But which Winter Bird is Best???

There are people in this world, people who spend lots of time preparing and fussing over their outfits and their hair. They walk, talk, and flaunt a certain way. Why do people do this? So that the rest of us can give them our attention, judge them, compare them, talk about them, etc. It's a time-hallowed tradition now done most notably and prodigiously at shopping malls and outside of movie theaters. Although their appearance is less in their control, birds have a propensity for these displays too, especially when potential mates are around. They want to be the loudest, the most magnificent, or the most established.  

As our feeders and fields, along with the blogosphere, are flooded with those essential regional winter birds, it is only appropriate then, even necessary, to host a discussion exploring which of the iconic winter wanderers is the BEST winter bird. Not all of the birds hosted here have a full range across the nation, but they're all recognizable and form a good basis. While spending a week of my winter break in Pennsylvania, a state with great birding diversity, I was able to see these winter staples and weigh their characteristics with the cynical judgment that can only be honed over years of people-watching at awkward social scenes. 

To be fair, there's a heavy eastern bias here, but also to be fair, the east coast hosts the traditional winter tropes more than we do in the west. So, White-crowned Sparrows, you won't make the list...

It seems fair to first address not only one of the most conspicuous winter birds, but one of the most well-known and loved throughout the country throughout the year. Also known as the Red Bandit and the Prayerful Passerine, ladies and gentlemen...The Northern Cardinal.

                    

No winter is complete without at least one Christmas card showing one of these birds perched on a  snowy branch, and no feeder is properly christened until the Cardinal has visited. Their stunning, rich red captivates the eyes and burns itself into the memory. With good reason, the Northern Cardinal has a reputation as one of the most beautiful birds in North America. However, they also suffer from over-exposure, as they have their brand bandied about on logos and decorations and greeting cards such that we're so saturated in Cardinals, they lose their luster sometimes. Even so, what a great bird.

Opposite the Cardinal in its red is the Eastern Bluebird in its vibrant blue. True enough, this bird is not as widespread as the Cardinal, and their counterpart Western Bluebirds do not have the same winter feel to them. But Eastern Bluebirds pose so nicely and often for their pictures in hallmark winter settings. Their rusty sides and rusty chin, along with the white belly, also makes for a more complex color palette, and there aren't many birds much cuter... 

Though the Black-capped Chickadee is probably one such cutey. These gregarious, garrulous go-getters are maybe the only birds that can compete with the Cardinal's popularity and recognition even outside of the birder circles. Although they have handsome plumage, they must make up for the shortfall in color with their rambunctious behavior, which they do quite well. 

In a lot of ways thought, the Chickadee suffers from the same over-saturation as the Cardinal. Namely, they're great birds, but choosing them as the BEST winter bird seems cheap, when their are other cool birds whose lower profile makes them more interesting.

Golden-crowned Kinglets benefit from being Kinglets, which is a great thing to be. Additionally and unlike their Ruby-crowned counterparts, they've always got some sort of crown on display, even if it's not the full monty. Overall, I guess there's not enough to really consider them for BEST winter bird, but I do enjoy seeing them and it wouldn't quite be the winter birding experience without them bouncing around, as if no one told them its cold outside. 

Though only found in the eastern half of the U.S., and also found year round, The Carolina Wren still feels like a quintessential winter bird to me. Maybe it's because there are fewer other birds around and their high-power songs stand out all the clearer. Like the Golden-crowned Kinglet, it couldn't be BEST winter bird, but it resonates with me as another essential to any good day of winter birding.

Like the Carolina Wren, the Downy Woodpecker really comes to the fore in winter due in part to the absence of other birds in the area. They're dexterous, tough little buggers and are some of the few birds one will see on the suet feeders through January and February. Plus, this bird has nice winter coloration. But BEST winter bird? Probably not.

Until someone convinces me otherwise, I'm throwing my vote for BEST winter bird to the White-throated Sparrow. Not content to just be White-crowned, they also sport the white, Santa Claus winter beards and some of the yellowest lores you'll see in North America. 

They descend on a fair portion of North America and in great numbers, but only for half of the year (give or take). As such, they're not over exposed, but they're not so overbearing as to be cheapened (at least, not for a visiting westerner like me). Plus, they're just Fabulous!



What do you think? Have I misrepresented all of these wintery birds? Am I missing some (absolutely!)? Who would you nominate for BEST winter bird?

The Guardian of St. James' Bridge

Bashful Pelican really wanted attention though.

Condescending Junco looks down his nose at you and disparages your species!...

...unless you head over to Birding Is Fun and read my monthly post. In that case, he thinks you are the best thing ever.

A Lake Named Havasu

A long time ago, Arizonans dug a large moat on their western border to protect against their Californian neighbors, always eager as the Californians were to flee the verdant valleys and stunning Pacific coastline in favor of the spacious, arid, dusty lands to the east. This "Colorado River," as the moat came to be known, is also used for many other things, including hydroelectric power. The Parker Dam, built in the mid 1930s, subsequently created the Lake Havasu reservoir.  It is not the largest man-made lake in the world, but it is the largest reservoir named Havasu, and it helps to keep California and Arizona separate. The lake and its various estuaries, including the Bill Williams River, is also home to all manner of waterfowl, and is one of the few places in the state where deep-water ducks, such as Scoters and Goldeneyes, can be found.

After successfully chasing the Nutting's Flycatcher a few miles to the east, I spent the early afternoon around Lake Havasu looking for some of the winterfowl that seldom strays into the Phoenix area.

A single, distant, but unmistakable female White-winged Scoter provided instant vindication for a stop by the lake. Many Western Grebes and Canvasbacks also added to the pretty scenery, but the White-winged Scoter, though comparatively dull, was a new bird for me in Arizona and a certain highlight. 

There is about a 1/2 mile finger jutting out into the southeast corner of the reservoir, not far from the turn off to Planet Ranch Rd (which leads to the Nutting's), and it provides excellent views of the waterfowl on both sides, particularly near the marina and I-95 bridge. Although the Havasu finger gives a lovely panoramic perspective, the winterfowl still flush very easily, giving me far too much credit for being able to run, jump, and swim after them in a fast and predatory fashion.
Common Goldeneye were one of my target Ducks, and while they were not very hospitable, they were still stunning through the binoculars.

Given the size of the reservoir and the skittishness of the birds, digiscoping will likely yield better photos than the ol' telephoto lens, but I was low on options, having not yet procured  kayak, and had to make peace with photographing the Goldeneye rafts from the nosebleed seats.  

Driving southwest from the lake, I made a stop atop Parker dam, where the secluded inlets and man-made covers allowed some closer views of the smaller waterfowl pockets that didn't mind the shallower water. Lesser Scaup were among the species paling around up there, and of course the American Coots had to make a perfunctory appearance as well.



The sort of crew-cut look to the Scaup points towards Lesser (as I recently was reminded by Alex Lamoreaux), versus the more gradually rounding head one would find in Greater. The reservoir can also pull in Long-tailed Ducks and a variety of Gulls, but alas some time constraints prohibited me from further exploring this charming area.

Going 'Nuts' at the Bill Williams Wildlife Refuge

With good reason, the southeast corner of Arizona attracts a lot bird-related attention--attention both from birds and birders. It hosts all kinds of tropical and mexican species that cannot be found anywhere else in the state or even the country. Black-capped Chickadees, Five-striped Sparrows, Quetzals, Trogons, Plain-capped Starthroats, Baird's Sparrows...it can take years to see everything the Madrean sky islands and their surrounding valleys have to offer, and a fair bit of luck too. And yet, for the last two years, one of the state's rarest visitors has been wintering not in the foothills of the Chiricahua or Santa Rita Mountains, but far away to the west, in a little patch of salt cedars about two miles down a little dirt trail called Planet Ranch Road, near the Bill Williams River by Lake Havasu.

At first glance, and really after that, the habitat around the Bill Williams River isn't one-of-a-kind. It is beautiful, mixing the reds and tans of sandstone canyons with the softer greens of desert scrub and the cedars and willows nearer the water, but this all can be said of the larger surrounding area too, and many of the lakes and reservoirs around the state. General birding in the area is excellent, with lots of coastal and deep-water birds visiting the nearby Lake Havasu and all the usual desert and canyon specialists present. But again, most of these species can be found in Maricopa County, and throughout much of the American southwest.

As I walked along Planet Ranch road, keeping and ear and an eye open for the ultra rare, ABA code 5 visitor, the question nagged at me. The singing Canyon Wrens were as lovely as their canyons, and the irascible young Phainopeplas were as charming as ever. In truth, the sheer number of Phainopeplas (I counted over forty) are worth the trip out from Phoenix.

But why would a rare Mexican flycatcher come here? It is not the only habitat of its kind between west/central Arizona and the Mexican border. Any why come at all? This was the second winter in a row that the bird was discovered. Does this individual just like the Bill Williams winter climate more than all the rest of its species? Does it just need a vacation from the financial and social demands of its spring and summer residence farther south? Did it clunk heads with a Woodpecker and develop a bad sense of direction now? Do birds appreciate their environment in and of itself, more than just he extent to which it suits their instinctual survival needs?
Yes, I'm anthropomorphising too much here, but people seem to do the same thing. The Mogollon Rim north east of Phoenix has tons of small mountain towns, mostly populated with cabins that are only inhabited for half of a year. What makes people buy a cabin in one town but not another? In addition to just availability (and that is a factor for birds too of course), we all tend to find something special and delightful in a place that, by any other account or observation, might be ubiquitous to everyone else.

I asked the local Crayon Wrens why they all set up shop in the rocky slopes along the road, and not somewhere else. At some places it seemed like there were four or five noisy neighbors all arguing about their property lines and coveting each other's perches. The Canton Wren response, of course, was that when you look and sound this good, you don't need to know anything.



For about an hour and a half I walked along the road, intruding into the brush from time to time and keeping an eye on the cottonwoods and salt cedars nearby. I mused and meandered quite contentedly, until a harsh, 'RHEEEP' (normally notated as 'weeep', but it sounds more 'rheepy' to me) call shattered the morning's melodies and meant it was time to get down to business.

Only the fifth or sixth record for the United States, this Nutting's Flycatcher was first discovered last winter (2011) by bird experts Lauren Harter and David Van Der Pluym. Its loud, recognizable call tipped them off right away that this was not just an unusually stubby Ash-throated Flycatcher, and after careful consultation and additional observations the record was accepted. Unusually for a rare migrant, the bird stuck around for most of the winter and thrilled many birders with it's relative sociability and vocalizations. Perhaps most surprising of all though, was that it returned for a second year. Does that mean it's not a vagrant any more???



Although this species of myiarchus Flycatcher favors the undergrowth of the salt cedar and cottonwood trees more than most Flycatchers, I was able to pick it out pretty quickly after it called, and also had the pleasure of directing a birder from San Diego to the spot so we could both enjoy a rare lifer.

Why this rare visitor chose this spot will forever be a mystery. It's curious to think that, despite this bird being relatively conspicuous and raucous in his unassuming little patch near mile marker two, it is probably the rarest bird (for North America) I've ever seen, and may well be for some time.

While the curiosities of bird vagrancies will continue to pester me, the trip out to see the Nutting's was most satisfying. After getting some nice views and spending time with this heart-throb of a bird, I headed over to Lake Havasu to look for James Bond villains, I mean Goldeneyes. More on that later.

Mountain out of a Mole Hill

More than the Vermillion Flycatchers, Kites and Ferruginous Hawks (which I didn't see anyway), and even the Crested Caracara, the real treasure of the Santa Cruz flats is its winter repository of Mountain Plover. To find the Plover's coveted sod farms, one must head west down Pretzer road, past Tweedy road and turn onto road 2750. The temptation will be to survey the flocks of Grackles and Pipits on the lush fields, but this is not where the Mountain Plovers will be mountain plovering. 

Find the driest, crunchiest, most needle-pointy-hurt-your-bum-when-you-sit-on-it field you can, and then scan the harrowed tracks where the soil has been turned up.

The camouflaged Mountain Plover use these rugged strips as headquarters for their daring raids into the open, where they eat bugs and plove and so forth. They also seem to spend lots of their time just sitting.



Initially I was pretty surprised to find these guys. After all, this is not a common or widespread bird, and their range in Arizona is very patchy. Additionally, there were Killdeer all over the place and they are the same size. I stopped the car next to the dry sod field to roll down the window and start my surveillance. The birds didn't seem very bothered, and I counted some twenty-six in all.

Maybe you can tell from this photo, but this dry sod grass was seriously sharp. To avoid spooking the birds I had to get down low and scoot along the hypodermic needle grass, incurring many pricks, pokes, and punctures in the process. The Plovers didn't have to worry about spooking me so they could stand up straight, and the poky grass didn't bother them at all. 

For being IUCN listed as 'near-threatened', the Mountain Plovers were not very shy or protective. They must've figured I was just there to enjoy the sod too (false!) and soon they were carrying on with their business all around me. One of the Mountain Plover's favorite past times is having staring contests.
They're very good. You can look at this photo for minutes on end and the bird will never blink.

Occasionally Northern Harriers would buzz over the sod fields. Having Harriers buzzing around gives anyone cause for concern, Mountain Plovers included. I would've been worried too except that if a Harrier tried to take me, I would've finally gotten some good close-ups of that species, which would totally be worth it.

Little flash, little flare...the Mountain Plover doesn't care.
They do not judge and they do not despair
Head to the Santa Cruz Flats, and the Mountain Plover will meet you there.

More Birding from the Car(acara)

After spending the first hour or so cruising around the farm roads and chasing Larks, I eventually made my way to Baumgartner Road and the adjacent fields.  This is one of the most reliable areas to see winter-time Caracaras in Arizona, and is also a good spot for combine harrower harvesters, for you tractor watchers out there, and there are also plenty of pecan trees for you nuts. 

 The Caracaras combine forces with the Common Ravens and follow after the combine harvesters, pillaging any disturbed ground for the bugs and rodents as they scatter for safety. It's ruthlessly efficient hunting, everything you'd expect and hope for in a cool predator like the Caracara (yes, Ravens are cool too, but we've known that ever since Oden and Edgar Allen Poe popularized them in 2,000 b.c.)

Despite getting some glimpses of the Caracaras, I could not get close enough for satisfying photos. By this desire, I was forced to chase after the tractors too, looking for the birds that were chasing them, and they chased after the un-harvested crops. I'm sure someone or something was chasing me too, just to keep the chain going. That seems to be the way the universe works. 

Though still distant, one of the Caracaras did perch and pose for a pretty picture with part of Picacho Peak in the background.

While chasing around after the Caracaras and trying to respect the private property/no-trepsassing/we-will-shoot-you-on-sight signs, an old friend caught my eye. The consistently jaw-dropping Vermillion Flycatcher is certainly one of the birds that got me hooked on birding. Now that I was all grown up and chasing after Caracaras and Mountain Plovers, the Vermillion stopped by to remind me of my roots, to remember the classics.

It certainly was a time for some naval-gazing...

He stretched; I stretched; it was good to see this iconic flycatcher again. They're not uncommon in the bottom half of Arizona, but you never know when one will turn up again. He reminded me not to take em' for granted.

After spending some time with the Vermillion, I finally swung around the Baumgartner farms, on the east side of the cattle coral, and got some closer shots of the Crested Caracara. This is a bird that shows it's still possible to be a vulture and be beautiful, and not just beautiful in that wish-washy 'it's-what's-inside-that-counts sorts way, but in the much more important superficial first-impression sense.

'Merican Pipit

Also known as the Buff-bellied Pipit, this bird isn't the biggest, the strongest, the loudest, or the wealthiest, but it's still 100% American; just look at its name! They love open farmland and fields and have some seriously big hitch-hiking thumbs. What could be more rural American than that? Nothing, that's what!

They don't have a lot of flash, but American Pipits make the most of their subtle colors, combining buffy yellows and browns in a varying and charming color combination. They can be found on all agricultural land or sod farms in the Arizona throughout the winter. Sometimes there will just be individuals, maybe even mixing it up with Savannah Sparrows, and sometimes there will be large flocks over 100 strong.

I stopped to photograph this handsome fellow while driving around Pretzer road in the Santa Cruz flats. Somewhat like shore-birding, I'd scan the Pipit parties looking for a pair of pink legs, the tell-tale sign of the much rarer and highly prized Sprague's Pipit. No luck on the Sprague's yet, but it's really fun to observe these tail-bobbing foragers; they're pretty tolerant and allow for a close approach.

The American Pipits are a nice change in the LBJ (little brown job) department from all the White-crowned Sparrows too. They've got that quintessential bird pose, with the 60 degree angled posture and  longer legs. Ya know, the more I think about it, the more I think this bird is quite beautiful.

It was pretty sweet to get good looks at these birds while merely en route to other destinations. Bonus!