Three years ago when I started birding I noticed a young blue heron. He was always at the same location, his territory I assumed. I always came about 7:00 AM and rain or shine, he was standing post.

I had recently discovered a nesting sight for Great Blues and was following the maturation of two chicks. I had watched them grow, stretch their feathers, practicing to fledge. Then one day…they were gone. I wondered at the time if maybe this bird was one of the fledges. Maybe not, but it was continuity for me.

One day about 2 years ago I noticed he had a piece of wood jammed into a space below his beak. It was at least 14 inches long. When he would move his head it would move. I was frantic with maternal instinct, made a few telephone calls to the local wildlife people and was told that: “Nature will take its course. We don’t intervene in cases like this.” He didn’t appear to be disabled.

Over the next year the stick became shorter and shorter. For the last 6 months it appeared to be about 4 inches long. So obviously, it hadn’t interfered with eating or balance, or survival. I often wondered if it was a deterent to a female who he might be drawn to, much like a person with a handicap is often detered in human relations. (I once traveled with a friend who had lost a limb and was made very aware of how different her experience is in the world.) Creatures are very visual, especially birds, whose health and sexual attractiveness is signaled by visual cues, brightness of feathers, etc. He had this thing sticking out of his mouth. It might be difficult to help feed young. It might be a turn off.

Years ago I read Painted Bird, a 1965 novel by Jerzy Kosiński which describes the world as seen by a young Jewish boy hiding during World War II in barns and forests.  The book was filled with allegories about human beings.  In one of the stories, the boy meets a man who captures birds.   Occasionally, when bored, (and reflecting his true nature),  the man paints one of his birds with many bright colors of paint.   He then releases the bird who flies to join his flock.   The painted bird is now perceived as “other” and is torn apart by the other birds.

The Great Blue was a survivor but I hadn’t seen him for a month. I know many Great Blues migrate. Maybe he decided to go on a long trip this year. I hope so.

I have been taking care of my ailing mother for 5 years. This month she had a fall and broke some bones in her neck. She is 91 years old and is currently in the intensive care ward at Scripps Hospital in La Jolla. It has been touch and go and we have concerns about her surviving this last onslaught. So in the morning when I walk my dog, she is heavy on my mind.

This morning when I drove past the the Great Blue’s sentinel spot, I imagined him somewhere, now bones and dust, a jawbone, with an imbeded piece of wood with bone grown around it.

There are two eucalyptus trees in the dog section where sometimes I see Cooper’s Hawks and last year a beautiful American Kestrel. Ever hopeful I spotted a large shape on a branch and my spirits perked up. I adjusted the eyepieces on my binoculars and took an expectant look. Two Common Ravens!

I just finished reading Mind of the Raven by Bernd Heinrich, biology professor at U Vermont, and avid corvidologist. His passion is ravens and he has spent almost 20 years studying them. Apparently ravenologists exist in all countries and they are an unusual breed. They believe in observation up close so they are tree climbers, placing themselves very close to nests. In the 90′s Heinrich removed several baby ravens from their nest to raise by hand and study their behaviors. His justification for robbing the nests was science. I suppose it is our gain that he did it because he accumulated a vast amount of data by observing them up close. He detailed interesting insights accrued from living with his ravens – about their play, their use of tools, their communication patterns, their humor and intelligence, and their pair bonding. One male raven who was his favorite was ready to mate and Heinrich guessed with certainty who his mate would be. But nature had its own way. Heinrich’s aviary allowed wild birds to come and go freely and one day a female raven flew in and she had one white feather.

There must have been an instant attraction between them because they began a process of “getting to know” each other, displaying prowess, power, beauty, indifference and interest. He told her he was powerful and she responded that she was powerful too. After several hours “white feather” as she was to be named signaled that he was acceptable and he moved to the left side of her and put his right foot on her left foot. That was all she wrote!

At least ten years passed before Heinrich published Mind of the Raven, and during those years he observed the paired couple raising many broods. He said every afternoon that the two ravens would fly to a nearby tree to sit quietly and watch the world go by, and every night when they went to sleep, the male would put his right foot on her left foot.

I thought about that as I observed the pair on the eucalyptus. Both birds were big and their tails were long and formed the identifying wedge shape. The two sat apart but made croaking noises and sweet melodic sounds non-stop. Their beaks were large and when they soared off their wings were broad. I could see the longer primaries with more slotting between them. Confirmed! They were Common Ravens, not American Crows! The process of seeing, looking closely and integrating the visual with the knowledge I had learned from the Cornell site came through, leaving me calm and smiling.

Feeling blessed, since it is June and there isn’t the bounty of birds like in April and May, I stopped and pulled out my Brunton binoculars, quieted my dog and propped myself against my car in order to watch this magnificent bird for a while. Then I noticed that he was holding a small shark between his feet. It was perfectly shaped – I thought submarine – 9 inches of sleek tail and top fin. It twitched and then the osprey began to eat the shark’s head. This magnificent raptor kept his eye on me the whole time.

In the early 70′s the osprey nearly became extinct due to disruption of breeding and living sites by human development. This was coupled with the assault on their reproductive systems by the ubiquitous use of DDT. Osprey eggshells became too thin to support life, as did the eggs of several other species. Nesting colonies disappeared.

DDT was banned in 1972 and by the early 1990′s ospreys began to nest in San Diego harbor. There is a mast on a sail boat in San Diego (off of Quivera and Mission Bay Boulevard) that has become the site of an enormous nest. A good spotting scope can make it possible to see the Ospreys at work feeding their young on this boat.

These first images aren’t quite in focus, but at least you can see this wonderful moment. What is his first flight like for him? Surely there is an ecstasy that must flood the heron when he takes flight. I struggle with the warnings about projecting our humanness onto birds. I have a hard time believing that survival is the only driving force. Or, if it is, then survival includes pleasure in all of its dimensions, including mastering flight. (This post was written in March 07.)

These were canvasbacks hanging out with scaups. I watched them for a long time. And I realized that I was really seeing them. I knew without a doubt what a canvasback duck looks like. (At least the male!) (At least in Spring!) (At least while in a breeding phase!) I knew!

I have begun to be able to see. I am learning and this is exciting. I am a beginner but I know enough now to begin to distinguish things: the red head and neck, the red eyes; the patterns of color on the body, the black breast. the greyish or white back and flanks, the white belly and black tail. I saw the sloping forehead and the peaked crown. I saw his upward curved black bill. I saw him.

This is how a new birder learns to see.

birds are.

Where longing for you haunted me

Now only yearning remains

for contact with nature -

western meadowlarks and prairie falcons.

You filled me with a direct experience of myself

my body my mind.

The void left by your absence – a drought,

harsh wind dry earth,

all that remained

empty and burning.

Then birds flew in by the thousands.

They entered the cave of my heart and filled the darkness.

They flew in from the arctic and sang of the equator.

They spoke of wind currents and bad storms

danger and distance traveled.

Sandhill cranes rested with me weary from flight

and solitary blues warmed me with their great wings.

Golden wreathed Phoebe was an original Greek titan and was grandmother to Apollo and Artemis. She was also one of the heliades or children of the sun. This little bird, named after a titan and a child of the sun. This is an area I will have to research. I suppose the honor of naming fell to the 18th century birders in their competitive searches for the glory of cataloging and discovering new species.

Dog Walking and Birding

I walk almost every day on Fiesta Island with my dog in a designated “off leash” area. I have combined dog walking with bird watching. My dog Lulu runs and I scout the vast area – hundreds of acres – for signs of migratory birds who have taken up temporary residence. A good pair of binoculars makes all the difference in the world. Western Meadowlarks frequent the place and to the casual eye appear somewhat drab in browns and black. Up close, however, at 10 power their breasts are a beautiful bright yellow and their throats vibrate in beautiful songs. Mating behavior is going on right now and if you take a walk around the berm you will hear a few soloists singing with clarity and gusto.

For the past month I have been observing some small birds that I couldn’t place in Sibley’s book until today. I thought they were sparrows, but their markings were dramatic. Faces with bold black eyebrows and mustaches. A bold black mark on their upper breasts, and bright yellow faces! Horned larks! Hundreds of them eating seeds and scurrying around.

I was so happy to discover what species they were, and that is part of the beauty of birding. The closer you look the more you see. You begin to learn how to look, and it changes how you perceive everything. I’ve walked past Western Meadowlarks and Horned Larks for about three years on this island and never saw them.

I slowed down my gaze, breathed deeper and walked with patience and calm and I began to see. This is what birding is giving me.