Horned Larks commence nesting!

A calf, just dropped, gazes about its new world while mother eyes me. I visited an urban farm in the midst of Columbus last Tuesday, to see what I could see. The operation deals with cattle, and lots of them, which creates good habitat for our earliest nesting native songbird.

A male horned lark, Eremophila alpestris subsp. praticola. This is the "prairie" horned lark, the group of larks that nest in Ohio. There are 20 other described subspecies of this wide-ranging bird of wide open spaces. Their taxonomy is under review, and someday we may end up with additional species of horned larks.

This lark was using a cow patty is a perch from which to sing. The cattle create short grass meadows punctuated with patches of barren ground - just the sort of habitat that horned larks thrive in. I imagine they run the risk of having their ground nests trampled on occasion, though.

I spent much quality time watching the larks. The males frequently alit atop posts to sing their wonderful song, a musical cascade of jumbled tinkling notes. Occasionally, in exuberant bursts, they would flutter high into the air and let their song rain down to those of us stuck far below. The females are likely already on eggs. Horned larks are very hardy, and will ride out the potential perils of nesting in very early spring, when weather is wildly unpredictable. It's 66 F as I write this, but tonight the mercury plummets to 28 F. The female larks will have to really hunker down on those eggs.

Lapland Longspurs, galore!

A flurry of Lapland Longspurs noshes on specially ground cracked corn. All birds should have it so good.

Last winter - the "polar vortex" freezeout - I wrote about a fantastical place in Delaware County, Ohio that hosted thousands, and thousands, of Snow Buntings. That post is RIGHT HERE. The birds' hosts are Mike and Becky Jordan, and they have the art of attracting birds of wide open spaces down to a science. Scatter some 50 lbs. of cracked corn (a day!!) along the driveway and other select spots, and sit back and watch the show. Their farmhouse is surrounded by big fields, and when the longspurs, buntings, and Horned Larks aren't out there somewhere, they're visiting the Jordans.

A handsome male Lapland Longspur alertly watches his surroundings. He is preparing to make his way to the yellow windrows of corn that trace the Jordans' long driveway.

I made my way to Mike and Becky's place last Sunday, after receiving reports of hundreds of longspurs. The winter has not yet been brutal enough to drive in the hardier Snow Buntings, but just wait. The buntings tend to arrive after extended deep snow cover, and even more larks and longspurs will come in then as well.

As soon as I approached the driveway I saw perhaps a couple hundred longspurs and larks. In I went, and spent a pleasurable few hours watching the birds, making some photos, and catching up with the Jordans. The only lamentable point of the day was the weather. It was cold, which bothers me not a whit, but the sky was the all too typical leaden gray of an Ohio winter. Pair that with white snow on the ground, and capturing vibrant images of birds becomes quite tough. A blue sky can really make them pop. But one takes what one gets.

A pair of longspurs rockets by. The flocks are always on edge, their twitchiness in large part due to the ever-present threat of raptors. Birds will explode into the air for no apparent reason, swirl about, and settle back in. Sometimes the reason is very apparent, such as when a female Sharp-shinned Hawk winged into the yard and sat for a bit in one of the silver maples. Northern Harriers, Cooper's Hawks, American Kestrels, and even buteos such as Red-tailed and Rough-legged hawks have learned that potential meals are here, and make regular visits.

While a few Snow Buntings have been present off and on, none were in evidence during my visit. However, lots of Horned Larks were. Larks, buntings, and longspurs form the Big Three of mixed flocks in open country in this part of the world.

Typical views of Horned Larks are of small mousy brown birds flushed from the verges of country roads as one whips by in the auto. Watch the fleeing birds closely, and you'll see the contrasting black tail of the lark - a surefire field mark. One of the great things about visiting the Jordan's uber feeding station is the close proximity of the birds. Actually seeing the namesake horns of a Horned Lark is usually not very easy.

Mike and Becky are exceptionally gracious to birders that wish to visit. Last year they hosted about 1,000 people from Ohio and many other states. Mike cast out about 2.5 tons (Tons, with a T!) of cracked corn last winter!

Best conditions occur when there is enough snow on the ground to fully cover the soil. Forecasters aren't calling for any of the white stuff for a few days, but this being Ohio one never knows what Mother Nature will throw our way. I'm sure great bunting/lark/longspur conditions will arise before too long, though.

If you would like Mike and Becky's contact information, send me an email: jimmccormac35 AT gmail.com. I'll pass it along with some other helpful tips.

A tsunami of Snow Buntings

At first blush, this rural farmhouse may not appear to harbor what may be the most extraordinary bird feeding operation in Ohio. But indeed it does. If there is anything out there that rivals this in terms of sheer numbers, and the atypical "feeder" species involved, I am unaware of it.

I visited this Delaware County residence yesterday, after being tipped off to the amazing assemblage of birds by Dick Miller, whose sister and brother-in-law, Mike and Becky Jordan, reside in the home. Mike and Becky have been very gracious in extending their hospitality to visitors, including your narrator, which is much appreciated!

I'm not going to post their address on the Internet, but Mike and Becky do welcome birders who would like to witness the phenomenon that unfolds in the following photos. If you would like to visit, just send me an email at: jimmccormac35@gmail.com, and I'll pass along the pertinent information.

I arrived at 8:30 yesterday morning, and this was the very first of over 2,200 images that I made during my 3.5 hour stay. Nearly all of the birds swirling about in the image are Snow Buntings! The large trees are silver maples, and dozens of buntings adorn the summits of the trees as well. As soon as I turned onto the Jordan's road, nearly a half-mile from their home, I saw the birds. Thousands of buntings, larks, and longspurs forming a great undulating mass.

It was a frosty 2 degrees F upon arrival, warming only to 16 F by my departure. Observing and photographing this spectacular flock of birds was well worth lying in the icy snow, and enduring the Arctic temperatures.

A blizzard of buntings nearly obscures the front of Mike and Becky's house. I found it impossible to get what I would feel confident was an accurate estimate of the number of birds visiting their yard. Even when the feeding areas were jammed with birds, scores and scores of others were out in the surrounding fields. Somewhere between 3,500 and 5,000 Snow Bunting, Horned Larks, and Lapland Longspurs would probably be a reasonable guesstimate.

Don't you wish your driveway looked like this! Well, if you are into birds, you probably would. Scattered flocks form where Mike has scattered his magical ingredient: cracked corn. Deep snow cover interlaced with ice has made for tough foraging in the fields, and the birds have found the corn an irresistible lure. Mike basically rings his house with corn scatterings: driveway, backyard, garden, front yard. The end result is an utterly unbelievable concentration of birds that one seldom gets to fawn over in such numbers, and at such close quarters.

This is the stuff of which clouds of buntings, larks and longspurs are made - finely ground cracked corn! If you think your feed bill is hefty, get a load of the following numbers. Mike puts out about 50 lbs. of this stuff A DAY. He'll purchase about a ton of cracked corn (which is specially ground to his standards) over the bunting/lark/longspur season. He's been doing this for about 20 years, too.

The birds now seem to recognize Mike, and when he heads out in the morning, grain bucket in hand, they begin swarming towards the house, filling the air with rattles and whistles.

I could not get enough of this spectacle. Tidal movements of birds ebbed and flowed, swirling in and covering the drive, then suddenly exploding aloft in a loud whir of wings at some threat, real or perceived. In an instant, they'd be back, but the flock was always wary and full of nervous energy. Not because of the primate admirers, I don't believe, but due to the ever-present threat of marauding raptors: Cooper's and Sharp-shinned hawks, Northern Harrier, and American Kestrel. No raptors bagged a treat while I was there, but at least two harriers coursed by, eying the flock.

The birds were tame enough that I was able to use my 70-200 mm lens, which is lightning fast and tack sharp but requires that the photographer be close to the subjects. One reason that I tripped the shutter some 2,200 times was that I fired off extended rapid-fire burst modes, hoping to freeze the beautiful birds in flight. Most shots were discards; a few, such as this one, were keepers.

The BIG THREE of midwinter open country feeding flocks are Horned Larks, Lapland Longspurs, and Snow Buntings. All three species are in this image. The buntings are self-explanatory: brilliant white flashes adorn their wings and tail, hence one of their colloquial names, "Snowflakes". A dark-winged Horned Lark is bookended by Lapland Longspurs at the top of the image, and another lark is bottom left. Just to the right of the lower lark is another longspur, showing its white outer tail feathers.

A quartet of Snow Buntings feeds on Mike and Becky's cracked corn. These birds breed in the Arctic, and have come a long ways south to winter in Ohio. This species was easily the most numerous at the Jordan's feederscape, outnumbering each of the other species by a factor of 12, or more.

The earliest of these tough songbirds will begin to arrive at Arctic breeding locales in April, when winter still has a strong hold and conditions are harsh. One way in which they cope is to burrow into the snow at night, creating sheltered bivouacs. Mike and Becky have observed them doing just that in the adjacent fields, in order to survive subzero temperatures and brutal wind chills.

A male Lapland Longspur feasts in the front yard. The males are commencing molt from basic (winter) plumage to alternate (breeding plumage, and some were showing lots of chestnut and black. They'll brighten up considerably over the next few weeks. This is an enormously abundant bird across Arctic tundra regions. North American birds winter primarily in the Great Plains, and flocks estimated at a jaw-dropping four million birds have been reported there.

The name "longspur" stems from the greatly elongated hind claw, which can be seen in this photo.

Frequent flock mates: Lapland Longspur on the left, and a Horned Lark. These species typically walk, rather than hop, as does the bunting. That's a more efficient mode of locomotion for birds that habitually feed and otherwise spend the majority of their time on the ground. When at pause, these birds often hunch down and nearly sit on the ground. That posture is likely an adaptation to better warm their feet and legs in freezing temperatures.

Lit by the sun, a flock of Snow Buntings swirls about the tops of the big maples shown in the first two photos. Many more buntings are at rest in the upper boughs.

Treetop perching by Snow Buntings was not a behavior that I was familiar with. I've seen them tee up in scraggly saplings and bushes on occasion, but had not had the experience of watching them perch en masse in a tree 40-50 feet overhead. It did make for some neat photo ops. My car was parked under this tree, and I had left the driver's side window open. When I left, I noticed a bit of bunting guano adhering to the arm rest. I was honored, and may be one of few people who have had a Snow Bunting drop droppings INTO their car.

I will leave you with this brief video of birds swarming about the Jordan's drive. The action will probably remain strong as long as snow blankets the ground, but when it melts the birds will forsake the cracked corn donations and head back into the fields to forage.

Thanks again to Becky and Mike for their hospitality, and I'm sure that buntings/larks/longspurs thank them as well. Again, if you wish to visit, feel free to contact me for information.

Horned Larks are tough as nails

A wintertime country road in rural Ohio. Frigid temperatures, a landscape blanketed in snow, and brutal winds conspire to make this a habitat unfit for man or beast. But even such a seemingly stark environment does indeed have its beasts, even if overall biodiversity of living species can often be tallied on one hand.

 

I spent this morning searching backroads in Pickaway and Ross counties for Snowy Owls. Even though none of the big Arctic visitors put in an appearance, I saw scores of another bird species not put off by tough winter conditions. Horned Larks. These sleek Fox Sparrow-sized members of the Alaudidae share familial ties with the fabled Sky Lark of Eurasia, and are - in my estimation - just as special.

 

As I cruised roads similar to the above, small flocks of Horned Larks scurried mouselike along the verges of the lanes, seeking sustenance at the interface of gravel, blacktop and snow. When fields become smothered in the white stuff, the larks are forced to the roads to find feed, and an observer can get an idea of just how common they are. But what, in such a barren landscape, are they eating?

 

This gravelly tract is superficially similar to most Ohio roadsides, and shares the same plants. Several species of small spindly grasses find a foothold in such sites, and much of their biomass is of species in the genera Sporobolus (dropseeds) and Aristida (triple-awned grasses). The fruit of these plants is tiny, but is nutritious and produced en masse.

A Horned Lark, Eremophila alpestris, examines your narrator. To most people, if they notice these birds at all, the larks are just fleeting shadows; brownish wisps flushing from the roadside and coursing out over the surrounding fields. Birders notice them, and those up on field ID know to look for the lark's flag, a conspicuous black tail. Sometimes the rarer Snow Bunting and/or Lapland Longspur are intermingled.

After a bit, I came across a lark flock that was fixated on a section of vacant roadway, and slowly coasted my car up close. Using the vehicle as a blind and exercising a bit of patience, a couple of the larks eventually moved in close to feed. We - or at least I - may marvel at the hardiness of these songbirds, as well we should. It was about 20 degrees F and breezy when I made these photos, and the larks routinely endure FAR colder temperatures. The wide-open spaces of a barren corn field on a sub-zero winter night might seem to be about the most inhospitable place in the world, but that's typical of where the larks bed down. They shun all but the most open places.

Anyway, it doesn't seem like there would be much of sustenance in the above shot. But there is, although few animals could successfully exploit such a niche. This Horned Lark, fat and all afluff, was feeding on the grasses springing from that crack in the asphalt between it and the snow. The aforementioned Sporobolus grasses had found a home in this fissure, and the lark was gobbling down their fruit.

A first-year Horned Lark joins the adult on the right, both busily milking that crack in the road for all it's worth. This is what all those roadside larks are doing: harvesting the seed of grasses and other plants that survive along the roadsides, or have blown in from nearby fields. If passing grain trucks leak some cargo, all the better. As befits a bird that habitually feeds on the ground, the larks walk, not hop. It's a more efficient mode of locomotion.

In the relatively brief period that I watched these larks and their companions, scads of tiny seeds were plucked and consumed. Grass seed is tough stuff, and some of those grains are destined to run through the larks' digestive tracts intact. They'll be expelled somewhere else, maybe  near, maybe far.

Horned Larks have been harvesting grass seed for eons, and play a valuable role in dispersing native plants.