The Cats of Anaeho’omalu Bay Beach

Anaeho’omalu Bay (A-Bay) Beach on the Kohala Coast of Hawaii has a half-mile stretch of salt and pepper sand and calm water, a great place to learn to stand on a paddle board, strap on a snorkel and fins, or bask in the sun.  It’s also home to a colony of feral cats that live behind the beach next to an ancient Hawaiian fish pond under the gnarled and twisted limbs of a tree that I have yet to identify.

Considered by some to be pests, threatening rare and endangered birds, feral cats are everywhere on the Big Island: cruising for table scraps at outdoor restaurants, snoozing under cars in hotel parking lots, grooming themselves on quiet lanais.   In 2011 I wrote a story about two tabbies that made daily visits to the back door of the condo where I was staying.

Many visitors to A-Bay don’t seem to notice the felines, although there’s usually at least one sunning on the lava rocks next to the parking lot near the sign posted by KARES, the local  nonprofit whose volunteers feed this colony.

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Last week when I visited a caregiver had recently set out food and fresh water so there were lots of cats around.   I counted about fifteen and many looked familiar to me from prior visits.  Most of them had tipped ears showing they had been spayed or neutered, keeping the population stable.  A blue-eyed Siamese watched me from his perch on a tree limb and a black and gray tiger-stripe jumped up on a lava-rock wall near where I was standing, close enough to touch.

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I was looking for a cat called Red.

I first noticed the orange tabby with one missing eye two or three years ago.  Charlotte, one of the volunteers who care for the colony, told me his story.

Red was in a nasty fight with a cat from a nearby colony. Charlotte was told about the brawl by a woman who heard the cats and then saw them separate.  Charlotte looked for Red for days, but he had disappeared.  When he finally showed up a couple of weeks later, he had  a bulging, infected eye, that looked like something out of a horror movie.

She tried to lure the wounded cat into a trap with food, but he eluded her. Finally, in desperation she made her move, getting close enough to grab him and  put him into a cat carrier.  A local veterinarian cared for him for several days and removed his injured eye. Charlotte and another volunteer shared the cost of the discounted fee for his surgery. (KARES is only able to pay for spay/neuter surgeries)

As I was about to walk away, Red showed up.  He looked healthy and contented and settled in to share a bowl of kibble with two other cats.  Charlotte says he’s friendly, but always gives her a wide berth.

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What to Read When Flying over the Pacific Ocean?

The ocean makes me uneasy.  Maybe it’s because I’m  from Kansas.  So, why do I love to read tales of dangerous fishing expeditions and solo efforts to navigate small sailboats around the world?

By P. Nixon

By P. Nixon

This little stack of books has been with me for years.  A couple of times I have tried putting one of the worn paperbacks in the giveaway box in the basement, but they always migrate back upstairs.

Movies, too.   Last year it was The Life of Pi–a boy stranded in a lifeboat in the Pacific Ocean with a Bengal tiger named Richard Parker on board.  This year I had to see All is Lost–an old man patching a hole in his wrecked yacht in the middle of the Indian Ocean with no radio connections.  I couldn’t believe how long it took him to get out the sextant.

Tomorrow morning I will board a flight for Hawaii.  By the time the jet lifts off and turns west, I will be rereading Dove–a sixteen-year-old boy’s journey around the world in a twenty-four-foot sloop.  It will help take my mind off all of those miles of ocean below me.

 

 

 

First Snow and a Canyon Towhee

By P. Nixon

By P. Nixon

I Heard a Bird Sing
by Oliver Herford

I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.

“We are nearer to Spring
Than we were in September,”
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.

 Photo Credit: K Schneider via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: K Schneider via Compfight cc

I don’t see him much, if at all,  in the spring and summer, but I can always count on the canyon towhee (Melozone fusca) to show up on my portal in the winter.  Our first major snow came early this year and sure enough, there was my favorite backyard bird perched on a collapsed tomato plant. 

 

He looks like a fancy, over-sized sparrow with his ruddy crown and dark spot in the middle of his breast.  He usually hops around my container plants, pecking at the seed that falls from the bird feeder, but on this snowy day he looked miserable, even though I realize I am projecting my feelings about the cold, wet weather on this small feathered creature.  He perked up when I threw out a handful of millet from a five-pound bag, purchased especially for him. 

 

Late in the day the sun came out and the canyon towhee was joined by flickers, finches, and some bossy pinyon jays.  They took not-so-patient turns at the feeder while he pecked at their leftovers in the snow.

 

 

 

 

Happy Thanksgiving from Rancho de Chimayo!

A perfect late-fall day in New Mexico–sun, blue sky, snow on Mount Baldy.  A crow was preening on top of this road sign when we turned north on NM 76 to travel the last few miles to Chimayó.

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Once seated in one of the many dining rooms of the adobe hacienda, we had to decide:  turkey and dressing with cranberry sauce, or tacos and enchiladas with red chile.

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After pumpkin pie and sopapillas we stopped in the courtyard to take photos of each other and to pay our respects to St. Francis.

 

Mexican Gray Wolf Public Hearing-November 20, 2013

On Wednesday afternoon I drove in rain from Santa Fe to Albuquerque to attend a public hearing about wolves.  Overnight the sunny, dry weather had changed to overcast and wet.  Rain was still falling several hours later as dusk settled over downtown Albuquerque and I wondered if it was an omen, but of what, I couldn’t say.

I found one of the last open slots on the periphery of the Embassy Suites parking lot and debated a moment before I decided to carry my leopard print umbrella, not knowing if its pointed tip might be perceived as a weapon and confiscated.  On my way in to the hotel, I noticed a few cars from Colorado and California scattered among the New Mexico license plates.

Inside, the doors to the ballroom had opened and people were filling out forms requesting the opportunity to speak. I didn’t sign up.  The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS), who was conducting the hearing, stressed that written comments would bear equal weight to spoken and I had submitted my letter a few weeks earlier.  I came armed with my recorder and a notebook so I could focus on listening and observing.

 

Two Views

Two Views

With a few minutes until the hearing was to start I stopped by the conference rooms where the meetings and rallies representing those for and against wolves had recently concluded.  Out in the hallway both groups had exhibits:  a life-sized photo of four children in a wolf shelter or “kid cage”, constructed of plywood and wire, designed to provide a safe haven for rural children waiting for the school bus sat just a few feet away from a small nylon camping tent with snapshots of wolves mounted above it.

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Back in the ballroom the seats were filling up.  Security consisted of an armed guard and a yellow sign stating that weapons, food, and drinks were not allowed inside.  A woman wearing a Wolves Are Essential sign was turned away, but I got in with my umbrella.

I took a seat midway back in the room.  In the row in front of me sat a family, the two parents with their son and daughter, both grade-school-age.  The boy and his dad held their cowboy hats in their laps.  Milling about in the aisle were wolf supporters wearing Let the Lobo Live and National Rally to Protect America’s Wolves.

At six o’clock the meeting was called to order and three FWS employees presented and explained their proposed rule changes.

The first proposal is to de-list the gray wolf, meaning that it would be removed from the threatened and endangered species list and would no longer receive federal protection.  It would include all wolves in the lower forty-eight states except the Mexican gray wolf, a subspecies.

The other proposals involve the complex management of the Mexican wolf recovery program and would allow the direct release of wolves throughout the recovery area, limit the wolves’ movement to the recovery area, and re-designate the existing wild population as experimental, non-essential.  This complicated set of changes would be the focus of most of the evening’s testimony.

Each speaker was limited to two minutes.  I sat with pen poised above my notebook as each one stood at the microphone.  Were they for or against the wolf?  Sometimes it was hard to tell.  The proposed rule changes were generally not favored by either side.  What soon became evident was the huge chasm between those who want all wolves de-listed (including the Mexican wolf) and those who think all wolves (including the gray wolf) should continue to be protected.

One speaker stood out for me:  Colin Henderson, a rancher in favor of expanding the Mexican wolf’s range. He raises Navajo churro sheep just north of the New Mexico border in Colorado.  After relating that he had two ewes injured and one sheep killed the prior week, either by coyotes or dogs, he said that he felt that the expansion was necessary to create a healthy, genetically sound wolf population.  If the wolves were allowed to roam without intervention, his sheep could be at risk.

By the time the hearing concluded three hours after it began, my unofficial tally showed that  seventy-two had testified with forty-nine speaking in favor of the wolves and twenty-three against, which agreed with the Albuquerque Journal’s “two to one in favor of expansion of the wolf recovery program.”

I walked outside after the hearing surprised to find that the rain had stopped.

Note: With one more public hearing in Arizona and the comment period extended until December 17th, it will be several weeks before the FWS issues their final decision.

 

 

 

 

Camera Trap – A Bear, a Butt, and a Bobbed Tail

I wish more of my camera trap shots were like this one of the black bear that passed through my yard several times during the summer and early fall, but, alas, they are rare.

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Every Sunday I bring the camera in from the back fence to see who walked by during the week.  Lately, there hasn’t been anything to get excited about, but as I studied my recent photos I did notice a couple of things.

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At first this seemed to be a mundane picture of a deer’s butt, until it occurred to me that it could help answer a question about the deer that  frequently saunter through our backyard: are they mule deer (Odocoileus hemionus) or white-tailed deer (Odocoileus virgineanus)?

Maybe it should have been obvious from this picture I took through the screen door this summer–those are some awfully large ears–but I wasn’t certain.

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The best way to tell the difference is from the back.  White-tailed deer have white tails and mule deer have white tails with a black tip.  Now I know.

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I had to take a second or third look before I noticed the bobbed tail in the lower left-hand corner of this photo.  It brought back memories of the only bobcat I have ever seen outside of the zoo.   It was a warm mid-September Saturday in 2010.

My cousins, Tristan and Sean, were visiting and their five kids were having a great time exploring our wooded yard.  The adults were inside drinking coffee and planning the day’s activities, when the quiet of the morning was shattered by a scream. 

We all ran outside and discovered that Drew, the youngest, had tried to leap over a prickly pear cactus, but misjudging the distance had landed in the middle of it.  His family gathered around to comfort and help, but the misery of the cure was worse than the fall.

After the barbed spines had been removed and the tears dried, Tristan and her daughter, Grace, sat on the porch swing while I stood talking to them.  When Grace pointed, we fell silent.  A bobcat walked, discreetly and deliberately, along the fence line, just passing through, paying no attention to us.   

Better than any picture that I have ever taken is the memory of that tawny, spotted cat with tufted ears and bobbed tail, padding through the yard.

NYC – Walking the High Line

Note:  My final post about visiting NYC, slightly out of order.

High heels, even sensible ones, are not the shoes to wear on the High Line.  Late on Friday afternoon, our first day in New York City, Dave and I took the subway  up  Seventh Avenue to a stop a few blocks east of the elevated park that runs along Tenth Avenue.  The heels might have been fine if we hadn’t gotten turned around in Greenwich Village where the  north/south grid suddenly angles and not all of the streets have number names.

Eventually we found Gansevoort Street and the stairway going up to the High Line at its southernmost point.  The park is a recent addition, opening in phases, the first in 2009, the second in 2011, and the third under construction.   It sits on top of a rail line built in the 1930s to haul freight along Manhattan’s west side.

Photo Credit:  D. Betzler

Photo Credit: D. Betzler

In 1999 the long-abandoned railway, slowly being reclaimed by nature, was slated for demolition when Joshua David and Robert Hammond met at a community meeting.  Two average citizens who wanted to save the structure, each one promised to help if the other would spearhead the effort.  Within months of that meeting they co-founded The Friends of the High Line and spent the next ten years, first, saving the rail line from destruction and, then, coordinating the creation of the park.  I read their inspiring book, High Line:  The Inside Story of New York City’s Park in the Sky, during my trip to the city.

Photo credit: P. Nixon

Photo credit: P. Nixon

On the warm October day of our visit lots of people were enjoying the park, strolling the narrow path, admiring the view of the Empire State Building, and taking photos of a few lingering  blossoms.  My pinched toes forced me to abandon the walk at 23rd Street.  

We returned on Sunday after our trip to New Jersey and walked the park from the north end to the south—in sneakers.

If I lived in New York City, the High Line would be my park.  I imagine early morning walks in the spring savoring each new bloom, lazy summer afternoons lounging on a bench watching the world go by, and snowy winter evenings strolling the quiet path, pausing to watch the city lights blink on.

Eating Crab Cocktail in San Francisco

Last week I rode one of the classic streetcars down Market Street and around the Embarcadero to Fisherman’s Wharf. It was a festive trip, as it usually is. Visitors were holding on to the leather straps studying the Muni transfers given to them by the driver in exchange for two dollars; looking up, occasionally, to take in the sights as we rolled down the street; and consulting with their travel mates as to the best place to disembark.

San Francisco’s waterfront offers endless possibilities: shopping for picnic supplies at the Ferry Building, taking photos of the resident sea lions at Pier 39, or savoring a crab cocktail at the wharf.

Dungeness crabs at  Fisherman's Wharf

Dungeness crabs at Fisherman’s Wharf

What the visitors probably don’t realize, just as I didn’t for a long time,  is that the crabs on display today are not local crabs. A vendor confirmed, when I asked at one of the many seafood stands lined up along the wharf, that commercial Dungeness crab season will open on November 15th. It runs through June, although most of the crabs (only males over 5 3/4″) are caught by the end of December.  Crab season along the Pacific Coast from central California up to Alaska is staggered throughout the year so there never seems to be a shortage of crab cocktail at the wharf.

If you order a one of the little cardboard containers filled with the sweet seafood doused in cocktail sauce to eat while you enjoy a walk along the piers, be on the lookout for these bad boys.

Seagull

Seagull

If one of them snatches your lunch out of your hand, you won’t get a refund or any sympathy.

Warning

Warning

NYC – What Kind of Bird Was That?

I needed to see the feet–yellow or black? The roosting birds were not showing even a toe when Dave spotted them out the train window shortly after we pulled away from the station at the Newark Liberty International Airport. It was dusk and the white birds appeared to have settled in the trees next to the marshy wetland for the night, legs and beaks snugly tucked into their feathers.

At home I have bird identification guides stashed for easy reference: National Geographic next to the breakfast table, Sibley at my desk, and Peterson in the car. However, I didn’t have any of them with me on the train. Luckily, as with most things in modern life, there’s a smart phone application (app) for that.

Within moments I had Audubon available at my fingertips, not only photos and range maps, but also recordings of bird calls with a warning not to play them in the field (confusing not only to other birdwatchers, but also to the birds). Once I had the app it didn’t take me long to decide that what I had seen were egrets, but were they snowy egrets or great egrets? Based on their size, which I misjudged, I thought they were snowy egrets (Egretta thula).

 Photo Credit: Drew and Didi via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: Drew and Didi via Compfight cc

Wanting to be more certain I sent an email to Marie Winn who wrote Redtails in Love and has a blog about birding in Central Park. She was kind enough to immediately reply to my question. She, too, had seen these birds on train trips in the area and thought they were probably great egrets (Ardea alba). But she said it’s hard to know for sure without getting a look at their feet (snowy feet are yellow and greats are black) or beaks (snowy bills are mostly black and greats are yellow). I trust that Marie’s guess is better than mine.

 Photo Credit: mikebaird via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: mikebaird via Compfight cc

The rest of my trip was a bust as far as birdwatching: two robins on a lawn in New Jersey, a few sparrows flitting around on the High Line, and a row of pigeons on the arm of a light post next to Central Park, which made me certain that Pale Male was not in the vicinity.

NYC – Day Trip to New Jersey

The line to buy train tickets at Penn Station was unexpectedly long for a Sunday morning–red shirts behind us, green in front.  We were all headed for New Jersey. The hubbub subsided when we reached the tracks and conductors directed the Patriots’ and Jets’ fans to a separate train.

Ours was a short, quiet ride to Cranford, the town where Dave grew up.  We walked the mile and a half from the station to the neighborhood of two-story, one garage houses, scuffing our feet through piles of oak and maple leaves.   To Dave’s surprise Maryland Street still dead-ends at the edge of the woods, a few doors down from his former house.  He played in the woods as a kid, riding his English racer on the trail in the summer and sledding with his brothers, one piled on top of the other on their Airline Racer, on snowy winter days.

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On our way back downtown we paused to jump on the hopscotch grid at the Walnut Avenue School and picked up a few  red and yellow leaves–mementos of our trip to New Jersey.

Mementos of Autumn