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Bird Photography

Status: In Flight

I figured we can all use some lift by proxy at the end of this very week. So here are some birds in flight. Given my amateur equipment, it is hard to get far away, moving birds in focus, but I lucked out with at least some of these shots. They were collected over the last couple of years in my favorite haunts: Sauvie Island, Steigerwald Bird Sanctuary, Tualatin River National Wildlife Refuge, Finley Refuge, Ankeny Refuge and Fernhill wetlands. All except Finley are less than an hour’s drive from Portland and none charges fees.

 

Flying today are geese, cranes, egrets, swans, hawks, ospreys and eagles. You might find it interesting – I certainly did – how eagles are put to work in our modern times. Rather than train them to hunt small pray, they are now made to hunt drones. One can imagine all kinds of applications….. and here we thought drug sniffing dogs were (custom)men’s best friend.

 

This next photograph was taken in pouring rain, a harrier hawk attacking a red tail hawk.  Fuzzy but quite the sight then and there.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/worldviews/wp/2016/02/01/trained-eagle-destroys-drone-in-dutch-police-video/?utm_term=.1e5709a0d3cd

 

 

 

 

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Ardeidae

Ardeidae is the family name of those long legged waterbirds: herons, egrets and bitterns. Herons are beautiful birds. They come in different colors and sizes but all have amazing plumage. Their movements are elegant, on land and in flight, with an economy to their motion, an ease and fluidity. When the light hits just right they are almost iridescent. And they are pretty peaceful, quite unflappable.

To wit, here’s an encounter I photographed last week while standing on a shaded bridge in the woods.  The red-winged blackbird was sitting on the log, probably close to the reeds where his mate is nesting. When the heron decided to join him, the blackbird wouldn’t have it. He flew wildly around, eventually pecking at the heron, then in exasperation sitting next to him for a while as if he could prevent him to move. Eventually the heron gave up and stepped into the pond, searching for lunch.

 

 

 

Unfazed, as I said. Regal in their indifference. Beautiful.

 

 

Except when they open their mouth, or their beak, as the case may be.

Taken in the evening, low light made it hazy…..

Have you ever heard a heron’s voice? It is as ugly as their appearance is pretty. Squawks of such shrill and loud discordance will want you to cover your ears if you are close by. The mismatch between what you expect to hear and what fills your hearing reminded me of this.  Enjoy!

 

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Shore Birds

Will it surprise you, dear Reader, to hear that I sometimes have a vivid imagination? Most of the time, to be honest? It happened again last Sunday when I wandered, by myself, along the coastline of Ft. Stevens.

The Fort, and its adjacent hundreds of acres of National park, guards the spot where the mighty Columbia river enters the Pacific. It was constructed in the 1860s to provide a defense for the Oregon Territories. After the Civil War, the Army Corps of Engineers took over to improve the Columbia River Channel; around 1900 the building of a true defense installation began; luckily the soldiers at the Fort never engaged in active combat even when shelled by a Japanese submarine gun in June 1942 – since they incurred no damage they decided not to fire back. Wise men. (Won’t point out the contrast to you know who.)

History

So here I stood on land that was the sea when Lewis&Clark arrived in 1805 or so. The building of a long jetty had helped to wrestle almost a mile of land from the ocean. Behind that dike now lie salty marshes, ideal breeding ground for shore birds.

On the jetty itself sea gulls, crows, and, astonishingly, swallows jostle for the best space.

There are so many old, decaying wooden structures left from the heyday of the Fort that the swallows have an ideal breeding ground.

Numerous species of ducks, cormorants and other sea birds swim in the ocean, sand pipers roam the beach and sanderlings flit about.

 

My imagination? I saw the birds as merry carriers of the many souls lost at that very spot: the dangerous waters where ocean meets river provided one of the largest grave yards of the Pacific – more than 200 ships went down there with few lives rescued. The birds, however, soar and float and careen above the watery graves, looping through shimmering rain and eventual some rays of sun.

 

My heart shed some weight.

 

PS: On a practical note: The park is only an hour and 40 minutes from Portland. It has a museum, lakes to swim in, various beaches, an old shipwreck and perfect hiking paths for day trips. One MUST, however, bring sturdy boots because climbing around the jetty is extremely slippery. In the summer, insect repellant is also essential or you get eaten alive in the woods there.

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In Need of Cheer?

The goldfinch it shall be…..captured year-round in places near Portland.

At Least 47 Shades

The goldfinch in its full spring molt.
The bee pollen of sticky and thick.
The quince to perfume a new bride’s kiss.
The ocher yellow in Vermeer’s pearl-necklaced woman.
The opal cream floral on a kimonoed sleeve.
The zest yellow of a Nike Quickstrike in limited numbers.
The imperial yellow embroided robes.
The Aztec gold send by Cortés to Spain.
The Zinnia gold favored by butterflies.
The iguana who keeps watch on Mayan ruins.
The straw hat a cone woven with young bamboo.
The rising sun of Japan’s Amaterasu leaving her cave.
The sand dune that swallows the film’s lovers but keeps them alive.
The coastlight of sun lost in fog.
The chilled lemonade from the fruit of bitterness.
The Manila tint to sunny the laundry room.
The blond and boring heartthrob.
The yellow flash before the grin gets too tight.
The lemon tart with a mouth to match.
The star fruit which can mean two-faced in Tagalog.
The fool’s gold of sojourners and farmers.
The golden promise that still lures us here.
The sunshower which turns my tawny skin brown.
The banana split of Asian outside white underneath.
The Chinese mustard stirred with a dribble of soy sauce.
The yellowtail tuna father cleaned and sliced thin.
The yolk we ate raw with sukiyaki and rice.
The pear ice cream we licked that Tohoku summer.
The moonscape suffusing a rice paper screen.
The theater lights which make the audience vanish.
The electric yellow called Lake Malawi’s yellow prince.
The daffodil that doesn’t match these mean streets.
The marigold for night sweats and contusions.
The summer haze which splits open the sky.
The slicker yellow bands on those 9/11 jackets.
The dandelion that bursts through sidewalks.
The blazing star we still can’t see rushing toward us.
The yellow rose legend of a Texas slave woman.
The atomic tangerine of Los Alamos, New Mexico.
The Jasper yellow of gemstone and James Byrd.
The flame yellow as bone turns to ash.
The wick moving in time with my measured breath.
The first light an eye latches on to.
The whisper yellow as a pale strand of moon.
The yellow lotus that’s nourished by mud.
The poppy spring returns to the Antelope Valley.
The wonderstruck even in those old eyes.
The Chinese lantern riding a night sky.
The sparkler a child waves in the dark.

by Amy Uyematsu
from The Yellow Door
Red Hen Press, 2015

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I did it – 3 full minutes without thinking of that dismal orange hue…

 

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For the birds

Kirtland Warbler, photo source on the web

This week is dedicated to some of the birds I recently photographed and stories and questions they brought to mind.

We will start with a report I heard on the radio yesterday, a re-broadcast of an old NPR radiolab piece about a threatened species, the Kirtland warbler. The basics of the story as I remember them are as follows.

Happy little warbler in Michigan disappears. Wildlife services try to figure out why and pinpoint the nasty cow bird, a non-native species. Cowbirds, like cuckoos,  surreptitiously place their ow egg in the warblers’ nest, throwing one of the old eggs out to make space. When chick hatches, it grows at 4 times the speed than the warbler hatchlings, and so commands more room, throwing another chick out and gets all the food, since the parents feed the noisiest one first.

(These photos from the internet.)

A killing of cowbird commences to save the warblers. Traps are set, birds are killed by hand. 12ooo dead cowbirds later, the warbler population seems not to improve. So they figure that it was really also the absence of young trees, because wildfires have not been allowed to happen to protect humans. Wildlife services decide to try controlled burns. With few resources, few firefighters etc, burn gets out of control and ravages 20.000 acres in a blink, killing in its way a young wildlife technician who was eager to save the birds.

The question that many ask is: is saving a species worth a human life? After all there are some 50 species of warblers alive and well? Is putting so many resources into species protection, killing so many other birds worth the warbler continuity? If you decide to forgo saving one species, what about the next and the next and the next?

In some important way, the premise is wrong. The young man was killed due to circumstances in the process of protection, not because of the protection. The species is disappearing because of land use issues, interrupting the natural cycle of things.

Framing issues as human interest stories were emotions are roused when you hear the sad family, are dangerous in times where the Endanger Species Act is under assault by a reckless administration. ( Knew I would get there somehow….)

Photographs of warblers in the Columbia Gorge last week.)

http://www.radiolab.org/story/91723-weighing-good-intentions/

 

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Harney County, Eastern Oregon

Malheur lies in the furthest south/east corner of our state. Before this part of Oregon became infamous through the occupation of the right wing, nationalist militia crooks around Amon Bundy last year, it was a magnet for nature lovers, wildlife protectionists, birding enthusiasts and artists. It still is, I suppose, with many working hard to restore what has been defiled.

Childe Hassam 1908 Afternoon Sky, Harney Desert

Hassan Childe (1859-1935) was one of the early painters who lend his impressionist style to depicting the beauty of Harney County. In fact one of his paintings was the first acquisition of the Portland Art Museum, founded in 1905.He captured, in my opinion, an idealized version of what is really a harsh environment around the Steen Mountains. Part desert, part mountain wilderness, few interspersed water features that host 1000s of birds during migration, all combine to deliver astonishing beauty but also intense hardship for the few people who settle this landscape and try to make a living of it.

https://oregonencyclopedia.org/articles/hassam_childe_1859_1935_/#.WNHdfzvt–Q

 

I find Henk Pander’s work a more fitting testimony to the reality out there, both in his water colors and his oil paintings that often add a psychologically astute dimension to what is. He captures the intense light but also the foreboding of the Eastern landscape.

Here is a link to his website – check out the watercolors of the Blitzen river, the Malheur Field station and the landscape of the Steens.

http://henkpander.format.com/#1

 

I have only visited once, 2 years ago, for a precious few days on a road trip from LA to PDX. I have been wanting to go back there ever since, and hope this year will afford it.  Who knows.

In the meantime I frequently go back to the photographs I took and try to recreate the experience.

Part of what made it special are the many unfamiliar bird sounds that you hear there, including some birds that make music with its feathers – here is the sound of a common snipe https://www.youtubecom/watch?v=dam0sDp6Xig.

At night you hear owls,

during the day you walk among families of quails,

and you are surrounded by ubiquitous species of blackbirds, many of them unfamiliar to me.

It is a special place if you like birds and find solace in their freedom and their song.

 

 

 

 

 

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Up with the Birds

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I wonder if I had it in me to get up at 3:00 in the morning to be at a concert at 4:30 am. The answer is a resounding NO, unless… the concert took place at a bird sanctuary. And offered music by Messiaen. (Although playing him on the piano was a bear rather than a bird. Ok. Done with the bad puns.)

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DSC_0064Last Sunday the entire grandiose Catalogue of Birds by Messiaen was played across different places in nature during the course of a day into the night. Starting with a walk at dawn to hear the real birds, the concert commenced among the reeds. At night it finished fittingly in a hall, performing the calls of the night owl. Luckily all this happened in England, at the Aldeburgh Festival last week, so I didn’t have to stay up late, which is harder for me than to get up early. Wouldn’t have liked to miss the owl. Unluckily, this seems like an event of a lifetime, organized with British precision, stamina and a sense of adventure, shuttling the audience from one spot to another, an experience I would have relished. The festival director, Pierre-Laurent Aimard, was also the pianist, playing, as you can see in the clip below, with hand warmers in the dawn!  DSC_0069https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=15xFa2U5thw

Thirteen individual pieces, each echoing the song of a particular bird from France, comprise this musical work, finished in 1958. From then on, Messiaen traveled all over the world to transcribe songs of birds in the wilderness, including exotic birds, and incorporate the tunes into his compositions. Paul Griffiths observed that “Messiaen was a more conscientious ornithologist than any previous composer, and a more musical observer of birdsong than any previous ornithologist.” Three of my favorite things: music, birds, travel! I wonder if he would have considered taking a photographer.DSC_0040 - Version 2

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Here is a glowing review of the entire Aldeburgh event http://www.telegraph.co.uk/music/what-to-listen-to/messaiens-catalogue-of-birds-pierre-laurent-aimard-aldeburgh-fes/ Makes me jealous.

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Fabric(action)s

· A short history of lace and its depictions in art ·

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This week will be devoted to fabric.  Velvet, cotton, curtains, linen on laundry lines, you’ll be surprised how many interesting facts are associated with stuff we usually ignore. Ignore, that is, until we see it painted and can’t believe how intricate these renderings are, how superbly crafted and deceptively life-like.

As you have guessed, we’ll start with lace. The history is a long one, with mention of it in the old testament, and lacy hairnets found in Egyptian tombs. It took off, though, in the 16th century, first reserved for high ranking clergy, then taking over at the courts of Europe. Some countries exchanged the basic materials for the final product, with Belgium, for example providing finest flax (by now extinct, since fertilization and crossbreeding made the fibers less soft) to France for their centers of lace making. Italy, and in particular Venice, was the cradle of much of the skill, and the court threatened those workers who were lured to France to teach lace-making, with holding their families hostage to the point of execution. (I photographed the handmade lace in Burano, an island of lace makers off the coast of Venice.)  Lace became so desired as a status symbol that it was worth smuggling it across borders (sometimes in loaves of bread, sometimes in coffins where much of the body had been removed to make space) despite the harsh punishments if caught.  There is a lace guild in England which runs a museum in Stourbridge and provides detailed historical information. https://www.laceguild.org/craft/history.html

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The interesting part is of course how artists have rendered this delicate fabric and I will give one example here –  but point you to a terrific collection of artists and their works here http://www.sophieploeg.com/blog/the-10-best-lace-paintings. Her essay with illustrations gives a cross section of paintings across the centuries, with interesting commentary. I chose the Portrait of a Woman, Possibly Maria Trip, Rembrandt Harmensz. van Rijn, 1639 as my personal favorite, which can now be visited in the Rijksmuseum. It is astonishingly detailed and beautiful.

Portret_van_een_vrouw,_mogelijk_Maria_Trip_Rijksmuseum_SK-C-597.jpeg

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Finding a Balance

· experiencing nature vs photographing nature ·

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Shlomo Breznitz, an Israeli psychologist and sometime member of the Knesset, advised me years ago not to take photographs – ever. He was convinced that the focus on capturing the moment would supersede experiencing the moment; he insisted it would narrow memory of the moment to the confines of the photograph and exclude all other contextual information.

There is a kernel of truth in this, although not enough to convince me to give up something that fills my days with joy. Digital photography allows for seamless documentation of your world, since there is no cost attached to taking it all in (that is unless you count the time spent deleting the 90% of pictures that didn’t turn out as a major cost.) However, when you start hunting for a specific subject, as so many of us do who photograph birds, it really changes the way you stroll through the landscape. Rather than enjoying nature as a whole as you would during any old hike, you experience the outing as a success if you got some good shots, and a failure if you didn’t. And then there are the moments where the long sought-after bird appears – there’s the kingfisher! – and you happen to be without camera…

One solution is to go for regular walks without photographic equipment to remind yourself that it is nature that counts, not documentation. Another is to bring only a lens that can be carried rather than requiring a tripod, so you remain mobile.  Another justification is for me the fact that the images bring joy to so many who can not or no longer be out in the fields themselves. In addition, you meet some terrific photographers in the field (Hello, Steve Halpern, Neil Ferguson). And the frequent insight how ignorant I am – barely able to identify the major bird species –  makes for a good reminder to be humble.  That said, today’s photograph is of a hummingbird, taken last spring at the Malheur Wildlife Refuge before the militias sowed their destruction. Happy to learn his exact name!

 

 

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