Feliz Año Nuevo!
The message was delivered. The message was heard. And he tried to hide, but to no avail.
So there we were: exiting our last flight of the year on Tuesday afternoon, We had just returned from Phoenix, and before that Akron, on our last trip of our Big Year. But we had some unfinished business.
We were off in search of a Short-eared Owl. A very particular Short-eared Owl, whom we were determined to find before the year was over. Of course, we could have gone after other owls, but since we had tried and failed several times--and we don't take failure lightly--this one was personal.
Now, I may have suggested to this Owl in a recent blog post that we would be displeased if he evaded us. Displeased enough, I believe I said, to send a fleet of giant mowers to cut down all his grass. Or something like that. I forget.
This Owl, though, he's a clever one. Resourceful. With his own connections. And he only had a little more than two days to stay out of sight.
So, he recruited a friend to help keep us away. His partner in crime? A 900-pound Elephant Seal, who did her best to block the highway that runs in front of Owl's field for most of Monday and Tuesday. Her name? Bathsheba de Tolay, apparently. (follow the link, the event is pretty entertaining!)
Her escapades resulted in miles and miles of traffic jam, and we were sorely tempted to turn around. And she might have gotten away with it, if it weren't for those meddling kids from the Marine Mammal Center! Also, once we got stuck in the traffic, we literally had nowhere to turn around, so we had no choice but to crawl past her.
Managing to keep our sanity long enough to finally get to the turn-off, he put one more hurdle between us.
We walked nearly a mile along Skaggs Island Road, to where the "Area Closed", "No Trespassing", and "Cameras In Use" signs are posted at the base of the old bridge. For nearly an hour, we respected the signs and scanned the fields from that point, as before finding plenty of raptors of various kinds, but nary an owl. Finally, with the sun and desperation setting in, we decided to ignore those signs and follow the road to the apex of the bridge.
From there, in less than five minutes, we found him! He had been hiding far in the distance, in an area where our view was blocked by the bridge. Only by slightly ignoring those signs (rationalized by thinking that as long as we didn't go off the pavement we were fine, and if they really wanted us out they would have put a gate there), were we able to locate him. Phew!
And that about does it for our Big Year! Unless something crazy shows up this afternoon, our final tally will stand at 692, far beyond what we originally set out to do.
Check back next week, as I'll let you know if we get one more bird, and then wrap up the year.
For now, I hope you have a wonderful New Year's Eve! And, once the fireworks settle down just past midnight, keep your ears open...you might find your first bird of 2016 even before you go to sleep!
Happy New Year,
Me
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Monday, December 28, 2015
You Da Man in Yuma
How do you like the new tourist slogan I've created for Yuma? Hey Yuma, this one is free, but the next one will cost ya! You're welcome!
Yesterday's excursion to Yuma did not yield merely yawns. We yearned for a new bird for the year, and we were not disappointed!
Just before noon, we drove into Riverside Park, located on the Colorado River just a mile or so away from California, and at the base of the Yuma Territorial Prison State Historic Park, where the 3:10 to Yuma stopped.
Previous reports said that a Streak-backed Oriole, a rare visitor from Mexico, had recently been reported in the palm trees right in front of the parking lot. Given that the last time we tried to find one of these, we flew into Lubbock and drove for five hours, having the opportunity to find one a mere three hours away with no extra plane flights was an offer we couldn't pass up.
As with the Robin the other day, multiple reports had been filed saying that the bird tended to show up during the noon hour. So, with calm, sunny weather beckoning him to return to his favorite tree, The Wife arrayed herself upon the hood of our black car to soak up as much heat as possible as we awaited his return.
12:15 passed, and then 12:30, and we were starting to get nervous. A couple other groups of birders who had been looking since earlier in the morning gave up and departed. In an attempt at reverse psychology, The Wife began to chat with the remaining birders about other failed attempts to locate this kind of oriole, while I pulled up Yelp on my phone to find a good place nearby for lunch.
But at 12:45, a yell went up from the other side of the palms! Somebody had seen a yellow bird fly in! Everybody scrambled from their positions for a look, and sure enough, there he was!
We watched him for nearly 30 minutes before he decided that he'd had enough palm berries, and then flew off toward the river. Yay!
Today, we're taking a day off in Scottsdale, since there's nothing else for us to find in Arizona, and American wants $400 to move our flight by a day. Tomorrow we fly home, and then take one more shot at the nefarious Short-eared Owl.
Only four days to go!
From:
Yuma, AZ, USA
Saturday, December 26, 2015
Sweeping Up, Again
A mere three weeks ago, we stood at the main trailhead in Catalina State Park, just outside of Tucson, hoping to locate a Rufous-backed Robin. Since that time, we have flown across the country (and back!) twice, stood in the rain waiting for a stupid owl multiple times, and explored the wilds of Northern Ohio.
Stopping in Arizona on our way back from Ohio, we decided to give the Robin one more shot. I mean, he seems a reasonable sort of bird--not too elusive, not too easy to find--and he's kind of cute, so why not?
So, while most of our fellow humans enjoyed the ritual that is Boxing Day, we were back at Catalina this chilly morning.
The robin had been reported several times just beyond the start of the trailhead, where the trail crosses a creekbed. Most of the year, this creekbed is completely dry, and in the monsoon season, it can be 50' of raging floodwaters. Right now, however, two narrow streams, each maybe 3-4' wide and and 6" deep in the middle, braid their way downhill.
This causes hikers a bit of a dilemma: do they get wet feet by wading through, or attempt to balance on a few branches others have placed as make-shift bridges? And, what if they have a dog? Does Dobby the Miniature Poodle (a real dog we met today) get his fur dampened, or does he get the royal treatment of being carried across?
A nearly constant stream of hikers set out this morning while we waited for the bird to appear, and we amused ourselves by watching their unique ways of tackling the crossing. For instance, while Mom tried to carry Dobby while precariously and slowly making her way across the branches, her teen-aged Daughter who had already crossed came back to help saying, "Mom, let me take Dobby, because this is painful to watch!"
The prize for Best Crossing went to a man with a small-medium sized dog, maybe 20 pounds in weight. The dog ran up to the edge of the first creek and waited. His owner caught up, picked up the dog, and tossed him across the creek to the other side. The dog then ran up to the second creek, waited, and the routine was repeated. That's ingenuity! (Animal Cruelty Police: Note that it was only a few feet across, and the dog appeared to think it was great fun!)
When the robin hadn't appeared by lunch, we took a break for some tacos and horchata, and studied the recent reports. Twice the bird had been seen in the afternoon at around 2-2:15pm, so we were hopeful that maybe he would swing through the area later.
We returned to the park and set up watch at the appropriate location, and sure enough, at about 2:18pm, we caught a flash of something deep in the brush. It was about the right size, in about the right place, and there he was!
The consistency with which many birds keep their routines never ceases to amaze me!
A mere five days remain this year, and we are continuing to push our total as high as we can go. We have two more days here in Arizona, so our plan for tomorrow is to chase after an unusual oriole that was reported in Yuma. It looks like Yuma will go on the, "Never Thought I'd Go There Once, and Now I Will Go There Twice" list!
Stopping in Arizona on our way back from Ohio, we decided to give the Robin one more shot. I mean, he seems a reasonable sort of bird--not too elusive, not too easy to find--and he's kind of cute, so why not?
So, while most of our fellow humans enjoyed the ritual that is Boxing Day, we were back at Catalina this chilly morning.
The robin had been reported several times just beyond the start of the trailhead, where the trail crosses a creekbed. Most of the year, this creekbed is completely dry, and in the monsoon season, it can be 50' of raging floodwaters. Right now, however, two narrow streams, each maybe 3-4' wide and and 6" deep in the middle, braid their way downhill.
This causes hikers a bit of a dilemma: do they get wet feet by wading through, or attempt to balance on a few branches others have placed as make-shift bridges? And, what if they have a dog? Does Dobby the Miniature Poodle (a real dog we met today) get his fur dampened, or does he get the royal treatment of being carried across?
A nearly constant stream of hikers set out this morning while we waited for the bird to appear, and we amused ourselves by watching their unique ways of tackling the crossing. For instance, while Mom tried to carry Dobby while precariously and slowly making her way across the branches, her teen-aged Daughter who had already crossed came back to help saying, "Mom, let me take Dobby, because this is painful to watch!"
The prize for Best Crossing went to a man with a small-medium sized dog, maybe 20 pounds in weight. The dog ran up to the edge of the first creek and waited. His owner caught up, picked up the dog, and tossed him across the creek to the other side. The dog then ran up to the second creek, waited, and the routine was repeated. That's ingenuity! (Animal Cruelty Police: Note that it was only a few feet across, and the dog appeared to think it was great fun!)
When the robin hadn't appeared by lunch, we took a break for some tacos and horchata, and studied the recent reports. Twice the bird had been seen in the afternoon at around 2-2:15pm, so we were hopeful that maybe he would swing through the area later.
We returned to the park and set up watch at the appropriate location, and sure enough, at about 2:18pm, we caught a flash of something deep in the brush. It was about the right size, in about the right place, and there he was!
The consistency with which many birds keep their routines never ceases to amaze me!
A mere five days remain this year, and we are continuing to push our total as high as we can go. We have two more days here in Arizona, so our plan for tomorrow is to chase after an unusual oriole that was reported in Yuma. It looks like Yuma will go on the, "Never Thought I'd Go There Once, and Now I Will Go There Twice" list!
From:
Tucson, AZ, USA
Friday, December 25, 2015
All About Akron
Akron, Ohio, is a wonderful example of a mid-sized, mid-American city.
According to Wikipedia, Akron was founded nearly 200 years ago. The current American school system of “K-12” grades funded by property taxes was created in Akron in the 1840s, and the roots of Quaker Oats were sown in the 1860s when Ferdinand Schumacher’s mills along the Ohio Canal were used to grind oats for cereal bars to feed the Union troops.
At the turn of the 20th century, Akron became Rubber Capital of the World, when Goodyear Tire and Rubber Corporation, along with related companies like Firestone and Goodrich, built headquarters there. Goodyear and its iconic blimp are still present, along with a legacy of old factories, streets named for the founders, and hundreds of acres of parks preserved by their donations. As perhaps Akron’s greatest contribution to society, the Rubber Duck was created there, hence why their minor league baseball team is called the “Akron RubberDucks”.
Currently, the area is undergoing a revival. New buildings are going up, old warehouses are being renovated for new uses, and it has become a relative hotbed for new technology companies, as evidenced by Silicon Valley-style ads on the sides of buses for Slack and ad serving technology. Also, LeBron James. And, Steph Curry! And, The Black Keys!!
While all that is testament to Akron being a fine place, it was not on our radar until very recently, when reports came across the Internet that a Kelp Gull had been found there. Typically, one would find Kelp Gulls in the Southern Hemisphere, being relatively common south of the Tropic of Capricorn from South America and New Zealand, so this was a very notable sighting. North America has been host to fewer than a dozen Kelpies in recorded history, so when we heard about it, we felt obligated to honor this particular gull’s aberrant sense of direction with a visit.
Our flight from SF to Akron via Charlotte was uneventful, if you discount a 3-hour delay in SF at least partly due to a flight attendant calling in sick, which caused us to miss our connecting flight, which resulted in being on standby for the last flight to Akron of the evening, but of course the American agent that rebooked us didn’t actually check us in for that flight, so after every other standby had been called the gate agent asked us why we were still standing there because she had no record of us, and then told us to just go find two empty seats and sit in them. So, we said Hello to Akron at around midnight local time.
Unfortunately for us, this gull was located in a flock of around 1,500-2,000 other gulls. Pulling our needle out of that gull-stack would normally be painful enough, but the flock was found on a lake where they roost at night, so they are viewable only at dawn and dusk; during the day, they disperse to haunt garbage dumps and parking lots.
That is a long explanation for why, with only about 5 hours of sleep, we were standing in the dawn’s early light by the side of a lake on a misty Ohio Wednesday morning, scope and camera at the ready, with five other birders.
However, after an hour of scanning and re-scanning each and every gull for one with a dark back and white head, we all failed to find it. This meant we earned the right to repeat the activity eight hours later as the sun started to set. And at dusk, although bolstered by a nap and a very fine grilled cheese sandwich, we again failed.
Thursday morning began with promise, with mostly clear skies and the temperature bottoming out at an unseasonable, practically balmy, 55F (about 30 degrees above their December average!). The crowd was larger, so with 10 pairs of eyes on the lake, we were sure to find it. And yet, not so much.
We were back again at 4pm, after a day trip to see Cleveland (which appeared to be a very nice, clean city), Lake Erie (where I confirmed that one cannot see the other side even with a scope, you’re welcome), and several thousand more gulls (but not the Iceland Gull that we still need). Our results matched the success of previous attempts.
So, Christmas morning was our last shot, as we had a flight booked at noon for Arizona. Again, the alarm rang out at 630am Eastern. Again, one cup each of lucky coffee was poured for the road. Again, we arrived just as the light was sufficient to make out the shapes of trees and houses, along with four others. And again, the weather was crazy good for December in the Rust Belt.
When the sun was just high enough that we could make out the colors of the gulls, we took turns scanning the flock, as one by one, they began to take flight for their day’s adventures. On my second pass, I talked to myself as I inspected each bird: “Light gull…light gull…light gull…dark…wha?” I called for The Wife to check, as she is not only the Birding Expert of our team, but her eye for color is better.
“Hmm,” she said, “The back is dark enough, but isn’t its head a little too gray?”
Deflated, I return to scanning.
But not thirty seconds later, a cry went up from one of the other scopes: “I think I have it!”
Everyone scrambled to their scope to take a look. It was pointed at my bird.
Thus located, everybody focused their own scope on the target, to triple-check the field marks. She hadn’t been seen for five days, and given the rare nature, potential life bird for all of us, and distance people had (and would) traveled to see it, we all wanted to be completely sure of the identification.
As the light improved slightly, we could see her head was very white, but for a little smudge of eyeliner she was wearing. Her back was a deep solid black, and wingtips were also nearly solid black. We confirmed her size to be just a little smaller that the Herring Gull that drifted by, and got a good view of the dark black pattern on the underside of her wing when she stretched. #689 was confirmed!
(By the way, here’s a shout-out to Matt, a local birder who was with us this morning! Thanks, Matt, for helping us ID the gull, and also for convincing us not to drive to the other side of the lake for a better view!)
Triumphantly, and with only a brief discussion about my potentially wavering faith in The Wife’s eyesight, we returned to the hotel for breakfast.
After Christmas morning in Akron, we are now spending Christmas evening in Tucson. Tomorrow we will take another run at the Rufous-backed Robin and hope that this year’s odd weather will encourage some other unusual bird to show up.
Here’s hoping I don’t trip on a cactus this time,
Me
p.s. Hey, Mr. Short-eared Owl, I still haven’t forgotten about you…
According to Wikipedia, Akron was founded nearly 200 years ago. The current American school system of “K-12” grades funded by property taxes was created in Akron in the 1840s, and the roots of Quaker Oats were sown in the 1860s when Ferdinand Schumacher’s mills along the Ohio Canal were used to grind oats for cereal bars to feed the Union troops.
At the turn of the 20th century, Akron became Rubber Capital of the World, when Goodyear Tire and Rubber Corporation, along with related companies like Firestone and Goodrich, built headquarters there. Goodyear and its iconic blimp are still present, along with a legacy of old factories, streets named for the founders, and hundreds of acres of parks preserved by their donations. As perhaps Akron’s greatest contribution to society, the Rubber Duck was created there, hence why their minor league baseball team is called the “Akron RubberDucks”.
Currently, the area is undergoing a revival. New buildings are going up, old warehouses are being renovated for new uses, and it has become a relative hotbed for new technology companies, as evidenced by Silicon Valley-style ads on the sides of buses for Slack and ad serving technology. Also, LeBron James. And, Steph Curry! And, The Black Keys!!
While all that is testament to Akron being a fine place, it was not on our radar until very recently, when reports came across the Internet that a Kelp Gull had been found there. Typically, one would find Kelp Gulls in the Southern Hemisphere, being relatively common south of the Tropic of Capricorn from South America and New Zealand, so this was a very notable sighting. North America has been host to fewer than a dozen Kelpies in recorded history, so when we heard about it, we felt obligated to honor this particular gull’s aberrant sense of direction with a visit.
Our flight from SF to Akron via Charlotte was uneventful, if you discount a 3-hour delay in SF at least partly due to a flight attendant calling in sick, which caused us to miss our connecting flight, which resulted in being on standby for the last flight to Akron of the evening, but of course the American agent that rebooked us didn’t actually check us in for that flight, so after every other standby had been called the gate agent asked us why we were still standing there because she had no record of us, and then told us to just go find two empty seats and sit in them. So, we said Hello to Akron at around midnight local time.
Unfortunately for us, this gull was located in a flock of around 1,500-2,000 other gulls. Pulling our needle out of that gull-stack would normally be painful enough, but the flock was found on a lake where they roost at night, so they are viewable only at dawn and dusk; during the day, they disperse to haunt garbage dumps and parking lots.
That is a long explanation for why, with only about 5 hours of sleep, we were standing in the dawn’s early light by the side of a lake on a misty Ohio Wednesday morning, scope and camera at the ready, with five other birders.
However, after an hour of scanning and re-scanning each and every gull for one with a dark back and white head, we all failed to find it. This meant we earned the right to repeat the activity eight hours later as the sun started to set. And at dusk, although bolstered by a nap and a very fine grilled cheese sandwich, we again failed.
Thursday morning began with promise, with mostly clear skies and the temperature bottoming out at an unseasonable, practically balmy, 55F (about 30 degrees above their December average!). The crowd was larger, so with 10 pairs of eyes on the lake, we were sure to find it. And yet, not so much.
We were back again at 4pm, after a day trip to see Cleveland (which appeared to be a very nice, clean city), Lake Erie (where I confirmed that one cannot see the other side even with a scope, you’re welcome), and several thousand more gulls (but not the Iceland Gull that we still need). Our results matched the success of previous attempts.
So, Christmas morning was our last shot, as we had a flight booked at noon for Arizona. Again, the alarm rang out at 630am Eastern. Again, one cup each of lucky coffee was poured for the road. Again, we arrived just as the light was sufficient to make out the shapes of trees and houses, along with four others. And again, the weather was crazy good for December in the Rust Belt.
When the sun was just high enough that we could make out the colors of the gulls, we took turns scanning the flock, as one by one, they began to take flight for their day’s adventures. On my second pass, I talked to myself as I inspected each bird: “Light gull…light gull…light gull…dark…wha?” I called for The Wife to check, as she is not only the Birding Expert of our team, but her eye for color is better.
“Hmm,” she said, “The back is dark enough, but isn’t its head a little too gray?”
Deflated, I return to scanning.
But not thirty seconds later, a cry went up from one of the other scopes: “I think I have it!”
Everyone scrambled to their scope to take a look. It was pointed at my bird.
Thus located, everybody focused their own scope on the target, to triple-check the field marks. She hadn’t been seen for five days, and given the rare nature, potential life bird for all of us, and distance people had (and would) traveled to see it, we all wanted to be completely sure of the identification.
As the light improved slightly, we could see her head was very white, but for a little smudge of eyeliner she was wearing. Her back was a deep solid black, and wingtips were also nearly solid black. We confirmed her size to be just a little smaller that the Herring Gull that drifted by, and got a good view of the dark black pattern on the underside of her wing when she stretched. #689 was confirmed!
(By the way, here’s a shout-out to Matt, a local birder who was with us this morning! Thanks, Matt, for helping us ID the gull, and also for convincing us not to drive to the other side of the lake for a better view!)
Triumphantly, and with only a brief discussion about my potentially wavering faith in The Wife’s eyesight, we returned to the hotel for breakfast.
After Christmas morning in Akron, we are now spending Christmas evening in Tucson. Tomorrow we will take another run at the Rufous-backed Robin and hope that this year’s odd weather will encourage some other unusual bird to show up.
Here’s hoping I don’t trip on a cactus this time,
Me
p.s. Hey, Mr. Short-eared Owl, I still haven’t forgotten about you…
From:
Akron, OH, USA
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
Short-eared Owl, You Are On Notice
Look, buddy,
We are starting to get pissed off. Yesterday makes 8 trips to look for you, with the last two being during rain storms. Your friends, the harriers and kites, were out and about, but where were you?
We know people. We know people who own things. Things like lawn mowers. Do you think your precious grassland could use a bit of a haircut? I sure do.
We are giving you seven days to reconsider your behavior, and then we'll be back. In the meantime, we're headed to Akron, OH to find this Kelp Gull that made an appearance recently. Then we'll be back.
And you should be there, too, if you know what's good for you. Or be on the lookout for a Deere, first name of John.
Sunday, December 20, 2015
An Open Letter
Dear Short-eared Owls,
Three hundred and fifty-three days ago, we set forth on a journey of exploration and discovery, one that would take us thousands of miles to all four corners of this beautiful country and beyond. Twelve months were allotted for the quest, and merely eleven days remain.
This journey was predicated upon a desire to see and experience as many of you and your brethren as we could. And, the outcome to date has surpassed even our lofty expectations for the year, from the variety of your kind that we have seen, to the breadth of experiences and appreciation for the natural world that we have gained.
That is to say, we're not complaining about anything.
However.
Never did we expect to have such great difficulty finding you, a bird that lives in many locales within a mere hour of our home. And, as you probably know, we've now made six different attempts to see you, and you've remained hidden every time.
This brings me to the point of my letter:
Stop hiding, dammit! Err, I mean to say, please stop hiding, friends!
We are stuck on 688 birds for this year, and would really like to get to the round number of 690. And you represent 50% of our remaining targets. So, just make yourselves a little more visible, OK? We promise to be quiet and respectful, so just give us one little look and then we'll stop bothering you.
Respectfully and sincerely,
Me
Three hundred and fifty-three days ago, we set forth on a journey of exploration and discovery, one that would take us thousands of miles to all four corners of this beautiful country and beyond. Twelve months were allotted for the quest, and merely eleven days remain.
This journey was predicated upon a desire to see and experience as many of you and your brethren as we could. And, the outcome to date has surpassed even our lofty expectations for the year, from the variety of your kind that we have seen, to the breadth of experiences and appreciation for the natural world that we have gained.
That is to say, we're not complaining about anything.
However.
Never did we expect to have such great difficulty finding you, a bird that lives in many locales within a mere hour of our home. And, as you probably know, we've now made six different attempts to see you, and you've remained hidden every time.
This brings me to the point of my letter:
Stop hiding, dammit! Err, I mean to say, please stop hiding, friends!
We are stuck on 688 birds for this year, and would really like to get to the round number of 690. And you represent 50% of our remaining targets. So, just make yourselves a little more visible, OK? We promise to be quiet and respectful, so just give us one little look and then we'll stop bothering you.
Respectfully and sincerely,
Me
From:
Napa, CA, USA
Monday, December 14, 2015
Florida again? Oh yes.
Oh, hi, there!
The absence of posts here is indicative of two things: 1) we've been busy on a number of projects that need to be done before the end of the year, and 2) we haven't seen any new birds! (sad face)
This is not from lack of trying. We've tried multiple times for one of the last somewhat-common birds we still need, the Short-eared Owl, but have failed every time.
But with two weeks to go, we’re not giving up yet. We decided to make one more journey out to Florida and Texas for a few rare birds, hoping to boost our number just a little during the last few weeks of the year.
This latest episode began on Saturday, as we flew out to Miami and checked into a hotel near Pembroke Pines. The subject this time was a rare visitor from the Bahamas or Cuba, a Western Spindalis. Note this is not a device used to make thread, it is actually a bird. It was first reported at a Florida park about a week ago, coincidentally, the same park where we saw the Spot-breasted Orioles on our prior trip.
So, Sunday morning, we rose as early as we could, and arrived at the park at 930A. Our excitement level rose as a small group of photographers were arrayed around a tree! This was going to be EASY.
We approached the group, and causally asked, “Whatcha got?”
“Oh, it’s very exciting,” the lady replied, “Several Spot-breasted Orioles are hanging out, and we're getting great pictures!” Which would have truly been exciting, if those weren’t the same birds we’d seen two weeks prior.
But this wasn’t completely bad news, as reports of the Spindalis mentioned that it was associating with the cluster of orioles. So, we asked if anybody had seen our bird.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, “Just about 30 minutes ago! Somebody saw it on the other side of the field.”
OK, now we were cooking with gas. Wandering over to the proper side of the field, we pumped other birdwatchers for information. Had they seen it, and if so, where? How high in the trees? What was it eating?
As the morning passed, one by one, the other birders gave up and wandered off. The park grew busier and busier, as the non-bird crowd showed up. This park turned out to be a multiuse facility, including camping, a large dog park, huge picnic grounds, and (because why not?) a shooting range. So, as the afternoon drew on, and we continued wandering to and fro not seeing our target, we were serenaded by dogs barking, motorcycles and unmuffled cars showing off, laughing and shrieking, all punctuated by the constant POP-POP-POP of gunfire.
Finally, as dusk fell and our spirits with it, after 8 hours of standing around accomplishing nothing, we gave up and returned to the hotel.
As we worked through the evening’s projects and then found nearby dinner, I started to feel worse and worse. By the time we went to bed, my throat was so sore that just attempting to swallow was painful. This did not bode well for the next day, of which we only had about 3 hours of daylight to find the bird before needing to return to the airport.
Monday morning, as the alarm went off at 5:45AM Eastern Time, I woke and took stock of how I felt.
To fully describe my situation, I need to explain a little personal history. A few years ago, I had a co-worker that I very much enjoyed talking with named Simon. Simon was British, and aside from the delightful accent and occasional turns of phrase that needed translation, he punctuated his speech with frequent epithets. And he wouldn’t just say the epithets, he would carefully and precisely pronounce each syllable, letting them drip from his tongue like molasses.
One of the words that he said very well, and very frequently, was “Shit”. And when Simon said the word, you didn’t just get the sense that his target was kind of bad. He would insert the briefest of pauses after the “Shi” and then clearly enunciate the “t”, as though spitting out the word with the fullest level of disgust that one could muster, while keeping a properly British polite and civil one.
With that in mind, I can honestly say that I felt like Shit.
But, we had only a few hours to rescue this leg of the trip, and so the show must go on. So off we went, into the humid and still dark Florida morning, to stand in our park and watch for nothing. We did arrive three hours earlier than the prior day, however, so maybe the outcome would be different?
As before, the orioles made an early appearance and, like a Kardashian at a cocktail party, kept themselves the center of attention. And like paparazzi at a Kardashian cocktail party, photographers with high-end cameras and lenses the size of small artillery guns fired off hundreds of frames of the birds preening and modeling in the early morning sun. Meanwhile, we covered yesterday’s territory for seemingly the thousandth time.
With about 30 minutes before we had to leave, we decided to spend the rest of our time near the orioles, hoping that the Spindalis would make an appearance with its friends. In football terms, this was the equivalent of throwing a Hail Mary pass at the end of a game: you don’t expect it to work, but just maybe…
Suddenly, the orioles decided the time was right to move to the palm trees just behind me, and one by one the seven birds flew over my head. Then, an eighth shape zoomed in, close on their tail feathers.
My binoculars shot up to my eyes, and while the lighting was terrible, I could see from the shape that it wasn’t an oriole. When I saw the black and white pattern through the eyes, I knew we had it.
The Spindalis obligingly flew to a nearby tree, perching at the top while looking first one way, then another, as if to give the crowd of adoring photographers the glimpses of him that they wanted. And it looked something like this:
Our next stop was Walgreens, for a truckload of Nyquil and Emergen-C, and then off to the airport. Our day was otherwise uneventful, and now we’re in Corpus Christi, TX. A Mexican warbler was reported near here last weekend, so we’re going to try our luck at it tomorrow, before returning home for a few more attempts at the owls.
Here's to our luck continuing tomorrow, and that Nyquil really kicking in!
Me
The absence of posts here is indicative of two things: 1) we've been busy on a number of projects that need to be done before the end of the year, and 2) we haven't seen any new birds! (sad face)
This is not from lack of trying. We've tried multiple times for one of the last somewhat-common birds we still need, the Short-eared Owl, but have failed every time.
But with two weeks to go, we’re not giving up yet. We decided to make one more journey out to Florida and Texas for a few rare birds, hoping to boost our number just a little during the last few weeks of the year.
This latest episode began on Saturday, as we flew out to Miami and checked into a hotel near Pembroke Pines. The subject this time was a rare visitor from the Bahamas or Cuba, a Western Spindalis. Note this is not a device used to make thread, it is actually a bird. It was first reported at a Florida park about a week ago, coincidentally, the same park where we saw the Spot-breasted Orioles on our prior trip.
So, Sunday morning, we rose as early as we could, and arrived at the park at 930A. Our excitement level rose as a small group of photographers were arrayed around a tree! This was going to be EASY.
We approached the group, and causally asked, “Whatcha got?”
“Oh, it’s very exciting,” the lady replied, “Several Spot-breasted Orioles are hanging out, and we're getting great pictures!” Which would have truly been exciting, if those weren’t the same birds we’d seen two weeks prior.
But this wasn’t completely bad news, as reports of the Spindalis mentioned that it was associating with the cluster of orioles. So, we asked if anybody had seen our bird.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, “Just about 30 minutes ago! Somebody saw it on the other side of the field.”
OK, now we were cooking with gas. Wandering over to the proper side of the field, we pumped other birdwatchers for information. Had they seen it, and if so, where? How high in the trees? What was it eating?
As the morning passed, one by one, the other birders gave up and wandered off. The park grew busier and busier, as the non-bird crowd showed up. This park turned out to be a multiuse facility, including camping, a large dog park, huge picnic grounds, and (because why not?) a shooting range. So, as the afternoon drew on, and we continued wandering to and fro not seeing our target, we were serenaded by dogs barking, motorcycles and unmuffled cars showing off, laughing and shrieking, all punctuated by the constant POP-POP-POP of gunfire.
Finally, as dusk fell and our spirits with it, after 8 hours of standing around accomplishing nothing, we gave up and returned to the hotel.
As we worked through the evening’s projects and then found nearby dinner, I started to feel worse and worse. By the time we went to bed, my throat was so sore that just attempting to swallow was painful. This did not bode well for the next day, of which we only had about 3 hours of daylight to find the bird before needing to return to the airport.
Monday morning, as the alarm went off at 5:45AM Eastern Time, I woke and took stock of how I felt.
To fully describe my situation, I need to explain a little personal history. A few years ago, I had a co-worker that I very much enjoyed talking with named Simon. Simon was British, and aside from the delightful accent and occasional turns of phrase that needed translation, he punctuated his speech with frequent epithets. And he wouldn’t just say the epithets, he would carefully and precisely pronounce each syllable, letting them drip from his tongue like molasses.
One of the words that he said very well, and very frequently, was “Shit”. And when Simon said the word, you didn’t just get the sense that his target was kind of bad. He would insert the briefest of pauses after the “Shi” and then clearly enunciate the “t”, as though spitting out the word with the fullest level of disgust that one could muster, while keeping a properly British polite and civil one.
With that in mind, I can honestly say that I felt like Shit.
But, we had only a few hours to rescue this leg of the trip, and so the show must go on. So off we went, into the humid and still dark Florida morning, to stand in our park and watch for nothing. We did arrive three hours earlier than the prior day, however, so maybe the outcome would be different?
As before, the orioles made an early appearance and, like a Kardashian at a cocktail party, kept themselves the center of attention. And like paparazzi at a Kardashian cocktail party, photographers with high-end cameras and lenses the size of small artillery guns fired off hundreds of frames of the birds preening and modeling in the early morning sun. Meanwhile, we covered yesterday’s territory for seemingly the thousandth time.
With about 30 minutes before we had to leave, we decided to spend the rest of our time near the orioles, hoping that the Spindalis would make an appearance with its friends. In football terms, this was the equivalent of throwing a Hail Mary pass at the end of a game: you don’t expect it to work, but just maybe…
Suddenly, the orioles decided the time was right to move to the palm trees just behind me, and one by one the seven birds flew over my head. Then, an eighth shape zoomed in, close on their tail feathers.
My binoculars shot up to my eyes, and while the lighting was terrible, I could see from the shape that it wasn’t an oriole. When I saw the black and white pattern through the eyes, I knew we had it.
The Spindalis obligingly flew to a nearby tree, perching at the top while looking first one way, then another, as if to give the crowd of adoring photographers the glimpses of him that they wanted. And it looked something like this:
 |
| Oh, my, you're a pretty one. How about a little back view? |
 |
| Oh, yeah, that's a good look. Might nice red feathers you've got there! |
 |
| "Creep!" he shouted, exiting stage left. |
Our next stop was Walgreens, for a truckload of Nyquil and Emergen-C, and then off to the airport. Our day was otherwise uneventful, and now we’re in Corpus Christi, TX. A Mexican warbler was reported near here last weekend, so we’re going to try our luck at it tomorrow, before returning home for a few more attempts at the owls.
Here's to our luck continuing tomorrow, and that Nyquil really kicking in!
Me
From:
Sunrise, FL, USA
Friday, December 4, 2015
Sweeping Up
The broom has been stashed in the closet, and the dustbin has been emptied: The Big Sweep 2015 is done.
We arrived home at about 1AM on Thursday, after leaving Tucson around 9AM on Wednesday. Yes, we drove straight through, about 900 miles, in one LONG-ASS day.
Why would we subject ourselves to this? Well, (A) it's not a Big Year if you don't do crazy stuff, and (B) a bird.
After landing in Tucson on about 1:30p Tuesday, we huddled over a late lunch to make our final plans. Should we put in a few hours driving to make the next day's return tolerable, or take one more shot at the Rufous-backed Robin that eluded us before our flight out? Was that even a question?
So, we drove up to Catalina State Park, a nicely preserved slice of the Sonoran desert that used to be in a rural area, but is now surrounded by apartments and shopping malls (if there's anything that Arizona does well, it's Urban Sprawl). This park has a nice campground, and also happens to be where a robin was reported just after Thanksgiving. We would spend the night there, check the place where it had been reported at dusk and then again at dawn, and then marathon home.
The robin had only been reported once, so we knew our odds were slim. But, you can't win if you don't enter, right?
Hikers, joggers, and dog walkers kept the trails fairly busy, which was good for their aerobic capacity and cholesterol levels, but bad for robins. Trying to think like a bird, we quietly wandered up the desert wash where it had been reported, away from the traffic, listening intently for any calls or rustling that might reveal its presence.
And then, rustling! On the bank of the wash, some tall grasses were swaying, but by the way they moved, we could tell the cause of the activity was much bigger than a robin. Pausing, we waited to see if the creature would reveal itself.
Sure enough:
A Hog-nosed Skunk! And he was so cute, snuffling around in the leaf litter. Wanting a better picture, I moved upstream, giving him a wide berth as he wandered out into the open to get a drink from the stream.
But then he started snuffling his way toward me. And his tail moved from horizontal to vertical. Which doesn't seem like a good thing.
Deciding that I didn't need a close-up picture that badly, and that The Wife wasn't going to appreciate 15 hours in the car with a snunky husband, I hastily retreated. Very hastily. The skunk found my actions satisfactory, moseying back into the deep grass with his tail back at ground-level.
After that encounter, we did find many birds, just not the one we wanted. Several types of sparrows, Abert's Towhees, and other typical desert birds flew and hopped around, taking advantage of the gentle stream for drinks and baths. We were surprised by little flock of Lawrence's Goldfinches that flew in to check out the action:
But, no Robin that evening, or the next morning, so we hooked up our trailer, cranked the tunes, and made the journey home.
The entire trip was long and exhausting, but successful and fun. We added a total of 13 new birds for the year, bringing us up to 687. The most we realistically could have added was around 16-18, so we're very happy with this.
What's next? Well, there are only about 10 birds IN ALL OF NORTH AMERICA that have been seen in the past two weeks that we don't yet have. We're going to watch the weather and try to pick up a few more this month. Stay tuned!
We arrived home at about 1AM on Thursday, after leaving Tucson around 9AM on Wednesday. Yes, we drove straight through, about 900 miles, in one LONG-ASS day.
Why would we subject ourselves to this? Well, (A) it's not a Big Year if you don't do crazy stuff, and (B) a bird.
After landing in Tucson on about 1:30p Tuesday, we huddled over a late lunch to make our final plans. Should we put in a few hours driving to make the next day's return tolerable, or take one more shot at the Rufous-backed Robin that eluded us before our flight out? Was that even a question?
So, we drove up to Catalina State Park, a nicely preserved slice of the Sonoran desert that used to be in a rural area, but is now surrounded by apartments and shopping malls (if there's anything that Arizona does well, it's Urban Sprawl). This park has a nice campground, and also happens to be where a robin was reported just after Thanksgiving. We would spend the night there, check the place where it had been reported at dusk and then again at dawn, and then marathon home.
The robin had only been reported once, so we knew our odds were slim. But, you can't win if you don't enter, right?
Hikers, joggers, and dog walkers kept the trails fairly busy, which was good for their aerobic capacity and cholesterol levels, but bad for robins. Trying to think like a bird, we quietly wandered up the desert wash where it had been reported, away from the traffic, listening intently for any calls or rustling that might reveal its presence.
And then, rustling! On the bank of the wash, some tall grasses were swaying, but by the way they moved, we could tell the cause of the activity was much bigger than a robin. Pausing, we waited to see if the creature would reveal itself.
Sure enough:
A Hog-nosed Skunk! And he was so cute, snuffling around in the leaf litter. Wanting a better picture, I moved upstream, giving him a wide berth as he wandered out into the open to get a drink from the stream.
But then he started snuffling his way toward me. And his tail moved from horizontal to vertical. Which doesn't seem like a good thing.
Deciding that I didn't need a close-up picture that badly, and that The Wife wasn't going to appreciate 15 hours in the car with a snunky husband, I hastily retreated. Very hastily. The skunk found my actions satisfactory, moseying back into the deep grass with his tail back at ground-level.
 |
| Hog-nosed Skunk, on the prowl |
After that encounter, we did find many birds, just not the one we wanted. Several types of sparrows, Abert's Towhees, and other typical desert birds flew and hopped around, taking advantage of the gentle stream for drinks and baths. We were surprised by little flock of Lawrence's Goldfinches that flew in to check out the action:
 |
| Lawrence's Goldfinch, named for George Lawrence, a 19th century ornithologist who was a member of a precursor to the Rat Pack. Along with Spencer Baird and John Cassin, he formed a group known as "The Starlings." Their gossip-worthy exploits tore up both the scientific and socialite worlds for several wild years in the mid-1800s, before an unfortunate event in a Paris club involving a bet, two Can-Can dancers, and multiple bottles of absinthe led to their eventual dissolution. |
 |
| Hanging with the ladies. |
 |
| Gray Flycatcher |
But, no Robin that evening, or the next morning, so we hooked up our trailer, cranked the tunes, and made the journey home.
The entire trip was long and exhausting, but successful and fun. We added a total of 13 new birds for the year, bringing us up to 687. The most we realistically could have added was around 16-18, so we're very happy with this.
What's next? Well, there are only about 10 birds IN ALL OF NORTH AMERICA that have been seen in the past two weeks that we don't yet have. We're going to watch the weather and try to pick up a few more this month. Stay tuned!
From:
Oro Valley, AZ, USA
Monday, November 30, 2015
New England is Adorable
Tomorrow we fly back to Tucson for the long drive home, with maybe a quick stop for one more bird. We had a few misses on this trip, but lots of success, and so we stand content with the results.
As we've been driving around quite a bit (about 1200 miles on the rental car in 7 days!), we've seen a fair amount of the New England area, from Connecticut up to Maine. And, for the most part, the thing that stands out is that it's so darn cute!
Towns have olde British-y names like "Peabody" or "Manchester-by-the-Sea", and people live on streets like "Old Straitsmouth Way" or "Bartholomew Avenue". Roads are gently curved and hilly, with rarely a straight line. There are Brooks, Necks, and Runs, and communities are called "Villages".
Lawns are impeccably manicured, and fences tend to be of the white picket variety. Houses are clad in weather-aged shingles, or neatly painted clapboards of gray with white trim, both of which contrast pleasingly with the pale blue sky of a clear, cold winter's day. And even a modest-sized home is called a "cottage".
Nearly every angle presents a postcard-quality view.
But as quaint as this is, and "quaint" is very appropriately used in this context, there are a few downsides that we've discovered from spending a total of about 2 weeks here this year:
Now, if you came here for a birding update, I will satisfy your vicarious curiosity: We found two new birds yesterday, both Life Birds for us. A flock of Purple Sandpipers perched and dozed in the sun on a seaweed-covered rock, and we were able to get within about 6 feet of them without scaring them off. And thanks to more eBird Detective Work, we discovered a King Eider, although it was about 1000 feet away and sleeping, so we didn't get the best of views of that one. I guess that will be an excuse to come back next year!
Off to have some lobster cocoa before bed,
Me
As we've been driving around quite a bit (about 1200 miles on the rental car in 7 days!), we've seen a fair amount of the New England area, from Connecticut up to Maine. And, for the most part, the thing that stands out is that it's so darn cute!
Towns have olde British-y names like "Peabody" or "Manchester-by-the-Sea", and people live on streets like "Old Straitsmouth Way" or "Bartholomew Avenue". Roads are gently curved and hilly, with rarely a straight line. There are Brooks, Necks, and Runs, and communities are called "Villages".
Lawns are impeccably manicured, and fences tend to be of the white picket variety. Houses are clad in weather-aged shingles, or neatly painted clapboards of gray with white trim, both of which contrast pleasingly with the pale blue sky of a clear, cold winter's day. And even a modest-sized home is called a "cottage".
Nearly every angle presents a postcard-quality view.
But as quaint as this is, and "quaint" is very appropriately used in this context, there are a few downsides that we've discovered from spending a total of about 2 weeks here this year:
- Weather, specifically the Winter weather. We saw a sign today along a road that ran right beside a beach which said, "Caution: Drifting Snow". Snow drifts? Next to the ocean? That's just wrong. And it gets cold... despite being about the same latitude as Medford, OR, the average high temperature in Boston doesn't get much above 40F, and the lows are typically below 30F for the entire winter. Between the frigid temperatures and snow (remember, Boston received nearly 11 feet of snow last year!), many businesses, from stores to inns to restaurants, just shut down during the winter, some from November until May.
- Accents. For some reason, the New England dialect just grates on my nerves. If I never heard another, "Pahk the cah ovah theyah," I wouldn't feel that my life was worse in any way.
- Lobster. OMG. It's so overplayed. Every corner store sells lobster, and it shows up on menus in odd ways because every restaurant must offer lobster but the chefs are bored to tears with Lobster Rolls and Lobster Bisque. So, how about lobster in an omelette? Or lobster ice cream? And, of course, you can purchase lobster t-shirts and lobster Christmas ornaments and even lobster-themed children's books.
Now, if you came here for a birding update, I will satisfy your vicarious curiosity: We found two new birds yesterday, both Life Birds for us. A flock of Purple Sandpipers perched and dozed in the sun on a seaweed-covered rock, and we were able to get within about 6 feet of them without scaring them off. And thanks to more eBird Detective Work, we discovered a King Eider, although it was about 1000 feet away and sleeping, so we didn't get the best of views of that one. I guess that will be an excuse to come back next year!
Off to have some lobster cocoa before bed,
Me
From:
Kennebunkport, ME, USA
Saturday, November 28, 2015
Wild Goose Chase, Part 2: The Lon Guisland Express
Happy Thanksgiving! ¿Todavía ama pavo?
I hope your Thanksgiving was well spent with favored friends, family, or both, or neither if that's how you roll, and at the very least it was pleasantly calorie-laden.
Our Thanksgiving weekend has been extremely busy, and not due to the usual preparation of feasts, or shopping expeditions, or finally thinking about taking down last year's Christmas lights from the front porch before you realize that it's time to put them up again and feeling clever at your efficiency. Or whatever normal people do.
First, where are we? We spent the past few days in a wonderful place, Provincetown, MA, where the Mayflower landed in 1620, on the very far tip of Cape Cod:
The key thing to note about P-town, and the reason we made it our destination, is that it is located about 20 miles offshore of most of the rest of the continent, so it's a good place to look for ocean birds that you might otherwise require a boat trip to find.
[Aside: If you're from the Left Coast or geographically challenged, other key things you might notice include:
I hope your Thanksgiving was well spent with favored friends, family, or both, or neither if that's how you roll, and at the very least it was pleasantly calorie-laden.
Our Thanksgiving weekend has been extremely busy, and not due to the usual preparation of feasts, or shopping expeditions, or finally thinking about taking down last year's Christmas lights from the front porch before you realize that it's time to put them up again and feeling clever at your efficiency. Or whatever normal people do.
First, where are we? We spent the past few days in a wonderful place, Provincetown, MA, where the Mayflower landed in 1620, on the very far tip of Cape Cod:
The key thing to note about P-town, and the reason we made it our destination, is that it is located about 20 miles offshore of most of the rest of the continent, so it's a good place to look for ocean birds that you might otherwise require a boat trip to find.
[Aside: If you're from the Left Coast or geographically challenged, other key things you might notice include:
- There are a lot of famous places all crowded together near Boston, like Salem and Plymouth. That's kind of cool.
- I've heard of Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket. And those places are islands? Seriously?
- But Rhode Island isn't really an island? That's messed up.]
So, our last three days have involved rising around 6AM East Coast time, so we could get outside by dawn, trekking to key locations, then poring over flocks of birds for ones we need:
 |
| Most all the birds were a few hundred yards offshore, so most of our "birding" was hunching over a scope, with one eye closed, peering at the mass while waiting for the waves to move them up and down for better visibility. |
The number of new birds we saw for all this effort? Exactly zero. So while we had a great time on the Cape, the time was a bust as far as birds go.
So, yesterday we heard about this goose... Yes, another rare visitor to North America, and this Barnacle Goose had been reported for a couple days in a row on Long Island, NY. The site was about 4.5 hours south of Cape Cod with a ferry ride (ANOTHER BOAT!), not a terrible distance given what we've done so far, and we've never been to Long Island, so...one hotel and one ferry reservation later, we were headed south, to Greenport, NY.
Rising at our usual pre-dawn time this morning, we guessed at which of two reported sites it might be at, and started scanning through hundreds of Canada Geese again...and voila!
 |
| Mr. Goose is the black and white bird right in the middle. |
Woohoo! And off we went, to catch our ferry back to Connecticut.
[Aside #2: We wondered what came first, the Goose Barnacle or the Barnacle Goose, why their names were so similar. Long story short, the bird was named first, and in the 1100's somebody claimed they grew from driftwood and matured underwater during the winters in the form of a critter they named the Goose Barnacle. And we thought drugs were a problem TODAY...]
After striking out on a couple of other locations, we decided to chase a nearby report of a Black-headed Gull. If we didn't it, we would have to trek hundreds of miles south and east to Maryland or New Jersey, or scratch it off the year list, so we really wanted this one. Rain was starting to fall, but gulls live on water, so they wouldn't mind a sprinkle, right?
In eBird, the close bird was reported in two places, one being in the center of the town of Westerly, RI, and the other was about 5 miles away on the coast at a state beach. Fortunately, the town report had a comment: "Seen near the main parking lot with other gulls". Google Earth views of Westerly didn't show anything we would call a "main parking lot", so we guessed that it was mismarked and headed for the state beach. (Doing a Big Year does require more than a little detective work!)
Arriving at Misquamicut State Beach as the rain picked up, we found this:
 |
| Why do gulls like to stand in parking lots? Are they just fascinated by cars? Do they secretly aspire to become valets? |
And a quick scan of the flock found this!
 |
| The Erudite Birder will acknowledge the deep red bill and legs, light back, black spot in front of and behind the eye, and dark wingtips, all hallmarks of a Black-headed Gull. The rest of you will be asking, "Why doesn't it have a black head?" To which I will say, "To make blog readers ask questions!" |
Now, after having visited four states in one day, we're settled near Boston, getting ready for one more shot at some of those coastal birds tomorrow.
Phew!
From:
Peabody, MA, USA
Thursday, November 26, 2015
Wild Goose Chase
Las colinas están vivas con el sonido de los gansos,
Having exhausted the list of birds we wanted to find in Florida, we moved our flight to Boston to one day earlier, to allow more time for chasing some of the unusual birds that are being reported here in the Northeast.
The bird upon which we set our sights is the same bird that ended the movie The Big Year: the Pink-footed Goose. A report had rolled down the pipes of the Interwebs just a few days ago that one of these geese was found in Connecticut, just outside of Hartford. Until the 1990s, this was an extremely rare vagrant to North America, and while the frequency of reports has increased in the past 20 years, there are usually only a few that show up across the entire continent in a year. So, we gotta get it!
Our flight to Boston landed at 5pm, and it turns out that leaving Boston-Logan at rush hour is a rotten idea. We decided to pull over for the night in Worcester, which it turns out is pronounced "Woostah" for reasons probably dating back to William Shakespeare. Despite this flaw, there's a fantastic pub in town: Armsby Abbey is highly recommended.
The next morning, we headed straight for the park where the goose had been seen, and pulled into the parking lot along with two other cars, both of which contained birders on the same chase.
We all walked to the area where the reports directed us, and then started scanning the approximately 2500 Canada Geese for one little Pinkie.
Which one of these is not like the other?
Didn't see it? How about now?
That was one of the rarest birds we've seen in North America this yet, and yet one of the easiest, too. I love it when a plan comes together!
Having exhausted the list of birds we wanted to find in Florida, we moved our flight to Boston to one day earlier, to allow more time for chasing some of the unusual birds that are being reported here in the Northeast.
The bird upon which we set our sights is the same bird that ended the movie The Big Year: the Pink-footed Goose. A report had rolled down the pipes of the Interwebs just a few days ago that one of these geese was found in Connecticut, just outside of Hartford. Until the 1990s, this was an extremely rare vagrant to North America, and while the frequency of reports has increased in the past 20 years, there are usually only a few that show up across the entire continent in a year. So, we gotta get it!
Our flight to Boston landed at 5pm, and it turns out that leaving Boston-Logan at rush hour is a rotten idea. We decided to pull over for the night in Worcester, which it turns out is pronounced "Woostah" for reasons probably dating back to William Shakespeare. Despite this flaw, there's a fantastic pub in town: Armsby Abbey is highly recommended.
The next morning, we headed straight for the park where the goose had been seen, and pulled into the parking lot along with two other cars, both of which contained birders on the same chase.
We all walked to the area where the reports directed us, and then started scanning the approximately 2500 Canada Geese for one little Pinkie.
Which one of these is not like the other?
Didn't see it? How about now?
OK, those were a little unfair because while the goose is there, its head is tucked under a wing, so it's very tough to see (for fun, try downloading the photos, zooming in, and try to find it).
I'll make it easier on you:
In this shot, you can see a bit of its pink leg:
That was one of the rarest birds we've seen in North America this yet, and yet one of the easiest, too. I love it when a plan comes together!
From:
Provincetown, MA, USA
Wednesday, November 25, 2015
Timing is Everything
For the past several weeks, reports have filtered out of South Florida that a somewhat unusual bird, the Smooth-billed Ani, was hanging out in Jonathan Dickinson State Park, near Jupiter, FL. And by "several weeks," I mean that the first report was posted on Sept 19, and subsequent reports followed almost daily. It was the definition of "reliable".
However, two days before we arrived in town, the first good rainstorm of the Fall dropped 1-2" of rain in a couple of days. This turned the Ani's favorite haunt, a large grassy bowl right next to the camping area, into a large swimming pool. And since Anis like to forage on the ground, this was, as they say, "no bueno".
So when we arrived at the park, the Ani had not been seen for several days. And despite our best efforts, it still has not been found. She could still be there, but the park is HUGE and nobody has re-located her yet. DRAT!
Next target: American Flamingo. While "American" is in the name, only a few of them show up in America each year, mostly in the shallow bays just offshore of Everglades National Park. Turns out, a pair of them showed up recently near Flamingo Visitor Center, in an infamous bay named Snake Bight. I call it infamous because anybody who has tried to hike the eponymous trail knows that this is one of the worst places EVER for mosquitoes. As one reviewer on TripAdvisor wrote, "As well as other reviewers, I only walked one minute, before running back to the car, due to mosquitoes". Our experience a few years ago was similar.
So, you can see the Flamingoes in one of two ways: you can hike the mosquito-infested trail and hope they happen to be standing in the relatively small viewing area from the end of the trail, or paddle a canoe from the Visitor Center about three miles and have 360 degree views of the entire bay. Obviously, the canoe is the way to go.
After our strikeout with the Ani and a three hour drive, we ended up at the Visitor Center. The sky was dark, and rain had fallen almost the entire drive. The canoe rental guy was very skeptical about letting us have a canoe:
"You can try if you want," he said, "But you only have an hour until low tide, which means you have to go the long way around. The sun sets in two hours, so unless you want to canoe in the dark, you're going to have to paddle like hell to make it."
Unfortunately, the forecast for the following day was for thunderstorms and strong winds, although mostly in the afternoon. His advice was to come back at dawn and make our journey as quick as possible.
Discretion vs. valor and all that, we took his advice. But given the concerns about tomorrow's weather, we decided to attempt the 1.5 mile Snake Bight trail just in case the Flamingoes were there.
So, although the temperature was around 80F with 95% humidity, we geared up: long pants, gloves (winter gloves, the only ones we had), and raincoat with hood up, all of it spritzed with 100% DEET. And it's a good thing we did, because not 25 feet down the trail, this is what The Wife's back looked like:
And, of course, after a sweaty 3.6 mile Death March, constantly swatting skeeters off the tiny patch of exposed skin on our faces, there were no Flamingoes.
So, time to find a hotel for the night. Driving out of the park to Florida City, however, we noticed amazingly heavy traffic, with orange cones blocking the left-hand turn we wanted to make and police directing traffic. Pulling over to do research, we discovered that a major NASCAR race was being held this weekend at the track in Homestead, with 50,000 fans expected in the area. And, it turns out, those fans need hotel rooms, because literally every room within an hour's drive was booked. DOUBLE DRAT! We considered just sleeping in the car, but really needed showers after the hike, so off we went, back up to Fort Lauderdale.
The next morning, leaving at 5AM, we drove through a tremendous downpour, the kind where the windshield wipers on Extra Fast can't keep up, and you have to slow to 30 mph to have any idea where the road is. We considered bailing, but knowing that Florida weather changes quickly, we drove on.
Fortunately, by the time we arrived at the Visitor's Center, the skies were blue, winds were calm, and the sun was shining brightly. It was a beautiful day for a canoe trip! Or so it seemed...
We are fairly novice Paddlers, but familiar enough with the techniques to make our way in a reasonably straight line out of the harbor. As we rounded the first sand bar, we noticed that the wind was a little breezy, as we were paddling on our left about three or four strokes for every one on the right for our "straight" line. But, we were making good time so thought nothing of it.
About an hour later, we had reached the bay and were scanning the hundreds of egrets, pelicans, and other usual birds for our quarry. A couple of Roseate Spoonbills got us excited briefly, but after about 15 minutes of paddling around, success! Here's a picture of the two flamingos feeding:
If you've ever been in a canoe, you'll know that canoes are great sails: their sides are fairly high and straight, so they present a nice handle for the wind to grab. When we were facing directly into the wind, we made some slow progress forward, but if the tip of the canoe veered slightly to one side, the gusts would literally spin us 180 degrees or push us into the mangrove trees.
Pulling the paddles with all our strength, and taking a few rest breaks when we got stuck in the mangroves, we managed to inch our way back to the harbor.
Upon arriving at the dock, the Canoe Guy was happy to see us.
"Oh, good, you made it back!" he exclaimed, "We were wondering if we were going to have to send a boat out for you. These winds really picked up earlier than usual, and they're strong enough now we're not letting anybody else out."
And that is how we narrowly avoided being killed by flamingoes.
Thanks to the wonders of GPS technology, you can actually see the route we took. The more red the color, the faster we went, and the more blue, the slower:
What's next? How about New England for Thanksgiving? We're headed to Provincetown, MA, on the far tip of Cape Cod, to see how the Pilgrims lived and to pick up a few winter birds. The weather looks good, so our fingers and toes are crossed that it stays that way!
I really hope that's the last boat of this year,
Me
However, two days before we arrived in town, the first good rainstorm of the Fall dropped 1-2" of rain in a couple of days. This turned the Ani's favorite haunt, a large grassy bowl right next to the camping area, into a large swimming pool. And since Anis like to forage on the ground, this was, as they say, "no bueno".
So when we arrived at the park, the Ani had not been seen for several days. And despite our best efforts, it still has not been found. She could still be there, but the park is HUGE and nobody has re-located her yet. DRAT!
Next target: American Flamingo. While "American" is in the name, only a few of them show up in America each year, mostly in the shallow bays just offshore of Everglades National Park. Turns out, a pair of them showed up recently near Flamingo Visitor Center, in an infamous bay named Snake Bight. I call it infamous because anybody who has tried to hike the eponymous trail knows that this is one of the worst places EVER for mosquitoes. As one reviewer on TripAdvisor wrote, "As well as other reviewers, I only walked one minute, before running back to the car, due to mosquitoes". Our experience a few years ago was similar.
So, you can see the Flamingoes in one of two ways: you can hike the mosquito-infested trail and hope they happen to be standing in the relatively small viewing area from the end of the trail, or paddle a canoe from the Visitor Center about three miles and have 360 degree views of the entire bay. Obviously, the canoe is the way to go.
After our strikeout with the Ani and a three hour drive, we ended up at the Visitor Center. The sky was dark, and rain had fallen almost the entire drive. The canoe rental guy was very skeptical about letting us have a canoe:
"You can try if you want," he said, "But you only have an hour until low tide, which means you have to go the long way around. The sun sets in two hours, so unless you want to canoe in the dark, you're going to have to paddle like hell to make it."
Unfortunately, the forecast for the following day was for thunderstorms and strong winds, although mostly in the afternoon. His advice was to come back at dawn and make our journey as quick as possible.
Discretion vs. valor and all that, we took his advice. But given the concerns about tomorrow's weather, we decided to attempt the 1.5 mile Snake Bight trail just in case the Flamingoes were there.
So, although the temperature was around 80F with 95% humidity, we geared up: long pants, gloves (winter gloves, the only ones we had), and raincoat with hood up, all of it spritzed with 100% DEET. And it's a good thing we did, because not 25 feet down the trail, this is what The Wife's back looked like:
And, of course, after a sweaty 3.6 mile Death March, constantly swatting skeeters off the tiny patch of exposed skin on our faces, there were no Flamingoes.
So, time to find a hotel for the night. Driving out of the park to Florida City, however, we noticed amazingly heavy traffic, with orange cones blocking the left-hand turn we wanted to make and police directing traffic. Pulling over to do research, we discovered that a major NASCAR race was being held this weekend at the track in Homestead, with 50,000 fans expected in the area. And, it turns out, those fans need hotel rooms, because literally every room within an hour's drive was booked. DOUBLE DRAT! We considered just sleeping in the car, but really needed showers after the hike, so off we went, back up to Fort Lauderdale.
The next morning, leaving at 5AM, we drove through a tremendous downpour, the kind where the windshield wipers on Extra Fast can't keep up, and you have to slow to 30 mph to have any idea where the road is. We considered bailing, but knowing that Florida weather changes quickly, we drove on.
Fortunately, by the time we arrived at the Visitor's Center, the skies were blue, winds were calm, and the sun was shining brightly. It was a beautiful day for a canoe trip! Or so it seemed...
We are fairly novice Paddlers, but familiar enough with the techniques to make our way in a reasonably straight line out of the harbor. As we rounded the first sand bar, we noticed that the wind was a little breezy, as we were paddling on our left about three or four strokes for every one on the right for our "straight" line. But, we were making good time so thought nothing of it.
About an hour later, we had reached the bay and were scanning the hundreds of egrets, pelicans, and other usual birds for our quarry. A couple of Roseate Spoonbills got us excited briefly, but after about 15 minutes of paddling around, success! Here's a picture of the two flamingos feeding:
[Actually, there is no picture, because I was pretty sure the canoe was going to capsize at some point and didn't want to ruin my camera, so I didn't bring it. But, you know what a flamingo looks like...]We turned the ship around and began the trek back to the harbor, this time taking the short route because the tide had risen enough to cover the mud flats. The paddle across the bay was smooth, as we were getting into a good rhythm, and then we rounded the corner for our straight shot to port. And were smacked in the face by the wind.
If you've ever been in a canoe, you'll know that canoes are great sails: their sides are fairly high and straight, so they present a nice handle for the wind to grab. When we were facing directly into the wind, we made some slow progress forward, but if the tip of the canoe veered slightly to one side, the gusts would literally spin us 180 degrees or push us into the mangrove trees.
Pulling the paddles with all our strength, and taking a few rest breaks when we got stuck in the mangroves, we managed to inch our way back to the harbor.
Upon arriving at the dock, the Canoe Guy was happy to see us.
"Oh, good, you made it back!" he exclaimed, "We were wondering if we were going to have to send a boat out for you. These winds really picked up earlier than usual, and they're strong enough now we're not letting anybody else out."
And that is how we narrowly avoided being killed by flamingoes.
Thanks to the wonders of GPS technology, you can actually see the route we took. The more red the color, the faster we went, and the more blue, the slower:
 |
| We're missing the first part of the trip because we forgot to turn on the GPS. I guess technology can't solve all problems yet. |
What's next? How about New England for Thanksgiving? We're headed to Provincetown, MA, on the far tip of Cape Cod, to see how the Pilgrims lived and to pick up a few winter birds. The weather looks good, so our fingers and toes are crossed that it stays that way!
I really hope that's the last boat of this year,
Me
Monday, November 23, 2015
Exotics
Buenos días from Juno Beach, Florida!
In our last episode, your Intrepid Birders were scouring Arizona grasslands for a Short-eared Owl. Alas, the owls were absent, but we did take a nice panorama of the grasslands to show you loyal readers what it's like:
Heading back to our campground, our hearts nearly stopped when we saw an owl sitting on the post of a guard rail right beside the road!
Alas again, it was a Great Horned Owl, a perfectly nice owl, but just not the one we wanted to find.
The next phase of this operation takes place in South Florida, so we relocated our truck and trailer to Tucson International Airport's Long-term Parking, and flew into Miami Beach from TUS.
Our targets are a few local resident birds, as well as a couple of strays from elsewhere. We started bright and early the next morning, seeking one of the locals, White-winged Parakeet. Like so many birds we've seen this year, these birds aren't native to North America (the only native parrot, the Carolina Parakeet, went extinct about 100 years ago due to loss of habitat and hunting). In this case, the parakeets were brought here from South America as pets, escaped or were released, and set up colonies in South Florida.
Now, while some of these flocks hang around bird-friendly places like the University of Miami or lush residential neighborhoods, some of the easiest to find are near the Miami airport at a bank/movie theater complex. So, your Urban Parakeet Experience goes something like this:
We took this standing across the street from the bank, looking across six lanes of traffic toward the trees where the parakeets like to hang out. What you can't quite tell, but which made this experience Very Miami, is that we're standing in a used car lot, which for some reason has speakers blaring Latin music (nothing makes me want to buy a car more than a little La Vida Loca, amirite?). And yet, while we were deafened by cars + planes + tunes, the parakeets seemed perfectly happy to fly around and just be parakeets. After about ninety minutes of stress-accelerating, non-stop noise, a flock of five of them flew overhead and landed in one of the palms. Yay!
Our next target was another escaped-now-established bird, the Spot-breasted Oriole. We have tried to find these little rascals at least three other times this year, but failed each time. So, after our Parakeet Experience, we drove up to Fort Lauderdale, to a cemetery where they had been reported consistently and frequently. No brainer, right?
After another two hours of wandering between headstones and mausoleums, the only interesting thing we found was at least 30-40 Green Iguana hanging out in the trees:
And when I say "hanging", I should mean "precariously balanced", because we actually saw two of them FALL out of the trees, at least 15-20 foot drops. A Local walking her Spaniel told us that she sees them fall out of trees all the time, and it freaks out her dog!
That aside, we needed a new plan for this oriole, so we retreated to a nearby Greek restaurant, Gyroville ("Authentically Greek" is their tag line, which is really reflected in the very Greek name they chose). Munching our gyros, we debated different approaches, and then refreshed our phones to see where else we could look.
Wait, there's a report from today. Just an hour ago! And it's not far away! And the name of the person who reported it is familiar... (think, think)...it's somebody we met in Texas a few weeks ago who was a very good birder! And he left precise directions in their report about where the orioles were seen! And he saw three of them!
So we pounded the last of our gyros, washed it down with some Authentically Greek Coca-Cola, and practically sprinted across the parking lot to our car. Twenty minutes later, we were standing at the place where the orioles were reported. And we heard something.
It didn't sound quite right, but it was similar enough to our recordings to pique our interest. We wandered about, trying to get a look at whatever was making that call, for about 30 minutes in the blazing sun before I saw a flash of movement deep in the brush. Could it be?
The movement slowly climbed higher, until it popped into view. Oriole shape? Check. Bright orange with black mask and throat? Check. Black spots on the breast? Check. Bingo!
So while I was trying to get a NatGeo-quality shot of the bird, The Wife was watching the whole scene.
"There's a 2nd one in there," she narrated, "Oh, wait, there's the 3rd. 1, 2, 3....no, there's a 4th. 1, 2, 3, 4...wait, there's a 5th! There are 3 up here, and 2...no 3 down there! Wow, there are 6 of them!"
If he ever reads this, here's a big Shout Out to Kyle for helping us find our first six Spot-breasted Orioles!
Now, we're in Juno Beach, about 20 minutes south of Jonathan Dickinson State Park, the place where a Smooth-billed Ani, a visitor from the Bahamas or elsewhere in the Caribbean, has been reported for several weeks. Hopefully we can locate him tomorrow morning!
And now, we're off to battle the local retirees for dinner at a popular local restaurant. We're hungry, and know how to use our elbows, so I think we'll be OK.
Thirsty Turtle, here we come!
Me
In our last episode, your Intrepid Birders were scouring Arizona grasslands for a Short-eared Owl. Alas, the owls were absent, but we did take a nice panorama of the grasslands to show you loyal readers what it's like:
Heading back to our campground, our hearts nearly stopped when we saw an owl sitting on the post of a guard rail right beside the road!
Alas again, it was a Great Horned Owl, a perfectly nice owl, but just not the one we wanted to find.
The next phase of this operation takes place in South Florida, so we relocated our truck and trailer to Tucson International Airport's Long-term Parking, and flew into Miami Beach from TUS.
Our targets are a few local resident birds, as well as a couple of strays from elsewhere. We started bright and early the next morning, seeking one of the locals, White-winged Parakeet. Like so many birds we've seen this year, these birds aren't native to North America (the only native parrot, the Carolina Parakeet, went extinct about 100 years ago due to loss of habitat and hunting). In this case, the parakeets were brought here from South America as pets, escaped or were released, and set up colonies in South Florida.
Now, while some of these flocks hang around bird-friendly places like the University of Miami or lush residential neighborhoods, some of the easiest to find are near the Miami airport at a bank/movie theater complex. So, your Urban Parakeet Experience goes something like this:
We took this standing across the street from the bank, looking across six lanes of traffic toward the trees where the parakeets like to hang out. What you can't quite tell, but which made this experience Very Miami, is that we're standing in a used car lot, which for some reason has speakers blaring Latin music (nothing makes me want to buy a car more than a little La Vida Loca, amirite?). And yet, while we were deafened by cars + planes + tunes, the parakeets seemed perfectly happy to fly around and just be parakeets. After about ninety minutes of stress-accelerating, non-stop noise, a flock of five of them flew overhead and landed in one of the palms. Yay!
 |
| Parakeet lovers will note the diagnostic white patches on the back of the wings. |
After another two hours of wandering between headstones and mausoleums, the only interesting thing we found was at least 30-40 Green Iguana hanging out in the trees:
 |
| These things are huge; Wikipedia says they can be between 5-6 feet long and weigh up to 20 lbs, and I believe it. |
That aside, we needed a new plan for this oriole, so we retreated to a nearby Greek restaurant, Gyroville ("Authentically Greek" is their tag line, which is really reflected in the very Greek name they chose). Munching our gyros, we debated different approaches, and then refreshed our phones to see where else we could look.
Wait, there's a report from today. Just an hour ago! And it's not far away! And the name of the person who reported it is familiar... (think, think)...it's somebody we met in Texas a few weeks ago who was a very good birder! And he left precise directions in their report about where the orioles were seen! And he saw three of them!
So we pounded the last of our gyros, washed it down with some Authentically Greek Coca-Cola, and practically sprinted across the parking lot to our car. Twenty minutes later, we were standing at the place where the orioles were reported. And we heard something.
It didn't sound quite right, but it was similar enough to our recordings to pique our interest. We wandered about, trying to get a look at whatever was making that call, for about 30 minutes in the blazing sun before I saw a flash of movement deep in the brush. Could it be?
The movement slowly climbed higher, until it popped into view. Oriole shape? Check. Bright orange with black mask and throat? Check. Black spots on the breast? Check. Bingo!
So while I was trying to get a NatGeo-quality shot of the bird, The Wife was watching the whole scene.
"There's a 2nd one in there," she narrated, "Oh, wait, there's the 3rd. 1, 2, 3....no, there's a 4th. 1, 2, 3, 4...wait, there's a 5th! There are 3 up here, and 2...no 3 down there! Wow, there are 6 of them!"
If he ever reads this, here's a big Shout Out to Kyle for helping us find our first six Spot-breasted Orioles!
Now, we're in Juno Beach, about 20 minutes south of Jonathan Dickinson State Park, the place where a Smooth-billed Ani, a visitor from the Bahamas or elsewhere in the Caribbean, has been reported for several weeks. Hopefully we can locate him tomorrow morning!
And now, we're off to battle the local retirees for dinner at a popular local restaurant. We're hungry, and know how to use our elbows, so I think we'll be OK.
Thirsty Turtle, here we come!
Me
From:
Juno Beach, FL, USA
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
The Waiting Game, Part 2
Stupid robin.
We never did find that bird, despite spending hours hanging out and waiting, although we did convince the entire neighborhood we are insane, stalkers, or both. And did you know, you can purchase a nice 3 bed, 2 bath house in Ajo, AZ on a 1/3 acre lot for less than $100,000? Or that Ajo is the home to Arizona's first copper mine? These are the things one investigates when one is bored out of one's mind.
Our next destination was the San Rafael Grasslands in Southern Arizona, a beautiful valley of gently rolling hills located about 50 miles southeast of Tucson (although given the road layout, driving there from Tucson takes nearly two hours). Our goal is to find exactly two target birds at this place: Baird's Sparrow, a secretive little pest that we spent hours trying to find in North Dakota, and Short-eared Owl, which isn't secretive but is somewhat scarce and elusive.
We arrived late last night at a relatively nearby campground, Patagonia Lake State Park, which happens to be one of our favorite parks in Arizona for its scenery and proximity to birdy locations. This morning, the alarm went off around 5am local time, and after blearily making coffee, we headed for the hills.
A tip from the local birding email list suggested we start looking for the bird just after entering the grasslands. So, we pulled over about 100 yards past the intersection, and played our recording of a Baird's Sparrow.
After, oh, maybe five seconds, sparrow jumps out of the grass and flies to a nearby bush to give the invader a piece of his mind. A quick glance through the binos showed this:
Check! And this moment goes down in history as the fastest we've ever found a target bird.
But, now, we need an owl. They're usually only seen around dawn and dusk, and we didn't find one during the two hours we drove around the valley. Although we did see five cowboys rounding up their cattle into a pen. Grass-fed beef, anyone?
So, now it's mid-afternoon, and we're waiting. Again.
We'll try for the owl one more time tonight, and then on to Florida tomorrow.
For some reason, I think I want a hamburger for dinner,
Me
We never did find that bird, despite spending hours hanging out and waiting, although we did convince the entire neighborhood we are insane, stalkers, or both. And did you know, you can purchase a nice 3 bed, 2 bath house in Ajo, AZ on a 1/3 acre lot for less than $100,000? Or that Ajo is the home to Arizona's first copper mine? These are the things one investigates when one is bored out of one's mind.
Our next destination was the San Rafael Grasslands in Southern Arizona, a beautiful valley of gently rolling hills located about 50 miles southeast of Tucson (although given the road layout, driving there from Tucson takes nearly two hours). Our goal is to find exactly two target birds at this place: Baird's Sparrow, a secretive little pest that we spent hours trying to find in North Dakota, and Short-eared Owl, which isn't secretive but is somewhat scarce and elusive.
We arrived late last night at a relatively nearby campground, Patagonia Lake State Park, which happens to be one of our favorite parks in Arizona for its scenery and proximity to birdy locations. This morning, the alarm went off around 5am local time, and after blearily making coffee, we headed for the hills.
A tip from the local birding email list suggested we start looking for the bird just after entering the grasslands. So, we pulled over about 100 yards past the intersection, and played our recording of a Baird's Sparrow.
After, oh, maybe five seconds, sparrow jumps out of the grass and flies to a nearby bush to give the invader a piece of his mind. A quick glance through the binos showed this:
Check! And this moment goes down in history as the fastest we've ever found a target bird.
But, now, we need an owl. They're usually only seen around dawn and dusk, and we didn't find one during the two hours we drove around the valley. Although we did see five cowboys rounding up their cattle into a pen. Grass-fed beef, anyone?
So, now it's mid-afternoon, and we're waiting. Again.
We'll try for the owl one more time tonight, and then on to Florida tomorrow.
For some reason, I think I want a hamburger for dinner,
Me
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
The Big Sweep
Bienvenidos!
The time is 2:40pm on Tuesday. A Fall chill is in the air, although the sun is shining brightly with not a cloud to be seen. Three young boys are playing basketball in the city park adjacent to which our truck and trailer are parked. We are in Ajo, Arizona. Waiting.
Why we came here will be clear in short order. How we came to be here sounds crazy but is simple enough: we have embarked upon our last major trip of the year, in which we have driven from Napa to southern Arizona, from which we will fly to Florida, then New England, then back to Arizona, for the return drive to Napa. This smells like Madness! And yet, with the gentle aroma of Logic about it.
You see, our route is surgically targeted at areas that still contain birds we need, with the objective of quickly locating those birds and moving on. A Birding Blitzkrieg, if you will.
The first two days of this adventure have involved about 500 miles of driving per day, surrounding a few brief but successful interludes of Bird Finding. And this isn't your typical "take a stroll through a verdant forest and see what you see" birding. No, this is hardcore: go to where you know a bird is at, find it and move on. Muy rápido!
Our first stop was Mercey Hot Springs, a resort in the edge of the Panoche Valley, about 60 miles west of Fresno. We visited this rustic, remote resort not for its famous pools, but for its owls:
For some reason, a large parliament of Long-Eared Owls finds the tamarisk trees at this particular resort to be delightful winter roosts, and they've been returning here for years. Maybe the owls fancy a restorative dip in the bubbling waters at night?
Next stop, another regional attraction that a certain bird finds irresistible: the Calico Ghost Town, outside Barstow. This place is an old silver-mining town that was founded in the 1860s and eventually abandoned when the miners looked at each other and said, "Barstow? We're in Barstow??? Guys, what are we doing? Vegas is just up the freeway! Let's gooooo!"
The arid, rocky hills of this Ghost-Town-slash-County-Park-slash-Tourist-Trap are adored by a large group of Chukars, a quail-like game bird that is native to Asia and was introduced into North America (like the Snowcock and Gray Partridge) because hunters needed more things to shoot. While most birders look for Chukars in picturesque locales like the Sierra foothills, we knew these birds were resident in the area... and not just in the area, in the freaking parking lot:
Check! So, to the next bird, wiki wiki. Before we arrived, however, we passed through Quartzsite, AZ, a dusty area off I-10 that is one of the Great Wonders of the World. As in, "I Greatly Wonder why the hell so many people come here in the winter when they could be *Anywhere Else*?" The answer, apparently, is cheap camping + rocks. Seriously, people? Rocks? Sigh. Onward!
Last December, had you given me the opportunity to list 100 places we would visit this year, this destination would not have made the list. But, for a bird? We would absolutely drive to the US Army's Yuma Proving Ground for one of them.
Fortunately, they were not testing missiles or shells or whatever else is meant by the sign, "Ordinance deliveries use gate 1B". Unfortunately, we did not see any cool new vehicle prototypes being tested. Fortunately, the Mud Course gates were locked, or I just may have tried driving the F-250 through it. While towing, natch.
But, after driving past the twin artillery guns at the entrance, and then the parking lot of tanks at the visitor's center (Welcome!), we arrived at a golf course just west of the military facility. A Ruddy Ground-Dove, an unusual visitor from Mexico, had been reported in the parking lot, brazenly consorting with Inca Doves. And sure enough:
And thus sprach Zarathrustra: ONWARD!
So, why we came to Ajo on this particular day is, as you guessed, a matter of a birdy importance. Our target? A Rufous-backed Robin, another unusual Mexican visitor. Just one of the three that had been reported here would be sufficient. And according to eBird, everybody who has come within 100 miles of Ajo has seen one.
Us? Not so much.
We arrived here a little past 10AM, and spent two hours walking the neighborhood, trying to scare one up. Every local knows the bird is here, because they've seen the crazy birders wandering about, and we have been asked several times if we had seen it yet ("If I had, would I still be here?" I wanted to reply, snarkily. But, thanks to the elbow of The Wife, I didn't.) Retreating to our trailer for lunch, we were interrupted by a couple of very nice retired ladies who knocked on our door, thinking they may have the bird in their back yard...but alas, it was a Cardinal.
Our current hope is that it will swing by later in the afternoon, maybe once the bars close for siesta.
And, so, we wait. And blog.
Patiently,
Me.
p.s. This is post #100 for the year! If you've read all 100, then you are My Best Friend! If you skipped a few, then no hard feelings... but go back and read them all if you want a Christmas Card. And click on an ad to truly redeem yourself.
The time is 2:40pm on Tuesday. A Fall chill is in the air, although the sun is shining brightly with not a cloud to be seen. Three young boys are playing basketball in the city park adjacent to which our truck and trailer are parked. We are in Ajo, Arizona. Waiting.
Why we came here will be clear in short order. How we came to be here sounds crazy but is simple enough: we have embarked upon our last major trip of the year, in which we have driven from Napa to southern Arizona, from which we will fly to Florida, then New England, then back to Arizona, for the return drive to Napa. This smells like Madness! And yet, with the gentle aroma of Logic about it.
You see, our route is surgically targeted at areas that still contain birds we need, with the objective of quickly locating those birds and moving on. A Birding Blitzkrieg, if you will.
The first two days of this adventure have involved about 500 miles of driving per day, surrounding a few brief but successful interludes of Bird Finding. And this isn't your typical "take a stroll through a verdant forest and see what you see" birding. No, this is hardcore: go to where you know a bird is at, find it and move on. Muy rápido!
Our first stop was Mercey Hot Springs, a resort in the edge of the Panoche Valley, about 60 miles west of Fresno. We visited this rustic, remote resort not for its famous pools, but for its owls:
 |
| "Hey, buddy. You got any mice? No? Then get outta here, or I'll talon you. In the eye." |
 |
| "Are you looking at ME? Are YOU looking at me? Are you LOOKING at me? Whatever." |
For some reason, a large parliament of Long-Eared Owls finds the tamarisk trees at this particular resort to be delightful winter roosts, and they've been returning here for years. Maybe the owls fancy a restorative dip in the bubbling waters at night?
The arid, rocky hills of this Ghost-Town-slash-County-Park-slash-Tourist-Trap are adored by a large group of Chukars, a quail-like game bird that is native to Asia and was introduced into North America (like the Snowcock and Gray Partridge) because hunters needed more things to shoot. While most birders look for Chukars in picturesque locales like the Sierra foothills, we knew these birds were resident in the area... and not just in the area, in the freaking parking lot:
 |
| Chukars, conveniently located between the dumpster and the old lookout tower. |
 |
| "Paparazzi! Run! Run!" |
Last December, had you given me the opportunity to list 100 places we would visit this year, this destination would not have made the list. But, for a bird? We would absolutely drive to the US Army's Yuma Proving Ground for one of them.
Fortunately, they were not testing missiles or shells or whatever else is meant by the sign, "Ordinance deliveries use gate 1B". Unfortunately, we did not see any cool new vehicle prototypes being tested. Fortunately, the Mud Course gates were locked, or I just may have tried driving the F-250 through it. While towing, natch.
But, after driving past the twin artillery guns at the entrance, and then the parking lot of tanks at the visitor's center (Welcome!), we arrived at a golf course just west of the military facility. A Ruddy Ground-Dove, an unusual visitor from Mexico, had been reported in the parking lot, brazenly consorting with Inca Doves. And sure enough:
 |
| The Astute Birder will note the lack of scaling, short tail, and white edges on greater coverts of the bird to the far right. The Less Astute will weep. |
So, why we came to Ajo on this particular day is, as you guessed, a matter of a birdy importance. Our target? A Rufous-backed Robin, another unusual Mexican visitor. Just one of the three that had been reported here would be sufficient. And according to eBird, everybody who has come within 100 miles of Ajo has seen one.
Us? Not so much.
We arrived here a little past 10AM, and spent two hours walking the neighborhood, trying to scare one up. Every local knows the bird is here, because they've seen the crazy birders wandering about, and we have been asked several times if we had seen it yet ("If I had, would I still be here?" I wanted to reply, snarkily. But, thanks to the elbow of The Wife, I didn't.) Retreating to our trailer for lunch, we were interrupted by a couple of very nice retired ladies who knocked on our door, thinking they may have the bird in their back yard...but alas, it was a Cardinal.
Our current hope is that it will swing by later in the afternoon, maybe once the bars close for siesta.
And, so, we wait. And blog.
Patiently,
Me.
p.s. This is post #100 for the year! If you've read all 100, then you are My Best Friend! If you skipped a few, then no hard feelings... but go back and read them all if you want a Christmas Card. And click on an ad to truly redeem yourself.
From:
Ajo, AZ, USA
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Shock to the System
As the great chanteuse Katy Perry once belted out insightfully, "You're hot then you're cold". Truer words have never been sung, especially about the past few days. Nice work, KP.
Late last week, we were boiling in South Texas, suffering through low-90F's temperatures with 90% humidity. Sunday, when we first stepped outside our car at a location high in the Rockies where a Boreal Owl had been reported recently, the temperature was around 19F. And falling. With snow on the ground.
After nearly an hour of standing in the frigid air, playing a recording, getting no response, and then diving back into the car to warm up, we decided to quit for the night. Darn! 50% of our Colorado nights were done, and Lady Luck still had her cold shoulder turned.
While consoling ourselves at a local brewpub, the Dillon Dam Brewery, I encountered an interesting item on the menu. If you like spicy food, you'll know that descriptions in menus often fail to live up to expectations, with dishes often being much milder than advertised. So tell me if you would have been afraid of this:
Maybe the inclusion of ghost pepper should have scared me, but I've had other sauces with this ingredient and barely broke a sweat. Maybe I should have visualized a mound of mouth-searing jalapeños dwarfing the burger and gone with a salad. But, why listen to those little voices when history has proven them wrong?
When the burger arrived, it didn't look all that scary. But after a bite? Ho. Lee. Crap. It tasted great, when the fire had subsided enough for my tongue to register anything besides molten lava. Of course, I ate the whole thing, whimpering "it burns us! it burns us!" the entire time. Because like Mahatma Gandhi, I am not afraid to suffer for my cause.
Night #2 found us in on Highway 14 at Cameron Pass, Colorado, about 75 miles west of Fort Collins. Our fortunes had to change here, as eBird reports imply that you can't throw a stick without hitting a Boreal Owl (Note: I did not actually try this. No owls were harmed in the making of this blog post. That I know of.).
This HAD to be our spot, right? But those mountains are home to several other species of owl, and owls don't typically call at this time of year, so it wouldn't be easy.
At dusk, we had equipped all the hats, coats, and wool socks that had been stuffed into our suitcases, and were standing at the westernmost place on the map where an owl had been reported, with the plan of working toward Fort Collins. Using our super-cool portable Bose speaker(*), we played a few calls, but like the night before, we got no response. Second spot. Nothing. Third spot. Noth...wait, what was that?
We had heard a single sound that was like, "SKIEW!" and some clicking that sounded like a bird's bill snapping. The call came once more, but then we couldn't coax out anything else.
Hmm. Curious. As is par for the course, we hadn't deeply researched this bird aside from listening to all the calls that we had in our library, and the call we heard wasn't in the library. Could that be our owl?
We drove to the next stop, and played the song. Again, we got a "SKIEW!" back, but nothing more. And nothing at any of the other stops, before we gave up due to low temperature and high winds.
After dinner and checking into our hotel, we dug deeper into the available research, and found this blog post, which almost identically described what we heard. And we found another article that mentioned the owl does bill clicking in response to a threat. So, while we would have liked a richer experience, we're convinced we heard, twice but briefly, a Boreal Owl: bird #675 for the year!
And, fortunately, we got out of town the next morning, because then a blizzard hit.
Now, we prepare for what is likely our last big trip of the year. To where? Stay tuned...
Me
(*) The Bose Soundlink Mini speaker is awesome because it's wireless (it connects to your phone or laptop over Bluetooth), rechargeable, very portable, and it has very good sound quality. It's great for playing music in a hotel room to drown out the neighbor's TV or enticing owls to talk back to you. Highly recommended!
Late last week, we were boiling in South Texas, suffering through low-90F's temperatures with 90% humidity. Sunday, when we first stepped outside our car at a location high in the Rockies where a Boreal Owl had been reported recently, the temperature was around 19F. And falling. With snow on the ground.
After nearly an hour of standing in the frigid air, playing a recording, getting no response, and then diving back into the car to warm up, we decided to quit for the night. Darn! 50% of our Colorado nights were done, and Lady Luck still had her cold shoulder turned.
While consoling ourselves at a local brewpub, the Dillon Dam Brewery, I encountered an interesting item on the menu. If you like spicy food, you'll know that descriptions in menus often fail to live up to expectations, with dishes often being much milder than advertised. So tell me if you would have been afraid of this:
HOT!! Smoky ghost pepper cheese, hot chili sauce, fresh jalapenos and candied jalapenos.
Maybe the inclusion of ghost pepper should have scared me, but I've had other sauces with this ingredient and barely broke a sweat. Maybe I should have visualized a mound of mouth-searing jalapeños dwarfing the burger and gone with a salad. But, why listen to those little voices when history has proven them wrong?
When the burger arrived, it didn't look all that scary. But after a bite? Ho. Lee. Crap. It tasted great, when the fire had subsided enough for my tongue to register anything besides molten lava. Of course, I ate the whole thing, whimpering "it burns us! it burns us!" the entire time. Because like Mahatma Gandhi, I am not afraid to suffer for my cause.
Night #2 found us in on Highway 14 at Cameron Pass, Colorado, about 75 miles west of Fort Collins. Our fortunes had to change here, as eBird reports imply that you can't throw a stick without hitting a Boreal Owl (Note: I did not actually try this. No owls were harmed in the making of this blog post. That I know of.).
This HAD to be our spot, right? But those mountains are home to several other species of owl, and owls don't typically call at this time of year, so it wouldn't be easy.
At dusk, we had equipped all the hats, coats, and wool socks that had been stuffed into our suitcases, and were standing at the westernmost place on the map where an owl had been reported, with the plan of working toward Fort Collins. Using our super-cool portable Bose speaker(*), we played a few calls, but like the night before, we got no response. Second spot. Nothing. Third spot. Noth...wait, what was that?
We had heard a single sound that was like, "SKIEW!" and some clicking that sounded like a bird's bill snapping. The call came once more, but then we couldn't coax out anything else.
Hmm. Curious. As is par for the course, we hadn't deeply researched this bird aside from listening to all the calls that we had in our library, and the call we heard wasn't in the library. Could that be our owl?
We drove to the next stop, and played the song. Again, we got a "SKIEW!" back, but nothing more. And nothing at any of the other stops, before we gave up due to low temperature and high winds.
After dinner and checking into our hotel, we dug deeper into the available research, and found this blog post, which almost identically described what we heard. And we found another article that mentioned the owl does bill clicking in response to a threat. So, while we would have liked a richer experience, we're convinced we heard, twice but briefly, a Boreal Owl: bird #675 for the year!
And, fortunately, we got out of town the next morning, because then a blizzard hit.
Now, we prepare for what is likely our last big trip of the year. To where? Stay tuned...
Me
(*) The Bose Soundlink Mini speaker is awesome because it's wireless (it connects to your phone or laptop over Bluetooth), rechargeable, very portable, and it has very good sound quality. It's great for playing music in a hotel room to drown out the neighbor's TV or enticing owls to talk back to you. Highly recommended!
From:
Fort Collins, CO, USA
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