I don't consider myself a birder. In fact, I go out of my way to convince people that I'm not a birder. Perhaps it's because I've always associated birding with being older. Perhaps it's because I'm not terribly skilled at identifying birds, or perhaps it's the idea of getting up before sunrise and looking for birds through a pair of binoculars or a stubby looking telescope has always seemed a bit silly too me. So then what was I doing at the Coast Guard Station at Jones Beach on a chilly fall morning as the sun rose? Getting up before sunrise to drive an hour to the beach in hopes of seeing falcons sounds like the kind of thing a birder would do. But my goal was to photograph them and was excited to get some photos utilizing that beautiful morning light.

The entire drive to Jones Beach I kept hoping I wouldn't get shut out. I was thinking of all the different parking lots and back roads and ponds and marshes I could check out in pursuit of photographing falcons. I had been successful earlier in the week when I was able to try my new camera out and got some great photographs of merlins perched on snags. But this morning, there were none to be found. I waited and waited at the west end as the sun slowly rose and saw nothing. I became increasingly impatient and decided to drive around a bit in hopes of spotting a few perched trees. As I passed the Coast Guard Station I saw a perched raptor, and because of its size and dark color I assumed it was a juvenile red-tailed hawk. I pulled into the Coast Guard Station parking lot and approached a fellow photographer who was watching the bird. After a minute or two, it took off in flight and flew several slow looping ovals around the grassy area before perching on the restroom facility roof. At this point, I was just happy to get some flight shots and completely unaware that I had seen (and photographed) my first gyrfalcon.

I left the Coast Guard station and drove around some more - deciding after about an hour to return to the station in hopes of getting some shorebird shots since there still were no falcons around. When I arrived, there were a handful of other photographers and some birders concentrated on the gyrfalcon which was standing a few feet away from its prey (a herring gull). I hadn't noticed its prey before and I took a few photos before starting to walk toward the bay. The gyrfalcon once again took flight and landed in a tree, only to be harassed by some crows. Returning to its meal, I was still standing quite a ways away and was just happy to witness this event. I noticed it was becoming agitated and watched as it picked up its prey and flew toward me. I held the shutter down and got a ton of action shots as I tracked the bird before it settled about 10 yards away and began to eat again. A minute or two later the falcon clutched its kill in its talons and flew off again over the water, never to be seen again.

No one that was there that day had realized what they'd seen. It was assumed to be a large female peregrine falcon (or in my way off assumption, a red-tailed hawk). I posted an image online which was seen by a USFW employee from Alaska who has worked with gyrfalcons for over a decade and identified the bird as such. I passed this information on to my bosses (who are avid birders) who were skeptical of the ID, but passed it along to some of their acquaintances who confirmed the ID. Once the word got out, I realized how special that morning had been. I've heard from birders who have gone decades without ever seeing one, and I've spoken to photographers who would do anything to get photographs of a gyr, let alone photos of it with prey. The gamble I made in getting up so early for photos of falcons certainly paid off.

So, perhaps I'm in denial. Perhaps I'm afraid of the stigma attached to birding being attached to me. Perhaps I'm afraid of my poor ID skills embarrassing me. Whatever it is, I'm still not a birder. But I'm willing to bet in a few years, the lines will have blurred, and I can look back at my experience with the gyrfalcon as the tipping point. Maybe that's not such a bad thing, but for now, I'm a photographer of birds.

- Luke

http://www.BirdsOfLongIsland.blogspot.com
 

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Generally an oxymoron, well, if you you want to successfully bird The End in winter.

Despite the title fact, Brent and Stella lead a great trip to Montauk today. We began by scanning the waters from the concession stand. The show wasn't as spectacular as it could've been, with only hundreds, not thousands, of eiders and scoters. But seeing all flying together below you is never a bad thing.

After finding nothing of terrible interest at the point, we tried Deep Hollow Ranch. I had seen my first Pink-footed Goose in the pastures here in 2007, and was excited to see several hundred geese milling about today. We scanned through them all and found nothing to note. Just then Shai Mitra pulled up and performed a magic trick. He pointed us to a small cluster of geese hiding behind several layers of fencing, and there stood a Richardson's Cackling Goose. This was a lifer for many of our little group, and more importantly we all learned how to pick out a true Cackler!

Before making our way slowly west, we hit the point again. We then learned that small gull identification is possible even at a mile's distance, and used our new knowledge to separate the microscopic Bonaparte's Gulls from kittiwakes. In this way we were greatly rewarded for optimizing the high power of our scopes.

Brent lead us to the next stop, the Lake Montauk inlet. There we had fine views of flyover Laughing Gulls, juxtaposed Great and Double-crested Cormorants, and a male Common Eider that somehow ate an impossibly large piece of seafood. Tons of large gulls were visible offshore following fishing boats, but nothing interesting could be picked out of the frenzy. Our next stop, Culloden Point, fixed our interesting Larus paucity with a creamy first cycle Iceland Gull.

We closed our East End birding with a brief look at Fort and Hook Ponds. Hook Pond was loaded with Canada Geese, but we were fairly certain there were no Cacklers among them. We did add Gadwall and Sanderling to the day list there, however.

As the group disseminated at Stella's, an Eastern Screech-Owl whinnied "adieu." In the dark northern sky, I laid my eyes on the last flying object of the day: one brilliant white bird with a red tail that streaked over the Long Island sound for a few seconds before disintegrating in the atmosphere.

Brendan Fogarty

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The YOC consists of president of Huntington-Oyster Bay Audubon, Stella Miller and three 16 year old members.

The YOC will be returning to the Center in the late fall in order to present a program on backyard birds for the residents.

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