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MY FATHER'S BINOCULARS
By Susan Weller
Indiana Jones had nothing on my
father. Although Dad was not an archaeologist, his considerable knowledge of
the outdoors turned our frequent trips into exciting quests for adventure. Like Indy, my father was ruggedly handsome,
always wore a hat on our trips, occasionally cracked a slow, Bogart-grin, and
was possessed with an insatiable curiosity.
A road trip with Dad meant new and interesting places, new experience,
and the promise of adventure.
When I was nine years old, my father
asked me if I'd like to go on an overnight trip to a town just north of Santa
Barbara, called Solvang. Solvang, he
explained, is a little village where all the architecture is Scandinavian and
where most of the people are too. He
promised we would see folks in authentic Nordic costume, and eat ethnic foods
and pastries! He added it was also
about time be brought Mom home some fish for dinner. Dad seemed to be acting preoccupied as he loaded the fishing
rods into the trunk and finished packing the car. As I slid onto the front seat next to him, Mom handed in the
thermos through the window. Giving my
father a look fraught with meaning, Mom asked if he had remembered to bring the
binoculars. He patted the black leather
case between us on the seat, nodded, and gave her a wink. So, while the alleged purpose of our outing
was to eat some krumcake and lower the number of fish in lake Cachuma, I felt
my father had another, underlying reason for the trek.
At dawn on the second day of our trip, we
sat shivering in a sheltered cove. My
father's tremors shook the boat and for fear we would capsize, I poured him a
steaming cup of coffee from the new Stanley thermos and dug a real Danish
pastry out of the crumpled white bag.
The wind whipped the waves into a frenzy and Dad swore as he fought to
light a cigarette. Holding the lit
cigarette between his lips he baited both our hooks, then dabbed a little anise
oil onto the nightcrawlers. As we
fished, he paused to squint up into the sky, using his hand to shade his eyes
from the glare of sun on water. Then,
with his binoculars, he would scan the sky from horizon to horizon. I had never seen Dad use his binoculars so
often on a trip before, but I was thrilled when he pointed out the occasional
deer grazing along the lake bank, or pointed to a Red-tailed Hawk screaming
defiance at the writhing snake clustered tightly in its talons.
At dusk, with a full stringer, faces and
hands sunburned taut, Dad headed our little boat back to the marina. Tired and happy but not looking forward to
the long drive home, I was just as glad when Dad announced we would be staying
another day. I was mystified when he
added we hadn't yet done all there was to do, or seen all there was to see in
this part of the country. That night as
I lay in bed and fought the vertigo of non-motion one experiences after rocking
in a boat all day, I began to wonder what my father had been searching
for. I knew it would do no good to
question him about his cryptic words either, for when pressed, Dad closed up
tighter than a clam shell. Trying hard
to possess myself with patience, I finally fell asleep.
The next day, after an early breakfast,
we loaded the car and got ready to head for home. Instead of turning onto the freeway on-ramp, Dad headed east away
from the lake and into the arid countryside.
He slowed the car occasionally and looked up through the windshield into
the sky. We drove for what seemed an
eternity to an antsy nine year old girl.
The only things we saw were a lone coyote and a rattlesnake lying on the
warming asphalt. Finally, my father
touched the brakes, looked up into the sky and grinned. We had found what he had really brought me
all this way to see: the California Condor.
We got out of the car careful not to slam the doors, and climbed to a
better vantage point. Red-headed and
fair-skinned, I tried not to wilt in the mounting afternoon heat. "That," Dad began in a scholarly
tone, "is the last of a dying species.
I brought you here to see this majestic bird now, because it probably
won't be around when you grow up. I
knew this would be important to you, that you would want to see it for yourself
before it becomes extinct."
Puzzled, because I thought I knew the
meaning of the word "extinct", I asked for his definition. Looking at me between the brim of his hat
and the top of his bifocals, Dad explained, "It means man has not acted
responsibly in regards to this bird. It
means man has decided his needs out-weigh the condor's. As a result, this very special bird of prey
will probably vanish off the face of the earth."
Absorbing that bit of dialogue and the
meaning behind it was a tremendous task for me. Peering through my father's binoculars I thought the bird looked
like a dignified buzzard.
Who cares if this
ugly bird isn't around anymore, and who sees
it clear out here
anyway? Then a thought occurred to me.
"Can other
animals become extinct?" I asked.
"Can and
probably will," he replied.
Trying to comprehend the magnitude of his
suggestion was as dizzying as the afternoon heat. I thought back to some of our previous outings, and the words
"have not acted responsibly" echoed back to me. We had visited zoos and museums where I had
learned about early man, animals and their history, and where I had seen the
mammoth skeletons of dinosaurs. We had
toured a fish hatchery where I learned about the life cycle of a rainbow trout
and the importance of unspoiled waters.
Dad had taken me to a wild bird sanctuary where I cupped a tiny Mountain
Quail in my hands, and felt the bristly-soft curl of its top-knot. We had explored a game enclosure where I
watched a fawn butting its mother for a meal, and where I got to pet the spots
on an elk calf's rump. I thought of our
frequent trips to the mountains where my father had taught me to watch, or hunt
and fish for these very same species …responsibly. Lastly, I remembered my father had taken me to a local dairy
where the farmer kept two great, shaggy buffalo. Dad had told me how the white man had nearly made this
gentle-looking behemoth "extinct", just to tame the American
Indian.
A bead of perspiration trickled down
between my shoulder blades. The present
wavered back into focus through the afternoon heat. The weight of my father's binoculars hung heavily, causing the
worn, shiny leather strap to bite into my sunburned neck. Did father mean that the fish, the elk and
the birds could go the way of the dinosaur?
Would the bleached and worm-eaten bones of these animals on display in
some museum be all we would have left of them?
I began to cry. Seeing this, my father seemed well-pleased. He was not a cruel man, he was simply
satisfied his message had been well-taken and our trip a success. He moved to put an arm around my shoulder
and I snuggled in close breathing the familiar smells of cigarettes and anise
essence on my father's fishing coat. We
stood there watching the condor rise on the heat of lofty thermals. The mountains shimmered purple through the
heat waves, and I felt the lump in my throat evaporate and disappear as the
condor's image faded into nothingness over a far ridge.
I knew that day, that experience, had
changed me. Dad knew it too. I would never again look at things quite the
same way, not the earth, not the forest, not the waters, or the creatures
inhabiting these areas.
Certainly, I would
never look upon mankind or his needs and responsibilities the same. Looking through my father's field glasses
that day, I was forever changed and a conservationist metamorphosed.
Ironically, the California Condor is
still around, albeit precariously and in captivity. The last free condor was captured several years ago, possibly not
far from where my father and I stood that day.
My father, however, is gone---lost to cigarettes and cancer---though I
have inherited his binoculars.
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A Little Quail Tale
Janet
Callen
Photographed by Wayne
Tree Mid-morning on June 30, I happened to look out my kitchen window and below
me in the back yard was a family of quail-Mom and dad and 10 little ping-pong
sized balls of tan and brown fuzz. The
parents had dropped in frequently for several months prior to eat under the
bird feeders. A little later that
morning I went out to set a sprinkler in the lower portion of the yard. My back yard is terraced in three levels
with three steps made of timbers connecting each level. Each step is about 5 inches deep. As I walked down the steps I could see and
hear the family scurrying under tall plants and flowers on the second level. However, when I reached the bottom level I
discovered junior was stuck there, unable to jump the height of the bottom
step.
It kept trying, but
halfway up was its vertical best.
This chick wasn’t about to let me catch it, and frantically continued
to .. throw its little body upward against the bottom
step. Quick thinking usually takes me ten minutes, but this time I did think to
grab some paving blocks that are part of an ongoing landscape project. I placed one at the bottom of the steps and
then one on each successive step. The
pavers are about 2 inches deep. Little
bird caught on right away, it hopped on a paver, then to the step, then on to
the next paver and on up to the second level where it scurried under the
flowers to join the rest of the family.
There was chirping and cheeping and soft bird noises as they settled
down for the night near the honeysuckle.
I have no idea how they got into my yard, certainly not over the fence,
and could find no signs of a nesting place in the yard. Under the fence access is from the front.
The little family was gone in the
morning and I worried about how they
would stay safe traversing backyards and crossing streets. I saw none of them until today, July 7, when
two families, one with 9 chicks and another with 10 appeared in the back
yard. Hopefully junior is one of them.
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THE VALUE OF KEEPING FIELD
NOTES
Chuck Trost
Reprinted from the PVAS Newsletter
February 2002
I want to discuss the value of keeping field notes on bird sightings, if
only for your personal edification. As
the Christmas counts, feeder watches etc. are demonstrating, we are all citizen
scientists and our observations are valuable data. I have the notes of my predecessor at Idaho State
University, Dr. Victor Jones. He recorded over 80 House Finch nests on the
ISU campus in the mid-1950's. This was
before the fox squirrels were introduced to Pocatello. I defy you to find a tenth that many nests
on campus now. Edson Fichter used to
keep meticulous notes in spiral bound stenographer's pads of birds in his back
yard on South 11th Ave., in Pocatello. He would fill a notebook in one direction, then flip it over and
fill all the back pages. His notes,
which fill over 20 pads, are now in the museum's collections, and make fascinating
reading. It is possible to measure a
significant decrease in migrant birds between the 1970's and 1980's just by
analyzing his one backyard. His
observations of a resident Sharp-shinned Hawk over the course of three winters
are amazing, and I think he was heart broken when it didn't return for the
fourth year. My point is that each of
us makes valuable sightings and all it takes is a little discipline to keep
these records in a useful format. When
skiing on Scout Mountain there are so few birds that I can wait until I get
home to record them. Even so, I
mentally count the number of species, and always have a small note pad to
describe rare birds or unusual events.
On a field trip I usually keep a running checklist because there are too
many species to remember. I always
record date, time, weather, participants, location, and try to estimate numbers
of each species. When I get home, I
just clip the checklist in a loose-leaf notebook in which I keep a personal
diary and summaries of events and exciting observations. When I go on a trip I often use the Idaho
checklist and the "write-ins" give me an instant view of the
non-Idaho birds I've found.
Another, and probably
more efficient way to record data is with commercially available software, such
as AviSys, BirdBase, or Birders Diary by Thayer Software on your home
computer. These programs will allow you
to print out a checklist for anywhere in the world, keep detailed field notes,
or analyze sightings, species, date ranges, locations, etc. There is an excellent review of these
programs in its "tools of the trade" article in the Feb. 2002 issue
of Birding magazine. You can
also purchase a palm pilot to keep field observations, and then transfer your
field information to your computer.
Please resolve to
start keeping more organized notes!
(Editors note: Dr.
Charles Trost is a retired professor from Idaho State University where he was
head of the Biology Department. He is
currently the chairman of the Idaho Rare Bird Committee)
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WORLD'S LARGEST
WOODPECKER
BELIEVED EXTINCT
Reprinted from The Birder Conservationist, V. 2, August 2003
The world's
largest woodpecker, the Imperial Woodpecker, previously found through much of
the Sierra Madre Occidental in Mexico, has, once again, been undetected in a
recent serious search. No trace of the black and white Imperial
Woodpecker was found during an expedition to the Sierra Madre Occidental
mountains of northwestern Mexico, the last area where the bird was seen.
While the Imperial Woodpecker was hunted
for food and for medicine in the early
1900s, it was not historically a rare species within its habitat of high
altitude pine forests. But the last confirmed report of the species was in
1956, although there have been about eight local reports in two remote 
areas
since that date.
David Wege, America's Program Manager for
BirdLife International, said last month
that targeted searches over the last decade, "have failed to find
convincing evidence that the species still exists... Few people can imagine a
bird more impressive than the much publicized, and closely related Ivory-billed
Woodpecker, but the Imperial Woodpecker was 20 percent bigger."
A joint expedition by BirdLife
International and the Mexican conservation organization, Prosima, spent 16 days
in an isolated part of Durango state, where in 1996, the woodpecker had been
sighted in a pristine canyon. The site that was explored was close to an area
where two years before, on an extensive expedition lasting 11 months,
researchers had found some evidence of the species, but they were unable to see
any woodpeckers.
The Imperial Woodpecker's decline has occurred largely through the loss
of its habitat, mainly the
deforestation and clearance of the old growth pine and oak woods. The birds
require areas as large as 10 square miles of continuous open and untouched pine
forest for each woodpecker pair, with
dead trees for feeding and nesting. Although large areas of pine forests remain
in the Sierra Madre Occidental, they are logged, and the dead trees with their
insect inhabitants have been removed.
The Imperial Woodpecker will now be
listed in the 2004 IUCN Red List of endangered species under the new
classification of Critically Endangered Possibly Extinct.
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Hoodoo
Valley
Dick Cripe
May 3, 7:30
am. Five hardy souls report for the Hoodoo Valley Bird Trip--Ed & Kris
Buchler, Lisa Hardy, Shirley Sturts, Roland Craft, and Dick Cripe. This was a high tech scientific expedition aimed
at eliciting songs and calls from the otherwise elusive marsh
birds-specifically the Virginia Rail, American Bittern and Sora. The Buchlers brought along a CD player and
an amplifier rig that broadcasts the desired call over a bullhorn type
thing. The first few tries brought no
response, however, persistence prevailed as we got two response songs of the
Virginia Rail at the next marshy area.
It was worth the price of admission to see Kris silently jumping and
gesturing as one rail responded a few feet away from her. In spite of the closeness the rails were
never seen. Not so with the Sora who,
shortly thereafter, not only called back, but came out to see what was making
all of the racket, and, thus, we all saw him.
We didn't get any response from the bittern call all morning, but we
were happy with two out of three.
A
secondary goal of the trip was to check the bluebird boxes along the Hoodoo
Valley trail. We found 10 pair of
Western Bluebirds occupying boxes. Five boxes had eggs in them and the other
five did not. In addition, there was
one pair of Mountain Bluebirds nesting in a box, but with no eggs yet. Shirley found one bluebird in a box that was
banded, so she took it out and recorded the banding number. She had banded the bird two years earlier at
that same box.
We saw 57
species, including the first sightings this year of some of the warbler
species.
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Steven's Peak
Dick Cripe
Ten intrepid folks made the trip on Saturday, July 19, to the top
of Steven's Peak. While the valley sweltered in the high 90's, on the
ridge we enjoyed a cloudless, but breezy day with 80 degrees as the high.
Shirley's unerring guidance got our two 4-wheel drive vehicles within three
miles of the peak, so the hike was short, although fairly steep.
Birds?
Yes, we saw a few birds, although the numbers were quite small. Dark-eyed
Juncos--4; Townsend's Warbler--1; Mtn Bluebird--1, maybe 2; Blue
Grouse-1.
Highlight of the trip? Lying in
the snow bank at the top of the peak.
Participants--George and Helen Neuner,
Ronn and Roberta Rich, Lynne Sheridan, Judy Waring, Jan Severtson, Shirley
Sturts, Roland Craft, and Dick Cripe.
"Nature
is not in competition. It doesn't
really matter, when you go out, if you don't identify anything. What matters is the feeling heart"
Richard Adams B. 1920
British Author
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OBSERVATION POST
Kootenai County Big Year Additions since the May 2003 Newsletter
(see February-May Newsletters or go to our Website to see bird species seen so
far this year in Kootenai County - Current total 176
American White Pelican 1+ Cave Lake May 30 (BBRO as reported to
CLAN)
Virginia Rail Killarney Lake April 30 (LHAR)
Sora Fernan Lake April 30 (KBUC)
Greater Yellowlegs Cataldo area April 22 (DSCH)
Solitary Sandpiper Hardy Loop Road on of Canyon Road near Cataldo July 28 (SSTU,DSTO)
Spotted Sandpiper Higgens Point, CDA Lake May 9 (KBUC)
Caspian Tern 3 Wolf Lodge Bay, CDA Lake June 28 (JTAY,KBUC)
Black Tern CDA River Delta near Harrison May 19 (LHAR,
SREA)
Long-eared Owl 1 Black Lake Road near Lane March June 7 GSHE)
Common Nighthawk Post Falls June 1 (SLIN)
Vaux's Swift Skookum Saddle June 17 (LHAR,SRAE)
Black-chinned Hummingbird Fernan Lake April 29 (SSTU)
Rufous Hummingbird Harrison April 20 (MPAT)
Three-toed Woodpecker 1 Mokins Bay, Hayden Lake April 21 (EHIC)
Black-backed Woodpecker 1 Coeur d'Alene Mt. Road May 1 (KBUC, SSTU)
Olive-sided Flycatcher 1 Skookum Saddle June 17 (LHAR,SREA)
Willow Flycatcher Rose Lake Jct. May 28 (LHAR,SRAE,KBUC,SSTU)
Least Flycatcher 1 Black Rock Road June 8 (GSHE)
Hammond's Flycatcher Killarney Farms May 8 (LHAR,ESCI)
Dusky Flycatcher Cottonwood Creek Road May 19 (SREA)
Western Flycatcher Mica Bay Survey May 19 (BGUN,SSTU,RCRA, JREX,COGL, HJAL)
Western Kingbird near the CDA Air Terminal May 19 (CLAN)
Eastern Kingbird Dalton Gardens and River Road near the
Cataldo Mission (HSEV,CCAM,CLCAM)
Cassin's Vireo Blue Creek Bay , CDA Lake April 24 (KBUC)
Warbling Vireo Cottonwood Creek May 19 (LHAR,SREA)
Red-eyed Vireo Trail of the Coeur d'Aenes between Cataldo
and Harrison May 29 (SSTU,JWAR)
Northern Rough-winged Swallow Mica Bay Survey (RCRA,SSTU,KBUC, BGUN)
Bank Swallow Appleway and Ramsey gravel pit May 14
(JCAL)
Cliff Swallow Blue Creek Bay , CDA Lake April 25 (KBUC,LHAR)
Barn Swallow Blue Creek Bay, CDA ;Lake April 25 (KBUC,LHAR)
Canyon Wren 1 heard
Quemilin Park, Post Falls May 18 (KBUC) confirmed May 23
(KBUC,SSTU,JSEV) A Kootenai County
(confirmed) first.
Veery Tubbs Hill May 23 (DCAM)
Swainson's Thrush Cottonwood Creek May 19 (SREA,LHAR)
Hermit Thrush Skookum Saddle June 17 (SREA,LHAR)
Gray Catbird Mica Bay Survey (BGUN)
American Pipit Flooded fields west of Cataldo Mission
along River Road May 22 (CLCAM,CCAM)
Cedar Waxwing Armstrong Hill May 22 (EBUC)
Orange -Crowned Warbler Armstrong Hill April 21 (KBUC)
Nashville Warbler Tubbs Hill May 14 (KBUC)
Yellow Warbler Fairmont Loop Road May 5 (KBUC)
Yellow-rumped Warbler Higgen's Point, CDA Lake April 28 (KBUC)
Townsend's Warbler 1 Farrugut State Park April 29 (TDAV)
American Redstart Kidd Island Bay, CDA Lake May
18 SJOH)
Northern Waterthrush Shady Lane south of Rose Lake May 23 (SREA ,LHAR)
MacGillivray's Warbler Buckles Mountain May 7 (KBUC)
Common Yellowthroat Cougar Bay, Coeur d'Alene Lake May 11 (TGRA)
Wilson's Warbler Skookum Saddle June 17 (LHAR,SREA)
Western Tanager Beauty Creek Bay May 2 (KBUC,SSTU)
Chipping Sparrow 1 Armstrong Hill, Coeur d'Alene April
29 (KBUC)
Vesper Sparrow near Coeur d'Alene Air Terminal May 24 (CLAN)
Fox Sparrow Skookum Saddle June 17 (LHAR,SREA)
Rose-breasted Gorsbeak (Accidental
in our area) Cougar Gulch Feeder May 21
(TCOO,PCOO)
Black-headed Grosbeak Fernan Lake May 10 (SSTU)
Lazuli Bunting River Road alonfg flooded fields west of
Cataldo Mission May 22 (CAM,CLCAM)
Bobolink Hardy Loop Road; west of Cataldo May 17 (LHAR)
Bullock's Oriole Arrowhead Road, CDA in yard May 29 (TPOT)
Brown-headed Cowbird 2 Mica Bay Survey May 5 (KBUC)
OBSERVERS Bob
Brown (BBRO) Ed and Kris Buchler (EBUC, KBUC),
Janet Callen (JCAL), Del Cameron
(DCAM), Cliff Cameron (CLCAM), Corinne
Cameron (CCAM), Tom and Pricilla Cooper (TCOO,PCOO), Roland Craft (RCRA)), Tom
Davenport (TDAV), Terry Gray
(TGRA), Bill Gundlach (BGUN), Jerry
Hanson (JHAN), Lisa Hardy (LHAR), Eula Hickman (EHIC), Holly Jaleski (HJAL), Stephen Johnson
(SJOH), Cindi Langlitz (CLAN), Steve Lindsay (SLIN),), Nancy Mertz
(NMER), Carol Ogle (COGL), Mike
Patterson (MPAT), Theresa Potts (TPOT),
Scott Rea (SREA)) , Jean Rexler (JREX), Doug Schonewald (DSCH), Ellen Scriven (ESCR) Herb and Jan Severtson
(HSEV, JSEV), Gina Sheridan (GSHE), Stoecker (DSTO), Shirley Sturts (SSTU),
Jenny Taylor (JTAY), Judy Warring
(JWAR)
On July 14 Susan Weller died peacefully
in her sleep. She was the driving force
behind the founding of our chapter in 1990.
Susan was the chapter’s first president and she served as president
again from 1999 to 2000. An unforgettable
individual, she possessed an excellent mind, a generous heart and a love for
birds and animals. She was passionate
and tenacious about
causes in which she believed.
Our chapter has lost an important member, while hummingbirds and eagles, grizzly bears and
ground squirrels, ponderosa pines and cottonwood trees have lost a friend and
advocate. 
Susan
is survived by her husband Greg and a brother Steve. The family recommends memorial contributions be made to: The
Peregrine Fund, 5668 West
Flying Hawk Lane, Boise, Idaho 83709 Ph.208-362-3716, Fax208-362-2376 www.peregrinefund.org
