Jim Anderson

Our winter visitors from the Arctic Circle, Rough-legged Hawks. The French name for our winter hawks is Buse pattue, the scientific
community recognizes them as Buteo lagopus, while birders know them as
Rough-legged Hawks. But, I call them Winter Hawks because that's the
only time of the year we see them. The rest of the year they're either
nesting up in the Far North, very close to and even on the Arctic
Circle, or they're moving back and forth on their long treks.

Rough-legged
Hawks are the heaviest of a tribe of soaring hawks known as Buteos
(which includes our common red-tailed hawk), a term that comes from the
old Latin Butzus which gave us the term, Buzzard. Rough-legged Hawks
weigh in at about three to five pounds (males smaller and lighter than
females), have a wing-span of over four feet and stay in the air almost
effortlessly by using atmospheric lift. They come by their name because
of the feathers that come all the way to their toes, a physical trait
that helps them keep their eggs warm in cold nights of the Far North.

Chris Mortimer, a naturalist from California, was driving over Santiam Pass in late January when he was suddenly shocked to see a very large, wolf-like animal dash across the road in front of him. "Wolf!" he shouted, and pulled over to the side of the highway.

With only a small, point-and-shoot camera at his disposal, he did the best he could to document what may turn out to be the first wild wolf seen in these parts in over 100 years.

American Robins doing what they like to do best, drinking and bathing… Unless you're not paying attention to what's going on around you, you
can't help but notice a few robins swooping about Central Oregon these
days. Few can be placed in the 10,000 to 15,000 number, and I think
that's a low count. On the week of this year's Christmas Bird Count
(CBC) there were almost half-a-million of them over in the Pauline/Post
country, east of Prineville.

Where did they come from? is the
most-often asked question when people notice robins flocking to
junipers and pooping all over their cars and porches. I never saw this
many last summer, is the usual comment after the question.
The
answer is that these are not our robins, that is, last summer's robins.
The robins we're seeing and hearing in the junipers and backyards
during winter are down from the Far North , probably from Canada and
Washington, perhaps a few from Alaska and the Northwest Territories.
And they're here for only two reasons: companionship and food. When one
robin finds food, everyone finds food, and food means juniper berries
(and other fruit).

Part of the Fort Rock Basin "Beyond Sagebrush" talks about. There's a new pocket-sized paperback on the market that's fun to read,
contains good information, and should be a companion for anyone going
out to enjoy the dry side of Oregon, Darin Furry's Beyond Sagebrush.

I
like it because it gives everyone a quick glimpse of what we're looking
at and why. Even a trained geologist will enjoy Furry's way of
supplying information about our volcanoes and diverse landforms. As a
naturalist, I enjoyed my first read, and I know it will be a great tool
for others looking to see the big picture on the dry side of the
Cascades. Unfortunately, the author didn't give us an index, but his
appendix supplies directions to places he talks about.

Give a hoot.If you are wondering what happened to the second part of our "little"
Owl Quiz, the answer is it got too big. So, if you still want to have a
good time with the quiz, you'll have to wait until my website,
www.northwestnaturalist is up and running, which should be in about a
week.
In the meantime, let's discuss six of the remaining eight,
one of them a newcomer, the barred owl. This pugnacious alien wandered
into the Northwest from eastern areas of Canada and the U.S. It's one
of the owls I grew up with, the other being the great horned – which I
had to eat when my grandfather said, "Whatever you shoot, Jimmy, you
eat."
Barred owls, as far as I know, are the only owl in North
America with an eight-note call. The northern spotted owl comes close,
because they are genetically and physically very similar, but once
you've heard them both, there is no question whooo-is-whooo-t-whooo.

The Birdies"Hey, Jim, there's a flock of birds over there…"

"Where?" I asked.
"Over there!" Ellie shouted, "I can see them plain as day!"
That was the way the first Bend Kid"s Christmas Bird Count (CBC) started out Saturday morning, December 20th - enthusiastic confusion. I met Kim Long of Bend with her three children, two Cub Scouts and one scout mom to see if it was going to be possible to keep 8 to 11 year olds on track to observe, know, remember and list every bird they spotted that one day. That"s the way the CBC works. As it worked out, Ellie Long kept the tally - and did an excellent job!

Let's have a little fun with an owl quiz. There are 13 species of owls that call Oregon home, and they range in size from smaller than a robin to almost as large as a male bald eagle. Three are diurnal, but most are crepuscular and nocturnal, and one species has (like your mother and mine) "eyes" on the back of its head.

Ed Park doing what he liked best in the "Good Old Days." Photo by Jim AndersonEd Park, Central Oregon's best outdoor writer, cross-country skier,
runner, and wildlife photographer has gone out among the stars.

Ed
was a gem and an Oregonian through-and-through. He was a graduate of
the grand old "Cow College" (OSU) over in Corvallis, and a student of
Oregon's wildlife treasures. He lived with, studied and wrote a superb
book on our elusive and fun-filled, Northern River Otter, Lontra
canadensis; and for years, was the guts and feathers of the Outdoor
Writers Association of America. As such, he was a prodigious writer for
several outdoor magazines that spanned a time warp from the mid-50s
into this century. Moreover, from the early '90s to when he left us, he
did it with one finger, the result of a terrible stroke in 1991.(Go to
www.owaa.org/legends/legendEdPark.htm, and read the delightful
interview Ed gave not too long ago.)

Cal Elshoff of Bend and Mt. Chickadee of the forest looking each other in the eye. Before you go any further, pick up your indelible pen and mark the
dates of December 14 through January 5, 2009 and write "CBC." Those are
the dates for the 109th Christmas Bird Count, from which
ornithologists, biologists, land managers, habitat scientists and
millions of birders throughout the country glean data and great fun
regarding birds. Can't beat that, no matter what.

During this time,
tens of thousands of volunteers throughout the New World of the
Americas – North, South and points in-between – will take part in a
family birding tradition that has no end of joy and scientific value.

"Mr. Anderson," my caller said last Wednesday afternoon. "I have a
mystery. What in the world is going on with the butterflies? I smashed
a beautiful orange and brown one on my windshield this afternoon - I
didn't think I'd ever see a butterfly fluttering about in November! Is
this the result of global warming, or what?"

That same day, driving
home from Sisters on Highway 20, I had the very same thing happen near
the 8-mile post. It was unavoidable, but it still saddened me. Killing
animals with my motor vehicle is something I try diligently to avoid,
but traveling along at 55 mph on a collision course with a butterfly is
not like avoiding a mule deer or elk. I saw and heard it hit the
windshield and then in a horror of horrors, it caught under my
windshield wiper right in front of my eyes and stuck there all the way
home.