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Dharma Wheel at Jokhang Temple

Most simply put the Noble Eightfold Path is the course of actions as prescribed by the Buddha that leads to cessation of suffering and the achievement of liberation.

Divisions and Factors of the Noble Eightfold Path

Before we tackled the particulars of the Noble Eightfold Path, we need to have a basic understanding of the structure of the Path. The eight factors are grouped into 3 divisions: Wisdom that contains Right View and Right Intention, Moral Discipline with its factors of Right Speech, Right Action, and Right Livelihood, and Concentration enclosing Right Effort, Right Mindfulness, and Right Concentration. Wisdom awakens the ability to perceive things as they really are. Concentration develops the calm and tranquility needed to cultivate wisdom. Moral discipline dispels with unwholesome dispositions that negatively effect concentration. Thus, the path progresses towards enlightenment as moral discipline being the foundation for concentration, concentration is the foundation for wisdom, and wisdom being the instrument for reaching liberation. 

The Noble Eightfold Path in relation to the Four Noble Truths

The Buddha’s teachings can be boiled down to their essence with an understanding of the Four Noble Truths and their relation to the Noble Eightfold Path. The Four Noble Truths comprise the doctrine that leads to understanding, and the Noble Eightfold Path is conduct of code that is put into practice by the follower. This arrangement of doctrine and practice are united as the Dharma.  The last of the Truths is the prescription of the Noble Eightfold Path, and the first factor of the Path, Right View, is the proper understanding the Four Noble Truths. They are intertwined into one continuous path of understanding into the reality of nature.

Four Noble Truths

1. The truth of suffering - Suffering appears in all events: birth, death, change, sickness, and pleasures
2. The truth of the origin of suffering - Suffering stems from our own internal attachments to phenomena
3. The truth of the cessation of suffering - If one ceases to craving, suffering ends.
4. The truth of the path leading to the cessation of suffering - This path is the Noble Eightfold Path

The Path to the End of Suffering

A spiritual tradition is not a shallow stream in which one can wet one’s feet and then beat a quick retreat to the shore. It is a mighty, tumultuous river, which would rush through the entire landscape of one’s life, and if one truly wishes to travel on it, one must be courageous enough to launch one’s boat and head out for the depths.

-  Bhikkhu Bodhi

Buddha sits serene

The Noble Eightfold Path is the Buddha’s road map that ends dukkha and leads to liberation. Dukkha is defined conventionally as suffering, but its more nuanced connotation embodies the basic unsatisfactoriness of our lives. The Path is a practice of daily discipline (in its broadest sense) to leads one to cessation of dukkha and towards Enlightenment. The Noble Eightfold Path relies on actions, rather than scholarly knowledge; however, deep knowledge of the Four Noble Truths and their subsequent implications is required to dutifully implement the Noble Eightfold Path into your daily life. This is the point where Right View, the first factor of the Path, comes into play. The Noble Eightfold Path is not given in sequence as all factors can be practiced simultaneously with some degree of practice, the Right View factor is presented initially as it encompasses the proper view of Four Noble Truths. If you were to engage in the practice without a proper understanding of Right View, you run the risk of wandering aimlessly within a forest of teachings.

Right View

Right View can be understood as the correct understanding of entire Dharma, which can be broken further down into two breadths of scope. The first is the mundane Right View, which the correct understanding of karma and difference between unwholesome and wholesome actions with regard to the underlying motives of those particular actions. Karma has the capacity to produce effects that are equal to the ethical quality of the action. This continual cycle of action and result spans across lifetimes that cross eons of immeasurable time. The second type of Right View is the Superior Right View is the deep understanding of Four Noble Truths that leads one to enlightenment. 

Right Intention

Second factor within Wisdom division is Right Intention. This is the factor where the practitioner applies their conscientious decision-making abilities to direct their actions. Right Intention is a three-fold concept where correct intention counters wrong intention: the intention of renunciation counters the intention of desire, the intention of good will counters the intention of ill will, and the intention of harmlessness counters the intention of harm. The Intention of Renunciation runs quite contrary to our everyday existence, which is largely driven by our own grasping. Renunciation is more than a simple act of will; rather, it requires a radical change of perspective in terms of how we see the objects of our cherishing. We are to put our desires aside as the desire is the very root of dukkha, and the absense of craving leads to freedom from attachment. The Intention of Good Will is the foundation of metta or loving-kindness, the all-encompassing, radiating concern for others well-being and happiness. Loving-kindness is born out of a state that is free of obligation or the self. The last fold of Right Intention is the Intention of Happiness, which is arouses compassion for all living beings. Compassion is the partner of loving-kindness as it is the wish that beings be free from suffering and unhappiness.

The next three factors of the Noble Eightfold Path are grouped into the division of moral discipline. Taken together, they form the essential foundation of the other trainings. This morality in the Buddhist sense is not seen in terms of obligation, but as a harmony at all levels (social, psychological, karmic, and contemplative).

Right Speech

Right Speech as taught by the Buddha is composed of four elements: abstaining from false speech, abstaining from slanderous speech, abstaining for harsh speech, and abstaining from idle chatter. These elements of abstinence cover the spoken word as well as others forms of communication such the written word and art. Abstaining from false speech is simply entails not uttering untruths, regardless of situation, or the other side of coin is to always tell the truth when it is asked of one. Truthful speech is the foundation of any society. Lying is completely disruptive of the social contract. Abstaining from slanderous speech is staying away from communications that are intended to create the alienation of a person or group. The Buddha viewed slanderous speech has one of the gravest moral transgressions. Your speech should promote friendship and harmony. When you speak in a manner intended to cause others pain, it is considered to be harmful speech. Harmful speech can take the forms of abusive speech, insults, and sarcasm.  Idle chatter is speech devoid of purpose or any real depth. Much like the phrase, “Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop,” idle speech is the playground of defilements of one’s own mind and those of others.

Right Action

Right Action is abstaining from those unwholesome actions that are expressed by the body. The Buddha, once again, has broken Right Action into three primary components: abstaining from the taking of life, abstaining from taking what is not freely given, and abstaining from sexual misconduct. The intentional taking of the life of a sentient being carries a karmic weight that is proportion with motive of the transgressor. Stealing, robbing, snatching, fraud, and deceitfulness are to be avoided as part of abstaining from taking what is not given freely. Sexual misconduct is viewed as sexual intercourse with other’s partners or those under the protection of relatives, or cheating on your own partner.

Right Livelihood

One earns their living from a righteous occupation, if they adhere to the factor of Right Livelihood. Wealth should be gained from means that are legal, peaceful, non-violent, honest, and cause no harm to other living beings. The Buddha was specific that five categories of occupations should be entirely avoided: weapons dealing, dealing in living beings (this includes raising animals for slaughter, slavery, and prostitution), butchery, dealing in poisons, and peddling intoxicants.

The final three factors of the Noble Eightfold Path compose the division of concentration, which is the training of the mind. Practicing these elements trains the mind to sustain concentration that leads to insight-wisdom.

Right Effort

The Buddha reiterated the need for diligent effort and unflagging perseverance when it comes to training the mind. The Buddha in following quote succinctly summarized Right Effort:

“I shall not give up my efforts until I have attained whatever is attainable by manly perseverance, energy, and endeavor”

The mental process of Right Effort is present in terms of four “great endeavors”:

1. Prevention of the arising of unaroused unwholesome states
2. Abandonment of unwholesome that have already arisen
3. Arouse wholesome states that not arisen
4. Maintain and prefect wholesome arisen states

Right Mindfulness

A 1000 Buddhas meditating

Mindfulness secures mind to present state of existence. The mind doesn’t swing from past, present, and future with all of the accompanying baggage of fears, regrets, hopes, and memories. Right Mindfulness cultivates a mental state where one experiences serenity and insight on the four objective spheres: body, sensations, mental states, and phenomena via contemplation. This contemplation is partly accomplished through specific meditation techniques that focus on each of objective spheres.

Right Concentration

Right Concentration is the wholesome one-pointedness of mind, which is a state called samadhi.  The result of Right Concentration is a tranquility of mind and unbroken attentiveness on the object in focus. Concentration is developed through two methods: the development of serenity and the development of insight. Before the practitioner can develop Right Concentration, they need to have developed pure moral discipline, severed ties to impediments, sought the counsel of a qualified teacher, and dwelled in space conducive to the practice.  Right Concentration is developed in stages, as are most of the factors in the Noble Eightfold Path.

The Noble Eightfold Path does not end with Right Concentration. Each factor of the Path synergizes the others, and the Noble Eightfold Path is transformed into a vehicle for exploration into ultimate nature of the truth. This process is the development of wisdom where defilements and ignorance peeled away in layers.

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Golden light over the Bitterroots

Today, I read in an otherwise mundane news article that an old acquaintance of mine was killed in an avalanche near Cooke City. I have read many articles like this, but most of the time the names are not familiar, and I end up reading the news with very little care. The horrific details are all too soon forgotten. However, this time the name was one that I knew, and the piece took on some deeper meaning. We were not close friends, rather we were work colleagues that hung out a bit after work on occasion. Upon reading the article and seeing his name, I began to think about the fortunate fact that I am still here among the living. How amazing is it that I am able to experience the beauty of the Bitterroot Valley or hear the faint ship notes from a pair of American Tree Sparrows. There is so much to experience, and there is so much work that needs done. I am not talking about tasks at the old 9 to 5, but real work. The work that everyone needs to do within themselves, and the good deeds that we must engage in for the benefit of others.

It is not enough to be compassionate. You must act. There are two aspects to action. One is to overcome the distortions and afflictions of your own mind, that is, in terms of calming and eventually dispelling anger. This is action out of compassion. The other is more social, more public. When something needs to be done in the world to rectify the wrongs, if one is really concerned with benefitting others, one needs to be engaged, involved.
- H.H. Dalai Lama

Continue reading »]]> The elite and their hired hands, a Montana Republicans in the State Legislature, have long harbored a hatred of Montana’s Stream Access Law, which guarantees the right of citizens to access streams for recreation regardless of the navigability of the water course. They view the law as letting the unworthy serfs have access to streams that flowed through their properties. They want their little kingdoms all to themselves and everything within their arbitrary property lines is their domain. The 2008 Montana Supreme Court ruling that Mitchell Slough was a natural channel solidified the law.

Now they are back at it again with Montana HB 309, sponsored by Rep. Jeffrey Welborn of Dillon. The language of the bill is so muddled that is either purposefully intended to be vague or it is the inept ramblings of a subpar intellect. A prime example of level of writing in the bill is “an irrigation or drainage canal or ditch system that may include natural features incorporated into the water conveyance system in conjunction with constructed features.” That can be read as narrow or as liberally as the inclination of the reader. For example, a fence over a stream could be construed as a “water conveyance system in conjunction with a constructed feature.”

This bill would not only affect anglers, but floaters and birders as well. I often walk at or below the high watermark (as is required by the current law) when birding along riparian corridors. With the passage of this bill as it stands, those days would be gone. According to Bob Lane, chief legal counsel for the Montana Department of Fish, Wildlife and Parks, "HB 309 almost completely repeals the public’s right to recreate on rivers and streams by making any stream or river a private stream or river where return flows from irrigation are the majority of the flow and by privatizing side channels of braided rivers and streams."

Please contact your representative and ask them to table this abomination.

NOTE: The Senate Panel will be held tomorrow.

Continue reading »]]> John Parks led his annual Raptor-viewing trip to the Springhill area north of Bozeman for Sacajawea Audubon. We had ever increasing clouds throughout the day, and the birds didn’t seem to be all that active. As for raptors, we ended up with 27 Bald Eagles, 1 Golden Eagle, and handfuls of Rough-legged and Red-tailed Hawks. It just getting too easy to become attached to the notion that we should be seeing the large concentrations that we have seen in past years. I have this overwhelming expectation that things should always be the best, whatever that means, that they can be. If I see 100 Bald Eagles one day, I sort of expect to see 101 the next. Why can’t I just love seeing that one bird or none, for that matter, and not attach any other values or concepts to that instance of time? As is often the case, the birds and weather had other plans for us. The gathering of raptors seems to be somewhat delayed this year. My mind reels with considerations of possibilities for the causative agents for this situation. Is it weather, climate change, disturbance, and/or the influence of unseen forces conspiring against my birding day? The joy that I should be feeling has been eclipsed by these notions. It then dawns on me, “Does it really matter why right at this moment?” The answer was a resounding “nope.” So, I let go these patterns of thinking, and the day simply began to unfold the way it was going to reveal itself.

However, the most interesting aspects of the day were the signs of spring’s arrival. Horned Larks sang in full throat along fence lines and high above. Northern Flickers and Downy Woodpeckers drummed in the riparian corridor along the East Gallatin River. 20 or so male Red-winged Blackbirds were already calling and having mild squabbles over perceived lines demarcating territories. The solitary Great Blue Heron gracefully flew from one spot of ice-free water to the next. At Central Park Pond, goldeneyes (both Common and Barrow’s), Ring-necked Ducks, and Buffleheads were all showing some interest in that particular rite of spring. A lone, immature Tundra Swan melded itself into the 21 Trumpeter Swans that were present.

As the day ended, the snows and winds descended on the Gallatin Valley. I thought it was nice of Mother Nature to wait until we had finished with a very enjoyable day of birding. Maybe She didn’t care one whit about our trivial activities, but it sure is nice to think so.

Continue reading »]]> Sometimes you read a bit of news and it sparks a wild variety of new thoughts. This happened to me on Sunday when I delightfully read that a new species of rail had been discovered in Madagascar. The “new” rail, Mentocrex beankaensis, was found dwelling amid the Dr. Seussian landscape of the Beanka Forest of the Tsingy de Bemaraha Strict Nature Reserve. The Beanka Forest is characterized by a vast plain of razor-sharp limestone pinnacles.

The first thought was how amazing it is that new species for still waiting to be discovered in the more remote corners of our ever-shrinking world. I can imagine this rail weaving its way around the limestone spires as it picks up invertebrates for a meal. This begs the question, how important is the work of biological surveys and conservationists as we start to grasp the realities of the inter-connectedness of this pale blue marble called Earth.

The second and, perhaps, more attractive notion is an intangible desire to travel to the Beanka Forest. To walk amongst the limestone karst as Mentocrex beankaensis does. The draw of such a strange place is irresistible. To see all the strange and unique creatures and plants that exist in the alien landscape. A landscape that seems to be equal parts amazement and suffering. I have always had a pull towards the unusual and, let’s be honest, the weird, and the Beanka Forest is weird.

Continue reading »]]> On a warm September day in southwest Queensland in 2006, ‘Shorty’ Cupitt was running a grader over one of the few roads in Diamantina National Park. As the blade carved through the uneven gravel, a flash of yellow caught his eye. Stepping down off of his rumbling machine, he bent over to pick the desiccated, headless carcass of a parrot that he could not identify. He decided to take the dead bird take to park headquarters and see if his colleagues could positively identify the parrot. As it turned, they could not correctly determine the species of the carcass as well, and in true Australian fashion, the carcass came to end up on display at the Tattersall’s Pub in Winton. The owner had a notion of what the bird was, and how he could use it for promotional purposes. Lucky, a bloke staying at the pub was a biologist, and he knew what it was and how precious the dried-out, little body would be to science.

‘Shorty’ Cupitt’s little piece of parrot jerky was a Night Parrot (Pezoporus occidentalis), and it was the first specimen found since 1990 when a specimen was found as road kill. The Night Parrot was one of world’s rarest and most enigmatic birds. First described in 1845 by John McDouall Stuart, and since that type description, only 23 specimens have been collected and sit in the drawers of university zoological collections. By 1912, the species was thought to be extinct. Birders in the 1970s began to report sightings, although these were viewed with skepticism. Then, the 1990 bird was found, and the Night Parrot was confirmed to still be flying through Outback night skies.

The Night Parrot is a cryptically colored, small bird that possesses a variety of characteristics and habits that render it nearly impossible to observe, let alone study. It is generally yellowish-green and mottled with brown and black. The Night Parrot has mostly terrestrial habits in its preferred spinifex grassland habitat. It is thought to take flight rarely, and then only when threatened or seeking water in the arid environment. Most of its habits are unknown, although the nest seems to be a swallow burrow in the midst of a spinifex bunch. As the name suggests, the Night Parrot is nocturnal. So, we have bird that is out and about only during the night, it is well camouflaged against its environment, it lives in the remote regions of the nearly human-less interior of Australia, and it has a population of as few as 50 individuals. Ever wonder why it is so little known? Several organized, systematic searches have been undertaken, and not one has turned up any evidence of the Night Parrot. Not even a single feather, let alone an image or video. Their continued presence is only confirmed by a few lucky accidents.

This is not say that the Night Parrot has not been observed, even though sightings are generally treated with more than a adequate degree of suspicion. The last such observation took place in place during 2005 near Minga Well by biologists Robert Davis and Brendan Metcalf. This couple of contract scientists were conducting surveys required by an environmental impact study for a controversial mine in Western Australia. One evening at dusk, they observed 3 Night Parrots at Minga Well. However, it was too dark to obtain workable photographs. They were certain that they had seen the elusive Night Parrot, although they were unable to re-locate the birds. This is not surprising given the Night Parrot’s habits.

Now with recent sightings or specimen collections in both Queensland and Western Australia, it seems that the Night Parrot has at least two extant populations. This is very promising for the continued existence of the bird, but we have so little information that an accurate estimate of population and implementation of proper conservation strategy are impossible.

The 2006 Cupitt specimen sparked a bit of an avian gold rush. Australian birders are venturing from their homes along the eastern side of the continent, and pouring over the Outback looking for the Night Parrot. There have even been recent reports of the bird near Marble Bar, a small town of less than 200 souls on the eastern edge of the Great Sandy Desert. The town is famous for holding the world record for the most consecutive days in excess of 100 degrees Fahrenheit, 160 days in a row. Sounds like a miserable place, and I want to go there. I can imagine a small group of Night Parrots drinking for a pool of warm water as I manage to capture several images, proof that Night Parrots persist, ever so secretly, in the interior of Australia.

Continue reading »]]> Large swells rise and fall on the North Pacific of the Late Miocene. Many small birds resembling albatrosses and petrels gracefully glide along the troughs. A massive bait ball of squid roils at the surface as they are pursued by fish from below and birds snatching them from above. Soon a large form slices through mists of the wind-torn wave crests. On long, narrow wings stretching to 20 feet, an other-worldly Osteodontornis swoops in on the feeding frenzy. Albatrosses and the other birds would scatter in the midst of this giant seabird. Osteodontornis was truly immense, and only second in wingspan to the previously discussed Argentavis magnificens.

Osteodontornis’s Latin name belies its most unique characteristic, a bill that had tooth-like projections that were actually bony, rather than keratin. These are not the simple serrations that today we see in species such the mergansers. These projections looked and acted like true bony tooth, and they were intended for spearing through the flesh of squid and, perhaps, fish. The head would have measured nearly a foot and half. The head weighed so much that in flight, it would have to be held back against the body like a modern pelican. If you were to catch it sitting on its nest, probably the only time they required terra firma, Osteodontornis would have stood almost 4 feet tall. With all of its superlative dimensions, Osteodontornis had exceedingly light, yet strong, bones, and this fact coupled with its high wing-loading, the Osteodontornis would have been an incredible dynamic soaring machine. Dynamic soaring is the unique ability of seabirds such as Osteodontornis and albatrosses to use the differing wind speeds between the crests and troughs of waves to gain energy while rarely, if ever, flapping their wings. Present-day albatrosses are known to travel up to thousands of miles without landing (can you “land” on water?) using this soaring technique, and Osteodontornis would have surely covered mind-numbing distances quickly as it dynamically soared between the swells.

Its diet consisted of mostly soft-bodied creatures such as squid and other cephalopods, and the teeth were particularly adept for these purposes. The downward pointed teeth were well-suited to piercing and holding on to slimy cephalopods. It fed primarily on the surface of the water, either dipping or snagging prey mid-flight, and diving was probably impossibility for Osteodontornis.

Most of the specimens of Osteodontornis and its near relatives have been found along the rim of the North Pacific from Japan to California. During the Late Miocene (20-6 million years ago), this giant was soaring over the Pacific, unlike the teratorns, only terrorizing the squid that found themselves skewered by the teeth of Osteodontornis.

Continue reading »]]> Winter has taken a firm grip on Montana, snow is falling and the birding has slowed as it is the in-between time – fall migrants have long since passed and winter irruptives have not appeared yet. During this time of year, I spend a lot of time inside near the fire thinking about birds and devouring any associated scraps of related information. I began to think about the evolution of birds, and came across some rather intriguing information. Dare I say it is knowledge of epic portions? Do you realize that there were huge birds at one time that soared in the skies and terrorized upon the ground? I mean they were truly gigantic. Some of these species weighed hundreds of pounds, while others possessed house-length wingspans.  These birds fascinate me, and I have decided to dedicate a series of posts and (possibly) videos to these great birds of Earth’s past.

The family, Teratornithidae, which persisted from the Miocene through Pleistocene epochs, had wings with such load-bearing properties, that a bird, in all likelihood, could simply spread its wings into the wind and be lifted skyward. They are typically depicted as scavengers that closely resemble modern New World vultures, although we are discovering that the case may be that teratorns were effective predators. These raptors once soared over the expanses of the Americas, and only recently come to the end of evolution’s road.

Imagine roaming across the prairies of Pleistocene era North America, and a cold, black shadow envelops around you. This huge shadow is coming from high above, where a lone Aiolornis incredibilis (largest North American teratorn) soars overhead. Primal fear wells up from the deepest pit of your stomach as you scramble for any scrap of cover. The wings stretch nearly 18 feet from tip to tip as they hold the 50 pound predator airborne. Its huge, flesh-tearing bill slices through the air as it wheels around for one more pass. The eyes pierce the landscape looking for the tell-tale brown lump of the some hapless mammal on the horizon. These food items may have, actually, been alive at the time of their being swallowed whole as the bill morphology and stout legs may indicate it was a hunter rather than a passive scavenger. Although typically illustrated with feather-less heads of today’s vultures (both Old and New World), the crowns of teratorns may have actually been covered with feathers.

By far, the most well-known of the teratorns is Teratornis merriami, a massive raptor with wingspans commonly achieving spans of 12 feet. Teratornis merriami was larger than any existing Andean Condor and double the size of the California Condor, which it was distantly related. This particular teratorn has been excavated from the world famous La Brea Tar Pits, where it is a common fossil. Scavenging may be have been an important part of its diet, which is indicated by all the specimens coming from the tar pits. An unlucky animal would become entrapped by the sticky ooze and succumbed to death in the black goo. A teratorn would happen across the body and proceed to land near it, only to become another victim of the tar pits itself. In geologic terms, this particular teratorn become extinct only a relative blink of the eye ago. As the last Ice Age drew nearer to its inevitable termination, the ecology of North America began to radically change. The climates and habitats that once supported mega-fauna were changing, and that situation coupled with arrival of the ultimate predator, humans, lead to the demise of the mega-fauna. The teratorns were along for this extinction ride as well.

Although North America had its own massive teratorns, the most incredible member of this family that is known to science is the ridiculous Argentavis magnificens, the largest flying bird ever known to exist. All of its fossils were excavated in Argentina. Its wingspan comes in at whopping ~23 feet with an estimated body weight of 150 lb. Imagine a single wide trailer gliding overhead, and you get some sense of the massiveness of Argentavis magnificens. This species was pushing the physical limits of avian flight. It walked the fine line from effective soaring bird and evolutionary disaster. More likely than not, it would use wind-blown perches with considerable drop-offs to attain flight as it leaned out into the void. Its heaviness probably indicates that Argentavis magnificens had a scavenging ecological role rather than the active hunter abilities of its relatives in North America.

Hunter S. Thompson said that “with the right kinds of eyes, one could see the high watermark,” and I would like to think that someday atop some lonely ridgeline, I might just be able to squint my eyes just so and see the shadow of a massive teratorn race across the rocky crags.

Continue reading »]]> Recently on Montana Online Birders (MOB) there has been an ongoing conversation centered around whether or not it is ethical to publicly disclose the precise locations of falcons due to the threat of their being captured by falconers. The thread went predictably, which is to say that the discussion flowed from the ethics of licensed falconers morphed into the effects of bird banding  and making comparisons between the two activities. Now, while I was intrigued by the discussion, to me it seemed to overlook the 600 pound gorilla in the room; namely, it is not local falconers who are licensed by the state that pose the greatest threat, rather it is the international illegal falcon trade that sends thousands of falcons to Middle East.

Illegal trade in falcons stems from the Arab world’s desire for the birds, which are viewed as status symbols. The eggs or young birds are taken from the wild, and smuggled into these countries where they can fetch hundreds of thousands of dollars for the smugglers. These prices, of course, are representative of the near unlimited wealth of those members of Middle Eastern royal families and their ministers. This seems like a massive motivation for criminal gangs looking for an easy payday. These illegal takings have had a marked impact on the populations of several falcons throughout the world. For example, Saker Falcon populations in China have fallen to between 1000 and 2000 pairs since the year 1990. In Kazakhstan, the Saker Falcon population has plummeted from 2000 pairs to around 200 breeding pairs, and all of this lose is directly attributable to the illegal taking of falcons for export to the Middle East.

The falcons are not the only victims of this insidious trade. Most of the trappers are brought in from Pakistan, where these same individuals have already decimated falcon populations in that country. These typically impoverished people will be paid as little as a few dollars for their illicit efforts. The gangs maintain the trappers in dependent poverty, and therefore, they will continue trapping falcons.

The trappers often use a decoy Laggar Falcon to draw in the target bird. Once noosed, the falcon is stuffed in a thermos or tube for transport that can last nearly a week, in some cases. This initial humiliation is but the first of many cruelties.  Often corrupt public officials are paid off to allow the unfettered exit of the birds from their respective countries. The level corruption has reached the point where the illegal falcon trade has been characterized as, “not a person-to-person trade, but rather a government-to-government trade.” Tradition once held that the falcons that were passing through the Gulf region were captured in the fall and released after the hunting season in the spring; however, this tradition is dying out as commercialism and its companion, clinging to possessions, as pervaded the Arabic world. The birds are now kept indefinitely, and they more likely than not to die in captivity as their keepers regularly lack proper care knowledge and compassion.

Arabic culture possesses a long standing tradition of falconry. Owning a falcon is a sign of wealth and prestige, and with the influx of oil money, the disease of one-upmanship has infected the society with a terminal diagnose. It was no longer enough to have a single falcon over the winter and then release it, now one has to have aviaries filled with, in some cases, hundreds of falcons. While the Arab world clings to its out-moded notions of masculinity and opulence, the rest of world has began to cry foul. In the wake of the international uproar about the illegal falcon trade, the UAE has actually gotten the “sport” classified a World Intangible Heritage by UNESCO. The duplicity of the United Nations is staggering as they embrace the “tradition” with one arm, and battle the illegal falcon trade through CITES with the other.

CITES lists 6 falcon species as particularly impacted by the falcon trade.

• Lanner Falcon
• Saker Falcon
• Laggar Falcon
• Barbary Falcon
• Peregrine Falcon
• Gyrfalcon

These species are deemed as the most desirable for their their prowess, trainability, and speed for those wishing to possess them. CITES has produced a wonderful identification guide to these species.

As an unfortunate side effect of falcon hunting, the Houbara Bustard, a favored prey item, is nearly extirpated from the Middle East where it has been sought as an aphrodisiac. As result, these hunters have been organizing falcon hunts in countries that still have healthy populations of Houbara Bustard. Recently, a story out of Pakistan relayed the details of sheiks coming into that country to hunt Houbara Bustards, even though they are “officially protected” in that nation. But the hunt was not illegal as Pakistan issued 27 special permits to dignitaries from countries such as Abu Dhabi. The situation just seems to be a repeat of the same old tired paradigm, if money can be made, to hell with the wildlife. If falconry continues with this species as the primary prey item will be extinct as a wild breeding bird soon.

So, back to the original discussion on MOB, should we disclose the locations of Peregrine Falcons and Gyrfalcons? My answer is “it is complicated.” The more bird-friendly folks observe these species, the collective desire to protect them will be amplified. But, the profit motive is always present, and in these economic times, many people are looking for any way to keep a roof over their heads. So, I say lets use our best discretion when communicating the locales of falcons amongst ourselves, birders that is. Instead of being precise as “3rd utility pole from the intersection”, say something like “south of town” and invite those interested to call or email you for more precise directions. This way we can share our sightings and protect the falcons at the same time.

VIDEO

Continue reading »]]> Nothingness. Absolutely nothingness. My senses are disconnected as if a switch had been thrown. My eyes see only black, and no breeze blows over my skin. It is so quiet that I strain to hear even my heartbeat in my ears. Yet, I do sense a presence every once in awhile. It rushes past my head, and banks away just short of my face. Standing in this foreign world, I feel as if I entered another state of existence. An existence that lies somewhere between the living world and an unknown future existence.

With click of a button, light beams from the headlamp, and a more knowable world rushes back to the fore. The grand hall where I stand comes into focus. Smooth limestone walls and a high ceiling with stalactites weighing tons delicately dangle. The place seems to be lifeless at first glance, but nothing could be further from the truth.

What had brought me into this cavern was the Townsend’s Big-eared Bat, a species that I have, up to this point, only managed to catch a handful of the most fleeting of glimpses. This all changed on this day. I was literally surrounded by the creatures. A large maternal colony clung together in cool hollow about 20 feet overhead, and several were careening in the air around me. This colony was full of pups that are almost the same size as the adults. My camera has fired off a precious few shots as I do not want to disturb the colony in any way. The colony is stirring as the sun is descending behind the western horizon. They are preparing to exit the caverns, and began their nightly feeding bout upon the multitudes of flying insects. These are the same insects that I observed several hundred White-throated Swifts feeding upon only an hour earlier.

The Townsend’s Big-eared Bat is a member of Vespertilionidae or Vesper Bat family, which comprises the majority of the bat species found in North America. Weighing only 0.3-0.4 ounces, these insect-eating dynamos consume many hundreds of the flying invertebrates each evening. Their exceptionally large ears are the result of an ever-escalating evolutionary arms race. Townsend’s Big-eared Bats prey heavily upon moths, like many bat species, through use of echolocation to pinpoint the insects. Over the course of millennia, the moths have evolve the ability to sense the final feeding buzzes that indicate the approach of a bat, and as an evasive maneuver, they simply fold up their wings and plummet earthward, thus avoiding being gnashed by those sharp little teeth. In an extraordinary evolutionary response, Townsend’s Big-eared Bats have evolved those ears, which allow them utter their feeding buzzes at a dramatically lower volume, thus avoiding detection by the moths. If the moth cannot hear the bat coming, it cannot evade it.

Once again, I turn off the headlamp in order to experience this world as the bats do. Once again, I enter into an unknowable existence where my mind seems to be the only definite quality of what I call myself. Maybe this is close to bardo that I will experience in this life.

Bardo, the intermediate state between one life and the next, is when one’s consciousness is not connected with a physical body. For many centuries, Tibetans have guided those willing through the transition and bardo using the Tibetan Book of the Dead, helping to free their mind stream from delusion and result in more fortuitous rebirth. In the sensory-free state present in the heavy darkness of the cavern, I feel as if my mind is not incased in this body, but rather it is free to roam. Thoughts and memories of dreams race about chaotically at first. They crash into one another with thoughts stopping mid-point and other ideas blazing forth. These first few moments are particularly frightful as I have lost control of my own thoughts, and grasping for control only exacerbates the frenetic state of mind. Heartbeats come faster and louder as I wrestle with my own mind. Shouts from my conscious slam against the walls of my skull.

“What about money, you have none…GET SOME!”

“What if you die in this cave?”

“Remember the times you failed?”

I decide to release any notion of control, “Let these thoughts pass, like dark clouds that do not pour rain.” Slowly the chaos condenses into single thoughts that pass peaceful by in white light. They transition into observable entities that do not require my intervention or control. Most of these thoughts are events that I have hardly thought about in many years. I see myself walking down the draw where corrals stood on the ranch where I was raised. The rough poles still had the bark on them and rusty spikes anchored them to the creosote-oozing railroad ties that served as corner posts. The manure pile smells musty and sweet as steam trails rise from its mound. Earthworms mine their way though of fertile remnants of many a cow’s meal. A newborn calf that just today entered into this world lays curled up atop a mat of straw. Its hide is shiny and soft, and the large eyes observe everything around them, learning about the existence in a hurried pace. The thought arises, “How do I this is a dream or reality? Which is more true, the dream or what we call life?” What an odd question from the mind of four-year kid. Christ, I was four – I remember this day. This memory was turning point in my life where I decided what was real. Deciding one state was illusion and other was concrete, provable. Concepts of what is real were set solid for me for some time after this episode.

The new thought arises, “Is it not all illusionary?” Are my dreams and thoughts just as real as the dark air in this hall or the limestone walls? What about if I twist this notion around, “Or are both states simply illusions as they are interpreted through my senses and mind. How can I be so certain that the state called reality is just not another dreaming state?” George Barkley, a philosopher from the 18th Century, stated that “nothing exists except the mind and its ideas.” Perhaps I should stop pondering what states are real, and only except that my mind is real. I know my conscious does exist, and it is creator of any current reality through thoughts, biases, and sensory observations.

A moment later that thought is gone, slowly fading but not forgotten. The darkness now seems inviting like a warm blanket on a moonless night. I have no thoughts now, just this present moment. My mind is calm and still with no fears or obsessions.

Pale yellow light illuminates the cavern for the second time. I have no idea how long I have standing in the dark. It must have been close to half an hour as more than half of the colony has left for the evening, the perception of time is very much affected in this place. The difference between one second, one minute, and one hour is compressed and almost indistinguishable. A single Big Brown Bat is flying near the exit of the cave. It casts a much larger shadow than the Big-eared Bats, and it soon fades into the dark.

Upwards I climb, making my way toward the exit of the cavern. In a cranny, a Western Long-eared Myotis seeks comfort in solitude; it seems that there is another loner in this cave. With each the light begins to fade into existence. Upon reaching the exit, I can see the expanse of Gallatin Valley and the Bridger Mountains, however faint, in the background. The world seems so huge now, compared to the tiny universe that exists in moments ago. The transition between subterranean world and this present view is quite startling. They exist in separate planes, and which one is real? They are both beautiful, perfect illusions of perception.

Continue reading »]]> Bill sits gingerly with more weight on one ass cheek than the other as he has just had a hip replacement. The lifetime of abuse evidenced by an almost completely fused joint. His face and hands are topographic map of crisscrossed canyons of flesh that tell the story of many years spent in the sun, cold, heat and abuse that comes along with the life of cowboy. I’ve always disliked that term, so sickeningly Hollywood and its misperceptions of the Western way of life. I might prefer to use the term cattleman for Bill, like most of the ever-aging “cowboys” I have met in my life; they were and are cattlemen. He had a spent a life where his face had been kicked by a horse, his body had been thrown off more than his fair share of bulls and broncs, and joints have deteriorated for untreated sprains, dislocations, and breaks.

I picked Bill up in Rigby, Idaho because he was just plain “too beat up” to drive the 3 hours to a reunion of rodeo buddies in Helena. Rigby, Idaho, the heart of Mormon country. Each town is marked by the sharp, white spire of a Mormon church and the lack of beer in most of the grocery stores. Bill tells me that he has always felt uneasy down here, everything seems to be foreign. “People aren’t like Montanans,” he says. It’s not that he has any problems with Mormons or the LDS. Rather, the unease seems to stem from the pervasiveness of the religion through the entire fabric of the region. He had made a life down here raising quarter horses despite not being in love with the place. This is the kind of endeavor that will never make you rich, and Bill is certainly on the short end of that ever-changing stick that defines wealth in this country. It is the calling of a person who has great passion for the animals. He always wanted to live back in Montana, his home, the opportunity just never materialized.

Bill was and is a friend of my father, his brothers, and my late grandfather. He began to tell stories about himself and my family with great enthusiasm. Guys like him always have a story or joke for you, and you might have heard it before, but you don’t mind. The story is important. It seemed as if he had been sitting on these tales for good, long while, and now was the time to release them. Each time he spoke I felt a connection between us, and another layer of understanding my father and grandfather to me that long been knowable but hidden was revealed.

I always liked to think about my tepid adventures has being some high-water marks of my life, those points of time where I had been tested and benefited from the experience. I won’t bore you with tales of leeches, bears, and pushy Latina prostitutes. I spend enough time delving into my own aggrandizement.

Strong Grandpa is what I called him through a gap-toothed grin. I was toe-headed kid with thick glasses, and he was my model of tough. Growing up in relative poverty and forced to travel between his mother, who had been widowed when he was still a toddler, and relatives, Grandpa had learned to be tough from the get-go. I remember reading a letter that he had written to his mother where he had purchased a “rather keen bike” and another where he had hopped a train that subsequently plowed it way through a raging forest fire. He stated that “it got a bit hot”. It was more like being fried alive as the flames licked the railroad cars.

As child, I spent several weeks with my grandparents one summer. We would wake every morning during the still dark hours. Grandma would have breakfast cooking for Grandpa and me. I remember that he though black pepper was “too damn spicy” on his eggs. I would snitch cookies from a drawer while she was turned, although she must have known as the supply of baked goods was always replenished. We were headed into the woods for post and pole timber as he owned and operated a small mill that specialized in jack-leg fences. Some these fences are still standing around Bozeman, the town where I now live. Even my four-year old mind can remember sitting on his lap as he let me drive the Caterpillar around a slash-pile of unusable branches. I can still see him swinging around a long chainsaw with ease. At the time, he seemed like the strongest human being on the planet.

Grandpa had always been an inventor. I’m the kind of guy that is I need a tool, I buy that tool. Grandpa would make his own tool. Bill tells me about the saddle bronc rigging that Grandpa had made for him after seeing him ride, or attempt to ride. Grandpa had noticed that the typical handle was throwing Bill off-balance, and that he needed an angled, off-set handle. He made one and gave it to Bill. “It worked like a charm.”

My father has always been pool of calm in an otherwise chaotic, unpredictable world. His happy manner has done a great deal to shape my behaviors and thoughts. He has always been exceptionally kind without becoming soft. A calm resolve is one his greatest attributes.

“We were down in Wyoming. Casper, Gillette? Well, it was Wyoming. Your Dad and I were at rodeo, and he was riding bareback. I wasn’t paying much attention, but he got bucked off over the horse’s neck. Once he hit the dirt, he starting flailing around. We went out there, and there he was with a broken leg.”

The leg had been whipped over the horse’s neck, and the thick bones of the animal do not give way.

“There wasn’t any ambulance or anything, so we used ACE bandages, which we carried around in those days, and couple of sticks to splint the leg.”

With much pride, Bill says, “I even set the leg myself.” They put Dad into the back of the station wagon that they were driving, poor kids barely making from one rodeo to the next. They wanted to take him to hospital, but he insisted that he would take care of the leg in Bozeman, only a mere 8 hours away. They finished the rodeo, and down the road they went.

“He was hurting pretty bad, so we gave him a bottle of whiskey. You know, for the pain,” he says with a knowing wink.

“Somewhere around Billings, we all got hungry, so we pulled off the highway.” They got Dad, who by now was quite drunk, in pain, and had a shabby, homemade splint running the entire length of his broken leg, out of the vehicle. They slipped him into a booth at some long forgotten diner. “She came over with coffee, and man, was she shocked.”

“You better got him to a hospital,” she said.

“We will…in Bozeman.” Then, they ordered dinner. I have broken my fair share of bones, and I never had the urge to eat before I got it taken care of.

“We got to the hospital in Bozeman. Your Dad was in a bad way.” They pulled him over the back of station wagon, and dragged him into the emergency room.

“The doc takes one look at him, says ‘Who the Hell set this leg, and who got him drunk!’ Well, I just shrugged my shoulders.”

It is somewhat strange to think of my father as wild, young man, but I am thankful to hear this story as I learned something about a man that I thought I had known everything about. This is intrinsic notion of every child, and it is never true.

The last story is actually a hodgepodge of the tales from the Dad, Bill, and my own vague recollections of the conversations of adults around a table the day after the Grandpa passed away from a long battle with the smoker’s curse. The smell of his pipe tobacco seemed so pleasant to me, and it still does to this day. I never saw with a cigarette, just the occasional pipe and the ever present pound of Redman Chewing Tobacco. There is this particular picture of him that fits the man perfectly. He is riding a bareback horse in mid-buck, one arm held high, his face hidden in the shadow of his hat, and the cigarette still dangling from his lips. Riding a bareback would seem to be a dangerous, adrenalin-filled activity to most folks, and here he was not even bothering to remove his smoke.

My father was a little kid, about 8 years old or so, and it was a bitter cold snap during a typically miserable Madison Valley winter. The stock tanks had frozen over with ice thick enough to prevent the cattle from getting a drink. Grandpa had rousted Dad into helping out. I still understand how much a kid would have been. He grabbed an axe and started to chop at the hardened ice. As a little guy, Dad quickly started to shivered and moaned as the cold seeped its way into his small frame. All of sudden, Grandpa stopped hacking away and turned to my Dad. “Ah Hell, it ain’t tough, yet!”

With this, Dad knew that he had better stiffen up and get tough. Grandpa needed to be tough to survive, and he knew Dad needed that discipline as well. Even though, the story is second hand, it has always struck a chord with me. Grandpa is still teaching me things, even though he has been gone for nearly thirty years.

The lesson of these men is not to be some masochist seeking adventure through pain, but rather, have a tolerance for it while living to fullest. I am too talking about a false bravado and chest puffing kind of existence. These men had gone through it and arrived at the other side. I am going to give my best try to emulate this view of the world.

Continue reading »]]> For the better part of a week, I have been reading about a lot of turmoil. The kind of things that make your gut twist and your anger boil. Oiled birds along the Gulf Coast and the effectiveness of rehab efforts. News of declining populations around the globe. The intrigue and gossip column-like story of the ABA’s current upheaval. I began to feel this weight in my chest as one blog after another transferred the dim news across my screen.

Then came the news of the Orange-billed Nightingale-Thrush in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Wow, what a bird! And no sooner than I had a moment of elation, some naysayer starts debating the merits of this bird.

“Is it naturally arriving, and, therefore, countable?”

“Surely it must have been aided.”

My mood sinks once again with the thud of a turd in the toilet bowl. Then I though to myself, “Wait, I’ve forgotten something.” What was it? Then like a baseball bat to the back of the head the answer came to me. “I have forgotten to have fun.”

Birding should be, first and foremost, fun. We should rejoice in every bird because we have the opportunity to experience it and its environment.  I don’t know you personally, but suspect that you would rather being having a good time while birding or dealing with conservation issues. I chase rarities, and I have noticed that attitude plays a big part in the experience. I have chased when I’m pissed or tired, and experience reflects these states. Even when I had located the bird, it was tempered by these negative emotions. However, I have one rarity chase that illustrates how having fun can make chases fun. A Curve-billed Thrasher has shown up in Central Montana. Sam and I jumped in the vehicle and barreled down the highway after work. The sun was quickly descended as we drove the 200 or so miles to the ranch where the thrasher was currently residing. Time was running short, but instead of, being tense about chase, we relax and drove faster. The challenge had become fun, and as the sun faded completely we finally got the shadow of the bird. We got to see it for less than 2 minutes, and it was all worth it. The chase was fun, and the celebratory beer afterward confirmed it. I bird better when I’m in a good mood. I learn more effectively when my heart can’t wait for the next page.

I will not discuss why the ABA is foundering, and play the blame game. It seems that any organization with more than 3 members slips into a political morass. Seems like the ABA was fun in the past, and I think Birding magazine is obscenely informative. The ABA should be fun. The ABA conventions should be fun, even they seem to be more about commerce (hell, commerce should be fun). The listing aspects of the organizations should fun, not some end-all, be-all competition for the coveted title of World Champ.

Our enjoyment of birds can be at the core of almost every conservation issue. With positive intentions and emotions, we can more deeply affect any conservation effort than with a doom and gloom attitude. I can’t even count the number of meeting and conversations I have been involved in where the participants, who truly love birds and nature, do not even crack a smile. It is nothing but “F*cking BP” this and “Goddamn Developers” that. This kind of saddled anger only creates enemies and tensions. It is the classic us and them syndrome that we seem to always find ourselves. I propose that we go into these battles with a smile, knowing that we are doing the right thing and have the right intentions.

I do not want to be a Polly Anna about these issues. There are serious matters and situations that need to be intended to, but let’s do this balance of knowledge and attitude. With a happy heart, mind full of knowledge, and having fun we can affect more change more than furrowed brows and harsh words would ever accomplish. Some folks have the attitude that you cannot have fun and be serious. I vehemently disagree. I know that you can have serious fun or be seriously funny. So, let’s go forward and have fun. Have fun when you discuss important issues. Have fun with your Audubon group.

Have fun when you bird.

Continue reading »]]> This past weekend was a long one that was full of birds and Buddhism. The weekend kicked off with a day of birding with Jim Heflich, a birder up from Ohio via a week-long backpacking trip in Yellowstone. The plan was to travel down to Ennis Lake for waterfowl and other water-associated birds, then Pony to a feeder that has in the past produced Cassin’s Finch and Black Rosy-finch, and finally, Harrison and Three Forks before heading home to Bozeman. A winter storm had blown through the area on Wednesday night, and it laid down a thick covering of heavy, wet snow. This particular weather predicament could either be viewed as the result of negative or a blessing in disguise as it might cause a migration fallout. I choose the latter – it was a blessing.

Approaching the Madison River, we encountered the first of thousands of Vesper Sparrows. Red-breasted Mergansers were in abundance in the flooded gravel pit that lies beside the river at Black’s Ford. A flotilla of American White Pelicans feed in a tight in the shallower stretches of the river.

Coming over the hill to Ennis Lake was delayed as the highway was closed as a result of a considerable drift that settled over the asphalt.  Once the plows had done their work, we zoom over to Ennis Lake where the gravel road around the lake was absolutely crawling with Vesper Sparrows and Dark-eyed Juncos. The shallows at the Meadow Creek Fishing Access was covered with a large group (>300) American Avocets, a couple of Willets were calling from the shoreline, and a lone Black-necked Stilt. Western Grebes, Eared Grebes, and American Coots were feeding and floating on the lake as thousands of Tree and Violet-green Swallows fed on emerging insects above the water.

This day was full of first of year sightings. The sparrows were well represented by Vesper, Savannah, Clay-colored and White-throated Sparrows. The first American Pipits were feeding among the melt water on the road. I really miss these guys, and I enjoy seeing them down in the valleys before they head to the high places atop the ridges that surround this valley. A single Common Tern made a pass along the shore, and then disappeared down the Madison River.

Along Jack Creek, we found an American Dipper in full throat as it burst its song over the torrent. The Cedar Creek alluvial fan was popping with Long-billed Curlews and Sandhill Cranes. Watching the graceful curlews feeding on the dry pasture doesn’t seem to jive with the concept of a shorebird. The bills of the males are absolutely absurd in length, and the female’s bill almost seems make sense by comparison. But, these bills are excellent at picking up invertebrates from the ground, which was evidenced by the number feeding on this day.

Jim was a crack birder and a joy to spend time with as well. It is always great to meet another birding friend.

Friday was marked by an improvement in the weather. Konchog Norbu, Non-Birding Vida, and I were heading up to Ewam near Arlee for a weekend of volunteer work and getting to know the Ewam folks. We loaded up in the car and down the interstate we sped. We had one birding stop on the way at the Warm Springs Ponds where we had about 15 Bonaparte’s Gulls that were loafing in the most picturesque locale, the water treatment lagoon for Warm Springs. The season’s first Barn Swallow was also feeding amongst the Tree Swallows.

We arrived at Ewam sometime after nine in the evening, and for the beginning, I have never felt so welcomed at a place. The caretaker, Charlie, made us some tea and we sat around the kitchen talking about Ewam, the Garden of a 1000 Buddhism, and the Dharma to a TV reporter from Billings that had arrived just after us (well, Konchog and Charlie did the talking and we relished listening, so much to learn).

The morning came cool and crisp as Savannah Sparrows and Western Meadowlarks sang in the fields surrounding the house. Konchog and I headed up into the Mission Valley where we visited the Ninepipes National Wildlife Refuge and the National Bison Range. Many waterfowl, Double-crested Cormorants, and Great Blue Herons crowded the waters and shores of the reservoir. A Short-eared Owl flew over the rolling hills and down into the gullies between. Watching the almost otherworldly motion of it’s wings is always intriguing. After observing this owl for some time, we spotted another owl perched atop a fence post. We were able to approach to distance of about ~15 feet without the bird showing any signs of disturbance. The little guy just stood firm as I was able to reel off about 75 images. What an amazing experience.

We returned to Ewam for a day full of work in the lavender garden and making a few Buddha statues. We picked weeds in the garden, and helped to placed a statue on it’s pedestal. After lunch, I had the amazing opportunity to aid in the casting of 3 Buddha statues. The statue making process is quite remarkable, and it is hard for me to imagine the sheer amount of trail and error it must have taken to come up with the right mixture in the concrete. I thoroughly enjoyed the work and I hope I was useful.

Sunday was a special day as it was Non-Birding Vida’s birthday. I was very happy to be able to share this day with her and other wonderful folks. She was pretty darn excited about getting a Buddha shirt. On the way home, I led Konchog to the location of the Carolina Wren, which more than cooperated – letting us have several great views. We had 3 warbler firsts of the year – Orange-crowned, Yellow, and Yellow-rumped Warblers were singing in the these river bottom. A lone Willow Flycatcher was also singing, a sure indication that spring has arrived in earnest.

Well, that’s the rundown of a fantastic weekend spent with great people.

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Waking up on Saturday morning, I went down to the old reliable birding spot. The birds present were the usual cast of characters. You know Canada Geese, Mallards, Gadwalls, Northern Shovelers, Cinnamon Teals, and American Coots. The hordes of male Red-winged and Yellow-headed Blackbirds called from the cattails. The first female Red-winged Blackbirds had also arrived. I had an amazing opportunity to photography a rather cooperative Northern Shoveler drake, a species that I have never gotten a decent image of in the past. What a beautiful morning.

After some lunch, I decided to go a for hike in the sun up Sypes Canyon. This trail was full of first of season flowers and butterflies. In the forest, Ruby-crowned Kinglets sang from the tops of Douglas-firs. Many Dark-eyed juncos were also giving their song. The first Mourning Cloaks and Spring Azures of the season were in flight.

On Sunday evening, I took a short hike in the Triple Tree area. As I was meandering along I heard a vaguely familiar song. There amongst of the black hawthorns was a lone, fearless Fox Sparrow. He was singing at a frantic rate of effort. In the past, I have managed only bad, I stress bad, images of this species in Glacier National Park. He landed on a few different perches, all of which were in the good light. I was like a pig in slop. The hike itself reminiscent of my childhood wanderings. No real destination, just looking at everything…taking it all in with no agenda.

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The weekend started off with going to Cottonwood Reservoir for a little birdingwith Sam Koenen. Ok, ok, a lot of birding. This little hotspot did not disappoint. The first birds out of the truck were Greater Scaup and Double-crested Cormorant. The reservoir held quite a few species with highlights being Ruddy Ducks, Red-breasted Mergansers, and Eared Grebes. Along the edges, we were able to locate Greater Yellowlegs, Willet, and American Avocets. In the benches above the reservoir, we heard Long-billed Curlews and Sandhill Cranes. The spring’s first Becker’s White was flitting about the sagebrush flats.

The real stars of the day were the raptors of the entire Shields River Valley. We had totals of 9 Golden Eagles, 2 Bald Eagles, 2 Rough-legged Hawks, 5 Ferruginous Hawks, numerous Red-tailed Hawks, 1 Cooper’s Hawk, 9 Northern Harriers, 2 Prairie Falcons, and a pair of American Kestrels. Not bad, not bad at all.

We later traveled down to Livingston where we made our way to Sacajawea Park. I love this place! 5 Wood Ducks and a super-cooperative American Wigeon made this place well worth the visit.

Now, time for lunch. Where, oh where, to go for lunch in Livingston on a beautiful spring day? Got it, how about Mark’s In and Out Beefburgers – home of the best burger ever. That’s right I said ever. Don’t believe, come up here and try it, I dare you.

Awaking Sunday morning, I headed over to the East Gallatin Recreation Area for, drum roll please, a little more birding. The lawns of the park had numerous Richardson’s Ground Squirrel. There numerous singing American Robins and Song Sparrow, while Downy Woodpeckers and Northern Flickers drummed on the cottonwood snags of the floodplain. at the nearby wetland in the Cherry River Fishing Access, I heard my first Sora of the spring. That haunting sounds pierced through the dawn chorus of Red0winged and Yellow-headed Blackbirds.

Later in the afternoon, I went for a quick hike up the Drinking Horse Mountain trail. I guess that the rest of Bozeman had the same idea has the parking lot was so full that I parked out on the highway. I was able to attach the trusty, old macro lens and seek out the first wildflowers of the Rocky Mountain spring. I was able to locate 7 species today; however, the little white mustard has, as yet, defied identification. Oh wait, it was Hairy Rockcress. This Pretty Shootingstar Dodecatheon pulchellum bloomed on a drier, sun-soaked hillside. It is quite treat to see these flowers after such a long winter.

Continue reading »]]> Yesterday was one of those days were the gears of life just seem to mesh together, and it all started with changed schedules and unwarranted stress.

I traveled to Plains, Montucky to launch the new website for a client of mine, Rehbein Ford (great folks), and to visit my buddy Batt (Block Mountain Stone) and family. In order to get Rehbein Ford up and live, we needed the cooperation of an old vendor, who wasn’t the most organized and prepared. We were suppose to cut over on Tuesday night, but we were delayed until at least mid-morning Wednesday. I immediately went into a stress spiral. Then, the remarkable news came across the email. A Carolina Wren was present at a residence near Arlee, which is not more than 45 minutes from Plains. This is the first time that this species has ever been documented in the state. So, what to do? C’mon, you knew I was going to chase that bird.

Olivia and I hit the road at around 6:30 in morning. Olivia just slept and I dodge deer and a fox on the highway. I followed the directions, ended up at the designated parking area near the Jocko River. Pulling up behind were Nate Kohler and Gary Swant (both crack birders) from Deerlodge. We waited for awhile for Dan Casey and Jim Rodgers before we noticed to walk down to the house. Our anticipation got the better of us. As we neared the house, the home owner came out to greet us with kind offers of seats and something hot of drink. We listened and looked intently for the bird, and within a couple of minutes, we heard of the distinctive song cascading from atop a tall ponderosa pine. The bird then flew down into a winter nude apple tree that stood no more than 10 meters from our position. We all got great looks as the bird sing from his perch. Another new state bird and getting to bird with great folks, what a start to the day.

I had to leave for Plains, much too early, but I bid my companions adieu and headed down the river to Plains. Once I got to Rehbein Ford, everything seem to click into place and I was actually able to finish up my work efficiently and early. The launch went very well and the people there were amazingly kind and patient.

Then, I headed over to Block Mountain Stone to put their new commercial on their site and shoot the breeze with Batt and Karrie. It was great to catch up with old friends and, at the same, help their business.

Dad called and we met for lunch at the Butcher’s Nook, a great little deli/butcher shop in Plains. They do a killer pastrami on rye (they even baked their own bread). We made our made back to the house where I got to play with my niece and nephew for a bit. They are such gentle and happy kids, and they dig their Uncle Radd, too.

I said my farewells and it was back to Bozeman, but not before the best stop of the day. Konchog Norbu had suggested that I stop by Ewam and the Garden of One Thousand Buddhas, which is just north of Arlee. I know, two stops in Arlee in one day, especially after not having stop in the town for anything in years. I found the place easily, and I was immediately greeted by Charlie, who has a wonderful New York accent even though he has lived in Montana for years, and Luke, who has a head of hair that just mocks a bald man. The sense of inclusion and warmth in the place was apparent. Luke graciously took me for a tour of the property. We walked around the statue of Yum Chenmo and went into the Buddha Barn, which houses the completed Buddha statues and the studio for creating the remaining 600 statues. It is an incredibly special place of meditative solace.

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Yesterday, I managed to take a quick trip around the valley to enjoy the warm sun and see what the birds were up to these days. While the birding was a bit slow, but the scenery was spectacular. The intensity of the sun was causes an unique low-level fog off the snow. The feeling that I was getting more than anything else was that winter seems to be losing its grip on the land. It’s only a matter of time before the first spring migrants return and scenery transforms from white to green.

Continue reading »]]> Every Groundhog Day, they drag a poor old Punxsutawney Phil out of his constructed den and see if he sees his own shadow. Will there be 6 more weeks of winter or is spring right around the corner? That predicitive logic might be acceptable for an eastern Groundhog (I personally prefer Woodchuck), but we have our own Groundhog in the Rockies who won’t even if see sunlight for another 3 or 4 months.

Hoary marmots live in the high alpine reaches of northwestern North America and, in particular, the Crown of the Continent ecosystem which encompasses Glacier National Park. They live and thrive in an environment that is immensely harsh. The winters are so taxing that the Hoary marmot must hibernate 7-8 months of the year. These 20 pound rodents spend their winters in a den on a talus slope under feet of snow and ice.

Come summer, the marmots feed upon alpine plants and frolic among the lichen-covered boulders. Folks that are fortunate enough to visit the high country will find these fearless creatures incredibly entertaining.

So if a Hoary Marmot sees its shadow in May, it means that summer is coming…well, even if he doesn’t, summer is coming.

Continue reading »]]> With the ever increasing likelihood that the Rainsong Ivory-billed Woodpecker or, as I’ve dubbed it, IBWOgate is a complete hoax, I began to wonder about the great hoaxes in birding history. There seems to be a multitude of reasons for the birding hoax, but they seem to fall into four broad categories;

• Self-aggrandizement through finding rarities or becoming a “famous” birder
• A very bad joke on fellow birders
• Mistaken IDs by well-meaning and, many cases, competent birders
• And the worst, for profit

One of latest cases of self-aggrandizement comes in the form of a grainy image of an apparent Steller’s Eider off the of North Wales, UK. Apparently, this birder turned golfer (why in the hell would one do that?) spotted the sea duck while, you guessed it, golfing. He managed to take a blurry image has to prove his sighting. The problem – no one else was able to find the bird, and worse, the photo seems to come from a photographer from Scandinavia. I wonder if he was flogged with a golf club by the twitchers?

In the bad joke department, we have the Siberian Accentor from North East Derbyshire, UK. It seems this bloke put out a model of an Accentor as a joke on his mate. The problem – other birders heard about the Siberian Accentor and rushed to its location. Some even claimed to have seen it and the news made the British publication Birding World. The hoax was revealed when the jokester attempted a second ruse, only this time he was busted and had his birding privileges revoked. Heck, I am guilty of this to lesser extent. After a day of birding, I reported my sightings on the Montana Online Birders group. I mentioned that I saw a Montana Trogon, or more commonly known as the Black-billed Magpie. I had people asking me, “Trogon really?” and “Where’s the trogon?”. It’s a joke, people. Relax.

The hoax that isn’t a hoax. The mistaken identification of a common species as something rare. Here’s the scenario. Good birders make mistakes, and we all do it, so no pointing fingers here. The misidentified bird becomes a hot rarity, and folks rushed to see this once in a lifetime bird. Once the birding community accepts the mis-ID, then everyone “sees” the rarity. The best example of this phenomenon was the supposed Smith’s Longspur in California in the late 70s. The bird was observed by many folks who were good birders, and they eliminated the possibilities one by one. Horned Lark – are you kidding? Lesser Short-toed Lark – maybe, but nope. Eurasian Skylark – definitely not. Smith’s Longspur – bingo! The problem the bird turned out to be, drum roll please, an Eurasian Skylark, which was a rarity in its own right as California’s first documented visit from this species. But heck, it was California in the Seventies, wild times, wild times.

Now for the final and most insidious category, the hoax for profit. With some organizations offering rewards for documentation or information about endangered species, there is a temptation to defraud by certain individuals. With IBWOgate, I am beginning to wonder if this is not the case with Rainsong Ivory-billed Woodpecker. I am just suspicious, not making accusations or anything. But, with CLO offering a substantial cash prize for an Ivory-billed Woodpecker, there is fertile bed for the seeds of a hoax.

Continue reading »]]> I had the great opportunity to give of talks at the Bridger Raptor Festival. This festival is a great educational event with many great exhibits and live rehab birds, including the Turkey Vulture that once threw up on me. The talks went well with great attendance. It has been a long time since the last time I spoke publicly, and it felt good to get back up on that horse.