Birds

I first encountered the expression LBJ in March 1980. I was birding, solo, the Rio Grande valley in Texas, a trip that had started at Aransas National Wildlife Refuge where I’d ticked off my first Whooping Cranes. Of course, Whooping Cranes are about as removed from being LBJs as it’s possible to get, but I discovered that Texas also had numerous small brown birds that the birdwatchers I encountered called LBJs. I also found, to my surprise, that many of these birdwatchers didn’t even try to separate the various LBJs but just dismissed them as too difficult to be worth bothering with. A Willow Warbler on autumn migration. Note the pale supercilium This was a shock to the system. I came from England, where we endeavoured to identify every bird we encountered, no matter how small and insignificant it might be. In fact, many of my pals were obsessed with small brown birds, scanning the flocks of Meadow Pipits in the hope of a Red-throated Pipit, or even better, a Pechora Pipit. After all, anyone can identify an Avocet or a Great Spotted Woodpecker, but finding a rare pipit takes real skill.  A spring Chiffchaff. The dark legs are distinctive This obsession with identification continues to this day. A recent copy of the magazine British Birds devoted no fewer than 18 pages to separating Alder from Willow Flycatchers. This is despite the fact that the former has only been recorded in the British Isles on a couple of occasions, while no Willow Flycatcher has ever been recorded here. My chances of encountering either species in the UK are about as great as winning the lottery, but I did learn that one of the best clues to identification is in the wing formula. I’ll do my best to remember this in the unlikely event of coming across one of these birds. A Chiffchaff in autumn: brown and with few distinguishing features We don’t have any birds in Europe that are quite as confusing as the Empidonax flycatchers, but we do have our fair share of LBJs that take a bit of work to identify correctly. Perhaps the most common confusion duo is the Chiffchaff /Willow Warbler pair, not infrequently referred to as Willow-chiffs. Both birds are a similar size and have similar colouring, and they can even be found in the same habitat. The easiest way to tell them apart is by sound, for the onomatopoeic Chiffchaff has a song that’s instantly recognisable and is quite unlike the Willow Warbler’s soft, descending whistle. Autumn Willow Warbler, photographed on migration on migration in Portugal Visually, there are a number of subtle clues. Chiffchaffs have dark legs, whereas those of Willow Warblers are usually pale. The latter has a more distinct supercillium, and young birds in autumn have a yellow wash to the underparts. Willow Warblers are long-distance migrants, so have much longer primaries than Chiffchaffs, which rarely fly far. In spring Chiffchaffs would be easily overlooked if it wasn’t for their loud and distinctive song Just to confuse things further, the Chiffchaff has a number of (recently split) close relatives. The Iberian Chiffchaff is best identified by its song, while its call is quite different, too, but great numbers of Chiffchaffs from northern Europe winter in Spain and Portugal, so a Chiffchaff in Iberia isn’t necessarily an Iberian. In winter, most Iberian Chiffchaffs are likely to be found in tropical West Africa. The Canary Islands Chiffchaff is another recent split. It’s clearly a bird that doesn’t move far, as it has a very short primary projection. On the eastern edge of the Western Palearctic you can find the Mountain Chiffchaff, a bird that I’ve seen in the Caucasus mountains in Georgia. It looks much like a standard Chiffchaff, but has a distinct white supercilium and a different song. Mountain Chiffchaff, a bird of the Caucasus mountains in Georgia A number of other Phylloscopus warblers – such as Artic, Green and Greenish – are similarly confusing, but they are such rarities in Western Europe that we don’t get much practice in identifying them. It takes a trip to the Himalayas to discover just what a challenge it can be trying to identify these birds. Some 20 species of Phylloscopus warblers occur in this region. Autumn Willow Warbler: note the long primaries and a yellow wash to the underside But I’ve strayed outside my geographical boundary: this article is about LBJs in Europe. The Acrocephalus warblers have almost as many confusing members as the Phylloscopus, with Reed, Marsh and Blyth’s Reed Warblers all offering their own challenge to the observer. Separating them is rarely a problem in spring, but it can be tricky in the autumn. Song is the best way of distinguishing the Acrocephalus warblers. This is a Reed Warbler Meadow Pipit: Europe’s top LBJ? Though these warblers may be contenders for the prize of the best of Europe’s LBJs, we mustn’t forget the pipits. I reckon that the Meadow Pipit is arguably Europe’s top LBJ, for this is a widespread and often common bird in northern Europe, but one that often flits away without allowing you a serious look. I rather like these subtle, unassuming little birds, which have the misfortune to be one of the favourite foods of the Merlin.  An autumn Meadow Pipit Meadow Pipits have a subtle charm The Meadow Pipit’s look-alike is the Tree Pipit, and if you look at pictures in a field guide you will hard pushed to tell them apart. Habitat and season are usually reliable indicators:  the Tree Pipit is a summer migrant. Thus a winter pipit is most likely to be a Meadow Pipit, unless you are on the coast when it could well be a Rock Pipit, or even a Water Pipit, while in autumn it could be an Olive-backed Pipit, an annual vagrant to Britain. There we go – LBJs are a confusing bunch of birds, best left to the enthusiasts. Tree Pipit: it is at least perched in a…

A 2003 scientific paper starts with the sentence, “The population … in the United States is rapidly aging.” If that comes as a surprise to you, it is probably because I cut out some parts of the sentence. The full quotation would be “The population of Great Hornbills (Buceros bicornis) in the United States is rapidly aging, and captive breeding efforts have not met population managers’ expectations for a sustainable captive group.” One reason – emphasized in a later paper – is that mate compatibility is thought to be important for successful reproduction (unfortunately, the second sentence of the abstract of that paper is “Within AZA, great hornbills are listed as a red SSP”, which probably is no hurdle for the 90% of 10,000 Birds readers who know that AZA is the Association of Zoos and Aquariums, SSP is the Species Survival Plan and a red SSP means a high prioritization – but it was one for me). Captive breeding programs are important as the species is listed as Vulnerable due to the usual suspects, evil people (or to put it in more neutral terms, habitat degradation, loss of large nest trees, as well as hunting and trapping). While said humans – particularly venture capitalists – care a lot about unicorns, the Great Hornbill is proud to have two (in the shape of the double-pointed casque), which is reflected in its scientific name Buceros bicornis. These casques are also used in aerial casque-butting between males, probably in disputes over territory (source). What happens if the casque has a problem – for example, due to a carcinoma? A paper describes a solution for that – the use of a 3D-printed prosthesis to replace the affected part of the casque. Finally, while the “Great” in the species’ name suggests that this is the biggest of hornbills, the Southern Ground Hornbill is actually heavier and has a longer wingspan. So, the Great Hornbill can only claim the title of “biggest flying hornbill”, which then is similar to companies definining their market in a convoluted way that allows them to claim market leadership (“We are the No. 1 provider of gluten-free, organic, fair-trade, single-origin coffee pods in biodegradable packaging sold exclusively at airports in the Midwest”). Photos taken at Kaeng Krachan National Park, Thailand, in July 2025

By the time a series reaches Part 4, you’ve either run out of ideas or found your life’s work. We’re still deciding which applies here. What we do know is that birds continue to appreciate gentle reminders that enthusiasm is optional and that soaring is mostly overrated. Maybe that’s because fatigue is universal. The heron that stands motionless for hours isn’t serene — it’s procrastinating. The sparrow that skips preening isn’t molting — it’s done. So, while others promise inspiration, we offer acceptance. Here’s Part IV, for birds perfectly content to remain exactly where they landed.

After the great success (well, a few more readers than usual) of the post on 10 Cute Birds, we decided to shamelessly pander to our audience’s interest in the topic. Maybe we will even have a third post on this. But before that, here are ten more cute birds. Snow Bunting I don’t know if there are snowglobes with a Snow Bunting in them, but if not, somebody should produce them. I asked ChatGPT for a prototype: Spotted Owlet Whenever I send a message to a friend and then immediately delete it, he sends me back an illustration saying “Jesus saw that post you deleted”. The look of the owl seems to indicate a similar sentiment – though expressed in a much cuter way than an older male could. Black-throated Tit Not sure why this one did not make the first list – maybe because I felt it was too similar to the Long-tailed Tit. If God or Evolution has a side job as a cartoonist, it is not surprising we have birds looking like this one. African Penguin Talking about tuxedos is a bit too obvious here, particularly as most African Penguins have never ever been to an opera ball. In any case, they wear their attire more like Groucho Marx than some famous conductor. Grey-bellied Tesia Anyone who thinks Labubus are cute cannot have seen this tailless bird bounce around. Little Ringed Plover The eyerings alone are worth a place in this list, but the bobbing walk seals the deal. European Robin If you can see this bird and, for one moment, avoid thinking of tasteless Christmas cards, you will agree that this bird is very cute (not withstanding the fact that it is also very territorial – think of Hitler wearing a Santa hat) Barred Buttonquail A fight between two female Barred Buttonquails – while dead serious for them – looks very much like a match between Hello Kitty and her twin sister. Common Waxbill The half-red beak! African Pygmy Goose Any bird wearing what looks like absurdly big headphones in a similarly absurd color, along with a funny black cap, deserves a place on this list. More to come, if this post finds enough readers … otherwise, we can’t be bothered, I am afraid.

Seems like eons ago, but it has been only six years since my last couple of posts on our beloved LBJ’s – Little Brown Jobs – both set in magical Kenya from my first visit there. My first post was made with a little trepidation, there was a little more confidence with the second. Since then the spotlight has shifted away from these tiny, feathered blobs of dirt – but this post seeks to put an end to that injustice. The LBJ rabbit hole is one of the more serious ones within ornithology, so in this case I’m going to limit the selection to the larks and cisticolas seen while moving through Kenya. As typical of my ethos, the birds I photograph are souvenirs of luck – it is only where our paths cross do we register each other. Regardless of one’s fortunes, one’s birding skills must be carefully cultivated in order to find any LBJ. Of these, there is no greater skill than staring at the ground. See, it is here, among innumerable clods and pebbles, where there is the highest probability of seeing a clump of mud that turns out to be a bird. You’re never going to find a Fischer’s Sparrow-Lark if your eyes are in the sky. If you do – as I have – you’re unlikely to even raise your binoculars before the bird disappears behind a bush or embankment. Fischer’s Sparrow-Lark Larks are phenomenally confusing, and I’ve only managed to correctly identify a small percentage of them in the field. Even from a photo, it can be difficult. To make it even more exciting, some of the species have recently been split. Take the Rufous-naped Lark, for example. I thought I’ve seen it – and even photographed it – but now some of these are considered to be Sentinel Lark. Let’s play spot the difference in the following two images, shall we? Rufous-naped Lark Sentinel Lark Close looks at a confiding pair of Red-winged Larks gave me the rare opportunity of an accurate field identification. After some time, with beads of sweat running down furrowed brows. Thankful for the visible blackish patches on the neck; while distinctive, this field mark can sometimes be obscured. Red-winged Lark Like many birds with “short-tailed” in their common name, the Short-tailed Lark‘s defining characteristic is not its tail length. Ornithologists seem to forget that most of us do not hold birds next to a ruler. Fortunately, the facial markings of this bird were strong enough to dissolve all doubt. Short-tailed Lark It would be remiss of me to prepare a post on Kenyan LBJ’s and not mention any cisticolas. As promised in the introductory paragraph, here are some of these incredible albeit frustrating warbler-like passerines. The Ashy Cisticola doesn’t seem to be that ashy, maybe I caught it on a good day? Hunter’s Cisticola is a bird of higher altitude; in the highlands of central Kenya its cheerful, sinusoidal trill is a constant companion. I saw far too many Winding Cisticolas for my own sanity. They came in so many plumages, some fresh, some worn, others halfway. Several times I was convinced that I had seen an entirely different cisticola. I’m sure there are other people who visit the Masai Mara and spend time with birds like this Zitting Cisticola – I just haven’t found them yet. Arguably one of the easiest cisticolas to identify in the field, the diminutive Tiny Cisticola was aptly named. Although they could’ve named it “Cutest Cisticola” and many would be happy.