Grand Junction Audubon Society birders

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By Nic.Korte
Friday, October 14, 2016

Maybe birders aren't better voters, but they should be. In this election season, there is more comment than ever about voters being immune to or uncaring about facts. Indeed, psychologists have shown that oftentimes, the more contrary the fact, the more a person will cling to their entrenched position. It's crazy, but we all do it. It's called confirmation bias, and birders have to work hard to guard against it.

Two years ago, I hooked up with a group of birders in Costa Rica who were going to see the rare Masked Duck. Two or more of the ducks had been hanging out in a small, natural pond on private property. Our leader was the dean of local birders. As we arrived at the pond, she quickly said, “there’s one…over by the shore.” She put her scope on it and we followers dutifully took a look one-by-one, and agreed we had now seen a Masked Duck. I am not certain who finally asked, “Are Masked Ducks usually so motionless?” Our leader looked again. “Hmm, maybe that isn't a duck after all.” Fortunately, about that time, two Masked Ducks paddled out of some nearby reeds. “Oh, there they are,” she said, and all of us had long and satisfying looks both through her scope and our own binoculars. Later we walked over and had a good laugh at the floating shell leftover from a long dead large turtle. What had happened? No doubt, her expectations were so high that we would see a Masked Duck, that the first floating lump she saw confirmed her hopes.
(This juvenile Cooper's Hawk, as photgraphed by Jackson Trappett, can be a difficult identification.)

I saw something similar once when on a field trip at a birding convention. Our group had roused an owl from a low-to-the-ground perch. Someone immediately blurted, “Short-eared Owl! I saw the buffy patch on the wings!” A Short-eared Owl would have been a remarkable sighting for our location. The person shouting the identification probably dearly wanted to see one. Well, the owl landed nearby, and remained perched when we found it again. There were no buffy patches. It was a different species altogether, and one that was expected in this habitat.
(This is definitely not a short-eared owl.)

As I’ve gained experience as a birder, I have become more wary of my identifications. For me, I have learned that I am especially susceptible to seeing the bird I expect. I don’t look close enough and I can miss a rarity. And, I also will admit, there have been a few times I have been like the guy with the owl. With only a fleeting look, I have decided I've seen a much desired species, only to learn that with a closer look, the fieldmarks I “wanted” to see were not really there.
(Scoters in winter, such as this Surf Scoter photographed by Carol Ortenzio, are rare in the Grand Valley and easy to mis-identitfy.)

Maybe these types of experiences make birders better consumers of political theater. Maybe, maybe not. There is a big difference. For the past decade or so, most birders record their sightings on a public database ( The database is configured to notify everyone else who might like to see the bird. Others will be in the field trying to see what you think you saw, possibly within minutes. They will let you know if you are wrong—probably with photographs. The database also notifies an expert reviewer who contacts you and requests a detailed rationale for your identification. If you can't do it, the bird is not officially counted. Maybe if our voting rationale was subject to as much oversight, we really would be better voters.

This post provided by Nic Korte, Grand Valley Audubon Society. Send questions/comments to [To learn more and to participate in the activities of Grand Valley Audubon, please see our website at and “like” us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.!]



By Nic.Korte
Thursday, September 29, 2016

I sat down to write about something else, but looking out the window at the snow on my hummingbird feeder unsettled me. All winter it seemed, I longed for their return. I've been in denial about the approach of winter. No more!

(My hummingbird feeder mount has an inch of snow on it.)

I am writing from a small cabin at 8,300ft. Upon arrival yesterday, I considered whether to put up the feeders. It was a beautiful fall afternoon. The oakbrush on the dry hillsides was at its peak with red and a little remaining green sprinkled through the bright, light brown of the leaves about to fall. Down at the creek, the narrowleaf cottonwoods were bright yellow. I was right on time for these because they do not retain their changed leaves very long. The alders and serviceberries also displayed a variety of reds and yellows.

The aspen in my window view are about half-turned. Those on the mountainside are all yellow. Down here, surrounding my meadow, most are pale green, but interspersed are a few in yellow flame, and even a couple with the rarer red pigment.

My records over 15 years show an occasional hummingbird this late in the season, but as the snow settles on the feeder mount, I know I have another year to wait. The fleetingness of the seasons up here always comes as a shock. It is September 23. A scant four months ago, I saw my first Broad-tailed Hummingbird of the year. Last week I saw the last.

I think about where they went. Almost all went to Mexico: the Broad-tailed to Mexico and Central America, the Rufous to Northern and Central Mexico, the Black-chinned mostly go to Western Mexico and I have seen myself where the Calliopes went—West-central Mexico. Maybe I should go too.

(This Rufous Hummingbird has probably been in Mexico for a few weeks already.)

I’ve been pondering why I find the disappearance of hummingbirds so disturbing. There are many things I like about winter: cross-country skiing, snow-shoeing, the holidays, the Christmas Bird Count! I suspect I have an unrealistic yearning that life always be springtime with its promise of warmer days, brighter flowers and new life. Deep down, I’m probably wondering about myself, and whether the hummingbirds have a lesson for me. With their rapid heartbeats (sometimes exceeding 1000 beats per minute), and need to consume (they may eat eight times their body weight in a single day), they have to give life all they have, all the time. I've seen several in the past few days that seemed to drop out of the sky, feed quickly, then rise up high and turn directly south. As I watched them in my binoculars, their usual rapid wingbeats seemed frantic, as in recognition that they had to get out of here, right now!

Will I see them again? There's a question with two answers. How will next spring find me? I hope the same, but life changes. My dad, the family realized after his passing, was an unrecognized philosopher. “You never know,” was one of his favorite sayings. The hummingbirds, with a usual lifespan of only one to two years, are optimistically chasing the spring. They are chasing warmth and beauty and I hope they find it in some Mexican or Costa Rican forest or garden. They will return for our next spring, after the snow has melted, and begin the cycle all over. Life is short. We need to care for it!

This post provided by Nic Korte, Grand Valley Audubon Society. Send questions/comments to [To learn more and to participate in the activities of Grand Valley Audubon, please see our website at and follow us on social media {facebook, twitter, instagram}!]



By Nic.Korte
Monday, September 19, 2016

“How was your hunt?” I asked my friend. “Fantastic,” he replied. Then he described watching a meadow for elk while two coyotes trotted out within 10 ft and began howling. He also described being serenaded by owls and listening to elk bugling. Until I asked, he didn’t tell me he hadn’t shot any elk. Contrast my friend’s experience with a person I will call an acquaintance. After his deer hunt, he came home and complained bitterly. He had camped at a nearby forest service campground where he had seen deer in the summer. None had shown up this time. He was angry with the Colorado Department of Parks and Wildlife for selling him a license when “there weren’t any deer.” He even wanted his money back. What a contrast.
(Habitat good enough for triplet fawns to thrive, is great for birds too.)

Hunting does fill me with mixed emotions—just as did the stories from those two hunters. I grew up hunting small game and have harvested quail, doves and pheasants, as well as rabbits and squirrels. At that time and location in my life, it was the only real excuse there was for being outdoors ( Even then I saw good hunters and bad (those who would blast a squirrel’s nest in hopes of knocking one out, while more likely killing it in the nest).

The reality is that hunting is a necessary part of management of our wildlands. There are numerous examples of the need for game harvests in locations where there are no longer predators such as mountain lion, wolf and bear to maintain healthy populations. It is also true, that many hunters are tireless advocates for the protection of wildlife habitat. For those reasons, most birdwatchers support hunting when regulated by sound biological principles. Which brings me back to the two types of hunters described in my first paragraph.

We own some land adjacent to national forest and we see lots of hunters and hunting camps. Some of the ATV use and camps seem well “over the top.” My inclination is to wish better luck to those who hike well up into the high country wilderness where good physical conditioning, route-finding ability, and understanding of habitat are so important to hunting success.

My musing about the two hunters was also kindled during a recent hour I spent on a stair-climber at the health club. I read two magazines published by organizations that I admire. One was the magazine put out by Ducks Unlimited ( and the other by Backcountry Hunters and Anglers ( Both groups represent hunters who understand preservation of wildlife habitat is more important than their individual success. Duck hunters recognize that ducks and geese are not hatched near where they hunt.   If their sport is to survive, they must ensure the existence of safe refuges for birds to be reared and to rest during migration.
(If the habitat is good for pronghorn, it is good for Northern Harriers and migratory species such as Burrowing Owls.)

To that end, DU honored in their pages a wealthy individual who had given a great deal of money to protect wetlands. He recognized his dependence on habitat protection by many landowners, different states, and even other countries if his sport was to survive. Sadly, the same individual was castigated in two different articles in the Backcountry Journal because he had purchased large tracts of land from which he could block public access to trout streams in order to reserve their use for himself and his wealthy friends. It is a good thing he can't buy all the duck habitat.

Backcountry Hunters and Anglers have a land ethic represented by the experiences of my elk hunting friend.  BHA members are relentless supporters of public land, wilderness areas, and taking care of habitat. I loved it when I read the response of one of the group’s leaders when he was asked what “sign” he looked for when hunting elk. “A sign that says ‘No ATVs Permitted Behind This Sign,’” was his retort.
(Backcountry Hunters and Anglers will pay up to $500 for convictions rerelated to reports of illegal ATV use.)

Indeed, ATV use is very contentious as any user of public lands is well aware. A few years ago Colorado experimented with allowing hunters to leave designated ATV routes if they were retrieving game. Unfortunately, the policy was so widely abused, that the privilege had to be rescinded. The abuse was noted despite chronic underfunding of enforcement.
(Here is some great habitat to search for Northern Goshawk and Western Purple Martins.)

Obviously, many ATV users are law-abiding and stick to designated routes, but the habitat damage caused by improper use of these machines can be long-lasting affecting hunters, fishermen, and all who enjoy wildlife. For that reason, BHA is offering $500 to anyone who reports unlawful ATV use that leads to a conviction ( ). I hope none of us sees such law-breaking this hunting season, but if you do, report it for the sake of the habitat. You might also earn $500.

This post provided by Nic Korte, Grand Valley Audubon Society. Send questions/comments to [To learn more and to participate in the activities of Grand Valley Audubon, please see our website at and “like” us on Facebook or follow us on Twitter!]



By Nic.Korte
Monday, September 5, 2016

“You’re kidding!” I said. “Really? She wants to go?” I was discussing my grand-daughter Zia with my daughter, Ann. I had called that morning and suggested Zia accompany me to watch hummingbirds being banded. Zia is only 6, but already, despite my best efforts (honestly!), she has become wary of birding excursions. As expected, when I called initially, she had responded negatively. Somehow though, she had thought it over and changed her mind. I said I’d be right over.

Zia didn’t know what an opportunity she had accepted. Many of my friends and relatives, being casual birders or less, believe I’m some sort of savant or super-expert when it comes to birds. I protest, but they consider it false modesty. Now, though, I was, indeed, taking Zia to visit some masters.

Stop and think. Everyone is familiar with the idea of banding birds. You catch them in a net and put a band around a leg. Nothing to it. (Actually, a lot of training and licensing is required.)  But what about hummingbirds? Think how small their legs are. Not only that, their legs are fragile. Have you ever seen a hummingbird walk? I haven’t either. It is because they can’t. How does one even catch them? Netting such a tiny bird seems fraught with opportunities for injury.

Grand Junction is fortunate to have among its citizens Steve and Debbie Bouricius. Of the approximately 6000 licensed bird banders in the US and Canada, only approximately 80 are licensed for hummingbirds.

 (This male Calliope Hummingbird, as photographed by Jackson Trappett, wasn’t banded. Steve Bouricius reports, however, that this has been a good year for immature and female Calliope Hummingbirds—uncommon fall migrants in the Grand Valley.)

With so few banders, most of the equipment used is handmade or one of a few. Steve and Debbie have accumulated a number of tools described as “one of five” or the like. Much of their setup is of their own design. For example, I have watched a lot of other bird banding. Bands are obtained from the appropriate authorities, the correct size is determined, and the band is attached to the bird’s leg with a special tool. It isn’t so easy with hummingbirds. The bands are so small and fragile, they are best made as needed. Much of the time while we visited, Steve or Debbie sat carefully making bands with their nearly-uniquie tools while the other handled the birds.
(Zia watches Steve prepare the bands)

Steve and Debbie have a central station with a series of binder clips attached to fishing line. Cages with large doors have been fashioned around standard hummingbird feeders. When a hummingbird is feeding in the cage, the doors are lowered with the fishing line. Doors are slowly shut to ensure that one of the small birds is not trapped against the wire. Once trapped, the hummingbird is carefully grabbed and then put in a small bag from which it is measured and banded.

 (Zia holds one of the more than 10,000 hummingbirds banded by Steve and Debbie since 1999)

I learned a lot by seeing the birds so close. This time of year, most of the easily-identifiable, full-plumaged males are already south of us, leaving the sometimes difficult task of identifying immature birds. Steve and Debbie were able to show me the fine points of identification.

As for Zia, I couldn’t persuade her to leave. She enjoyed watching scientists at work as they carefully handled the birds and made measurements. I was able to explain to her how Steve and Debbie are doing important research by helping to examine distribution patterns and population changes. Indeed, their orchard, which hosts several Black-chinned Hummingbird nests each summer, is yielding interesting data regarding nesting patterns and nest-site fidelity.

(Several times, Zia’s hand was used as the launching pad when it was time for a bird to be released.) 

Possibly more important than the research, however, is the educational aspect of Steve and Debbie’s work. They clearly enjoy sharing the experience of hummingbirds through presentations, seminars, and banding demonstrations (at their home and at the Annual Sedona, AZ. Hummingbird Festival)—just ask my grand-daughter!

This post provided by Nic Korte, Grand Valley Audubon Society. Send questions/comments to [To learn more and to participate in the activities of Grand Valley Audubon, please see our website at and “like” us on Facebook!]



By Nic.Korte
Monday, August 22, 2016

I admit to being a little dishonest in my last blog. I wanted folks to consider butterflies as another reason to be outdoors. Now is, perhaps, the peak of butterfly season so why not pay attention?

Where I wasn’t quite truthful was in my reference to the Cornell website’s statement that now is birding’s “doldrums.” In truth, Western Colorado, because of its habitat and climate diversity, never has a time when birding isn’t interesting. Our first migrants, such as the Rufous Hummingbirds, began showing up more than a month ago. But, now is the time when things begin to heat up. This week, a friend and I found Solitary and Baird’s Sandpipers—two species that nest above the Arctic Circle. (  &

Migration is exciting because one can go birding in a familiar patch and find almost anything—or nothing. During the first week of August, I had a difficult time finding even 20 species in my own patch of aspen woods at 8300 ft., east of Collbran. Indeed, I may not have even found 30 individual birds.
A week ago, it was a lot different. I encountered several mixed flocks of migrants, the best included at least eight Townsend’s Warblers.

(Townsend's Warbler by Jackson Trappett)

Townsend’s Warblers breed in only four of the contiguous US states: Montana, Idaho, Oregon and Washington. From the US-Canada border, they breed on up into Alaska favoring tall, coniferous forests as their breeding habitat.

While I was watching the Townsend’s, I had Nashville on my mind. Nashville Warblers that is. The Western population of Nashville Warblers also nest in the Pacific Northwest but in a much smaller area than Townsend’s. Also unlike Townsend’s Warblers, Nashville Warblers need shrubby habitat and nest on the ground.

(Nashville Warbler by Jackson Trappett)

Nashville Warblers are usually seen singly and rarely. I didn’t find even one. Maybe next time.

This post provided by Nic Korte, Grand Valley Audubon Society. Send questions/comments to [To learn more and to participate in the activities of Grand Valley Audubon, please see our website at and “like” us on Facebook!]

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