July TFG Birding

If you are scope-less, shore-less, and/or south of the 49th parallel in July, your birding can be a dull affair. Many of the birds themselves are dealing with empty nest syndrome and can cope differently. Shorebirds deal with this by going on midlife crisis global tours from north to south. Flycatchers do this by making all sorts of incoherent and target-less vocalizations. Some birds, and some birders, cope better with the late-July doldrums than others.
Burrowing Owls spend a good amount of time subterranean anyway, and as such are less affected by the environment changing above them.

Acorn Woodpeckers, ever successful and gregarious, usually spend late July dealing with swollen family groups. The main problem is that dead trees do not directly replicate like ACWOs do, so sometimes the birds have to deal with overcrowding. 

Gray Hawks have to deal with much the same existential angst as always, namely, to attend Christmas festivities with Hawk family of Falcon family this year? Tough call.

Sulphur-bellied Flycatchers are especially grumpy come late July. I believe it is because their SE AZ woodlands are filled with one thousand and one shitty looking and sounding Western Wood-Pewees. I can sympathize. WWPEs or whatever the code is don't sound like Pewees and are very variable in plumage, but always drab. To make matters worse, the aforementioned Acorn Woodpeckers start to invade their cavities, or at least move into cavities near their own, and SBFLs are very protective and vocal about their neighborhoods.

If they cannot extricate or annoy the ACWO into leaving, Sulphurs often become irritated with each other, no doubt one blaming the other for leaving the cavity vacant and allowing the interloper  into their abode. It's trying times.

Even after some embarrassing displays of domestic distress, Sulphurs are still a Top 5 North American Flycatcher.

Broad-tailed Hummingbirds cope pretty well, in part because in places like Miller Canyon their food is provided for them and the rude Rufous Hummers are not yet unbearable. Life is always pretty good for Quetzalcoatl incarnate.

The end of July is tough. It's downhill now to the end of summer, to other journeys, work and hardships. It can be hard to get moving again, and sometimes everybody needs a little push.

Miller Canyon: The High Life

Mid to later May in Arizona is Miller time. This preeminent of the Huachuca canyons holds constant attractions, both migratory and residential. The southeastern specialties found here often rub shoulders with seasonal rarities and plenty of other generally cool birds. The canyon is, of course, most famous for its Spotted Owls and its hummingbird station on the Beatty Guest Ranch. It's not particularly well known for its Spotted Towhees, but they are there too. 

After some quick forays in Huachuca Canyon and Sierra Vista with foul-mouthed birdwatching machine Nate McGowan, we headed south to Miller Canyon for the largest chunk of the day's birding. Although we were arriving a bit after peak hours, the canyon was still noisy with residential and migratory bird activity. The lower reaches held Hermit and Swainson's Thrushes, Vireos, Titmice, and about a thousand pounds of Dusky-capped Flycatchers. 

There were plenty of ABA/AZ specialty lifers on the hike and along the way to our larger targets. With some complicated directions from the ever helpful and loquacious Beatty fellas, we located the Spotted Owl nest, from which the female's head was visible (not photographed). The Northern Pygmy Owl nest didn't produce anything for us but we picked up some montane Warbler species, including Painted Redstart and Grace's, as well as several attempts at my still-photo-nemesis Red-faced Warbler, perhaps Arizona's best warbler despite these unjust shots.

We didn't turn up Olive Warbler, which I've actually never seen in Miller Canyon anyway, nor Hermit Warbler, which is a migrant that's very good at not showing up as soon as you try to find one. I'll go ahead and further posit that those plane-faced, bug-eyed Hermit Warblers are one of the dorkiest looking of the bunch. I know that simplicity is the way of the hermit there, warbler, but still, a mask, a cool scar, supercilia, a tribal tattoo, something. So no, I won't apologize for not having a single decent photo of the species. Sorry.

The main prize up canyon was one that's even grown in value since our departure, where apparently two Northern Goshawks have since hatched. When we made it up the bird was still incubating the eggs and was thus barely visible. With the recent hatchings, presumably it is now more conspicuous, as may be the Goshawk chicks--not at all a common bird or a common sighting.
It was pretty crazy to see this large, intimidating, and rare bird just sitting pretty. The sighting was all the more interesting because bird activity in the area was very high. Tanagers, Pewees, and warblers were all very active in the sycamores and pines nearby, mercifully thankful that their smaller size and thinner frames, perhaps, would keep these top predators from developing much of an interest.

The muted sighting and photo of the Goshawk was actually better than we got of the Spotted Owl, so these canyon highlights were a bit unsatisfying. There is no better cure for the nascent birding desire at soul-satisfying views than a hummingbird station.
The feeders themselves detract from sightings with their overpowering plastic redness, but the general buzz they create and sustain in the surrounding trees is more than compensatory, and the Beatty hummingbird station was also the recent site of our last major target for Miller Canyon.

At the Beatty hummingbird arena, some birds bide their time and plot violence, or sugar consumption, in the shadows, while others perch in open, broad (tailed) daylight with a devil-may-care attitude. 

The sugar water is about the only sweet thing shared between the different hummingbird species. In fact, they're often so busy not sharing that they don't get any for themselves. The Hummingbird hierarchy is beautiful, intriguing, and totally lacking in virtue. Being among the largest hummers present, Magnificents usually reign supreme. They're like the Great White Sharks of the Hummingbird world, for obvious and apparent reasons that need no further elaboration.

The White-eared Hummingbird often breeds in Miller Canyon, though in small numbers, and a pair arrived back in town early enough for us to try for them while in the area. They're not as physically intimidating as the Magnificent or Blue-throated Hummingbirds, nor as colorful as the Broad-billed, but the rarity and limited U.S.--range factors make this a highly coveted bird, plus that ear stripe is just awesome. You could land a plane on that thing at midnight.

The male White-eareds are actually pretty gorgeous but it's difficult to capture the colors on the head and gorget with this bird, especially when its predominantly backlit, a frequent trouble with the Beatty station any time after 9:00am or so. This was my first lifer of the trip, leaving Berylline and Buff-breasted as the only two ABA hummers I've yet to see, plus stupid Allen's, which everyone knows is just a greener-backed subspecies of Rufous anyway...

With a similar though less good-natured dynamic to a mixed flock, all the hummingbird commotion attracts the attention of other birds as well. Bushtits and Titmice and Titless Bushmouses were all chittering in the surrounding oak scrub. Also of interest was a violently ill Acorn Woodpecker. It was Sunday morning, after all, so needless to say it had been partying too hard with its other head-banging buddies the night before.

We've all been there, when the fun of Saturday night sucks away the happiness of Sunday (which is why the day after feels so terrible). It's terrible, the world is spinning, you regret the late night texts you sent to the jock Arizona Woodpecker even if it is a lying bastard, and then you puke. Then you feel amazing again and are ready to have your picture taken. FANTASTIC!

After racking 'em up in the Huachucas, we took a detoured drive through Patagonia and then north on the I-19 to the Santa Ritas, where several more potential lifers awaited. The greatest perversity about Miller Canyon is the driving need one feels to go back as soon as one has left. Early July I'll be wiping out on its rocky trails (which I've managed to do every single time I've hiked it) and trying for the Berylline Hummingbird, if the Goshawks don't take me first.

Miller Time: The Not So High Life...

Last year when I visited Miller Canyon in the Huachuca Mountains, it was an all-round fabulous trip. Alas, I dipped on the famous Spotted Owl, but came away with several new, closely photographed Hummingbird species, along with lots of the other southeastern AZ species.
A few weeks ago I swung by again, this time with more support both for the drive down and for some hard core birding throughout the day. My friend Tommy had tried for the Miller Canyon Owls before and dipped before too, in fact several times, but on this trip we were both feeling good about our prospects. Things started off well too, when he had some direct information from Tom Beatty Sr. of the Beatty Guest Ranch in Miller Canyon, on where the Spotted Owl had most recently been seen. After only ten minutes in the canyon, we even had a glimpse of an awe-inspiring Northern Goshawk making its way up the canyon--talk about a good omen!

Well, it actually was a bad omen. Maybe the Goshawk had the Owls keeping a low profile (good call there, Owls), but at any rate after several hours of frustrated searching, inclined hiking, and in my case one lovely half-turn spin pirouette backwards dive/fall into a ditch, we could produce no Owls, even amidst the sounds and sightings of many other great birds, including some firsts for the year like this Painted Redstart.

We heard the Goshawk calling off and on, though it too stayed elusive for the rest of our time, and had to contend ourselves with picking out Arizona Woodpeckers and House Wrens from the scrub oak and occasional pine. With many birds singing and less frequently seen, it was great exercise in audio birding, but otherwise there wasn't too much to show for our Miller Time, especially as the Goshawk was seen before there was any light for photography. I shall have to return once more.

While we were in the area, we briefly swung by Mary Jo Ballator's Ash Canyon B&B, just a few miles up the road from Miller Canyon. Her plentiful feeders often host a Lucifer hummingbird--one I still need for the ol' Life list--and are often a good spot to get local news on sightings and general bird goings on. We only tarried for a little while, and did not have the Lucifer's either, but did see some Coue's White-tailed Deer along the road.

Mexican Jays, one of the loudest and most abundant residents of the southeastern sky islands, were also predictably visible. While always fun to see, they were scant consolation.

We left the Huachucas and headed to Patagonia, where he had several hours of fantastic birding, too fantastic for me to mention here and still maintain the lugubrious nature of this post, so that all will be posted separately and later!
We ended the day in the lower reaches of Madera Canyon, first stopping by the Proctor Road turn off to look and listen for Northern Beardless-tyrannulet. We did succeed in the hearing portion, but failed in the seeing. We did see some other nice birds, including some handsome Black-throated Sparrows. We also heard what sounded like a cow giving birth to a small moon, but turned out to be merely a cow just sort of belching (no photos, out of respect).

Farther up Madera Canyon we spent the twilight hour by the Madera Kubo, adding Hepatic Tanager, Rufous-crowned Sparrow, and Yellow-eyed Junco to our list for the day. We also had some nice visuals and mediocre photos of Magnificent Hummingbirds, which we had seen and heard earlier in the Huachucas as well.

The Santa Rita mountains are fabulous birding and a visit there is never time poorly spent. Even our semi-bust of a trip to the Huachucas still had its highlights, and Patagonia gave us plenty as well. With the bookends to this recent trip down south now established, I can follow up with the substantial middle chunk of the day soon. Stay tuned!

It's Miller Time!

One of the most well known and well loved birding and hiking destinations in the Huachuca Mountains, Miller really is the champagne of Canyons. In addition to Sulphur-bellied Flycatchers and rare Tanagers, Miller's Canyon is one of the best places in Arizona, and perhaps North America, to see a Spotted Owl. Naturally I didn't see one, but along the way I did stop by the Beatty Ranch at the base of the upper canyon. The Beattys maintain a small bed and breakfast operation in the canyon and, best of all, a fully stocked Hummingbird station that draws in all kinds of southeast Arizona specialties.

The drive up to the Beatty Ranch is dry and dusty haul, but along the way you can expect to see Spotted Towhees, Mexican Jays, and Canyon Towhees all rustling about in the sparse undergrowth. Though their North American range is limited to the southern points of Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas, Mexican Jays are among the most sociable and vocal birds one might encounter in the sky island chain. This doesn't mean they're exceptionally fond of people, or at least of me, but through very careful and super scientific observation I discovered that these Jays like to eat nuts. This Jay was going mano-a-mano with a scrub-oak acorn.

The acorn proved to be a very stubborn adversary, and after a minute of squeezing and smashing, the Jay withdrew to a more private setting where he could eat in peace.

Perhaps his retreat was brought on by the annoying curiosity of this Canyon Towhee, a bird which the mellow blue Jays must regard as a stumpy and ugly neighbor. It occurred to me that Jays are, in many ways, like the stereotype New England WASPs. They're pretty on the outside and strain to keep their complicated social networks in order, but they can also be very snooty and cruel to anyone who doesn't meet their standards. The Canyon Towhee, by contrast, is less to look at, but I'm sure he leads a rich inner life...

This female Woodpecker, unlike the noisier Towhees and Jays, did not want to be seen at all. Tough luck! People say that if you want someone to look at you, you just have to stare at them and soon, for some supernatural reason, their gaze will gravitate towards you. That doesn't work with birds, probably because they have better things to do then sit around gawking all day. This realization, in turn, made me feel a little bit sad about myself...

Unless you're staying overnight at the Beatty lodge, you have to park before the complex and do a bit of walking to access the Hummingbird site and kick in a few bucks towards the sugar fund, but the jaunt is worth it. Over a half dozen feeders and cotton wads draw in the Hummingbirds while visitors sit on shaded bleachers and photograph, oogle, ogle, and let the mind be boggled by all the color.

Anna's Hummingbirds and Broad-tailed Hummingbirds are the most common species during the Arizona summer and they overrun Miller Canyon too. But if you're looking for a spot to consistently see some of the less common Arizona specialities, it's hard to beat Beatty's. So well maintained are the feeders that even Black-chinned Hummingbirds, the mostly mildly colored and mild-mannered of the bunch, have time to sit, drink, and show off their immaculate posture (I wish I stood up this straight after a binge of drinking).

Of all the migrant/summer Hummers whose North American range is exclusively in Arizona, the Broad-billed is perhaps the most common. These stunning birds are somewhere in between the Costa's, Black-chinned, and Broad-tailed Hummers, which are fairly common throughout the state, and the other rarer, more selective migrants that tend to stay in the southeast corner. The first time I saw one of these Hummingbirds I was stunned, and didn't imagine anything could be more shimmering. Amazingly, after twenty minutes at Beatty's you'll start to pass them over in favor of other, rarer birds--a true testament to the quality on display.



This immature Broad-billed still has some gorget to grow, but at least his pops, perhaps pictured above, has shown him where the best hangout is, the best place to pick up chicks.

All the same, this female Magnificent Humming is definitely out of the young Broad-bill's league. Not only is she Magnificent, she could totally crush him if he tried any funny business. At five-and-a-half inches, she's one of the larger Hummingbirds in the area, and it takes something extra special to get her attention.

Enter the Magnificent male...

It was a thrill to see this aptly named bird, but I'm pretty bummed with my inadequate photography. Cameras should come with a label on them that says something like, "Warning: This device will cease to operate properly if photographing wildlife that is above this camera's pay grade." Maybe it's just as well that the male Magnificent Hummingbird is a blurred bird; proper exposure of this hunk is known to cause paralysis in female Magnificent Hummingbirds and some humans.

Amazingly, the highlight hummer of the day was not the Magnificent. Lucifer, Berylline, and Plain-capped Starthroat could all be show-stoppers at the Beatty theatre, but they were not on stage that day. In a sense, this contemplative male Blue-throated Hummingbird wasn't either, but he brought a standing ovation out of me nonetheless.

I found this handsome fellow while striking-out on the Spotted Owls. An intriguing peeping sound drew my attention to a large Arizona sycamore where this clement critter was seeking some respite from the noontime sun. These large Hummingbirds have an appeal similar to the Black-chinned Hummers--a comparably conservative coloration with just the right accents. Hummingbirds are not known for their economy of style, but the Blue-throated pulls it off pretty well. Most of all, I was just glad to find a new bird--a new Hummer especially--that wasn't at a feeder. The feeders at Beatty's are terrific, but the one thing they don't provide is the full satisfaction of seeing a new bird out in the ruff.

I haven't birded Miller Canyon as much as I should, but even in my limited capacities it is a wonderful spot fully deserving of its sterling reputation. April through September; it's Miller time!