"I'll be back..." *

Mountain Plovers are unappealing little birds that scurry unnoticeably over dry fields. They are, according to the Sibley Guide “distinctively plain brown in all plumages” and their call “a coarse grrt or lower dirp”. If they are so dull plumaged and do not even have a beautiful song, why would I travel 200 miles - again - to Calipatria to look for them?

The answer is: a) Mountain Plovers would be a lifer for me and my wife, b) we didn’t see them the two times we’ve been to Calipatria last month, and 3) every birder and his uncle who had been to Calipatria this winter had seen them. By the hundreds!

And so, for the third time in two months, we checked in at the Calipatria Inn on Friday, Feb. 20. This time we were armed with reliable information as to the time and place to best observe the plovers. And boy, we were firm-jawed, squinty-eyed determined.

Dawn, Saturday, we were already scouring the various burnt fields along Highway 111. And finding nothing. We would occasionally get excited when we would spot some brown birds only to discover that they were either Marbled Godwits or Long-billed Curlews. Inasmuch as the most recent sightings of the Mountain Plovers were at the intersection of Highway 111 and Hoober Street (that’s how it really is spelled) we decided to park the Jeep there and fixed our gazes on the blackened field before us as the sun slowly rose from the horizon. I decided to explore further afield on foot to see if the brown spots we were seeing were actually birds and not just clumps of dry grass. It turned out to be the latter. It’s funny (or frustrating, depending on how you look at it) when sometimes our eyes would play tricks on us telling our brain what we had hoped to see instead of what was actually there). Desperation was starting to kick in. Would we fail again, for the third time, in seeing the Mountain Plovers? I was on my way back to the Jeep (where Cynthia remained, unable to stand the icy blasts of wind) when I saw about a dozen small brown birds alight in the middle of the burnt field. Finally – Mountain Plovers! I crouched towards them, all the while taking pictures with my handheld zoom lens, unconcerned with the huge distance between me and my subjects. I just wanted to get some “documentary” shots before the birds get spooked by this ungainly mammal creeping towards them. Soon more birds were flying in and I was able to get within maybe 30 feet of the nearest flock. Noticing that these plovers were not that skittish at all, I returned to the Jeep to replace my camera gear with the bigger 500mm lens. Soon I was there in the middle of a burnt field the size of a city block my heart beating furiously and my spirit soaring as I was surrounded by plain-looking brown birds that spoke to me in "grrrts" and "dirps" .

Having had our fill of Mountain Plovers, my wife and I could not believe how easy it was to find them. Where have we gone wrong the first two times we were here? My bad, actually, for not getting sufficient information and not planning well enough our itinerary before we set off on our birding trip to the Salton Sea. Perhaps it was also because we were concentrating on finding the Sandhill Cranes and Snow Geese on those first two trips – they were our priority then. But this day, we got our target bird. And even got a bonus. We also saw and photographed the pair of Tundra Swans at Unit 1 of the Salton Sea Wildlife Refuge – another lifer for us.

* The Terminator, 1984

"Life is like a flock of gulls..." *

“You’ll never know what you will get.”

South end of the Salton Sea. We just pulled into the corner of Lack and Lindsey Roads. There were cars lining up the edge of the narrow dirt road some 20 feet above the shoreline. Birders from the San Bernardino Valley Audubon Society were lined up by the road peering into their spotting scopes at the birds below. We asked one of the birders, Dave Chadsey whom I have met at Legg Lake before looking for the Bay-breasted Warbler,  if there was anything interesting down there. “Just a bunch of gulls, including some Herrings”, he replied casually. My wife and I looked at each other. “Herring Gulls, you say?” I commented in the same casual tone – trying to sound like I have seen this species a gazillion times already (which Dave probably had) – when as a matter of fact it would be a lifer for Cynthia and myself. So I raised my binoculars to the group of gulls bunched together on tiny strip of mudflat below and tried to figre out which of these are the Herring Gulls. As I was just about to take a picture of the gull flock, Dave announced that the group are moving on to Obsidian Butte to try and look for the Yellow-footed Gull. I asked Dave if it’s alright that we tag along. Graciously he said ok. We quickly packed our gear (thus not being able to photograph the Herring Gull(s?) and jumped into our Jeep since the birding caravan had started to move.

By and large, birders are very nice and accommodating. However….

Yesterday afternoon we drove to Unit 1 of the Salton Sea Refuge. At the observation deck, we met an elderly couple who were scanning the area with binoculars. We asked them the usual “Anything interesting?” question. The little old lady smiled and said, “Well, there’s a bird…..”. We waited for the continuation. A few minutes passed. Had we been sitting, we would have fallen off our seats at the unbearable suspense. But then she just smiled and continued looking through her binoculars. At this point,  Cynthia and I descended from the observation deck and walked towards the ponds further down the road, to look for one of our target birds, the Stilt Sandpiper. When we were out of earshot from the couple on the deck, I yelled, “What bird was it?” My wife stared at me and was at once concerned with my state of mind. “I just needed to vent”, I assured her. Having done that, I was now able to breathe normally. Thankfully, as some sort of a palliative, we got our Stilt Sandpipers.

The following morning, at the same area, we met Taurino Tadeo, a young guy we have also met previously at Bolsa Chica. Taurino and I have a lot of things in common: we are both half-Filipino, we enjoy photography, we love birds and we are both exceedingly good-looking (well, at least he is). We exchanged information on where to look for particular birds, him giving us directions on where to find Burrowing Owls, and us showing him where the Sandhill Cranes hang-out during the day. Wishing each other good luck, we parted ways on our separate missions.

Back at Obsidian Butte with Dave and the group, it didn’t take long for them to locate the Yellow-footed Gull. The bird was quite a distance – perhaps the length of a city block - but the San Bernardino Auduboner’s were so nice in letting us look through their spotting scopes. We were so grateful to them for our 7^th lifer of the year.

They decided to stick around to look for the Lesser Black-backed Gull, so we grudgingly said goodbye to the friendly group inasmuch as we still have to look for our other target birds: Mountain Plover, Sprague’s Pipit and Chestnut-backed Longspurs.

  

We failed miserably on those three despite searching diligently for over two hours the areas where they were reported seen. On the return trip home we took the east side (Highway 111) route. On a whim, we decided to stop by Mecca Beach on the north shore of the sea. There we were greeted by gulls! Lot’s of them! Easily I recognized Ring-billeds and Bonaparte’s. Then a huge gull with dark wings flew over and alighted on some rocks about a hundred feet away. “I think that’s a Lesser Black-backed Gull”, I told my wife. “It was reported seen here quite recently.”

 “Then, what are you waiting for?”, she asked. “Go after it.”

 A hundred feet seemed like forever when chasing a lifer, but eventually I was able to get close. Close enough to correctly identify the gull as a Lesser Black-Backed.

As we resumed the trip home, our conversation went something like...

"What about that other gull?  Is that a third year Western?"

"Could be a winter adult California"

"…..might be a Thayer’s, you know……"

"another Herring, maybe?..."

"..but the irises are pale...."

"I love the smell of Snow Geese in the morning!" *

"I love the smell of snow geese in the morning!"

These were the words I spoke to my wife as we were standing at the edge of a ditch at the Unit 1 area of the Salton Sea National Wildlife Refuge on a cold wintry morning. Before us thousands of Snow Geese were beginning to stir as the light of dawn slowly brightened up the cloudless skies. A little to our left about two dozen Sandhill Cranes were already busy feeding among the tall grass.

On New year's Day we decided to leave the hustle and bustle of the Rose Parade in Pasadena for the peace and quiet of birding at the Salton Sea. We have not visited this place during winter and we were hoping that we could begin the year by adding some new species to our lifelist. We were not disappointed. We saw our first flock of Snow Geese minutes after we arrived at the Sonny Bono Wildlife Refuge headquarters at around 10:30 am. A covey of Gambel's Quails were noisily availing of the seeds that fell from the feeder, while Abert's Towhees and White-crowned Sparrows were battling for prime space on the feeders. Common Ground Doves were mingling with the quails below. Here we met fellow birder Tom Wurster who gave excellent directions on where we could find the best birding areas.

After checking in at the Calipatria Inn, we headed to Keystone Road south of the city of Brawley. Along the way we encountered a huge flock of Cattle Egrets next to the highway. The fields east of the sugar factory at Keystone were pretty quiet so we drove farther until we got to the intersection of Dogwood. It was here that Cynthia pointed to a group of tall birds. "Sandhill Cranes!" I exclaimed as both of us jumped out of the Jeep and tried getting some pictures of the distant birds. Eventually the cranes flew off. We tried to follow the flock but they landed in a field where access was prohibited. Through dogged persistence, we were able to find a place to park and I walked towards where the cranes were now feeding. I borrowed Cynthia's lighter camera gear and after about a quarter mile, I located the tall birds and took some shots. After a while, the cranes once again flew off this time towards the horizon.

On my way back to the Jeep (my wife remained there) I was startled when a Burrowing Owl flushed and flew by me. I chased it down but then it flew back until it settled between Cynthia and myself. Through intricate hand signals, my wife finally understood what I was trying to convey and she grabbed my camera with the 500mm lens attached to it. Handholding that camera set-up she took a burst of shots at the owl while I slowly approached from the other side and tried to take some pictures as well, despite my subject being backlit and all.

           my shot:

    Cynthia's shot:

The following morning we were at Unit 1 and we were so overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of birds around us. Wave upon wave of Snow Geese were flying overhead while Sandhill Cranes were bugling and rattling below. We had not seen this kind of avian spectacle ever before and we stood there entranced by the beauty of it all.

Reluctantly, we left this awesome pageant. We had to be at the fields next to the Calipatria State Prison for the pipits and the longspurs. The only pipit we saw were Americans and not the longed for Sprague's. Savannah Sparrows darted back and forth across the road and we hoped that there would be some longspurs among them but we dipped on those as well. The birders that we met here were all talking about the Bendire's Thrasher that was seen within the premises of a residential area in Calipatria. Tom also mentioned it yesterday. Since it would be a lifer for us, we decided to join the group in searching for the uncommon thrasher. We were soon rewarded by a glimpse of the shy, skulking, nondescript bird. The thrasher had a habit of showing up briefly on the branches of a dead tree and then diving to the ground and out of sight.

While we were all waiting for the bird to reappear, I saw a flash of red overhead. It was a Vermillion Flycatcher grabbing a moth in mid-air. It landed on an electrical wire where it consumed its prey.

With the owner of the place where the thrasher hangs out getting a little antsy, we thought it prudent to take an early exit.

After lunch we returned to Keystone road where we once again saw a flock of Sandhill Cranes. Along the sea were more Snow Geese, countless Northern Pintails and Gulls of various kinds.

We wanted to be home before it got really dark so we left around 3 pm. Burned into our memories were the sights of thousands of geese darkening the blue skies as they flew overhead and the raucous calls of the Sandhill Cranes as they danced in celebration of a new year. Racking up three lifers is indeed a glorious way to start our birding year.

Do you sea what I sea?

Another unpaved road. With a ditch alongside. Prime Burrowing Owl territory, I mused. We are still at Salton Sea. Having just bombed on locating the Blue-footed Booby, we are on another quest.

It wasn’t long before I spotted the burrowing owls. I stopped the jeep on the side of the road. Grabbed my gear and just I as I was about to point the camera to the birds, they flew. Far. Beyond photographic range. Muttering, I returned the equipment to the car. A silver Audi pulls up in front of us. Tall, balding guy comes out grinning.

“What were you shooting?” he asked.

“Burrowing Owls”, my somewhat surly reply.

He was soon joined by Lucia, his Filipina partner. They drove all the way from San Jose, we learned. To photograph birds at the Salton Sea. All four of us talked shop for a while.

“Look, a dead owl!”, Lucia exclaimed as they prepared to leave.

And there it was, the desiccated corpse of a young owl lying a few inches in front of their car.

Several hours passed. Sun beats on us mercilessly. Cynthia notices her sunglasses are missing. She looks everywhere. Practically turned the jeep inside out. Still nothing.
This is the fourth pair of sunglasses she lost. Fearing the wrath of the buying husband, she offers something I can’t refuse. She will find birds for me for the rest of my life. I did not refuse.

On the way back, I wanted to try my luck with the burrowing owls again. This time no owls. Nada. Zip. Zero. No live ones, that is. I see the dead owl. Something brown lying beside it. I sighed. I pointed the object to Cynthia. She jumps from the jeep. Grabs the brown thing. Waves it in front of my face. Smiling from ear-to-ear. No more birding guides for the rest of my life.

A Tern for the Better

The Salton Sea saga continues. No luck on the Booby. The Burrowing Owls have flown the coop. Next target is the Piping Plover. A rarity. Last seen in Southern California 40 years ago. Little did we know that to see it, we have to negotiate a narrow trail. Next to a body of water. We chickened out. Not desiring to risk dumping precious equipment and lots of pride should we stumble from the precarious viewing area. Not worth it, I consoled myself. The photographer and miser overruling the birder in me.

We are now batting 0 for 3. Not good statistics. Decided to hit the Obsidian Butte (pronounced byut). The road runs parallel to the sea. We parked when I saw some seabirds. The usual suspects. I sighed. Was about to board the jeep when something black flew by. Not too many black seabirds, I said to myself. Could it be a...? I have read in the Yahoo listserves that they been spotted here before. But then, with the kind of luck I'm having...

Brought up my binoculars. Hope guiding my eyes to the flying black bird. Could it be a...? Grabbed my Sibley's Field Guide. Trembling hands and eager eyes scanning the pages. Yes! Yes, it is a Black Tern! A lifer for me! Quickly set-up my camera and fired away. Memories are made of this.

Am I blue?

The end of Route 76 is narrow and unpaved. There were already a couple of SUVs and a car parked on the grassy area where the road ends. We nodded to the man standing beside his red car. He nodded back.

“Have you seen it?” I asked.

“Nah”, he replied. “That guy has been here since daybreak”, he said pointing to a man sitting inside his black Explorer with his eyes closed, “and he hasn’t seen it either”.

We spied some men at the shoreline about a mile away peeping through their scopes.

“Well, we’re gonna try our luck”

We trudged along the seashell-strewn shore, crunching sounds breaking the eerie silence of the early morning. Suddenly we saw four men walking towards us. All are carrying their spotting scopes on their shoulders. We hailed the first one.

“No sight of the bird?”

“No luck”, he said exasperatingly, “nothing but dead fish and flies”

We turned back. No sense in walking a mile for nothing. The no-show bird was a Blue-footed Booby. A rarity. A bird commonly found in offshore rocks and isles. Certainly not in an inland body of water as the Salton Sea.

Back at the Jeep, Cynthia noticed something unusual.

“You have brown shorts, brown t-shirt, brown shoes. A brown hat even. But why, pray tell, are you wearing blue socks?”

We did not see the Blue-footed Booby that day. But we had a Blue-socked Bobby.