A Salute to Sparrows

In the mean time and for no particular reason (the best kind of reason), this send off post is going to be all about American Sparrows. Loved by many, hated by a few, and feared by some, these plainly-colored, intricate birds hold something for everyone: challenging but not-impossible IDs, frequent vocalizations (thanks for nothing, empids), pulchritudinous patterns, and no predilections for the tops of canopies. Their main drawback lies in the general blandness/straightforwardness of their names. There are plenty of gorgeous and better-named eastern Sparrows I have not yet seen, and even a couple of western, but here for thought and criticism is an alphabetical rundown and rating of a bevy of emberizids that can be found in Arizona throughout the year.

**Disclaimer: All ratings and opinions are extensively researched, empirical, and objective.  Measurements are done on the Audubon/Petersen Sparrow Scale.

Botteri's Sparrow: Also famously known as the "dumpy plain boring flat-headed little shit sparrow" in Arizona, the Botteri's is the Bachmann's Sparrow of Southeast AZ and Texas. Little sprinkles of rufous here and there are insufficient spicing on this dull-flavored bird. There is something to be said for a handsome platinum beak, but that's not too special for a sparrow. 

Vocalization: More creative that one might expect, with almost vireo-esque single notes preceding a crescendo trill that is clearly an homage to Black-chinned. 7/10
Appearance: Unimpressive, plain, and what is the deal with that awful crew cut? 4/10
Overall: 5/10

Black-chinned Sparrow: The Black-chinned Sparrow, named for its black eyes. There are few land-birds more in love with soft gray than this mid-elevation fellow. They're one of the less intricately patterned sparrows, but they're also some of the first to start singing that bouncy-ball trill in spring and once they start they do not often stop.

Vocalization: Pleasant and recognizable. 8/10

Appearance: Simple and straightforward but well-composed. 7.5/10

Overall: 8/10



Black-throated Sparrow: What a show-stopper. Although not done in intricate patterns, brown, gray, white and black rarely look this good on a bird, even down its legs. They also are very vocal, sociable, and conspicuous--as one would expect of such a handsome bird. As Nicholas Martens over at Hipster Birders recently said, it's a bird you want to sit down and drink some whiskey with. 

Vocalization: Pleasant but plain. 7/10

Appearance: Strikingly sharp and well-defined. 9/10

Overall: 9/10 

Brewer's Sparrow: This bird is about as drab as they come. Even the finest specimens would probably lose out to a female House Sparrow in a beauty contest. That being said, they're arid scrub specialists in the winter, and they take full points for use of desert fauna in their lifestyles in Arizona before heading farther north and comfortably breeding in a totally different habitat. They also boast an incredible, involved, and lengthy vocalization. 

Vocalization: Long, strong, and variable, among the best to be found in any emberizid. 9/10

Appearance: Pretty drab tan and brown, and it's deliberate. 5/10

Overall: 7/10 

Cassin's Sparrow: A pretty crappy-looking bird with a nice flight display and solid song, the Cassin's is a localized bird in Arizona, found in the summer months in arid grasslands in the southern half of the state. Really snooty birders overlook regular Cassin's Sparrows, unless they're displaying, in favor of the much rarer rufous-morph, pictured below (which still is a crappy-looking bird).

Vocalization: Not Brewer's quality but delicate, intricate, and amusing. 8/10

Appearance: Pretty plain all around, and yeah that's appropriate for grassland species, but there are plenty of eastern grassy Sparrows that are way better looking. 5/10

Overall: 6/10 

Chipping Sparrow: Common and chipper (pun half-intended), these gregarious sparrows form some of the more lackluster gangs in the bird world. They've got numbers and they've got some style, but their gangs are more interested in hanging out in little trees near grasslands--it would be like a gang in The Warriors that paid regular fare to ride the Tram and deferred on their seating to old ladies.

Vocalization: Simple but somewhat uniquely liquid for sparrow song in its vibratto. 7.5/10

Appearance: Straight-forward and standard up to the head, but the eye striping and cap is as bold as Mint Chocolate Chip...though not similar in flavor. 7/10

Overall: 7/10

Clay-colored Sparrow: This is a hard bird to turn up in most parts of Arizona, and the very specimen pictured below was both a lifer and also one of the first rare finds to which this greenhorn birder can lay claim. They're not greatly different in appearance from Brewer's Sparrows, except better buffiness all around, a nice wide malar stripe, and of course, the party-in-the-back gray nape give it an edge. It also benefits from the rareness factor. 

Vocalization: Infrequent in Arizona and also pretty annoying, sounds like an irritated bug. 5/10

Appearance: Relatively simple, even bland, but buffy is a pleasant thing to behold. 7/10

Overall: 6/10, *Rate at 7.5/10 if in Arizona 



Field Sparrow: Named for the renowned plumber Gerald P. Field, the Field Sparrow is the bread and butter sparrow for much of the midwest and eastern United States. As the name coincidentally indicates, it favors grasslands and agricultural areas, especially near woods. It looks, acts, and sounds like we expect an American sparrow should. Although this Sparrow has lost much of its relevance and esteem in current discussions and appreciation of Sparrows, the FISP had a heavy hand in establishing the stereotypes of Sparrows that we birders enjoy today.

Vocalization: Bold and recognizable, as if all the roadside fields and grasslands in the east and midwest were filled with tinkling bouncing balls (as if). 7/10

Appearance: Warm-toned but dull overall, reminiscent in some ways of a female House Sparrow. The pinkish-orange beak is a nice touch, but lipstick alone won't win pageants. 6/10

Overall: 7/10

Golden-crowned Sparrow: A large and hardy sparrow, not as well distributed as its better known White-crowned and White-throated cousins, the Golden-crowned is nonetheless a fine specimen. The individual shown below is a vagrant that visits Sun City on northern Phoenix every year for the last three winters at least. Can he even be called a vagrant anymore?

Vocalization: A pleasant, mournful song (overly) short, sweet, and to the point. 7/10

Appearance: Very typical for zonotrichia Sparrows. Of course the black and golden crown is distinct but a fancy hat it not always enough. 7/10

Overall: 7/10

Grasshopper Sparrow: Though year-round residents in southeastern Arizona, they're much more numerous, vocal, and better-looking in the eastern half of the country in the summer. Their insect-like call may be useful for a namesake, but this judge finds it to be a bit of a gimmick, a cheap crowd pleaser. Still, it is impressive to see how many bugs these birds will try to cram into their mouths, and their tendency to perch above the grass-line is much-appreciated.

Vocalization: : ::yawn:: : another sharp, high-frequency trill. 6/10

Appearance: More intricately patterned than many western grass sparrows, and with a bit of yellow on the eyes and, with some birds, the epaulets aid the aesthetic. 7/10

Overall: 7/10 

Lark Sparrow: This bird is an absurdly good-looking bird. They're also very successful and prone to flocking, which maybe detracts from how good-looking the Lark Sparrow really is. The face is the big money-maker, and with good reason. 

Vocalization: pretty involved, as is the courtship display a la Cassin's. In fact, it's one of science's greater mysteries how female Cassin's Sparrows have not all been inadvertently wooed by Lark Sparrows. The LASPs probably just know better. 8/10

Appearance: This bird has, like, double orbital rings, black leading into brown on the lateral crown stripes, a broad median crown stripe, two-toned supercilium, two-toned auriculars, bold malars, and even some eye black. There's even a little breast spot, not an homage to so much as insult to injury of the Sagebrush and Song Sparrows sporting similar chest ink.White flashes on the tail when in-flight are also distinctive. The only downside is that this bird doesn't have much going on anywhere else, and its one of the larger sparrows. 9/10

Overall: 9/10 

Lincoln's Sparrow: Ah, the 16th Sparrow of the United States. If you like spotting, streaking, and maybe even pointilism, plus emancipation, then this is the sparrow for you. There's a fair bit of color and pattern happening on the face, but the back, breast, and flank streaking on this bird, set against the buffy tones, are probably the biggest attraction and one of its prominent identification marks.

Vocalization: Though they're not as loquacious as their namesake, these Sparrows still have a pretty song of above-average length. 7/10

Appearance: Strikingly involved streaking and spotting that expands over 87% of the body. 8.5/10

Overall: 8.5/10 

Olive Sparrow: Often found in Texas next to strip-malls adjacent to Red Lobster and Baby Kays, the Oliver Garden Sparrow is a fun and fancy take on the traditional sparrow archetype--much like Olive Garden is a fun and fancy...well, never mind. It is the only Sparrow in North America, maybe even the world, with an olive (yellow/green) back, which also continues onto the tail. It has a brown cap hemisected with white, a faint brown eye-line, and is non-migratory--gotta admire the commitment.  

Vocalization: A series of full-bodied notes of similar pitch, never reaching the crescendo of other Sparrows. 6/10

Appearance: Inventive and colorful yet still reserved enough to show a Sparrow's good sense and economy of style. 8/10

Overall: 8/10

Rufous-crowned Sparrow: A versatile mid-elevation Sparrow, they exude moderation in every department. Their plumage, voice, mannerisms, frequency/visibility, and flavor are all well, normal. The colors they involved, the length and intricacy of their song, etc. are all somewhere in the middle of the Sparrow spectrum. 

Vocalization: A quaint, recognizable tune that they sing with respectable gusto. It's no Brewer's composition, but it's better than a Clay-colored! 7/10

Appearance: Pretty plain body with mild patterns on the mantle and just a bit going on with the face. They're more interesting than Brewer's and Clay-colored, but can't hold a candle to the eye-candy sparrows, and not just because they don't have hands. 7/10

Overall: 7/10

Rufous-winged Sparrow: Take a Rufous-crowned, add one extra, skinny little malar stripe, up the gray, and throw your concoction into some sparse mesquite interspersed with arid grass, and you've got a Rufous-winged Sparrow. This species' more specific range and slightly darker hue makes it a little more desirable than Rufous-crowned, but most of the critique for the aforementioned species carries over, though their vocalizations are still very different.

Vocalization: A quaint, recognizable tune that they sing with respectable gusto. It's no Brewer's composition, but it's better than a Clay-colored! 7/10

Appearance: Pretty plain body with mild patterns on the mantle and just a bit going on with the face. They're more interesting than Brewer's and Clay-colored, but can't hold a candle to the eye-candy sparrows, and not just because they don't have hands. 7.5/10

Overall: 7.5/10

Sagebrush Sparrow: Fresh out of its recent divorce with Bell's Sparrow, the Sagebrush is another habitat specialist that does well to distinguish itself from so many of the ubiquitous grassland birds. They don't spend much time in Arizona, but the platinum, quicksilver element they add to the desert sage for those few chilly months is most welcome.

Vocalization: Since they only winter in Arizona, this is not heard often. It is a pretty simple, short blurble that doesn't really score extra points. 7/10

Appearance: This is a sharp looking Sparrow. The platinum helmet inlaid with white eyebrows, submoustachial stripe, and orbital ring make this one of the better looking western sparrows from the neck up, but unfortunately the interest pretty much ends there. 8/10
Overall: 8/10

Savannah Sparrow: This may be the most numerous Sparrow in North America but no one is quite sure. All researchers/observers have gotten too tired of looking at them and either gone mad, which renders their data quite unusable, or have resigned the task. This is really saying something, because Savannah's are a handsome Sparrow. The main frustration comes with the fact that they are pretty variable in their plumage and when people are looking for rarer Sparrows, say Baird's or Henslow's, they are often thrown off by the multitude of Savannah's. Just look at the summer range of this bird some time, from parts of Arizona all the way up to the Arctic Sea.

Vocalization: Pleasant, high-pitch notes, but pretty short. This Sparrow could write a one-hit wonder, but not produce a concept album. 7/10

Appearance: Very nice streaking, complicated facial patterns, and a nice touch of yellow on the lores--this is a handsome bird, even if it is too common. 8/10

Overall: 7/10

Song Sparrow: Somehow, even after the Sage Sparrow got the chop, it's still just one species. The lighter, rustier southwest subspecies is pictured first, followed by the much darker pacific coast version (which is not expected in Arizona). This is probably the most common and oft-seen and heard sparrow in the United States, after House Sparrow. We probably don't appreciate them very much, but would miss them terribly if ever they left.

Vocalization: It's what they're known for, and even if it's pretty simple, it's got some length to it and it's sung unabashedly. 8/10

Appearance: Song Sparrows are also hurt by their over-saturated demographic. They're a pretty good looking Sparrow, really, with the breast spot and flank streaking. The other problem is that, in addition to being too easy to see, it's mostly the same color, and as such is not very provocative. It's sort of like Northern Renaissance portraits, skillfully done but too dark. Why is the Sistine Chapel so famous? Because Michelangelo made that ceiling taste the rainbow long after it was full. 7/10

Overall: 7/10

Vesper Sparrow: The boring Sparrow with the cool-sounding name. Credit to them for having the boldness to do most of their singing in the evening, but the remarkability pretty much ends there. Their larger size, pale complexion, and white primaries on the tail help identify the bird, but who gets overly excited about identifying Vesper Sparrows?

Vocalization: Their vocalization is pretty nice. It has a respectable length and undulating pitch to it. It's not as compensatory as the Brewer's song, but solid enough, one of the better Sparrow songs. 8/10

Appearance: It's like a Savannah Sparrow that's been through the wash too many times, or just once but accidentally with some residue bleach left over from the preceding white load. Anyway, 6/10

Overall: 6/10

White-crowned Sparrow: We both fear and anticipate their coming every year. Big, well-marked, and about as easy to identify as it gets, this species' annual winter invasion guarantees that any area with a bit of cover and seeding plants will have tons of activity, and this bird is by no means hard on the eyes. However, they also become onerous when one is searching for some other ground-dwelling bird, as their continual peripheral movements are constantly distracting.

Vocalization: It's nothing special, and they chitter more than most sparrows while feeding. Luckily this helps identify and dismiss their little feeding bands quickly if one is looking for that vagrant Harris's Sparrow in the mix. 6/10

Appearance: The plain gray breast is, well, plain, but it's all about the hat, and the gray breast helps push attention up toward that crown. The mantle has some delicious white and chestnut alternations too but, again, it's all about the crown, and that crown really is something. It's not nothing either. In the great Sparrow Wars of the mid-1700s, a White-crowned scalp would fetch double the money. 8/10

Overall: 7/10

White-throated Sparrow: A rare but annual (and increasing) winter visitor to Arizona, here is another exceedingly good-looking sparrow whose reputation may well suffer from its own fecund success.  The throat and yellow lores/eyebrows form a face upon a face, and the rest of the head isn't too shabby either. 

Vocalization: A very pretty, undulating crescendo staccato cleft of musical jargon, especially when ringing out through a heavy mist atop a mountain in New Hampshire. Unfortunately, this seldom happens in Arizona. 8/10

Appearance: These birds aren't just nifty for facial anatomy practice; they're straight up suave. Luckily in Arizona we're far from getting so many that the effect is not lost. 9/10

Overall: 8/10

This list is exhausting but by now means exhaustive, and it does not touch on the eastern Sparrows much. If you have more analysis to contribute and/or excoriation of this post, or anything else, please comment below. 

Shadow of the Mountains: Get High on Birds in the Lowlands

Offering fantastic birds and cooler temperatures, the canyons and montane trails of southeastern Arizona are rightly lauded as the premier birding destination in the spring and summer months. This is well and good, but the surrounding lowlands should get their shake too, at least if one is looking for the complete birding experience and is an equitable shaker. Patagonia State Park and the Patagonia Rest stop are very well known for their seasonally attractive Kingbirds, but that's just the beginning. 

In fact, instead of showing a predictable Thick-billed Kingbird from that area, I'll show a singing Lucy's Warbler, because Butler's Birds is anything but conventional. 

The Proctor Road grasslands, down mountain from Madera Canyon, are some of the best. This time of year they host vocal Botteri's Sparrow, Beardless Tyrranulets, and Montezuma Quail. Where the mesquite thickets fill in and where there's a bit of water they also attract Flycatchers (Brown-crested in this case) and Yellow-rumped Shy-faced Tanagers.

Yellow-breasted Chats skulk around in the riparian oasis off the Proctor Road trail, along with several Towhee species. The best way to get crushing photos of a Yellow-breasted Chat, of course, is to find a dead one. He's skulking up in heaven now...

The Forest Roads leading up to Florida Canyon are also excellent. One junction is a pretty decent spot for Black-capped Gnatcatcher, and they're also very good for Rufous-winged Sparrow, another localized bird that is, perhaps, underrated because it has a pretty ubiquitous sparrow name. Botteri's and Baird's Sparrows sound like they're uncommon because those names--Botteri and Baird--don't come up much in the bird world, but Rufous-winged can be a tough find and should not be ignored by anyone visiting the area, especially when they're belting out defiance to the gods.
Nate over at This Machine Watches Birds got a nice recording, as he also did of the Buff-collared Nightjar we had off the afore-mentioned Proctor Road.

Of course, by 10am or so the lowlands are pretty scorching and bereft of shade, so sensible birds and birders both head up into the canyons. The liminal space here, were rocky grasslands meet hillsides of scrub oak, brings in the Wrens, Woodpeckers, and plenty of other cool stuff, like crushable Black-headed Grosbeaks, perhaps North America's "Most likely to be seen not in mature plumage bird." 

Butler's Birds will be relocating to Texas for the first couple weeks of June for some advanced birding. Hopefully there'll be another Arizona outing before then. Certainly the bounty of May has filled the reserves and the coffers and whatever else needs filling from one's home state for a fine send-off.

Terrible with Tanagers, and Where's that Chimneysweep from Mary Poppins?

Couple of days ago local birder Danny Lee posted several images of Mississippi Kite from Sunflower, AZ, a charming, sycamore-infested clearing and riparian area off the Old Hwy 87 about 30 miles northeast of Phoenix. This spot it best known for its annually nesting Common Black and Zone-tailed Hawks, and sycamore creeks are not the usual haunts of Mississippi Kites, but photos is photos after all, at least most of the time. Plus, there is some cleared cattle land on one side of the road, and plenty of high perches, so an MI Kite stopover, though rare, wasn't unbelievable.

The bird was found first on Thursday and I couldn't make it out until Sunday, so I was not very optimistic for the Kite, but Sunflower is just great birding anyway. Bell's and Warbling Vireos are all over, as are Yellow and Lucy's Warblers. Cassin's Kingbirds are already getting their nest on, and there are numerous other species of flycatchers, plus the afore mentioned raptors.

Predictably enough the Kite was long gone, although spooking a Prairie Falcon just near the turn off at mile marker 218 was a nice surprise. Otherwise the best birds of the day were the Tanagers. At one point I had counter-calling Summer Tanagers in a sycamore and 5 different Westerns all in another. The only thing more impressive was how, yet again, I managed not to get satisfactory crushes of these birds.

It's becoming a bit of an annoyance now, though I dare not give this some sort of quasi-nemesis status. Especially with the Westerns, considering how common and conspicuous they are right now, there's really no excuse not to have crushing photos of them. So, I offer no excuses, only apologies and hopes that I'll come up with better stuff later this week. 

In the mean time, everyone keep your eyes open for an errant Kite stuck somewhere in a tree!

Magnolia in the Evening: Winning on Wednesday

Wednesday was a double victory. The last week of school is now more than half over, and while I will not yet think about the gross amount of things I have yet to grade and evaluations to write, climbing over that hump is encouraging. This Wednesday evening also brought another boon, the opportunity to chase and fine spring vagrant, one both uncommon and bodacious.

A male Magnolia Warbler was found by several birders on Monday morning just outside of the Desert Botanical Gardens, presumably during the weekly bird walk. The bird was relocated photographed on Tuesday in the same area, feeding near some acacia and mesquite trees adjacent to the canal walkway that runs parallel to the DBG. Dios mio it looked good. Warblers are bad enough at staying still even in their appropriate range so I wasn't overly optimistic about a Wednesday chase, but the DBG is only 6 minutes away from work, so if I passed up that possibility than I really wouldn't be any sort of birder at all. I was also joined on-site by Pops, and this would be a coveted and rare weekday lifer for both of us. 

There were plenty of meetings after school but I'm a good Bird Scout with several make believe preparedness badged, and thus my birding junk was in the car, along with some dynamic swim trunks. We actually got there with plenty of daylight left. In fact, there was too much daylight. It was still quite hot and the bird activity was initially low, so we had to make do with other critters, like this Desert Spiny Lizard.

Another cool find early into the birding (really before there were any noteworthy birds) was a Giant Desert Centipede. This dude was about seven inches long and just hanging in the open. I can handle, literally, spiders and roaches and leeches and internal human organs, but I'll be honest in saying centipedes creep me out a bit, and not just because of the innovative surgeries and subsequent films they can inspire in some people.



So on a hot spring (summer) afternoon with little shade, what else does one do? Check out the Rough-wing Swallows being all dramatic on the utility lines, for one.

And observe the local but kinda boring Gilded Flickers for another.

if you're really desperate, you can even creep on shadowy female Lesser Goldfinches, some of the dullest birds in town.

After about forty-five minutes of patrolling the acacia and mesquite trees along the canal, Pops finally had a sighting. A small, darkish bird with white flashing on the tail skipped into a mesquite from across the fence in the DBG area. The yellow was initially covered but pretty soon we were getting semi-obscured but continuing looks at a gorgeous lifer. Magnolia Warbler on the up and up!

The Warbler, unlike those of use who were chasing it, was wise enough to wait on its evening forays until after the sun had drifted below the horizon. Our binocular looks were fantastic; the bird didn't care about we quiet bystanders, though frequent cyclists and joggers would give him a scare.
Shooting warblers without direct light and in a bushy mesquite tree is a losing battle, so I was satisfied with the great visual and some diagnostic photos, especially considering that this was a bird, up until a couple of days ago, that wasn't really on my 'expected vagrant' AZ radar. This is only the second or third record I've seen in the last few years.
After several minutes a couple of bikers flushed the bird across the canal and that was that. There's a certain temptation to try again in the morning with better light, but the foliage on the other side of the canal is much broader and nicer, featuring some dense transplant pines that are actually more in-line with its usual habitat, so there's also a worry that the bird won't bother coming back.

We had just enough time with the Warbler and the residual heat to melt our faces pretty well, no complaints about a near-chase, Wednesday evening lifer.
On the way back to the cars, we were treated to darting Nighthawks and a few other desert species perched atop their respective thrones.




So is the birding luck used up, or is this a powerful omen for the weekend? Only time and terrible tasting, brittle, gimmicky, thyroid-shaped cookies will tell.

Alpha Bravo Charlie Brown: The Best Banding Codes?

Everyone has a love-hate relationship with infamous 4-letter words (poop, soup, pope, work, tree, etc.). For many birders, it's the same with 4-letter banding/breeding codes, or at least it was for me. When I as first getting into the stuff and coming to terms with my inner nerd, the codes were a bit frustrating. Of course, I didn't know them, so I'd have to look them up half to time to figure out what other, cooler birders (oxymoron?) were talking about. Plus they don't always follow the same rules and sometimes they're not even faster to say than the bird's name itself, and then, of course, there's SORA, which used to stand for Solitary Rail but eventually became its own species name, showing that the American Dream is still alive and well.

Regardless, the banding codes are both useful in their function as, well, breeding and banding codes, and they're also pretty nifty once you've got the hang of it (which I don't). So, the big pressing question then is, which birds have the best 4-letter banding codes? Below is a list of some lucky, convenient, and/or otherwise excellent 4-letter codes. Feel free to comment with add-ons or objections:

LEGO--Lesser Goldfinch 
The source of so much fun and creativity for children, as well as significant pain in the soul for any unlucky and unshod persons who happened to step in the wrong place at the wrong time, this is the perfect code for a Lesser Goldfinch. They too, bring joy and creativity to children, and also are excruciatingly painful to the feet. Never heard anyone testify to that before? That's because there are no survivors. The bird is mostly sulphur, after all.

"I'm toxic in moderate doses, tehehe."

NOGO--Northern Goshawk
---begin transmission---

     "Col. Swainson's, this is Sergeant Tanager. Our migratory advance is underway and we've already pushed up canyon, brushing past the local defenders with ease. We'll move quickly from pine to pine and crest the summit by mid morning. The enemy will be taken completely by surprise. Out."
     "Roger that Tanager. We're moving in three battalions of Jays and Band-tailed Pigeon support behind you, will set up sweeping units and recon procedures. This is it Tanager. This is the day we seize control of the mountain and fulfill our destiny. If we pull this off, we'll all be heroes. Maintain vocal contact Tanager, update canyon status. We're waiting for your signal."
     "Tanager, do we proceed?"
     "Tanager?"
     "TANAGER!?!? Respond!!!"
     ...
     ...
     "..chhhhh...(static)...this is--cough, splutter--Sergeant...Pewee. Tanager's dead. It's--cough--no--everyone's dead. Mother of God...it's a...it's a...NOGO sir...pull back! NOGO, NO GOOOOO-----------{screeching sounds and a sharp rip heard in the background}.
..................drip..............................drip..................................drip

---end transmission---

Compliments of PRBYApparel.com

MALL--Mallard
Except maybe for pigeons, no bird has so many plumage variations, so many different outfits, as the Mallard (factoring in domesticated of course). Common, garrulous, and gregarious, it is very appropriate that this bird's code is MALL, because obviously that's where they'd hang around all day if they could--and sometimes they do.

Gross

BUFF--Bufflehead
It's pretty disappointing this code couldn't go to the incredibly ripped Buff-breasted Sandpiper or the similarly toned Buff-breasted Flycatcher, but it's still cool even if misapplied. When one sees a Bufflehead in the buff, well then it all comes together (referring of course to the birder being in the buff). *This is best done only with unisex birding groups.

What a...flash!

COME--Common Merganser

HOME--Hooded Merganser

Mergansers, Sawbills, Ducks of the Hearth. Many is the angry or beleaguered birder who has wondered out to the edge of a great body of water. Perhaps he was running from his past. Perhaps he was depressed from coming in 2nd, again, in his State Big Year. Birders, like birds, travel great distances and to some extreme locales. They experience great emotional highs and lows. Perhaps the troubled birder sought the water for its cool, calming effect. Perhaps he sought it so he could finally see his reflection out in the world. Perhaps he was tempted to lean just a bit farther forward and fall in, letting the mystical body consume him, his problems, and his grief. 

How many such birders have been pulled back from the brink, then, when they see COME HOME floating by. All is well, gentle birder. The world has a place for you; be secure in it. Come home.

"HOOOOOOME."

KILL--Killdeer
This is just a great code but there are few worse bird's for it. Killdeer are big, whiny sissies .They only way they'd kill someone is by screeching them to death...which is pretty metal actually. Ok.

"Well this one time, I thought about killing a bug."

SAND--Sanderling

SAND isn't especially fun, but this is about the most appropriate code for any bird. Sanderlings are born of the sand. They live, laugh, and love the sand. Sand courses through their lungs and pulses in their veins. For breakfast they have sand toast with sand butter, and at night they have sand steak. A life spent running up and down the sand is, for a Sanderling, a life well and wisely spent.
Several scientists have posited that the reason for their back-and-forth wave-running is actually the intention of breaking down (weathering and eroding) any larger shell chunks that are washed up on the beach, thereby creating more sand.

"Today this beach, tomorrow the coast...soon the world will all be sand."

SNOW--Snowy Owl
Snowy Owl = Super Convenient.
Take the above Sanderling paragraph and switch the bird for a Snowy and the sand for snow. It's an almost identical relationship, except Snowies don't create more snow by weathering a la Sanderlings. They create it by soliciting tears from the relatives of their victims. Let it snow, let it snow, let it...

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

HORE--Hoary Redpoll
Some recent studies have argued that Hoary Redpoll isn't even a distinct species, just an arctic/tundra sub-species of Common Redpoll. They can be told apart by their slightly larger size, more dominant white, and fainter streaking. They also can be told apart by their caked-on lipstick, their outrageous stiletto heels, their fishnets and short skirts, and their thoroughly trampy attitude.
It was that man, J.J. Audubon, who first made the observation, giving the species its name and code, when he observed one such harlot finch cavorting with some Common Redpolls.
He is recorded to have said, "What is that skanky bird there? It's like the other Redpolls but way more promiscuous, just swiveling hips and revealing her cloaca to anyone who'll buy her a seed at the feeder. Disgusting. HORE!"

Photo courtesy of Wikipedia. What a floozy.

HOSP--House Sparrow 

Never mind the fact that they shouldn't actually live here, in the United States. These European interlopers are very generous sharers of other people's homes. HOSPitality is their game, truly, for they know the pains of homesickness and the troubles of finding comfort, a place to lay one's hat. At carnivals and in movie theaters, in airports and apartment complex parking garage overhangs all across the country, the House Sparrows strive to make the United States, their adopted country a little bit homier.

"I'll be the first bird to nest in the international space station."

Miller Canyon: The High Life

Mid to later May in Arizona is Miller time. This preeminent of the Huachuca canyons holds constant attractions, both migratory and residential. The southeastern specialties found here often rub shoulders with seasonal rarities and plenty of other generally cool birds. The canyon is, of course, most famous for its Spotted Owls and its hummingbird station on the Beatty Guest Ranch. It's not particularly well known for its Spotted Towhees, but they are there too. 

After some quick forays in Huachuca Canyon and Sierra Vista with foul-mouthed birdwatching machine Nate McGowan, we headed south to Miller Canyon for the largest chunk of the day's birding. Although we were arriving a bit after peak hours, the canyon was still noisy with residential and migratory bird activity. The lower reaches held Hermit and Swainson's Thrushes, Vireos, Titmice, and about a thousand pounds of Dusky-capped Flycatchers. 

There were plenty of ABA/AZ specialty lifers on the hike and along the way to our larger targets. With some complicated directions from the ever helpful and loquacious Beatty fellas, we located the Spotted Owl nest, from which the female's head was visible (not photographed). The Northern Pygmy Owl nest didn't produce anything for us but we picked up some montane Warbler species, including Painted Redstart and Grace's, as well as several attempts at my still-photo-nemesis Red-faced Warbler, perhaps Arizona's best warbler despite these unjust shots.

We didn't turn up Olive Warbler, which I've actually never seen in Miller Canyon anyway, nor Hermit Warbler, which is a migrant that's very good at not showing up as soon as you try to find one. I'll go ahead and further posit that those plane-faced, bug-eyed Hermit Warblers are one of the dorkiest looking of the bunch. I know that simplicity is the way of the hermit there, warbler, but still, a mask, a cool scar, supercilia, a tribal tattoo, something. So no, I won't apologize for not having a single decent photo of the species. Sorry.

The main prize up canyon was one that's even grown in value since our departure, where apparently two Northern Goshawks have since hatched. When we made it up the bird was still incubating the eggs and was thus barely visible. With the recent hatchings, presumably it is now more conspicuous, as may be the Goshawk chicks--not at all a common bird or a common sighting.
It was pretty crazy to see this large, intimidating, and rare bird just sitting pretty. The sighting was all the more interesting because bird activity in the area was very high. Tanagers, Pewees, and warblers were all very active in the sycamores and pines nearby, mercifully thankful that their smaller size and thinner frames, perhaps, would keep these top predators from developing much of an interest.

The muted sighting and photo of the Goshawk was actually better than we got of the Spotted Owl, so these canyon highlights were a bit unsatisfying. There is no better cure for the nascent birding desire at soul-satisfying views than a hummingbird station.
The feeders themselves detract from sightings with their overpowering plastic redness, but the general buzz they create and sustain in the surrounding trees is more than compensatory, and the Beatty hummingbird station was also the recent site of our last major target for Miller Canyon.

At the Beatty hummingbird arena, some birds bide their time and plot violence, or sugar consumption, in the shadows, while others perch in open, broad (tailed) daylight with a devil-may-care attitude. 

The sugar water is about the only sweet thing shared between the different hummingbird species. In fact, they're often so busy not sharing that they don't get any for themselves. The Hummingbird hierarchy is beautiful, intriguing, and totally lacking in virtue. Being among the largest hummers present, Magnificents usually reign supreme. They're like the Great White Sharks of the Hummingbird world, for obvious and apparent reasons that need no further elaboration.

The White-eared Hummingbird often breeds in Miller Canyon, though in small numbers, and a pair arrived back in town early enough for us to try for them while in the area. They're not as physically intimidating as the Magnificent or Blue-throated Hummingbirds, nor as colorful as the Broad-billed, but the rarity and limited U.S.--range factors make this a highly coveted bird, plus that ear stripe is just awesome. You could land a plane on that thing at midnight.

The male White-eareds are actually pretty gorgeous but it's difficult to capture the colors on the head and gorget with this bird, especially when its predominantly backlit, a frequent trouble with the Beatty station any time after 9:00am or so. This was my first lifer of the trip, leaving Berylline and Buff-breasted as the only two ABA hummers I've yet to see, plus stupid Allen's, which everyone knows is just a greener-backed subspecies of Rufous anyway...

With a similar though less good-natured dynamic to a mixed flock, all the hummingbird commotion attracts the attention of other birds as well. Bushtits and Titmice and Titless Bushmouses were all chittering in the surrounding oak scrub. Also of interest was a violently ill Acorn Woodpecker. It was Sunday morning, after all, so needless to say it had been partying too hard with its other head-banging buddies the night before.

We've all been there, when the fun of Saturday night sucks away the happiness of Sunday (which is why the day after feels so terrible). It's terrible, the world is spinning, you regret the late night texts you sent to the jock Arizona Woodpecker even if it is a lying bastard, and then you puke. Then you feel amazing again and are ready to have your picture taken. FANTASTIC!

After racking 'em up in the Huachucas, we took a detoured drive through Patagonia and then north on the I-19 to the Santa Ritas, where several more potential lifers awaited. The greatest perversity about Miller Canyon is the driving need one feels to go back as soon as one has left. Early July I'll be wiping out on its rocky trails (which I've managed to do every single time I've hiked it) and trying for the Berylline Hummingbird, if the Goshawks don't take me first.