Call the Bluff

Out east of Phoenix there are several fantastic birding sites along the Salt River. The most well-known, and perhaps the all-round birdiest site, is Granite Reef, which is also the farthest west and provides a trail to the Granite Reef dam, where one can see concentrations of waterfowl a-plenty. But farther east are other attractions which, though comparatively lacking in their waterfowl, have really neat mesquite bosque and chaparral habitats that are absolutely teeming with birds during the right time of year. I swung by Blue Point earlier this winter for a fabulous Red-breasted Sapsucker, and weekend before last I hit up Coon Bluff after stopping by Red Mountain Park for some singing Bendire's Thrashers (see earlier post). 

The Coon Bluff site is stunning, especially as the wild grass shoots up and the scraggily trees bud out after a recent February downpour. That being said, I was a bit unlucky with my timing. When I arrived at the parking area ($6 Tonto National Forest permit required) I discovered the Phoenix metropolitan area boy scouts had planned a full scale, D-Day invasion of the place. I don't mean to sound grumpy, and in fact I was glad to see many people out enjoying the fabulous weather and scenery, I just had to move my birding site farther east than I would've preferred. Ultimately it worked out fine. 

I've been on a bit of a Flycatcher binge lately, and with a particular desire to find and photograph Gray Flycatchers I set out into the mesquite bosque looking for little dull empids. Inevitably, my attention was drawn to the larger, louder, more conspicuous and totally suave Phainopeplas. 

The mesquite trees host hemi-parasitic mistletoe which provide sustenance and lodging for the Phainopeplas. Find some ripe patches of mistletoe, and the treetops will be littered with these cool birds. There were acres of scrub where it seemed like every single tree had its own resident, chatty set of birds. Don't let their red eyes and silky aesthetic fool you. These birds are shameless gossips, as bad as Wrens or elderly neighborhood sodalities. 

The bird sightings tended to come in waves, with mixed flocks moving through and giving one a couple of minutes to try and pick out all the species before they'd inexorably and without apparent coordination, simultaneously move on in a random direction. As one would expect, there were plenty of White-crowned Sparrows and Yellow-rumped Warblers. Lark, Brewer's, and Vesper Sparrows also made it into the mix, while Say's Phoebes and Vermillion Flycatchers impressed with their overhead acrobatics. In the first few hours I picked out three or four Gray Flycatchers but was unable to get satisfactory photos of them. Normally this would be more vexing, but I was content in the knowledge that soon I'd be driving down south to greater concentrations, to strike into the very heart of the Gray Flycatcher nation in Patagonia. 

While out romping around and whooping it up, I also bumped into four British ladies (I didn't literally bump into them; that would've been awkward) who were exploring the bosque with lots of camera equipment and were in search of wild horses. I hadn't given the distant horse noises much thought until then, for when I heard the neighing and whinnying I assumed it was trail-riders and didn't think there was such a thing as wild horses in this area. I kept my personal misgivings private and directed them towards the noises and fresh droppings I noticed earlier that day. And yes, noticing droppings did make me feel like a real live naturalist. I didn't see the ladies again but hopefully they had some luck. I found three different groups of horses during the outing, none of which seemed particularly wild, other than that they were in a non-fenced area. One way or another, here's a cool attraction at Coon Bluff.

Eventually I progressed to the Salt River itself, which being rather thin and shallow at this point, did not host much in way of birds. A few pairs of Common Mergansers were squabbling farther west, and a lonely Great Blue Heron stood vigil at the banks. It's always kinda funny to find the water/riparian habitat to be less birdy than the surrounding desert, but that's the nature of how vegetation grows there.

I did have my FOY (first of year) Western Bluebirds at Coon Bluff, and some of the cottonwoods along the river did allow for better photo opportunities than I'd managed earlier in the day. They may be less iconic than the Eastern Bluebirds, but I gotta argue that the Westerns are prettier. In the right light (not pictured), their colors are positively electric.

The birding diversity at Coon Bluff isn't as high as at Granite Reef, but the openness of the site is very appealing, and since the two are only  few miles apart, stopping at both is the best way to go!

In Dire Need of Song

I'm not the savviest videographer. In fact, savvy is not a word I often use in self description at all, which is a shame because there aren't many words that have two 'v's next to each other. Come to think of it, I should really try to be more savvy more often. 

Having read some interesting and convincing posts about recording bird vocalizations on Lauren Harter's and David Van Der Pluym's blog, I decided to knock up my Thrasher addiction a notch by getting some recordings of Thrasher March melodies.

Horned Lark: A savvy bird, which otherwise has nothing to do with this post, except that he was there.

The previously mentioned (last week) Thrasher Spot in west Phoenix is probably the best place in the entire state to see three, four, or even five different Thrasher species all in one small habitat. However, Red Mountain Park in Mesa, over on the east side of town, is likely the best place to witness singing Bendire's Thrashers up close and personal. They sing from the bush-tops and from the streetlights, from their heart and soul (awww...), and unlike in west Phoenix, they're not too timid around people. 

It's just as well these guys have great pipes, because in all honesty (and don't get me wrong, I love these birds), they're probably the most boring/un-handsome Thrasher. Dull, brown, ... dazed and confused.

But you could say those things about toast too! And everybody still loves toast. Anyway, here's a Bendire's Thrasher doing what they do best. Click in the bottom-right corner to enlarge the video.

Not too shabby eh? The Bendire's Thrashers have a sort of foundational melody, but being mimids and all, they also have some variation and improvisations in their song too, at least in my experiences. Half of the time they're singing they look like they don't know what's going on. It's pretty charming stuff. All the Thrashers are blessed with charming and versatile vocals, but when the Bendire's get in the zone they really belt it out with reckless abandon. Spring is coming and these critters are twitterpated.

"See, it's what's on the inside that counts, so I just sing my guts out. Problem solved."

I don't bird at Red Mountain Park very often, mostly because there are other birdier spots nearby, even though those spots don't host Bendire's as well. Red Mountain isn't without its other attractions. Its duck pond draws in the usual suspects, and even a few of the harder-to-find-but-totally-worth-it-to-find-because-they're-beautiful Redheads. 

There was also a Black and White Warbler reported at the park, but I had no luck in finding it, nor even finding any detailed information on the bird's last whereabouts. Not to worry, one of Red Mountain Park's biggest advantages is that it's only ten minutes away from the excellent birding sites along the Salt River, so naturally that's where I went next. More to come!

Birds n' Booze: A Classy Weekend in Southeast Arizona

By now everyone's heard of the birding attractions in Southeast Arizona. Every little mountain range has its own specialities and rare species, whether it's Mexican Chickadees and Hummingbirds or Spotted Owls and Montezuma Quail. Too often I launch into panegyrics on the region, and more than a few bird bloggers have filed for restraining orders against my continual ramblings about the place.

But most recently when I travelled down to the Sonoita area, on the southeastern foothills of the Santa Rita Mountains (home of the famous Florida and Madera Canyons), it wasn't with the birds in mind (ok, they're always in mind), but for the wine. 

Yes indeedy, with their predominantly spanish varietals, the Arizona wine circuit is booming, and some outstanding, award-winning wines are being produced down at the Callahan, Doz Cabezas, Sand Reckoner, and Lightning Ridge wineries. It was early February, and the plan was to stay in the area at a friend's house for the weekend and soak in the scenery, along with gallons of adult grape juice, before heading over to the famous Whitewater Draw near Willcox to observe the massive flocks of noisy Sandhill Cranes and the marshy entourage that can be found nearby. 

Before we made it to the vineyards or the Whitewater Draw, we made a stop and explored the oldest standing Spanish mission in America, founded in 1691a.d. at Tumacacori. 

Set against the gloomy winter skies that dominate southeastern Arizona in February, the mission was splendidly emanating with that irreplaceable aura of historical worth. Nonetheless, after about ten or fifteen minutes of sight-seeing, I was drawn back outside by the sounds of Sparrows and their ilk.

Chipping and Lark Sparrows were all around the grounds, while Mockingbirds and Phainopeplas dotted the craggy tree tops. The occasional Brewer's and Vesper Sparrow was mixed in with the bunch, along with some other cruelly ambiguous birds like this buffy first-year Chipping Sparrow, which dared me to call him Clay-colored. Nice try young Chipper, nice try...

There is substantial delight to be had simply in driving through the grassy, rolling hills of Sonoita and Patagonia, especially with overcast skies. The pasture fences are strewn with Lark Buntings and Red-tailed Hawks, while patient Harriers soar ever-present in the foreboding skies.

After visiting the old mission and some other fun sites in the Tumcacori area, we drove to the Sonoita wine circuit for an afternoon of semi-refined revelry.  We had a marvelous time visiting the Callahan and Dos Cabezas tasting rooms, hob-knobbing with winos and growers and generally doing our best to make Bacchus proud. Forgive the grainier phone photos. Saturday was overcast and the day for the Grapes; Sunday was the day for Birds.

There's nothing like right out of the barrel!

Unhappy weather was brooding in Arizona all weekend, and we were regularly rained on throughout our travels. This all made for an absolutely stunning drive out to the Whitewater Draw on Sunday morning, as the thick clouds just started to break up and let in the light. The golden plains were so saturated with color and the sky seemed to hold every hue of blue and then purple as the sun finally had its way and reasserted itself in the sky.

The Whitewater Draw, located about thirty minutes northeast of Bisbee and Douglas in the southeast corner of the state, is one of the state's most famous birding sites as it pulls in thousands of wintering Sandhill Cranes every year. As we were approaching the preserve we saw hundreds of skeins spreading out over the farm fields in search of fresh grazing grounds. We arrived at the Draw a bit too late for the grand dawn take off, but there were still plenty of chatty birds lingering in the shallow waters. From miles out the cacophony of honking Cranes echoed in our ears. The anxious, somewhat abrasive honk of the Crane is a very endearing sounds, one I regret not recording.

With the waters being pretty far removed from the pedestrian areas (that's half the appeal for the Cranes), the opportunities for up close viewing are pretty rare. Every once in a while though some Cranes would fly by close overhead, or off into a rainbow. There's got to be more than one pot of gold hidden out there.

While the Cranes are the main attraction, they're not the only birds on display. The tall marsh grass around the inundated lowlands is teeming with Sparrows, and smaller groups of Waterfowl also ply their trade in the shallows. Smaller birds like these Northern Pintails and Green-winged Teal cling to the underbellies of the Cranes and clean them of parasites. Scientists call it a symbiotic relationship.

 

As one might guess, the Draw is also bubbling with raucous Marsh Wrens. These birds are often a torment for photography, but with so many around the odds are finally in the photographer's favor. The Whitewater Draw allows one distant looks at huge birds, and up close views of tiny birds. 

Meadowlarks and Thrashers inhabit the surrounding Grasslands, and with a little bit of luck one might hear the trill or catch a glimpse of a Grasshopper Sparrow. While pausing to scrape some mud (there's plenty of that too after some rain), I even noticed a delightful ruddy little rump slouching down from a  

scraggily bush. The black spots were promising too. We had gone to the Draw simply to see and hear the Crane spectacle, and we would also be heading back to Phoenix loaded up with wine (Callahan Tempranillo and Back Lot 10'...mmmmmm). Now there was a potential Lifer bird here to ice the cake.

Ice the cake it did! Ok, it didn't actually ice a cake, but I did see it poop. A pair of Ruddy Ground Doves, though not overly splendid or charming in their appearance and demeanor, were arguably the highlight, and an unexpected one at that, of an already amazing trip.

With all the birding, scenery, and now fantastic vineyards, there are too many reason to be in southeast AZ. Why anyone lives anywhere else (myself included) is beyond me. Birding is fun, and then there's birding with wine fun...

Learning a Golden Lesson

Lots of adventurers and spelunkers and entrepreneurs struck out west in the mid and late 1800s in search of gold. This past week I made some trips northwest for a Golden-crowned Sparrow, a bird which I briefly saw on Monday, and then failed to relocate and photograph on Tuesday or Friday. In that sense, it was a good ol' fashion gold bust. It was great to see the bird in the first place but what a lamentable thing it is to have no photos at all. To those of you thinking, "Why not just go back once more?" I can only say this: you know not the great horror of driving into Sun City on Grand Avenue during rush hour. YOU KNOW NOT! Traffic on that scale, for that long, is something the human soul can only stand once or twice a month. Even the incorrigible Mockingbird balks at the prospect and repeated trips up and down Grand Ave.

"..Balk!"

While I couldn't strike gold again, I did enjoy plenty of other pretty, if also common birds around the Desert Springs as I ambled and ogled. Say's Phoebes had all the good perches and patches under surveillance, be they decapitated bushes or golf carts.

Realizing that searching in solitude was not fruitful, I enlisted a few young White-crowned Sparrows, like the fellow below, to help me find the longer, rarer Golden-crowned that was supposed to be hanging out with them. They were great sports about it, calling and feeding in as gregarious a manner as possible so as to attract any lonely vagrants in the area.

They even jumped up into the bushes to call out anybody that was hiding out below. It failed to produce a rarity, but did flush out a handsome Lincoln's Sparrow, 16th Sparrow of the United States.



As far as golf course ponds go, Desert Springs does pretty well. It had the predictable hordes of Coots and Wigeon, but also a half dozen Bufflehead and some Common Mergansers, which give a certain extra aesthetic and vindication to any artificial property that satisfies their needs.

Even over Sun City, in fact, especially over Sun City (which is a large retirement community), the sun still sets. As the glowing orb drooped in the sky and my Golden-crowned prospects similarly dropped towards zero, I was graced with a first-of-the-year White-winged Dove. Coming on February 26th, this was my earliest personal record for these birds, so at least there was something new to list.

Well, the Golden-crowned didn't get to see or photograph me again either, so he loses too! Right?...right?...right?

On the Boundaries of Civilization...

Last weekend saw another trip out west, not as far as Havasu and the whole different panoply of awesome birding that is to be had there, but to the barren, desolate intersection of the Salome Highway and Baseline Road out in Buckeye, also known as the Thrasher Spot (and, apparently, a great place to ditch old couches and other household items, despite the seeming inconvenience of driving them out and dumping them in the middle of nowhere).

This is one of my favorite 'within-an-hour-of-home' spots in Maricopa County, as it features some special birds not commonly found elsewhere in the state, it's a relatively small area, and it doesn't require that I look up into big trees. 

As this point in the year, the creosote and sage scrub hosts inordinate numbers of migrating Sage Thrashers, along with Sage Sparrows and the more elusive, more sought after Le Conte's and Crissal Thrasher. There are Bendire's Thrashers out there too, but oddly enough the region is too arid for the more common Curve-billed Thrashers found just about everywhere else. 

From behind, the Sage Thrasher can be easily confused with a Mockingbird, but once visible, the speckled breast is unmistakable, even at a distance. Plus, Phoenix-area Mockingbirds are too smart and spoiled to live out here in the boonies. 

Along with Sage, Bendire's are the most visible Thrashers at the site, as they're more comfortable and more inclined to perch high and sing even with the attention of people, and on this day there were even a few Audubon groups moseying out and about in the chaparral.



Crissal and Le Conte's usually stay low the the ground, but even so I've had excellent luck finding Le Conte's lately. About fifty or sixty yards west of the parking area along the Salmoe highway there is an old wash running north/south. Following this wash north to where it intersects with a line of old rotten fence posts yields an area that is frequented by the ghostly, vampiric-looking Le Conte's Thrasher.

Unfortunately I was unable to keep a bead on these crafty birds long enough to share them with a family trio of birders nearby, but soon after we all linked up with fellow birder, photographer, and tall person Gordon Karre, with whom we enjoyed the other birds in the area, including Gnatcatchers, Verdins, and the beautiful Sage Sparrows. As things started to simmer down at the Thrasher Spot we all made a caravan and checked out some of the Arlington area attractions, including a single Long-billed Curlew and some tardy Sandhill Cranes still lingering in the fields. 

As the Sandhill Cranes flew off and we parted ways, I decided to trade one extreme for another, and on the way back from the desiccated Thrasher spot and the bucolic Arlington pastures, I swung by the Crystal Gardens community on 107th avenue and the I-10. 

This master-planned community has a series of scenic ponds and pathways connecting the manicured neighborhoods, and these water features have hosted a number of attractive (and, for that matter, un- attractive) Geese this winter. Arizona birder and blogger extraordinaire Tommy DeBardeleben had recorded Greater White-fronted, Ross's, Snow, and Cackling (also, of course, Canada) all at these ponds, along with a single Tundra Swan, in early February. In mid-February I was able to find most of the birds but did not get satisfactory photos, in large part due to the limited amount of time I had to spend at the site. 

Returning now with new grit and determination, some of the dispersed Geese afforded very close and comparative views, like the Lesser and Greater subspecies of Canada Geese above. There were plenty of ornamented Canada in the cozy lakes, but finding a small and cackling goose proved difficult.

Diminutive individuals like this lesser Canada Goose exacerbated the problem, and ultimately I resigned myself to the probability that the Cackling Goose, which had gone missing from eBird reports for the last week, was likely moved out of the suburbs. Though charmingly smaller and quieter than the normal Canada Goose, the Lesser subspecies is still poor consolation.

The Cackling Goose thus remained a photo-nemesis, but the Ross's Geese seemed to have increased in number since my last visit. Even as I parked there were five flying overhead, and there were several more floating in some of the centrally located Crystal Garden Ponds. 

This is a species I'm used to picking out of dozens and dozens (at least) of Snow Geese. It was peculiar and pleasing to find this cute little Goose in groups of its own, with the hideously grinning and grating Snow Geese nowhere to be seen. 

Seagull Steve over in California argues that Ross's are the cutest Geese around town. After getting to spend some more time with these mild-mannered snowhites, I think he may be right.

Going from arid scrub desert to lush city parks was a nice, yin-yang kinda circle to the day. It combined uncommon resident birds with uncommon vagrants, and of course plenty of cool and common birds in between. It's hard to wander in any direction around Maricopa County and not to stumble across a great birding spot or two.

Back to Basics

The last several posts have featured either the frozen tundra that is Iowa in winter or some of the singular vagrants that have turned up around Phoenix this winter. Given the combination feelings of  cold and strange that those themes can bring, it's been nice lately to indulge in some of the warmer, more familiar places and faces around Phoenix. 

The Papago Ponds between Phoenix and Tempe host plenty of winterfowl, along with the year's first Swallows. The ponds aren't deep or wide enough to attract Goldeneye and Buffleheads, but for photographing Pintails, Wigeons, Ring-neckes, and even Canvasbacks, there's no place better. 

As far as waterfowl goes, these ducks are all pretty plebian. That doesn't mean they're not gorgeous.

I admit, on my weekend birding expeditions now I often skip over the waterfowl if I've seen them before. Time is precious and the winter months bring so many other attractions to in Arizona. Every now and again it is very nice to make a specific point simply of visiting again with these docile and beautiful birds, in no small thanks to the fact that, compared to vagrant Warblers ethereal Kites, they're really accommodating subjects for observation and photography.

In addition to the predictable and silly palm trees, there are lots of low-lying, now leafless scrub trees around the ponds, and these provide excellent viewing points for the expected desert birds. Some are boring, common, and even slightly deformed.

Some are still pretty common, like this Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, but are much more fun. These birds are already operating in couple throughout the Papago creosote patches. They don't mind people getting up close and personal, but they don't sit still either, so it's a fair trade. 

The short vegetation also provides welcome perches for Northern-rough Wing Swallows. While these Swallows won't win the 'Most Colorful Swallow' award, they do win the punctuality award in Phoenix for being the first Swallows back in town, usually by mid-February. 

The Papago mesquites are some of the best places to see these guys perch and preen. The namesake rough out coverts/shoulder on the bird's wings are even somewhat visible here.

 It's not often that a Swallow stops to take a break, but when the bugs are abundant and the weather is mild, there's no hurry. Sometimes I feel exhausted just watching them dip and dive all day (in fact, it's so exhausting, I've never even watched a Swallow all day); it must be nice for them to have a breather.

As one might expect of such ebullient aviators, they're also prodigious eaters. It's hard for scientists to estimate how many things these acrobatic Swallows kill and eat in their lifetime--far more than any Raptor or Tern--but at least from the small, flying insect perspective, this round fluffy head, with its vacant expression and stubby bill, is neither cute nor endearing, but is in fact the head of a mass murderer..bum...Bum...BUM!