New Ghost

Why has such a great bird attracted so many flakes?

Now we have another rumor of an Ivory-billed Woodpecker from someone no one knows. This is embarrassing and discouraging at best.

If I had a sighting and had evidence, I'd shut my mouth until everything was in hand and I could show the world what I had. Additionally, before I made any announcement I'd already have quietly met with all of those who would be qualified experts.

The presentation of a still photo is some level of evidence but since someone is saying "it needs to be developed" then I hope the original negatives will also be submitted so that complete verification of the image is achieved. Who took the picture actually is of little concern as long as an image is real.

After enduring 14 months in the swamp, a later divorce, and then the criticism of some who were not involved and certainly not where I was when my frustrating encounters occurred. I am tired of the rumors. Let's either get this verified (put up) or shut up.

Search for Ivory Gull -pt 1

Ivory Gull show sketch

Background memories

12 years ago, June 30, 2006, I left Venezuela and returned to the US after having spent most of the year in South America. A job in the Arctic awaited me. That was exciting. The only fare I could afford, however due to the very low pay required me to drive to Ottawa, Canada. Packing in the airport parking lot was really fun. But a few hours later, I boarded a small but modern jet and flew first to Montreal and then to Kujuuaq and Iqaluit. Finally, we boarded a small to medium sized turbo prop and passing over vast glaciers, huge fiords and rugged mountains, we began to approach the small airport at Nanisivik. A short time earlier we had vanished into cloud cover, there we remained until after several passes it was certain that the clouds were too thick. We detoured for Pond Inlet only a short distance away. Radio communication indicated that the fog was growing thicker so the airline put us into a hotel.

The next morning’s light was considerably improved. Full sunshine covered the elegant dark blue bay where Inuit men stalked seal on the huge ice shelf. By the time to head to the plane, clouds were drifting in.

Arriving in Nanisivik would still not be a piece of cake. In talking to the pilots I was invited to come up to the cockpit. From behind the bank of instruments the two young men were flying a plane that looked like it belonged in WWII. However another wall of clouds loomed ahead. Holes did appear in the layers and there was a sufficient ceiling to get us underneath that particular day.

When we got to the ground. We were all to be piled into a van and driven down the mountain 23 some miles to Arctic Bay. My gear packed in shipping cases took up a ton of room.The tundra at this latitude is quite distinct. Let me remind you that trees and any vegetation taller than your ankles are hundreds of miles to the south. Not even down in the river valleys. Here on the ridges well above the bays and inlets the vegetation is sparse. 'Fields of Rocks' is more like it. But in places the numerous beautiful wildflowers peek through. Vast carpets of spongy green mosses cover miles of stunning landscapes. Every Rock is covered with lichens forming unique sometimes colorful patterns, Overall the effect is enchanting.

High Arctic Hotels have unique feel to them, especially the ones in the remote communities like Arctic Bay. Some look like a cheap double-wide trailer. Once inside the quiet is noticeable and it becomes apparent the insulation is for the extremes. Even in mid summer the heat may be running at times.

I immediately begin to explore. Snow Buntings call from the roofs of the buildings like they were the ecological replacement for Starlings. ?! Now there is an idea! By the grey bay, a few gulls fly by. THAYER”S Gulls! Wow this is going to be fun. A group of King Eiders are flying low over the water, now crossing a patch of tundra. Along this bay and the river to the east are broad valleys filled with lush mats of tundra, miles of rich green pocked with colors of the hundreds of wildflowers. In some areas there are carpets of Arctic Cotton Grass. Above the hiker who soon disappears in the vastness of these areas, tower peak of all sizes and shapes. On many - Glaciation is readily visible. The whole valleys are very U-shaped too another indication of glaciers.

After several days of waiting, the boat captain thinks we may be able to get out of the mouth of the bay. We meet at he bay and take a walk along the gravel. Only two boats have been launched so far, the rest remain hauled out up on the dark shore. Glowing blue icebergs fill the water. The captain and his two boys prepare everything and we head out. It is only a mile of so to the place to turn west toward the narrows that lead to the outer and much larger Inlet. But ice clearly blocks the area. Huge cliffs tower on the north shore and gulls are nesting there. This is at least some solace- even though Ivory Gulls will not nest in that habitat, other species that grab my interest will. So I will have something to do .

The weather has changed so in a few more days the bay will open the captain assures me. We return to the portion of the bay near town.

Until then I take long hikes filming sandpipers, jaegers and everything I can find within about 8 miles of town. One day I carried the tripod and camera, over 6 miles out to a spot where I had found a young Long-tailed Jaeger still a grey fuzz ball and guarded by its parents. In the long summer days without night, there is plenty of time for these things but it is also a very long hike back with the gear.

Finally the mouth of the bay opens, The captain sends word to be ready the next morning.

Some current notes on this entry-

I was the lead Wildlife videographer on the first part of a massive effort to locate a Ghost. Undertaken after two remarkable sightings along a small heavily timbered river in eastern Arkansas, Cornell Lab of Ornithology secretly led this massive undertaking to document a phantom that plagued and teased us.

My Montana plates drew many comments while we were still in this secretive phase (April 2004 to May 2005) of the search for the Ivory-billed Woodpecker and all I did was tell the truth- that I was making a wildlife documentary on the swamp and its' creatures. Although I had moments of what I felt was clearly the bird, extremely nearby on more than one occasion, I was never able to get even one frame of what was there. Only once did I see anything that I was nearly convinced was this super rare Campephilus species. That moment occurred while I was canoeing out of the swamp, fighting the current at the end of just one of many long days. However, two encounters with a bird that did the characteristic "double-rap" of this genus electrified me. The remaining encounter was hard to characterize but remains the most enigmatic of all.

Just because I was unable to obtain evidence of what I experienced and certainly heard, does not mean that there was no Ivory-billed Woodpecker in this area, at least in 2004-2005.

I know many skeptics have voiced opinions of doubt and derision. All I can say is that you were not in my body when I was experiencing these moments. If we had the capability of down-loading the direct experience, I know that each and every one of you would at least go… Hmm. Because if you were able to experience my experience,

February 16, 2007

Brinkley, Arkansas:

Leaving the motel, when David Luneau calls. He is going up the Bayou and wants to know If I will join him. I slow down and agree to meet him at the famous Hwy 17 bridge. My Ford Ranger pickup truck is a familiar sight there.

While waiting for his arrival, I visit an area where multiple trees have been killed forming an ideal spot for IBWO feeding. I flush 2 American Woodcocks in transit. David arrives and we launch in his boat. We freeze in the wind and cold temperatures. In one large tree, we find a new feeding trough along Stab Lake. Could be IBWO sign. Later I head to Chamber of Commerce to suggest a viewing tower. Finally, I return to Wattensaw Refuge to spend the evening sitting quietly by the best roost hole I have seen so far. The hole is at least a full year and possibly up to three years old. It is perfectly shaped and is VERY likely one created by an Ivory-bill. I sure learned a lot in Argentina studying the closely related Magellanic Woodpecker (Campephilus magellanicus).

I position myself in my camo layers about 150 feet away in cover and by the base of a tree. I find a way to get the camo on the camera and then hunker down - waiting. The sky has layers of thin clouds reducing visibility but also a deep orange and then magenta sunset. A Pileated Woodpecker cacks deep in the forest behind, and loud crash of a tree collapsing and then silence.

Unfortunately, no birds come to this wonderful looking cavity. The Bayou slowly grows darker and I pack up for the hike to the car in the gathering dusk.

Old Mountains & moments with birds

There are those moments.

A bird appears. Some sense of calm and trust. I truly don't know what or how, but i know I can approach to a certain distance. Perhaps the bird or birds begin feeding or they begin to preen. Those specific behaviors indicate comfort with the situation. When too many glances at me or some other indication like a stretch- relieving tension those tell me I am about to lose this bird, or I have approached too fast, or that the bird feels uneasy with me.

Television work with birds happens completely differently than with a still photograph. Still photographers deal with much smaller lenses with much lower overall equivalent magnification than what I work with. They seem to hammer a bird with flash. Large Fresnel lenses over flashes magnify the light and hurl it at the subject. That effect looks horrible in HD so about 7 years ago I began to make it a habit to never work with still guys and flash. Once in a while you find that it is unavoidable.

Not that I find still photography offensive. There are many many photographs and photographers I deeply admire. But, It is simply a different set of skills. To get a bird to accept you for 1/1000 of a second or to grab a series of frames with the wings raised as a bird takes off requires a different mind set.

Filming Living birds is a joint project between you and the bird. A cooperative venture if you will. The moving image captures behavior. It shows everything that is going on between you and the bird or birds in those moments. Little is left to imagination. You can witness everything this bird feels, IF you are paying attention.

Now sometimes you are filming a day of migration. White-fronted Geese flying up off a central flyway resting spot suddenly bank away. This means nothing except that the birds did not see you until they reached a point where you are revealed to them. Because it is October and it is hunting season birds react differently when people are shooting at them.

But I am simply looking to show the birds in what they are allowing me to see. So when a species reacts in fear to my presence, it means that it has had other experiences involving humans where they now associate humans with the potential for harm to themselves.

This realization is why I no longer hunt or fish. In many ways I never really hunted, fishing was fun for a time but Birding has always been my sport of choice. Wild birds are to be appreciated. I can buy chicken, turkey or other meats and I just don't get hunting any more. My son finds his release in more active sports -snowboarding or hunting in the fall, and I live in Montana where a good percentage of the population find a special sense of being through hunting. I support that entirely.

But when I picked up that first television camera in 1991, when I saw a gigantic lens that fit on an entirely different sort of professional portable camera -an inner shift occurred. The tensions of the earth quietly building now revealed. Internal plate tectonics were realigning the earth's crust. Old mountains shifted to meet in strange new ways. Colors met with dust and light, creating dreams of new horizons- Birds flew from the ancient cracks in the earth calling with foreign tongues.

Summer is over

I get sick every year this time. Not physically. mentally.

The thing is - it just gets dark too early.

In the tropics I find it totally annoying that the sun comes up the same and goes down the same. Everyday, boring. No leafs turning, no change in seasons. No hope.

Even though I didn't grow up here, these days I hang my hat near a little town in Montana. I think I got addicted to the light.

Summers are long glorious affairs. The sun practically only goes down long enough to get you a bit of sleep and - well, you have to realize that the snow in late April -sure it is April- and that drift across the driveway is 7 feet tall... that doesn't count. Nope Snow in June the last two years. "Well- it isn't officially summer yet." Right- June 21 don't cha know.

The sun marches up the mountain chain setting each night bit further north until the summer solstice then we get about 4 hours of "real" darkness.

Being a birder since childhood, I am now a confirmed morning person. I tried to become an Owl during certain periods of my life but I failed. Those of you who are owls are free to leave if you wish.

So when the summer is going strong so am I. I'll sleep when I am dead.

Birds are the same way. Many species start before light, a high pitched insect trill? Nope Henslow's Sparrow - a noted songsters if you are a grasshopper. Crickets... hah. Well they are more arrogant.

Besides copious amounts of coffee my life requires a massive doses of the outdoors. Being a wildlife television cameraman, my life itself is a migration. Hundreds of miles hiking, Thousands of road miles, hundreds of thousands of air miles which I never turn in and worse, I rarely remember to even give them the stupid number when I make the reservation. Don't get me started on baggage policies.

So I cling to this little house. Stuck on a ridge in the fiercesome gales which begin late fall. Winds. After the glories of summer here- Winter is the correction.

There are really only two seasons in Montana. Summer and winter. Some years there is a fall. Perhaps you get a spring. But when that drift swims across the roads and the powerlines go down - you know the story--when there is that much White- it is not really summer yet. Well no you don't that is why you are reading this.

June 6, 2009 a massive storm blows through. Epic storm. My sister calls. "But it is summer!"

another City girl....

The sun is a bit south of where I like to see it rise. But I need a dramatic sun-rise time lapse so I am planning the shot, the lens, the light.

So from a little town in rural Montana- we'll call it OneStopLight, Montana. Happy Trails.