The Eternal Flame: Wayne County and Economy of Scale Birding

North Carolina is a land of many wonders, wonders that are horizontally spread. The outer banks and sites like Cape Hatteras are famous for their getaways and pelagic birding, while the inner banks offer their own liminal brand of beach life. The coastal plain and Piedmont areas are marvelous watersheds of agrarian life, and some of the best stretches of Appalachia just through the western border. Time spent in the Great Smokies is among my favorite, and I yet pine for a trip to the outer banks. Most of my time with family in Carolina is spent in Wayne County, in the heart of the rural plain.

Eastern Phoebes can be found throughout pretty much all of this various habitat in the southeastern states. This commonality is more appreciated in winter, perhaps, as there are few Flycatchers then and one should never go too long without.

Wayne County is wet. It is woody. It echos with firearm discharges on Christmas morning when everyone and his mother tries out their new presents. It is also the site--and maybe you've heard about this in Legendary Magazine, ABA Smack-down, or simply hovering in the ether above Lake Michigan--of an epic struggle for eBird supremacy. For the last few years the coveted-if-not-heavy crown of 'By Species Leader' in Wayne County rested upon the ordained head of one Matthew Daw. His infamous reign rested on a cunning and cruel record of 96 species up through 2011. As county leader, Matthew Daw was cold. Some say he didn't even bother to bird in Wayne anymore, that he was once green and good but turned up his nose for the lascivious bird-scene in the Triangle area. Others say he was cruelly meticulous, a veritable Sheriff of Nottingham in Wayne County determined to spook and flush all the birds away before anyone could approach his record. 

*(Author's acknowledgment: Matthew Daw is probably, in actuality, a super nice guy).

The people needed a hero, even if most of them didn't realize it when I asked or introduced myself. By way of reigniting my own lackluster birding, much less birding leadership, it became my pre-New Year's resolution to usurp the crown, free the land, and impose a much better form of county listing tyranny in Wayne: one that recognizes me, Laurence.

Golden-crowned Kinglets are of little concern to most listers on anything grander than a Day or Site list. This is not because they are not cool birds--they're golden--but rather because they are common as hell.

Wayne is a pretty small county in a state made up of 100 relatively small counties. It has neither coast nor mountain nor desert, but one large river, a few lakes and reservoirs, and one State Park. Birding in Wayne County is thus largely restricted to a few elements by virtue of good and accessible habitat: birding Cliffs of the Neuse State Park, birding the Goldsboro Wastewater Treatment area and adjacent constructed wetlands, and then cruising the farmland and fallow fields with their border-woods that surrounds all the rest of it.
Sitting on 92 species, my endeavor was to bird the hell out of all these areas in between cramming biscuits and collared greens into my face and then having to hustle it off at the Goldsboro YMCA, and also finishing up Christmas shopping. The first two settings, Neuse SP and Water Treatment, provided the best numbers of new county birds. The third element, random rural birding, probably provided the most satisfying.

Before we go any further though I must share this image of Tufted Titmouse. This bird was not a county bird nor in any way relevant to this story, but somehow I have never photographed/posted TUTI on this website before. I did not even realize this at the time or I would've tried harder.  In my humble opinion all Titmice should be Black-crested or Bridled.



For picking up waterfowl, there's no place better (or, really, much at all) than the water plant and nearby run-off wetlands. This really should be scope-birding, considering the areas are gated off, but I had neither scope nor bolt cutters, so distant binocular views it was! Finding some species of duck was tricky; I still don't have Gadwall here. They're much more skittish than in Arizona, and I suspect this corresponds to the preponderance of hunting in the area. Redheads and Scaups were ticks from this raft.



Flying over the wetlands were lean-looking Turkey Vultures, which were not new, and stocky-looking silver-fingered Black Vultures, which were.

The wetlands also offered up petting opportunities for North America's most vitamin & mineral laden rodent, the Nutria. As I understand it, they were introduced for fur farming and are a destructive invasive species given their propensity for burrowing and eating delicate water plants. With those large orange teeth it's also a mug only a mother could love...and momma still makes them move out of the house.



In a way I've been talking down WC birding, which is not my intention objectively but just a result of comparative resources and space. These restrictions actually make one focus and maximize resources; it's essentially patch-birding highs strung together.
That being said, it was also with humility and foot-in-mouth that I logged a County Bird AND Lifer at the ponds. Palm Warbler. How did I not have Palm Warbler? Unhook your trailer and GO man!
Anyway taking photos with a foot in one's mouth is tricky business but PAWAs are cool birds, seemingly comfortable tail-bobbing and feeding in a variety of settings.



At times they seemed to be doing fly-catcher behavior, as do Yellow-rumps, but also foraging on the ground like Pipits or Larks--both behaviors unbecoming of many other Warbler sp. Truth be told I had kind of forgotten about these birds being here in the winter. Winter warblering just isn't really a thing. I am ashamed, but I'm also operating on a pretty low level of bird-awareness anyway. Most importantly, it was great. Birding is goddamned great.



Cliffs of the Neuse, where I had logged lifer Barred Owl and crushed Prothonotaries in summer months, was also productive. This stretch of the Neuse river itself is pretty gnarly and with disappointing to no water birds. The surrounding woodlands are great, both in terms of scenic easy walking and avifauna. Blue-headed Vireo was a solid CB, as was a weirdly high-perching and stationary Fox Sparrow. That bird stayed treed, silent, and still for like 10 minutes until I moved on. Weird.

Fracking is still a hot topic of environmental and economic concern, but drilling sap wells is largely unregulated. This suits Yellow-bellied Sapsucker--the most cowardly of woodpeckers--just fine. YBSA was another CB, one of those birds common enough to be found in the right habitat on any given day with some time and perseverance, but not necessarily found on any given walk in the park.

Other CBs here included PIWO along with White-breasted and Brown-headed Nuthatch (: ::sigh:: : yes, I know).

Those photos weren't very good though, so here is a Carolina Wren, perhaps one of North America's most crush-able bird species in general. I have no other way of fitting this bird into the narrative anyway, but it's good to have more Carolina flavor.

CAWRs are dapper, loud, curious, and largely unafraid. They are a true staple and lynch-pin of southeastern woodlands, and even if they go unappreciated at times, life would be sad without them. A Top 3 North American Wren? One could argue.

Somehow, Carolina Chickadee did not end up as the state bird for North or South Carolina. To be fair, South Carolina does have the Carolina Wren in lieu, but how was this not snagged by NC?? Clearly that election was hacked by Russians to boost the chances of Red Red Cardinal.

Living in a rural area, one often drives through open land, some of which is undeveloped and some of which has development since run to ruin. A derelict homage to the tobacco industry and its declining relevancy, there are many old tobacco barns and other abandoned buildings dotting the farmland. 

Apparently, having never learned my lesson from horror movies, "Deliverance," or common sense, these seemed like great spots to check for owls at dusk. To my surprise I checked near two dozen tobacco barns and found nothing, not even whitewash. On the upside I was not killed. With all their rafters and openings in the ceiling they seemed ideal, but many also smelled strongly of their former wares so, I dunno, maybe that's a turn-off to Barn and Great-Horned Owls.

After good work at the aforementioned sites I was up to 104 species. Eclipsing Matthew Daw and all but erasing him from the history books. Already the land of Wayne County seemed a bit brighter, a bit more fecund, a bit safer. But shoot, a difference of 8 birds? All it takes is one judiciously smuggled bag of 8 imported species from out west released and then photographed in one's backyard to catch up. Who would do or even think of doing such a thing? Matthew Daw would, obviously.

Thus the quest continued and nothing less than a distance of 10 species would be acceptable. A happenstance flock of Purple Finches supplied #105, which put me within striking distance on Dec. 29th. Traditionally, one strikes gold with a rich shining vein in the rock, typically a granitic or quartzite compound. Sometimes one strikes gold from the depths of a river bed. In my case, I struck gold here, not in a stately tobacco barn with history and tradition behind it, but a lean-to shed with old vacuums, toilets, and maybe a meth lab in it.



Who else is into that sort of stuff, apparently? This Eastern-screech Owl, who was grumpily perched in the left corner of the shed upon entering. There's a sub-theme in this post, as readers have no doubt wryly noticed, of logging birds either as lifers or CBs that are probably overdue. This EASO was a CB and only not a lifer by virtue of hearing one outside of Kerr WMA in Texas a few summers ago. From that initial exposure onward (and in that case, I was the one exposed) I never experienced EASO again, not even with the help of birder friends and a very reliable stake-out in Austin.

I'm probably not the only bedraggled fellow to enjoy catharsis in that dingy shed, but Specialness is not an exclusive place or feeling. It's been said many times but it holds: Owls are the best.
Relatedly, in addition to setting a new record for Maricopa County, Arizona legend Tommy Debardeleben also completed his quest in 2016 to see every North American owl. I highly recommend reading about it HERE for great story and great owling info.

 

I was also able to pick up a few more species--grassland types and a Sharpie--at the now-created birding spot of Walker Family Cemetery between La Grange and Goldsboro. For any Wayne Co. birders who might be reading this, check it out; It's a good little spot with lots of relative variety.

Thusly into the new year do I sit, mighty on my throne of 111, eminent in Wayne County and indigent in most other things. There is still much work to be done and I do not know when next I shall do it, but in the mean time Wayne County, be at peace.

Texas Birding: The Final Chapter and No Room for Tears

Even though the solid birding continued through the Bolivar Flats and in Galveston Bay, the smell of the sea and the thrill of new birds could not dissuade a rising feeling in my gut. No, this was not the same familiar gut feeling that came after eating at too many roadside diners. This was a pain of sadness, of melancholy, for I knew my time in Texas was drawing to a close. I knew there were still birds to see, but also plenty for which I had passed the opportunity to see. Luck had not provided Brown Jays nor Mexican Crows nor Becards, and I failed to turn up Red-billed Pigeon through my own endeavors. That wasn't even the worst of it. Purple Gallinule and Fulvous-whistling Duck both continued to elude me, as did Ringed Kingfisher. While I was eagerly anticipating a return to civilization, booze refills, and showers in Austin, I mourned the continued absence of these birds from my life, a life that already lacks big piles of cash, big piles of babes, and big piles of jet skiis. Surely I could get at least one more bird?

There was one last glimmer of hope between Galveston and Austin, one faint possibility of grabbing a figurative toothpick (the worst kind, by the way) and snatching just a little bit more victory from between the teeth of the jaws of defeat. 

Brazos Bend SP had a solid eBird list, it was reasonably en route, and it had one of my truant target species listed there. The first bird I saw was not such a target bird, but an FOY Mississippi Kite is a pretty sweet flyover, even if it's a silhouette. These birds are singularly attractive, and I need to pay them a visit at their tiny breeding spot in St. David, AZ again.

Brazos Bend is pretty well known in the Texas birding circles, especially for an inland site, but to an outsider it had no notoriety relative to the famous coastal or river valley sites. The layout is more or less similar to other state parks one would expect in such areas, several vegetated lakes with grassy walkways bordered by thick deciduous woods. It goes without saying, this being a Texas park, that there were also Purple Martin colonies supported on the premises.

There is always an easiest way to do a thing, and then a panoply of comparatively easy ways to do that same thing. Seldom do I land anywhere on that spectrum.
I hit Brazos Bend at about 1:00 in the pm and about 100° on the thermometer. This was impeccably poor timing even with a MIKI near the parking lot. Luckily the lugubrious pond reptiles didn't utilize watches, and thus didn't know any better. Red-eared Sliders were quite common at the water features, and sported varying amounts of home-grown salad on their trailers.

The Brazos Bend target bird would be in the same sort of muck as the hestian reptiles, so I spent the first hour or so circulating the lakes and putting some final touches on my two-week sunburn--I was determined my neck would peel like an onion, or die trying. A species of softshell turtle, maybe a Spiny, was surprisingly removed from its element, perhaps in a solar-charged attempt to rid itself of a discomforting collection of leeches.

The organization and maintenance around the Brazos lakes really was on point. Large willow and oak trees dripping with spanish moss lined the grassy expanses and many waders populated the densely-padded banks. Contemplative Anhingas surveyed overhead, pondering just exactly what the hell kind of bird they really want to be. 

There were no rare or unexpected waders, but Brazos boasted very respectable diversity, including the birds shown below and also two Ibis species and some other deemed unworthy of the camera.

I would also be remiss not in mentioning that the deeper, more open sloughs had some oversized aquatic lizards whose parents never taught them not to stare. The fellow shown below was maybe 5 feet long in total, which means he still has a few more years to go until sexual maturity. Five feet tall and sexually immature...we all remember that awkward age. 

The grassy, picnic type areas were productive as well, though they held little promise of new birds. Yellow-throated and White-eyed Vireos both sang from the thicker trees surrounding the openings, while Cardinals, Blue Jays, and Common Crows gave their same old shtick where they had the space. I know that any references to Poe on a bird blog should be accompanied by a photo of a Raven, but look at this Crow. It actually looks that eloquent, morose ol' necrophiliac. Maybe there's something to reincarnation after all. Maybe I anthropoemorphize too much.

The wooded areas also provided some clear looks at Tufted Titmouse, a bird I saw surprisingly little of in Texas, and one which to my shame I had never photographed before. It's always them young ones that can't stay away from the camera. Profile duck-face! This TUTI would later upload this shot to its FB page for sure totes, accompanied by many like pokes.



More worthwhile and not far away was an ebullient Northern Parula. My prior sightings of this bird were mangy vagrants in Arizona, always in non-bedding plumage. Finally I had my face properly melted, that is, melted all the way through, not just melted around the edges and left with a cold center like a friggin' Hot Pocket.

These birds might well be accredited as one of the top ten most gorgeous passerines in North America if they weren't also among the most common, widespread, and conspicuous eastern warbler species. It requires some skill not to oversaturate and expose this bird when it's in direct sun. I do not possess this skill. The southern Parula populations start their breeding in March. Time and food permitting, they sometimes have a go at a second brood before the season is over. The image of virility. 

After completing a few of the various lake circuits I was pretty pleased with Brazos Bend, and able to say it exceeded my expectations (which, of course, were lower than they should have been). But apart from opening yet another county account I had added nothing of real note to my trip list. 

On any given trek when the target birds aren't showing the seed of doubt starts to grow. It can grow and grow, spreading throughout one's body, sapping the limbs of their strength and the mind of its will. It's at this pivotal time when the hardcore and/or vacationing birder has to murder that seed, kill it with some sort of toxic spray, like say, bourbon or something, and then press on. 

Luckily the Bulleit rye had one swig left in it, and luckily the PUGA was frolicking in the pickerel weed, around the last and largest of the lakes, a weed in which it is very good to frolic. I have dipped on this bird before as a vagrant in AZ. I managed not to see it ever before in Texas, nor when birding in Florida. Finally, I got to put this gorgeous swamp chicken to bed, and then make cuddle spoons too.

#loveyouhateyougallinule

This particular specimen was a wonderful ambassador. The years of frustration could finally be released, leaking out of my face as I wept openly, softly at first and then with tremendous violence. The bird came very close, no doubt attracted to the cloud of dragonflies eating the cloud of non-dragonflies around my head. Crush you very much PUGA.

Red-billed Pigeon was a lost opportunity and Fulvous Ducks just weren't in the cards. Nevertheless, with a pretty full sense of satisfaction, I completed the trip to Austin where I spent that evening and the next recuperating at the domicile of one of Texas's crustiest and simultaneously gracious birding machines. 

Ah...to be under a roof and with plumbing again, to eat non-chain burgers, to sleep with straightened legs and parallel to the ground...these are commodities that soft, squishy, modern humans should not avoid for long, which domestic Purple Martins appreciate very well.

"Verily, my favorite burger comes with a generous topping of flies"

"Only barbarians and Cave Swallows sleep so impiously such as not to have a roof overhead"

The Austin revival was sorely needed, though I hit a run of bad luck bird-wise in the area. I was able to get quick, distant looks at a Ringed Kingfisher staked out by Nate at Roy G. Guerrero Park, but failed to turn up Barn and Eastern Screech Owls at either of their predictable spots. For my final morning of birding in Texas, I could turn up no more than an Indigo Bunting and some young didn't-know-any-betters in the form of a Ladder-backed Woodpecker and Eastern Phoebe.

Oh cruelty of cruelties, I still had to spend the night at the friggin' airport in SAT the next day after a series of mechanical problems and my continual parsimoniousness. Even going quietly into that last goodnight, the Texas birding was nothing short of phenomenal. I had never been birding out so long in any given day, seen so many birds in general nor recorded so many lifers as I did during my time in Texas. It was a wonderful trip, well worth the tormenting two year wait, and I want to thank everyone who helped along the way, especially Mike Motto at the Iowa Voice, Nate McGowan at This Machine Watches Birds, and the nice lady at Budget who knocked an extra $40 off my rental car because I was a "nice seeming young man." 

You all are almost as awesome as the birds. There will be more coming from farther east soon.