Epic Bird Day: Patagonia

Last weekend my wife worked a double on Saturday, and all bird nerds know what it means when one's spouse or significant other is working on a weekend. It means Epic Birding Day! It was time to saddle up and get down to southeast Arizona for a rigorous day of indulgent bird-seeking. With it being early and unseasonably warm in March, expectations were high both for seeing lots of the southeastern residents and also for seeing some migrant birds that would be new for the year. I'll admit, I had the faintest optimism of seeing some Evening Grosbeaks that had been reported in Tubac two days prior.

So, heading south down the I-19 from the I-10, I first stopped at the De Anza trail in Tubac, and hiked along to Santa Gertrudis Lane. As expected, the Evening Grosbeaks were long gone, but there were still some great birds out in the early morning haze, including a new one for the 2013 birding year.



Woodpeckers were the first to great the timid sun. They were impatient and it took its sweet time in rising. When it was finally up, it had delayed long enough to let the clouds come in and dim the sky. There is an uncanny correlation between visiting great birding spots and getting overcast weather...
Anyway, the first minutes of clear skies were a head-banger's dream as Northern Flickers (3 above), Ladderbacks, and Gila Woodpeckers went to work in the mixed woodlands. They had Cottonwoods and mesquites to choose from. The Flickers liked the taller cottonwoods, while the Gilas stuck to the mesquite, and were thus, oddly, more photogenic.

Apart from some skulking Song and Lincoln's, it was a relatively sparrow-less dawn, but from ground level to mid level, my attention was enraptured by this mid-molt Vermillion Flycatcher. This poor fellow was at that awkward stage experienced by many the college freshman, when they molt into their mature adult beardage to show they're ready to breed.Yes, he's sporting the equivalent of the scraggily freshmen-year facial hair, and like the freshmen he won't be attracting many mature ladies this year, no matter how loud or obnoxiously he behaves. Hang in there bro; soon you'll be one in a vermillion.

The self-conscious Vermillion was hanging out along a little stream, and while trying to get different angled shots of the awkward Flycatcher, I noticed the silhouette of what appeared to be an inordinately large Say's Phoebe. After a minute the bird flew lower down into the tree where the back-lighting wasn't so debilitating, and revealed itself to be a first-of-the-year Cassin's Kingbird. Hazy photo, branches in the way...this guy must've been hanging out with Bigfoot this winter. 

There were plenty of Towhees and Cardinals, along with gangs of House and Bewick's Wrens, all rustling around the hedges of Santa Gertrudis Lane, whose large pyracantha bushes supported the Grosbeaks a couple of days before. It's hardly a consolation prize but hey, without Abert's Towhees doing their thing, scientists estimate that we'd all be living up to our waists in leaf litter, bugs, and old seeds. Abert's Towhee: the unsung custodian of the forest floor.

The De Anza trail was a very pleasant walk, but it was just an appetizer for the birding feast to come.This time around the main objective was Flycatchers. Patagonia provides the very similar Gray, Dusky, and Hammonds Flycatchers all within close distance of each other, and I was greatly wanting more time to study the Gray's and Duskies in addition to obtaining better photos of these two species.

In my experiences, the Gray Flycatcher is the most common/visible of the three. It perches and hunts from mid-level in the trees around Patagonia Lake (and anywhere it lives). There are some subtle variations that helps to separate this bird from the similar Duskies and Hammonds--short primary projections, non-contrasting wing-bar and tertial coloration and more of a gray band across the forehead--but for my money the easiest way (and hopefully still a consistent way) is by taking a look at the beak. This guy's beak is very long, in proportion to his head.

By contrast, this Dusky Flycatcher, which also tends to prefer lower, brushier habitat, has a stubby beak. The Hammond's has a stubby beak as well, but they tend to prefer taller trees and higher perches (this bird was foraging and photographed just a couple of feet off the ground, an elevation at which it stayed for the duration of my fifteen minute observation). Of the three birds, the Dusky has the most noticeable contrast between the head and back, and Hammond's has the longest primary projections, long like this fellow here.

           

Truth be told, the primary-projection business if iffy for me, as can be obscured by the bird's posture and movements. It seems like the odds are better for getting a good look at the beak length, but maybe others would care to weigh in on this observation. At any rate, I can't say I'm a glutton for punishment, but I do have a certain proclivity towards tormenting myself in the pursuit of these empidomax.
*The more-informed opinion on this bird is that it is, indeed, a Hammond's (Cheers Seagull Steve), so ignore everything I said.

Rooting around the narrow paths on Patagonia's east side, near Sonoita Creek, will turn up the vast majority of Patagonia's species, both in mixed flocks and as individuals. Common Ground Doves often travel in little bands but this solitary bird was the only one I saw. 

Commonly grounded, this Dove seldom gets to hang out with its friends on the weekend.

A conspicuous Canyon Towhee was trying to fit in with an un-abiding group of Abert's Towhees around the same area. It was surprising to see a Canyon Towhee near the comparatively lush, green undergrowth around Sonoita creek, especially as I did not see any when hiking around the move arid, elevated north side of the lake--the kind of terrain they usually prefer. Towhees are such butts to photograph, and the thickening clouds didn't help the situation. All the same, it's still satisfying to find something unexpected, even if it's not rare.

Despite being expected, common, and easily seen, the Bridled Titmouse is still a delightful bird. Chinstrap Beard Titmouse is a less eloquent name for this bird, but it would also be fitting. As far as black, white, and gray birds go (there are more than a few), these are one of the most stylish.

After several hours of rummaging around the bird-rich Sonoita Creek area, I finally resolved that the Trogon was a no-show for the day and decided to continue hiking around the lake (I hate to admit it, but it felt good to later read that nobody found the bird that day. Although I am sorry for others who spent time and money chasing it, I feel less incompetent now). For the most part, it seems like birders concentrate their efforts on the south shore and Sonoita Creek parts of the lake, ultimately with good reason. The south shore also has elevated desert chaparral frequented by Rufous variety Sparrows and other arid dwellers, so in terms of specialization there is no reason for the long walk around the lake.

Nonetheless, I set off, mostly just to content myself that I would have hiked all around the lake. The clouds continued to thicken, the bird numbers dropped off, and with each passing minute of the dreary afternoon the decision felt more and more rash. But while walking and musing along the northern shore, a delightful ball of saturated, sweet-ing yellow caught the eye. In the gloomy lighting and under gloomy skies, this first-of-year Yellow Warbler looked positively radiant. It also looked out of place.

He is likely wondering why he is so exposed, why this sycamore tree yet has no leaves.



Another conspicuous, first-of-year bird I found on the way back to the car was this resplendent male Broad-billed hummingbird. Even more exciting, I actually had an opportunity to view the impressive breadth of its bill. It's very bride.



For sooth, it's unfair how colorful this bird is. Luckily for birders, nature isn't always fair.



Speaking of unfairly colored birds, I swung by Fort Lowell Park in Tucson on the way back to Phoenix in the hopes of seeing a reported Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. I had some brief looks at the bird while it was high in a eucalyptus tree, but the real attention grabber, in addition to some people trying to have a wedding in the windy, rainy, chilly weather, was a brazen Vermilion Flycatcher. There were half a dozen such Flycatchers around Patagonia Lake, but they were all much more shy. He must have known that the lighting was too poor to get proper feather detail, and that his colors would be almost disgustingly saturdated. He definitely knew. Nature isn't fair.



It was an epic day of birding, and not just in the over-used, relatively meaningless sense of the word as it is employed today. In about nine hours of birding I saw around eighty species, a half-dozen of which were new for the year, hiked around Patagonia Lake, and found perhaps the world's cutest Muscovy duck. This bird is not countable to any ABA lists in Arizona, but seriously, I challenge anyone to find a cuter version of this normally disgusting bird.

If one has to pick just one site to plunk down and explore for eight hours, Patagonia is among the best in the state, though it is at its zenith a bit later in the spring. Patagonia is famous for its birding diversity and also because it has hosted an early Male Trogon along the Sonoita Creek wash for the last ten or so years. This secretive but reliable bird has been attracting people past the $10 per-vehicle charge for years now, though I have never seen it is this area.



It was a great trip, and best of all, I'll be back soon for the Trogon and some Black-capped Gnatcatchers, and I will be back with back-up, big back-up!

It's Miller Time!

One of the most well known and well loved birding and hiking destinations in the Huachuca Mountains, Miller really is the champagne of Canyons. In addition to Sulphur-bellied Flycatchers and rare Tanagers, Miller's Canyon is one of the best places in Arizona, and perhaps North America, to see a Spotted Owl. Naturally I didn't see one, but along the way I did stop by the Beatty Ranch at the base of the upper canyon. The Beattys maintain a small bed and breakfast operation in the canyon and, best of all, a fully stocked Hummingbird station that draws in all kinds of southeast Arizona specialties.

The drive up to the Beatty Ranch is dry and dusty haul, but along the way you can expect to see Spotted Towhees, Mexican Jays, and Canyon Towhees all rustling about in the sparse undergrowth. Though their North American range is limited to the southern points of Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas, Mexican Jays are among the most sociable and vocal birds one might encounter in the sky island chain. This doesn't mean they're exceptionally fond of people, or at least of me, but through very careful and super scientific observation I discovered that these Jays like to eat nuts. This Jay was going mano-a-mano with a scrub-oak acorn.

The acorn proved to be a very stubborn adversary, and after a minute of squeezing and smashing, the Jay withdrew to a more private setting where he could eat in peace.

Perhaps his retreat was brought on by the annoying curiosity of this Canyon Towhee, a bird which the mellow blue Jays must regard as a stumpy and ugly neighbor. It occurred to me that Jays are, in many ways, like the stereotype New England WASPs. They're pretty on the outside and strain to keep their complicated social networks in order, but they can also be very snooty and cruel to anyone who doesn't meet their standards. The Canyon Towhee, by contrast, is less to look at, but I'm sure he leads a rich inner life...

This female Woodpecker, unlike the noisier Towhees and Jays, did not want to be seen at all. Tough luck! People say that if you want someone to look at you, you just have to stare at them and soon, for some supernatural reason, their gaze will gravitate towards you. That doesn't work with birds, probably because they have better things to do then sit around gawking all day. This realization, in turn, made me feel a little bit sad about myself...

Unless you're staying overnight at the Beatty lodge, you have to park before the complex and do a bit of walking to access the Hummingbird site and kick in a few bucks towards the sugar fund, but the jaunt is worth it. Over a half dozen feeders and cotton wads draw in the Hummingbirds while visitors sit on shaded bleachers and photograph, oogle, ogle, and let the mind be boggled by all the color.

Anna's Hummingbirds and Broad-tailed Hummingbirds are the most common species during the Arizona summer and they overrun Miller Canyon too. But if you're looking for a spot to consistently see some of the less common Arizona specialities, it's hard to beat Beatty's. So well maintained are the feeders that even Black-chinned Hummingbirds, the mostly mildly colored and mild-mannered of the bunch, have time to sit, drink, and show off their immaculate posture (I wish I stood up this straight after a binge of drinking).

Of all the migrant/summer Hummers whose North American range is exclusively in Arizona, the Broad-billed is perhaps the most common. These stunning birds are somewhere in between the Costa's, Black-chinned, and Broad-tailed Hummers, which are fairly common throughout the state, and the other rarer, more selective migrants that tend to stay in the southeast corner. The first time I saw one of these Hummingbirds I was stunned, and didn't imagine anything could be more shimmering. Amazingly, after twenty minutes at Beatty's you'll start to pass them over in favor of other, rarer birds--a true testament to the quality on display.



This immature Broad-billed still has some gorget to grow, but at least his pops, perhaps pictured above, has shown him where the best hangout is, the best place to pick up chicks.

All the same, this female Magnificent Humming is definitely out of the young Broad-bill's league. Not only is she Magnificent, she could totally crush him if he tried any funny business. At five-and-a-half inches, she's one of the larger Hummingbirds in the area, and it takes something extra special to get her attention.

Enter the Magnificent male...

It was a thrill to see this aptly named bird, but I'm pretty bummed with my inadequate photography. Cameras should come with a label on them that says something like, "Warning: This device will cease to operate properly if photographing wildlife that is above this camera's pay grade." Maybe it's just as well that the male Magnificent Hummingbird is a blurred bird; proper exposure of this hunk is known to cause paralysis in female Magnificent Hummingbirds and some humans.

Amazingly, the highlight hummer of the day was not the Magnificent. Lucifer, Berylline, and Plain-capped Starthroat could all be show-stoppers at the Beatty theatre, but they were not on stage that day. In a sense, this contemplative male Blue-throated Hummingbird wasn't either, but he brought a standing ovation out of me nonetheless.

I found this handsome fellow while striking-out on the Spotted Owls. An intriguing peeping sound drew my attention to a large Arizona sycamore where this clement critter was seeking some respite from the noontime sun. These large Hummingbirds have an appeal similar to the Black-chinned Hummers--a comparably conservative coloration with just the right accents. Hummingbirds are not known for their economy of style, but the Blue-throated pulls it off pretty well. Most of all, I was just glad to find a new bird--a new Hummer especially--that wasn't at a feeder. The feeders at Beatty's are terrific, but the one thing they don't provide is the full satisfaction of seeing a new bird out in the ruff.

I haven't birded Miller Canyon as much as I should, but even in my limited capacities it is a wonderful spot fully deserving of its sterling reputation. April through September; it's Miller time!