Redhead

There are many birds with confusing or even misleading names. The Redhead is not one of them. This mighty handsome duck was one of the few holdouts I had still not seen this winter, and was one of the ducks I have been wanting to see the most. It seems to have a similar body and beak coloration to the Ring-Necked Duck and Lesser Scaup, and but it's sighted less frequently than its other diving-duck relatives.

There were several reports of Redheads throughout Phoenix these last couple months, and yet I continued to strike out in my search for this handsome bird. The most recent report mentioned a solitary duck at the Kiwanis Park in Tempe, AZ. I stopped by after work and could not find the fowl, which made me 0 for 3 in my specific attempts at a Redhead this year.

I took a detour to Grenada Park after work on Wednesday,  and for some reason that I can't quite explain, I was feeling lucky. Maybe it was some residual fillip from the Phainopepla sightings last weekend. It may have been the sense that Redheads were somewhere in the area, and since I hadn't visited Grenada in a while they might've creeped in. Whatever the reason, I felt good about my prospects, and sure enough there was this sleepy male floating all by his lonesome.

This is the first Redhead I've seen and, needless to say, the only one that I've seen or heard of at Grenada Park. In fact, I've never seen other migrants but Ring-Necks and Wigeons (the two most common) at the Park, so this was a great bit of fortune.

As I sat down to get on a better level with the duck, it actually perked up and started to head over my way--a probable indicator that he has been at Grenada long enough to learn about people coming by and feeding the birds.

I had to disappoint Mr. Redhead in that regard, but he did not disappoint me (which is not to say that I ate him)! They're such striking birds in all of the pictures and field guides. Even with the cloudy skies and murky pond water, the definition and color on the Redhead were outstanding.

The Redhead is stunning, especially with the vivid orange eye. I'd never before noticed the black detail on the beak. There's a nice outline at the base of the bill, and a curious black stripe though the nostrils. I'll definitely have to try back for some more time with this beautiful bird.

**Here are some more recent photos, taken on 02/11/2012

Wednesdays with Audubon, Chapter 10

John James Audubon spent all of June 18th aboard the boat, arranging and drawing his specimens as best he could while observing many different gulls from the boat. It is interesting to read that, for a while, he continued to misidentify the Herring Gulls as immature Greater Black-Backed. Audubon though to himself, "knowing the tyrannical disposition of the L. marinus (Black-Backed), I am sure they would not suffer a species almost as powerful as themselves in their immediate neighborhood. They fly together, but the white ones do not alight on the rocks where the marinus has its nest."
 Even the great ones have trouble with Gull identification!

 Audubon continued to catch up on his drawings of Guillemots and Gulls throughout the next few days, even as the weather improved such that they were getting some 18 hours of sunlight each day at 55 degrees fahrenheit (perfect!). His men continued to explore the surrounding rocky islands, having little luck collecting specimens of the Eider and Terns that were breeding, but nonetheless collecting many varieties of eggs, some of which Audubon notes as being delicious, and some as not.

It's interesting to juxtapose Audubon's naturalist intentions with his very direct and fatal approach to collecting his specimens. Of course back then there were few endangered species, and preserving some of these wild populations was of little concern to either Audubon or the general public. Despite his apparent callousness, Audubon was very aware of the delicate balance. With a clear disdain, he comments on some evidence he and his men found of "egging" expeditions: "The eggers (people who would take and sell large quantities of the eggs in the southern towns) confiscate or destroy all of the eggs that are sat upon, to force the birds to lay again, and by robbing them regularly, they lay till nature is exhausted, and few young are raised. In less than half a century these wonderful nurseries will be entirely destroyed, unless some kind government will interfere to stop the destruction."

For the next five days Audubon and his men sat at harbor rather despondently, waiting for a favorable wind to carry them on to new adventures. They had naught but a few Gulls and the eternally noisy seals for company, who seemed to relish and taunt the sailors' immobility. Audubon did meet with some luck on the shore, where he shot and collected his first Canada Jays (Gray Jay) and Ruby-Crowned Kinglets for the year.

Hopefully when we return to JJ Audubon next week, he will finally receive that fortunate wind, and keep the birds coming.

The 2011 Butler Bird of the Year

Well it took about a month and a half to decide, but the jury has finally reached a verdict on the best Butler Bird of the Year (also know as the B-BOY award, only slightly less famous than the Oscars). With close competition from Phainopeplas, a Townsends Warbler, and an inner city Lewis's Woodpecker, the award goes to...the Elf Owl!

This was certainly the most surprising sighting of the year, both because of the relatively uncommon and inconspicuous nature of the bird. I'm never really expecting to see Owls, which maybe explains why this and the Great Horned are the only two I've ever seen in the wild.

These tiny birds were hanging out at the Desert Botanical Gardens in September, and provided one of the best all-round birding experiences of my 2011 birding year. I'm definitely hoping to get some more owls this year, but I don't know if any of them will match this super fun sighting. Here's hoping!

See the full Elf Owl adventure recorded here

Finding Some Pep at the Rio Verde

This morning I went out to the Box Bar wildlife-and-walkin'-around area at the Rio Verde, a nice little river running down the east side of Phoenix. The drive out through Pima was pretty nice too. It's that time of year when the rustic desert foliage is also joined by the green grass and wildflowers to create a very impressive collage of color. I met up with the family near the river, and we enjoyed each other's company as well as a quiet and cool mid-morning of birding.

We saw some Western Bluebirds, plenty of Yellow-Rumped Warblers, plenty of Black Phoebes, some Herons, some Red-Tails, and a possible pair of Hooded Mergansers (which took off immediately).

The main goal was to see a Phainopepla, a peculiar dark species of flycatcher that prefers the arid Southwest and can be found in pockets throughout the southern half  of Arizona. In rather unceremonious fashion, my first sighting came off of a telephone wire while I was still several miles from the hiking area. As I got nearer to the Rio Verde turn-off the sightings began to increase, and eventually I pulled over and began some highway-side photography because the desert just seemed to be bursting with Phainopepla activity, and you've gotta take what you can get. It was awesome!

This was the fourth Phainopepla I saw, and the first I was able to photograph. They're in their own group of silky flycatchers (I suspect they have some tropical cousins that also share the group), which must in part refer to their glossy shine and elongated anatomy. I love how slap-dash the crests are on these birds. It's clearly a crest, but it looks like it's losing the war with bed-head.

It was difficult to catch the male's ruby-red eye at times, but boy when it got some sun that thing could really radiate!

While I was calling and whistling to this male (for no good reason really, it's just fun to imitate), this lovely female came by to investigate. It was probably not my calling that brought her in... in fact I'm sure it wasn't. What is apparent from this first picture is that she felt nature calling, and she discretely deposited her morning meal before flying over to her beaux.

I was geeking out pretty badly at this point, you know with the whole talking to yourself and exclaiming "Woah! No Way!" inhaling only to realize you haven't taken a breath for like the last 3 minutes. It was only a half-hope to see them in the first place, and now I had multiple Phainopeplas within camera-shot. With her solid grey, white wingbars, and striking eye, the female is a visual feast just as well as the male.

That being said, some angles flatter the birds more than others. From straight on the Phainopepla crest gives the bird a very rectangular head shape, one that reminded me a little bit of Frankenstein's monster.

After a little bit of flirting and playing hard-to-get, the female joined the obsidian male in his tree, where he continued to serenade and impress her with his silky-smooth moves.

I like to think that I brought them together. In all likelihood though, my presence was keeping them apart. I left them to their romance, myself feeling very satisfied and simply in awe. As I continued the drive down to Box Bar I saw some 7 or 8 more Peplas living it up in the morning sun. What a great way to start the birding day!

Some Power Birding

I snuck in a quick bit of birding this evening after work. I have been trying to relocate a Common Yellowthroat I saw a while back (a current photographic nemesis) at the Tres Rios preserve in south-central Phoenix. While I was again unsuccessful in that regard, it was a nice walk around with plenty of other fun and common birds.

This Great Blue Heron was hanging out on the water's edge in those nasty red vine things. I don't know what they are, and I'm sure they're a biologically impressive species, but they remind me of the vein-like things that the aliens use to digest the earth in War of the Worlds. The Heron was cool though; he didn't seem to mind. By the way, should we call a female Great Blue a Heroine?

I've been trying to improve my in-flight photography (when the bird is in flight, not myself). Slowly but surely I'm learning things about better settings and when/how to anticipate take-offs. It's a good challenge, and the big lumbering herons make pretty easy subjects for beginners such as myself.

I still haven't glimpsed that ruby crown, but otherwise the Kinglets have been great this year. They're hanging out around Phoenix in large numbers and with very little shyness. Now, taking their picture without obstructing twigs is another matter entirely.

The Verdin is one of the signature species of the arid southwest. Like the Kinglets, they're pretty personable and pretty good-looking. I'm been having warbler envy this winter, but the Kinglets and Verdins and Yellow-Rumps are doing their industrious best to keep me satisfied. Thanks guys.  

Flycatcher or Phoebe

I know, a Phoebe is a Flycatcher, but I've always been a sucker for alliteration.
Anyway, these two photos were taken in late summer at the McCormick ponds in east Phoenix. There were a pair of Vermillion Flycatchers, one male and one immature, flying among the palo verde trees looking for bugs. They mingled with Yellow-Rumped Warblers, a Black Phoebe, and a Say's Phoebe. None of them actually seemed to be enjoying each other's company, but that could've just been the competition for those yummy gnats.

It was only reviewing these pictures later on that I noticed how oddly similar an adult Say's Phoebe is to a juvenile Vermillion Flycatcher. Can you tell which is which?

Snow Goose

The Snow Goose is a medium sized white and black goose that is most well known for its massive breeding populations up North. They migrate south for the winter, and can often be found in huge congregations. They're casual visitors to Arizona, which is largely out of their normal range, but there's always a chance you'll see a couple mingling wherever else geese are found. There was a vagrant pair out in the middle of the Gilbert Water Ranch ponds this last Saturday.

These are the first Snow Geese I've seen in the state, and the first I've had an opportunity to photograph. With the noon-time sun beating down on these alabaster birds, I decided to try a new route in photography. I don't normally use any sort of image manipulation, other than cropping, when I process photos. But since I couldn't get rid of the sun's white-washing effect, which almost makes the Geese glow purple in pictures, I just went black and white.

Black and white photography is most often used to make classy portrait shots. It is also used by artsy kids in tight jeans who take pictures of dilapidated lawn chairs and rusty bathtubs to make themselves look brooding and contemplative. I'm not crazy about the result here (and not just because it's blurry), but at least the species is discernible, and not engulfed in a purple hue, which is even less natural.

*I found and photographed these Snow Geese and Ross's Geese (2 and 2) several weeks later in Glendale.

Liminal Birds

Liminal is a nifty word that describes the border between two different things, be they cultures or environments. The liminal space is where elements of both overlap and interact, sometimes harmonizing and sometimes coming into conflict.

Many birds seem to prefer the liminal spaces of nature. I certainly gravitate towards these areas as a birdwatcher, probably because it's easier to see and target places that have lots of distinction. It's much harder to make oneself survey a homogenous landscape than one with many different features on which you can easily focus. Observe the liminal spaces at the Gilbert Water Ranch, those areas where land meets water, where the chaparral meets the trees, and these are some of the species you'll likely find:

The Northern Shovelers are not very good divers, but they do like to feed off of the bottom of ponds. As such, they're limited to the shallow areas where they can go bottoms-up. Locating Shovelers in a pond is a good way to guess at the depth of the surrounding water.

 The Black-Necked Stilt is not a swimmer, but it likes to feed in the mucky muck just like the Shoveler. Consequently, it too is destined for life in a liminal space.

The Common Gallinule (formerly known as Moorhen) makes its nest in the reeds and bullrushes around the water, and is seldom seen very far away from its precious cover. I'm not really sure what they eat, but if if it's true that you are what you eat, then looking at the beak I'd say they eat candy-corn.

The water's edge draws all manner of other birds, including warblers, wrens, waterfowl, herons, kingfishers, and shorebirds ad infinitum. There are also many birds that prefer the dryer liminal spaces. The Sparrows and Finches in Arizona like to move between the higher trees, which provide more cover, and the seedy grasses that provide better but lower foraging. I found my first ever Lawrence's Goldfinches moving between the trees and grasses at the Water Ranch, and they were also accompanied by lots of Brewer's Sparrows.

My fondness for these margins sometimes inhibits my birding. I often spend too much time looking at these areas, which can attract many different species of birds, and miss the less conspicuous specialists who stay in a specific environment. But hey, whether you bird in the margins, or immerse yourself in one specific environment, it's all good. Birding is fun.

Inca Bink a Bottle of Ink

With a relatively small range (for a dove) that does not much exceed the southern parts of Arizona, California, New Mexico, and Texas, the Inca Dove has much less of an empire than its now-extinct namesake. However, they did outlast the Incas, and they have no scarcity of competition from larger doves or grackles either. 


Their feathers have a scaled look to them that encompasses their entire body, unlike other semi-scaled birds such as the California Quail. Their soft call and mild manners makes them a pleasant addition to the typical batch of Southwestern birds one might see making a ruckus about the feeders, and they're certainly my favorite dove.





I like their eyes. Unlike other, larger doves who seem to always have that vacant stare, the Inca Dove eyes seem to have a slight glimmer of kindness and gentleness behind them. With their gray dimpled plumage and endearing politeness, these are grandma birds if there is such a thing.


I found this nice pair at the Gilbert Water Ranch on Saturday. They were being very cozy-cuddly and didn't seem to mind the interlopers as they scratched and stretched away the remnants of their afternoon nap.

Lemme Teal You Something Buddy!

I've had a wonderful time finding and photographing the various wintering waterfowl here in Arizona. The Shovelers, Pintails, Ring-Necks, and Scaups are all beautiful and pretty easy to access in the city. The Teal group has been much more challenging. I've not seen any Blue-Winged Teal this winter, and the Greenwing-Teal like to stay far out in the Gilbert Water Ranch Ponds, as do their much less numerous Cinnamon cousins.

I've spent a lot of time trying to improve my Teal cache, and have found them to be both entertaining and tricky subjects. This Teal was by far the most proximal of all the Teal I photographed. However, his exposure came with a strong condition; he wasn't exposed. By this I mean the stubborn duck kept his beak and part of his face underwater with more determination than a squirrel trying to infiltrate a bird feeder.

He wasn't sitting still either. He would actually scoot along the shallow water, pacing back and forth like an adorable little vacuum sucking up all the lovely bits of filth he could.

At 30 to 35 yards, this is the closest I've managed to get to a Cinnamon Teal. I don't know much about it, but of all the wintering waterfowl that are not actually rare visitors, the Cinnamons seem to have the most limited range. They're the only duck I've seen exclusively at the Water Ranch (though the Ranch is the only place that brings all the ducks together so splendidly), which means I can't count on finding them at the other smaller urban ponds for a close up. More patience is required.

Here's another Green-Winged Teal being all tealy. They combine the facial markings and colors of both Pintails and Wigeons. I agree, and in fact there's a lot in their torso that resembles the Pintail as well. They're very pretty ducks. It seems to have been an unusually warm and short winter all around the country. It's not over yet, but many of the birds here in the valley seem to be prematurely starting their breeding and nesting. I hope for a little more time with the Teal before they return to the northern climes.