Nice Try, Mr. Owl

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

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!

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!

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…

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.

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

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:

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

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.

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!