The Big Day (Part II of II)

Birding Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge. From left to right: Spencer Hardy, Neil Gilbert, Charles Hesse, Harold Eyster, Andy Johnson, Marcel Such. Photo by Chip Clouse.

1500 hours

Afternoons are generally less productive than mornings for birds, yet we are still racking up the birds. We did not pass the one hundred mark until past noon, but in slightly less than three hours of afternoon birding we have found over sixty new species!

Bolivar.

Most of the morning was spent either tracking down breeding passerines in the Piney Woods or sitting in the car scanning for raptors and trying not to fall asleep. Dozens of new species awaited us on the Bolivar Peninsula. The first few minutes at Rollover Pass were exciting, indeed—terns! plovers! gulls! herons!

Now, however, we are cleaning up. Standing on the edge of Frenchtown Road, we scan the shorebird-laden ponds for uncommon species. “TEXAS TRUCK!” someone yells. We hurriedly shuffle farther off the road as the oversized pickup roars by. Returning my eye to the scope, I pick through the ranks of dowitchers and Dunlin, hoping for a…

“Hey, can I borrow the scope for a sec? I think I see a Baird’s,” I quickly surrender the scope to Andy, who zeroes in on a sandpiper the rest of us had passed over. “Yup—Baird’s!” We cluster around the scope, each peeking through for a second before moving aside so the next teammate can see it.

“Baird’s—good!” our British mentor Charley Hesse exclaims. “We need to be getting to High Island…”

1800 hours

High Island. If you are a birder, you’ve probably heard of it. It’s famous.

We are finding out exactly why as we frantically chase new birds as the daylight fades. At times, we barely move at all, too busy picking through the dozens of warblers filtering through the trees to keep walking down the trail. Other times, we sprint down the trail in a ragged pack after that alleged Canada Warbler, or Bay-breasted Warbler, or…

A brilliant male Scarlet Tanager flashes through the mulberry tree just overhead, yet I ignore it. We’ve already seen dozens. Big Days are no time to appreciate birds; the last hour of daylight is particularly hectic. A clump of leaves quivers in a nearby oak—I nail it with my binoculars and am quickly greeted by the flaming orange throat of a male Blackburnian Warbler. I ignore it, too. On any other day, I could spend an hour watching a single Blackburnian Warbler. But today is a Big Day.

Tennessee Warbler…Black-and-white Warbler…Golden-winged Warbler…Baltimore Oriole…Red-eyed Vireo…Magnolia Warbler…Swainson’s Thrush…Blue-headed Vireo…with every new migrant, our list creeps closer to two hundred.

I whip my binoculars to my eyes for perhaps the five hundredth time in the last half-hour. A new face pops out from behind a leaf. “CHESTNUT-SIDED!” I yell. My teammates hustle into position and quickly find the bird. Yet another species added to the list of birds we can ignore for the next six hours.

2100 hours

“Who-who who who, who-who who-WHOOO?” My Barred Owl imitation is so pathetic that we can’t help but laugh. In reality, it’s not that funny—but when you’ve been awake for nineteen hours, almost anything seems funny. Even tripping over a pebble…

I try to whoop again. And once again, it sounds like a gagged tomcat.

My crude imitation is enough to fool (or seriously tick off) the local Barred Owl. Only a couple of us are looking up when it flashes over—a big, blocky bird, the white spots in its wings glowing in the moonlight. It apparently isn’t very impressed, since it remains silent and never reappears.

But it was enough. Two people are enough for it to count.

0000 hours

It’s over. Actually, it ended fifteen minutes ago when we filed up the steps into the Tropical Birding house (our base of operations) at High Island. I lie on the thin, lumpy mattress, joking with my teammates and not even trying to sleep. I’ve been birding nonstop for twenty-two hours, but I do not feel tired. Yet.

I blame those two bowls of ice cream.

It’s over.

The Big Day (Part I of II)

The 2010 Great Texas Birding Classic Tropicbirds Team. From left to right...bottom: Spencer Hardy, Chip Clouse (team mentor/driver/cook), Andy Johnson. Middle: Neil Gilbert, Harold Eyster. Top: Marcel Such. Oh yeah, and that's Furious George in the front.

0300 hours

We’ve been awake for an hour, but our bird list stands at only one: a Northern Mockingbird singing across the street from the Tropical Birding house where we were staying at High Island. A fierce wind rips through the treetops at Smith Oaks, where we are listening for owls.

I can’t blame the owls for remaining silent on such a windy night.

We trudge back to the car, our minds still dull with sleep. Somehow, every speck of dust and crumbled leaf manages to blow into my eyes and get wedged between my contacts and eyeballs.

0600 hours

All is silent save for the whispering breeze in the pines and a few distant Chuck-will’s-widows chanting the night away. We had already heard Chucks; Eastern Screech-Owl is our real quarry here in the Piney Woods well over a hundred miles northeast of High Island. Raising my chin, I whistle through a large glob of saliva on the back of my tongue, making a trembling whistle that sounds vaguely like a screech-owl.

Nothing.

I continue whistling for a minute, and then—“There!” Spencer, one of my teammates, whispers and gestures off to the woods to our left. No one else heard it, but fortunately it continues calling so the rest of us can hear its muffled whistle. Another joins it, and then another.

0900 hours

I lean over the backseat of our fifteen-passenger van (dubbed the “Smelly Sanderling”) and rummage through the large cardboard box of food in the trunk. “Don’t run into anything!” I shout over my shoulder to Chip, who is behind the wheel. Apples—no, dried apricots—no, JERKY—yes!

“Gotcha!” I hiss as I snag three bags from the jumbled box. “Wild Chicken Barbecue, A1 Beef Strips, or Tender Beef Nuggets,” I announce.

“Let’s try the A1,” Spencer decides.

After a brief tussle, I manage to rip open the bag. The sharp scent of A1 sauce invades the interior of the van, adding to the mixed aromas of dirty socks, mud, and dried mango slices. Stuffing a couple slabs into my mouth, I pass the bag to the waiting hands a couple rows up in the van. The jerky tastes like leather soaked in A1 sauce—which is basically what it is.

Suddenly, someone shouts “HAWK!” through a mouthful of the jerky. Chip reacts instantly, whipping the van to the shoulder with alarming speed. Doors fly open, feet crunch on the gravel, binoculars rake the sky. There it is—a small, slim bueto with pale crescents at the end of its wings. “Red-shouldered,” I shout, directing my teammates to the bird. “Got it?”

“Yup,”
“Yep,”
“Yup,”
“Uh-huh!”

“Let’s go. GET IN THE CAR!” I yell, following my teammates as they plunge back into the depths of the Smelly Sanderling. We were stopped for less than twenty seconds.

“We’re out of jerky,” Marcel announces as we speed away from the scene.

1200 hours

Large portions of many big days are spent driving. It’s only noon, but we have already been awake for ten hours, and the two and a half hour drive from the Piney Woods to Winnie is taking its toll. I glance over and notice my teammate Harold is sleeping, his head slumped against the window as he gently snores.

Sleeping is a cardinal sin on big days.

I jab him mercilessly until he wakes up.

Tearing It up in Texas

Well, it's over. Yesterday afternoon I got back from birding the Upper Texas Coast for the Great Texas Birding Classic on the ABA Tropicbirds team. I'll try to write up a few more detailed posts, but for now I'll post some statistics of the trip

207--species of birds on the Big Day
2--boxes of Poptarts consumed
12--hours of sleep (spread out over three nights)
1--adult male Painted Bunting found stunned under a gas station window
26--species of warblers
1--armadillo
8--life birds
1--Yellow Rail
1--Jalapeno/cheese/bacon burger from Whataburger
6--bags of jerky consumed
1--Fork-tailed Flycatcher missed by a matter of hours
1--expedition through poison oak, chiggers, and underbrush to see Bachman's Sparrow
3--Purple Gallinules
1--tree backed into

It's pretty easy to tell that I had a lot of fun. Not only was the birding spectacular, but the company of four other enthusiastic young birders (Andy Johnson, Harold Eyster, Marcel Such, and Spencer Hardy) and two excellent leaders (Chip Clouse and Charles Hesse) was unparalleled.

Missed your chance to support the American Birding Association's youth education program? It's not too late to support the Tropicbirds! Another team will be competing in the World Series of Birding on May 15th. If you're interested in making a pledge, please visit http://www.aba.org/yb/tropicbirds/pledge.html

This. Is. Crazy.

Yesterday, April 2nd, I ran a big day (an attempt to see as many bird species as possible in a day) on my bike in Orange County. It was overwhelmingly a success; I shattered my old big bike day by over twenty species.

Evening sunlight streamed into the idyllic meadow, illuminating the lush green grass with a golden glow. A gentle breeze kissed my face as I watched a mixed flock of Blackburnian Warblers, Sandhill Cranes, and Ivory Gulls dining on a nearby bird feeder. Suddenly, one of the gulls turned toward me, opened its bill, and began beeping.

I was so surprised that I opened my eyes. Darkness...I could still hear the Ivory Gull beeping, except that it sounded exactly like my alarm clock. That's because it was my alarm clock. Disentangling myself from the warm wool blanket, my eye fell to my watch glowing in the darkness. Four-thirty.

This. Is. Crazy.

Six hours of sleep really isn't enough for anyone, particularly a teenager. I had a reasonable excuse for waking up so early, however--a big day by bike. As I groggily climbed out of my bed, however, it didn't seem like such a reasonable plan. Slipping back under the enticing cover was much more reasonable...

Any successful big day needs strategy. You can't simply go out to the nearest park and go birding all day; you need to list all the species within striking distance and then plan a route that hits as many of those species as possible. My strategy was fairly simple: begin at the beach at dawn, hit Upper Newport Bay and San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary in the morning, and then ride back in the direction of home and spend the afternoon birding several spots in the foothills--Santiago Oaks Regional Park, the Villa Park Flood Control Basin, and Irvine Regional Park.

Beginning at the beach at dawn. Simple enough, except for the little detail about dawn. The beach is twenty-one miles away--that's twenty-one miles of riding in the dark. This didn't seem like such a big deal until I was speeding down Jamboree Road in the dark at five in the morning, the cold night air blasting any remaining sleepiness out of my face.

This. Is. Crazy.

My first bird was neither the hoped-for Great Horned Owl nor the expected Northern Mockingbird. It was a Song Sparrow. As I sped along dark roads and bike trails, other birds started tuning up out of the darkness. Common Yellowthroat...Black Phoebe...Northern Mockingbird...

At this point, I must admit that I simply hate writing plain narratives of birding days. So, I'll spare you the gory details: that I saw a Brant at Little Corona City Beach, Greater Scaups at Upper Newport Bay, Hooded Mergansers in the San Diego Creek, and...

The morning had gone remarkably well, but...Red Knot! Ruddy Turnstone! Loggerhead Shrike! Bonaparte's Gull! Missed, all of them--and too many others as well. Misses plague every big day. No big day, no matter how innocent, can escape the scourge of missed birds. Nothing is guaranteed. I mulled over the missed birds as I began climbing the hills.

Hills, darn them! My detour through Lemon Heights took me over extra hills. I slowed to a crawl. Cranking my bike into lower and lower gear, I inched up the hill, my bike creaking, my thighs screaming. All this extra pain for a Western Tanager and a Rufous Hummingbird.

This. Is. Crazy.

Eventually, I victoriously gained the top of the hill. For a precious few moments I gleefully coasted downhill...until another uphill loomed...and another.

I wearily pulled into my garage at 2:20 p.m. "That's a pretty short big day," you might say. No, I wasn't finished yet--not nearly. After gobbling up a bowl of Wheaties topped with granola, banana slices, and dried cherries (by far the most delicious cereal combination I've ever encountered), I traded my biking shoes for hiking boots and embarked on my mountain bike.

Acorn Woodpecker...Oak Titmouse...Black-chinned Hummingbird...California Thrasher...within minutes of arriving at Santiago Oaks, I added at least half a dozen new species for the day. My momentum quickly petered out, as I ended up wandering the park for half an hour without finding any more new birds. The low point of the day (except perhaps for being awoken by my alarm clock) came when I had backtrack for a couple miles because of a flooded trail. As I made the bothersome detour, I couldn't help but think...

This. Is. Crazy.

As I continued on in the Villa Park Flood Control Basin, specialties like Rock Wren, Rufous-crowned Sparrow, and Canyon Wren surrendered themselves to my notebook. My favorite part of the day came, however, when I missed Ring-necked Duck.

Huh?

Well, the Villa Park Flood Control Basin is a sure-fire spot for this species, or so I thought. I gazed in disbelief at the gently rippling lake at the base of the dam, its surface disturbed only by the occasional coot or shoveler. Only two days before I had seen a dozen Ring-necked Ducks at this very spot.

But they were gone.

Fine, they probably moved to a different part of the basin. Half an hour of poking around, however, failed to produce any. I was running out of time--I needed to get to Irvine Regional Park. I remembered that Peters Canyon Regional Park is another reliable spot for this species; however, it is also a couple of miles from Irvine Regional Park, and I did not have time to go gallivanting all over the place. So, I resignedly pedaled to Irvine Park, my bike caked with mud and my spirits down. One of the first spots I checked was the lake. It's a reliable spot for Wood Ducks.

Sure enough, a dozen or so Wood Ducks graced the ugly man-made abomination. And there, peacefully snoozing on the far side of the lake, was a perfect male Ring-necked Duck shining in the late afternoon sun. A gift, indeed.

The day was finally over. Fifteen hours after that first Song Sparrow sang, I was listening to nestling Barn Owls rasping inside a hollow sycamore. I finally reached home for good, ran upstairs to my room, and began checking off birds on a checklist. Neat black x's festooned the boxes next to bird names, though they grew progressively more sloppy toward the end of the checklist. The boxes next to some bird names remained tortuously empty. I cursed Northern Flickers, Hutton's Vireos, and California Quails as I breathlessly tallied up the numbers. The number seemed high, so I double-checked, but I got the same number:

One sixty-three.

This. Is. Crazy.

Birdathon

The car rolled to a stop on the narrow road up Silverado Canyon, and through rolled-down windows I and my teammates for the 2009 Sea & Sage Audubon Birdathon, Leigh Johnson and Vic Leipzig, heard the faint whooping of a Spotted Owl drifting down the canyon. We whooped with excitement ourselves. This was to be a common theme of the day: finding uncommon species, but missing expected ones.

Birdathon is a spring day when teams of birders go out and find as many species of birds as possible in an attempt to raise funds for Sea & Sage Audubon Society. Many teams spend all day, and most of the night, in search of birds on Birdathon. Vic and Leigh picked me up at three thirty in the morning and we headed up into the mountains to listen for owls. The Spotted Owl was the first bird of the day, as good a start to the day as I've ever had. It was a good night (actually morning) for owling; we also heard Great Horned and Long-eared Owls, plus Common Poorwill. As dawn began to break, a Purple Finch burst into song, an unexpected voice in the dark. It was our only one of the day. We also heard a Green-tailed Towhee, a very difficult bird to find in Orange County, while it was still mostly dark.

We were already behind schedule by six thirty in the morning, but by deleting a couple stops on our route we made up time. The coast was next on the agenda. We hit a number of spots between Newport and Laguna Beach, finding species such as Pacific Loon, Black Oystercatcher, Parasitic Jaeger, and Wandering Tattler.

After spending too much time seawatching, we cut inland. We picked up Costa's Hummingbird, Phainopepla, Cactus Wren, Green Heron, and Western Meadowlark at a few quick stops along Laguna Canyon Road. Peters Canyon, Santiago Oaks, and Holy Sepulcher Cemetery, all local patches of mine, produced a bunch of new species for us, including Blue Grosbeak, Yellow-breasted Chat, and Wood Duck. Unfortunately, it became clear to us at this point that it was definitely an "off" day for migration, as we struggled to find even some basic migrants.

We breezed out to Tucker Wildlife Sanctuary in Mojeska Canyon around midday. It's a long drive out there, but it has some "must-have" species. In the brief time we spent there, we found a number of new species such as Band-tailed Pigeon, American Robin, and Northern Flicker. We cruised out of the mountains and whirled through San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary and Mason Regional Park in Irvine. The Green-winged Teal, Black-crowned Night-Heron, American White Pelican, and Sora that we found at San Joaquin were the only ones we got all day of these species. We had less luck at Mason, finding only one new species: an American Redstart. However, this species is rare in California, making a nice bonus.

It took only five minutes to tick off Grasshopper Sparrow and Horned Lark near UCI in Irvine. These two species can often pose problems on big days. From here we headed to Huntington Central Park. As I said before, we were having very little luck with migrants. We were hoping to get some at here, but the wind kicked up and the park was rather desolate. After much hard work, we managed to dig out a handful of new species - Western Tanager, Black-throated Gray Warbler, and Olive-sided Flycatcher.

Bolsa Chica was next. We were counting on finding a bunch of new species here, and we did. We had seen very few ducks and shorebirds all day, and within minutes of arriving at Bolsa Chica had spotted over a dozen new birds. Some of the more interesting ones included Brant, Glaucous-winged Gull, Snowy Plover, and Horned Grebe.

We still had a decent amount of daylight left, so we cruised around Upper Newport Bay and were rewarded with some species we had missed all day: Osprey, Northern Harrier, Clapper Rail, and Virginia Rail. As sunset loomed on the western horizon, we madly raced through a couple parking lots in Irvine and finally managed to get Brewer's Blackbird. We also made a very quick stop at San Joaquin and immediately found our target Common Moorhen in the creek along the entrance road.

We sped up to Irvine Regional Park as day faded into night. We arrived just in time to see an American Kestrel as it was going to bed. Kestrels are becoming alarmingly difficult to find in Orange County, and we hadn't seen one all day. A Lesser Nighthawk zoomed by, almost hitting Vic in the face, but he didn't see it until it was almost a quarter-mile away. It was another new species.

In the morning we had found three species of owls; now that it was dark we were looking for three more. Two of these, Western Screech and Barn, can be found at Irvine Regional Park. The Screech-Owls were uncharacteristically silent. It took several minutes of whistling for one to give a few chirring calls. The Barn Owls, on the other hand, were calling loudly and flying around conspicuously.

The last possible owl, Northern Saw-Whet, required more work. This species, along with Spotted and Long-eared, is very uncommon in Orange County and can only be found up in the mountains. We cruised back up Silverado Canyon and after a short search heard one whistling. It was our last species of the day, and a good cap to the day; the owls began and ended our day, like bookends.

This is the paragraph where I say "Oh, it was an amazing day!" Well, it was an amazing day. We were on our feet (or rather, on our rear ends in Leigh's car) for nineteen hours. Our final tally came to 168 species. That's not crummy for a big day in Orange County, especially considering we did very little scouting. As with any big day, we missed a number of "easy" species, including Long-billed Curlew, Rufous Hummingbird, White-crowned Sparrow, and Peregrine Falcon. Migration was also very slow, which didn't help matters one bit. With a better migration day, and more scouting, we could have easily knocked off another dozen species. However, it was still a very fun day, and I got four county birds: Spotted Owl, Long-eared Owl, Saw-whet Owl, and Green-tailed Towhee. It doesn't get much better than that folks.

You set a record?!

Birding by bike has always intrigued me, particularly since moving to California, which is much more biking-friendly than Michigan. I don’t do so much biking to reduce my carbon footprint (more on that at some other time), but because it is fun and convenient. Soon after becoming hooked on birding by bike, I was very excited to break the one hundred barrier for a day. Over the past year and a half, I’ve broken that record again and again, until my biggest biking day total was one thirty-six. This is a pretty intimidating total to break, but I figured it was possible. I had nothing better to do on Saturday, so on Friday evening I decided to take a crack at the record.

My route was roughly as follows: San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary, Upper Newport Bay, Little Corona City Beach, Irvine Regional Park, and Santiago Oaks Regional Park. This is a lot of ground to cover! I left my house at dawn and sped toward San Joaquin. This is always a fun ride; I can attain speeds up to thirty-five miles per hour going down the enormous hill along Jamboree Road. I arrived at San Joaquin at seven forty, having already picked up a few key birds on the way down, including Wilson’s Snipe, White-faced Ibis, and Yellow Warbler in the San Diego Creek and Chipping Sparrow at a little park near my house.

I had already decided to not waste a lot of my precious time at San Joaquin. It is a great birding spot, but I often trick myself into searching for the Northern Waterthrush that doesn’t seem to exist there. I gave myself twenty minutes. My first spot to check was Pond Two, where some Ross’s Geese apparently have been spending the night recently. I was either too late or the geese have disappeared for good, because the only geese in the pond were Canada Geese. I did get a much-appreciated consolation prize in the form of a gorgeous adult-cycle Mew Gull mixed in with the Ring-billed and California Gulls loafing on one of the islands. I returned to the Audubon House, found the continuing Wilson’s Warbler in the vegetation around the parking lot, and then ran out to Pond B to see my only Black-crowned Night-Herons of the day. I pulled out of the parking lot at eight sharp.

Upper Newport Bay could make or break my day, since I depended on it to produce lots of ducks, shorebirds, and raptors for my list. The tide wasn’t optimal (high, but it was only a three-footer), but I found lots of birds anyway. Numbers and variety were a bit down from my other recent visits, and I struck out on a few much-needed species like Loggerhead Shrike, Merlin, and Eurasian Wigeon. However, I came through with a number of problematic species, including Sora, Horned Grebe, and Canvasback.





The beach is always an important spot on any Orange County Big Day. Little Corona City Beach isn’t the best beach for birding, but it is the closest and most convenient. On the way to the beach, I stopped to pish at a well-vegetated yard adjacent to Pacific Coast Highway near Fashion Island. I was hoping for a Townsend’s Warbler or something along those lines. I was downright shocked when the first bird to pop up was a White-throated Sparrow. While hardly a earth-breaking rarity (at least six or seven are wintering in the county this year), it was unexpected. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a Bigby bird for me, as I saw one in early January at Mason Regional Park. After a few more minutes of pishing, my hoped for Townsend’s Warbler did show up.

After weaving through some of the quaint neighborhoods of Corona del Mar, I arrived at Little Corona City Beach. The most conspicuous birds were the Brandt’s Cormorants and Brown Pelicans loafing on the rocks below the overlook. Among them I picked out a single Pelagic Cormorant. The few rocks that weren’t submerged were free of shorebirds. Finally, I spotted a few little bumps that were most likely shorebirds on some rocks at least half a mile down the beach. It was too hazy to scan offshore, so I set off down the beach to get a closer look at the shorebirds. It was more difficult than I anticipated. At several points, the tide forced me to spider along narrow cliff edges to continue down the beach (I had my scope on my shoulder the whole while, mind you.) I finally was able to approach the birds closely enough to identify Surfbirds, Black and Ruddy Turnstones, Willets, Whimbrels, and Marbled Godwits. I also spotted a Red-breasted Merganser, the only one of the day.

By now the haze had burned off somewhat, so I returned to the overlook to scope offshore. While munching on my lunch, I spotted a few Black-vented Shearwaters, singles of Common and Red-throated Loons, and a handful of Surf Scoters. Pretty meager fair, but it was better than nothing.

Around noon I headed back in the direction of Irvine and Santiago Oaks Regional Parks. After a long and difficult uphill ride, I arrived at Irvine Regional Park mid-afternoon. I quickly found most of my targets without difficulty, including Wood Duck, Ring-necked Duck, Acorn Woodpecker, Oak Titmouse, and Lark Sparrow. I continued on to Santiago Oaks Regional Park, hoping to scrape out a few additional species. The first bird I tried for, the Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, was nowhere to be found. I never seem capable of locating him when I really need to. However, I did managed to pish up one of the Golden-crowned Sparrows I had come across the previous day. After picked up a couple more common foothill species, I wearily pedaled home as daylight faded.

I anxiously tallied up my checklist upon arriving home. Did I find enough to break my record? I got a few surprise birds, but I also missed some easy ones (Green Heron, Wandering Tattler, Cooper’s Hawk, etc.) Turns out all the pedaling paid off (53.21 miles, to be exact) – my total for the day was one hundred forty-one. That’s a decent total for a day of birding in Orange County by car, let alone by bike. It will be extremely difficult to break this record, though if I really tried (i.e., looked for owls, kept a tighter schedule, staked out more birds) I could likely attain one fifty. Additionally, I added eighteen new species to my Bigby list, mainly common beach species. It was a pretty awesome day of birding.

One Boy, One Bike, One Day

Nothing was on my schedule for Saturday, so I decided to take a crack at my record Bigby day (128). Finding this many species in one day requires covering lots of different habitats, such as seashore, estuary, freshwater marsh, and more. I ran my traditional biking route - down the mountains to sea trail to the coast. Unfortunately, days are short this time of year, so I was pressed for time. This difficulty is offset, however, by the diversity of birds around this time of year. I figured that the record would be fairly easy to beat, since I had made it without really trying.

It was a nippy fifty-two degrees when I pedaled out of my garage and down the street. Feeling only slightly ridiculous wearing a jacket and biking tights with binoculars slung around my neck, I sped towards the distant coast. I briefly paused at Peters Canyon, but after that I rode nonstop to San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary in Irvine. On the way, I found White-faced Ibis, Common Moorhen, and others without even slowing my pace.

I blew a good chunk of prime morning time at San Joaquin. If I were to do it again, I wouldn't spend as much time there, but I wanted to look for some of the interesting birds that had been reported there recently, including a Northern Waterthrush. According to the rare bird alert, the waterthrush had been seen in the "back area" - a flooded swamp acres large. I did find some interesting birds back in there, including Red-naped Sapsucker, Hutton's Vireo, Northern Flicker, and White-throated Swift. I dawdled around more, and didn't get out of there until ten-thirty.

To make up for the lost time, I frantically raced around Upper Newport Bay. It was high tide, anyway - about the worst time to look for most birds there. I figured I could catch some of the birds I missed on the way home, when tide was lower. I couldn't resist making a few quick stops, during which I found birds such as Horned Grebe, Marbled Godwit, Loggerhead Shrike (undoubtedly the same one I saw a couple weeks ago), and Whimbrel. I continued on towards Little Corona City Beach, where I hoped to find some birds more typical of the seashore.

On the way, I had to stop at the 76 gas station at PCH and Avocado to pick up a king-sized Hershey chocolate and almond candy bar. I think this is becoming a tradition. I arrived at Little Corona City Beach several minutes later. I began scoping the ocean while munching contentedly on my candy bar. Through the haze I spotted flocks of Black-vented Shearwaters skimming the water, Pacific Loons, and a new Bigby bird, a Common Loon. I descended to the beach to check the rocks for shorebirds. I was specifically interested in finding Black Oystercatchers, a species that has eluded me on my previous visits and kept off my Bigby list. I found lots of the common rocky shorebirds - Black Turnstones, Ruddy Turnstones, Surfbirds, and even a Wandering Tattler - but not oystercatchers. I picked my way across the rocks (climbing slick rocks with a scope on the shoulder should become an Olympic sport) to get a look around a bluff that was blocking my view of the rest of the beach. I reached a nice solid rock, and set up my scope on the uneven slimy surface. I carefully inspected the distant rocks, finding lots of turnstones and Surfbirds, and then... three Black Oystercatchers came out of nowhere, as certain people would say. I was still on a Big Day schedule, but I stopped and watched the oystercatchers for several minutes. Satisfied that I had vanquished another nemesis Bigby bird, I hopped back on my bike and headed back the way I had come.

By the time I got back to Upper Newport Back, the tide was lower and the birds were easier to find. Careful scanning of the enormous flocks of ducks and shorebirds produced some interesting new species for the day, including Eurasian Wigeon, Blue-winged Teal, Long-billed Curlew, and Dunlin. After glancing at the sun's low position in the sky, I decided I'd better hustle along if I wanted time to stop a couple more times. A five-minute spin through Mason Regional Park quickly produced Canada Goose and Townsend's Warbler, both new birds for the day. I knew of a Yellow Warbler wintering in a patch of willows in the San Diego Creek right along the bike trail, so I stopped and aimed some full-caliber pishes in the direction of the trees where it is wintering. The poor bird never had a chance. It immediately popped up, chipping away, and I also immediately popped onto my bike and pressed on. It took less than ten seconds.

After a lengthy ride, I arrived at Irvine Regional Park. I furiously dashed around the park, picking up several species characteristic of the foothills: Acorn Woodpecker, Oak Titmouse, and Western Scrub-Jay. I headed for home as the sun sank behind the hills. When I finally arrived home, I immediately counted up my list to see if I had broken the record. I had, and by a decent margin - my total for the day was 136. That's a fairly impressive total for one day on a bike, though I missed quite a few possibilities: Red-breasted Sapsucker, Lark Sparrow, Red Knot, Fox Sparrow, and others. I biked roughly forty-five miles and found two new Bigby birds, bringing my total up to 229. One hundred and forty in one day is the next barrier to break, but I think that will have to wait until next year.

Texas, Day Four - 5/3/08

Today actually started yesterday. Not possible, you think? Well, it did. Following our early bedtime of 3:00 p.m., our alarm clocks rudely interrupted our sleep at 8:00 p.m. We hurriedly prepared ourselves for the big day, checked out of the hotel, and headed to to closest IHOP for "brinner". Over pancakes, eggs, and bacon, we put the finishing touches on our route.

By midnight, we were driving down a dike at Bentsen-Rio Grande Valley State Park, meditating every time a rock struck the tailpipe of the van with a musical ting. Number One stopped, and we leaped out of the van and into the muggy night (I did, of course, take the precaution of checking for rattlesnakes, skunks, and dead pigs before jumping out). Common Paraques wheezed from the dark woods - our first bird of the day. A Northern Mockingbird burst out into song unexpectedly. A Chuck-will's-widow perched on a roadside post was a pleasant surprise.

A muffled chuckle coming from a dense stand of trees caught our attention. The bird responsible for this was an Elf Owl. We were excited; this owl, smaller than a coke can, is a tough one to dig out. A second owl whistled nearby - an Eastern Screech-Owl. A Common Nighthawk croaked out its beer call in the distance. Not even an hour had passed, and we were finding some great night birds.

We cruised around some nearby back roads to look for Barn Owls. We stopped several times, trying to squeak one in. At one such stop, I walked to the other end of the van while the others watched for Barn Owls. Suddenly, a ghostly pale bird swooped across the road in front of me. "BARN OWL!! BARN OWL!!" I yelled, but the silent wraith had disappeared into the murk with moth-like wingbeats. No one else saw it. According to the rules, at least two people on the team must see every bird. Barn Owl remained a hole on our checklist. We spent quite a while walking around Bentsen by moonlight, swatting mosquitoes and straining our ears for other night birds.

By three a.m., we headed upriver. We struggled to remain awake as the miles dragged. At least two people had to stay awake in case a Barn Owl flew across the road, while the other two slept (or, as they insisted, "rested their eyes"). By four-thirty we were bumping our way into Santa Margarita Ranch, occasionally slipping by rather ferocious-looking cows. We frequently stopped, listening for Barn Owls and Common Poorwills. We were rewarded with only paraques and mockingbirds. Finally, a Common Poorwill began calling w-a-a-a-y in the distance. You could hear it if you cupped your ears and used your imagination...

We anxiously waited for dawn at Salineno. Slowly, ever so slowly, the blackness began to blend into gray as the night faded into dawn. Suddenly, a raspy screech pierced the darkness. Barn Owl! Everyone heard it, so the little white circle beside Barn Owl on our checklist was filled in with satisfyingly black ink.

As it got lighter and lighter, we picked up more and more species for our list. Our eyes were ever on the river, hoping for certain rare Mexican species. Slowly, this paid off. Red-billed Pigeons showed up, and were quickly followed by both Green and Ringed Kingfishers. A stunning Gray Hawk immigrated from the United States to Mexico. It must be nice, I thought, to be a bird. Borders don't matter. The Rio Grande is just another river, and the south side is much the same as the north side. Mexico was almost a stone's throw away; so close, in fact, that we could hear the Mexican roosters announcing daybreak with gusto. The American roosters crowed back at them. The roosters weren't the only birds calling in Mexico; a Yellow-billed Cuckoo taunted us by calling from somewhere across the river. We never did find one in the United States, so it didn't find its way on to our checklist (only birds found on the US side of the border count for the Great Texas Birding Classic).

We headed to Starr County park next. We had excellent luck here. A couple Clay-colored Sparrows, a great species to find on a big day, were quickly followed by a lone Chipping Sparrow. In short order we found many of the expected brush land species such as Verdin, Cassin's Sparrow, Cactus Wren, Pyrrhuloxia, and Ash-throated Flycatcher. A male Vermilion Flycatcher, very likely the same one we saw yesterday, was still hanging around.


We lucked into a pair of House Finches (don't laugh - they are tough to find in the Lower Rio Grande Valley!), and eagle-eyed Bunting Boy picked out a pair of Bobwhites right alongside the road. We contemplated changing his code name to Bobwhite Boy, but popular vote rejected this.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, our total for the day climbed. We headed down river towards Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge, only stopping at Roma Bluffs to find our only Audubon's Oriole and Cave Swallows of the day. After a seemingly endless drive filled with games of word association, lame jokes, and random videos, we arrived at Santa Ana late in the morning. Suddenly, we were in full-alert birding mode. Within five minutes of arriving I spotted a Clay-colored Robin lurking in the brush near the visitor center. We stalked down the trails, hungrily seeking new species. We came through with difficult bird after difficult bird: a Northern Beardless-Tyrannulet here, a House Wren there, a Solitary Sandpiper...

Buoyed up with enthusiasm, we rode out of Santa Ana. The next spot was the La Feria Sod Farm. We came, we saw, we conquered. Shorebirds swarmed over the flooded sod. I feasted my eyes on the bonanza; Baird's Sandpipers, White-rumped Sandpipers, Buff-breasted Sandpipers, Semipalmated Sandpipers, Pectoral Sandpipers... all in perfect breeding plumage, scampering about madly. All of these are rare in California. Nearby, on the dry grass, the landlubbers of the shorebird family foraged: Upland Sandpipers (code name: Bug-eyed Grasspiper or Periscope-necked Meadow-Strider).


Suddenly, Number One let slip a gasp reminiscent of a choking elephant. A large shorebird, dwarfing the dowitchers and phalaropes, had dropped out of the sky to a flooded furrow. It couldn't be anything other than a Hudsonian Godwit, with that long, bicolored bill, deep red underparts, and spangled upperparts. A tough bird to find, and definitely a bonus bird for our big day.

We finally tore ourselves away, and doggedly battled traffic through the valley cities. We picked up Long-billed Curlew, Tropical Kingbird, Green Parakeet, and Eastern Wood-Pewee in San Benito without even having to leave the car. Our hopes were pinned on South Padre Island and Route 48.

Route 48 traverses extensive coastal grasslands and wetlands. We easily added many coastal species to our list. We patched up our shorebird list, finding coastal species such as American Oystercatcher, Wilson's Plover, and Sanderling (a major cause for celebration!). I spotted a soaring White-tailed Hawk at sixty miles per hour, and everyone got on it without even having to slow down. As we rolled over the causeway to South Padre Island, we raked the sky and water for birds. This paid off, with our only Brown Pelicans of the day. We stopped and searched the scattered clumps of exotic vegetation right by the entrance to the island. Here, neotropical migrants played hide-and-seek with us while simultaneously trying to keep out of the wind. We added Yellow-throated Vireo, Scarlet Tanager, a few warblers here. We raced up to Sheepshead, where we garnered a few more warblers.

Convention Center, Convention Center. The biggest, meanest migrant trap on South Padre Island. Would all those migrants still be there? Would the Least Bitterns show their faces? Would any rarities show up? Would...?

We sprang from the car, scrambling past seat belts, back packs, fellow team members, and other obstacles. We worked the bushes, finding lots of birds: a Cape May Warbler, an Ovenbird, an entire flock of orioles with one blue oriole - whoops, a Blue Grosbeak! I scoped out the flats while everyone else searched out more migrants. A couple Philadelphia Vireos popped out of nowhere, followed by a Blackburnian Warbler. We sprinted down the boardwalk, and Hop quickly pulled a Least Bittern out of nowhere. Ray called us over to look at our first Veery of the day. Then...

"SOOTY TERNS!!! SOOOOOOTTTY TERNS!!!!" Number One bellowed above the howling wind. Sure enough, a pair of raucously-calling Sooty Terns were flying up the beach. A rare bird for Texas, and completely unexpected. Naturally, a life species for me. After they had disappeared and we had recovered from the shock, we continued birding. I wasted about two seconds photographing this cute fledgling Northern Mockingbird.


Light faded. Twenty-four hours isn't very long. We had just about run out of birds to find. No Black-crowned Night-Heron - we looked in vain. We headed back down Route 48 in hopes of finding a Peregrine Falcon, White-tailed Kite, or anything that would be new for our list. Nope. Suddenly, we all realized how tired we were. As darkness crept over the land, we headed back to San Benito where we were staying overnight at Marci and Terry Fuller's house. I collapsed on my cot at some late hour and fell into not sleep but hibernation.

Oh yeah, I forgot to say how many species we got. One hundred and ninety-five. Not bad!