By Burr Heneman

In his Metamorphoses, Ovid tells of a certain nymph, the most famous of all the wood nymphs. She was much beloved by the satyrs and spirits of the woods, who called her Syrinx. But she would have none of them as she was a faithful follower of chaste Diana, imitating her in her pastime of hunting, and in her virtue too.

One day as Syrinx was returning from the chase on Mount Lycaeus, Pan caught sight of her and determined to possess her. With Pan pursuing her, she fled through the pathless forest till she came to the deep waters of the Ladon River, which halted her flight. Pan reached for her, and in that instant, she prayed to her sisters of the stream to transform her.

They answered her prayer; Pan thought that he had at last caught hold of the nymph’s body but found he held only a handful of marsh reeds. As he stood sighing, the wind blew through the reeds and produced a thin, plaintive sound. “Still, you and I shall always be together,” he cried. Then he took reeds of unequal length and fastened them together with wax and made an instrument he called Syrinx and that we know as Pan pipes.

Syrinx underwent another metamorphosis centuries later when her name was given to the vocal organ of birds. The syrinx is located where the trachea divides into two bronchi, one of which leads to each lung. The name is especially apt for those few bird species that can control the two sides of the syrinx separately, creating two simultaneous tones. The result is the haunting “solo duets” of our Swainson’s Thrush and many of its relatives.

Hearing a slowed-down recording of the thrushes’ songs reveals a little of the mechanism without diminishing the magic. Here’s a web site that plays the songs at normal speed and slowed:

http://www.wildmusic.org/animals/thrush 

Whenever I hear it, I am young, and Nature is in her spring; wherever I hear it, it is a new world and a free country, and the gates of Heaven are not shut against me.

By Jack Dumbacher 

Some bird species show tremendous geographic variation in plumage or body measurements.  For example, Fox Sparrows have a sooty Pacific form and a reddish Taiga form, Song Sparrows look different on the California coast than they do further north in the Pacific Northwest, and Dark-eyed Juncos – well, where does one begin…?

But most birders rarely consider that these subtle differences might be adaptations to local conditions. And it’s rarer still when there is scientific research suggesting how these differences evolve or make birds locally more fit.

Russ Greenberg, from the Smithsonian Institution’s Migratory Bird Center, has been studying differences in plumage and bill size in Song Sparrows and Swamp Sparrows for many years.  He has long understood that different populations of sparrows have significant variation in bill size and shape, but figuring out the evolutionary function of the variation has been difficult.

Greenberg’s research group recently made a huge breakthrough by examining how birds lose heat.  As we all know, birds’ bodies have a thick layer of feathers that provides superior insulation for heat and cold, so birds don’t lose much heat from their bodies.  However, birds’ exposed bills and legs can dissipate a great deal of heat.

Using stunning infrared photography, Greenberg and his colleagues showed that bird bills can work as an effective “radiator” that burns off excess metabolic heat [1].  And because radiating heat does not waste water from evaporation (as does panting or sweating), it is an especially effective means for dissipating heat in dry environments, such as our California deserts. Meanwhile, in cooler environments, a smaller bill may prevent heat loss, thus helping to keep the birds warmer.

So with this potential explanation, Greenberg’s team needed birds to study.  They turned to California Song Sparrows that are widespread and variable and live in a variety of habitats from the cooler coastal areas to the warm central valley, the Sierras and western deserts [2].  They measured almost 1,500 Song Sparrow bills from museum collections, including those at California Academy of Sciences and U.C.…

By Noreen Weeden

Out at Heron’s Head Park in San Francisco on August 6, I saw my “first of season” Spotted Sandpiper.  In fact there were two Spotted Sandpipers – one with spots and the other spotless and clean-looking, both bobbing continuously as is the habit of this species.

Upon a closer look I noticed that the feathers of the spotted one appeared quite worn. This told me it was an adult bird, probably just returned from its breeding range — possibly in the Sierra or perhaps the Cascades. This bird still had most of the feathers it attained last spring in what is called its “alternate” or breeding plumage, when it has spots on its throat, breast and underparts.

The other Spotted Sandpiper looked quite different. For one thing, it had no spots, which is similar to how an adult looks in winter after it has molted into its “basic” or winter plumage. Also, this bird seemed slightly awkward compared to the other. Its legs were paler than the adult I had just seen, it had a lighter eye line, and its feathers — while looking fairly fresh — had some light edging. Taking all of these clues together, I concluded that this bird was a juvenile or “hatch-year” bird making its way for the first time to Heron’s Head Park. These two birds were the first Spotted Sandpipers I had seen in the Bay Area since early May.

Which brings me back to “first of season” (often abbreviated in birder blogs as FOS). August, while still summer for most people, is the beginning of autumn as far as birders are concerned. Late July and early August mark the time when many birds begin to disperse from their breeding grounds and move to their wintering grounds. So these two Spotted Sandpipers, one an adult and the other a juvenile, were my FOS Spotted Sandpipers.

Now is an excellent time to see some of the birds that are dispersing or migrating from their northern or interior breeding grounds. Over the next couple of months, more shorebirds, then songbirds and water birds will start returning or passing through the Bay Area on their fall migration.

Time to get out those binoculars! What first-of-season birds have you seen so far this month? Or what ones do you hope to see? …

By Ilana DeBare

We recently had a fascinating encounter with a kite at Pier 94 – not a White-tailed Kite, but a camera kite.

Cris Benton is a former Berkeley architecture professor who has built a second career around kite aerial photography – using cameras attached to kites to document landscapes. On August 4, we were delighted to welcome Cris and his colleague, microbiologist Wayne Lanier, to our restoration site at Pier 94.

If you’re not familiar with it,  Pier 94 is a five-acre parcel of shoreline wetlands near Hunter’s Point, owned by the Port of San Francisco. Surrounded by industrial uses such as a gravel processing facility and a rendering plant, it’s an unlikely wildlife habitat. But over the past ten years, Golden Gate Bird Alliance volunteers have planted over 500 native plants, pulled 80 cubic yards of non-native weeds, and removed 1,500 gallon bags of trash.  Pier 94 today is home to Bank Swallows, American Avocets, Killdeer, gulls, cormorants, pelicans, sandpipers and even a nesting pair of Osprey.

On August 4^th, Cris and Wayne joined us at our monthly volunteer work session. Wayne brought his field microscope – a mini-lab that fits in his orange day pack – and showed us how to test the tidal ponds for salinity and microorganisms.

Cris brought his set of eight kites – each designed for a different amount of wind – and his Canon SLR camera with a 10-22 mm zoom. Cris rigs the camera to a kite with a system recently rediscovered from 1912 — the “golden age” of kite photography, before the advent of planes, helicopters and satellites.

The camera sits in a metal cradle with insectlike legs that cushion it from occasional rough landings. It hangs from a stabilized cross that attaches to the kite line in two places, looking a bit like a spider suspended on a couple of threads. Cris controls the camera with a modified model-airplane remote: One hand holds the kite string and the other uses the remote to angle the camera and take pictures.

Kite photography is ideal for aerial views that are closer and more detailed than anything taken from a plane or helicopter.  “I own the space between 10 feet and 300 feet,” Cris says proudly. “A fixed-wing aircraft trying to photograph at 300 feet has to rush by.…

By Phila Rogers

Whether it’s the Bay sparkling in the morning sun, a mountain lake in a granite bowl, or the clear sky itself, the color blue is both refreshing and soothing.

To see an azure-blue Mountain Bluebird open its wings and spread its tail as it lifts lightly from the ground is a sight not easily forgotten.  Of course, there is no such thing as a blue bird – only certain birds whose feathers reflect the light in such a way that the bird appears to be blue.

Among the blue birds in our region, only several species – the Mountain Bluebird, the Blue Grosbeak, and the Indigo Bunting — are mostly blue.  Steller’s Jays, a resident bird in much of the west, are blue-black.

Mountain Bluebirds are most apt to show up in the winter in the grasslands in the eastern part of Alameda County, while the Blue Grosbeaks are neotropical migrants who breed along brushy areas and streamsides away from the coast.  The Indigo Bunting is rare in our parts, seen only infrequently in the summer months.  Where lacking a member of its species, Indigo Buntings sometimes interbreed with a more common Lazuli Bunting.

And then there are those blue birds who combine their blue with areas of chestnut and white.  Think of the Western Bluebird, and the Lazuli Bunting, whose exquisite turquoise back and head are reminiscent of the semi-precious gemstone.  And the shaggy-crested Belted Kingfisher whose blue verges on gray in some light, and the common, aggressive Scrub Jay, its blue tempered by gray, brown and white depending on the subspecies.

Two swallows come to mind – the Barn Swallow with its blue-black back and head and the Tree Swallow with its blue-green back and head.

Of course, not all blue birds behave alike.  The jays are aggressive by nature and are raucously vocal, while the bluebirds are quiet except for almost inaudible call notes.  As they hover above a field watching for insects, they are delicacy itself.

Some species save their blue to be used in small areas as a kind of exclamation point.  Consider the bright blue touches on several of our water birds – the blue-green wing patch on the Blue-winged Teal, and the breeding Brandt’s Cormorant’s startling electric-blue throat patch. …