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Join photographer and wildlife author Scott Leslie on a journey to the majestic island of Newfoundland (The Far East of the Western World) to capture wonderful photographs of North Atlantic seabirds. Scott and Paula Leslie have lived in Atlantic Canada … Continue reading
The defining characteristic of the true seabirds is their nomadic life at sea. They are as much creatures of the oceans as are whales and fish. Although largely species of the sky and the surface of the sea, seabirds’ stock-in-trade is the ability to exploit prey living on or just beneath the surface. Some birds, such as the auks, gannets and a few of the sea ducks take this notion a step further. By using highly efficient diving techniques to extend their effective habitat well below the surface, they penetrate deeply into the sea (up to 600 feet in the case of the common murre) to capture prey. They are truly marine creatures.
During migration and in the winter, many marine birds will spread out across the Northern Hemisphere. (Some, such as the sooty shearwater, wander both hemispheres.) Ocean habitats are occupied in much the same way that terrestrial birds occupy different niches on land. At one extreme are the shearwaters, fulmars, albatross and petrels that wander far from land over the high seas. They are nomads of the vast oceanic wilderness, routinely covering tens of thousands of square miles during the non-breeding season in their search for ephemeral food supplies such as surface-schooling fish and squid. At the other end of the spectrum are gulls, terns and shorebirds that grace the coasts, rarely traveling more than a few miles from shore. That is not to say, however, that some of these coastal species don’t cover enormous distances as well—the Arctic tern is the champion of long-distance migrants, journeying up to 25,000 miles in one year. For thousands of years these species have been evolving as they adapt to the changes that have taken place in both the marine and coastal environment.
In the past, seabirds and coastal birds have survived long-term fluctuations of ocean and air temperatures, ocean currents, sea levels and sea ice cover. Each of these changes can affect the availability of food and hence the energy birds need to expend to find it, the suitability of colony locations, the timing of the breeding season and overall reproductive success. But birds have been around for millions of years; they are resilient and adaptive and such natural vicissitudes have been enfolded into their genes through thousands of generations of evolution through natural selection. In the past, however, these changes generally occurred slowly enough (usually over thousands of years or longer) to allow birds to adapt and extinctions were quite a rare occurrence.
The challenge now facing all marine species, whether birds, fish, mammals or even invertebrates, is the speed at which changes appear to be occurring in the ocean. The timescale for global change that was once on the order of millennia or longer has been replaced by one of much shorter duration, on the scale of decades. In other words, global warming promises to accomplish in just a few generations what used to take nature thousands of years to produce. On top of climate change, we are removing fish from the oceans at an unprecedented rate—fish that are an integral part of many of the same ecosystems that birds rely on. We also add enormous amounts of pollutants to the oceans. There is certainly no shortage of challenges facing seabirds and coastal birds. And we shouldn’t take too much comfort in the fact that they have survived the countless volleys that have been thrown at them by nature over the eons, because this time it’s different.
Back on Cape St. Mary’s, the sun had burned off the fog, revealing an infinite blue sea and sky speckled by whitecaps and white clouds; spectacular cliffs topped by a verdant green coastal heath that seems to go on for miles and miles; and, of course, the birds. Some 70,000 of them on the cliffs, in the swells and in the air. A swarm of five thousand gannets wheeled above the colony, a spattering of brilliant white specks on a canvas of blue. Pink moss campion, golden heather and other Arctic-alpine plants grew in profusion on a blanket of trailing juniper and black crowberry that covered the headlands behind the birds. Nobody really knows how long the colony at Cape St. Mary’s, or any other present-day seabird colony, has been around. But, standing in such a place and watching in awe this thriving city of birds at the edge of a continent, it was easy to imagine that it had always been here, and that it always will be.
Northern Gannet and Chick
Gannet Colony Cape St. Mary's
Because of the concentrated nature of such colonies, naturalists and scientists have been able to closely study many seabird and coastal bird species over the decades. Such long-term studies have meant that the breeding biology of many species is well known, although much the birds’ natural history in the non-breeding season—when they are at sea—is not well understood. This has also meant that population counts can be done at individual colonies so year by year comparisons can be made to determine the trend of seabird populations and the ecosystems that support them.
Unfortunately, the traits that have made these birds so well adapted to their ocean and coastal environments have also made them vulnerable to declines and possible extinction. Worldwide, of the 217 species of birds that have become extinct over the past 400 years, over 200 were on islands. Currently, nearly two-thirds of all threatened bird species live on islands.
Due to their strong loyalty to a particular breeding site, most seabirds are drawn like magnets, year after year, to specific nesting colonies and adapt only slowly to changes in the suitability of these locations. Even if breeding grounds are no longer suitable, such as when important prey species in the waters surrounding them decline or collapse, the birds will often continue to return, despite negative consequences such as reduced success in rearing the young due to a lack of food. The islands, beaches and dune areas that are ideal nesting sites for seabirds and coastal birds are often also coveted by humans (especially in places along the eastern seaboard of the U.S. and the California coast where the human population, and the development pressure, are greatest). Approximately half of all wild coastlines and islands are likely to be developed as our numbers continue to grow. Because of this, many prime breeding, migratory and wintering habitats may be degraded or destroyed outright.
Birds that breed in large colonies on offshore islands in more northerly regions such as the North Atlantic and North Pacific may be not be threatened by direct development, but they are susceptible to other human activities. One look at the tragic tale of the great auk will confirm this. At one time, the great auk was abundant throughout the North Atlantic. This giant, flightless seabird (the only flightless bird in the Northern Hemisphere) stood nearly 3 feet tall and lived exclusively on offshore islands. Hunting and egg collecting by fishermen and sailors wiped the species out by the mid-1800s. It was mercilessly exploited and is little more than a memory now. Puffins, murres and other auks were also exploited, but fortunately they were more numerous to begin with and are still with us, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. Killing seabirds (or taking their eggs) was like shooting fish in a barrel, since the birds were, in essence, “captive” on their breeding site and could be quite easily preyed upon by humans. People who settled on offshore islands also brought destructive animals with them, often not knowing the impact their pets or livestock would have on the island’s ecosystem. Rats and other pests also arrived as stowaways on ships and fishing boats. These introduced species would often wreak more damage on seabird populations than deliberate exploitation by humans and they continue to do so today on many islands.
Northern Gannet in Flight Cape St. Mary's, Newfoundland
Black-legged Kittiwakes at the Nest, Cape St. Mary's Newfoundland
On all these shores there are echoes of past and future; of the flow of time,
obliterating yet containing all that has gone before; of the sea’s eternal rhythms—the tides, the beat of the surf,
the pressing rivers of the currents—shaping, changing, dominating;
of the stream of life, flowing as inexorably as any ocean current, from past to unknown future.
—Rachel Carson
The wind-driven fog swirled around me as I approached Cape St. Mary’s on a typical July day on the island of Newfoundland. I could hear and smell my fog-obscured destination well before I could see it. The rising, chortling din of gannets, the cries of kittiwakes and the muffled groans of murres were music to my ears. The pungent, yet not unpleasant, odor of tons of accumulated guano triggered a visceral memory of this seabird city in the North Atlantic. Not until I reached the cliff could I see the eagle-sized gannets circling through the fog overhead. Hundreds of them wheeled above thousands more that were tending to their chicks atop a precipitous sea stack. Swarms of black-legged kittwakes cried their namesake kittiwake-kittiwake call as they arrived at cliff-face nests with food for their chicks, while others set off to sea to look for more. Each followed a careful flight path to avoid colliding with the much larger and less maneuverable gannets. (They never seem to collide!) Common and thick-billed murres came and went from the lower cliffs, little black and white aerial torpedoes on whirring wings. Several wily ravens patrolled the cliff-face in search of an unattended kittiwake or murre chick to eat, while North Atlantic waves broke 300 feet below me on the shore.
Every summer, seabirds are drawn from around the ocean to colonies like this one. When the urge to breed calls, they leave the relatively solitary life of an ocean traveller behind to become urbanites in a densely packed, bustling city of birds. In contrast to most land birds, which tend to disperse widely through their appropriate habitats during the breeding season, ocean birds tend to congregate at relatively few nesting sites. (Shorebirds generally work just the opposite way, breeding over wide areas while congregating at a relatively few, crucial feeding areas during migration. Sea ducks tend to be quite dispersed at all times of year though they will often form flocks in winter.)
Of course, breeding colonies are not located randomly, and such concentrated gatherings wouldn’t exist if they didn’t provide some benefit for the birds. First and foremost, nesting seabirds must be reasonably close to a reliable, easily accessible food supply, so they can feed their young frequently. For instance, the small fish known as sand lance have been historically abundant in the waters off puffin and kittiwake colonies in the both the Atlantic and the Pacific, providing those birds with a dependable food source. Sites that are chosen for colonies must also have the right physical geography for nesting, such as appropriate cliff ledges for kittiwakes or thick sod for puffins to burrow in. They must have also enough space for multiple nesting pairs, since, with the general exception of shorebirds, nearly all seabirds and coastal birds are colonial. Nesting sites must also be inaccessible to mammals that would wreak havoc on a colony as they prey on eggs and birds, hence the preference for islands or difficult-to-reach cliffs and headlands.
Cape St. Mary's Seabird Colony at the Eastern Edge of North America
Gannets Over Colony, Capoe St. Mary's Newfoundland
Be alert to your surroundings.
If you’ve ever gone birdwatching with an expert birder (perhaps you are one yourself) you’ve no doubt noticed how they can pick out the faintest flash of colour in the trees or notice sundry bird sounds you weren’t aware of in the background. They are tuned in.
As a photographer it is often best to think like a tracker who is reading the surroundings for evidence of wildlife and using every sensory means (especially sight and sound) at his disposal so as to not miss anything. Everyone has the ability to heighten awareness in this way. Do a quick experiment. Hold your two index fingers at arms-length in front of your face and begin wiggling them. Now slowly move your arms to the side while looking straight ahead. Without looking at them, simply pay attention to both of your wiggling fingers as they move farther and farther to the side. Amazingly, you’ll be able to sense the movement over an angle almost 180degrees! Such a wide visual field helped warn us of predators in pre-historic times and enabled us to find potential prey of our own. This same physiological advantage can be used when we are in the field photographing birds.
The trick to becoming more aware of the things that our eyes actually see (but don’t necessarily register in our consciousness) is to relax the mind and focus attention on your immediate environment, paying attention to your whole visual field and not just what’s in front of you. If you practice this a little, after a while you’ll be noticing more bird life than you did in the past.
To help improve visual awareness of your surroundings and reduce the level of noise you make as you walk through birds’ habitats, try holding a level gaze rather than looking at the ground directly in front of you while being aware of the weight of your foot falls. While quietly walking, constantly scan the habitat you are in, sweeping your eyes over the near and middle-distant landscape to look for the movement, colour, and shapes of birds, while opening your attention to any movement that may occur in your peripheral field. While most people’s attention will be focused on a relatively narrow “tunnel” immediately in front of them, your view will have expanded to almost 180 degrees and you will spot a lot more potential subjects to photograph!
Hearing, like sight, is a crucial part of photographic field craft. Because birds are the most vocal wildlife generally, your ability to tune into the sounds they produce can mean the difference between finding a subject to photograph or not. In some ways our perception of sound works the same way as visual perception. As with seeing, we tend to hear only what we are “focusing” on at any given time while subconsciously filtering out other sounds. As well, sounds in nature often occur in “layers” depending how loud or close they are. Layered beneath the obvious surface sounds such as a crow cawing are distant calls and songs (or even the flutter of wings) that may go unnoticed. As with sight, our ability to hear birds better can be improved by practicing a relaxed auditory awareness of our surroundings.
The ability to employ these skills will help you enjoy your experience in the filed with birds as you become aware of the ceaseless activity and diverse bird life found in areas that at first glance may not appear too promising as a good photo location. Few photographers can travel the world, visiting all the hotspots where birds gather reliably and in great numbers. But if you learn to tune in your senses to whatever surroundings you are in at the moment with your camera, you can make most places a hot spot.
Common Snipe at Edge of Cattail Marsh
American Goldfinch in Blossoming Cherry
Be patient, be aware, and learn.
I had been having a frustrating day working in the marsh. Birds weren’t cooperating, the wind had come up, and it had started to rain. Enough was enough. After several hours waiting patiently in a blind while fighting off mosquitoes, I decided to call it quits. Just as I began heading back across the large marsh, I noticed a black skimmer flying low across the water toward me. Just then, the low evening sun burst through the clouds to improve the light, just as the skimmer dipped its lower mandible into the glassy water in search of little fish. I followed with my lightweight 400mm lens. The skimmer flew by, light as a butterfly on its long, thin wings, allowing me to photograph her flight against a perfect background. I shot two or three frames. I quickly reviewed the images on the back of my digital SLR and let out a “whoop” when I saw that I had captured the bird perfectly. Boy, was I glad I hadn’t given up just five minutes earlier. That’s the thing about photography, especially wildlife photography: some of the best images are made when you’ve gone a little past your “limit” and you make a conscious decision to stick it out for just a few more minutes.
I think it can be safely said that “good things come to he or she who waits”. No maxim rings more true in wildlife photography. When photographers go into the field to photograph wildlife they go with an idea of what they would like to achieve, but, like a student of zen, or a keen naturalist, they must be alert and receptive to a surrounding world whose agenda is quite unpredictable in its minute details. So, it’s all about waiting and watching. Photographers can plan for the predictable big things; sunrise and sunset, autumn colours, spring blossoms, etc. But the special events that we capture are often not predictable to any real degree. Where will the skimmer or gannet pass next? When will that raft of ducks burst into flight, allowing us to capture them just as they leave the water? When will the warblers be feeding in the sumac tree that is so beautiful? These are small events, unpredictable and brief. But with patience and awareness, we can prepare for these unpredicted events. As the Greek philosopher Heraclitus said: “If you do not expect it, you will not find the unexpected…” Expect the unexpected!
As bird photographers we must learn as much as possible about the subjects we photograph. This knowledge enables us to know where to focus our attention while photographing. Knowing the behaviour, habitats, and daily cycles of birds tunes us in to their lives and enables us to make an educated guess what they’ll do next. Just the same, often what we thought would happen doesn’t happen when we expect it, so hanging in there a little longer might allow us to get the perfect shot whether we expect to get it or not! This approach has especially helped me with my flight photography of small birds that are particularly unpredictable. In my next post I will talk about improving awareness of the wildlife around you to get better pictures.
Black skimmer feeding at dusk, Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge
Tree swallow hunting insects, Avalon Peninsula, Newfoundland
Frogs have survived a lot of stuff to get to where they are today, having witnessed many of planet Earth’s most violent doomsday events over the past 300 million years. First, the Permian extinction that wiped out 95% of life in the oceans and 70% of life on land 251 million years ago. Known as the “mother of all mass extinctions” this low point in the history of life appears to have been caused by an asteroid slamming into the Earth or global volcanic activity, or both. Then, beginning just a little later in geologic terms, the tectonic shift of the Earth’s land masses caused the coming together and later splitting up again of the super continent Pangaea, 250 million and 175 million years ago respectively. After that, a momentous meteor impact rang the Earth like a bell, ending the reign of the dinosaurs 65 million years ago. And last but not least, just 10 millennia past, the planet was shivering through a massive ice age. Somehow, frogs got through all of this, and today there are nearly 5000 species of them as proof.
But, for all their staying power in the face of such global cataclysms, frogs may have met their match in the form of a much smaller foe: a fungus whose diameter is about half the thickness of a human hair. First identified only in 1998, this mortal enemy of frogs, known as chytrid fungus, infects their unique skin, a highly porous membrane that helps them breathe and hydrate. The fungus blocks these functions, especially when infecting an area on the belly known as the “drink patch” where frogs take in water and essential nutrients known as electrolytes (sodium, potassium, magnesium, etc.). This often results in the quick death of the animal, though curiously, for some reason, certain species seem to have resistance to the fungus and are able to survive.
Scientists think chytrid fungus may have started to gain epidemic proportions at least as early as the 1970′s, and might be responsible for more than one hundred extinctions of frog species since then. The disease is found in South, Central, and North America, the Caribbean, Australia, and Europe. Today over 350 kinds of frogs are confirmed to be infected worldwide, with another thousand or so that are susceptible. That’s nearly one-third of all species. Although habitat destruction is still the largest threat to the survival of frogs worldwide, this disease is such a serious problem that an International Union for the Conservation of Nature report in 2007 stated that chytrid fungus may be “the worst infectious disease ever recorded among vertebrates in terms of the number of species impacted, and it’s propensity to drive them to extinction” .
Perhaps unsurprisingly, climate change might be involved in the severe nature of the epidemic and its spread, because warmer temperatures might play a role in weakening the resistance of frog to the disease. Unfortunately, despite much research, nobody yet knows (as of early 2011) how to effectively stop the spread of chytrid fungus or how to treat those species already infected.
Next time you photograph a frog, post its picture on Facebook, Twitter, or your own personal blog and tell everyone about what our amphibian friends are facing.
A mink frog poking its head through a hole in a lily pad
A bronze frog floatingat the surface of a Nova Scotia pond
Standing up here on the hill away from all humans – seeing these Wonders taking place before one’s eyes-so silently-it is queer to feel that beyond the hills there are Humans astir-&- just the reverse of what one feels in watching the silence of Nature. -No school-no church-is as good a teacher as the eye understandingly seeing what’s before it-I believe this more firmly than ever. – Alfred Stieglitz
As the world becomes more and more urbanized, fewer people have any real contact with wild nature, whether it’s wildlife or landscapes. For most, the “environment” is defined by their daily commute, their workplace, and their homes. The processes that keep the living planet chugging along are all but invisible. Yet, the complex interactions between the Earth’s physical systems and its living ones continue to go on as they have for billions of years. As nature photographers, we create images that can act as stand-ins for real nature and its critical and ageless processes. Though our photographs are mere facsimiles of the natural world, they are nevertheless the only contact that millions of people have with the beautiful and breath-taking world that exists outside our cities. This is important because our photographs help maintain at least a thread of connection to world whose continued healthy functioning is vital to humans and every other species with which we share the Earth.
Moonrise over Atlantic, Cape Breton Island, October 2011
Whether we create images of sweeping landscapes or seascapes, or intimate studies of insects and flowers, or dynamic photos of birds and wildlife, we are to varying degrees forming relationships with those things we record. This is one of the bonuses of being a photographer: you expand your own connectedness with the world as your photographs can help expand others’.
Moon, Atlantic and Rocks, Cape Breton Island, October 2011
Atlantic puffins
A great day to launch our Blog and introduce our photo workshop in Newfoundland, August 2012. Under constructions, details to follow…
Northern gannet in flight , so close it was photographed with a 28mm lens!
