A Tour of the Divers, Diners, and Drive-by Dwellers at Tres Rios

This Saturday was a busy one at Tres Rios, both with birds and with their birders. I arrived around 6:45am and was already late to the party, as nearly a dozen cars were already parked at this normally quite but increasingly appreciated spot. Excitement over the recently photographed Tres Rios Red-shouldered Hawk(s) drew a few birders that were otherwise new to the site, and I also ran into local birders and photographers Gordon Karre and Pam Barnhart, who were showing around some other members of the Arizona Southwest Birding group. The Tres Rios site features plenty of tall cottonwoods and desert scrub for raptors and Sonoran dweller alike, and it also hosts an impressive water feature with some of the fastest growing cattails ever. They're not even in the Guinness World Record Book, because every time it updates their record growth rate, it's already out of date.

It was an exceedingly comfortable 49°F when I started down the trail. I missed the pre-dawn Ibis flocks,  but there were still hundreds of Yellow-headed Blackbirds flitting along the spillway. Osprey were one of the most dominant birds of the day, something I did not anticipate initially but perhaps should have, with this sentinel being one of the first stationary birds I saw.  

An Osprey, or even several, is not an unexpected sight atop the Tres Rios treeline. Red-tails, Cooper's, Bald Eagles, and even the occasional Red-shouldered Hawk also dot the canopies, but perhaps the most common and conspicuous of these large perchers is the Great Blue Heron, a distant relative of the Great White Blue Shark. Great Blue Herons are finicky, insecure birds, despite their stature, and in an attempt to maintain their individuality, these three birds agreed to perch in separate trees. But clearly, given their identical elevations, they only have so much of a capacity for differentiating themselves. It's ok though. Coyotes, Eagles, and birders don't pick favorites either; we love them equally.

Quite opposite the Great Blue Heron is almost every way, this little Black-throated Gray Warbler was a delightful, up close sighting near the south-bound spillway. The BTGWs aren't uncommon birds during migration, but I see them far less often than Orange-crowned, Wilson's, or even Townsend's Warblers. Something about their very professional whites and grays, accentuated with just a dash of yellow on the lores, makes this a very appealing bird, even if it registers rather drably on the Warbler spectrum.

Of course, being Warblers, they're very fidgety and compulsive birds, but the Black-throated Grays, much like Orange-crowned Warblers, are more prone to foraging in scrub bushes and lower levels the canopies. This allows for better photo ops than many of their peers, even though the problem of interfering twigs is ever-present.

Now I'm not saying it's any Yellow-throated Warbler, but that beak would give em' a run for their money huh? Well done BTGW.

Most birds possess the power of flight. Black-throated Grays also possess the power of simple levitation, which is an even higher form of aeronautics.

Just about about every annual species of heron/egret/ibis is represented at Tres Rios, and the Black-crowned Night Herons can always be found in the larger tamarisk clumps near the south bound spillway, about 3/4 of a mile west of the parking lot. 

Why take nice, crisp focussed shots of these secretive birds, when their name and behavior begs them to be shown in grainy, film noir, Area 51 style photos?

A stinky pond, a mud hill, and dried sticks...the perfect perch for a southwestern sp. Song Sparrow.

Tres Rios is a prized site not only for its gluttony of birds, but also for its evolutionary biology case studies. See here what was almost a great moment in evolution. We do what we can; we feel driven by something deeper inside ourselves than we'll ever really uncover. Sometimes it drives us to glory. It can also drive us to our destruction. It's also possible this guy was just picked up by a Heron or something.

Osprey are a common sight in Arizona around any substantial or well-stocked water feature. These daring, diving piscivores are absurdly good at what they do, with a catch rate nearing 85% and a cool racing stripe on their face. It can be very difficult to capture the dive on camera, but watching the spectacle is all too easy.

Because of their excellent combination of coolness and commonality, Osprey seem to be a hook bird for lots of people, one of the first birds that really got them interested in bird watching. Osprey are one of the most conspicuous raptors, are easy to identify, and are also seen hunting/doing awesome stuff more often and consistently than just about any other raptor, or even any predatory animal in general.

The Osprey were the most dominant of the bigger birds, but in sheer mass, noise, and visual appeal, the Yellow-headed Blackbirds stole the show. They were constantly alighting, gliding, fighting, and squawking amidst the substantial cattaisl that line the Tres Rios spillway. In addition to the striking yellow head, they show Phainopepla-esque white patches in flight, though anticipating their erratic and quick flight routes, and then photographing them, is a pursuit in which I have had no success. They're fairly shy at Tres Rios, but every once in a while the reeds part just right and allow for some peeking.

Before heading back into Phoenix, it's always a good idea to do a quick drive by of the agricultural fields just north of the Tres Rios site. There's good sparrowing to be done in the scrub piles along the drive, and various avian predators, both raptors above and Roadrunners below, stalk the flat landscape.

But the most important reason of all is that no trip to Tres Rios is complete without a quick visit to Burrower's Row and its perennially grumpy, cute inhabitants.

Even in the ebb between migration times, Tres Rios still provides some of the best birding in central Arizona. Use care in visiting it though, for now that the weather is also nice, it can be difficult to find a reason to leave. The listless, binocular-holding zombie of many a once-eager birder now wanders the Tres Rios trails. You may end up joining them, but it's worth the risk.