It's the Time of the Season

Since we arrived in Massachusetts a couple of days ago, one thing has been abundantly clear: Northeasterners like their beaches! Holy moly, are the beaches crowded and traffic terrible on weekends near the coast. Massachusetts isn't even that populated of a state, and yet people are packed like sardines on every stretch of sand or sand-like substance they can find. Remind me to avoid this in the future...

Another thing we've noticed is that it's that time of the year again. This year's chicks are all grown up and ready to go out on their own, and their parents are ready to relax somewhere further south for the winter. This is great for the birds, but bad for us. We're finally hitting that time of the year where, if we don't get a bird now, we likely aren't going to have another shot. This S-U-C-K-S, sucks!!

For instance, we had Atlantic Puffin on our target list when we came out here, only to discover that the boat trip we were going to take to find said puffin stopped sailing about a week ago because puffin numbers have dropped so low. C-R-A-P, whatever that spells!! But, to catch you up on the past few days...

Friday morning, we took a quick trip to a St. Louis park to chase a reported Yellow-bellied Flycatcher. After wandering around a huge but beautiful park for an hour, we took avail of the Internet and a few local birders. With that help and only 15 minutes before we had to leave for the airport, we managed a brief but satisfying glimpse of the flycatcher and were on our way to Boston.

Saturday morning, we made our way up the East coast from Boston, starting at Plum Island/Parker River National Wildlife Refuge. Between finding three of our targets before lunch and a huge Lobster Roll, we were feeling pretty good. But then, the pitchers started throwing strikes.

We decided to chase one of the last Black-billed Cuckoos reported recently, about 90 minutes' drive inland. Upon reaching the report area, we even randomly ran into the people who had reported it! But even with their help, we could not track it down.

Sunday, we intended to drive up into the White Mountains to chase Bicknell's Thrush. However, both of us were coming down with a cold, so we decided that a 5-mile hike with a 2,000' elevation gain for a slim chance of a glimpse of the bird probably wasn't prudent.

So, we drove back toward the coast, to a preserve where we'd seen Black-billed Cuckoos before. But, nearly an hour of searching didn't turn up even a sniff of a cuckoo,

Then, we proceeded toward Scarborough Marsh, near Portland, ME, due to many reports of Nelson's Sparrow from there. But, following our chain of luck, it turned out that a TRIATHLON was being run that day, and the path where the sparrows had been reported was part of the running route. We gave it the Ol' College Try but there was just too much activity to find anything.

Next, north about 20 miles to a marsh where several Nelson's had been reported THAT MORNING! But, we got there around noon, and with the heat of the day, the sparrows were quiet.

So, in lieu of a birding trip, we tried to schedule a whale watch out of Bar Harbor on Monday to get out into the ocean a ways, but their boat was booked solid. They were open on Tuesday, so we booked that, and then hunted for something to do on Monday.

Turns out, many of the birds we wanted to see were reported from the ferry that sails from Blacks Harbour, New Brunswick, Canada, to Grand Manan Island, about 20 miles off the mainland. Given that we love boats (not!) and adventure (well, ok), we decided to make that our destination.

So, we embarked on a 3-hour drive to a tiny village in the northeast corner of Maine called Lubec. It was near a ferry that would take us across the harbor into mainland Canada in relatively short time, so seemed like a good route. Plus, we had time to visit Quoddy Head State Park, the easternmost park in North America! Lubec is also home to the Easternmost pub, grocery, laundromat, and, it turns out, every business in town is the Easternmost of its kind.

After getting up at 530AM Eastern, we drove across the border (Hi, Canada!) to the ferry, only to find that THE FERRY DIDN'T RUN UNTIL 9AM and we would miss our boat to Manan!!! Whoops! So, we did a U-turn, went back across the border, and drove 60 miles around the bay to enter Canada from the mainland (Hi again, Canada! Long time, no see!), and then drive 30 miles to the ferry. We made it with 5 minutes to spare!

The ferry trip was fantastic, especially since they only charge for the return trip (You're awesome, Canada!). We found three target birds, including our first-ever sighting of Atlantic Puffin, despite what all the haters said!

So, maybe we struck out on the cuckoo, American Woodcock, and a few other birds. But, we're now at 650 for the year, which ain't bad!

Tomorrow, we do our Whale Watch trip to hopefully find a storm-petrel or some other rarity, and then start heading south toward Nelson's Sparrow land again. We return home on Wednesday, at which point we'll re-evaluate our plans in light of current list and migration being well underway.

Man, this Big Year is complicated to plan!

Are Lobster Rolls that special when even McDonalds here offers a Lobster Roll?
Me

The Layover: St. Louis

¡Bienvenidos!

This post comes at you from St. Louis, MO, as we continue our quest to visit every airport in North America. We are headed to Boston and the Northeast, but decided to stop here for a day to find one particular little bird.

Before I get into this little bird, allow me to set the stage for an analogy.

A few hundred years ago, settlers came here from England (many arrived from other places, but let's focus on the English). They came forth to this land, and they multiplied. As their population grew, it expanded across the continent, overrunning the native population and settling from coast to coast.

A little later, other settlers came here from Sweden. Instead of spreading out, those settlers created relatively small, tight-knit communities in the American Mid-west. Their population grew somewhat, but not nearly as dramatically as the English.

Got it? OK, on to birds.

Think of the House Sparrow as the English. It was introduced in North America in the 1850's, and has obviously spread widely; a city lot without a House Sparrow is like a sandwich without bread.

Who is our avian counterpart to the Swedes? That would be the Eurasian Tree Sparrow! As with Sweden, many Americans haven't heard of it and most know nothing about it. This sparrow was introduced in 1870 in the St. Louis area, and hasn't really spread outside the Midwest. You can find them in St. Louis and southern Illinois, but not too many other places.

This analogy breaks down in a few ways. For instance, Eurasian Tree Sparrows have red heads and black eyes, not blonde and blue. But, go with it! It's the spirit that counts.

We were able to find a few of them fairly easily north of St. Louis, near the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers. The whole experience was rather a non-event; the most interesting thing was our route back to town. Google Maps took us through a clean-looking neighborhood of mostly African-American folks with rather nice-looking brick houses, but many of the homes had a sign in their lawn reading, "We've got to stop killing each other!"

Seems like a reasonable request.

Mission accomplished, so now off to the Land of Chowda and Lobsta Rolls, and Pahking Your Cahr in Hahvahd Yahd! That's wicked pissa!

Agony and Adventure at 12,000 feet

This weekend found us in the Rocky Mountain state, with one primary goal: to find an elusive White-tailed Ptarmigan.

Our destination? Rocky Mountain National Park, specifically the Alpine Visitor Center. Located about 25 miles west of Estes Park, the visitor center is at nearly 12,000’ elevation and is close to a trail where the Ptarmigan had been reported lately.

The beginning of the trip on Thursday boded poorly. Flight delays on both legs of the journey and a missed connection meant we arrived at the hotel at midnight instead of 6pm. We had to wrap up some projects the next morning so didn't get out of the hotel until noon, and then I nearly broke a toe walking to lunch. Fort Collins City Planners, why would you put a 4” high planter box in the middle of the sidewalk and not paint it something visible? So, both Thursday and Friday were devoid of birds.

Saturday, we arrived at the visitor’s center at 9am when it opened, interviewed rangers about where to look, then were off to trailhead just down the hill.

The trail had a few ups and downs and was only a half-mile long, so it didn't look challenging. Except, there is literally no oxygen at that elevation. A match won’t stay lit, there’s so little oxygen. For reals.

So as we gasped along, we paused frequently to suck down as much air and scenery as we could. Ptarmigan Pterritory was very beautiful, in a way. The mountain slope was blanketed with tundra, a treeless biome consisting of low and thick mats of grass, moss, lichen, and other small plants no more than a few inches tall. We counted at least a dozen varieties of tiny wildflowers, in blues, yellows, and oranges. The plants were interspersed with small granite rocks and outcroppings, and a few marmots watched us curiously from the boulders while we wandered about.

An example of tundra. Note the lack of shrubs or trees. Oh, and some Bighorn Sheep.

A cute, chubby little marmot on the lookout.

Then, we reached the end of the trail. We were surrounded by about one square mile of steep tundra, in which, the rangers told us, were at least 1 momma ptarmigan and 3 chicks. Shouldn’t be too hard to find them, right?

Well, let me tell you this about that.

The day was sunny, but W-I-N-D-Y. Wind speed at the visitor center gusted up to 25mph, but the trail area was windier and became progressively worse as the day wore on. And this wind was cold; it was a bully of a wind, the kind that slaps you in the face until you cry, then whips the tear off your face before it even reaches your eyes.

And, about ptarmigan: because there is no cover for them to shelter in, they have to hide in plain sight. They can sit motionless for hours, and in the summer, their feathers are camouflaged to look like rocks:

From Flickr user Bryant Olsen, You can see the similarity between the rocks and the ptarmigan. No offense intended, Mr. P

As we stood, sat, wandered, and waited for the little beasts to show themselves, other birders came and went. The sun rose higher in the sky, and the wind accelerated its abuse. Still, no bird.

We returned to our car around noon for lunch, then out to the end again. As we hunted, we found plenty of ptarmigan feathers… maybe they were all eaten? How many feathers would we need to find to recreate a ptarmigan and thus be able to count it?

Back to the car for a break, then when the winds died down at 4pm , we gave the birds another shot. Note that I do not literally mean we attempted to shoot the birds, although I would have considered it at that point. I was already imagining t-shirts with slogans like, “Ptarmigan: it’s what’s for dinner” and “Ptarmigans are Ptasty”

Another 90 minutes, and nothing. So, down the mountain we went, disheveled and dismayed.

The next morning, we tried again, this time arriving at 730a. (early bird, etc, etc)

We were joined by several other birders, and also two prairie falcons swooping about. At first, this was dismaying (the falcons, not the other birders, although all of us became more depressed as the morning wore on). We were concerned they (again, the falcons) would scare the birds into remaining even more motionless. Then an idea struck me: there were 3 chicks, so if the falcon gets one, then that would give away the location and we could see the other two! I know, grim, right?

Around 9am, everybody else had given up, and we wandered back to the Visitor’s center for another consult with the rangers. We needed more details after 9 hours of searching and finding nothing…where were they seen along the trail? What time? Upslope of the trail? Downslope? What if the wind was really blowing? The ranger’s response… “Um…I’ve just seen them all over the place.” OK, thanks?

Now, we came all the way here for a ptarmigan, so we were not leaving without a damn ptarmigan. Back to the trail!

As we marched down the so, so, so familiar path, we ran into a couple we had seen earlier, hiking up from somewhere lower on the hill. (Note to Rangers: Everybody saw the signs instructing people to stay on the trails. In no way did anybody looking for a ptarmigan ever veer from the trail. Certainly not. No matter how this account makes it sound.)

“Well, we hiked all through the lower area and didn't see anything. Do with that what you will.”
They looked and sounded like competent birders, so we decided to trust them and focus on the upper area for our fifth trip out.

I was almost to the end when The Wife came into view, running down the slope as best one can when the slope is covered with ankle-catching plants and toe-stubbing rocks.

“I think I hear something!”

We gently trudged up the steep mountainside, our ears peeled. We hiked left. We hiked right. Then left again. Then, I heard something, too. To my ears, it was like… Squabbling? Arguing? Annoyance?

Scanning the rocky field below us, I saw them! At least three birds, jumping on each other and cackling as they worked through their disagreement.

Can you find the birds in this scene? (click to enlarge if you wish)

Stumped? Here's a closer look:

Victory!

The rest of the weekend consisted of driving around Colorado, chasing reports of Buff-breasted Sandpiper and other rarities. We struck out, but the jubilation of tracking down the ptarmigan made up for it. And, we got upgraded to First Class on the way home. Double Yay!

So, we have about 72 hours at home, and then we're off to our next destinations: St. Louis and then Boston. Frequent flier miles galore!

Are You Experienced? Part 6: The Snowcock

Near the end of the movie, "The Big Year", two of the main characters, Stu and Brad (played by Jack Black and Steve Martin) decide to work together to defeat their nemesis, Kenny (Owen Wilson).

They agree to attempt finding Himalayan Snowcocks living in the Ruby Mountains of Nevada. Given they are short on time, the two new friends hire a helicopter to take them into the mountains, at which time Brad utters the memorable line, "The Snowcocks are on me!". Cut to scenes of them coptering around snow-covered peaks, laughing and having fun the entire time.

In real life, this episode plays out much differently. Much, much, differently. Enoughly different to make the birder who has experienced this pursuit grumpy, and to declare grumpily, F-U Brad and Stu!

First, there is no helicopter. There is never a helicopter. Nobody does that. Did I say "F-U Brad and Stu" yet?

Instead, you hike 2 miles up a narrow, rocky trail in the with 1,000' elevation gain, ending at 9,700' above sea level. In fact, not only must you do this without oxygen, you must do this without daylight and starting at 3am, because the damn birds start calling at dawn and then only for a short while after. (Key learning: Snowcocks are a pain in the ass.)

So, second, you need the proper gear. This could include many items depending on your predilections (for instance, you may or may not have a Thermos of coffee, and it may or may not have whiskey added). At a minimum, I recommend a flashlight; see above regarding daylight. Oh, and test your flashlight before you leave home.

In our case, we brought 3 flashlights. We didn't test them until arriving at the campsite. When we tested them, the batteries of two had leaked and corroded the flashlight to the point of non-operation, and the third had a burned out bulb (oh, and the spare was missing). While I'm at it, F-U batteries.

Fortunately, we had a small lantern that was actually functional, so weren't completely dead in the water.

Third, you need to know where you're going. The specific trail is the Island Lakes trail in the Ruby Mountains of Nevada, about 45 minutes south of Elko.

When you arrive at the parking lot, you will see a sign that says, "Trailhead", and then a smaller sign that says "Trail":

In our case, we arrived at our nearby campsite (Thomas Canyon, a fantastic campground) at dusk the prior day, we hadn't investigated this yet. So, we saw the first sign by our headlights and then walked up to the distant sign with our lantern.

It reads:

Where you stand, there is a trail that goes left, and another one that goes right. But, the sign is oriented vertically, so it doesn't match where you're standing. What to do? We went right.

So, we started hiking with our "Little Lantern That Could", stumbling and bumbling over rocks and stream crossings. We reached one small lake (hmm...), then another (hmm...), then finally arrived at a large lake at the base of a cirque. The sun was just rising, but we didn't hear anything. We waited and waited, with the waiting being punctuated with a gust of wind that blew my hat into the lake (big props to the wife for wading in to get it!).

Finally, around 8am, we decided that we'd missed the birds, and trudged back down the hill, dejected at having rising at 3-effing-am-in-the-effing-morning and gotten no results.

Arriving at the truck at 10am, we drove around the parking lot and were about to rejoin the main road when we saw this, about 200 yards away from the "Trailhead" sign and the trail we walked, and parallel to the entrance road:

Wait.... wha-wha-wha-what's that say?

First, there was dead silence in the truck as we contemplated this sign. Then, as you may imagine from the tone of this post, a few choice profanities were uttered. To be honest, more than a few. And it felt good.

So, we had gotten up early to hike the LAMOILLE LAKE TRAIL in the dark, a trail where Snowcocks have been reported only twice in the past two years, and NOT the ISLAND LAKE trail, where they are reported PRACTICALLY DAILY. The obvious Trail signs showed both paths starting from exactly the same point, so we didn't even think to wander around the parking lot looking for another trailhead!

@USForestService Your sign-making skills suck. I hate you.

Hopeful that maybe, just maybe, the birds might still be findable, we parked and hiked another 2 miles and 1,000' up, and waited another hour. But, no dice. Did I say "F-U Forest Service" yet? Sort of, but not really. So: F-U Forest Service.

So, 8 miles and 2,000' of elevation later, all we had was tired legs. And, the opportunity to do the hikes all over again the next morning.

Day 2 was without drama, however. Our lantern battery didn't die, and the trail was easier to hike having done it once. Around 5:15am, the birds did start calling, and we listened to them for over an hour. We never could see them on the distant hillsides, but the calls were very cool to hear.

And, shortly after daylight, a large bird flew into a nearby tree. Redirecting our attention to it, we waited a few seconds for her to peek out from the tree, and then were delighted to discover it was a Dusky Grouse! Another bird we needed for the year!

And, the scenery was gorgeous:

In the end, we got two birds for the year and plenty of exercise, and two days hiking at nearly 10,000' was good training for our upcoming weekend in Colorado to find Ptarmigans.

All's well that ends well, I grumpily admit.

But still, F-U Brad and Stu.

Off to the Rocky Mountains,
Me.


p.s. The Gentle Reader might think quietly that the problems were actually all our fault, since we didn't test our essential gear before leaving home, didn't explore the trail in the daylight, and didn't put any GPS markers on any of our devices to suggest to us that we were on the wrong trail.

To this I would say, I am an American, and like any good American, I choose to blame all my problems on the failings of others around me. So, keep those, "You make your own bed" thoughts to yourself and back off, buddy!

Road Trip! Nevada

El camino es largo y sinuoso,

Today finds us near the middle of nowhere, at Lake Almanor, California, in the only campground we've seen where card keys are issued to allow campers to get through the gated entry and gain access to their camp. Should we be worried about something?

Of all the places where one could camp, you may ask why we chose Lake Almanor. Fair question.

It was not because of the amazing recreational opportunities the huge lake affords (we don't have a boat), proximity to our home (it's more than 200 miles away), or the millions of gallons of water we could siphon out and bring home (we don't own a tanker truck, yet). Rather, Lassen Volcanic National Park was booked solid, and this was the closest place at which I could make a reservation!

We spent yesterday touring Lassen looking for a few birds we need this year, and it's truly a beautiful place. The main road winds through craggy mountains, verdant forests, and mirror-smooth lakes, while miles of hiking trails let you get up-close-and-personal with the park.

And, it's still alive! While the volcano isn't currently erupting, steam vents, mud pots, and boiling pools like this one demonstrate that lots of activity is happening not far underground:

No worries, though, as more than 100 years have passed since the last eruption! The odds are very low it will explode tomorrow. Fairly low.

Oh, and we picked up four new birds for the year, three of which were life birds for us! The only target we missed from this area was Yellow Rail, which hadn't been seen in a couple weeks.

But that's all beside the point. What I'd really like to discuss is one of the Greatest Threats to our American Way of Life, the grouse and specifically the Sooty Grouse:

A Sooty Grouse, strolling right in front of me like I'm not there. Devious.

This seemingly innocuous and mild-mannered creature is harboring deep, dark secrets. Dark.

The Sooty Grouse lurks about the forest, well-camouflaged, and leap onto stumps without warning, scaring the daylights out of you. Is that not psychotic, anti-social behavior?

He acts unafraid and innocent, bolding strutting about on logs while cooing gently. They lure you into a false sense of security, as though they were the gentlest creature in the forest. To wit, here are two of them performing this act:

Oh, they look cute and fluffy all right. That's their game, their trick. But, then they'll do this to each other, and if they do this to each other, what would they do to you? (these are Sharp-tailed Grouse, but they're all related)

What is their endgame? What are they trying to achieve? Nobody knows, and when we figure it out, it may be too late. So, my suggestion to help preserve our nation and probably the whole human race:

Grouse for the new Thanksgiving dinner!

Hungry,
Me

Road Trip LA! Sailing and Soaring

Sí, otra historia de barcos,

Ever heard of Santa Catalina Island? We hadn't either, before we researched where we might find a Spotted Dove. Turns out, these little guys have made the 20-ish mile trek across the Pacific to one of the Channel Islands, and just a few days ago, a Helpful Birder reported a few of them on Santa Catalina.

Thus, we had a choice: head back to Compton and attempt to fit into the 'hood while searching the only mainland location they were reported recently, or take a cushy boat over to an island that's been described as reminiscent of a Mediterranean resort village? Hmm... decisions...

Day 4 of our Tour de LA began as so many other days have begun in the past few months: up before dawn, slurp down mediocre hotel coffee, then drive to a harbor.

With glassy waters and a few Shearwaters for company, we were at Catalina in just over an hour. And, the steep hillsides, notched with houses, surrounding a crystal blue harbor, does look like something you'd find on a postcard for the South of France:

The giant yachts in harbor are not shown in this picture, so as not to give you a feeling of inferiority, financial or otherwise.

The first reported location for the dove was vague: "in the village". But the village is only a few blocks square, so we decided to try wandering around to see what might turn up (and to pick a place for déjouner, mais oui). Pigeons, a few ravens, and the Ubiquitous House Sparrow were easy to spot, but no dove...until we checked out the downtown mini golf course (what, doesn't every European village have mini-golf?). Foraging near the windmill on the 4th hole, there he was!

12 minutes down, 6 hours and 18 minutes until our boat left. Now what?

A couple miles up the road was a botanical garden rated highly on Yelp, so we walked there to see some sights, and because 9:12am is a little early for lunch.

While the gardens made for good wandering, the highlight was an enormous memorial to William Wrigley, Jr., he of the chewing gum fame:

A tribute to a True American Hero, a man who figured out how to make millions of dollars from a substance you put in your mouth, chew to receive no nutritional value, and then spit out. 

Apparently, he was a huge fan of Catalina Island and invested a lot of money to make it a destination. He even had the Chicago Cubs do their Spring Training activities on the island for many years, which is why the island's barber is being interviewed about the Cub's playoff chances.

After a nice walk back to town and lunch at the harbor, our boat carried us back to Long Beach, with the accompaniment of dolphins this time:

Last one to the buoy has to go poke the Great White Shark in the tail!

The next day was our return home, and a shot at our last target for the trip, California Condor. The condor was actually declared extinct in the 1980's, as the wild population dwindled to zero and the last few were captured for breeding programs. Thanks to those programs, more than 400 condors exist today, of which over half are soaring free over California, Arizona, and Baja Mexico.

In California, condors can be seen over Pinnacles National Park, a few other areas around the Central Valley, and the Big Sur coastline. But, we didn't have time for all these places, so picked Big Sur given that it had the highest number of recent reports...but was that because condors were easier to see there, or because the number of visitors is higher, and so more eyeballs are looking?

After the LONG, windy drive up Highway 1 from San Luis Obispo, we had seen many vultures, ravens, and other dark soaring birds, but no condors. Pulling off the highway in the traffic jam around Julia Pfieffer Burns State Park, we noted two things: 1) OMG, we forgot how busy the coast is during the summer, even on a weekday, let's not do this again, and 2) a condor.

Yes, soaring directly over the entrance to the park, way up high, drifting between indigo blue sky and misty clouds, was an unmistakable California Condor, #633 for the year!

And so concluded our wildly successful trip south. Six targets, 100% hit rate, and only a few frazzled nerves. We were even starting to like the LA area...small parts of it, anyway... very small parts.

What's next? California's Volcano Country for mountain and forest birds, Nevada for an attempt at the famous Himalayan Snowcock, then off to Colorado for more mountain birds. 

Grateful to have no more boat trips in the near future, 

Me.

Road Trip LA! Highs and Lows

As the loyal reader will remember from our prior episode, your Intrepid Birders were about to descend into the depths of the Concrete Hell that is Los Angeles.

Turns out, early Saturday morning traffic in LA isn't that bad, unless your lane happens to contain an overturned car and a separate 3-car pileup, both of which happened on the northbound 405 and created miles-long backups. Lucky us, we were going south!

Pro Tip #1: To find a relatively obscure species, consult eBird for places where several recent sightings have been reported recently. 

For instance, there were scattered sightings of the endangered California Gnatcatcher all up and down the LA coast, but an area west of Long Beach, the Alta Vincente Preserve had three recent reports. Going with the odds, we started there.

Remembering our prior lessons about habitat, we chose the brushiest trail and walked quietly, listening for their calls. Fifteen minutes in... Bingo! Three adorable little gnatcatchers bouncing around a bush like ping-pong balls in a lottery machine.

Our next target was an Asian species, Scaly-breasted Munia, aka Nutmeg Mannikin. These little guys are commonly found in pet stores, and were introduced to North America as escapees from cages. In a few cities, they have established stable populations in the wild, and can be "officially" counted by birders. Using the same Pro Tip, we hopped over to a nearby park, and found a couple of birds in short order.

After a visit to a nearby taqueria, and feeling a bit cocky at knocking off two targets in one morning, our next bird was declared to be another escaped exotic, Spotted Dove.

Pro Tip #2: Always consult a detailed map before driving into a new area

Following Pro Tip #1, we checked eBird for recent nearby sightings of Spotted Dove. Only two, but they were relatively close...just 45 minutes away, even with traffic volumes building, so off we went.

As we approached our destination, I started to notice a few things. For instance, the sign for "Watts Towers" (hmm...Watts... there's a neighborhood called that, but probably just named after the same guy), a general dilapidated feeling to the area, and then the sign, "Compton, Next Exit". Thanks to my encyclopedic knowledge of The Hip-Hop Music, I'm aware of 1988's seminal album, "Straight Outta Compton", which to the best of my knowledge was a reference to a poor, mostly black neighborhood in East LA. But we're not...[consults map more carefully]...oh, yes we are.

"Honey, do you think it's a good idea for two very white people to walk around a city park in gang-ridden black neighborhood, while carrying binoculars and a camera with a long lens?"

And, that's how we decided to look for the Spotted Dove another day.

Pro Tip #3: Birds don't like noise and activity

So, a quick U-turn later, we're back on the freeway. New target: Black-chinned Sparrow! They have started to migrate south for the winter, and there aren't many left in California. But one was reported just 30 minutes away!

As we approached the sparrow's location in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains, near San Dimas, a klaxon began blaring in my head. In the parking lot ahead were several cars, which was a bit odd considering we hadn't seen anybody on the road, and a giant passenger van labeled something like "LA Christian Center". Ten huge tents were set up, and maybe 40 young people were running about, shrieking, as several of them shot AirSoft Guns at each other. Pure, unadulterated chaos.

"Honey, do you think the sparrow might still be around?"

And, that's how we ended up driving another 40 miles to find the sparrow.

Pro Tip #4: Use technology to make trip planning easier
The next closest sighting of the sparrow was high in the mountains outside San Bernadino, about 40 miles east of us. A hassle, but several hours of daylight remained, we had already come this far, and frankly the last two episodes had left a sour taste that only a new bird would wash away. So, away we went.

We climbed to over 6,000', as the GPS directed us to a gated fire road. After a short walk down the road, and several minutes of jumping at "sparrows" that turned out to be Goldfinches, a browner shape landed on a nearby bush. Could it be? Put it on the board... yes! Three Black-chinned Sparrows, presumably just waiting around until we came by. Thanks, boys!

And, that's how we found birds at sea level and more than one mile high on the same day.

Now, about that Spotted Dove... fortunately, we had a modest cell signal, so we pulled out laptops and our Verizon MiFi hotspot and started researching. Where else could we find this damn Dove?

There was another cluster of sightings that I hadn't noticed during planning, because they came in only yesterday. These were on one of the Channel Islands, Santa Catalina, which we didn't know anything about. We found a company that offered daily sailings out there, unfortunately located 90 miles away in Long Beach. They had two seats available, so we booked those, and used an app on our phone to reserve a hotel room.

By 8:30pm, we were in our hotel, with 3 new birds added to the list, and an unexpected trip planned for the next day. Yay, another boat!

Do they find the Dove? Does the boat get washed away to an uncharted desert isle? Tune in next time to find out!

Checking my phone for rare bird alerts,
Me

Road Trip LA!

A mis amigos emplumados finos,

Among the phrases that I never want to hear, "We're out of wine!" and "Let's drive to LA!" are two of the worst. While the wine problem can be fixed with a quick trip to the store, the road trip to LA is sure to be hours of miserable traffic, horrendous drivers, smog, sprawl, urban decay, concrete rivers...did I mention that I'm not a fan of LA?

And yet, when you are in the middle of a Big Year and running out of birds to find, you've got to take them where you can, and LA has a few species that we needed. So, late last week, we threw our gear in the car, stocked up with Diet Coke (his) and Vitamin Water (hers), and dove into the river of cars headed south.

Our first day ended in Ventura, CA, about 70 miles west of LA, the mainland headquarters of Channel Islands National Park. The Channel Islands are a chain of eight islands, located 10-30 miles offshore. Yay, another boat!

The Islands have been separated from the mainland for ages, long enough for the flora and fauna to diverge from their mainland counterparts to form new species. So, our target was the Island Scrub-Jay, a relative of our Western Scrub-Jay that lives only in the Channel Islands.

Day Two began with a boat departure from Ventura Harbor at the civilized hour of 9AM. Despite flat seas and calm winds, I began singing the Gilligan's Island song, which it turns out that I do every time I board a boat. Is this just a fun little game, or a secret fear?

After a 90-minute cruise severely lacking in storms and shipwrecks, we arrived at our desert isle and were greeted by this:

Somehow, this feels ominous. I believe it was carved by one of the prisoners in his cell with a dinner spoon, just before he was made to walk the plank to Davy Jones' Locker.

With a tip from the on-board naturalist, we immediately began scouring for our Jay. The bird looks and sounds almost identical to our Western Scrub-Jay, but The Scientists tell us that they are actually distinct species whose ranges don't overlap. So, all we needed to do was a find a Jay, any Jay, and we were good.

Fortunately, after only 30 minutes of searching, we found this fellow building his acorn stash for the harsh SoCal "winter":

Off to plant another oak tree, as if he is like the Jays on our yard, he is very likely to forget where he hid the acorn. 

So, Mission Accomplished! But we still had four hours to kill until the return.

Fortunately, just after lunch, this little guy showed up:

Channel Islands Fox! #socute

The reason for his visit, just after noon? He's learned that people + picnic tables = food

Checking to see if these folks left him a token of their appreciation for his cuteness.

"Please, sir, may I have another?"

The trip home was mostly uneventful, except for when the boat found a huge pod of dolphins attacking what was probably a humongous school of anchovy, while birds dive-bombed from above and sea lions rocketed through the middle of the fracas.

Bad day to be an anchovy.

Next up? They actually drive into LA! Will they survive!?! Or will they succumb to "LA Fever" and the hordes of Zombies that undoubtedly roam the smouldering remains of the city!??! Tune in next time to find out!

Here's to another punch in my Frequent Sailor card,
Me

Travel-inspired Revelation

Random aside...

All of my life has been lived on the West coast of the US, from Washington to California. Seeing huge mountains like Hood or Rainier, and giant fir or redwood trees, has been a regular, if not daily, part of my experience.

As part of this Crazy Birding Experience, I've visited places like Minnesota, Michigan, and North Carolina for the first time, and just started to really understand how physically different those places are from the West.

Recently, I found this very cool collection of pictures taken in the 1860's, that were apparently critical to convincing President Lincoln and Congress to create Yosemite National Park: link

I have a much better appreciation now for how amazing those pictures must have been. Not only was photography a relatively new technology, but the dramatic scenery of Yosemite Valley must have been completely mind-blowing to people who had spent all their lives in relative flatness.

As much as the commercial infrastructure of this country is depressingly consistent, at least the scenery and living experience remains highly diverse.