Rousseau Farms--Parsing through Pipit Parts

Before this weekend, I had predetermined to undertake a most grueling task, one which could well prove unfulfilling and, more than likely, unsuccessful. For 2014, I set more limited birding parameters for myself. I decided to make some trips to wrap up my state list, picking up those tricky southeastern species (still need Baird's Sparrow, Short-eared Owl, White-eared Hummer, Short-tailed Hawk, Mexican Chickadee, Sinaloa Wren) but otherwise spend most of my weekends birding around Maricopa and maybe turning up some good finds closer to home. I've been feeling rather guilty lately about my very meager contribution to the birding listservs and general ornithological culture. Granted, unlike many of the retirees, I'm only getting out to bird once a week, at most, but it still has been too long since I turned up some good discoveries, found my own rare birds, etc.

Somewhere in this dilapidated mess of bok-choy there may, in fact, be a good bird.

So, that rambling anecdote amounts to a half-assed explanation of why, this weekend, the Butler's Birds machine (which is currently sporting quite a bit of duct tape on its fender) rumbled out east onto the Rousseau Sod and Agricultural Farms. I had not seen a single listserv report for this site since the beginning of autumn, and I have a perverse weakness for sleuthing through the little brown birds that can be found in these imitation prairies. The targets were Longspurs, a genus of which I have absolutely no photos, and, foremost, a Sprague's Pipit.

No, of course this isn't a Sprague's Pipit perched on the bok-choy. This is an American Pipit, one of many hundreds of near-identical birds that would be subject to heavy and heavy-breathing scrutiny.

Apart from a Sprague's Pipit being found here years ago, the generally favorable, habitat, and the preponderance of American Pipits around, there was no particular reason to expect such a bird, but one has to start somewhere, and at least the Rousseau Farms have been under-birded of late. Sprague's would be a life bird for me and one I'd like to get in AZ, and their habitat cross-over with wintering Longspurs was killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. There was no plan of attack for the Longspurs. I figured there was a one in ten chance that I'd happen upon some in the open, or, much more likely (and which did happen), hear the call note and see a group vanish into some alfalfa.

This fellow was the first candidate for Sprague's Pipit, given the brightly colored legs.  However, on actual inspection (meaning, looking beyond the first, quick, pre-binocular/photo inspection) the legs aren't pink, and even if the face is pretty plain, the breast and flanks are too heavily blotched, relative to Sprague's. Plus there's not much streaking on the head. Only a simpering fool would really have even given this bird a second glance. Or not, I dunno.

I must confess to another motivation in this excursion, one which will no doubt baffle any normal person, or any person whose nerdy proclivities (and I think we all have them) don't incline him or her towards birds. For that matter, this confession may even confound many the birder in the audience. 

I really like Pipits. I salivate at the prospect of peeping on Pipits. I kreen and kroon, and slam on the brakes. I will crawl through the dust, and even eat the dust if need be, or by accident, or just to try it, if it will get me good looks at Pipits.
To expand on this minor obsession a bit, this applies to any Wagtail, but the American Pipit is the only one we in AZ have got. Combine their infectious tail-bobbing with their subtle, intricate, and infinitely diverse plumage, their prodigious hallux, and the fact that they're pretty fearless compared to most other LBJs, and you've got a real champion of the economy of style.

This Pipit, of course, was in no way a candidate for Sprague's, for all of the same reasons mentioned with the bird above, plus it has obviously dark legs. 

In addition to pandering towards my perverse and painful Pipit proclivity, the Rousseau Farms also afford some easy safari style birding. Birding from the car doesn't always provide better photos ops, but it's always more comfortable in those winter mornings.
Savannah Sparrows are a very appropriate bird to photograph while safari-style birding, all the more so because they usually would not tolerate an approach on foot.

 "To hide a tree, use a forest," as the old proverb goes. In a field full of broccoli, there is no better protected perch than broccoli. RWBBs are repositories of ancient wisdom.

 I don't relish time with Horned Larks as much as with Pipits, which may indeed be a sign of serious mental debilitation since Horned Larks are way sexier birds. I still do enjoy getting to crush them though, when those uncommon opportunities present themselves.

Most prairie type birds, raptors excepted, lead a pretty humble, unassuming existence. But the comparably ostentatious Horned Lark conveys a clear sense of superiority. Its perches, its struts, its call notes...they are all saturated with the highfalutin self-assurance that it is, on any given day, the prettiest bird on the Arizona prairie. Some day, I pray, a Red-throated Pipit will show up and rain on their parade. On that day I will ride over in an ambulance, preempting death by subsequent cardiac arrest.
In the mean time:

The Pipits, the Larks, the Sparrows, the Longspurs...they're the party going on down below, raving in the tall grass, but of course there's another level to the hierarchy, a hegemony of hawks and falcons dourly perching overhead.

Here is a very normal looking Red-tailed Hawk, which is unusual only because there doesn't seem to be much unusual about him. Big, grungy, and successful all over north American...the Red-tailed Hawk is what so many death metal bands never could be. 

Red-tailed Hawks and American Kestrels littered the utility lines with expected frequency. A couple Prairie Falcons, by far the most skittish of Maricopa Raptors in my experience, also made appearances.
An intermediate Red-tailed Hawk made for a refreshing sight. Of course, we can't rule out that this bird is the production of some Swainson's x Harris's x Red-tail hybirdizing eh?

"You speak nonsense and heresy sir! Good day!"

Floating weirdly close to this Red-tail, in a weirdly otherwise uninhabited canal, weirdly without spooking and flying off like all the other canal-dwelling Mallards and Coots did during the day, was this weirdly lone Canvasback drake. He was just chillin', cold as ice and cool as a cucumber.

The Red-tailed Hawks were the biggest bullies on the block, but they weren't the most numerous raptor, especially away from their precious utility lines. I counted 13 Northern Harriers, 6 more than I counted RTHA, and of these 13 there were 8 males, which seems a very high distribution.

If the Red-tail rules the power lines, this Silver-backed Harrier, undoubtedly, rules his green onion field with an iron talon. He played a game of thrones with the other Harriers, and eventually expanded his territory into the neighboring, peaceful alfalfa with ruthless wingbeats.

Many Harriers were, predictably, harrying above the open fields. Some also stayed closer to the irrigation venules and often flew down the channels, perhaps concealing their movements from potential prey or rivals. Their target was only two meters wide, at the end of the trench, so they had to use proton torpedos...

None the hunting Harriers were successful, from what I saw, and even though I must wait and bide time until I get that much-coveted Harrier close-up (or go to Antelope Island in Utah), I enjoyed taking some scene shots of the prowling birds with purple mountains majesty in the background.

Yes yes, I know, raptors are great, but it's time to get back to business, back to the reason we're all here, the reason birders get up in the morning. The little brown birds and their onerous identification separates the men from the boys, the women from the boys, the boys from the babies, and the cafeteria birders from the hardcore nitty-gritty put-that-Pipit-in-your-mouth-to-analyze-by-taste birders.

Taste is not required to parse out that this a clear, even handsome, specimen of American Pipit

Many of the Pipits were busy foraging, keeping low, but not invisibly low, to their sod fields or other preferred pastures. Some were also busy preening, or just smelling to see if a shower was in order. 

He knows that one of the 573 Pipits out on the sod fields is kinda bug-eyed and doesn't quite fit in. He know's it's one of those weird Sprague's, the ignored, awkward distant cousin at the family reunion. But he will not say where.

This is not the first time I've put some heavy crush on American Pipits, and it will not be the last. To those of you who are being good sports and and just enduring these boring brown bird photos, thanks for hanging in there, we're almost done.

Actually, that's not true. There are several more Pipit specimens to examine, but you can take an intermission here with this brazen Say's "I perch where I want" Phoebe. 

Although I started my tour of the Rousseau farm landscape on the Alma School/McDonald road, the best pipitting was on the south side of the drier sod fields a mile or two from McDonald, past the little refinery and a couple of residences. The numbers were highest here and I had some of my most promising, if inconclusive, sightings.

This guy is an Am. Pipit, for sure, but I just want to point out that he has a gigantic, bulbous head.

The Pipit below, also an American, was a bit of a puzzler for a little while, until I was able to get closer looks. He seemed to be feeding differently from the other Pipits, darting forward and backwards in a hectic fashion, and his tail bobbed not-a-once. While his back exhibits some very light streaking, its nowhere near the darker scaling one would expect on a Sprague's Pipit. Bummer.

Here is another Say's Phoebe, because they're bodacious birds, even if common, and because he landed like three feet away from me, just begging to be made famous (chose the wrong blogger/photographer for that).

So, finally, here's my best candidate for Sprague's Pipit, and of course it's a power line bird, so many of the distinguishing features are obscured. I should say right off that the spotting on the breast looks too large and dark for Sprague's, and the white malar stripe is probably too pronounced for Sprague's as well, so not exactly off to a great start. Additionally, the back, top of head, and legs are all blocked.

And yet, something still seems kinda...Spraguey about this bird. It wasn't perching like the other Pipits and its lower breast and belly were very clean. Its eye seemed larger and more bug-eyed than American (a good sign) and the supercilium was wider and blends with the orbital ring more than on the other Americans I saw. The beak also seemed thinner and pointier. That all being said, it's not enough for a clean ID, not even close. I did not report this bird to eBird nor on my list, and so the Sprague's search continues. Readers may thus consider this time in the field, much like time spent reading this post, to have been poorly spent, but I'll contend it was a lovely morning with plenty of enjoyable, if predominantly beige birding. Lacking a solid ID on the Sprague's wasn't the greatest possible ending to the day, but it was the most likely, and, most bestest of all, I have reason to go back pipiting again.

Encanto Encounters--Reigniting an Old Flame

This past weekend, in addition to fitting in some most satisfactory birding in Gilbert, I met up with an old flame via the internet. The first time I met this gorgeous friend it was such a new experience, exciting in so many ways. It also burned out pretty quickly--she proved to be too clingy and quickly grew distant, even skittish, and didn't like me taking photos. 

I'm referring, of course, to a lifer Lewis's Woodpecker from several years ago found at Encanto Park, an assuming urban park in central Phoenix. The park itself is mostly water features and palm trees next to a golf course, but there are three well-stocked and, importantly, uncontested oak trees near the park clubhouse, and this Lewis's wintered there quite comfortably, stashing acorns in the palms and enjoying the mild weather. The bird was rediscovered this year (assumedly it's the same bird--that works better for the narrative and bad jokes I'm making), back at its old tricks, and upon reading the listserv report I couldn't resist a reaquiantance. Even though it had been a surprising lifer those years before, I've been unsatisfied with my photos of the species and there isn't many a better opportunity to photograph these predominantly montane birds than a comparatively open city park. 

When I returned to Encanto, which also happens to be close to the best Thai restaurant in Phoenix...the Lewis's was readily apparent, being far larger and slower flying than its timid Gila counterparts. It was wasting little time in making hollows and stockpiling its winter store.

It's no birding gem, by any means, but Encanto Park also has some other feathery attractions. It's a very reliable spot--as is any park with a bit of water and some palms--for Rosy-faced Lovebirds, which are a recently countable bird in the ABA area. These birds are second only to the Le Conte's Thrasher as the subject of many emails I get from out-of-town birders looking to boost their life lists. Unlike those coy, skittish Thrashers, these birds are conspicuous, cute, and more gregarious than the neighborhood ice cream man on a summer day.

They don't just associate with their own kind either. They're obliging of Starlings, Grackles, Curve-billed Thashers, Doves, and, as it turns out, they don't even really mind Kestrel company. Can you spot the third bird in this tree?



The Eurasian Collared Dove...they may seem innocuous, and they're not even overly numerous in central Phoenix, but this species has spread out and conquered North America faster than just about any other introduced species of which I can think. They'd make the blitzkrieging panzer divisions, USMC, 101st Airborne, and the Ottoman Turks all green with envy and uhh...purple?...with respect. Their secret to vast, rapid conquest seems to be having lots of babies and being bigger than the other doves, that, and having a really raspy, surprisingly ugly dove call. Despite their lily-white facade, they're also very hardy. I see them in slummy parts of town next to pigeons, on cattle farms, in the desert, and up in below-freezing temperatures in the mountains, where even Pigeons and Starlings will not go.

I can't say I'm thrilled to see or read about their expansion, but I'll take them over Pigeons at least. Their cleaner, chalky complexions are easier on the eye, and sometimes they seem very empathetic:

"Would...would you mind if I conquered you? Would that be alright?"

After initially seeing the Lewis's and then doing a quick walk-about to see if anything else was out and eye-level, I returned to the woodpecker post, transforming into a Stalking Gawker. No doubt it's been said before, said well, said often, even said superfluously (the fourth one is my personal style at any rate), but this Woodpecker is absurdly colored. It looks like the result of a Crow and a tropical Tanager's wild night of passion, made all the more weird by it being a woodland/montane bird now witnessed bringing home the bacon, so to speak, on a palm tree. 

The Lewis's was much more cooperative than when we first met years before, even if its significance for the list and what not had lessened. I was able to scoot right up to the base of its palmy acorn reservoir and fire dead ahead, finally getting a little eye contact, recognition, and justice. What an outstandingly gorgeous bird. When we first met...I was young and reckless. Things will never be the same between us, but I and the Lewis's...we have an understanding now, from time shared together.

A Proper Day's Birding: Rarities, Regulars, and Revitalization

Thus far my birding in 2014 had been a few crammed chases around Maricopa after some migrants and winter visitors, resulting in tight scheduled, hurried looks, and less than satisfactory birding. That is not to say the Golden-crowned sparrow or Eurasian Wigeons northwest of Phoenix, nor the Fox Sparrows in Rackensack Canyon were a let down themselves, but I did not have time really to enjoy the birding itself, being to busy rushing around, mind always on the next target. I could not soak in the scenery or the background birds and really enjoy the time. This weekend I had one more Maricopa chase to make--into the South Mountain Preserve to settle a long-stanging grudge with Gray Vireos--but after that detour I decided I'd take in some easy, slow-paced birding and get the feel, the fulfillment back, by taking the time for all of the sights, sounds, and photos as they come. Chasing is for cheetahs, and cheetahs are terrible birders.

But that all being said, I had to settle the score with the Gray Vireo first. This Arizona resident should've been checked of the list long ago. Every year I told myself I'd pick it up eventually on Mt. Ord, and every year the Gray Vireos remained elusive. I even ventured into the Estrella Mountains a couple of times to look for wintering GRVIs around their favorite bursera bushes, but to no avail. When a Gray Vireo was found and photographed by Arizona's 2013 #1 Tommy DeBardeleben on the Telegraph Trail on South Mountain, I knew the time had come. 

The early morning chill and the mountain's sloping canyons made for an eery start to the day, heightened all the more by an occasional Screech Owl calling out from its hidden perch. I made quick time down the Telegraph Trail, beelining to the spot where Tommy reported the bird, and not long after daybreak had the Vireo call note harkening me in, and a dull little gray bird flitting away from its bursera and down the wash. In fifteen minutes I could not relocate the little bugger, and once again the, ''see it later on Mt. Ord excuse'' crept to mind.' 

Call me lazy, call me a quitter, call tired of having my heart broken by Gray Vireos. I decided not to give that bird a minute more of my time, with the initial sighting proving enough for list and conscience, and headed back to my car so I could speed recklessly to the east side of town. My only memento from this first chase was a dark scene shot of the South Mountain terrain. See you on Mt. Ord, Gray Vireos...

I was really craving an easy birding outing, and not easy in the sense that I wanted to find a target bird with minimal effort, but in the sense that I'd constantly have birds in my vision, even if I'd seen them all before and often. I didn't want to feel rushed after a certain bird in a certain place, and to be there only for that species, nor to be driving or walking back and forth without any birds amid my one coveted target. So, I headed to the nice, flat, and eminently birdy Riparian Preserve in Gilbert to see what the day provided, with expectation left on the chilly trails of South Mountain.
With its combination desert bosque and riparian habitat, this well-known site had exactly what I was needing, an easy walkabout with plenty of birds to see and photograph, to remind me of the full enjoyment and satisfaction I take from this hobby, to stop trying to anticipate the next stop or species, and how to get to it as efficaciously as possible.

White-crowned Sparrows, both immature and adult, where certainly the most numerous bird at the Ranch. Given the high numbers in which they concentrate in Phoenix in the winter, I can only wonder and imagine what their breeding grounds in Canada must resemble. It fills one with fear.

The other most predictable Sparrow, and the one most usually ignored, was the Abert's Towhee. Indeed, this fellow is shy and dull, even extremely so. Their call is grating and their behavior vacillates between understandably skittish and rudely inhospitable. And yet, I have to give some love to the Abert's Towhee, as it's about as close to a central Arizona endemic as it gets. 

It may be a shy, boring, dull ball of brownish fluff, but its our shy, boring, brownish ball of fluff.

The ABTO's much handsomer cousin, the Spotted Towhee, was a nice and singular find in the cottonwood leaves, all the more so because it actually and somewhat amazingly held still for a couple of photos. Usually they're even more flighty than the Abert's.

Spotted Towhees are on the eBird hotspot lists throughout Phoenix, but I seldom seen them below one or two thousand feet, so finding them in the valley is a treat, and makes me feel, a bit, like I've found an uncommon bird (whereas, once you get into some juniper scrub above one thousand feet, they're incredibly loud and conspicuous). Ok ok so trying to claim a Spotted Towhee as an uncommon sighting is pretty lame, but I've been out of the field and, much like this Towhee's sides, am very rusty. I've got to work my way up to real rarities again.

The main draw of the Giblert Water Ranch is not its multiplicity of Sparrows--though that attends more towards my birding proclivities--but messes like the two below:

Yes, so they're junky photos of bird butts, but the point is there are many bird butts, and bird butts belonging to many different species. Call it a conglomeration, a gallimaufry, a bricolage or even an angry mob. The marshlands here draw in big loud piles of birds that need much sorting, potentially turning up all the Arizona residents, plenty of migrants, a rarity or two, and some nice photo opportunities for even the most casual of nature observers. 

Much like a Great Blue Heron striding through the shallows, birding here and buffing up a day list is a cake walk, with plenty of icing.

 

This Night heron looks timid and embarrassed not only because he's a Night Heron and that's his job, but because he just struck at a minnow moments before and he missed badly. He missed badly and he knows it. He missed badly and he knows I know it. And he knows I know he knows it. 

The Gilbert shores had their intrigue with the normal waders and some late Dunlin, as well as the wintering peeps. Farther out in the retention ponds the winterfowl did their thing. American Coots grunted and chortled without any apparent reason, only to explode in violence upon each other with little forewarning. Green-winged Teal were numerous and distant, keeping a status quo on my overall unsatisfied attempts at photographing the Teal family.

Northern Shovelers dozed off mid sentence or stared at their belly-buttons, both of which behaviors account for them being favorite prey of Peregrines and Harriers. 

This Avocet closed its eyes and tried to concentrate on turning its head a more attractive shade of red.

The ever-active Black-necked Stilts tip-toed around the shallows, pecking and poking at only God knows what for their brunch. 

As the photos show, in Arizona, even our pond plants are thorny, and they grow right out of the water.

Here's a typical scene from the Water Ranch, one that is simple and calming for the anxious, often deprived birder such as myself. A myriad of expected species, easily visible and floating about their daily lives, much like the rest of us. There's also a more hidden, reclusive bird in this image. A sniper could find it, can you?  

Her camouflage and stillness not withstanding, if I had been hungry and/or a raptor this Wilson's Snipe would be dead, cut down in the prime of life (which, for an anxious, beady bird like the Snipe, is basically a plateau from hatching to natural death, all of which may occur in exactly the same spot).

Ok, so they're not that paralyzed by fear. This winter visitor is a welcome and enjoyable exercise in extreme scanning scrutiny, and I for one appreciate them leaving their hiding places way up north and coming down to their hiding places way down south.

Surrounding the ever-popular water features, another excellent aspect of the Ranch and the next segment of this post, could be titled, "Expected Desert Birds Perched on Spiky Things." See here, how this pugnacious Anna's hummingbird perches atop a screwbean mesquite, one of the Sonoran Desert's cooler spiky things.

See here, this wide-eyed Curve-billed Thrasher perched amid its own spiky mesquite thing, looking as if, like so many of us outdoorsy desert dwellers, he may have sat down in just the wrong place.

See here how this Song Sparrow, normally a content dweller of the soft, squishy marshlands, must acclimate itself to perching and singing from a spiky thing as well. It looks uncomfortable.

Of course, the more spikes the better, as far as most of the birds are concerned. Verdins are particular enthusiasts both of spiky trees and life in general. Not only do they nest in the spring to foster young, they also build winter nests--sometimes multiple--simply as auxiliary shelters when it gets overly brisk at night. If modern science could find a way to take the metabolism and motivation of a verdin and put it into some sort of biofuel bacteria, I do believe the alternative gasoline issue would be solved by April.

The Verdin isn't just hospitable in the sense that it likes to build homes and thus always has a spare bedroom available, you know, if you need a place to crash. It's the only thing close to a resident Warbler Arizona has (and it's not a warbler at all, but a Tit) and they're mostly impervious to people, so they make even the most impatient and despairing photographers, such as myself, keep hope. 

Verdins...ya gotta love 'em.

In the category of actual Warblers, the Yellow-rumps were out in large numbers, fly-catching in the cottonwoods and foraging in the mesquites. Most of them will leave Phoenix before they become gorgeous, but I won't knock their aesthetic too much--Arizona's chamber of commerce needs all the winter tourists it can get, or so we're told.

Overall, Arizona is a bit deprived in the Warbler department, at least compared (by number) to most other states, but we have several pretty consistent vagrants, including American Redstarts and Northern Parulas. It has also been a autumn/winter for Black-and-white Warblers. This was the second one I've seen in the last four months, and the sixth or seventh reported fairly recently in Maricopa County. 

I've never seen any of the three western Nuthatches nor Brown Creepers at the Water Ranch, so now, somewhat oddly, this Black-and-white Warbler is the closest thing to that department I've registered.
It certainly was the highlight of the day, even over the late lifer Gray Vireo. I later learned when checking the listserv and blogosphere that it's been foraging between ponds 1 and 7 at the preserve for a little while now, and may stay through winter.

There are not a lot of places where one might see Black-and-white Warblers, Abert's Towhees, Curve-billed Trashers, and Brewer's Sparrows all foraging around the same tree. The Gilbert Water Ranch is a solid spot, maybe not hugely outstanding in one way, but solid. Any birders who happen to live nearby are very lucky to have it as their local patch.

This weekend's birding was totally rejuvenating and encouraging. I shook off the unpleasant feeling that growing my lists and photo portfolio, or even getting material for posts, had become a chore. I was able to soak in and savor the sights, sounds, and scenery that a good, healthy birding outing should provide. I made one more stop in the day at Encanto Park to see an old feathered friend before getting some Thai lunch (without which no good weekend is complete), but that (the last birding stop),  is a post for another time.