Birder Inferior Jumped the Gun

When  does a hobby become an obsession? Is there anything in between, something that sounds more balanced? Probably so. If you're getting a bit worried and starting to wonder, one sign that one is more than a mere inheritor, hobbyist, or enthusiast would be if one finds oneself embarking on a pilgrimage. 

For baseball fans it's Cooperstown. For Catholics it is maybe the Camino di Santiago. For Floridians it is Gatorland. For birders, it is Magee Marsh. This lengthy but unassuming boardwalk is world-renowned as the site of the Biggest Week in American Birding and a veritable Mecca for both birds and birders come mid-May.

In early April, I found myself eyeing a weekend getaway with Butler's Bird Sr., a birding spectacular of feathered frivolities where the only limits would be the daylight and our knee cartilage. Of course, seasoned birders and people who didn't grow up in the dessert alike will be quick to note there's another factor here, one insufficiently included in the planning. We were looking at the first weekend of May, the very beginning of the month, as it turned out. 

But which way to go, North or South? Swallows or Flickers? Either one sounds like a hot date.

Choices: We could head to South Texas and try to catch the passerine emigrants as they on-shored from their Caribbean commute, or head north to the south shores of Lake Erie and look for those trailblazers preparing to cross into the great boreal beyond. I know what you're thinking...beginning of May? That's early dude. Make like a duck and head south. And that is totally what we should have done. 

But I don't know...the Hajj called. I wanted it to be Magee. I had never been. I had been to South TX (in July...). And Magee was meh : /

It was with fair consternation that I watched the migration and weather reports preceding our trip. A week prior, a number of potential  Lifers were reported in the area, but as the days drew nearer, the forecast looked bleak. This is not to say the birding was poor overall, but relative to opportunity costs and potential, rushing it did not pan out.  

The last week in Magee Marsh, mid to late Maye, they have had 30+ Warbler species, including the highly endangered Kirtland's Warbler, all make appearances. I think we had 5 for the trip, all of which are pretty easy in North Carolina. The week before our arrival, a respectable reporting of migrants was on the public boards, including several lifers. But when we arrived Saturday, there had been none of than Yellow reported in the last 3 days. 

Any day with sentry Wood Ducks is a good day. But if you go to Magee Marsh and the best bird of your weekend there is a Northern Waterthrush - not just yours, but the best bird reported for the weekend on the community boards - then you know something was off. 

Inclement weather throughout the Midwest in the preceding week basically grounded all northerly migration to our area. The Saturday we hit the ground say clouds, wind, and scattered showers with high temperatures in the 40s. There would be very few new arrivals, and what migrants or residents had already arrived would be hunkered down, Catbird style.

It made for some nice sunset angles at least. Almost as Glorious and the Golden-winged Warblers and Blue-winged Warblers that could hAvE YoU Know WhAt NeVeRmInD...

We patrolled that famous boardwalks like sentries on inspection, but failed to turn up much of note. Cruelly, the best bird of Saturday was a Prothonotary Warbler, which breed in the swamps around home. We did out best to help other folks get on what scattered and retiring birds we could, but by midday still had not seen anything that wasn't available down the road at home.

One of the many, many cool things about this area is how many preserves and parks are adjacent on the south shore. Just down the road from Magee Marsh in Ottawa NWR, which also boasts wonderful community spaces and accessibility - seriously inspiring stuff and beautiful grounds, all for $0 admission. They even had complimentary facemelt cream at the visitor center, an amenity provided, no doubt, after feedback from patrons about the abiding Tree Swallows.

As a quick sidenote, I just want to say that this is not a good picture of an American Goldfinch, but American Goldfinches are a special kind of yellow all the same. Kudos to Iowa for recognizing the game, and making them the state bird. Carry on, Goldfinch. Carry on, Iowa.

Drab Gray Catbird for Comparison I guess...

While the overall scene at Ottawa was encouraging from a sort of "future of birding, good of the community" perspective, the species array itself was no improvement on Magee. It was time to chop things up a bit, time to hit the "metzgerei" (butchershop, in German, if college class served me well).

Metzger Marsh was the best of the three sites for May 2nd, delivering a couple of new passerines for the trip (Black-throated Green Warbler, Nashville Warbler) and the chance to break wind without having to worry who's behind you on the boardwalk. 

The migrant trap portion of Metzger Marsh is tiny, a small hovel of trees south of the dam where someone from the Black Swamp Observatory resolutely counts the migrants every a.m. But the small space amounts to high concentrations of birds in a small area (that is also fairly human-lite). Warbling Vireos were the most vocal presence here but it was certainly the most active area we hit, and the lack of shoulder-bumping was a definite plus.  

If you made a pile of all North America's Red-bellied Woodpeckers next to all the Downy Woodpeckers, which pile would be bigger?

The real gem of Metzger Marsh is the wetland drive preceding the dike. If Trumpeter Swans are a junk bird, you are in a good spot. One could pick nits about their unbecoming brown, but why would one want to do that? Then one would just have a bunch of nits in one's hands, and what good would come of that? Best to leave those nits alone and enjoy North America's heaviest flying bird and largest waterfowl as they are.    

Also there were some Sandhills Cranes with a colt nearby. That's fine too. Once you've seen 20,000 at the Whitewater Draw in Az, you've seen them all.

Given the limited access at Metzger, once one has scope main spots there's really not much else. We tried another off-strip area (Touissant NWR) without mush to speak of other than some dead geese floating in the retention ponds. We resupplied and planned a resurgent Sunday while enjoying cocktails and tacos. The Kentucky Derby was also running, a fun and frantic 2 minutes that makes one nostalgic for home...

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!

Yellow Birds of Pennsylvania

I went to Pennsylvania this summer with high hopes and expectations for some great birding. There were lots of new birds to see, and lots of old birds to see better. The Yellow Warbler and Common Yellowthroat certainly fall into the second category. They're both pretty common in Arizona, but I have found that it is much more difficult to get clear, unobscured looks at these birds in their Arizona habitats.

They're even more common in Pennsylvania, and here in the West Chester area they are much more brazen, much more conspicuous. Of course, they're Warblers, and Warblers seldom take it easy on photographers. But the opportunities are better and more numerous here. Finally I came away with a decent shot of a Yellow Warbler.

The difference between Arizona and Pennsylvania Yellowthroats is especially noticeable. The Common Yellowthroats in Arizona live in the thick reeds along water features and seldom come out in the open. Although not in huge numbers, they do breed and nest in the state. I have never seen them really displaying, singing, or socializing. It's all shadows and secrecy in AZ.

In Pennsylvania, I checked out Stroud Preserve, Ridley Creek State Park, and Exton Park, three great preserves in the West Chester area. At every single one of these sites, I've been privileged to see Yellowthroats perched and singing up in the trees, foraging out in the open and moving with much more publicity than in Arizona. My photos are still a bit hampered by the continually overcast weather, but I do appreciate the lower temperatures.

I really like Common Yellowthroats. They look like Tweety Bird from those old Loony Tunes combined with Zorro.

The Warblers aren't the only yellow birds I've been enjoying lately. This spring has already afforded me great looks at Bullock's and Hooded Orioles in Arizona, and now I've had a chance to see the eastern varieties too.

The male Baltimore Oriole is a beautiful thing. Given the haziness in this shot, you may just have to take my word for it. Hopefully, you've seen a few of your own!



The Orchard Oriole is the comparably drab cousin of the Baltimore Oriole. Their orange is a more unique, rusty coloration, but this sets them apart and, for my money, makes them one of the most interesting and beautiful Orioles in the group. Unfortunately I have not seen any mature males. A first-year, along with this lovely female, have sufficed.

Like Marsh Wrens, Yellowthroats, Song Sparrows, and other birds that prefer tall grasses and reeds, the Orchard Oriole is pretty flexible.

*Update: The morning I scheduled this to post, I saw a male Orchard Oriole too. Although this male, like the Baltimore, makes this post less yellow, it seems appropriate to include him here too:

Birding in southeast Pennsylvania is mellow, and there is plenty of yellow. Both of these characteristics suit me just fine!