Veni, Vidi, Twitchy!

The unbelievable happened! And I'm not just referring to a potential 5th state record for Sharp-tailed Sandpiper; I'm referring to the fact that this rare Eurasian vagrant, first reported Wednesday afternoon by Jason Wilder at the Rimmy Jim Tanks 185 miles northeast of Phoenix, stayed put. At this pleasant little unassuming mudflat--a run-off basin for cattle--it stayed through Wednesday. I watched and read with great anxiety and little hope as it stayed through Thursday. With double portions of stress and hope then I held vigil around the listservs and AZ Birding pages through all of Friday. When Jason Wilder, currently the favorite birder of Arizona, reported the bird still present Friday evening, that sealed the deal. Without compromising work or other important obligations, the chase was on. I left Phoenix at 2am and beat the sunrise to Rimmy Jim Tanks, where the far-flung shorebird was still foraging, as if it had all the time in the world.

Noticeably bulkier and not as twitchy as the Spotted Sandpipers, this bird stuck out even from a distance, before the scope was trained. After much waiting and wondering, it was now so straightforward, so easy, and beautiful.

When this bird does stray into the U.S., it's usually detected in the fall and is thus in its typically drab non-breeding plumage. For it to stray so far inland, into northern Arizona, is very unusual. For it to do so in May is nothing short of bizarre, and for it to stay in the same spot for at least 4 days now means that, in order for the natural universe to balance out, somewhere in New York City a whole flock of House Sparrows are deciding to migrate southeast to Tanzania.

It was exceptionally lucky for me that this bird stuck around. I was also helped with great directions from its discoverer, and constant updating on the Arizona Birding facebook page, and on that note thank you to everyone who contributed (all I really contributed were some nebulous and incorrect ID possibilities, when STSA wasn't even on my AZ radar). It's also very lucky to see this bird molting into its breeding plumage, with the rufous cap, bold chevrons, and pinkish hue on the belly all developing seemingly by the day.

I was also lucky enough to discover that this well-endowed bird is a male, tehehe.
And yowzaa! Look at how sharp that tail is!



When first seeing photos of this bird, the yellow beak and yellow legs seemed to rule out everything but Pectoral Sandpiper. Being unable to tell the size from the first shots, even a Least Sandpiper seemed, to my untrained eye, a possibility, as the beak was mostly covered in mud, looking only slightly yellow, and the breast coloration had not filled in as heavily.
Getting to study the bird, its habits, it motions, its colors and anatomy, was an enjoyable exercise in delineating its attributes from all the other shorebirds I've seen so far (an unimpressive list).

After an hour, I had to head back to Phoenix for Saturday brunch. Bird hard and brunch harder, that is a Saturday plan! This bird was certainly worth a boast and a toast. It was strange to meet up with people afterwards. I had this satisfaction, this private fulfillment in knowing that I had been up since 2am already and seen something very cool and very rare, while everyone else was still sleeping. 

Perhaps the best part is that a relaxing Saturday aside, this is only the beginning of my birding weekend, with two days down southeast starting tomorrow. 

As I was packing it up I was joined by  one more birder. We relocated the Sandpiper and she picked up her lifer too. It was a bit surprising not too have more birder traffic on a Saturday, but that's the consequence of these nerve-wracking twitches. The STSA stayed for several days already, bucking every expected trend, so why shouldn't it stay another week? On the other hand, it could leave at any second and disappear forever, and that would be a long, lonely drive back home. Luckily it wasn't this time. 

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.