Back to The Hollow!

"Lots of people go mad in January. Not as many as in May, of course. Nor June. But January is your third most common month for madness."

― Karen Joy

Baxter's Hollow, now draped in the full splendor of spring, remains a place of profound beauty. Yet, as I noted previously, a visit no longer yields the bird diversity it once did. It would be satisfying to conclude the month of May on a cheerful note, but birding has become a source of sadness nearly as often as it is a joy. Do new birders feel it?

Perhaps I'm focusing more so on misses rather than hits. A single Cerulean Warbler did sing near the first bridge — always a welcome find at Baxter's. Having said that, I can't help but recall when Hooded, Kentucky, Canada, Mourning, and Worm-eating Warblers were relatively easy to find here. But these aren't the only missing voices in the hollow today. Naturally, the Baraboo Hills span a considerable area, so it's likely these species still breed nearby, just not along the deteriorating road that follows Otter Creek. At least, that's a hope I have.

A Great Blue Heron was standing almost motionless in the shallows of the creek, occasionally surveying the water for prey. I know there are one or two trout species navigating these currents, but for such an opportunistic hunter, indifference is the rule when it comes to meals.

Acadian Flycatchers were present in modest numbers. Their diminutive pee-tsup song suggests a punctuation to the avian choir to my anthropomorphic ears, but all the other birds keep right on singing. It's interesting how some species get by with such a simple song while others have incredibly complex ones. It's largely the habitat they occupy, but competition and mate selection are factors. Song differences can reflect evolutionary trade-offs where complexity represents a different solution to distinct ecological challenges rather than inherent superiority. 

The forest canopy's dappled light offers a perfect example of how a songbird can appear more green than it truly is. Without its distinctive song, this bird might be mistaken for a Yellow-bellied Flycatcher. Empidonax flycatchers are difficult to identify by sight alone, but the careful observer can often unravel their identity through the subtle clues of location, seasonal timing, and specific habitat preferences — each piece of evidence helping to solve what might otherwise be an avian puzzle.

 

But add a little sunlight ... 

And Ovenbirds!

This is a warbler species that still comes to the hollow in good numbers. Their estimated global population is 26 million, which is a lot of teacher teacher teacher calls.

Perhaps I got carried away photographing them ...

You gotta love their colorful head feathers ...

This Eastern Towhee bears a mark of a narrow escape — a survivor's tale etched into its side. Did a cat have it in its mouth and the bird managed to break free? Perhaps an accipiter's talons failed to secure their grip. Whatever peril it faced, the bird showed no signs of diminished spirit, its drink-your-tea song ringing through the understory. Below the branch where it perched, a delicate spider web glistened, but you'll need to click to see it in the larger version. When I shared these images with Lori, her immediate reaction summed it up perfectly: "What a badass bird!" To be sure, he got lucky. 

The ubiquitous Eastern Wood-Pewee!

A diffuser would have helped with the ladyslippers, but I captured better images of them a few weeks ago anyway. It's my experience that the plant simply doesn't photograph well in direct sunlight. Still, they're always a cool sight to see.

After Baxter's, a decision was made to check on the tiger beetles at Sauk Prairie State Recreational Area. The three expected species were present: Big Sand, Oblique-lined, and Festive.

While Festive Tiger Beetles can display remarkable color diversity across their range, the specimens at this particular site consistently show a reddish or ruby hue. This striking uniformity suggests their coloration may not be an adaptation to match the immediate substrate, as one might expect with typical camouflage. Perhaps they have evolved to mimic other prominent elements in their environment — specifically, reddish hues of surrounding rocks or flowers. At other locations I explore, they're generally mixed with brown or green accents.

Though the purpose is purely thermoregulation, I can't help but chuckle whenever a tiger beetle uses my shadow for a cool-down. Should you find yourself in this situation, be mindful they're not advancing with aggression, but simply seeking respite from the heat.

Later in the day, this next Festive was photographed at the Sauk City Canoe Launch ...

Similar color, but not quite as saturated on the head and thorax. Maculations vary, too, and this one has more prominent front ones compared to the Sauk Rec specimen. 

While scouting the beach for tiger beetles, I found my first Shoreline Wolf Spider of the year. Though comparatively small compared to how large they can get, they're still a menacing looking critter. 

Especially up close ...

And Blue Toadflax ...

And that's May!

 

Overall, it was a memorable month of exploration, observation, and photography. For the naturalist, May is a month of almost overwhelming abundance, where each walk brings discoveries and familiar places reveal their secrets in bursts of life. It's a time of transition, where the promise of spring is fulfilled and the lush, green world settles into the steady rhythm of summer.

 

But how much less will there by next May, and the one after that, and so on? 

 

All images © 2026 Mike McDowell

Woodland Gems!

"I think on a deeper level, the reason we're not more upset about the world ending environmentally is, I think all of us, in our hearts really know that we did everything we could. You know, we really ... right? I mean, we really did. I mean, think about it. We ... you know, we brought our own bags to the supermarket ... yeah, that's about it!"

— Marc Maron

Part I: May 2026 Lessons

I rarely chase bird alerts these days, but I did head to Hoyt Park in Madison for a Black-throated Blue Warbler. Of course, the universe laughed — just two days later, Dottie and I found one at the Pheasant Branch Creek Corridor. After soaking in its nifty song and gorgeous feathers, Dottie said, 'Trust the Branch!' I guess that's the ultimate takeaway. Over time, missing this species at Pheasant Branch has proven to be the exception and not the rule. Even if they slip by in spring, there's always a second window of opportunity when they head back south in the fall. Why chase?

Lesson learned, I suppose. But honestly, what's the big deal? Every county has its hardcore contingent — the birders who chase absolutely everything deemed 'worthy' just to hold onto their spot on the eBird leaderboard. The platform encourages it. Right there in the 'Explore' section, it literally invites you to 'Compare with the top eBirders in your region.' It's hard to ignore the competitive nudge.

Top birders, eh? Maybe by list size, but not necessarily by the depth of their field skills and knowledge.

True text exchange, but I changed names to protect the innocent:

Me: "Lots of disconcerting MIAs at Baxter's Hollow today."

Rudy: "Which ones in particular?"

Me: "No Winter Wrens, no cuckoos. Many warbler species that used to nest there, not present."

Rudy: "You are making me sad about the MIA birds. Marion Ketter Bale was saying the same thing to me last week. Very sad."

Me: "People are not yet sad enough."

It will keep getting worse. Or in a perverse sense does that mean better? Contemporary birding cherishes the rarity — more rarities means better birding! Right? Seldom do we contextually appreciate evolution's success stories like Yellow-rumps, yellowthroats, or Red-eyed Vireos. But even they, one day, will eventually become extinct. It's a tragedy of birding becoming a spectator sport of extinction. But if you know anything about Cosmology, the Earth eventually gets annihilated.

So is it nihilistic despair or liberating acceptance?

I'll spare you the sad data, but recently I provided an AI chatBot with this query:

• Year I was born (1966).
• All North American wood warblers.
• Current estimated population sizes.
• Rates of decline.
• Projected year of extinction if nothing is done to reverse declines.

A few were within my lifetime, and you can probably guess which.

Part II: Indian Lake Park

There's a unique bittersweetness to the end of bird migration. On one hand, waves of neotropical travelers have moved on from southern Wisconsin. On the other hand, the pressure is off! Instead of chasing a Black-throated Blue Warbler (my favorite bird), I can slow my pace, focus on the insect world, and just enjoy Nature without a checklist.

I spy with my unmagnified eye ...

Showy Orchis (Galearis spectabilis)

Such a gorgeous orchid!

Naturalists and botanists adhere to an unwritten rule: never share the exact location of a wild orchid. Though keeping secrets feels counterintuitive, publicizing these spots invites trouble. Well-meaning but misguided people often dig them up to transplant them at home, where they quickly die because the soil composition isn't right.

The Enemy lurks ...

But Poison Ivy should be eradicated from the planet! 

Virginia Creeper can conceal the vile vine ...

Whenever I see a woodland trail illuminated and shadowed like this, I instantly think of Six-spotted Tiger Beetle — they use the shady spots to cool off, and the sunny spots to hunt.

Naturally, they were present ...

Unlike most tiger beetles in Wisconsin that stick strictly to sandy terrain, the Six-spotted Tiger Beetle is frequently found on logs, rocks, and foliage. In fact, they occasionally pick a favorite leaf to use as a personal lookout, spinning around on it to scan the area for passing prey.

Next up, a report from Baxter's Hollow.

All images © 2026 Mike McDowell

Even more Merlin bashing!

 Seen on a recent eBird checklist:

"Heard clearly singing near trail, confirmed by Merlin."

If you need the Merlin app to confirm a bird song, then you do not know the song. 

Would you trust confirmation from a birder who can't tell a goldfinch's chatter from an Indigo Bunting's song, mistakes frogs for shorebirds, or confuses a whining dog with a Cedar Waxwing? An experienced naturalist instantly distinguishes avian calls from insects, amphibians, mammals, or even leaf blowers. Meanwhile, Merlin remains oblivious to whether a birder is using playback, lacking any awareness of field ethics or context.

Field expertise matters far more than technology.

What Merlin provides is pattern matching, not understanding. It's the difference between recognizing a face and knowing the person. The experienced naturalist has contextual knowledge, ethical awareness, and a holistic understanding of Nature’s soundscape that no app will ever replicate.

Recently, when a young birder standing beside Dottie and me expressed awe at our ear identification skills, he remarked, "That's impressively old school — I wish I could do that!" We encouraged him to keep at it and offered advice and methods on how to learn them without the use of technology.  

What's particularly telling is how he framed it as "old school," as if it's a quaint novelty rather than a fundamental birding skill. It's like someone saying they wish they could read without using text-to-speech technology. The desire is there, but perhaps not the recognition that this "old school" skill is actually more efficient and reliable than the "new school" alternatives.

The interaction also highlights how technology has created a perceived gap in skills that didn't previously exist. Earlier generations of birders simply had to learn these skills out of necessity — there was no Merlin app to fall back on. Today's birders face a choice between investing the time to develop these abilities or potentially remaining dependent on digital aids.

The Colors of May!

"May—the very word makes the heart leap. Birds, Buds, Blossoms, Beauty! Break away from every bondage of circumstance or low spirits and go out into the sunshine. Answer back the bird-note in your heart, kiss your finger tips to every new blossom, and be a part of the spring."

 

— Eva Kellogg

Well, I've reached my 200-species target for the year and I'm done. Connecticut Warbler, Yellow-bellied Flycatcher, Philadelphia Vireo — they can all wait for another season's efforts. Naturally, the list chasers and competitive birders will keep gunning for that 300-species milestone, a number I've never actually hit despite attempting a Wisconsin Big Year back in 2004 when I landed 293. That was a nightmare of chasing RBA reports and dropping everything at a moment's notice. I haven't attempted one since. From this point forward, any new birds on my annual list will be incidental discoveries while out bug hunting.

 

Gas prices and environmental consequences be damned — the higher the count, the better the birder. Despite pronouncements from some being done listing and chasing, they keep right on doing it year after year.

 

Hey, that's their right. 

 

With gasoline prices approaching $5.00 per gallon, competitive birding becomes an activity filtered through economic privilege. When a serious birder needs to chase rare species across a region, the fuel costs alone can be substantial. 

 

I can afford it, but screw that. 

All of these bird portraits were taken at Pheasant Branch last week when things finally began to pick up. In truth, I no longer enjoy carrying my digiscoping rig around; my back and neck simply can't handle prolonged hikes with that weight anymore. It feels less like I'm aging and more like the warranty on my body is starting to expire. 

Though it was a slow start, my vacation was timed perfectly to catch warbler migration's peak. Those consecutive +20-warbler species days seem to be a thing of the past, but landing just one is still a very gratifying experience. 

Here's a Tennessee Warbler bathing, then preened at a perch.

This particular Magnolia Warbler had an odd song that was reminiscent of a White-eyed Vireo ...

I watched him sing, and he was indeed the culprit! I've never heard one quite like it before. Observations like this prompt me to wonder if, during its song development, it was near some other influence — perhaps mimicking a neighbor or an unusual sound that became permanently woven into its repertoire. Or perhaps it's something they just do that I've never noticed before. 

Who doesn't love a Baltimore Oriole?

Or Scarlet Tanager?

A real stunner!

This was fun ...

Fresh from its recent bath, this Common Yellowthroat devoted nearly ten minutes to the fastidious ritual of preening. With meticulous precision, it worked its bill through each feather, methodically checking every covert and flight feather before moving on to the intricate details of its wing edges and tail. The bird twisted and contorted, ensuring not a single feather remained out of place, until its distinctive black mask was set against perfectly groomed olive-yellow plumage.

The colors of May paint a vivid portrait of spring's peak vibrancy, dominated by fresh greens and a diverse palette of blooming flowers. Green stands as May's signature color, symbolizing growth, rebirth, and Nature at its most expressive. This verdant backdrop serves as the perfect stage for the month's spectacular floral display: Woodland Phlox, Wild Geranium, Trillium, Columbine, and Shooting Star.

Alas, there will be new bird portraits, but expect more bugs in the near future!

 

All images © 2026 Mike McDowell