Numerical and pictorial highlights of a cross-continental meander

PREMISE

My original summer plan was to travel to backcountry Alaska to work as a research assistant with Kittlitz's Murrelets. However, a stubborn lower back injury rendered me unfit for service, so I opted to head to Alabama early to commence my graduate research. I decided to take the long way.

THE NUMBERS

20  -  days on the road
4298.2  -  miles traveled
9  -  peanut butter burritos consumed
261  -  species of birds
14  -  states
5  -  life birds
7  -  cans of iced tea imbibed (Georgia Peach Peace Tea being the favorite)
1  -  night of sleep in a Walmart parking lot
6  -  life states (Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Arkansas Mississippi, Alabama)
2  -  factories toured (Noosa Yogurt and New Belgium Brewing)
27  -  episodes of The Memory Palace podcast enjoyed
1  -  bird-car collision (I think it was a Barn Swallow)
16  -  plays of the Songs for Traveling CD

Three weeks behind the wheel

Svelte Stilt Sandpipers slice the sky. Salt Plains National Wildlife Refuge, Oklahoma.

Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Salt Plains National Wildlife Refuge, Oklahoma

Field Sparrow bouncing acoustic balls. Tallgrass Prairie Preserve, Oklahoma.

Western angles, nostalgia. Tulsa, Oklahoma

Yellow-headed Blackbird staking his claim somewhere on the divide between the Rockies and the Great Basin

Give us this day the tenacity of weasels. Great Salt Lake, Utah.

Brutal phalarope fly-by. Great Salt Lake, Utah.

Possibly one of the least appreciated birds in North America, the peerless Downy Woodpecker. Boulder County, CO

Bound for the taiga, a Blackpoll, a rare-ish bird in the shadow of the Rockies. Boulder County, Colorado.

Bighorn Sheep. Gunnison, Colorado

Creative scoping solutions for windy days

Antelope Island Causeway near Salt Lake City, Utah

In praise of sewage ponds

     I reclined on the less-than-comfortable scree and gazed across Lake Michigan to the hazy outline of the Upper Peninsula. I plunged my trembling hand elbow-deep into the bag at my side, sufficiently calorie-deprived that the dry raisin bran tasted delicious. I have the chronic problem of skimping on food when I hike. My only fuel for the day of hiking had been a stale bagel generously upholstered with peanut butter.

      I turned my attention to the DeLorme atlas sprawled across my lap, searching for birding sites in the three-hour swathe of Michigan that separated me from the Fall Out Boy concert to which I had spontaneously purchased tickets.

      Like a hummingbird attracted to red, my eye fell upon a cluster of rectangular ponds outside Houghton Lake—sewage ponds! Birders are fascinated with sewage ponds—a strange but entirely understandable fixation, since such facilities attract birds the way coffee shops attract hipsters.

      Yes, they were sewage ponds, and only a couple miles off the highway. The next afternoon, I turned down the dirt road that ran north of the ponds. Pulled off, scrambled out, and squirmed atop my car. The gleaming ponds teamed with birds—the only problem being they were too distant to identify. Oh, sure, I could pick out a few Lesser Yellowlegs stalking the grassy edges, but the half-mile handicapped my ability to see, let alone identify, most of the birds that were surely present…

      Why not go to the office and ask to go in? I thought. The worst they can say is no. I squinted again at the blots oscillating in the heat waves. Then I slid from the roof, collapsed my tripod, and drove toward the office.

      Doubt arrived with its corresponding fear. I pictured burly, tattooed men in overalls hooting at my request to go birding in the ponds. Nevertheless, I pulled up and entered the nondescript office.

      I was greeted not by a burly man but a smiling young receptionist. “Is there any chance I could, uh, go birding around the ponds?” I asked, lifting my binoculars with my question.

      My request did not catch her off guard. “Of course!” she answered. “You can drive around the ponds, as long as you stay on the roads.”

      I battled a strong desire to fly over her desk and shower her feet with kisses. Instead, I mumbled, “Sweet, thanks.” When she handed me the waiver, I spotted a tattoo on her wrist. But, it looked innocuous, and she was neither burly nor wearing overalls. I signed my name and marched out of the office to drive around the ponds. Ducks and Ring-billed Gulls fled the dikes ahead of my car.

      I have lived in the north woods all summer, a beautiful area but tragically free of shorebirds. I hungrily scanned the dikes and pond margins for their furtive brown forms. I enjoyed modest success: a brace of Pectoral Sandpipers, a smattering of Least and Semipalmated Sandpipers, many clamoring Lesser Yellowlegs, and stripy snipes hiding in the grass.

    

     It was the ducks that stole the show. I don’t think of late August as prime duck season, but I found fourteen species of waterfowl. Teal, shoveler, pintail, wigeon, scaup, Redhead—they were all present, unassuming and overlookable in their tattered eclipse plumage.

      I departed happy, eager to visit more sewage lagoons. Until then, I will sit beneath the relatively unpolluted northern stars listening to loons and migrating warblers while dreaming of crisp juvenile Baird’s Sandpipers.

Summer: Sewage, Shorebirds...

Pumping my legs furiously, I crest the hill. Underpasses are short but steep; my quads tingle as I crank into higher gear and lazily peddle onward. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I lean back and stop peddling, allowing momentum to carry the bike forward. I lift up my jersey to feel the cool breeze on my bare chest. Ahhhh—it’s a perfect summer morning: warm, but not uncomfortably so, the sun already high in a completely clear sky.

It would be beautiful, except for the setting.

I glance to my right and behold the mighty San Diego Creek. Creek is a misnomer; it is a large concrete ditch with a trickle of trash (and maybe a bit of water) fermenting in the bottom. Plastic bottles, shopping carts, and algae mats top the menu. The only sign of life is a band of ragged Mallards sifting through the goo. Two dead ones fester in a puddle nearby. I pause and stare at the puddle. I can’t decide whether it’s green or black.

Not only is it an eyesore; this lovely stew smells exactly the way you would imagine it to.

I’ve become accustomed to the sight, smell, and taste of the creek. In fact, I’ve embraced it as a worthy birding spot. Hooded Mergansers often winter in this particular puddle, and migrant shorebirds sometimes stop on the radioactive heaps of slime.

Shorebirds! It’s July, a supposedly boring time of year to go birding. The breeders have been around long enough to become wearisome, and nothing is migrating. Well…not actually. Shorebirds begin sneaking south by mid-June, and by early July the beaches and mudflats swarm with them. They’re not pristine juveniles; the worn adults dominate the scene until mid-August. Still, I enjoy sorting through the battered adults. Each one is unique. This Willet has replaced most of the feathers on the breast, and that one has retained extensive barring…

My ponderings are broken when a tiny sandpiper bursts from a pool of sludge. Breeep? It asks as it careens down the creek. Least Sandpiper! As I watch it disappear down the channel, I try to imagine it on the tundra. Boasting crisp alternate plumage, perhaps it strutted beside an ice-choked pond in hopes of attracting the perfect female. Perhaps it frantically scolded and fluttered by its nest, attemping to distract a lumbering caribou, or polar bear, or shorebird researcher…

But now it’s puttering around a pathetic ditch in the heart of Orange County.

It’s summer. It’s shorebird season.

Semi Stilt

I just thought I'd post a quick note concerning some neat shorebirds I saw today. This morning, while sifting through my email before leaving for a biking expedition to the Santa Ana River, I noticed a post on OrangeCounty Birding by Jim Pike about a Stilt Sandpiper at San Joaquin Wildlife Sanctuary. Though tempted to jettison my biking trip (I was hoping to find Baird's Sandpiper) to chase the Stilt Sandpiper, I carried through with my original plan and birded the Santa Ana River all morning. I didn't see any Baird's Sandpipers, but I did score two new Bigby birds - Tricolored Blackbird and Cattle Egret.

This afternoon I drove down to San Joaquin to chase the pesky Stilt Sandpiper. Noticing some birders intent on something down in the Stilt Sandpiper pond, I hurried over there and quickly had the bird pointed out to me. Though it had its head underwater most of the time (see photo at the top of the post!), I managed to get a few shots of it without its bill submerged. This species is very scarce in the county; it isn't seen every year. It was a new county bird for me.



After photographing, observing, and taking notes on the Stilt Sandpiper for awhile, I turned my attention to the swarms of other shorebirds in the pond. As expected, many dowitchers (both species), Western Sandpipers, and Wilson's Phalaropes were present. I noticed a slightly different peep in small flock of Westerns in the pond, and upon close scrutiny I identified it as a Semipalmated Sandpiper. It was very similar to the Western Sandpipers, except for its very short, stubby bill and lack of rufous on the upperparts.



Semipalmated Sandpiper is another fairly rare shorebird in Orange County; only two or three show up in the county every fall. It is primarily an eastern bird; I saw them all the time when I lived in Michigan, but this was only the second I've seen in California. This photo, which doesn't show the bill, shows the lack of rufous on the upperparts.



I was very pleased to net two good species of shorebirds in a quick afternoon jaunt to San Joaquin. Unfortunately, both species are lacking from my Bigby list, so I'm thinking of riding down there tomorrow afternoon. Some Baird's Sandpipers showed up at Bolsa Chica, so I'll have to figure out a way to chase those, too.

Crystal Clear

I am fascinated by shorebirds, and therefore spend much time observing them. I am lucky to live Orange County in this dimension, since it is possible to observe thirty species in one day. To find the greatest variety and numbers of shorebirds, the experts recommend that you hit the coastal estuaries - Upper Newport Bay and Bolsa Chica are famous for their shorebird-observing potential. However, the birds are often distant, making photography and detailed observation difficult. When my dad and I visited Crystal Cove State Park this morning, it became crystal clear that this is one of the best locations for photographing shorebirds in the county.

Crystal Cove State Park is a lovely stretch of beach alternating between sand and rocks. Washed up kelp and seaweed is not removed, unlike many other beaches, much to the shorebirds' appreciation. Additionally, many people visit the beach so the birds are used to the presence of humans and often allow close approach.

Although Crystal Cove is best known for its shorebird and seabird-watching opportunities, it offers fine "dry-shore" birding a short distance inland. Even the stroll from the parking lot to the beach can be productive, as California Gnatcatcher, Bewick's Wren, Wrentit, and others inhabit the coastal bluffs. This morning as my dad and I were headed for the beach, this California Towhee gave excellent photo opportunities on the edge of the trail.



My favorite part of the beach is the northernmost part of the park, called Treasure Cove. We certainly found a treasure trove of shorebirds there today. The tide was high, so many of the shorebirds were up on the beach snoozing, like this Willet. He didn't mind at all as I slithered through the sand on my belly towards him.



A Black-bellied Plover (though at this time of year, the British name of "Grey Plover" is more fitting) was keeping the napping Willet company. Black-bellied Plovers are normally quite wary, but this individual did not seem alarmed as I clicked away.



Amazingly, the plover stood his ground as I manuevered closer. When I had wormed within eight feet of the bird he decided he had better wake up and keep a careful eye on me. Look at that enormous eye!



The numerous Sanderlings skittering through the surf proved harder to photograph. These hyper bits of fluff can sprint faster than you can track them in the viewfinder! I absolutely love watching Sanderlings race the waves. They inspired me to invent "The Sanderling Game," which I still practice occasionally. More details on that some other time.



Also running through the surf, though much less nimbly than the Sanderlings, were big burly Marbled Godwits. Unlike the Sanderlings, who try to avoid getting their feet lapped by the waves, the godwits often stride through the shallow water, plunging their ridiculously long bills deep into the sand in search of invertebrates.



Other species of shorebirds that I saw, but didn't photograph, included Whimbrel, Black Turnstone, Ruddy Turnstone, and Surfbird. We headed back to the parking lot mid-morning, satisfied with all the shorebirds we had seen. The only hazard of birding at Crystal Cove is stealth waves, which can easily sneak up on you and drench your shoes if you aren't paying attention, as my dad discovered. For those interested in photographing or getting close views of shorebirds, I can highly recommend a visit to Crystal Cove State Park.

Crystal Cove

This morning I went to Crystal Cove State Park, along with Bob Scrimger and my dad. It was the first time I had ever been there! There's an absolutely beautiful beach there that is part rocky with tidal pools and part sandy. The beach was littered with dozens of tame shorebirds. Most of them were very cooperative for photography. Black Turnstones were the most numerous. I was surprised to see them trundling around on the beach, because they normally stick to rocks. Unfortunately, I only managed one decent photo of a Black Turnstone.

Ruddy Turnstones were also very common. The turnstones were constantly churring and squeaking to each other, and it was fun to watch them fight over scraps of seaweed. The Ruddy Turnstones were a bit more cooperative than the Black Turnstones - here's a shot of one taking a break from foraging.

My dad noticed a banded Ruddy Turnstone - not only was it banded, but it was also color banded! The left leg had a yellow color band over a red color band, and the right leg had a regular aluminum band over a while color band. Banders band birds with unique color combinations like this so they don't have to be recaptured to determine where it was banded. It may look like this bird is loaded down with bands, but these bands are extremely light-weight and are no more noticeable to a bird than a human wearing a bracelet. I'll do some research and report this sighting so I can find out where it was banded!

There were quite a few Black-bellied Plovers wandering the beach as well. They were more skittish than the other shorebirds, but this one posed well for one shot.

Several Surfbirds flew in and put on a great show by preening on some rocks at close range. Here's a profile shot of a Surfbird:

By wading through some tidal pools and clambering over slippery rocks, I was able to get closer the Surfbird in better light. They are handsome birds! They are more dumpy and heavy-looking than turnstones.

Of course, Willets were very common along the whole beach. They are one of the most widespread shorebirds along the Orange County coastline and in the tidal marshes. This one paid no attention to be as I stalked it over the slick rocks.

Next time I go to Crystal Cove (which will hopefully be soon!) I will wear a swimsuit - kneeling in the sand and wading through water to get close-up shots of shorebirds gets messy!

I can highly recommend Crystal Cove State Park to anyone interested in shorebirds or photography. Even if you don't have a camera, it's amazing to watch shorebirds at such close range! The beach is very beautiful as well.