The year 2023 had some interesting twist and turns and a surprise as well. I started a bird-photography year gung-ho with my Sony A7 IV and 100-400mm GM zoom, same as 2022. By August, though, soon after I purchased the APS-C Sony A6700, I realized the new camera would be my go-to. I sold the full-frame A7 IV. As landscape photography was my first love, it’s ironic that for the first time ever I now have no full-frame camera. The A6700, however, has a few features superior to the A7 IV, at least regarding birds. The 1.5 crop-factor turns my 400mm field-of-view into a 600mm, and a dedicated auto-focus chip drives very good tracking. I also like the 4k video at 120 fps, and that video is a further 1.58 crop or a whopping 928mm eq. A significant A6700 downside is a stop more noise. I don’t see shooting many landscapes going into 2024, unless I revisit (hopefully) some backpacking, but the Sony A6700 is a capable camera, with a principal downside relative to the A7 IV being lower resolution for making large prints from singly-framed images.

Of the 23 favorites, 15 are by kayak. 73% of this year’s shoots were by kayak. Non-kayak shoots were mostly woodpecker nests, Marymoor Park, the Skagit, Malheur and backyard hummingbirds and nest boxes. I scored favorites when I targeted a particular bird, usually at a particular location.

Rain. Photographing in gentle rain became a thing for me in winter 2023. Rain creates atmosphere, and in Puget Sound we often have precip that isn’t too hard on well-sealed equipment. Much of my focus was on ducks in flight. A shutter speed range from 1/125s to 1/320s creates decent water blur and a chance at a sharp eye. Raindrops aren’t hugely noticeable here, but I like what they add to the explosion of water from the footwork of this Common Merganser.

Goose Attack? No, despite how it looks, this Canada Goose isn’t challenging the Bald Eagle, and the eagle isn’t on the attack. The raptor had just finished bathing in the Sammamish Slough. It climbed out of the water, and then launched from the shore just as a pair of geese descended. A telephoto lens compresses perspective; these birds were far apart. As well, the goose had considerable momentum that drove it on by.

Nesting. Two hundred yards up the Sammamish Slough at the start of my kayak workout, a bald eagle scattered a flock of ducks mid-river, then retreated to a nearby tree. I paddled past the bird, and, since it was on a well-lit perch, parked myself behind a pier where I had a clean view. I hoped for a flight shot. Surprise, the eagle dropped straight down to the bank; talons ripped grass. Early March was well into nesting season, evidently demanding softer material than sticks. I had a minute to evaluate my position: decent light, decent background, the presumed flight path confined somewhat by the river. Swiftly, the eagle lifted off right at me, wings beating, eyes piercing, talons clutching. OMG. The most exhilarating bird encounter of my year.

Snow. Visiting Wisconsin in March, we were blessed with five inches of snow, assuring a couple days of even lighting for bird photography. Mid-morning, the day after the snowfall, I exited the front door of my brother’s house to better approach his backyard feeder, hoping for cardinals or grackles. A Cooper’s Hawk flew over my shoulder, landing on a wire. Camera already set for the light, I hastily fired two dozen images before the hawk departed. The well-lit encounter meant scoring my very best Cooper’s Hawk portrait. In post, I replaced the wire with an equally-thick branch photographed separately in similarly even light.

Lonesome George RIP. I had hopes of getting a dawn Lonesome George shot, backlit, with him blowing vapor while crowing. Sadly, it wasn’t to be. The only day I photographed our Marymoor Park loner it was overcast, so no backlit breath. Not a week later, I read Michael Hobb’s Marymoor report stating George was struck and killed by a car. RIP my favorite pheasant.

Angst about Horizon. Dan and I were near Burns, Oregon, preceding the April Harney County Migratory Bird Festival. Roadside we discovered Long-billed Curlew feeding. The bird’s bill had no trouble piercing the snow and the soft ground beneath, frequently pulling up worms to fatten up for their migration north. I exited the car and sat in the ditch to achieve a low-angle perspective. The low position had a flaw, though, in that I had to choose an elevation between barbed wires strung along a fence, resulting in a tree (horizon) line behind the field uncomfortably close to the head of the bird (worse would be a tree line piercing the bird’s eye). At home on image review, I thought that line a ruinous distraction. In photoshop, I fixed it. We live in a world where photoshopping is rampant. Emotionally I didn’t like my idea, but it solved a problem, and now months later I find myself enjoying the improved image. It’s unfortunate that full disclosure of image manipulation beyond dust spotting and minor cloning, etc. has been dropped by many photographers, a trend in the wrong direction. Scarily, now there’s the leap to AI and unchartered waters.

Old Homestead. Traveling the back roads between Burns, OR and the Malheur Refuge, we stopped at an abandoned homestead. The structure reeked history. I used the right-side tree and foreground fencing as an anchor, and shot frames from just one spot. Weeks later, looking at the muted color, I chose Lightroom B&W to develop the image, elevating the warm tones of the old siding, pulling down the blues, and finishing with some dodging and burning to direct the eye. Ansel would be astonished (appalled?) at the ease and the extent we can create with today’s processing tools.

Portrait. Bird portraits as a thing aren’t in vogue—they’re so 90’s, so common and so displaced now by more challenging flight and more story-telling habitat shots. A close-up of a Hooded Merganser, though, that’s uncommon, and it’s fascinating. I got lucky when I discovered this bird relaxing on a dock while paddling the Sammamish Slough. I locked the skeg and drifted by, as I often do, and the Hoody never budged. The eye and especially the serrated bill make for a winner. Heavy crop.

Quarry. One June day on the north end of Lake Sammamish, I watched by kayak a bald eagle as it struck the water. Instead of taking flight, wings stroked water; the bird butterflied like Michael Phelps in my direction. Quickly, the eagle clambered up on a log, talons gripping a slippery large-mouthed bass. I was immediately close enough for photos, but I gambled the eagle wouldn’t depart so I powered past it, seeking a plain green background in a shoreline of homes. Indeed, as I lined up the shot against a plain canvas, the eagle struggled with the bass. I shot a hundred frames in the two minutes that followed before the eagle flew off with its prey.

Lucky Shot. The above Bald Eagle with bass leaped off the log. I got lucky when a wings-down frame revealed the bird’s eye.

Flight. The advent of superior focus speed for mirrorless cameras, including bird-eye focus, means capturing sharp images of swift-flying birds is feasible. The Sony A1 made this true, followed by other high-end cameras. Now much of this tech, if not quite the speed, has migrated to the mid-range Sony A7 IV and other cameras. For quite a few years, I’ve attempted flight shots of the Purple Martin when they return to the nest boxes on Lake Sammamish north. I shoot from a kayak, which due to drift complicates shooting, but my Sony A7 IV and 100-400mm zoom is a reasonable choice for the task. I captured this image when the male bird banked toward its nest box before landing. The sharp eye says everything.

Bath Serendipity. So fun to get a bathing American Robin not in a backyard bird bath. Once again I was in a kayak, this time parked above the weir at Marymoor Park, studying the many birds below. A robin dropped down in front of me for a bath. I was 15 feet away, with no maneuvering needed to make the shot.

Background. In June I’m again paddling Lake Sammamish north, looking to photograph the Purple Martins, but also Bald Eagle and Osprey that frequent the lake. Soon after the morning sun breached the tree line, a bald eagle landed on a post—a post it was not likely to linger long. Thinking background, I felt the most dramatic image when the bird lifted off would be against the shaded, forested shore. I maneuvered the kayak to capture that background, dropped the paddle and waited. Soon enough the eagle lifted off, and to my delight looked in my direction.

Flicker Find. Scouting by bicycle in early spring, I found a half-dozen flicker nest-holes under construction. One stood out: close to eye-level, lots of skylight with full morning sun after 9am and easy access along a walking path. I thought photographers would discover it—but no one did. In June, I returned to photograph four youngsters who poked their heads out begging (usually two at a time) when an adult flew in. I hid in a blind, with a 500mm f4 or 100-400mm 5.6 tripod-mounted. Adults and chicks ignored my presence, although it seemed the adult male was something of a dead beat, flying in only rarely. Sunny days prevailed as the youngster fledge-date approached; to my dismay I found the sunny 9am side-lighting too harsh, made worse by a hot, dappled background. This image was shot just before 9, when a directional but soft light prevailed through the filter of deciduous trees, as caught by the catch-light in each bird’s eye.

Black-tail. I was on the return leg of a Bothell to Woodinville kayak workout when I came upon a Black-tail buck knee-deep in the slough, foraging on shoreline vegetation. He was directly under I-405. I expected the deer to spring away, but it merely gave me a look and continued browsing. A busy background prevented a pleasing portrait, but things got interesting when he left the water. Now just the head, antlers and back showed when he lifted his head to chew. I looked for an opening to capture the eye. I’ve often said (à la Galen Rowell), we know what a deer (or bear, or eagle) looks like. If we add a bit of subtlety by hiding much of a well-known animal, a compelling image can emerge.

Warm-Cool. In 2023 Juanita Bay Park had four known flicker nests, none ideal for photography. The only one I photographed was really high up in a snag, but it had a distinct advantage—early morning sunlight. I photographed there just once, June 22nd, which turned out to be the day before fledging. Arriving at 4:30am (sunrise at 5:11), I determined a side-lit shot would net a shaded background; warm-cool contrast would make the images pop. Like the nest the week before, the male here was mostly absent, but this time I think he was gun shy—the gun being aggressive chicks. One of his eyes was closed shut, possibly from a poke. If you’ve ever watched flickers during a feeding, it can get scary for the adults as they try to regurgitate food while the sharp-billed chicks jab for more.

I photographed at a distance, out in an open field, from a carefully-balanced, tripod-mounted Canon 500mm f4 with 1.4x attached and a cable release. In Lightroom, I warmed the already warm snag and birds, and cooled the background to promote the contrast. I used Lightroom’s Enhance Denoise set at 20% to clean up the file.

Footfall. Near the river mouth of the Sammamish Slough, I discovered three juvenile Green Heron: one was approachable, the other two not so much. On a perfectly-lit morning, with the sun burning off morning clouds, I wasn’t in the kayak five minutes when I found the tame one preening on a steeply-angled perch. Chore done, the bird stepped slowly down to waterline. Of several frames, this one captured its methodical stride best.

Silent Shutter. The lake level was up about 8” due to October rain when I paddled into Yarrow Bay in Kirkland looking for snipe. Along the shore, a narrow strip of black mud, good foraging ground, separated the water from the reeds. A Virginia Rail popped out of the shadows. I got a couple images, not close, with busy backgrounds. The rail, which seemed to react to the sound of my mechanical shutter, dashed into the tangle. I could see it hiding there, frozen, so I moved away along the mucky shore, to hunt snipe. I slid along in the kayak, slowly, quietly. Before any sightings, one snipe, and then another and another, launched like from a slingshot in front of me, darting back in the underbrush with a sharp, nasal “eaick”. I was sorry to disturb them; a year ago, same place, they were approachable. My thoughts drifted to the rail. Before circling back, I set the camera to silent (electronic) shutter. On my second pass, I found the rail out in the open. I slowly drifted in, leaned forward low, and recorded dozens of soundless images.

Splash. One way to enhance an image is action, not necessarily from the subject. High tide and two-foot wind waves prevailed on this overcast October day at Chuckanut Bay. By kayak, I found this pair of Harlequin Duck on rocks just above the tide line. Periodically, a wave would break and splash the birds. Since I couldn’t maintain a position in the rough water, I made four passes, paddling the same line perpendicular to their roost, each time hoping for a splashing wave. On the third pass the male stretched his wings, adding interest; water splatter sealed the shot.

Cormorant Roost. At first, I rejected to this one because the cormorants, Double-crested and Pelagic, were on alert because I was nearby in a kayak. But the warm afternoon light, the fantastic rock shapes and the fall color won me over. As well, this is a composite of two horizontal images, 11,000 pixels across, with fine detail that could make a nice panoramic print. The roost here is new. At nearby Chuckanut Rock, cormorants roost in huge numbers. I never go near. Perhaps crowd avoidance is the reason birds land on this rock instead, despite the nearby boat launch that means frequent encounters with boaters. Still, the rock guano may indicate roost permanence. Best viewed large; right-click on the image and choose “Open image in a new tab” to view a screen-filling version.

Liftoff. Wintering snow geese are a big visual draw in the Skagit and Fraiser River Valleys, with upwards of 50,000 birds. Last winter, the hunting season was extended as the geese numbers exceed levels considered sustainable. But the spectacle of so many birds, the deafening cacophony of sound and the pastoral setting thrills to the bone. I found this flock along Kamb Road, perfect for a photo session because of so little vehicle traffic. I parked where yellowing deciduous trees and distant blue hills made a fine backdrop on an overcast afternoon. A bald eagle swooped in, igniting the flock. Of a dozen frames, this shot stood out, even with most of the 2,000+ birds still on the ground. Best viewed large; right-click on the image and choose “Open image in a new tab” to view a screen-filling version.

Comin’ at Ya. Many elements converged for this one. When I paddle the Sammamish Slough, a river that averages a 100 ft width, I generally can’t paddle past mergansers without them taking flight. Compounding that is hunting season, and the Common Mergansers here had only recently arrived. Numerous mergansers I encountered during workouts flew away at a hundred yards or more. But, the low-hug sun is shining brightly. We’re less than four weeks from winter solstice; it’s Seattle-area winter sun shoot-all-day light. This shot in particular: 11:13 am. I slowed my approach, a paddle dip here, a pause, another dip, keeping the kayak angling to the sun-side shore, pointing well away from the bird. I got in a low crouch, lens no more than 18 inches off the water. At blast-off, my reaction was too slow. I fired a burst. The first two images focused first on the water and then the splash, but the third one nailed the eye. Operator error followed by camera AI recovery. Given similar error, any camera prior to 2020 would have got ziltch.

A6700. Reiterating above, one thing you can say about Washington State winters, especially December/January, if you do get that rare sunny day, it’s shoot-all-day in gorgeous light. This December day with a sunshine forecast, I chose to paddle the Sammamish Slough again, hoping I’d see birds in flight. On a particular river bend, with a dark background upstream, I maneuvered to the shore and parked there to avoid the complication of a 2-knot river current. I hoped birds would fly from around the next bend, and emerge from the shadow of shoreline trees at a photogenic elevation. Shortly, a small flock of Common Mergansers came flying downstream; too many choices! I tried to grab one, missed, and then they were gone. COME are heavy, fast-flying birds; 40 mph birds. A bit later this solo female appeared, still pretty low, I think not flying so fast yet. I quickly picked her up, and got a shot I was hoping for. I really like the wing and head-angle (and the gaping mouth). Except for raptors, with their forward-facing eyes, most bird heads don’t show well straight on in flight. Too, the crop-framing (600mm equivalent) and tracking capability of the Sony A6700 provided the tech to make this one a keeper.

Twenty-three images; I hope not too many. Comments appreciated.

Gary