FOR THE BIRDS

Birding enthusiasts Nan Dietert and Lyndon Holcomb are reporting on local and area birding. To report a sighting, contact them at nandietert@yahoo. com. As we bird, my mind asks a hundred small questions. A hundred answers come forward, not always linked to the correct questions. They form a vast, myriad, matrix of stories – woven throughout the marsh and mud-flats, on the beach and in the dunes, in the farm fields and pasture lands, in our South Texas brush country and riparian habitats, on the ground and in the air. Journeys, battles, rivalries, love affairs, parental duties, luck, intelligence and the very struggle for survival itself are revealed.

We watch the pied-billed grebes, which have already lost one chick, and are now sitting on a new nest with a single egg that is only days away from hatching. There is “Peg Leg”, the crested caracara, who somehow lost his left foot six weeks ago and has managed not only to survive but keep his mate. There are the least bitterns, which after an absence of more than two-and-a-half years, have come back to our marsh to raise a family. Day after day, we seek the three black-necked stilt babies, small puff-balls on legs, healthy and feeding with their parents.

But what about the lone scaup with battered and worn wings, the young prairie warbler late and off-course, the female red-winged blackbird chasing after her single fledged baby, the common moorhen with one chick still alive out of five? Each story is partially played out in front of our eyes, the rest hidden, but begging speculation and closure. In observing any one of these stories, another two or three are discovered; so the questions and the search for answers seem endless.

Why does one mother great-tailed grackle have only one youngster to feed, while around the next corner another has five healthy juveniles out chasing after her as she hunts for insects? What are the mothers’ ages and where did each nest? What was the difference? Was it fate, luck or experience? Why are we seeing so many starlings this year with only one gray-brown juvenile among them? Usually you would see three or four.

The other day, just south of Refugio on the Fennessey Ranch, we counted 10 purple gallinules on one end of McGill Lake. We witnessed neighborhood fights and neighborhood cooperation. We saw one gallinule chase, hit and catch the other, then both roll – flailing – across the floating vegetation. Obviously, some of the boundaries needed a little straightening out. These birds are cooperative or communal breeders, only seen in 3 percent of the birds worldwide. In the case of the gallinules, the immature, non-breeding birds help feed and defend the young of a mated pair. Their family groups can number up to 14 birds, but on average consist of only four or five.

We saw a pair of coyotes that day hunting and running together, one vibrant and healthy, the other with most of his coat missing, somewhat mangled and limping. Recently, we heard that an alpha male apparently killed a young male coyote that was threatening his territory, but what was this unlucky fellow’s story?

Out in the field, you will discover new stories every day and see new chapters written. Nature nurtures your need for discovery and satisfies your curiosity. Viewing it reveals a vast network of complex relationships. Sometimes there is a need to fight to the death, at other times only a need to iron-out some differences of opinion. The defense of one’s territory may not be just a spat; it could mean the amount of food available for a family; it could mean life or death.

Go find your own stories, go birding.