back of beyond

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Eliot listening for warblers, redstarts

Birding the back of beyond—to borrow a phrase from Kephart himself—lost on a gravel road somewhere in the mountains, in the high elevations above 3,000 feet where the clouds go to scratch their bellies.

Misty and damp, rain fell everywhere but our lost ridgetop, perhaps we were above it all, perhaps we didn't care. We were lost on an afternoon of discovery.

And the birds, the high mountain nesters, did not disappoint.

Bali Hai, in the middle of a foggy sea

Lost road to nowhere important but everywhere sacrosanct

Karen Sue looking for roadside ginger

Pleased, pleased, pleased to MEETCHA, Mr. Chestnut-sided!

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