photoblogging: Inner Harbor

An afternoon at Baltimore's Inner Harbor with Susan and Ellie:

Downtown skyline.


Water taxi. A flotilla of these blue-marked boats efficiently move both residents and tourists around the harbor; they make for nicely inexpensive sightseeing.


Seven Foot Knoll Lighthouse. A screwpile light, it originally marked the southern approach to the Patapsco River (Baltimore Harbor is part of the Patapsco system) but was moved to Baltimore about 20 years ago; it is now part of the Baltimore Maritime Museum.


Sanitation boat—the marine equivalent of a street-sweeper. Flotsam is gathered in the wire basket at the bow.


We saw a few canoes and kayaks, but only this one rowboat. It looked like hard work, but I suppose everyone has their own idea of recreation.


One of several tugboats moored at City Pier.


The Mayor D'Alesandro, a Baltimore Fire Department boat stationed near Fort McHenry.


What so proudly we hailed. Fifteen stars and fifteen stripes.


The fishing fleet: double-crested cormorants at rest on pilings.


An osprey, one of several working the harbor.


Camera-shy.

Lost appetites

A friend of my dad's told me the following two stories yesterday:

Her ex-husband had worked at the USF&G Building in downtown Baltimore while Scarlett, the famous peregrine falcon, was in residence there. Apparently it was not uncommon for office workers in the building (especially newcomers) to return to their desks to eat, or abandon their lunches altogether, when the peregrines dined: one of the peregrines' favorite "butcher's blocks" or plucking perches was directly above the cafeteria window, and some people were put off by the blizzard of disjecta membra—feathers, gizzards, guts, feet—that fell past the window as Scarlett or her mate dismantled a pigeon.

[The USF&G Building, now the Legg Mason Building. It doesn't really lean; the Pisa effect results from my unsteady hand as I shot from a boat today.]


Another acquaintance of hers, a lifelong Baltimorean, happened to be present when a body was recovered from the Inner Harbor. As often happens, scavengers had found the body first—it was covered with dozens of blue crabs. They may be Baltimore's favorite seafood, but the lady never ate crab again.

(Happily, I have no such inhibitions.)

Downstream

Travel can be inspiring...or it can be merely exhausting. The kind we've done lately—commuting back and forth from Nebraska to the East Coast—is mostly the latter, which has had a negative impact on my blogging, but today I found minor inspiration in a highway sign. If the results are less than profound...well, let's just blame it on road-weariness, shall we?

I set out this morning from home: Lincoln, Nebraska. Rain falling in Lincoln ends up—either directly or by way of tributaries such as Oak Creek, Deadman's Run, Beal Slough, Haines Branch or any of several other streams—in Salt Creek (Lewis and Clark knew it as the Great Saline River), flowing northward to join the Platte River near Ashland. The Platte flows into the Missouri, which in turn flows into the Mississippi, which eventually runs past Red Stick and New Orleans before emptying into the Gulf of Mexico.

This evening I found myself at the headwaters of the Kaskaskia River, along I-74 just west of Champaign, Illinois. Beginning with runoff from the cornfields here, the Kaskaskia winds through the Illinois countryside (and its impoundment in two lakes) to its confluence with the Mississippi River—the French once had a redoubt there, known as Fort Kaskaskia—and so this water also reaches the Gulf of Mexico.

[To paraphrase Magritte: This is not the headwaters of the Kaskaskia River. This is a sign.]


[This unassuming pool of water is the first visible trace of the Kaskaskia. "8048", I believe, is the designation for the culvert under the Interstate from which the pool emerges.]


Tomorrow evening will find me in Oakland, Maryland, still west of the Continental Divide and therefore not part of the Chesapeake Bay watershed. Rain at my Aunt Shirley's place runs downhill to the Youghiogheny River, the Yock being a tributary of the Monongahela River. Where the British built Fort Prince George, the French replaced it with Fort Duquesne, and finally the British returned with Fort Pitt (now Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania), the Monongahela joins forces with the Allegheny River to form the Ohio; the Ohio, of course, flows into the Mississippi near Cairo, Illinois, where Union forces maintained Fort Defiance during the American Civil War. So Oakland rain, too, ends up in the Gulf of Mexico eventually.

We haven't even considered my old Montana stomping grounds—rain on the Eastern Front also goes to the Gulf—but, hydrologically speaking, this is a big neighborhood.

Most of us, most of the time, look at a map and see states, cities, major highways. But once upon a time, rivers were the highways. They had strategic as well as commercial importance. (Notice, for example, all the forts.) Americans up through the 19th century no doubt read maps in the context of river systems, a habit and skill we have mostly lost. We should get back in practice: It's still important to know where our water comes from, and where it goes—as well as what goes with it. A farmer growing corn in Illinois (or Nebraska, or western Maryland) lives both literally and figuratively upstream from the waterman in Texas or Louisiana; the chemical fog streaming from the wings of the bright-yellow crop duster I watched today will not necessarily stay on the field where it was sprayed. We're still connected by rivers, whether we pay attention to that fact or not.

Any man's death diminishes me

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee…

—John Donne

I learned yesterday (HT Chas at Southern Rockies Nature Blog) of the death of Winston Branko Churchill. I'd never met him or even heard of him, though it's likely we were very distant cousins; from what I've learned of him, I suspect I'd have liked him. Certainly we had some things in common: a love of nature, an uncomfortable relationship with modern society, a taste for good coffee. We were nearly the same age, both wore our hair long, both enjoyed sharing music with others as DJs.

Like most people, he seems to have been a set of contradictions, and can be interpreted in a sympathetic or unsympathetic light: Idealist. Failed business owner. Perfectionist. Druggie. Philosopher. Recluse. Even those who were close to him cannot agree on critical questions like whether, at the end, he chose to die or simply failed to stay alive.

There are no answers here. Clearly he had friends and family, people who cared about him, worried about him, used every resource at their disposal (including the In Search of Winston blog) to try to find him and help him—but no one knows if he would have been willing to accept help. He kept a journal, but after being buried in 20 feet of snow and then soaked in the spring thaw, it could not be read. And so we who remain, whether we knew Winston Branko Churchill or not, are left with only pictures from his camera and questions about his final days.

I hope he found what he was looking for.

The water that runs

Mike & Linda Cox, with a rotating assortment of friends and family, have been tubing, canoeing, and kayaking the Niobrara River near Valentine, Nebraska annually since 1976. This week marked the first time I've gone along with them.

The Niobrara River Valley is known as a biological meeting place, with several different ecosystems converging there. Many eastern animals and plants occur there at the western edge of their range and vice versa; hybridization has been documented in numerous birds, including Baltimore/Bullock's orioles, indigo/lazuli buntings, and yellow-/red-shafted flickers, as well as butterflies. Additionally, the cooler recesses of the valley harbor relict populations of trees such as aspen and white birch, common here during the last Ice Age but now typical of high-altitude or high-latitude locations hundreds of miles distant. A 76-mile stretch of the Niobrara is designated as a National Wild & Scenic River and is administered by the National Park Service.

The name Niobrara means "running water", and early French trappers translated the name to l'eau qui court or "the water that runs". (By contrast, Nebraska is a variation on Niobrathka, or "flat water", in reference to the Platte River and other slow, braided rivers typical of the state, such as the Loup and the Elkhorn.) The water was certainly running on Tuesday, thanks to the heavy rainfall associated with Monday night's epic thunderstorms. (A flood on Valentine's Main Street totaled Linda's Chrysler Sebring while sparing my Outback; clear evidence for the Subaru's invincibility in my opinion, but Ellie disagrees.) We were able to explore a few channels usually not navigable even by kayak, and rarely scraped bottom even at known shoals.

On to some pictures:

The founders: Mike and Linda on the river

Ellie in the front of our kayak

Sandstone bluffs on the south side of the river


Fort Falls

Berry Falls


Smith Falls


Bridge at Smith Falls Campground

Ellie at water's edge

Pictures I didn't take but wish I had:

• The flooded streets in Val. I got as wet pushing Linda's car on Main Street as I did the next day standing under Smith Falls.
• Cornell Dam. Located on Ft. Niobrara NWR, just above the put-in site, this is the only dam on the river.
• Deb Cox's keeshond, Queso, on her kayak. True to her heritage (Dutch barge dog), Queso looked perfectly at ease on the water; in fact, I can't remember the last time I met a dog so relaxed in any environment.
• Ellie's first leech. She took it well.

This year's was a shortened trip, in deference to our late start and Mike's health. He's been undergoing both chemo and radiation therapy for cancer; considering he was in the hospital as recently as Sunday, 12 miles or so of paddling is pretty impressive. We'll try for a longer float next year; the scenery is best on the upper stretch (especially through the refuge) but the more challenging water is below Smith Falls.

"Off the Trail" interviews

Boise State Radio's Jyl Hoyt has recorded several interviews at The Peregrine Fund and its Archives of Falconry for her "Off the Trail" segment. Hopefully these brief (4-5 minute) audio files will themselves end up in the Archives, but meanwhile I will link to them here.

• Ken Hooke on falconry
• Jim Willmarth on gyrfalcons
• Steve Duffy, Ken Hooke, and John Moran on falcon hoods
• Kent Carnie on falconry terminology in the works of Shakespeare

Another piece not recorded at P-Fund, on ospreys and baling twine, includes speculation that nesting ospreys use the bright orange polypropylene as a substitute for the brightly-colored lichens they often put in their bulky stick nests. Maybe so, but I think it's more likely collected for its own sake, as ospreys are well-known packrats. Other items documented in osprey nests include mops and brooms (those might have been picked up as sticks), plastic bags, Styrofoam cups, beer cans, fishnets, boots, doormats, bicycle tires, and Barbie dolls. As David Gessner writes in Return of the Osprey, "I've noticed that our local [Cape Cod] birds have a particular fondness for the shiny and artificial." Small wonder eyasses and even the occasional adult get ensnared... One can hope that radio pieces such as Jyl Hoyt's, along with articles in the popular and academic press, will eventually reduce the amount of litter available to the fish hawks, but it's a slender hope. (See previous review of the movie WALL-E.)

Enjoy the interviews; if any more appear, I'll try to update this post.

Finding Jesus, ever so briefly

I never thought I'd spend much (any) time on video games, but my brother Greg got me hooked on the Nintendo Wii back in November, and we bought one soon thereafter. Blazing Angels is my favourite game (where else will I get to fly a Spitfire?) but we also play quite a bit of Mario Kart.

[Mario Kart: The Rap by Remy M.—HT Patrick at Terrierman's Daily Dose, who shared Remy's rap on Arlington, Virginia]




Anyway, racing on Wi-Fi the other night, Susan and I found ourselves in a lineup with a familiar-looking bearded Mii named Jesus. (Online identities are usually genuine, right?) It's not often we get to go head-to-head with a big celebrity like that, so we were pretty enthused. Unfortunately, our connection was interrupted just as the race got underway, so we can't answer the question posed by all those bumper stickers:

What would Jesus drive?

(Until we find him again, my money's on the Sugarscoot.)

Kodachrome: End of an era

As most of you have probably heard by now, Eastman Kodak has discontinued production of Kodachrome film. Although my childhood snapshots employed Kodak film (I can still remember the yellow labels on the 110 cartridges), I'm not sure I ever used Kodachrome—and now, like almost everyone else, I shoot digital. But according to this Associated Press article, approximately 70% of Kodak's revenue is now from digital photography. Apparently they could also read the writing on the wall...

[Paul Simon's "Kodachrome"]

Burning down the house: Fire at the Georgia Theatre

A rude awakening: CNN showed video of a fire that started early this morning at the Georgia Theatre, one of Athens' premier music venues. Word is that the interior was gutted and the roof destroyed, leaving only the exterior walls intact. (Fortunately the place was empty and no one was hurt.) Current owner Wilmot Greene says he intends to rebuild if his insurance coverage is sufficient, but right now things don't look good for the Athens landmark.

[Smoke pours from the Theatre]






The first concert I attended after moving to Athens in 1991 was a showcase of local bands at the Georgia Theatre. Over the next eight years, I saw many shows there, my favorite being the Cowboy Junkies (one of several Junkies concerts I've attended) in support of their album Pale Sun Crescent Moon. There was a lot to like about the Theatre, from its architecture (solid oak doors, Art Deco façade, pressed-tin ceiling, comfortable old movie-theater seating) to the variety of music that could be heard there (rock, blues, country, bluegrass, reggae, funk, hip-hop, etc.).

[Happier days]




One could easily spend all day watching YouTube videos shot at the Theatre, but this one by Sleepy Horses captures both the arpeggiated "Athens sound" and some of the sadness I'm feeling this morning. Best of luck to Mr. Greene, his staff, and the city of Athens—long live the Georgia Theatre!

photoblogging: lacrosse

Susan took some snapshots at my lacrosse game yesterday. Cropped and reduced to 256-color format, I think they look pretty artistic. (Click for bigger.)







These are from our game against Omaha. I won't share the score; let's just say we took a severe beating, and leave it at that. We fared somewhat better against Boulevard, but we're now 0-4 in the GPLL. I'm happy to to report that we're still undefeated in our appreciation of the game.

"Travelin' Soldier"

One by the Dixie Chicks for Memorial Day:



[Link to last year's Memorial Day post.]

New Zealand raptors

Rachel Stewart sent the following pictures from her farm in New Zealand:

Her garden of native plants.

The hill out back. I suppose a person could get used to seeing this every morning...


Australasian harrier or kahu (Circus approximans) on roadkill


New Zealand falcon or karearea (Falco novaeseelandiae)


The karearea appears on the NZ $20 bill [sorry for the tiny picture, but notice how nicely the green matches Rachel's photo!] and is endemic to New Zealand. The kahu is also found in the wetter parts of Australia and on many of the region's islands. Apart from an occasional Australian kestrel (Falco cenchroides), which occurs as a vagrant, there are no other living diurnal raptors in New Zealand.

New Zealand also has one owl, Ninox novaeseelandiae, called ruru in Maori and morepork in English; both names relate to its two-note call. [Photo below courtesy of the Maungatautari Ecological Island Trust.]

Rachel writes that it's frustrating to see such magnificent raptors on a regular basis knowing she'll likely never be allowed to fly them, due to New Zealand's ban on falconry: "You Americans don't know how lucky you are!! Actually, you probably do know how lucky you are and, indeed, it has been more hard work than luck. Praise be to NAFA!"

A few decades ago, when falconry was unregulated but not explicitly banned, a man named Rob Wheeldon enjoyed very modest success flying kahu at (introduced) rabbits. In a 1992 Hawk Chalk article, he recalled that 14 rabbits in a season had been his best record:

It goes without saying that the harrier is certainly not the ideal falconer’s bird. Nevertheless, this bird does provide a challenge to get the very best out of its limited potential and possibly that of the falconer as well, which when everything goes according to plan makes the sweet smell of success just so much greater.

The ban may very well have been enacted as a direct response to Mr. Wheeldon's activities, which is especially unfortunate since he seems to have been a typical falconer/conservationist. In addition to rehabilitating injured harriers, he and his wife ran a breeding-and-hacking project aimed at bolstering the population of the New Zealand falcon.

Karearea have been also captive-bred abroad, and are perhaps most notably employed by Nick Fox's mounted hunt in the UK, the Northumberland Crow Falcons. Sadly, they seem to be on the decline in their home country despite legal protection. But Dr. Fox, who wrote his dissertation on the New Zealand falcon, has embarked on an interesting conservation programme called Falcons for Grapes, the goal of which is to provide nesting sites in New Zealand's vineyards; the falcons in turn should reduce losses to depredating birds such as starlings, blackbirds, and thrushes.

Essentially we propose to use one wildlife problem—the conservation of falcons—to mitigate another one: bird damage to grapes. Conservation is a luxury; it costs more money than it generates. In this project we plan to generate funding from commercial beneficiaries—the wine industry—to conserve the falcons. It will be a symbiotic relationship.

Unlike most bird abatement projects employing raptors, Falcons for Grapes does not require that the birds be trained or actively managed. But there are, I suspect, a few enthusiasts like Rachel who would love to have the opportunity to train and fly their native raptors at quarry. Given the negligible impact of well-regulated falconry on both raptor and game populations—not to mention the fact that so much of the likely quarry in New Zealand is non-indigenous anyway—I can think of no compelling reason they should not be allowed to do so.

I've encouraged Rachel to get together with Australia's Peter Nolan and other like-minded people to form an "ANZAC Falconers' Association" to lobby both governments for a change, and I'm sure that many NAFA members would be glad to share the benefit of their experiences in opening up previously closed states and provinces. Free the Antipodes!

Toli videos

From The Red and Black, the UGA student newspaper, a short video about the Flying Rats' recent visit to Conehatta on the Choctaw reservation in Mississippi. I wasn't around long enough to make the trip west, but I sure do miss the game—played here for fun and comradery.



Here's what it looks like played "for keeps":

Meet the Beetles, and other lacrosse miscellany

The season just ended

The Lincoln Rampage were knocked out of the Nebraska High School Lacrosse Association championships with a first-round loss, 14-3, to Millard West last weekend. The outcome was not altogether unexpected—our varsity team was winless through the regular season—but we did think that West displayed a certain arrogance and lack of sportsmanship by posting a Facebook invitation to their semi-finals game before their game against us was even played.

West went on to win the championship; meanwhile, we're looking forward to next season and beyond. We graduated just one senior, with two juniors moving up. The rest of our players are rapidly-improving freshmen and sophomores, so in two years we may be the team to beat. Thanks to a generous equipment grant from US Lacrosse, Brine, and Warrior, as well as a positive working relationship with the Abbott Sports Foundation, the club's existence is secure and success will come eventually.

* * *

My cousin Laura, a freshman midfielder for the Catonsville Cardinals, had a much better year. She had several multiple-goal games (although my search for video highlights has been unsuccessful) and Catonsville, the defending national junior-college champions, lost only one regular-season game. The Cardinals fell to that same team, the Onondaga Lazers, last weekend in the NJCAA semi-finals; Onondaga went on to win the national championship. I congratulate Laura and her teammates on a successful season—and if you have to lose, you may as well lose to the best.

* * *

The season just beginning

After playing for the Omaha Rhinos (West) last summer, some friends and I have started a new team, the Salt Creek Tiger Beetles. (The team is named for Lancaster County's endangered endemic—three guesses who came up with the moniker.) Despite being older and slower, we dealt the Rampage another loss, 8-6, this morning to claim the first annual (and very unofficial) Lincoln City Lacrosse Championship. Yours truly scored the first goal as well as the game-winner. Here's hoping that's not the high-water mark of my season... Regular-season play in the Great Plains Lacrosse League begins June 6th.

* * *

I've written before about my favorite professional team, the Baltimore-then-Washington-but-now-playing-in-Annapolis-so-let's-just-call-them-Maryland-or-maybe-Chesapeake Bayhawks. Last night they faced off against the MLL's newest franchise, the Toronto Nationals, in the first game of the season. Final score: Toronto 17, Bayhawks 16. Not the result I had hoped for, but here are three things to like about the Nationals:

• Their logo, which incorporates both the Canadian maple leaf and the Hiawatha Belt of the Iroquois Confederacy.
• The MLL may have contracted from ten teams to six, but the Nationals extend the league's geographic reach north of the border.
• Gary Gait, a near-contemporary of mine (with a birthday in April, he's a slightly younger 42) and arguably the greatest player in the game's long history, came out of retirement to play for them.

With all teams now playing in one division, perhaps it will come down to the Bayhawks vs. the Nationals in the finals. Something to hope for, anyway...

Deer mice

naked in a globe of twigs, springtime—
for now
it is the world

* * *

a dusty shed,
holes in the clapboard...
breathe shallow while sweeping

* * *

quiet as a mouse—
made that way
by owl and marsh hawk

* * *

dots in the snow,
a broken line between:
the larder is empty

* * *

held to the ground,
rendered asunder—
another life awaits?

American national treasure

I received an e-mail today from singer-songwriter Bill Mallonee of Athens, Georgia requesting that fans assist him with a little publicity. This is my bit. (I would have posted some of his music sooner or later anyway.)

Bill Mallonee is the founder, frontman, and one constant element of the Vigilantes of Love. He's also worked as a solo artist and dabbled with a quasi-separate band called Victory Garden; released major-label records and independent offerings. I've got a number of his records, and the name and label on the recording doesn't seem to matter too much: even as VoL, there are two distinct sides to his sound (one is British Invasion, the other with its roots in American folk); and his writing and voice guide whichever assemblage of musicians he happens to be recording or performing with. He's been compared to Bob Dylan, Neil Young, and Bruce Springsteen, as well as other musicians out of Athens (notably R.E.M.).

[Bill Mallonee (solo) covering Neil Young's "Out on the Weekend" (Harvest, 1971).]


I've seen Bill/VoL at several venues, including the 40 Watt and Allen's in Athens as well as the now-defunct 7th Street Loft here in Lincoln. He/they never disappoint.

[Latest incarnation of VoL playing "Blister Soul" from the 1995 album of the same name.]


[Video, directed by Marc Pilvinsky, for "Resplendent" from the 2000 album Audible Sigh. Best song about the Dust Bowl since Woody Guthrie, with backing vocals by Emmylou Harris.]


Much has been made of Bill's status as a "Christian artist". Rest assured you're not likely to find him on the mass-market "Christian music" compilations sold on cable TV. His approach is more subtle than that, and his appeal broader. I don't subscribe to Roman Catholicism any more than I do Rastafarianism or any other branch of Christianity, but I can enjoy music informed by spirituality whether it's Bill Mallonee or Bob Marley.

[Bill, accompanied by bassist Jacob Bradley, performing "Life on Other Planets". Studio version appeared on Bill's solo records Fetal Position (2002) and Perfumed Letter (2003).]


Enjoy the videos here, and if you want to hear more, check out the websites below.

• http://www.billmallonee.net/
• http://www.volsounds.com/
• http://www.MySpace.com/billmallonee
• http://www.MySpace.com/worksprogressadministration

And if you want to drag Bill in your direction, you can contact him through highhorsebooking@hotmail.com

Once again, doing my bit for the arts and decreased productivity...

Online voyeurism

If you're stuck indoors, logged onto the computer for hours at a time, you can lighten up by checking in on these streaming video sites:

• American kestrel nestbox at the Nebraska Game & Parks Commission headquarters in Lincoln, courtesy of Game & Parks.
• Peregrine falcon nestbox on the Nebraska state capitol building, courtesy once again Nebraska Game & Parks.
• Bald eagle nest in Sidney, British Columbia, courtesy of Hancock House Publishing. This one has sound!

If you're not careful, though, this could ensure that you get stuck indoors, logged onto the computer for hours at a time. Use in moderation.

New kid in town

Okay, the Obamas' new dog is now more or less official—welcome to the White House, Bo—and so I suppose I can now introduce our new dog, Mandie.


Mandie is a piebald mini, adopted about a month and a half ago through Nebraska Dachshund Rescue. She took to us right away, and after some hesitation was accepted into the pack by Max & Anya. This dog, however, does have some issues. Very affectionate toward us, she displays what appears to be fear-based aggression toward...well, anybody else. We're thinking of calling in Cesar Millan before somebody loses an ankle.

She's extremely active, very cunning, and her predatory drive is off the charts; it will take much slow, careful introductory work before I can even think about hawking with her—there's no way I would trust her near the hawk right now. Still, she's eager to please, and I have hope of eventually integrating her into the team. Otherwise, we'll have to find another job for her.

[Finally! It turns out she does sleep...]


We're maxed out on dogs now (Lincoln requires special licensing for more than three), so my idle dreams of a bird dog will have to be put on hold. On the other hand, my III Dachshunds Beer T-shirts are completely appropriate now!

Of spring, robins, and...other birds

The front page of the local section of the morning paper featured a lovely photograph of an American robin against a background of snow-covered crabapples, marred by the caption: "Being the first robin of spring was no picnic Sunday in David City. A weekend blizzard dropped 8 inches of snow in the region."

News flash, people: we have robins winterlong. Granted, you might have to go looking for them, since they're not hopping around in pairs on people's front lawns. (They form flocks and tend to winter in dense vegetation offering both food and shelter from the elements—I often encounter them in groves of red cedar while out hawking.) But Turdus migratorius is not completely migratory even at our latitude.

Common but erratic regular wintor visitor statewide....CBC data demonstrate the erratic winter occurrence of this species. In CBCs from 1983-84 through 1992-93, the total count of robins has varied from a high of 10,410 in 1987-88 to a low of 213 in 1986-87. The highest individual count total was 9500 at Calamus-Loup in 1987-88.

An amazing count was an estimated 20,000 flying over in Brown Co[unty] 11 Jan 1988; 4800 were estimated in 6 minutes, and the flight lasted for 30 minutes.

—Sharpe, Silcock & Jorgensen, Birds of Nebraska: Their Distribution and Temporal Occurrence (2001)

At least Nebraskans stand a fair chance of missing robins in a low winter like '86-'87. I used to hear this "first robin of spring" nonsense even when I lived in Georgia. Robin numbers in Georgia actually drop in the spring as northern migrants return to their breeding grounds, so maybe I'm a bit oversensitized on this score.

In my opinion, for an avian harbinger of spring in Nebraska, the place to look is up.

Spring arrivals appear in early and mid-Mar, but most arrive in very late Mar and early Apr, a little later in the west. Numbers observed rarely exceed a dozen, and thus no clear migratory peak can be established.

—Sharpe, Silcock & Jorgensen, Birds of Nebraska

What bird is this that brings the promise of warmer weather to the northern Great Plains? Cathartes aura, the turkey vulture. This unlovely (to most people) bird depends, of course, on carrion for its food. It locates carcasses through both visual and olfactory cues—it is one of a very few birds with a well-developed sense of smell—and since death is a constant presence in the natural world, it can count on a steady supply of food wherever sufficient "prey" exists. Assuming, that is, that said "prey" is accessible. The extended sub-freezing temperatures of a typical Nebraska winter create plenty of carrion but quickly render it inaccessible to the TVs by freezing it solid; a dead deersicle is more or less useless to a turkey vulture.

I coached three lacrosse games up in Omaha this past Saturday. When we started, the weather was fine, and I enjoyed watching a small kettle of TVs soaring over the Missouri River bluffs. (I pointed them out to some of the Lincoln midfielders, telling them that they'd better show some signs of life. We did get more hustle out of the kids this weekend, but I don't know if that was attributable to the vultures.) Later on, the weather turned cold and windy, and the second game of the day was interrupted by a storm that included heavy sleet. I shivered along with everyone else, but I knew for sure that spring was really here. We're not necessarily done with cold weather—in fact we cancelled this evening's practice due to temps in the low 30s and 20+ mph winds—but it will be short-lived. By their return, the vultures told me so.

"Birdman of JFK"

I have a few reservations about bird-abatement work with raptors—I'm uncomfortable with the blurring of the line between natural resource (emphasis on natural) and commercial commodity, for one thing, and it shouldn't be confused with actual falconry (gamehawking), for another—but this is a nice little film about Ron Rollins' work at one of the nation's busiest airports.



HT Rachel Dickinson at Falconer on the Edge.