Great Photos of 17-Year Cicadas Emerging

Greg Adams, one of our Facebook page followers, just shared with us a remarkable sequence of photos he took of 17-year cicadas (don't call them locusts; those are different insects) emerging last year in Kansas. The same type of cicada is coming out this year in vast numbers in portions of Ohio, Maryland, Pennsylvania, Virginia, West Virgina and New York after being in the ground in the nymph phase living off fluid from tree roots since 1999. (How amazing is that?) In these photos the cicadas are shedding their nymph exoskeletons and emerging in the adult phase. Please look through all the photos to watch the progression and see the final product, winged cicadas that are ready to begin their four to six weeks—that's it—of adult life.

If they come out near you, you'll hear that familiar cicada sound—but it will be REALLY LOUD, perhaps exceeding 100 decibels (listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=drxqiXaWNCw). By flexing drum-like organs on their abdomens called tymbals (creating a mating call that is tremendously amplified because their abdomens are mostly hollow), as many as a million male 17-year cicadas per acre make "the quiet woodlands a deafening environment," as Greg puts it. Scientists believe that the 17-year cycle is a survival mechanism; so many emerge at once that plenty can survive the hungry predators that cicadas face. "I was fortunate to witness the emergence of Brood IV [one of many different U.S. regional groups of these cicadas] on the Konza Prairie while living in my homestate of Kansas last year," says Greg. "It's an amazing natural metamorphosis. I'm really fascinated by their appearance. Love the black and orange color."

Many thanks, Greg! —Craig Neff and Pamelia Markwood

Happy 90th, Sir David Attenborough

This month the brilliant and beloved Sir David Attenborough turned 90. "No living person has done more to make the people of Planet Earth aware of the world around them," wrote Time magazine a few years ago, and few of us have gone untouched by his decades of BBC nature films and series. He is the father of the modern natural-history documentary and a champion of rare and endangered species. At least 11 species have been named for him, from a pitcher plant that's found in the Philippines to a flowering tree in Ecuador to a ghost shrimp in Madagascar to a 20-million-year-old extinct pygmy grasshopper discovered in amber in the Dominican Republic.

As if all that weren't enough, as the BBC's director of programs (who knew about that chapter of his life?), Attenborough also commissioned the show Monty Python's Flying Circus, for which fans of comedy should forever be grateful. We have always highlighted Sir David and his books and films in our Naturalist's Notebook interactive spaces and his work has influenced us greatly. Pamelia calls him one of her ultimate heroes. More important, he has outlined for humankind how we are part of, not separate from, all life on this wondrous planet. Extraordinary.

Happy 90th, David! —Craig Neff and Pamelia Markwood

Amazing Acorn Woodpeckers: Packing 50,000 Nuts Into a Single Tree

A few years ago, while visiting northern California, I saw a museum-style installation in the Point Reyes National Seashore visitors' center showing a taxidermied acorn woodpecker. The bird was on a fake tree trunk filled with holes, many  of which contained acorns. That a woodpecker could stuff the bark of a tree with so many nuts—each tucked in snugly, like a pimiento in an olive—seemed astounding. I hoped to see the real bird in action someday.

I'm still waiting, but I was thrilled recently when one of The Naturalist's Notebook's many Facebook followers, Brian Lippe, sent us this photo he had taken in Poway, California, of an acorn woodpecker:

Photo of acorn woodpecker taken by Brian Lippe in Poway, California.

These birds live in the Southwest and on the West Coast and, working together, can embed as many as 50,000 acorns in the bark of a single tree (often a dead or dying one). They stash the acorns as food for the winter.

Here's the photo I took of the taxidermied acorn woodpecker at the Point Reyes visitors' center. It's a remarkable sight, but wait until you see the photo that follows it.

Here's the photo I took of the taxidermied acorn woodpecker at the Point Reyes visitors' center. It's a remarkable sight, but wait until you see the next photo.

After we wrote a Facebook post about acorn woodpeckers, Mary Van Essen sent us this shot she took of an acorn woodpecker "granary tree," in Escondido, Calif. It's pretty astounding. One of our Facebook followers wrote in to say that it looked like a squirrel's dream candy bar.

After we put up our Facebook post about acorn woodpeckers, Mary Van Essen sent us this shot she took of an acorn woodpecker "granary tree," in Escondido, Calif. Isn't this amazing? One of our Facebook followers wrote in to say that it looked li…

After we put up our Facebook post about acorn woodpeckers, Mary Van Essen sent us this shot she took of an acorn woodpecker "granary tree," in Escondido, Calif. Isn't this amazing? One of our Facebook followers wrote in to say that it looked like a squirrel's dream candy bar.

Peter Heymans of Crockett, Calif., later shared with us his shot of another tree larded with acorns by these remarkable woodpeckers.

Have you ever seen an acorn woodpecker or a tree packed like this with acorns? Send us your photos and stories. As ever in nature, reality is more amazing than fiction! —Craig Neff and Pamelia Markwood

Little Blue Heron on the North Carolina Coast

Pamelia and I are on a road trip along the Atlantic coast, where we just had a thrilling first-time sighting: a little blue heron—a smaller cousin of the widely seen great blue heron.

Photo by Craig Neff

photo by Craig Neff

Note the lovely blue on its bill. We watched the heron wade and hunt near the Cape Lookout National Seashore visitor center in North Carolina. As luck would have it, Janneke Koning Case shared with us this week a shot she took in Florida of a juvenile little blue heron, which is white. That juvenile coloration is a trait the species may have evolved so that the youngsters would be tolerated and allowed to fish by snowy egrets, which whom they sometimes hang out. Little blue herons don't change from white to blue until about their second year.

photo by Janneke Koning Case

Little blue herons survived the fashion industry's mindless and devastating feather-hunting mania at the turn of the 20th century because they don't have sort of tufted plumes found on birds such as egrets and great blue herons that were so sought after to decorate hats. We thought this little blue was spectacular enough without those extra showy plumes. Thanks, Janneke, for your timely and insightful photo. We'll be sharing more shots and sightings from the road in the days ahead. —Craig Neff and Pamelia Markwood

Q-and-A With Bernd Heinrich About "One Wild Bird at a Time"

"As a child I had Jacob, a pet crow," Bernd Heinrich writes in the introduction of his wonderful new book, One Wild Bird at a Time: Portrait of Individual Lives. "I roamed the woods hunting his food—frogs, field mice, caterpillars, beetles, and grasshoppers—and feeding him by hand. But wild birds remained out of reach."

Not for long. In the ensuing decades, Bernd came to know the wild world as few others have. He has long been recognized as one of the planet's foremost naturalists, field biologists and nature writers, and he ought to be further recognized for the superb illustrations and paintings he has done of the birds, mammals, plants and insects he has studied. Bernd has written best-selling books on ravens and owls (among other subjects) and has devoted portions of other books to the migration, winter survival techniques and other behavior of a wide range of wild birds.

His years of closely observing birds (especially in Maine, where he has spent much of his life) has led Bernd to write this different sort of book—not a guide to identifying species but a look at the behavior of individual birds he has watched. "In this book I hope to celebrate individuals as they presented themselves during my encounters with them in the wild," he writes. And so he devotes chapters to individuals from 17 species, from crows to evening grosbeaks and chickadees to woodpeckers.  

Each chapter looks at particular behavior—often a mystery to be solved—and brings the reader into Bernd's patient, exacting world of observing and analyzing. This is the scientist at work, sharing his insights, his constant questioning (why did that happen?) and his youthful (at age 76) enthusiasm for learning. If you want to explore birds and nature, nowhere will you find a more likable and insightful companion than Bernd Heinrich. 

Bernd at his cabin in western Maine right after he received his hot-off-the-presses first copy of the book.

We've been fortunate enough to get to know Bernd quite well. He has given talks at The Naturalist's Notebook, where we've long highlighted his work, and we've often visited him at his wood-stove-heated cabin in western Maine. In 2012 we did a Q-and-A with him, which you can read here: http://www.thenaturalistsnotebook.com/our-blog/a-q-and-a-with-bernd-heinrich  

Recently, before One Wild Bird at a Time came out, we emailed Bernd several questions about the book and the birds in it. He happily answered them.  

Q: Let's give the audience a mental image of you as you answer the questions. 

Bernd: Well, I've just eaten a bunch of popcorn fresh off the stove, and I'm now finishing it off with a glass of red wine. I'd been at the cabin window all too long when there was daylight, and then went through two tankfuls of gas on my Stiehl, sawing up wood for next winter into stove-lengths. 

Q: What inspired you to write about individual wild birds?

Bernd:  Nothing as such. It's just that the birds inspired me. When watching one thing you see another you never thought of. These birds just happened—I saw something quirky and got interested.

Q: Are birds more individualistic than we typically think?

Bernd: I don't think they are necessarily quirky individually as such, except from circumstances. Thus, when I see something interesting in one bird, I see it as interesting. Period. It could apply to all if they had been in similar circumstances.

Q: For the book did you choose birds that had engaged in behavior not considered typical of their species?

Bernd: In a way yes, and no. For example, I knew sapsuckers are famous for trying to find the loudest drumming place. Well, I happened to see one discover a super drum. He was just back from migration and he went nuts. I knew this was an opportunity to see accentuated why in the h--- these woodpeckers put so much emphasis on noisy drumming. What does it get them? It was an education.

Q:  Do we know whether birds within a flock recognize many other individuals?

Bernd: We don't know. But we do know birds (depends which ones) recognize each other as individuals. Can't make any rules about this. Depends on kinds, numbers, circumstances.

Q: What's the most surprising bird behavior you write about in the book? Did you eventually figure it out?

Bernd: That tree swallow males perched and chirped all the while that the female builds the nest, at a spot the male seems to show her, and then when she starts to lay eggs he starts to bring her feathers—but mostly white ones. Figure it out? Not sure, but so far it looks to me that it has to do with a counter-strategy to foil other females that try to dump off their eggs into nests that are not theirs. Long story.

Q: Do you remember the first bird that caught your attention as a kid?

Bernd: It was kinglets in winter who were very tame and I was trying to catch them by hand. It was my pet crow. It was finding the nest of a winter wren hidden in the roots of a blow-down. All so secretive—unknown, alien, yet I could identify with them. Being a bird hunter later helped, too, because you can't hunt very well unless you get into the mind of the prey.

Q: What made you fall in love with birds as animals to study?

Bernd: Mostly the tame ones I have known as individuals. That said, I think it's almost impossible [for someone growing up] now—there are too many distractions, and no kid would have the attention span for it, given that they have no opportunity for immersion. Being a spectator helps you to know the game, but you don't live it.

Q: How do you observe a bird and take note of what you've seen? Do you have piles of old notebooks filled with past observations?

Bernd: Yes. But I wished I were more organized. My notes are pretty random. I never know beforehand which thread is going to lead anywhere. So I have many at any one time. The upside is that once in a while something that would otherwise have been totally ignored turns out to be interesting.

Q: What tips would you give an average person about watching and learning about birds?

Bernd: It is all about contact and context. I like to be out and see, hear, etc. But the context to match it up with comes from seeing birds even more, and with other previous experiences (including reading). 

Q: For years you've drawn and painted beautiful, realistic images of birds and other animals and plants you've observed. How did you get started doing that? How does it complement your work as a scientist?

Bernd: Too big to answer here, except to say that to see beauty is to try to preserve it. And that is visually by drawing/painting. The other beauty of meaning comes from study. Both require effort, and no effort is invested until there is passion.

Q: Do you have a favorite bird? 

Bernd: No, I really do not have a favorite bird or kind of bird. The whole beauty is in each as its own. Each in its own way.

Q:  Do you enjoy the book-writing process? What's your writing method?

Bernd: Yes. I get a great kick out of seeing a big picture emerge out of a small sketch. One invariably leads on to another. If it were too regimented I'd get tired of it. If it were too free-wheeling I'd never get anywhere. The writing follows from neat findings, perceived beauty, from information that needs to be organized in order to see "the picture." The pen/pencil in hand part is strictly secondary—far less that  one-tenth of the process/effort. When I have something to write about the writing flows spontaneously, effortlessly, and requires little discipline. When it requires too much discipline that usually means I've got to get to work!

Q: This is your 20th book. Do you have a 21st book in mind yet?

Bernd: Yes, the beauty of running.

We should add for those who aren't aware of his athletic career that Bernd has been a runner since high school and in 1983 set an American record in ultramarathoning by running nearly 157 miles in 24 hours. (He did that on a track, a testament to his mental as well as physical toughness.) His book Why We Run is a classic that combines natural history with athletic insight. Put that on your reading list if you're interested in running, nature or both.

Many thanks, Bernd! 

Migrating Songbird Fallout On Machias Seal Island (Guest Post By Lighthouse Keeper Ralph Eldridge)

I asked Ralph Eldridge if he would share some of the migrating-songbird photos he has taken as a lighthouse keeper. He tends the Canadian lighthouse on tiny, treeless Machias Seal Island, which sits on the Atlantic Flyway migration route about 12 miles from the nearest points of land in Maine and Canada (Grand Manan Island). I was especially interested in a May 24, 2011, nighttime fallout of migrating birds at the lighthouse. Pamelia and I had seen a few shots Ralph took that night and were slack-jaw amazed by the sight of so many types of songbirds—especially the variety of warblers—together. The birds were exhausted and in desperate need of rest after flying for untold hours and miles on their journey from wintering grounds as far south as the Caribbean and South America. 

Migrating songbirds (including what appear to be yellow, Blackburnian, black-and-white and common-yellowthroat warblers, American redstarts and ovenbirds, among others) on the lighthouse at Machias Seal Island. (photo by Ralph Eldridge)

Imagine what it must have been like to see the variety and number of birds that were on the ground, on the stairs and raining down in the May 24, 2011, bird fallout on Machias Seal Island. (photo by Ralph Eldridge)

Ralph sees an extraordinary mix of birds. Machias Seal Island and its surrounding waters are protected under Canadian law as a bird sanctuary. The island is not only a crucial migratory resting point, but also an important seabird nesting site. It is home to one of the southernmost colonies of Atlantic puffins. Songbirds drop onto the island day and night during migration season, Ralph says. "Some stay for a few hours while a few will hang around for several days," he notes on his web page. "Many of these birds congregate around the lighthouse and the lightkeeper's dwelling at night. During the night flights the house would fill with birds if the windows were left open." 

Machias Seal Island

Ralph agreed to write a few paragraphs about bird fallout based on his decades of watching it happen. Here's his description of fallout and what to do (or not do) if you ever encounter it: 

"Fallout is a term for the frequent, sometimes spectacular grounding of migrant songbirds. These fallouts are sometimes confused with incidents involving birds being confused, lured and trapped by lights. However, they are distinctly different events.

"Perhaps a word of caution is appropriate to anyone fortunate enough to witness a big fallout, especially when birds have been flying over water. Regardless of appearances, the birds are utterly exhausted and everyone should resist the temptation to get close or otherwise disturb them. They desperately need to sleep, rest and feed, not waste energy avoiding people. That 'just one close-up' could well cost the bird its life. 

During a fallout, Ralph says, "you don't grab your camera and charge outside. That's how you kill birds. You avoid contact as much as possible. And that's why I don't have decent photos of any fallout." His images of the May 2011 fallout are nevertheless stunning. (photo by Ralph Eldridge)

Another amazing mix of migrating birds on the Machias Seal Island lighthouse. (photo by Ralph Eldridge)

Again, the May 2011 bird fallout on Machias Seal Island. (photo by Ralph Eldridge)

Wow—this looks like an image a graphic artist would create for a bird guidebook to show a comparison among different species. (photo by Ralph Eldridge)

How many of these can you identify? (photo by Ralph Eldridge)

You can see why Ralph is careful during a fallout not to disturb the resting birds, which cover nearly every available surface. (photo by Ralph Eldridge)

Ralph continues: "With normal weather, millions of songbirds migrate through the night. They land early in the morning, rest and feed through the day and resume their travel the following night. While over land, the birds can disperse over a wide area and the daily 'fallout' goes mostly unobserved.

"Here's a link to an article about research into migrant use of coastal islands: http://umainetoday.umaine.edu/archives/spring-2011/songbird-superhighway/

"Birds get pushed close to their limits of exhaustion when they have to cross open water, so the birds tend to come down soon after making landfall. Adverse wind, fog, rain and cold further tax the birds' reserves and force them to land at the first opportunity.

"Also, the further along the route, the lower the birds' energy reserves. Our songbirds are little more than feathers and skeletons by the time they hit 45 degrees north latitude. They can't waste energy looking around for good habitat. It's more a matter of grabbing 40 winks and a quick mouthful anywhere they can, just to survive. 

Ralph says that on some nights large groups of just one or two migrating species will land at the Machias Seal Island lighthouse, but this fallout flock was very much a potpourri. (photo by Ralph Eldridge)

Ralph goes on: "An adverse weather system may completely stall the migration for days, so when the migration does resume there's a huge pulse of birds concentrated along the migration front.  Any morning after a surge, big fallouts can be seen. It helps to have relatively open, barren habitat, like a treeless island or shoreline, to aid viewing.

"Now put all the adverse stuff together: migration stalled for days, an big open-water crossing, no favorable wind, precipitation and thick fog and poor visibility. The stage is set for a spectacular fallout.

I love the black mask on that male common-yellowthroat warbler on the far left. (photo by Ralph Eldridge)

"Taxed to their limits, many birds can barely reach the intended landfall. Many birds will not reach their landfall and are forced to alight anywhere that they can. Often that's into the water. Sometimes it's aboard a boat. And sometimes it's on an island along the route, like Machias Seal Island.

"The May 2011 fallout was just one event which I happened to post. Fallouts happen to lesser and greater extent every migration. Just like tornados or snow storms, they are somewhat predictable, but the size, intensity, timing, makeup and duration are subject to a host of variables.

"The May 2011 fallout was fairly typical. The weather was not stormy, but there was fog, drizzle and reduced visibility.

"I expect some birds every night during the migration, usually showing up around the lighthouse a few hours after dark through to the pre-dawn. In this case the adverse flight conditions, especially the low visibility, produced more than usual.

With its distinctive black cap, the yellow bird on the lighthouse windowsill appears to be a Wilson's warbler. (photo by Ralph Eldridge)

With its distinctive black cap, the yellow bird on the lighthouse windowsill appears to be a Wilson's warbler. (photo by Ralph Eldridge)

"Type and numbers in the 2011 fallout? No real idea. Certainly tens of thousands passing with lots dropping down, many milling about, lots trying to find a perch and some simply sitting on the ground and sleeping. This particular flight was well mixed, so there were dozens of species. Some flights are dominated by just a handful of species."

Two blackpoll warblers share a potentially lifesaving midnight snack—a reminder of how important insects are to the survival of birds. (photo by Ralph Eldridge)

Many thanks, Ralph, for giving us a clearer picture of bird fallout and a glimpse of the remarkable species that visit the lighthouse on Machias Seal Island in the Gulf of Maine. For anyone who would like to see more of Ralph's stunning bird photos from the island, check out his web page at http://www.pbase.com/lightrae/image/135054460

 —Craig Neff and Pamelia Markwood