Muncie's Snowy Owl

Last winter, birders in the Northern United States were treated to a rare spectacle: a Snowy Owl irruption. After having never seen a Snowy Owl in my life, I saw five different Snowy Owls in early 2013. It was the biggest Snowy Owl irruption in many years (source unknown) and many of us wondered if it would repeat again this year.

So far, the numbers don't seem to be quite as high as last year, but it is undeniable, at least here in Indiana, that there are a greater than average amount of Snowy's this year. One even showed up in downtown Muncie.

Naturally, this particular owl was first spotted on the very day Sara and I were en route to Springfield, Missouri, for a long weekend Gradubirthmas celebration with the family. I love my family (duh), but it was a bit painful for the extreme birder inside of me to see regular updates about the Snowy Owl perched less than ten minutes from my apartment.

When we returned to Muncie, Sara and I immediately headed downtown in search of the now famous owl. No luck. She (the owl was identified to be a female, although age is still unknown) did not appear again for the next few weeks and we all assumed she had moved on to more suitable habitat.

This morning I heard that a Snowy Owl had been spotted at the Delaware County Airport last night. I had an hour before I had to be a school for job training, so I drove over there. I met up with Claire (my lab-mate) and we circled around the airport, again with no luck (but we did see a flock of Horned Larks, so that was pretty great).

Naturally, Claire texted me about 47 seconds after I left to say that she had found the owl.

The Snowy Owl was still waiting for me when I came back. After trying, to no avail, to take a photo with our fancy, new, DSLR camera, I stuck my cell phone up to someone's spotting scope, threw on a few Instagram filters, and produced the best photo I've ever taken of a Snowy Owl.

Mindy

Addressing the death of a pet is a topic I find awkward at best. I think people tend to fall into two different camps here. People who identify as “animal lovers,” typically individuals who have owned pets in the past, can understand the significant impact an animal can have on the lives of humans, in life and in death. However, I think many people out there don’t understand when they see someone grieving the loss of an animal. It’s only an animal, after all – it’s not like you lost another human being.

I am an unabashed animal lover, in my career aspirations as well as my personal life. Which is why, upon reflection, I am surprised by my lack of reaction when I heard the news of the death of our family dog of 14 years. I was at a Barnes and Noble in Bloomington, Indiana, decompressing after my first week of a new job when my mom called to tell me of Mindy’s passing. I was saddened, surely, but I also had bigger fish to fry at that point in time, so I pushed those feelings aside. And as I look back at the year past, as we all tend to do at each year’s closing, I find myself needing to process the loss and celebrate the life of our beloved cockapoo, Mindy.

1999 was a year of significant “pet turnover” in the Pirtle household. We pet-sat for a family friend’s schnauzer in spring, and I believe that finally convinced my parents that we were capable of adopting our own pet dog. This resulted in the short-lived residency of Baxter, a dog of mysterious origins and some unsettling territorial behaviors. With his return to the humane society, shortly followed by the death of my first rabbit, Rainy (and, probably unrelated, my infamous week-long bout of hiccups), I was not feeling too optimistic about our family’s ability to be pet owners.

I still remember that December evening clearly. Katy, Bradi, and I were watching a Christmas cartoon, The Nuttiest Nutcracker, when Mom and Nana returned from a “shopping trip” not with arms full of bags, but a small, white puppy, a 4-month-old cockapoo (cocker-spaniel/poodle mix). I remember crying and not really knowing why; it was probably the emotions of all the animal loss manifesting as I saw one more animal coming into our home. Apparently, Mom and Nana had a choice between two puppies: one laying quietly in the corner, the other full of energy and life. They went with the spunky one. Mom had narrowed the name options down to “Tessie” or “Mindy.” It required no debate on our part – “Tessie” was clearly a dumb name.

The next morning, I woke up extra early and came downstairs to find Mom and the puppy on the kitchen floor. I was happy, but I was also apprehensive. Every morning when I came downstairs, I was worried that Mindy would have done something “naughty” and my parents would have decided to give her back. Mom must have picked up on this apprehension early on; I distinctly remember her assuring me that “we’re committed to this one.” It was that conversation that allowed me to fully open up and let Mindy into my heart, where she immediately took up permanent residence.

What is the “legacy” of a lost pet? What role do they play in our lives? What does it mean to always carry her “in my heart?” I’ve been reflecting on these questions. Mindy became a constant, a reliable presence that I will always associate with the second decade of my life. When I think about that era of my life, trying to fit in in Middle School, trying to survive the homework load in High School, coming home for visits during the College years, Mindy will be in that picture. Not always important, but always present.

Mindy became the sixth member of our family. Rabbits, guinea pigs, dwarf hamsters and newts would come and go, but only Mindy would appear in the annual Christmas photo, only Mindy would be waiting at the door to greet our guests, only Mindy would go outside and play with the neighbors (and their dogs).

One of my favorite memories is the first time we decided to take Mindy with us on one of our long family vacations. Mindy was a champ as we drove from Racine to Murchison, Texas, and spent a week on my grandparents’ farm. I remember walking her along the long driveway and taking her to meet the cows. I was excited when we got to the point where I felt comfortable taking her leash off and letting her roam around the cow pastures, trusting that she would come when I called and return safely to the house with us.

During the college years, my family started to move. From Racine, to Cary, Lombard, Naperville (three suburbs of Chicago) and eventually to McKinney, Texas; at times it felt like each trip “home” was to a different house. However, Mindy remained a constant, always waiting at the door to greet me, showing excitement. I like to think that she remembered me personally, but I also think she showed similar enthusiasm for anyone who walked through our door.

I also began to notice signs of aging, though. Mindy exhibited puppy-like enthusiasm for the first ten years of her life, but eventually she started to slow down. Her vision and her hearing diminished, she was affected by allergies (maybe she had some Pirtle DNA after all!), and walks took more time and covered less distance.

I lived with my parents in McKinney for the first few months of this year. This turned out to be a really good time to be home for many reasons, not the least of which was Mindy. Having only spent a week or two at a time with our family dog for the last six years, I was lucky to be able to reconnect with her in her last few months. She was an old dog – old and tired. It was an effort to get up the stairs, but she would follow me up every time I went. Through bloody noses and seizures, it was clear to me that these would be my last months with her. And I feel so lucky to have gotten to have that time. Despite her age and weariness, the spunk was still there. Mindy continued to do what she always did best – provide companionship, bring joy in moments of happiness, and bring peace in moments of stress.

I miss Mindy dearly, as does my whole family. My parents sprinkled her ashes over a beautiful flowerbed in the backyard, a fitting tribute to a dog that made our lives a little more beautiful.

Sara and I are adopting a new pet of our own this week. A rabbit will be joining us in Muncie, and it will not take long for him to wiggle his way into my heart, alongside Rainy, Marie, Sassy, Mindy, and the other animals that have come into and out of my life. These animals bring me joy, and I hope that I have done the same for them. The mental image of that furry, white cockapoo will always bring a smile to my face. The thought of Mindy will remind me of her friendship, her loyalty, her love of life. Some people may not understand and that is okay. Mindy will always be a part of me, the life I led, and the life I now lead. For that, I am immeasurably grateful.

Sandhill Cranes at Jasper-Pulaski

On Saturday, Sara and I stopped at the Jasper-Pulaski Fish and Wildlife Area en route to Indiana Dunes State Park. This area is popular during the fall migration because it is a stop-over site for thousands of Sandhill Cranes. The cranes begin to appear at the end of September and reach peak numbers (thousands in a single night) in mid-November. The evening we spent there, we saw a couple hundred cranes. Instead of staying and watching them fly in to their evening roosting field, we drove around and snapped some photos of the cranes flying in for the night.

Cranes are awesome birds for a number of reasons, but my favorite things about Sandhill Cranes is their call. This was my first time seeing a large gathering of these birds and hearing the strange sounds resonating throughout the area, over and over, was a wacky sensory experience. (You can listen to some recordings on the Cornell page here: http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/sandhill_crane/sounds)

Sara and I swapped the camera back and forth a couple times - here are some of my favorite photos from the evening.

When the cranes would come in for a landing, they would drop their legs straight down and spread their wings, lowering themselves kind of like a parachute. It was kind of awkward to watch, but it does the trick, so who am I to criticize?

The Aye-Aye: Adorably Terrifying

Many animals are cute. Many animals are quite frightening. It's only once in a great while that you encounter an animal that manages to tow the line between the two. Enter the Aye-aye (pronounced "I-I").

Image from: factzoo.com

I was introduced to the Aye-aye during a round of youtubing with the GGRO interns last year. More recently, I was reminded of the Aye-aye by Dr. Patricia Wright, winner of the Indianapolis Prize (a super prestigious conservation award) during a talk she gave at Ball State earlier this month. Dr. Wright won the prize for her work with lemurs, many of which are endangered on the island nation of Madagascar. One of those lemur species is the Aye-aye.

When most people think of lemurs, there is probably a distinct image that comes to mind - something like this:

Ring-tailed Lemurs are adorable and not at all creepy (Cincinnati Zoo, Oct. 2014)

The Aye-aye has a slightly more striking appearance:

Photo from WikiMedia Commons.

Is it adorable? Is it terrifying? The jury is still out.

Native to Madagascar, the Aye-aye possesses a host of unique traits that make it stand out from its other lemur brethren. When first discovered, the Aye-aye was thought to be a rodent because it looks so distinct from other primates. In fact, it does share one trait with rodents: its teeth, specifically its incisors, which grow continually throughout the lifespan and have to be maintained regularly.

Check out those teeth! (photo from Wikimedia Commons)

Most notably, the Aye-aye has an extra-long middle finger. Unlike the rest of its fingers (and most mammal fingers for that matter), the middle finger is composed of a ball-and-socket joint, giving it the ability to swivel around in all directions. The Aye-aye uses this finger to tap on the bark of trees, (much like woodpeckers) sometimes up to 8 taps per second. By tapping, the Aye-aye is able to identify hollow parts of the trees. Once identified, the Aye-aye then uses its rodent-like teeth to break open the bark. Lastly, it uses it's narrow finger to dig into the tree and pull out bugs and grubs hidden within. Yum.

Multi-purpose finger (photo from Wikimedia Commons)

Aye-ayes are nocturnal, the largest nocturnal primates on the planet. They are also solitary; occasionally territories will overlap, but for the most part they keep to themselves (okay, there might be some recent research to dispute this long-believed fact). Often, many females will live in a single male's territory and there is no regular mating cycle. The female pretty much just lets the male know when she's ready.

Like many lemurs in Madagascar, the Aye-aye is classified as endangered (as of this year). This is partly due to a superstition amongst the native Malagasy people that the creature is an embodiment of evil and must be killed whenever spotted. Many Aye-ayes are killed without second thought because of this legend. In addition to this superstition, Aye-ayes are viewed as pests by local villagers and farmers, which puts another target on their backs.

Luckily, people like Dr. Wright and her research team are working hard to ensure a future for Aye-ayes and the other lemurs of Madagascar. She was instrumental in the implementation of Ranomafana National Park, which protects vital habitat for many of these lemur species.

Whether creepy or cute, the Aye-aye is an important species in its own right and worthy our protection and attention.

A great creature to pay attention to this month - Happy Halloween!

Cerulean Warblers in Decline

Last month, the National Audubon Society released a report in which they indicated that nearly half of North American bird populations are threatened by climate change. To carry out this study, scientists examined the current geographical ranges of North American species and projected if and how those ranges would change over the next century under current projected climatic changes. (This is, of course, a massive oversimplification of a scientific compilation that was more complex than I could probably ever articulate). As I perused this report, I was entirely unsurprised to find the Cerulean Warbler as one of the 314 species projected to experience significant range shifts.

Doing Science. (Photo: Claire Nemes)

Given my long absence from this blog, you may or may not be aware that I spent spring and summer of 2014 studying breeding Cerulean Warblers in southern Indiana. As part of a collaborative research project on the larger effects of various silvicultural practices, we monitored Cerulean Warblers on nine different study plots, studying abundance, nesting location and outcome, territory extent, and vegetative makeup of nest plots and territories.

Our research was part of an ongoing survey of Cerulean Warblers in Indiana, now in its 14th year. Cerulean Warblers have received a lot of research attention recently because they have one of the fastest declining populations of all North American songbirds. Since the 1960's, it has been estimated that Cerulean Warbler populations have decreased between 2 and 4% every year!

Male Cerulean Warbler.

Female Cerulean Warbler.

Cerulean Warblers are described as "neotropical migrants," meaning that every year, they fly from North America to South America, a migration averaging 4,000 miles, twice a year! Some of these birds actually fly over the Gulf of Mexico, which is believed to require 18-20 hours of continuous flight. And this is coming from an 8 to 10-gram songbird, which simply makes it all the more incredible.

Preferred habitat is the canopy-tops of old-growth forests. The nests we monitored were typically located at least 20 meters into the canopy and almost always in the top third of the chosen tree. It's rare to see a Cerulean Warbler at eye level, unless they are tending to newly fledged offspring, who remain close to the ground for the first few weeks of their lives out of the nest.

Fledgling Cerulean Warbler, perched on a log on the ground.

One of the principle questions in conservation biology is: what makes populations susceptible to declines? There are a number of factors that can make a given species more vulnerable to sudden and significant declines, including having a narrow geographic range, requiring a large area to establish a territory, and requiring a long time to reproduce viable offspring. Species may naturally possess one or more of these characteristics; however, it is also possible for a given species to be "forced" into one of these categories based on environmental changes. It is when these changes are forced upon a species that extinction often becomes a likely possibility.

Which brings us to the Cerulean Warblers. Without considering human interference, they already have a pretty specialized niche (canopy tops of old-growth forests) and annually embark on a dangerous and energy-expensive migration. So their populations are already kind of wobbly. Also, because they are migratory, they rely on not one, but two habitats every year (one old-growth forest in North America for breeding and another old-growth forest in South America for overwintering) not to mention all of the stopover habitat needed during migration.

A clear-cut patch with old-growth forest in the background.
(Photo: Claire Nemes)

Now, throw in the humans, and what do humans love? We love paper and we love wooden furniture and we love coffee. And what do all these things have in common? Of course, it's those old-growth trees that the Cerulean Warblers rely on. And whether through the creation of coffee plantations in Peru or mountaintop removal mining in Appalachia, we have done a great job of destroying tons of ideal Cerulean Warbler habitat. (I plan to unpack each of these issues in future blog posts, which I will write sometime in the next 16 years).

The Audubon report is extremely concerning for Cerulean Warblers. With all the current threats to their habitat, they have managed to hang in there, finding pockets of good habitat to breed and overwinter and survive. However, the climate report suggests that in the next 100 years, the Cerulean Warblers will have to relocate 98% of their range to survive. That's a lot of adaptation that needs to happen and not a lot of time (relatively speaking) in order to do it.

Is it all doom and gloom for the Cerulean Warblers? Of course not. But, as is almost always the case with these conservation issues, humans need to get their act together, and soon, or the Cerulean Warblers could end up being another species that exists only in our memories.

Raptors, Maybe

Tying up my California adventures with a bow, here's a music video the GGRO interns made to sum up our experiences in raptor research on the Pacific Coast.

A Hike in the Headlands

I've been pretty lucky to live in some amazing natural areas since graduating. I barely scratched the surface of all the parks and hiking trails within an hour of me in California, much less in my own backyard. The Marin Headlands, the national park that my house was in, has a ton of hiking/biking/horse-back riding trails. I got to know some of them quite well as they were a part of my daily commute to the office. However, there were a ton of trails that I never even got a chance to explore.

On one of my last days out there, I woke up to see a "weather alert" on my iPhone. I found this amusing because most of the country was getting pelted with snow and meanwhile, we were enjoying sunny, 60-degree weather. The alert, however, was for dangerous "wave conditions." I decided to check this out, while also exploring some of the unexplored trails in the Headlands.

Here are some of the photos I took of the waves at Rodeo Beach:

From the beach, I hiked up the trail towards Hill-88 and Tennessee Valley. As with all the trails in the headlands, this included some steep climbs, and all sorts of discarded World War II military apparatuses. I never did my homework regarding the human history of the area, despite the fact that we were counting hawks atop an old bunker, one of the many signs around the Headlands of the military history. On this hike, I passed a big (HUGE) gun, obviously out of use, but as a demonstration of the size of some of the artillery that was used in this area.

One of the banding blinds was located on a hill facing "Hill 88." I spent many a day, staring at that hill, and during this hike, I finally got a chance to check it out. What I found was a ton of abandoned buildings, again probably originally of military use, but now primarily serving as canvases for graffiti artists.

Of course, I couldn't go for a hike without paying a little attention to the avian life around. In addition to some of the usual culprits, I was pleased to see quite a few Anna's Hummingbirds. While eating my morning snack, I also watched an American kestrel hunting along one of the fences on Hill 88.

White-crowned Sparrow

Anna's Hummingbird

From the top of Hill 88, I hiked down a pretty steep trail for more than a mile into Tennessee Valley. It was a pretty quick hike from there to the Tennessee Valley beach.

Looking back up the hill I'd come down, I decided that I'd have to try an alternate route back to my house - it was pretty muddy and would have been tough attempting to climb back up that trail. The trail I took ended up giving me an awesome view of some of the nearby cities and their bizarre roads and houses, built right into the hillsides.

The final descent took me into Gerbode Valley, a trail that I'd hiked once before, to listen for owls with a group of visitors.

Like I said, I was pretty lucky to have had a chance to live in the Marin Headlands, a beautiful natural area (and amazing that it's so close to such a large city!) I will miss being able to hike around the lagoon, looking at ducks and herons, falling asleep at night to the sound of great horned owls and coyotes, and following ravens and a white-tailed kite to work on my bike each day.