The Blackfish Giveth: Lifering Over The Cordell Banks

I've seen some Orcas. Not hella, but a handful. I've seen them in the Aleutian Islands (Attu and Buldir), one out of Half Moon Bay, and now one out of Bodega Bay. Shearwater Journeys had a trip out of Bodega Bay last week, and I had the good fortune to be leading that day. In my book, it was a Great Success.

The uncanny thing is that almost every time I see Orcas (and possibly every time...if only I had kept this very important data) I end up getting a life bird the same day...last time it was a double lifer day, with Salvin's Albatross and Craveri's Murrelet. So although many people who have seen Orcas in the wild feel a strong, almost mystical attraction to them, their feelings for The Grampus pale compare to mine.

As you can tell from the dorsal fin, this wasn't a big adult male. This is about as far as it came out of the water...we could hardly see the whites of it's eyepatches. It looked like it was carrying a kill around, thus it's lack of interest/avoidance of the boat and the number of birds feeding on kill remnants (see below).

And as you have deduced by now, I got a life bird.

Let's not waste any time. This was my life bird, one I was really hoping for this fall due to the warm water that has been sitting off the coast for several months now. It is none other than the legendary GUMU (Guadalupe Murrelet), an extremely good bird in northern California and a difficult and unpredictable find anywhere in U.S. waters. Very few have made it this far north in recent years, at least close enough to shore to be found by boats making day trips.

Compared to Scripps's Murrelet, note the longish bill, huge white spur in front of the eye, and also the white kinda creeping up behind the eye, giving the eye a "framed" look.

The bird was quite cooperative, and I have no doubt that everyone on the boat was able to see it. This was the last alcid I needed to see from the eastern Pacific!

Before all the Synthliboramphus excitement, the day began with seeing some familiar faces from SoCal boarding the boat in Bodega Bay, which is a difficult thing to process when you woke before 5 AM, your morning coffee is wearing off and your dementia-inducing seasick medicine is beginning to kick in. Luckily I remembered everyone's names and awkwardness was averted, which in some circles is enough to make me a BIRDING HERO.

As we got a few miles out, the expected fog bank closed in. A (presumable) Wilson's Snipe whizzed by, which was not a bird anybody expects to find offshore. Gulls following the boat began attracting Common/Arctic Terns in decent numbers, which zipped in to view and back into the fog in a matter of seconds. This was odd, since we were not very far out and these terns are typically not very numerous. Once we cleared the fog, the true picture emerged....there were Arctic Terns everywhere. For almost the entire day, one could scan the horizon and see Arctic Terns. There were only a handful of confirmed Commons. Personally, I would guess that I saw 150+ Arctic Terns that day, which is more than I'd seen in my life combined.

When encountering small terns at sea and you have a decent camera, I highly recommend on-the-spot chimping to help confirm the identity of uncooperative terns. That, or have Steve Howell near you at all times. These are both Arctics...check out the almost Sabine's Gullish wing pattern of the young bird on the left.

Note the crisp black edges on the primaries.

I've never had such good looks at these birds before. Hella cooperative.

Here's a classically streamlined, long-tailed Arctic. Of course, as you can see from the above photos, not all of them are going to look like this.



Here is a Common Tern, which looks dumpy and ungraceful (disgraceful?) in comparison. Note the slighly longer bill and the slightly different shape of the "keel". The black on the primaries looks messy in comparison to what Arctics show.

Less numerous but also omnipresent were Sabine's Gulls. We never had a single flock, but they were with us the entire day as well, almost all the way back in to the harbor.

And what do hella small pelagic gulls and terns mean? It means jaegers, obviously. And we did have hella. Only 3 Long-tailed for some reason, but lots of Pomarine and lots of Parasitic, most of which were pretty far offshore. There was much thievery to be had on the high seas with so many small terns and Sabine's Gulls around...here dark and light Parasitic Jaegers team up on a really bummed out Arctic Tern.

A different Parasitic Jaeger, this one a very clean adult.

Black-footed Albatross, Arctic Tern, Black Storm-Petrels, a shearwater sp. and a California Gull all converge on where the Orca made a kill. Pretty cool collection of birds if you ask me.

Pomarine Jaegers do not fear the boat. This bird came right in for a brutal crushing.

Look! Jaeger talons!

Here's one that still has it's spoons, although they look pretty thrashed.

Long-tailed Jaegers remind me of falcons sometimes...I reckon this photo illustrates that nicely.

The cap on a Long-tailed Jaeger is very different from the other jaegers...it's very neat and confined, which for some intangible reason helps make them a cut above the rest..

Yes, we had some skua too. This was my first JAEGER SLAM of the season. It is typical, by the way, to capitalize JAEGER SLAM, in the event you experience one (slammed by one). This is also an extremely typical skua picture, in case you are wondering.

Enough of the kleptoparasites. We also had a single Tufted Puffin on the trip, in Sonoma County waters.

This bird is either going through a gnarly molt or is rapidly evolving into a new sort of penguin-being (interesting if true). I've never seen a healthy-looking alcid look so poorly equipped for flight before.

It was a great way to kick off a grimy weekend of high-quality September birding. I'll be on Debi's Monterey boat this Saturday...see you there.

September Birding: My Grunts and Vague Runts

A Vague Runt Chestnut-sided Warbler abides and confides. Ferry Park/Sue Bierman Park, San Francisco, CA.

The first half of September has come and gone. I've done pretty well for myself...no MEGAS or state birds, but enough to keep me happy. Fall migration seems to be going a lot better than last year in northern California. Humboldt County had a Ruby-throated Hummingbird, which is a big deal here. Point Reyes and Bodega Bay have been good, and the Farallones have hosted a number of decent passerines, along with the goddamn gannet. I dipped on a one-day-one-observer-wonder Sulphur-bellied Flycatcher, which sucked but at least I didn't have to cope with getting gripped off by dozens of other birders.

Not bad at all so far, although of course many of us are waiting with baited breath for something Siberian to show up. How I long to meet a wheatear, how I would coddle a dotterel, how I would warble to a Dusky Warbler...but the season is young! Of course, there are still a number of pelagic trips I plan on leading (starting with Bodega Bay tomorrow), so there will be lots of upcoming opportunities to meet Vague Runts with or without tubes attached to their faces.

This was a nice county bird, which allowed some brutal crushings. Ferry Park is an awful, disgusting place to bird but it gets Vague Runts and is hella close to BART. I'm sure I'll be back again this fall.

Here is a more typical photo of a Vague Runt. I was shocked to find this Laughing Gull loafing with Elegant Terns and California Gulls at Point Reyes earlier this month. Before this bird, I've previously only seen one in northern California. I don't think it was ever refound. Drake's Beach, Point Reyes, CA.

Back to crushier fare. Hutton's Vireos are the bravest of all vireos....there, I said it. I've been holding in this news for years, but it feels good to finally get it out. Like their lookalike relatives the Ruby-crowned Kinglets (and unlike most of humanity), Hutton's Vireos are not afraid to snuggle up with a birder. Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, CA.

Depending on their posture and plumage, Hutton's can passingly resemble Hammond's Flycatcher, Cassin's Vireo and Ruby-crowned Kinglet (this one is in kinglet mode). I have distant memories of actually struggling to tell apart Ruby-crowned Kinglets and Hutton's Vireos. Now, I can look back and laugh.

If anyone is aware of a more interesting Hutton's Vireo photo, please notify the authorities. The Global Birder Ranking System has heaped praise upon me for capturing this image. The bellow was aimed directly at me, and I was immediately knocked to the ground by the force of it. I think I am still bleeding internally.

A pair of Peregrine Falcons overlook their migrant-ridden domain. Point Reyes, CA.

I wonder how many bird species this one has consumed. Maybe she keeps a list.

Pomarine Jaegers will frequently come check out the chum line off the stern during pelagic trips. Photographed off Half Moon By, CA.

As you may have read about on other blogs, some nerds from the Birdosphere recently convened on the bay area for a pelagic trip. Flycatcher Jen came from Portland, This Machine Nate from Austin, and Laurence from Phoenix (we need a nickname for you Laurence). We got excellent weather but inexplicably few birds, unfortunately...oh well, pelagic trips are always a gamble, and unlike last year it seems there are very few Buller's Shearwaters offshore this fall. At least Nate didn't miss Black-footed Albatross for the second year in a row, and they all got lifers.

We had only one Sabine's Gull that day, but it came straight in to the stern for great looks.

Few other birds have been so wildly successful in turning the Economy of Style into something truly special.

Common Murres bellow loudly in northern California waters this time of year. 

Who know how many Pygmy Nuthatches I have crossed paths with. 3,256? That is my guess. Anyways, I finally got a decent photo of one. El Polin Spring, San Francisco, CA.

If you happen to live in a region lacking in small, hyperactive nuthatches, I would also suspect that you are living in a region of despair.

I know you easterners scoff when I talk about eastern birds here, so I'll end this post on a very Californian note. Here is a shitty Tricolored Blackbird picture. It's pure rubbish, I know...the light is rubbish, the color is rubbish, and even the bird is rubbish because it's freshly molted so it doesn't have that sharp look birders typically expect. But it's a pretty good bird, and also one that is declining rapidly. Photographed at Point Reyes, which is an excellent place to see them.

Arizona Part II: Beyond Chuffed or Lifers For Slick

Scott's Orioles are not known for being the most cooperative members of their tribe. But in Ash Canyon, they are jelly junkies, and it's easy to get quality looks.

I had come to Ash Canyon for two reasons: Lucifer Hummingbird, and geri-birding. It was hot, it was mid-afternoon, so what else is there to do but sit on your ass and let the birds come to you? Unfortunately Lucifer didn't show that day, but decent geri-birding was had.

Cooperative Lark Sparrow, with a bit of an overbite.

Acorn Woodpeckers are often described as being "clownish", which is too bad, because no one likes clowns and everyone likes Acorn Woodpeckers.

It's easy to take Acorn Woodpeckers for granted as a westerner. But just because something is easy means we should embrace it. Familiarity does breed contempt, but this is one of the great charismatic upland birds of the west, and they make everything better.

This young male Scott's Oriole is already a jelly addict. What is the world coming to?

Mexican Jays litter the mountains and hills of southeast Arizona. They are one of my favorite kinds of litter. 

After a night in Tucson, I got my shit together and rapidly lurked down to Florida Canyon, my old home from a few years ago. A Plain-capped Starthroat had been reported there recently, and it would be a solid ABA bird for me. The starthroat and residentish Black-capped Gnatcatchers didn't show, but it was a nice morning of Summer Tanagers, Varied Buntings, Gray Hawk (unusual there) and Northern Beardless-Tyrannulets.

Broad-billed Hummingbird is both crippling and common in the area. Florida Canyon, AZ.

Eventually I decided to hike up canyon, to revisit the Rufous-capped Warblers. Florida Canyon is the only place in the country where this species is reliable, and they have been here for several years now. Encountering no one on the trail was nice, because there are shitloads of birders in Arizona, and you are better off not encountering most of them. Eventually I heard a quiet, unusual song across the stream but could not locate it...I was momentarily distracted by a female Summer Tanager when she did me a solid and landed right next to the singing Rufous-capped Warbler. This is all part of being #7, you see.

It quickly skulked off, but I was happy. A few minutes later my avian company was replaced by a haggard-looking dude with a massive camera set up, his arms covered in cuts. He was sweating profusely, had a thick southern accent and kept calling me "Slick", which I'd never heard before outside of movies. He had obviously been trying really hard to see/photograph the Rufous-capped Warbler, and despite being there for hours had failed up to that point in the morning.

"It used to come into tapes," he said, with obvious disappointment in his voice.
"Well yeah. When everyone is using tapes on a bird, it will tape the bird out", I observantly pointed out to him.

I told him where I last had the bird and he stumbled over to the spot, looking forlornly at the slope that the warbler had previously occupied a few minutes earlier. Eventually he came back to me and said, "Hey Slick. I drove 3,000 miles for this, I'm going to play a tape." I responded unenthusiastically and got the fuck out of there.

There are few heartening things left in this world. One of them is watching a Black-throated Sparrow feeding a fledgling. Try it some time. Florida Canyon.

Later in the day, I rolled up to the Kubo Cabins, former home of the most dependable Flame-colored Tanager in the country. He must have passed away, but he was at those cabins for so many years that he must have had a nice, long, facemelting life...I was lucky to see him for many of those years. Good birds are still to be found there though...the guys I was geri-birding with at Ash Canyon the day before told me about an easy Whiskered Screech-Owl that sat in a cavity across the street from the cabins. It only took a couple minutes to find it, and I was a bit chuffed. In fact, before I knew it, I was beyond chuffed...I was fucking stoked.

This was my Arizona nemesis bird. I have birded the area extensively and have heard countless Whiskered Screech-Owls, but I could never actually see one...I don't count heard-only birds on my life list, so listening to them torture me at night was not going to cut it. And at long last, here it was, in broad daylight, right in front of me...sleeping.

This is one of the sleepier life birds I've gotten. Madera Canyon, AZ.

After the screech-owl success, it was time to take on Proctor Road. Proctor Road had the star attraction: a reliable, accessible Buff-collared Nightjar. Already happy with my victory over my nemesis earlier in the day, I would have been happy with just hearing the thing (I had no experience with them, aside from fondling a freshly deceased one in a shoe box in California...seriously).

As I arrived at the appointed spot, I came upon a familiar face.

"Hey Slick!", the familiar face beamed at me.

Are we in Men in Black? Are you Tommy Lee Fucking Jones? Do I look like Will Smith to you???? I wasn't surprised to see Tapey McGee there, but I was kind of bummed. Fortunately, he took off well before the time the bird was expected to begin calling (who knows why). Despite all of this, I'm glad there are still people out there calling people "Slick".

Having previously done field work in the area, I knew that I could get closer to the bird without getting too close...there was no reason to stick to the road, unless I wanted to be annoyed by other birders. So I lurked off into the bushes toward the nightjar's favored hill and waited. Eventually a birder from New York walked in to the shrubbery as well, and while we chatted the bird began calling. Great success! Shrewdly picking up on the fact that I was wallowing in the mesquite because I was trying to avoid birders, he headed back to the road. If only all birders were so adept on picking up social cues.

After he left, the bird began calling in earnest, and I could tell the bird had moved off the hill and was coming closer and closer. I drooled horribly, knowing that I had a chance of actually getting eyes on the thing. But as the suspense mounted, I heard some other birders pull up on the road behind me. They were not good birders. The nightjar was singing loudly, almost incessantly, and from the snippets of conversation I could hear it was obvious that the new birders had no clue they were listening to it (New York birder eventually pointed this out to them). New York birder later told me that they then asked if they could do playback, New York birder said "no", and they responded by saying they had driven too far and they were going to do it anyway. Sound familiar, Slick?

And so they began blasting nightjar song while the bird was still singing, and of course it immediately shut up. Heads were about to roll. But then the truly unexpected happened...the bird flew right by me, at eye level, and started singing again a couple hundred meters away before shutting up again. Holy shit!!!! It wasn't exactly a crippling view, but I quickly rocketed from chuffed to stoked to something like awe. What luck! I had almost no expectations of seeing it, and I ended up being the only person who saw the bird that night.

The playback dudes left, and I walked further down Proctor Road by myself. It was a beautiful, peaceful night. Soon other night birds began calling...Common Poorwills, a Lesser Nighthawk, an Elf owl, a Whiskered Screech-Owl. Eventually the Buff-collared Nightjar returned to the roadside and started calling, while another bird countersang in the distance. Such nightbirds! Two Buff-collared Nightjars (yes, I am positive it wasn't another birder using playback) and a whole suite of others. It was a good night. It was also my birthday...that night I camped in Bog Springs Campground in Madera Canyon and drank an impressive amount of bourbon.

These are Arizona Sisters. They look like California Sisters. But they are no more California Sisters than I am California Sisters. Madera Canyon.

The next day I hiked up Madera Canyon, all the way to the Carrie Nation Mine, where I don't think I've been before. I had some nice year birds...Red-faced Warbler, Cordilleran and Sulphur-bellied Flycatchers...and then it was time to leave. Although I prefer birding southeast Arizona during the monsoons, it was a hell of a trip, and I will be back. If you missed it, here is Arizona Part I.

Crushing songbirds can be difficult, so I recommend crushing other life forms in their stead. From time to time.

Unlike most songbirds, Yellow-eyed Juncos are eminently crushable, which pleases me. They are fearless birds, for reasons that I have only begun to grasp. I also am pleased with how closely they resemble Baird's (of Mexico) and Volcano Juncos (of Costa Rica and Panama), not to mention "red-backed" Dark-eyed Juncos. Madera Canyon.

I watched this junco thrash this lep into little bitty pieces. It was intensely violent and fun to see. Nerd points to anyone who can identify the prey.

Ever since that day, I wake up every morning and am grateful that I am not a medium-sized lepidopteran that dwells in high-elevation springs of the sky islands of southeast Arizona. Junco-bashing must be a rough way to go.

The harmful bellow of a Plumbeous Vireo is truly something to avoid. At least it is uttered more intermittently than Cassin's. Madera Canyon.

For the herpers, here is a Yarrow's Spiny Lizard (I think). Madera Canyon.