May 27, 2012 - The Spirit Bird

 

With the sun rising behind me, I faced the mangroves to photograph the usual crowd – great white egret, tricolor heron, little blue heron, snowy egret, white ibis and yellow-crowned night heron. A day like this was planned as all of them are - low tide near the time of sunrise or no more than two hours past. With good morning light, that gave me plenty of time before the rising water levels compelled the birds to disappear into the mangroves.

After two hours of chasing wading birds from my canoe as the incoming water slowly rose, I watched them one by one take a final bite and fly off to some unknown location waiting for the evening low tide to invite them back for dinner. The flats quickly became void of birds, or so I thought.

By the time I spotted the strange white bird wading along the shoreline, I had already put away the camera. While Vivian continued fishing from her canoe, I paddled and floated with no intentions other than to enjoy the morning on the bay as I usually do when my photography session is finished. I paddled toward the bird and decided to get the camera back out just for kicks. The best morning light was long gone, but a white bird wading in the mangrove reflections is simply irresistible.

Having photographed wading birds on Biscayne Bay for the past five years, I could identify Florida’s egrets and herons from a distance – both adult and immature types, as well as lesser common morph versions. So, when I saw the medium-sized wading bird with white feathers from 300 feet or more, my first inclination was to go with the typical characters – immature little blue heron (most likely), snowy egret (possibly) or white ibis (maybe). But something about this one made me doubt my common knowledge.

When you spend hours, day after day watching and photographing birds, their behaviors become reliable identifiers. I continued paddling closer to the lone white bird. It hunted the revealed grasses in earnest and doing so in a way that was contrary to a snowy egret. By now, I knew it was not a white ibis that is easily identified by its downcurved red beak. That left me with an immature little blue heron - but the white bird’s beak was not black.

I was puzzled and very curious. About 150 feet away, I focused the long lens on the bird and took a shot to get a better look. In review mode, I zoomed in and gasped. This could not possibly be! The white-feathered bird had a stocky build, thick neck, and yellow beak. And it had flaming red eyes. Only a night heron has red eyes in these parts, but yellow-crowned and black-crowned night herons are not white birds as their names imply. Nor do they have yellow beaks.

The bird carefully stalked the shallows, catching a crab now and then with a quick lunge. Everything about it behaved as if it were a yellow-crowned night heron. But the white feathers – how could this be? What are the chances of sighting an albino bird in the wild? Wikifacts says the albinoism in humans has a probability of 1 in 17,000. But what about birds? Never mind that, I knew this was a rare bird and I was going to photograph it.

The bird paid me no mind as it patiently took advantage of the conditions that would soon disappear with the rising water levels. At last, it hopped onto a red mangrove root well above the water and stood nicely framed by the green leaves. The white bird in its mangrove surroundings is nothing short of stunning. It was beautiful despite lacking a graceful form we recognize in other egrets and herons. This was a special bird - I was sure of that by now. It was alone; but more so, it seemed lonely. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was almost as if the bird knew it was special. I began to worry about it. It may very well be an albino yellow-crowned night heron; in which case, those white feathers might be a disadvantage to a bird that is equipped to hunt at night.

I sent one of my photos of the bird to renowned bird expert and author, David Sibley. He confirmed it was an albino yellow-crowned night heron, there could be no other explanation. The Spirit Bird as I came to call it, lived on Biscayne Bay for at least two years. I know this for a fact because I photographed it several times. And then, it disappeared. I thought about it a lot and wondered if it got enough nourishment and found a mate. Or was it living its short life out in solitude?

Almost two years after my first encounter with the Spirit Bird, a large-framed print of the rarity hung on a wall for my gallery exhibit at Biscayne Bay National Park’s Ernest Coe Visitor Center. Accompanying it were several prints of birds I had photographed on Biscayne Bay. Many of them were white birds, all of them were common wading birds. Individual birds come and go, each one replaced by generations of the same. But the Spirit Bird lives on.

June 29, 2009 - An Everglades Visitor

 

If not for being completely covered and sealed off from the insect-infested air, I would never have been here in a million years. With the incessant buzzing of mosquitos in the pitch dark, thoughts go wild with the horrifying prospect of being exposed to thousands of ruthless biting insects. It was an hour before sunrise as my friend Bob and I carried our canoes and camera equipment to the water’s edge in silence and with focused determination of paddling to a location as quickly as possible.

The car headlights exposed the air that was alive with mosquitos, reminding me of the old saying “You can swing a cup through the air and catch a quart”. The sound alone could be maddening, but we were safe within our netted and heavy fabric armor, and in command of our purpose which was to photograph a rare scene in the Everglades. That opportunity was made possible only because Bob was in the right place at the right time a day earlier and then generously shared that with me.

On the water with barely enough light to make out the mangroves that hung ghostly over the water, we paddled in earnest along a canal that within a mile opened into a large body of water. After a mile of paddling, we came to a small opening in the thick mangrove forest. By then, the sunlight was enough for us to distinguish details of the mangroves and navigate the small water trail that eventually led us to a very large lake.

When Bob first spotted the brilliant orange birds from a distance the day before, he thought it was a raft of brightly colored kayaks resting on the edge of the lake. But that would have been impossible because the park has kept the lake closed to the public for years. The watery trails had become impassable from hurricane tree debris and overgrowth. If not for a handful of volunteers (including Bob) who cleared the trails over the past several months, I would not be here to photograph the American Flamingo on this hot summer day.

Click for larger image

We paddled out of the dark mangrove tunnel into open water brightly lit by the morning sun. Bob pointed east to the shoreline where he saw the birds yesterday. Squinting at the sun, I saw that the shoreline would not be illuminated by the sunlight until afternoon. The birds were not there. Although disappointed not to see them as expected, I kept my hopes up that we might find the birds where I could face them with the sun behind me.

The temperature rose as we continued paddling. Still early enough to capture the birds in good light, I scanned the lake’s shoreline looking for orange anomalies. I faced the western shoreline where it abruptly turned northward and then eventually turned again in a southerly direction creating a large inlet. A few more paddle strokes and the inlet came into full view where 16 Flamingos were standing in the shallow water along the western edge of the inlet.

In perfect light, the bright orange feathers stood out flamboyantly against the dark mangroves and the muddy ground where the birds waded. They seemed mostly occupied with feeding and did not appear to take great notice of the two strangers in boats several hundred feet away. I slowly and quietly paddled until I was directly east of the birds. Then I turned the boat toward them and continued forward slowly, taking care to keep the single blade paddle as low as possible.

I watched the birds intently, studying their movements to see if my presence alerted them. They continued minding their own business, but this could change as I floated closer to them. At last, I reached a distance that would fill the frame with birds at a 600mm focal length, and the flock did not seem to care.

Quietly and slowly, I placed a stick-it pin in the calm water to keep the canoe in place. Before reaching this point, I had taken out the camera from the pelican case and set it on my lap. Now, it was simply a matter of being as quiet and as still as possible. Except for possibly having to replace the camera battery, no movement or sound from me was necessary except to click the shutter button.

Knowing I would be completely covered with mosquito netting, earlier I put on the Camelback with the hydration tube near my mouth before donning the mosquito jacket. This allowed me to drink at will while holding the camera. At the start of our paddle, the Camelback bladder was filled with frozen Gatorade but by the time I reached the birds, most of it had melted. Content that I had plenty to keep me hydrated and full protection from the persistent mosquitoes, I commenced to sit and photograph the American Flamingo for the next couple hours.

I had never seen flamingos in the wild and their size was stunning and at best guess, the tallest birds stood close to 5 feet tall. These flamingos are likely refugees from captivity or migrants from the Bahamas or the Yucatan Peninsula. They are rarely sited in Florida, but most recently along Florida’s Space Coast. The fact that they somehow got to a backcountry lake accessible to humans only by paddle boat, made this photo shoot ever more special to me. As I focused on the birds, I barely noticed Bob who floated a distance from me, photographing and taking care not to disturb the flock.

After a couple hours, I put my camera away, and Bob and I parted ways. When I got back to my car, it was close to noon and the mosquitoes were as thick as ever. I drove away with a big grin on my face under a head net protecting me from the swarm inside the car. Even while driving with all the windows down, they wouldn’t go away. I didn’t care. I had a memory card full of images of American Flamingos.

Thank you again Bob.