Texas Revisited: The First Inkerrsion, Government Canyon and Kerr WMA

Alright alright, guilt has finally caught up to and surpassed my frustration with this post. The birds are too good, and in many cases my photos not good enough, such that more explanation is warranted. 

When I first tried to start off recounting The Butler's Birds Texas Adventure, blogger liked it so much it decided to swallow the whole thing. It was, perhaps, the nadir of my bird-blogging tenure.

I felt like a trans-universal Cardinal coming out of Warp, grumpy and exceedingly profane:

But Butler's Birds owe it to the birds, posterity, and probably some other third thing to do this right, even if with considerably more brevity than before. Thus on a similar note I want to apologize, dear reader, for the earlier, text-less post, and thank you for your forbearance in seeing the same stuff again.

Driving in Texas--almost any part of Texas--is one of the most soul-killing things in the entire world, maybe even worse than going to a Walmart at 2am. Upon arriving in San Antonio and getting a smoking deal on my rental from Budget ($244 total for 11 days? Yes I will tattoo your company's name on my chest.), I quickly tried to get out of the city. 

San Antonio, like Dallas, Houston, and all the southern towns, is beset with gigantic, unregulated, trashy and terrifying billboards all along its highways. They block out the sky, block out the vegetation, and bombard both the conscious and subconscious mind with tawdry cliches and turns of phrase all geared to get one buying some special form of junk, or jazzed about a special strip club. 

Anyhow, they way I knew that I was past the unpleasant part of Texas was when the flashy and obnoxious roadside advertisements were replaced with flash birds being obnoxious to each other. 

"Lock x-foils in attack position"

Scissor-tailed Flycatchers, even from a distance, officially rank as one of North America's Top Ten Best Birds, which is pretty friggin' prestigious. It's not just the crazy plumage dimensions or the pugnacious attitude; it's the coloration on the flanks. Salmon-colored armpits, which actual salmon don't really have, are what's up.

The first stop was a spot about 20 miles northwest of San Antonio, a place called Government Canyon. As one might expect from such a Canyon, this place was heavily regulated, so heavily in fact that it was closed on all Mondays and Tuesdays. Since I arrived on a Monday, this was one of my least favorite things about this Canyon. Another was that I had to leave my impressive alcohol collection in the car, though I guess with the park being closed I wouldn't have had many people to which I could've proudly displayed it. 

Eastern Phoebes were well-represented at Government Canyon, the 3rd best Phoebe in the United States. In addition to the conspicuous Phoebe, the heat at Government Canyon was also impressive, given the direct sunlight. I was quickly down to an ill-fitting tank top and shorts with loafers--the last vestiges of my airport clothes--which I may revisit in the future to better establish a Birder Bro typecast inline with Esquire.com's recent whiney birding-related article. The heat was oppressive at the time, but it would prove to be my only day of direct sunlight (tis' the season), and I took it for granted.

The main target at Government Canyon was a fairly common bird by Texas standards, a common bird that has been melting faces since it's invention back in 1803. If you gave an adult a generic outline of a songbird and asked them to try and color it in a natural-looking way, they'd probably involve some reds and grays, maybe a bit of red or yellow, and end up coloring something like a cardinal sparrow. A small child would take blue, red, and green highlighters and create a Painted Bunting, and, rather improbably, they would be more accurate. It's amazing. It's unnatural.




Plenty of the San Antonio birds were also familiar sights from Phoenix. Greater Roadrunners were a fairly common sight along the grassland borders. But they were also often up in trees and vocalizing, which is much less common in my central AZ experiences.

Common Ground Doves were another carry over from Arizona, but in in much greater numbers. In the arid southwest, I'd label them as uncommon, but with much more expansive habitat in central Texas, these birds lived up to their namesake. They were also a fair bit more crushable.

The male Painted Buntings were singing in high numbers and showed very well. It made all of my reluctant misdemeanoring (Butler's Birds does not condone trespassing, especially not on private property) well worth the risk. The Painted Bunting and the 5th Amendment, two beautiful things.

I left Government Canyon at sundown, got diarrhea at a Cracker Barrel, and camped out by the Kerr WMA farther northwest from San Antonio. The camp out left me with a stiff knee, a few heard-only lifers, and one awkward encounter with a well-meaning motorist who pulled over and hit me with the high beams while performing my necessaries off from the side of the road.
Under cover of night, heavy clouds rolled in, keeping the temperatures, as well as the photogenic light, lower than expected. The cruel irony, of course, was that the birds loved it.

Kerr WMA held two big and endangered attractions: Black-capped Vireo and Golden-cheeked Warbler. Black-caps like some low-lying oak/juniper scrub while Golden-cheeks prefer the taller juniper. Both birds are declining in population and cannot be found outside of central Texas.
Chasing and photographing these species was a tricky prospect.
Black-capped Vireo is a very cool-looking bird, but they're flightly little buggers and chasing them/encroaching too much, as well as using play back, is out of the question, both ethically and federally. I found them early in the morning, but had to remain satisfied with distant and fleeting looks. Tis' better to have seen from afar, than never seen at all.

A positive externality of the Black-cap birding was that oak scrub is pretty great habitat. Black-crested Titmice, Rufous-crowned Sparrows, Buntings, and Flycatchers were exceedingly numerous, and I finally laid the crush on a Field Sparrow.



Field Sparrow did not make it into the Butler's Birds Salute to Sparrows, since it is not a western/Arizona-occurant species. If it did make it into the list, it would score mediocre at best, but as the poet once said, photographing birds is difficult, especially in low-light conditions, so enjoy the crush when you've got it, man (it's unclear from both historical and lyrical context whether or not the poet was referencing photography or orange soda).

Any outing with lifer Black-capped Vireos, any outing where Painted Buntings are no longer the highlight, is a good one, but that was only half of the objective. Golden-cheeked Warblers breed exclusively in Texas, and even though it was a bit late in the season for these early arrivals, they were a 'must-see' target at Kerr WMA as well.
Seeking these birds, especially as they were no longer singing for mates and territory, was an intimidating prospect with so much juniper habitat. After utilizing the much-needed public showers (maybe they weren't public, I dunno. Every zoo in life is a petting zoo if you're bold enough) I picked a direction on the Springs Trail and started off through the trees. It was only a few minutes before chittering in the trees grabbed my attention. A mixed flock? Any bird is a good bird in a new area. There was far more fortune than that--fortune, like publicly accessible showers also favors the bold, as Erasmus tell us--not one nor two, but four Golden-cheeked Warblers, a male and female with their two fledglings, were having Tuesday brunch.

As with the Black-caps, photographing endangered species in low-lighting while trying to keep a respectful distance is both a lesson in patience and self-control. The adults were busy foraging and never really came down from the canopy, but one of the immature birds, told by it's wonky plumage, ruddy acne, and crass jokes, was intrigued by my pishing and came in for a close inspection, too close even for Johnny Cloud Cover to mess things up. 

By 11am I had all of my targets in the San Antonio area. I'd like to say I played it cool and that everything had gone according to plan, but the truth of the matter was that I was wigging out and couldn't believe my luck (and, in a small way, a bit of birding skill/discernment; it's ok to admit these things are also improving). 

I left for Laredo several hours ahead of schedule, eagerly hoping to continue what would be one of the most productive days of birding in Butler's Birds history. Stay groomed and stay tuned! 

Epic Bird Day: Patagonia

Last weekend my wife worked a double on Saturday, and all bird nerds know what it means when one's spouse or significant other is working on a weekend. It means Epic Birding Day! It was time to saddle up and get down to southeast Arizona for a rigorous day of indulgent bird-seeking. With it being early and unseasonably warm in March, expectations were high both for seeing lots of the southeastern residents and also for seeing some migrant birds that would be new for the year. I'll admit, I had the faintest optimism of seeing some Evening Grosbeaks that had been reported in Tubac two days prior.

So, heading south down the I-19 from the I-10, I first stopped at the De Anza trail in Tubac, and hiked along to Santa Gertrudis Lane. As expected, the Evening Grosbeaks were long gone, but there were still some great birds out in the early morning haze, including a new one for the 2013 birding year.



Woodpeckers were the first to great the timid sun. They were impatient and it took its sweet time in rising. When it was finally up, it had delayed long enough to let the clouds come in and dim the sky. There is an uncanny correlation between visiting great birding spots and getting overcast weather...
Anyway, the first minutes of clear skies were a head-banger's dream as Northern Flickers (3 above), Ladderbacks, and Gila Woodpeckers went to work in the mixed woodlands. They had Cottonwoods and mesquites to choose from. The Flickers liked the taller cottonwoods, while the Gilas stuck to the mesquite, and were thus, oddly, more photogenic.

Apart from some skulking Song and Lincoln's, it was a relatively sparrow-less dawn, but from ground level to mid level, my attention was enraptured by this mid-molt Vermillion Flycatcher. This poor fellow was at that awkward stage experienced by many the college freshman, when they molt into their mature adult beardage to show they're ready to breed.Yes, he's sporting the equivalent of the scraggily freshmen-year facial hair, and like the freshmen he won't be attracting many mature ladies this year, no matter how loud or obnoxiously he behaves. Hang in there bro; soon you'll be one in a vermillion.

The self-conscious Vermillion was hanging out along a little stream, and while trying to get different angled shots of the awkward Flycatcher, I noticed the silhouette of what appeared to be an inordinately large Say's Phoebe. After a minute the bird flew lower down into the tree where the back-lighting wasn't so debilitating, and revealed itself to be a first-of-the-year Cassin's Kingbird. Hazy photo, branches in the way...this guy must've been hanging out with Bigfoot this winter. 

There were plenty of Towhees and Cardinals, along with gangs of House and Bewick's Wrens, all rustling around the hedges of Santa Gertrudis Lane, whose large pyracantha bushes supported the Grosbeaks a couple of days before. It's hardly a consolation prize but hey, without Abert's Towhees doing their thing, scientists estimate that we'd all be living up to our waists in leaf litter, bugs, and old seeds. Abert's Towhee: the unsung custodian of the forest floor.

The De Anza trail was a very pleasant walk, but it was just an appetizer for the birding feast to come.This time around the main objective was Flycatchers. Patagonia provides the very similar Gray, Dusky, and Hammonds Flycatchers all within close distance of each other, and I was greatly wanting more time to study the Gray's and Duskies in addition to obtaining better photos of these two species.

In my experiences, the Gray Flycatcher is the most common/visible of the three. It perches and hunts from mid-level in the trees around Patagonia Lake (and anywhere it lives). There are some subtle variations that helps to separate this bird from the similar Duskies and Hammonds--short primary projections, non-contrasting wing-bar and tertial coloration and more of a gray band across the forehead--but for my money the easiest way (and hopefully still a consistent way) is by taking a look at the beak. This guy's beak is very long, in proportion to his head.

By contrast, this Dusky Flycatcher, which also tends to prefer lower, brushier habitat, has a stubby beak. The Hammond's has a stubby beak as well, but they tend to prefer taller trees and higher perches (this bird was foraging and photographed just a couple of feet off the ground, an elevation at which it stayed for the duration of my fifteen minute observation). Of the three birds, the Dusky has the most noticeable contrast between the head and back, and Hammond's has the longest primary projections, long like this fellow here.

           

Truth be told, the primary-projection business if iffy for me, as can be obscured by the bird's posture and movements. It seems like the odds are better for getting a good look at the beak length, but maybe others would care to weigh in on this observation. At any rate, I can't say I'm a glutton for punishment, but I do have a certain proclivity towards tormenting myself in the pursuit of these empidomax.
*The more-informed opinion on this bird is that it is, indeed, a Hammond's (Cheers Seagull Steve), so ignore everything I said.

Rooting around the narrow paths on Patagonia's east side, near Sonoita Creek, will turn up the vast majority of Patagonia's species, both in mixed flocks and as individuals. Common Ground Doves often travel in little bands but this solitary bird was the only one I saw. 

Commonly grounded, this Dove seldom gets to hang out with its friends on the weekend.

A conspicuous Canyon Towhee was trying to fit in with an un-abiding group of Abert's Towhees around the same area. It was surprising to see a Canyon Towhee near the comparatively lush, green undergrowth around Sonoita creek, especially as I did not see any when hiking around the move arid, elevated north side of the lake--the kind of terrain they usually prefer. Towhees are such butts to photograph, and the thickening clouds didn't help the situation. All the same, it's still satisfying to find something unexpected, even if it's not rare.

Despite being expected, common, and easily seen, the Bridled Titmouse is still a delightful bird. Chinstrap Beard Titmouse is a less eloquent name for this bird, but it would also be fitting. As far as black, white, and gray birds go (there are more than a few), these are one of the most stylish.

After several hours of rummaging around the bird-rich Sonoita Creek area, I finally resolved that the Trogon was a no-show for the day and decided to continue hiking around the lake (I hate to admit it, but it felt good to later read that nobody found the bird that day. Although I am sorry for others who spent time and money chasing it, I feel less incompetent now). For the most part, it seems like birders concentrate their efforts on the south shore and Sonoita Creek parts of the lake, ultimately with good reason. The south shore also has elevated desert chaparral frequented by Rufous variety Sparrows and other arid dwellers, so in terms of specialization there is no reason for the long walk around the lake.

Nonetheless, I set off, mostly just to content myself that I would have hiked all around the lake. The clouds continued to thicken, the bird numbers dropped off, and with each passing minute of the dreary afternoon the decision felt more and more rash. But while walking and musing along the northern shore, a delightful ball of saturated, sweet-ing yellow caught the eye. In the gloomy lighting and under gloomy skies, this first-of-year Yellow Warbler looked positively radiant. It also looked out of place.

He is likely wondering why he is so exposed, why this sycamore tree yet has no leaves.



Another conspicuous, first-of-year bird I found on the way back to the car was this resplendent male Broad-billed hummingbird. Even more exciting, I actually had an opportunity to view the impressive breadth of its bill. It's very bride.



For sooth, it's unfair how colorful this bird is. Luckily for birders, nature isn't always fair.



Speaking of unfairly colored birds, I swung by Fort Lowell Park in Tucson on the way back to Phoenix in the hopes of seeing a reported Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. I had some brief looks at the bird while it was high in a eucalyptus tree, but the real attention grabber, in addition to some people trying to have a wedding in the windy, rainy, chilly weather, was a brazen Vermilion Flycatcher. There were half a dozen such Flycatchers around Patagonia Lake, but they were all much more shy. He must have known that the lighting was too poor to get proper feather detail, and that his colors would be almost disgustingly saturdated. He definitely knew. Nature isn't fair.



It was an epic day of birding, and not just in the over-used, relatively meaningless sense of the word as it is employed today. In about nine hours of birding I saw around eighty species, a half-dozen of which were new for the year, hiked around Patagonia Lake, and found perhaps the world's cutest Muscovy duck. This bird is not countable to any ABA lists in Arizona, but seriously, I challenge anyone to find a cuter version of this normally disgusting bird.

If one has to pick just one site to plunk down and explore for eight hours, Patagonia is among the best in the state, though it is at its zenith a bit later in the spring. Patagonia is famous for its birding diversity and also because it has hosted an early Male Trogon along the Sonoita Creek wash for the last ten or so years. This secretive but reliable bird has been attracting people past the $10 per-vehicle charge for years now, though I have never seen it is this area.



It was a great trip, and best of all, I'll be back soon for the Trogon and some Black-capped Gnatcatchers, and I will be back with back-up, big back-up!