Just Limpkin Along...

Given the the recent theme of Florida posts, I should first clarify that this post will feature no Limpkins--that was one of the few waders I failed to find in FL; more's the pity. At any rate, These last several weeks in Arizona have been slowly churning by, with my surgery date on June 17th creakily approaching. I'll be getting two ligaments (ACL and MCL) along with my meniscus repaired in my right knee, and a cartilage tear fixed in my right shoulder. All this is to say I'll be pretty lopsided for the next four months, and just like summer television...there might be some re-runs on the ol' blog.

At any rate, I've still been able to shuffle outside now and again for some low-key birding at some of Phoenix's flatter sites, and I've been fortunate in this regard to be recently joined by another Phoenix area birder, Will, and a birdingpal.com contact from Indiana, Alex. 

As one might expect, the summer doldrums are going on in the lowlands around town. The waterfowl are long gone, as are portions of the waders and songbirds. In their place, Kingbirds, Tanagers, Grosbeaks, and some Buntings have moved in, but many of these species require more rugged terrain access. There's a lot of great stuff to see farther south, like Sulphur-bellied Flycatchers and Varied Buntings, but with limited mobility that's off the table, and alas it's still just a bit early for the Cuckoos to be arriving in force. But hey, I've worked in restaurants before, so I've got practice appreciating the regulars.
The Gilbert Water Ranch is hosting plenty of Stilts and Avocets right now, which have added to their already considerable visual appeal by surrounding themselves with chicks.



Where there is water, there are Snowy Egrets. Where there is snow, there are not Snowy Egrets. At both Gilbert and Tres Rios this species has been showing in good numbers, and their commonality does not detract from their elegance.

They don't hunt with the same flare as a Reddish Egret, nor with the power of a Great Blue Heron, but watching their point-and-peck foraging is still pretty entertaining. Especially in the summer when the waterfowl are depleted, let it snow!

One species that responds very well to the heat is the Least Bittern. In my last two visits to Tres Rios it was already in the 90° range by 6am, but the warmth and subsequent humidity around the wetlands really seems to motivate these birds. They stir and fly between their bulrush clumps very regularly, and on both visits I've been able to record visually about a half-dozen separate birds.

Sometimes they even forget how to bittern, and just stand out in the open. It's not like any predators are sticking around in this searing stupor.



Far less elusive than the Least Bitterns are the denizens of Burrower's Row, about which there's a post up over at BIF right now. Go check it out!

Although the number of visible owls seems down from last year, there's been at least one successful hatching. Apart from that noticeable cow-lick, this fellow is well on his way.

Burrower's Row

The Phoenix Metropolitan area is a curious concoction. Phoenix itself is a large city, both in terms of area and population. Surrounding the state capital are ten more small cities: Mesa, Glendale, Scottsdale, Tempe, Avondale, Goodyear, Sun City, Gilbert, Surprise, and Peoria. Stretching out from these locales, neighborhoods and master-planned communities seem to stretch on in all directions. One of my favorite birding sites, the Tres Rios Wetlands, sits near the border between west Phoenix and Avondale. While driving to Tres Rios, you'll pass through the cookie-cutter houses of the master-planned communities, neighborhoods where the pursuit of maximized square-footage was once the highest good (priorities and fashions have since changed). You'll also pass through lots of open, odiferous farmland. If you turn and head west just before you reach the Tres Rios site, and follow a dirt road along the farmland canal, you'll find another little planned community. Between the northern borders of the Tres Rios preserve and Farmington Glen sits Burrower's Row.

There are no signs announcing that, "You have now entered Burrower's Row," but there are still markers, of sorts, so you know when you're in the right spot:

Despite the somewhat slovenly appearance of this particular Owl, the residents of Burrower's Row are a very strict bunch. There is always a sentinel at the eastern-most point of entry, perched high on the telephone lines and supervising the little town's security.

The houses (burrows) are arranged in neat rows along the farmland. At the moment, there appears to be no more than 2 Owls living in each Burrow, though there are at least 4 different pairs of Owls. They have a strict home-owner's association, and they keep their domiciles very tidy. It's a pretty homogenous group. Crime rates and taxes are all very low, but sometimes they react to outsiders with astonishment and suspicion, even from afar.

In the morning and during the day, the residents of Burrower's Row like to stay down in the fields, away from the elevated dirt road and its dusty heat. During the evening, the descending sun holds everything in a warm embrace, saying goodbye with its last rays of yellow light, and promising to rise again soon. The Owls like to perch along the frontage road during this time. They preen, gossip, and replay the day in their heads--much like the rest of us. It is best to visit Burrower's Row during these quiet, well-lit moments.

The owl shown below may well be the sheriff of Burrower's Row. While all the other Burrowers were enjoying the fading light, he seemed determined to maintain his stern and serious face. I would vote to re-elect this Owl for sheriff if it were up to me, but alas I wouldn't even qualify for citizenship in Burrower's Row (which is probably a good thing for all parties involved).

These next three pictures were taken by Maria, and the last one is my favorite. Burrowing Owls are very expressive and, as you have previously endured, I like to personify and fit captions to every Burrowing Owl photo I see.

:: :sniff: :: "Hmm, what's that smell?"

"Drat! I knew I stepped in something..."

For this third and last photo, I couldn't settle on a caption. I'd like to leave this last photo open to suggestions. Is the Owl solemnly swearing revenge? Is it doing some sort of fist pump celebration? Is it seeing if it's possible to walk with one's eyes closed? You tell me, and try to stop by and visit the wonderful residents of Burrower's Run some time soon.