The Outdoor Scene

Bluebirds: Harbingers of Happiness or Avian Wackos?

There was a time when I believed that having bluebirds raise their young in the nest boxes we put up would be the pinnacle of backyard birding. Who wouldn’t yearn for a daily glimpse of these feathered jewels? I wasn’t just seduced by their dazzling blue color, though; I also loved their rags to riches story. Bluebird populations declined in the 1960s and ‘70s due in part to bad-guy birds, namely house sparrows and European starlings, outcompeting them for nesting cavities. However, coordinated efforts to provide nest boxes have these beauties on the increase in North America. Conservationist that I am, I wanted to do my part, too. So, my husband, Wes, found bluebird nest box plans online and made several houses, which he put up in our backyard and the land we hunt in Georgia.

I can’t tell you how thrilled I was when we saw a courting pair during a weekend turkey hunt at our Peach State hang out. It was a textbook sighting, too.  The male performed the “nest demonstration display” that I had read about. He made a big show of bringing nest material to the hole, going in and out of the box and fluttering his wings while perched above. It worked, too, because we saw a female shortly thereafter, who apparently didn’t know that was pretty much going to be his only contribution to nest building. She set about with the heavy lifting associated with avian housekeeping, and he kept her company with his melodious warbling. The best part, I was witnessing this bluebird miracle about 20 yards from our camper.

After a morning turkey hunt, I sat outside the camper and watched the bluebirds. A day or two after I first saw them, I noticed the male bluebird acting weird. He was perched on the bumper of Wes’s truck and pecking furiously at it. At first, I figured he was issuing last rights to some unlucky grasshopper he was preparing to eat. But then, I saw him attack the truck’s windows and mirrors. When he had a tiny “accident” that showed up as a splatter on the window, I admit to snickering a little, imagining Wes’s reaction to this bird fouling his pride and joy.

As I was fixing a snack in the camper that afternoon, I heard a tapping on the window and turned around to see the male bluebird clinging to the window’s edge. “Well, that’s neat, I thought. Now I can get an up close and personal look at him.” And I did just that, drinking in every moment of watching this nut alternate between catching insects and thumping the windows with his beak and wings. When I woke up to this racket the next morning, though, I had to admit the novelty was starting to wear off. By the following weekend, the incessant drumming was like woodpeckers gone wild, and Wes and I were both getting tired of it.

So I consulted the all knowing “Google” for answers and found this question posted on a birding forum:

Q:  “I have a bluebird that has been relentlessly pecking at our windows for days! We can’t get it to stop. Please help!”

I was relieved at the prospect of finding a solution. However, like most wildlife issues, this one wasn’t easily solved. The expert explained that bluebirds are very territorial and the male aggressively defends his territory while the female tends to the nest. When bluebirds beat on the windows, they are reacting to what they perceive to be a rival bird. The only way to deal with this problem is eliminate the reflection. I can tell you right now, forget about closing the blinds. Doesn’t work. What we ended up doing was covering the outside of the windows with tarps, which ruined our view of the pond. The good news, according to the experts, was the behavior usually ceases once the female stops laying eggs. Still, I was hoping the bluebird boxes in our yard wouldn’t pass muster because I couldn’t imagine living in cave-like conditions while a nesting pair raised two or three broods throughout the summer. Luckily, my wishes were answered, and the only backyard residents were titmice, chickadees and a peace loving flying squirrel.

Once fall arrived, Wes and I trekked back down to our hunt camp in Georgia for deer season. We were immediately greeted by the charming mumbling song of the male bluebird and I was actually happy to hear it, now that nesting season was long past. However, by the next day, the male bluebird was back at it, banging on the windows like a madman.  

Back home, bluebirds started showing up in our backyard as well, not to nest, but to drive the other birds stark raving bonkers. We have an owl box that is occupied several months out of the year by the cutest of all owls, the screech owl. And for whatever reason, two or three pairs of bluebirds will fly all around its nest box and rudely poke their heads into the entrance. I am astonished they have the guts to do this, because I have seen the screech owl, in a madcap swoop, snatch a cardinal for his/her evening meal. Frankly, I don’t think this owl cares if dinner comes packaged in red or blue.

Like Hollywood’s handsome bad boy movie stars, male bluebirds just cannot behave themselves. And like paparazzi, I can’t help stalking them to admire their beauty and be shocked by their behavior.  So the answer to my original question is “yes.”  Bluebirds are harbingers of happiness and most assuredly, avian wackos.

The Mississippi Delta is known as the birthplace of the blues and the land of catfish, cotton and waterfowl –everything from snow geese and specklebellies to mallards, wood ducks, scaups and shovelers. Lucky bum that I am, I was cruising south on I-55 with three other women (Ann Smith of the NRA; Team Winchester’s Heather Reddemann; and Shannon Salyer, our Winchester hostess) on our way to hunt these heavenly creatures.

Our destination was Hunter’s Paradise Lodge outside of Charleston, Miss. in Tallahatchie County. Presumably the same area where Billie Joe McAllister flung himself off that bridge, though, when I asked the local guides about it, they looked at me like I was a kook. However, it was too late. I couldn’t get the song out of my head for days. I even looked up its meaning on Wikipedia.

At the Lodge, we met head honcho Tim Gray, who left no doubt that he is passionate about hunting ducks and geese as well as being proud and knowledgeable about the Magnolia State. We were also joined by co-host Mike Jones from the Mississippi Department of Tourism, freelancer Stephanie Mallory and Hillary Mizelle of Grand View Media. It was immediately clear this was a fun group of people, and I was quite pleased at how things were turning out already.

Then the realization hit me. I had forgotten my toiletry kit. No deodorant, shampoo or facial cleanser. Just as this group was getting to know me, I had to ‘fess up about this travel blunder. For the rest of the trip, I was forced to panhandle for contact solution, toothpaste and lotion. One of the guides bought me a toothbrush while he was in town. I was embarrassed. But everyone was kind to me, and I decided I could make do with the group’s generosity and the odds and ends I found in my briefcase.

The first night I was at Hunter’s Paradise, I vowed to eat dessert like there was no tomorrow. That was a good decision, as Lucille, camp cook, makes a mean chocolate chip cake. I even woke up one morning before the rest so I could devour the last piece. A desperate act for someone living on the shampoo charity of others, I admit.

The duck hunting ended up being, in a word – hilarious. The first morning we were admiring the decoy spread being developed in the pre-dawn darkness when we saw what appeared to be lightening. The ensuing thunder verified that it was, in fact, lightening. And we got to see several more examples of it. For the next 16 hours, every thunderstorm in North America rolled across the Delta. Luckily, we got a brief respite after sunrise when we saw the wind hurl about 25,000 snow geese overhead. I was thankful my layout blind had doors, because with that many birds in the air, chances of being pooped on were pretty high.

The next morning, after it had rained about 6 inches, I figured the ducks would be scattered from one end of the state to the other with so much water available. Still, Tim and his guides did a marvelous job of setting up on some old catfish ponds. It was raining, windy and cold (an ongoing theme), and we were all dressed to the teeth, each in our own way resembling the Pillsbury Dough Boy or some other enormous roly poly figure. Still, we managed to shoot some ducks.

While the weather remained a challenge, I got just enough of a taste to want to go back. Next time, though, I’m making contingency plans in case there’s another monsoon. The Delta area is unique, and on my return visit, I’ll head over to Clarksdale to check out the Delta Blues Museum and maybe actor Morgan Freeman’s joint, Ground Zero Blues Club. Sure, I know I could be basking in culture and learning while in Mississippi, but I think I’d opt for  more wacky entertainment – the Catfish Museum in Belzoni or the Jim Henson Museum to pay homage to Kermit the Frog’s birthplace in Leland. Maybe I’d wrap things up with a stop at the Home of Scissors, World Champion Hog just outside of Charleston on Route 32.

After eight reflective hours in the Memphis airport (the inconvenience of storms had moved from duck hunting to air travel), I realized that the take home message from this trip was that when you’re in wonderful area, eating delicious food and surrounded by people who are smart, funny and thoughtful, a limit of ducks is merely a bonus.

In my last post, I discussed the “mental” part of deer hunting from a treestand. Today, I’ve got some tips to keep you physically in the game.

First, to make your satisfaction complete when you do harvest that fat doe or big buck, be an active part of the process of locating and putting up your stand. Locating, of course, encompasses patterning deer, considering prevailing winds and having some pretty scenery to look at among other things. That’s the easy part. Setting up requires physical strength, some notion of assembling things and a husband who is capable of ignoring my ridiculous comments like “Gee, I knew I should have brought that limb saw along,” or “I’ve changed my mind, I think I’d like my stand to face the other way.”

Once that task is history, there are shooting lanes to clear. While we’re doing that, I like to mark a trail to my stand. I’m a navigational genius during the day. But in the pre-dawn, my orienteering skills are just sad. Doesn’t matter if I’ve been there before, I can still end up way off base so I use Hunter Specialties Limb Lights (look like bread ties) and Trail Tacks (big thumb tacks). Both employ the magic of fluorescent, reflective material and are easily seen a couple hundred yards away with a flashlight.

My next piece of advice may sound really goofy, but it serves me well. I always wear a rain suit. Not the kind that makes me feel like I’m harboring the tropics inside my suit but the soft, breathable kind of fabric. In the morning while walking to my stand, I stay dry whether I’m sloshing through a swamp or heavy dew. Plus, if my treestand seat is wet, no big deal. When it gets cold out (which is anything below 45 degrees to me), I wear my winter weather rain suit. While this puffy outfit does makes my butt look fat, and not in the good “J Lo” kind of way, it’s warm and comfy when I’m in it for the long haul. I also like to bring along an extra seat cushion in case the one in the stand is missing, wet, cold or just not comfortable enough for my deer stand diva tastes!

I know a lot of people who read in a treestand, but that doesn’t feel like hunting to me. I leave my book in the camper when I hit the stand because I’m constantly looking for the outline of an ear or twitching tail. You can miss a lot when you’ve got your nose in a book. Plus, if you’re reading something intense, it can mess you up. I made the mistake of reading Cormac McCarthy’s book The Road, before I climbed in my stand and frankly, the image of a post-apocalyptic America was hard to shake. By the same token, I don’t watch scary movies before I hunt…learned that lesson after watching the movie Blair Witch Project years ago. And while I admit to having done this (I’ve reformed), I firmly believe answering email and text messages is a BIG no no in a deer stand. Deer have a tendency to just show up and if the ground is wet, you won’t hear them approach. If you’re glued to your Crackberry, the only thing you may see is a farewell flag as your backstaps scamper off.

Something I always do is carry my camo deer hunting purse? Bag? Whatever it is, it’s a handy place for my hunting license/tags, a pen, deer calls and scents, toilet paper, flashlight, Thermacell, two-way radio (for when I’m lost or finally kill a deer) eye drops, and first aid/survival basics.

All this advice has been developed through several personal experiences of being lost, cold, wet and disappointed that I only saw the backend of a buck melting into the forest edge. I bet you’ve got some recommendations as well. Don’t be shy. Send them to me at tammy@womensoutdoorwire.com

Sitting in a deer stand is time well spent, and not necessarily for the most obvious reason (filling your freezer).  Sometimes it’s the only chance for peace and quiet. I call it treestand therapy. Receiving the benefits of treestand therapy takes practice, though. There have been some hurdles to overcome before I could truly reach nirvana 14 feet up. I’ve spent many years perfecting my technique, and I can tell you about the positives and the pitfalls.

The biggest positive for me, a person who is driven to fill every waking moment of my day with productive (or manic?) activity, time spent in a deer stand requires stillness. Silence. Observation. Physically, I am quite capable of all three. However, stillness and silence of the mind takes a lot more willpower than I realized. My first forays into treestand therapy occurred as an adult, when I’d already experienced quite a bit of life. Within minutes of settling into my ladder stand and getting squared away with my rifle, grunt tube, binoculars and other deer hunt staples, the brain would kick into high gear. As my eyes swept across the landscape to create a baseline inventory, I was already sifting through things I could think about. My first thoughts would usually be pretty run of the mill…Thank goodness I didn’t run into that bear!” ”Brrr, it’s cold” or “what a pretty day.” Pretty soon, though, the uncontrolled mind would move onto other more substantial subject matter.

Often, the first place undisciplined thinking goes is the list of things I should have done or need to do. The words to this woulda, coulda, shoulda song often sound like this: “When I get home, I really need to balance my checkbook, make a dentist appointment and take care of that mountain of laundry that’s building up. Dang, why didn’t I get to the grocery store and the gas station already? Now, I’ll have to rush to do it when I get back.”

After I’ve either exhausted myself with those possibilities or I’m somehow able to get a hold of myself, I take a short mental timeout to debate whether what I’m seeing in the far off is shrub or magnificent rack. It’s shrub. Rats.

Despite the momentary disappointment, happy thoughts crowd in. “I am so glad to be here. I hope I see something.” For the next several minutes, I’m admiring the colors of autumn, the warm sunlight on my face and the new turn my thoughts are taking. “Hunting is such a great experience,”  I think. “I’m lucky to have done so many neat things. Let’s see, downhill skiing in Colorado. Check. Whitewater rafting the Snake River. Check. Trout fishing in Wisconsin. mountain biking in Oklahoma and duck hunting in Texas. Check! Check! Check! Sure wish I have a chance someday, though, to take that Alaskan cruise. That’s a biggie on my bucket list.”

Just the mere thought of the bucket list (all things one wants to do before kicking the proverbial bucket) my thoughts wander to an unforeseen hazard called regret.  It usually starts off harmless enough. “I wish I hadn’t forgotten to send a birthday card to my aunt. Boy, I bet she thinks I’m a real pill.” If not caught at this early, fairly harmless stage, it can advance to more serious topics. “I hate that I didn’t work harder at my master’s thesis. And, geez, maybe I shouldn’t have moved away from my hometown 20 years ago.”

Of course, thinking these type of things is as ridiculous as succumbing to the urge to shoot that armadillo, which has sounded maddeningly like a deer coming up behind me for the last 15 minutes. While the “possum on a half shell” deserves a .243 cartridge, it will surely ruin the rest of the evening’s hunt. So these days, when I can feel my ruminations threaten to veer off to an unpleasant detour, I tell myself to let it go and just enjoy the moment. Yes, bad things have happened in the past, and they may happen in the future. But for right here and right now, life is good and I deserve to enjoy it. And then I make darn sure I do.

One important tip to ensuring that treestand therapy gives you a welcome respite from the drama and trauma of life is take control of where your stand is located (even if that involves you personally helping with the loathsome task of putting up a ladder stand or tripod). Not only will this prevent the embarrassment of getting lost, you can pick what you consider to be the best place to see deer as well as other wildlife. Seeing other wildlife is extremely important. Yes, I relish the satisfaction of knowing I’ll be eating venison tacos, chili and spaghetti the rest of the winter. However, watching birds and other animals is one of the greatest remedies for stress I can think of. My memory of watching a bobcat stalk some unseen critter is easily as strong and uplifting as the beautiful 8-point buck I took later that year. A few weekends ago, I watched a fox repeatedly jumping to knock the low hanging fruit from a persimmon tree. I was so mesmerized watching this little gray fox go about its business, that when I finally made my routine scan, I realized I was eyeballing the biggest antlered buck I had ever seen while hunting. Though that big boy never gave me a shot, the memory of the fox and then the sun glinting off the tall, wide rack is powerful medicine.

Like most things that are worthwhile, mastering the fine art of mental self control isn’t always easy. But it is key to really enjoying yourself and therefore worth learning. Now when I take the time to sit in my treestand, I can fill my head with all the good things about life and leave the rest of it on the ground. I hope you can, too.