Pied-billed Grebe - Grèbe à bec bigarré
This bird showed up one day with an adult, and the two spent a week or so exploring the best fishing spots on the lake. Many great images were secured in the early days of their visit by some keen birders/photographers, as the birds boldly pursued young catfish and ignored people with cameras.
And then the adult’s ‘it’s time to get moving south’ instincts kicked in, and it was gone. The juvenile, distinctive in a number of ways including not being pied-billed, hung around for a couple more weeks on its own. Feeding wasn’t a problem: there are some shallow warm pockets in the lake that the catfish hang out in until quite late. It became more elusive,or reclusive, and so one had to be out pretty early to find and photograph the bird. I am lying on the roots of a tree, hidden behind a stump, out almost in the water. The bird glanced in my direction as I took this, and then continued fishing.
I am always a bit uncomfortable with these opportunities. The questions were twofold: was the bird aware of the risk posed by the Hawks that hung around the lake, and would it escape them?; and would it eventually get going south before the lake froze over?
One of the challenges posed by these surprise visitors is the recognition that it may be the case that you are having a chance to photograph the bird because it is failing to engage in some species-specific behaviour, a failure that will ultimately be fatal.
The messiness of migration and reproduction often overlap, and the success rates for most birds are brutally low. Even the Hawks are lucky to see one in ten young survive three years. It is just nature, but it is harder reconcile when a relative oddity shows up, at least for me.
Pied-billed Grebe - Grèbe à bec bigarré
This bird showed up one day with an adult, and the two spent a week or so exploring the best fishing spots on the lake. Many great images were secured in the early days of their visit by some keen birders/photographers, as the birds boldly pursued young catfish and ignored people with cameras.
And then the adult’s ‘it’s time to get moving south’ instincts kicked in, and it was gone. The juvenile, distinctive in a number of ways including not being pied-billed, hung around for a couple more weeks on its own. Feeding wasn’t a problem: there are some shallow warm pockets in the lake that the catfish hang out in until quite late. It became more elusive,or reclusive, and so one had to be out pretty early to find and photograph the bird. I am lying on the roots of a tree, hidden behind a stump, out almost in the water. The bird glanced in my direction as I took this, and then continued fishing.
I am always a bit uncomfortable with these opportunities. The questions were twofold: was the bird aware of the risk posed by the Hawks that hung around the lake, and would it escape them?; and would it eventually get going south before the lake froze over?
One of the challenges posed by these surprise visitors is the recognition that it may be the case that you are having a chance to photograph the bird because it is failing to engage in some species-specific behaviour, a failure that will ultimately be fatal.
The messiness of migration and reproduction often overlap, and the success rates for most birds are brutally low. Even the Hawks are lucky to see one in ten young survive three years. It is just nature, but it is harder reconcile when a relative oddity shows up, at least for me.