It was a gorgeous Sunday morning, and I was sitting at the edge of my meadow, slightly questioning my own sanity. The sun had not yet made an appearance, the temperature was only 41 degrees Fahrenheit, and my feet were damp after walking through the dew-covered grass. Up the hill the house was warm, but it was down in the Thinking Chair that I felt that I needed to be. Hundreds of millions of birds were bailing out of Canada, and I didn’t want to miss any of them.
The previous morning had been slightly warmer, and the migration count was about 880 million birds headed south. I had put in almost two hours of observation time, and I had logged 24 species for the new October list. This morning was colder and the migration count was about 615 million birds. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to add nearly as many species as the day before, but that’s the way of lists. As the species count rises, the time required to add a new name to the list grows and grows.
The challenge in any migration month is simple: catch sight of as many species as you can before they disappear for the winter, while also attempting to catch sight of any new species that are arriving for the winter. Last year I managed to set a record with a total of 57 different species observed in the month of October, so I had my work cut out for me. I needed to see as many Neotropical migrants as possible before they vanished to the south. So, there I sat.
The first observation was an easy one. American crows were in the neighborhood, and they were making a lot of noise. This may have been because I had placed an offering of food in the driveway. Bread and chicken scraps are fairly common in the American kitchen, but they are rare and wonderful items in the world outdoors. The local crows always swing by to see if anything is available, and they get really excited when they find something.
Song Sparrows, Blue Jays, Tufted Titmice, American Goldfinches and a few other winter regulars were all with me at the bottom of the hill and the thumps made by the Black-capped Chickadees landing on my head were an oft-repeated treat. At one point a chickadee landed on the end of my telephoto lens while I was taking a photo of an Eastern Towhee. It was delightful, but nothing spectacular was happening. And then, out of nowhere, came a test from the gods.
I heard the bird before I saw it. The loud croaking of a Common Raven (Corvus corax) was impossible to miss because it was juxtaposed with the excited calls of the crows. Hearing ravens is relatively easy for me, but seeing one is more unusual. Getting a decent photo of a raven is rare to impossible, but I held my breath because this particular bird sounded like it was very close. My camera was ready; the settings were optimal for capturing images of birds in flight and the lighting was perfect. Now I just needed the raven to cooperate, which is not something that ravens tend to do.
Then, as if I had choreographed the entire event, a raven appeared from over the trees to my north. It was flying very low; just over the treetops. It was flying in a southwesterly direction, which meant that the morning sun was hitting it at the perfect angle. Most miraculously, however, was the fact that it was clearly carrying something in its beak. I raised my camera, locked the autofocus on to this new moving target, and I started snapping photos as quickly as I could. It might be years before I got another opportunity like this and I would suffer tremendous emotional pain if I missed out. All I could do was my best, but would it be enough?
I took 25 photos in 12 seconds and then the raven was gone. The magic of digital cameras is the fact that you can instantly review your pictures to see how they turned out and I quickly went through the flight of photos to see if I had been successful. Every single photo was a winner! All I had to do was decide which one would have the ideal wing position. Photo number 18 turned out to be perfect. The bird’s wings are stretched out with the primaries spread like fingers and there is a speck of reflected sunlight in the bird’s eye. Jackpot!
The only question that I have about this photo is exactly what the raven is carrying. It is clearly a part of an animal, but which animal and which part I cannot figure out. The meat is not particularly bloody, nor is it dark in color. I would almost think that it is a big chunk of beef suet (fat), but where on Earth a raven might have found it is a mystery. Was a local farmer slaughtering cattle for the freezer? Was a neighbor putting out food for the crows; attracting a raven by accident? Ultimately, who knows and who cares? I was in the right place at the right time with the right equipment and the right experience. Nikonus and Iso had smiled upon me once again.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 29 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more information visit www.speakingofnature.com, Speaking of Nature on Facebook, or the Speaking of Nature Podcast.