500 Canaries Can't Be Wrong

Midway Atoll is, I've been told, the only place in the world that a self-sustaining population of yellow canaries—some 500—can be found. But they are of course not native to this far-flung spot. They were brought to Midway in 1910 by an employee of the cable company that laid the first round-the-world telegraph cables. Nevertheless, their century-long inhabitation is impressive, and many other non-native occupants wreak far worse ecological havoc. The canaries flitter about the island, generally unconcerned about the much larger birds that share the space. This bristle-thighed curlew, which breeds in Alaska and winters on tropical Pacific islands, seemed much more aware of them than they were of it! The juxtaposition of two species I saw almost every day but which are rarely associated with Midway Atoll made for a comical shot.

The Food Chain

White terns nest anywhere and everywhere on Midway. There was one pair who laid an egg in a shrub at the front corner of the Chokedee House, where I lived, and I got to watch their chick grow from the tiniest ball of fluff into a fledgling and eventually into a juvenile. One day, I noticed one parent sitting in the shrub with the fledgling nowhere to be found. I presumed it was out practicing to fly. But white terns don't feed their chicks by digesting and then regurgitating their food—they catch appropriately-sized fish in their bill, and bring them back whole. So this parent had to wait with these fish in its bill until its chick came back. Apparently it had been waiting a while, because as I stood there, taking advantage of the opportunity to get this close-up, an ant crawled up the tern's body, onto its bill, and into the mouth of the fish!

Semipalmated Sandpiper

In Canada two summers ago, I visited a very windy beach full of shorebirds. There were several semipalmated sandpipers hunkered down against the wind, and as I always do, I got low to the ground and started slowly creeping towards one of them. He did the usual sandpiper dash away from me a few times, but I persistently moved closer. Eventually, I was on my hands and knees, almost supine, about seven feet away, and still he just looked at me. Perhaps he didn't flush because of the strong wind, but I like to think that I have a way with animals. Worming along, now completely on my stomach, I managed to get within three feet of the sandpiper, snapping this amazing shot. The on-the-ground perspective, putting you at eye-level with the bird, plus the incredibly shallow depth of field makes for quite a powerful photo. He never moved, and after taking this photo I slowly backed away without scaring him. But I had been taking photos for so long that the tide had almost trapped me!

Seagull Chase

I've gone to Block Island with my dad for about a week every summer for the past 10 years at least. I always use this commitment-free opportunity to improve my photography and develop new perspectives on familiar subjects. This past summer, I devoted some of my efforts to sunsets, which rarely disappoint on Block Island. One evening while I was down on the beach, I encountered a seagull in the surf, and immediately envisioned this shot. But I had to work for it: I chased this poor juvenile back and forth for half-an-hour, trying to simultaneously keep the camera level, keep the bird framed with the sky, and run, all while trying to predict the direction the bird would flee and periodically adjusting the camera's settings as night closed in. So by the time I got this shot, neither I nor the seagull were anywhere near as calm as this photo appears.

Old Couple

On the first day in Grand Canyon National Park with my Regional Field Geology class, two California Condors flew right past us. Shocked, we continued to talk about geology, but hoped they would fly by again. Instead, they landed on a rock outcrop no more than 100 feet away from us and sat in the brilliant morning sun, displaying their tags. Wondering about the history of 33 and 87, I did some research after getting home and discovered they are one of only five mated pairs in Arizona. They're also two of the oldest California Condors still alive; the female, 33, is the last remaining survivor of the first release of Condors into Arizona. These two birds are clearly part of a bigger story than mine!