Oregon Rambling and Easy Summer Promises

Below is a picture of a Burrowing Owl shot in early May, which marks the last time I did any real birding. I am ashamed, full of apologies, etc., but you've heard this all before. After so long away what I can promise is this: there will be more and better birding in the future. Southeast Arizona is off-chart with vagrants right now and the weekend draws near.

Birding had to take a backseat this year, but it has not all been grindstone and drudgery. Recently I took a trip to Oregon for some much needed 'Away from Arizona' time. Despite all the best information and encouragement from Online Oregon Hubs Hipsters Birders and Reformed Bird-hater Jen, I could not make this into much of a birding expedition, but Oregon is still Oregon, which is one of the most beautiful states there is.

The first portion of the trip was on the east side of the Cascades in Bend. Geologically recent volcanic eruptions scarred this landscape in impressive ways and for once, finally, it's not considered rude to stare at or even touch a cool scar.

Ragged basalt was strewn like lithified ocean waves, with warped vegetation clinging on to life in between, or standing monolithic and twisted in death. It was gnarly.

We have much to be thankful to volcanoes for, including good soil, significant landmarks, and giving us reason to get interested in science as 5-year-olds. Among all these things, perhaps one of the greatest testaments to the destructive and creative power of volcanoes is Crater Lake an hour south of Bend. This caldera was created when 12,000ft. Mt. Mazama lost its temper like 15,000 years ago and blew off its last 4,000 feet. The resulting crater filled with rain water and receives only the most minimal snow melt run-off, thus maintaining its azure complexion that out-blues the sky itself.

The birding options east of the Cascades are tremendous, but alas I was touring with non-birders, and while chasing Greater Sage Grouse or White-headed Woodpeckers sounded great to me, spending more time in the Bend brewery scene appealed to everyone else. The tough part was I also do well in a brewery habitat, so really I didn't put up much protest.

The second portion of Oregon time was spent in Portland, which is also within reach of broad-reaching attractions where the birds cannot help but be included. Case in point, mighty Haystack Rock at Cannon Beach has dozens and dozens of pelagic species nesting on it and its neighboring rocks.

It's time for another edition now, alas, of terrible photos of cool birds, lifers and otherwise. Common Murres, Gulls, a few Guillemots, and Pelagic Cormorants clung (or in the case of the Gulls, nested comfortably) to the rocky facades, displaying determination and stoicism otherwise belayed by their cute (Murres and Guillemots) or awkward (all the non-gulls) movement.

There were even six Harlequin Ducks hanging out by the breakers. I would love to see these birds near nesting habitat on a rough mountain stream some day, but in the meantime this will have to do.

Best of all, there were Puffins! Puffin of any variety--in this case Tufted--are probably second only to Owls in terms of broad appeal to humans. We picked out 4 individuals on Haystack and enjoyed watching them bullet around the rock in the evening. Small confession, I actually super like the second photo of the dynamos against the large blurry backdrop, but I can't really explain why.

Beach time is always exciting. It guarantees good birding and, even if Oregon beaches in late May are too chilly to host all the scantily clad beautiful people we usually go to the beaches to see, they do host lots of dead jellyfish, which are also good.

Apparently this was a banner year for velella sail jellies getting beached what with the el nino winds and all. We also found another large jellyfish, which remarkably I resisted the urge to wear as a hat.

The hiking in Oregon is crazy good. In Arizona, if one wants to walk among the spruce and fir trees, one must get above 8,000 feet. In Oregon hemlock grows in the neighborhoods, and the hikes themselves are like treks through the rain forest (but much piny-er).

Wilson's Warblers were a common sound and uncommon sight around the lower Mt. Hood trails. They continue to be a sort of photo-nemesis for me, but it was pretty cool to have them vocalizing so much.

Pacific Wrens were also very commonly heard and, weirdly, commonly seen. when they are in a singing mood they can be pretty accommodating.

With all due respect to TLC (is that very much, by the way?), when in Oregon I WILL go chasing waterfalls. Mild apologies for the photo dump here, but these cataracts are all from one 7 mile hike on Larch Mountain.

Other notable wildlife included lots of banana slugs, both cow-speckled (means they're ripened) and regular un-speckled (means they're going to taste bitter and grassy).

By trip's end the lack of crushes and clear looks was getting bothersome so I snuck out early, hoping at least to get some Chestnut-Backed Chickadee shots at the Audubon Center. Alas, it did not open until 9am, at which point I needed to mosey to the airport, and they took in all of their feeders (yes, I was getting desperate). So, pelagics aside, I think my favorite bird was this Swainson's thrush that was calling before sun-up.

Was the lack of birds in this post frustrating for you too dear reader? Worry and war not much longer, because the Santa Rita Mountains are blowing up right now with Pine Flycatcher, Aztec thrush, and Golden-winged Warbler (also, you know, like Trogons and stuff). For sake of you all, you two readers who still bear with me, I will try to go see these birds on Sunday. Proust!

It Just Shows to Go Ya

After a long, long week, I had made my resolution. I had charged my batteries, I had gassed up the car and pressed and starched my formal walkin' jeans. I was finally going to get out birding early and earnestly this weekend and...apparently I did something to offend the Anemoi or whoever oversees late April precipitation in central AZ. Saturday was rained out in the Sunflower/Mt. Ord area, and Sunday morning was still ominously overcast with occasional sprinkles.

Oh yes you'd like me to go back home and go to bed very much lazy part of me, wouldn't you? No! I was joined on Sunday morning by an esteemed coworker, Melanie, who had spent time in the field doing Kestrel Research, so double no backing down. Despite the crumby weather, we girded our loins and sallied forth. One doesn't simply gird one's loins and haul out in the morning only to turn around. It's just too long a process:

We made the right call of course, because bird activity was still relatively high for the chilly morning, and we even got occasional burst of sunlight through the fog. Not everyone was so eager to rise, case in point this mortgage-toting VG Swallow. 

The riparian and juniper scrub areas of Sunflower were rife with passerines, Bell's Vireo, LEGOs, empids, and Lucy's and Yellow Warblers out the ears. There were also numerous Summer Tanagers and Orioles, principally Hooded, some of whom were itchy. 

**Only now do I realize that Hooded Oriole, somehow, has never made an appearance on Butler's Birds before. I do not know how this is possible and do heartily apologize, because now all I have to offer are these distant or obscured birds. Just move along.

We picked up Zone-tailed and nesting Cooper's Hawks at Sunflower as before heading farther up to Mt. Ord, where the washed out road, the death of many the ill-prepared sedan before, was no match for our desire to get up into the clouds.
The yucca and oak scrub along the way is excellent for Black-chinned Sparrows earlier in the morning and Gray Vireos, a bird I once called nemesis but now call mutual acquaintance.

Is it just me or did this bird used to be considered 'near threatened' or something? Maybe I just imagined that part as all seems to be well and 'LC' now online. Certainly the Mt. Ord birds are hale and hearty.

Continuing our ascent, I had a moment of deja vu when we drove by, peripherally, an Eastern Kingbird-type flycatcher. This was in almost the exact same spot I thought I saw something like that last year while hurrying back down the mountain, but was unable to pursue as the bird flushed.
Of course, for an Eastern Kingbird to be here, much less two years in a row, would be ridiculous, but nothing else at all resembling such a bird would normally be here either.
We were more successful this time in pursuit and closure. Looking at this bird my thought was Greater Pewee, which was stupid, because this bird is much more likely an Olive-sided Flycatcher, a migrant I see too infrequently to remember as being fair game (cheer Steve).

Since it was still clouded over we did not bother to hike near the summit, but the lower FR nonetheless offered excellent Warblers, with Grace's, Hermit, Black-throated Gray, and Olive all making appearances, as well as an industrious Painted Redstart.

Better and more dedicated birders than I are turning up rarities down in SE AZ or getting face to face with amazing Owls inside impressively isolated county locales. I'm thinking that if I'm going to be inconsistent and deal with the overcast, I might as well just mosey on up to Oregon or something and explore there for a little while.

Weeknight Screeching

It is what it is, and what it is is not much weekend birding, a proper morning of crappy fast food breakfast and day lists pushing 100. Instead it's stealing out fora  few hours on a Tuesday to see what Owls might be poking around (not Elf Owls, with the recent cold front, dammit) and how many times one might be almost-trampled by the feral horses along the Salt River.




Western Screech-Owls might not have the majesty nor the accommodating gifts of the Humboldt County Great Gray--in fact, they lose out to that bird in every department except maybe for "Best Owl to Sneak Home in One's Cargo Shorts," but hey it's only 4 weeks until school it out, and much like the shade of Voldemort ghosting through the woods feeding on unicorn's blood (is that an obscure reference yet?) the Salt River Owls will keep me alive.

My buddy Will joined me for this particular foray, and while the Owl selfie game still needs work, out teamwork did prevent us from falling victim to the unpleasant and unwashed busybody guy that followed us around for a little while, more I think out of boredom and loneliness than genuine masculine attraction (although, you know, a bit of that).

Western Screech-Owl, showing its bloomers.

Cut-throat Birding

This may be the shortest worst post featured on Butler's Birds in years, one to test true loyalty and/or boredom. That is the disclaimer. This Sunday I made the 3-hour haul out to the charming Cluff Ranch riparian area in Graham County, the recent exposé of a male Rose-throated Becard. I have done very little birding in Graham county and even though time was limited this was a great spot, with almost 60 species record in 3 hours, many of whom were very vocal.

The Becard had been seen regularly near an old cattle gate along a portion of the pedestrian trail around 8:30am. The hope was to find the bird earlier, as departing Cluff Ranch at 8:30 would allow 3 hours for arrival for an 11:30 appointment. 

I started the trail around 7:00am and by luck or judgment, the Becard was foraging high in some cottonwoods and giving occasional single-notes on the far side of the pond, a little ways away from its usual haunt. 

Alas I only got the one blurry photo for diagnostics and did not relocate the bird before 8:30; in fact I do not know if it was re-found on the day, so by luck or judgment the quick sighting proved sufficient and satisfying. Back pats and hand slaps all 'round.

Madera Whiskers: An 8 o'clock Shadow

Two blog posts in the same month? It does feel a bit excessive, a bit overkilled. Was there really an age when these came out every week? Anyhow, with no school/work this past Friday there was some extra time even if it came with extra commitments as well. A proper day's hiking and birding is still hard to come by but in a capricious and volatile landscape one must be like the Mexican Jay: adaptable and slate-blue.

Madera Canyon has not a few virtues, and in addition to those relating to is avifauna its relative proximity to Phoenix is high on the list. Considering that most of the premium Maricopa County birding spots are still 45+ minutes, two hours to Madera is quite reasonable.
Butler's Birds headed down with some associates around 12pm and arrived with plenty of daylight left for a hike and merry-making.
Groups of people often make groups of birds uncomfortable, but groups of Titmice are equal to the task. The bird below, with the unintentionally affected lighting, looks like a miniature Blue Jay.

One of the additional attractions to Madera Canyon is the night-scene, which definitely cannot be said of the Green Valley area at large. Mexican Whips had not arrived yet nor any errant Buff-collared Nightjars, but the Whiskered Screech-Owls were in fine form after sundown.
It took a little while, between when the birds started calling around the Bog Springs campground at 7:30 to 8:00pm, but the WHSOs, much like WESOs, were eventually very curious and accommodating. 

Night birding really is a pleasure. The species list will rarely break double digits, of course, but being surrounded by invisible calling owls, only catching the faintest glimpses of movement against a starlit backdrop, establishes that oneness feeling, that warm enveloping with nature that birders and naturalist so often seek.
It's also a pleasure because you do not have to get up super early or supersede other early day activities to do it, and you don't have to worry about back-lighting or white-washing.

Not only were the WHSOs accommodating, they actually were responsive to my impersonation calls. I will be quick to go on record in saying that neither my WESO nor WHSO calls are particularly good (nor any others), but these owls were good sports, coming low in their oaken milieus for some encouraging face-to-face conversations. Maybe they just wanted to check out whatever ungainly and awkward owl would be making such rude noises.