Return to Blogorado: Gunnison

Samantha found this Horned Lark. It's a good thing she did, because it was a TRIP BIRD.

Colorado is home to a few species I've still never seen, the most notable and arguably best of which is Gunnison Sage-Grouse, almost endemic to the state. Dipper Dan, Sultry Sam and myself had a wedding to attend in Denver, but after raging with many old friends, the old tribes of Sunnybrae and San Francisco disbanded and the three of us made the trip out to Gunnison, which if you are unfamiliar is actually a good area to see Gunnison Sage-Grouse. We knew we would require some luck and there was a decent chance we would dip on them...and we did! No need to build up any suspense over our fail, or go into excruciating detail about hours and hours of driving through sagebrush really slowly and constantly stopping to look at grouse-shaped rocks or grouseless patches of habitat...it was shitty. Fortunately, it was a pretty sweet area to explore so it was still a good time - here's a few photos.

We did a whole lot of not seeing grouse in very scenic places. Here is Danmantha not seeing grouse near Tomichi Dome.

Brewer's Sparrow was one of the most abundant birds in the area, though that didn't prevent me from failing to crush, as you can see. This is as good a place as any to confess that we didn't even see Sagebrush Sparrow, which mystifies me considering the habitat we were birding in.

Our Airbnb on the west edge of town was Great Success, as it turned out to be a serious geri birding situation - feeders galore! Here is a Sage Thrasher on a yard bench as geri birding evidence. Other feeder birds included Vesper Sparrow, Green-tailed Towhee, and Cassin's Finch. A side benefit of staying here was finding a male Lark Bunting on the road into town one morning (a flagged rarity in eBird), while on our way to toil in the grouse fields.

One of the Airbnb Vesper Sparrows chants a dawn curse, making grouse completely invisible to us despite our efforts. By this point in the trip, Dan and Sam's marriage had come under incredible strain, partially due to some lingering angst from partner-swapping with other wedding guests back in Denver (hey, it's 2019) and partially because we hadn't seen any grouse. Luckily, they had me to help keep the ship afloat. If anyone needs a marriage counselor or some couples therapy, hit me up, I'm cheap...and a great listener.

Empidonax for the trip were represented by a modest number of Dusky Flycatchers (above) and a Willow Flycatcher at the McCabe Lane Wetlands.

We here at BB&B have a long and storied tradition of taking meh/mediocre (mehdiocre????) photos of Townsend's Solitaires. I admittedly am ready to move on to straight crushing, but the solitaires are not.

The photog opportunities were not many, but I did manage a Mountain Bluebird crush, which I had been hoping for. This crush came at the cost of some fresh facemelt, which will only add to the disfigurement I have previously endured from seeing other Mountain Bluebirds.

Another view of the big sage basin near Tomichi Dome. There must be many grouse here. So close, yet so far...

I did not expect the wildflower scene to be so good...really should have brought my macro lens, but here are a few token shots. Here is some kind of penstemony/beardtonguey thing.

This white phlox was everywhere. Mellowing.

There were some great patches of larkspur (Delphinium nuttallianum) around. These were a bit too stunning to be mellowing.

This part of the continent is laden with mammals. Well, almost every part is, but it seems like you see a lot more of them in places like Colorado and Wyoming. We got elked on the reg.

I guess this is a Wyoming ground squirrel? It may have been a lifer squirrel. They were very, very common. They look like several other ground squirrel species I've seen before, so I only now realized they were something else.

If I got the species right, apparently these have had quite the range expansion in recent years and pretty much no one is excited about it...not people, not golden-mantled ground squirrels.

One of the most beloved squirrels in all the land, the one and only quasi chipmunk, the golden-mantled ground squirrel.

Least (?) chipmunks were enthusiastic attendees of the geri birding scene at the Airbnb. Mammals we saw that are not pictured include coyote, pronghorn, mule deer, white-tailed jackrabbit, marmots, and prairie dogs (east of the Rockies).

Needing a little break from driving around the sage in a futile grouse search, we decided to do a short hike and not see grouse while walking. This is the view looking north into the Gunnison Basin/the town of Gunnison from Hartman Rocks. Hecka scenic here...saw some more new plants and some trip birds, including Ash-throated Flycatcher, another eBird rarity.

Well, we failed, but the fail was more fun than not. Since I need to see the grouse someday, there is a good chance this wasn't my last visit to Gunnison.

Sierra Summer Birding Part II

Ahhh...this next batch of blogs is going to be very refreshing. Refreshing like how this Osprey feels when diving into a lake at 9,770 feet at Virginia Lakes. You see, I've largely managed to escape the "summer doldrums" this year, which is an important thing to avoid if you want to keep your birding sanity. Mountains have everything to do with it, not to mention early fall shorebirds...but that is for a later post. For now, its back to the Sierras.

After breakfast with the rosy-finches, Billy and I rolled down to the Bodie Hills to track down Pinyon Jays and Juniper Titmice. A jay abided, the tits did not. We did get a quality wildflower show, and Billy managed to find a solitaire nest under a boulder...a lifer nest! After leaving the hills, it was north to Bridgeport Reservoir, which I hadn't birded in many years. The south end was very birdy and coughed up a few county birds, the best of which was a distant Bald Eagle. In the afternoon Lee Vining Creek Delta (just north of Lee Vining, on Mono Lake) relinquished a few more interesting birds, in the form of Whimbrel, Caspian Tern, and some Great-tailed Grackles.

The following day we birded along the south shore of the lake and the "Mono Mills" area. Navy Beach was hella birdy, but since it was early June the diversity of species was abhorrent. Bleak, but as all the local birders must know, the potential here is real.

All in all it was a solid trip. We birded, we camped, we drank, we transported Art, and I turned 34. I'll just put up some photos now.

MacGillivray's Warblers were everywhere in the mountains. This bird was vigorously singing at our campground in Lee Vining Canyon, former home of The Grub. The Grub now lives at a nearby undisclosed location, where he has hummingbird feeders up that are currently being very well attended. That's right, The Grub has become a Geribirder.

This bird had raging hormones and let me approach as close as I could while it sang away...pretty crippling looks, probably the best I'll have of the bird this year. And who was MacGillivray you ask? William MacGillivray was a Scottish ornithologist. John James Audubon was his bro (brornithologist), and named the bird after Willie Mac. The species was actually discovered by John Kirk Townsend (of solitaire and warbler fame).

This Gray Flycatcher was south of Mono Lake, just west of the big Jeffrey Pine forest, out in the sage flats. We also had another Pinyon Jay out here, which is pretty typical despite the fact that we don't associate them with treeless areas.

As the #7 U.S. birder (according to the Global Birder Ranking System), I have something to admit to you all...aside from Buff-breasted Flycatcher, Gray Flycatcher is the easiest Empidonax to identify north of Mexico. Think about it...Willows look like Alders, Leasts can look like all sorts of things, Duskies look like Hammond's, Pacific-slopes and Cordillerans are identical, Yellow-bellieds can look like Leasts and Westerns, and Acadians can resemble all manner of things if seen poorly enough. Unlike these other species, Gray Flycatchers look incredibly consistent...in my experience they display little variability in color of the lower mandible and overall plumage. The long bill, dull color, stubby primaries, and amount of orange/yellow in the bill are very dependable field marks...the most variable field mark to me is the eyering, which can be weak to moderately bold. I reckon it is a pretty easy bird to identify, even without their distinctive summer/winter habitat preferences and tail-dipping habit that a lot of birders like to key in on.

The Jeffrey Pine forest south of Mono Lake was carpeted in Dwarf Monkeyflower. It was most mellow. This is a Pinyon Jay stronghold, the most reliable place to get them that I can think of. I imagine that every Pinyon Jays knows of this place, for it is sacred to them.

Huge blankets of the stuff turned the forest floor pink. Facemelting.

I thought this was a boldly-marked Sagebrush Lizard at the time, but now am not so confident about that. Birding is hard.

The Mono Basin is filled to the brim with Sage Thrashers in spring and summer. Funny how out-of-range Sage Thrashers tend to be so approachable, but they have always kept their distance from me in the places they "belong". One thing is for certain though...they belong in my heart.

Absurd numbers of Violet-green Swallows breed around Mono Lake. Tufa towers make very good homes apparently.

They also make good perches. For crushing. This Violet-green is not only sitting on tufa...it is being framed by tufa. Does anyone want to see my exif data for this photo? This was not in Colorado. And if any of you get that joke, my work is done here.

Ok, my work is almost done here. I'll leave you today with an excerpt from William Dawson, who has no equal in the realm of birdwriting.

What shall we do for the Violet-green Swallows? Simply this: we will call them children of heaven. 

To appear to the best advantage, this child of heaven should be seen on a typical California day, burning bright, when the livid green of back and crown may reflect the ardent glances of the sun with a delicate golden sheen. The violet of upper tail-coverts and rump comes to view only in changing flashes; but one catches such visions as a beggar flung coins, and adds image to image until he has a full concept of this rainbow hue. At such a time, if one is clambering about the skirting of some rugged precipice in Yosemite, he feels as if the dwellers of Olympus had come down in appropriate guise to inquire his earth-born business. Not, however, that these lovely creatures are either meddlesome or shrewish. Even when the nest is threatened by the strange presence, the birds seem unable to form any conception of harm, and pursue their way in sunny disregard. Especially pleasing to the eye is the pure white of the bird's underparts, rising high on flanks and cheeks, and sharply contrasting with the pattern of violet and green, in such fashion that, if Nature had invited us to "remold it nearer to the heart's desire," we must have declined the task. 

Pointless Perching, A Nemesis No More, Sage Baron

There's still much to catch up on post-Mexico, so that is what we will do. Let's start things off with a Black Oystercatcher, a bird that is universally celebrated. California is a state rich in rockpipers...we have Black and American Oystercatchers, Wandering Tattler, Rock Sandpiper (and currently a possible Purple Sandpiper at the Salton Sea), Surfbird, Black and Ruddy Turnstones. The possibility of Gray-tailed Tattler looms large. I appreciate this rockpiper diversity, as it can't be matched anywhere else in the Lower 48. Sometimes I think about what it would be like to live on the east coast, and though warblers bring the stoke I always cringe when I think about the paltry rockpiper scene over there.

How long will my range overlap with that of the Black Oystercatcher? Ten years? Two years? Twenty years? Impossible to say, pointless to wonder about. Miller-Knox Regional Shoreline, Richmond, CA.

Great Blue Herons are looking good this time of year. I can barely look at young Great Blues, they look like total rubbish compared to alternate adults like this one. Photographed at Miller-Knox Regional Shoreline.

Moorhens and gallinules are accomplished at perching on stuff, although it usually doesn't seem necessary. Look at this...does this seem necessary to you? Fortunately, it is quite novel for the rest of us. Las Gallinas Ponds, Gallinas, CA.

Common Mergansers don't make it onto BB&B with much frequency, though they are deserving of it. "Familiarity breeds contempt" does apply to some birds, but not this one, I just don't get to photograph them very often. Photographed at the Las Gallinas Ponds.

A male Long-billed Curlew (note the short bill length) prowls goose-grazed grassland for invertebrates. Middle Harbor Shoreline Park, Oakland, CA.

Aren't grasspipers great? So bucolic, not to mention pastoral. Long-billed Curlews are early, short-distance migrants, and we are only without them on the coast for a couple months of the year; they will be back in numbers in July. A nice bird to have at my patch on the regular.

Well...its time for full disclosure. Until this year, until this bird above, I have never seen a Northern Saw-whet Owl. This was my Nemesis Bird. Sure I've heard lots of them, but the stars never would align for me. It was agonizing hearing them all the time on Santa Cruz Island (where they lived outside the ranch where I was staying)...there were many nights walking in circles under calling birds in the trees with nothing to show for it. When I told people my horrible truth about NSWOs, they would always ask "Really?", with a look of bemused scorn on their faces. And let me tell you...there is nothing more fucking tiresome than being looked upon with bemused scorn.

This bird had more brown in the facial disc than I expected, and relatively little streaking on the crown...this is not an adult bird, I reckon.

It's really nice to not have a Nemesis anymore. Really, I can't think of one for the Lower 48. Most of the birds I still need are not species I've invested a lot of time in seeking out...Eastern Whip? Swainson's Warbler? Great Cormorant? None of those species invoke feelings of anger or shame within me (just typical birdlust) so I think I'm good for now...I am pretty pissed at all the Hawaiian Petrels I haven't seen though, so if I go through another pelagic season again without seeing one (which, for me, would be typical) I will know who I have beef with. Anyways, this LIFE BIRD was a one-day-wonder at Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, CA.

As the Great Ornithologist Felonious Jive has said, birding is hard. We all know that. If it wasn't hard, there wouldn't be stupid phrases like "Nemesis Bird", and I certainly would not feel compelled to capitalize that. Authors at the ABA Blog have really run with Felonious Jive's phrase, devoting no less than three different blog posts to this idea. Look, obviously birding is easy if you go are really happy to look at Mallards and Ring-billed Gulls all the time (which is terrible), or if you are geri birding (which is fantastic), or if you go to a new country and you are surrounded by life birds (which will never get old). I get that. That said, birding is hard. That's what makes the easy moments so glorious. That's part of what makes seeing great birds so great. So when I went to look for this Sage Thrasher near a particular bench, I was quite chuffed to walk up to the bench, see the thrasher naked-eyeballed next to the bench where I was supposed to look, then watch it perch on the bench itself. Success! A much-needed reprieve from hardship!

I then unleashed a torrential crush-rain onto the bird. This was easily the most cooperative Sage Thrasher I have ever seen. To describe the bird's behavior in scientific terms, I would describe it as giving none fucks. It made a House Sparrow seem about as confiding as a Black Rail...and this Sage Thrasher is no more of a House Sparrow than I am.

Sage Thrashers are very early migrants, but seeing this Vague Runt in a coastal county in January was not on anybody's radar. As expected, it only hung around a few disappears before disappearing, hopefully reorienting in a direction where more sagebrush was to be found.

Life is good when you have a Sage Thrasher hopping around at your feet. Schoellenberger Park, Petaluma, CA.

If you've never been to Northern California before, there is a good chance you've never seen a Bicolored Blackbird. This is the locally-breeding subspecies of Red-winged Blackbird, readily identified by the lack of a yellow border on epaulet and (to my ears) a somewhat shittier-sounding song than other Red-winged Blackbird subspecies. Females are markedly different as well, looking annoyingly similar to female Tricolored Blackbirds. Photographed at Schoellenberger Park.

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.