Harrier Hawk
On the way to the coast, meandering the highways and back country roads, before dusk set in, a pair of birds glided in front of the little car (Prius).
One of the few interactive reference manuals I carry on an iTablet?
Peterson’s Field Guide to the Birds of North America.
This is an excellent example, for me, near perfect execution, the point in time and space where the interactive and book mix well.
I’ve got several old, beat-up Peterson Field Guides. Reptiles, I think, from a childhood obsession with nature, and stars, or night sky, something like that. Easily understood. Plus the bird book. I think I’ve got it, as all of my books are in cardboard boxes, as I’m relocated. Again.
Peterson Birds — A Field Guide to Birds of North America – Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
The most common “exotic” tends to be the Roseate Spoonbill, which, to most area fisherman, are fairly common. Looks like a silly Pink Flamingo.
Last spring, maybe just earlier this fall, we were visited by Harris Hawks, swooping low past the fishing boat, and landing along the shore of a backwater island next to gulf.
Peterson Birds — A Field Guide to Birds of North America – Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Trying to make sense of the birds that I saw, I flipped through my digital copy of Petersons Birds, recalling as much detail, the apparent wingspan, the pair gliding in front of the car, the color on the underside of the tail feathers, and what I could piece together? Harrier Hawks.
After I perused Peterson’s entry, pretty sure those were a pair of adolescent Harrier Hawks.
I’m no great bird watcher, but there’s an occasional happiness that derives from seeing – then identifying – certain critters.
I can’t be sure that I’m that accurate, but I started – and used this fact in a horoscope – when I noticed the increasing number of raptors.
The digital version of the book, took some getting used to, but over the years, if I’m trying to identify a flying critter, I reach for the iTablet, first. Still have the book, but prefer the app instead. quicker, faster.
Birds of prey. Harrier Hawks.
On the road back, literally, on the verge of the Interstate, headed north, I pointed out another raptor, “I think it’s an Osprey.” I was questioned, but sitting in the airport, as I looked it up, there wasn’t the distinctive facial markings, which makes me think it was a White Hawk. Not much further along the interstate, the common red tail cleared the roadway.
Me? I got nothing.
