A Long Jaeger Tale

 As a life-long birder and an avid bird photographer for over 20 years, I long have been aware that it is very difficult, for me at least, to combine birding and photography with much success. When birding, especially with others, I rarely take the time necessary to obtain really good photos or make the effort to carry all of the needed equipment, and usually satisfy myself with grab shots made more or less on the run. By the same token, when I head out with photography as my primary focus, I often become so intent with what I’m seeing in the viewfinder that my birding skills (or at least awareness) suffer noticeably. I could be photographing, say, a Least Sandpiper and be utterly oblivious to a pelican flying overhead! Additionally, when looking through the viewfinder, even if a bird is the subject, I’m usually so intent on “seeing” and making the photograph that I often fail to look at the bird as well as I would if looking at it through binoculars or a telescope. On many occasions, I’ve gotten slides back and been surprised to notice some feature on a bird that I had totally missed in the field. Following is a case in point. It is a tale of the intersection of a birder, a photographer, and a jaeger on its first journey south. It is also a tale of a misidentification – well, actually not a misidentification, rather a missed identification. Or, even more accurately, an identification delayed.

 On 1 September 2002, I headed out to South Beach in Chatham around mid afternoon. Although the tide was low and not favorable for shorebirds, my primary interest was to check the outer beach for seabirds, especially Parasitic Jaegers, which had been numerous in the area in the weeks preceding. I had a new telephoto lens and was hopeful I might get some photos of these dynamic aerialists as they passed over the beach.

 I spent an hour or so on the outer beach watching a dozen or more jaegers and some remarkably close Cory’s Shearwaters, but nothing close enough to attempt photos. Somewhat disappointed in the lack of photo opportunities, I started to cut back across the beach to check the flats on the inside, thinking perhaps the Elegant Tern might be present. Trudging through the sand, tripod and scope slung over one shoulder and camera over the other, out of the corner of my eye I suddenly noted a dark form approaching. I glanced over my left shoulder and immediately realized that a jaeger was heading straight for me at low altitude. Without raising my binoculars, I dropped the scope and tripod to the ground and reached for my camera. As the bird passed low overhead, I fired off four quick shots, but the bird passed so quickly that the auto-focus of the lens seemed unable to achieve sharp focus. As the bird disappeared to the west, I felt the sinking feeling photographers know well, that a great opportunity for a “killer” shot had resulted instead in a near miss.

 I gave the incident little further thought until a couple of weeks later when the developed film arrived in the mail. Upon examining the slides and coming to the jaeger shots, I was not surprised to see that the first shot in the sequence was very blurred and destined for the circular file. The second shot was better, though still fuzzy, but the third shot was not too bad, though certainly not razor-sharp. The last of the four was again very blurry and “trashable”. In my first pass through the slides, I was in “photographer” mode, seeing the photo rather than the subject. When I took a second look at the two better slides, I began to shift back to “birder” mode, paying attention to the subject for the first time. Almost instantly, my jaw dropped and I muttered, “Oh s--t!” under my breath. Finally, I “saw” the bird. It was clearly a juvenile jaeger (I‘m not sure I even noted the age in the field), but it sure didn’t look like a standard issue Parasitic. Here’s what I saw once I started looking at the bird:

Photos © Blair Nikula 2002

The rather slender build, very long tail, long but not real pointed central tail feathers, grayish overall coloration, dark breast band contrasting with a pale belly, pale nape, and bill about half black (rather difficult to see with certainty in the photos), are all features indicating that the bird is a juvenile Long-tailed Jaeger! This bird flew past me within 25 yards or so, but it was not until two weeks later that I even began to “see” it!

I now wonder what might have happened had I not had a camera at my side ready to fire. If I had raised binoculars rather than a camera to my eye and “seen” the bird rather than the photo, would I have recognized it as a Long-tailed? Although I’m something of a jaeger fanatic and typically see hundreds of individuals per year, at the time my prior experience with juvenile Long-tailed Jaeger (at least as far as I’m aware!) involved just a single individual seen off of Cape Hatteras many years ago, so it’s not a plumage I know well at all. The bird passed so rapidly that I surely would not have seen all of the features evident in the photos. At best, I think, I might have suspected Long-tailed and spent more time in the area hoping for a reappearance – a distinct possibility, given the location and conditions. However, without additional views of the bird I undoubtedly would have let it pass as a “jaeger sp.”

I consider jaegers to present one of the greatest identification challenges in birding, and this episode does little to change my mind, though it may be more reflective of my own inabilities. While I’m pleased to have photos documenting the occurrence of a Long-tailed Jaeger in Chatham (and to add one more species to the litany of rarities on South Beach this summer!), I’m a bit embarrassed not to have recognized the species at the time. I also regret missing the opportunity, albeit a very brief one, to “see” a species and plumage that I know poorly – an educational experience lost. The tension between birder and photographer – to look or shoot – is one I’ve experienced many times. In some cases, the bird will cooperate and remain long enough to allow both. But a hungry jaeger will rarely allow either!

My thanks to Rick Heil and Wayne Petersen for confirming my initial suspicions about the bird’s identity.

Blair Nikula
odenews@odenews.net