More Visitors from the North

Probably my favorite duck, the Northern Shoveler always provides the amateur photographer with the a shovel-ready job. Up to last week I had only seen Shovelers through binoculars, far away in the middle of Gilbert ponds and Irving lakes. I was very fortunate to find a group of them close to shore at the Papago Ponds. With their egregiously oversized bills, the Shoveler silhouette is unmistakable, and I find no greater pleasure in identifying a duck than spotting that heavy-set head out on the water.

The tell-tale bill is only the beginning of the Shoveler's appeal. With their chestnut sides, buffy breast, iridescent heads, and shimmering tales, the Shoveler combines the colors of the Mallard drake with filtering capacity of a baleen whale. Sometimes, it gets tricky to fit this awkward and wonderful concoction of a bird all in one frame. The lengthy bill and tail feathers necessitate a very horizontal crop. While the resulting rectangle isn't a very appealing shape to the eye, the Northern Shoveler demands that certain, special treatment.

From one angle the head shows purple, and from another it brings out a unique teal (so he actually combines Mallard and Green-Winged Teal).

The sieve-like projections on the sides of the Shoveler's bill allow it to filter small invertebrates out of the water and muck where it dabbles. This convenient apparatus allows the Shoveler to live off of a diet that is largely unattainable to many of the other dabbling duck species.

As with many birds, the male is the more fashionable of the breed. However, the female has her modest patches of colors, and she really doesn't mind if people stare at her outlandish nose, honest.



If ever I was to have a pet bird, it would be the Shoveler. He would fill my world with color and help me dig holes in my garden (I'd get a garden after I got the Shoveler). It was with eager anticipation that I awaited the arrival of the Shovelers this autumn. This is one outstanding bird that never disappoints.

Wednesdays with Audubon, Chapter 3

We left off with Audubon the adventurer. While his love of the outdoors and his fondness for drawing birds and observing bird behavior continued to grow, so too did his love for one Lucy Bakewell. Audubon ended that section of his account with a rather telling anecdote: "In my drawing of birds only did I interest Mr. Da Costa. He always commended my efforts, nay he even went further. One morning, While I was drawing a figure of the Ardea herodias, he assured me the time might come when I should be a great American naturalist." 

This artistic skill and ornithological zeal was not quite enough for Mr. Bakewell, and he set Audubon up to study the mercantile trades that he might better provide for Lucy in their married life. Despite the pose he struck as a Renaissance Man, Audubon was no entrepreneur. He invested in indigo and ham trades  (curious combination) into the Caribbean without any prophet to show. Apparently this commitment alone was enough for Mr. Bakewell, and John James Audubon married Lucy Bakewell on April 8th, 1808. They moved down to Louisville and bought a small department store. Their first son Victor was born June 12, 1809.

Despite his earlier financial setbacks, Audubon worked as part of a trade exchange between Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Kentucky. This network was set up by Mr. Bakewell, who entered into a New Orleans trading venture with John Audubon's capital (and a fair bit more business sense). While the families did fairly well, it became steadily more clear to Audubon that his was not a mind for merchandise:

"Were I to tell you that once, when traveling and driving several horses before me laden with goods and dollars, I lost sight of the pack-saddles, and the cash they bore, to watch the motions of the warbler, I should only repeat occurrences that happened a hundred times and more in those days."

Over the next couple years the markets rose and fell; Audubon and Bakewell profited less and less with each ensuing season. This did not stop Audubon from taking increasingly longer treks out into the Kentucky wilderness and beyond, recording in great detail all the birds and quadrupeds that he encountered.

To revamp his funding and better establish his proximity to the wilderness, Audubon purchased  livestock in Louisville and drove it up to Henderson, KY, where he made a good return and bought several acres of property. He continued to improve his finances in the next year before being joined by Thomas Bakewell, who persuaded him to invest in a steam mill along with another Englishman named Thomas Pears.
"Up went the steam-mill at an enormous expense, in a country then as unfit for such a thing as it would be now for me to attempt to settle in the moon...Thomas Pears lost his money and we lost ours."

Audubon's fortunes went from bad to worse. After investing in some private banks, Audubon and Thomas Bakewell bought shares in a steamboat, and then resold to it a man who used counterfeit bills. The man, who Audubon only names as TB, attacked Audubon in the street for defaming his name. Though Audubon received several strong blows from TB's improvised cudgel, Audubon himself had taken to wearing a dagger, and severely wounded TB. While he was exonerated in court, Audubon's bills continued to pile up, and soon after the birth of his daughter Rosa he had lost the entirety of their fortune. Despite these continual setbacks, Audubon is not bitter in his recollections:
"She [Lucy Audubon] felt the pangs of our misfortunes perhaps more heavily than I, but never for an hour lost her courage; her brave and cheerful spirit accepted all, and no reproaches from her beloved lips ever wounded my heart. With her was I not always rich?"

Audubon sold his Pennsylvania estates to pay off his debts, lodging with nearby friends while he established himself as a draughtsman--finally, the technical and detailed skills he developed with his ornithological pursuits were paying for themselves.  Audubon's reputation as a sketch-artist quickly grew, and he was often employed to draw the recently deceased, but with a life-like countenance, that would serve as the centerpiece and funerals and remembrances. This professional practice in turn led Audubon to greatly improve his avian artistry, and soon he was drawing birds better than he had before his string of misfortunes.

It was not long before his avian sketches gained as much notoriety as his portraits, and in 1819 he was invited to Cincinnati College to work as a taxonomist and taxidermist for the university's museum. Although his family settled comfortably in Ohio, and Audubon even opened a drawing school, the family suffered its most grievous loss with the death of Rosa, their first-born daughter (Audubon does not dwell on this at all, and in fact later mentions that they had another daughter, named Lucy, who also died in infancy even before Rosa). To make matters worse, it turned out that folks in Cincinnati pledged and promised more than they could pay, and the Audubon funds continued to shrivel. Despite the generally ill-tidings of these years, Audubon's love of nature continued to grow.

"One of the most extraordinary things among all these adverse circumstances was that I never for a day gave up listening to the songs of our birds, or watching their peculiar habits, or delineating them in the best ways that I could; nay, during my deepest troubles I frequently would wrench myself from the persons around me, and retire to some secluded part of our noble forests; and many a time, at the sound of the wood-thrush's melodies have I fallen on my knees, and there prayed earnestly to our God. This never failed to bring me the most valuable of thoughts and always comfort, and, strange as it may seem to you, it was often necessary for me to exert my will, and compel myself to return to my fellow-beings."

Visitors from the North

Northern Pintails are very handsome ducks. They're not too gaudily colored, but are very sleek and elegant looking when they're dressed to impress.  The male's heads are darkened with a rich chestnut brown. Their bills have diagnostic blue and black striping to add just a splash of color with the fine gray and black ensemble. And of course, their tales are elongated to show virility.

There are not one, not two, but three different shades of brown on the head. With the nice white breast and stunningly fine gray sides, these ducks are always in their gentlemanly morning suits, coattails and all. That being said, it can get tricky to keep the very intricate details of the bird's feathers in good focus without losing the pintail.

At the right angle, there's even a bit of rouge on the back of the head. A duck and a gentleman for all seasons.

Gadwall

Funny duck the Gadwall. They're not especially colorful or elegant, at least as far as ducks are concerned, but they still have their pride. Like any bird, they have their own unique appeal.

Lovely Birds Low to the Ground

I saw my first ever Lark Sparrow Wednesday evening outside of work. It was hoping against hope, but there he was the very next morning, out feeding in the frost not two feet away from where I first saw him the day before. Of course,  I could hardly observe him with all of the morning traffic, all of the kids and parents trudging along to and from the school, and the steady stream of cars that would've slowly driven right by me.

With a bit of extended good fortune though the Sparrow returned to his feeding grounds in the afternoon. I left the classroom a bit early (still after school was over) to check it out, and once again the Lark Sparrow was faithfully in place. The sun was still high in the sky, and Larry Butler Sr. also came by to see the bird. It was now the first and only Lark Sparrow for both of us, and it gave us some great looks! It flew back and forth between several spots, and even with the interruptions and curious waves and honks from departing students and colleagues, he was extremely tolerant...

even when looking into the sun. It's such a beautiful bird! I just can't stop gushing about the facial mask; it's like nothing I'd seen before. Just looking at the profile here, there are four black stripes, four white stripes, two chestnut patches, and caramel on the supercilium all converging towards the sturdy beak. When you throw in the white throat and breast spot, this bird has a lot going on from the chest up.

There's an extra fluff of white on the lores, and even a bit of black accenting the brown stripes on top of the head.  Tall and proud, he is a lord of the Sparrows.

Eventually the Lark Sparrow flew into an ally on the other side of the street. While I stationed myself along the wall, Pops entered into the ally to try and relocate the Lark Sparrow. The alley was occupied by some noisy White-Crowned Sparrows, and for a little while we lost track of our quarry amidst their diversions. Like any ornery son and birder, I decided to then photograph Mr. Butler in birding mode.  

Urban birds always hang out in the most lovely places.

Eventually the Lark Sparrow resurfaced and resumed his evening meal. With the traffic diminished now, he was very comfortable, and let me crawl to within 5 or 6 feet of him without flinching.

Most of the grass on the school field has been replaced with that silly winter lawn stuff, but the exterior strip of grass outside the fence is still the old bermuda, and he seemed to be finding plenty of seed.

I've got to say, if I had seen this bird behaving so tamely and not had my camera, it would have been pretty heartbreaking--that's just part of the risk a birder runs when they start involving a camera in their birding activities. However, with the benefit of pictures really allowing me to save and review the experience, this sighting was all the more special. There are so many more things to notice and enjoy with a still shot that I can't appreciate through the binoculars. There are those occasional bitter sweet experiences where blurry pictures leave a bit of a dark cloud hanging over an otherwise great sighting, but all in all photography has made me a much better, more acute, and more appreciative birder.

Although the Lark Sparrow provided plenty of photographic merriment, he was not the only pretty bird on the block. There was a charming Say's Phoebe perched in a nearby olive tree, and Pops pointed out a Lesser Goldfinch also feeding on the ground. This little birding patch must have been the local single's bar for the bird neighborhood.

We'd never seen a goldfinch feed on the ground like this. He just plopped down on top of a dandelion blossom and started digging in like a pie-eating contest. It was pretty cute.

I don't know if he was making romantic wishes or just playing with his food, but either way he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

I really liked how he was just melting into the grass. He looked like a a little hacky-sac or perhaps a wimple of dirty butter?

Lark Sparrow

While looking through my field guides, I always found the Lark Sparrow to be one of the most beautiful and intriguing of the emberizids. Along with the White-Throated, I certainly considered it to be one of the most beautiful Sparrows I might actually see someday. When I happened upon this solitary Lark Sparrow, my first and only to date, it was a rather bizarre circumstance, but good grief that incredible facial mask did not disappoint!

It was around 4:15pm after work. As I was exiting the school, I noticed one of my 4th grade students sitting rather sadly in the corner of the playground, which is in actuality a large, fenced in field. She was in the aftercare program, and had gotten into some sort of argument with her other after-school friend. Needless to say, her world was ending. The tears began to flow as she told her tail of woe, a story of good intentions and misunderstandings. While I slowly began talking her out of her funk, I noticed a small brown bird foraging in the bermuda grass outside the retaining fence.

I didn't think much of it at the time, and assumed it to be a House Sparrow. I've seen Harris' Hawks and one juvenile Oriole around the school grounds, but nothing much in way of unusual or special birds. As the bird turned towards me, the unmistakable white stripes and rich, chestnut brown were immediately apparent. It caught me totally by surprise, and my reaction would have been much more climactic had I not been in front of one of my students. Both out of a desire to share this amazing sighting, and to change the subject a bit, I began talking about the bird with my student, who seemed pretty interested. I pointed out how beautiful it was and that I had never seen one before. Going out on a limb, I even mentioned that this is not their usual range (is it slightly too far north for this time of year?), so that made it a very lucky sighting (which of course it was for me regardless). She liked birds too, but confessed that when she grew up she was in fact going to be a herpetologist. 

The Lark Sparrow seemed pretty content in his little patch of grass, despite it's close proximity both to the parking lot entrance and we gawking spectators. I had mercifully left in the car for just these sorts of occasions. My first shot of the bird is above, with the white wrought-iron fence unavoidably involved. Luckily, the Lark Sparrow was tolerant enough to let me exit the playground and get around him so the sun was actually on my side.

With baited breath I snapped away, worried this beautiful bird would realize any second that there was a big goon staring at him, and fly away. The lighting was pretty dim, but I knew if I got enough pictures there'd be some keepers. He hopped around with perfect calm before some of my colleagues pulled up, curious to see Mr. Butler laying in the grass with a camera and hiding behind a fire hydrant (these are the moments we just have to endure as birders). I explained the situation to them with as much brevity and emphasis as possible, and in fairness they seemed genuinely excited and happy for me. Alas, Mr. Lark Sparrow had enough publicity, and he flew across the street.

He landed in an orange tree, which would've made for some great pictures had I been able to get closer. I figured I was already pushing my bird luck without trying my hand at criminal trespassing, so I left the bird and the yard in peace. It was a totally surprising and wonderful way to end an otherwise dreary day at work, and in fact it would've been a great way to accent any day! If I didn't have this mild addiction, all of the pick-me-ups and all of the FUN that birding provides would be lost on me. I would've walked right by this stunning sparrow and been none the better for it. I'm so glad that was not the case. 

Meanwhile, Back on the Ranch

The Gilbert Water Ranch provided the setting for another excellent day of birding with some good pictures, some bad pictures, some easy IDs, some tricky IDs, some heavy clouds, and some direct sunlight. The only consistent characteristic of the day, other than the fundamental reality that birding is fun, was the 40 degree temperature.

I postponed this excursion since Saturday was overcast and rainy. Even though the rain clouds were supposed to clear up, their lingering presence made my first couple hours at the ranch somewhat nerve-racking. The last time I was in Gilbert, I saw several new species and would have had some good photo-ops, but the overcast weather severely limited any photography. The cloud cover was less thick today, and there would even be periods of open sunshine! These brief bursts of light energized all of the birds and watchers alike that abounded at the Gilbert Water Ranch this morning.

As you approach the wildlife ponds from the northern entrance, you can feel the mist in the air, and the tang of cattle farms further south just begins to sting your nostrils. As you come upon the first pond, everything seems still, even deserted, but this is the Gilbert Water Ranch, and you know better! After a moment, all of the different bird shapes begin to materialize out of the morning mist, and the birding begins!

Far in the foggy distance, atop his own little mountain in perfect peaceful solitude was the first bird of the day, a Least Sandpiper. Truth be told he was not actually as isolated as the picture makes it seem, but he was the only Least Piper that I could see. At these inland ponds, they're usually in groups of 2-8. This guy must've had some serious thinking to do this morning, so he set off alone to his hill of contemplation.

Not far from the Sandpiper was a timid gang of Dowitchers. They were thoroughly silent--perhaps because it was still early and they don't drink coffee--and this made identification pretty difficult at my distance. At this point in the morning, most of the ducks and shorebirds were still curled up and tucked away, so for the time being I decided to search the chaparral and see which sparrows were out and about.

I was on a role with sparrows earlier this fall, when I got about 6 new species in a two-week period. Since then, things have settled down substantially. The Water Ranch becomes the dominion of the White-Crowned Sparrows in winter time, and in fact there may be more of them residing there than all the other birds combined. There is constant movement into and out of every bush, beneath every shrub, and always just enough to lead you on. Sometimes they stay hidden and silent, keeping their identity a secret until the last second. Sometimes they'll take seed right out of your hand. Other times they'll bolt before you've even raised your binoculars. All that being said, I didn't actually get a good picture of an adult today, but this juvenile posed nicely with the rising sun.

Danger lurks around every corner with these foggy mornings at the Water Ranch. Sometimes you have to watch your step. Although the rising sun somewhat illuminated the landscape, it took a while for the fog to clear out from the ponds and declivities. With predators like this Green Heron waiting to ambush their unwary prey from out of the morning mist, I may well have been lucky to escape alive...

The ducks seemed to feel uncomfortable with the deeper ponds until the fog cleared out, but that did not stop this Osprey from trying her luck. Although she was unsuccessful here, I like the rich colors in the background foliage and the steamy pond. It reminds me of a 500 piece jig-saw puzzle for some reason.

When the sunlight finally started to cut through the clouds, it was time to revisit the duck ponds. I've been anxiously awaiting the full arrival of this year's wintering ducks. From previous experience, I knew that all of the different Teal, along with the Pintails and Shovelers, would be inbound to the Ranch. I didn't see much when I visited 3 weeks ago, but now they were all represented. The number and diversity of waterfowl that the GWR draws is pretty incredible. However, it's also somewhat difficult and frustrating to get good pictures of all the ducks. They like to stay far out in the middle of the ponds, and most of the observation areas are on the east side, which means the sun is usually against you. I've been hopeful that some of these beautiful winter migrants will move in to some of the other water features around Phoenix  (as is the case with Ring-Necked Ducks and Wigeons at Grenada Park), but for now I must stay content with what the Ranch provides.

Here is the first Cinnamon Teal I've seen this winter:

And the first Green-Winged Teal:

And the first Northern Shoveler:

At certain spots throughout the Ranch, you can find tidy colonies of Black-Crowned Night Herons. At one point I've seen as many as 11 crammed into one tree. Today there were a half-dozen or so on display, including 1 juvenile. When you've got a big bird in dense foliage, it's hard to get a full and unobscured body shot. While trying to maneuver for a better view, I knocked into a lot of plant growth that was still retaining the night's rainfall. The resultant wet chiding was excellent encouragement for me to stay on the trail. It's probably lucky my camera was unharmed, and I was also lucky not to startle the Herons. Night Herons are such suspicious and grumpy birds. More that most, they're prone to sit hunched up for hours and hours on end. I wonder what they think about...

This sulking juvenile was in some sort of time-out, forced as he was to inhabit his own, separate tree.

Occasionally I'll give in-flight photography a try. It is seldom fruitful for me, but it's definitely an area where I want to improve. Unfortunately, I clipped this poor Egret's wing. I'm glad he can still fly.

After playing paparazzi to the herons and egrets for a while, I wandered back to the northern and sunnier portion of the GWR. The increase in foot traffic and fishermen here means there are fewer of those uncommon and less gregarious birds, but it does mean that those birds you find are more used to people. They'll tolerate a closer approach and You'll usually have a great look at them.

Sometimes, that's not enough, and here's the tricky ID of the day. Given that it's December and most Warblers should be gone, what could this be? Is it a Female Wilson's? Female Yellow Warbler? Immature Yellow Warbler? Fall plumage Wilson's or Yellow? I see little yellow birds like this pretty often, both at the GWR and at the Desert Botanical Garden. For a while I figured them to be either female or immature Yellow Warblers? Nowadays I readily admit that I just don't know. Any and all suggestions, if not identifications are much appreciated.

Find the dullest, most sleepy Hummingbird you can, and it's still a treat to see from any angle (and how they appear certainly does depend on the angle). This male Anna's was putting on quite a show from his proud perch. Like the Anna's I photographed a couple weeks ago, I couldn't quite get that perfect shot where you see the full brilliance of the bird's gorget. I can understand though if he wants to save it for the ladies.

Birding is full of watershed moments. Once you get that first sighting, it seems like the 2nd and 3rd sightings come right after. You might go years without seeing a certain bird, and then all of the sudden you'll get 4 in a week. For me, the most recent synchronicity is with blinking birds. Last week I captured a blinking Ring-Necked Duck, and then photographed a blinking Coot almost immediately afterwards. This male Anna's was in a blinky sort of mood as well, and I have to say it's pretty darn precious when he does it.

Despite my most polite requests and entreaties and pleadings that he turn his head ever so slightly, this haughty Anna's was determined to look west. I do believe that at this point he was just mocking me.

Magnificent though they are, Hummingbirds are not the only splashes of color around the GWR. There has been an incredible expansion in the wild Lovebird population over the last 5 years or so. While they can now be found in nearly every city park across the Phoenix metroplex, The Gilbert Water Ranch was probably the site of one of their first colonies, and they're still a reliable sighting there throughout the year.

A little bit more surprising was this immature Moorhen standing out in the open near the entrance to the Ranch trails. This was only my second sighting of a Moorhen, but if they're this brazen now, I expect there will be many moor in the future.

On the main entrance pond nearby was this sadly single female Ruddy Duck, who may not have moved since I last saw her 3 weeks ago. I can't wait to see some Ruddy ducks in their spring plumage. Is there any other bird whose bill changes colors like that? There wasn't too much color on display here, but you can see why they're in the stiff-tailed duck tribe. 

Once again the Water Ranch provided a great day of birding fun. The female Northern Harrier was still terrorizing the field birds (I didn't even try for a picture), and there were also some Scaups and even a leucistic Say's Phoebe reported in the area. While the drive out is daunting at times, the Ranch is definitely still the premier and preferred birding hotspot in Phoenix.

If you're in the area, Red Mountain Park is just a couple miles north, and it is the reported nesting area for wintering Yellow-Headed Blackbirds (or was a few years ago). I had no such luck today, and in fact it appeared that the entire lake area had been thoroughly conquered by quibbling Coots! I did add a new bird to the ol' Life List though, courtesy of this female (or immature?) Canvasback who had sequestered herself in the middle of the pond. If I'm not mistaken, it's somewhat unusual to see them very far inland during the winter. Success!