Top 22 of 2022

2022 was one for the record books. In January we learned that Caro was pregnant, and our son was born in September. I also became an uncle to a niece born in January. Work and my freelance side gig were busier than ever, and a variety of other events in my personal life kept me occupied and regrettably away from posting here. Despite this, I was able to get into the field a few times for some nature and photo therapy. Below are my favorite images of the year. Note that the blog initially shows images brighter and less contrasty than they are. To see the best version of each image, hover your cursor above them for about a second. I’m working on correcting this for future posts.

“Hidden World”

The first subject to capture my lens this year was what may be my favorite animal of all time – the spotted salamander (Ambystoma maculatum). Each winter I look forward to searching for them and seeing one up close never gets old. After taking pictures of hundreds of individuals over the years, however, I have become a bit bored with photographing them. This has pushed me to approach salamander photography in a new way, looking for unique settings, angles, and compositions to challenge myself to capture something different. I hope to embrace this challenge over the coming weeks and to add some interesting images to my spotted salamander portfolio that help tell the story of this incredible amphibian.

“Beast of Burden”

In mid-January we enjoyed watching a colony of Texas leaf cutter ants (Atta texana) dutifully carting leaves down the trunk of an old yaupon holly. Leafcutters are a fascinating component of our fauna that utilize the leaves they harvest to cultivate a fungus that will feed the colony. I had a great time photographing these guys with my macro in a setting that allowed for interesting lighting and composition.

“Marbled Salamander”

In late February Caro and I visited our friends James and Erin Childress at their sprawling farm. We decided to take a late afternoon walk through the woods on their place, and as we were looking for fungi and early spring plants I heard James call out in excitement, exclaiming his disbelief at what he had found. It was a beautiful marbled salamander (Ambystoma opacum), the first he had found on his land after decades of exploring. Being a wildlife enthusiast, he was understandably excited, as were we. Ambystoma salamanders depend on high quality habitats, and this little guy’s presence at Childress Farm is a testament to their stewardship.

“Spring Ephemeral”

White trout lilies (Erythronium albidum) are, in my opinion, among our prettiest wildflowers. Despite this, they can be difficult to photograph. They only open on sunny, or very warm overcast days, and often only for a few hours, and have blooms that nod and face the ground. This makes photographing the pistil and stamens, which are often the most engaging parts of a flower, difficult. Over the years I have amassed a collection of trout lily images that I’m proud of. This year I had an opportunity that was, for my money, as good as it gets.

Caro spotted this individual isolated from the rest. In a given year many to most trout lilies in a colony won’t bloom, instead emerging as only a single mottled leaf. When they do bloom, two leaves emerge with the dainty flower between them. Even in the presence of hundreds of flowering individuals, it is difficult to find one that has the flower and leaves arranged in the perfect position for a portrait. This special lily provided me just that, with both leaves fairly erect with interesting curves, and the flower nodding and facing the right direction. The setting was clear, allowing for isolation of the subject. The light was bright overcast, and a recent rain shower left tiny water droplets on the plant. I was very pleased to add this to my collection of trout lily images on a perfect day in the spring woods.

“Whorled Pogonia”

In early April I photographed the wonderfully weird whorled pogonia (Isotria verticillata), one of our most unique native orchids. To me it resembles some kind of mythical beast, with a gaping maw (petals and labellum [lip]), blunt tongue (column), and three formidable horns (sepals). They are rare in Texas, though individuals are admittedly very difficult to spot, even when in full bloom, and some populations may be evading detection.

I. verticillata is quite picky about its habitat, at least in Texas. It’s kind of like the Goldilocks of the orchid world. The forested seep, with its permanently saturated ground and extreme acidity is too hot. The rich beech slope, with its fertile loam and deep duff is too cold. But the very narrow strip where one community transitions to the other is just right.

“Green and Gold”

I was thrilled when I stumbled upon this scene of blooming golden groundsel (Packera obovata) in one of our favorite patches of forest near the western edge of the Pineywoods.


When looking for wildflowers in mid April I came to hear the familiar trill of a Northern Parula (Setophaga americana) singing from the treetops. I was lucky enough to catch him out in the open as it sang from a baldcypress branch draped in spring foliage and Spanish moss.


At the end of April I found myself in Red River County, one of my favorite parts of the state. Very little public land exists here, however it is so rural that large expanses of mature forests and pockets of remnant prairies maintained for generations as hay fields still exist. I was lucky to be granted access to this incredible forest that I could not wait to explore. My excitement enhanced by the knowledge that this tract of old growth oak, hickory, and pine contained one of the few remaining populations of southern lady’s slippers (Cypripedium kentuckiense) in the state.

I set out to find them, armed with maps and descriptions provided by the landowners and the state plant ecologist. So I walked through the woods, completely absorbed in an atmosphere of spring. The crisp morning air cooled my skin. All around me newly arrived migrant songbirds were singing. In the span of half a mile I heard Northern Parulas, Black-and-white Warblers, Kentucky Warblers, Hooded Warbler, Yellow-throated Vireos, Acadian Flycatchers, Wood Thrush, and more. Southern leopard frogs leapt into small streams and depressional wetlands nestled in the forest floor.

And then there they were. Near the top of a gentle slope carpeted in mayapple and covered in huge trees. They had seemed to find the spot where little else grew to stake their claim in these old growth woods. They were in perfect bloom, though one had been recently nipped off by some hungry creature seeking a sweet snack. Each of Texas’s lady slipper populations has a unique look to them, and these were among the prettiest. They were particularly stately, with deep yellow labella (the egg shaped “slippers”, which are actually modified petals).

I spent some time with them that morning, photographing and simply admiring them. To my knowledge this population had not been visited in several years, at least not for the purpose of an official survey. I collected information on the number of stems and surrounding habitat to report back to the land managers. I was sad to see them go, but happy to know that these relics of a bygone time are still eking out an existence in this very special forest at the northeastern corner of the Lone Star State.

“Yellow-breasted Chat”

In May and June I focused heavily on Neotropical migrant songbirds that nest in the Pineywoods and winter in Latin America. One such bird is the Yellow-breasted Chat (Icteria virens). Chats are birds of early successional habitats. In forested systems, these types of habitats occur naturally in the wake of major events like tornadoes, hurricanes, intense fires, or devastating floods that remove canopy cover and open up the ground for invasion by grasses, forbs, and other early successional species. In my part of the world, pines are among the first trees to colonize these habitats, and young pine forests provide excellent habitat for Yellow-breasted Chats and a variety of other famously colorful Neotropical migrant songbirds. Today these habitats are more widespread on the landscape thanks to modern forestry practices. I’ve photographed many a chat, bunting, and grosbeak at young pine stands regenerating a few years after harvest.

Yellow-breasted Chats were formerly considered our largest wood-warbler, however recent taxonomic revisions suggest they are more closely related to blackbirds, and they have been placed in their own family: Icteriidae (not to be confused with the New World blackbird family Icteridae).

“Swamp Candle”

Two of my favorite images of the year, the above and below, came from the same session with the same bird. This rarely happens, but I’m happy it did on a muggy, mosquito-laden May morning. It was initially cloudy when I photographed this Prothonotary Warbler (Protonotaria citrea) perched atop a rotting stump, appearing as a flickering flame upon a decaying candle deep in the swamp.

“Swamp Song”

A moment later the sun emerged from behind the clouds and cast a beam of light through the shade of a canopy of stately cypress, tupelo, and oak. The shaft of sun caught the brilliant yellow of the Prothonotary Warbler as he sang his “sweet sweet sweet” song, which carried through the forest, above the mire.

“Prairie Song”

The next day we took a short trip to the coast, where I captured this Eastern Meadowlark (Sturnella magna) defending his territory in a remnant coastal prairie along the upper Texas coast. Though they remain common in many areas, Eastern Meadowlarks have experienced sharp population declines over the past century, and are emerging as a significant species of concern.

“Secrets of the Marsh”

While down on the coast I had an incredible encounter with a family of Clapper Rails (Rallus crepitans), one of my all time favorite birds. I captured this image of an adult announcing its presence to the other denizens of the marsh. They are not particularly flashy, but Clapper Rails have a fascinating life history, are entertaining to watch, and inhabit some of my favorite places. They, like most inhabitants of salt and brackish marshes, are threatened by habitat loss and sea level rise.

“Nemesis No More”

In late June I returned to northeast Texas in pursuit of breeding warblers. For years I’ve been trying to get an image of a Hooded Warbler (Setophaga citrina) that I’m happy with. I don’t know how many hours I’ve spent sitting in wait hoping that one might present me the opportunity, but it finally did that day, when this male sang from a young sassafras in the deep woods.

“Yellow-throated Warbler”

Shortly after spending some time with the Hooded Warbler I found this male Yellow-throated Warbler (Setophaga dominica) in a stand of hardwoods.

“Nom Nom”

Over the next few months a combination of the oppressive heat and humidity of the East Texas summer and a very pregnant wife kept me from spending much time in the field. To help quell the antsiness I feel when I don’t get out to shoot, I spent some time in our garden observing and photographing pollinators and tiny predators. I watched this green anole (Anolis carolinensis) hunt among the flowers and leaves, snatching several small bees and wasps in the process.

Anoles are common and familiar here in the south, and many (myself included) have been guilty of considering them boring. I think they deserve more credit. Their propensity to occur in yards and green spaces in otherwise developed area makes them a great wildlife ambassador for people who don’t otherwise get out into nature, and they have no doubt sparked an interest in reptiles for countless young backyard explorers. They’re also quite interesting, able to change colors from deep brown to bright green. Some even have hints of blue when at their brightest.

“Carolina Mantis”

In late August, we spotted this healthy female mantis on our neighbor’s mailbox. I decided to relocate her to our yard in hopes that it might improve her chances of survival and procreation. I managed to capture a few images of her before sending her on her way.


A couple of weeks after the previous image was captured our son arrived and the next couple of months found us mostly homebound getting to know each other and navigate the world of being parents to a newborn. One day in early November we set out to take him on an adventure to a nearby state park, where we encountered a group of Black Vultures (Coragyps atratus). To many, wildlife photography seems like such a glamorous pursuit. And sometimes it is! But sometimes it’s photographing a vulture perched on a dumpster full of rotting fish carcasses.


Later in November we braved our first overnight trip with the tadpole. We set out to north-central Texas in hopes of observing the white-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus) rut. I was lucky enough to encounter and photograph several mature bucks, including this bruiser. My experience from this cold November morning inspired me to write the following:

Dawn comes on quick this time of year. It brightens the cross timbers, first bringing light to the prairies and then to the post oak woodlands which occur as a mosaic sprawling over rolling hills.

These are ancient places, at least the ones that have not been scrubbed clean for state of the art housing developments, pastures, or crops that thrive in pockets of Blackland interspersed among the otherwise sandy belt of cross timbers that breaks the vastness of the plain from southern Kansas to north-central Texas.

This November morning brings with it a chill, blowing hard on the heels of a cold front sweeping south across the continent. The light is still gray when the deer first become visible, moving like silent specters through the grass and leaves and brush. Does, mostly, some with this year’s fawns still in toe. Browsing and scanning and not doing little else. Little else until a larger specter emerges from a tangle of limbs and vines, this one bearing curved and pronged blades on his skull like a crown.

It is lighter now. The horizon is orange and colors begin to paint the landscape. The antlered specter moves cautiously, revealing his brawny form. At first he is careful to avoid the open and risk exposure, but all caution is thrown to the wind when catches a whiff of a doe in heat, and bursts from the brush, head down in pursuit.

The white-tailed deer rut has begun.

“Under the Cover of Darkness”

The next morning I encountered another mature buck in the dim pre-dawn light. Mature white-tailed deer bucks are wary, elusive beings. Even during the rut, when they seem singularly focused on the continuation of their bloodline, they are almost mythical in their ability to outwit us. This is especially evident in areas with heavy hunting pressure. It’s not by chance that they’ve managed to avoid the arrow and the bullet for so long. And though during the rut many bucks will remain active well into the day, much of their activity occurs in the dark of night, and some of the more wary bucks remain almost exclusively nocturnal.

I spotted this beautiful buck just the veil of darkness over the land began to lift for the day, pulled back by the sun still far below the distant horizon. It was very dark when aimed my camera toward him. He was in a small clearing at the woods’ edge. Though the background was quite dark, it was still very cluttered and at first I thought I had little more than a documentation image. But I decided to spend some time with it, since I really liked the buck and his hyper-alert pose.

I decided to take things a bit farther than I normally do in the digital darkroom. Though I didn’t add or remove any elements, I went heavy on the dodging and burning and selectively darkened most of the image while trying to draw focus to the bucks head, neck, and antlers. My hope was to create the illusion that he was illuminated by the light of the moon in a dark autumn night.

Though I acknowledge that this walks the line between photography and digital art, I’m ok with that in this instance, because it created something that I really enjoying viewing, and that helps tell the story of one of North America’s most beloved animals.

“Life Underfoot”

This year the Pineywoods experienced an especially colorful autumn. Though I wish I had more time to photograph it, I was fortunate enough to get out for a couple of hours one afternoon and wander the woods. I captured this image of a fallen log, which can harbor an incredible diversity of life – a tiny ecosystem hidden among the leaf litter.

“The Woods’ Phantom”

In late December we set out again to look for whitetails. This is a particularly special image for me. Despite capturing thousands of frames of whitetails in the state, I’ve never photographed a mature buck in east Texas – where we’ve made our home. I attribute this, at least partly, to the fact that they are especially elusive here. Mature bucks do stalk these woods, but decades of hunting pressure have made them wary, and few sizeable sanctuaries exist where they can become habituated to human presence. Fortunately I found one in an unexpected place and was able to observe mature free ranging east Texas whitetail bucks at close proximity. Despite this, photographing them was still a challenge. Though we could drive within feet of them, any attempt to step out of the truck or approach on foot sent them scattering for cover. Over the course of two days I was able to slowly accustom them to my presence and capture a few images. I was particularly happy with this one, with a handsome eight-point among the oaks, taking a break from foraging on acorns to scan his surroundings for potential threats.

Thanks for joining me on this journey through my favorite images of 2022. I hope it won’t be another year before I post here again. I wish you all the very best in 2023, and hope your year is filled with nature, family, and whatever brings you joy.


Top 21 of 2021

As the year draws to a close, it’s normal for us to look back on its highs and lows. 2021 was a good year for us. Despite an insane market, we were able to buy a house, and despite being incredibly busy both in and outside of work, we were able to find time to escape to the natural world. Unfortunately, as a side effect of a short supply of free time, my blog suffered. I hope to rectify this in 2022, but in the meantime, I continue to make almost daily posts on Flickr ( and Instagram (@naturalistjourney).

For my 2021 year-end post I’ve decided to highlight my favorite 21 images of the year, presented in chronological order. Only a few of these were featured in earlier posts, and the rest are new to the blog. I hope you’ll join me for a look back at some incredible encounters, spectacular biodiversity, and special places.

1. Eastern Tiger Salamander

The year kicked off in a big way. On New Years Day, Caro and I met our dear friend John Williams at the edge of the Post Oak Savanna in pursuit of a creature of near mythical status in Texas, the eastern tiger salamander (Ambystoma tigrinum). I wrote about this experience at length in my first blog post of the year, and if you haven’t already, I highly recommend reading about our adventure there.

2. Northern Shoveler

Also in January, Caro and I took a trip with James and Erin Childress to north-central Texas in pursuit of waterfowl. We were fortunate to find and photograph several species. My favorite image of the trip was this stunning Northern Shoveler (Anas clypeata) in water reflecting winter leaves illuminated by the rising sun.

3. American Robin

The end of January found Caro and I exploring familiar areas closer to home. On the last day of the month we found ourselves surrounded by a massive flock of American Robins (Turdus migratorius). I opted to lay down in the fallen leaves and before long the robins were foraging mere feet from me, flipping leaves in search of tasty morsels underneath.

4. Red-breasted Merganser

In early February, Caro and I took a weekend trip to the upper Texas coast. There I had an incredible encounter with the generally elusive Red-breasted Merganser (Mergus serrator). I wrote at length about the experience here.

5. North American River Otters

In February Texas was hit with a historic winter storm. While the storm was devastating in many ways, it also transformed the Pineywoods into something beautiful and created once in a lifetime conditions for photography. The first day of the storm, Caro and I set out to a local green space park to see what we might find. Much to our surprise and delight, we were treated to a trio of North American river otters (Lontra canadensis) playing in the snow and icy water. I covered this incredible experience in another post earlier this year.

6. Fox Sparrow

The snow from Winter Storm Uri lingered for a few days. The harsh conditions brought with them an influx of bird species seldom seen in numbers in the Pineywoods. The most notable were the Fox Sparrows (Passerella iliaca). We went from never having seen one in our neighborhood to having a dozen or more in our back yard at once. To capture this image I laid in the snow and covered myself in a white sheet, concealing my presence and allowing the birds to forage undisturbed mere feet away from my lens.

7. Cedar Waxwing

After the storm cleared and the snow melted, our neighborhood was invaded by Cedar Waxwings (Bombycilla cedrorum). They came in the thousands, filling the air with their sweet whistling, stripping ornamental trees of their berries, and bombarding the streets with their purple droppings. Despite their overwhelming numbers, photographing them in a natural setting was a challenge. This image was actually captured in the road of a nearby cul-de-sac as the waxwings dropped to the ground to drink from water accumulated in the curb.

8. Blue Butterwort

For Spring Break, Caro and I rented an AirBNB in Tallahassee, Florida and used it as a base to explore the panhandle. We trekked through wet pine savannas, flatwoods, and hardwood hammocks and were treated to a diverse flora that included numerous carnivorous species. One of the most striking was the blue butterwort (Pinguicula caerulea). I liked this image for its simplicity. Sometimes less is more.

9. Golden Club

While in Florida, we spent a good amount of time exploring the Apalachicola National Forest. In this magical place we came to a small drainage literally carpeted in golden club (Orontium aquaticum). The day’s light was nearly gone as I stepped into the murk and muck to capture this image. After I finished, Caro and I were treated to numerous bats gleaning insects from just above the water’s surface.

10. Luna Moth

Most years we’re treated to a few luna moth (Actias luna) encounters during our spring wanderings. This year Caro spotted one on a small stick in a rich hardwood stream bottom. It was a flawless specimen, and we watched as it took its first flight. Graceful and awkward at the same time, it took a few broad flaps and ended up landing on the ground a few feet away, in the most spectacular of settings among the leaves of emerging violets and a downed black cherry branch.

11. Vernal Forest

There is nothing like wandering through a rich hardwood forest in spring. The ground comes to life with emerging plants and wildflowers, and bird returning north fill the air with their varied songs. This was one of my favorite scenes from spring of 2021, a forest floor abloom with mayapple (Podophyllum peltatum) and golden groundsel (Packera obovata).

12. Southern Lady’s Slipper

For my money, there are few wildflowers as charismatic as the southern lady’s slipper (Cypripedium kentuckiense). This year I was fortunate to visit and photograph most of the remaining known populations in Texas. The most special of these was finding and photographing a perfect bloom for the first time in northeast Texas. More on this incredible outing can be found here.

13. Canebrake Rattlesnake

In early May, James spotted this striking canebrake rattlesnake (Crotalus horridus) on his farm. I was thrilled to capture an intimate portrait of this ever-docile species, and wrote a piece about their maligned, misunderstood nature. Shortly after, James and I found a fresh shed nearby, which we surmised was from the same snake.

14. Painted Bunting

I spent some time in May chasing breeding songbirds. While most outings proved fruitless, I was able to capture a few images. I think this was the most interesting, of a gorgeous male Painted Bunting (Passerina ciris) atop a pine sapling, presented in high key against a grey sky.

15. Pronghorn

In August, we took another trip with James and Erin, this time to the Davis Mountains of west Texas. We cooked chili and watched skunks in our campsite, visited old friends with land in the mountains, and were treated to one of the finest monsoon seasons in recent memory. I took the opportunity to spend some time with one of my favorite animals, the pronghorn (Antilocapra americana). I spent one evening with this group and was treated to numerous photo ops. This image was my favorite, with the buck looking toward a seemingly indifferent doe in the foreground.

16. Scaled Quail

On our last morning in west Texas, James and I were treated to a cooperative Scaled Quail (Callipepla squamata) that was running about his territory. He afforded us several good looks on a variety of perches. The air smelled of fresh rain as we laid in the damp ground to photograph him from his level. It was the perfect way to close out a memorable rip.

17. Pygmy Nuthatch

In mid-October, Caro and I found ourselves in Colorado enjoying the tail end of a Rocky Mountain autumn. While hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park, we found ourselves among a flock of Pygmy Nuthatches (Sitta pygmaea). They were everywhere! I soon found, however, that trying to chase after them for a photo would not work. So I sat down with my back against a ponderosa pine and waited. Within minutes they were foraging all around me, and I captured this image of one near the ground with a nut in its bill.

18. American Bison

While in Colorado, we visited Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Refuge. There we photographed plains bison (Bison bison), and even saw our first black-footed ferret! To learn more about the incredible story of this refuge check out my write-up on Flickr.

19. White-tailed Deer Doe and Fawn

Earlier in December I had to travel to Austin to present a research proposal examining the impacts of erosion control blankets on wildlife. The meeting fell on a Friday, so I took the opportunity to visit my brother and get out to some area nature preserves. Over the past couple of years, white-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus) have quickly become one of my favorite photographic subjects. While it is always exciting to photograph mature bucks during the rut, it is equally as special to capture tender moments between a fawn and its mother.

20. White-tailed Deer Buck

The following week, Caro and I traveled to south Texas to observe and photograph the white-tailed deer rut, which kicks off later there then elsewhere in the state. I witnessed a myriad of interesting rutting behavior, including an intense fight between two mature bucks. Photographically speaking, the most exciting moment for me came together in this image. I saw this buck in an open field. There was a crooked old mesquite nearby, and I thought to myself “wouldn’t it be amazing if he went to that tree to scent mark.” Then, much to my disbelief he began walking straight for it. I positioned myself in hopes that everything might come together, and sure enough, he visited and marked a licking branch at the old mesquite. A nice buck in perfect light in a beautiful setting – everything lined up for this one in a way that seldom happens.

21. Sandhill Cranes

The week before Christmas, we took our last big trip of 2021. We again found ourselves traveling with James and Erin, this time to south-central New Mexico. There we spent much of our time at Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge – a place famous for wintering Sandhill Cranes (Grus canadensis), Snow Geese, and a variety of waterfowl. One evening we found ourselves watching throngs of cranes come into a shallow pond to roost. The conditions were perfect, and as they descended, we were able to capture them silhouetted against a fiery sky.

I think this image is a fitting end to my journey through 2021. The sun is setting on this year but will rise again in 2022. I hope the New Year brings you much joy, laughter, opportunity, and time in wild places. Thank you all for coming on this journey with me, and I wish you a very safe, happy New Years.

A Day with the Thrashers

Brown Thrasher Parent and Chick

Sometimes life gets in the way. There are various things – life events, obligations, and the like, that have kept me from updating this blog, and have severely limited my time in the field with my camera. Fortunately most of these are good things, and though I miss looking through the viewfinder and connecting with my readers, I know that this is only temporary, and soon I hope to be back in full force. I have several ideas for future posts that I very much look forward to sharing.

For now, I want to share a short, picture heavy story about an incredible experience that Caro and I had a few weeks back on Memorial Day. Read the captions of the image below for the story about our day with the thrashers – a story of parenthood that I found fitting for my Mom’s birthday.

Early on Memorial Day I went out in the back yard and spotted a pair of Brown Thrashers displaying in a small space between our vegetable garden and our native pollinator garden. They seemed unconcerned with my presence and remained for some time before they flew off, and I returned to the air conditioning.
I was thrilled to see this. Though I wouldn’t call them rare, Brown Thrashers are relatively uncommon, and seeing one is always exciting. They are far less common than their close relative, the Northern Mockingbird, which is the state bird of Texas (as well as a few other states).
A short while late, Caro excitedly called for me to come outside. She had found something in the garden. There, nestled among the tomato plants was a fledgling Brown Thrasher, clearly fresh from the nest.
Nearby we saw one of the adults foraging on the ground, seeking out beetles and other insects. With a beakfull, the parent flew over to the chick and fed it right before our very eyes. Realizing that the birds were quite tolerant of our presence, I quickly went inside for my camera. This is a behavior that occurs countless times a day in neighborhoods everywhere, but it is so seldom that one is able to witness this. I didn’t want to pass up this opportunity.
Caro and I set up some chairs a respectable distance away and sat, and watched as the parent went about the yard looking for tasty morsels for the hungry chick. It returned to feed its begging offspring several times.
Suddenly we caught some movement on the roof, and saw another fledgling scurrying across the shingles.
Eventually we lost sight of it, but then it turned up again and slowly made its way to our rosemary bush.
The parent then began alternating between the chicks, ensuring that each had plenty to eat. In lean times, adult birds might favor the largest, healthiest chick, however in times of plenty they will distribute their time between them. And this certainly seemed like a time of plenty. The parent was a very successful hunter, and we even watched it return with two five lined skinks, which it promptly dismembered and distributed the pieces to its young.
At times the adult came too close for me to focus. I always enjoy seeing birds up close, where one can admire their incredible colors and feather details.
Caro and I were so enthralled with the day’s entertainment that we decided to cancel our plans and spend the day with the birds. At lunchtime we planned to run out to pick up some takeout, but just as we were getting ready to leave we spotted a third chick in the crook of the live oak in our front yard.
Nearby, in the branches of the oak we spotted the other parent.
This parent devoted its time to the third chick, and we watched it provide a variety of prey items, including some juicy earth worms.
Down the hatch!
It took a few tried, but the chick finally got it all down.
This parent continued to hunt in the front yard, while the other spent its time in the back. We were amazed at their ability to divide and conquer.
The pair in front were even willing to pose for a family portrait.
The chicks liked to move around, and they spent their time hopping from branch to branch, shrub to shrub, and bouncing around on the ground. We knew that it was only a matter of time before they would be gone.
We never saw the two chicks from the back yard again. I spotted the chick from the front yard sporadically over the next three days, then it too was gone. We still occasionally see the adults, who appear in the yard from time to time to forage. Hopefully all three chicks are somewhere out there, feeding and growing so that one day they may return with fledglings of their own.

The Perfect Storm

A trio of River Otters (Lontra canadensis)

8:00 AM – Monday, February 15, 2021

The world had changed overnight. Looking out our bedroom window I could see that our yard had transformed from browns and emerging greens to white. Pure white. Everything was covered in ivory powder, and snow descended from on high and settled in a thickening blanket over leaves, grass, and spring forbs. We we warned that the storm was coming, but it was still a shock to see such a marked change. Quickly we donned our warmest winter garb and set out into the cold. We measured the depth of the snow off our back porch – five inches and counting! We caught perfect snowflakes on our sleeves, which kept their unique forms in the frigid air. It was cold, concerning, and beautiful and serene.

Incredibly, this was the second winter storm to pass through the Pineywoods in as many months. The first came the second week of January and dropped over six inches of snow. We were soon to find that this second storm, named Uri, would be much more serious. For the moment, however, we were enamored with the winter wonderland around us.

The flooded Neches River Bottoms photographed in the second week of January during our first winter storm of the year.

Not wanting to squander an opportunity to observe wildlife and capture images in these unique conditions, Carolina and I set out to a nearby nature preserve. Slowly we drove over the roads, their asphalt coated in a slurry of snow, salt, and ice. The thermometer in my truck read 17°F (-8°C). Save a few nights winter camping in the high country of the Guadalupe Mountains, I do believe this is the coldest temperature I’ve experienced since moving to Texas from Chicago over 20 years ago. And it was soon to get colder.

The snowfall had mostly ceased by the time we arrived at our destination, save a few flakes that seemed suspended midair. Forsters Terns, Ring-billed Gulls, and American Tree Swallows were gliding over the surface of the park’s lake, where rafts of Double-crested Cormorants floated among wintering Canvasbacks, Buffleheads, Lesser Scaups and Ruddy Ducks. Killdeer and Wilson’s Snipes took refuge along snowbanks developing along the shore, and American Pipits ventured out to forage on the rapidly forming ice.

A Killdeer (Charadrius vociferus) hunkers down amid a historic winter storm.

I trusted in my waterproof jacket and laid in the snow right at the water’s edge, in hopes that the ducks might venture a bit closer. The water was much warmer than the air, and a thin veil of steam rose from its surface. Ironically, the difference in temperatures also created heat distortion, which wreaked havoc on my autofocus, blurred the scene, and seriously hampered my waterfowl photography efforts. I was able to capture a single image of a lovely drake Bufflehead that I hope conveys the bleak mood of the scene. I watched the handsome duck as it dove repeatedly into the frigid depths, insulated by its water-tight plumage.

A drake Bufflehad (Bucephala albeola) braves the cold.

“Time to pack it up,” I thought, when Carolina excitedly called out and directed my attention to three sleek forms slicing through water rendered gray by the day’s gloom. River Otters! They were moving toward a bridge on a berm that separated two portions of the lake. Quickly I moved to the edge of the water on the opposite side of the berm, hoping to anticipate their movements and put myself in the best position to capture some images. Soon one did appear, but it stayed low in the water and found the ice overtaking the lake to be too thin to support it. As quickly as it arrived, it crossed back under the bridge and out of view. I stood and swiftly moved back toward my original position. That’s when I saw fresh tracks in the snow. Caro told me that one of the otters had left the water and walked to within ten feet of me. I was devastated. I have a long history of otters sneaking up on me while I was distracted. But this time would be different. The otters regrouped in the water, then one went ashore again ahead of us. I got low and managed a few frames before it returned to the water.

A River Otter enjoys the snow.

Then something truly magical happened, and a once in a lifetime photographic opportunity unfolded before me. The otters approached the remains of a pine that long ago fell to the lake. On warm, sunny days this log will support dozens of basking turtles and the occasional American Alligator. Today, however, it would be the stage for a wonderful otter watching experience. At first they sat on submerged branches, as if lounging in some frigid spa.

A trio of River Otters in the frigid water. The third otter can be scene here swimming toward me. I didn’t notice it until Caro pointed it out AFTER I had processed the image!

They then returned to the water, made a short lap, and hopped up onto the snow-covered log. Otters are supremely insulated against the cold by a dense, water-repellant coat of fur, and they seemed to genuinely delight in the icy conditions. I watched as they buried their faces in the snow and then shook the white powder off. They rolled around in it, nudged one another, and rough-housed in it. Like many Texans, this year is likely the first time these otters have experienced real snowfall. It was a new element in their habitat that provided a seemingly endless source of entertainment.

River Otters playing in the snow.

My pursuit of wildlife photography has resulted in countless memorable experiences. Yet few, if any, have been as special as this one. Being able to photograph not one, but three North American River Otters, in the snow, in East Texas is something I can honestly say I never would have thought possible before that day, and something that I doubt I will ever experience again. I feel extremely fortunate to have been able to both witness and document it.

River Otters posing perfectly for a very content photographer

After their brief log-top romp, the otters returned to the water and quickly swam in the opposite direction. So we continued on the trail, and soon spotted a group of birds foraging near the water’s edge. It was a mixed flock of Swamp Sparrows, White-throated Sparrows, Song Sparrows, and Rusty Blackbirds. The blackbirds were a particularly exciting find, as the species is quite uncommon and by all accounts declining rapidly.

A Rusty Blackbird (Euphagus carolinus) foraging at the water’s edge.
A Swamp Sparrow (Melospiza georgiana) ponders its reflection from a snowy perch.

From there, the trail takes a sharp turn and meanders through the woods. The canopy here is dominated by towering loblolly pines and massive post oaks. The understory is choked out by exotic Chinese privet and native, yet invasive yaupon holly, and every time I wander through here I can’t help but think that a good burn would do wonders. Still, there is a wonderful diversity of plant and animals here. Eastern redbuds, flowering dogwoods, and mayapples put on a floral display in the spring while Indian pipes and scores of goldenrods bloom in the fall. In addition to the otters, we have encountered a variety of wildlife here. We have seen numerous snakes species, two of which – the smooth earth snake and red-bellied snake are quite rare in the region. Northern Parulas sing here in the summer and scores of ducks can be found in the winter. Bald Eagles nest in tall pines at the water edge while alligator snapping turtles patrol its depths. It is a naturalists paradise, and it’s only minutes from home. I’ve found that often the most memorable encounters occur places familiar rather than some exotic destination.

Me on the trail of an Eastern Cottontail – Photo by Carolina. We never did find the bunny.

The snow was riddled with fresh tracks. Some were easy to identify, like those of the Eastern Cottontail. Others were more ambiguous, and guesses ranged from skunk to fox to hawk. While examining these calling cards left in the fresh powder, I heard a familiar whistling from the tree tops. This cacophony of high pitched buzzing could mean only one thing: Cedar Waxwings were near! We soon saw a small flock working privet and greenbrier berries in the midstory. We watched them for several minutes until one finally perched on a nearby brier vine, all puffed up to insulate against the biting cold.

A Cedar Waxwing (Bombycilla cedrorum) takes a break from feasting on privet berries.

While out exploring the winter woods, a call came in from my good buddy James Childress. He excitedly reported that his property had been invaded by a flock of at least a hundred Fox Sparrows. “Damn,” I remember thinking. “I wish I could make it over there.” Fox Sparrows winter in the Pineywoods, but most years they are scarce, or at the very least hard to find. In a given winter, if I’m lucky I’ll see one or two if I’m out beating the bush. I’ve certainly never had a good opportunity to capture photos of one. And here James was, sending me images of the LCD screen on the back of his camera of these elusive Emberizids in the snow and filling the frame. The roads were certainly too dangerous to make the trek out to his remote cabin. I was admittedly jealous of James, but it was hard to feel bummed after the incredible wildlife encounters we had just experienced.

Carefully we returned home and went about peeling off our winter layers and making a pot of hot coffee. I happened to glance out the window, and spotted a chunky reddish bird hopping around the snow in the back yard. It was a Fox Sparrow! I could hardly believe it. The next few days we had several seeking precious calories in the yard alongside American Robins, Chipping Sparrows, Dark-eyed Juncos, and more.

My mind quickly went to work envisioning the Fox Sparrow images I wanted to capture. I knew I wanted to get low and get close, and to capture them in the snow. So I snuck out into the backyard, laid flat on the snow, and covered myself in a white sheet. This rudimentary camouflaged worked wonders, and at times the sparrows were foraging within ten feet of me. By shooting from ground level I was able to create images with Fox Sparrows seemingly rising up out of a sea of white.

An inquisitive Fox Sparrow (Passerella iliaca) in the snow.
A Fox Sparrow forages by scraping at the snow and leaves to reveal any tasty treats underneath.

We woke Tuesday to what was certainly the coldest temperature I’ve experienced in Texas. Our thermometer read 5°F, but some stations in the area were reporting temps as low as -1. All around the state power grids were failing, and millions of Texans were without power and potable water. Yet for us, it was still mostly business as usual. We hadn’t lost power and I was even able to work most of the day, until our internet began to fail to the point that it made work from home impossible. We were feeling incredibly fortunate to have made it through the storm unscathed.

8:00 AM – Wednesday, February 17, 2021

Then came Wednesday. I started work at 7, per my normal routine. Outside a drizzle of rain and ice was falling, and all of the branches were coated in glistening icicles. It almost looked as if they had been coated in blown glass. At around 7:30 I began hearing echoing CRACKS of splintering wood, followed by scraping and thunderous booms as massive branches broke free from the trees in our neighborhood. Laden with ice, many became too heavy for the trees to bear, and they came crashing down on lawns, fences, and roofs. The pine trees were hit particularly hard, and a number of old, 80 to 100 foot tall trees completely uprooted and fell, crushing anything in their trajectory to the earth. We were concerned for our old live oak, with its massive branches arching over most of the house.

At roughly 8 AM we lost power. The lights flickered a few times, and then it was gone. We had no idea when it might return, so we gathered our camping gear and made a few preparations. Soon the generators to our water supply failed and we were placed on a boil water notice. We were without power for the next 55 hours or so, and without potable water for another few days. The temperature in the house dropped to 51, which was chilly but tolerable. We boiled water for coffee, made hamburgers and “torta fritas”, an Argentinean dish akin to fry bread. We played games by candlelight, and listened to a small transistor radio.

When there was enough light to do so, I passed the time by photographing birds from our back porch. They desperately sought calories to keep warm, and I was lucky to capture a few as they paused in icy settings. The storm took its toll on wildlife, and reports soon came in of hundreds of birds, bats, and other animals that perished from the harsh conditions it wrought. It was a somber reminder of the hard lives these species lead.

A Fox Sparrow on ice laden branches.
A Chipping Sparrow (Spizella passerina) photographed during the ice storm.
A Yellow-bellied Sapsucker (Sphyrapicus varius) works pre-drilled sapwells in pursuit of a sugary meal to help stave off the cold.
A Tufted Titmouse (Baeolophus bicolor) in the frozen canopy.
A Hermit Thrush (Catharus guttatus) in the winter woods.

Power returned Friday afternoon and the house quickly warmed. Our live oak did loose a few large branches, but luckily the house was spared the brunt of their weight. One that fell near the street sank its fracture point nearly a foot into the earth. But now, over a week later, it’s almost as if the storm had never occurred. A few piles of brush remain at the curb awaiting bulk pickup. A few roofs and fences are still being patched, and there is still a higher than usual volume of traffic from vans of plumbing and heating/air companies.

The Fox Sparrows left as soon as the snow and ice had melted. In the week following the storm we had several days that approached 80°F, and spring arrived in full force. Uri was both a gift and a curse. It left us with wonderful memories of once in a lifetime wildlife viewing and photographic opportunities. It also took from many families, and we still consider ourselves very fortunate to have emerged no worse for the wear. At one point over 4.5 million Texans were without power. For some, it has not yet returned. For others the loss was much greater, and at least 70 deaths have been directly or indirectly attributed to the storm. Nature is harsh and unforgiving. But it is also rewarding and beautiful, for those willing to see it for what it is. Our memory of two days without power will soon fade, but those of playful river otters, unexpected Fox Sparrows, and other natural wonders will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Texas Tigers

You might say I owe a lot to the tiger salamander. One of my earliest memories is turning over a board and finding several of these impressive amphibians at a park near my childhood home in the suburbs north of Chicago. My parents let me take a few home and we kept them in an aquarium for a few years. They were quite personable, for amphibians, and I remember feeding them bits of hamburger meat from toothpicks. This experience was one of the catalysts that sparked a lifelong passion for the natural world. There was just something about those tiger salamanders. I would later come to appreciate all salamanders, but those of the genus Ambystoma, and A. tigrinum in particular would always hold a special place in my heart.

When I was 13 we moved to the suburbs of Houston. In southeast Texas I found a herpetological Eden. There was an abundance and diversity of amphibians and reptiles that was unlike anything I’d previously encountered. But none of these new species inspired me to the degree that my pet tiger salamanders had, and I hoped I might find some nearby. After all, most every map depicting the range of the eastern tiger salamander showed it occurring in or at least near the Houston area. Many years later, after research, conversations, and personal observations I would come to realize that if I wanted to see one, I would have to travel much farther afield.

On New Years Day, 2021, Caro and I joined our good friend John Williams to see if we could find something that very few have encountered, let alone photographed: an adult eastern tiger salamander (Ambystoma tigrinum) in Texas. Our experience that day would rekindle a passion for this amphibian enigma, and spark a fact finding mission, the early stages of which I will present in this narrative.

We set out early to meet John at a site in the Post Oak Savanna where we had previously found larval and juvenile A. tigrinum. The day was cold, gray, and wet. A cold front had just passed through the region, dropping nearly three inches of rain on New Year’s Eve. The conditions seemed perfect for an Ambystoma migration, but there is little information on A. tigrinum breeding habits in Texas, so we could only hope that our timing was right.

To reach the breeding ponds we would have to hike a mile or so through remnant post oak savanna. At spots we noted sand blowouts nearly void of woody vegetation. Habitat like this is important for a variety of rare, range-restricted plant and animal species, and few high quality examples remain. The ponds themselves occurred in clay-bottomed swales where water from rainfall and percolation from adjacent deep sands collected. These ponds had been artificially enhanced – deepened, presumably to provide water for wildlife on a more permanent basis. They remained fish free, however, and as a result the tiger salamanders and other amphibians have been able to persist here.

It was still in the 40s (Fahrenheit) when we reached the pond. John had the good sense to bring a pair of waders to stay warm and dry in the pond. I wasn’t as prepared, and as we stretched out the sein, I mentally prepared myself to enter the frigid water. And it was cold, at least at first. My numb, tingling legs soon went to the back of my mind, however, as we pulled the sein from the water after our first pass and saw that a huge black and yellow amphibian had come with it.

A male eastern tiger salamander (Ambystoma tigrinum) from East Texas. This was the first of four individuals found.

It was a big adult male eastern tiger salamander! And it was one of the most beautiful salamanders I had ever seen. It immediately struck me as an eastern, but with tigers, there is always a hint of doubt in the back of my mind. There is another salamander, the barred tiger salamander (Ambystoma mavortium) that occurs sporadically in the semi-arid regions of the western half of the state. A. mavortium was long considered one of several subspecies of A. tigrinum. At that point, A. tigrinum was the most widespread amphibian in North America, occurring from the east coast to Arizona north to Washington and southern Canada. Within this range they inhabit a wide range of habitats, from forest pools to desert cienegas to subalpine lakes. In portions of their range, like northern Illinois, where I first became acquainted with them, they can even inhabit fishless ponds in urbanized areas, pastures, and agricultural fields.

Within this range they exhibit a broad range of behavioral ecologies and natural histories. In the west populations often contain both terrestrial and neotenic adults. Neoteny is the retention of various juvenile characteristics into adulthood. In this case, some adult salamander remain aquatic, retaining their gills, tail fins, and other characteristics that help them lead a life in the water. Other adults lose those characteristic and morph into gill-less adults that spend the majority of their lives on land in subterranean burrows. Neoteny has only been observed in one population of Michigan eastern tiger salamanders.

Morphologically, however, there is little to no difference between tiger salamanders throughout their range. A mavortium was split from A. tigrinum based primarily on adult coloration, egg mass characteristics, and the occurrence of neoteny. In the resulting split, eastern tiger salamanders remained A. tigrinum with no subspecies, while all other previously recognized subspecies were absorbed into A. mavortium. A. tigrinum is recognized as having more numerous, smaller spots and blotches on the body that range from creamy yellow to copper to olive brown. A. tigrinum also lays eggs in loose gelatinous masses, and only very rarely exhibits neoteny. A. mavortium mavortium (the barred tiger salamander) is recognized as having fewer larger spots, blotches, and bars that range from lemon yellow to olive. Barred tigers generally lay their eggs in lines or strips along vegetation, and neotenic populations are numerous. If you fine explanation for differences in the appearance of adults to be rather vague, you’re not alone. Tiger salamanders are extremely variable, and there are considerable differences in the patterns of individuals between and even within populations. The papers I’ve seen advocating for this split leave a lot to be desired, in my opinion, which begs the question, should they really be considered separate species? I could talk at length about the philosophy of species delineation, which isn’t the intended purpose of this blog, but to keep it short I’ll say that there is considerable disagreement and a wealthy of opinions in the field of taxonomy as to what should constitute a species. The concept of a “species” is far from black and white, and as a result we see a constant flow of changing taxonomies, with species being split, lumped back together, and so on and so forth.

The salamander that we had caught definitely fit the bill for A. tigrinum. Numerous orange-yellow spots scattered about its head, back, sides, and tail. It was easily identifiable as a male by it’s swollen cloaca and flattened, rudder like tail. These are changes that occur in males during the breeding season. The tiger salamander is one of the largest terrestrial salamanders in the world, and seeing one in person is an unforgettable experience.

It was quite clear to me that John and I had seined up an eastern tiger, but the plot thickens. Larval tiger salamanders and neotenic adults have long been used as fishing bait. They are famous for their ability to snag large bass, and can frequently been found in bait shops. These bait salamanders are most often A. mavortium as they are more readily obtained from breeding ponds year round. A. tigrinum and A. mavortium also differ in their breeding ecology, for the most part. A. tigrinum are animals eastern North America, where the winters are typically wet, and seasonal pools fill during the winter and early spring when rainfall is more abundant and water requirements of plants is lower due to winter dormancy. For this reason they breed in the winter and early spring in more northern latitudes and late fall and early winter in the more southerly portions of their range.

Throughout much of their range, A. mavortium occur in habitats that are influenced by summer monsoonal range and experience dry winters. As a result, many of these populations breed in the summer months. Once again, however, there is overlap, and many populations of A. mavortium breed in the winter months similar to A. tigrinum.

But I digress. Salamander larvae used as fish bait have been introduced to many areas where they do not natural occurred, or distributed to new areas within their range, changing the genetics of local populations. This has become a major problem in the western U.S., where non-native barred salamanders have become established in parts of California and Arizona. Here they interbreed with the federally endangered California tiger salamander (Ambystoma californiense) and Sonoran tiger salamander (Ambystoma mavortium stebbinsi), and threaten native populations here by diluting the gene pool.

This same phenomenon has been purported to occur in East Texas as well, however I am skeptical that it has actually occurred, particularly to a sufficient degree to threaten native populations here. The only evidence that I have been able to find that this could occur is the presence of A. mavortium larvae or neotenic adults at bait shops in the region. I have heard from several individuals that they have found, purchased, and used these as bass bait in popular East Texas fishing spots. I have yet to find evidence, however, that these larvae have been introduced and formed naturalized populations. I think it is unlikely that this is occurring for the following reasons:

  • Tiger salamanders in East Texas are apparently quite rare and declining. With few known populations, it is unlikely that numerous introduced populations have become established.
  • The appearance of animals from East Texas and adjacent western Louisiana is quite similar. If introduced populations were prevalent here, I would expect there to be significant variation in the appearance of animals from the region. Granted, many of these animals do seem to show some similarity to the coloration of barred tiger salamanders, however the same is true of eastern tiger salamanders in other parts of their range. In east Texas, this may also be influenced by the proximity to the contact zone with naturally occurring barred tiger salamander populations.
  • Known populations by and large do not occur near fishing hotspots, despite the presence of suitable habitat. I would expect that populations established from introduced fish bait would be more common in those areas where fishing and bait shops are more prevalent.
  • Tiger salamanders in east Texas exhibit a very specific distributional pattern and habitat preference, which I will describe further below.

The range of the eastern tiger salamander, whether relating to the subspecies or the full subspecies, generally is shown as reaching its southwestern limit in eastern Texas. Being the salamander fanatic that I am, I long wanted to find them, but soon came to realize that it would be no easy task. Through years of research and personal experience, a pattern of habitat preference began to develop. Virtually all of the records I could locate of A. tigrinum in East Texas are from three bands of Eocene sand deposits: The Queen City, Sparta, and Carrizo sands of the Claibourne Formation. Here they primarily breed in clay-bottomed depressions, and in some cases man-made ponds, in sandy uplands that are or were historically post oak savanna.

After a prolonged bout of exciting shouting, high fives, and hugs, John and I made another pass with the sein, which yielded another strikingly patterned male tiger salamander. It too was characterized by numerous small spots. It was shaping up to be one of my most memorable salamander hunting experiences to date.

A male eastern tiger salamander (Ambystoma tigrinum) from East Texas. This was the second of four individuals found.

Our next pass yielded a huge gravid female. This individual, with the exception of having slightly brighter colors, was nearly identical to the salamanders I found under that board in northern Illinois all those years ago. She was the last salamander we caught in that first pond, but another pass yielded a large gelatinous egg mass – further supporting our claim that these were eastern tiger salamanders, and not A. mavortium or some mix of the two. It should also be stated that neoteny has not been observed in this population or any other population of A. tigrinum in East Texas.

A gravid female eastern tiger salamander (Ambystoma tigrinum) from East Texas. This was the third of four individuals found.

When photographing salamanders, I like to take images from several images. A standard field guide shot of a posed salamander in interesting substrate is always nice, but in recent years I’ve really come to like photographing them from above. Their patterns and colors are most striking on their dorsum, and photographing them this way helps place them in their environment. It also helped to highlight the plumpness of this gravid female.

After photographing our salamander finds, we moved on to another nearby pond. Here we found a single female. Of all of the salamanders we found that day, she bore the closest resemblance to A. mavortium. Her spots and blotches were larger than the others, and some were bleeding into bars. In my opinion, however, she was still well within the realm of A. tigrinum patterning and coloration, and as I’ve noted above there is considerable overlap.

A gravid female eastern tiger salamander (Ambystoma tigrinum) from East Texas. This was the fourth of four individuals found.

Satisfied with a highly productive outing, we packed up after four salamanders, dozens of photographs, and a couple of hours in good company. The very first day of 2021 will be a hard one to top! The experience served to enhance and deepen my appreciation for these animals and opened up a wormhole about their genetics, regional relationships, patterns, habitat preference, and much more. I think that finding answers to these questions is important, as by all accounts and appearances, the eastern tiger salamander in Texas is rare and declining, and most certainly worthy of conservation efforts.

2020 Highlights in Biodiversity

2020 was a hard year for so many. Caro and I were extremely fortunate in that we were able to keep our jobs and work from home. We retained our health and the health of our loved ones. For many this was not the case. We also were fortunate that we were able to find refuge and comfort from the pandemic and turmoil in nature.

I only managed to check two new species off my list of biodiversity goals this year:

Alligator Snapping Turtle (Macrochelys temminckii)

Texas Red-headed Centipede (Scolopendra heros)

I also provided a more thorough treatment of the White-tailed Deer (Odocoileus virginianus), which I technically photographed last year, but only briefly mentioned the encounter.

Though it may not be reflected in the number of species checked off my list, 2020 was full of biodiversity, and was perhaps my most productive year yet in terms of photography. The following are just a handful of highlights. There are many images taken this year that I have not yet shared on this page, and hope to include many in future posts.

A favorite past time of mine is roaming the woods on a warm day in early spring. On those lucky days where conditions are just right, I just might catch a glimpse of some rare spring ephemeral forb opening its blooms. One of the first to flower this year was the lovely white trout lily (Erythronium albidum).

White Trout Lily

Not far from the trout lilies above I stumbled upon a large patch of bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis), one of my all time favorite wildflowers.


While looking for these wildflowers one day in mid February I heard Caro shout “SNAKE! SNAKE!” Looking back, I saw this beautiful young canebrake rattlesnake (Crotalus horridus) coiled within 2 feet of where I had just stepped. Their camouflage is absolutely amazing, and their dispositions are so docile. This one obliged our presence for several minutes as we admired and photographed it, without so much as a complaint or even the slightest movement. I figure it was born last year, and it appeared to have a decent meal in its belly.

Neonate Canebrake Rattlesnake

Caro’s sharp eyes also spotted this downy yellow violet (Viola pubescens). Rare in the the state, most populations of this early spring bloomer are known from far northeast Texas. This individual was found close to home in Nacogdoches County in a high quality forested slope.

Downy Yellow Violet

Before the work at home orders were issued, I enjoyed birding around my work campus. During the winter and spring we get a good variety of birds here, and on a whim one day I brought my camera and was able to capture this image of a Yellow-rumped Warbler (Setophaga coronata) during a brief break.

Yellow-rumped Warbler

One of my most exciting finds of the year was a the second population of false rue-anemone (Enemion biternatum) in Deep East Texas. Caro and I found the first a few years ago in a beautiful patch of woods on some friends’ land.

False Rue Anemone

I put in considerable effort this year to finding and photographing Trillium in East Texas. I plan to share a blog this spring discussing these beautiful spring wildflowers and their status and distribution in Texas.

Texas Trillium (Trillium texanum)
Bloody Butcher (Trillium recurvatum)

Whenever I’m feeling low or overwhelmed, I like to mentally transport myself to the forest in spring. There are few things more peaceful and beautiful to me. Scenes like the one pictured below are just as wonderful to me as some endless mountain vista.

Rich Spring Woods

Another exciting wildflower find was a nice population of Nuttall’s death-camas (Toxicoscordion nuttallii) in San Augustine County. This species is quite common and widespread in central Texas, but is rare and highly localized in the Pineywoods. Here is is primarily associated with open forests and glades over the Weches Formation, where it approaches the surface.

Nuttall’s Death Camas

This year I finally took the trip an hour and a half to the west to photograph the federally endangered large-fruited sand verbena (Abronia macrocarpa). This stunning member of the Four O’clock family (Nyctaginaceae) is endemic to a tiny portion of the Post Oak Savanna in Texas, where it is known from nine populations in three counties.

Large-flowered Sand Verbena

2020 was also the first year I captured images of the granite gooseberry (Ribes curvatum) in bloom. We found many of these lovely, fascinating shrubs in the woods of Nacogdoches, Rusk, and Cherokee Counties.

Granite Gooseberry

In early April, Caro and I took a trip to northeast Texas to visit an incredible rich hardwood forest on private land. The landowner loves his woods and we were privileged to experience this special place. Among the rare plants here we found Trillium viridescens. A gorgeous trillium that can reach heights of nearly two feet!

Trillium viridescens

While walking in one of our favorite local parks one fine April afternoon, I spied some brown wriggly thing moving across the trail in front of us. Instinctively I scooped it up, and much to my delight realized that I was holding a smooth earth snake (Virginia valeriae)! Though it is fairly widespread in Texas, populations seem to be widely scattered and localized, and when compared to snakes with similar life histories, records are scant.

Smooth Earth Snake

I put considerable effort into finding, stalking, and photographing breeding songbirds this spring. It was difficult, often very frustrating, but ultimately rewarding. The Swainson’s Warbler (Limnothlypis swainsonii) below was photographed in the woods at my friend James Childress’s farm.

Swainson’s Warbler

I spotted the Bobolink (Dolichonyx oryzivorus) below while out photographing birds with my buddy Skip Pudney. The Bobolink is an infrequent passage migrant in East Texas. Here they may stop to refuel on their journey north to their prairie breeding grounds. They are only irregularly encountered in the state, so I was thrilled to see a breeding-plumaged male at a wildlife management area close to home. During our initial approach, the bird dropped down from its perch into a dense field of grass, vetch, and other herbaceous vegetation. I continued to where the bird was and was immediately set upon by a swarm of fire ants. As I began brushing the stinging insects from my legs I heard Skip shout “There it is!” I looked up and the Bobolink had hopped up to a perch about 30 feet away from me. I immediately ignored the pain and fired off several shots, all the while enduring more and more ant bites. The itching from the bites faded after a few days, but I’ll forever have this image to remember this special encounter.

A male Bobolink

In May I saw some interesting images posted by my friend Adam Black of a plant he found and photographed in a forested seep in Jasper County. After some discussion with a number of botanists, a consensus was reached that it was Texas featherbells (Stenanthium texanum), a rare plant with few records from the state.

Texas Featherbells

One glorious day in late May I was able to capture images of two of the loveliest Neotropical migrants breeding close to home. The Painted Bunting (Passerina ciris) and Northern Parula (Setophaga americana) below were photographed in close proximity, but in very different habitats.

A male Painted Bunting
A male Northern Parula

A few weeks later I visited the spot where I had photographed the parula and found a beautiful male Kentucky Warbler (Geothlypis formosa) skulking int he understory. I believe he had a nest nearby as he was constantly foraging and returning to the same spot.

A male Kentucky Warbler

Another day chasing birds I got lucky when a Red-eyed Vireo (Vireo olivaceus) came down low from his normal haunt high in the canopy.

Red-eyed Vireo

The woods in summer are hot, but beautiful. There is a myriad of subtly different shades of green and plant growth is at its peak. I found a particularly lovely scene while exploring some back roads in Cherokee County.

A rich hardwood forest on the Weches Formation.

While exploring in early spring, Caro spotted a huge population of Carolina lilies (Lilium michauxii) with their basal leaves just beginning to emerge. We returned in July and were dismayed to see that most of the area had been logged since our visit. Fortunately we managed to find small area that had been spared and had many plants in bloom.

Carolina lilies in a rich slope forest.

In September we headed west toward Rocky Mountain National Park. We timed our trip to coincide with the elk rut, and we hoped the peak of aspen color. A huge winter storm blew through shortly before our visit and I feared that the trees might respond by simply dropping their leaves rather than undergoing the gradual process of losing chlorophyll to reveal other bright pigments within the leaf. Fortunately my fears were for naught, and we found a beautiful display of aspens and other deciduous trees. I’m glad we visited when we did. Not long after our trip the East Troublesome Fire engulfed this area and overnight spread from a relatively small blaze to the second largest conflagration in Colorado’s history.

An aspen grove in Rocky Mountain National Park.

En route to Colorado we stopped for a night in northeastern New Mexico. Here I took some time to photograph North America’s fastest land animal, the pronghorn (Antilocapra americana).

A pronghorn buck on the plains.

Within Rocky Mountain National Park I was able to photograph a few birds including the iconic camp robber, the Canada Jay (Perisoreus canadensis). Also commonly referred to as the Gray Jay, the Canada Jay is a familiar site around campgrounds and picnic areas. The nickname “whiskey jack” is a corruption of Wisakedjak, an important figure in Cree mythology. Wisakedjak is described as a benevolent trickster. Perhaps the jay earned its name through its charming nature and sneaky picnic robbing ways.

Canada Jay

I also captured an image of a Hairy Woodpecker (Dryobates villosus) while in the park. I had watched it foraging in some dense branches when I spotted a lovely old aspen trunk and thought, “wouldn’t it be great if it landed there?”. And in a turn of events that almost NEVER happens, it went and landed exactly where I hoped it might.

A female Hairy Woodpecker

After spending a few days in the park, we headed south to the San Juan Mountains of southwestern Colorado. Here we found more beautiful fall color and were lucky enough to see an North American porcupine (Erethizon dorsatum) out and about with enough light to capture a few images.

North American Porcupine

Over the Thanksgiving break we took a trip to South Texas. We did a little bird watching on South Padre Island and found a very tolerant Green Heron (Butorides virescens).

Green Heron

While exploring a South Texas mesquite savanna, we found ourselves in the middle of a large squadron of collared peccaries (Pecari tajacu), or javelina. I was able to capture several images as they moved through the grass and brush, and just as quickly as they arrived, they were gone.

A small group of collared peccaries.

2021 is already off to a great start for me (stay tuned for more about that). I sincerely hope that it is a brighter year for so many that faced a dark 2020, and wish all of my nature loving readers another happy, healthy year filled with natural wonders.

Winter in the Wichitas

A plains bison welcomes a December snow storm.

It’s no secret that the natural landscape of North America has changed since European colonization began in earnest. By the signing of the declaration of independence, elk, wild turkey, and other game were already gone or disappearing fast from the eastern U.S. At that time there was still an incredible abundance of wildlife west of the Mississippi, as evidenced by the journals of Lewis and Clark and other early explorers and settlers that ventured forth in the early 1800s. It didn’t take long, however, for these once seemingly limitless populations to begin to vanish, and in less than a lifetime tens of millions of plains bison, pronghorn, elk, and deer were killed until populations teetered on the brink of extinction. It was a time of unregulated hunting, and most anything that walked, flew, or swam was fair game. Bird populations were decimated for meat and plumes; predators were eliminated for the threat they posed to the livestock brought in to tame the land; and entire sections of river were voided of fish.

Unregulated market hunting was the primary driver for these population declines, at least initially. Shortly after arriving, these colonizers began to break the land and bend it to their will. Native vegetation was cleared, removing a diversity of native forage and nuanced structure that served as important structure for a myriad of species. Fire was suppressed, and keystone species like the plains bison, which impacted their environment on so many levels, were removed, initiating a domino effect that caused many natural communities to fall apart.

Take the black-tailed prairie dog (Cynomys ludovicianus). Once perhaps the most abundant mammal on the continent, it is believed that some very large colonies may have numbered one hundred million animals or more. Despised as pests that destroyed cropland and competed with cattle for forage, these social rodents were systematically exterminated, and the plow broke the soil to the point that it could no longer be utilized for their subterranean civilizations. In less than 100 years, their population was reduced by more than 95%.

Like the bison, the prairie dog is a keystone of the plains. The black-footed ferret, for example, feeds almost exclusively on prairie dogs and seeks refuge in their burrows. Prairie dogs are also an important food source for American badgers and a variety of raptors. Where their ranges overlap, Burrowing Owls will frequently utilized prairie dog colonies for shelter, as will a variety of snakes, amphibians, and invertebrates. The loss of the bison and the prairie dog threw the great plains deeper into a downward spiral of ecological disaster.

A black-tailed prairie dog surveys the world around its burrow, waiting to give the signal to the others that all is clear.

By the early 1900s it seemed like the prairie dog might go the route of the passenger pigeon, a similarly abundant species that we wiped from existence. But the gregarious ground squirrels found refuge from a boon in protected lands, and eventual reintroduction efforts throughout their historic range. One such introduction effort took place in the Wichita Mountains National Wildlife Refuge, where they have since established several large towns to the benefit of the refuge’s other prairie denizens. Today their range-wide population numbers in the tens of millions, and their future seems secure.

A black-tailed prairie dog leaves its burrow to explore on a cold winter day int he Wichita Mountains.

The Wichita Mountains National Wildlife Refuge was first set aside in 1901 by President McKinley as the “Wichita Mountains Forest Preserve”. A few years later, renowned conservationist President Teddy Roosevelt re-classified the area as the “Wichita Forest and Game Preserve”, and designated its purpose to preserving the wildlife that had become so scarce in his lifetime. It was protected before the land could be scarred by the plow, and today contains excellent example of mixed grass and oak savanna communities.

Many species find refuge in the Wichitas. White-tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus) are common here, and fueled by good forage and genetics, bucks can reach impressive sizes. It is hard to imagine that a species as familiar and ubiquitous as the whitetail was once scarce, but like most other game species, they too were pushed to the brink of extinction by the late 1800s. Unregulated hunting for burgeoning wild game markets in big cities reduced their numbers to the point that they had disappeared completely from many portions of their range.

Like many other species, the whitetails benefited tremendously from the passage of wildlife regulations like the Lacey Act, which prohibited interstate trade of game, essentially putting an end to the era of market hunting. The establishment of science-based hunting regulations and conservations efforts helped deer populations bounce back, and today they are likely near historic numbers.

A large white-tailed deer buck in the Wichita Mountains. It was nearly night when I photographed this unique buck, which had a double beam in its right antler and several interesting points on its brow tines.
A white-tailed deer doe forages on coralberries in a post oak woodland in Wichita Mountains National Wildlife Refuge.

Even the Wild Turkey (Meleagris gallipavo), the bird that Benjamin Franklin thought should replace the Bald Eagle as a national symbol, was once at risk of disappearing from the wilds of North America. Save for a few strongholds, they were heavily hunted for both their meat and their feathers. Like the majestic whitetails, the famous gobblers benefitted from those hunters and conservationists of the early 1900s that laid the groundwork for sound management and gradual recovery. There have been extensive turkey reintroduction efforts around the country, and while they still struggle to get a foothold in some parts of their former range, in other areas, like the Wichita Mountains they have rebounded nicely.

In 1904, U.S. Biological Survey biologist James H. Gaut noted that few turkeys were left in the Wichitas, noting that “Before the country surrounding the mountains was opened to the whites, wild turkeys were extremely abundant but have since been thinned out.” Reintroduction efforts on the refuge began in 1913 and continued into the 1940s when a number of turkeys from Aransas National Wildlife Refuge were brought in. The population in the Wichitas quickly flourished, and from the 1920s to the 50s, turkeys from the refuge were trapped and used to repopulate other portions of their former range, including the Fort Niobrara National Wildlife Refuge, formerly the Niobrara Game Preserve, in Nebraska and the Rio Grande National Forest in Colorado.

A tom turkey of the Rio Grande subspecies strutting in the understory of a post oak woodland in Wichita Mountains National Wildlife Refuge.

Perhaps no species better exemplifies the plight of North America’s wildlife than the American bison. It’s hard to imagine a time when one could travel across the prairie for days and never have a view devoid of bison. Tens of million bison once roamed the continent, and traveled in such numbers that they left literal scars in the earth. The bison once roamed the vast majority of North America, with occurrences from Alaska to Mexico to the Piedmont of the eastern U.S. By the time Lewis and Clark set out on their fateful journey west, bison were already mostly gone east of the Mississippi. The west, however, still held a bounty of wildlife including vast herds of plains bison that reportedly stretched from horizon to horizon.

Once the riches of the west were reported to a burgeoning new nation, it was not long before the wilderness was conquered, and within a single generation the bison population went from 30 million or more to as low as 500. There were many driving factors fueling this massacre, including markets for meat and hides, efforts to subdue Native cultures, and in some cases, simply for the fun of it. The legendary Tatanka, the largest land mammal of North America, was almost lost forever.

A plains bison bull on the open prairie of Wichita Mountains National Wildlife Refuge.

By the late 1800’s, realizing that if things continued as they were that this important part of our heritage would be lost forever, lawmakers began pushing for protections for the bison. They were initially met with resistance, but eventually many states outlawed the killing of bison. For most this was too little too late, as the shaggy prairie dwellers had already been gone for years. Funds were appropriated to protect the few bison remaining in Yellowstone National Park, and individuals including the famed Texas rancher Charles Goodnight brought animals into captivity.

A bull plains bison against the backdrop of huge granite boulders in Wichita Mountains National Wildlife Refuge

In 1907, six years after a large portion of the Wichita Mountains was set as, fifteen bison were reintroduced. With the protection afforded by the refuge, the bison flourished, and today number between 600 and 700 individuals. Bison in Yellowstone and other protected areas began to recover, and in total today it is estimated there are approximately half a million scattered in private and public herds across the U.S., Canada, and Mexico. Most of these herds are bound by fences, and even the most wild of these herds are still managed, however to ensure that their populations do not grow too large or spread beyond the boundaries of their intended management units. I doubt that we will ever see the day when bison are allowed to truly roam wild and free, but am happy that places still exist where we can catch even a glimpse into what once was.

I was excited to capture this image, which shows a plains bison in a mixed grass prairie setting with little bluestem and other familiar prairie grasses. Most bison images I see come from shorgrass prairies or sagebrush plains. They were certainly present, however, of the mixed grass and tallgrass prairies further east. I always thought it must have been something to see just that massive hump moving among the tallest of grasses.

The last wapiti in the Wichita Mountains was likely killed sometime in the 1870s or 80s. Like the bison, the wapiti (or American elk) once ranged across much of the North American continent, until their numbers were reduced to dangerously low levels. Shortly after bison were reintroduced to the Wichitas, a handful of elk were brought in. Their numbers quickly grew, and today a healthy herd can be found on the refuge. Conservation efforts to protect habitat and reintroduce elk into their former range have helped the species bounce back from the brink, and today large populations exist in many states and provinces.

A bull elk pauses to eye its photographers. This bull bears several wounds from the rut, which are clearly visible against its long winter coat. I enjoyed seeing elk in the Wichitas. It placed them in a historical context very different from the mountain forests and meadows of the west where they are most often photographed.

Considering that it lies only six and a half short hours from home, it’s a wonder that Caro and I hadn’t yet visited Wichita Mountains National Wildlife Refuge. Having read about the place and its reintroduced inhabitants for years, I finally suggested we visit, and we soon found ourselves heading northwest with our good friends James and Erin Childress. We ended up camping at the nearby Great Plains State Park, as tent camping was temporarily unavailable at the refuge campground.

We spent the our first two days exploring the refuge. We visited a large prairie dog town that was easily accessible from the main road. We watched tom turkeys strutting their stuff, white-tailed deer moving warily through the post oaks, and several small groups of bison and elk. On the evening of our second day at the refuge, we drove up to the top of Mount Scott. It was a surprisingly steep, winding ascent and at the top we were rewarded with one of the most spectacular sunsets I can recall, as the clouds that hung heavy throughout the afternoon gave way to a sun that painted them pink.

The view from the top of Mount Scott.

We spent our evenings around the campfire, enjoying good camp food and hot chocolate spiked with whiskey and baileys. We made jokes, told scary stories, and reminisced on the special things we had thusfar encountered on this trip and trips past. Sometime during the night on our second evening in the tent it began to rain. By dawn it had turned to sleet. And by the time we had reached the refuge we were greeted with full fledged snow flurries.

Both James and I were excited about the photo ops that these unique conditions might present. At first we thought that the wildlife must have found sheltered areas to hunker down and weather the storm. But then, just in front of our little caravan a massive bison bull bounded across the road. He was literally frolicking. He ran to join another group of bachelor bulls, and soon began to leap up and down, roll in the snow, and challenge them to play fights. It made me think back to all that time rough-housing in the snow as a kid growing up in the suburbs of Chicago. The snow must have felt downright wonderful to this massive animal with its big shaggy coat. These relics of the ice age are built to withstand the cold and snow, and the freezing precipitation must have been a welcome relief from the heat of the southern plains.

Conditions like this can produce some truly special images, however photographing in them is quite difficult and often unpleasant. Autofocus is all but useless as it tries to lock on to every glob of snowflakes falling through the sky. Relegated to manual focus, my hands, which i kept ungloved to allow better dexterity while operating my camera rig, began to freeze. It was all worth it, however. I was very happy with the few images I was able to capture – not necessarily for their aesthetic qualities, but for the special memory of witnessing these gleeful bovines loving life in the snow.

A plains bison bull feeling spry in the snow.

The Wichita Mountains are world famous for its large mammals, but it is also a bird watchers paradise. Later that snowy day I had one of my most memorable experiences to date watching and photographing birds. We had stopped near a small canyon, and here Caro and I split off from James and Erin for a while. I setup to photograph landscapes, hoping to captures the interesting color and arrangement of the boulders scattered throughout the hills. Caro quickly called me over to show me an interesting bird. A Spotted Towhee!! And I had left my big lens in the truck. I quickly ran back to the truck, grabbed the lens, and returned to the spot. And the towhee was still there! Unfortunately he was gone before I had a chance to capture his likeness. I was, however, able to photograph a handsome Dark-eyed Junco (Junco hyemalis) on a snowwy oak branch.

A striking Slate-Colored Junco in a snow-covered oak.

Just ahead Caro and I could see a flurry of bird activity. Moving forward we spotted huge groups of Field Sparrows, Dark-eyed Juncos, Chipping Sparrows, White-crowned Sparrows and more foraging on the ground and low shrubs. As we approached, a male Spotted Towhee (Pipilo maculatus) hopped up on an oak twig directly in front of me! And much to my surprise and delight he sad long enough for me to capture a few frames. I had long wanted to photograph this stunning species, and the experience had left me shaking, both from excitement and the considerable chill in the air. But this was just the beginning.

A male Spotted Towhee that was kind enough to pose for me for several seconds.

I was having trouble deciding which sparrow to focus on when a group of chunky songbirds flew into a leafless shrub not twenty feet from me. Harris’s Sparrows (Zonotrichia querula)! It was a species that both James and I were really hoping to have the opportunity to photograph this trip, and they were giving me some incredible photo ops. As my shutter clicked, I found myself wanting to reach out and high five James. But he wasn’t with me, and my heart sank a little knowing how badly he wanted this type of opportunity.

A Harris’s Sparrow in its winter plumage.

I had to keep an alert eye out as more and more birds came filtering through the snowfall. I saw an unusual silhouette atop an interesting perch against the white sky. I trained my camera on the bird and fired a few images without having the chance to identify it. Looking at my images later I realized it was a Rusty Blackbird (Euphagus carolinus)! This uncommon species is suffering dramatic population declines. The cause of this precipitous loss in numbers is still somewhat of a mystery, but likely linked to a variety of factors including habitat loss and contamination from pollutants. The Rusty Blackbird is on several conservation watch lists, and has an international team of scientists known as the Rusty Blackbird Working Group trying to identify and resolve reasons for these declines.

A Rusty Blackbird against the white winter sky.

I found myself spending a lot of time following the Harris’s Sparrows around in hopes of trying different compositions and backgrounds. At one point I had found one nicely perched in a small opening of stunted oak. Just as I was ready to take the shot, a Dark-eyed Junco leapt up directly in front of it, catching my autofocus and foiling my attempt. It’s hard to be disappointed, however, when the photobomber is as cute as this.

A Dark-eyed Junco photobombing a Harris’s Sparrow.

I could have stayed with the sparrows all day, but it there were still some other parts of the refuge we were hoping to explore, so I made my way back to the truck. En route, a Bewick’s Wren (Thryomanes bewickii) hopped up in front of me, and sat for a few seconds surrounded by falling snow.

A Bewick’s Wren in a light snow.

When I returned to the parking lot, I could see James and Erin sitting in their car. I walked up, and before I could tell James about my incredible encounter, he turned the back of his camera toward me. There on his LCD screen was an incredible image of a Harris’s Sparrow. It turned out that he had an experience very similar to mine! It made the entire experience all the more special.

The snow fell throughout the day as we continued to explore the refuge. We stopped at the “Holy City” located on the refuge where there was a church and a large marble statue titled Christ of the Wichitas. The road up Mount Scott which we had driven the previous evening was closed due to the unsafe conditions. As we made our way to the refuge exist I wanted to stop and capture a few images of the snowy landscape.

Snow laden oaks in the Wichitas. The south wind plaster snow against the north side of the trees.
The south facing side of the trees stayed relatively dry and free of snow.

Shortly after leaving the refuge the clouds began to break and the sun made its first and only appearance of the day. Just outside the refuge we stopped to admire a pair of horses on a hill against the dramatic light, when I looked to the opposite side of the road to see a large flock of Mountain Bluebirds. James had seen them too, and we both set about photographing them. Unfortunately I was unable to capture anything I was happy with, but James walked away with some lovely images.

That night the mercury dropped quickly. We ate quickly ate our supper lest it freeze and retired to the tent by 7 PM. That night it dipped into the teens, but fortunately we stayed warm wrapped up in our mummy bags. I often struggle to sleep well in a tent, but Caro made our beds so comfortable this trip that I slept like a baby. The plan for the next morning was to wake early and explore the campground a bit, before heading back home by late morning.

Immediately upon stepping from the tent into the brisk morning air I could see and hear dozens of birds. Small flocks moved through the brush and boulders. Most abundant were Field Sparrows (Spizella pusilla). Though I saw many of these in the snow the day prior, I was never presented with a good photo opportunity, so I was happy to get the chance to capture a few frames on our last morning in the area.

A Field Sparrow in the early morning light.
Field Sparrow
Field Sparrow

Then came a noisy group of White-crowned Sparrows (Zonotrichia leucophrys). They bounced about the boulders and low shrubs, chattering and singing all the while.

A White-crowned Sparrow on an ancient boulder.
A White-crowned Sparrow among the prairie grass.

Then came the grand finale. A group of Harris’s Sparrows came in very close to where I had sat and concealed myself in the grass. In this group were a few particularly strikingly patterned and obliging individuals. It was a good note to end on.

A beautiful Harris’s Sparrow on a lichen-covered boulder.

Unfortunately, shortly after I made these images, I dropped my cell phone somewhere in the prairie. Luckily, with the help of Caro, James, and Erin, we located it after about an hour of searching. Belongings all accounted for, we reluctantly bid farewell to the Wichitas.

Wichita Mountains National Wildlife Refuge provides a rare glimpse into what the prairie once was, with some notable exceptions. The buffalo wolf no longer roams here, nor does the American black bear that once sheltered in the oak woodlands dotting the prairie. Mountain lions are still occasionally found here. Attempts to reintroduce pronghorn to the refuge failed, as did attempts to introduce bighorn sheep, which were not native to the area, at least in recent times. There is also a large free roaming heard of “genetically pure” Texas longhorn on the refuge, which I suppose is either a good thing or a bad thing, depending on one’s point of view.

The Wichitas certainly left their mark on me. I look forward to returning one day in the spring to see the lace cactus in bloom and the bright breeding coloration of the Eastern collared lizard. Numerous Neotropical migrant songbirds breed here, including the Black-capped Vireo in one of the few locations outside of Texas it is known to summer. Long live these ancient granite hills, and long may the elk bugle and the buffalo roam.

Brush Country Bucks in Rut

Target Species: White-tailed Deer (Odocoileus virginianus)

A huge white-tailed deer buck with chocolate-colored antlers curls his lip to test the air for pheromones left by a passing doe.

Shortening days and cooling temperatures trigger a change in North America’s most familiar native mammal, the white-tailed deer. Bucks that are normally mild-mannered and tolerant of one another turn violent and aggressive. They stalk the brush fueled by lust and rage, their antlers hardened and sharp, and rising from their skull like a crown of blades. Battle ready, they have come to compete in an ancient breeding ritual – the culmination of a year spent eating, growing, and preparing – the rut. And they will fight, sometimes to the death, to carry on their bloodline.

A handsome buck approaches a doe he hopes to breed.

Shedding of velvet is the first indication that the rut is approaching. The fuzzy tissue that has nourished the growing antlers for the previous 6 to 7 months begins to dry and the underlying bone hardens. The process must cause the bucks to itch something fierce, as they furiously thrash their antlers against any available vegetation to speed up the process. As the velvet is stripped from bone, it hangs from the antlers in a bloody mess until it is completely removed. Adorned in their impressive new armaments, the bucks spar. The matches are friendly, for the moment, and no real effort is made to harm one another. The camaraderie is soon to come to an end, however.

A wary buck looks back to ascertain a potential threat.

In the weeks after their velvet has been shed, bucks who spent the spring and summer lounging and feeding together begin to grow intolerant of one another’s presence, and isolate themselves in the brush. Around the same time, the does are becoming reproductively receptive, and communicate their impending estrus through pheromones in their urine. They advertise their fertility by moving through the brush and leaving their chemical signature on the landscape.

A dominant brush country buck

The white-tailed deer is the widest ranging ungulate in the western hemisphere. They can be found from central Canada to Peru. As one might imagine, having such an expansive range means that there is considerable variation in the species throughout its distribution. Those at the northern extent of their range are the largest bodied. Following Bergmann’s rule, they become gradually smaller moving south. Antler size, however, is highly variable and more closely linked to local genetics and available nutrition than driven by thermoregulatory requirements.

A buck stands tall in a South Texas mesquite savanna.

The deer of the South Texas brush country are world famous for their impressive headgear. The larger than average antlers of a mature buck have been attributed to a number of factors, including the protein rich bounty of prickly pear, mesquite beans, and other foods found here. South Texas is also known for its heavily managed deer ranches, where selective harvest enhances genetics and supplemental feed bolsters nutrition.

A buck looks back toward a nearby group of does.

During our Thanksgiving break this year, Carolina and I opted to visit south Texas in lieu of risking exposing ourselves and my parents to COVID by spending the holiday with family. We were able to enjoy a socially distant vacation on the beach and in the thornscrub. In the heart of the brush country we found an area with wild, free-ranging deer that found refuge in a large nature preserve where there was no hunting pressure and the animals were accustomed to human presence. This allowed us to observe the rut up close, and witness and photograph behaviors that would be nearly impossible to experience otherwise. I spent one evening and one glorious morning here, and walked away with images and memories of a lifetime.

A buck moves silently through the tall grass.

As the rut nears, the necks of mature bucks begin to swell. Fueled by testosterone, they pack on muscle in preparation of the combat soon to come. The bucks also become bolder. As they move about their territories in search of receptive does, they become more active during the day, and are thus easier to observe and less prone to flight. They truly have one thing on their mind.

An alert buck in pursuit of a group of does.

As the bucks move through their home range, they leave an abundance of sign. They will frequently visit antler height branches and take small twigs in their mouth. It may appear as if they’re feeding, but they’re not actually eating the twigs. Instead they lick them, and rub them against special glands on their face known as pre-orbitals that leave pheromones for other deer to detect.

A buck leaves his scent on a licking branch.

Commonly known as “licking branches”, it is believed that they are used to communicate important information in the white-tailed deer community, including the status of a buck among the herd. Bucks visiting the licking branch can quickly ascertain what other bucks are in the area, and therefore evaluate threats to their ability to defend and breed a doe. Does too will use the licking branch, likely to determine which bucks may be nearby, and advertise when they are approaching estrus, that brief window when they are fertile.

A buck sniffs a licking branch to gather information on the deer that have recently passed through.

As the testosterone fuels bucks with lust and rage, they seek outlets for their increasingly violent tendencies, and begin to thrash about vegetation including low hanging branches and tree trunks. Beyond serving as an outlet for their anger, these rubs, like the licking branches, serve an important purpose during the rut. The height of a rub and the destruction it caused can communicate the size and strength of a buck to would be competitors. It is also believed that bucks secrete additional pheromones as they rub, and that the act of seeing a mature buck thrash the hell out of a tree or small shrub serves as an intimidating warning to younger bucks that might witness it. After depositing his scent on a licking tree or creating a rub, a buck will typically dig a “scrape” by hoofing at the dirt and urinating over the metatarsal gland on his hindleg, further leaving his mark across the landscape.

A large buck rubs on a mesquite tree.

As the does near estrus, the bucks really begin to take notice. Chemicals in a doe’s urine contain information as to her current stage in the reproductive cycle. It is the goal of every buck to breed as many does as he can during the rut, so this information becomes important when determining which lovely lady he should pursue. An experienced buck will focus on those does that are very near estrus so that he can minimize the time needed to guard and breed her before he seeks out another partner.

A buck tests the air for female pheromones.

Bucks determine which does are approaching estrus through a process known as lip curling, or flehming. The strange crinkly-nosed face that they make during this process is known as the flehmen response. When a buck detects the scent of a doe’s urine, he will curl his upper lip back and pass the pheromone laden aroma through the vomeronasal organ in the roof of his mouth.

A buck performing the flehmen response.

It is typical for a flehming buck to cock his head back forty-five degrees or so. Perhaps this maximized the efficiency of the organ’s ability to analyze the pheromones. It’s not uncommon to see a buck move his head up and down and from side to side at this time, as if trying to find the sweet spot for extracting doe pheromones from the air above her spoor. The response may last several seconds.

A flehming buck tilts his head to better evaluate the pheromones left by a passing doe.

If all goes well with the Flehmen response, a buck will be able to determine which does are nearly ready to breed. If he detects the pheromones of “the one”, he will seek her out. The plan is to find her and tend her until she comes into estrus, during which time he intends to copulate with her as many times as possible to ensure conception.

A large lip curling buck

A particularly receptive doe may entice a buck by initiating a game of cat and mouse, where she runs seductively to and fro in an attempt to illicit a chase response. More often than not, however, it is the buck that will pursue the doe, advancing toward her with his head lowered communicating his clear intention to mate. Does that are not yet receptive or unimpressed with their suitor will spurn his advances. A buck guarding a doe will make several of these “buck runs” until he receives indication from the doe that she is ready to breed.

An old, one-eyed buck makes a run at a doe.

In a perfect world, there would be plenty of does for all, and every buck would have equal opportunities to pass on their genes. That’s not the way things work, however, and competition for breeding rights is fierce. It is in a doe’s best interest to be choosy when it comes to a suitor so that she may ensure that her offspring have the best genetic blueprint for survival and success in life. It is also in the buck’s nature to try and breed as many does as he can, maximizing the continuation of his bloodline. When the stakes are this high, conflict is bound to arise.

I was incredibly fortunate to witness this firsthand in the South Texas brush. I spotted two bucks squaring off at the edge of a mesquite thicket. A young buck with an impressive set of antlers and an older buck with a smaller rack but noticeably larger body size were standing face to face. Both were posturing with their ears pinned back, communicating that neither intended to back down. I could feel the tension in the air and I readied my camera in preparation for what might ensue. Then, all of a sudden, the young buck rose onto his hind legs, dropped his head forward baring his antlers, and lunged forward at his opponent.

CRACK!! The bucks locked antlers with a clash that echoed through the brush. In an instant, both bucks disappeared into the thicket. I feared that this battle would occur in the dense vegetation, and dismayed that I would not bear witness to it. But then, in an instant, I saw the back of the young buck come flying through a brush pile, sending sticks splintering and flying in every direction, his antlers entwined with the old buck.

The old buck than wrenched his swollen neck muscles earthward, and slammed the young buck to the ground, pinning him there. In that moment I was convinced I was watching the young buck’s life come to an untimely end. The old buck was quite literally trying to gore him to death, thrusting repeatedly at his neck and withers. These contests may be intended to settle disputes of dominance and the right to breed, but for the bucks involved it is a matter of life and death.

But the young buck still had some fight left in him. With an incredible display of strength, he righted himself, sending dust and bits of grass flying through the air as he dug in his hooves and lunged forward once more in hopes of turning the tide of the battle. For a moment the two warriors jockeyed for position.

Strength and experience were on the old buck’s side, and he used his bulk and considerable power to push the young buck back. Eyes wide with fury, the young buck refused to quit and continued to push back against his opponent. It was incredible to witness the toughness and determination of these incredible animals. These were not the docile, familiar creatures that so many see when they look at the whitetail. These were warriors in the truest sense of the word.

Again the old buck wrenched his neck downward, this time bringing the young buck to submission. Knowing his defeat was imminent, the young buck now had to find a way to escape the fray with his life. Carefully and deliberately, the young buck broke free and beat a hasty retreat through the brush. The old buck momentarily gave chase, but satisfied with his victory he soon broke off his pursuit.

The young buck learned a valuable lesson that day, one that he will carry with him through future ruts. He clearly had all the makings for a future champion. One day he will be a true king of the brush country, and his days of losing fights will be behind him. I hope I have the opportunity to see and photograph him again.

The loser of an intense battle in the brush.

It’s not just the big bucks that are driven to breed during the rut. The drive to procreate is strong, and younger and smaller bucks are not spared the lust. Their path to procreation may be more difficult, but the dominant bucks can’t be everywhere at once, and when they are busy guarding a doe or fending off incoming suitors, these “satellite” bucks are often able to sneak in and mate with some of the does in their territory.

A small buck stomps at a potential threat.

Of course, what was presented here is just a small snippet of all that occurs during the rut. It is an event that lasts for a month or more, with a peak activity period of around 10 days, usually in November to the north and December further south. On average, a female is only in estrus for 24 hours or so, providing a limited window where fertilization can occur. Those does that are not bred during the first cycle will come into estrus a few weeks later. This, combined with a few does that come into heat early, prolongs the rut, but anyway you slice it, it is but a small, albeit supremely important portion of a deer’s annual cycle.

A brush country prince

I still have a hard time believing my luck those days among the whitetails of the brush country. To witness a wealth of fascinating behaviors in such a short window of time was truly one of the most incredible experiences of my life. The white-tailed deer is perhaps the most famous, revered, and sought after animal in North America. It is so popular, common, and widespread that it oftentimes fades into the background for naturalists and wildlife photographers. But I can attest that those who put in the time and effort to try and learn their ways and experience their world will be greatly rewarded. From the hardwood forests of the east to the riparian woodlands of the west and the thornscrub of South Texas, may the white-tail deer continue to dig scrapes, lock antlers, continue their bloodlines, and capture the hearts of millions for many years to come.

A dominant brush country buck at sunset

Life Under the Longleaf

Target Species: Texas Red-headed Centipede (Scolopendra heros)

Liatris pycnostachya blooms beneath towering longleaf pines.

Summer is my favorite season to visit the longleaf pine savannahs of East Texas. In years with decent rainfall the open understories explode with an abundance of wildflowers. Bachman’s Sparrows, Indigo Buntings, and other pineland birds fill the air with their songs, and a variety of butterflies and other insects flush from the grass with nearly every step. This year I was fortunate to make several trips to this special ecosystem with Carolina and my good friend James Childress, who has spent the last several years surveying our longleaf pine forests for the critically endangered Louisiana pine snake.

Diversity and abundance of blooming wildflowers typically peaks from May to June, but may be either prolonged or accelerated by prescribed fire. The longleaf pine savannah is a fire-dependent community, and evolved with frequent low intensity fires that inhibit woody vegetation from encroaching in the understory and promote the growth of herbaceous species. Today, lightning ignited fires are less common due to changes in forest cover types and fire suppression activities. Because of this, resource agencies like the U.S. Forest Service perform routine burns to maintain these systems for species diversity and the benefit of protected species like the Red-cockaded Woodpecker.

I’ve always enjoyed observing the wildflower bloom here. From year to year the species composition varies slightly. Certain species may flower prolifically some years, but can be very sparse in others. This year was a poor year for Carolina larkspur (Delphinium carolinianum). Fortunately there were still a few prime specimens to be found, however.

Carolina Larkspur

This year was better for woodland poppymallows (Callirhoe papaver). Under the longleaf they vary from light pink to deep purple.

Woodland Poppymallow

There are a number of yellow composites that can be found among the longleaf. One of the most spectacular is the the rough coneflower (Rudbeckia grandiflora) which can reach heights of four feet or more. This was a great year for them and I was presented with many wonderful photo oppportunities.

Rough Coneflower
Rough Coneflower

There are a number of species of sunflower that can be found in the longleaf pine savannah. This summer we were fortunate to find a good showing of both hairy sunflower (Helianthus hirsutus) and the uncommon ashy sunflower (Helianthus mollis). H. hirsutus tends to prefer deeper sands while H. mollis occurs in shallower sands and other coarse substrates of a loamy or clayey layer. H. mollis is generally found in high quality habitat and seems particularly susceptible to ground disturbance.

Hairy Sunflower
Hairy Sunflower
Ashy Sunflower

Though superficially similar to sunflowers, yellow crownbeard (Verbesina helianthoides) is a member of a different genus. The specific epithet, helianthoides hints to its resemblance to the sunflower genus Helianthus. V. helianthoides is another uncommon composite in East Texas, and I’ve only found it at a few locations.

Yellow Crownbeard

I was able to tag along with James a few times over the summer as he surveyed a private tract of longleaf that ranks as one of the finest remaining examples of longleaf pine forest in the West Gulf Coastal Plain. The landowner is conservation minded and manages with regular prescribed fire and burns well into the growing season, which closely mimics the summer fires that occurred prior to European settlement. Here we were awestruck by exceptional wildflower displays including a seep loaded with grass pink orchids (Calopogon tuberosus) and entire hillsides blanketed with prairie blazing star (Liatris pycnostachya). Fortunately this special place is protected through a conservation agreement with the Nature Conservancy in Texas.

Grass pink orchids bloom in a hillside seep in a high quality longleaf pine savannah on private conservation land.
Prairie blazing star blooms in profusion in an East Texas longleafe pine savanna.

Several species of Liatris can be found in the longleaf pine savannas of East Texas. One of the more common is the scaly blazing star (Liatris squarrosa). These and other species of Liatris bloom at the height of summer and are relished by a variety of pollinators.

Scaly Blazing Star

Of all the aster species found in the Pineywoods, I find the barrens silky aster (Symphyotrichum pratense) to be the most striking. It can be found growing on the margins of seeps where there is a steady supply of moisture even during the hottest part of the year.

Barrens Silky Aster

One of my favorite of nature’s gifts is a hard summer rain in the Pineywoods. Torrential downpours are often preceded by sweltering temperatures, and the precipitation provides a welcome relief from the blazing sun. The animals, too, welcome the relief and following the rains the savanna comes to life.

Longleaf pine savanna in the rain.

Several species of reptiles and amphibians make the longleaf pine savanna home. The tan racer (Coluber constrictor etheridgei) is endemic to longleaf pine forests of extreme eastern Texas and western Louisiana. Here an old battle scarred racer slithers across the trunk of a fallen longleaf.

Tan Racer

The diversity of flowering plants in a high quality longleaf pine savanna harbor an equally stunning variety of invertebrate life. Some, like the dung beetle Dichotomius carolinus) are seldom seen but play an important roll as a means of waste disposal as they gather, bury, and consume the feces of a variety of animals.

Dichotomius carolinus

I have long endeavored to capture an image of the impressive American bird grasshopper (Schistocerca americana). Though they can be quite common, they are prone to flight long before they’re initially spotted. Once disturbed, they fly high, fast, and far. After this initial flight they are nearly impossible to approach. For whatever reason, this individual was relatively indifferent to my presence, and allowed me to photograph it for several minutes.

American Bird Grasshopper

The most impressive invertebrate of the longleaf pine savanna, however, is the Texas red-headed centipede (Scolopendra heros). These giants seem like the things of nightmares. They are lightning fast, incredibly agile, they have front legs that are modified to act like massive fangs that are capable of inflicting extremely painful bites, and they are huge (occasionally 8 inches or longer). In reality they are non-aggressive, inoffensive, secretive, and seldom seen. They are prone to flight and only attempt to bite when physically restrained. Scolopendra heros is primarily a species of deserts and semi-arid grasslands, however they range as far east as western Louisiana and Arkansas. In East Texas they are relatively common in longleaf pine savannas and other woodlands over deep sandy soils. James and I found a few out and about one cloudy day in May.

Texas Red-headed Centipede

The species presented here are but a small fraction of the incredible biodiversity of longleaf pine savannas. These are among the most diverse communities in the country. Unfortunately, in the past 150 years, these savannas have been reduced to a fraction of their former range. Fortunately management restoration of longleaf pine has become a priority of resource agencies and nonprofit conservation organizations, and the iconic longleaf pine savanna is slowly reclaiming parts of the southeast.

Trial by Fire: Testing a new Camera at the Beach

White-phase Reddish Egret. ISO 4000, 1/160 sec, f/5.6 @ 700mm

In September we set out to experience autumn in the Rockies, and spent a week exploring Colorado and New Mexico. Before we left, I decided to rent a 5D Mark IV, one of Canon’s top-end full frame cameras. For years I have been using the Canon 7D and later the 7D Mark II, which utilize crop-frame sensors that magnifies the scene 1.6 times that of a full frame. This means that to I would need to use an 800mm lens to get the same magnification on the 5D Mark IV that my 7D Mark II gets with a 500mm lens.

This was certainly a concern of mine, as approaching wildlife is always a challenge, and more magnification is almost always a plus, particularly with smaller, less approachable animals like birds. I rented the 5D for our trip as I was planning to photograph large mammals like elk in a national park where getting close was not likely to be a limiting factor. I also hoped to take advantage of the broader field of view to capture more sweeping landscapes and hoped that the 5D’s purported superior low light performance would allow me to shoot later into the evening as wildlife became more active.

I anticipated that I would alternate shooting between the 5D and my 7D, however what I found is that shot almost exclusively with the rented 5D. I was blown away by the image quality, dynamic range, and low light capabilities. It was certainly hard sending the camera back after we returned home.

Not long after our trip I was discussing the 5D Mark IV with my photographer and Canon shooter friend Skip Pudney, who informed me that he had been considering a 5D Mark IV for some time, and that he had noticed that Best Buy was running promotional financing that made pulling the trigger on a new camera very tempting. After some (brief) contemplation and discussion with Caro, I decided to place my order, and before I knew it, a brand new Canon 5D Mark IV was on its way.

I love opening the box and pulling out a brand new camera, wrapped in protective cloth. Looking at it, sparkling clean and blemish free, I knew that it wouldn’t stay that way for long – not with the way I shoot. Shortly after receiving it I took a few photos here and there, but I really needed a good outing to put it to the test. So Caro and I decided to take the opportunity to travel to the upper Texas coast last weekend. Photographing shorebirds from the beach would certainly prove a suitable test to the camera’s capabilities and durability.

White-phase Reddish Egret. ISO 4000, 1/320 sec, f/5.6 @ 700 mm

We arrived late Thursday evening and settled in. The next morning we were up at 5 AM, and set out to the beach before the sun rose. I wanted to try out the camera at this pre-dawn hour to put its high ISO abilities to the test. And I was more than pleased with the result. At ISO 2000, noise was barely perceptible to me on well-exposed images. At ISO 4000, noise was certainly present, but not overly distracting and I later found it easy to manage in post processing. Though this is a completely anecdotal observation, I would compare noise levels from ISO 4000 on the 5D Mark IV to 1600 on the 7D Mark II. It was very impressive.

On the 7D, I rarely push the ISO past 2000, and at that level it had to be very nearly perfectly exposed to avoid introducing extra noise in post processing. Based on my experiences with the 5D Mark IV so far, I am comfortable pushing the ISO to 4000, and find that up to ISO 6400, well exposed images are usable for most purposes. That’s gives me an extra 5 stops of light to work with beyond the 7D Mark II!

My first photographic subject of the trip was a white-phase Reddish Egret (Egretta rufescens) that was foraging in the shallow surf. The deep blue waters reflecting the pre-dawn sky nicely complimented the bird’s striking white plumage. At one point I captured the light of a distant barge in the background. It appeared as a white orb that to me, gave the impression that the bird was glowing in the light of a full moon.

White-phase Reddish Egret. ISO 3200, 1/250 sec, f/5.6 @ 700mm

As I was focused on the egret, a Brown Pelican (Pelecanus occidentalis) cruised by over the water. I lowered my shutter speed to capture some motion in the wings.

Brown Pelican. ISO 2000, 1/250 sec, f/5.6 @ 700mm

After the pelican had passed, I turned my attention back to the Reddish Egret. The sky and, in turn, the water were lightening from deep midnight blue to a lighter pastel blue tinged with pink. Reddish Egrets are famous for their incredible fishing displays, where they seemingly dance across the surface of the water, running leaping erratically and spreading their wings in a wide array of positions in an attempt to frighten, corral, and capture ichthy prey.

Photographing these displays is a real challenge, especially when they’re close. Their movements are unpredictable, which makes tracking them exceedingly difficult. Sometimes, however, one gets lucky and manages to freeze a moment in time of a Reddish Egret on the hunt. Out of hundreds of frames created in an attempt to capture this, I had only a couple that I ended up liking enough to keep.

White-phase Reddish Egret. ISO 2000, 1/250 sec, f/5.6 @ 700mm

As the sun drew nearer to the horizon, the reflection of the sky did wonderful things to the shallow water and wet sand. A tiny Western Sandpiper (Calidris mauri) passed directly in front of me as I was sprawled out on my belly in the sand. I was able to capture an image of it as it foraged for worms and other invertebrates in a shallow sheet of water sitting on top of the saturated beach sand.

Western Sandpiper. ISO 1600, 1/500 sec, f/5.6 @ 700mm

By the time the Western Sandpiper had moved on, the sun had crested the horizon. It bathed the white Reddish Egret in a most wonderful light, and the egret stretched out as if welcoming the warmth of a new day.

White-phase Reddish Egret. ISO 400, 1/800 sec, f/5.6 @ 700mm

By now I had been lying, more or less in the same spot and position for 30 minutes or so. I was quite uncomfortable, as I often am while lying prone in the sand, however it was hard to move when there was so much diversity all around me. Soon a group of Semipalmated Plovers (Charadrius semipalmatus) crossed in front of me. Even in their non-breeding plumage, they are striking little shorebirds, and the sun was illuminating them perfectly as I watch them through my viewfinder.

Semimalmated Plover. ISO 400, 1/500 sec, f/5.6 @700mm

Finally I decided it was time to move down the beach. Among the droves of gulls and terns lining the shore, I spotted a Long-billed Curlew (Numenius americanus) working the shallows where the tide was lapping at the sand. I knew what my next target was, and I dropped to my knees and elbows and began to belly crawl across the beach.

The beach may be flat, but crawling across it in this manner is neither easy nor pleasant. Occasionally I would roll while elevating my camera from the ground. This was generally easier and faster, but also more likely to startle my quarry, and it left me coated in wet sand from head to toe. And though I struggled valiantly to keep my hands clean, they inevitably became coated in grains of sand, which were in turn transferred to my new, not inexpensive camera.

Though I wouldn’t have to get as close with my 7D, I felt it was worth the extra effort to practice my shorebird stalking skills to get that much closer with the 5D. I also thought that forcing me to keep the bird smaller in the frame would push me to create interesting compositions and provide more context on my subjects’ habitat.

Long-billed Curlew. ISO 250, 1/800 sec, f/6.3 @700mm

After spending some time with the curlew, I continued down the beach until I spotted an American Oystercatcher (Haematopus palliatus) working the shallows. The sun was rising ever higher into the sky, and little by little that glorious early morning light was growing harsher. Fortunately I’ve found that when shooting over shallow water, I can extend the morning’s session a bit as shallow water and wet sand reflects sunlight back onto the subject, acting like a reflector and softening harsh shadows.

Later in the morning, the water also turns a brilliant deep blue which makes for a beautiful setting for any bird or creature that might be standing in it. I hoped to capture these colors as I again started the agonizing and slow approach, army-crawling through the sticky sand toward the oystercatcher. Soon after I got into position, I watched as it stretched its wings and leapt into the air momentarily.

American Oystercatcher. ISO 200, 1/1000 sec, f/6.3 @ 700mm

The oystercatcher was wary of me at first, but eventually came to accept me as part of the landscape. It is always exciting watching your subject approach through the viewfinder, knowing that it’s getting closer and closer to providing that frame-filling shot that needs no cropping whatsoever. This is just what the oystercatcher did, snatching up the occasional tasty morsel on its way. This is one of those rare instances in wildlife photography where having less focal distance is better, as the bird would have been too tight in the frame if I was using the same lens configuration on my 7D.

American Oystercatcher. ISO 160, 1/1600 sec, f/6.3 @ 700mm
American Oystercatcher. ISO 160, 1/1600 sec, f/6.3 @ 700mm

Near the oystercatcher I spotted a Marbled Godwit (Limosa fedoa). This species has long been a nemesis of mine. They’re fairly easy to find along the Texas coast, yet I have always had trouble capturing a godwit image that I was happy with. Fortunately this morning I had a cooperative bird that obliged for a few images.

Marbled Godwit. ISO 200, 1/1000, f/6.3 @ 700mm

By the time I was finished with the oystercatcher and the godwit, my camera was thoroughly coated with sand, and I could see a multitude of tiny grains wedged in the spaced between the body and its various buttons. So much sand had accumulated around the shutter button that it got stuck in the depressed position. I had the same thing happen with my old 7D when shooting on the beach in South Padre a couple of years ago. In that case the shutter got stuck all the way down, and every time I turned on the camera it began firing away. Fortunately, this time it was only stuck halfway down – in focus mode. This allowed me to continue shooting, though I was admittedly growing concerned about having this happen with a brand new camera.

I decided to continue shooting with what little bit of usable morning light remained. I moved away from the beach to an extensive mudflat that was quickly becoming inundated with the incoming tide. Numerous shorebirds were taking advantage of these prime foraging conditions, including another Marbled Godwit.

Shooting in this mudflat presented itself with a whole new set of challenges. Wet sand gave way to deep mud. To approach the birds, I would have to crawl through this mud that sat beneath a foot or two of water. This required very careful balancing of my heavy camera and lens as I remained low enough to approach without spooking my subjects. Fortunately it is a scenario that I have been in before, and I was able to get into position without causing further harm to my camera or myself. The water even helped to watch away the layer of sand that was coating every inch of my clothing and exposed skin.

Marbled Godwit. ISO 160, 1/1250 sec, f/5.6 @ 700mm

Near the godwit a pair of Lesser Yellowlegs (Tringa melanoleuca) were resting. I quickly turned my attention to the closest individual, and captured an image I quite liked with blue water at its feet and exposed sand, marsh vegetation, and sky in the background. I typically see these birds foraging in shallow water, where it’s hard to get a feel for how long their legs really are. Here it was standing on top of an exposed mudflat, and the entire length of the colorful legs that lend the bird its name were in view.

Greater Yellowlegs. ISO 160, 1/1600 sec, f/5.6 @ 700mm

Soon the other yellowlegs joined its cohort. They say that in humans, yawning sets off a chain reaction where viewing another yawn will trigger the same reaction in oneself. Apparently the same is true for Greater Yellowlegs when it comes to scratching an itch.

Greater Yellowlegs. ISO 160, 1/1250 sec, f/5.6 @ 700mm

After a half hour or so of lying in the mud, I decided to finish shooting in the morning, due in part to the deteriorating lighting conditions and the level of discomfort and fatigue I had experienced from a morning of crawling through the sand and mud and balancing my heavy camera and lens over the shallow water.

By the time I got back to my truck the excitement of the morning’s photo shoot was beginning to subside, and concern for a very expensive camera coated in grit began to grow. With Caro’s help, I began to clean off the camera, blowing off grains of sand and using a close-pin from my first aid kit and a coffee straw that Caro cut into a thin strip to extract sand from the space between the camera body and various buttons. Slowly but surely we were able to remove all of the sand, and I was able to coax the shutter button back to its normal position, where it remained for the rest of the trip.

After cleaning the camera and changing clothes, we went to grab a bite to eat and spent most of the afternoon enjoying the beach. Though it was early November, the air and water were warm enough that wading out into the surf was quite pleasant.

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon I set out again in pursuit of birds. No photo session for the remainder of the trip would compare with that first morning, however that is the nature of the beast. Some sessions are highly productive, others are painfully slow and fruitless. Most, however, fall somewhere in the middle.

That is not to say that the evening was without its photo ops. I enjoyed watching a Sanderling (Calidris alba) comb the beach. At one point it turned to give me a profile view as beautiful soft evening light washed over it. It lit up against the dreary gray sand.

Sanderling. ISO 1250. 1/500 sec, f/6.3 @ 700mm

Brown Pelicans were cruising up and down the beach. This species of pelican fishes via incredible, seemingly death-defying dives. From dizzying heights they scan the water below until they spot their prey, and then they turn on a dime and descend like a bullet toward the water’s surface. It’s long been a goal of mine to document these dives, but capturing a photo of these dives made at break-neck speed is easier said than done. That evening, however, I did get an image I liked of a pelican just after it turned into a dive set against the pastel sky of dusk.

Brown Pelican preparing to dive. ISO 1000, 1/800 sec, f/6.3 @ 700mm

I continued photographing for a while after the sun set but was not satisfied with any of the images captured. Caro and I sat a few minutes on the beach to watch the birds as they prepared to settle in for the evening. We then went back and had dinner in our hotel and relax after a very long, but rewarding day.

The next morning brought another 5 AM wake-up, and we were soon at the same beach where we had seen so many birds the previous day. But the natural world often proves to be unpredictable, and unreliable, and the beach was almost devoid of avian life. The tide was higher and as a result, less of the beach was exposed, reducing the foraging habitat for many species. A few pelicans passed by, and a handful of gulls bathed in the surf, but I didn’t put much effort into photographing them, and instead decided to enjoy a quiet stroll on the beach before the crowds arrived.

As I was returning to the shore I saw another white-phase Reddish Egret foraging in the mudflat, which was now inundated by high tide. The sun was getting a bit harsh for the bird’s white plumage, but I positioned myself so that the bird was in front of a dark background, and tried for some creative shots of the egret as it danced in its trademark hunting fashion.

White-phase Reddish Egret. ISO 200, 1/2500 sec, f/6.3 @ 700mm

After finishing with the egret and leaving the water I spotted a Loggerhead Shrike (Lanius ludovicianus) in the dune vegetation. As I mentioned at the onset of this narrative, the main concern I had with using a full frame was the need to get closer to smaller subjects. I soon came to think of this as a benefit rather than a hindrance. It forced me to use all my cunning to creep up on this little shrike, and I found that with patience and stealth I was able to get plenty close. I hoped I would be able to replicate this with breeding forest songbirds in the coming spring.

Loggerhead Shrike. ISO 250, 1/1250 sec, f/6.3 @ 700mm

With several images of the shrike on my card, I called the morning’s photo session, and we went on to enjoy another day relaxing on the beach. In the evening we were back again, and the birds were once more few and far between. After the sun vanished behind the horizon, another white-phase Reddish Egret (likely the same bird I had been photographing) arrived and began to hunt in the shallow surf. I photographed it against the soft pink dusk sky. One of the “rules” of wildlife photography is that the subject should be facing the camera and the eye should be clearly visible. However I find that the old cliche, “rules are meant to be broken” often applies with art, and to me, photography is art. So I thought this image of an egret, wings spread as it looks to the distance, is a fine parting shot for our journey, and I hope it will be as thought provoking for its viewers as it has been for me.

White-phase Reddish Egret. ISO 2000, 1/640 sec, f/6.3 @ 700mm

The next morning the alarm range at 5 AM, but exhausted from two long days of shooting and exploring, and satisfied with a very productive trip, I turned it off and we slept in our last morning on the coast. I had put the 5D Mark IV to the test, and I was beyond pleased with the results. Though I suspect it will become my main camera, the 7D Mark II won’t be going anywhere. It will still serve as a fine backup camera and There may be some situations, such as photographing small and skittish species when available light is not a limiting factor. It has served me very well, and I continue to sing its praises as a highly versatile camera that produces excellent images.

If you stumbled across this blog looking for a practical comparison between the two cameras mentioned, I hope you found it useful. If not, I hope you enjoyed the images and the stories of how they were made, and wish everyone a prosperous holiday season, with family, photos, and natural places.