A studio for bird study

Tag: arctic

Plumage in Transition: Red Phalarope Pre-Basic Molt

by Bryce W. Robinson

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I don’t often post a large amount of photos from one subject, but I think this bird deserves the coverage. I was birding the western Alaskan coastline with my friends Neil and Ellen the other day when we found this male Red Phalarope – Phalaropus fulicarius. Even better, the bird was mid-way through its pre-basic molt, giving it a unique look. This was the first time I’d ever seen this transitional plumage. REPH_1501

The new feathers of the basic plumage are blue-grey. The old feathers of the alternate plumage are gold and black. It’s a striking difference. Also note the orange body feathers of the alternate plumage, and the white feathers of the basic plumage. These birds are so colorful during their breeding periods on the pools of the Arctic tundra, but after this short period ends they molt into a cool plumage reminiscent of their winter haunts, the open ocean and coastlines. These color changes mean something, or better put, they have context. What a satisfying process, to see a bird in a state like this male and recall that the appearance has a story (begs the question, why the difference in appearance between seasons?).

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Although the bird was midway through its molt, it is still identifiable as a male. You can see in the crown that the retained feathers are brown and gold. If it were a female, these retained feathers would be wholly black, and bold. The gold and brown around the face and on the nape also tell its sex.
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This bird was so cooperative that I was able to take my fill of photos. It’s rare to see this species in a plumage such as this, so I’m happy that I was able to capture many different angles and views, truly document the bird, and even put the camera down and simply watch. I feel spoiled with the way the birding has been lately here in western Alaska. Too many great things to see, too may things to shoot with the camera, too many experiences to write about. Just the way life should be.REPH_1505REPH_1504 REPH_1507 REPH_1509

Rough-legged Hawk Nestlings

by Bryce W. Robinson

Rough-legged Hawk Nestlings

I was surprised the first time I saw the proximity of nesting Rough-legged Hawk and Gyrfalcon. It was my first summer in Alaska. I was along the Dalton Highway peering through a scope at an incubating white Gyrfalcon. Only 100 meters down the cliffside was an incubating Rough-legged Hawk. Now that I’ve gained an in depth experience with cliff nesting birds of the Arctic, I see why these birds tolerate one another. There simply aren’t enough locations to be choosy.

These eyes were watching me as I pulled out one of my Gyrfalcon nest cameras the other day. This is on the extreme end of Gyrfalcon – Rough-legged Hawk nest proximity. These nests are only about 10 meters apart, and given that these young Roughies are about to fledge, they will both be successful. Almost every cliff I’ve worked in this summer has had a nesting Rough-legged Hawk pair. Some cliffs have had two, along with nesting Raven and Cackling Goose (yes, they nest in cliff nests often). Real estate is limited, so all suitable sites are usually occupied given enough food in the area.

Rough-legged Hawks are a favorite. I gained a familiarity with them during past winters in Utah, and it was always a dream of mine to see them on their breeding grounds. Each time I’m around a nest, I remember my current place and business in life, something that is not to be taken for granted. I’m living a personal dream, and I’m happy.

Gyrfalcon Nest Observation

by Bryce W. Robinson

Somewhere between 45-50 days after hatching, young Gyrfalcons take a leap from their nest and fly for the first time. The clip above shows an angsty female preparing herself for that first jump. Her two siblings, both male, had already left the nest. This fact added to her anxiety as they called from outside of the nest.

Last year I put some effort into seeing a Gyrfalcon’s first flight, but was never in the right place at the right time. This year, I’m making another attempt. The clip above – as seen from a tent through our Zeiss Diascope – is as close as I’ve come to seeing a first flight. I spent hours with my field partner Ellen in a tent outside of the eyrie waiting for the bird to make the leap. The clip shows the closest she came. After this intense flapping bout, she sat down and went to sleep. We had to leave before the bird left the nest, but the time spent watching her was worthwhile.

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First hand study is invaluable. We live in an interesting world where technology gives us so much, so fast, so often. We are able to learn at such a high pace, and research is no exception. For instance, I’m gaining insight into multiple nests using motion-sensor cameras. This provides me an in-depth exposure to Gyrfalcon nests at a higher rate than ever before . This is all due to the camera technology. But I’m missing out on a slow pace digestion of first hand observation. I’m missing out on the whole picture. To get the full perspective, and truly see what it is like in the nest, I need to watch them myself.

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While I watched, I took notes on behaviors. I also did a bit of field sketching. Field sketches force you to focus, and digest very small details that can heighten your understanding of your subject, but also enhance your observation skills. Besides all that, it is an enjoyable way to pass the time while the nestlings sleep.

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Ellen and I took turns watching the nest. We were able to see two prey deliveries during our time watching. A male fledgling returned after one of the prey deliveries, hoping to get part of the meal. The female, however, would not oblige. I most enjoyed watching their behaviors. The birds interacted with one another in an endearing manner. They would pick at each other, as if preening. I wasn’t quite sure if this was curiosity, playful, or truly preening. They would also watch flies buzz around the nest, as if they were about to pounce. You could see the predator engineered mind in the way they followed the flies. They were figuring out what they needed to do to survive.

Male (R) and female (L) Gyrfalcon fledglings. Digiscoped with a Zeiss Diascope 65 T* FL

Male (L) and female (R) Gyrfalcon fledglings. Digiscoped with a Zeiss Diascope 65 T* FL

Although we missed the first flight of the female, we’ll have a few more opportunities to try with other nests. This means more hours behind the scope to watch, and more hours to learn.

To find out more about The Peregrine Fund’s Gyrfalcon Program, visit The Tundra Conservation Network and www.peregrinefund.org

Singing Bluethroat

by Bryce W. Robinson

Singing Bluethroat

Singing Bluethroat – Luscinia svecica. 11 x 17″ prismacolor on bristol. Image copyright Bryce William Robinson.

On every North American birders “must see” list of Alaskan specialties is the Bluethroat – Luscinia svecica. Not only is this a bird with a restricted North American breeding range, it’s aesthetics and behaviors make it one of the holy grails of an Alaskan bird trip.

I’ve spent a fair amount of time in the habitat that the Bluethroat occupies. I’ve heard many singing males, and on occasion I’ve really listened to them. The Bluethroat sings a compilation song, featuring samples taken from sounds in its surroundings. When I’ve listened and put effort into teasing out each component, I’ve heard the iconic “cricket” chirp which interrupts a mash up of American and Pacific Golden-Plover, Golden-crowned Sparrow, Fox Sparrow, American Tree Sparrow, Gray-cheeked Thrush, Arctic Warbler, and many more. It’s a strange challenge, but a lot of fun. The Bluethroat tends to sing in flight, while doing a flutter like display before descending to a perch. However at times I’ve seen a Bluethroat in an intense song bout, perched atop a willow. It’s these times that I’m able to really watch the Bluethroat, while listening to his repertoire.

It’s no wonder why birders fancy this bird. The male has a multicolored throat that stands out in the brown landscape during their pre-breeding displays. As a mimic, their song fits an old world trend which betrays its natural history. The Bluethroat is an old world species, with a breeding distribution which just leaks into North America. For the birder that goes beyond sight and sound, the distribution adds to the allure.

I don’t get to illustrate much while doing field work here in Alaska. Rarely, poor weather and a break in the work will provide me the opportunity to sit down and draw. I’ve had the Bluethroat on my list for a very long time, so I thought I’d seize the rainy days here in western Alaska. Next I’ll be focusing on more Gyrfalcon illustrations.