Pittsburgh Is for the Birds

Is that a Goura Victoria? Why, yes. It is.

Back on April 7, 2024, a few days before Total Eclipse Day in Western Pennsylvania, I took a trip to the National Aviary on the Northside of Pittsburgh.

The National Aviary is in Pittsburgh. That was not the surprise. The surprise was that the National Aviary not only is in Pittsburgh, but that it has been in Pittsburgh at the precise location since 1952. 

Longer than I've been alive. By the way, above, is an Athene Cunicularia. A burrowing owl. Which is ironic, since it is high up off the ground, in an enclosure, and not burrowed. As the old song goes: "Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick / Everyone knows a burrow owl lives in a hole / In the ground / Why the hell do you think they call it a 'burrow owl.'" Well, not this burrow owl. It lives up on a tree branch,.

Anyway. National Aviary. Pittsburgh. And here comes the first of two homages to Pittsburgh sports teams:

The Pittsburgh Condors! They played in the old ABA and disbanded well before the NBA-ABA merger. They now can be found at the National Aviary on Arch Street.

The male and female are kept in separate enclosures near the front entrance. Close up of the handsome male:

 

And this is the female with her baby condors:

Anyway, as I was saying, the National Aviary opened in 1952. I didn't know about it. We took no school field trips here. I only learned about a few months ago.

 

This could be a Cabot's Tragopan:

Apologies if I misidentified this.  This is the "Condor Court" part of the aviary. You can actually look in from outside the building. I don't recommend it. Pay the admission price. This price of birdfeed ain't birdfeed.

Not sure the bird species of this one. Could be one of the various ibises (ibes?) that live here.

This, of course, is the downside of waiting so long to post after a visit.

This one is definitely one of the vultures:

But which? The black head makes me think: Andean Condor, again. But I am guessing.

Perhaps this is the Amblyramphus holosericeus.

You know it better as the scarlet-headed blackbird. Or, perhaps, you don't.

Let's move out of "Condor Country" and into the Tropical Rainforest section and meet the star attraction:

This is a pigeon. Seriously. That's a pigeon. Goura victoria, or the Victoria-crowned pigeon. It may not look like the neighborhood winged rat, but it's a pigeon nonetheless.

And this is the real macaw:

Anodorhynchus hyacinthinus. The beautiful and always friendly-looking Hyacinth Macaw.

Let's have another look, shall we?

One of the interesting things about this section is that the birds run loose. These Victoria Crowned Pigeons frequently wander out from the confines of the Rain Forest Cafe into the neighboring sections because (a) they can and (b) they want to.

Quick. Somebody catch that Crown Vic.

Here are birds posing:

I believe those are a pair of Marbled Tral posing.

The problem with the Rain Forest section is that the birds are roaming free. If it's a recognizable species, such as the Hyacinth Macaw, I can label it as such. If it is a distinctive species, such as the Crown Victoria Pigeon -- I'm sorry -- Victoria Crowned Pigeon -- you can look it up easily. But this bird:

The bill makes me think "ibis," but the bird is not matching up with any birds listed on the aviary website.

And the identity of this fellow (or gal) (don't want to be misgendering anyone here) shall remain a mystery:

But this one is no mystery.

It's a penguin. Statue. A penguin statue. Which means we are entering the area where we will find the real deal:

The Pittsburgh Penguins!

Actually, these are African penguins. They live in the coastal area of South Africa, so they are used to a more temperate climate than other penguin species.

They actually look a lot like the Magellanic penguins, a.k.a. "Jackass penguins," that I met in Chilean Patagonia. Same size. Similar black and white pattern.

Not as oily of skin, which I am guessing is due to the climate difference between the southern tip of Africa and the southern tip of South America, which is much much closer to the Antarctic than Africa.

This section of the aviary is creatively named Penguin Point.

Moving on to the Wetlands section.

Muchos flamingos.

This one is known to be particularly aggressive at snatching shoe laces:

There were more birds than just flamingos in the wetlands area. Such as a lone pelican.

Pelecanus occidentalis. The brown pelican.

But I have some many photos of flamingos because (a) there were so many flamingos, and (b) they are so gosh-darn photogenic.

 

Not that these two aren't too.

I feel like every bird I cannot identify by species I'm just saying it's "a type of ibis." Maybe that pair are a type of ibis. I don't know. They didn't have name tags. Or species tags, as the case may be.

And this little boy loves fruit:

So let's conclude with another look at the Pittsburgh Penguin:

Life is good.

Eclipse Day in Edinboro, PA

The sun in eclipse.

This I expect was my last opportunity to see a total eclipse of the sun in my lifetime. The next one to hit the contiguous states of the United States is not calendared until 2025, when I will be 85. Perhaps I make it. But, even if I do, it's less likely that I would be interested in traveling to see it. So this was my chance. Even though it was eclipsing nowhere near Las Vegas.

Pretty much the entire contiguous lower 48 states were going to see at least a partial eclipse. Some more partial than others. Las Vegas was a minor amount of partial. So if the Total Eclipse of the Sun will not come to me, I will come to it. Besides, it was time for my annual trek to Pennsylvania and the band of totality was not far from my sister's house.

We chose to spend the 2024 Total Eclipse of the Sun at the eclipse watch party in Edinboro, Pennsylvania, on the campus of the local college, and well within the band of totality and not a far drive (well, the drive THERE -- the drive back was a whole different story).

They had food trucks and restrooms. What more do you need from an eclipse watching party. (Other than eclipse-watching protective eyewear. Which they were giving out in the rest stops on I-79. Which we did not need because we were prepared with the upscale plastic ones and not the cheap cardboard ones that look like 1950 3-D movie watching glasses).

More importantly, they had skies that by the time of the Big Event were sufficiently clear enough to afford a great view of the eclipsing sun.

I've seen excellent professional photos with the light being set by someone who know what they are doing and the eclipse is very distinct.  I am not that photographer.  This is what you get.

The actual moments of totality were spectacular. I was surprised that it never got completely dark. O was expecting midnight. It was more like deep into dusk. And we could not hear birds chirping to hear if they stopped chirping. But it was spectacular nevertheless. The light was weird. (I heard a professional photographer on the news says it's because the light takes on a greenish hue as the moment of totality gets closer.) It did get colder. The winds did pick up.

What surprised me the most is that I could not see the corona explode into view through my eclipse-viewing glasses. The corona is apparently less bright than the ball of the sun. I saw the sun completely disappear through the eclipse. Then I saw black. I thought I lost the sun from my view. Then I heard the crowd erupt. You could watch the totality with the naked eye. In fact, that was my only choice. So I did. I did not stare. Mama always told me not to look into the eyes of the sun / But mama, that's where the fun is.

It didn't look like a black disc with fire around it, as I expected and as it looks on TV. But it was a pale yellow disc, a more pastel color than the sun normally would be, that you could look at, surrounded by a ring of yellow fire. Now I know why some people are fanatical about chasing total eclipses of the sun.