Vagrant

Today, eBird announced a revision of their histograms. And while its since to see them working on improvements, this particular feature improvement wasn’t the best. Most notably, they added more bar widths to their scheme. Why more widths? In my book, this makes it harder to discern what “category” a given line width is in. Formerly, there were five line widths. I thought this was suitable. Now there are nine and I think its harder to read.

If you look at the new legend, it begs the question, “Why not just use an unclassified, stretched legend?” There is practically little difference at this point. It’s doubtful that anyone is going to discern that much more information out of a bar width when it’s barely 0.5 mm thicker. On my monitor, the largest category is 4mm and the smallest just under 0.5mm. Our visual acuity can not do much better than that, yet this scaling would seem to indicate that we can. I’m sure psychophysicists applying the Just Noticeable Difference threshold would agree.

All of this is especially true considering the fact that there are no explicit categories for these bar widths. They range from “rare” to “widespread.” Anyone with any experience in bird distributions knows that the curve is anything but linear. There are vagrants, accidentals, and casual species. There are residents, migrants, transients, and visitors. Some species are ubiquitous throughout, others stage in large groups.

Why not stick with five categories? Rare. Uncommon. Regular. Common. Widespread. This way matching the histogram to the legend has meaning at both the visual and conceptual levels. This is one case where less is better and more just makes things a mess.

As a cartographer, you’re taught to stick to five categories for sequential quantitative schemes. Otherwise, the differences between the classes become too hard to tell apart and information in the map gets muddled. This addition of bar chart categories seems like violation of that principle. ColorBrewer doesn’t let you create color schemes for more than nine classes. I’m sure the same thing should apply to bar widths, considering how small distances used are in the first place.

What would seem to be smart to me would be to dual-encode the legend, making value pre-attentive for two visual variables. It would look something like these:

Either of these seem like an improvement over the current eBird version. Dual-encoding will make parsing abundance differences twice as easy. Also, they relate the values on the legend to conceptions of the values. This could be extended further by linking these values directly to checklist abundance numbers.  Then they would have the same legend as the maps eBird produces, allowing easy comparison and relation.

I’ve never understood why the histogram uses two dimensions to map the same amount. That seems like a waste of digital data-ink space. You could put so much more information on the screen if you cut the bar widths in half in the first place. Then these graphs would edge closer to Tufte’s hallowed micro/macro emergence principle.

Why am I noticing this? Because design matters and people purveying data often forget that. It’s also probably because the people purveying data aren’t trained in designing data. Or at least, they’re not letting data designers handle that aspect. And as a result, using the data becomes more difficult, unwieldy and inefficient.

The dam is bursting. Nocturnal migration was intense last night. Calm winds let the birds fly. Tonight, strong south winds and an approaching front. Reports from downstate are promising and the conditions are lining up for really,  really good birding. Coinciding with this, a big day. Jake Musser and myself are going to do a Big Day in Keweenaw County and attempt to set the record (as far as we know, there are no previous attempts).

Today yielded a female Black Scoter in Keweenaw Bay. This bird is quite out of season. Typically a rare fall migrant on the bay, I know of no other spring records from the Keweenaw. I’ll have to check Binford when I get back to my library. The necessary documentation follows. Also, more terrible Rock Wren photos have been uploaded to the “Recent Photos” page.

Yesterday, Thursday, I found a Rock Wren at what is known as the “Pumphouse” at a location known as Arnheim. This is an expansive, managed wetlands that straddles the Houghton/Baraga County line in the Keweenaw Peninsula. As much as I’d love to drop a map in here, how about something more technically compatible? I was going to upload a direct .kml file to Google Earth, except that my web server won’t let me upload that format. So, we’ll have to go old school, lat-long:

46°56′18.76″N

88°29′49.39″W

Anyway, I walked into Arnheim about 9am and had planned to hike back into places I hadn’t been before. I’d done a two hour loop and was stuck walking back on one of the dikes that leads back to the pumphouse. Just as I was returning, I saw a wren with a sandy colored rump and thin, broken subterminal black tail band fly off of culvert on the Baraga side of the canal and land in the pumphouse itself (it’s covered in open hatched slats). The bird the hopped out to feed on bugs near the roof and revealed itself as a very ragged-looking Rock Wren. I watched the bird for a brief period as it hopped around the pumphouse and some equipment nearby. After getting a few photos, I made some calls. The lighting wasn’t the best and I was just enjoying watching that wren, so I didn’t make a great effort with the photos, but they get the job done.

This individual is the eight state record, second for Houghton county, third for the Keweenaw and first Spring record for the state. Quite a little gem. The bird even gave some calls, with a pit-bzzzzz (or something like that). It did seem heavily worn to me, with the tail feathers looking ragged and the pink on the flanks being washed out. Nonetheless, it seemed in good spirits as it busily gleaned bugs for the structures. Here are the less than stellar photos:

Well, I’ve been home in Michigan for awhile now. I started with a brief pit stop at the Petersburg SGA in Monroe County that yielded a dozen warbler species on the 8th and now I’m sitting here in the Keweenaw on the 21st and I couldn’t see six species of warblers if I tried. Flycatchers? Forget about it. Passerine migration is at a practical standstill. The shorebirds are clicking along, but I’m not sure there’s going to be any massive peak of numbers and diversity. I think they’re being forced to trickle through against the persistent northwest winds. Nonetheless, it’s been a banner Spring for Short-billed Dowitchers in Keweenaw County and Wilson’s Phalaropes throughout the Keweenaw. Other waterbirds have been productive, including a female Canvasback on Oskar Bay and an Eared Grebe at the Baraga Sewage Ponds.

But the real highlight was a first-year male Lark Bunting, present at Art Weaver’s house earlier this week. I made it out on Monday to see the bird and was lucky to get one crappy photo of it. This bird was my 300th species in Michigan, a long awaited milestone. It was a great bird to hit it with and I’m still a little bit in awe of the fact that I have actually seen 300 different bird species in Michigan. But, they add up fast. Next goal, 300 in the Upper Peninsula. Only seven to go.

I’m only here in Michigan until the end of the month. And then it’s back to Pennsylvania. Back to maps. Back to a college town. Back to a different life, really. I miss this one. I miss the northwoods, I miss the boreal species, I miss Lake Superior. I have a year left on my Master’s Degree (a year I’m actually looking forward to). There should be some birding excursions between now and next summer that I’ll enjoy. A pair of pelagics in North Carolina this July. A trip to Cape May in the fall. And hopefully a more exotic destination over Christmas break.

But, for the next week or so, I can live this dream. Chase these birds and revel in the arrival of spring (if it ever comes).

Well, my plans to bird Florida over Spring Break have fallen through. I don’t want to make my former potential companions feel any worse than they may already, but this is really chewing at me and bringing me down. It’s hard for me to mentally commit to an adventure of that magnitude, when there’s nobody or nothing else making me go. I don’t have any reservations at hotels or on boats. All I need to do is get in the car and go, but being indecisive as I am, I can’t make my brain focus on the planning. I’d love to see the Green-breasted Mango in Georgia and the Bananaquit in Florida, along with all the other birds that I’ve dreamed of seeing, now that living in Pennsylvania has put me in closer proximity to.

I’ve tried to come up with other Spring Break plans. I can’t justify a jaunt to New or Old Mexico. The North Woods are calling, but I know that I’d be unsatisfied up there alone for a week. Montreal beckons, but I cannot afford that level of indulgence. The Canadian Maritimes are enticing at this season, but it’s just as far away as Florida. I don’t really have anyone to go see. Airplane tickets are ridiculous. If I can’t motivate myself to go to Florida, I may just stay here. I know I’ll be restless and pissy, but I may get my shit together. I’d love to get to the Ocean. North Carolina is only 9 hours away, but then why don’t I just go to Florida?

I’m at the point in my life, where there’s so many valuable places to go and new birds to see, that dollars spent traveling, but not seeing new birds, seems wasteful. I know that may seem like a greedy, close-minded focus, but this country seems smaller now. I’ve seen lots of it. There are places I’d like to go back to, but I know that I get more of a kick out of the new and exotic (not that Naples, Florida is all that exciting).

Whatever. This is pretty mindless drivel. But, somehow I don’t care.

Nine hours into the 32 hour haul, I awoke to a traffic jam outside of Lake Charles, Louisiana. That long winter bayou sun was casting shadows on the kudzu. I was groggy. Regardless, I’d been chewing on the past five days of conference.

We’d left the LRGV that morning, tracking north on Texas Highway 281. A classic birding route that blows out of the valley into ranch land. The raptors were like candy. White-tailed, Red-tailed, and Harris’s Hawk perched on every telephone pole and mesquite top. Crested Caracara posted sentinel on the shoulder and before the Border Patrol checkpoint. It was a great drive and as we started to depart the more contiguous forest, we found a classic south Texas barbeque joint, ate ribs and cobbler beneath the mesquite, sipping sweet tea and soaking up the warm breeze and sunlight one last time. I was wistful about leaving, but was okay with it. I know I’ll be back and I had something to look forward to back in Pennsylvania. I’d also taken away a new perspective and outlook from this conference. I need to be tied to something real. Rooted in the earth.

These last seven months of living in the Ivory Tower have been disillusioning. It’s easy to lose sight of the reality and the gripping power of life outside of academia. When you’re tangled in that web, you forget that birds still soar over the border, governments want to erect walls, and people are on the ground, fighting for what they believe in and know in their hearts is right.

The closing banquet at the PIF conference was appropriate. It was hard not to be moved by the performance of a middle-aged Mexican bird conservator named Pati. She stood up and gave a heartfelt, moving, and cautioning off-the-cuff speech that swayed from natural appreciation and gratefulness to world-weary warning of what lies ahead. She made me appreciate mortality for once, when she said something along the lines of, “I am made from mother earth and I cannot wait to return to her and become part of her again.” The dust to dust connection is something I’ve always appreciated. It gave me further feeling for the brevity of our lives and the need to do something important and real.

As much as I’m deep into the geovisualization literature and academic environment right now, this trip has been invaluable in giving me the ability to see through it and identify my need and the need of the world to act in real on-the-ground ways. Building visualization techniques for abductively exploring large spatiotemporal datasets seems important and may elucidate new information about birds movements and migration, but the real work is out there. It’s where the mosquitoes bite you, the Tropical Parula sings, and the morning sun rises over the bosque. It’s not in front of a computer, it’s not in a seminar, and it’s not in a on the pages of a referred journal article.

I couldn’t be more grateful to see the real work people are doing to conserve birds. But, it’s even harder to see how little money there is for people to do it. Our government can spend $1.3 million dollars on a Cruise Missle, $30 billion dollars on a border wall, or $5 trillon dollars on Iraq. But they can’t spend $400,000 dollars on a regional conservation project, $1 million dollars on a data network, or $5 million dollars on a land conservation plan. Birders can change this. Vote. Give money and be charitable. And help others appreciate the work we need to do.

Maybe my father was right. Maybe this was just some great experiment. Maybe I needed it to prove to myself that I am ready to really tackle bird conservation. To prove that I don’t need more time and experience exploring myself and my interests. I’ll always want to map birds. But, I’ll always want to be out there doing the real work. And for realizing and appreciating that, I’m infinitely grateful to those who have made this possible and helped me see the light. Oh, I’m not giving up on my passionate approach to blending geography and birds. I’ll still be giving it my all, but I really needed that reminded of what lies beyond the office window. And to know that it’s still there, waiting for me.

The sun casts longer shadows over the western Louisiana rice farms. Great Egrets dappled the dikes and Ibis are found in clustered pockets on the corners of the shrimp ponds. We’ve got a gas stop up ahead. I’ll sleep some more and we’ll drive even further. Most of all I’ll feel satisfied with my new attitude about my life’s journey.

I didn’t get a chance to go birding this morning, and considering the massive head cold I have right now, the few extra hours of sleep may have been necessary. Nevertheless, I have some thoughts about my more experiences here.

Today wraps up the 4th Partners In Flight conference. I’m sitting around the center, waiting for 2pm to roll around so that I can go see Kenn Kaufmann talk about “Working Towards A Bird Literature and Bird Conservation-Oriented Society.” I’ve read some of Kenn’s other perspectives on the state of bird conservation, birders and general social climates in the US and mostly agree with him. I’m still bothered by his statement that 1000 Jane Doe Birders are more valuable to birds than one Jon Dunn, but it’s true. It takes a real body of concerned citizens to fund the important work that needs to be done. And deliberating over the thickness of Kingbird bills isn’t getting that done. But, this is why it bothers me. I love that sort of identification esoteric. It’s the real hobby-driven side of my interests.

However, I’ve really come to appreciate the importance of actively participating in conservation, even if that merely means funding it. When you think about how important habitat conservation is to birders, it’s ridiculous that we don’t have required or highly-encouraged systems setup that allow us to fund these efforts. Look at more historical outdoor activities. Hunters buy Duck Stamps that fund wetland habitat conservation and fishermen buy licenses that fund stocking programs and watershed conservation. Paying these fees and contributing to organizations like Ducks Unlimited and Trout Unlimited are standard order for enthusiasts in those fields. Birders don’t have this standard. Studies have shown birders just don’t have the same ethos. Some might say, “Those activities are consumptive, birding isn’t!” True, but birding consumes gasoline, food, equipment and man hours to maintain dwindling habitat. That requires support. And I shouldn’t have to point out some of the more removed effects of our actions.

I implore birders to make funding or supporting conservation efforts a regular part of their birding activities. It just makes sense. Here at this conference, I bought my Duck Stamp (almost all fees go directly to conserving wetland habitat; good for all species of birds) and purchased raffle tickets that fund tropical conservation efforts. I’m considering, even on my lowly grad student stipend, contributing money to an organization like the American Bird Conservancy.

And just being an advocate of birding isn’t good enough. It’s time to bite the bullet and contribute some funds, volunteer time, or participate in grassroots actions. Because, if we don’t make these efforts, there just aren’t going to be birds around to chase, list, or photograph, for us or generations after us. And I can’t live with that.

For a bird so belabored, the robin of clay came easily this morning. Directed to a suet feeder tucked away in a dark corner of the Quinta Mazatlan WBC, we found someone patiently watching a single bird hopping around and feeding on suet. Sharp and stately, I think. It seemed so easy. My perception of finding this bird was that of having to wait for hours at select, secret locations along the border, hoping for an early morning glimpse of a brown bird skulking through the undergrowth. This sighting was delightfully revealing, and despite being a stake-out less than 2 miles from my hotel, rather satisfying. I love the valley.

Well, after a somewhat frustrating first two days down here in the valley, the lifers came slowly. The first was just as we were leaving Santa Ana NWR. A Kingbird was spotted and a series of vocalizations revealed it as a Couch’s Kingbird. Woo-hoo! Should have seen the Michigan bird, but I was quite happy to hear this bird emphatically calling from the radio tower in the park.

This morning heavy winds buffeted us as we entered Bentsen-Rio SP. Fortunately the acacia was a good wind break. The birding was a little slow, but as we crept into the Eagle Pond area, I spotted a bird flitting behind a water mist. It turned out to be the Tropical Parula, which then flitted away, sang twice and returned, before heading down the road. I would love to have been able to study it some more, but what I saw was a pretty sharp. Not long after, standing at the intersection of the Acacia Loop and the Kiskadee Trail, a raptor soared overhead. A quick examination proved to be a fast-moving Hook-billed Kite. Right on! I knew this was how they were usually seen along the border, so I was even more excited to see a second bird pass just moments later. This one was a little more relaxed and gave me some better looks. I would really love to see that bird perched.

It was a great morning and I’ve still got a few left here.

Tomorrow, a shot at Clay-colored Robin.

Well, as would have it, the White-crested Elaenia disappeared just before I arrived in Texas. Maybe I did jinx myself. Maybe the friends who told me they would disown me if I saw it did it. Maybe it will re-appear. Birding goes on.

I’ve always wanted to blog from the road. And seeing this is the first time I’ve had a laptop and been on the road, I had to do it. Birded Bentsen-Rio State Park today. It was sluggish. The Tropical Parula, which apparently had been recently singing, was not to be found. No Hook-billed Kites, Blue Buntings, Clay-colored Robins, or Couch’s Kingbirds to be found. Fun birds for sure. I’ll never balk at Altamira Oriole or Ringed Kingfisher, but sometimes I’m just itching for a lifer, especially in a place like the Lower Rio Grande Valley, where comparatively it’s supposed to be easy for me to get lifers.

Tomorrow, the PIF conference starts to cut into the birding. We’ll have time tomorrow for a thorough tour of Anzalduas State Park, with opportunity for Couch’s Kingbird and Sprague’s Pipit and who knows what else.

So, so, so tired. More in the coming days.