Sunday, January 23, 2011 - Bosque Birdwatchers RV Park, San Antonio NM
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Glug, Sandhill Crane, Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, San Antonio NM, January 17, 2011
How cranes drink
When I was rummaging through my files looking for a picture to put up yesterday, I stumbled on a series of pictures of this crane moving in a strange way. Drinking I decided. I guess it wouldn't work to sip through that long beak, hence the dip-and-swoop to let water run downhill.
A quick Google search turned this up:
The muscles that would be needed for sucking are just not present in most birds, probably to minimize weight. Also, birds have a reflex that shuts the glottis (the passageway to the trachea) when they raise the head to swallow food or water. The only birds that do suck are pigeons and doves, one specific finch of northern Australia (the Australian Gouldian Finch), and some oceanic birds called fulmars. Source: Ornithologist Laura Erickson at Learner.org
[Update] I took my regular sundown walk down to the roost at the ponds to watch the watchers watch the cranes come in for the night. Posting this composite picture had me watching the cranes instead; watching for the dip-and-swoop. Yup, it's a regular thing. Photography is giving me a glimpse into the bird world normally too fleeting to grasp. What a hoot! Are the birds we see drinking from birdbaths doing the dip-and-swoop too? Bet they are.
Night camp
Site 10 - Bosque Bird Watcher's RV Park, San Antonio NM
- This is a basic, small Mom & Pop RV Park with full hookups.
- Verizon cell phone and Broadband service are available here with a strong signal.
- Locate Bosque Bird Watcher's RV Park on my Night Camps map
- Click for Google street view
- Check the weather in San Antonio NM
It's No Use Arguing Tastes with a Cow
By what appears, furthermore, to be the compensating justice of Nature, the treasures of the earth are always hidden in the most unattractive, dismal, and dreary spots. At least all the mining places I ever visited are so located, and Bisbee is no exception. To get away from the cramped little village and its unsavoury restaurant, I established my first camp four miles south of it on a commodious and pleasant opening, where we could do our own cooking. But here a new annoyance, and rather a curious one, was met with. The cattle of the region evinced a peculiar predilection for our wearing apparel. Especially at night, the cows would come wandering in among our tents, like the party who goes about seeking what he may devour, and on getting hold of some such choice morsel as a sock, shirt, or blanket, Mrs. Bossie would chew and chew, “gradually,” to quote Mark Twain, “taking it in, all the while opening and closing her eyes in a kind of religious ecstasy, as if she had never tasted anything quite as good as an overcoat before in her life.” It is no use arguing about tastes, not even with a cow.