Bum Birding...

...it could be defined a number of ways. It could be birding that is done with such dedication and reckless abandon--especially at expense of one's personal hygiene and presentability--that one comes to resemble a bum, a ragamuffin, a bird-obsessed junkie willing to do dubious things for a quick hit of White-tailed Ptarmigan. It could also be birding as a mooch, bumming rides, bumming cigarettes, bumming gear, bumming IDs and even lifers. It could also just be birding while homeless. In my case, bum birding is birding from the bum, from the seat of the pants, from the decumbent derrière. Technically right now I am also homeless, so there's that too.

Condo repairs & painting, packing and shipping, child-rearing...these are the enemies of good birding. While Team B's Bs eventual route east will take us through some potential birding spots (hello Appalachia!) the AZ birding seems to be going quietly into that goodnight. Reenter bum birding, also known as "geriatric birding" or "Geri birding" in the more scientific circles. I would gladly (well maybe not gladly) trade this bum birding for any of the aforementioned varieties, but until such times as better opportunity presents itself, I must settle to whispering softly with Lovebirds and cooing with Doves.

                     

Many Rosy-faced fledglings are now well into adolescence, fully formed powerful flyers and screechers, if still more peach-faced than rosy-faced. This one has also lost the black band the young birds usually are sporting on the base of their bills, but it's 'rose-face' is still more 'rosacea-faced'.

                     

White-winged Doves have been pouring into the valley since March, and at this point their numbers are truly staggering, as are their droppings. Now begins the heated WWDO breeding scene, as Phoenix neighborhoods become debauched spectacles of tail-lifting doves spreading degeneracy (and more WWDOs) all about them.

               

Just think, most Americans do not get to pick up Inca Doves when they are doing any kind of bum birding, or birding in general. I shall be among this number soon. Here's one for you and me, most Americans:

Bum birding of this sort is pretty low stakes: low risk and low reward. But all is fair in love and war, so always watch your back, or have someone watch it for you. Or, actually, have someone scratch your back, or even your bum; that's really the bum birding ticket!

Here and There Birding

Sometimes you just have to eek out the birding where you can. With everything else going on this past weekend, I did not have specific birding opportunities. My eBird checklists were embarrassingly "Incidental." The 10 month-old certainly has the right sleeping habits for birding--down by 6:30pm and up at 5:30am, but his needing a first nap by 8:30, plus still being rather demanding of attention, limits how far I can take him afield. Some kids are happy for hours in the stroller or hiking pack. He is not one of them; there's too much to taste out there.

Lately I have been taking BB Jr. to Granada Park, a decent sized urban park with a couple duck ponds, some transplant pine trees, and desert scrub. It's served as a stop-off spot before for winterfowl, notably during a 5-MR challenge a couple years back. Having recently become very opinionated about small city parks, I now choose it as our family park of choice because of its comparative birding potential and water fountains that don't smell like pee.

BB Jr. likes it too but he's pretty easy to please if he can get down and move around.

  (He got un-stuck eventually)

There's an old mesquite tree near the playground/sandbox area, and last Saturday it was quite the little hot spot for migrants. The blooming mesquite attracted bees and many other insects, which in turn attracted Yellow, Black-throated Gray, Townsend's, Wilson's, and Hermit Warblers, plus the usual residents and the largest Warbling Vireo I have ever seen. Returning the next morning with my crusher, I was disappointed to observe almost no activity in the same spot--such is the caprice of migration I suppose. 

Photo courtesy of Playmapped.blogspot.com

However, B's Bs is made of sterner stuff and does not give in to despair, at least not for like 15 minutes or so of sustained adversity. Granada Park is also one of the best places to see Rosy-faced Lovebirds...as I have often relayed to out-of-town emailers getting in touch with amusing nervousness about when and where they'll be able to see these birds. They nest in the palms at Granada in large family groups, and they will also forage in lower bushes, sometimes even on the ground.

This was the first time I had seen them feeding in/on the fuzzy white creosote seed capsules. Tough birds eating a tough plant...there is great continuity here (though purists may point out that creosote is a hearty native and Lovebirds are a hearty invasive). Presumably the Lovebirds do the creosote a solid by way of pollination and seed distribution, and the creosote does the Lovebirds a solid by being eaten by them. This would seem a less one-sided relationship than that of gators and Egret chicks. Most of the carnage I see at Granada Park has to do with some dog-walker's poop-scooping glove malfunctioning (not pictured).

Sunday afternoon we celebrated a tri-generational Mother's Day, which was well and good, especially because perfectly cooked beef tenderloin was involved and the sides I contributed didn't suck.
Also cool was finding a Cactus Wren chick, recently out of the nest but not yet fully fledged. It was skulking and scurrying along the planters while parents supervised. They all blew a gasket when I approached the bird of course, but after I got to live out my 'bird-in-the-hand' field biologist fantasy all was quickly restored.

I will be finishing out my last week of work and its aftermath through this weekend, finishing out a 7-year tour of duty in AZ education. Although there is plenty yet to do for the move, there will be more than incidental birding in the couple weeks to follow. There must be, or I shall explode.