March 11, 2020 by mattbuckinghamphotography

Late Winter and Early Spring on the Upper Texas Coast

American Avocets

Carolina and I have made three separate trips to the Upper Texas Coast year – one each in January, February, and March. In January we rented an AirBNB in Galveston with our good friends James and Erin Childress. We’ve really come to like this way of finding accommodation, and have stayed in some great places for very reasonable prices. But I digress.

The weather was generally gloomy and gray during out visit. This doesn’t make for a fun trip to the beach, however it’s usually pretty good for photography. So while Caro and Erin combed the beach, James and I got down on our bellies and started looking for things to point our cameras at.

One of the first subjects was a banded winter-plumaged Piping Plover (Charadrius melodus). Initially a victim of market hunting, this Federally Threatened species continued to experience significant population declines after the practice was outlawed, as the shorelines it depends on have rapidly disappeared to development. Thanks to legal protections and various conservation initiatives, populations appear to be slowly rebounding.

Piping Plover

We were also lucky enough to observe several Long-billed Curlews (Numenius americanus) foraging along the surf. The beaks on these guys are otherworldly. They use them to probe tiny burrows in the earth in search of hidden invertebrates. The curlews are winter residents along the coast. They nest primarily in shortgrass prairie and meadows in the intermountain west. Their breeding range barely enters Texas in the extreme northwest corner of the Panhandle, where Caro and I were lucky enough to see them last year.

Long-billed Curlew

In a remote stretch of undisturbed beach I came upon an avian extravaganza that I won’t soon forget. Thousands upon thousands of American Avocets (Recurvirostra americana) had congregated on a narrow spit of sand just offshore. The faintly sweet smell of uric acid greeted my nostrils, and a cacophony of bird chatter filled the air. To my surprise, they were not wary and allowed a close approach. I enjoyed playing with various compositions. I was happy for this rare opportunity to create images that were more artistic than diagnostic.

American Avocets

American Avocets

The avocets seemed indifferent to my presence, so I was surprised when through my viewfinder I saw that they all suddenly took flight with a deafening roar of alarm calls. Surely I hadn’t spooked them. The culprit responsible soon revealed itself, as a Peregrine Falcon (Falco peregrinus) shot into the undulating sea of feathers like a bullet. The falcon worked the avocets, pushing them farther out to see. Eventually, the avocets returned, but the falcon soon struck again. The scenario repeated itself several times, yet for all its speed and brawn, the Peregrine was unsuccessful in capturing one of the avocets. Perhaps with such a huge group of birds moving as one, the confusion is too much and focusing on a single target is too difficult. Then again, perhaps the raptor wasn’t really hungry, and just felt like messing with the poor shorebirds.

Peregrine Falcon

The next day we spent the evening exploring the Saltmarsh. While I was slowly creeping toward some ibises foraging in the incoming tide, I heard James call out “Nelson’s!” He had found and successfully photographed a Nelson’s Sparrow (Ammodramus nelsoni), an elusive lurker that tends to remain hidden in the grasses. I was admittedly jealous as I rushed to his location. We waited for some time, but the sparrow never gave us another clean look, and the best I could manage was a shot through the tangle of saltmarsh grasses.

Nelson’s Sparrow

I wasn’t aware, but Galveston has a crane festival, of sorts, celebrating the annual return of Sandhill Cranes (Grus canadensis) to the island. We missed the festival, but we were lucky enough to see a number of cranes. I generally see several large groups of Sandhill Cranes each winter, but have thus far been unsuccessful in obtaining a shot I was happy with. It has been my experience that they are either foraging in a heavily modified pasture or they are too skittish to approach. Last weekend while on a birding trip to the coast we spotted a small group in a little coastal prairie remnant. I was able to utilize dense vine cover along the fence to creep closer to the birds until i reached a gate that I could shoot through. In the end I was happy with my images of this incredibly elegant species.

Sandhill Crane

Sandhill Crane

Watching the cranes, I immediately drew similarities to Ornithomimidae, a family of therapod dinosours that bore a striking resemblance to a number of long-legged, long-necked birds. Perhaps the most famous of these are members the genus Gallimimus which were featured in the movie Jurassic Park. Something about the pose I captured below reminded me of those prehistoric creatures.

Sandhill Crane

Carolina and I returned to Galveston in late February. While driving through one of my favorite marshes, Caro spotted a little gathering of Wilson’s Snipe (Gallinago delicata). These common yet elusive shorebirds have long been a nemesis of mine. On their northern breeding grounds they can often be seen displaying in the open from fence posts, shrubs, and other elevated perches. On their wintering grounds, which include Texas, however, they stay hidden in the grasses of wet prairies, marshlands, and the margins of various water bodies. 95% of my snipe encounters consist of me getting to within 15 feet of the bird and not realizing it until the snipe explodes from the grass and flies off out of reach.

The difficulty of capturing them on film (card?) has drawn me to this species. After Caro spotted them, I was able to park, and use my truck as a bit of a blind as I got out and crept toward them on my hands and knees. Once I got within range I sat and waited. I took the image below as one of them began moving about in search of prey. To me, this provides a sense of how I normally see the species (those rare times when they don’t fly off): superbly camouflaged and well hidden among the senescent brown leaves of Distichlis or some other grass species deep in the marsh.

Wilson’s Snipe

Shortly after I captured the image above, the snipe actually moved out to forage in the open of the mudflat. The light was improving and things were looking good for capturing the snipe image I’ve always dreamed of. Unfortunately due to my position I was unable to get to the angle I wanted, and some vegetation along the ditch was obscuring my view, despite the fact that the bird was out in the open. I captured a few images I was relatively happy with, and then made the foolish mistake of slowly trying to move into a better position. As I did I spooked this snipe as well as several others, who all flew well out of reach behind a fenced pasture. Satisfied with our snipe encounter, we went to eat at our favorite local restaurant and spent the afternoon at the beach.

Foraging Wilson’s Snipe

In the evening we returned to find the snipes once more. I was able to capture a few more images before we pushed deeper into the marsh.

Wilson’s Snipe

In one of the numerous tidally influenced pools I spotted a pair of Mottled Ducks (Anas fulvigula). The male was kind enough to pose in the open for a shot that showcased a bit of the surrounding habitat.

Drake Mottled Duck

Where the marsh met the bay we found a group of White Ibis (Eudocimus albus) coming into breeding plumage. It’s always a joy watching these goofy wading birds probe their decurved beaks into the mud.

White Ibis

On the other edge of the marsh, where it met pasture that was once coastal prairie, we spotted a lovely male American Kestrel (Falco sparverius) perched on an old sign post. It was a lovely way to end a great day on the coast.

American Kestrel

The next week, Caro and I returned to Galveston. We saw many birds, but photo opportunities were few and far between. That is, until we returned to my favorite marsh. Here a Solitary Sandpiper provided me with some incredible photo ops as it foraged in the shallow brackish water at the marsh edge. Initially I spotted a Great Yellowlegs in this roadside pool. I thought I had spooked all the birds in the area when I approached, but shortly after laying in the shallow water of the ditch, this Solitary Sandpiper crept out from behind a big clump of mud, and I watched it forage for nearly an hour.

Solitary Sandpiper

The Upper Texas Coast is right at the extreme northern end of the wintering range for this species. I only occasionally encounter them, much less frequently than most other shorebirds in the region, so it was a real treat to get such a good photo op. Solitary Sandpipers breed in the taiga and tundra of Canada and Alaska. I read up a bit on the species after photographing it, and learned that it is one of the only shorebirds to nest in trees. Pretty interesting, if you ask me!

Solitary Sandpiper

Solitary Sandpiper

The next day we went with my mom to visit Anahuac. I always enjoy birding with my mom, and the trips I took with her to the coast all those years ago helped to forge my love for birding and coastal ecosystems. The day was cool and fairly slow, however a notable highlight was observing a pair of Northern Crested Caracaras (Caracara cheriway) near their nest.

Northern Crested Caracara

Over the past few weeks I spent a lot of time laying in marsh muck, taking in my surroundings. Coastal marshes, especially the saltmarsh, are magical places. Among the muck, stabbing needlerush, and squadrons of mosquitoes, one can find a unique cast of plant and animal characters that are found nowhere else in the world. The Mottled Ducks, Solitary Sandpiper, Wilson’s Snipes, and other species pictured here share the marsh with Saltmarsh Snakes, Diamondback Terrapins, Seaside Dragonlets, Clapper Rails, Seaside Sparrows, and a whole host of other interesting species. Northern Harriers and White-tailed Kites patrol the air and hermit and blue crabs scour the shallows. In my book, that makes for pretty good company.

March 4, 2020 by mattbuckinghamphotography

Mixed Seasons, Mixed Emotions

A Pine Warbler forages for caterpillars, grubs, and other invertebrates among the leaf litter.

This January seemed to have it all. From lingering fall color to nights in the 20s and days pushing 80. The diversity of climatic conditions brought with it a diversity of photographic subjects. For my first photographic outing of the New Year I was joined by my pal and frequent photo companion James Childress. We went to one of our favorite bird photography haunts in Nacogdoches County. Here I turned my lens to a handsome White-throated Sparrow (Zonotrichia albicollis) perched before a large Arrowwood Viburnum (Viburnum dentatum) in a full display of “autumn” foliage. Some of these sparrows spend the winter in East Texas, and as the days lengthen and the temperature warms, they will return to their breeding range in the northern U.S. and Canada.

White-throated Sparrow

Our next subject was a resident bird, though many are unaware of its presence as a low density breeder in the Pineywoods. The White-breasted Nuthatch (Sitta carolinensis) is a lovely bird that inhabits mature hardwood and pine-hardwood forests, and forage by scampering up and down tree trunks and large branches, often flicking off bits of bark in search of tasty insects hidden beneath.

White-breasted Nuthatch

A week later James and I returned to this wonderful patch of woods. We were intent on targeting a Brown Thrasher (Toxostoma rufum) that we had spotted during our previous outing. The thrashers’ propensity to lurk in dense thickets of vegetation presents a real challenge for capturing a good image. I hoped to capture one on the ground, as it is my experience they spend much of their time here, flipping through dense leaf litter in search of food.

James and I pursued the individual below as it made its way through a dense understory of Florida Maple and Carolina Laurelcherry saplings. We weren’t having much luck getting a clear shot through the undergrowth and downed branches, so I opted to advance ahead in the direction that the bird was moving, and position myself low on the forest floor with a clear shot of a clearing into which I hoped it would pass through. I waited and watched through my viewfinder as it approached. Finally it hopped into the clearing and paused just long enough for me to capture a few frames of this furtive mimic among the fallen maple leaves and emerging wood sorrel.

Brown Thrasher

Not far from the thrasher I spotted a young male Pine Warbler (Setophaga pinus) foraging among the leaves. It would routinely hop about, capture some juicy grub, and fly to a more protected perch to enjoy its prize.

Pine Warbler

Pine Warbler

Deeper into the woods I was surprised to see the bright white blooms of Bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis). This year there were already some in fruit on January 25. This is notably earlier than I typically see them emerge, which used to be around the second week of February but seems to get earlier and earlier each year. The Bloodroot is one of my all time favorite wildflowers, and I’ve featured it in many past blog posts. It is one of those magical components to an ephemeral vernal flora that make spring such a wonderful time to be out in the woods.

Bloodroot

The next week Carolina and I returned to meet with a professor at my alma mater (Stephen F. Austin State University) to discuss a research project. After my meeting I met up with James again and we set out to see what we could find. While James and I had our eyes focused on the branches, Caro stopped us dead in our tracks to point out a snaked stretched out near an old stump. It was a nice Eastern Coachwhip (Masticophis flagellum), soaking in some of the unseasonable warmth.

Snakes may be the single most hated, feared, and misunderstood group of animals on the planet. The reason may be in some small way evolutionary programmed, however the vast majority of this animosity comes from misconceptions and ideas that are not grounded in truth. It is a shame, too, because as a group snakes are beneficial to us in so many ways – from pest eradication to cancer treatment. It is important that those of us who understand the true nature of these special animals spread the word, and work toward dispelling the myths that surround them, even if it is and always will be an uphill battle.

Eastern Coachwhip

Eventually the coachwhip retreated to the refuge of a downed tree. It was there we spied a little Carolina Wren (Thryothorus ludovicianus) perched among the tangle twigs. These are one of our most familiar area birds. Despite this, I have very few images of them, so on this occasion I decided to snap a few.

Carolina Wren

I say mixed emotions in the title, because though I enjoyed the diversity of subjects and conditions, I can’t help but feel concerned by what seems to me to be a trend of more erratic weather patterns. Granted, the weather in Texas has rarely been stable, but I have noticed a trend of greater frontal temperature variations and each year Spring seems to come just a tad earlier. Climate change is one of the most controversial, divisive issues we’re facing today. I don’t pretend to know the intricacy of this process, nor to have the solution, but I am certain that it is important, and certainly warrants our attention. I hate to think of some future scenario where something precious is lost, and we could have done something to prevent it but didn’t.

February 7, 2020 by mattbuckinghamphotography

Chasing Scoters

Black Scoter Drake

I’ve never been one to “chase” birds – that is, to make special trips just to see some vagrant rarity that has appeared in some place significantly outside its normal range – a common occurrence in the Lonestar State. I don’t mean to say that I have an issue with those folks make a habit of chasing birds to add to their life, country, state, or county lists. In fact, it seems like a fun and potentially highly rewarding activity. It’s just not something I’ve personally felt inclined to do. That is, until I heard that a group of Black Scoters (Melanitta americana) that had shown up at lake in a state park less than two hours from our home.

The Black Scoter is an uncommon sea duck that breeds on the arctic tundra in three disjunct populations: one in eastern Canada, one in Alaska and extreme northwestern Canada, and one in eastern Siberia. They winter almost exclusively on the Atlantic Coast of North America and the Pacific Coasts of North America and Asia. Here they show a preference for cold water and rocky shorelines where abundant populations of mollusks, crustaceans, and other aquatic invertebrates occur. They only occasionally turn up in the Gulf off the Texas coast. Observations inland anywhere are generally rare, and virtually unheard of in Texas. That is not to say it doesn’t happen – in 2018 a few were observed in a pond in Austin, and there have been sporadic sightings prior to that – but I must stress, it is a VERY rare occurrence.

A couple weeks ago, however, I saw a post by a Facebook friend with photos of a raft of 18 Black Scoters at Fairfield Lake State Park. What’s more, is that they seemed to be fairly approachable. Given my affinity for waterfowl, and the joy that photographing them brings me, I could not resist the promise of photographing these rarities.

So on Superbowl Sunday I opted out of watching the Big Game, and Carolina and I left the house just before dawn to try our luck at finding the scoters. We had never been to Fairfield Lake State Park, which is nestled in the Post Oak Savannah about an hour and a half south southeast of Dallas.

I really didn’t know what to expect when we arrived. I knew where the scoters had been observed, and I hoped that when we arrived we would see them right away. As is almost always the case, we did not. It was a clear day, and I really hoped to photograph them in the early morning light, before the sun rose too high and her light grew too harsh.

When we pulled into the parking area I did see a small raft of ducks. Hoping it was the scoters I rushed for a closer look, but it turned out to be a group of Ruddy Ducks, their tiny tails sticking straight up. I positioned myself behind a large clump of Phragmites near the last known location of the scoters, and hoped something might turn up. Before long a large raft of American Coots (Fulica americana) appeared. Then a Bufflehead (Bucephala albeola) drake arrived, accompanied by a trio of hens. A drake Bufflehead, in my opinion, is one of the most beautiful birds in the country, particularly when the light catches the iridescent plumage of its head. This species is a bit of a “nemesis” for me, at least photographically speaking, as I have yet to capture a good image of one, despite exerting considerable effort. As I watched the drake draw closer through the viewfinder, I began to think that I would finally have my chance. But to my dismay, in a flash, the drake and his hen escort took to the air, as did all other waterbirds in the immediate vicinity. I soon learned the reason why, as I turned around and saw Carolina frantically waving to capture my attention. Apparently a River Otter had just passed less than 50 feet behind me and entered the reeds that I was using to conceal my presence. Despite not getting as close as I hoped, I ended up with my best Bufflehead image to date. We would not see them again that day.

Bufflehead Drake

My attention quickly shifted from waterfowl to semi-aquatic mammals, as I entered the water and scoured the reeds for the otter. The water was frigid, and it felt like tiny ice knives were piercing the skin of my legs, but I quickly put it out of my and continued my search. I could see the reeds moving, and hear the otter fervently sniffing the air. I moved about, circling the entire patch of reeds. In doing so, however, I gave the otter the chance to slip out behind me, and I caught sight of it quickly swimming away. We watched as distant rafts of coots took to the air as the otter swam through them. Knowing their playful nature, I couldn’t help but think that it was deriving some form of satisfaction from this.

American Coots

With the otter gone, the coots soon began to return. I laid on the shoreline and tried to capture a few images of the group. My focus was disrupted when I caught sight of something bouncing in my peripheral vision. It was an American Pipit working the shoreline in search of food. I turned my attention briefly to the little songbird until it left the area.

American Pipit

While I was on my belly with the birds, Carolina was at the picnic table enjoying her Yerba Mate. As I approached, she asked if the bird I was after was black with a black and orange bill. I said that it was, and she pointed to a lone Black Scoter drake a couple hundred yards away by the boat ramp. Excited, I began quickly making my in its direction, until a boat launched and the scoter took off flying clear across the lake. Disheartened, I decided to take a break from the water. We had a snack and enjoyed a flurry of bird activity in the picnic area. Eastern Bluebirds, Ruby-crowned Kinglets, Downy Woodpeckers, Dark-eyed Juncos, Carolina Chickadees, and more bounced around. I tried my luck at photographing an Eastern Phoebe (Sayornis phoebe), but found it difficult to get a clean shot.

Eastern Phoebe

When I first heard about the Scoters I called my mom to see if she’d be interested in joining us in our pursuit. Much to my delight, she and my dad decided to make the trip up from the Houston area to meet us. They arrived mid-morning, just as the Spring Beauties (Claytonia virginica) were beginning to open.

Spring Beauty

We visited for a moment, and then Carolina noticed that the scoters had returned. This time there were six of them. Again I began my approach, but again the birds were disturbed – this time by a canoe. Fortunately this time they only flew a short distance away. I entered the water again, this time getting as deep as my chest. The cold took my breath away, but the day was turning out to be unseasonably warm, which helped a little. In the water I could approach fairly closely but not close enough to get the shots I was after, so I devised a plan. The scoters seemed to be returning to the same area to forage. It was adjacent to a shoreline comprised entirely of softball to baseball sized rocks. Just off shore was a dense layer of woody vegetation. I moved over to the shore and laid down on the rocks half in the water, and hoped that the vegetation would help break up my outline.

It worked, and I watched through my viewfinder as the scoters came in at high speed. They drew closer and closer until they were within 25 feet or so. Then they began to forage comfortably, diving and probing the rocks for prey. At this time it was around 11:30 and the light was quite harsh, but I wanted to make the most of the encounter so continued taking photos until another boat interrupted the scene and the scoters vanished once more.

Black Scoter Drake

Mature (Foreground) and Immature (Background) Black Scoter Drakes

With the birds gone again, and the light conditions worsening, I gave up on photography for a while. We went back to the picnic area to have lunch and visit, and then set out to explore the rest of the park. We were impressed with the facilities, which included a variety of trails and excellent campgrounds. After a couple of hours my parents left and Caro and I visited the entrance station/gift shop. We then went back to the boat ramp in hopes that the scoters had returned.

They were back! By now it was 3 PM, and boat activity had dropped of significantly – presumably because people were getting ready for festivities associated with the Superbowl. I repeated my strategy from the morning, enduring the pain of laying on a bed of uneven rocks. It was miserable, but it paid off, and once again the scoters came in close – at times too close for my camera to focus.

Black Scoter Drake

I found this mid-afternoon light to be the best for photographing these handsome ducks. The bluebird skies were reflected brilliantly in the water, and the bright light bounced off the water’s surface to a degree, and helped to draw out the detail in the drakes’ deep black plumage. They do not appear glossy or matte, but rather an almost metallic jet black, much darker than the coots foraging nearby. The Black Scoter may lack the bright iridescent coloration of many other species of its family, but in my humble opinion the combination of its solid black plumage and bright yellow/orange bill makes it one of our most beautiful ducks.

Black Scoter Drake

Black Scoter Drakes

Black Scoter Drake

Black Scoters

Black Scoter Drake

I spent hours that day laying on the rocky shore. Slowly the sun crept toward the horizon. The quality of light began to improve, at least in the traditional sense. In most other circumstances I would favor this evening light, however in the case of the Black Scoter I found it less preferable than the light earlier in the afternoon. I still took advantage of the last of the available light and captured a few more images before the day’s end.

Black Scoter Drake

Black Scoters

With the sun all but gone, I left the shoreline and went to change into clean, dry clothes. As soon as I left the bathroom I could hear Caro calling for my attention. She had seen the otter again. We spent our final moments in the park following the Mustelid as it patrolled the shoreline. The otter is part of a developing success story for Texas wildlife, as its numbers have been steadily increasing in recent years, and it is slowly repopulating areas where it had been previously extirpated.

On the drive home, at a time when most were probably enjoying the game and its associated commercials, I found myself pondering the Black Scoters. Encountering this species inland in Texas during pre-settlement times would have been virtually impossible. Today they turn up on man-made lakes, reservoirs, and large, deep ponds – features that were created through human alterations to the habitat. The most likely scenario for these birds, in my opinion, is that they were blown off their normal migratory route by some inclement weather, and desperate for rest dropped down to the first large water body they spotted. Hungry and exhausted, they tried their luck at foraging and found the area to be a productive feeding ground. Slowly they began to regain their strength and a few at a time have been departing for familiar territory.

If any of my readers are interested in trying your luck at finding them, I read a report that there were still four remaining as of yesterday. They have been located in the day use area, between the swim beach and the boat ramp at Fairfield Lake State Park, in Freestone County, Texas.

September 5, 2019 by mattbuckinghamphotography

A Big Bowl of Lonestar Biodiversity

A Pine Warbler perches on the bare twigs of a winged elm in the understory of a mature pine/oak/hickory upland.

The last month or so here in East Texas has been plagued by a barrage of heat waves that have made spending time in the woods unpleasant at best, to downright miserable at worst. Because of the oppressive heat, and a variety of events in my personal life beyond my control, I have found myself lacking in motivation to pick up the camera and get out and explore. I think that slumps like this are only natural, and I have certainly experienced them in the past. Fortunately, I have always overcome them, and returned to this passion that has helped to shape the purpose that I feel in this thing we call life.

Thinking that a trip down memory lane might help rekindle the flame of my passion for the natural world, I recently went back through the many images I have taken this year. In doing so, I realized that there were a great many images that I have captured during short day and weekend trips that I had not yet posted.

So I decided to start writing, and in reliving these memories I found my spirits instantly lifted. Instead of breaking these images out into smaller posts I decided to make one giant post covering the last several months. So I invite my reader to settle in and enjoy this brief tour of some of the incredible biodiversity that can be found in the Lonestar State.

Though this post was meant to cover the first half of this year, my first post actually comes from December of last year, when Caro and I went out on a salamander hunting excursion with our friends Scott and Ashley Wahlberg. We struggled most of the day, until Ashley spotted this handsome male Spotted Salamander (Ambystoma maculatum) under debris at the bottom of a dry vernal pool. I titled the shot “Ancient Ritual”, and staged it to look like the salamander was just emerging to undertake his annual migration to the breeding pool of his birth, an event that his ancestors have undertaken for millennia.

A Spotted Salamander emerges following a warm winter rain and begins his migration to his ancestral breeding pond.

A few days into the new year, Caro and I took a trip to Galveston. On the way back, I spotted several Roseate Spoonbills (Platalea ajaja) foraging in a tidal marsh in golden evening light. I could not resist the opportunity to try to capture some images of these beautiful, bizarre birds, so I pulled off and trudged into the mud flats. A local fisherman kept warning me of where all of the hidden holes were. Carefully I cradled my camera as I struggled to keep my balance in the muck. Finally as I drew closer I dropped down to my knees, then to my belly, and began to army crawl toward my quarry. The fisherman was kind enough to check on me frequently by shouting “are you ok”? I responded with a simple thumbs up.

I crawled forward through the mud and shallow water until I found myself in the perfect position for a low angle shot in that beautiful light. The spoonbill is such a curious subject that seems so majestic yet awkward at the same time. When I returned to my truck I was literally coated in mud from head to toe. Fortunately I had a change of clothes, and was able to clean up a bit and return home, smiling from the perfect ending to a wonderful day.

A Roseate Spoonbill forages in shallow tidal flats adjacent to Galveston Bay.

During the height of January, when little else was active, I turned my lens toward wintering songbirds. I spent several days at James Childress’s farm, where his land management activities have produced excellent habitat for a variety of species, a few of which are highlighted below.

An American Goldfinch perches on the fruit-bearing twigs of a deciduous holly.

A Pine Warbler forages in the limbs of a mature loblolly pine.

A Dark-eyed Junco pauses for a moment on a branch of an old post oak.

A White-crowned Sparrow on its wintering grounds in Angelina County.

By early February in the Pineywoods, winter begins releasing its grip, and a few brave floral souls emerge to reveal their blossoms to the world. One of the earliest, and one of my all time favorite wildflowers, the bloodroot, blooms in the deep woods. Likely never common in the Pineywoods, it has become exceedingly scarce over the last century due to a combination of habitat loss and over-harvest for its medicinal qualities.

Bloodroot grows from the crook of an old tree root.

A Bloodroot flower emerges from the dense leaf litter.

James and I also spent a few days photographing birds at the Pineywoods Native Plant Center on the Stephen F. Austin State University Campus. It includes a remnant patch of near old growth forest, and provides excellent opportunities for wildlife observation. The following images were all made at this special place.

A Female Red-winged Blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus) perches in a dense tangle of dried vegetation.

A White-throated Sparrow (Zonotrichia albicollis) blends in to the winter browns of a prairie remnant.

A Pine Siskin (Spinus pinus) forages on a branch of a blooming Eastern redbud (Cercis canadensis).

A Carolina Chickadee (Poecile carolinensis) pauses among dense winter vegetation.

A handsome White-breasted Nuthatch (Sitta carolinensis) out and about on a chilly early spring morning.

A Mourning Dove (Zenaida macrura) forages on the forest floor.

As February gave way to March, spring was in full swing in the Pineywoods. Caro and I spent an afternoon hiking in the Sam Houston National Forest. Pollinators like the Falcate Orangetip (Anthocharis midea) were out in droves, and the violets were putting on a show on the forest floor.

A female Falcate Orangetip nectars on the blooms of springcress (Cardamine bulbosa), on of its host plants.

An Early Blue Violet (Viola palmata) blooms on the forest floor.

I spent one March day exploring the Columbia Bottomlands, a unique forested community in southeast Texas, where I observed a number of interesting wildflowers in bloom, including the Purple Rocket (Iodanthus pinnatifidus), which has a peculiar distribution. This member of the mustard family (Brassicacea) can be found in many central and eastern states, including much of Arkansas and eastern Oklahoma, however in Texas it is only known from a few southeastern and south-central counties.

Purple Rocket blooms in profusion in a coastal upland forest.

I also found numerous Zigzag Irises (Iris brevicaulis) and a proliferation of Butterweed (Packera glabella) in bloom among the sedges and other wetland plants in these unique hardwood bottoms.

Zigzag Iris blooms in the understory of the Columbia Bottomlands.

Butterweed and Raven’s-foot Sedge (Carex crus-corvi) bloom in a forested wetland in the Columbia Bottomlands.

Back in the Pineywoods, I set out to explore a high quality forested seep where I found the imperiled Texas Trillium (Trillium texanum) coming into bloom.

The rare Texas Trillium blooms in an old growth forested seep.

In early March, I visited our good friends Susan and Viron’s property for our annual botanical bonanza looking for rare spring ephemeral wildflowers. As usual, we were not disappointed. The following three images are from the outing.

The tiny Southern Twayblade (Listera australis) is one of the earliest orchids to bloom in the Pineywoods.

The delicate blooms of a Wood Rush (Luzula sp.) are best observed up close.

Leaves of Cutleaf Toothwort (Cardamine concactenata) and Yellow Trout Lily (Erythronium rostratum) decorate the forest floor. I find the leaves of these species just as interesting as the blooms.

Texas is known for its roadsides brimming with bluebonnets, however wild, native populations of these dainty lupines can be hard to find, particularly in the Pineywoods. I was happy to find and photograph what I believe to be truly wild populations of the Sandyland Bluebonnet (Lupinus subcarnosus) in Houston and Rusk Counties this spring.

A Sandylands Bluebonnet blooms in a sandhill forest in the Pineywoods.

While taking a pit stop on our way to visit my family in Houston, I spotted a brilliant creamy-looking pink and yellow Rosy Maple Moth (Dryocampa rubicunda) clinging to a building wall, having been drawn in the night before by artificial lights. These members of the silkworm moth family (Saturniidae) are wide-ranging in the eastern U.S., however I only occasionally encounter them in Texas. I gently moved it from the building to a nearby patch of woods in hopes to increase its chances for survival and reproduction.

The Rosy Maple Moth is one of our most colorful moths.

Last year my friend Jared Barnes told me about a population of Prairie Celestials (Nemastylis geminiflora) that he discovered last year deep in the Pineywoods. This spring calciphile is common throughout much of central Texas, where calcareous soils are more prevalent, however it is quite rare in East Texas and western Louisiana, so I was thrilled at the chance to see and photograph it on my home turf. I got the chance in late March, when I visited the site that Jared told me about and found it in full bloom.

Prairie Celestials bloom in a remnant prairie in Nacogdoches County.

On March 30, 2014, I married the love of my life. Five years later we spent our anniversary in San Antonio, in a quaint hotel just next to the Alamo. We enjoyed spending time in the historic city and shopping and dining on the River Walk, however I couldn’t resist the opportunity to get a few hours of nature time in. We visited Cascade Caverns and saw the diminutive endemic Cascade Caverns Salamander (Eurycea latitans), and spent some times along the scenic cypress lined creeks and rivers of the region.

The clear waters of Bandera Creek flow over boulders and cypress roots.

I also stopped to explore a small chalk prairie where Lindheimer’s Paintbrush (Castilleja lindheimeri) was blooming in such numbers that it appeared the prairie was aflame.

Lindheimer’s Paintbrush blooms in a chalk prairie in the Texas Hill Country.

The curious blooms of a Lindheimer’s Paintbrush.

The following week, back at home, Scott and I set out in hopes of finding the rare Whorled Pogonia (Isotria verticillata) in bloom, after receiving a tip that they were flowering along the margins of a baygall about 30 minutes from my home. Not far from the site I spotted the quick movement of some manner of skink scurrying through the leaf litter. Fortunately I was quick enough to capture the nimble reptile, and we were excited to see that it was a Southern Coal Skink (Plestiodon anthracinus), a species that is seldom encountered in the state.

A male Southern Coal Skink, a seldom seen denizen of the Pineywoods.

After some searching, we found the pogonias as well! These exotic looking orchids are extremely difficult to spot, but close examination reveals a beautiful, bizarre bloom. The Whorled Pogonia is imperiled in Texas, and has seemingly disappeared from a number of historic locations.

The exotic looking flower of the Whorled Pogonia.

The pogonias were growing near the transition from mesic pine-hardwood forest to a highly acidic forested seep. Nearby we found a crystal clear springfed stream flowing over pure sand.

A creek cuts through mesic pine-hardwood forest.

That same day I would discover my own population of Nemastylis geminifolia in the Pineywoods, this time occurring in a rich calcareous woodland not far from the Louisiana border.

Prairie Celestials bloom in an open, calcareous forest in Sabine County.

A Zebra Longhorn (Typocerus zebra) feeds on the blooms of a Prairie Celestial.

Scott and I also enjoyed observing several other wildflowers in bloom that day, including a personal favorite, Wood Betony or Lousewort (Pedicularis canadensis).

Wood Betony blooms in the forest understory.

Mid-April Caro and I took a weekend trip to the Blackland Prairies and Cross Timbers of North-Central Texas, a region that has fast become one of my favorites in the state. On the way, we stopped at an extensive outcrop of the iron-rich Weches Formation where I had previously seen the rare Clasping Jewelflower (Streptanthus maculatus) in bloom. I was at the site too late for peak bloom last year, and only observed a few individuals in flower. This year I timed it just right, and caught thousands upon thousands in bloom in the glades and stunted woodlands growing on this unique geologic substrate.

The rare Clasping Jewelflower blooms in a remnant Weches Woodland.

Streptanthus maculatus was one of the species on my list of biodiversity goals for which this blog was established. Though I technically checked it off my list last year, and posted a blog about it, I’m taking this opportunity to showcase a few more images of this striking plant.

The rare Clasping Jewelflower blooms in a remnant Weches Woodland.

A closeup of the fascinating blooms of the Clasping Jewelflower.

There were a number of other interesting things blooming over the Weches Formation, including Heartleaf Four-O’clock (Mirabilis nyctaginea) and Louisiana Vetch (Vicia ludoviciana).

Heartleaf Four-O’clock blooms in a forest clearing on the Weches Formation.

The tiny blooms of Louisiana Vetch

When we arrived in the Blackland Prairies, I was able to track down a stunning plant that I had long hoped to photograph – the Blue Wild Indigo (Baptisia australis), a species of the east that barely enters Texas in the eastern panhandle and north-central portion of the state.

Blue Wild Indigo blooms in a Blackland Prairie remnant.

We were fortunate to visit a site that my friend David Bezanson of the nature conservancy describes as “the finest Blackland Prairie remnant in Texas”. I had hoped for better light, but I was in awe in the overwhelming beauty and diversity of the place.

A Blackland Prairie remnant in Collin County.

In a rich woodland of Bois d’arc and elm near the Oklahoma border, I found a striking Texas rarity, the Violet Blue-eyed Mary (Collinsia violacea). We were at the tail end of their blooming season, and I hope to visit again next spring.

Violet Blue-eyed Mary blooms in a Bois d’arc/elm woodland in Grayson County.

Driving along a rural county road in Cooke County, I spotted hints of light blue and purple along the roadside. I could tell immediately that it was a species of hyacinth (Camassia). I initially suspected that they were the fairly common Wild Hyacinth (Camassia scilloides), however in this part of Texas there is another possibility. These turned out to be the much less common Prairie Hyacinth (Camassia angusta), identifiable by the large number of persistent sterile bracts.

Prairie Camas blooms in a rich prairie remnant in Cooke County.

After exploring some area back roads, we stopped at one of my favorite prairie remnants in the state, a small (~4.5-acre) patch of Grand Prairie that harbors incredible plant species diversity.

Prairie Paintbrush (Castilleja citrina) and Hairy Cornsalad (Valerianella amarella) bloom in the Grand Prairie.

In a good year, thousands upon thousands of Eastern Shooting Stars (Dodecatheon meadia) bloom here. In Texas, this species is restricted to the northern Grand and Blackland Prairies, with a few remnant populations in the Edward’s Plateau.

Eastern Shooting Star blooms in the Grand Prairie.

The blooms of the Eastern Shooting Star are among our most photogenic native wildflowers.

The weekend after our trip to North-Central Texas, we found ourselves back on the upper coast. Galveston Bay is lined with a number of high quality saltmarshes that provide a brief glimpse of what the Upper Texas Coast looked like before coastline development and industry took their toll. Today, these remnant marshes are reduced in size, and generally surrounded by subdivisions or refineries. In the image below, a luxury beach-front community can be seen in the distance. Even if the development does not directly impact the marsh itself, it eliminates important buffer zones and reduces biodiversity in the process. The combination of this development and accelerating rates of sea level rise make these special places one of our most imperiled communities.

A high quality saltmarsh holds on in the face of rampant coastal development.

While on the coast we met up with my parents and James and Erin, and spent some time searching for Neotropical Migrants making their way toward northern breeding grounds. Conditions were generally poor during that trip, but we did manage to see a few interesting things, including a male Blue Grosbeak in the process of molting into its adult plumage.

This young male Blue Grosbeak has just begun to attain his adult plumage.

At the famous rookery at the Houston Audubon Society’s Smith Oaks Preserve we saw a number of waterbirds tending to newly hatched chicks.

Neotropic Cormorant (Phalacrocorax brasilianus) chicks beg for a meal.

Two generations of Great Egrets (Ardea alba).

The next morning James and I rose early and made our way to the beach in hopes of capturing some images of Least Terns (Sternula antillarum) in the early morning light. We were fortunate enough to see a number of courting pairs.

Courting Least Terns

We watched as males would capture small fish and present them to the females while vocalizing and performing a ritualized dance.

Courting Least Terns

Near the terns we spotted a number of Wilson’s Plovers (Charadrius wilsonii). These boisterous shorebirds were defending their nests by feigning injury in an attempt to lure would-be predators away from the nests.

A Wilson’s Plover hides among the dune vegetation.

A number of Horned Larks (Eremophila alpestris) were also seen on the dunes that morning.

A Horned Lark among the foredunes.

As spring gradually began to give way to summer, I spent some time photographing some local residents, including a number of Northern Cardinals (Cardinalis cardinalis) that regularly visit the feeders in James’s grandmother’s yard.

A fluffed up Northern Cardinal on the branch of an old elm.

A male Northern Cardinal among the leaves of a Southern Red Oak.

While wandering James’s property in search of birds, we spotted an old female Three-toed Box Turtle (Terrapene carolina triunguis) in a small puddle formed by recent rains.

An old Three-toed Box Turtle takes advantage of a puddle formed by recent rains.

One of my favorite activities is driving remote, rural roads in Deep East Texas. Such outings usually lead to interesting discoveries. One May evening, while driving through a recent clearcut in Newton County, I heard the unmistakable buzzy trill of a Prairie Warbler (Setophaga discolor). Though clearcuts are certainly unsightly and conjure up thoughts of environmental destruction, during their first few years of regeneration they provide habitat for a variety of birds including Prairie Warblers, Yellow-breasted Chats, Indigo Buntings, Northern Bobwhite and more. When done on a proper scale and rotation, clearcuts can simulate natural disturbances and can enhance the overall health and biodiversity of a forested region.

A Prairie Warbler sings from atop a growing pine sapling.

Mid May is my favorite time to explore the sandhills of the Post Oak Savanna. These interesting habitats are home to a number of endemic species and in May the wildflowers are on full display. Pictured below are Eastern Prickly Pears (Opuntia cespitosa), and the rare endemic mints Brazoria truncata var. pulcherrima and Rhododon ciliatus.

The brilliant colors of a Post Oak Savanna sand “blowout” in spring.

One morning, while I was preparing breakfast, Caro rushed in from the backyard and told me to come quick. There was a brightly colored Three-toed Box Turtle at the edge of our little vegetable garden. Caro named her Frederick, and we watched as she moved about the yard, picking off slugs and other tasty morsels. Eventually we lost sight of her in a dense tangle of vines at the back corner of the yard.

A Three-toed Box Turtle that Caro found in our yard and lovingly named “Frederick”.

The next day, Caro ran in again, calling for me to “come and see”. This time she had found a female stag beetle (Lucanus placidus) in her shoe!

A female stag beetle (Lucanus placidus) that Caro found in her shoe.

As I was photographing the beetle Caro called my attention to a striking Eight-spotted Forester Moth (Alypia octomaculata) that was nectaring on the Coreopsis blooms in our garden.

An Eight-spotted Forester Moth nectars on Coreopsis blooms.

A few days later, Caro found another interesting beetle in the yard, a colorful Line Buprestis (Buprestis lineatus).

A Lined Buprestis Beetle

My eagle-eyed wife also spotted this little jumping spider (Colonus sylvanus) in our garden.

A jumping spider on a Purple Coneflower bloom in our Garden.

Target Species: White-tailed Deer (Odocoileus virginianus)

When I added White-tailed Deer to my list of 2017 biodiversity goals, I had a very specific image in mind. Though the image below is not exactly what I had hoped for, I was happy enough with it to cross the species off my list. Caro and I spotted this young buck in a mature Longleaf Pine Savanna one evening, and I managed a few shots before it disappeared among the rolling terrain.

A young White-tailed Deer Buck in a longleaf pine savanna.

Back in our yard, we came across a Fiery Searcher (Calosoma scrutator). Also known as the Caterpillar Hunter, this large predatory beetle is, in my opinion, among the most beautiful insects in the country.

A Fiery Searcher on the hunt in our backyard.

In early June, I found a nice male Eastern Hercules Beetle (Dynastes tityus) near our house. One of North America’s largest and most impressive insects, these beetles inhabit mature forests with abundant hardwoods.

A fine male Eastern Hercules Beetle

A fine male Eastern Hercules beetle.

In late July, our old friend Frederick the Three-toed Box Turtle appeared again in our backyard. Caro spotted her eating cantaloupe rinds from fruit that we set out to try and attract beetles and other insects to our yard.

Frederick returns for a visit

I’ll end this post with an image from early August, the last time I set out into the woods with the intention of making images. I spotted this Green Lynx Spider (Peucetia viridans) feeding on predatory robber fly. The spider had taken an ambush position among the blooms of a Rough Blazing Star (Liatris aspera).

A Green Lynx Spider in ambush mode on the blooms of a Rough Blazing Star.

I am very much looking forward to fall, and hope to set out to capture new landscapes and biodiversity with a renewed passion and sense of purpose.

June 28, 2019 by mattbuckinghamphotography

The Land of the Endless Sky

Rolling Prairie in Hartley County near the Canadian River Breaks.

Texas is primarily a prairie state. From the tallgrass prairies of the Gulf Coast to the Blackland Prairies and Cross Timbers and Prairies; and from the semi-arid grasslands of the Trans-Pecos to the Llano Estacado and the shortgrass prairies of the Panhandle Plains, the Lonestar State is largely defined by these graminoid-dominated communities. Despite all of this, our native prairies are all but gone, victims of a relentless onslaught of change. Much of our prairie was outright destroyed, converted to agricultural crops or development. Others suffered from the removal of important disturbance elements like fire and the most iconic prairie denizen of them all, The American Bison. At the same time these important components of prairie maintenance vanished, new, exotic species were introduced, forever changing the composition of the land.

Fortunately, there is still some good prairie left, for those who know where to look. I have been lucky enough to see high quality virgin coastal prairies, some of the finest Blackland Prairie in the state, and the wildflower laden meadows of the Grand Prairie in spring. Yet despite all of this, I had not spent time in the mid and shortgrass prairies of the panhandle since 2008, when I worked on a project researching Snowy Plovers in the playas and salt lakes around Lubbock. This year I sought to change that, and Carolina and I spent a few days here on our big summer roadtrip.

Our first stop was the far northeastern corner of the Panhandle, where we went looking for milkweeds in Hemphill and Lipscomb Counties. After a long drive from our Pineywoods home, we finally arrived to find the Butterfly Weed (Asclepias tuberosa) in full bloom. This species is common around our home, but it was a different experience altogether seeing them growing in large clumps among the prairie grasses.

Butterfly Weed in a midgrass prairie of the eastern Panhandle.

The Butterfly Weed was certainly exciting to see, but I had my heart set on a real Panhandle specialty – the Showy Milkweed (Asclepias speciosa). It is a wide ranging species, occurring from the Great Plains west. It barely enters Texas, where it can be found at a few sites in the Panhandle. We were fortunate enough to find it growing among a variety of grasses and sedges in the narrow floodplain of a small stream feeding the Canadian River.

Showy Milkweeds blooming along a small stream in the Canadian River drainage.

I don’t think I’m going out on a limb by saying this may be our most beautiful milkweed. The plants may reach a meter or more in height and are adorned by huge clusters of bright pink flowers with elongated hoods. They are very fragrant, and we observed a wide variety of pollinators seeking nourishment from their blooms.

Asclepias speciosa flower detail

After spending time among the milkweeds, we trekked west across the Panhandle. We chose to take the lesser-traveled county roads and were rewarded with scenes of blooming wildflowers and rugged topography.

Coreopsis, Gaillardia, and Monarda bloom in a Panhandle prairie.

Carolina Larkspur (Delphinium carolinianum) against a background of dried prairie grass.

While traversing the rugged Canadian River breaks, we spotted the unmistakable form of an Ornate Box Turtle (Terrapene ornata) in the road. It’s hard to find a reptile with more personality than a good box turtle, and Carolina affectionately named this one “Manuelita”. In my experience, there are two types of box turtles, those that seal themselves in with their hinged plastrons, and those that make a break for it. Manuelita was definitely the second type, and as soon as we put her on the ground she took off like a bullet, or at least a turtle’s version of a bullet. I would not have been able to capture a singe photo of her if it were not for Carolina, who was able to read her body language, and gently calm her down enough that she would sit still for a brief time. After a brief photo session, we watched as she vanished into the prairie, moving quickly away from the road.

Ornate Box Turtle

From there we made our way to the Rita Blanca National Grasslands near the borders with Oklahoma and New Mexico. Our first evening camping here brought with it rapidly darkening skies of a blue norther that foreshadowed the violent storm to come. The wind hit first, creating turbulent waves in the sea of prairie grass. When the rain and lightning arrived, we retreated to the tent and huddled in our sleeping bags. The temperature dropped into the lower fifties, and through the rain fly of the tent we could see champagne pink flashes illuminating the darkness, and hear, or rather feel, the bone jarring thunder that followed. The wind was so strong that the tent walls flexed and the ceiling dropped several feet. I wondered if it would hold up, but when the storm passed the old sturdy ‘gal who had seen us through many adventures remained standing.

Blue Norther approaching the Rita Blanca Grasslands

Blue Norther approaching the Rita Blanca Grasslands

As the rain calmed to a gentle drizzle we decided to take to the roads to see if we might turn up some amphibians en route to their breeding wetlands. It turned out to be a productive evening, and we found several Bufo cognatus, Bufo woodhousii, and Spea bombifrons. I only photographed a single B. cognatus that appeared to be heavily gravid. It is amazing that organisms that rely so heavily on water can be so abundant in a place where it seems so scarce.

It was a humbling experience to be at the mercy of such a force of nature so powerful and destructive as that blue norther, and to see the vital role it played in ensuring the survival of so many species.

Great Plains Toad (Bufo cognatus)

The next morning I had ambitions of rising early and photographing the sun rising over the prairie. When my alarm went off at some painful hour, however, I woke to the sound of gentle raindrops bouncing off the tent’s rain fly. It was the perfect sound for sleeping, so I drifted back asleep and woke again some hours later.

We went out into the damp morning to see if the rains may have spurred some animal movement. After a few miles, Caro spotted a nice Pronghorn (Antilocapra americana) buck on a yucca-laden hillside. It looked at us for a moment, and took off running to the crest of the hill. A pronghorn in motion is a beautiful thing. Their movements are so fluid-like and effortless. There is nothing on this continent’s land that can match their speed, and their aloof attitude makes one think that they know it.

We moved forward along a curve in the road to try to get a closer look at the buck where the ridge intersected our path. There he stopped for a moment to mark his territory and again took to running. It became evident that he was stopping every hundred yards or so and scent marking. Caro postulated that perhaps he was concerned that the rains had washed his scent from his territory.

We watched him cross the road and find a small gap in the fence. From there he disappeared over the distant horizon. In all we probably spent 10 minutes or more watching him, and I managed an image of him mid-gallop.

Pronghorn Buck

Pronghorn Buck

Pronghorn Buck Running

The wildflowers were looking rejuvenated after the rain. In fact, the cool, wet spring and the region had experienced resulted in a verdant paradise of grasses and forbs. I delighted in photographing a single Prairie Snowball (Abronia fragrans) plant. The specific epithet fragrans is appropriate, as the flowers emit a wonderful aroma into the early morning air. Like many species of Abronia, it is often pollinated by nocturnal moths, and the flowers open in the evening and generally close by mid-morning.

Prairie Snowball

The Plains Penstemon (Penstemon ambiguus) was at peak bloom, decorating the prairie with patches of pink and white.

Plains Penstemon

We also found a few late flowering patches of White Penstemon (Penstemon albidus). Some had a slight hint of purple to the blooms.

White Penstemon

With such an abundance of wildflowers, the pollinators were out in force as well. The most striking were the striped-sweat bees (Agapostemon sp.) that were feeding on the abundant thistles.

Striped-Sweat Bee

The Rita Blanca National Grassland is a haven for grassland birds. Many of the species that occur here are declining at an alarming rate as the prairie habitat they depend on vanishes or changes to a degree that it can no longer support them.

We drove slowly with the windows down so that we may hear them. Western Meadowlarks, Cassin’s Sparrows, and Horned Larks sang from the fence posts. We saw Burrowing Owls taking advantage of the numerous Black-tailed Prairie Dog towns scattered throughout the plains. We watched Greater Roadrunners dart along the primitive grassland roads as we listened to the distant whistling of Northern Bobwhites. Small, isolated woodlots provided a haven for birds like Bullock’s Orioles, Western Kingbirds, and Red-headed Woodpeckers.

At one point we were dive-bombed by aggressive Long-billed Curlew’s, a sure sign that they had a nest nearby. In Texas, these remarkable shorebirds only nest in the extreme northwest corner of the panhandle, which is close to the southern extent of their breeding range. Their nest was on the opposite side of a fence that we didn’t cross. Though the land was still public, I didn’t want to risk damaging the superbly camouflaged eggs which are laid in little more than a depression in the dried grass.

I photographed at Lark Sparrow (Chondestes grammacus) as it foraged in the short grass, and was fortunate enough to photograph an iconic prairie bird, the Grasshopper Sparrow (Ammodramus savannarum), as it sang its hissing song from atop the fading blooms of a yucca. The birds alone would be worth the trip, but they were only one part in an incredible community of plants and animals that captivated my every moment in this special place.

Lark Sparrow

Grasshopper Sparrow

Among the numerous grassland birds is an elite killer, and a “respectable prairie raptor”, as my friend and U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service biologist Matt Whitbeck would say: The Swainson’s Hawk (Buteo swainsonii). These open country specialists undertake one of the most impressive migrations of all raptors, breeding in western North America, as far north as Alaska, and wintering in Argentina. During migration they may form large “kettles”, delighting bird watchers as they pass overhead en masse. They take a variety of prey on their summer hunting grounds, including prairie dogs, ground squirrels, rabbits, and even Burrowing Owls.

Swainson’s Hawk

As the rising sun warmed the prairie, we caught sight of a special creature scampering across an open patch of prairie soil. It was a Texas Horned Lizard (Phrynosoma cornutum), our state reptile, and one of the most famous icons of the Texas prairies.

Texas Horned Lizards have declined or disappeared throughout most of the state, however they continue to thrive in parts of the Panhandle and Trans Pecos. We saw several scurrying about in the late afternoon. These tiny dragons feed primarily on ants, and will often sit near a harvester ant mound picking off foragers as they move to and from the colony entrance.

Texas Horned Lizard

Viewing a Texas Horned Lizard from above reveals its incredible and intricate patterns and textures.

Texas Horned Lizard

It was a bittersweet feeling when our time at the Rita Blanca National Grassland came to an end. It meant saying good bye to the prairies of the Panhandle, but it also meant we would be continuing our journey westward into the Land of Enchantment. My time in the Panhandle Plains left me enamored with the landscapes and specialized flora and fauna of the area. It is a long drive from the Pineywoods, but one I will gladly make again. Until then, I will dream of incoming blue northers, running pronghorn, and the dawn chorus of grassland songbirds.

Rock Outcrop in Potter County

June 13, 2019 by mattbuckinghamphotography

The Terning of the Tide

Courting Sandwich Terns

Nature is a magical thing. The lives of plants and animals are filled with beauty, drama, failures and triumphs, terror, violence, and tenderness. Capturing these candid interactions on camera is a dream for any nature photographer. But it is no easy task. Doing so requires that the subjects accept you into their world, and most species are reluctant to do so. There are those special times, however, when patience and persistence pays off, and the determined photographer is rewarded with a rare glimpse of the intimate beauty of nature.

I had one such opportunity recently, when a business trip to Galveston corresponded with the tail end of migration along the Texas Coast. By late May the majority of passage migrants have left the area and continued their northward journey. Yet this is one of my favorite times to explore the beaches of Galveston Bay, as dozens of species of plovers, sandpipers, gulls, terns, and other Charadriiform birds gather here. It is during this time that many species are courting and pairing up for the breeding season.

The courtship displays of terns, in particular, are beautiful, elegant things. I rose before daybreak the day after my workshop, and set out for the the Bay, where I hoped to photograph some courting terns and the array of other species sharing the beach.

Despite my best efforts to avoid condensation, my lens was still hopelessly fogged when I arrived. I dropped to my knees and worked on resolving this issue when I heard peeping sounds coming from all around me, and caught the blurred movement of small birds scurrying about. They were Wilson’s Plover (Charadrius wilsonia), beach specialists that breed here. Kneeling appeared to have made my silhouette less threatening, and a number of the birds approached relatively closely. After several minutes I was able to clear the condensation and dropped to my belly. While I was in this position, the birds approached even closer, and I was able to capture an intimate portrait of a beautiful male.

Male Wilson’s Plover

This particular location includes a large bird sanctuary where Wilson’s Plovers and Least Terns nest. Many of the birds here have been banded and are subjects of long-term studies. Individual birds may have a combination of colored bands that correspond to sex, age, and other pertinent data, as well as an aluminum band that identifies the individual.

Banded Wilson’s Plover

I was thrilled for the opportunity to photograph some American Oystercatchers (Haematopus palliatus). These striking shorebirds have specially adapted bills that help them pry open bivalve shells. I photographed one as it scoured the Sargassum wrack in search of a meal.

American Oystercacher

An American Oystercatcher in its prime is a beautiful thing, with clean black, white, and brown lines, bright yellow eyes encircled by orange eye rings, and a long bill that grades from orange to pink to yellow at the tip.

American Oystercatcher

The dunes adjacent to the Bay were rich in halophytic flora including the lovely Sand Rose Gentian (Sabatia arenicola), which began to open as the morning wore on and the beach warmed. This species is generally uncommon, and under threat from beach recreation and development.

Sand Rose Gentian

Before moving onto the main event of courting terns, I took a moment to photograph a Black Skimmer (Rynchops niger). These wonderfully weird birds have a highly specialized method of foraging that involves flying low and “skimming” the water with their elongated lower jaw. Once the jaw feels a potential prey item it snaps shut, bringing a meal with it.

Black Skimmer

Looking down the beach, I could spot a large congregation of Sandwich Terns (Thalasseus sandvicensis) and Royal Terns (Thalasseus maximus). I knew that many of these birds would be courting, so I devised a plan to approach without spooking them. I entered the water, which was fortunately relatively calm, and dropped to my belly. I inched forward for 150 yards or so by slowly dragging myself with my elbows while holding my heavy camera and lens above water. It was surprisingly physically taxing, and my muscles were screaming by the time I found myself within range. I rolled over a few times and came to rest in a prime position for capturing the action. The birds were wary of me at first, but came accustomed to my presence after a half our or so and resumed their normal activities. Several other birds joined the group, with some landing closer than my minimum focusing distance.

At some point a group of Black Terns (Chlidonias niger) landed within range. These are spectacular, Gothic looking birds that are just passing through on their journey to breeding grounds in the northern U.S. and Canada. I was happy to photograph them, despite the difficulties in properly exposing them.

Black Tern

The Sandwich and Royal Terns were in large groups, so isolating any individual was tricky. I was happy to capture the Sandwich Tern Below as it stood at the edge of the group, in shallow water that seemed to blend with the distant gray skies.

Sandwich Tern

The complex courtship displays of Sandwich Terns are fascinating. They usually begin with aerial displays performed by the males, who will then capture a fish and descend to deliver it to a female. After the female has accepted, both sexes enter into an elegant, dance-like “strut”.

Strutting Sandwich Tern

The couple prances down the beach side by side with crests raised. To initiate mating, the female will move her tail to expose her cloaca, and the male will spread his wings in preparation to mount (see the first image in this blog). The male then leaps upon her back and after he gains his balance, copulation occurs.

Courting Sandwich Terns.

After finishing with the Sandwich Terns, I turned my attention to the Royal Terns, which were more numerous. I captured the image below of an individual that was seemingly left out from the courtship activities.

Royal Tern

The courting process for Royal Terns is similar to that of the Sandwich Tern. They begin with aerial displays, followed by the male capturing a fish.

Royal Tern

One a potential mate has been chosen, the male and female strut in circles around one another.

Courting Royal Terns

They step in unison…

Courting Royal Terns

And finally the male presents the fish to the female.

Courting Royal Terns

One she has accepted, the female moves her tail to expose her cloaca and the male mounts her and the pair copulates.

Royal Terns preparing to copulate

Sometimes things turn into a bit of a frenzy. The fish in the image below lost its head when a number of females that were not preferred by the male tried to pilfer the fish from him. Fortunately he was able to keep the majority of it to present to his intended mate.

Courting Royal Terns

I find terns to be such elegant animals, and photographing their elaborate courtship allowed me a glimpse inside their complex life history. And the terns were just the tip of the ice berg that morning! There are few experiences I cherish more than spending a morning with my belly in the sand, my eye on the viewfinder, and my lens pointed at some feathered thing. That morning life was good and the beach was beautiful. Scenes like this, however, are disappearing at an alarming rate, as beach front habitat is rapidly vanishing to commercial and residential development, and the beaches that remain become more crowded with visitors and vehicles. Coastal habitats, like so many other natural communities, need our help if we want future generations to experience a morning like mine. Fortunately there are conservation groups actively working to protect this fragile ecosystem. If these areas and experiences are important to you, please consider donating or volunteering to The Galveston Bay Foundation, Baykeepers, Audubon Texas, and other organizations like them.

January 29, 2019 by mattbuckinghamphotography

Wintering Waterfowl in North-Central Texas

A Hooded Merganser swims through water reflecting remnant fall color in Post Oaks lining a wetland in North-Central Texas.

“Why am I doing this?” I couldn’t help but ask myself as I lay flat on my side in the muck, piles of duck feces inches from my face. I was cold and wet, and tired – so very tired. We woke up at 3:30 that morning and were on the road by 4, just so that we could arrive at our destination at first light. I had come all this way and endured all this suffering for the chance to take pictures of ducks. To many, ducks are those familiar, pesky waterbirds that harass them during a day at the park or a picnic near a pond. To me, however, they are a diverse, fascinating group of some of the most beautiful birds on the planet with incredible life histories full of harrowing journeys, dramatic performances and tales of incredible hardship. Yes, the world of ducks extends beyond the familiar Mallard and its domesticated descendants. In this blog I will explore a slice of the diversity of ducks that spend the winter in North-Central Texas.

In Texas, the northern portion of the Blackland Prairies and Cross Timbers serves as an important wintering ground for a variety of waterfowl. Wetland complexes adjacent to the Red and Trinity Rivers provide excellent habitat within a matrix of woodlands and prairies. It is also located near the boundary of the Central and Mississippi flyways. These factors help make the region a haven to ducks and geese that have traveled from as far as the Arctic Circle.

So this winter, I took three trips to the region in hopes of observing and photographing some of these beautiful birds. I researched the region extensively, looking for promising locations. We took our first trip on a grey, bitterly cold day in late December. We would end up seeing many ducks at a few different locations, but the light was not with us.

Disappointing light aside, I did leave with a few image of one of my favorite ducks, and a species I had long wanted to photograph – the Canvasback (Aythya valiseneria). With it’s long, broad black bill, characteristically sloping forehead, rusty head and bright white wings and flanks, the drake Canvasback is one of our most elegant ducks. A black bib and tail help complete its dapper plumage.

There are four basic tribes of ducks: dabbling (Anatini), diving (Aythyini), sea (Mergini), and stiff-tailed (Oxyurini) ducks. Canvasbacks are diving ducks. Members of this tribe have legs set farther back on their bodies to aid in diving. They feed by diving and foraging from the bottom of waterbodies. Canvasbacks feed heavily on underwater tubers as well as snails, mollusks, and other aquatic invertebrates. Most Canvasbacks winter in and around the Chesapeake Bay, and are generally uncommon elsewhere along the coast and inland.

Drake Canvasback

Drake Canvasback

On our next trip in early January, Caro and I were up and out hours before the sun came up. My main target for this trip was the Hooded Merganser (Lophodytes cucullatus), my favorite duck and in my opinion, one of the most beautiful birds in the country. We arrived at our first location, a forested pond in the Cross Timbers, for the day just as the sun was cresting the horizon. Sure enough, there we spotted a pair of mergansers along the distant shoreline.

I made my way to the water’s edge and lied in wait. Unfortunately, the drake never warmed up to my presence, and stayed well away. The image below is the only time he ever raised his crest, and after just a few minutes he took off and never returned.

Drake Hooded Merganser

The hen remained, however, and eventually she and the other ducks in the pond became accustomed to my presence. She swam in close and provided several nice looks at her understated plumage.

Hen Hooded Merganser

As I was admiring the merganser, a group of American Wigeon (Anas americana) flew in. I had recently photographed these stunning ducks near Austin on Christmas Day. Not one to pass up a good photo op, I captured the drake below mid-preen, as he showed off his wing coverts, scapulars, tertials, and just a hint of that iridescent speculum.

Drake American Wigeon

The sky was cloudless that day, and soon the sun was too high and the light too harsh for photography. So we grabbed lunch and traveled east, to a series of prairie ponds. Here we found a variety of ducks, including both of our Scaup species.

Scaups can be tricky to differentiate, but there are a few good characteristics to look for. Despite bearing the descriptors “Lesser” and “Greater”, size is generally not a reliable method to differentiate species, unless they are seen together.

In general, the Lesser Scaup (Aythya affinis) is smaller, however it is more readily identified by head shape and plumage detail. Lessers generally have a more raised forehead, often having a crest-like appearance with the point near the back of the head. The barring on Lesser Scaup’s feathers also extend all the way down its flanks. Other, less reliable characteristics for identification include the iridescent sheen on the head, which is generally purple in Lesser Scaups, and the black at the tip of the bill, which is generally less extensive in Lessers.

Lesser Scaups are a common winter resident on waterbodies throughout the Lonestar State. I photographed the drake below as it swam through waters reflecting the brilliant blue skies, with the muted browns of prairie grass in the background.

Lesser Scaup

Much less common a winter visitor is the Greater Scaup (Aythya marila). In Texas, they can be found sporadically along the coast in winter. Inland, they are only observed with any regularity in a small area in north-central and northeast Texas. They have journeyed here from the far north, where they breed in small ponds on the tundra and in the boreal forest.

True to their name, they are larger than Lesser Scaup, though this is only a useful diagnostic when both species are observed together. They are more reliably differentiated by their more rounded heads, pure white flanks, broader bill with more prominent black marking at the tip, and greenish sheen to the feathers on their heads.

After spending some time among the scaups, and fruitlessly stalking a Bufflehead pair, we returned home, tired but satisfied from a long day in the field.

Greater Scaup

An alternate name for this blog post could have been “My Quest for a Hooded Merganser”. Since I was a child I have been enamored with this peculiar yet spectacular sea duck. They lack the brilliant colors and iridescence of other species, but their bold black, white, and chestnut patterns along with that remarkable crest that is raised during courtship rituals sets them ahead of the pack. It also doesn’t hurt that they are one of just a few duck species to breed in forested wetlands and nest in tree cavities.

I don’t see Hooded Mergansers very often, and most sightings consist of them rapidly disappearing on the wing after having spotted me at a great distance. Though I had captured a few images on my previous visit, I wasn’t successful in getting the image I wanted – a drake with his crest raise, displaying the full glory of his breeding plumage. So despite already having made the 6-hour round trip just twice in as many weeks, I rose again before 4 AM, and hit the road to the Cross Timbers. This time I was joined by my good friend and photo buddy James Childress.

We arrived before first light, to a shallow pond nestled within a Post Oak – Cedar Elm woodland. We donned our camo and settled in, laying flat in the mud at the water’s edge. It wasn’t long before the ducks started coming in. And sure enough, we spotted a lone drake Hooded Merganser. Unfortunately he was sitting at rest, eyes barely open and crest laid flat. Much to our disappointment, he would spent most of the morning in this state.

But he was not alone. And there were plenty of other gorgeous ducks to occupy our time. One of the most striking was the Northern Shoveler (Anas clypeata). A few drakes passed by fairly closely in waters reflecting the browns of dried leaves and greens of evergreen vines lining the shore.

Northern Shoveler

I also took this opportunity to photograph a species I had long avoided, the ever present Mallard (Anas platyrhynchos). It’s not a lack of beauty that kept me from photographing them, as they are undeniably striking birds. Instead, it was the prevalence of domestic ducks, descendants of Mallards bred in captivity that have since escaped, or been released, and are now naturalized throughout much of the country. I simply have no interest in photographing feral domestic descendants, and many are virtually indistinguishable from the wild type. There are still plenty of wild Mallards in the country, however, though there are concerns that the gene pool is being diluted by these free ranging domestics. The birds we saw that day seemed to fit into the wild phenotype, and I was fairly confident and hopeful that the animals I photographed were from wild, naturally migrating populations, but there is really no way to be sure.

Mallards

Mallards

The real star of the morning however, was the American Wigeon. Some of the beautiful drakes passed close providing us with a variety of settings in which to photograph them, each better than the last. Wigeons are known for their bully-like behavior, and despite being much smaller than the Mallards, they chased them out of the best feeding grounds. In some cases they act like pirates, stealing hard-earned meals from diving ducks who, unlike the wigeons, are equipped to swim to the bottom of the pond to choose the most succulent, nutrient rich aquatic plants like Wild Celery (Vallisineria americana) We enjoyed their antics and the constantly whistle like call of the drakes.

American Wigeon

American Wigeon

American Wigeon

The sun was getting high, pushing the envelope of what I consider good light and I was beginning to worry that I would again be heading home without a decent Hooded Merganser shot. But just as we were starting to give up hope a second drake flew in. This caught the attention of our first male, and both became active, diving in search of prey, and actively preening. In the same moment a wispy veil of clouds crossed the sun, creating one of my favorite qualities of light. I captured them in some truly bizarre, yet interesting poses.

Hooded Merganser

I captured one of the drakes as he yawned, showing of the narrow, serrated bill specially adapted for capturing fish, crustaceans, and small aquatic animals. I was certainly capturing some memorable images, but I still had failed to capture a pose with the crest raised. I missed out on two opportunities as my camera’s auto-focus failed to lock onto the subject.

Hooded Merganser

And then it happened. After a short preening session, one of the drakes raised its crest and began to really show of its spectacular plumage. It continued to preen and raise up to flap its wings and dry off its feathers. I was thrilled to check off a subject that has been on my photographic bucket list for years.

Hooded Merganser

Hooded Merganser

While one drake was putting on a show in the distance, the other passed by close, and I was able to capture the image below in still, flat water – perhaps my favorite of the trip.

Hooded Merganser

“That’s why I’m doing this!” I thought to myself with a smile. It’s easy to lose sight of the prize while suffering in the cold and wet, and while every muscle in your body is screaming from the awkward contorted position you’ve taken up to get the perfect angle on one of the ducks. But all of the misery seems to fade away while these beautiful animals appear within range of the lens, and the suffering seems a small price to play for these images that we may enjoy and reflect on for a lifetime. I dare say, that these moments of unpleasantness only serve to enhance the experience, and I don’t think I would be rid of them, even if I could.

December 31, 2018 by mattbuckinghamphotography

Autumn in the Pineywoods

East Texas Waterfall

As I write this, on a cold and rainy day at the end of December, all but a handful of brave trees have cast their leaves in preparation for the darkness and cold that winter brings. Days like this it’s easy to long for the milder days and brilliant colors of fall. This year was a particularly beautiful autumn in the Pineywoods, with many species putting on displays of color that I had not seen for some time. To fight off the gloom of this winter’s day, I decided to live vicariously through my memories as I chronicle my autumn explorations here.

We’ll start on my birthday. At the start of October, the days have become shorter and the temperatures begin to cool. October has always been one of my favorite months here in Texas. The colors begin to turn, and the climate is mild. Cool enough that it is pleasant to be outside, yet warm enough that many winter-adverse species such as reptiles and insects are still active. A number of interesting fall-blooming plants are also on display in this month of the Hunter’s Moon.

On my birthday we set out to find a few such plants. The first that we came across was the Indian Pipe (Monotropa uniflora), also known as the Ghost or Corpse Plant. This interesting fungus-eating plant is a member of the blueberry family, of all things. It does not produce chlorophyll like most traditional plants, but rather obtains its energy and nutrients from the mycorhizzal fungi of tree roots. In Texas they may begin to bloom in late August or early September, and I have seen them as late at January (late in the sense that it is at the end of the blooming season for this species). The flowers’ superficial resemblance to a pipe as inspired stories in Native American folklore, including the idea that these plants mark the graves of old chiefs, and provide them a vessel with which to smoke from the afterlife.

Indian Pipes

Growing near the Indian Pipes, in the shade of American Beech was a rare treat, Tall Rattlesnake Root (Prenanthes altissima). Though it may line the roadsides further east, it is known from only a few isolated locations in extreme eastern Texas. Here it grows on steep hillside springheads and the banks of springfed streams in mature hardwood forests.

Tall Rattlesnake Root

Ample rains in September fueled a profusion of fungi, whose fibrous filaments draw moisture from the earth and feed on the ample detritus beneath the leaf litter. Fungi are fascinating, beautiful organisms. They lead most of their lives hidden below ground, but grace us with a spectacular display when their fruiting bodies form. Perhaps my favorites are the many varieties of coral fungus. Each is unique, and contain an intricate maze of protrusions that seem crafted by some avant-garde architect.

Coral Fungus

Many species of fungus are quite toxic to humans, but there are some that are said to be delicious. I personally have never been brave enough to try wild mushrooms. It seems like for every edible species there is a lethal, or at least debilitating look-alike. One species that is favored by foragers is the Indigo Milk Cap (Lactarius indigo) which an be found in hardwood bottoms in late summer and early fall.

Indigo Milk Cap

Fungi come in a staggering array of shapes and colors. They are also fun to photograph, and lead the mind to find interesting angles and compositions with which to present them.

Fungi (I believe these are chanterelles)

Fungi

Autumn also signals the beginning of the salamander breeding season in East Texas. In mid-October conditions were right for Marbled Salamanders (Ambystoma opacum) to make their annual breeding migrations. Unlike most members of the family Ambystomatidae, which breed in the water during late winter and early spring, the Marbled Salamander breeds on dry land, and the females lay their eggs under woody debris within dry vernal pool basins. They will then guard the eggs as they wait for winter rains to fill the pools and disperse and hatch their offspring. By doing this they get a leg up on the competition, so to speak, which comes in the form of other amphibian larvae that won’t begin to develop for another couple of months.

Marbled Salamander Male

Marbled Salamanders are one of relatively few amphibian species that are sexually dimorphic. The males (pictured above) have bright silvery white dorsal patterns while the females (pictured below) have duller silver to coppery markings. The males also display a swollen cloaca at the base of their tail during the breeding season.

Marbled Salamander

In late October Caro and I spent a damp autumn day in the woods with our friends James and Erin. It provided a chance to capture more images of interesting fungi, like these Earthstars, which look like little puff balls wearing tutus.

Earthstars

We also observed a number of insects like these seemingly affectionate Six-spotted Flower Longhorn Beetles (Strangalia sexnotata).

Six-spotted Flower Longhorn Beetles

We also found a few Rainbow Scarabs (Phanaeus vindex), a spectacular beetle that I highlighted in a previous blog post.

Rainbow Scarab

And then there were the Indian Pipes. We found hundreds in a remnant Longleaf Pine savannah, pushing up through the dense carpet of needles and cones. It became somewhat of a game seeing who could spot the most. Per usual, Caro won by a landslide.

Indian Pipes

One October day I received a call from my wife that she had found a recently hit Gray Fox next to the road. Being eccentric biologist types, we decided that we wanted to try to get its skeleton for study and admiration. So we called James and Erin, who own a large tract of land, and asked if we could set it out there to decompose. Being a couple of biologists themselves, they gladly agreed and we loaded the fox carcass in the bed of my truck and set out on the half-hour or so journey to their farm.

Just after we arrived, I heard my wife call out, “Look at this!” No surprise really, as she has an uncanny talent for spotting creatures, plants, and any other thing that remains invisible to most. She had found a large adult female Carolina Mantis (Stagmomantis carolina), hiding among the goldenrod blooms near the Childress cabin.

Carolina Mantis

Of course, in our haste to make our morbid delivery I had forgotten my camera. Fortunately James was kind enough to lend me his. We approached the scene and I tried to formulate a plan on how to best photograph this spectacular insect. As we drew near we noticed the carcasses of Common Eastern Bumblebees (Bombus impatiens) scattered about the ground, dismembered and drained of their juices. Oblivious to the danger, there were several more bees nectaring on the goldenrod just inches from the mantis. So I found a good angle and waited to see if I might capture some action. I set the lens on a bee that was slowly creeping closer and closer to this devourer of pollinators. The bee brushed against the mantis’s leg, yet still the predator remained still. Its head slowly cocked and it’s antennae twitched ever so slightly. Deliberately and methodically it crept toward the ravenous bumble bee. Its movements were almost imperceptible. I captured the image below as it zeroed in on the bee and prepared its strike.

Seconds after I captured this image the mantis did strike, though I only managed to record a blur of green. It missed, and the bee flew to a distant part of the same plant to continue feeding. Later we would see the mantis in the middle of devouring another unfortunate Bombus impatiens, though we missed the strike. In all it would seem that this ruthless hunter his doing quite well on the goldenrod she has staked claim to. She remained on that withering goldenrod well into December.

Seconds from Disaster

A few days before Halloween, Caro and I set out to look for signs of fall along backroads and deep in the forest. Colors were beginning to change, with vines like Virginia Creeper and Poison Ivy putting on a brilliant display. Elms, hickories, and even some red maples were beginning to lose their chlorophyll while baldcypress was nearing peak color. Monarchs are passing through en masse, and were joined at fall blooming plants by Gulf Fritillaries, Buckeyes, and American Ladies.

In the late afternoon we came across a stunning Canebrake Rattlesnake (Crotalus horridus) taking in the Sun’s fading warmth. It was one of the lightest snakes I’ve seen, with narrow bands of almost pure white along its chevrons. I would put it at a bit under three feet in length, a decent size. And like most of its kind that I’ve encountered it rattled only briefly, and was incredible docile and non-aggressive throughout our interaction.

Canebrake Rattlesnake

After spending some time with this spectacular denizen of the deep woods, we were able to turn up a couple of Marbled Salamanders and Southern Leopard Frogs adjacent to a series of ephemeral wetlands. I then noticed a large fallen tree, its branches arching above the forest floor. While admiring the verdance of the mosses and Resurrection Fern coating the bark, I glimpsed an unusual creature swaying back and forth. It was a huge Megarhyssa atrata (a type of giant ichneumon) busy probing the chambers of horntail wasp larvae with her ovipositor. She lays her eggs in the soft flesh of these larvae, where they will hatch and consume their host as they develop. This downed tree was literally swarming with Megarhyssa atrata and M. macrurus. Though they may be “creepy” looking, these large insects are harmless and fascinating.

Megarhyssa atrata

In early November we set out to look for Long-lipped Ladies’ Tresses (Spiranthes longilabris) a rare orchid of fire-maintained Longleaf Pine Savannahs. A species of the coastal plain, they reach the western extent of their range in East Texas. Uncommon to rare throughout their range, in Texas they are known from only a handful of sites in the Big Thicket.

Long-lipped Ladies’ Tresses

Another East Texas rarity is the Kidney-leaved Grass-of-Parnassus (Parnassia asarifolia). To my knowledge, they only persist along a single drainage in the Pineywoods.

Kidney-leaved Grass-of-Parnassus

A favorite past time of Carolina and me is wandering around Ellen Trout Park here in Lufkin. There are usually a variety of interesting things to be seen, including several resident Great Egrets (Ardea alba).

Great Egret

The star attraction of the park, however, is a pair of Bald Eagles (Haliaeetus leucocephalus) that nest there each year. It wasn’t so long ago that Bald Eagles were nearing extinction, but a variety of factors including the banning of DDT and Federal regulations like the Endangered Species Act and Bald and Golden Eagle Protection Act brought them back from the brink.

While most of East Texas’s species suffered greatly from the construction of large reservoirs, this is one of a few species that has actually benefited. The damming of the major rivers of the region created tens of thousands of acres of suitable habitat for the large raptors. In East Texas, Bald Eagles prefer to nest near the top of large pine trees adjacent to large water bodies. I composed the image below to capture the essence of this habitat.

Bald Eagle

By late November, fall color had begun arriving in earnest. One one of our frequent evening drives, I spotted the stereotypical Pineywoods scene below along the backroads.

Florida Maple (Acer floridanum) generally displays a brilliant golden yellow during autumn. This year they put on quite a show on slopes and along riverbanks.

Florida Maples

In some areas Florida Maples can be found growing alongside Red Maples (Acer rubrum). In the fall, Red Maple comes in a variety of colors, including yellow, orange, and red. In the image below it held up to its namesake, and provided an excellent contrast to the bright yellows of the Florida Maple next door.

A Meeting of Maples

The Pineywoods of East Texas are known for their towering forests. While breathtaking in their own right, the abundance of trees blocks the horizon, and there are not many places in East Texas that offer broad views of the landscape. There are a few exceptions on high ridges, however, like this spot east of Nacogdoches. Here the crowns of pines and a diversity of hardwoods creates a beautiful fall palette of greens, oranges, and yellows.

Bird’s Eye View

Many species of butterfly remain active well into the fall. One of the most common is the Gulf Fritillary (Agraulis vanillae). We often see them nectaring alongside other species on fall blooming wildflowers like these asters.

Gulf Fritillary

In late November, Carolina and I made our way north to explore the forests of Cherokee and Smith Counties. Here we found countless beautiful scenes, of which I attempted to capture just a small fraction of their brilliance with the images below.

Dressed in Gold

Autumn Exposure

During this day trip, we visited Tyler State Park for the first time. The State Park system of Texas protects a multitude of important and interesting natural and cultural features. The park was beautiful, with ample fall color among mature mixed pine-hardwood forests and infrastructure created by the Civilian Conservation Corps.

I generally avoid including man-made elements in my images, however the road through the state park seemed to be asking to be photographed. I captured the image to remind me of one of my favorite past times – driving quiet back roads in fall…

The Road to Autumn

…and hiking in the autumnal forest. If you look closely in the image below you can see a hiker’s footbridge beneath Flowering Dogwoods with foliage aflame.

Tyler State Park Trail

The color of the day was definitely orange, a deviation from the standard yellows and occasional reds typical further south. The Red Maples in particular were glowing. We enjoyed our time in the park, and will likely be making a repeat visit soon!

Autumn’s Orange

Maples in the Midstory

Some autumn scenes display a more subtle beauty. I captured the scene below in the floodplain of the Neches River. The Inland Sea Oats blanketing the ground had turned brown. The bark of Sugarberries added contrast while the fall foliage of distant elms added a splash of color.

All that Remains

Perhaps the most spectacular fall scene would not reveal itself until December, when I went to visit a waterfall recently discovered by my friend Scott. This waterfall is hidden deep forest in an area where steep ravines funnel water, whose power carves shallow canyons into the erodible mudstone of the Wilcox Formation. The slopes that grade down to this stream are decorated with the golden autumn foliage of American Beech and likely harbor a vernal flora rich in peripheral species of the great Eastern deciduous forests.

There are few things that bring me more joy than a walk in the autumn woods, and though the season has turned, it’s hard to fret too much. Winter resident birds have arrived and salamanders have begun to breed. Though winter may seem the bleakest of seasons, there is lots of life for those willing to look. So for now, I will look forward to the winter and spring, and say, “until next time, autumn!”

December 29, 2018 by mattbuckinghamphotography

Christmas with the Quacks

Sometimes the best Christmas gifts are not items, but rather experiences. And sometimes they come from no giver in particular, but happenstance. This year I received some of these intangible gifts, on a level I had not experienced before. That’s not to say that I didn’t also receive many wonderful gifts from my family. This year I was lucky enough to get a fantastic new camera backpack and some other accessories, a few excellent books, a blow gun, and another year’s supply of socks. But the unique nature of some photo opportunities this Christmas, and their relevance to the nature of my blog has prompted this special holiday post.

For Christmas Eve, Carolina and I stayed in Lufkin. We made a hearty breakfast, took a pleasant walk in the morning, and enjoyed each other’s company throughout the day. In the late afternoon, Caro suggested that we visit some local ponds to look for ducks. This in and of itself was a Christmas in my eyes! So we went to a local pond where a large group of Gadwall (Anas strepera) has been spending the winter. The birds were skittish at first, taking flight at our initial response. But they regrouped at the opposite end of the pond, and I was able to take advantage of some old willows lining the pond’s edge to creep closer. I found a break in the trees where I could lay flat and capture a few images of a spectacular drake. The Gadwall is perhaps our most underrated species of duck. It lacks the bold colors of many species, but the subtle intricacies of its plumage and varying tones of brown and gray make it a beautiful thing to behold. That evening Caro prepared a delicious meal, and we toasted the season and built a fire in the yard.

Gadwall

The next morning we woke early and set out for Austin, where we would be celebrating Christmas Day at my brother Seth’s girlfriend’s house. After arriving, visiting, and enjoying some snacks that she had prepared, his girlfriend, Jen, informed us that there was a detention pond in the back of her neighborhood that often had ducks on it. Naturally, I couldn’t resist the opportunity, so we took a family walk to see what was there. Sure enough, upon arriving I spied a large group of American Wigeon (Anas americana), a few Gadwall, and a lone Ringneck Duck. I tried to circle wide and creep up on some of the wigeon. I have long wished for an opportunity to capture good images of this spectacular duck, but they had thus far eluded my lens. Unfortunately the birds proved initially skittish, and due to the steep banks grading into the pond I was unable to get a shot from a suitable angle. I tried a few different methods of approaching until they finally flew off for good. Or so we thought… After a few minutes of wandering around we decided it was time to head back. It was in that precise moment that the wigeons returned to the opposite end of the pond. So my brother and I opted to remain. We formulated a plan of attack. I skirted wide, using the pond’s berm to hide my approach, while my brother approached from the opposite side, obscured by dense vegetation. I then belly-crawled to the edge of the detention pond where I was at least partially hidden by cattails and dried stalks of Powdery Alligator Flag. I was at a good angle, but unfortunately I was unable to get a clear shot through wetland vegetation. So I decided to start crab-walking into the pond itself, as one does, until i was submerged to my waist. To my surprise, I found the ducks to be much more tolerant of my presence when I was actually in the water. Instead of flushing, they only swam to the other side of the pond, just out of photo’s reach.

Enter Seth. He crept up behind the vegetation on that side and started shaking some of the plants and making some bizarre noises that I could only describe as a mix of a wounded duck and disturbed house cat. It did the trick, however, and the wigeons came toward me, at times approaching too close for me to focus, and I was finally able to capture some fine images of this beautiful species. I couldn’t believe it. There are those times as a photographer where everything just seems to fall into place. It is a rare thing, made all the more special for me that I was able to share the experience with my brother on Christmas Day.

I don’t think my family was surprised when I returned soaking wet and covered from head to toe in mud and bits of wetland vegetation, as they have become desensitized to my antics over the years. I cleaned up and we enjoyed a delicious Christmas dinner. It was certainly not your most traditional Christmas experience, but a fitting one, and one that I will never forget.

American Wigeon

American Wigeon

American Wigeons

December 21, 2018 by mattbuckinghamphotography

A Productive Visit to the Upper Texas Coast

Seaside Sparrow

When James and I first discussed taking a short trip to the Upper Texas Coast, we had two species on our mind: Black Scoters that had been seen in Galveston, and a Short-eared Owl that had been regularly observed at Anahuac. I’ll save the suspense, and tell you know that we did not find either target. Despite this, our short outing to the coast would end up being an especially memorable, productive trip.

Carolina and I left Saturday afternoon to stay with my parents in The Woodlands. After 150,000 shutter actuations, my trusty Canon 7D is beginning to show its age. It still takes excellent photos, however it is beginning to have some mechanical issues including occasional trouble powering on. I had mentioned to my mom that I was considering purchasing a new camera, and she completely surprised me by offering to buy it for me using some money left to her by her late Aunt Jan. I remember Aunt Jan from all of our family outings growing up in Chicago. After we moved to Texas she would faithfully send me a birthday card every year up until just a few years ago. My mom wanted to use some of the money left to her to do something nice for my brother and I, and this was as nice as it gets. When I arrived at my parent’s house I became the proud new owner of a Canon 7D Mark II. That evening we visited with my folks, ate my Dad’s famous New York strip and baked potato, and I readied my gear for the next day.

The next morning we woke at an inhumane hour. I wanted to arrive on the coast before sunrise in order to try out my new gear and try to capture some images in that golden morning light that photographers are always raving about. We would be meeting James and Erin on the beach. They had left a day earlier and were camped at High Island.

We arrived just as the sun was cresting the undulating Gulf, casting its warmth upon the beach. It wasn’t long before the first photo op presented itself. I spotted a Loggerhead Shrike (Lanius ludovicianus) in a clump of dried camphor daisy. The bird was surprisingly trusting and allowed for a close approach as it flit from bush to bush. The trip was off to a good start.

Loggerhead Shrike

James and Erin arrived just as I was finishing up with the shrike, and much to James’s disappointment, it vanished into the distant dunes. We would end up seeing many shrikes over the course of the trip, but none provided such excellent photographic opportunities as the first. Shrikes are fascinating, morbid birds. These vicious hunters will pounce on anything smaller than themselves and quickly eviscerate them with their hooked beaks. When I worked at Anahuac as a research biologist over a decade ago, we trapped Loggerhead Shrikes for research purposes. The trapping method included placing a white mouse in a circular trap with a partition in the middle. In the chamber opposite the mouse there was a small door that provided the only opportunity for the shrike to access the mouse. As the bird entered it would trip a trigger and the door would close. The partition protected the mouse from harm and we were able to safely extract the shrike. Their bites drew blood, and we had to use special steel bands, as their powerful beaks would make short work of the standard aluminum versions. If all of this wasn’t enough evidence as to their voracity, they decorate their territory with the carcasses of their victims, impaling them on thorns and barbed wire. This gruesome behavior has earned them the nickname “Butcher Birds”

After chatting for a few minutes, James and I set out in pursuit of shorebirds while Erin combed the beach and Caro took in the warmth of the winter sun. The shorebirds were out in force, and within a few minutes we had seen Sanderlings, Least Sandpipers, Snowy Plovers, Piping Plovers, Wilson’s Plovers, and more. My eye was drawn to a Black-bellied Plover (Pluvialis squatarola) standing in a shallow pool created by the advancing tide. It was yawning(?) repeatedly, which provided for an interesting photo. I created the image below to highlight the layers of color and light on the beach that morning, and like how bands of color exist throughout the image, from the foreground through the background. Black-bellied Plover seems an unfitting name when seen in their winter plumage, but in the breeding season the males will don a dramatic pattern of black and white.

Black-bellied Plover

I had really hoped to photograph a Long-billed Curlew that morning, and we did see one. Unfortunately it proved too skittish and vanished before we would get our chance. We also missed an opportunity to photograph a group of Horned Larks which flew into the wrack and blended almost perfectly into their surroundings. It’s hard to be disappointed on such a beautiful morning, however. And as the sun rose higher and the light became too harsh, we enjoyed watching the Brown and American White Pelicans fishing just offshore.

Satisfied with our morning at the beach, we all took the Ferry to Galveston Island. Here we drove up and down the beach diligently seeking the group of Black Scoters that had been seen in the area. Unfortunately this day it was not to be.

After lunch and a visit to La King’s Confectionery, we set out to explore Galveston Island State Park. James and I trudged through the mucky saltmarsh while Caro and Erin sat at the Marsh’s edge. We encountered a handful of Swamp and Savannah Sparrows, and a pair of Roseate Spoonbills (Platalea ajaja) tucked away in the grass.

Roseate Spoonbills

After the park we took one more pass down the sea wall to look for the scoters, again we found none. Then it was back to the Ferry where we watched dolphins from the upper deck. Once on Bolivar we returned to the beach. There was a special light that evening, as the setting sun pushed through wispy clouds on the horizon. This light, and distant skies painted by interesting clouds convinced me to take a break from birds and turn my camera to the subtle yet beautiful landscapes of the area.

The first scene to catch my eye was the sky’s reflection in a Black Needlerush marsh. I waded into the marsh to capture this image, and endured the bites of what must have been thousands of mosquitoes. The tiny bloodsuckers hadn’t even crossed my mind as we left east Texas, but I suppose the season had thus far been mild on the coast and recent rains provided the breeding ground. Despite being probed by hundreds of needle-like probosces, I could not pull myself away from the tranquil scene.

Black Needlerush Marsh

It was uncharacteristically still that day. Only the faintest breeze swept across the beach from time to time. Some of the clumps of Camphor Daisy still had blooms on them, and when I spotted one particular clump, half in fruit, half in bloom, just above tiny windswept ridges and a myriad of mammal tracks in the sand, my mind immediately began framing a scene. Another distant group of Camphor Daisies and ethereal clouds in the distance added to the mood. I composed the scene and captured the image below, which ended up being one of my favorite landscape images from 2018.

Stories in the Sand

On the water a massive raft of American White Pelicans (Pelecanus erythrorhynchos) was forming. There was little light left, but dusk had dyed the water with hues of pink and blue. The image below was taken at ISO 2500 and a very low shutter speed, but the unique light was just too good an opportunity to squander.

American White Pelicans

As the day’s light vanished we went to set up camp at High Island. Caro made a very impressive fire while I prepared one of my camp specialties, macaroni and tuna. The mosquitoes were relentless despite temperatures dipping to the upper 40s.

Dawn broke to cloudy skies. We took down camp and set out to explore Anahuac. It would prove to be a most productive visit to a refuge where I have spent countless hours. The roadsides were lined with American Bitterns (Botaurus lentiginosus). The trick was spotting these incredibly cryptic birds among the grasses, sedges, and rushes of the marsh.

American Bittern

American Bittern

As we were photographing a bittern, a pair of male Boat-tailed Grackles (Quiscalus major). Both birds began to display in unison, though it seemed more like a joint effort than a ritualized competitive display. I remain curious as to the nature of their interaction. Boat-tailed Grackles are endemic to the Gulf and Atlantic coasts of the U.S., occurring in coastal marshes from southeast Texas to Long Island, New York.

Boat-tailed Grackles

We spent most of the day driving the various roads in the refuge in search of things to photograph. As we neared one of the refuge’s boat ramps, we caught site of a ball of fluff waddling toward the marsh. It was a Northern Raccoon (Procyon lotor) and her progeny. She stopped for a moment at the edge of the grass and allowed time for me to fire off a handful of shots before vanishing from sight.

Northern Raccoon

It was an amazing opportunity. Despite being ubiquitous, ranging across most of North America, and living in close proximity to human habitations, they are seldom observed, particularly in the daylight. Their nocturnal habits and generally secretive nature makes capturing good images a real challenge. I got a few shots that I was happy with, but really hoped for more time with these little carnivores.

We waited a moment but they didn’t show themselves. After some time we decided to walk the edge of the saltmarsh for a while in search of sparrows. The mosquitoes once again proved to be relentless, so Caro and I returned to the truck so I could change my shorts for pants. As we neared we saw that the raccoons had emerged once again from the marsh, and I was able to capture a few more images, including the photo below. It wasn’t long before they disappeared again. I returned to look for sparrows while Caro hung around in the area to see if they might return. Sure enough, when we came back from the saltmarsh she showed us a video of them foraging in the marsh, not far from where she sat, obstructed by my truck.

Seeing raccoons always reminds me of my mom’s sister, my Aunt Jer. They were her favorite animal, and I still remember portraits of them in her home in Chicago. It has been over 20 years since she passed, and while we all still miss her to this day, it brings me some joy and comfort knowing that, for me, her memory lives on in these masked bandits of the mammal world.

Northern Raccoon

As we set out on our quest for sparrows we immediately began observing Marsh and Sedge Wrens skulking in the dense vegetation. These tiny songbirds are generally very secretive, so it was a surprise when one of the Marsh Wrens (Cistothorus palustris) popped up for long enough for me to capture a few images. In the spring, their distinctive chattery songs will bring joy to these coastal wetlands.

Marsh Wren

The stars of the entire trip, however, were the Seaside Sparrows (Ammodramus maritimus). These saltmarsh specialists occur in an extremely narrow band along the coast from south Texas to extreme southern Maine. They spend most of their lives hidden among the Spartina and Distichlis of the saltmarsh, but occassionally will make themselves visible for the briefest of moments.

Seaside Sparrow

I have learned that bird photography is often just as much about luck as it is skill and equipment. I had visited this particular part of the refuge dozens of times in search of Seaside and Nelson’s Sparrows. I typically see a few, but they generally remain elusive, and provide only fleeting glimpses. This day, for whatever reason, they were out in force, and provided several good, relatively open looks. I suspect that if I returned tomorrow, they would return to their secretive ways.

Seaside Sparrow

Though they remain common in some areas of Texas, Seaside Sparrow populations are decreasing throughout their range. They are under assault from a variety of factors including climate change, sea level rise, and rapid human development of coastal areas. One race, the Dusky Seaside Sparrow, went extinct just over 30 years ago, while another, the Cape Sable Seaside Sparrow, is Federally Endangered. Though I have decent images of this species from my time in Maryland, I have long wanted better images, specifically from Texas, and it was a dream come true to have the opportunity to capture some.

Seaside Sparrow

Sadly our trip had to come to an end, as they always do. But as we returned to the Pineywoods, in my mind I kept hearing the waves breaking on the shore, smelling the salt of the sea, feeling the mud sink beneath my feet, and seeing those coastal birds in their element. And thanks to the images I captured on the trip, I can revisit those moments at any time, until I find myself trudging through the saltmarsh once more.

A Naturalist's Journey

My Quest for Biodiversity

Birds

Late Winter and Early Spring on the Upper Texas Coast

Mixed Seasons, Mixed Emotions

Chasing Scoters

A Big Bowl of Lonestar Biodiversity

The Land of the Endless Sky

The Terning of the Tide

Wintering Waterfowl in North-Central Texas

Autumn in the Pineywoods

Christmas with the Quacks

A Productive Visit to the Upper Texas Coast