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.

#60

The urge to start a new Bigby list got the better of me on Friday. Nothing audacious; I tallied my first ten or so species while lying half-asleep in bed, listening to birds through the open window. When I finally roused myself at the horrendously late hour of seven a.m., I quickly left and spent a few hours poking around the Villa Park Flood Control Basin on my mountain bike. It was for fun, more than anything else; the basin isn't too great for birding this time of year, so I wasn't terribly surprised to come up with only fifty-some species.

I spent the next couple days doing Christmas Bird Counts (Lake Elsinore on Saturday and Mile Square Park on Sunday), so nothing new for the Bigby list those days. Hopefully I'll get a post up about Mile Square sometime soon; as usual, I had fun and saw a few interesting birds (oh, and Irene's breakfast did not disappoint.) This afternoon I added Chipping Sparrow while out for my run in the neighborhood, and then this evening I stepped outside onto the driveway to add number sixty, a hooting Great Horned Owl.

As you've probably surmised by now, my Bigbying has been very low-key thus far. Sure... I could have a hundred and sixty species by now without too much effort, but what's the point? I'll get them eventually.

The Bigby To End All Bigbys

Well, I ended my 2009 Bigby list with two hundred and eighty-three species. As satisfied as I am with this total, I can’t help but feel a bit sad. The year is over, and I doubt I will ever eclipse this total for a Bigby list. This year, I’m moving to college in the fall, cutting short the Bigby year. After that, who knows what will happen.

I suppose I should back up and review exactly what Bigbying is. Simply put, “Bigby” stands for “Big Green Bird Year.” Basically, it is a list of birds seen while birding under your own power. Walking, biking, snowshoeing, canoeing, sailing, and crabwalking are all acceptable forms of transportation for a Bigby list. Cars, planes, motorized boats, and motorcycles are not. Some birders count birds seen via public transportation for their Bigby lists, but I do not. Cheaters.

The traditional thing to do at the end of the year is to reflect on the villainous birds that you missed all year. Remarkably, I missed relatively few possible birds for my Bigby list. However, a few always get away. I’ll describe my ten biggest misses below.

1. Olive-sided Flycatcher—an uncommon migrant in both the spring and fall. I struck out during both migrations. It also breeds in Upper Silverado Canyon, which I biked to in December, but not over the summer. Lastly, and most frustrating, I found a wintering bird in Lemon Heights the one day I scouted for the Christmas Bird Count by car. I could not find it despite several intensive (and extensive) searches.
2. Wood Stork—an extremely rare bird in the county. The one that showed up in early December at San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary was the first to be seen in the county since the seventies, I believe. I very stupidly decided not to skip my morning geology class at the community college to chase it. By the time I rolled into San Joaquin in the early afternoon, it was long gone.
3. Pacific Golden-Plover—this species is a sparse migrant and wintering bird in Orange County. It is possible at Bolsa Chica and Upper Newport Bay…and a couple were even seen the same day I visited Bolsa Chica in September, but I dipped.
4. Blackpoll Warbler—this is quickly becoming a big nemesis. Regarded as one of the most common eastern warblers to turn up in California, I really should have bumped into at least one after three falls of birding in Orange County. But no!
5. Stilt Sandpiper—a victim of laziness. One showed up at San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary for a couple days in August, but the one afternoon I could have chased it, it was awfully hot and I opted out of riding down there. The next day, when I rode down, it was gone.
6. Red Phalarope—this species is at least irregularly visible from shore during migration and winter…I just never got lucky.
7. Gull-billed Tern—a species showing up in Orange County with increasing frequency, several were spotted in different locations this summer: Upper Newport Bay, San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary, and Bolsa Chica. One at Upper Newport Bay in May stuck around for awhile—I just never got around to chasing it.
8. Clay-colored Sparrow—like Blackpoll, this is one of the more common eastern vagrants in southern California. However, this fall was a poor season for them in Orange County; only one was discovered, and it was well outside my Bigbying range.
9. Common Ground-Dove—far from being common in the county, this species is actually declining alarmingly. It could formerly be found at San Joaquin (indeed, that’s where I saw the only one I’ve seen in the county.) A small population is holding out near Rattlesnake Reservoir, which is off limits. I made one expedition and searched the surrounding areas but came up empty.
10. Calliope Hummingbird—a long-time nemesis bird for me. I finally got my lifer in Yosemite, but obviously I didn’t bike there. Apparently it is a fairly common spring migrant in the county, but after two springs of living in California I still have not seen one in Orange County.

Because that was so depressing to write, I’ll describe my favorite ten Bigby birds of the year.

1. Bar-tailed Godwit—how could this not take the top position? In addition to being a first county record, I was the one who originally found it…while I was Bigbying! I am still incredibly thankful that I turned around to take a second look at that weird pale godwit.
2. Great Crested Flycatcher—the godwit barely edges this bird out in rarity. I was lucky enough to see it, the third county record found by my friend Doug Willick along the Upper Santa Ana River. I was birding in Huntington Beach, a good twenty miles away, when Doug called to notify me of the flycatcher. So, I abandoned my birding there and pedaled like a maniac to look for the bird. Fortunately, the bird stuck around the rest of the day (and for a few more days afterward.)
3. Lark Bunting—another self-found bird, and particularly special because I was the only one to see it. Apparently a one-day wonder in the Villa Park Flood Control Basin, a mere two miles from my house. I had no idea exactly how rare it was in the county until I chatted with Doug Willick and found out that it was only about the sixth for the county.
4. Virginia’s Warbler—though an annual vagrant in the county, this bird was the only life bird I found while Bigbying this year. Found by Doug Willick along the upper Santa Ana River (where else?), it stuck around long enough for me to chase it the next day.
5. Sage Thrasher—though not nearly as rare as some of the other birds on this list (thirty or so records for the county), it was one of the most unexpected birds I found this year. I was innocently biking through the neighborhood when I flushed it from the side of the road…when I stopped to check what it was, I sure got a shock when I found a Sage Thrasher looking back out at me from the bush.
6. Baird’s Sandpiper—I’m including this bird on this list simply because it was a bad nemesis I finally managed to defeat. I somehow managed to miss this species the previous two summers, so I was delighted to find one at Peters Canyon in August. As Murphy’s Law dictates, after finding the first one, I ended up seeing nearly ten more over the rest of the fall.
7. Blackburnian Warbler—a fairly regular vagrant in the county, but this one was another special self-found bird found while poaching Doug’s local patch, the Upper Santa Ana River. Amazingly, later I saw a second bird found by Doug…also along the Upper Santa Ana River.
8. Dusky-capped Flycatcher—I definitely deserved this bird. One has wintered in La Mirada for the last three winters, so I decided to make the trek up there to see it. It’s only a twenty-five mile ride, but its entirely through urban areas. Oh, and it rained for most of the ride as well. Not a fun day…except for the few minutes I was watching the bird.
9. Zone-tailed Hawk—an incredibly lucky, needle-in-the-haystack find. One was found on the Christmas Bird Count near Rattlesnake Reservoir. Unfortunately, this place is off-limits. I decided to ride around some nearby roads and take a look around. Nothing…and then I got a flat tire. After replacing the inner tube, I looked up, and the hawk was right overhead!
10. Townsend’s Solitaire—possibly the least rare bird on this list, though one I had to work hard for. It’s an annual visitor high in the mountains. I had to bike up Silverado Canyon (with an elevation gain of around 2500 feet) and then hike three more miles up. A very rewarding experience.

I biked at least a couple thousand miles. According to my odometer, I’ve biked about 1,100 miles since late August. Add maybe another thousand miles to that from earlier in the year, and then a couple hundred more from my mountain bike. Just think of all those burned calories…

I’m keeping a Bigby list again this year, but it’s half-hearted. I’ll probably keep a separate one when I go to college, but neither that nor the one I keep for the rest of the year at home will be nearly as high as this year’s.

Mission Impossible

I’m a creature of habit. Most of my Bigby rides are to places I’ve visited many times before—San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary or Upper Newport Bay, for example. Very few potential Bigby birds remain to be found in the county, and most of them are in out-of-the-way spots, not my patches. In particular, the Santa Ana Mountains housed several birds I needed for my Bigby list, so I finally bucked down on Christmas Eve and biked up there.

My fear of big hills has previously prevented me from Bigbying in the mountains. As I discovered, they’re not called mountains for nothing. Surprisingly, I survived.

I embarked early on the morning of Christmas Eve. I pedaled out of my normal biking range when I continued past Jamboree Road onto Santiago Canyon Road. The hills began, but I pressed on. After six miles of very hilly and cold (there was ice and frost along the road!) riding, I made it to the Silverado Canyon Road. The real hills began.

My first target was Canyon Wren. A couple had been found in lower Silverado Canyon on the Christmas Bird Count. I barely had to pull off the road to hear one’s spiraling whistle drifting down from an imposing cliff face overlooking the town of Silverado. Check.

The real climbing began once I entered Silverado. Santiago Canyon Road had been an almost pleasant ride, with its mix of up-hills and down-hills. Silverado Canyon Road, on the other hand, was one brutal, continuous climb. I arrived, panting, at the gate into upper Silverado Canyon after several miles of climbing through the charming town of Silverado.

My plan was to lock up my bike at the end of the pavement (my hybrid really isn’t intended for heavy off-road use, and the road gets even more steep once the pavement ends) and continue up for a few miles on foot. The three miles to the end of the pavement from the end of the gate was simultaneously arduous yet tremendously fun. Unlike the other places I bike, there were no cars zooming past me, leaving me in clouds of hot, reeking exhaust. Instead, a crisp mountain breeze whisked down the canyon, Hermit Thrushes darted across the road in front of me, and only the occasional dirt biker roaring past marred the experience.

Miraculously, I made it to the end of the pavement without losing my breakfast (it almost happened… once.) I quickly gathered up the essentials (bins, camera, water, Chewy Chocolate Chip granola bars) and began hiking up the road. Within fifteen minutes I had found my second new Bigby bird of the morning: a Lewis’s Woodpecker puttering around some burned-out Coulter pines, which I found when I drove up there on November 20th.



Lighting never strikes twice…and neither do Painted Redstarts. You may recall that I also found a Painted Redstart up there on November 20th. It was seen the next day, but never again. Instead of refinding the bird, I loitered near the place, enjoying the usual nuthatches and chickadees while reminiscing about the redstart.
The only two remaining targets I had were Townsend’s Solitaire and Hairy Woodpecker. Once again, the Christmas Bird Count tipped me off to the solitaires’ presence. Unfortunately, they were much farther up in the canyon—at least a couple miles beyond the redstart place. I plodded uphill, enjoying the scenery and the occasional bird that flitted across the road ahead of me (Silverado Canyon can be incredibly barren for long stretches.)

I did not have very precise directions to the solitaire spot, and I was just thinking of giving up and heading back down when I rounded a bend and flushed a gray bird from the roadside. It landed in a nearby pine—a Townsend’s Solitaire! I didn’t have much time to enjoy it, since a second solitaire quickly chased it off. Several more showed up and began feeding in a couple Toyon bushes near the road.




Engrossed in the solitaires (a new county bird in addition to being a great new Bigby bird), I barely noticed when a Hairy Woodpecker called from the nearby stand of burned pines. When the call finally registered, I quickly located the bird working a charred pine. I could barely believe my luck. Both these species are very scarce in the county, and they certainly justified the pains I suffered to find them.

After drinking in my fill of solitaires, I turned around and wearily began the descent. One favorable aspect of birding this area is the friendliness of the other people—nearly everyone, whether biker, hiker, or driver, exchanged a friendly wave, greeting, or smile. No fewer than three people in cars offered me a ride down the mountain, but that would violate the rules of Bigbying, so naturally I refused.

When I finally reached my bike, patiently waiting for me at the base of the mountain, I thought my adventures for the day were over. They weren’t. After only about a quarter-mile of coasting down the hill, I noticed a strange knocking sound coming from my bike. I slowed to investigate, and—BOOM! My rear tire exploded, nearly knocking the entire bike over. Hmm, that’s not good. After a minute of inspecting the situation, I found the culprit of the explosion—one of the brake pads. Somehow, it had slipped slightly and had been rubbing against the tire until it became so hot the inner tube exploded.

Replacing the inner tube only took a few minutes (I carry several spare inner tubes and the trappings to replace one at all times.) Fixing the brakes, however, was tricky. I still hadn’t gotten them adjusted perfectly after fifteen minutes of wrestling with them, but I tightened the pads enough so they wouldn’t hit the tire and cause another blowout. That done, I hopped back on my bike and coasted the entire way down. I barely had to pedal at all!

The odyssey had a happy ending. I safely returned home without being crushed by a truck, as my parents had been so convinced would happen. In retrospect, the ride was one of my favorite Bigby trips I’ve ever taken. It combined great birds with beautiful surroundings (oh, and the blowout added some adventure, too.)

Bad Photos of Good Birds

Well, I've fallen overwhelmingly far behind blogging about my birding adventures. The insanity of finishing school before break plus scouting for Christmas Bird Counts (CBCs) left me very little spare time. I'll give you some pictorial highlights of the CBCs.



This is the third year I've participated in the Inland CBC. Each year, I've helped with the Peters Canyon/Lemon Heights section of the count. Lemon Heights has always intrigued me. A lush, hilly neighborhood boasting numerous old trees, the place nearly always turns up something interesting. I spent the week prior to the count biking as much of the area as possible. By far the most interesting bird I found was this one: an Olive-sided Flycatcher. Though common during migration in the county, it is extremely rare in southern California in the winter, and for a good reason: at this time of year, they're supposed to be in South America! Unfortunately, the one day I drove instead of biking was the day I found this bird, which I still need for my Bigby list.



A species I was hoping to bump into while scouting in Lemon Heights was Rose-breasted Grosbeak. Rare in the county, but annual. So, I was pleasantly surprised when I found this hatch-year male Rose-breasted Grosbeak at Arroyo Elementary School last Sunday. Bigby bird #273.



Unfortunately, Arroyo Elementary School (actually the lush estate across the road) has a history of having rare birds disappear and never be seen again. This was exactly what happened with the Rose-breasted Grosbeak. We couldn't find it on the CBC a week after I originally found it. HOWEVER...on count day, I ran into a different Rose-breasted Grosbeak a couple miles away, this one a female! Talk about luck!



Golden-crowned Kinglets are annual in small numbers in the winter in Orange County. They can be tricky to pin down for CBCs, however. I turned up a total of eight in Lemon Heights, though only two stuck around for count day. Only ones for the count circle!



Lemon Heights is known for its numbers of wintering Western Tanagers, a tough bird in the winter in the county. So, when I heard a tanager-like rattle while birding along Brier Lane, I assumed that was what I had. When the bird popped up, however, it was a female Summer Tanager!



All empids are notoriously rare in the county in the winter--any empid would be a great bird for a CBC. So, I was surprised to find TWO Pacific-slope Flycatchers while scouting Lemon Heights. I could find only one of them on count day, though.



Possibly the most surprising bird I found on count day was this Rock Wren. While not unheard of in the Peters Canyon section of the circle (I had one on a rocky hill in Tustin on Friday, and others saw one in the park itself), I was not expecting a Rock Wren sitting in a driveway in Lemon Heights, at least a couple miles from suitable habitat!

In addition to the unusual birds discussed above, I found two Hermit Warblers, two Red-breasted Nuthathes, two White-breasted Nuthatches, fifteen Western Tanagers, one Costa's Hummingbird, and several Mountain Chickadees in Lemon Heights.



The only unusual bird I saw on the South County CBC on Saturday was this Red-necked Grebe in Dana Point Harbor. Tom Benson, John Fallan, and I covered the harbor and pelagic areas within the circle on John's boat, and the grebe was one of our targets. Sure enough, we found it puttering around the channel.



This last bird isn't within any CBC circle, but it's still a decent bird. Gray Flycatcher is a annual wintering bird in Orange County in small numbers, and prior to today I needed it for my Bigby list. Unfortunately, I knew of none within reasonable biking distance of my house. Happily, Doug Willick saved the day by finding one along the Santa Ana River in Yorba Linda. After sleeping in horrendously late (until 8:30 a.m.!), I headed out in the late morning and arrived at the spot in the around midday.



After an hour of searching the perimeter of the small citrus grove the bird had been frequenting, I finally located the small, gray, tail-wagging empid. Though hardly a pretty bird, I find myself strangely attracted to them. It was a new Bigby bird--#274.

That, in a nutshell, is the last week of my birding life. Now that I'm on Christmas break (woohoo!), I'm going to bird as much as possible, and look for as many new Bigby birds as possible. Two eighty or bust!

Wild Card

Last night around eight o'clock, I decided to ride my bike to Bolsa Chica and some other coastal places down that way the next morning. It's amazing how casual my decisions to embark on lengthy bike rides have become; today, I rode nearly sixty miles after only a couple hours of planning. When I first began pedaling long distances, I planned the trips out at least a week in advance. I was actually planning on riding out to Chino today to look for a few lousy birds I needed for my Bigby list (Eurasian Collared-Dove, Gray Flycatcher... bleh), but when I realized last night that I'd need more than an hour to plan out this route (I've never ridden there before), I spontaneously decided to go to Bolsa Chica instead. I'm glad I did.

Riding to Bolsa Chica is a long and boring way to spend a couple hours. The route dives right through some of the nastiest urban jungle imaginable; it is possible to ride a mile and only see a dozen House Sparrows and a pigeon or two. The promise of a few new Bigby birds was alluring, however. Most of the potential new birds were wild cards--scarce, not guaranteed. Amazingly, I managed to find just about every possible new bird.

My luck began at Estancia Park in Costa Mesa. A Pine Warbler has wintered here the previous three winters, so I decided to pop over (the park is only a half-mile from the bike trail) to see if it was back. To be honest, I wasn't expecting anything. I scouted out the place a few weeks back and came up empty. I rolled up to the patch of pines the bird preferred, pished, and within five seconds, a small yellow bird flitted toward me. Eventually, it showed its face, and I was delighted to see that the Pine Warbler had returned for its fourth winter in a row. Additionally, it was a new Bigby bird for me.

The next wild card was Common Goldeneye. Contrary to its name, Common Goldeneyes are downright rare in Orange County. The Santa Ana river mouth has been a dependable place from them in the past, so I carefully scanned the ducks as I rode along. After looking through endless flocks of scaup, Bufflehead, and Red-breasted Mergansers, I found two female Common Goldeneyes. Sweeeet! Second Bigby bird of the day.

My next destination was Bolsa Chica. Well, not really. I talked myself into walking to the end of the Huntington Beach Pier to sea if there were any pelagic birds to be had. A visit of a few minutes turned into an hour and a half vigil. The birding was amazing.

First, a Northern Fulmar flew by. I wasn't expecting this one at all; not only was it a new Bigby bird, it was a new county bird! Next, after picking through the gobs of Surf Scoters bobbing around in the swells for several minutes, I stumbled across a female Black Scoter. Another new county and Bigby bird, and one that I hadn't thought I'd ever get. Just as I was thinking the day couldn't get any better, a Pomarine Jaeger flew by. Bigby bird #5 for the day...so far. These birds were the highlights of a whole mess of nearshore birds: loons of three flavors, Parasitic Jaegers (including one mercilessly chasing a tern up over the beach), Black-vented Shearwaters, Brant, and Western Grebes.

I hugged the beach as I continued northward to Bolsa Chica. As it turned out, this paid off. I bumped into some impressive flocks of gulls. Most of them were the expected Western, California, Ring-billed, and Heermann's, but one of the flocks contained no fewer than six Mew Gulls.



The gull flocks also contained numbers of Royal Terns. A common bird, to be sure, and one of the more numerous tern species in California in the winter. However, I don't usually get to see them up so close.



Interestingly, one of the terns seemed to be begging from another! The bird's behavior, plus its paler-colored bill from the other birds, makes me think it's a young one clinging to one of its parents. It's grown up and undoubtedly capable of catching his own fish, but still, a free meal from Dad beats working for your own dinner.



I finally got to my main destination of the day, Bolsa Chica. After quickly scoring the only sure new Bigby bird of the day, Snowy Plover in the back part of Bolsa Chica, I headed down the boardwalk to see what was around. Unfortunately, I hit it just about right at high tide, the worst time to bird Bolsa Chica. Shorebirds were nearly absent, undoubtedly trying to find somewhere that wasn't submerged. That was fine with me, though. The bird I was really looking for was Thayer's Gull, the next wild card of the day.

Prospects were looking good when I rounded the bend and found a couple thousand gulls roosting near the first overlook. California, Ring-billed, Western, Herring, Glaucous-winged...repeat. After fifteen minutes of laboriously sorting through the gulls, I managed to pick out not one but two Thayer's Gulls: an adult and a first-cycle. Happy with my seventh new Bigby bird of the day, and yet another wild card, I left Bolsa Chica.

At this point I experienced the lowest part of the day. While packing up my bike in the Bolsa Chica parking lot, I couldn't find the two little bungee cords I use to fasten my tripod to my bike rack in the pannier bag where I usually put them. I thoroughly rummaged through the bag without success. Next I checked the other pannier bag, and then my backpack, and then my pockets, and then the ground around my bike. They had disappeared. I was crushed. Those were my special tripod bungee cords! I secured my tripod with my belt instead. It worked... the tripod didn't fall off.

With about an hour left before I had to head home, I decided to pop over to the beach again to see if I could pull out a White-winged Scoter and make the Scoter Sweep. After locking up my bike and trekking over the broad beach, filling my shoes with even more sand. When I crested the small rise, I shaded my eyes and gazed upon flocks of scoters as far as the eye could see in both directions. It was overwhelming. There were thousands of scoters! I was surprised when the first non-Surf Scoters I found were three more Black Scoters, generally considered to be the most uncommon of the three. It was difficult to know where to start. Scoters were bobbing in the swells everywhere, some diving, some sleeping, some just sitting. To get a better view, I clambered atop a lifeguard tower (there was no one around to care) and began scanning. After half and hour of combing the flocks, I finally found a female White-winged Scoter, my last new Bigby bird and wild card of the day.

I had a long ride ahead of me, so I swung by subway and picked up the best sandwich ever: a sweet-onion chicken teriyaki sub on wheat bread with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, and banana peppers. Mmmmm. Fueled up, I did the long ride home in about two hours, arriving just around dark. Whew. Fifty-seven miles, and eight new Bigby birds. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday!

Give Me a Break

...and see how much time I'll spend birding!

Thanksgiving. The fall has been a blur of school, college applications, and maybe a bit of birding here and there. A few days without school (or college essays!) gave me the chance to get my fill of birding.

In four days of intense birding, I found at least a hundred and fifty species of birds (including six new Bigby birds: Mountain Bluebird, Northern Waterthrush, Summer Tanager, Ross's Goose, Cackling Goose, and Burrowing Owl), biked at least a hundred and twenty miles, and had an unmeasurable amount of fun. Tracking down the waterthrush was my favorite experience of Thanksgiving break, so that's the one I'll recount.

At some point on Wednesday evening, I realized that I had no plans for the next day. Sure, it was Thanksgiving, but... what does one do all morning on Thanksgiving? The logical answer seemed to be "go birding," so that's what I did. To be more specific, I went birding by bike. Big surprise.

San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary in Irvine was deserted, except for birds and Brian Daniels. It was a beautiful morning. Ducks and shorebirds in the ponds, pelicans and cormorants flying overhead, and passerines chipping in the willows. Brian and I quickly found the previously-mentioned Mountain Bluebird, a female.

The sun climbed in the sky nearly as quickly as our species count. After circling most of the ponds (and seeing many more birds, including a male Vermilion Flycatcher), we turned our steps to the extensive riparian "back area" of San Joaquin. "Let's go get that waterthrush," Brian proposed, referring to the Northern Waterthrush that was wintered at San Joaquin the last few years. Last winter, I spent many futile hours searching the swampy woodland for that waterthrush.

As their name implies, waterthrushes love water, particularly nasty stagnant water with plenty of vegetation. We checked channels of water and wooded ponds to the best of our ability, but came up empty. Plenty of other birds kept us amused, particularly warblers. There were Yellow-rumps and Yellowthroats, of course, but also small numbers of wintering Wilson's, Townsend's, Black-throated Gray, Yellow, and Orange-crowned Warblers.

I became more and more disoriented as we meandered deeper and deeper into the riparian area. Fortunately, Brian knew his way around. We eventually stumbled across a flooded area adjacent to the Lost Trail. "Waterthrush country," Brian announced, and began pishing.

Above Brian's garbed pishing, I heard it. Chhip!....chip!....chip! I crunched several feet forward through the dry leaf litter at the edge of the swamp. Peering into the flooded undergrowth, I spotted it: a small, brownish bird walking along a partially submerged branch, vigorously bobbing its tail. I called Brian forward and we enjoyed the waterthrush for a few brief seconds before it darted back into the dark undergrowth.

"County bird," I stated dully to Brian as we walked away. In fact, it was much more than that. Northern Waterthrushes aren't all that rare in Orange County. One or two show up just about every year. However, I was holding a grudge against this bird. I don't know how many times I looked for this individual bird last winter--six, seven times--but I do know that I didn't ever see it. Finally finding it gave me an immense feeling of satisfaction that still faintly glows as I remember the experience.

The waterthrush and the five other Bigby birds I found over Thanksgiving break pushed my Bigby list up to 261. I wish Thanksgiving break happened more often. At least I have Christmas break to look forward to!

A Wild Ride

I had the crazy idea to ride my bike to Bolsa Chica in Huntington Beach on Saturday, a sixty-something mile round trip. I did this once before, and it almost killed me. However, the allure of new Bigby birds attracted me, so I set off at dawn on Saturday.

The ride takes me down the Santa Ana River. It goes right through some of the sketchiest parts of Orange County; thus, birds are scarce. The only notable bird I saw in two hours of riding was a Baird's Sandpiper in a small puddle in the riverbed. I arrived at Bolsa Chica in the late morning after a stop at Harriet Wieder Regional Park, where I saw nothing interesting save a Pectoral Sandpiper (my first new Bigby bird of the day.)

It didn't take me long to find two more new Bigby birds once I arrived at Bolsa Chica: Reddish Egret and Sanderling. Hundreds of shorebirds were around, most of them roosting up on the dry ground of the tern colony (it was high tide.) No matter how attentively I scanned, I couldn't pull out a Pacific Golden-Plover or a Snowy Plover. After several minutes of squinting at distant shorebirds, a chip note brought my attention to a life bird practically at my feet: a "Large-billed" Savannah Sparrow.



Though not its own species (yet), the "Large-billed" Savannah Sparrow is a very interesting and distinctive bird. It breeds along the shores of the Sea of Cortez and wanders northward in the winter, showing up at coastal places like Bolsa Chica and also at the Salton Sea.

A heavy fog bank that descended onto Bolsa Chica put an end to my birding. I grabbed some much-needed lunch at Subway before continuing on to Huntington Central Park. Once there, I pulled out my phone to find that I had a new voicemail. Hmmm...

Turns out it was my friend Doug Willick. He had found a Great Crested Flycatcher along the Upper Santa Ana River, a good twenty miles from where I was in Huntington Beach. Shoot! I had been considering birding the river on Saturday, but I had decided on Bolsa Chica instead. I briefly considered birding around Huntington Central Park for the rest of the afternoon and trying for the flycatcher the next day; however, the flycatcher was just too good of a bird to pass up, so I hopped on my bike, cranked it into high gear, and pedaled like a maniac upriver.

It took my only an hour and ten minutes to reach the flycatcher location, a line of trees along the bike trail just downstream from the Glassell crossing. In only a couple minutes I was looking at the bird as it flitted around some of the eucalyptus trees overhead. It was surprisingly unwary, allowing for some decent photos.



I watched it for about forty minutes. This is an extremely rare bird for the county; it is only the third to ever have been recorded. It was a very common bird in Michigan where I used to live, but this is California; I was very excited to see the bird. It was also a very nice addition to my Bigby list!



I had a couple hours of daylight left for birding after losing the flycatcher, so I called Doug Willick and arranged to meet him for some birding a bit farther upriver. On my way, I noticed a sparrow diving into the vegetation in the riverbed adjacent to the bike trail. I screeched to a halt and was quickly looking at a Brewer's Sparrow! My third for the fall! I didn't get any photos, but here's a picture of the one I found in my neighborhood last week.



Doug and I worked the row of trees and shrubs lining the bike trail, coming up with some common migrants. As we stood pishing at a clump of cottonwoods, I looked up and saw a Plumbeous Vireo staring right back down at me. While an annual migrant through the county (this bird is actually returning for its fifth winter in the same area along the river), it was yet another new Bigby bird for me.

We continued farther downriver (Doug wanted to see my Brewer's Sparrow.) A flash of yellow caught my eye in a flock of cowbirds in the riverbed. A Yellow-headed Blackbird! Yet another surprising new Bigby bird! I was beginning to wish that I had simply birded the Upper Santa Ana River instead of Bolsa Chica... unusual birds were coming out of the woodwork!

I finally headed home late in the afternoon so I could get home before dark. While pedaling downriver toward Katella Avenue I couldn't help but notice a juvenile Pectoral Sandpiper in the river. Wow. A great couple hours of birding along the river!

I ended the day with six new Bigby birds: Pectoral Sandpiper, Reddish Egret, Sanderling, Great Crested Flycatcher, Plumbeous Vireo, and Yellow-headed Blackbird. I rode sixty-five miles. An epic day.

Migration Takes Off

School started on Monday. I haven't let the beginning of school foil some quick birding forays, though. On the contrary, I've seen some really great birds this last week. I hope to keep up my daily doses of birding, but I've haven't even started two of my classes, so I may be pressed for time. If that's the case, I'll have even less time for blogging, so expect a dry period.

Last week I got a surprise email from my good friend Chris West. He's been "working" as a bird guide in Southeastern Arizona this summer, and he was coming out to California for a week. So, last Friday, he showed up at my house and we spent literally all day Saturday birding Orange County. We birded along the coast in the morning, beating the beach crowds and the head, and then foolishly birded some inland areas in the heat of the day. We ended up with over a hundred species for the day, including one lifer for Chris (Wandering Tattler) and a bunch of other year birds for him. Other neat birds we saw included a Black Tern at Bolsa Chica, two Solitary and a Semipalmated Sandpipers at San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary, and others. Our morning visit to the beach included a round of the Sanderling Game, a long-time tradition that Chris and I began several years back.



Chris had to leave Sunday to head up to Monterey to catch a pelagic trip. After our quick visit to Peters Canyon Regional Park on Saturday afternoon, I decided to go there every day to comb through the shorebirds for a Baird's Sandpiper. The lake is rapidly drying up, creating excellent shorebird habitat.



It only took a couple days. On Monday evening, I spotted a gorgeous juvenile Baird's Sandpiper on a dry mudflat near the lake. I was excited enough to make a few loud outbursts and dance a little jig. This species, a rare but annual fall migrant in California, has eluded me the past two summers. It was a state, county, and bigby bird for me!



So far this summer, I have recorded an astonishing total of fifteen shorebird species at this lake. This is hardly impressive if you compare it to Orange County standards; a day of birding along the coast can net a couple dozen shorebird species. Fifteen species for a small lake twenty miles inland, however, is quite good. Other interesting species of shorebirds I've noted there include Willet, Solitary Sandpiper, Wilson's Phalarope, and Semipalmated Plover. The summer is hardly over, either. I hope to find a few more shorebird species there before shorebird migration is over.

One bird that I missed for my bigby list this spring was Willow Flycatcher. A rather common spring migrant in Orange County, Willow Flycatchers are considerably less common in the fall, so I had low hopes of crossing paths with one. Yesterday morning, while birding at Santiago Oaks Regional Park, a soft whit called my attention to an empid foraging in some low brush along the creek. It remained frustratingly hidden for several minutes, but after it finally emerged I was able to confirm it as a Willow Flycatcher. Bigby bird number 230!



Two bigby birds in two days late in the year is good. Three in three days in a row is even better. I biked over to Peters Canyon again this evening in hopes of seeing the Baird's Sandpiper or some other shorebirds. I was walking through a weedy area to get to a good observation point for scoping the mudflats when a slim sparrow flushed and landed in a nearby bush. It was obviously different from all the Song Sparrows I had been seeing, and it gave a Spizella call. I managed to find it in my scope and carefully studied it, particularly the face pattern, for several minutes before the bird disappeared for good. It was immediately obvious that it was no Chipping Sparrow, the default Spizella. Fortunately, the bird stuck around long enough for me to jot down some quick notes on the face pattern. My gut instinct was that the bird was a Brewer's Sparrow, and a quick check in my field guide back at home (I don't have too much experience with non-Chipping Spizellas) confirmed my impression. Brewer's is a decent bird for the county (one one or two are seen most autumns.) It was a new county and bigby bird for me.

The Brewer's Sparrow detracted from some of my shorebird studying, but my few quick scans revealed nothing more unusual than some Wilson's Phalaropes and a couple Semipalmated Plovers among the more common shorebirds. I also noted a single White-tailed Kite and four Vaux's Swifts.

I hope my lucky streak continues. Three Bigby birds in a week in September is not crummy at all. My total now stands at 231. I'll try to keep this blog updated, but school promises to bog me down pretty soon.

The Sea

Walter, a young Beechey Ground-Squirrel, heard the unmistakable sounds of a granola bar being extricated from its wrapper. Good news. Walter was hungry, so he emerged onto the sidewalk from the adjacent garden to wheedle an innocent tourist out of his snack. He was quick to notice the coveted granola bar cradled in the hands of a human standing in front of an odd, three-legged animal. The breeze shifted, and Walter caught a whiff of the prize - mmmmmm, Oats and Honey! Sauntering toward the human, Walter employed every little trick that usually won the attention of humans, only to be ignored. The human, standing immobile before the three-legged animal, did not even acknowledge Walter's presence. After a few minutes of unsuccessful begging, Walter stomped off in search of easier prey.

I yawned, jammed my eyeball to the scope eyepiece, and stared at the distant water magnified through the mist. Occasionally the shadowy form of a shearwater would flit out of the mist, usually quickly disappearing. A swirling flock of Sooty Shearwaters drew my attention to a small pod of dolphins offshore. There wasn't much else to see; the mist obscured everything more than a mile or two offshore, and few birds seemed to be flying. Already bored after only ten minutes of seawatching, I fished a granola bar out of my bike bag and began munching while scanning for seabirds, barely noticing a Beechey Ground-Squirrel moseying around on the sidewalk next to me.

Giving up on seawatching, I strolled down to the beach, thinking the whole time Darn, did I just ride twenty-one miles to see a bunch of mist and some Sooty Shearwaters? My shoes began filling with sand the instant I stepped off the concrete walkway and onto the beach. Working my way over to one of the rock formations (having to leap over a creek with my scope, camera, binoculars, water bottle, etc., in the process), I began scanning for shorebirds. Hopping from rock to rock until I found a good spot to set up my scope, I cursed the sharp, jagged rocks and made a mental note to wear studier shoes than Converse next time I visited the place.



Shorebirds were scarce. Suddenly, a medium-sized black shorebird appeared atop a distant rock. I couldn't believe my luck - a Black Oystercatcher! I trained my scope on it, finding a crow exactly where the oystercatcher had been sitting. Hmmm.

Two Black-bellied Plovers wandered through the flock of motley gulls, occasionally giving mournful whistles as if they were sad about being the only genuine shorebirds around.



After scrutinizing the rest of the rocks and finding no other shorebirds, I turned my attention to the jetty of the adjacent Newport Harbor. Shorebirds generally don't like the jetty as much as the natural rock formations, but they must have forgotten that this morning; I quickly spotted a few Black Turnstones. I watched a different grayish shorebird I suspected was a Wandering Tattler until it took flight, showing no white in the wings or tail. Wandering Tattler indeed. My first new Bigby bird. At last, the morning seemed to be shedding its grim atmosphere.

The mist appeared to be burning off a bit, so I climbed back to the top of the bluff to take another shot at seawatching. After scanning and finding nothing except the same shearwaters and dolphins, I turned my attention to the terns swirling and diving over the ocean, hoping to pick out a more unusual species. In just a few minutes, I did, though you wouldn't guess judging just by the name - Common Tern. This species is a rather uncommon migrant through Orange County, and I missed it for my Bigby list last year. This tern, in fact, led me to my next new Bigby bird as it was flyin' roun' an' stuff over the ocean: three Red-necked Phalaropes bobbing around amongst the waves.

I was busy watching another tight little knot of phalaropes buzzing in for a landing beside their buddies when a feminine voice brimming with curiosity asked "Whatcha lookin' at?"
"Seabirds," I replied laconically, jerking my head to acknowledge the woman's presence.
"Seabirds?" She repeated in a voice that suggested that she doubted the existence of such creates.
"Way out," I said, nodding, affirming their existence, as she continued walking down towards the beach.

They - the hordes of beach goers - streamed by, I'm sure all curious, but most not bold enough to ask what a scruffy teenager was doing pointing something that looked vaguely like a missile launcher out to sea. Most people just walk by, sometimes so busy staring that they trip over my tripod. At least a couple people usually end up talking to me about birds or cameras each time I go seawatching. The tourists are part of the fun of seawatching - scaring them, having conversation with them, ignoring them, or impressing them by informing them that yes, I really did ride that bike twenty-one miles to get here just to look at birds.

After the interruption, I looked back at the phalaropes only to discover a dozen more had arrived. Small parties flew by often, some of them stopping, others hurrying on. Lots of phalaropes. The novelty of the phalaropes wore off after a while, so I pointed my scope farther offshore. The decreasing amount of mist revealed increasing numbers of shearwaters. Lines of dozens of Sooty Shearwaters cruised by, and after some careful scanning I spotted a single Pink-footed Shearwater and a few Black Storm-Petrels. Then...

OHMYGOSH A SMALLDARKBIRD BUZZINGTHEWATERACLID! I followed it in my scope, carefully noting characteristics that identified it as a Rhinoceros Auklet. It was mostly dark (not smartly black and white like a Xantus's Murrelet), but with a paler belly and slower wing beats than a Cassin's Auklet. Needless to say, this was another Bigby bird for me, and a decent one at that - I think it's pretty neat to have an alcid on my Bigby list.

Around ten, I decided to leave after over two hours of seawatching. I packed up my affects and bade goodbye to the seabirds, shorebirds, and beach goers as I wearily pedaled off down the street in the direction of home. Seawatching is always enjoyable (at least when there are seabirds to see!), but it is particularly fun to do by bike. It's a long trip (I put forty-four miles on my bike today) and requires an early start (I had to leave my house before a lot of the birds woke up!), but the payoff is worth it.

The Final Frontier

I'll take a break from my narration of the Young Birder's Conference to report on my day of biking and birding today. Last night, upon discovering that I had no plans for the next day, I decided to ride my bike down to the beach and try to get some sea birds for my Bigby list. Pelagics are awfully hard to get for Bigby lists, and prior to today I had only gotten Black-vented Shearwater and a few loons for a couple brief seawatching sessions.

One common misconception of seawatching is that it can be done at any time of day. This is simply not true. Seawatching is overwhelmingly more productive the first couple hours of day. This presents a problem for bigbying. The nearest beach is a twenty-one mile ride from my house, probably an hour and half of riding. To remedy this problem, I left my house very early, around five-twenty, and pedaled like the devil to the west. I didn't allow myself any stops; I didn't even stop when a Clapper Rail sounded off near the road at Upper Newport Bay. It was my first new Bigby bird of the day.

My relentless pedaling paid off; I reached Little Corona City Beach at ten til seven. Unfortunately, seawatching conditions weren't optimal; it was clear, and the ocean was as slick as glass. Under conditions like these, the birds are usually farther offshore. They were. After a few minutes of scanning, I managed to spot a couple Black Storm-Petrels way out over the ocean. A few Sooty Shearwaters began to trickle by several miles out. After an hour of staring out to sea, I finally spotted a bigger shearwater with lumbering wingbeats; when it banked, I could see its pale underparts. A Pink-footed Shearwater! To make matters even sweeter, an out of season Pacific Loon winged by. All these, along with Elegant Tern, were new Bigby birds for me. Also new for my Bigby list were these sea stars clinging to a rock below the overlook.



After eight o'clock the sea birds thinned out, so I loaded my bike back down and retraced my steps. I actually stopped for birds on my return trip around Upper Newport Bay, but I didn't find much. A smattering of early migrant shorebirds - Willets, Western Sandpipers, Short-billed Dowitchers, and others - were present, but otherwise it was very quiet. Even the large Black Skimmer colony, usually bustling with noisy activity, was deserted. Here's a shot showing a smattering of the birds present: Mallards, Snowy Egrets, Caspian Terns, Black Skimmers, Willets, and Marbled Godwits.



After the mandatory lunch stop at In-N-Out Burger, I birded around San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary in Irvine for about an hour around midday. I wasn't expecting much, and indeed there weren't too many birds around. I did, however, find one exciting new Bigby bird. I was poking around the edge of one of the ponds looking for dragonflies when I heard the unmistakeable call of a Least Bittern from a nearby stand of tules. I crept forward, craned my neck, and peered into the tules, but it was buried out of sight. I walked around to the other side of the pond to scan the tules, and after a couple minutes of futile searching, the bittern suddenly burst from the vegetation and gave me a very brief view as it flew across the pond and melted back into the tules. This species is incredibly elusive and I was not sure whether I would get it for my Bigby list this year.

Birds may not have been overly plentiful at San Joaquin this afternoon, but dragonflies were. Unfortunately, since I had my scope, I couldn't bring my good camera to photograph them with. Several got away unidentified, including one that I'm fairly confident was a Spot-winged Glider. One dragonfly that actually cooperated for photos was this gorgeous Blue-eyed Darner. I digiscoped it from fifteen feet away... I can't say I've digiscoped a dragonfly before!



I headed for home around twelve-thirty. I took my time getting home, particularly going up the arduous hill along Jamboree Road, since it was hot and I was weary. I rode forty-four miles and saw seven new Bigby species - over six miles per bird! Despite this seemingly low number of new species, it will probably be the most new species I get in one day for the rest of the year. I will have to get back down to the beach by bike to get some more sea birds for my Bigby list - alcids and jaegers, perhaps?

The Shifting Seasons

As the year passes by, new Bigby birds become more and more difficult to root out. It is easy to add a few dozen new species the first few times out in a year, but after that you are lucky if you tally half a dozen with an all-day ride. I rode over forty miles today and managed to dig out only four new Bigby birds. That’s over ten miles for each bird.

I haven’t taken a long bike ride since late February, so I knew I would at least score a couple easy birds. My main targets for the day were Grasshopper Sparrow and Least Tern. The tern I could get any time all summer long, as this species frequents San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary and Upper Newport Bay. Grasshopper Sparrows are easy enough to find along Shady Canyon on the far side of University California Irvine, but it is a five-mile side trip up a large hill. As a result, I drag my rear end up there once a year, and once I have heard them I gleefully coast down the hill with Grasshopper Sparrow on my list.

I decided to leave early, around six fifteen, so I would make it down to Shady Canyon while the sparrows were still singing. Once I arrived at Shady Canyon, I immediately heard the Grasshopper Sparrows – two of them – buzzing away from the grassy slopes above the road. Great. I puttered around for a few more minutes before turning around and heading to San Joaquin. See you next year, sparrows.

The Least Terns at San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary also posed no problem. I easily found several flying around the first few ponds. While watching the terns, I noticed a Bonaparte’s Gull paddling around Pond C. Somewhat surprisingly, this was also a new Bigby bird for me (number two hundred, in fact!)



I wandered around San Joaquin for a couple hours, finding nothing extraordinary. All the neat winter birds – ducks and shorebirds – are gone, and I found very few migrants. However, there was a lot of breeding activity. Perhaps the most obvious were the American Avocets. The fluffy babies were prancing around the ponds, ignoring their shouting parents who were attempting to herd them around.





The most interesting nesting activity was happening on the Campus Dr. bridge over the San Diego Creek. Hundreds of Cliff Swallow nests line the sides of the bridge, and swarms of the swallows were fluttering around making a racket. It is very entertaining to stand below the bridge and drink in the spectacle: swallows poking their heads out of the nest holes, others gathering mud to be added on to the nests, and still others just flying around seemingly randomly.



In the late morning I decided to take a spin around Upper Newport to look for Elegant Terns. I had no luck with the Elegant Terns, and had very few birds overall. Only a few rather cruddy-looking shorebirds were around, probably second-years oversummering. All the ducks were gone. There were hundreds of Black Skimmers hanging around the nesting island at the north end of the bay, along with Forster’s and Least Terns. I gave up and headed towards home without finding any new Bigby birds.

While I was biking from Shady Canyon to San Joaquin earlier in the morning, I made a great discovery. Instead of taking the long way back through Mason Regional Park, I cut across from Culver on Campus. There, within a quarter mile of San Joaquin, I found an In-N-Out Burger restaurant. As I was biking from Upper Newport Bay, I was hungry, but I didn’t really feel like eating a squished peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I took the short detour to In-N-Out. As I looked over the menu (it isn’t hard to choose at In-N-Out, since there are only a handful of options), I pulled out my wallet and was horrified to find that I had only three dollars. Three bucks isn’t enough for a combo, but a burger and a small drink are only a few cents short of three dollars. Unfortunately, I had forgotten about a little thing called sales tax. Turns out I was fourteen cents short. Thankfully, the guy at the register let me off the hook and gave me $3.14 of food for $3.00.

After wolfing down my burger I headed for home. However, that plan changed when I last-minute decided to make a quick stop at Mason Regional Park. I’m glad I did. The park had decent numbers of migrants, which was nice to see after a couple weeks of absolutely dismal migration. The only new Bigby bird I found was Hermit Warbler (which I had actually been getting worried about), but I saw lots of Wilson’s, Townsend’s, Orange-crowned, and Yellow Warblers, along with Western Tanager, Black-headed Grosbeak, and Warbling Vireo.

I finally tore myself away from Mason and shot homeward. I kept my cruising speed around sixteen miles per hour and managed to get up the long hill on Jamboree Road without stopping. When I reached home, I was tired, dirty, and sunburned, but I had four new Bigby birds under my belt. These four new ones pushed my Bigby list up to two hundred and one. Here are a few more photos from the day.

Migration

Much to my chagrin, I haven't been able to get out birding much recently. To remedy this I biked to Santiago Oaks Regional Park today and spent the entire morning wandering around and searching for birds, particularly migrants. I haven't biked anywhere recently for various reasons, so I expected to pick up a few new Bigby birds. Within a minute of dismounting my bike I had found three new Bigby birds: Black-headed Grosbeak, Black-throated Gray Warbler, and Warbling Vireo.

Birds were out and singing everywhere despite the cloudy skies and cool temperatures. Many of the wintering species such as Ruby-crowned Kinglets, Hermit Thrushes, and White-crowned Sparrows are beginning to fade away. They are quickly being replaced by breeders and migrants. A bit farther down the trail I found a Hammond's Flycatcher and an Ash-throated Flycatcher sitting in the same tree. Both were new for my Bigby list.

Normally, I bird Santiago Oaks for only a couple hours before school in the morning. However, I had several hours to burn, so I covered most of the park. I traipsed out to the Villa Park Dam and easily located a singing Rock Wren. He serenaded me from the top of a fence while I stalked closer. It will be interesting to see if Rock Wrens try to breed here. This little patch of jumbled rock is one of the few places to reliably find this species in the county.



Hundreds of swallows were swirling around by the dam. At first they all appeared to be Cliff Swallows, but I noticed there were a lot of Northern Rough-winged Swallows mixed in as well. Even more careful inspection revealed smaller numbers of Violet-green, Tree, and Barn Swallows merrily zipping around feeding on insects. I finally tore myself away from the cooperative Rock Wren and swallows and turned back to the main part of the park. I found my last new Bigby bird of the day, a Nashville Warbler, back near the parking lot. I also came across a very cooperative Sara Orangetip.



I decided to climb the Pacifica Trail, a steep narrow path that winds to the top of Rattlesnake Peak. I don't usually see much along this trail, but it's a neat hike and I figured it might be a good spot to look for Lawrence's Goldfinch. No luck with that, but I did come across a band of Western Scrub-Jays jumping around in the bushes next to the trail.



I finally made it to the top. Numerous White-throated Swifts, which were tiny specks in the sky from below, zoomed around at eye level. In fact, bands of these winged bullets, chattering demonically, nearly hit me a few times. They were so close I could hear the wind rushing through their wings. Photographing them proved to be a challenge!



A Red-tailed Hawk circled lazily below, offering a unique perspective.



I spent a few more minutes watching the swifts before descending the trail so as not to be late for lunch. For a few hours at the local patch, it wasn't bad at all. The six new Bigby birds I found (Hammond's Flycatcher, Ash-throated Flycatcher, Warbling Vireo, Nasvhille Warbler, Black-throated Gray Warbler, and Black-headed Grosbeak) pushed my total to one eighty-four. Hopefully I'll be able to get out more soon to add more migrants to my Bigby list.