlights. After traipsing along concrete paths through the darkened forest for more than an hour without hearing a peep from any owl, we suddenly heard one call right from a dense tangle just beside us off the path. Putting our flashlights out, we stood in silence with the bright beams of a nearly full moon raining light down between the leaves. Our local guide whistled softly. A hiss of indrawn breath from our driver Lenin, who stood beside me, alerted me he'd seen something go past. I flicked on my light and he guided the beam toward a branch almost within touching distance. Magical! That little owl sat on its branch, head swiveling between us and the surrounding forest for more than 10 minutes. We finally walked away from it, leaving it to its nighttime kingdom.

A wide-eyed Vermiculated Screech-Owl checks out the birders.

Emerald green

When it comes to bird names, ornithologists are a pretty sober lot. Typically, it's just a color, a body part, a location and a general descriptor: Red-tailed Hawk. Eastern Towhee. Blue Jay. Orange-rumped Parakeet. But when it comes to the hummingbirds, those same staid biologists went rather off the deep end. They were bewitched and bedazzled by the tiny birds, and named them accordingly: sunbeams, angels, emeralds, sapphires, sprites, fairies, comets, woodstars and jewelfronts vie with the plain old "hummingbirds" in the indices of Central and South American bird books. And when you see one in person, you understand why.

A tiny Coppery-headed Emerald doesn't even bend the edge of the leaf he's sitting on.

Changing moon

“Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. Then your love would also change.” 
― William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Waiting for spring

Heading north to the airport this morning, I stopped for this picture of New Jersey in March. By the time I get home, it will be nearly April, and things should have begun to change. Right now, the forest is largely leafless (except for the dark green gleam of the hollies) and the only color comes from the scattered crunchy remains of last year's foliage underfoot. A skim of ice sits on the surface of the ponds. But the tiny red flowers are bursting on the maples, a few European invaders are blossoming in fields and lawns, and a handful of avian migrants returned this week, so spring is on the way -- and after the brutal winter we've had here in the east, we're so, so ready for it!

Hands Millpond, still frozen over

Baying

A reported Little Gull along the beach in Del Haven brought a few of us scrambling to the bayshore this afternoon. The tide was out, and the flats stretched brown and soggy towards the receding water, littered with shorebirds and gulls. From the frenetic activity, it was obvious that there was plenty to eat out there. There were plenty of interesting patterns on those flats, as well.  And yes, we saw the gull.

Looking west from Miami Beach

A gang of Dunlins checks out the shrinking pools

Sandy ridges on the flats

A hardened ring of mollusks. Did someone plant them here?

Tracks

I spent a fabulous sunny late afternoon on Cape May Point's beach today, with 60-plus degree temperatures making it feel positively spring-like. Various tracks caught my eye: tracks of wind-blown grasses, of birds, and water, and skunks and even of airborne humans.

Stumped

When we first moved into our house, the stump of an old tree stood sentinel in the side yard. Our pest control company suggested we remove it, but we haven't, instead leaving it for the creatures we share our yard with. For years, a female Black Rat Snake climbed to the top every time she was ready to molt. She'd hook herself onto a jagged bit near the top of the stump and wriggle out of her old skin, leaving it draped like some diaphanous veil. Ants and spiders and beetles and woodlice and probably the occasional termite have lived here, and slowly the stump is disappearing, crumbling and decaying back into the earth.

Winter garden

Now that daylight's saving time has begun, spring seems just around the corner. We spent this evening working in the garden, cutting down the remnants of last year's flowers stalks and piling them carefully to one side, so that any small creature (read insect or invertebrate) overwintering in them can escape once the weather warms. The seed heads are bare now, harvested by the goldfinches, cardinals and sparrows that spent the winter with us. A few green leaves are beginning to poke up through the leaf litter, but it all still looks pretty wintery out there. Note to self: be sure to post some transformation photos once the plants are growing again.

The price of fur (warning: graphic photos)

Personally, I've never understood the appeal of fur coats; as far as I'm concerned, the skins looked far better on their original wearers. I wonder if those (mostly women) who drape themselves with furs ever think about the creatures that lost their lives in order for them to do so -- like this group of raccoons tossed like yesterday's garbage along the edge of the river at Jake's Landing. These poor, skinned animals (seven in total) made my blood boil, and put a pall on an otherwise beautiful day.

Birthday presents

An early spring day in the field = the perfect birthday.

 The odd flowers of the Skunk Cabbage poke from the mud at the Beanery.

 A lone female Black Scoter (R) gets lots of attention from a group of males at Sunset Beach.

Glorious blue sky, here near the Nature Conservancy's Lizard Tail Swamp Preserve.

 A vernal pool along the power line, much fuller than it usually is at this time of year.

 Virginia Beardgrass, golden in the sun.

 An army of Dunlin on Avalon's beach.

 An American Bullfrog tadpole, thriving despite the chilly temperatures.

The end of a lovely day was spent watching Short-eared Owls hunting over Jake's Landing.

Hoodies

The midwest's brutal cold -- and the subsequent freezing over of most of the Great Lakes -- has driven lots of waterfowl to the coasts this year, and we in Cape May County have definitely benefitted from it. Many species which are typically quite rare here have been seen in good numbers this year: Red-necked Grebes, Redheads, Canvasback and more are gratifyingly common in back bays, marinas and along the surging tidelines, joining our regular winter visitors in vast floating flocks. It has given us great opportunities to study duck plumages up close.

A windblown little group of Hooded Mergansers at Cox Hall Creek WMA.

Winter tree

“Trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky.” 
― Kahlil Gibran, Sand and Foam

Timberdoodle

I still remember the first American Woodcock I ever saw. My dad and I were birding along a wooded path on Manitoulin Island in Canada. It was raining -- not hard, just a misty drizzle -- and condensing drops caught in the pine needles and pattered down onto the jewel-bright moss that carpeted the forest beside the trail. We were walking along, dripping in our olive-green ponchos, when suddenly a fat rock detached itself from the side of the path and wobbled its way into the forest ahead of us. What camouflage! We watched in delight as it prodded and probed the verdant forest floor, slurping earthworms out of the soft soil. A shared memory, still treasured some 40 years later.

A Timberdoodle (aka American Woodcock) pauses beside a busy Cape May road. It was feeding in one of the few places where the snow had melted enough that it could reach the ground.

Waxwings

En-route to a restaurant lunch, we came across a gang of Cedar Waxwings near where we parked; they were resting and digesting, having stuffed themselves on berries from the hedge around the parking lot. Actually, they're champions at digesting: studies have shown that a berry gets from one end to the other of a Cedar Waxwing in less than 20 minutes!

Snow. Again.

Just when I thought spring might be on its way, we're back to winter, with another four inches of snow. And the remnants of the garden, which were standing stiff and brown yesterday, are today crushed and drowning.