2020: The Dawn of The Geri Birding Renaissance

California Scrub-Jays were daily yard visitors for a good part of the summer but are currently all but undetectable from the yard, although they are certainly still nearby. It is fascinating getting to learn some of the habits and vagaries of local common shit that you thought you knew like the back of your hand already. All photos in this post were taken at Rancho de Bastardos.

Geri Birding. Now, more than ever, it matters. BB&B readers know that we have always been staunch proponents of Geri Birding, whether you are doing it in your own backyard or at some lodge buried deep in a rainforest. But with the arrival of Covid-19, Geri Birding went from a pastime to somewhat of a necessity, at least for a while.

Do you remember those days in early spring? Here in Santa Clara County, California, we went straight from business-as-usual 😎to shelter-in-place 😷practically overnight, pretty much before the rest of the country. Fear and confusion and anger reigned supreme...and I guess that really hasn't changed, though the shock has certainly worn off. But I digress...it was a gut punch any way you look at it.

Back then, "wear a fucking mask" was not a thing. The thing was "don't leave your fucking house"...although no one was actually saying it quite like that then, or now, because that's not something anyone can tolerate for very long, potential life saving action be damned. There is a reason house arrest is a thing. However, that was indeed the message being sent by some birders for a little while. Birders were taking to listservs and social media, courageously proclaiming to all that would listen that they refused to chase mega rarities 15 minutes away and bashing all who did.

A big change in the yard this year was the Nuttall's Woodpeckers finally getting hooked on the suet. After being very occasional visitors to the feeding station they now visit on the regular. I've seen a great many of these in my life but can now say the best looks I've ever had of them were in my own yard. Here is a juvenile showing its distinctive red forecrown.

You may think I am cusp of delivering some harsh judgement, one way or the other, or am on the verge of launching into a long and rambling self-righteous screed on how birders should now conduct themselves in The Age of Coronavirus...but I am not. I am just setting the stage to tell you that I sure as shit have spent a lot more time at home than usual this year, and the best part of that has been GERI BIRDING.

As soon as things went south in March, I began geri birding with renewed vigor and have not stopped...never stop geri birding, you know what I'm saying? Can't stop won't stop geri birding. The results have been very rewarding, and Rancho de Bastardos has performed as advertised. I geri birded so hard this spring that I suspect I may actually now be geri. I catch myself doing stuff like complaining about my back, unironically yelling dad cliches at my daughter, and asking basic, embarrassing questions like "Honey, have you seen my keys?" or "What the fuck is Tiktok?"

I know right? It's a bad scene, but I am not ashamed. Geri birding makes hanging out at home a much more enjoyable, perhaps even more gripping experience than normal, especially in semi-normal weather conditions (i.e. under 100 degrees and without a megafire raging nearby) and in spite of things happening in the rest of the world that are trying their best to send you spiraling into a state of catatonic depression that you will never climb out of ever again.

Another major yard upgrade this year was the addition of this little oriole feeder. I wasn't sure how birds would take to it but the neighborhood Hooded Orioles love it. I even saw chickadees and a Song Sparrow or two using it.

The Hooded Orioles here have always been skittish, especially males. It's like they know how facemelting they are and don't want to hurt anyone by letting them get too good of a look. I got some deec pics this summer though. They have all departed now and are southbound, but we had some good hangs this year.

How about some more babies? Here is a juv Oak Titmouse. They are much more confiding than adults, usually look a touch spiffier and have more of a cowlick than a very prominent crest.

A young Northern Mockingbird can do a very convincing Sage Thrasher impersonation.

One afternoon we had a big family group of Tree Swallows perched above the backyard with a bunch of fresh brown and white juvs still getting fed by parents. This is a local breeder that disappears very early in the year - I have no eBird records of them from the yard past June. Like the jays that opened up this post, they are certainly in the area longer than that but I do find it interesting that they are dependably absent from my microzone by July.

This was a big year for Song Sparrows in the yard, the local breeders produced some bumper crops of youngsters like this one. On some days there would be an actual double-digit pure flock of Song Sparrows in the yard, which I am not accustomed to seeing anywhere.

This Cooper's Hawk is not a baby at all anymore but not a grownup either. In fact, it doesn't get much more intermediate than this, look at all those adult feathers coming in and that orange eye. Raptor highlights so far this year include more Sharp-shinneds than ever before, both eagle species (annual but always appreciated), and a banded Peregrine Falcon trying to kill Forster's Terns (after failing, killed a passerine instead).

As of this writing I am up to 113 species seen or heard from Rancho de Bastardos this year - my single year record of 126 species, set in 2018, seems well within reach but topping it is not a certainty either. El Rancho has been endowed with 7 new species in 2020: Scaly-breasted Munia (expected and disappointing), Willet (a calling nocturnal spring migrant, astonishing and rather rare in the county away from South San Francisco Bay/salt ponds), Swainson's Thrush (overdue, finally heard some nocturnal flight calls this spring), Western Kingbird (spring migrant, a pleasant surprise), Western Wood-Pewee (a not unexpected but very appreciated spring migrant), and Wrentit. The Wrentit is something I might hear sing from the riparian along the nearby creek at some point, but I was amazed to both hear and see a pair in my actual yard one midsummer day. My yard is decidedly terrible Wrentit habitat, but perhaps better than I thought? That leaves one more new yard bird... 

Red-winged Blackbirds have always nested in the pond behind my house but this year they decided to get real familiar with my yard in 2020, possibly because of a newish feeder that they could be more comfortable on. In previous summers they would disappear by the end of June but this year they have stuck around, and in greater numbers. Not only was it nice to have them linger and loiter longer, they helped lure in my newest yard bird.

I was astonished to look outside one day and see this thing going to seed town (Seed Town?) on the platform feeder one day with the local Red-winged flock. I'd only ever seen one in the county before, and here was a bright male right in the yard...in July! THIS IS WHY I GERI BIRD. This was both a new yard bird (obvi) and a new 5MR bird too, which made it that much sweeter.

The Yellow-headed Blackbird made itself at home very quickly and visited the yard a number of times a day, bossing around other birds, calling frequently and settling in near the top of the yard bird hierarchy. So, so sick. This is not the rarest bird that has been in the yard, but I am left wondering if things will ever be the same.

A surprising number of birders came out to the Los Capitancillos Ponds to chase it, most of which eventually had success. Apparently, scoping into my yard from the other side of the ponds became a thing people were actually doing.

If you don't already geri bird with zeal, I do recommend giving it a shot. I know not everyone has a living situation where this is possible, or your shitty apartment is simply too urban to be conducive to this...I have lived in those situations for most of my adult life. Trust me, I've skipped a lot of articles and posts about yard birding over the years, had my eyes glaze over when yard birding makes its way into conversation, but we must face the music...the time for geri birding is now. Have you felt The Long Shadow of Senescence slowly creeping over you? Let go of your fears, of your wasted youth, and your journey towards the Geri Side will be complete. Birders everywhere have finally made some effort to really bird their yards for the first time this year and have reaped the rewards. What better time to start than September? 

To you grizzled veteran geri birders out there, I hope your yards have brought you similar good fortune in 2020. This has been the year to really cement our geri birding legacies, right? As much as I look forward to having property of my own so I can go crazy with planting natives and installing an imposing state-of-the-art Vague Magnet Water Feature like Flycatcher Jen, Rancho de Bastardos continues to produce surprises and helps soothe some of the daily angst that comes with the territory this year. September is now upon us, the window is open and anything can happen, so good luck to everybody this month, Geri or otherwise.

Dynasty!!!

You may recall the news I broke to you at the beginning of June...the news that I Am Yardbirder. What has happened at Rancho Del Bastardos since then? A little and a lot. I'm here every day, I would know.

To be truthful, it's been a mixed bag. Some chocolate, some yogurt-covered almonds, and far too many disgusting Brazil nuts. Who likes Brazil nuts anyway? Talk about an unnecessary food. It doesn't matter, because by the end of July there was not a Brazil nut in sight.

Lesser Goldfinches love the thistle feeder to the point that they don't care if you are standing next to them, crushing them without respect or restraint.

If you're reading this, you are a birder, and you are intimately familiar with the phrase "summer doldrums", which plagues almost the entire state of California under 5,000 feet in elevation. If you think birding your favorite places in summer is uninspiring, you know that your backyard is not exactly going to be "going off".

In the first half of June I added two new species to the yard total - Downy and Hairy Woodpeckers. However, after HAWO, I was solidly shut out until the middle of July, when I got a heard-only Barn Owl with an assist from Annabelle, who had kindly woken me up in the middle of the night in order to get the bird. Apreesh. That brought me to 83 species for the yard, which is a pretty nice number if you ask me. Fall migration is underway, so I expect to do better in August than I did in July. The Los Capitancillos Ponds are full to the brim though, so my chances for adding some shorebirds other than what I have already (Killdeer and Spotted Sandpiper) are dishearteningly low at best.

Hooded Oriole/Black-headed Grosbeak yard combo! Sure this may be a normal combo in some southeast Arizona yards, but it is novel for me. Hooded Orioles are fairly common in the neighborhood, but grosbeaks have only put in a handful of appearances so far. The late spring Rose-breasted I wanted to visit so badly never materialized, so I am now waiting for a fall Rose-breasted.

In May, you will remember that Rancho Del Bastardos had the highest species list of any yard in the state of California (ranked by eBird), an honor bestowed upon me that I did not accept with nonchalance. Who knew that my little bastard-filled ranchito would be so dominant? Well, I am happy to report that not only did Rancho Del Bastardos take top honors in May, we took it in June!

Incredible! Back-to-back big months!

In July, things were different though...by checking California yard lists in eBird, I could tell that other yardbirders were getting pretty fucking pissed off by Rancho Del Bastardo's dominance of California yards for two months in a row. But I birded, and birded, and birded the shit out of my yard. By the final days of the month, I was tied for first place, and the rest of the competition had been outbirded (sorry Brian, we can't all be #7....oh and please don't kick me off eBird).

While I can see Acorn Woodpeckers distantly every day, they have only come to the feeder a couple times. On this occasion, the bird enthusiastically tried to impale House Sparrows with its bill, a gesture I appreciated.

Bewick's Wrens are constantly in the yard. When will the scolding cease?

Finally, I decided to take decisive action. I could not tolerate this yardbirding stalemate any longer. I spent some time outside one evening, to see if anything different from the morning scene would fly by...and I did not have to wait for long. BANG Barn Swallow. BOOM White-throated Swift. KAPLOOEEYYYYYYY Common Raven!!! Ok, none of these are rare birds or anything, or new to the yard list, but they were all new for the month! And with these final additions, Madison Bumgarner and Buster Posey joyously embraced...a triple crown for Rancho Del Bastardos!

Like the San Francisco Giants once had, I am now in the midst of a yardbirding DYNASTY here at Rancho Del Bastardos. More species have been recorded from my yard than any other California yards for three consecutive months...I am waiting for eBird to send me my championship yardbirding rings.

Some of the local mockingbirds are constantly doing this wing-flashing thing when they are foraging, it's pretty funny. This recently-fledged juvenile also embraced the technique.

It's a very deliberate and conspicuous habit, not just a quick wing flick. More mockingbirds should do this, it is very becoming.

Caspian Terns are foraging behind my house constantly. I haven't had a whole lot of luck crushing waterbirds from my backyard, but the terns do give some good opportunities. Also, it is really weird to be accustomed to hearing the guttural, violent calls of these these things from your own suburban living room.

I want to thank all of you, because we have the greatest fans in the world! This is for you! And don't worry, we won't be resting on our laurels over here...a fourth month of yardbirding glory sounds even better than three.

See you at the victory parade.

Mockingbird

Along the banks of the Lower Colorado. Quiet weekdays of river watching and the blooms beginning in the palo verde that crowd the dry washes. Abert’s towhees singing in chorus and the first migrants have been seen, working their way towards their breeding grounds. Their journey from south to north and then back again another stitch in the weaving that is their life. The combined journeys of all the winged a great feathered quilt rising and falling across the Americas. Through the season, years, eons.

On the weekends, the trailer park is transformed, flooded with people from the city and beyond. Enormous Latino families with intoxicating spreads of food, all day bbqs, blissed out ninos chasing each other and norte music keeping time to this jovial picnicking. Inked and hulking dads in their chromed monster trucks backing their chromed monster boats into the river. These boats reaching insane speeds on the water, screaming upriver and spurting a great arc of water behind. The expressions of the on-board children and petite, immaculate wives a mix of panic and glee. The face of the father is always unmoved, steely mouth and eyes unknowable behind mirrored sunglasses. Pontoon houseboats slowly chugging by, occasionally docking in some reeds for a time, sending flocks of yellow-headed blackbirds upwards, their chorus of chainsaw calls dopplering as they flee. These houseboat sailors more elderly, rotund and hammered, whooping and gesturing to the revered youth that dominate and make spectacle on the river. Retired river warriors now resigned to analysis and voyeurism.

A Gila woodpecker flies across the water, alights in some eucalyptus where grackles are panting and painting the air with their otherworldly calls and clicks. Bullock’s orioles are beginning to build their orb nests in these trees, fishing line and green plastic Easter grass among the list of construction materials. Wintering snowbirds from Canada, perfectly bronzed, never without a drink, everything done one-handed, bump along the trailer park in their golfcart, outfitted with flotation devices, a cooler bungeed down in back and a Jolly Rogers flag streaming above, pool noodles dragging behind in the dirt.

On a small patch of lawn a turtle is digging a hole for to bury her eggs. A gang of 6 boys pedaling laps around the park, bare of foot and chest, hungry for action, dodging between water and roadcraft on their way to nowhere.  A mother slapping the mouth of her toddler that has possibly eaten an oleander flower, reaching in and digging around for the toxic bloom. Last seen scooping up the child and running away, sobbing.

And at night, every night, a mockingbird begins to sing.

He waits until after sunset, for the din and clamor of the day to ebb. A few fires can be seen along the river. Starlight is mirrored, twisted then drowned in the slow moving water. The mockingbird begins and does not stop until the dawn, when his storytelling momentarily mixes with that of the other birds. During the night, under the half-moon, swollen as if with tears, he has the air all to himself. He is telling the story of the day. Updates of the night, drama as it unfolds in real time as well. Mockingbird as bard. Predictions are included in the opus. Mockingbird as revelator. Arrivals of neotropical migrants are announced as they pass overhead during their nocturnal movements north. Puns are hurled at these night travelers.

I wake at midnight, two, four. Always he is singing. Speaking in tongues. Polyglottos.

Whisper’d me through the night, and very plainly before day-break 

Like a vapor creeping under the door, wafting down from the AC unit, Whitmanwords come to me in these early hours…

Creeping thence steadily up to my ears
and laving me softly all over

Beneath the singing, in chorus with the tireless balladeer, I can hear the old crone,

rocking the cradle, swathed in sweet 
garments, bending aside

It is the faint hissing of the river, its melody unmistakably now. It has been whispering through the night. Will sing all the morrow and all the morrows of my life.

Death, death, death, death 

Mostly, I am this river. I’ve been drinking it for months. I can feel it eddy and pool inside of me, coursing headlong towards its terminus, its great release, delaying not, hurrying not. 

The mockingbird goes silent as the blackbirds begin their day and Monday slowly dawns. The crowds have cleared out and the trailer park has grown quiet again. From our spot we can see a couch washed up on a sandbar across the river. Later a jet ski, unmanned and capsized, passes by. The turtle eggs have been excavated and consumed, a pile of dirt and shell shards where yesterday we watched the mother laboring. An oriole rummages through the leaf litter and garbage, searching for its next piece of nest. A skunk, egg-breathed and bellyfull, saunters down towards the river. The shoreline is strewed with beer cans that glitter in the gathering sunlight.

Today's guest post was brought to you by the ineffable Cassidy Grattan, who has wrought and brought Green Honeycreeper and many other stories. May they never stop.

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.