Category: birds

Readers’ wildlife photos

May 1, 2026 • 8:15 am

Well, brothers and sisters, friends and comrades, this is the last batch of photos I have. If you’re feeling generous and have some good wildlife photos, well, you know what to do.

Today’s lot comes from Ephraim Heller: they are manakins and tanagers from Trinidad and Tobago. Ephraim’s captions are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

Today we have photos of manakins and tanagers that I photographed on my February visit to Trinidad and Tobago.

The three manakin species in these photographs all engage in lekking. Females choose a partner at the lek, mate, and then depart to build a nest and raise chicks entirely on their own. Males contribute only sperm. This behavior places intense sexual selection pressure on males, driving the evolution of exotic plumage, acrobatic movements, and multi-male performances. I make no comment on potential parallels in human behavior.

Blue-backed manakin (Chiroxiphia pareola) males engage in cooperative lekking. Two males — typically an older dominant individual and a younger subordinate — perform a dance in which they jump over each other on a branch. The female observes, and when she is sufficiently engaged, the subordinate male withdraws and the dominant male completes the mating. In these photos you see one of the males perched on the lekking branch and then performing the jump.

JAC: Here’s a video showing a related lekking species, the Blue manakin (Chiroxiphia caudata) and their remarkable courtship dance. Look at those males lined up, each trying to show he’s a better jumper than the others!

Each white-bearded manakin (Manacus manacus) male clears a small patch of forest floor down to bare earth and maintains one or more bare sticks above it as perches. The display involves rapid leaps between these sticks and the ground accompanied by a shockingly loud cracking sound – it sounds like someone snapping their fingers right next to your ear. It’s produced by the wings connecting above the back, which is enabled by a limb muscle, the scapulohumeralis caudalis, that is the fastest skeletal muscle in any vertebrate. Here you see two white-bearded manakins perched on their lekking branches and preparing to jump to the ground.

JAC: I also added a video of the white-bearded manakin courtship:

The golden-headed manakin (Ceratopipra erythrocephala) male’s lek display includes a “moonwalk” in which it slides backward along a perch. Sadly, I didn’t observe the moonwalk. In these photos the male has the bright yellow head, and you can see a female behind the male in the second photo.

JAC: Here’s a golden-headed manakin male courting, though I can’t really say it’s a “moonwalk.”  They also pop their wings.

This gorgeous bay-headed tanager (Tangara gyrola) stopped me dead in my tracks. It has microstructures in its feathers that scatter light to intensify its hues. In addition, a hidden layer of white or black feathers beneath the outer plumage acts as a reflective backing, boosting the brightness and saturation of the visible colors:

The palm tanager (Thraupis palmarum) is one of the most common birds in Trinidad. The second photo is of the nest, which was conveniently located in a planter on our hotel’s balcony:

White-lined tanager (Tachyphonus rufus) males are glossy black, while females are rufous.

The silver-beaked tanager (Ramphocelus carbo):

Readers’ wildlife photos

April 29, 2026 • 8:15 am

This is it for photo contributions (save for singletons), so please send in your good wildlife photos. Many thanks!

Today’s photos feature DUCKS, and come from reader Jan Malik. (There are other bird’s too.) Jan’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

Here are a few common birds from Cape May (the peninsula where the namesake town is located) taken last week. The area with marshes, sand dunes and freshwater ponds at the southern tip of the peninsula next to the lighthouse is called The Meadows. Spring migration has just started but animal traffic was rather light.

Mallard drake (Anas platyrhynchos) viewed from a blind. Hens stayed farther away, in reeds thicket:

A bromance? In the past I have observed and photographed mallard drakes courting one another, so this would be nothing unusual:

No, this is just one male running off a competitor from the pond:

Gadwall (Mareca strepera), hen and drake. This is a cosmopolitan duck species, widespread in Eurasia’s and America’s temperate zone. “Strepera” in Latin presumably means “noisy”, but these remained quiet; I suppose a drake can be quite vocal when courting:

The Gadwall drake is less flamboyant than males of other dabbling ducks, but they are patterned with fine gray and brown streaks in breast feathers and black rump patches. That, plus overall neat and symmetrical plumage, speculum visible when flying and vigorous behavior when courting, is perfectly sufficient for a hen to select a mate. I think this humble plumage evolved due to drakes’ staying longer near the nest than many dabbling ducks. For some time – until incubation starts – they do guard it. Thus there must be some pressure to evolve inconspicuous coloration:

Gadwall hens are difficult to tell apart from mallards. All I can spot is the lack of a dark band across the eye and a dark bill, unlike yellow in mallard:

An American species, a blue-winged teal (Spatula discors) male. Contrary to the name, not much blue shows on this drake – blue feathers are mostly revealed in flight:

Blue winged teal, hen. Dark bill and light coloration just behind the bill allow us to tell it is not a mallard, but from a distance these signs are easy to miss:

The teal swam a little too close past the mated gadwalls and the drake let the teal know, not very aggressively but unambiguously, that he was trespassing:

A red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus) was announcing the extent of his territory by his “cankaree” call. There were many males in the marsh but I didn’t see any females – they might not have arrived yet, and even if they did, they prefer to stay out of sight. Males are highly territorial and fiercely defend their territories. Later in the season it is not unusual for a male redwing to attack a human passerby if a nest happens to be too close to a path. I’ve also seen redwings ride a hawk or an eagle, like a cowboy on a bull:

A flock of Snowy Egrets (Egretta thula) descending on a coastal march at sunrise. They are gregarious compared to the Great Egret, can feed together as a group form dense nesting colonies:

Readers’ wildlife photos

April 13, 2026 • 8:15 am

Today I’m stealing (with permission) the photos of Aussie biologist Scott Ritchie, whose Facebook page is here.  And what better subject than kangaroos? Scott’s captions are indented, and you can enlarge his photos by clicking on them.

My last report from my Melbourne to Sydney trip. From Depot Beach in New South Wales. It was epic. Stayed in a National Park cabin that looked out over the ocean. And at 5 o’clock our front lawn became the bar for Eastern Grey Kangaroos [Macropus giganteus]. And in the morning, you could take pictures of the kangaroos watching the sunrise. What could be better for a boy from Iowa?

We had a ring-side seat for roos. There would have been over a dozen here, not including joeys in the pouch:

The boys like a bit of rough and tumble:

They are smart to avoid those claws:

. . . just barely:

Squaring off:

I missed the kick shot. A sudden loud thump. Then the fight was over. One kick!

I don’t know how this is going to work!:

But somehow it does:

 

White-faced Heron [Egretta novaehollandiae] loves a roo too:

Cute:

Hanging loose:

Don’t trip, mom!:

Just in time for a smoke:

I hate pan pipes!:

It’s a tight fit:

Come on big fella. I’m already familied up:

Sunrise at Depot Beach:

Readers’ wildlife photos

April 12, 2026 • 8:15 am

Once again I present the last photos I have in the queue. If you got ’em, and they’re good, please send them in.

Today’s wildlife pictures come from reader Jan Malik, and concentrate on one act of predation. Jan’s captions are indented, and you can enlarge the pictures by clicking on them.

In early April, I visited the Edwin B. Forsythe National Wildlife Refuge in New Jersey, which encompasses both brackish coastal marshes and lowland mixed forest. The refuge, previously known by the more graceful name Brigantine, features a wildlife drive where a car serves as the ultimate “blind,” allowing for the close observation of birds.In one section, a group of herons assembled, intently staring at a culvert outlet—a sort of fast-food restaurant for wading birds. The Great Blue Heron (GBH, Ardea herodias) in the center has already caught a small fish, though this is not a meal an adult heron finds satisfying:

The same was true for this Great Egret (Ardea alba) with a small fry. All the birds were patiently waiting for a main course:

Finally, one heron caught a fish worthy of the hunting effort. Visible in this picture are the nuptial plumes of this GBH—wispy feathers on the lower neck, similar plumes on the wing coverts, and a long, elegant black plume on the head. These grow only during the breeding season:

The fish, likely a White Perch (Morone americana)—a predator of mollusks, arthropods, and small fish—displays a defense reflex here. It has two dorsal fins: the posterior fin is soft, while the spiny anterior fin is raised when the fish is in danger. This reflex is intended to make the fish harder for a predator to swallow:

The heron has speared the fish through its posterior region, but the prey is still alive, writhing to get free. The heron, now knee-deep in water, must finish the fish off and reposition it to be swallowed head-first:

To do that, the bird first walks to shallower water where it can momentarily drop the fish without risk of escape. Additionally, moving away from the group decreases the chances of the catch being stolen by a competitor:

Catch and release (but not for long): In the shallow, muddy water, the GBH releases the fish; it cannot swim away and is visible as a dark blob below the bird. Whether this GBH is male or female cannot be determined from these pictures, as the sexes are monomorphic. This suggests that both sexes are “choosy” in mate selection, as both provide significant parental care and investment:

The GBH delivers the coup de grâce—the perch is now speared through the head. For me, looking at these pictures raises the question: how many bird species are sexually dimorphic versus monomorphic and why? Some are strongly dimorphic—ducks, songbirds, turkeys, and grouse—while others, like herons, gulls, parrots, corvids, and raptors, are not. Others fall somewhere in between, like the American Robin. While males have darker heads and more vibrant breasts, they do not incubate the eggs, though they do guard the nest and feed the chicks.  Are these differences exclusively the result of parental care roles?  Or is it an adaptation to the environment?  For instance, a GBH cannot be too flashy, or the fish would easily spot its silhouette against the grey sky:

In one smooth move, the heron tosses the fish into the air and catches it head-first. The fish is now incapacitated, no longer resisting, and bleeding heavily. With its defensive fins down, it can finally be swallowed:

Only once have I seen a GBH unable to swallow a large eel—mostly due to its length rather than its girth. Otherwise, once prey is caught—be it a fish, a duck, or a rodent—it is swallowed whole, sometimes after a brief struggle:

The fish is now in the esophagus; the heron’s flexible neck tissue expands to accommodate the meal until it can be digested:

Here is a picture of a Great Egret also in breeding plumage, sporting its long, wispy feathers (aigrettes). These will be lost through molting or wear shortly after the breeding season ends:

A Great Egret in flight, with its head retracted—a trait that makes them easy to distinguish from cranes. While they occupy similar ecological niches to the Great Blue Heron, they are not identical.Egrets often hunt “on the move,” flying or hopping, while GBHs prefer ambush hunting or slow, deliberate wading. Egrets typically target smaller prey, while GBHs:

Readers’ wildlife photos

April 11, 2026 • 8:15 am

Today’s we have photos from Ephraim Heller of hummingbirds from Trinidad and Tobago.  Ephraim’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge his photos by clicking on them.

On my February visit to Trinidad and Tobago I managed to photograph 13 of the 18 hummingbirds that are sometimes present on the islands. Previous posts were devoted to my new favorite bird, the tufted coquette (here) and to photos of six other species (here). This post covers the remaining six species. The species that I did not photograph either do not visit feeders or are only present seasonally in the country.

Black-throated mango (Anthracothorax nigricollis). Some individuals have been documented to migrate over 1,000 miles:

Blue-chinned sapphire (Chlorestes notata):

Brown violetear (Colibri delphinae). An aggressive species that zealously defends its nectar sources:

The copper-rumped hummingbird (Saucerottia tobaci) is the most common hummingbird on both islands. An individual amused me over several days as it vigorously defended three feeders from all species, regardless of the fact that food was plentiful:

When light hits the male ruby-topaz hummingbird (Chrysolampis mosquitus) just right it lights up like a neon sign. As in many other hummingbird species, the male’s crown and throat produce color not through pigment but through the physical structure of the feathers: stacked layers of melanin granules in the barbules:

White-chested emerald (Chrysuronia brevirostris). Males and females look alike:

Readers’ wildlife photos

April 10, 2026 • 8:15 am

Ecologist Susan Harrison has contributed some photos from one of my favorite places in the U.S.—and a former field site—Death Valley, California (there are also photos from Arizona). Susan’s IDs and captions are indented, and you can (and should) enlarge her photos by clicking on them.

A March heat wave spent in the desert

Hearing reports of the best desert wildflowers in 10 years, my husband and I eagerly planned a late March camping trip to Death Valley.   Alas, when my final exams were over, a record-breaking heat wave was already ending the displays of Desert Gold (Geraia canescens), Hairy Sand Verbena (Abronia villosa), various scorpionweeds (Phacelia) and evening primroses (Oenothera), and others.

What to do??  Luckily, the deserts contain a lot of elevation. Near Telescope Peak (elevation 11,043’), the highest point in Death Valley National Park, the snow lingered and wildflowers hadn’t yet bloomed, but at least the hiking was pleasant.

Telescope Peak, center, with Death Valley on the left and Panamint Valley on the right:

Foraying briefly down to Furnace Creek, with its minus 190’ elevation and triple-digit temperatures, we saw fields of faded flowers and stayed just long enough to track down one interesting bird.

Lucy’s Warbler (Leiothylpis luciae), a dainty resident of desert oases including the Furnace Creek golf course, singing its dawn song:

We then decamped to the high desert (4,500’+) along the east face of the Sierra Nevada, where temperatures were warm but not excessive and birds and flowers were abundant.

The Alabama Hills (foreground, with Sierras in background) are so scenically dramatic that they appear in hundreds of movies and TV shows – mainly old Westerns, plus some extraterrestrial and “Himalayan” epics:

Black-throated Sparrows (Amphispiza bilineata) were abundant in the sagebrush:

White-throated Swifts (Aeronautes saxatilis), a.k.a. avian jet pilots, zoomed above the canyons leading up to the high Sierras:

Scarlet Milkvetch (Astragalus coccineus) grew abundantly on decomposed granite:

Sandblossoms (Linanthus parryae), which come in blue and white, were the focus of a classic controversy in evolutionary theory you can read about here and here:

LeConte’s Thrasher (Toxostoma lecontei), another uncommon desert bird, eluded us in the Alabama Hills.  Farther north near Bishop, California, it was a delight to find this one and its mate apparently feeding large black insects to well-hidden nestlings:

Very fortunately for me, my next work duty after our desert vacation was a speaking engagement in Tucson, and the heat wave finally ended midway through that visit.  Here are some photos from two lovely days of birding in southern Arizona.

Curve-billed Thrasher (Toxostoma curvirostre):

Painted Redstart (Myioborus pictus):

Rivoli’s Hummingbird (Eugenes fulgens):

Bridled Titmouse (Baeolophus wollweberi):

Red-naped Sapsucker (Sphyrapicus nuchalis):

Scott’s Oriole (Icterus parisorum):

Readers’ wildlife photos

April 6, 2026 • 8:15 am

Today’s photo come from reader Jan Malik, who took them in New Jersay. Jan’s captions are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

As an appendix to the earlier Tree Swallow pictures, here are a few more from the New Jersey Botanical Garden. A walk in that park on the first day of spring is a ritual of mine—to ensure all observable phenomena related to spring are happening again and that the thermal death of the Universe is postponed for yet another year.

Red-bellied Woodpecker (Melanerpes carolinus) pausing mid-search for food. This is a female; in this species, the red plumage is restricted to the nape and the area above the bill, whereas males sport a continuous red cap:

Spring Snowflake (Leucojum vernum, possibly var. carpathicum), a Eurasian transplant. It looks succulent, but this perennial defends itself against mammalian browsing by producing bitter, poisonous alkaloids:

Eastern Cottontail (Sylvilagus floridanus) hiding in bearberry brambles. Against this notorious garden destroyer, only the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch offers a true degree of protection:

Forsythia (Genus Forsythia) in bloom—the unmistakable sign that spring has arrived:

White-breasted Nuthatch (Sitta carolinensis). Like the woodpecker, it is a connoisseur of arthropods hiding in bark. however, by being equally adept at feeding head-down or head-up, it finds insects that a woodpecker might miss:

Common Water Strider (likely Aquarius remigis) emerged from its winter hiding. These are predators and scavengers of insects trapped on the surface of slow-flowing streams. As a “true bug,” it has evolved to exploit surface tension. However, surface tension alone doesn’t keep it dry; the secret lies in the dense, hydrophobic hairs on its tarsi. These trap air to act as tiny “dinghies,” preventing the legs from being wetted by capillary action:

Crocus flower (likely a Woodland Crocus, Crocus tommasinianus). The flowers emerge before the leaves, which then die back in late spring after accumulating enough biomass for the year. This adaptation to montane meadows and early forests allows them to bloom early, while withdrawing underground provides a defense against browsing:

Northern Mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos) picking bittersweet fruit (likely the introduced Oriental Bittersweet, Celastrus orbiculatus). The fruit is indeed slightly sweet—a fact I confirmed before spitting it out, as they are reportedly toxic to humans. As they say: don’t try this at home; try it in nature instead:

After the meal, the mockingbird sits quietly in a nearby bush. They mimic other birds’ calls, possibly to fool rivals into thinking a territory is already occupied. It doesn’t work on me, though—I can always tell the original bird from the imitation:

Snowdrop (Genus Galanthus), another Eurasian immigrant. Most of the plants in these pictures were introduced from Eurasia to the Americas; however, with the exception of the Bittersweet, they are generally not considered invasive:

A Jumping Spider. I can’t vouch for the exact ID, but it resembles Phidippus princeps. While not my best shot, it’s worth noting that, like all others in this series, it was taken with a single lens (Canon RF 100-500mm)—a blessing for a lazy photographer.

An Eastern Gray Squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis), looking lean after winter and digging for roots and grubs in the lawn. This species is an unwelcome sight in Europe, where its introduction is displacing the native Red Squirrel. But can we really blame them? They are simply good at being squirrels. It is entirely a human fault that geographical barriers are collapsing. In this “Homogecene” era of a connected world, the total number of species will inevitably decline: