Bobolink

It was an exciting time, but I think it may have passed. I was the lucky first to identify the presence of a bobolink (Dolichonyx oryzivorus) -- a bird of the eastern US and southern Canada -- in San Francisco last week. I posted it to SFBirds, the city's online birding bulletin board, and a flood of observers came to see it. It felt good to be the inspiration for many people to get out and experience nature. I often read the SFBirds postings but rarely contribute anything notable. This was by far the most unusual bird I've ever reported. 

I got the photo below with a borrowed long lens and my film camera body on a return visit to the site.

Bobolink at Crissy Field, San Francisco, May 20, 2012.

I first saw and posted it Thursday, 5/17.  I was leading a class for volunteers, an introductory birding class. I was only trying to point out the differences in feather iridescence on brown-headed cowbirds versus Brewer's blackbirds, when suddenly... whammo, my heart stopped. What was this bird I recognized from the prairies of Illinois doing...here? Was it really a bobolink? How rare is that here? The group was patient with me and my sort of crazed desire to photograph the bird. I was actually trembling and probably nonsensical for a while.

I got the following picture through our spotting scope with the digital point-and-shoot that I borrowed from Cate, an intern with our program (thanks again, Cate!). I pointed it through our spotting scope (I "digiscoped" it) and snapped a few pictures. If no other birders would have arrived and successfully viewed it, this image would have been the one to prove the bird's presence that day to the world.

Digiscoped Bobolink at Crissy Field, San Francisco, May 17, 2012,

 

I returned Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday with success in relocating it. It was actually easy to find, since three out of four of those times it was in the sights of birders on the scene. Some had binocs, some had spotting scopes, others had expensive camera equipment or all of the above. The other of those days, the birders searching for it were out of luck, but we all joined forces and happened to find it within about 2 minutes. One woman said, "We've been here for an hour, and you just show up and find it!?!" My coworker Coty, who joined me to photograph it, heard my comment, "Well, it is 'my' bird." 

I looked for it again Tuesday, Wednesday, and yesterday (Thu) and failed to find it, each time with other birders, and nobody has posted its presence since Tuesday.  Although another coworker told me his friend saw it Wednesday the 23rd. Perhaps it's left, perhaps it's just undetectable. Even when there, he was often hard to see: he spent its time low in the low-mowed turfgrass, poking  his head up occasionally and seldom flying. 

Based on the above two photos, you might be thinking: "Couldn't you just find the blue flag and then locate the bird?" Uh, nope, there were hundreds of these flags out to demarcate various things.

Bobolink viewers at Crissy Field, May 18, 2012.

Starting last weekend, Crissy Field has seen much activity -- the setup of stages, tents, kiosks, signage, and batteries of port-a-potties -- in anticipation of the Golden Gate Bridge's 75th anniversary coming this weekend. An crowd of 300,000 to 500,000 (or more?) visitors is expected. The lawn is no longer a large contiguous swath, which probably was part of the reason it was so appealing for the bird. It had lots of area to cover, with plenty of distance to view approaching predators.  And it seemed to be munching on Poa and unopened dandelion blossoms, which seemed abundant enough at Crissy to feed the entire North American population of bobolinks.

Many people have asked what it was doing here. I have no idea, but can only speculate that it got knocked off-course over its migration path. This bird is a champion of migration, covering over 10,000 round-trip miles each year to travel between its wintering grounds in central South America (the Pampas of southern Brazil and surrounding parts of Argentina and Paraguay) and Eastern North America. It hopscotches through the western Caribbean, probably flying the 500 miles directly north to Cuba in one leap. It migrates in flocks with a thousand other bobolinks and generally makes landfall in Louisiana or Florida, then continues north along the Atlantic states. Read some interesting anecdotes, including a report of one landing on open ocean, here.

There is a small breeding population of bobolink about 160 miles NE of San Francisco, near a town called Eagleville in Surprise Valley. Was this one of those birds? 

It was enjoyable to have this bird visit. I will be volunteering tomorrow to give people directions for the "GGB75" event, but hopefully I'll be pointing out this still-present, rare SF bird to people, rather than the bridge or the thousand port-a-potties.

Listen to its song (great footage starting at about 1:20 and 3:30), after which the bird is named, then check out this dedication to the bird:

Robert of Lincoln

William Cullen Bryant (1794–1878)

Merrly swinging on brier and weed,

Near to the nest of his little dame,

Over the mountain-side or mead,

Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Snug and safe is that nest of ours,

Hidden among the summer flowers.

Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,

Wearing a bright black wedding-coat;

White are his shoulders and white his crest.

Hear him call in his merry note:

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Look, what a nice new coat is mine,

Sure there was never a bird so fine.

Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln’s Quaker wife,

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,

Passing at home a patient life,

Broods in the grass while her husband sings:

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Brood, kind creature; you need not fear

Thieves and robbers while I am here.

Chee, chee, chee. 

Modest and shy as a nun is she;

One weak chirp is her only note.

Braggart and prince of braggarts is he,

Pouring boasts from his little throat;

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Never was I afraid of man;

Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can!

Chee, chee, chee.

Six white eggs on a bed of hay,

Flecked with purple, a pretty sight!

There as the mother sits all day,

Robert is singing with all his might:

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Nice good wife, that never goes out,

Keeping house while I frolic about.

Chee, chee, chee.

Soon as the little ones chip the shell,

Six wide mouths are open for food;

Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,

Gathering seeds for the hungry brood.

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

This new life is likely to be

Hard for a gay young fellow like me.

Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln at length is made

Sober with work, and silent with care;

Off is his holiday garment laid,

Half forgotten that merry air:

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Nobody knows but my mate and I

Where our nest and our nestlings lie.

Chee, chee, chee. 

Summer wanes; the children are grown;

Fun and frolic no more he knows;

Robert of Lincoln’s a humdrum crone;

Off he flies, and we sing as he goes:

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

When you can pipe that merry old strain,

Robert of Lincoln, come back again.

Chee, chee, chee.