Birders' Nest

[Elgarian Redux]

I have nothing new to show; it was more corn fields yesterday. I did see Kestrels, however, at 60 MPH (me, not the birds), first one and then its mate on wires along the road, and later, a Merlin, also on a wire along the road. Oh, and Sandhill Cranes in a field. Not from yesterday, but I can share these views from previous encounters with these cranes, one of only two cranes native to North America; the other is the Whooping Crane, which is the tallest North American bird, and critically endangered.


Soarasaurus

'We saw a Soarasaurus soar'.

Or if it were injured: 'We saw a sore Soarasaurus soar'.

Parental-offspring-a-sauri

Oh my goodness!! Now this is what I mean. Yes, they are graceful birds, but just look at the relationship you've caught between them; the interwining rhythms; the dynamic balance. There's a sort of sprung tension between the birds that makes me feel that they're moving.

Ruskin once said, about good drawing, that it should catch the importance of 'leading or governing lines' - lines of 'vital truth' which 'are always expressive of the past history and present action of the thing'.

This isn't a drawing, it's a photo, but no matter: all that stuff about leading lines, vital truth, past history and present action, they are all demonstrated here in this fabulous image. If someone had painted this, we'd say, 'Ah but you'd never find a couple of cranes arranging themselves so perfectly, would you?' Ha!

[owlice]

'We saw a Soarasaurus soar'.

Or if it were injured: 'We saw a sore Soarasaurus soar'.

Making me look like a maniac, laughing with delight as I am!

Oh my goodness!! Now this is what I mean. Yes, they are graceful birds, but just look at the relationship you've caught between them; the interwining rhythms; the dynamic balance. There's a sort of sprung tension between the birds that makes me feel that they're moving.

You are so kind! Thank you. There was no intent in this, however, except to try to capture the parent and the youth in one shot. I love the golden chevons that outline the juvenile's feathers, and wanted to see whether the gold I saw with my eyes could be captured by the camera. Such lovely birds!

If someone had painted this, we'd say, 'Ah but you'd never find a couple of cranes arranging themselves so perfectly, would you?' Ha!

Like monkeys at typewriters, I posit the answer might be "possibly," given the proclivity of these birds to gather in huge numbers. Which brings a question to mind... would any of these photos make a good jigsaw puzzle?

[Elgarian Redux]

Making me look like a maniac, laughing with delight as I am!

I rest content! Except to observe that if the injuries of the sore saurasaurus were to get worse, it would become a sorer saurasaurus. But that might be a step too far.

There was no intent in this, however, except to try to capture the parent and the youth in one shot.

The question of 'intent' is difficult, I suggest. You have to have chosen the right position, the subject has to be arranged within the view, and then there's the crucial decision of the moment to click. All of this is intuitive, albeit based obviously on a great deal of experience. Then there's maybe a process of selection at the end? So the intent is largely intuitive, I imagine.

I love the golden chevons that outline the juvenile's feathers, and wanted to see whether the gold I saw with my eyes could be captured by the camera.

I think we can say 'Yes!' to that one.

Like monkeys at typewriters, I posit the answer might be "possibly," given the proclivity of these birds to gather in huge numbers. Which brings a question to mind... would any of these photos make a good jigsaw puzzle?

Interesting question. We must analyse it. There are those puzzlers (Type A) who require that a jigsaw puzzle be as difficult as possible. They would say yes. But for other jigsaw puzzlers (Type B), the success of the puzzle depends on variety within the image, and the degree to which one becomes involved in the idiosyncracies of the subject as the puzzle develops. They, I think, would say no - too difficult, and insufficent variety. So I think you've probably got about 50% of the jigsaw puzzling market (the Type A puzzlers) with you, here. That could be enough.

Insufficient attention is given to these matters in the academic Jigsaw-Puzzling literature - don't you think?

[owlice]

I rest content! Except to observe that if the injuries of the sore saurasaurus were to get worse, it would become a sorer saurasaurus. But that might be a step too far.

The poor sorer soarasaurus! Would a sorer soarasaurus be able to soar?

The question of 'intent' is difficult, I suggest. You have to have chosen the right position, the subject has to be arranged within the view, and then there's the crucial decision of the moment to click. All of this is intuitive, albeit based obviously on a great deal of experience. Then there's maybe a process of selection at the end? So the intent is largely intuitive, I imagine.

Or perhaps it is the desire to shoot (with a camera) everything. When trying hard to leave a national wildlife refuge so I could arrive at my (new) campsite before dark, I had to tell myself, "You don't need to shoot every duck!"

Over and over and over again.

I had to make my dinner in the dark.

Interesting question. We must analyse it. There are those puzzlers (Type A) who require that a jigsaw puzzle be as difficult as possible. They would say yes. But for other jigsaw puzzlers (Type B), the success of the puzzle depends on variety within the image, and the degree to which one becomes involved in the idiosyncracies of the subject as the puzzle develops. They, I think, would say no - too difficult, and insufficent variety. So I think you've probably got about 50% of the jigsaw puzzling market (the Type A puzzlers) with you, here. That could be enough.

Insufficient attention is given to these matters in the academic Jigsaw-Puzzling literature - don't you think?

Absolutely!

A propos of nothing, except that I ran across the image this evening when looking for something else, here is a Cape May Warbler in a cherry tree.


Cape May, New Jersey is one of the best birding locales in the US. About the name of the bird, Wikipedia says, "The English name refers to Cape May, New Jersey, where George Ord collected the specimen later described by Alexander Wilson. This species was not recorded again in Cape May for another 100 years, although it is now known as an uncommon migrant there."

[Elgarian Redux]

Would a sorer soarasaurus be able to soar?

I never saw a sore saurasaurus unable to soar.

Or perhaps it is the desire to shoot (with a camera) everything. When trying hard to leave a national wildlife refuge so I could arrive at my (new) campsite before dark, I had to tell myself, "You don't need to shoot every duck!"

I might be catching up now. The thing, for you, is that the bird is pre-eminent. You aren't thinking of what you're doing as 'Art'; the crucial thing is to capture the bird in its most characteristic aspects in the best way possible. If there were a contest between Nature and Art, Nature wins. The photograph is taken for the sake of The Bird, not for the sake of The Art. I, in my amazement, am somewhat losing sight of that, perhaps. I will do better.

A propos of nothing, except that I ran across the image this evening when looking for something else, here is a Cape May Warbler in a cherry tree.


Cape May, New Jersey is one of the best birding locales in the US. About the name of the bird, Wikipedia says, "The English name refers to Cape May, New Jersey, where George Ord collected the specimen later described by Alexander Wilson. This species was not recorded again in Cape May for another 100 years, although it is now known as an uncommon migrant there."

And there I am with my new resolution, and you go and plant this fabulous image on here! Well, I shall tailor my response. Here is a fellow I'd like to meet. I don't really care about birds being rare, personally. If there were billions of these in the world, I'd still think he was exquisite. Thank you for showing him to us.

And he is beautifully composed among the twigs and cherry blossom.
You didn't see that, right?

[Elgarian Redux]

Up into the hills again today, armed with camera, in search of stonechats and butterflies. Nary a one. There was life to be seen up there, but not much wildlife. A couple of old friends were there - Red Cloud and Aslan. A few sheep on the skyline. Ingleborough looking prehistoric in the distance. But not a stonechat to be found, and the single meadow brown refused to be photographed.

It has been suggested to me that the best way to see birds and butterflies is to forget to bring your camera.

[owlice]

I never saw a sore saurasaurus unable to soar.

But what about a sorer soarasaurus? Can a sorer soarasourus be too sore to soar? Surely so!

I might be catching up now. The thing, for you, is that the bird is pre-eminent. You aren't thinking of what you're doing as 'Art'; the crucial thing is to capture the bird in its most characteristic aspects in the best way possible. If there were a contest between Nature and Art, Nature wins. The photograph is taken for the sake of The Bird, not for the sake of The Art.

Yes, that is nearly exactly correct; the subject is pre-eminent. It is crucial to capture the bird (insect/herp/mammal/etc.) so I can ID it, remember that I saw it, or both. There is no contest! I never think of it as art, ever. It is always for the sake of the subject. Sometimes I am lucky: a bird has perched in an accommodating pose in a flowering tree, or has made a small movement exactly at the time the shutter opened that shows something fun or beautiful or interesting.

No, I must modify my position... it is sometimes possible to hope for a nice shot (not art), one in which the subject is well positioned in the habitat, and to wait for a moment that might provide that shot. So there may be that much planning: I can, and sometimes do, exercise patience. I watched this Impala grazing, and of course took photos of it doing so, but the radio in my head was repeating, "Please lift your head, please lift your head," until finally, he lifted his head (YAY!) to look behind him (unexpected YAY!).

Such a good Impala!

This shot was taken with the P950, which I'd gotten just a few days earlier. I was sharing the camera with the guide, and the composition of this pic was inspired by a photo the guide (who had proclaimed he was "bad at photography") had taken earlier of a Hartebeest that was stupendous! His initial photos with the camera were not good because the camera was new to him (whereas, though it was new to me, too, it is very much like the P900), but he learned quickly and well and brought something to his images I don't have: an artist's eye and instinct. By the end of the trip, he was making art, because he couldn't not do so. I'm just takin' pics! Here's the last photo I took of this beautiful antelope:

Such an elegant pose!!

I, in my amazement, am somewhat losing sight of that, perhaps. I will do better.

You do fine! Better than fine -- you do wonderfully! All the time.

Here is a fellow I'd like to meet. I don't really care about birds being rare, personally. If there were billions of these in the world, I'd still think he was exquisite. Thank you for showing him to us.

I am certain he would be very pleased to have a lovely chat with you. These are not rare birds; they just don't show up often in the place for which they are named! I have never seen one at Cape May; I have seen them in Ohio and on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, which is where this little chap was photographed.

And he is beautifully composed among the twigs and cherry blossom.
You didn't see that, right?

You are so kind! And I was very fortunate this wee bird perched where he did! BTW, the cherries are ripe now, and are exceedingly tart.

[owlice]

Up into the hills again today, armed with camera, in search of stonechats and butterflies. Nary a one. There was life to be seen up there, but not much wildlife. A couple of old friends were there - Red Cloud and Aslan. A few sheep on the skyline. Ingleborough looking prehistoric in the distance. But not a stonechat to be found, and the single meadow brown refused to be photographed.

It has been suggested to me that the best way to see birds and butterflies is to forget to bring your camera.

hahaha! That seems sometimes to be the case!

What lovely old friends! Red Cloud and Aslan look content and wise; how much they have seen! The sheep are cozy, the view is beautiful. How wonderful to have such views and old friends near you!

I went out last evening; there is smoke in the air from Canadian wildfires. The boardwalk was almost completely silent. No Yellowthroats calling; even the Red-winged Blackbirds were quiet. A few Cedar Waxwings, a Sparrow (likely Song), some faraway Goldfinches, a few Mallards that were spooked by something and then fell silent again. It felt like waiting.

[Elgarian Redux]

But what about a sorer soarasaurus? Can a sorer soarasourus be too sore to soar? Surely so!

Possibly. While researching the subject, I discovered that an hypothesis was once proposed about sorer saurasauruses soaring. But it never got off the ground. 

[Elgarian Redux]

Here's the last photo I took of this beautiful antelope:

Such an elegant pose!!

Ah, you can laugh. But if you extend the tips of the two bent antlers upwards until their lines intersect with the sloping skyline, and call those points A and B; then extend the line of the thighbone of the antelope's crooked leg similarly upwards, to a point C; then measure the distances AB, BC, and AC, and divide some of them by some of the others, and then take away the number you first thought of, you will discover that they are in the Golden Ratio!! Just like in Poussin's paintings!

Are you asking me to believe this is by chance?

[Elgarian Redux]

I watched this Impala grazing, and of course took photos of it doing so, but the radio in my head was repeating, "Please lift your head, please lift your head," until finally, he lifted his head (YAY!) to look behind him (unexpected YAY!).

Such a good Impala!

And such a fabulous photo. I'll settle for 'Wow!'
Look at the grace of the curves of those antlers.

[owlice]

Ah, you can laugh. But if you extend the tips of the two bent antlers upwards until their lines intersect with the sloping skyline, and call those points A and B; then extend the line of the thighbone of the antelope's crooked leg similarly upwards, to a point C; then measure the distances AB, BC, and AC, and divide some of them by some of the others, and then take away the number you first thought of, you will discover that they are in the Golden Ratio!! Just like in Poussin's paintings!

Are you asking me to believe this is by chance?

It definitely was not by my design, and thank you for this delightful (and hilarious) exposition!! A flight of fancy, one that even a not-sore soarasaurus could manage!!

Surely you have read "The Golden Ratio: The Story of PHI, the World's Most Astonishing Number" by Livio? (I have met him once or twice -- not that he is likely to remember -- at concerts.) It has been years since I read it, but I remember liking the book very much.

[owlice]

And such a fabulous photo. I'll settle for 'Wow!'
Look at the grace of the curves of those antlers.

I cannot share the Hartebeest photo the guide took since he owns the copyright (which he found amusing), but it is fabulous and convinced me I should try to do a better job of framing.

[Elgarian Redux]

Surely you have read "The Golden Ratio: The Story of PHI, the World's Most Astonishing Number" by Livio? (I have met him once or twice -- not that he is likely to remember -- at concerts.) It has been years since I read it, but I remember liking the book very much.

No, I haven't read that, though it is a fascinating topic which tends to be abused from time to time. I once read an article purporting to demonstrate that all the prehistoric stone circles in Britain were laid out as geometrical shapes based on the Golden Ratio. And I vaguely remember also about some enterprising mathematician who showed that all the telephone boxes in London were laid out along a perfect logarithmic spiral. (His intention being to show that when it comes to this sort of thing, if you grant yourself enough degrees of freedom, almost anything can be fitted to almost anything else if you really want it to.)

But nonsense aside: yes, the power, and well-established incidence of Phi is fascinating.

[Elgarian Redux]

Yes, that is nearly exactly correct; the subject is pre-eminent. It is crucial to capture the bird (insect/herp/mammal/etc.) so I can ID it, remember that I saw it, or both. There is no contest! I never think of it as art, ever. It is always for the sake of the subject. Sometimes I am lucky: a bird has perched in an accommodating pose in a flowering tree, or has made a small movement exactly at the time the shutter opened that shows something fun or beautiful or interesting.

That's eminently clear, and I get it, and rest assured I'm not going to argue the point. But I am very interested in this fuzzy borderline between art and mere observation. I'm thinking of a letter written by John Ruskin to his father in 1845 (he made drawings every day): 'I consider my sketch only as a written note of certain facts, & those I put down in the rudest & clearest way as many as possible ... all for information.'

He hardly ever exhibited his work because he maintained he wasn't an artist. The paradox is that today Ruskin is seen as one of the finest watercolour artists of the 19th century. You can see why that fuzzy boundary is so interesting. Where is the transition? How is it defined? Who defines it?

What we can be sure of is that you take absolutely stunning photographs of birds, and it's a privilege to be able to see them, and discuss them with you.

[Elgarian Redux]

What lovely old friends! Red Cloud and Aslan look content and wise; how much they have seen!

I do talk to them hoping to hear wisdom, though the conversations tend to focus on eating grass, most of the time.

I went out last evening; there is smoke in the air from Canadian wildfires. The boardwalk was almost completely silent. No Yellowthroats calling; even the Red-winged Blackbirds were quiet. A few Cedar Waxwings, a Sparrow (likely Song), some faraway Goldfinches, a few Mallards that were spooked by something and then fell silent again. It felt like waiting.

Lovely. Quietly expectant.

[Elgarian Redux]

A flight of fancy, one that even a not-sore soarasaurus could manage!!

I just found this (I missed it on my first read-through) and I'm still laughing.

[Elgarian Redux]

I went out last evening; there is smoke in the air from Canadian wildfires. The boardwalk was almost completely silent. No Yellowthroats calling; even the Red-winged Blackbirds were quiet. A few Cedar Waxwings, a Sparrow (likely Song), some faraway Goldfinches, a few Mallards that were spooked by something and then fell silent again. It felt like waiting.

I'd like to ask you about this. When you are out there, experiencing something like this description above, or out in earnest, camera in hand, how do you see your relationship with the land and its creatures? Are you outside looking in? Are you an unnatural interloper in a strange land? Or are you a part of all this? - a creature in your own right, seeking engagement with your fellow creatures?

The reason I ask is because I've noticed a change in my perceptions over the years. In my teens I ached to belong to the hills and woods that I explored (mostly driven twofold, by geological and musical impulse). I'd be out there looking for fossils with Elgar playing in my imagination, wanting (in vain) to 'merge' in some way.

Now, many decades later, it's quite a different experience, and relatively new. These local landscapes, so ancient and in many ways remote, now seem to be part of 'my territory'. I'm one of the creatures inhabiting it, along with Aslan, Red Cloud, the lapwings and the small coppers.

You spend far more of your time engaging with the creatures you photograph than I do. How do you feel, when you do it?

[owlice]

(His intention being to show that when it comes to this sort of thing, if you grant yourself enough degrees of freedom, almost anything can be fitted to almost anything else if you really want it to.)

This quote has such applicability to current life, it should be posted above the white board in the academy and emblazoned on the sides of buses and trains!

You can see why that fuzzy boundary is so interesting. Where is the transition? How is it defined? Who defines it?

Yes, that boundary is very interesting, and you, sir, are very clever, because of course I'm tempted to say the viewer! That was well played, and if I had a hat, I would doff it to you! 

What we can be sure of is that you take absolutely stunning photographs of birds, and it's a privilege to be able to see them, and discuss them with you.

I am glad you like them and thank you, many times over, for your kind words.

For you, two birds, one Old World and one New World. First, this Little Owl:


And second, this Broad-billed Hummingbird, taken on a college campus next to a parking garage:

[owlice]

I'd like to ask you about this. When you are out there, experiencing something like this description above, or out in earnest, camera in hand, how do you see your relationship with the land and its creatures? Are you outside looking in? Are you an unnatural interloper in a strange land? Or are you a part of all this? - a creature in your own right, seeking engagement with your fellow creatures?

The reason I ask is because I've noticed a change in my perceptions over the years. In my teens I ached to belong to the hills and woods that I explored (mostly driven twofold, by geological and musical impulse). I'd be out there looking for fossils with Elgar playing in my imagination, wanting (in vain) to 'merge' in some way.

Now, many decades later, it's quite a different experience, and relatively new. These local landscapes, so ancient and in many ways remote, now seem to be part of 'my territory'. I'm one of the creatures inhabiting it, along with Aslan, Red Cloud, the lapwings and the small coppers.

You spend far more of your time engaging with the creatures you photograph than I do. How do you feel, when you do it?

What a lovely post and what interesting and thoughtful feelings and questions! But first, I have to clear something up... most of my shots are quick, because birds are quick! And I do not get many of the shots I attempt; I have loads of pics of vegetation that a split second before had a bird in it. The birds (and most things) are faster than I am. I have little engagement with most of my targets; sometimes, though, a creature before me is willing to stay a little while and allow observation.

You asked: Are you outside looking in? Are you an unnatural interloper in a strange land? Or are you a part of all this? - a creature in your own right, seeking engagement with your fellow creatures?

All of these.

When I was a girl, I wanted to live alone in the woods I frequented and loved so much, so, as you did, I wanted to be part of, belong to, that great nature¹. In early adulthood, as life got busy with other things, the woods seemed far away. When I became a parent, to the woods I went again, with the child, but we were visitors, not part of them. We looked, observed, shared, and then went home.

Now, in a place very familiar to me -- the boardwalks I have mentioned, for example, where I have walked many times the past few summers so have learned where the swallows like to perch en masse and where the kingbird's nest is, what time of day is best for the possibility of seeing a mink, what path through the water the muskrat takes -- I often feel part of all of it, even as I observe. All the creatures I see are also observing.

Double-crested Cormorant watching Canada Geese flying overhead


But I also go to new places, where I am definitely the outsider looking in, the "unnatural interloper in a strange land", as you put it. I don't know the creatures -- some I've never heard of until I see them and they are identified for me -- nor the land. I want to make their acquaintance!

It seems to me very natural that one who has "local landscapes, so ancient and in many ways remote" should over time feel part of that landscape and see it as 'my territory', because you do inhabit it. You have the familiar, you notice the absence of something that is no longer there. A sense of belonging, of being in the right place... what a deep joy that must bring!



¹except for mosquitoes and ticks, both of which have a love for me that is not reciprocated