Is There Anything Better . . .

. . . than a ride on your first bike on a beautiful day?

Hey, Those Look Familiar

Was mucking around looking for something else when I came across these forgotten sandhill cranes from earlier this year late last year at Crex Meadows.

Another Crex Loon

Saturday at Crex Meadows

Hit the road Saturday for my first trip of the season to Crex Meadows. It's very lush up there this year, with tremendous grass and wild rice growth at Phantom Lake; the result, I was told, of the drain-down two years ago. The four osprey nesting platforms I checked were occupied, but the large natural nest at the north end of Phantom Lake Road was empty again this year. I may be full of it -- it's been known to happen -- but it looks to me like the nest has slid a few feet down the branch on which it was built. That's a shame, because it means the nest will never again be used, at least not as long as a six-inch chunk of wood is sticking up through the middle of it.

There wasn't much bird activity, but I did come across a cooperative loon just inside the sanctuary and spent most of the afternoon watching and shooting him from the road. He wasn't particularly close most of the time, but putting the 2.0x on the 500mm got me out to him. A pair of tundra swans shared the water with the loon. Late in the day they spent time rolling in the water and cleaning feathers.

Breakfast

Breakfast of champion spotted sandpipers: a dragonfly nymph.

No Joy In Cluckville?

Things must be tough in the Sharon Stiteler BirdChick BirdCluck Universe, what with her BFF Norm Coleman having lost the recount, the appeal and any respect he inexplicably had among sentient Minnesotans. I'm sure Stiteler and her dedicated posse of admirers are dealing with their emotional devastation, though. Maybe a reader of her blog can fill me in one of these days. I'd check it out myself, but I was run off by the posse a months ago for daring to criticize Stiteler's sickening pimping for Coleman.

Oof. Pardon me while I gag. After all these months, seeing Stiteler standing with that creature, a sickening grin on her face, still makes me want to vomit.

To be fair, I doubt politics entered Stiteler's head when she posed for the picture and wrote a nice post in Coleman's honor. It was just another chance to have her picture taken with a celebrity, part of her continuing self-promotion efforts. Her relentless touting of things Stiteler isn't what riles me, though. She's trying to make a buck and a name for herself, and that's okay with me. A gal's gotta make a living.

But what isn't acceptable is when someone places their responsibility to make informed and honorable political decisions behind their desire to get a silly photograph posing with a politician. And a reprehensible politician, at that. Coleman is no friend of Minnesota or the environment, having been in lockstep with the Bushies for his entire term. His behavior as a senator -- hell, as a human being -- has been shameful. He helped Bush's assault on the Constitution, the abrogation of international treaties, the utter stupidity of Bush's energy and environmental policies, and the list goes on and on.

And then there's the moronic war in Iraq. Let me put it bluntly: people are dead because of politicians like Norm Coleman and the people who supported him, hundreds of thousands of innocent Iraqis and over 4,300 American soldiers. God only knows how many Iraqis have been maimed, but we can put numbers on the toll of injured and wounded soldiers Coleman and his slimeball pals and supporters have created.

The Department of Defense reports that 45,583 Americans were wounded or injured seriously enough to require medical evacuation from Iraq from March 19, 2003, to February 28, 2009. A report to Congress says:

According to the Army Office of the Surgeon General, between September 2001 and January 12, 2009, there were 1,286 amputations in OIF, OEF, and unaffiliated conflicts. The total includes 935 major limb amputations and 351 minor amputations . . . the Military Health System (MHS) has recorded 43,779 patients who have been diagnosed with a traumatic brain injury (TBI) in calendar years 2003 through 2007. The MHS has spent an estimated $100 million on direct and purchased care for TBI patients and $10.1 million on prescription costs for all prescriptions filled after a diagnosis of TBI.1 MHS has also recorded 39,365 patients who have been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). MHS has spent an estimated $63.8 million on direct and purchased care for PTSD patients and $13.1 million on prescription costs for all prescriptions filled after a diagnosis of PTSD.

Another study puts the total number of depression and/or delayed stress syndrome victims at a staggering 300,000.

Thanks, Norm. You aren't worth a bucket of warm piss. And thanks, Birdcluck, for your support of Norm. You can decide for yourself what you're worth. I don't know how many airheads saw your post, concluded that Normie wasn't so bad after all, and voted for him out of sheer ignorance. But, since he lost by only 312 votes it wouldn't have taken many at all to cause the months-long recount or -- God forbid -- even causing him to be re-elected. Now you know that every vote counts. Next time you pose with some bag o' crap politician just so you can post the pic on your blog, think about that.

Chatty Neighbors

After a one-year hiatus, house wrens have again nested in the little home built for them by my mom-in-law Lorraine. We always set the house near the backdoor so we can observe them, and so the house photographer can have something to shoot on those lazy days when he doesn't feel like venturing out farther than the backyard.

Yesterday was one of those days. I plopped myself into the chair blind with the 500, 1.4x, extension tube, 2n, tripod, two bottles of diet Coke and three cookies, and watched the wren pair for about two hours. Their routine varied only slightly. While one was in the house, the other sat on a wind chime near the house, then made a circuit of three nearby trees and my strategically placed dead branch perch, singing lustily at each stop, before settling back down on the wind chime. I didn't time them, but eventually, after 20 minutes or so, the outside wren would sing loudly, jump over to a nearby morning glory vine and sing loudly again. The inside wren would leave the house and land on the wind chime, while the other hopped inside the house for his/her turn on the eggs. I watched them go through this cycle a half-dozen times.

Then I went into the house and took a nap, ending another strenuous photography expedition in the wilds of Woodbury, noisy wren capitol of Washington County.

Machine Gun Nick

When last seen on these pages, Nephew Nick was shooting himself in the face with his Kalashnikov bubble gun. Here he trades bursts with his aunt. Both survived, if a little sticky. Canon 5D and 300mm 2.8 non-IS.

R.I.P Old Friend

Kodak takes our Kodachrome away. Glad it was around in 1970 so I could shoot this burnout by "Dyno" Don Nicholson.

(Slide shooters will notice something wrong with the scan of the Kodachrome slide. I flipped the image in Photoshop so it wouldn't be upside down and confuse our younger, digital-only friends who never had the pleasure of putting slides in a carousel.)

Another Day . . .

. . . another trip to Carlos Avery and another shot of a common yellow throat warbler. 1D2n, 500mm with 2.0x.

Mother Nature Condemns Some Flicker Housing

A number of dead trees can be found along the north road at Carlos Avery. They are favored nesting sites for woodpeckers, especially flickers. I've even had rare sightings of redheaded woodpeckers there, although I've never gotten any photos worth sharing. Flickers, though, have provided me with hours of entertainment flying to and from their nest holes feeding their young while I fill the 2n's cards. One particular topped-out dead tree next to the road can usually be counted on the have a family in residence. That's where I got the shot below of a female feeding junior. Alas, all good things must come to an end, I guess: the remaining trunk fragment has fallen into the sedge meadow and taken it's nesting holes with it.

My Second Home?

To viewers of this blog, it might seem as if I spend half my life at the Carlos Avery refuge, cruising the roads and trails looking for a shot, or just sitting and watching the world go by. But that's untrue, despite what my spousal unit might claim. I only spend a maximum of a third of my life out there, me and my close personal buddies, the 500mm IS and 1D Mark IIn. We visited again Saturday, found little in the way of bird activity, but much in the way of soothing quietude and relaxation.

Common Yellowthroat Warbler

Nothing common about the beauty of these little birds, in my opinion. They are plentiful along the northern road at Carlos Avery.

Carlos Avery Turkey Vulture

Turkey vultures seem plentiful this year along Carlos Avery's north side. This was one of three sunning himself on a chilly morning recently.

So, What Happens If . . .

. . . I look in here and pull this trigger . . . oh.

Grandma and Nick

Nick's Big Bass

Nephew and ace angler Nick caught himself a nice bass on the last day at Lake Vermilion. That's dad Mark providing assistance, with little sister Lauren adding commentary.

Lake Vermilion Song Sparrow

Every June for the last 15 years, my spousal unit's family has been spending a week on the shores of Lake Vermilion in northern Minnesota. Because it's primarily a fishing vacation, I -- the only adult male in Minnesota who doesn't fish -- only make sporadic appearances. This was one of those years when the thought of fresh walleye frying on the stove and an Old Fashioned in a tall glass lured me to the shores of Pine Island.

Although birds were plentiful, including a pair of loons who repeatedly fished near the dock, good shooting light was hard to come by and my only keeper pics were of a song sparrow. This fella loved to hunt for insects along the rocky shoreline near the rental cottage. The dock provided a nice angle for shooting.

All from a 2n with 500/1.4x combo at ISO 500.

Popular Book Gets New Edition

Minnesota author Carrol Henderson's popular book Woodworking for Wildlife has been updated. You can BUY it at Minnesota's Bookstore, a not-for-profit that sells many books in partnership with the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources. Along with designs for 28 different nest box projects, this newly-expanded edition includes 300 color photographs and information on deterring nest predators, placing and maintaining boxes, and setting up remote cameras in nest boxes.

The 164-page book, which has a soft cover that opens flat for easy use, features new designs for great crested flycatchers, mergansers, dippers, bumblebees and toads. The ever-popular Peterson bluebird house (right) is also included.

Woodworking for Wildlife was printed in Minnesota on recycled paper manufactured in Cloquet and certified by the Forest Stewardship Council.

More Information

Female Redwings Back

Female redwings have arrived back at my favorite cattail swamp, 14 days after the first male. Canon 2n, 500mm with 1.4x, monopod, ISO 640.

Nick at Grandma's

1D2n and 85mm 1.8. 1/320, f2.2. ISO 1600.

RIP, Little Girl

Lost my best buddy over the weekend. The Little Girl succumbed to an onslaught of disease Saturday morning. She was 13. For all but eight months of those years she was my constant companion when I was in the house. She would climb on top the monitor when I sat at this computer, sit on my shoulder as I watched television, spend the night on my pillow or curled against my chest. She was a tiny little thing, never getting much above seven pounds even in the flower of her youth. She weighed only 4.4 pounds the day she died.

I loved the Little Girl without reservation. Her passing leaves a huge hole in my life.

Snow at the Feeders

We got about two inches of sticky white stuff last night in the eastern St. Paul `burbs. Not much, but the redpoles had to dig out the feeding holes in the tube to get at the nigier seed.

New Canon Public Relations Campaign

I see Canon has started a new effort to win back the hearts of minds of its customers. I think the campaign has a fair chance of succeeding, if for no other reason than it's consistent with Canon's previous efforts at responding to customer needs. Specifically targeted are owners of the Mark III.

Fox Sparrows

Fox sparrows have made an appearance in the backyard. According to my notes, this is about two weeks earlier than last year or the year before. I staked out the ground under the feeders with a 2n and 500 with 1.4x and found this guy. 1/640 @ f/8, ISO 400.

Mark's Pain, My Gain

My brother-in-law Mark ate my cleverly disguised poison and fell ill as planned suffered an unexpected relapse of an ailment that has plagued him before, and couldn't use his tickets to the Western Collegiate Hockey Association tournament last week in St. Paul. I magnanimously stepped forward to ensure the good seats were not cold and lonely.

You might conclude that the WCHA is an anti-photographer organization by the highly restrictive camera policy that prohibits anything with an interchangeable lens. In fact, I did come to that very conclusion. Fortunately, the tournament was at the Excel Center, and the folks there are about as fan and photographer friendly as you can get. Last year I carried in a D300 and 80-200 without a problem. This year I used a 5D, 135L and doubler, but the resulting 270mm isn't long enough. Next year I'll have to figure out a way to smuggle in a 300 and 1.4 after Mark once again has to miss the tournament because of his bad luck with intestinal ailments. Maybe a hollow leg or a fake baby. Or a bribe. Hey, Excel gatekeepers, let me know your thoughts.

Redwing!

A sure sign of spring: saw my first male redwing blackbird of the season this morning in the little cattail swamp near where I work.

Wishes Unfulfilled, LX-3 Hits The Market

Decided to sell my new Panasonic LX-3 (scroll down). Great little camera, best point `n shoot around. The technology in these tiny sensor cameras has improved dramatically, but the image quality just ain't there yet. So, off to Ebay she went.

I still want something small, with manual options, that shoots RAW and can be used in low light. The LX-3 met all those demands, but just didn't do it well enough to fit my DSLR-distorted tastes. Basically, I want a digital version of my old Canon Q17 rangefinder. I see that Epson has re-introduced it's RD-1 digital rangefinder, but forking over $3,000 for a body with six-year old sensor technology is just plain silly. Not as silly as paying $4,000 for the badly designed, unreliable Leica M8 digital rangefinder body, but plenty goofy for anyone who isn't rolling in the dough.

Right now I'm pinning my hopes on the oft-rumored Olympus four-thirds compact that uses the technology of the new Panasonic G1: it's mirrorless, prismless, has an electronic veiwfinder and live view, and gives you RAW and a very good contrast detect autofocus. All that and interchangeable lenses, too. Sounds good to me, and I'll probably snap one up if and when Olympus ever gets around to putting it on the market.

Caution: Profound Question Ahead

Why would anyone ever think Frank Zappa was weird?

An Old Flame Finds Her Way Back To Me

Sometime in February or March 1970, I walked into a room and fell madly in love. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Sleek and shiny, radiating an aura of adventure. I took her home, convinced we would be mates for life.

Home was two floors up in the Company A barracks at Ft. Devens, just outside of Boston. The Army Security Agency (ASA) had sent me there for a year of training that would turn me into a certified Cold Warrior, a steely-eyed manner of the ramparts, a stalwart defender of freedom, on hair trigger alert to move against the nation's enemies. Well, theoretically that's what was supposed to happen. What DID happen was that I became a barely competent electronic technician who fixed the radios, tape recorders and busted coffee percolators used in the electronic intelligence gathering biz the ASA specialized in.

The flame of love kindled that cold day at Ft. Devens was for my first 35mm camera, a Praktica Nova 1B. I was looking to upgrade from the Instamatic I carried in my pocket everywhere I went and which produced some of the crappiest images ever to grace an emulsion layer. Some remember the Instamatic fondly. I remember it as producing an endless series of fuzzy, square, poorly exposed disappointments. I wanted something better and when the Praktica became available, I bought her from a soldier who was being shipped to Japan and he had his heart set on a Nikon.

My lifelong infatuation with the Praktica lasted about two months. I sold it to help finance the acquisition of another of the most beautiful things I had ever seen, a spanking new black body Nikon Nikkormat FTn with a 50mm f/2 lens. Paid something on the order of $280 for it, which is a princely sum for a guy making $120 a month. The Praktica faded into a fond memory.

Many years later ago I started a web site devoted to my time in the ASA hoping it would be found by my fellow troopies. It's worked well and I've had a steady stream of contacts from guys I once knew in a time of my life that is now very, very far away. It also brought my old Praktica back to me.

I received an e-mail one day from someone who said he thought he knew me, but wasn't sure. Was I the guy who sold him a German camera while at Ft. Devens? he asked. Was it a Praktica with an area meter above the lens and a threaded lens mount? If it was, he still had it. The Praktica had accompanied him to duty stations in Alaska and Turkey, before being replaced when he picked up a newer and much better Minolta SLR at the PX. We had a good timed swapping stories as old soldiers are wont to do. I waxed enthusiastically about my life-long photography hobby and the role the Praktica had played in it. I offered to buy it back from him but he said no. Didn't know exactly where it was or what condition it was in, he said.

Several weeks later I came home to find a box sitting at the back door, freshly delivered by UPS. There was an envelope containing a note taped to the outside.

"I thought you might want this back," the note said. "I can't imagine it still works. I didn't use it much because of the Minolta. Enjoy."

Inside was my old friend. She had spent almost 30 years in a cardboard box in his parents' garage. My first camera love had come back to me. She's still beautiful in my eyes.

Thanks Kim.

Fake Chuck Westfall Is Free!

Some of you may recall that Fake Chuck Westfall disappeared mysteriously some time back, prompting the sheriff to drag local lakes and send bloodhound search teams bounding across the cyberscape in search of the one man brave enough to fight publicly for the honor of Canon, Inc. Said honor has suffered self-tarnishment from a series of bonehead management moves, such as charging lots of money for cameras that don't focus consistently and then refusing to acknowledge a problem even when presented with massive amounts of evidence from reputable professional shooters. And then abruptly admitting the problem and announcing a fix that didn't work, then announcing a fix for the fix that didn't work, and when that didn't completely work, either, announcing a fix for the fixed fix and then just throwing up their hands and walking away from the mess. And that was just one of several fiascoes.

When Fake Chuck fell silent, all this evidence of bulbs growing dim at Canon HQ made us to fear the worst, since rationality seemed in short supply in the executive suite. Fake Chuck has not made many friends in Tokyo by vigorously pointing out that if Canon decision makers ate their food with the same skill they apply to formulating product strategy, they'd all be blind from poking themselves in the eyes with eating utensils. It was easy to assume some high ranking God of Photography Gear at Canon HQ had been offended and retaliated with lightning bolts hurled from the clouds to smite Fake Chuck with the fury of a megagazilion watts of self-righteous vengeance. But then we received heartening evidence that Fake Chuck was alive and, although battered from being repeatedly thrown to the floor.

Now we know that Fake Chuck was kidnapped by the notorious legal gang Lube and Lube, who issued a series of demands that were to be met . . . or else they'd take Fake Chuck to the legal woodshed for an attitude adjustment. I'm happy to report that the demands have indeed been met, a few minor changes were made to Fake Chuck's blog, and he has been released unharmed.


But the story isn't over. An effort is underway to paint Fake Chuck as a rogue who is smearing the real Chuck Westfall. Real Chuck is by all accounts a good guy, uniformly liked and respected by anyone who has dealt with him. The public relations counter attack is spearheaded by a commenter named "tt." tt, now joined by others, insists repeatedly and against all logic that Fake Chuck is personally attacking Real Chuck. That claim is, as we say in polite society, a steaming pile of horseshit.

tt is a concern troll pretending to be full of righteous indignation over the alleged treatment of Real Chuck. What he is really trying to do is deflect the issue away from Canon’s behavior and paint this as an unfair assault on an innocent bystander. It's a standard issue propaganda tactic: if you can't win the debate on merit, change the topic and start lying. If you repeat a lie long enough, some people will believe the lie and ignore the truth.

The recipe has a good chance of succeeding. Real Chuck's reputation is stellar and people like him. Mix in Canon fan boys who think their brand can do no wrong, add a dash of arrogance from people who don't read Fake Chuck's blog but who will nevertheless offer an opinion on what it says, top it all off with a dollop of stupid, and simmer. Before we know it, up will be down, we will have always been at war with Eurasia, and an alternate reality will have been created in which Fake chuck is being mean to Real Chuck and no one remembers what Fake Chuck's posts were really about.

One Bright Spot In A Dreary Winter

Haven't had much to get excited about this winter, photographically speaking. Mother Nature has waged a crappy weather jihad; either the sun isn't shining or it's so cold dogs are freezing to fire hydrants or I slip on ice in my own driveway and sprain an ankle, relegating me to moping about the house for three weeks. And now, although I can't blame Ma Nature for it, my favorite eagle stalking spot has frozen over after Excel shut down the nearby power plant for maintenance. Woe, you have been my constant companion during these dark months.

But at least one good thing happened this winter when large numbers of common redpolls took up residence in the neighborhood and hung out at our feeders. This is the first time they've chosen to winter in our immediate area. I really like these little guys. They've always obliged when I've needed a quick bird photography fix but was unable for whatever reason to venture further than the backyard.

Get Well, Nancy

Nancy, a familiar and friendly face to anyone who frequents Bongiorno's in St. Paul, is ailing. Get well soon, babe.

Nothing Good Will Come Of This