Please Give Half a Hand...

To the Semipalmated Sandpiper! I'm nearing the end of my beach posts. Since this is the second to last one, the semifinals, if you will, it seems only fitting that the Semipalmated Sandpiper is the featured bird. Usually when I get to show a new bird on the blog, a bird that's never been featured before, I try to accompany it with some sort of unique facts or, best of all, SUPERLATIVES of the species, e.g. "largest of the..."; "northernmost breeding..."; "most colorful nostrils..."; "most likely to become president."

I'm ashamed to say it, but coming up with some accurate superlatives for the Semipalmated Sandpiper is difficult. They've got some color and some intricate plumage but not too much. They're small but not the smallest, shy but not the shyest, and semi-palmed but not the semi-palmiest. What I noticed and appreciated most about these birds on the Jersey beach was how they acted like a cement of sorts, sticking the different bird groups together.

Seeing cosmopolitan groups of shorebirds on the beach is by no means unusual, but during my very brief experience on the Jersey shore, the Semipalmated Sandpiper was the common denominator in all of the groups. Whether they were tuning in with the Turnstones or playing with the Purple Sandpipers, partying with the Plovers or even gaming with the Gulls, the Semipalms were always mingling and mixing it up on the beach, making sure everyone felt comfortable at the party. A lot of the big and colorful beach birds bring attitudes with them. The Semipalmated Sandpiper is a chill bird, an essential thread of the beach bird social fabric.

So here's to you, Semipalmated Sandpiper, for helping to hold everybody together.

Cassin's Sparrow Revisted

Some of you may remember this little mystery bird that I posted on May 30th. I've still been discussing it off-and-on, with all kinds of interesting theories and ideas coming up along the way. At the time of the sighting at Tres Rios, I had been hearing what I thought was a Cassin's Sparrow but couldn't find or photograph anything that fit the bill. 

I had no proof or reason to believe that the photographed bird was the one singing, especially since this bird was more or less in the open and I hadn't been able to spot the singing bird at all. My first thought was that it was an out-of-place Rufous-winged Sparrow. A lot of people made strong arguments for Rufous-crowned Sparrow, and since that seemed a more likely sighting in the area, though still unusual,  I was slowly pulled in that direction.

Most recently I posted this photo on the Facebook Bird ID group of the world page. It generated another interesting discussion that served as a great review of the arguments for Rufous-winged and Rufous-crowned Sparrows. Then there was an exciting twist when Kenn Kaufman stopped by (always nice to have the input of someone who can say "I've written the book on...") and posited, rather convincingly, that this was in fact a rare rufous morph of Cassin's Sparrow. 

All of the sudden the Cassin's song, long forgotten, came back into play. There had been a general agreement that while this bird was kinda Rufous-crowned and kinda Rufous-winged, it wasn't really either. Then this rufous-morph Cassin's idea came along--and I can honestly say I'd never heard of any morph Cassin's Sparrows--which is the identification I'm sticking with for now.

It's nice that I can count Cassin's Sparrow as more than a 'heard only' bird. It's even nicer that this identity crisis and the debate it sparked has helped me learn a lot more about all three contenders than I would have ever learned otherwise.

Thanks to all who participated on the discussion, both earlier on this site and on Facebook. For those of you who are curious, here's a link to the facebook thread: Cassin's Sparrow Talk.

"The World Is Your Oyster"

Surely this must be the credo of this hooded mollusk-massacring maniac. And just look at this cool bird. With all of his fancy bracelets and leg adornments...this American Oystercatcher is living the American dream. This particular bird's jewelry may also have something to do with the location, as I hear many people in Jersey prefer the larger, louder pieces. Hey, we pay $20 per pound for this sort of seafood and hope it's fresh. He eats it every day and looks good while he's doing it (something I certainly cannot manage). The world may indeed be his oyster.

As successful as they are, Oystercatchers are still pretty funky-looking shorebirds. Their legs are a pale, fleshy tone, while their mollusk-mutillating bills appear downright cumbersome! Their yellow eyes, outlined in orange, are very striking. When they take flight they have a bold white stripe sort of like a Willet, and their black executioner's hood caps it all off. Needless to say I find the birds to be wonderful...



These Oystercatchers demonstrated why birding on the beach is so much fun. There's plenty of light, the shorebirds aren't overly fidgety, there're no obscuring tree branches or shadows, and if you're a photographer, the ocean always provides a nice background. These birds can strike some pretty nice poses too as they scout out the swirling tide-pools and frothing eddies.

My legs and the Oystercatcher's look very similar (minus the anklets), but the bird withstood the chilly Atlantic water better than I did. For that matter, it also had much more luck prying open the various bivalve mollusks than I had. Everyone has different talents...    

It's just as well that they were making all the catches. I don't really enjoy raw clams, muscles, or oysters that much, even with hot sauce. I certainly do enjoy watching Oystercatchers, and maybe capturing a few photos to enjoy a month down the road.

American Birds at Their Finest

There has been so much turbulence in the American political scene lately, and it seems any pensions for moderation have been long lost. Allegations of left-wing socialism and right-wing fanaticism are commonly, derisively exchanged in the American forum, and a preoccupation with the purported evil of the opposition often detours any cooperation. So seldom now are political discussions about the means to an agreeable end; so often are they diatribes to further cement diametrical ideologies. Defining, categorizing, and simplifying, most often along political, racial, and religious guidelines are the methods of the day. With the ill-will between political factions and identities at an amazing high, it is important on this Independence Day to remember those moments of excellent inter-political cooperation, when Americans were still able to form that more perfect union in the pursuit of goodness and happiness. 

Such was the case with the famous 1948-1949 Berlin Airlift, perhaps the most brusque outburst of American initiative, ingenuity, unity, and kindness in the entire 20th century. With the close of World War II, the German capital of Berlin was divided into different sections of control among the allied powers. However, the city itself was entirely enclosed and isolated in the larger Soviet-controlled portion of Germany. By blockading all railways and roads into Berlin and starving the city, the Soviets hoped to stimulate enough discontent that an uprising would occur in Berlin that would empower radical communist government and catalyze the communization of Germany proper. It was a very blunt, very real threat, and one which promised to reignite conflict in war-torn Europe. Would the united States send in the troops and bombers and go to war with the USSR? Would it acquiesce and leave Berlin in a state of starving isolation? There were many arguments and many opinions over the proper course of action. There were not massive advertising campaigns, speaking tours, or kitschy celebrity dinners. Politicians did not focus on developing their cults of personality, but instead on decisive action.

A Democrat president, Harry Truman, and a majority Republican legislature signed the Marshall Plan into effect, and from June 24th, 1948, until May 12th, 1949, the Allied airlift kept the badly damaged German capital, which was meeting only 2% of its vital production needs, supplied with adequate food and coal until the blockade was lifted by the much-shamed Soviets. A total of 278,228 flights, flying a total 92 million miles, provided 13,000 tons of food and 26,000 tons of coal per day to Berlin. At its height the airlift actually brought more supplies into the city, per day, than had been brought previously by ground. The Americans continued the Airlift through the exceptionally harsh winter of 1949, and ran it so precisely that one plane departed for Berlin from an Allied base every 30 seconds. The United States dropped 1,783,573 tons food and coal, at a total cost of $224 million, which if adjusted to modern inflated standards equals around $2 billion. For less than the cost of what the U.S. pays Israel and Pakistan annually to not fight each other today, the United States kept Berlin fed, heated, and out of communist control, and did it all by plane. 

Independence Day is something of a bittersweet holiday now. It always prompts a heavy dose of nostalgia and disappointment with the contemporary state of things, not just with political issues but the disjointedness and polemics in society today. There was a time when objective, eminent goods were easily recognized, and party politics were kept secondary. Now it seems the American political and social dialogue has broken down, though the threats to life, liberty and happiness, have not. The same pride and perseverance that shocked the world with the Berlin airlift, appears to be shockingly dwindling today.

Of course, it does little good to just be pessimistic and mopey on Independence Day. By all means, the barbecues should be lit and the coolers should be stocked. I will feel great pride today as I remember and recount these stories of American bravado, and hope that the future will not be without a few more.

Harris's Hawks Happily Heralding Heavy Humidity

Two years ago the 4th of July was cancelled in Phoenix due to windy and dry conditions. Now there's a nasty rumor going around that the fireworks might be cancelled due to monsoon rain. I guess we in Phoenix are only 'fair-weather' patriots...

Anyhow, the recently fledged Harris's Hawks at Encanto Park seemed to be enjoying the overcast weather. They're darker birds, and thus naturally feel empowered by macabre weather.

With this year's nesting success, there are now at least 4 Harris's Hawks living on the Encanto Park/golf course. They perch along the perimeter netting, seemingly aware that their quarry is more-or-less enclosed and ready to catch whenever best suits the predators.

There's not too much going on with birds in the Phoenix area right now, but it was nice to see these pretty Hawks doing so well. I've still got a backlog of photos from last month's beach trip and other adventures back in Arizona. Summer already seems to be slipping away...

Belly of the Beast

There stands the largest Plover of North America. At eleven and a half inches, these black-bellied behemoths strut about the beach with an appropriate air of haughtiness. Why appropriate? Because they're breathing higher air than all the other Plovers and Peeps around them, and they know it!



While photographing these specimen of titanicus ploveriforms, trying to maintain the appropriate levels of awe and reverence, I overheard a plaintive shorebird enviously talking to another about the stately Plover in the distance. They too, stood in awe and envy of these birds. It went something like this:

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a colossus, and we pecking hens
Walk under his huge legs and Peep about
To find ourselves running from waves.
We at some times are masters of our fates:
The fault, dear Brutus (must be bird # 2's name), is not in our wingbars,
But in ourselves, for we are Sanderlings.

As one might expect of such superlative, high-class birds, the Plovers did not appreciate my company. After giving me some brief looks, they decided I had taken too much interest in them and soon departed. When they took their leave, one of the forlorn Sanderlings tried to follow the Black-bellied Plover and his platonic (non-breeding plumage) companion.

"Wait! Take me with you!!!"

Together they flew off into the sunset, or at least towards where the sun would set in several hours. So assuming they continued to fly for five more hours (which they probably did not), they flew off into the sunset. Hopefully they did not fly too close to the sun, like Icarus. Hubris is a big problem for big Plovers.

Anyway, my time with the Black-bellied Plovers was brief, but it was beautiful. They're very striking birds with a mojo quite unique from the Turnstones, Sandpipers, Gulls, and everything else that's bustling on the beach all around them. Calm, collected, aristocratic, they bring an element of high-class to the shoreline without a doubt.

Good luck to the Sanderling. Hopefully he can keep up with the Plovers and is not driven mad with an inferiority complex. As Desiderius Erasmus once said, perhaps while doing a little birding himself, "Fortune favors the audacious."

P.S. Bonus points to whoever knows the famous play and scene referenced above!

Original:
Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs and peep about
To find ourselves dishonorable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates:(145)
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Leave No Stone Unturned!

That is the official motto of the Ruddy Turnstone, one of America's most flamboyant shorebirds. What makes these birds particularly endearing is not just their color or recognizability, but the intricate variation in each individual's plumage. Despite their bold color scheme, it's hard to find two Ruddy Turnstones that have the same pattern. One thing is for sure: there should be an ice cream flavor inspired by this bird. It should probably involve fudge, caramel, heath bar, vanilla...and something else. Better get the Ben n' Jerry's guys on it.

I had the pleasure of observing a rowdy group of Ruddy Turnstones on the Jersey shore earlier this June. They chattered with each other and scrambled all over the wharf. At first glance they seemed to feed in a very stochastic fashion, but like many other shorebirds, they were actually very precise and deliberate with their pecking. One might say they even have a pecking order...



This shaggy gang elicited a laugh from me more than once. The way they all wanted to stay close together, and yet how they also seemed very impatient and irritated with each other...it reminded me of the Wes Anderson dysfunctional family trope that comes up in movies so often. Hopefully this photo explains the dynamic better than I can. They have to stay close to each other, but they're all looking in different directions (and one seems to be banging it's head against the rock) as if they hate to admit how inseparable they really are. So much angst...

This fine fellow (same bird as the first photo) was the patriarch. As you can see, his mustache grows right up and connects his eyebrows. Chuck Norris, John Wayne, Bear Grylls, Robert Howard, and all the other manly paragons of our age...none of them could accomplish this feat even in a hundred years even with a swimming pool full of rogaine.



He stood stoically atop his pedestal and watched over the Turnstones with all the sternness and facial patterns of a stormtrooper. He and his group brought a certain calm to the wharf, even as the waves crashed all around them. The other birds used the Turnstones as their danger-gauge. As long as the Turnstone were happy, so was everyone else. When they became startled, everyone took flight. Together they all formed a very colorful and motley gang.

I couldn't have asked for a better look at a new bird. Thank you Ruddy Turnstones, high five!

A Good Take at Woods Canyon Lake

Arizona is a large state and there's lots of empty space. At first glance, it seems like much of it is hot, uninhabitable stretches of desert. This may actually be the case, but Arizona is also flush with birding hotspots. The southeast corner is known worldwide for drawing a great variety of rare birds. The northwest corner of the state also has some great locations such as the Bill Williams Wildlife Refuge, one of the few places in the U.S. where one can find Nutting's Flycatchers. The White Mountains provide some excellent spots to the east, and Boyce Thompson Arboretum is a great spot down south.

The north central portion of the state also has some good birding, but it's not nearly as publicized as the top-notch locations. A lot of the birds in north central Arizona, around Payson, Strawberry, and Sedona, can be found elsewhere in the state, but these birding sites along the Mogollon Rim (pronounced muggy-own) do have an appeal. They offer cool temperatures, great scenery, and unlike the White Mountains or the Chiricahuas, they're within a two-hour drive of Phoenix.

And there's lots of other neat stuff too, like this Swallow Tail.

Maria and I recently spent some time with my family up at a cabin in Strawberry, AZ. From Strawberry we could easily reach other spots along the Mogollon Rim, such as Kehl Springs, Blue Ridge Reservoir, and Woods Canyon Lake. Woods Canyon Lake is about 30 miles east of Payson, off the SR 260 highway. It's an old favorite of the Butler brood. Many summers we'd camp and fish along its rocky shores, but this was my first time returning to focus on the birds.

Woods Canyon Lake offers the best birding in the area and is the most accessible of the reservoir lakes along the rim. It has been the preferred spot for a pair of nesting Bald Eagles the last 5 years, and is also a popular roosting spot for Osprey and Great Blue Herons.

There's a 3 mile loop trail around the lake, parts of which is paved for the less mobile folks. The loop trail is definitely the best way to explore the surrounding pine forest for its feathered residents, and it provides some excellent views of the lake as well. Of course, with a pair of eager eyes one can find lots of other critters too. The Bald Eagle nesting site is protected from the public, and hikers have to take a detour to give the area its proper clearance. Along the way, we got some very distant views of the Eagle couple and their chick, as well as a very close view of this Horny Toad on an old fence post. His pink skin, though pretty, inhibited his camouflage.

 "Ugh! Foiled Again!"

Luckily for the Horny Toad we weren't hungry, having previously filled up on turkey sandwiches and strawberries (score!). It was lunchtime though for some of the more conspicuous critters. Woods Canyon Lake groundsquirrels are very tame. Having conducted a thorough study of the human camping habits, they often conduct daring daylight raids into campgrounds and picnic areas, taking chips and leaving no prisoners.



The best birding is on the north side of the lake. If one feels like hauling a scope that far, the north shore provides some clear views of the Eagle nest, and seems to have higher concentrations of songbirds too.

One of the target birds of this WCL expedition was the Red-faced Warbler. These little dynamos are definitely high-elevation highlights in Arizona. Even though they're not overly common, they can be found pretty regularly, if sporadically, in the Mogollon pine forests. Unfortunately, the little bugger below eluded my manual focus, leaving me with some in-focus pine needles at the center and a blurry bird off to the side. Argh, I've been warbled!

Though they're the most striking, the RFWA is not the only pretty face around the woods. Western Tanagers have a much larger range than their red-faced companions, and are more common, but I've still never heard anyone complain when a Tanager flies into view. They can be found all along the Mogollon Rim in the summer months, and provide an unmistakable flash of color as they dart through the trees.

Like the Red-faced, the Grace's Warbler is another specialist of the high altitude pine forests. Like the Summer Tanager, they turn up in the summer months and fill the woods with their warbling songs and flashes of yellow. This particular bird had been singing with much gusto until a cloud briefly blocked out the sun. With his spotlight gone, the warbler became very shy, one might say red-faced. Here he is anxiously awaiting its return.

Warblers and Tanagers supply the color around Woods Canyon Lake, while the Eagles and Osprey supply a little majesty. Mountain Chickadees and Dark-eyed Juncos play the role of filler-bird. They're a common sight all along the lake, with the Chickadees occupying the tree canopies and the Juncos foraging along the needle-laden floor. 

Since they're unusual at the lower elevations, the Juncos and Chickadees are a welcome sight. Their fluttering feeding frenzies often rope in other birds too, such as this Plumbeous Vireo. The Vireo was having a hard time keeping up with the Chickadees, but still tried its best. It paused only a moment to catch it's breath, and I paused to catch a photo. 

Kinda like a tiny Mockingbird with glasses.

The Plumbeous Vireo was pretty sweet, but the sighting of the day was definitely a pair of Townsend's Solitaires. This was a new bird for me, one I should've seen by now and one I was very glad to put to rest. They're by no means unusual for the area, but they're not exactly common or easy to find either. In this case, there was one adult bringing food to a recent fledgling, and since both were pretty distracted by this endeavor they paid me little mind. 

The Solitaire isn't the most colorful bird around, but there's something extra satisfying about finding a bird that occupies its own group in North America, like the Phainopeplas or Verdins--something that's totally unique. It's hard to pinpoint, but there's something very impressive about these birds in person. At any rate, it's the only bird of which I am aware that has inspired a famous card game.

Alas, there were no Three-toed Woodpeckers or Northern Pygmy Owls to report, but they're also possibilities for the area. While recording my sightings, I noticed there are very few eBird submissions for the area. In my experiences, it's a rich but under-appreciated birding spot, with Grosbeaks, Titmice, and lots of migrants also common to the area. Woods Canyon Lake doesn't have the name recognition or established credentials of the other big hotspots--and it probably never will--but it's a great relief from the hot city, and at only an hour and a half away, it's a a great day trip, especially if one wants to fit in a little kayaking or fishing on the side. 

Mourning Dove in the Morning

Here's a painting Maria made of a Mourning Dove perched atop an organ pipe cactus, waking with the rising sun.

Out of the Woods and Back in Town

Well, you all have been great sports while I've done post after post about birding up in Pennsylvania. Here we are finally. We're out of the woods, so to speak, with these last two birds from my wonderful Pennsylvania vacation. In a certain sense I saved the best birds for last, not photographically speaking, but in terms of the experience I had in finding them.

This Ovenbird was the only new Warbler I saw in Pennsylvania. I find myself rather pleased and surprised to say that I'm not disappointed in how few wood Warblers I found. I wasn't overly optimistic to begin with, and in fact wasn't even really expecting an Ovenbird. I found this quirky character hopping around in the undergrowth at Ridley Creek State Park during an afternoon thunderstorm. The temporary downpour had driven all of the other birds into hiding, but this lowlife (in the sense that he lives low to the ground) had plenty of cover and seemed unperturbed. Watching him hope around in cadence with the pitter-patter of the rain was a very cool experience, one I seldom have back in Arizona.



Ovenbirds are named for the shape of their nests, and perhaps also for their prowess in the confectionary arts. I didn't see any nests around, and in fact this bird didn't stick around for very long either. That's the way with Warblers, and even though the Ovenbird looks more like a compact Thrush than a Warbler, it's a handsome bird in any setting.

The White-eyed Vireo was the last bird I added to my Pennsylvania/New Jersey list, new bird number twenty-two for the trip. I had been wanting to see one of these Vireos for a long time. They are much more frequently heard than seen, and it was on my last day of birding that one began chiming out from some marginal woods at Stroud Preserve. I was birding with some folks from the West Chester Birding Club,  for whom this must have been a common occurrence, as they quickly ambled on after a possible Lincoln's Sparrow (a common bird out west, but a rare sighting in Pennsylvania). Well, my priorities were much different, so I plunked down and waited to see if the Vireo would come into view. The Lincoln's Sparrow never materialized, but after about ten minutes the White-Eyed Vireo popped up and gave me a great look at those namesake peepers.

Looking in books and online, I never really appreciated all the different yellows on this bird until I saw it in person. Of course, the white eye, situated in the bird's unusually bulbous head, is the most striking feature, but all together the White-eyed Vireo is a beautiful little thing. Since it was shady and overcast, the autofocus on my camera was having trouble. I had to shoot with manual focus, and mercifully a couple shots came out half-decent--never something for me to take for granted with a new bird.

Back in Phoenix, I visited the Gilbert Water Ranch in the evening, and was shocked at the low levels of bird activity. I've been there in the summer before and still never recorded less than thirty species. The place was about as dead as it can be, and there was even some water in the basins. Needless to say it made me miss the Pennsylvania woods.

There were lots of juveniles around, so the local bird populations seem to be doing pretty well. Even so, that sweltering heat really, ironically, puts a damper on things. This little duckling couldn't stand to have his fuzzy face out of the water.

Though his black and white coat was coming in nicely, this young Gila Woodpecker was also pretty frazzled. Unlike the cactus of which they are so fond, these birds can't go for months without water.

The juvenile Abert's Towhees definitely seemed to be coping the best, and this was to be expected. Towhees seem to be one of the few species here in Arizona that can be found outside feeding and bouncing around regardless of the time. Morning is just as good as noon for these scrappy birds, but that may be in large part because they're never far away from the shade.

I also checked the Glendale Recharge Ponds which, like the Water Ranch, were surprisingly full of water and vegetation. Unlike the Water Ranch, Glendale was also full of waterfowl. Hundreds of Black-necked Stilts fill the basins, accompanied by almost as many Avocets and Killdeer. Several American Wigeons and a pair of Northern Pintails provided some puzzlement, and a low flying Peregrine Falcon gave everyone a buzz.

With some selective cropping, one can make these basins appear as though they're part of some wonderful waterworks, instead of an improvised oasis in the middle of desert suburbia.

Despite all my complaining, in a way I am actually looking forward to the temperature increase in Phoenix. Most of the good birding must be done at higher elevations now anyway, so taking it as a given that I won't see a lot in the valley, it'll fun to say I've been birding in 120° F heat, maybe even start a separate list for that extreme!