01 Jun Hitchhikers
I considered the faint scratching sounds I heard, but I kept my lens trained out my jeep window at a Wilson’s Snipe that had finally emerged from thick marsh grasses onto the mud flats at the Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge. I’d been diligently waiting for this moment for quite some time so I refused to be distracted as the little bird raced to a mangrove sapling where it probed its bill into the maze of prop roots, yet my mind pondered the scratching sounds. Did I have company?
When the snipe momentarily disappeared around the back of the tree, I stole a glance out my windshield. I saw nothing. Yet as I refocused on the secretive snipe so unusually unobscured, the decibels increased from subtle scratching to clawing to a desperate scrambling that sounded as if something would land in my lap at any moment. I maintained focus on the snipe until my subject once again disappeared from view, then turned to find myself staring through my windshield at a cattle egret. We held each other’s gaze a moment, then the egret returned to scuttling along the grill gutter at the base of my windshield.
Had a dream so unimaginable I hadn’t even previously considered it just come true? Had I somehow gained some new bird-attracting ability? Just the week before a great white heron had flown across Biscayne Bay to land on the rail of my boat. It had eyed me a while, then moved to the bow where it had sat contentedly for at least half an hour as I finished lunch. Two bird hitchhikers in two weeks felt like a sign. Perhaps word was out in the bird community that I needed to photograph them for my upcoming Birds of Florida Helm wildlife photographic guide for Bloomsbury Publishing and the birds were coming to my aid. I bemused myself with the idea that birds might present themselves so readily for portraiture for a mere fraction of a second before unsuccessfully searching nearby reeds for a Virginia rail I heard calling.
I likely would’ve forgotten the fleeting thought entirely if it weren’t for more scratching sounds another week later at the St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. I’d been photographing sparrows since dawn and was preparing a belated breakfast at the back of my open vehicle when I heard the scratching. I paused, bagel in one hand and cream cheesed knife still in the other as I shifted my gaze to the windshield. I saw nothing but I exchanged my half-prepared meal for my camera as the familiar sound grew louder. As the sound crescendoed, an eastern towhee head popped up from the same grill gutter the cattle egret had scuttled across the last week. Maybe the birds were indeed on my side.
I watched as the towhee hopped along the gutter, then jumped onto my side mirror. It glanced down, then became irate at the mirrored bird staring back at it. It hopped down to my door for a better view, then flared out its feathers and lunged at the equally aggressive bird in the mirror. As the belligerence escalated, I noticed a female towhee emerge from a nearby bush. While I had pictures of a male already, I still needed a female. I snuck around the car for a clear shot. As I took one last step into place, the male noticed his partner out in full view. I suspect he was protecting her from the reflected male he’d just been fending off rather than from me but the end result was the same – he scolded her into the bushes and I didn’t get the shot.
For the next half an hour or so, the male towhee bounced between my windshield grill, the sideview mirror and anywhere the female might try to make an appearance, shooing her back into thick shrubbery at every opportunity. There could be little doubt that this male towhee wasn’t on my side and any shred of hope that I might’ve gained some bird-attracting ability was dashed as a second vehicle parked nearby. The towhee immediately abandoned my car for the larger, more insect-covered grill of the newly arrived pick-up truck. As it plucked a giant moth from this new grill, I faced the reality that all of these hitchhikers had seen me as little more than a potential meal provider. The cattle egret too had abandoned my car for another after scouring my grill several minutes for squashed insects, moving on to the unharvested hood once available. Even the great white heron had arrived as I ate lunch, probably hoping I had a tasty morsel to share or better yet, was one of those generous Biscayne Bay fishermen that might toss some bait its way. As if to make me feel better, a metallic wood borer beetle landed on my arm despite the fact that I had no food to offer. What else could I do but take its picture?
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