The Rock Wren Is Not As Forgiving As I Am

We are absolutely buried in December now. You may be excited by Christmas Bird Counts (I know The Great Ornithologist Felonious Jive is), but I'm pretty focused on the new Star Wars. Anyways, nothing says "Happy Holidays!" like HERMIT THRUSH ACTION. This fog-bound bird was holding down the Fish Docks out at Point Reyes, where I managed to see a number of quite uncommon birds, but not many rare birds this fall. Railer. Oh well, I can always look back on the last Connecticut Warbler with fondness and be grateful that I wasn't there for The Murrelet Incident.

In northern California, White-throated Sparrows are near the bottom of the Eastern Vagrant Totem Pole...but if they are on the pole, it's a good bird! This confiding individual was recklessly hopping around on the path at the Fish Docks, in close proximity to the raging HERMIT THRUSH ACTION.

This is one of those birds that I've somehow not managed to photograph properly before...this bird on the path is on the right path to a proper photo, I reckon. It is a pleasureable sparrow to look at, methinks, good ol' Sam Peabody, you know what I'm saying? Perhaps the next field guide will have a section on pleasure sparrows.

Rock Wrens are always holding down the Outer Point, which is a very good thing. I consider them to be the most fearless wren...you might say that their overconfidence is their weakness, but your faith in your friends is yours.

See what I did there?

Here is the Rock Wren rendering itself into some sort of highly amicable modern art sculpture, apparently melding tail and wing into a protective wren-shell.

However, the wren-shell has a weakness. It's a small thermal exhaust port, right below the main port. The shaft leads directly to the reactor system. A precise hit will start a reaction which should destroy the...wren-shell.

How about there? Did you see what I did there?

Getting sick of fogbound, brown bird pictures? Fine, here is a fogbound haggard coyote. Be glad you are not that coyote.

Look at the bill length on this Tricolored Blackbird....it might as well be a Tricolored Heron. Actually, I can't even tell which one of those species this bird is. Birding is hard. Photographed at Ardenwood Farm, Fremont.

I've mentioned it before, but since ya'll probably don't read every single BB&B post (how very sane of you), it bears discussing again...Tricolored Blackbirds don't really match field guides very well during the fall. With the buffy epaulet edging, this may look like a typical Red-winged Blackbird at first glance, but this is actually typical of Tricolored Blackbird in the fall (see the first TRBL photo as well). That buff color will fade to white over time, and that's when these birds look like they've been consulting field guides for how they appear.

Another thing to keep in mind is that "typical" Red-winged Blackbirds are not very common in the bay area, we mostly have Bicolored Blackbirds, which only have a red patch on the wing.

Speaking of patchness, I finally found a rare bird at my patch! This absurdly late Common Tern (seen November 8) was a surprise a few minutes from my house, and is likely the latest I've ever seen of its kind in the country. Middle Harbor Shoreline Park, Oakland, CA.

Not surprising at all was this Long-billed Curlew. Curlews are great birds...not in terms of rarity, just in general. I think it is important to have curlews lurking at one's patch, laying waste to what lies beneath the surface of the mud.

I don't like to do this...really, I don't. I'm not one to fetishize obviously escaped birds, but one will nonetheless be portrayed here...this is the first free-flying Mandarin Duck I've ever seen. Granted, it probably doesn't fly very much (it has been in Golden Gate Park for a very long time now), but it could leave if it wanted. It does a good impression of a female Wood Duck, with a different bill color of course.

This is a plover. A plover of snow. I hadn't been to Crissy Field (San Francisco) in years, so I did what I thought was best and lurked over there a few weeks ago. It was hell of peopley, shocker. Fortunately there were four Snowy Plovers in the designated Snowy Plover area. This one had more colorful legs than the others. Turns out I was the one who banded it.

Naw, just kidding, it was someone else. All the ones I've banded were down San Diego way...it would be weird if one of them turned up this far north. Anyways, a small flock of Snowy Plovers is here at Crissy on the regular, though they don't breed. These pleasant beach loafers/sand nuggets can be found along Ocean Beach as well, which (surprise surprise) is also peopley.

Brown Pelicans are nice to look at. I have nothing more to say, except I have not seen the new Star Wars yet so for the love of all that is Holy and Right in the world, don't leave a spoiler in the comments. Photographed at Crissy Field.

A Breast of Bay...Where is the DICK?...#failurethrush

Many years ago, as a young and stupid birder (not #7), I went out to California's Kern County to check the desert oases for migrants. We ran into some birders who directed us to a singing male Black-throated Blue Warbler. That was pretty sick. Then we were told there was a male Bay-breasted Warbler over at Butterbredt Springs, so we cruised over there. And there it was, hopping around the shore of a pond like a goddamn Song Sparrow. And then someone found a Prairie Warbler, which was easy to relocate. How fucked up is that?

That was my introduction to spring vagrant hunting in California; it was an accidental discovery. No one really understands why we get almost all our spring vagrants at the end of May and beginning of June, but that is when they decide to come through. But that is not the point...the point is that I have not seen a breeding plumage Bay-breasted again until this spring, when a handful could be found on South Padre Island, Texas. Stoked.

Acadian Flycatcher was a bird I had only met briefly, on a nest somewhere in Missouri back in 2009. I was only able to find one this spring, but one is all it takes. It was confiding as fuck, and didn't even bother me with demands of pizza.

It's a pretty distinctive bird, if you ask me, and I am ready to find one in California. We are overdue. Photographed on South Padre Island, TX.

Dickcissel is a fun name. It's a name people can get behind. I think "dickcissel" is a horrible way to describe it's song, but it's a great name. For all those people who are thinking about making shirts or stickers that consist of simply a bird's banding code, I can't fathom why I haven't seen any DICK in production yet. It's the best. Photographed at South Padre Island, TX.

After seeing hundreds this spring, the plumage of an adult male in spring still doesn't make any sense to me. There is nothing like it north of Mexico. Hidalgo County, TX.

I don't think I've posted any Magnolia Warblers this year. Birders would be more aware of their facemelt abilities if they weren't hella common in a lot of places. This fully black-backed bird has reached a crippling peak of spring finery. South Padre Island, TX.

This one has the facemelt turned down a notch, but is ultimately a gratifying bird to be around.

This horrible, haggard thing that bears a faint resemblance to a Magnolia Warbler is not at all gratifying to be near. Sorry. South Padre Island, TX.

Bell's Vireo was one of the "best" self-found birds I had at South Padre Island this year. Unfortunately, when I posted it on eBird, I found out that someone had found it earlier that day. Don't you hate it when that happens? Oh well, it was a nice year bird and the only one reported from the region this spring.

And now we come to The Thrush of Failure. This Hermit Thrush spent a couple weeks at the convention center on South Padre Island. Hundreds of people saw it. It was quite comfortable foraging on a small stretch of lawn, and was not shy. The number of people I watched misidentify it was staggering. Many birders suffered a blow to their Global Birder Ranking System scores when confronted with this very typical member of it's species.

Granted, the other Catharus species are all more common here at this time of year, but this bird was practically begging to be identified correctly. The complete eye ring, extensive spotting, and a red tail all scream Hermit Thrush, and there were often Veery, Swainson's and Gray-cheeked Thrush all present at the same site to provide convenient comparisons. Does this thrush stand as a hopeful monument for the number of new (aka inexperienced) birders out there? Or is it a testament to the dismal future of birding?

Much has been said about female warblers....mostly stuff along the lines of "males are better looking, but females are ok". I don't have much to add to that conversation right now. Obviously, there is no species of warbler with distinct sexual dimorphism where one would actually prefer to observe a female over a male. Here is a female (perhaps first spring) Black-throated Green Warbler. South Padre Island, TX.

A male Black-throated Green Warbler is almost obscenely attractive, in comparison. South Padre Island, TX.

Let's face it...Empids are a bitch. It's not their fault...but it kind of is. Here is an unassuming Least Flycatcher, the most abundant Empidonax that migrates through south Texas (Traill's and Yellow-bellied were also easy to find this spring). South Padre Island, TX.

Here is the same bird, doing something that approaches an Alder Flycatcher imitation. Pardon my grain.

You don't have to pardon my grain for this one. Here is a Common Nighthawk. As you may know, I have beef with animals being called "common", and this one is no exception. Yes, it is the more widespread nighthawk species in the U.S., but you know there is no such thing as "Greater Nighthawk", right? So why does Lesser Nighthawk even exist? Right...Common Nighthawk should be called Greater Nighthawk, although I admit "Bullbat" would be pretty sweet. Willacy County, TX.

There is nothing like a good Caprimulgid crush, is there? I love all the different patterns these duders sport. It seems like they would clash, but the nighthawk pulls it off.

Isn't birding funny? I can remember when I first saw Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks in southeast Arizona, back in the 90s. It was a Really Big Deal for me. They were flighty and more than happy to keep their distance from us. Now in 2014, I crush them at point blank range, and don't raise an eyebrow when I drive by one perched on a roof or a powerline. Familiarity breeds contempt. South Padre Island, TX.

Everyone loves Least Bitterns, and I am no exception. They are relatively common in parts of south Texas, and don't require much effort to find at places like the convention center and birding center on South Padre Island, where this photo was taken.

October at Coyote Hills

Damn...I'm getting way behind here...many apologies and condolences. I know BB&B readers need TOTAL COVERAGE of what Felonious Jive and I get into...everything from eBird checklists to what Booby Brittany ate for breakfast to what I've dipped on (Yellow Rail) and scored on (Red-throated Pipits) lately...so some catch up is overdue.

There have been many complaints made over the years (and many butthurt defenses) of the tried-and-true "I went to ___ and saw _____" format of bird blogging, but I think its something that must be done today, due to the quality of the visit and number of crushings accomplished.

All photos in this post are from October 9 at Coyote Hills Regional Park in southern Alameda County, along the bay. It has a diverse mix of upland and wetland habitats, and turns up interesting birds in both fall and winter...the locals bird there regularly, and I think it's worth your time if you're just visiting.

Sage Thrasher is a rare bird around these parts, and my first of the year. With the relatively poor showing of vagrants in the bay area this fall, this was one of the "better" birds I've come by.

Of course, we must give respect to our ubiquitous thrasher, the Northern Mockingbird. I don't think I've ever posted one on BB&B before, so here you go.

John Hammond once said, "We've made living biological attractions so astounding that they'll capture the imagination of the entire planet ". Hammond was right, of course, which leads us to this astounding, block-headed, richly-colored Empidonax; a Hammond's Flycatcher, a bird that's hard to come by in fall on the coastal plain. Field guides tell you to expect a dark lower mandible on this species, but I've found that to be an inconsistent field mark.

It skillfully dismembered and consumed a yellowjacket right in front of me. Can you imagine being the size of that bird and getting stung in the face? It could be lethal...what a brave little flycatcher, truly the Velociraptor of its genus.

One of the highlights of the day was the fennel patches...they were swarming with migrants, including more gray-headed Orange-crowned Warblers than most people are comfortable just hearing about. The legions of orestera were practically begging to be crushed; I often stood a mere 15 feet away, firing off hundreds of rounds (er, frames) at incredible speed.

The California birder who goes out in fall without these birds on the radar is doomed from the start. Orestera Orange-crowned Warbler is one of the most frequently-misidentified migrants on the west coast; they are uncommon along the coast in the fall, and many noob birders are simply unaware that gray-headed Orange-crowned Warblers exist...and so birder magic frequently renders them into Nashville, MacGillivray's and even rarer warblers.

Here is a typical lutescens Orange-crowned Warbler for comparison; this is the standard flavor of OCWA in California.

This young Wilson's Warbler was also lens fodder. The avian fennel fruit was plentiful on this day.

Watching a flock of Bushtits at work is a lot like eating comfort food.

It's neither enthralling or exotic, but its a soothing and familiar experience...perhaps less salty though.

A greatly underappreciated field mark for young accipiters is the breast and belly pattern; while both young Sharp-shinned and Cooper's can have streaked underparts, only young (HY) Sharp-shinned Hawks like this one get heavy spotting.

It's always nice to crush the shade-addicts, the birds who seem reluctant to ever make direct contact with full sunlight when a camera is around. This is one of the better Hermit Thrush pictures I've gotten.

That's all from Coyote Hills. One last thing...the Great Ornithologist Felonious Jive recently made his monthly post at 10,000 Birds, this time on how the birdscape/birderscape has drastically changed over the last 15 years. Check it out.

Back In The (Silver) Saddle

This is my FOY WEWP! Western Wood-Pewee is not often thought of as a beautiful bird...but now that you have seen my crush, I believe you think otherwise.

Ah, the desert. The desert means different things to different people. To average people, "the desert" screams boredom and dusty wastes. To climbers and hikers, the desert means adventure...dusty adrenaline mixed a unique flavor of peace and quiet. To birders, there are those who think of the desert birds...the thrashers, the sparrows, Verdins, Cactus Wrens and the like...and then there are those who think of migrants. California's deserts, from Death Valley to the Colorado River, offer excellent birding during migration, if you know where to look. Thousands of migrant songbirds pass through these areas and spring and fall, and where there is greenery, there will be birds. You show me a lawn and trees, and I will show you some goddamn vagrants....eventually. That's how this works.

Way back before I was the Number 7 birder in the nation, I used to go out to the Kern desert and scour the place for vagrants...I have many fond memories of Butterbredt Springs (Bay-breasted Warbler, Prairie Warbler, Hooded Warbler, etc.), California City (Golden-winged Warbler, Black-throated Blue Warblers, Gray Catbirds, Dickcissel, etc.) and Galileo Hill (Virginia's Warbler, Lark Bunting, Least Bittern, etc.). I lost track years ago of the number of lifers I stacked up out there as a young birder...but sadly, I have not been able to return to these sacred migrant traps since the good old days.

What's that? You want me to crush this helpless pewee even harder??? Cool, here you go.

Seriously guys, I think I'm almost beyond crushing here. I don't know if this bird can take being documented so well. And what's with the contrasting brown auricular patch? I don't understand it, but I like it.

When I accepted this job on Santa Cruz Island, one of the instant perks that I thought of was being within striking distance of the Kern County hotspots during spring migration. Aside from being rarity-magnets, these sites pull in so many birds that you actually get a sense that a major movement of songbirds is happening...nothing unusual for those on the eastern half of the continent, but for west coast birders this is a really big deal. And when you are deprived of such migratory goodness for much of the year...you crave it.

And so I waited until early May, when I made my triumphant return to Galileo Hill and Kern County. I swear, when getting out of the car at Galileo Hill, I felt like MacArthur coming back to the Phillippines. Although Galileo failed to provide any birds with eastern flavors, the numbers of migrants were unlike anything I'd seen in California in years. Today's succulent content covers a few of the birds and unnervingly realistic dinosaurs of Galileo Hill.

Male Costa's Hummingbird is one of the coolest SoCal birds, I reckon. The head of a male morphs into a blob of indescribable brilliance in just the right light, and they have a long, weird and whimsical song that makes them easy to identify by ear.

Female Costa's Hummingbird, on the other hand, is a pretty tough ID, especially for those of you who don't get to see this bird very often. Without a good look, they can easily be mistaken for a female Black-chinned. But surely you own a field guide, and the likes of Jon Dunn and David Sibley can break down the ID process better than I.

This is Midnight the cat, who apparently lives there. Midnight took an instant liking to us when we arrived...Bird Police Officer Searcy and I were, of course, super stoked when it started following us around while we birded, meowing loudly. Nothing attracts rare birds like a large, black, noisy cat. So we had to call in the local cat control.

Help came in the form of a random Jack Russell terrier, who didn't seem attached to any human. He is stationed there to keep Midnight away from birders, according to Officer Searcy. After watching the dog and the cat try to kill each other for several minutes, we took advantage of the distraction to sneak off and go birding without small predators in tow.

Catharus thrushes were plentiful this day. Many of the Hermit Thrushes we came across had very gray upperparts, very different than the individuals that winter across the state.

Perhaps this is auduboni, or a very similar subspecies. Nice to this flavor of Hermit Thrush again, at any rate.

Swainson's Thrushes typically outnumber Hermits considerably during the spring months at many migrant traps in eastern California. Although Hermit Thrushes can vary in the amount of contrast they show between the tail and the rest of their upperparts, Swainson's always sport the same colors from the top of their heads to the tips of their tails.

Galileo Hill, where all of these photos were taken, also goes by Silver Saddle Ranch. It is private property, and you must sign in at the office if you wish to bird there. If you do anything stupid to threaten the access birders get to this unique site, the entire California birding community will hunt you down and make your life a living hell. The Bird Police will sit idly by and watch as you are bludgeoned with binoculars, tripods, and unimaginably large lenses...they are a corrupt and vengeful bunch.

It's probably best that I don't explain this...be sure to show it to your kids before they go to bed though.