Category: birds

Readers’ wildlife photos

October 29, 2026 • 9:30 am

Today we have part 2 of Jan Malik’s photos from New York State (part 1 is here). Jan’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge his photos by clicking on them. Here’s his intro to both sets:

It is a little tradition of mine to spend at least one day each fall watching raptors from an exposed ledge on Millbrook Mountain, which is a part of the Shawangunk Ridge, NY. I would call it a “hawk watch”, but hawks are attracted on their way south by the nearby Hudson River, which is a much better navigational aid. Instead, a whole day is spent observing vultures. This year the foliage was not at its best and the light was below average, so I’m mixing pictures from the past couple of years.

The cliff is home to a mix of about 50 Turkey vultures (Cathartes aura) and Black vultures (Coragyps atratus), our only Northeast vultures. Neither the California condor nor the King vulture makes it here, and the peculiar Crested Caracara, half vulture-half hawk, doesn’t live north of Texas.

I think of vultures as an “underrepresented minority” of the avian world, with charismatic eagles, feisty ducks, or cute songbirds capturing nearly all the attention of birdwatching crowds, while these humble aerial sanitation workers remain in the shadows, unjustly. At least, with the large population of deer in the Northeast combined with vehicular traffic, their food supply is abundant:

This is an immature Turkey vulture, with its head not quite as red as in the adults. It is looking up, since while they feel safe when soaring, they may be occasionally harassed by other local inhabitants on the Ridge:

One of them, quite aggressive, is a resident Peregrine falcon (Falco peregrinus). I see it every time I visit these cliffs, but to photograph a lightning-fast bird is difficult. This being outside their nesting season, it didn’t dive-bomb a human intruder with the intention of scalping or eye-gouging, but simply zoomed past:

Occasionally, Bald eagles (Haliaeetus leucocephalus) also use the Shawangunk Ridge for navigation:

Other raptors, like this Red-tailed hawk (Buteo jamaicensis) also pass by, but usually high above the Ridge:

The largest songbird, the Common Raven (Corvus corax) also lives on the ridge, and a mated pair can engage in their synchronous flight even in the fall:

The Gunks being the best climbing area of the Northeast (de gustibus..) let’s not forget about the local hominid variety, the Homo verticalis. This one is scaling an arête on the route “Nectar Vector” 5.12b/c R, a pretty bold climb. That letter “R” (as in scaRy or an R-rated movie) will scare off an average gym climber:

But humans aside, vultures are the most visible vertebrates on the Ridge:

In good flying weather, one can be surrounded by many vultures who sometimes form a “kettle”, circling on thermals to gain altitude. The swish of wind on your face from them flying within several feet is unforgettable:

As usual in the fall, Canada geese form skeins flying south above the Ridge:

I stay until sunset, just to absorb the subtle colors of the New York backcountry in the fall. This year, I was alone at dusk – all the vultures were gone in the late afternoon, likely attracted to a roadkill. They share with us humans a love for well-seasoned meat, so bon appétit!:

Readers’ wildlife photos

October 28, 2026 • 8:30 am

We are of course lacking readers’ wildlife photos, though I don’t know why. If you have some good ones, please send them in.

We do have a batch today, though, sent in by reader Jan Malik. Today’s photos feature vultures from New York State, and there are photos of other birds that will come in a part 2. Jan’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

It is a little tradition of mine to spend at least one day each fall watching raptors from an exposed ledge on Millbrook Mountain, which is a part of the Shawangunk Ridge, NY. I would call it a “hawk watch”, but hawks are attracted on their way south by the nearby Hudson River, which is a much better navigational aid. Instead, a whole day is spent observing vultures. This year the foliage was not at its best and the light was below average, so I’m mixing pictures from the past couple of years.

The cliff is home to a mix of about 50 Turkey vultures (Cathartes aura) and Black vultures (Coragyps atratus), our only Northeast vultures. Neither the California condor nor the King vulture makes it here, and the peculiar Crested Caracara, half vulture-half hawk, doesn’t live north of Texas.

Here’s an early morning view from my perch, which is quite exposed but ensures privacy from the numerous hikers. Progressively fading into the distance are other parts of the ridge: Near Trapps, the Trapps, and Skytop, while the Hudson Valley is on the right:

Vultures are late-morning flyers. The unpredictability of their food forces extreme energy-saving behavior, such as efficient soaring flight and lowering body temperature at night by several degrees to minimize heat loss. In the morning, they use sheltered depressions in the cliff to sun and warm themselves. Here, three Turkey vultures spread their wings in the so-called horaltic pose, maximizing exposure to solar radiation:

Eventually, at 9-10 AM, the Millbrook cliff rocks heat up a bit and thermals—vertical movements of air based on density differences—develop enough to allow soaring flight for the Turkey vultures, who in good conditions can stay aloft indefinitely, flapping their wings only when taking off or alighting on a perch:

An hour or so later than for the Turkey vultures, flying weather develops for the Black vultures. Turkey vultures are possibly the most efficient flying organisms (outside of invertebrates), while the Black vultures need a little more effort to stay aloft – flapping their wings often enough that it is possible to tell them apart from a distance:

Another difference is the underside of the wings – it is mostly silvery-white in Turkey vultures:

Black vultures have white markings on the tips of their wings’ underside only:

Additionally, while Turkey vultures have uniformly black/dark brown wing coverts, Black vultures have white markings on their primary feathers, making them appear from a distance as white spots:

Black vultures often fly or soar with their feet down. This is paradoxical since it obviously increases aerodynamic drag, and I’d think that the Black vultures – having higher wing loading than the Turkey vultures – would do everything possible to avoid that. But apparently it is needed to stabilize the flight, possibly due to a different aspect ratio – Black vultures have slightly shorter tail feathers than do Turkey vultures:

When at rest, Black vultures stay together and a bit apart from the Turkey vultures, but I did not notice any particular animosity between these species. Each vulture group has social rules, with the best perches reserved for dominant birds. Scuffles are infrequent and posturing is usually enough to make a contender vacate a prime spot:

From time to time, Turkey vultures also conglomerate to rest and warm themselves in the sun. The same wing anatomy that allows hours-long soaring flight also lets them spread their wings effortlessly by locking their joints:

But then it’s taking to the air again, soaring up and down the ridge, in the hope of catching a whiff of decomposing flesh. What helps them in finding food is their good sense of smell, which they have in common with pelagic seabirds. From my observations on the Shawangunk Ridge (or, as climbers call it, the Gunks), their hearing is sub-par; a few times when scrambling on a ledge I caught a resting vulture quite unaware of my presence until I was nearly touching it:

Part 2 to come.

Readers’ wildlife video

October 16, 2026 • 8:15 am

If you have good photos or videos with a wildlive/biology theme, send them in.

Today we have a short but lovely video from reader Mark in Australia.  His notes are these:

The birds in the video are Little Corellas (Cacatua sanguinea), an Australian cockatoo, filmed at Winchelsea, in the state of Victoria. My drone was hovering  when the flock came from nearby to inspect the strange object in their airspace. 

When my daughter was quite young I asked her if she had noticed the large flock of corellas that had moved into the area. She asked “Are they the birds that sound like ghosts?” I had to say yes. Their call is not harsh like  a sulphur-crested cockatoo, but high pitched and sort of spooky.

If you want to hear their spooky calls, go to this video.

Readers’ wildlife photos

October 15, 2026 • 8:15 am

Another batch of photos arrived this morning, this time from reader Andrew in Oz.  Andrew’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge his photos by clicking on them.

Yarra Bend, Melbourne, Australia

These photos were all taken in an hour or so, in a bit of bushland three miles (5 km) from downtown in a city of 3ish million people.

The Birrarung River (also, more commonly, known as the Yarra river). Melbourne’s main river. Often very brown – locally known as the river that flows upside down:

Pacific black duck (Anas superciliosa):

Dusky moorhen (Gallinula tenebrosa):

European honey bee (Apis mellifera). We sometimes call this the feral bee. In, I think, a River Red Gum, (Eucalyptus camaldulensis):

Black-faced cuckooshrike (Coracina novaehollandiae). A cute common name is the Shufflewing – when they settle after flight, they shuffle their wings alternately:

Spotted pardalote (Pardalotus punctatus) – female. Tiny bright little bird – common but hard to see and identify. Today I was lucky:

Spotted pardalote (Pardalotus punctatus) male:

 Red-rumped parrot (Psephotus haematonotus). More usually seen on the ground in small flocks. Surprisingly well camouflaged in the grass – quite easy to almost step on:

Pied currawong (Strepera graculina). Common, beautiful loud meodious song:

Rainbow lorikeet (Trichoglossus moluccanus). One of the most common birds in eastern Australia. Incredibly bright and beautiful – and loud:

Noisy miner (Manorina melanocephala). Another very common bird. A few lines from a review (by noted biologist/author Tim Flannery) of the book “Where Song Began” by Tim Low:

The title of Australia’s most aggressive bird … must go to a rather drab gray member of the honeyeater family known as the noisy miner.

Accused in a scientific paper of “despotic aggressiveness,” the species has been recorded driving off fifty-seven rival types of bird. Indeed the noisy miner’s aggression has led to it becoming “one of the most important mechanisms through which habitat fragmentation and degradation threaten populations of eastern Australian woodland birds.” “They will turn on almost anything,” Low says: “koalas, cows, bats, pigs, snakes, lizards, people,” as well as other birds. And worse, they recruit allies in their bullying, including the aptly named butcher bird—a sharp-beaked, shrike-like predator that the noisy miners leave alone—provided they refrain from taking their eggs and young.

Noisy miners will even recruit humans as allies. Some years ago, a great fracas emanating from a mob of noisy miners outside my house in Sydney induced me to leave my work and investigate. As I stepped outside, the birds fell into silent expectation. Looking down, I saw a python. I got the distinct feeling that the noisy miners expected me to deal with it. But I like pythons, so I left it and returned inside. The howl of disappointed rage emerging simultaneously from dozens of beaks had to be heard to be believed. To get any peace, I was forced to move the snake.

Readers’ wildlife photos

October 11, 2026 • 8:15 am

Hey, you reprobates!  Send in your good wildlife photos if you have them. I know who you are!

Despite having just lost her beloved cat Natasha, ecologist Susan Harrison from UC Davis has some bird photos to share with us. Susan’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge her photos by clicking on them.

Lewis’s Woodpeckers and others

This is an irruption year in the Western US, in which large numbers of seed-eating birds have been on the move in fall.  One of these species, the Lewis’s Woodpecker (Melanerpes lewis), has just arrived en masse at our local Lake Solano County Park, where riparian forest lines a small gem of reservoir. These dramatic pink, ruby, and green birds are loosely social and nomadic, moving in flocks between sources of insects in summer and acorns in winter.  Unusually for woodpeckers, they catch insects on the wing, and use their drilling talents only to break acorns and cache them in bark crevices.

Excited by their arrival, I grabbed my camera and headed for Lake Solano. Only once did I catch a close-up woodpecker on the public side of the lake:

For the rest of the photos, I had to return with an inflatable boat and paddle across to the privately owned shore.  There, around 40 birds were foraging for acorns on Valley Oaks (Quercus lobata), caching them in Fremont Cottonwoods (Populus fremontii) and California Walnuts (Juglans californica), and sallying high overhead for insects:

From across the lake, I spied a large group bathing and drinking:

Because the bathing photos were too distant to be crisp, I asked ChatGPT to render one as an Impressionist painting in the style of Mary Cassatt (“The Bathing Party”):

Other lovely birds were seen en route to the Lewis’s Woodpeckers.

Green Heron (Butorides virescens) imitating a successful Wile E. Coyote:

Northern Flicker (Colaptes auratus) joining the woodpecker drinking party:

Phainopepla (Phainopepla nitens) looking handsome:

Common Mergansers (Mergus merganser) snorkeling together:

Common Merganser and Mallard sharing a sunny perch: (Anas platyrhynchos)L

Wood Ducks (Aix sponsa) being attentive to their mates:

Readers’ wildlife photos

October 4, 2026 • 8:15 am

Bruce Lyon, who’s now retired and is an emeritus professor of Ecology and Evolution at UC Santa Cruz, sent a batch of bird photos.  His captions are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

I have already shared some recent photos of seabirds (here) and foxes (here) on St Paul Island, Alaska. In addition to these treats, the island is a mecca for bird watchers who keep regional bird lists. Various islands in Alaska are magnets for vagrants from Asia and birders who are serious about keeping lists visit the Island to beef up their official American Birding Association species lists for North America. Specifically, vagrants are birds that show up beyond their typical breeding, migration or wintering areas.

I am not normally a lister, but friends on St Paul bird are local guides who fid amazing vagrants, which they then very generously share with biologists such as me. I have also learned that the list of vagrants is not completely random—some species are pretty regularly visitors from Asia. Some species are more likely in spring, while others are in fall. If you are interested in the biology of vagrants I can recommend Steve Howell’s Rare Birds of North America. Howell has a nice section that goes through various patterns and the different reasons for why birds become vagrants.

This post will focus mostly on shorebirds, because they are pretty common vagrants, and I will also include some species that breed on the island. All of the vagrants I feature are birds that breed in northern Asia.

The Terek sandpaper (Xenus cinereus) was the show stopper for me this year. We initially got really crappy views but then it showed up on the mudflats in front of our lodging and actually flew towards me and landed 20 feet away. What a cool shorebird!:

Eurasian whimbrel (Numenius phaeopus) (the result of a recent split into two species, the North American species is now Hudsonian whimbrel). The Eurasian has white rump and white stripe up the back. Sadly the photos do not show the white on rump because bird was always tilted the wrong way:

Far Eastern Curlew (Numenius madagascariensis). This is a rare bird everywhere and was a really good bird to get. It was using its long beak to access giant isopods hiding under the rocks that none of the resident shorebirds could get:

Red-necked stint (Calidris ruficollis). This species was particularly common this year and up to 5 at a time hung out on the mudflats in front of our lodging:

Siberian sand-plover (Anarhynchus mongolus):

Falcated duck (Mareca falcata)—pretty stunning bird:

It was very windy, and the duck flipped over and showed the cool plumage pattern on its back:

The remaining birds are birds that breed on St Paul or nearby mainland Alaska.

A gorgeous and very tame female red phalarope (Phalaropus fulicarius) that hung out in front of our lodging. This species doesn’t breed on the island. This is a ‘role reversed’ species, where females are more colorful than males, compete for males, and the males then do all of the work of incubating the eggs and raising the chicks:

A red-necked phalarope (Phalaropus lobatus), also in front of our lodging. These breed locally:

Rock sandpiper (Calidris ptilocnemis) chick and parent. Unlike most shorebirds, which are neurotic when they have chicks, these particular parents were very relaxed and the chicks were running around and feeding right in front of us on the road without the typical alarm calls that cause the chicks to hide. I lay on the road to get a nice out of focus bokeh background:

Sandpiper chicks have a beautiful plumage that makes them very camouflaged when they are hiding on the ground (tundra, grasses). They are also all leg!:

Rock sandpiper with a ‘wingup’ display used in courtship. Who knew that armpits are sexy!:

Semipalmated plovers (Charadrius semipalmatus) trying to lure me away from their nest with a broken-wing display. Many shorebirds use a display that fakes having an injured wing to lure predators away from the nest. To a predator, a bird with an injured wing should be an easy dinner and worth following. The faker leads the predator far from the nest, keeping its distance all the while, and then eventually returns to its nest. This first bird is the male—his eyering is orange:

Here is the female with a more yellow eyering and slightly more subdued plumage:

Readers’ wildlife photos

September 29, 2026 • 8:15 am

Hallelujah, we have a contributor!  (Please send in your wildlife photos if you want this feature to continue.) The contributor is Jan Malik, who has birds and mammals from Poland. Jan’s captions are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

In this batch, I have included pictures of birds and mammals from the Tatra Mountains that I had a chance to photograph during my hikes over the last couple of years. They consist of both lowland generalists that have penetrated into the boreal forest zone and alpine specialists.

The Eurasian wren (Troglodytes troglodytes) is the only representative of the wren family in Europe. It was given the name “Troglodytes” (“cave-dwelling”) because it often searches for arthropods in rocky nooks and crannies; this behavior allows it to feed even in snowy conditions. Like the American marsh wren, males construct several nests, possibly both as a display of fitness for the female and as a decoy against predation:

The White wagtail (Motacilla alba) avoids dense forests but can penetrate from the lowlands into mountain valleys with meadows left from the earlier pastoral economy of the region or near ski slopes. This bird (just like the wren above, females and males are identical) was well aware of my presence and refrained from rushing to its nest so as not to betray its location:

Possibly a Water pipit (Anthus spinoletta), which is an altitudinal migrant—in summer it nests in the alpine zone, but in winter it relocates to wetlands or riverbanks. Its nest is well hidden in a rock crevice or in a tussock of grass:

The Alpine accentor (Prunella collaris) is a mountain specialist, staying in the alpine zone all year round except during very bad weather, when it can descend into lower valleys. A thick layer of down protects it against the cold.

It easily becomes habituated to people and is often seen on the highest summits, where it fearlessly scavenges for scraps of food among hikers:

This is a European robin (Erithacus rubecula), which, like the other birds mentioned above, is a species where females and males look alike. It is a generalist with a range that just penetrates the boreal montane forest. I saw them follow cattle or humans to catch insects fleeing from the disturbed ground. They look cute but are extremely territorial, and fights between two competitors can be deadly:

Not too many pixels on this Dunnock (Prunella modularis), which, unlike its cousin the Alpine accentor, is not limited to the mountains and does not go above the krummholz zone. It has a complex mating system consisting of a mix of polyandry and a “mating cooperative,” where a couple of males maintain a territory containing a couple of females:

The European goldfinch (Carduelis carduelis). I found this male (with a slightly larger red mask than the otherwise similar female) by first noticing a stream of thistle seeds drifting in the wind. This species stays in warmer lowlands with an abundant presence of thistles, which are used for both food and nesting material. In a fashion similar to the famous Galapagos finches, this species evolved a high-precision bill to extract nutritious seeds defended by thorns:

This Eurasian jay (Garrulus glandarius) is an edge-habitat dweller, hiding and nesting in lowland forests and entering only the lower boreal forest in the mountains. As a corvid, it is quite smart for a bird; however, with the many acorn and beech nut caches it makes for the winter, it always forgets a portion of them and thus contributes to forest growth. This one was patrolling a popular trail, looking for crumbs:

For the next two four-legged species, this is what their habitat looks like—an alpine tundra just below the barren high alpine zone:

Passing through it, finding a herd of Tatra chamois (Rupicapra rupicapra tatrica) is quite likely. The shaggy appearance of this individual is due to post-winter molting. Despite being commonly seen in the Tatras, it is an endangered subspecies; their numbers plummeted at the turn of the millennium to fewer than 200 individuals and have since increased to over 1,000 thanks to strict limits on tourist traffic in sensitive areas:

This mountain goat-antelope has close cousins in the Alps and parts of the Carpathian Mountains, but the Tatra population is completely cut off from them, since they are obligate mountain dwellers and do not tolerate dense forests or plains. The Tatra population has been isolated since the end of the Pleistocene, for at least 15,000 years. Over that period, the Tatra chamois evolved a special trait: unlike the Alpine chamois, it stays above the forest zone throughout the year. In the Ice Age, they populated the vast, ice-free montane tundra in that part of Europe (https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Maps-showing-the-geographic-distribution-of-the-extant-subspecies-of-the-genus-Rupicapra_fig1_336957033):

The Tatra marmot (Marmota marmota latirostris) is another Ice Age holdover that became marooned on a high-altitude “island” as the climate warmed after the Pleistocene. It has had no contact with other groups of alpine marmots for at least 10,000 years. This site (https://www.inaturalist.org/taxa/46082-Marmota-marmota#map-tab) shows how fragmented the marmot habitat is:

The marmot also stays above the forest zone all year round. Since summers in the Tatras last only about 5 months, all of the marmot’s active life must occur within that short period. In the winter, it hibernates in a deep burrow and emerges emaciated in the spring, when it must nearly double its body weight to prepare for the next winter and breeding season:

And as a reminder of how crowded the Tatras can get, here is a Red deer hind (Cervus elaphus) that was trotting along a trail and forced me to step aside to let her pass. As in many other national parks, animals in the Tatra Mountains become habituated to people. Red deer are vertical migrants—feeding on montane meadows and in boreal forests in the summer, but retreating to lowland pastures and forest edges in the winter: