Out standing!

Some kind person recently said I was "outstanding in my field." I was flattered.
Then I remembered I'd shown them this photograph just moments before.

Some North Dakota Birds (& Pie)

If you've never been to North Dakota on a birding trip this post will give you a taste of just some of the birds we see. Things like Virginia rail (above) and sharp-tailed grouse (below).




Male yellow-headed blackbirds sing their retching songs from every slough.


And drake blue-winged teal forage and float on flooded fields.


Marsh wrens send their chatter-scolds across the cattails, the sound often swept away by the swift prairie wind.


A shelter belt near an old farmstead might be the home of a pair of nesting Say's phoebes.


And American bitterns are fairly easy to see among the potholes in the coteau.



Some days are gray, chilly, and wet—but that never stops us. In fact the challenging weather makes it all the more sweet when you stop for lunch at one of the small ton cafes, like the great one in Woodworth.

Where they make amazing pies for their hungry customers.

Rhubarb pie is my favorite. I can already taste it!

For more information about birding in North Dakota and the Potholes & Prairie Birding Festival, visit birdingdrives.com

North Dakota Dreaming

In a bit more than a week the family and I will be back in North Dakota at the Potholes & Prairie Birding Festival based in Carrington, ND. Every day out there we'll see the sky sliced by chevrons of American white pelicans.

You can find the festival HQ in Carrington by looking for the giant statue of a Native American outside The Chieftain Motor Lodge. He's waiting to give you a high five.

At the P&PBF we birders also throw our hands in the air (like we just don't care) when we celebrate seeing a life bird, like a Baird's sparrow or a Sprague's pipit.


Phoebe and Liam love coming with us on our prairie rambles. Nothing but grass and big sky. And smiles and hugs.


And a bit of music played at Ann & Ernie's place, near Pipestem Creek.

If you look carefully you can find some prairie smoke in bloom.

You can wander through and old homestead and image the lives that were lived there.

And you can watch the sun go down over the western horizon, seemingly just over yonder and a thousand miles away all at once.

The coteau region of North Dakota has called us to it for a decade now. It's a wide open place, where your mind sneaks out of your head and stretches itself in the prairie sunshine. The worries of the world seem so far away, and why not? It's the middle of nowhere, but farther along.

Hope to see you there.

My Bird of the Year, Part 2

Picking up where I left off in my last post (from just before Christmas!) I've been scrolling through the images I downloaded onto my computer during 2011, trying to select my bird of the year. It's tough because all of the birds I'm choosing as finalists are ones that were particularly memorable for one reason or another. Like the male ruddy duck (above) that put on a show of extreme courtship, doing the bubble dance/display on a North Dakota slough last June. But for whom was he performing? There were no other ducks on that small patch of water. Yet he kept at it and I shot his picture over and over. Perhaps he was posing.

This adult male ruby-throated hummingbird let me get very close to him as he rested on a plant hanger in our garden. It was my best hummingbird photo of the year, taken on a fine July morning in southeastern Ohio.

On a pre-dawn birding outing at St. Marks NWR in the Florida panhandle in September I had to stop to snap this photo with my point-and-shoot Canon G12. The heron's silhouette on the dawn-brushed, still water was vastly more stunning than the camera's sensor and lens could capture. It was one of my more peaceful moments in the field in 2011, despite the mosquitoes and no-see-ums.
Back to North Dakota for an outing during the Potholes and Prairie Birding Festival on which we found a Sprague's pipit—a lifer for everyone in my group. Sadly there were no photos of the pipit, which was sky-dancing 300 feet above us.


And back to Oklahoma for another life bird for yours truly, a male black-capped vireo in the Wichita Mountains NWR. My friend Eric Beck knew just where to go to find vireo territories—a long hike up a canyon. And although we were on the early side of their spring return date, we did manage to find three different singing males. This was my best digiscoped shot of a male black-capped vireo—not great but a great adventure and memory!

In November I was on a birding tour in Israel and while there I got to enjoy hundreds of bird species that I've rarely, if ever, seen. I could make an entire BOTY list just from birds on that fantastic trip. But in the interest of staying focused, I'm going to narrow it down to just a few highlight birds, one of which is the male Palestine sunbird (above) which came to drink nectar on a flowering shrub just outside my hotel room in the Hula Valley. This is as close to a hummingbird as it gets in the Middle East. Lovely, active little birds.

The most stunning avian attraction of the Hula Valley where I spent most of my time in Israel was the giant flocks of common cranes that migrate through Israel in winter and spring. Some stay in the Hula for the winter and the local farmers and communities, along with local preserve/refuge managers are devising ways to keep the cranes from damaging crops while letting them spend the winter foraging and roosting. It's an ingenious concept—humans and birds coexisting symbiotically. On two separate mornings and several evenings we witnessed between 15,000 and 20,000 common cranes in giant, noisy, swirling flocks.

Here's a photograph of a tiny bird I found in the Agamon Valley in Israel. Believe it or not this is a warbler known as a chiffchaff. It's named for its onomatopoeic call chiff-chaff. This little guy (or gal) was foraging in some low weeds outside a viewing blind at the Hula-Agamon Park. After watching large mega-birds like cranes and eagles all day, it was a nice change to spend some time with a small songbird.

My closest-ever look at a merlin occurred in the Negev Desert near a birding hotspot that's basically a power highline cutting through agricultural fields. A small copse of pines were the only cover for miles around and our guide, Israeli birder Jonathan Meyrav had just said "This can be a good place for merlins" when we spotted this beauty in a tree.

As I flipped through the Middle East bird field guide on the flight over to Israel, this bird (above) was tops on my list of most wanted: the cream-coloured courser. We found a flock in the Negev Desert, just as a huge approaching storm made the afternoon seem like dusk. These coursers were digiscoped at a great distance, but were a thrilling sighting nonetheless.

Here we are at the end of a year of wonderful birds. These are only MY very subjective highlights and, as I said in the beginning of this post, it's really hard to choose just one to be my Bird of the Year. But I think I have one. It's the Bohemian waxwing, above. This was a life bird for me—one that had eluded me for many years. Bohenian waxwings are birds of the far North. However, the winter of 2010-11 was something of an invasion year for BOWAs and I did not want to miss out on my chance. So my friend Geoff Heeter (a native Michigander) and I made a road trip north, nearly to the Upper Peninsula, seeking a flock of these wandering fruiteaters. Every lead we chased came up empty, until a kind birder on the Mich-Birds listserv sent me a direct message with a hot tip for a place in Traverse City, where she'd seen Bohemians the day before. We got there, found a flock of seven, and I had my lifer (and so did Geoff).

This quest took on added significance because it came shortly after the rather sudden death of my dad, William H. Thompson, Jr. Shortly after Dad's memorial service, Geoff and I left Marietta, Ohio, headed north, and even if we hadn't seen a single Bohemian waxwing, the healing power of birding helped me to overcome my grief.

It's funny. Bird watching means different things to each of us. In 2011, as exciting as my birding experiences were, the one bird that sticks out is a life bird that helped me escape the agonizing pain caused by a death. Without birds, I'm not sure where I'd be right now. I'm so thankful for the wonder of birds, and for the joy that comes from watching them with my friends and family.

I'm looking forward the the birds of 2012!