Category: landscapes

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:

Readers’ wildlife photos

September 12, 2026 • 8:45 am

Please send in your wildlife photos as this is the last batch I have!

Today we have bird photos from Jan Malik showing avian denizens in the “wilds” of New Jersey. Jan’s IDs and descriptions are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them. Note the DUCKS at the beginning and in the penultimate photo.

I’d like to present my natural backyard, the Meadowlands in New Jersey. This is an expanse of tidal marshes and phragmites reeds, formerly used as city dumps. It was more or less that desolate swath of land where Pete Clemenza instructed his enforcer: “Leave the gun, take the cannoli.” Nowadays, this land is in the process of active reclamation and on its way to becoming aquatic parkland.

In spring and summer, DeKorte Park is teeming with ducks; here are a male and a female Green-winged Teal (Anas carolinensis):

There is a large flock of Ruddy Ducks (Oxyura jamaicensis) that stays each year in the same cove:

Every year, many Northern Shovelers (Spatula clypeata) visit the marshes. Their bills certainly look like spatulas:

American Black Ducks (Anas rubripes) also move through the area and possibly even breed in more secluded areas. They are close cousins of Mallards, and hybridization occurs fairly often (as evidenced by the green brow on this male); however, the species manage to stay separate due to their selection of nesting sites and preferred diets:

There are too many wading birds to list, but here is a Killdeer (Charadrius vociferus):

And a Lesser Yellowlegs (Tringa flavipes):

Midges and mosquitoes can sometimes be a nuisance:

But we have an efficient pest control crew, like this Tree Swallow (Tachycineta bicolor):

Large wading birds are numerous; here is a Great Egret (Ardea alba).

A strong local colony of Ospreys (Pandion haliaetus) has a prominent presence here. As long as nesting platforms are available and polychlorinated hydrocarbons are absent, these birds will thrive:

Among songbirds, we have native sparrows, like this White-throated Sparrow (Zonotrichia albicollis):

As well as introduced ones, like this male House Sparrow (Passer domesticus), which has taken up residence in an all-American nesting box:

We have too many songbirds to show them all, but as a final one, here is an American Goldfinch (Spinus tristis):

Every summer, we have our crop of youngsters, like these American Robin (Turdus migratorius) chicks:

Or these ducklings—I think they may be Black Ducks, not Mallards:

I’ve realized now that I have collected too many bird pictures from this region and have short-changed all our lovely mammals, insects, turtles, shellfish, and fish—the latter, sadly, largely inaccessible to a photographer. But I would be remiss if I didn’t include this view, which has been visible on this specific September day for the last 25 years. The World Trade Center site’s light beam tribute is visible across the Hudson, and its aesthetic quality must not cloud our understanding of what it means: that on one sunny September morning in 2001, we were deprived of Francis Fukuyama’s comfortable utopia of universalism and thrown into Samuel Huntington’s world, where others look at our treasured values with disdain and a desire to destroy them:

Readers’ wildlife photos

September 4, 2026 • 8:30 am

Very few people are sending in wildlife photos, so if you have some good ones, shoot them my way, please.  Fortunately, ecologist Susan Harrison has come through with another batch from Oregon. Susan’s captions are indented, and you can enlarge her photos by clicking on them.

Mt. McLoughlin, Oregon  

In southern Oregon at the tail end of summer, climbing a volcano to look for Gray-crowned Rosy-finches (Leucosticte tephrocotis) seemed like a fun thing to do.

Gray-crowned Rosy-finch (photo from AllAboutBirds):

Per AllAboutBirds, “This delicate pink-and-brown songbird is among the hardiest of all birds. Gray-crowned Rosy-Finches nest in the highest parts of the highest mountains in North America… they forage, seemingly at complete ease, on snowfields, forbidding talus slopes, and in high winds or snowstorms… (It) probably holds the record for highest-altitude breeding bird in North America.”

Who could resist looking for such superlative birds??  It required only a day hike to a 9,500-foot peak not far from my home base in Ashland, Oregon. The peak, Mt. McLoughlin, is just north of Mt. Shasta in the Cascade volcanic chain. The trail goes up its east (= right, in the photo below) side.

Mt. McLoughlin from the south:

Hikers often get lost as they descend the peak.  Near the summit there is no clear trail in the loose ash and talus, and if you start a few degrees off-course you’ll end up far from your destination.  Accordingly, there are many warning signs and route markers.

Trail warning sign:

The last half-mile to the summit is steep and slow going.  This is the likeliest place to see Rosy-finches – which, alas, I did not see.

Approach to the summit, with trail on the left:

However, I did make it to the summit and back safely!

Summit:

The main birds I saw at the top were several Rock Wrens (Salpinctes obsoletus) and a pair of Sharp-shinned Hawks (Accipiter striatus) chasing around a Northern Harrier (Circus hudsonius).

Rock Wren:

Hawk chasing Harrier:

On the descent it became easier to pay attention to other small wildlife.

Scruffy juvenile Canada Jay (Perisoreus canadensis);  or is it an “American Jay” now??:

Townsend’s Solitaire (Myadestes townsendi):

Yellow-pine Chipmunk (Neotamias amoenus):

Rounding out this photo set, a few other recent scenes from the southern Oregon Cascades…

Upper Rogue River just below Crater Lake, where it flows through the collapsed lava tubes of ancient Mount Mazama:

Lower Rogue River at Blossom Bar rapid, where it flows through a scary and occasionally lethal (to rafters and kayakers) feature called the Picket Fence:

Readers’ wildlife photos (and video)

August 20, 2026 • 8:16 am

The Jason Arday mess his died down (I hope), there’s not much news save the U.S. national debt is pushing 40 TRILLION dollars, so now is a good time for some restful and beautiful wildlife photos.

Today we present part 2 of the photos that Bruce Lyon of UC Santa Cruz posted; the photos were taken during his field work in Alaska on birds. (Part 1 is here.). There’s one video at the beginning.  Bruce’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

Here’s Bruce’s introduction to the last part, and I forgot to put the video in. This time it’s here:

I spent the summer researching songbirds on St Paul Island, one of the Pribilof Islands way out in the Bering Sea in Alaska. On a few different days I took a break from our study of songbirds to enjoy the fabulous seabirds. St. Paul is famous for it seabirds and a lot of naturalists visit the island to see several seabirds that are endemic to the Bering Sea. By my count, 13 species of seabirds breed on St Paul.

Here is a video to give a sense of the seabird cliffs. At some of the best cliffs one can see most of the seabird species at at single location.

Bruce added this:

The video shows Ridge Wall, a favorite with naturalists and photographers because several species are easily observed at eye level from a fairly close distance. The trumpeting noises are murres.

And today’s photos:

Thick-billed murre (Uria lomvia) with its penguin-like plumage. Murres are completely unrelated to penguins but a relative of the murres, the great auk, did give its name to the penguins. Apparently the Welsh called great auks pen gwyn and the name was given to the lookalike penguins by early south polar explorers:

Murre eggs are hypervariable for individual recognition and some individuals have particularly gorgeous eggs. This murre has the prettiest of the colors—bright turquoise:

Common murre (Uria aalge). This species lacks the white line on the beak and is browner than thick-bills. In some lighting they almost look coppery:

Common murre trying to land in a strong upblast:

We even had a dovekie (Alle alle), extremely rare for St Paul Island. These are convergent with least auklets (tiny) but come from the murre lineage in the auks, not the auklets:

Black-legged kittiwake (Rissa tridactyla), a small cliff-nesting gull. When I took the kittiwake photos below it was very windy and the kittiwakes were playing in the updrafts. They would sit in one place and spin around like tops and sometimes even flip upside down. I love the bright orange mouth-lining and tongue, both of which are prominently displayed when the birds are screaming (which is most of the time).

Red-legged kittiwake (Rissa brevirostris), another Bering Sea endemic. Note the very short legs; the beak is shorter than in black-legged. 90% of the world’s population of red-legged kittiwakes breeds on nearby St George Island:

Kittiwakes use mud and wet vegetation to build their nests on the cliffs:

And kittiwakes build pretty substantial nests, plastered onto the rock so the nest does not fall off and plunge into the sea. Red-leggeds prefer sites that are tucked under overhangs:

A gathering of both species of kittiwakes on a beam in the harbor:

A glaucous-winged gull (Larus glaucescens) nest, apparently the first successful nest of this species on St Paul Island although they have bred on nearby islands:

Head shot of one of the parents. Close ups of gull heads show that gulls are rather nice birds. Gull species differ in the color of the iris and the fleshy eyering:

The aptly named and permanently embarrassed red-faced cormorant (Urile urile). Endemic to the Bering Sea:

A couple of red-faced cormorants with a nice rock arch and nesting seabirds in the background:

Readers’ wildlife photos

August 13, 2026 • 8:30 am

Please send in wildlife ph0tos if you have some good ones.  This feature has become pretty intermittent.

Today’s wildlife photos come from reader Jan Malik, who sent bird photos taken in Poland. Jan’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

In July, I had an opportunity to hike in the northern, Polish section of the Tatra Mountains. This part of this alpine range is probably less biodiverse than the substantially larger Slovak part, where a large portion of the slopes are south-facing. Still, I saw a few animals—both vertebrates and invertebrates—that were new to me.

A sample of the habitat at the entrance to a valley in the limestone Western Tatras:

Just as I stopped by this creek to eat my breakfast on the go, a bird appeared, forcing me to postpone consumption and switch to photography mode. The bird was a male Grey wagtail (Motacilla cinerea), which in its breeding plumage is actually bright yellow. He was hopping lively on the cliff, collecting arthropods to feed his chicks. The white, woolly-looking flower by the wagtail is the emblematic Edelweiss (Leontopodium nivale), a hallmark of limestone alpine mountains (it grows only on basic substrates). The flower’s woolly appearance may be an adaptation to low temperatures and intense ultraviolet radiation:

The wagtail disappeared for a moment and then returned, having fed his chicks. Its flight is highly undulated, and when resting it, well, wags its tail vigorously:

Another successful hunting run finished, and the wagtail is ready to return to his nest with a beak full of insects. Judging by their opaque wings and long antennae, these are caddisflies (order Trichoptera):

The wagtail left, and just as I was going to resume my hike, another bird landed on the same spot—a good lookout in the middle of the creek. This was a White-throated dipper (Cinclus cinclus), a close relative of our American dipper, which I had once searched for in vain in the American Southwest (Zion National Park and the like). This genus is unique among songbirds in that it is mostly aquatic when feeding. It nests close to the banks of fast-flowing streams and forages by wading and diving underwater in search of arthropods, sometimes using its wings for underwater propulsion if the current gets too strong. I think in this picture the bird holds a caddisfly larva (stripped of its protective debris case) and possibly a couple of adult caddisflies.

Dipper females and males are monomorphic, and both sexes sport a white bib, which their American cousins lack:

Apart from a nearly identical body structure, what they have in common with our American dipper (or, as some say, the water ouzel) is a white upper eyelid, visible when the bird blinks. Unlike wagtails, they fly in a dead straight line, patrolling and defending their stretches of waterways:

For the next 20 minutes I watched the bird collect food above and under water, but capturing its underwater feeding was harder than I thought, with the bird being restless and the autofocus being thrown off by the turbulent water. They usually start nesting as soon as the water is free of ice, which in this location can be mid-April. If they are still nesting in July, it may mean they are raising a second brood:

They are called “dippers” because of their habit of bowing and bobbing. While they are songbirds, I didn’t hear any calls, but I read they do call and sing, like any songbirds. It is reasonable to assume that, since they live in the fairly noisy environments of fast mountain creeks, they communicate visually via displays like wing-quivering. It was a real treat to see these birds in action, especially in the crowded environment of Tatra National Park, which sees more than 5 million visitors annually. To put it in perspective, that is more visitors, in a much smaller area, than Yellowstone National Park receives. During my 30-minute impromptu birding session, an incessant stream of people kept streaming into the valley right behind my back, but the birds were completely habituated to the human presence:

After ascending for a while, I reached the krummholz and alpine meadow zone. A notable distinction between this and a similar zone in the Adirondacks of NY or the White Mountains of NH was the presence of a specialized high-altitude dwarf mountain pine (Pinus mugo), forming dense thickets. In the US, these zones feature dwarf, bonsai-like variations of spruce and balsam fir from the boreal forest zone:

I noticed a little commotion in the dwarf pine thicket; it was a fledgling following its parent, begging to be fed:

After a while, the adult bird appeared. It was, I believe, a Black redstart female (Phoenicurus ochruros); the “black” part comes from the male’s coloration. They nest in rocky areas across Eurasia;

Comparing the Tatra Mountains to mountain ranges in the US Northeast, it is surprising that, even though the Tatras are about 5 degrees closer to the North Pole and higher (I believe the last three pictures were taken almost at 6,000 feet altitude), they are more biodiverse.

Readers’ wildlife photos

August 9, 2026 • 8:15 am

Glory be—a few regulars have sent in some lovely wildlife photos, so I can post some critters today. These intertidal critters come from UC Davis math professor Abby Thompson, who does great marine photography on the California coast. Abby’s captions are indented, and you can enlarge her photos by clicking on them.

These are probably the last of the summer tidepool photos.  The (spectacular!) final nudibranch is one that I’ve only found once up here before- it’s usually a slightly more southerly species.  If the El Niño comes through as predicted, we should see more this coming year.

The first four animals are chitons, the roly-poly’s of the ocean.     They have a common structure- 8 shell plates, surrounded by a mantle.   The structure of the mantle and the sculpturing on the shell plates, (sometimes) allows identification to species.     The Mopalia (this seems to be a made-up word) chitons have some kind of hairs or feathery things on the mantle.  The type/quantity/form of the hairs can be distinctive.    The first three creatures are in this genus.

Mopalia lionata:

Mopalia lionata: close-up of the feathers on the mantle:

Mopalia spectabilis (tentative ID):

Mopalia spectabilis: close-up of the stripes/hairs on the mantle:

Genus Mopalia – I can’t tell the genus, but liked the photo:

The Lepidozona chitons have small overlapping scales on the mantle and beautiful sculpturing of the shell plates:

Lepidozona cooperi:

Lepidozona cooperi- close-up of the mantle:

Lepidozona cooperi- close-up of the sculpturing:

Diodora aspera (Rough keyhole limpet):

Genus Paranamertes (ribbon worm): There’s a specific local species called a “purple ribbon worm”, and one might think this one would qualify, but it turns out (thanks inaturalist experts!) that identifying to species is tricky in this genus:

Finishing up with some nudibranchs. . .

Corambe steinbergae – chomping on its favorite bryozoan prey, on which it is virtually invisible:

Diaphoreolis lagunae – Laguna Beach aeolid:

And the gorgeous:

Certat0d0ris rosacea: Hopkin’s Rose. Wouldn’t you love to know the sequence of adaptations that led to this?:

Stripes on the beach, early in the morning. It looked as though someone had ruled paths for the water to flow down the beach:

Sunset over Tomales Point:

Readers’ wildlife photos

August 7, 2026 • 8:30 am

Today’s photos come from Miriam Meyerhoff, who responded to my call for readers to send it photo. (That call, by the way, still exists!). Miram’s captions are indented and you can enlarge her photos by clicking on them.

In June we spent a week in Orkney (Mainland and Westray) to see neolithic sites and some wildlife. I’m not good at photographing birds (and I just have an iPhone) so I have photos of puffins, some fulmars and lots of plants.

On the Mainland of Orkney, we visited Skara Brae and various stone circles. Skara Brae was first inhabited about 3100 BCE. The homes had built-in furniture (kind of like Frank Lloyd Wright did with his houses) with a dresser of shelves opposite the door and beds built into the walls on the right and left walls:

On Westray, we walked for about an hour with a local guide, Megan of Wild Orkney Walks. Megan was extremely knowledgeable about plants and wildlife and is deeply concerned about the impact of over-fishing on the Orkney sea birds.

It turns out puffins (Fratercula sp.) are not at all scared of people and will let you come very close:

They nested alongside fulmars on the cliffs. Fulmars  (Fulmaris sp.) are not gulls, they are in the same family as albatrosses and petrels. Apparently, fulmars can defend themselves by spewing up a foul smelling oily mess and spitting it at you. The first syllable ful- is cognate with the word foul on account of this habit:

The clifftops we walked along had many plants that were new to me. Sea thrift (Armeria maritima, aka sea pinks) and red campion and sea campion  as well as meadowsweet [flowers in order]:

There was also an impressive selection of different thistles. I think this was a cruel thistle (Cersium ferox):

Along the roadside there were masses of marsh orchids, hogweed, and yellow flags were still in bloom (flowers in order):

Wild roses (Rosa rugosa) were also in bloom. I didn’t know you can eat the petals. They taste a bit like glycerin to me:

Back on the mainland, the oddest plant I saw was Cottonweed. The seed heads do produce something very like cotton wool:

But the most beautiful (to me) was the smallest flower on a clifftop near Yesnaby, sea milkwort. I gather it is quite common in the northern hemisphere, but I didn’t grow up here. I loved how simultaneously tough and dainty it manages be.