Sitting here killing time one keystroke after another. Now in the midst of the annual “digital clean-up” process and it is mind numbing. Part of this is making the final push to cross the finish line of the PC migration marathon. Some of it is due to massive procrastination last year (okay, maybe last TWO years) and need to get the birding folders/spreadsheets/trackers etc. updated. Then there is the standard annual rollover resets of the blog post backups and general archiving that needs to be done to keep my OCD from raging out of control (and NOBODY wants that). I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again, I need to go back to the corporate grind in order to get all my free time back! The good news is I think my North American Bird List folder (link here) is updated. That is my running gallery for the best shots of every bird on the list in case a client wants a specific species or if I want to author something someday. Even updated the left navbar with the latest count – 421 species! While I slash through minutes like Scooby through snacks, going to turn it over to Brad to bring you a North Carolina “killing” of a different sorts.
Take it away Brad…
There’s something about being warm during the winter months. Jan and I live in the middle of Illinois, so February is usually a heavy flannel month. Jan suggested we head southeast for a week to escape a bit of winter (really didn’t need much arm twisting). We also wanted to see what we could see in a new part of the country for us.
Jan and I spent a week at Myrtle Beach, SC last winter. During one of our “free” days on the trip (they are all “free” when you are retired) we headed to North Carolina since it was just up the road a piece from where we were staying. The locals all said to go to a preserve a mile or two across the state line. Our GPS was a bit confused for a while, taking us down unpaved roads to an empty lot at the edge of the water. This can’t be right. We stopped in a parking lot for a few minutes and picked a spot (on an actual map) that might actually get us to the coast, without having to stop to ask for directions. Our new destination was Sunset Beach.
After driving across the long and tall causeway bridge, we arrived in a small community of summer cottages on a narrow spit of land just a bit offshore in the Atlantic called Sunset Beach. I’m not saying it was a ghost town, but there were very few cars around, and even fewer moving about. Once I found the parking lot near the beach, I readied the cameras. Before I closed the hatch on my car, there was some movement in the sparse foliage behind me.
Hit the jump to read more about Brad (and Jan’s) adventure.
I started taking photos. This bird was wary. It wasn’t holding still very long in any one place. I thought I recognized it from when I was younger. (Imagine a wavy/spooky effects transition here for the proper flashback effect.) Across the street from where I grew up there was an empty lot. In the lot, there was a nest of small speckled eggs right on the ground amongst the weeds. I thought that was very brave considering the neighborhood was full of 9- and 10-year-olds just looking to get into summer trouble. The nest happened to stay untouched all summer, and a few small hatchlings made themselves known. The parents would chase us away with their warning call, and it sounded a lot like their name: killdeer. (OK, now a somewhat fuzzy transition back to the current time.)
That’s precisely what was watching me from the small lot next to the parking lot on Sunset Beach: a Killdeer (Charadrius vociferus). Normally, “vociferus” describes them very well — calling vehemently or clamorously. When I was younger, you could hear them calling “kill-deer kill-deer” nearly continuously. This one was silent, so Merlin was no help. I moved to the rope at the edge of the pavement, about 15 feet behind my car. I stayed on my side of the rope to give the bird some space.
I couldn’t tell at the time, but the eyes have a dark pupil with a very bright orange ring around the eye. Plus, there’s that distinctive double necklace.
Near the ocean, I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to tell this bird from the numerous small shorebirds we expected to encounter. At a quick glance, plovers look very much like a Killdeer. The Wilson’s and the Semipalmated plovers have similar coloring. But the Killdeer is the only one of this bunch with a double necklace of nearly black feathers. They also tend not to socialize with other shorebirds, a bit aloof if you ask me.
As I mentioned earlier, they nest right on the ground, often in short grass or open areas. A mated pair will raise 4-6 eggs, sometimes up to three broods per year. Incubation takes 22-28 days. As soon as the chicks’ feathers are dry, they start walking out of the nest. The chicks are some of the cutest little birds you will ever see. Sorry, I don’t have any youngling photos. A Killdeer parent will fake a broken wing to lure predators from the nest. Killdeer chicks start life with only one black breast band. Sometime during the awkward teenage years, the second black band appears as they enter adulthood.
Though Killdeer populations are declining very slowly across North America (except around the Great Lakes when they are increasing), they still insist on nesting close to humans, their greatest natural threat. The few we saw did not seem afraid of us at all. An adult Killdeer can live up to 10 years in the wild.
Killdeer can be found throughout North America and a little bit into the northern part of South America. We sometimes see them on country roads near farm fields in central Illinois. I’m sure there are some near Intrigued HQ right now.
Well, apparently that’s the end of my time photographing this bird.
Thank you for reading. If you want to see more Killdeer photos, please visit here.
Credits:
Thanks again to Jan for proofreading and editing. Thanks to Jan for some of the photos in this article.
Life Intrigued 