"Taken For Granted Challenge:" Allen vs. Maricopa; Cold vs. Hot; Light vs. Dark

Last year, birdwatching machine Nate McGowan and notorious reformed bird-hater Jen Sanford hatched a brilliant birding initiative, the "Taken for Granted" challenge. To add some spice and spectacle to their birding, each sent the other 5 species for their respective home counties, which they had to find and photograph in a given amount of time. The birds couldn't be rare by general understanding, but could be tricky to find due to transient or sneaky proclivities, restricted range, etc. They drew up battle lines, Texas vs. Oregon, and went to it while the rest of us watched from the sidelines. There were guts and glory and foul words--all essential for a good blog post. Since then, other less ambitious birders have been biding their time, thinking of such things with intrigue and arousal. Butler's Bird's own Butler, as well as Greg and Bird's own Greg, were two such up-and-comers. And as any serial killer can tell you, fantasizing only works for so long before you just have to do it. Greg threw down the gauntlet; I picked it up and handed it back to him politely, with appropriate eye contact. IT WAS ON! 

We had 12 hours, from 5am to 5pm on Saturday the 22nd. All birds, selected from corresponding eBird  county occurrence charts, required an accompanying photo to count. 

In a TGC, birds like Song Sparrow regain their relevancy...well not actually, since every state has its song sparrow or just about, but you get the idea.

In Allen County, Indiana, I challenged Greg to find Tundra Swan (swapped for Greater White-fronted Goose), Snow Bunting, Wilson's Snipe, Brown Creeper, and Pileated Woodpecker. 

In Maricopa County, Arizona, Greg challenged me to find Cinnamon Teal, Ladder-backed Woodpecker, Western Scrub Jay, Gambel's Quail, and Costa's Hummingbird, with black-tailed Gnatcatcher as the alternate bird. 

*I did not check my email in the morning to realize the BCGN as an alternate.

Greg and I both sent each other lists that would require traipsing through different habitats, and in my case elevations. Needless to say (since this is bird blogging and thus, is fundamentally needless), we both got an early start. Teeth were brushed, petals were pushed to metal, scarves were carefully braided, binoculars were charged and camera batteries were cleaned. 

My first destination was the Riparian Preserve, located in Gilbert, a suburb of Gerry-central. The multitudes of joggers, cyclists, and dog-walkers have diminished this site's popularity with lots of birders, but it still turns up vagrants from time to time, has a proud history, could provide me with a few of my birds, and, most importantly, was also on the east side of town, near the Hwy 87 that I would need to take to higher elevation to get Scrub Jay. No self-respecting riparian area is bereft of Green Herons, America's most underrated heron.

I was pretty confident I could get Cinnamon Teal in Gilbert. Its mesquite scrub, as well as cottonwoods, provided good potential habitat for Ladderbacks too. Costa's would be here later in the year, so maybe one of them would be over wintering too. After carving my way through the thick masses of Grackles and House Sparrows, while pausing to appreciate the foggy Green Heron above, the first engaged bird was a young male Anna's Hummingbird, reminding me that Costa's is a way cooler Hummingbird. 

It's funny how the competitive mindset changes, even corrupts the normal birding jive. Almost every time I've come to Gilbert in autumn/winter, I have the Teal species at one of the more secluded and overgrown ponds away from the other larger rafts of Pintails, Mallards, Coots, and Wigeons. Now, having not visited for several months, the scenery had changed. Water in the basins was different, some of the observation areas were overgrown or inaccessible. After about an hour without Teal, I started thinking of back up plans B, C, and D. What are some other parks near here with ponds? Where else might Teal be? Should I bail now and try to find something else on the way to my next site? How can I make an excuse for this? It gets nerve-wracking, but that intensity is also kinda fun. Especially when I remind myself the Teal are totally here, and the only reason their seemingly prolonged absence is noticeable is because this time I am looking for them specifically. It probably was an hour before I found them every other time too, but those other times it didn't matter, it was just another bird. 

Anyhow, the early-onset panic was averted and the Teal were located. I still have yet to crush this species with justice. 

A disgruntled Osprey and his buddy were also surveying the ponds, though they were less interested in ducks and more interested in pooping and what not.




Even with the waterfowl secured, Gilbert was comparably dead and I decided to move on to Sunflower. This site combines sycamore riparian habitat with higher elevation juniper scrub--great for nesting raptors in the spring--and could also yield most of my birds, excepting the Teal (done) and Quail. The first bird at Sunflower was a Ruby-crowned Kinglet showing off its red rocket. Kinglets in winter = super super super common. Kinglets actually being ruby-crowned = uncommon.

Poof! It's gone--same bird, about 2 seconds later.

The main target at Sunflower was Western Scrub Jay. I could get this bird guaranteed if I went up higher to Mt. Ord, but that drive is time consuming and tough on the car. I figured Sunflower had adequate habitat, and better possibilities for other species on the list. I walked for a few miles down the old Beeline Highway, counting good numbers and variety of passerines. The Scrub Jays eluded me, though a few Ladder-backed Woodpeckers in the sycamore creek cottonwoods maintained momentum.

After passing the 4th barricade on the old Beeline Highway (birding Sunflower is basically walking along this stretch of old two lane highway that's now overgrown since traffic between Phoenix and Payson was diverted onto the Hwy 87--it's pretty neat), I found a game trail leading up into the juniper scrub. The Jays had to be around, in fact, I had heard their harsh calls a few times, but photos were required and I needed to get closer. I had never explored this uphill trail before, since the main attraction of Sunflower, usually, is the raptors in the lowland riparian area.
It was a godsend. One of the first birds I encountered among the juniper trees was a male Williamson's Sapsucker, a solid bird for Maricopa County. It flushed too quickly for photos, but not too quickly as to be mistaken for anything but a good omen. As soon as you hear Canyon Wrens calling and see them scurrying among the boulders, you know you're in a good spot. Canyon Wrens are the best wren, hands down. In fact, if you disagree, get your hands up; them is fighting words.

Birding in juniper and low pine is tops. The trees don't keep the birds high, they're not too obscuring, and most of their denizens are pretty cool around people. In fact, this Kinglet almost landed on my camera. The cuteness is strong with this one.

The little birds work the lower and middle levels of the trees while the bigger fellows perch on the pedestals. I finally got visuals on the Western Scrub Jays, as well as some of the numerous but skittish Flickers. #toptobottombirding

With the Scrub Jays and Ladderbacks accounted for, Quail and Costa's remained, but both of these birds I would have to chase in the lowland desert nearer central Phoenix. That is to say, it left me, for the moment, without anything else to do but indulge in some conifer birds.

I had not realized how long it had been since I had a Red-breasted Nuthatch make faces at me from four feet away. A void was filled with tiny red breasts and beady eyes...that's not weird.

A full day of competitive and/or hardcore birding requires some good planning (also luck, vision and hearing, etc.). The next stage of the Butler's Birds plan was to go hang out with my folks, not to call it quits, but to get a brew and scope out the Gambel's Quail that live in the desert near their house. 

They also have a Costa's Hummingbird come to their feeders throughout the winter, a last resort if I couldn't turn one up elsewhere. Alas this bird did not make an appearance until 5:37pm and was scared off by a running dog (which was super frustrating). The Costa's got away from the requisite photo, but a respectable 4/5 left Butler's Birds in a strong position to finish the day. Damn, that bird looked good--I need to go back with some actual daylight and stake it out.
The TGC ended with Maricopa edging Allen County this time around, but this might well be just the beginning of a full and heady season of TGC competitions. It was a great time--thanks to Greg for initiating it, especially since birding early in Indiana might well be a bit more harsh than Phoenix in late November. Any other counties want to throw down?

Going 'Nuts' at the Bill Williams Wildlife Refuge

With good reason, the southeast corner of Arizona attracts a lot bird-related attention--attention both from birds and birders. It hosts all kinds of tropical and mexican species that cannot be found anywhere else in the state or even the country. Black-capped Chickadees, Five-striped Sparrows, Quetzals, Trogons, Plain-capped Starthroats, Baird's Sparrows...it can take years to see everything the Madrean sky islands and their surrounding valleys have to offer, and a fair bit of luck too. And yet, for the last two years, one of the state's rarest visitors has been wintering not in the foothills of the Chiricahua or Santa Rita Mountains, but far away to the west, in a little patch of salt cedars about two miles down a little dirt trail called Planet Ranch Road, near the Bill Williams River by Lake Havasu.

At first glance, and really after that, the habitat around the Bill Williams River isn't one-of-a-kind. It is beautiful, mixing the reds and tans of sandstone canyons with the softer greens of desert scrub and the cedars and willows nearer the water, but this all can be said of the larger surrounding area too, and many of the lakes and reservoirs around the state. General birding in the area is excellent, with lots of coastal and deep-water birds visiting the nearby Lake Havasu and all the usual desert and canyon specialists present. But again, most of these species can be found in Maricopa County, and throughout much of the American southwest.

As I walked along Planet Ranch road, keeping and ear and an eye open for the ultra rare, ABA code 5 visitor, the question nagged at me. The singing Canyon Wrens were as lovely as their canyons, and the irascible young Phainopeplas were as charming as ever. In truth, the sheer number of Phainopeplas (I counted over forty) are worth the trip out from Phoenix.

But why would a rare Mexican flycatcher come here? It is not the only habitat of its kind between west/central Arizona and the Mexican border. Any why come at all? This was the second winter in a row that the bird was discovered. Does this individual just like the Bill Williams winter climate more than all the rest of its species? Does it just need a vacation from the financial and social demands of its spring and summer residence farther south? Did it clunk heads with a Woodpecker and develop a bad sense of direction now? Do birds appreciate their environment in and of itself, more than just he extent to which it suits their instinctual survival needs?
Yes, I'm anthropomorphising too much here, but people seem to do the same thing. The Mogollon Rim north east of Phoenix has tons of small mountain towns, mostly populated with cabins that are only inhabited for half of a year. What makes people buy a cabin in one town but not another? In addition to just availability (and that is a factor for birds too of course), we all tend to find something special and delightful in a place that, by any other account or observation, might be ubiquitous to everyone else.

I asked the local Crayon Wrens why they all set up shop in the rocky slopes along the road, and not somewhere else. At some places it seemed like there were four or five noisy neighbors all arguing about their property lines and coveting each other's perches. The Canton Wren response, of course, was that when you look and sound this good, you don't need to know anything.



For about an hour and a half I walked along the road, intruding into the brush from time to time and keeping an eye on the cottonwoods and salt cedars nearby. I mused and meandered quite contentedly, until a harsh, 'RHEEEP' (normally notated as 'weeep', but it sounds more 'rheepy' to me) call shattered the morning's melodies and meant it was time to get down to business.

Only the fifth or sixth record for the United States, this Nutting's Flycatcher was first discovered last winter (2011) by bird experts Lauren Harter and David Van Der Pluym. Its loud, recognizable call tipped them off right away that this was not just an unusually stubby Ash-throated Flycatcher, and after careful consultation and additional observations the record was accepted. Unusually for a rare migrant, the bird stuck around for most of the winter and thrilled many birders with it's relative sociability and vocalizations. Perhaps most surprising of all though, was that it returned for a second year. Does that mean it's not a vagrant any more???



Although this species of myiarchus Flycatcher favors the undergrowth of the salt cedar and cottonwood trees more than most Flycatchers, I was able to pick it out pretty quickly after it called, and also had the pleasure of directing a birder from San Diego to the spot so we could both enjoy a rare lifer.

Why this rare visitor chose this spot will forever be a mystery. It's curious to think that, despite this bird being relatively conspicuous and raucous in his unassuming little patch near mile marker two, it is probably the rarest bird (for North America) I've ever seen, and may well be for some time.

While the curiosities of bird vagrancies will continue to pester me, the trip out to see the Nutting's was most satisfying. After getting some nice views and spending time with this heart-throb of a bird, I headed over to Lake Havasu to look for James Bond villains, I mean Goldeneyes. More on that later.

Birding in Southeast AZ

I went down to Tucson on Friday evening for some marathon birding with Robert Mortensen, Jeremy Medina, and Geniece Baer. We saw a total of 100 species and I acquired 16 new birds for my Life List. It was one of the single most productive and enjoyable 24-hours periods of birding I've ever experienced, and will definitely be one of the highlights in my birding career for years to come.

Here, avid birders Jeremy, Geniece, and Robert stand atop a bench identifying Cormorants in the lake below. 

As we toured some of the southeastern Arizona hotspots we saw lots of old species, new species, common species, rare species, species that can be found throughout North America, and species that are endemic to this little corner of the state. In short, it was a great trip. I'll try to give a good overview here, and then fill in with more specific and detailed posts through this next week.

Saturday was a full day of birding, and we stayed glued to our binoculars from sun-up to sun-down. It was still dark as we headed towards Florida Canyon, hoping to see the Rufous-Capped Warblers.
We started our hike at dawn, and even with the morning chill it did not take very long for the birds to make their presence known. We heard Rock Wrens, Spotted Towhees, and Kinglets as we climbed up the little gorge. A few Canyon Wrens climbed out to greet the rising sun as we started to follow the little stream running down Florida Canyon, reportedly the preferred habitat of the Warblers.

We were about a 1/4 mile up from the creek dam when we heard warbler activity. The first sightings proved to be Ruby-Crowned Kinglets, and next came a single Olive Warbler. The Rufous-Capped Warblers came out from the scrub oaks soon after and began foraging along the stream, oblivious to our presence.

At one point there were three of the little birds very close to our group. Though being in the dimly lit canyon made photography tricky, it was still a clear-as-day sighting. It was a wonderful experience that alone would have made the Tucson trip worthwhile.

Our primary goal being achieved and with many more places still to go, we began our swift descent back to the car, meeting Acorn Woodpeckers, Cardinals, Towhees and Rick Taylor (!), author of Birds of Southeastern Arizona, along the way.

The Rio Rico ponds, a nice riparian habitat on the way to Patagonia Lake, was our next destination. The ponds were just off of the roadside, and provided immediate sightings of Cinnamon Teal, Pied-Billed Grebes, and Mexican Mallards. Along the woody margins of the water we saw Vermillion Flycatchers, Abert's Towhees and several more Cardinals, and there were Mountain Bluebirds in the adjacent field.

While pursuing some Song Sparrows and Lincoln's Sparrows near the swampy perimeter, I also stumbled upon this solitary Hermit Thrush, a lovely new bird that I probably should have seen long before now. The dense vegetation made auto-focussing impossible and I had to try my hand at manual. (I know, I have a hard life).

We progressed to Lake Pena Blanca, a very quiet and peaceful canyon lake that provides the perfect sort of habitat for the more diminutive birds, such as the elusive Least Grebe, the rarest lifer of the day.

The little lake was also popular with Ruddy Ducks and Ring-Necked Ducks. We heard House Wrens and Bewick's Wrens calling along the shore, and found a little group of Rufous-Capped Sparrows near the exit. Rufous-Capped Sparrows, Rufous-Winged Sparrows, and Rufous-Capped Warblers made for a very Rufousy day.

The next stop was Patagonia Lake, one of the most well-known and fruitful birding spots around Tucson. Although we dipped on the reported Elegant Trogon and Black-Capped Gnatcatcher (so did everyone else we talked to), it was indeed a fantastic birding area, and we continued racking up the life birds.

We saw plenty of Green-Winged Teal, Double-Crested Cormorants, and a few Bufflehead out on the lake, as well as this single female Blue-Winged Teal trying to blend into the reeds. She was doing pretty well Except for her rather conspicuous patch of blue.

Trails move along the lake shore for a 1/2 mile or so before entering the dense oak and coniferous woodlands where the birding action really takes off. They were teeming with Bridled Titmice, Ladder-Backed Woodpeckers, and Common Ground Doves. It was also a three Flycatcher day with the Gray, the Ash-Throated, and the Hammonds all giving us great looks.

All three of the Flycatchers were new birds for me, and the Hammonds provided a very nice and open pose, a rare courtesy from these busy woodlands birds.

One of the last and most satisfying sightings at Patagonia was a pair of roosting Great-Horned Owls. They can be seen regularly in Phoenix, and we had already driven by one in the early morning. But seeing them in these scrubby woods really lends an ancient and serene quality both to the birds and to their forest.

The last stop of the day was the internationally known Paton House in Patagonia. For decades, Wally and Marion Patton supplied scores of seed and hummingbird feeders at their residence. It is one of the few places in North America where Violet-Crowned Hummingbirds are consistently seen, and it is also a harbor to many other migrating and seasonal birds, often providing the first and last glimpses of species as they travel between the U.S. and Mexico. The Patons have passed away, but the property is still maintained as a small birding Mecca. 

True to form, the house was bursting with birds. We saw Finches, Nuthatches, Sparrows, Cardinals, Pyrrhuloxia, Gila Woodpeckers, Wrens, Doves, Quail, Lazuli Bunting (another first) and, of course, some Hummingbirds. The Violet-Crowned made only a brief appearance, while this jaw-droppingly beautiful Broad-Billed Hummingbird sat for two whole minutes, which we all know in hummingbird-time is about thirty-seven years. 

I wonder who would look at this bird and first think, "Wow! Check out the broad bill on that little guy!" I know more goes into a name than just the initial observation, but it's fun to think about. As the sun set on this wonderful day of birding, the evening light made for some color-saturated Cardinals, and some mournful Pyrrhuloxias.

The unique geography of Tucson draws in the birds, and the birds draw in the people. I had a great time with Robert, Jeremy, and Geniece. We were especially lucky to have Jeremy share with us his knowledge of the area and the birds. I hope to be drawn back very soon.