Wing It With The Kinglet

Flighty, stubby, bubbly, and exceptionally small, Kinglets are a family unto themselves. The Ruby Crowns are found in the winter time throughout much of the U.S., although it's a rare and lucky thing to actually get a good view of that bright red cap. The Golden Crowned Kinglet shows its crown more readily, but is partial to coniferous forests (a photographic nightmare), while the Ruby-Crowned is perfectly content in both desert scrub and stagnant marshes. 

Kinglets move like they've got electric current going through them. Watching them bounce around trees devouring insects, leaves, and many other odds and ends leaves one wondering if they're not so much beautiful and petit songbirds as mindless eating machines (yes, it could be both).

With their wing bars, eye ring, and yellow rachis, the Kinglet still provides plenty of eye candy even when the crown is not on display. I was recently reading too that they lay batches of a dozen eggs, by far the most for any songbird within their size-range. Can you imagine a nest full of 12 Kinglets? Total mayhem.

Never a wasted moment observing these industrious little birds.

New Birds!

I've been trying to cram as much last minute birding into this week before school resumes, and while we (Pops and I) haven't always visited the most lush or beautiful places, we've made an excellent run with new species these last few days. With half-day parent-teacher conferences all this week, I'm needing all the escape I can get. We checked out both the notorious thrasher spot west of Phoenix, where the Salome Highway meets the I-10 , and later paid a visit to the Rousseau Sod Farms on the other side of town.

I'm used to birding now at the Gilbert Water Ranch and the Desert Botanical gardens, places where the birds are somewhat acclimated to constant foot-traffic. This is not the case outside of the city, where the birds are wild and the people are rare. It's difficult at times to get close enough to use your binoculars, and harder still to get good pictures. It has been an exciting, if poorly documented series of sightings, and the challenge has helped shake me out of that complacent urban birding mentality.

The first hour or so of birding at the thrasher spot was pretty fruitless, but finally this Bendire's got things going. The speckled breast along with the shorter beak make for a pretty straight-forward identification. Little did we know at the time that this was the best look any Thrasher would give us.

We chased this Crissal Thrasher, named for its rusty rump, a long way down an old river wash. In a way it was good that I only ever really saw this bird's backside--that's his most tell-tail feature--and after a while he alighted to some higher scrub where he briefly paused to sing before vanishing.

We ran into another birder who had come all the way out from Maryland (in Phoenix for business), and who had made the drive out solely to see a Le Conte's Thrasher. Pops and I had a brief but satisfactory look at the bird, with the buffy breast and dark eye again making for an easy identification, before it too disappeared into the scrubby undergrowth. I hope it resurfaced later for the far-travelling gentleman.

We were also hoping to see some Sage Sparrows, and they finally obliged us as we were about ready to head out. They kept their distance, a little bit to my disappointment, but even from far away we could admire their silver and white heads, as if they were named sage for their wisdom, instead of their choice in habitat.

The drive out and back had it's own fun sightings, including a Mountain Bluebird, a White-Faced Ibis (new bird!), and plenty of Meadowlarks among the agriculture. We were also able to pull over and get some nice views of this Long-Billed Dowitcher before finally committing to the highway and heading back into the city. The three Thrashers, Sage Sparrows, and Ibis added 5 new birds to the List, and made for a great half-day of birding.

We decided to next check out the Rousseau Sod Farms east of Phoenix, in essence scouting out the fields and canals in search of plains-dwelling birds such as Longspurs and raptors. While the Longspurs never showed, we continued to find new species and got some great looks at Northern Harriers, a Sharp-Shinned Hawk, Kinglets, Savannah Sparrows, and Blackbirds.

By funny coincidence, the Kinglets were the best photographic subjects of the day (usually they're the bane of cameras). I'm still falling short of getting a good look at that ruby crown, but they're such darn perky birds it's inevitable that they lifts one's spirits, even if you're already having a great day!

Here's to great birding in 2012!

Wednesdays with Audubon, Chapter 6

Hello Readers,

Unfortunately, I won't have the time this evening to do the full and proper weekly installment of Wednesdays with Audubon, but I'll here submit a quick preview of the coming section all the same.

When we left Audubon last week, he had finally found that wonderful combination of financial stability and vocational reward in his ornithological publishing. Needless to say, it came when he was able to involve all of the talents and dedication of his entire family, instead of trying to manage it all on his own.

It had been a long but fulfilling struggle for the Audubons, and with his new professional establishment, Audubon was able to buy property in New York and set up the permanent Audubon home, where many the grandchild would be born and raised.

Like many men of his age (meaning the 1840s, not his actual age as he was now nearing 70), Audubon became increasingly intrigued by the allure of the West, and his wanderlust drew him towards a great expedition in Missouri, knowing full-well it would be the last adventure he could manage.

Audubon, age 69, shortly before his departure

Leaving his sons to continue supervising the new editions of his books, Audubon set out in April of 1843 towards St. Louis. The voyage began in poor circumstance, with Audubon chartering passage on a rickety steamship down the Mississippi. The unsavory conditions grated on Audubon's nerves, but that was not the worst of it.

The steamship struck a sawyer (a fallen tree whose root end is facing the bottom of the river, causing it to sway against the current), and for a moment it seemed like all might be lost:
"The ladies screamed, the babies squalled, the dogs yelled, the steam roared, the captain swore--not like an angel, but like the very devil--and all was confusion and uproar. Luckily, we had had our supper, as the thing was called on board the Gallant, and every man appeared to feel resolute, if not resolved to die..."

Rare Rufous Rusty Bird Chasing in Phoenix

Since early December, there had been consistent reports of both a Rufous-Backed Robin and a Rusty Blackbird at the community park out in Anthem, a suburb about 25 miles north of Phoenix proper.
Since one of my new year's resolutions was to take my Life List to 300 species, I finally quit dragging my feet and decided to make the trip. Ordinarily it's not too hard to go chasing after birds and photos, but spending an hour in the car (during rush hour) with the possibility that, not only will might you not find the rare birds, but you might not find any interesting birds at all, is a fair deterrent.

Of course, I should not have worried. Within 10 minutes of arriving at the park I stumbled across the Rufous-Backed Robin. This rare but annual visitor from Mexico lacks the white eye ring of the American Robin, and instead has the rufous coloration, as its name indicates, on its back as well as its belly. The bird stayed low to the ground and was pretty skittish. After a couple shady shots, I was forced to hit it with the soft flash--something I prefer to avoid since I don't know how to use it--and I'm glad I did, as it soon eluded me and disappeared for the rest of the afternoon.

The first shot is without flash. While the rufous back is apparent, there's no light catching in the eye, which gives the bird a bit of a lifeless look. The flash illuminated the eye, but added a lot of haze to the picture and made the whole photo look kind of aged. Notice how the water in the background is now a light sky-blue, which I think has too much of a pastel effect.

I wasn't complaining though! A rare migrant in 10 minutes and definitive photos? I was pretty pleased. However, the Rusty Blackbird was another beast entirely. It's one of the few birds one prefers to see outside of its breeding plumage, as it's otherwise nearly indistinguishable from Brewer's Blackbirds. In essence, I was looking for a female grackle with a shorter tail, and given the large number of grackles and starlings in the area, flying in and out of trees and across the ponds, it was a pretty exhausting hour and a half search. I was about ready to call it quits when, thankfully, the bird finally showed near the water's edge.

The Rufous-Backed Robin must've been telling stories, because Rusty also stayed pretty far away. A rather intense looking bird, the pale eye is probably its most striking feature. The greenish-brown rust extends over the head and onto the torso and the white supercilia make for a pretty easy identification, once you've got it in your sights.

The Rusty Blackbird population has been steadily and significantly declining since the 1970s, though no one seems to be quite sure why. Although they're not too much to look at, it's great to see them while they're still around. Given that these birds are also supposed to spend the winter east of Texas, it's an especially nice find. Thanks to the Arizona Field Ornithologists group for publicizing it.

There  were also Wigeon, Coots, Mallards, and a couple Shovelers in the ponds, as well as Lesser Goldfinches and a surprisingly large amount of Eurasian Collared Doves around the park. While I don't think I'll be returning to Anthem, it was a really nice park and I'm grateful to add two cool new birds to my List so early in the year.

This may be my first official chase as a birder--driving a considerable distance to specifically find one or two species--and it was a great success.

First Birds of 2012

It was a great Christmas Break in New Hampshire, and happy new year too. Alas, I did not see the Snowy Owls or Buntings I was faintly hoping for, but the trip had its share of good birding nonetheless.

It's nice to be back in Arizona, where the temperatures are hanging in the 50s and the birds haven't fled south. Technically, my first bird of the new year was a Great-Tailed Grackle outside of the Phoenix airport. This sighting was then followed up with Starlings, Pigeons, and Mourning Doves on the ride home (I know I know, pretty prodigious stuff). I decided to improve on this start and squeeze in some early birding this morning, before all of the unpacking and cleaning must take effect. It was a brief but dazzling little excursion, and I was delighted to get some more colorful birds and photos to start this new year off properly.

I missed these guys.

I made the short trip down to Encanto Park to see if the Lewis's Woodpecker was still hanging around. He was indeed, and there were also Kinglets, Lovebirds, Flycatchers, Hummingbirds, and some frisky ducks all enjoying the mild weather.
This curious Lewis's Woodpecker, who now seems to definitely be planning a winter-length stay in central Phoenix, is just as skittish as he was last month. However, he has a pretty regular pattern that he flies between a few palm trees and the Encanto oaks. If you can get in the right position, with the sun in your favor, you can get some decent looks before the jig's up and he takes off.

He was still busily gathering and stashing acorns in the palm trees, just barely keeping ahead of the Starlings and Thrashers that were always lurking and poaching nearby. He found enough time in his routine for a brief stretch and a scratch before continuing with his winter preparations.

Watching him scratch away made me start to feel itchy, and I have to admit I inadvertently began scratching my neck too, though I didn't use my foot. I wonder. If a bird yawns, would it make a person yawn as well?

Although he is definitely the most unusual and probably the most colorful bird to be found at Encanto, the Lewis's Woodpecker was not the only highlight. This American Kestrel stopped by for some breakfast. He perched oddly close to a Mockingbird, who also didn't seem to mind. Usually the Mockers squawk and carry on and on until the raptors leave. Perhaps they made a new year's resolution to get along with each other.

Kestrel's are very pretty birds. I wish I had gotten these berries in good focus--aperture too low--it would've made for a nice picture. Unfortunately the bird bolted before I could re-adjust.

There is another solitary and recognizable resident along the oak-side Encanto pond. This Black Phoebe has been hanging out in the same spot since August. And really, why should he move?

One of my resolutions was to bring my Life List total to 300 this year. While I didn't see any new species today, it was a great way to begin a new year of beautiful birding.

Wednesdays with Audubon, Chapter 5

--Sorry to be getting this in late. I was without internet the last couple days, but hopefully things will get back on track. Last week Audubon had just returned from his work to reunite with Lucy Audubon after nearly a 5 year absence. While renown and respect for his work was beginning to grow, the money still wasn't coming in, but at least the Audubons were together.

While J.J. and Lucy were back together, his work was not yet done. He returned to England and then Scotland, this time with Lucy and his sons, John and Victor. While Audubon worked to promote his books, both those that were printed and the upcoming editions, his sons focussed on publishing and copying, while his wife dazzled their English friends with her wit and charm. It became apparent to both Audubon and those around him that he was still missing a real scientist in his undertaking. As he confidently notes: "I am now aware that no man living better knows the habits of our (North American) birds...I cannot however scribble tolerable english letters, and I cannot give scientific descriptions, so here I required assistance."

J.J. Audubon had more direct experience and field-time than any other ornithologist working in North America, but if his work was to be more successful and acceptable to those with strict scientific and terminological sensibilities, he would need a technical assistant. His first choice was Mr. William Swainson, but since Swainson was unavailable, Audubon went with the recommendation of Mr. James Wilson and set up a partnership with Mr. William MacGillivray. Again, it's impressive to see the names of Audubon's associates. There's not a man without at least one bird to his namesake. MacGillivray was very diligent, and with his technical focus Audubon's work gained strict scientific analysis to go along with Audubon's excellent, more personal accounts of each bird.

The Audubons returned to the U.S. in 1831, and J.J. immediately set out on a brief trip to Florida. On the way, he forged a friendship with Rev. John Bachman, a birding enthusiast and kindred spirit with Audubon. J.J. collected a few new species in Florida, and then promptly moved his family in the opposite direction, taking them up to Maine in 1832. At this point, his sons John and Victor returned to England to supervise his publishing, and Audubon hired on some help and set out on a treacherous journey to the Labrador Islands of Newfoundland, where he found and collected 73 new species. Unfortunately, many of Audubon's older notes, journals, and samples were destroyed in the New York fire of 1835, but his work had now gained enough support and momentum that it was moving along almost with a mind of its own.

His son John married Maria, Rev. Bachman's oldest daughter. The first Audubon grandchild, Lucy, was born in 1837, shortly before the latests and most extensive edition of Audubon's ornithologies was published in 1838. The Audubons now had enough money and established credit for J.J. to buy his beloved "Minniesland" (minnie being a scottish term for mother/wife) outside of New York City. The piece of land is today preserved and known as Audubon Park, and during the mid 19th century 11 of the 14 Audubon grandchildren were born there.

While Audubon does not directly comment on his change of fortune, I think it is very interesting that his success and comfort dramatically improved as he involved more and more of his family in his work. His early excursions were done in solitude, in part because his sons were still young and Lucy had to care for them. But during those early days, Audubon lost a lot of money and had a more difficult time establishing himself in the ornithological world. While reading Audubon's accounts, I often wondered at his frequent absences from his wife and children. Was it just an understood and necessary part of a young man's work in the early 19th century, or was he a little bit inconsiderate? At any rate, it certainly seems that when Audubon's family was able to help him more directly, his work became increasingly successful. In my limited experiences, I've always found birding to be much more enjoyable when I can share it with friends and family. While at times I recognize and sympathize with Audubon's yearning for the open country, for the secluded beauty of nature, it's always better with company.

Birding Fun in New Hampshire

The sun is up, the snow is starting to melt, and the birds are coming out here in New Hampshire. The first and most flamboyant representative of the avian world was this Black-Capped Chickadee. These handsome and chubby little birds are very curious, and while they can get bossed around by the Blue Jays, I still deem them to be the mascots of the wintery forest.

To my surprise, there was also a strong presence of American Gold Finches around Granite Lake. Since I've been rather spoiled with my Goldfinches, and seen either the non-molting finches in Phoenix or the American Goldfinches in Iowa during the Summer, this was my first sighting of the Goldfinches in their winter eclipse plumage. It's not quite a match for the dandelion yellow they display in the warmer months, but it was still neat to see.

Another unexpected sighting was this little Brown Creeper. Although Creepers are not rare, it's always a bit of a surprise to see them simply because they're small, camouflaged, quiet, and solitary. They range over the entire U.S. and don't mind the winter cold, but given their diminutive behavior, it's just one of those birds you seldom plan on seeing or anticipate like you might with some of the louder or more gregarious woodland birds.

They cling tight and close to the tree trunks, running (creeping) up and down and upside down, gleaning insects and whatever else they find with their decurved beaks.

The White-Breasted Nuthatch is another guaranteed sighting in the winter months. It behaves much like the Creeper, but with its black cap, white undersides, and larger size, it's much more conspicuous. 

Birding in this true winter setting, in these frosted woods, is much different from birding in the Arizona chaparral. Everything is much slower, much quieter, much more determined, and very placid. It's chilly and peaceful, with these little birds providing the only flashes of color and movement apart from the falling leaves and dripping snow.

Birding in New Hampshire

My stay in New Hampshire has been wonderful. There is little that strengthens the body and soul better than relaxing with family in beautiful country. That being said, the winter birds here are troublesome!

Birding in New Hampshire is totally different from birding in Phoenix, and not just because of the snow. Instead of compact and low lying chaparral, the winter birds spend their time in the tall pine, oak, birch, and cedar trees. With it being winter time, bird sightings are much fewer and farther between. I've seen Dark-eyed Juncos, Chickadees, Nuthatches, and Crows, and I was also able to add Golden-Crowned Kinglets and American Tree Sparrows to my list. Getting good pictures is another story, and it's much harder to be patient when it's 20 degrees outside.

Today I went down to the Otter Brook preserve to scout the woody margins. The ponds were all semi-frozen, and it was deathly quiet. The birds would come in little groups, seeming to take turns foraging in the area before moving on, and always wary of the optimistic photographer nearby. There was plenty to see and admire apart from the occasional bird, and I particularly liked how the ice held to the grass at the water's edge. It was like nice, shiny, frozen snot. Marvelous!

As one might expect, the Dark-Eyed Juncos were not deterred by the cold. I frequently saw the Oregon-Race Juncos in Texas, so in a way this was a new bird for me. Even though I could only take distant photos, their adorableness knows no boundaries.

I spent most of the time stalking a small group of American Tree Sparrows. The Tree Sparrows are one of the few songbirds that migrate into New England expressly for the winter, and these wary Sparrows seemed right at home in the frozen vegetation.

With a couple more days in Munsonville and Christmas around the corner, I'm hoping to get some better looks and pictures that do these winter specialists justice.

In the mean time, Merry Christmas dear readers. Peace and blessings be with you this holiday season.

Wednesdays with Audubon, Chapter 4

Poor Audubon. He had a talent and a love for ornithology, and he had a happy marriage. But from the end of the War of 1812 to the early 1820s he could not make a worthy investment to save his life, and indeed the deaths of his infant daughters weighed very heavily upon him.

Audubon took his family and moved to New Orleans in 1819, where he and Lucy found salaried positions as private teachers for some of the well established families there. While the Audubon family found some stability during this time, both financial and emotional, John felt his ornithological opportunities beginning to fade.

With Lucy still very popular and in high demand in New Orleans, Audubon decided to make a trip up to Kentucky and New York with his oldest (14) son Victor in the Summer of 1823. Lucy and the younger children were secure in Louisiana, and Audubon's sense of adventure, along with a growing desire to focus on his naturalist interest and be recognized for his work, drove the men up north. Audubon does not include details of this trip, although he and Victor were both way-layed with yellow fever in Louisville, and Mrs. Audubon had to come nurse them back to health despite their best attempt at self-sufficiency.

Audubon still had a fine reputation as an artist and a naturalist, but he had not done much to establish himself within the growing networks of professional and internationally recognized ornithologists. Leaving Victor to study painting and drawing in Shippingport, PA (Audubon assures us this was Victor's interest, and not at all prompted by his father), Audubon continued on to Philadelphia. With his connections in Philadelphia, Audubon was able to meet and hobb-nobb with the city's elite, and even find some venues for his artwork. It was during the spring and summer of 1824 that he acquainted himself with the likes of such bird-brained people as Charles Lucien Bonaparte (nephew to Napoleon), Sir Edward Harris, Dr. John Bachman, George Ord (who became Audubon's anonymous nemesis), Dr. Richard Harlan and many other distinguished and published people.

Looking at these last names, one can tell this was an auspicious gathering in American natural history. Almost all of them have at least 1 species of bird to their namesake, and some have many more. It was from this exposure that Audubon gained the necessary capital and encouragement to compile and publish  the first edition of Birds of America. At the time, the demand and funding for such things was to be found predominantly in England so Audubon had to remove himself to foggy Albion and delay his return to Lucy. Birds of America was published through 5 editions, with a total of 435 plates showing 1035 figures of birds in total. This was published much to the envy and  excoriating, anonymous criticisms of Mr. George Ord, who had spent his time as a professional ornithologist continuing post-humous work on Wilson's Ornithologies. As one might imagine, his work was made obsolete by Audubon's superior compilation.

It's amazing to think of these first birding books and field guides. All of the illustrations were hand-drawn and then copied through an etching process. They would have lacked the proper proportions and technical accuracy of today's field guides, but have been thoroughly personalized. Additionally, the author could blend colors and shapes in a more organic way, and create a product that was probably less accurate, but also more artistic than many of today's models.

Audubon's books sold very well in England (there was still relatively little time and interest for such things in America), and he was quickly encouraged to produce more editions on his return to America. With significant and respectable support from the naturalist community, and a paying constituency behind him, Audubon felt compelled to build on his success. He spent the late summer and early fall amidst the swamps of New Jersey, hiring on extra help to aid in his gathering of specimens. Over the course of 4 months he found and drew 95 new bird species and 66 eggs. With these add-ons now done, Audubon could finally head back to Louisiana. He set out on a ferocious pace towards New Orleans, and was reunited with Lucy, whom he had not seen for several years,  in November of 1829.

Eurasian Wigeon II: Return of the Wigeon

The clouds and the chill stayed with us here in Phoenix, despite the best promises of the weather channel that they'd go away. Luckily the Eurasian Wigeon is still around too, and I endeavored to get some improved images to share. Between the 2 ponds, there are probably 4 or 5 dozen wigeons, and they all are very diligent sentinels. They would not tolerate any sort of approach, and it became apparent very soon that'd I'd have to be pretty sneaky if I was to improve on yesterday's pictures.

The Wigeons were fancying the south-shore grazing, which worked out in that there was actually a bit of sunlight. However, there was very little cover and I had to approach them from Camelback road, which meant I was doing the bootcamp-style belly crawl over these little grassy hills much to the honking amusement of passing traffic. As soon as I peered above the final slope, the Wigeons began their retreat, but it did afford a good look at the Eurasian.

The grass was nice and wet. When combined with the 40 degree temperatures and slight breeze, it made for a chilly stake-out. These two nearby Mourning Doves must've thought I looked pretty silly.

After a few more (unsuccessful) attempts to get a good angle of approach on the Wigeons, they left the west pond and moved over to the adjacent and slightly smaller eastern pond. This pond provided a better opportunity since there's an oleander hedge that provides some cover. While the Wigeons stayed out pretty far from the shore, the view was much improved.

Unfortunately it was still too dim outside to get that higher shutter speed. While these photos came out a bit blurry, it was nice to see the wing coloration. This brisk morning was a great way to end my 2011 year of birding in Phoenix. I'll be in New Hampshire for the next 2 weeks, which'll be a whole new and awesome opportunity. Hopefully there'll be lots to share.