Posts Tagged Wildlife
Apparently she wanted to use the bird feeder atop the post festooned with plastic squirrel deterrence. Not being Elastigirl, she couldn’t quite stretch from rail to feeder, eventually gave up trying, and flapped to the driveway.
We’ve been turkey-watching for nearly two decades, it’s been eight years since we saw a turkey on the patio, and a few days after I set up the yard camera, shazam, this bird shows off for my friend in Raleigh while I’m in the Basement Laboratory. I’m insane with jealousy.
In point of fact, turkeys seem perfectly aware of people inside the house, so it’s not surprising they avoid the patio. When we move close to a window, the flock decides it has business elsewhere and, generally without haste or confusion, flows over the hill and away.
Obviously, I must set up motion detection and capture some images …
This must feel soooo good:
Just close your eyes and soak up the warmth of the sun:
Turkey vultures look imposing, even with all that flight hardware tucked away:
However, I think this is a low-status bird, because those splashes on the left wing look a lot like bird crap…
Taken with the DSC-H5, zoomed all the way tight with the 1.7× teleadapter, handheld on a lovely sunny day.
Update: Because I write these posts a few days in advance of their appearance, I didn’t know yesterday’s weather would look like this:
That’s a screenshot from a Raspberry Pi streaming camera I set up so a friend in North Carolina could gloat.
I suppose the vultures huddle in a tree, as do the turkeys, and await better flying conditions.
Enjoy the sun while it shines!
After months of attempts and (occasionally) spectacular failures, one of the backyard squirrels managed to climb aboard the bird feeder:
The shutter closes when more than two cardinals and a titmouse perch on the wood bar, so the squirrel didn’t get anything. However, back in 2008, one of that critter’s ancestors mastered the trick:
Since then, I’ve raised the feeder about five feet and inverted a big pot over two feet of loose PVC pipe around the pole.
Given the number of squirrel-training videos on Youtube, however, it’s only a matter of time until the critters put all the tricks together!
These guys looked completely disgusted with the situation:
They’re about 130 feet away in a heavy snowstorm that eventually deposited about a foot of wet snow on the area.
The top rail really does slant downward: the tenon on the right end broke and fell out of the mortise.
The DSC-H5 carries the 1.7× teleadapter, zoomed all the way tight through two layers of 1955-ish window glass, hand-held, braced against the pane.
The day before that snowstorm, we biked 18 miles out-and-back over the Walkway in beautiful, sunny, mid-50s (°F) weather:
We ride when we can and shovel when we must!
A turkey flock forages through the bottomlands along the Wappinger Creek and, at night, roosts in the trees at the far end of our driveway:
I’m a sucker for that moon:
It’s rising into the eastward-bound cloud cover bringing a light snowfall, so we missed the penumbral eclipse.
If you’re counting turkeys, it’s easier with a contrasty IR image:
Mary recently counted forty turkeys on the ground, so that’s just part of their flock. I think their air boss assigns one turkey per branch for safety; they weigh upwards of 10 pounds each!
Taken with the DSC-H5 and DSC-F717, both the the 1.7× teleadapter, hand-held in cold weather.
Although we don’t think of this as a particularly tough neighborhood, this is the second severed head we’ve encountered in the last few years during our routine walks:
We doubt a predator would do such a tidy job of parting the head from the body, then discarding it. The eyes surely went to a bird, though…
It was across the Mighty Wappinger Creek, near the far end of Romca Rd. The Red Oaks Mill Civic Association is long gone and their building burned to the ground a few decades ago, but their name lives on.
This red squirrel has the reddest tail of all:
Those white eye rings help carry off the whole “insufferably cute” thing:
We often see them scampering through the pine treee out back, where they pause to strip the seeds off unopened pine cones and toss the empties on the driveway.
Taken through two layers of wavy 1955-era glass with the Sony DSC-H5.