Worried out of my Wits

In addition to being tired for 19 months in a row now (future fathers beware) a recent incident has got me worried. Yes indeed, my current times are tough and as shared problems are problems halved (as the saying goes in German), I decided to do some blogging about it.


The Kakapo (and you sensed this would be about the Kakapo, right?) is not only one of the truly magical and most special bird species to grace our planet, it has had its ups and downs in a remarkable way as well.
Its biggest up-phase was surely in the days of old when there was no-one inhabiting New Zealand but the birds, and the Kakapos in their millions busily trotted the forest floor in search of fruit amongst the burrows of assorted seabirds, minding their own business and worrying about nothing really but how to make more Kakapos than there currently were.
It soon got a bit tricky though when the later-to-be-called Maori arrived 700 years ago and brought in a few mammalian predators, but the Kakapos still managed to stay on top of things and remain common throughout the islands' forests that were lovely, dark and deep.
Bad luck started to hit the birds in earnest with the large-scale arrival of the European traders and whalers around 1790 (now, here's a big surprise). It got particularly nasty when those Europeans eventually noticed that the land was nice and the Maori no real match to their rifles (although they sure gave them some hell occasionally) and thus decided to settle there in large numbers, bringing in more variety and viciousness to the already established yet alien mammalian fauna.
This was clearly too much even for a timid creature like the Kakapo and they rightfully felt offended in such a way that their numbers declined sharply. It is as yet and unresolved matter if the Kakapos were driven out of their natural range by encroaching humans and the terrible smell of English afternoon tea or by rats, cats and other hairy threats (well, maybe the matter was resolved recently). Possibly it was a combination of both and whatever it was, the Kakapos were so not amused that they got scarce enough to be feared extinct by 1970.

Being feared an extinct species was clearly the dramatic low as far as we can tell, although each surviving member of the Kakapo kind surely was barely aware of it, still busily trotting the forest floor in search of fruit amongst the vacated burrows of extinct seabird populations, minding their own business and worrying about nothing really but how to make more Kakapos than there currently were.

Luckily however, as a result of a human change of heart (or was it the discovery of humans that they had a heart after all?), the species was searched for, rediscovered and effectively protected and has since started a slow yet rather steady climb to recovery, numbering 125 birds in 2009.

This figure is far from the millions that once were, but better than the zero that once was feared.
If current trends continue, we can safely assume that a world population of 1,000 birds will be reached in roughly 200 to 300 years. In geological terms this is very soon, in biological terms... ah well, I've always liked the geological time scale in certain contexts.

Now however, the species' future is in dire jeopardy again through circumstances as yet beyond the powers of manipulation by human kind:

Have you read the news that New Zealand moved 30 cm (!) closer to Australia due to a single earthquake off its coast?

Australia, as you may know, is full of big furry and hungry predators and if this rate of approach continues, New Zealand's predator-free Kakapo Islands will be within leaping range of Dingos and Devils within a mere 7,500 earthquakes.

And you know what the problem is? Clearly this: who can tell at what maximum rate those earthquakes can occur? Once every thousand years or a thousand each year?

No-one can tell, that's who.

Surely some scientists might argue that probabilities for such an earthquake to occur repeatedly within a biological time scale are low, yet with a bird as special as the Kakapo, probabilities are just not enough to rely upon.
So, as I have shown by clear reasoning, the recovery of the Kakapo is merely a small breath of hope into the storm that is looming doom (gosh, how much I had hoped to write a similar text about loons, entitled "doom looms over loons", but I couldn't find anything on flightless, nocturnal loons in New Zealand and all that rhymes with parrot is carrot).

And that has me worried.

I really think DOC should lift the ban on visiting Kakapo islands so that at least the bird will be on everyone's life list before it ceases to exist in a mere 7,500 earthquakes' time.

Go for it, DOC - just go. As long as I am allowed in first.

Sigh!

165 years ago, on July 3rd 1844, humanity had one of its crappier moments.

Fish on Birder Hyde

If you just so happen to be an expert on small European freshwater fish, you might want to take a look at my latest "post" on Birder Hyde here and help me out!

Cheers.

Back to the Future: A Post from the Past

I am back home and thus back on my blog (home is where the blog is, so they say).

This however is not a recent post.
See that title? It is a post I wrote while waiting to be picked up at the airport two weeks ago.
So many exciting things - all blogworthy - happened inbetween (now and then) but as I was there on a job-mission, all the data belongs to my employer and I am technically not allowed to blog about it.

Such is life.

But nevertheless, here's what I wrote back then at Saint Petersburg's airport:


While I write this, I am sitting in a small cafe at Saint Petersburg’s international airport. Well, I can’t get Internet access here, possibly more due to my work machine’s security conscious configurations than due to a lack of wireless networks on Saint Petersburg airport, which means I can write but not post – a very clever way of blogging, and so innovative.
So by the time you will get to read what I am writing now, I won’t still be sitting there.

I hope.

I am due to be picked up in two hours, so I was told. Looking around though, on an international airport where no-one seems to speak anything but Russian, I might end up stranded here after all until my return flight in 12 days. But the coffee is surprisingly good, so I can think of worse places to be stuck in.

Restrooms in Kazakhstan spring to mind.

Right, I am kidding, of course I’ll be picked up as I have already spoken to the guy and he’s on his way.


Anyway, a few short birding notes while I am still outside my working area (secrecy, right?):

Last German bird seen from the plane as we rolled towards the runway on Frankfurt international airport was a female Common Kestrel (well, the plane rolled while we all sat). Of course I can’t entirely rule out Lesser Kestrel, but let’s stick with probabilities.
Maybe it was the very same bird that was Sharon Birdchick’s first Eurasian bird/lifer? Funny times we live in. And a small world, too.

The flight was rather boring as we had low cloud cover below us all the way and I was sat at a window facing south, into the sun. It was nice though seeing the landscape around Saint Petersburg airport while we approached for landing. So much birding potential, I was amazed.
Lots of good habitat for Blyth’s Reed Warbler. I only wish Corey was with me. Although, come to think of it, even if he was here physically he might not really be with me emotionally when I’d get all excited about Blyth’s Reed Warblers.
I really don’t understand it though. Bird species that can be distinguished from each other by the prominence of a slight eye-ring over the brightness of the supercilium in front of the eye or vice versa are just really cool birds to hang out with, good company.

Aaanyway, the first bird in Russia was not, let me repeat this: not, and to my uttermost dismay, a Blyth’s Reed Warbler. You’d think Acrocephalus warblers would be easy to spot from a plane at an altitude of several hundred metres going at a speed of several hundred kilometres an hour approaching a landing strip but let me tell you, they are not.
Gulls, on the other hand, are. So the first bird of the trip that I was able to identify to species level was a gull, a Common Gull Larus canus to be more precise. This is a species as range-restricted and rare as its name may suggest, so you can guess just how thrilled I was about that observation.
I really like Common Gulls though, they are sassy little birds, and additionally an observation of a Common Gull means things can only improve from then on, so there you have it: thank you, Common Gull Guys & Galls!

And a little bit of gossip about Russia, anyone?

Right, so I was standing around wondering how to kill two hours of spare time when I saw the little cafe and an ATM right next to it.

The Russian Ruble.

I must confess that I had and still have no idea how much it’s worth compared to the Euro (shame, I know, bitter shame), so when the choices of amounts to be withdrawn showed up, I was puzzled.
You see, I am no poor man (not rich either, just average), but I didn't really feel like getting a random amount of Rubles from that machine just to find out after the trip that my wife had to sell our little son into slavery to some dubious regional tribe’s chief in Sudan to pay for the bills. As all I wanted was a coffee, I chose the smallest amount, which was 100 Rubles.
The coffee, average size, American style as they call it, was 125 Rubles.

So either that ATM is ridiculous (who’d ever go through the process of using an ATM at an airport for an amount that won’t even buy them a darned simple coffee?!) or I’ve just had the most expensive coffee ever, for which my wife will have to sell my little son … ah, you know the story. I used my credit card. For a single coffee. Seriously.

We’ll see. So far, I am having a good time. Surely it’ll even get better once birds start entering the scene.

It always does when they do.


P.S.: I am back from exchanging 50.00 Euros cash and I got 2,100 Rubles for them. Apparently, the coffee was affordable and the ATM was indeed ridiculous. You do the math, I am too lazy now (that’s my story and I am sticking to it), but it seems I’ll get to keep my offspring after all.
So I am back at the cafe with another 30 minutes until pick-up time.
With a larger cup of coffee and a piece of cake: biscuit with a topping of caramel, chocolate and butter cream.

Life could be worse.


P.P.S.: I think I am not risking my job or telling you job-related secrets when I mention that I did end up seeing and hearing sing several Blyth's Reed Warblers? Actually I encountered a total of 5 different Acrocephalus warblers which even in the Western Palearctis is a pretty good number.
I guess Corey or any North American birder who knows the sharp looks of the Acros is absolutely envious now.

Yeah, I bet.

Out of Office

This is an automated response to all my visitors to let you know that I won't be online anywhere - neither on my blog nor in your blog's comments - until around June 22nd.

Not that this would be new news on this blog.

I'll have to survey a few square kilometres in western Russia for anything that lives and may be noteworthy, so I am particularly hoping I'll get to see some Blyth's Reed Warblers. I haven't seen any since 2000, so you can tell I am excited about the prospect of re-connecting.

As I didn't have the time to get a booster on my bear & beaver bite vaccination, wish me luck.

Post on Birder Hyde

I have a new post up on Birder Hyde which provides links to pages and posts dealing with the relatively recent observation that in two species of common European birds, atypically singing or calling individuals are frequently encountered.
This mostly pertains to Germany though and most of the links lead to German texts, sorry. The soundfiles will be okay for everyone though, I guess.

Here's the link to Birder Hyde.

Tit for Tat, only it's not a Tit

Vagrants.

Who doesn't like them?

Yes, as shameful as it may appear in an age of disappearing biodiversity and increasing problems with invasive species, a rarity or vagrant spotted once in a while amongst the flocks of our common birds is the "salt in the soup" as the Germans would phrase it, or ... geez, wait ... I don't know, ... the whatever in the whatever it is that the English would use to describe the one component of the birding lot that makes it all worthwhile.

So frequently during the year's migration seasons, birders on the east side of the Atlantic venture out to search birds from the west side of the Atlantic while birders on the west side of the Atlantic do the same, only in reverse.
As a consequence of that passionate dedication, we know quite a bit about the patterns of vagrancy around the northern Atlantic and there is a striking difference:

North American vagrants can be as easy to find in the UK's autumn season as sand in your shoes after a day on the beach (but are far more pleasant than that). Finding a European bird along the Atlantic coast of North America however is no easy task but a big event of national dimensions.
This difference is not all too surprising as it can be explained easily with migration patterns and autumn storms.

However, and to the best of my knowledge, no North American species has established a pattern of regular occurrence in Europe, let alone a breeding population, even though dozens of individuals of dozens of species are storm driven to the UK and France each year. When Ring-billed Gulls started to hit European west coasts in masses each winter in the 1980ies (roughly around that time anyway), everyone thought they'd soon start to breed.
Again to the best of my knowledge, that still hasn't happened.
The Scottish Spotted Sandpipers? Well, that was one pair, one year a long time ago (in 1975), it was an unsuccessful attempt and the birds never came back. Nothing even remotely resembling the establishing of a breeding population.

In North America the picture is a completely different one: Little and Black-headed Gulls have quickly established themselves as breeding birds on the New Continent and the Lesser Black-backed is soon to follow, if it isn't breeding regularly already.

So the score is 3 : 0 at the least (Northern Wheat-ear? Eurasian Teal?), a bit of an uneven score if you ask me.

Now finally, the North American avifauna has given us in Europe a Tit for our multitude of Tats. And it is thanks to one man on a mission that we know of it.

Jens Hering, a German birdwatcher with a strong and respectable scientific touch from Saxonia, has spent a few summer seasons on the Azores, a small group of islands out in the central North Atlantic that are politically part of Portugal and biogeographically part of the Western Palearctic region, so have nothing to do whatsoever with North America. All ours.

The Azores have gained a lot of fame in European birding circles recently as a sure-fire destination for finding heaps and masses of Nearctic/North American vagrants in autumn, especially after a few decent October storms.
Very few people visit the Azores during the breeding season as most of the species breeding there can also be seen during the Nearctic Twitches in autumn or elsewhere year-round in the Western Palearctic.

Big mistake, as Jens Hering demonstrated very impressively.

In June 2008, he was able to observe several Black Ducks, yeah Black Ducks, on a small pond on the island of Flores, one of the westernmost islands of the archipelago. After much effort time-wise and physically, he was able to photograph a female Black Duck on that pond which was being followed by three ducklings aged between 14 and 20 days! Several drake Black Ducks were also in the vicinity.
His amazing find was published in the German birding magazine Limicola:

Hering, Jens (2008): Erster Brutnachweis der Dunkelente Anas rubripes für die Westpaläarktis auf den Azoren. Limicola 22: 181-187.

Black Ducks had been seen on Flores for quite a few years already before his breeding record, and especially the observations from 1998 and 2000 strongly suggested a successful breeding in those respective years there as well as the birds seen included not only adults but also young birds in their first year. However, as these young birds were observed in late summer and were perfectly able to fly, they did not constitute a definitive breeding record for Flores as it was quite possible they were wind-driven vagrants from North America in much the same way as the accompanying adults were.
Jens Hering now finally managed to provide the proof everyone expected but never managed for so long!

Well done!

This breeding record of the American Black Duck on the Azores seems to represent - yet again but for the last time in this post: to the best of my knowledge - the first incident ever of a North American bird species establishing what is likely a stable breeding population on the other side of the Atlantic.

By a duck.
Not a sandpiper, not a gull, not a hummingbird or motmot - nope, a mighty duck.
Quack!


A little addendum some might find interesting:
As soon as he had found the breeding Black Ducks, he was faced with a tough identification challenge.
As we all know, there are three species of Black Duck on this planet, one in North America, one on the west side of the Pacific and one in Africa. With the Azores Black Ducks clearly being vagrants, anything was possible so the intrepid discoverer had to establish if those Duckies were of African or North American origin. The Pacific option was simply too far off to be worth considering.
The identification of the BD's as being American was quickly done however when one of the birds stretched its wing to expose (I am sure on purpose) the diagnostic wing pattern.
I have summarized their identification in the image below for the two most typical/representative subspecies.

Now, the alert-minded reader will not fail to notice that there can't be a Texan race of the American Black Duck as it is not known to breed or even occur regularly in that state.

Good point, indeed.
But wrong point.
So where's the good in it? No idea, I just didn't want to appear rude.

Well, you see, I have conducted my own bit of research and established beyond scientific doubt that there is an as yet undocumented population of Black Ducks in the swamps of the "Big Thicket" in far eastern Texas. When seen in flight, the Texan Black Duck's secondaries appear white from above (with the white stripes overshadowing the red ones) and the underwing is largely white as well as in all other forms of Black Duck. The Texan population lives along wooded oxbow lakes and bayous, likes to perch behind tree trunks and is really hard to photograph unless a birder's attention is drawn to it by the nasal Red-breasted Nuthatch-like calls that are so unique to that subspecies.

Go figure.

A final thought on the breeding record though: how can we know for sure the young ducklings really hatched on the Azores? When they were observed swimming around in the small pond on Flores with their mom, they were between 14 and 20 days old, and we all know that ducklings can swim right after hatching.

Now, if the ducklings hatched at the nearest North American breeding site in Newfoundland, a mere 1,938 km away, and swam towards Flores, they would only have had to swim between 97 and 138 km per day, which translates to a speed of only 4 to 5.75 km/hour.

I am pretty confident ducklings are capable of that.