Birding in a "Fake Hammock"
The path to our favorite birding patch is only a few paces
outside our subdivision's
entrance gate. However, we must reach the gate by walking past about
two blocks of residences. Clothed in our rugged garb, we accept
quizzical stares from passing motorists, all dressed up as
they bring their kids to school or head for the office. We are often
recognized as birders, and have acquired some legitimacy by answering
questions from neighbors, such as, "Did you notice that a lot of baby
white cranes [translation: Snowy Egrets] have just joined their parents
[translation: Great Egrets] along our lake?"
Here in Florida we must pay special attention to protection from sun
and insects. Sensible wide-brimmed hats, trousers tucked into socks and
long sleeves on the hottest of mornings make us stand apart on the
fashion scene. No wonder Mary Lou regarded all birders as
rather eccentric folk-- until she became one herself!
The
latest additions to my wardrobe and gear have been an insect-repelling
shirt, waterproof snake-resistant boots and an OP/TECH Dual
camera/binocular harness. Here I am, all decked out and ready for
action. Photo courtesy of Mary Lou.
The harness solved a vexing problem. Until now
I carried my camera and binoculars slung over my neck and
opposite shoulders. This is a troublesome arrangement. Not only do the
straps conflict with each other, pinching and constricting my neck all
around, but their business ends can become hopelessly entangled. It's
very disconcerting to lift the camera for a shot and find the binocular
strap wrapped around the long lens. The harness (or halter) stores the
two items of equipment independently on each side and distributes their
weight on a single soft neoprene yoke that goes over both shoulders and
is secured by a chest strap. Strangulation is out of the question.
The snake boots are something else. A few close encounters with Water
Moccasins notwithstanding, I am usually very careful about looking
where I step and am not afraid of any snakes-- provided I see them
first. My attitude changed a couple of months ago, when (wearing
sneakers) I went out in the pre-dawn darkness to try to obtain a photo
of one of the Bobcats that live in the wetlands. I forgot to take a
flashlight and depended upon the moon and a little key chain LED lamp
to
light my way. This was fine until I had to cross some deeper grass, and
felt I might be taking my life into my hands. Indeed, another
photographer who walked out that way a couple of mornings
earlier and
obtained a knock-out Bobcat portrait, told me he saw four
small Water Moccasins along the same path. Why didn't I see any? This
experience, and prodding from my spouse, son-in-law and
daughter, as well as a couple of birding friends, led me to
finally buy the snake boots.
This
past Friday, we got out about ten minutes before sunrise and took our
usual warm-up "power walk" to the Harbour Lakes Impoundment, a lake
about a mile away from our gate. Here, a day-old full moon hovers
overhead, and the first rays of sunlight have just reached the trees on
the far side of the lake.
An
Osprey flew over, the early rays illuminating its flight feathers from
below.
A
Red-shouldered Hawk followed close behind the Osprey.
Along
the way, I stopped to photograph a Common Ground Dove...
...and
a Loggerhead Shrike.
Truth
be told, I just don't take one picture and move along. Usually I shoot
as soon as I spot my subject, then move in cautiously for better views.
Rather than shoot in bursts, I like to catch the bird in action while
calling, preening, or looking up, down or over its back. Such poses
seem more interesting than simple "field guide" side-on views. If a
twig or leaf is in the way, or part of the bird is in shadow, I try to
angle around it or wait until the bird moves into a more suitable
location. Approaching nearer to the subject requires stealth and slow
movements. Each bird seems to have a limit as to how closely it may be
approached. The shrike usually flies off if someone gets within about
thirty feet, though there are exceptions. All this takes time and can
be very BORING to a non-photographer birding companion. I know this
from experience, having taken up photography only recently, and used to
hate it when photographers held up other birders' progress.
Therefore,
Mary Lou usually leaves me with my camera and starts birding her way
back home within an hour, alone. That's her, fading away in the
distance.
Look closely at the above photo. Mary Lou is just passing the small,
compact wooded area that I call my "fake hammock." Although it is an
isolated area of hardwoods and is dry underfoot all year long, it
otherwise bears no resemblance to a "real" hammock, which is an
elevated island
in the Everglades, populated by native oaks, mahogany, maples and
palms. While my fake hammock contains ligustrum, exotic Brazilian
Pepper and lantana, it also has several large native Florida Trema
trees (Trema micranthum) with an endless crop of nutritious berries
that continue to ripen all winter. These trees are very attractive to
wildlife.
The first time I heard a Florida birder talk about finding
birds in a certain “hammock,” I wanted to correct him. Up
east,
the only hammocks I knew were made of canvas and slung between two
posts. I thought he meant to say “hummock,” a word that I first heard
used by a farmer, who pointed to a hill out in the middle of his
hayfield that was too steep to mow and had gone over to shrubs and
trees. Of course, I’ve since learned that “hammock” has a very specific
meaning in any discussion of Everglades ecology.
From the ground, a hammock indeed looks like a “hummock,” a
tree-covered hill that rises high above the surrounding Sawgrass
prairie. Hammocks are scattered throughout the Everglades, but they are
actually quite level, and only a foot or so above the high water mark.
It is the trees themselves that rise up in a graceful mound. In the dry
soil, hardwoods of many kinds flourish, draped with ferns and air
plants: mahogany, oak, maple, hackberry and gumbo limbo, as well as
native palms. Cocoplum, commonly used as a hedge or small shrub in
residential neighborhoods, grows to tree size. Hammocks serve as
refuges for more terrestrial creatures such as bobcats, panthers and
raccoons.
It can be quite cool in the deep shade of a hammock. My only
experience in walking through a hammock was on trails in
Everglades National Park. In my neighborhood, the land has been drained
and filled, and true hammocks are long gone. However, I did find this
very
lame
imitation of a hammock at the edge of our subdivision, where for some
unknown reason, the landscapers have allowed trees and shrubs to grow
undisturbed.
Trema
berries grow along the stems of the tree and are in various stages of
ripening.
I had not entered my "fake hammock" since spring, and found the path
that
led into it overgrown with high weeds, vines and shrubs. I would never
have ventured there without my new snake boots, but I forced my way
through the tangled vegetation. Once inside, I found very
little ground cover in the rather open shaded area.
An
old folding chair had been left there a long time ago and it provided a
nice place to sit and just wait for the migrating birds.
I
did not have to wait very long, as two vireos suddenly showed up to
partake of the Trema berries. One bird's markings suggested it might be
a Black-whiskered Vireo, but other views confirmed it was a common
Red-eyed Vireo with "bad hair."
No
doubt about it-- they were indeed Red-eyed Vireos.
For
comparison, here is the much less common Black-whiskered Vireo that I
photographed earlier this year in the same tree.
Just
above my head, a male Prairie Warbler foraged in a sunny patch of
leaves.
A
noisy group of three Red-bellied Woodpeckers flew in, allowing me to
pull off a couple of lucky shots before they disappeared.
There
were very few mosquitoes and no deer flies, and it was almost cool
inside my hiding place, as I watched a Black-and-White Warbler work its
way toward my position.
OK, I
overdosed on Black-and-Whites. I probably took over one hundred shots,
almost all
through peep-holes between the branches, and most marred by the rapid
movement of this little sprite. Then it came into the open and I
finally got some full views.
A
Northern Parula peered down at me from the canopy.
A
male Black-throated Blue Warbler joined him.
The
otherwise dissimilar female Black-throated Blue Warbler shares the
male's
field
mark, a white wing patch.
The
Blue Jays have completed their molt, and this jay looked sleek and
handsome.
Blue-gray
Gnatcatchers were almost as distracting as the many butterflies that
fluttered in my peripheral vision. One perched on a clump of
exotic Brazilian Pepper.
A
Baltimore Oriole was a surprise visitor.
A
male Northern Cardinal gobbled up the Trema berries.
For
me, the real treat was a pair of Ovenbirds that chased each other back
and forth, rarely sitting still long enough for decent portraits; this
one insisted on hiding behind a leaf as it eyed me.
The
other Ovenbird never perched nearby, requiring me to shoot through
holes in the foliage into its shaded retreat.
This
little tailed butterfly is a Dorantes Skipper.
The
most numerous butterflies were Zebra Heliconians, the State butterfly
of Florida.
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