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.)

Wind, Fire, Birds, Bikes...

Just another average day in California. I rode my bike to Upper Newport Bay to search out some birds this morning - an especially high tide was scheduled to flood the marsh. High tide is generally not a good time for birding estuaries - most of the birds congregate on usually distant islands of higher ground. However, this tide was so high that it completely flooded the bay, forcing lots of birds out of cover. My mom and I birded Upper Newport Bay yesterday, and we saw a Short-eared Owl, Eurasian Wigeon, and other cool birds near the Muth Interpretive Center. I decided to ride down there to try to add the owl to my Bigby list, and also to see what else would show up.

Unfortunately, it was just about the worst day I could have chosen for a bike ride. Temperatures soared into the nineties, and Santa Ana winds - hot, dry winds blowing in off the desert - gusted all day, completely drying out the air. I merrily pedaled down there, a strong tailwind at my back. The air was so dry that I was thirsty before I had even left my garage. Still, I managed to get down to the bay in one piece, arriving just after eight a.m. at the traditional spot for scoping the bay at high tide - the end of the boardwalk near the center.

A few other birders arrived, and we chatted and scanned the marsh as the water slowly rose. After a short time, I spotted the Short-eared Owl sitting on a partially submerged stick. It was waaay out in the marsh, and it was little more than a speck. However, it took off after several minutes and cruised around on slow, buoyant wingbeats. Yes! A new Bigby bird, and a pretty nifty one at that. "Worth riding fifteen miles for," I mentioned to the birder next to me. He gave me a look of both admiration and horror and replied "No wonder you're so skinny!"

As the water rose even higher, it began revealing secretive marsh birds that are normally very difficult to find. Clapper Rails started popping out everywhere, standing in water up to their bellies, trying to wait out the high water. Someone spotted an American Bittern poking up out of the cord grass, and then another, and another... all in all we estimated there were at least SEVEN American Bitterns in this one relatively small area. This is an extraordinary count for Orange County! This is not a Bigby bird for me, but almost is; I've seen only one previously.

I started to feel sorry for a lot of the rails. They were being slowly pushed into the open by the water. There were many Soras in the area, many swimming to higher ground. Why, why why do they swim clumsily to higher ground when they could simply fly?? They slowly inched across the channel of deep water. One encountered a large reed floating in the water and attempted to dive under it. Soras are not very good at diving, and it got about half-way under the reed. It continued across the channel, dragging the reed along with it. After about two hours of watching, I counted about fifteen Clapper Rails, ten or twelve Soras, and two Virginia Rails.

Around ten forty-five, I started to head for home. The tailwind had helped me reach the bay very quickly, but now I was laboring into a very strong headwind that was constantly blowing dry air and dust into my eyes. I decided to stop at San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary, mostly just to get a Coke, but also maybe to check a few of the ponds. I walked around the first three ponds, finding nothing unusual. As I was scanning Pond C with my binoculars, I spotted a couple small brown ducks with brown crests. I instantly knew they were female Hooded Mergansers, and grabbed my scope to get a better view. This is a very suprising bonus - another new Bigby bird. I looked around to make sure no one was watching and whooped and did a little happy dance to celebrate.



Now it was time to head home in earnest. I gulped vast amounts of water, stopping at every single drinking fountain I came across to refill my bottle. I noticed an enormous cloud of smoke in the direction of home. A call home revealed that a wildfire had broken out near the Orange County/Riverside County border. The cloud grew larger and larger, looking eerily like a mushroom cloud.



When I walked in the door, exhausted, I was stunned to see my parents watching a news station showing frightening coverage of homes and buildings being devouring by gigantic flames licking up into the sky. The fire, named the "Freeway Complex Fire", has burned dozens of houses and is being driven by the fierce winds. Right now the fire is about five and a half miles from my house - I hope it stays away from my neighborhood and local birding patches! Good luck to the firefighters fighting this and other wildfires raging in southern California right now.

There And Back Again

The old bike creaked and complained as I labored up the hill. It endured several years of loving abuse by my eldest brother, followed by a couple years of dormancy in a dusty corner of the garage. I have recently begun using it instead of my newer mountain bike because it is a road bike with skinnier tires, which means there is less friction between the tires and the road, and as a result you can usually pedal the bike faster between birding spots. Plus, it has a back rack perfectly suited for carrying a tripod, binoculars, and other small items. It does, however, have its downsides. The whole thing seems to be slowing falling apart, one of the brakes hardly works (I'll have to invest in new brake pads), and the chain scrapes annoyingly against the gear shifter. Despite these shortcomings, the bike managed to carry me and all my birding gear forty miles to some coastal birding spots and back yesterday.

I left home early in the morning, gulping the chilly air as I zipped by Peters Canyon and down Jamboree Road. I reached San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary in roughly an hour and fifteen minutes. I was mainly interested in finding the Pectoral Sandpipers that everyone except me seems to be finding there this fall - two had been reported earlier in the week. I stalked around the ponds, scanning all the shorebirds, but I was too late yet again. My only consolation was this lovely Northern Harrier that was coursing low over the water, harrying all the ducks and shorebirds.



Disgusted at having missed Pectoral Sandpiper for the fourth time this fall at San Joaquin, I continued on to Upper Newport Bay. My spirits rose as I arrived at the north end of the bay. Shorebirds and ducks were everywhere. I sat down to scope the flocks spread over the bay, ignoring the curious glances from the gaudily-clad bikers streaming by. Most of the common duck species were well-represented, as well as shorebirds. I was happy to note a single male Eurasian Wigeon mixed in with the hoards of American Wigeons in the shallow water of the bay. Interestingly, I also saw a completely albino American Coot and a weird American Wigeon with a very white head - "without a tan".



I continued on, hoping to reach the beach before the lighting became problematic. As I rounded a bend, I was presented with a familiar sight at Upper Newport Bay: a group of binocular-bearing birders. I slowed myself to a halt with my slightly-defective brakes and inquired if they had "seen anything good".

"Oh, we're watching birds," came the reply.

"Yeah, me too," I said, nonchalantly raising my binoculars to study some ducks out in the bay.

"Well, there are two Clapper Rails down there," a man replied, waving a hand in the direction of some cord grass by the road.

I peered down, and sure enough, there was a pair of Clapper Rails lurking in the thick cord grass, occasionally popping out into the open. The group wandered away, and I watched as the rails foraged briefly on an open path of mud. One of them began bathing in the shallow water nearby.

I turned to a birder I knew who had stayed behind to watch the rails with me and asked "So, have you guys seen anything else interesting around here today?"

"Not really, though there's a Loggerhead Shrike out there," he casually responded.

Wow. Wait. Loggerhead Shrike?! This species has declined because of extensive habitat destruction throughout the county over the last few decades to the point that it is quite rare. I never expected to add it to my Bigby list, yet there was one perched on a snag far out in the marsh, scanning for small rodents or other tasty morsels. I thanked the birder, and spent several more minutes watching the rails and the shrike before continuing on.

I managed to reach Little Corona City Beach unscathed a short time afterwards, barely avoiding a couple idiots who almost ran me down. I began scoping from the top of the bluff, searching for Black Oystercatchers, loons, or interesting gulls. A friendly old lady, a local most likely searching for conversation, came up to me and when I explained I was "birdwatching" told me she pitied those poor blind pelicans, gesturing towards about a dozen Brown Pelicans loafing on the rocks below the overlook. Blind pelicans? I inquired. Yes, she said, don't they become blind from the cataracts they get from diving in the water? I stifled a laugh and told her that the pelicans could see perfectly well. After a few more minutes of chatting, she left and I set about the serious business of scoping the ocean for seabirds.

This got boring after a couple minutes (and no, I don't even have A.D.D.) - there were hardly any birds. A few Black-vented Shearwaters were doing what they do best, shearing the water, a mile or two offshore. The only other bird of interest was a single Red-throated Loon that flew by, a new species for my Bigby list. I descended to the beach, toting my scope on my shoulder and nibbling on my lunch as I hopped and slid around the slick rocks in search of Black Oystercatchers. I walked down the beach quite a ways, finding Black Turnstone, Ruddy Turnstone, Willet, Whimbrel, and Black-bellied Plover, but no oystercatchers. Huh, I thought to myself, I came all this way for a single lousy Red-throated Loon? Apparently so.

I began drifting home. I rewarded myself with a Coke and a candy bar (I enjoy eating healthy lunches when I go out for bike rides), and finished the rest of my lunch. I mostly ignored all the birds as I rode back around Upper Newport Bay, since I had already looked at them on the way and knew that they were all Marbled Godwits and Willets (well, mostly...). I debated stopping at San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary again, but decided to let Pectoral Sandpiper go without a fight. I did, however, swing by Mason Regional Park, where someone had seen a Clay-colored Sparrow a few days before. It was just about the worst time of day to be looking for passerines - they all seemed to be taking a siesta. I wearily pedaled home, arriving late in the afternoon with sore muscles, sunny cheeks, and an appetite the size of my bird list of the day. Oh yeah, the bird list. Without really trying, I tallied one hundred and twenty-eight species. Not bad for a day of biking - it beats my previous record by about ten. One hundred and forty is possible with a bit of route-tweaking. That will be for another day, however.

Definition of Insanity

I panted, gasping for breath in the muggy air. I could almost hear my legs screaming for mercy as I pressed on up the hill on my bike. And, of course, it was blazing hot. Why are you doing this to yourself? That evil little voice piped up in my head. I experimentally ran my tongue over my upper lip. Sweat. Lots of it. You know why, I countered.

The reason for torturing myself? A small, dark sandpiper; a Solitary Sandpiper, in other words. One had been hanging around recently in the San Diego Creek near the Irvine Civic Center, and it was a species I was keen to add to my Bigby list. Heavy-duty school starts up next week (gotta love the Junior year!), so today was just about my last chance to pedal after it. Too bad it was so hot...

After a rather pleasant but lengthy bike ride, I reached the San Diego Creek early this morning and began cruising along the bike trail that follows the creek. I intently scanned the creek bed for suspicious shorebirds as I pedaled along. I passed the Irvine Civic Center without seeing any sign of a Solitary Sandpiper. Hmm. I pulled a U-turn and retraced my path, more carefully scrutinizing all the hidden patches of water. Still no luck - the same Least Sandpipers, Greater Yellowlegs, and White-faced Ibises (or Ibii?) skittered through the shallow water, and my eyes skipped over them without pause. Well, San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary is close by. Maybe it hopped over there for a while. Worth a look, anyway.

I rolled into the sanctuary a few minutes later, unpacked my scope, and set out to check the first several ponds. Pond E was parched - the bone-dry bottom of the pond looked like a giant brown jigsaw puzzle, the earth was so cracked. Pond D, however, still had plenty of water. The first bird I laid my eyes upon was a small, dark sandpiper standing by itself in a corner of the pond. My "think like the bird" mode produced positive results for once!



After I had spent ten minutes admiring the bird, it took off towards the creek, calling as it dwindled into a black speck fleeing into the distance. Makes me glad I didn't dawdle ten more minutes on the ride down! I walked around other parts of San Joaquin, but found very little. By now, the sun was high in the sky, and it was ridiculously hot and humid. I grimaced as I thought of the ride home.

The ride home was every bit as awful as I had anticipated. It was not long before my shirt was soaked with sweat, and I could feel myself becoming dehydrated even though I frequently stopped to gulp mouthfuls of tepid water from my water bottle. When I finally rolled wearily into my garage in the early afternoon, I was more than ready to kick off my shoes, slurp down a frosty root beer float, and type "Solitary Sandpiper" into cell #214 of my Bigby list in Microsoft Excel.

Loaded Down

Binoculars can reach only so far. I quickly realized this soon after I began birding, while squinting through binoculars at ducks bobbing around far out in the chilly water of the Detroit River. It was November 1999, and I was on my first official field trip with the Detroit Audubon Society. Other birders with scopes began reeling off the identifications: Canvasback, Common Goldeneye, Hooded Merganser. The scope-wielding birders were kind enough to let me use their scopes; I was so short at the time that my dad had to heft me up to the eyepiece so I could get a quick glimpse of the bird.

I've owned a scope for years, but it is difficult to go birding by bike with a scope. That's a problem - it is very tough to add shorebirds and seabirds to one's Bigby list when you can't have a scope along. Fortunately, I've come up with a solution.

I purchased a back rack for my bike, along with a set of pannier bags. I put my binoculars, lunch, maps, and other items in the bags, and then strap the tripod to the rack. My scope is too large to fit comfortably in one of the bags, so I toss it in my backpack. As a result, my bike is loaded down with gear, but it works!

This morning I set off early, determined to reach the beach and add some seabirds to my Bigby list. My route took me around the Upper Newport Bay loop, which turned out to be a good thing. As I was whizzing along, I heard the harsh calls of a Clapper Rail and then glimpsed it as it flew a few feet and then disappeared back into the marsh. These Clapper Rails are notoriously difficult to find, and I've missed them on my several other visits to the bay this year. Otherwise, there were very few birds at the bay.

I reached Little Corona City Beach around 9:30. I've always found the birding decent at this little rocky beach, and today did not disappoint. Immediately upon arrival, I spotted a Pelagic Cormorant sitting among other cormorants on a rock just offshore. Another new Bigby bird. I hurriedly set up my scope and began scanning the ocean. It didn't take long for me to spot a few Sooty Shearwaters buzzing the swells well offshore, and they were soon followed by a couple Black-vented Shearwaters. Both of these were new Bigby birds for me.

In my hurry to scan the offshore waters, I neglected to check the rocks below the overlook for shorebirds. When I did finally look down, I was delighted to see five Wandering Tattlers nonchalantly loafing on the rocks. Yet another new Bigby bird for me, and always a neat bird to see. I clambered over the rocks and was able to approach closely for photos (I could only fit three of the birds in the frame).



After loitering around a bit longer, I turned around and began the long journey home. I managed to get out of the crowded and confusing maze of streets in Corona del Mar unscathed, and soon was cruising back around Upper Newport Bay. I stopped to scan a flock of shorebirds feeding on a distant mudflat, and after much careful scrutiny, I picked out a single Red Knot. Another new Bigby bird for me, bringing the tally of new Bigby birds for the day to six.

The ride home was anything but fun - pedaling uphill for miles in oppressive heat is exhausting. It was worth it, though; I haven't added six species to my Bigby list in a single day since March. When I finally arrived home at 2:15, I was more than ready for a hearty snack and a cold shower. The six new Bigby birds I added today brought my total to two hundred thirteen. Not too crummy - I wonder how many more I can find before the year ends? With the help of my new scope-carrying technology, hopefully many more.

Three Digits, Starting with a Two

I slouched on the uncomfortable bench and surveyed the scene before me. Birds were plentiful. Still... where were they? Sure, the American Avocets, Great Blue Herons, Pied-billed Grebes, and Black-necked Stilts were there, but that was the usual fare. I was looking for those tiny white screechy birds that fly around and dive into the water. They're supposed to be here... but why aren't they? I felt slightly betrayed. I could bike down to Back Bay - they are all over the place there, after all. However, laziness (or was it weariness?) prevented me from abandoning my post. I slid down farther on the bench, shivering a little in the cool breeze.

Then I heard it. "Cher-bink! Cher-bink!" I looked up, and there it was: a Least Tern (code name: Toy Tern) I stayed on the bench for a few minutes and watched it as it dove for food in the pond. I wouldn't have to bike down to Back Bay, after all; I was at San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary. Number two hundred and two for my Bigby list.

Huh? Wait - since when is Neil's Bigby list over two hundred? Since today. It's a long story, but today I decided I must break two hundred.

Prior to today, my Bigby list had been balanced at one ninety-nine for nearly two weeks. I set off early this morning, and steadily pedaled down the mountains to sea trail. My target was Grasshopper Sparrow, and I knew just where to find it: Sepulveda Vista Point, immediately adjacent to UCI. As I labored up the hills along Culver Drive, doubts crept into my head. Sure, there had been a Grasshopper Sparrow there on Birdathon, but that was a whole month ago. Would it still be there?

I panted up to hill to the point (I locked up my bike at the bottom of the hill and headed up on foot. I am an adventurous person, but I won't ever try to bike up that hill), ears cocked. Horned Larks sang with their tinkly voices, a Blue Grosbeak warbled away, and... A GRASSHOPPER SPARROW BUZZED! I couldn't help but perform a little victory dance (no one was in sight, fortunately). Number two hundred! I crept up the grassy hillside and managed to spot it sitting on top of a metal post. It sang frequently.


Non-birders would certainly not understand my excitement over this bird. If a non-birder saw one (which is very unlikely, because the elusive Grasshopper Sparrow has become very uncommon in Orange County), he would undoubtedly shrug it off as "a sparrow". If you aren't impressed by this bird's looks, then you won't be impressed by its song; many would either completely miss it or pass it off as an insect. I think it is a very interesting bird though. I stalked it, getting excellent looks and not-so-excellent photos before it fluttered off with its stubby wings.

Satisfied, I cruised back down all the hills I had labored up on the way and soon arrived at San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary. I had expected to easily find Least Terns, a species I still needed for my Bigby list. In reality, I had trouble with this one. I did find a Willow Flycatcher near the parking lot, a little brownish flycatcher that looks a lot like about twenty other little brownish flycatchers. I suspected it was a Willow Flycatcher when I first spotted it, and the bird was courteous enough to call to clinch the identification. Bigby bird number two hundred and one.

I finished up at Pond Two (as described above) with a couple Least Terns, my third new Bigby bird for the day. My birding for the day, however, was not done. While biking up the San Diego Creek Trail towards home, I noticed this flock of gorgeous White-faced Ibis.


After I had finished gawking at the ibis, I noticed this Black-crowned Night-Heron (code name: Night-crowned Black-Heron) staring up at me from the rocks below.


After a lengthy bike ride (why do all the hills have to be the last few miles when I'm most tired?), I arrived home. I rode precisely 35.38 miles (I got one of those nifty bike odometers), picked up three new Bigby birds, and had an immeasurable amount of fun. Oh yeah, and I got exercise. What more could one ask for?