Uncategorized – Birds of Bishop

Waterfowl

Bishop lies at 4000 feet in the sagebrush ocean. The landscape hosts Giant Sagebrush, Rabbitbrush, Sulfur Buckwheat, and other drought-tolerant plants. Precipitation averages 5 inches a year. Despite being a desert town, the nearby Sierra Nevada collects snow and rain, which fills local creeks and canals. We have ponds in the City Park and the Conservation Open Space Area. Within a ten-mile radius is the Pleasant Valley Reservoir, the Buckley Ponds, and Klondike Lake. Because of this water, we have waterfowl; Swans, geese, and ducks. Most birds that migrate via the Pacific Flyway pass west of the Sierra, over California’s great Central Valley. But a sliver of this migration passes on the east side of the Sierra, over the Owens Valley. This blog post contains pictures of twenty waterfowl species that I photographed within ten miles of Bishop in the last 5 years.

What are waterfowl? This is a North American term applied to swans, geese, and ducks. They have webbed feet and a spatula-like bill. In Britain, this group is generally called wildfowl. Another characteristic is that people think of these birds as food. They are hunted and eaten. Their down feathers are used in pillows.

I’ve sorted these birds into a few tribes. Within each tribe, I ordered them from heaviest to lightest and provide average weight information from Richard Crossley’s guide: Crossley R, Baicich P, Barry J. The Crossley ID Guide: Waterfowl. West Cape May, New Jersey: Crossley Books; 2017. I also give the seasons during which each bird is most likely to be seen, using data from Heindel TS, Heindel JA. Birds of Inyo County, California, Including Death Valley National Park. Camarillo, CA: Western Field Ornithologists; 2023.

Swans

1. Tundra Swan – 15 lb. Winter.

These big birds breed on the tundra of northern Canada. A few winter near Bishop. The photo below was taken at a small pond near Klondike Lake. The Swan’s foot looks like a scuba diver’s flipper. The blurry bird in the foreground is a Greater White-fronted Goose; it looks tiny compared with the Swan.

In the air, you can see that the belly feathers are stained by the muddy water.

The Swan below was on the Buckley Ponds in December. Note the yellow spot at the base on the bill, in front of the eye. This marking is diagnostic.

Geese

2. Canada Goose – 10 lb. Fall/Winter.

Honking flocks of geese announce the arrival of fall. One of my favorite sounds. The photos below were all taken from Airport Road south of Line Street. These birds are found almost everywhere in Canada and the US.

In December, a flock passes in front of the Wheeler Crest.

The remaining photos were taken in March.

This is a heavy bird; see below.

Goose honks at a Red-winged Blackbird.

3. Snow Goose – 6 lb. Fall/Winter.

Snow Geese often mingle in the air or on the ground with both Canada Geese and Greater White-fronted Geese. The pictures below were taken in winter along Airport Road.

A flock flies past the White Mountains.

Resting in a field.

4. Greater White-fronted Goose – 5 lb. Fall/Winter.

A Greater White-faced Goose near Klondike Lake.

Swimming with Canada Geese at the Buckley Ponds.

A mixed flock of Greater White-fronted (dark) and Snow Geese (white).

Feeding near Airport Road.

Perching Ducks

This tribe consists of Wood Ducks and Muscovy Ducks; only the former visit Bishop. They are surface-feeding, woodland birds with sharp claws on their toes. They perch and nest in tree cavities.

5. Wood Duck – 1.3 lb. All year.

Seeing a duck in a tree seems like a prank. The first three photos were taken on Gus Cashbaugh Lane.

The next two pictures were taken at the Conservation Space Open Area (COSA). The plumage of the male Wood-Duck is garish or gorgeous, depending on your taste.

Dabbling Ducks (Puddle ducks)

Dabblers feed on or near the surface. They often tip themselves up so their butts are in the air while their heads are submerged. Their feet are located in a mid-position under their bodies, so they can walk about on land. Powerful wings let them explode almost vertically from the water into the air. To lift off, the first wing-beat of a Mallard usually pushes on the surface of the water. I find it hard to photograph dabbler take-offs because they are so fast. The outspread wings are decorated with a rectangular patch of colored feathers, called the speculum. This area of color is often bordered by a white band.

6. Mallard – 2.6 lb. All year.

The Mallard is the “Make Way for Ducklings” duck. To see this bird, visit the Bishop City Park. Or almost any place with water. They sometimes stroll across highway 395, our Main Street. A friend had to wait in traffic when a Mallard-pair copulated on the highway. Mallards are so common that I have more pictures of this bird than all other ducks combined. I picked over a dozen Mallard photos for this blog.

Two females and a male in the air in October. Note the blue speculum, bordered front and back by a white band.

Mallards waking up at Pleasant Valley Reservoir, November.

Mallards on ice, Conservation Open Space Area, December.

Dinner on Christmas day, Reservoir.

This bird may seem ordinary, because we are so familiar with them. But are striking creatures. COSA in January.

Flying past the Sierra, February.

Nap in City Park, March.

Strolling at the COSA, March.

Preening at City Park, April.

Make way for you-know-what at Buckley Ponds, May. Awww, mira que cute.

Mom and child, Reservoir. May.

Mother and teenagers, July. Reservoir.

Airborn at Reservoir. Males are in their “eclipse” (non-breeding) plumage, so males and females look similar. August.

Flying over the Reservoir, August.

7. Northern Pintail 2.1 lb. Spring & Fall.

I have only one photo of this bird, standing on ice at Buckley Ponds.

8. Gadwall – 2 lb. All year.

Not colorful, but delicate feather patterns. First two photos taken on Airport Road.

Flying at Buckley Ponds.

Swimming at Pleasant Valley Reservoir.

9. American Wigeon – 1.8 lb. Fall/Winter/Spring.

Wigeons are usually at City Park.

Here they are at Airport Road.

10. Northern Shoveler – 1.5 lb. Fall/Winter/Spring.

Shovelers crack me up. They look like they are wearing a fake nose.

In the air they look strikingly colorful. Next 4 photos all from the Reservoir.

When landing on water, the tails touch first, then the feet. The birds ski on this 3-point platform for a while, then settle on the water.

11. Cinnamon Teal – 0.9 lb. Spring & Fall.

Three different Teal species visit Bishop. Cinnamon Teals are the most common. In flight their colors seem to change with their position and the angle of the sun.

In the water or on land, the plumage is striking.

12. Blue-winged Teal – 0.9 lb. Spring & Fall.

This bird has a large blue area on the wing, plus a green speculum, and a wedge of white. If you compare this with the wings of Northern Shovelers, shown earlier, you can see the same pattern.

13. Green-winged Teal – 0.7 lb. Fall/Winter/Spring.

Teals are all small ducks, weighing less than a pound. The photo below shows a diminutive Green-winged Teal with a massive female Mallard.

Below, a small Green-winged Teal swims with male Mallards at the Reservoir.

The next 3 photos all show Green-winged Teals at the Reservoir in winter.

Diving Ducks (Bay Ducks)

This group of ducks can dive to 20 feet for food. Their powerful legs are positioned to the rear, so they swim well underwater, but have trouble walking. It is hard for them to take wing, as their bodies are heavy compared with the surface areas of their wings. To get into the air, they run on the surface, pushing on the water with their feet. Take-off requires a long runway and a lot of splashing. These birds have no speculum on the wings.

14. Merganser – 3.2 lb. Fall/Winter.

Mergansers have a long bill with a hook at the end. I find it hard to think of them as ducks, as they lack the spatula-shaped bill. In flight, they look long and narrow. Below, a fleet of Mergansers cruises on the Buckley Ponds. Males have sleek dark heads, females have messy red “hair.”

At City Park, a heavy Merganser bullies a Mallard. Both birds wear similar socks and shoes. Later the Merganser poses alone.

Male Mergansers patrol the Ponds. Adult females look similar to juveniles of both sexes.

Scenes at the Reservoir.

15. Canvasback – 2.7 lb. Fall/Winter.

A big duck. Below are 4 views at the Ponds, all in winter.

16. Redhead – 2.3 lb. Spring/Summer/Fall.

Color pattern similar to a Canvasback. Three photos from the Ponds in March.

17. Lesser Scaup – 1.7 lb. Fall/Winter/Spring.

Iridescent head, delicate feather pattern on back. Visits the Reservoir in winter.

18. Ring-necked Duck – 1.6 lb. Fall/Winter/Spring.

This bird has the wrong name. The ring on the bill is obvious. The ring on the neck is obscure. This should be called the ring-billed duck.

A male at the City Park looks fierce when seen head on.

A female at the Park. She looks placid as she demonstrates that water rolls off a duck’s back.

At the Reservoir, a group of Ring-necked Ducks thrashes about as they try to take off.

Three images taken at the COSA. In the last photo you can see the ring on the neck.

19. Ruddy – 1.3 lb. All year.

These are called stiff-tailed ducks, as their tail feathers stick up. On a cold morning they sleep in, heads tucked away, tails pointed up. I think they look like a bowl of noodles with chop sticks inserted. Or a basket of yarn with knitting needles. The three photos below were taken in winter. First at the Reservoir, last two at the Ponds. Note the blue bill.

20. Bufflehead – 0.9 lb. Fall/Winter/Spring.

Small diving duck. Head iridescent in sunlight, black and white in shade. First 4 photos taken at the Reservoir.

Below you can see how a diving duck uses its feet to take off.

Last photo shows what a diving duck does to eat; it dives.

Osprey – the Fish Hawk

The Osprey is ubiquitous. They aren’t particularly common, but they are found on 6 continents. There are Ospreys in every state. If there is a pond, ocean, lake, stream, or river, an Osprey may be nearby.

An Osprey Family

Let’s meet a typical Osprey family in their rural home, a nest on a tufa tower in Mono Lake. The nest is a large pile of wood, about 6 feet across, constructed over many years. In the first photo, Dad is on the left; his chest is white, his eye yellow, and his feathers are brown. Mom is on the right. She wears a necklace of brown feathers on her chest and she is a bit bigger than Dad. Junior, about three months old, has black feathers outlined with white, giving him a scaly look. His eye is red/orange. All three birds have a chest and belly that is mostly bright white and a band of dark feathers that runs across the eye and down the neck to the back. Adults weigh 3.5 lb. Their 63” wingspan approaches the 80” of a Bald Eagle, but the Eagle weighs 3 times as much; a thuggish brute compared with the slender Osprey.

This cooperative family posed for more images. The next shot shows the size of the nest.

Mom flies off, leaving Dad and Junior to bond.

But after a minute, Dad departs with his lunch. Junior is left alone, a latchkey bird.

What Does “Osprey” Mean?

Most birds have a species label made from two or three words: Great Blue Heron, Say’s Phoebe, Yellow-headed Blackbird. A select few have a single moniker: Mallard, Killdeer, Merlin. The Osprey is one of these, but the name is a mystery. One theory is that the Latin “avis praedae” (bird of prey) became the French “ospreit” which evolved into the English “osprei” in 1460 — maybe, but why was this the “bird of prey” any more than some other Eagle, Hawk or Falcon? A second theory notes that the Lammergeier, an old world vulture, was called the “ossifragus” in Latin, which means bone-breaker. “Os” means bone (ossify, etc.) and fragus means break (or fragment). This bird likes to eat bones and breaks its preferred food items by dropping them from a height. Somehow “ossifragus” migrated to a different bird of prey, the Osprey, although Ospreys are not bone-eaters. Neither theory seems terribly satisfying.

What do Ospreys Eat?

There are reports of Ospreys eating mice, rabbits, ducks, even a baby alligator. These are exceptions. This bird prefers fish for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Each meal has a fish appetizer, a main course with gills, fins, and tail, and a desert fish. If you ask an Osprey to eat out, they will suggest a Sushi bar or Legal Sea Food. Ospreys generally avoid carrion, even dead fish. They always ask, “Is the fish fresh?”

Ospreys at Mono Lake

Mono Lake is three times saltier than the ocean; consequently, it has no fish. So why are Ospreys nesting on the tufa towers that rise up above the water? The answer is safety. Tufa is calcium carbonate, or limestone. Tufa towers form below the lake surface, where freshwater springs emerge and mix their load of calcium with carbonate in the water. When Los Angeles Department of Water and Power diverted water from the Mono Basin, the lake level fell, exposing these offshore tufa platforms. After World War II, the towers rose above the falling lake waters and Ospreys built their nests on these protected spots. To get fish, the Ospreys commute to nearby Rush Creek or a bit further to Grant Lake.

In August of 2025, Roberta and I visited Mono’s South Tufa area. We counted 10 Ospreys, adults and juveniles. Here are photos of these birds:

Below an Osprey lands on a nest. Note the bands on both legs. In the third photo, the wings bend at the wrist, a common sight with these birds.

Below is the mother with one of the fledglings we saw in the first photo of this blog. This picture was taken July 14, while the first photo was taken Aug 6.

The next few photos show these birds on nests. They often make a racket — high-pitched cries of “PIERP! PIERP!”

The next photo shows a juvenile having a meal.

Canada Geese sometimes use Osprey nests:

A Taxi for Fish

After catching a fish, Ospreys usually point the fish head-first and zoom off to find a safe dining location. The fish has a final aerial ride, but gets little joy. It isn’t easy to hold a cold, wet, slippery, wriggling trout. To hang on, Ospreys can rotate one toe so that two talons are on one side of the fish, two on the other side. The talons are strong and have tiny barbs that help grip the fish. The pads of the toes and feet have sharp spikes. Below are photos showing this transport. The first picture shows an Osprey landing at a Mono Lake nest with a fish.

The following pictures are from the Pleasant Valley Reservoir in 2025. In the first and last photo, the Osprey uses only 1 foot to hold on. Rarely an Osprey will catch two fish at once, one with each foot.

The Catch

Ospreys cruise 20 to 100 feet over the Pleasant Valley Reservoir, looking for fish within four feet of the surface. When the dive starts, they use a head-first position, but in the last tenth of a second, the feet come forward with talons open for the catch. The splash is impressively noisy. The bird may submerge entirely. Then powerful wingbeats lift it, with a squirming burden, back up into the air. Observers have reported that 20 to 80% of dives are successful. Success depends on type of fish, water conditions, lighting, and so on.

The next three pictures show a dive that failed. The bird came up empty.

The next series of pictures shows a successful dive. First the bird spots a target.

Then the dive starts.

Head first now

Feet drop down and talons open.

Feet thrust forward in last split-second

Wham. Impact speeds up to 40 mph have been reported. The bird vanished right after the impact.

Head appears

Wings appear

The struggle to get into the air, using powerful wing muscles.

Success!

One footed hold

In the next shot, the bird throws its tail to the left, to shake out water. More about this shaking later.

The bird continues to use just one foot to hold the fish

On September 21, 2025, I filmed another dive. The first photo shows the start, with the bird well lit by the sun.

The next photo shows the bird lower down, wings in a “W” formation. This dive came to an end before the bird hit the water; evidently the fish moved.

Shake it Baby!

After diving for a fish, the osprey will often be soaked. Its feathers are oily and dense, to resist getting totally soggy. But the bird still needs to shed water to save weight, to allow the feathers to work properly, and to avoid losing heat. Getting dry makes flight faster and easier. Wet feathers waste energy and make the bird vulnerable. In one earlier photo, I commented that the bird was shaking its tail to get rid of water. Next I’ll show two sequences of this shaking behavior, both taken at the Pleasant Valley Reservoir.

Series A. A juvenile bird failed to get a fish. Three photos show water dripping behind and below the flying bird.

In the next picture the bird starts to swivel its head to shake it

Then the bird acts as if it is in the Exorcist. Fierce shaking throws off a cloud of water

Shaking stops, but feathers are disheveled

Just three seconds later, the bird looks smooth and orderly, as if it dried off with a little towel.

Series B. The bird below plunged into the water a little behind me. I heard the splash and started taking pictures as it rose up without a fish. Water drips from the feathers and the belly looks like a wet rag.

First the head starts shaking, followed by spasms of the body, tail, and even wings. A cloud of water flies off the bird. By the last photo the bird is so bedraggled that it is actually falling out of the air. This was all over in one second.

This shaking behavior of Ospreys is well-described in books. I’ve photographed other birds that shake themselves dry in the air: Belted Kingfisher, Double-crested Cormorant, Green-winged Teal.

Portraits

The next photos are Osprey portraits from several Bishop locations. First an Osprey takes off along Bishop Creek Canal.

Then two pictures from the Buckley Ponds. Ospreys in the air often bend their wings at the wrist, so they form a W (or M) shape.

Osprey at the Conservation Open Space Area (COSA)

The remaining portraits are from the Pleasant Valley Reservoir.

The Competition

Humans fish at the Pleasant Valley Reservoir. When we walk there, it is common to meet a half-dozen fishermen with gear that may include small rafts and up to five rods per person. Osprey are competing for fish with these humans. They are also competing with other birds, including the ones below, all photographed at the Reservoir:

Bald Eagles have been known to attack Ospreys in the air and steal their fish.

Double-crested Cormorants. Some cormorants are reported to be the most efficient fish-catchers of all birds; more ounces of fish per calorie of effort.

Common Loon

Common Merganser

Great Egret in the process of catching a small fish

Belted Kingfisher

Great Blue Herons, a group of three

Great Blue Heron with a large fish. These birds do not spear fish; they catch them between their mandibles. The heron had a lot of trouble choking down this fish.

The poor fish; everyone wants a piece of them.

White-faced Ibis

Did a child invent this bird? The birds below were circling the Buckley Ponds on June 29, 2025. The iridescent green feathers, maroon body, decurved bill, red eye, and pink legs are suitable for Alice in Wonderland. Or a Florida theme park.

The name “white-faced” refers to the rim of white feathers that surrounds the eyes and base of the bill. This area is white in breeding season. After molting in the fall, the white border disappears and the bird looks grayer. Strange that the name describes a feature that is usually absent.

This bird is found throughout the US, except for a few regions in the east. I was clueless about its existence until Aug 13, 2022. An Ibis flock passed over the Buckley Ponds and I captured the three images below.

The three pictures above illustrate the difficulties of photographing this bird. They appear mostly as black silhouettes or blurry shapes. They move fast, they are far away, and they appear without warning (unlike Canada Geese and some ducks, who announce their approach with honking or quacking). The distinctive beaks give away their identity; I was able to search my bird guides and quickly figure out what I had photographed.

August, 2022

During August, 2022, I collected more Ibis photos as they migrated through the Owens Valley. The flocks often made large circles, so in some images the birds are moving south, but in others they are moving north. All these pictures were taken at the Buckley Ponds.

In the next two photos, the birds are flying south with the White Mountains in the background.

In the next two images, they are flying north. The first photo shows Mt Humphreys in the background.

In the next photo, part of Mt Tom and the Wheeler Crest are in the background.

Ibis weigh 1.3 lb, have a 3-foot wingspan, and the bills are five inches long. They winter in Mexico. They migrate north to breed in marshy areas of California, Nevada, and elsewhere. They like shallow fresh water, including wet agricultural fields, such as alfalfa fields and rice paddies.

To forage, they wade about, using their long bills to sweep the water or probe muck for insects, crayfish, and worms. In videos, their heads rapidly bob up and down like a feathered sewing machine, while their beaks probe for chow in muddy gunk. Imagine that you put on a blindfold, then stuck your head into a dumpster and tried to locate edible treats with your lips. Fortunately, for Ibis, my dumpster analogy is not quite right. The tips of Ibis bills have sensitive nerves and they have a reflex that makes the bill snap shut on food. So they are not wasting much thought about their culinary choices. Whereas you, in a dumpster, might pause before swallowing what might, or might not, be a hot-dog bun.

Spring 2023

The winter of 2022-23 brought record snow to the Sierra, so many Bishop fields were water-logged in spring. Ponds and marshes sprang up in the sagebrush. Ibis appeared along Airport Road in March. The birds were in breeding plumage, with maroon coloring, white faces, and pink lores. (The lore is the area between the eye and the base on the bill.)

In April, Ibis were in a field bordering Line Street in Bishop, along with a Great Egret and a Mallard.

Fall 2023

In the fall of 2023, large Ibis flocks passed overhead at the Buckley Ponds. Without a camera, or binoculars, I would mistake them for geese or ducks.

Owens Lake

On November 29, 2023, Roberta and I were prowling Owens Lake for birds. Where the Owens River joins Owens Lake, we found Ibis having lunch in casual non-breeding outfits; white faces absent, color grayer, green feathers, less maroon, legs now black. An annoying fence made it hard for me to get clear photos of the birds on the ground. Then the birds took off and circled; the Inyo Range and the Sierra appear in the backgrounds:

Summer 2024

In summer of 2024, a flock of Ibis flew over Airport Road. Some were still in breeding colors:

Spring 2025

In April and May of 2025, Ibis were at the Buckley Ponds. I now had a full-frame camera (Nikon Z8) and the quality of these images is better than the previous ones.

Summer 2025

On June 29, at 7am, Ibis circled us at the Ponds. Thanks to their flight path, I was able to shoot with the sun behind me. I had my Nikon Z8 with a Nikkor Z 600mm f4 lens, gear that proved itself that morning. Images are sharp and well-lit. The garish colors are obvious. In the future, I hope to get better photos of this bird on the ground.

Death Comes for the Agave

This little story has nothing to do with birds. It describes, with photos, the spectacular death of a Harvard agave in my backyard.

Valery Harvard (1846 to 1927) was born in France. He emigrated to the US as a young man and finished medical school at NYU in Manhattan in 1869. He served for decades in the US military, mostly in the American West, but also in Cuba and Manchuria. In 1906 he became faculty President of the Army Medical School. In addition, he was a botanist and studied plants in western Texas. In the 1880s he described the agaves in the Chisos Mountains along the Rio Grande. This plant was later named for him. The beautiful leaves and spines of a Harvard Agave appear in the two photos below, taken in the Chisos Range of what is now Big Bend National Park.

Mexican Jays, a gaudy bird, are common in Big Bend. Below, one perches on sharp agave spines.

I bought a Harvard Agave from the Bishop Nursery and planted it in our raised backyard beds in April of 2014. It survived summer heat and winter snow for years.

On May 5, of 2025, I noticed my Agave was putting out a new central stalk.

In less than 3 weeks the stalk looked like a ten foot spear of asparagus. Below, I posed a professional model in front of the plant, so you can judge the height. The model is 5’2”. She looks worried, probably thinking the stalk will topple over and clobber her.

During June and July, the stalk grew to over 15 feet and put out masses of flowers that were visited by bees.

The last photo, taken July 28, shows that the plant is dying at its base; all the nutrition in the big leaves was used to grow the stalk. The stalk was now between our power line and cable line. It weighed about 40 pounds.

With help from a friend I finally cut it down. I will miss that plant; it was a privilege to watch its spectacular death. I have seen thousands of dead, desiccated agave stalks on hikes in the Southwest. But I’ve never seen the entire cycle from robust health, to sudden growth, and suicidal blooming.

Cropping. And More…

I recently printed some greeting cards with bird images. A friend looked at these and asked, “Do you crop your photos?” My answer was “Yes, almost always.” What is cropping and why do I do it?

Cropping a photograph means cutting away some of the image from the edges. Most cameras produce images that are rectangular or square. If you cut off material from one or more of the 4 edges, then you have cropped the photo.

Whenever you take a picture, many factors exclude material from the final image. The camera itself eliminates part of a potential image. Camera lenses create a round image. But camera sensors are rectangular or square. So the final photograph omits parts of the round image that was created by the lens. My full-frame digital camera has a sensor that is 35.9mm x 23.9mm. A little high-school geometry reveals that 31% of the circular image is omitted from the rectangular image on the sensor.

Your decisions affect what is in or out of a photo. Most cameras held in their default position (landscape mode) record a picture that is wider than tall. If you turn the camera 90 degrees (portrait mode) this cuts potential image material from the sides and adds material to the top or bottom. If you shift your aim from side-to-side, or up and down, this affects what is captured and what is omitted. If you step toward your subject, you exclude more peripheral material from the photo. If you have a zoom lens and increase the zoom power, you reject more from the final picture. A telephoto lens takes a narrow view, excluding more. Conversely, a wide angle lens includes more.

Cropping, however, refers to excluding some of a photo that has already been taken, either by cutting away part of a negative, trimming off part of a print, or omitting pixels from the edge (or edges) of a digital image.

Why would you crop a picture? Reasons include:

1. You want to change the aspect ratio (width to height ratio) to fit the photo to a frame or a computer monitor or a TV screen. Or you think a particular ratio is more attractive. You can turn a horizontal image into a vertical image.

2. You want to trim away a distracting or unattractive part of an image. For example, you might want to cut out a nearby street sign from a shot of a bird. You might crop to remove an overly bright reflection from the surface of a pond. After a bitter divorce, you might crop your ex-spouse out of your old vacation photographs.

3. You might crop to make a bird bigger in the image that remains.

4. You could crop to center an animal. Or to move the animal to one side.

5. You can crop to give more emphasis to the foreground. Or the background.

In short, you might crop if you think that removing part of the image will make what remains a better photograph for some purpose. Let me show some examples.

Swainson’s Hawk and Northern Mockingbird

Raptors often perch on the cottonwoods along Warm Springs Road: American Kestrels, Bald Eagles, Prairie Falcons, Peregrine Falcons, and Red-tailed Hawks use this road. In 2025, a few Swainson’s Hawks moved in from South America; one of them favors a dead cottonwood. Shown below is an unedited image taken on July 19. The hawk is in the center of the image; I usually shoot with a bird near the center to be sure the camera’s autofocus is on the bird.

I edited the picture a bit, making adjustments to exposure, and cropping to move the bird to the left, center the dead tree, and remove a lot of blank, boring sky.

As I was shooting, a Northern Mockingbird appeared, screaming at the hawk; see below. This is a family-oriented blog, so I will not repeat what the Meadowlark was yelling. Now the picture is lopsided; all the action is on the left, while the right side is just empty blue.

So I redid the crop, keeping the focus on the aggressive interaction, below:

It turns out that just one month earlier, on June 19th, the same Hawk on the same tree was harassed by a Western Kingbird. In the first image, the Hawk ducks and almost takes off. In the second photo, the Kingbird can be seen rocketing past; in that picture, the camera focused on the Meadowlark, leaving the Hawk unfocused. I used cropping to change both of these photos to portrait mode.

Mountain Bluebird

In March, a Mountain Bluebird rocketed past me on Gus Cashbaugh Lane. I tried to shoot this action and was rewarded with a few useful images. The background is blurred by my tracking of the fast bird and the narrow depth of field. Below is one of the images:

The photo above was underexposed and the bird looks pretty small. But I import my photos into Adobe Lightroom Classic on my computer. The software lets me correct some deficiencies in an image. I increased the amount of light in the photo, particularly in the darker areas. And I cropped away most of the picture to enlarge the bird. I put the bird just a bit above the photo’s center, producing the result below:

Green-tailed Towhee

These birds live above Bishop. You can find them in the eastside canyons of the Sierra, such as Lee Vining Creek, McGee, and Convict. On a walk around Convict Lake, I shot the bird below. While I love the buds on the tree, I think the background of unfocused leaves is a bit distracting.

So I cropped away most of the background, and produced the image below for a greeting card. Now the picture is highlights the bird, the branch, and the buds.

Western Meadowlark

These birds love to belt out a melody. The photo below is underexposed and the bird seems small.

But cropping and some exposure adjustment reveal a lot of detail. I love the way the feet balance on the barbed wire.

Savannah Sparrow

This sparrow posed on dead reeds along South Airport Road. In the unedited photo, below, he is a little underexposed and it is hard to see details. On a greeting card, using the entire image would produce a minuscule bird.

Making the image brighter and cropping brought out bird details for a card.

Northern Harriers

Two Northern Harriers, male and female, were hunting at the Buckley Ponds. They crisscrossed the sagebrush, searching for rodents. From time to time their flight paths intersected. I was tracking the female, getting photos like the one below.

Suddenly the male could be seen in the viewfinder. In the photo below, the brown female is on the left, the gray male on the right. This is the initial image, with no editing. The birds are underexposed because of the bright sky and bright clouds in the background.

The male came to a stop and fell downward to avoid colliding with his mate. I liked the photo below because both birds are close and positioned so that you can see details of each. But you can see the photo is too dark. The camera underexposed the picture because of the bright background.

In order to get a better image for a greeting card, I took the following steps:

A. Boosted the overall brightness

B. Toned down the white areas in the birds and clouds

C. Added a little sharpening

D. Trimmed away (cropped) most of the picture, just leaving the birds.

You can see the final result below. The gray-white male is falling to the ground. These acrobatics are child’s play for a Harrier. He recovered easily in the air and jetted away. A real show-boat.

Great Egret

A Great Egret flew by on South Airport Road in May, 2025. A white ghost. By now you know the drill. Initial image, below, is too dark and bird too small.

I cropped tightly, leaving just enough space to avoid cutting part of the bird. I usually prefer to leave more room around a bird. And, if possible, show the bird in some kind of context, as I did with the Green-tailed Towhee, shown above. But here I decided to showcase the bird against a featureless white sky. For me, the most interesting features are the wing bones, which can be partly seen though the translucent feathers.

My Approach To Cropping

Now you have seen what cropping can do. Plus adjustments to exposure, shadows, etc. One of the advantages of digital photography is that an amateur with a computer can make all sorts of adjustments and repairs to a digital image. When I photograph a bird, I don’t worry much about composition. I feel I have only a few seconds to capture the image. I put the bird right in the center of the viewfinder and try to get an image that is sharply focused and properly exposed. Some degree of underexposure (too dark) is fine, as this can be easily corrected using software. An overexposed image, however, may be hopeless, as bright areas may have so many fully exposed pixels that no detail can be recovered. Because of this approach, I usually end up cropping to improve the composition of the photo after it is taken. So with a bird, I shoot first, crop later.

When I photograph landscapes, I have a different approach. I often use a tripod and a zoom lens. This allows me to carefully position the scene as I want, making decisions about what to leave in and what to leave out before I push the shutter release. In addition, I may take several images, with different compositions and framing choices. After all, the landscape is not going anywhere soon. Later, I may have little need for cropping.

Poor cropping choices may produce an image that is unappealing. For example, the cropped Mockingbird image below looks weird. Why is the bird’s head stuffed into one corner?

In many of my cropped images, shown above, the bird is off to one side and faces toward the middle of the photo. That is a common choice for a bird photo. But I don’t always make that choice. For example, the Towhee and the Great Egret, shown earlier, face the edge of the picture. In January of 2025 I photographed a juvenile Bald Eagle as it took off from a limb. I cropped the picture to have much more width than height. I feel the Eagle looks as if it is trying to escape from the picture. And I liked the way the tree branches and the Eagle all bend toward the left. I printed this image and it hangs in a frame above Roberta’s desk.

Can Cropping Fail?

If the bird’s image is small relative to the total image, cropping to enlarge the bird a great deal may produce a poor picture. There may not be enough pixels to support a detailed image of the bird, so the result looks grainy and blurred. That is why photographers use big telephoto lenses; to magnify the bird sufficiently before the light reaches the camera’s sensor.

Ethics

Can cropping be unethical? Sure, if you are not honest about what you did. For example, I could take a photo of a Snow Leopard in a zoo. And then crop out anything that might be recognized as part of a zoo, such as bars or a feeding bowl. Then it might look as if I photographed the Leopard in the mountains of Asia. That would be a lie. The ethical failure, however, would not be due to cropping; it would be due to lying. As long as I reveal that the picture was taken in a zoo, I think the cropped photo is ethical.

I could be equally dishonest if I photographed the Snow Leopard using a telephoto lens that allowed me to omit any zoo objects from the picture, without any use of cropping. The dishonesty is not inherent in the photo; it arises if I claim the photo shows something which it does not.

Consider the previous picture of a Swainson’s Hawk being scolded by a Mockingbird. I could transfer that image to Adobe Photoshop and then remove most of the space between the two birds. If I then claimed that the Kingbird came within 6 inches of the Hawk, that would be a lie. I could be honest and reveal that I altered the photo to create a false impression of closeness; but why would anyone want to see a photo altered in this way?

Photographers can always make choices about how an image is created, either before or after taking a picture. Edward Steichen (1879-1973) was a pioneer of photography. In 1903 he took a portrait of J.P. Morgan, the banker. That photo is the most famous image of Morgan, reproduced in hundreds of books and articles. Morgan is staring right at the camera and he looks angry. His black suit merges with the dark background. His left hand grips the metal arm of a chair; but at first glance, it looks as if Morgan is holding a knife. The photo is famous for its drama. It makes Morgan look powerful and dangerous. This is achieved by leaving much of the image in darkness, underexposed or underdeveloped. Use Google to search for

edward steichen photo of JP Morgan

Then scroll down until you see the Wikipedia reference to this. (Some of the other websites crop away part of the chair arm.)

Consider a photo of an American White Pelican at Bishop City Park. Here the issue is not cropping, but exposure. The initial image from the camera shows a lot of feather detail and the reflected bill. Our attention is on the bird because the water looks almost black.

The next picture shows what happens when I hit Lightroom’s “Auto” button to change the exposure. The water is now brighter with a lot of detail, which draws attention away from the bird. This second image looks more like what I saw at 8am in April, when the Park was well lit. Which image is “best?” For what purpose?

Final Comments

Professional photographers and enthusiasts typically catalog and process their digital pictures using software on a home computer. Software choices include Capture One, Topaz, Affinity, Luminar, Snapseed, and more. The dominant applications are Adobe Photoshop and Adobe Lightroom. Photoshop was released in 1990; it is so well-known that the name became a verb, as in “she photoshopped that picture.” It is still popular among photographers and graphic artists. Lightroom appeared in 2017 and is more specifically aimed at photographers.

While the ability to process your own pictures is a gift, it requires a time commitment. On most mornings, Roberta and I go for a one-hour walk. I spend 5 minutes of that walk photographing birds. After a typical walk, I will have about 400 images. When I get home, I import the pictures into Lightroom Classic on my computer. Next I examine each photo. If an image is blurry, or boring, or otherwise useless, I delete it. If I have six images of a sparrow that look similar, I remove five. I do this quickly; in half an hour, just 100 images remain. Now I go back through the pictures, making adjustments. I may increase the overall brightness, darken areas that are too bright, bring out details in shadowed areas, and use commands that sharpen the picture. I almost always crop each image; I trim away unwanted parts and decide where to place the bird in the photo. I keep removing images that are substandard or repetitive. I whittle the results to 40 pictures. Then I electronically label the photos so that I can find them later; a typical label might say “bird, Bishop, Buckley Ponds, Great Blue Heron”. Finally, I rename the photos to something that indicates the location and time they were taken; “Ponds2025Feb.” I use a storage system based on location, such as Buckley Ponds or Mono Lake. In all, a one hour walk will usually mean one hour at my desk.

An Astronomical Endnote

Professional astronomers were early adopters of digital photography. They bought or built electronic light sensors that cost a small fortune. The expense could be justified because it increased the usefulness of big telescopes that were already, um, astronomical in price.

The world’s biggest camera started taking photographs in 2025 at the Vera C. Rubin Observatory in Chile. The camera weighs over 3 tons and has 3,200 megapixels. Earlier I mentioned that the camera I use for birds has a round lens barrel, the rectangular sensor of my camera ignores about 31% of the light that is collected by the lens. But astronomers do not want to waste a third of the photons that are collected by Rubin’s 8.4 meter primary mirror. Instead, the camera captures a nearly circular image using a grid of 189 square CCD sensors. Despite costing 168 million bucks, you cannot use this camera to photograph a bird. It won’t even take a selfie.

Mt Kenya — Joy and Sorrow

I first climbed in Africa in 1984; a failed attempt on Mt Kenya (in Kenya) and a successful climb of the Western Breach route on Kilimanjaro (in Tanzania), the highest summit (19,340 ft) in Africa. In July 1990 I returned to Mt. Kenya with my friend, Bart O’Brien. This post uses digitized slides from that trip. The photos of me were, obviously, taken by Bart.

Safari photos

First we spent a week visiting some of Kenya’s game parks. The photo below shows Zebras and Hartebeests on the Serengeti.

Wildebeests below.

Cheetah eating a gazelle.

Lone Elephant.

Elephant family.

Lion King; not the musical.

Hyenas eating a Zebra-burger.

Great White Pelicans.

Leopard.

Thompson’s Gazelle.

Reticulated Giraffe.

Approach to Mt. Kenya

Mt Kenya had a volcanic origin. Later it was covered by ice which severely eroded the rock; what remains is the interior plug of the original volcano. This created steep towers of hard rock with a rough texture; ideal for climbing. Most visitors to Mt Kenya hike up Pt. Lenana (16,355 feet), a peak which only requires walking; perhaps 10,000 ascents per year. The main summit of Mt Kenya, Batian (17,057 feet), involves roped climbing and has about 50 ascents per year. Batian was first climbed in 1899 by Halford Mackinder (English geologist), and two professional guides, Cesar Ollier and Josef Brocherel. The West Ridge, rated 5.8 in difficulty, was first climbed in 1930 by Eric Shipton and Bill Tilman. Both men were English coffee growers who later left Africa and became famous explorers of peaks in Asia and elsewhere. (I met Shipton in 1975 in Portland, Oregon, when he showed slides of trips to Tibet and Everest in the 1930s.)

Bart and I planned to spend 2+ weeks in the park; our main goal was to climb Mt Kenya’s West Ridge. We hired 3 porters to help carry our gear to climbing routes on the north side of the peak. Over two days we hiked the Sirimon Route to a tarn near the Kami Hut, at 14,600 feet, arriving on July 19. The porters left us here.

Mt Kenya’s main summit in the distance,

The porters enter the Mackinder Valley

Bart near our tent in Mackinder Valley.

Lobelia, a lovely plant.

A forest of Giant Groundsel.

Kami Tarn, 14,600 ft. Our blue tent is near center of photo.

Fresh snow.

Initial climbs

The Kami Tarn was our home for 8 nights. On July 21 we climbed Pt. Peter (15,607).

Josef Glacier from Pt. Peter.

Oblong Tarn and Hausberg Tarn.

Bart uses a rappel to descend.

The next day we climbed Pt Dutton (16,207), shown below.

Bart leads up.

Peter follows. Kami Tarn and our tent, a blue dot, are in upper right.

Peter contemplates his fate. Note how rope runs through an anchor set in the rock.

Laundry day.

Bart demonstrates clean, but frozen, socks.

On July 23, we climbed Pt Lenana (16,355), then rested on 7/24. Below, Peter smiles on top of Lenana. Only a little gray in his beard back then.

People hiking up Pt Lenana from Austrian Hut.

Nelion, Mt Kenya’s second highest summit (17,021 ft.) The true summit, Batian, is hidden behind Nelion.

Upper part of the Chogoria route which I hiked in 1984.

The West Ridge

We were now acclimated and ready to attempt the summit, Batian, via the West Ridge. We sorted gear, each preparing a small pack with extra clothing, sleeping pads, bivouac sacs, some food, 1 quart of water, climbing gear. No sleeping bags. The plan was to go light and fast, sleeping one night on the climb.

A glossary of some climbing terms used in this blog:

Roped climbing: About two centuries ago, ropes were introduced for climbing. Imagine two guys on a ledge. (Guys invented this sorry scheme.) Each ties himself to one end of a rope. The leader starts up. If the leader falls, he lands on the ledge; the rope offers him no help. If he falls past the ledge, he pulls off the second climber and both die. Imagine the leader climbs up 100 feet. He stops, tries to find a strong position, and pulls the rope up to assist the second climber. If the second climber falls, the leader tries to keep a grip on the rope. This wretched method was used for a century.

The old method of roped climbing produced many disasters. Edward Whymper (English) made the first ascent of the Matterhorn in 1865. On the descent, the 7 climbers were roped together. Douglas Haddow slipped, he pulled Michel Croz off the rock, and their combined weight pulled off Charles Haddon and Francis Douglas. Whymper and the Taugwalders (father and son) would have been pulled off as well, but the rope broke above Douglas; 4 men died, 3 survived. So one man slipped and the rope killed 3 more.

Belaying. Eventually climbers invented the belay. When the leader climbs, the second anchors himself to the rock with rope, pitons, other devices, and strong webbing. If the leader falls, the second will probably live thanks to his anchor. When the leader has climbed 100 feet to the next ledge, he stops and anchors himself to the rock. Then the second climber removes his anchor and comes up. This arrangement is called “belaying.” If the second falls, he may get banged up, but he should not fall far if the leader holds the rope.

Anchors. Climbers realized that anchors could be used between the climber and the belayer. The leader climbs while the belayer pays out rope. The leader may spot a crack after 20 feet. She puts an anchor in that crack, attaches a carabiner (snaplink) with webbing, and runs the rope through the carabiner. Now she climbs up 10 feet more. If she falls, the belayer holds the rope and the leader only drops 10 feet below the last anchor. Remarkably, this works. I’ve fallen more than once and I’m still alive. Placing anchors is a skill; they must be strong, placed quickly, and easily removed by the second climber.

Rappels. To get down some cliffs, climbers set up an anchor, attach nylon webbing, and slide half the rope through the webbing. If the rope is 150 feet long, the two 75-foot halves hang down from the anchor. The climber, using a metal device, slides down the rope. A lot can go wrong. You can slide off the end of the rope, you can detach from the rope, the anchor can fail, the rope can be cut, and more. But if you do this right, rappelling provides a fast descent.

Verglas. Clear ice on rock, hard to see, very slippery. Same thing as “black ice” on the highway; black, because you see the asphalt through the invisible ice.

July 24

Rest and get ready. Bart frets a bit about the route. He is the better climber, so he will lead, place all the anchors. The responsibility for finding the route rests on him. My job is to follow as fast as I can, be cheerful, quickly remove each anchor, and return the gear to him in neat order when I get to his belay station.

July 25

Breakfast 5am, on the go at 6. Fast hiking, then scrambling. At 7:50 we are at the notch between Pt Dutton and the Petit Gendarme. We climb about 100 feet – there is a lot of air below and we rope up. We are now on the West Ridge. We reach the top of the Petit Gendarme at 9am. Then climb and rappel down into a deep notch. Long traverses put us below the Grand Gendarme; really steep as we head up to a large ledge, around 11am.

Photo below shows the West Ridge Route from the Northwest.

In photo below, the Petit Gendarme is above Bart’s head. Grand Gendarme off to the left. We roped up soon after this photo was taken.

Looking down on Pt. Dutton.

Peter passes summit of Petit Gendarme.

Bart belaying on ridge of Petit Gendarme. We have to descend into the space behind him, then climb to the ledge in sunlight on the left.

Photo below is a view from a distant point, showing the Petit Gendarme on the right and Grand Gendarme near the middle.

Bart follows ledges on side of Grand Gendarme.

View looking back at Petit Gendarme.

Bart climbing up the Grand Gendarme.

This distant view shows the big ledge on top of the Grand Gendarme. In the previous photo, Bart was on the wall a little to the right of this picture’s center.

A bite to eat, a sip of water.

Up to a steep wall; Bart shoots up without his pack, hauls it after him. I follow. We are now past the hardest spots, but the ridge goes on and on. It is like being in an airplane, looking down on one side or the other.

We reach Shipton’s Notch. Bart belays me.

A few more hard sections, and then easier.

A distant view of the final section of the West Ridge. Batian on left skyline. Firman’s Tower is the pinnacle about 25% of the way from the right margin of the photo.

At 2:50 pm we are on top of Batian, 17,055, the summit of Mt Kenya.

We have been moving for 9 hours. We decide to descend the standard North Face route. Back to Shipton’s notch, then further, then downclimbing and 2 rappels. We make a mistake — we follow old rappel anchors down, but they lead nowhere. We have to climb back up. We are tired and want to rest. But no whining or cursing. Back up two hundred feet, on to the North Ridge, 2 more rappels, and we find flat spots near Firmin’s Tower. We each have a small ledge with a rock wall to keep us from the void. It is 6:40 pm. The shadow of the peak falls on the clouds below. By 7 it is dark. The temperature plunges.

Bart gets ready for a cold night.

Top of Firman’s Tower.

Shadow of the summit on top of clouds.

July 26

The equatorial night was 11 hours; I slept 4 hours. I shivered from 3am to dawn. Finally, the sun warms us. I finished all my water the previous day. Bart saved a pint, but it froze in his bivy sack; he cannot drink the ice. Below, Bart sits up as the sun reaches him.

We start down at 7:45am. First, 6 rappels.

Concentrate; no more mistakes. Scramble down an amphitheater. Two more rappels, then climb down a gully, then 2 more rappels. At 10:30 we are walking. Water flows from the Krapf glacier. We drink and drink and drink. By noon we are in camp. Rest. We are so happy. 12 hours of sleep. July 27 is a rest day.

Around the mountain

July 28

We move camp. No porters now. But we are fit and 11 days of food are gone. Bart’s load is 100 lb., mine is 75. In 4 hours we hike to the south side of the mountain, set up camp. Nearby is a group of 12 friendly British climbers; medical students and registrars from St. Mary’s Hospital in London.

Bart with 100 pounds of gear.

Hausberg tarn on left, Oblong tarn on right. Trail in middle.

Emerald Tarn.

Darwin Glacier, Pt. John.

West Ridge on left skyline. Tyndall Glacier, Tyndall Tarn.

The British camp, with dining tent, outhouse, etc.

Our pathetic little camp. Bart shakes fresh snow off the tent fly.

Final climbs and hikes

July 28-31

Rain, mist, snow. Dayhikes, scrambles up peaks named for Shipton and Tilman. The Brits invite us to dinner. We exchange stories and get to know them.

Batian seen on left, Nelion in cloud on right. Gates of the Mist in between. Diamond Glacier and Diamond Couloir below the Gates.

Climbers in the Diamond Couloir.

Tyndall Glacier.

Ice cave.

We climbed Shipton Peak and Tilman Peak in mist.

Tragedy

Aug 1

Four of the Brits hiked around the mountain on July 30, then climbed the North Face route to sleep on ledges above Firmin’s Tower. On July 31 they headed to the summit. Bill was leading, roped to Elunid. He slipped, yelled “Oh my God,” and flew downward. Elunid was not anchored, so the rope yanked her after Bill. Jim and Jed searched the area; they found blood, but no bodies. They descended. Now the Brits want us to help find Bill and Looney. We gather gear, quickly hike around the peak. Bart and I opt to climb the Krapf Rognon (15,748), a rock hulk, and use binoculars to view locations further east of the searched area. Our guess was right. We spot the broken bodies in a giant gulley. I cry for a while. We scramble down and tell others at the Kami Hut. John Omirah, a climbing ranger for the park, is in charge. (He played the role of a tracker in the movie, Gorillas in the Mist. Sigourney Weaver played Diane Fossey.) He says porters will remove the bodies the next day. Bart and I hike back to camp.

The North side, with West Ridge on skyline. The Krapf Rognon is the bulky rock blob in the lower left of photo.

The bodies.

Park rangers. John Omirah on the right with helmet.

Aug 2

We sleep in, but John Omirah wakes us. The bodies lie above a 100 foot cliff and porters cannot reach them. Can we help? At 7:30 we leave and by 9 we are at Kami Hut. We collect some ropes and reach the base of the gully by 11:30. Bart leads up and places an anchor. Omirah and I enter the gully — steep, loose, dangerous. I’ve never seen humans pulverized like this. We drop the bodies below the cliff, where they can be retrieved. By 2:30 we are done. All of us are shaken. A cup of tea at Kami Hut, then 2 hours back to our tent.

What can we say about these senseless deaths? One strategy is to find mistakes. The recent rain and mist made verglas likely, especially in the morning. Bill probably slipped on ice that he never saw. There were no anchors, so once Bill fell, Elunid was doomed. Bart and I climbed through this area on July 25, using belays and anchors. You will be safe if you just avoid mistakes.

This blame-the-victim approach is common. An annual report, Accidents in North American Mountaineering, is published by the American Alpine Club. This is a ghoulish litany of deaths in the previous year. Accounts are followed by a list of mistakes that were made. When I started climbing, I began to realize that some “mistakes” were irrelevant. For example, a solo hiker would stumble off a cliff and die; the analysis criticized the hiker for being alone. But 1) had there been a companion, the hiker would still have died and 2) are we supposed to never go alone? Over the years, the reports became more thoughtful. Less “that would never happen to me” and more “but for the Grace of God…” Often the dead were doing what many climbers would do. And ran out of luck.

Another way to think about climbing deaths is to acknowledge that climbing is insanely dangerous – it is all a mistake. Climbing, like any sport, has no useful objective; put a ball in a hoop, run fastest to the tape, reach the summit. Sport is for amusement, challenge, diversion. When you step into the batter’s box or the starting blocks, your risk of death is minimal. That isn’t true for climbing. Some climbing magazines have obituary columns; most of those listed are young. I’ve done over a 1000 climbs. Friends died on expeditions with me and on domestic peaks. I’ve stepped over frozen bodies. I’ve seen climbers die. I’ve narrowly missed death several times. Why did I accept these risks? Was it an addiction – foolish, but irresistible? A type of gambling in which the bet limit is your life?

Edward Whymper wrote, “Climb if you will, but remember that courage and strength are nought without prudence, and that a momentary negligence may destroy the happiness of a lifetime. Do nothing in haste; look well to each step; and from the beginning think what may be the end.” Poetic advice, but illusory. If you climb, haste is often necessary and unbroken prudence is a fantasy. Want prudence? — stay home. I don’t believe life should be risk-free or that the person who lives longest wins. But the chances many climbers take, myself included, seem hard to justify.

While we were on Mt Kenya we came across several metal plaques, affixed to rocks, commemorating dead climbers. They are the alpine equivalent of the white crosses that mark fatal crash sites on highways.

Last climb and hike out.

Aug 3

I want to stay in camp, but I know Bart wants to climb Pt John (16,020). We make quick work of this peak in a mild snow storm. We are smiling on top. Rappel off and back to camp. I later learn that Bart did the climb because he thought I wanted to go. Dinner with the Brits.

Pt. John.

Peter hangs on and smiles for the camera.

Darwin Glacier.

Peter on top. Diamond Couloir behind his right elbow.

View of the Diamond Couloir.

Aug 4

A long slog with heavy loads gets us off the mountain via the Naro Moro route. Reach Nairobi the next day. Below, Peter eats food off of his heavy load.

Final view of the south side of Mt Kenya. Batian in center, with west ridge on left. Diamond Glacier and Nelion just right of center. Pt. John in the Y of the dead Groundsel limbs.

The West Ridge of Mt Kenya is one of my favorite climbs; 30 hours of exciting effort. But the meaningless deaths cast a shadow on this memory.

Anecdote from my 1984 trip:

Brad Neiman and I shouldered giant packs (about 90 lb. each: 10 days of food plus camping and climbing gear) and began a 3-day walk to reach the peak via the Chogoria route; a scenic path which we had to ourselves. We staggered along in the forest and found a sleeping Cape Buffalo that was 25 feet away. He stood up and looked grumpy. This animal weighs 1500 lb. Wikipedia says: “One of the “big five” African game, it is known as “the Black Death” or “the widow-maker,” and is widely regarded as a very dangerous animal. According to some estimates, it gores and kills over 200 people every year…” Brad was a little ahead of me; with just a few steps he vanished into the jungle. I stupidly stood there and lifted my camera to take a picture. Brilliant! The buffalo charged; I turned and waddled away, knowing that I would be gored and trampled in two seconds. But after 100 feet, I was still alive; I looked back and saw the buffalo had stopped — I circled past the buffalo and joined Brad.

Mount Waddington — The worst night, the best day

I’ve photographed birds for 5 years. Previously, for decades, I spent time as a mountain climber/photographer. I’ve done over a thousand climbs and I spent years shooting Kodachrome slides on five continents. This article is about Mt. Waddington, my favorite climb.

Mt. Waddington is in the British Columbia Coast Range, between the Klinaklini and Homathko Rivers. Bad weather and the remote location conceal the peak; it was not discovered until 1925. At 13,186 ft, it is higher than any peak in the better-known Canadian Rockies. For a decade, climbers from the US and Canada attempted to reach the summit. The peak was known to climbers during this competitive era and it is featured in books about the history of climbing in North America. Two US climbers, Fritz Weissner and Bill House, reached the top in 1936. Many climbers today are unaware of this isolated area. This is a region of dangerous rivers, dense forests, giant glaciers, and grizzly bears.

Waddington rises 7000 feet above the Tiedemann Glacier

View of our route from where the helicopter landed.

The upper part of the mountain. Central summit tower is about 1000 feet tall.

The map below shows Waddington is about 100 miles northwest of Vancouver. To get there in 1980, you had to drive about 500 miles; first east on Highway 1, then north to Williams Lake, then west on gravel road to Tatla Lake, past towns with Russian-style churches, then south to the helicopter service owned by Mike King.

Our 1980 attempt

I learned of Waddington when I started climbing in 1967. By July 1980, I had 100 climbs under my belt, including Denali and big peaks in Peru and Asia. Chris LaRocca (then a college student) and I decided to tackle Waddington. We flew by helicopter to the Tiedemann Glacier at the base of our route. As the chopper circled to land, I saw a world of rock and ice; stunning, but intimidating. No plants, little color, no life. This was before satellite phones and personal locator beacons; if we had trouble, no one was going to help us. I considered asking the pilot to just fly us back out. But we stayed for 2 weeks.

I am in the blue shirt. The other guy is Chris. We both have zinc oxide on our noses. This portrait taken at the Plummer hut, after our time on Waddington.

The helicopter flew over this terrain. To get there on foot would be a nightmare.

Rainy knob is the low hill of rock and ice in middle foreground. Behind it is the Bravo Icefall.

For the next two days we weaved through the crevasses and seracs of the Bravo Glacier. Four Canadians died here in 1960, crushed by falling ice.

Bravo Icefall. Try to follow our track. Can you find one of our dead-ends — look in upper center

This was our high point — we gave up here in 1980.

Although we crossed the Bravo Icefall, we failed to get very far above it. We retreated, crossed the Tiedemann Glacier, and climbed up to the Plummer Hut. We managed to do three climbs from there.

We climbed this slope to the Plummer Hut, which is out of sight in upper right.

Plummer Hut, built by climbers, in the middle. We climbed Claw Peak, the rock tower on the left.

Is this cobbler? Or cheesecake? We were hungry!

Our 1981 attempt.

After our 1980 failure, we gathered more information and plotted a return in 1981. We invited Gus Benner and Joe Davidson to join us; they foolishly agreed.

Fine dining at White Saddle Helicopters. Gus mugs for the camera on left, Joe stirs his tea, Chris seems lost in thought.

We climb up to Rainy Knob. Note how deep my footprints are.

Telephoto view of upper part of Bravo Icefall. Long, diagonal gash in the snow near middle of photo is the bergschrund. We must cross this and climb to the ridge above.

I am trying to cross the bergschrund on the left. I could see way down into the dark depths of the glacier. Gus belays me at the right.

I’m up! Note the small avalanches coming down.

Our tents near Bravo Peak. Elevation. 9800 feet.

The Worst Night

July 17-18. The worst night – pure misery. My diary notes (written July 19) describe this: “We left camp at 5:15am, hoping to make the top. The route winds up steep, crevassed snow slopes. By 10am we were at the base of the summit tower…. We climb about 700 feet of rock and ice, protecting ourselves with ice screws, nuts, and pitons…. At 5pm we made the bad decision to bivy [bivouac = sleep in the open]. Chris and I shared a small ledge. It started to snow heavily at 6pm. We and our gear were tied off to the rock. Chris sat on the pack and I sat on the rope. [In the photo below, we were sitting on the summit tower, to the right of the gap between the Tooth and the Summit.]

“What followed was the most miserable night of my life. It snowed steadily to 9pm, then fitfully to 2am. My wool knickers were soaked and so was part of my parka. The wind was the worst, bringing unbearable chill. Leaning against the rock wall was too cold, so I sat hunched over my knees all night.

“…Had the storm gone on full force all night, some or all of us would probably have died from hypothermia. I cannot express in words how agonizing the cold was. All night I shivered on and off, and my teeth chattered. I did exercises to stay warm and used mental games to pass the time. Whenever I checked my watch, only 15 minutes had gone by – I tried to wait longer, but the elapsed time was always just 15 minutes. Chris was the youngest and I think he suffered the most. He asked if we would die. I said ‘absolutely not’ with all the authority I could muster, but I doubt he was convinced.

“At 4am the sun began to lighten the sky and it was clear we would survive… the sun did not really warm us until 6am and around 7 we slowly stood up and moved about. No one suggested going up. We set up the first rappel and started down about 8:30am. I was still shivering. By 2pm we were off the rock tower. For 3 more hours we slogged back to the tents in wet snow. We repeatedly sank to our crotches and set off wet avalanches. Melted snow and drank the water, then slept for 13 hours.”

Telephoto view of the SE ridge, on left, and Tooth, Summit, and NW summit towers. Dusk.

July 19. We rested. Chris and I climbed nearby Bravo Peak. On July 20 we moved our camp to the base of the final tower, about 11,800. Because of wind, we built snow walls around our tents.

SE ridge, the Tooth, and Summit. Tracks from failed effort are visible.

Joe moving camp up the SE ridge. Bravo Peak in upper right corner of photo.

New high camp with snow walls. Route to the top lies near center of rock tower.

Mts Combatant, Tiedemann, and Asperity in background.

Summit. Route goes up the snow gully in lower middle, then into the shadowed rock cleft in center.

The Best Day

Diary entry: “July 21. Awake 2am. Ready to go by 4, but still too dark — we catnap with our boots on until 5:30. Then we start. As soon as we go my mood changes – I am excited, happy, and feel strong. Up to the notch between the main summit and the Tooth. Into a long rock gully. We are climbing on both rock and ice, wearing crampons which scrape on the rock. We protect ourselves with pitons and nuts in rock, screws in the ice. A chockstone blocks progress in the gully – we quickly overcome this by stepping up on nylon sling. Exit the gully on a ledge to left, then up and back right into the slot. Then the slope breaks back and we are on easier mixed rock and snow. I hear Gus call out – he is on top, 2pm. The top is a tiny snow tower; only two can go up at a time – are we actually standing on anything solid? Peaks stretch away for miles. Lovely sun. Then down and down and down, a mix of rappels and downclimbing with ice tools. At 9:30pm we are back at the tents. Water, food. I am smiling as I fall asleep.”

Chris. Note tents above his helmet. Bravo Peak in upper left.

Gus and Joe. Chockstone above Gus’s orange helmet.

The Tooth. We are almost level with its summit.

I am on top. Gus and Joe are just below, starting descent. Our tents are on snow above their heads.

Chris joins me on top. A happy fellow. The Tooth is below his right elbow.

Chris rappels. Note crampons on his feet.

Rappel to the bergschrund. Avalanche debris below.

Aftermath

We hiked up to the Plummer Hut and climbed additional peaks (Heartstone, Dentiform, Serra III).

Hut on left, Bravo Peak in middle, Waddington in cloud on right.

Serra III; highest point near middle. Gus and I climbed this.

Serra III from Tellot Glacier. Route goes to snow notch on left, then right up ridge.

Gus coming up Serra III. My boot is in lower left.

April 2024

During April, Roberta and I traveled the Eastern Sierra from Owens Lake to Mono Lake, collecting photos. I decided to create this month’s blog using a selection of those pictures, mostly bird images. I will group the photos by location and list the places from south to north.

Owens Lake

On April Fools’ Day, we got up in the dark and drove to Owens Lake to photograph the dawn on Mt Whitney. It was cold and windy, so I froze taking pictures, while Roberta sat in the warm car sipping coffee; smart woman.

The moon was at third quarter. The giant crater Copernicus is near the center of the photo below; this crater is fully lit and a white blanket of ejecta spreads out over a diameter of 300 miles. The crater walls are 13,000 feet high. Above and right is the crater Erastosthenes and the Appenine mountain range extends, from there, further up and right into the darkness of the terminator (the line between dark and light). The brightest area in this range is a feature that is white on its left side, dark on the right side; this is Mt Huygens, 18,000 feet, the highest lunar peak. So the tallest mountain I saw that morning was Huygens, not Whitney (14,505 ft). Lower in the picture, right on the terminator, are 3 big craters in a line. From top to bottom they are Ptolemaeus, Alphonsus, and Arzachel.

In the photo below, the tall point left of center is Whitney.

Below, a panorama shows, from left to right, Sharktooth, Mt Corcoran, Mt LeConte, Lone Pine Peak (12,944) in the middle, and Mt Whitney on the right. Lone Pine Peak looks taller because it is closer.

Mt Willliamson (14,375) is California’s second highest peak. The summit is on the left.

South of Owens Lake, along Highway 190, there was a bloom of Desert Sunflowers. The southern Sierra is in the background.

Desert Sunflowers. Malpais Mesa in background.

On April 1, American Avocets were on Owens Lake, sheltering from the wind behind an elevated road. Their bodies are facing north, but most have turned their heads to face south, away from the cold wind.

On April 20 we joined the Owens Lake Bird Festival and toured the Lake with expert bird photographer Martin Powell. It was a warm, calm day. Many Avocets were standing around on one leg. In the first photo, an Avocet was hopping on one leg.

California Gulls migrate from the coast to the Owens Valley to breed.

One Gull couple gets serious about breeding; the Gull on the right is saying “Get a room!”

Will you still respect me in the morning?

Least Sandpipers flying in front of the Sierra.

Long-billed Dowitchers have a dull red-brown plumage.

But when Dowitchers take off, they reveal intricate patterns in their wing and tail feathers.

The Dowitcher below is reflected in the lake; it look as if a wing is reaching up from the water.

Yellow-headed Blackbirds are found in the reeds.

A Snowy Egret, with breeding plumes, looks stately at first, but then shakes itself into a mess.

Buckley Ponds

The Ponds are just a few miles east of Bishop. Here a Double-crested Cormorant takes off by pushing on the water.

Great Blue Heron. White Mountains in background.

Two Caspian Terns streaked past, heading north; I was lucky to get a shot. This bird may have spent the winter on the Mexico coast. I photographed two of them at the Ponds in April of 2022. They were feeding there for at least two days.

An Osprey circled toward me, a turn that lasted 9 seconds; the camera captured over 100 images. Here are two of my favorites.

Bishop Creek Canal

This area, including South Airport Road, is usually reliable for bird pictures.

Western Bishop

California Quail, our State Bird, are common around Bishop. I find them hard to photograph; they usually run off quickly, so most of my pictures show Quail butts. But on Riata Lane, a male ignored me as I walked past.

The Sierra

Friends visited us in April. On the 25th we drove to Lake Sabrina at 9200 feet. Winter is still here. Fishing season opened in the valley at 5am on April 27, but it will be a while before fishing opens in the high Sierra.

Dixon Lane and further north

Just north of Bishop, on Dixon Lane, is a road with a green gate. Owls often nest here and other birds use the area. From Dixon Lane you can get nice views of the mountains.

A Cooper’s Hawk was present.

This year the Great Horned Owls put their nest high in a tree with a lot of leaves. This made it hard to get pictures: inconsiderate of them. Why does this owl seem to be wearing red eye-shadow?

A week later. There are at least 3 babies in the nest.

When you see a nest with one adult, the other owl is usually nearby. Finding them can be difficult, as they blend into the shadows of the Cottonwoods.

Pleasant Valley Reservoir

Double-crested Cormorant. Looks like it is sinking.

Double-crested Cormorant, preening. Eyes look like sewn-on blue buttons.

It took me years to realize that Beavers are common in the waters near Bishop. The most obvious sign of their presence is a newly-downed Cottonwood, with tooth-marks on the remaining stump. Sinuous marks from their tails can be seen on dirt roads. But getting photos of these creatures has been hard. The pictures below were taken where the Owens River flows into the Reservoir.

Convict Lake

We visited Convict Lake (elevation 7850 ft) on April 23. The ice has melted, but snow still lingers on the south shore and higher up along Convict Creek.