Emphatic Hepatic

We were cruising down the 5 Freeway. Songs of praise and worship softly playing from the car stereo. Both of us unusually quiet. Unbeknownst to each other, we were thinking the same thoughts: Given our recent spate of bad luck, is it worth driving the 120-odd miles to San Diego to see a species of tanager that is seldom seen in these parts of California? But we are birders and birders are made of sterner stuff. We take our disappointments lightly and our victories jubilantly. We persevere, taking no-shows with a grain of salt and then moving on.

We arrived at Imperial Beach around 9 am and not seeing any McDonalds to uphold our tradition, we settled for Jack in the Box instead. There we partook breakfast noting that the other clientele were a group of elderly Pinoys (must be retired U.S. Navy personnel, we presumed).

Hunger satisfied, we proceeded to the Tijuana River Estuary Visitor Center to inquire on the whereabouts of their local avian celebrity. The Park Ranger was apologetic, unable to give us the exact location of our quarry. We peered at every tree in the vicinity hoping to glimpse something red. Nothing. It’s still early, I told Cynthia, but more as a self-encouragement. It was true in a way though, as previous sightings were reported anywhere between 10:30 am and 1 pm.

We decided to go to the Bird and Butterfly Garden not too far away. Along the way, Cynthia suddenly pointed to a dark thing in a tree. “Hawk!” she shouted. I screeched to a halt, grabbed my binoculars and saw not one but two Red-shouldered Hawks. Hastily, I assembled my camera and quietly inched closer. Despite my stealth, one of the birds (of course, it had to be the male, which is much colorful) flew off. Thankfully, I was able to get a pretty decent shot of the remaining hawk.

The garden itself was frustratingly quiet, except for some cooperative Juncos. At least I was able to take a picture of one that is not on the ground. Juncos are seed-eaters and spend the majority of their lives feeding on grassfields. That morning we saw more kinds of butterflies than we did of birds. Instead of sparrows we saw sparrow-parrow, ha-ha. And this despite my attempts at “pishing”. I just finished reading a book called “The Art of Pishing”. Pishing is the alliterative term of getting the attention of wild birds by making sounds from the lips as in “pssh”. Done right (right being the operative word) it is supposed to guarantee that birds of various species would show up upon hearing these strange sibilations. I guess I need to practice more.

Not getting anywhere, bird-wise, we thought we’d give the tanager another chance. Just as we parked, we saw this birding couple (the binoculars were a give-away) with smiles on their faces. We asked the customary, “Have you seen it?” question. We got an enthusiastic “yes!”

“It was in a tree with red flowers, between the apartment complex and the ballfield” we were told.

In a flash, we were at the prescribed site. We saw a group of birders but they were all looking at a different direction. I fixed my gaze on the tree with red flowers (which was behind the birders) and soon enough I saw it. I trained my long lens on the bird and all of a sudden the other birders stampeded to where we were. The long drive was worth it after all as we added Hepatic Tanager to our life lists.

Flushed with our success and it being past noon, we went native and had lunch at Margie’s Karihan just a few miles away. We have eaten here before but we have forgotten how generous the servings were! The Lechon Kawali and fried Tilapia being taken cared of, we went on one last sortie into the Estuary itself. The wind was picking up a bit but we still saw some birds: Says’ Phoebe, a smattering of Sparrows (House, White-crowned and Savannah), Whimbrels preparing to take a nap, a Killdeer already napping, Willets twittering among themselves. As I was meandering along the creek, Cynthia yelled, “Clapper Rail!” I turned just in time to catch a glimpse of the ruddy colored marsh bird skulking among the reeds. I stalked the rail as it weaved in and out of the tall grass. Everytime it disappears from view, Cynthia would clap loudly to coax it to show itself for a photo op. (It is, after all, a “clapper” rail). While we were waiting for the Clapper Rail to reappear, a man wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, shoes and binoculars came by and talked animatedly about his various bird sightings in the area. Remember that it was quite windy and Cynthia and I were both clad in jackets. The weather and the man both getting more blustery, we concluded it was prudent to head back to the Jeep.

As we drove back home, we both realized that the spell has been broken, we got our lifer and even a bonus in the Clapper Rail – a bird not easily seen.

Cynthia missed her afternoon siesta, though.

Go San Diego

Friday, July 1st, was a very hectic day at the office, perhaps THE most hectic day ever in my 5 years or so with this Division of our company.

So I decided to make the most of the coming long weekend. Plans were made to go birding in San Diego, one of the places we have not been to yet.

Awakened at around 5:30 am by the incessant twittering of the neighborhood mockingbird, we lazily got out of bed, packed an overnight bag (we planned to bird for two days there) and off we went. The sun was already up although the skies were a bit overcast. The drive was smooth and we reached our destination in about two hours. The place was called Dairy Mart ponds, I guess because of the various cattle farms on each side of the road. At the end of the road was Border State Park, aptly named for its proximity to the Mexican border. But the gate was closed! The sign says the gate opens at 9:30 am so we waited and birded the vicinity for a while. We saw a prairie falcon just beyond the gate perched on a telephone wire. I grabbed my camera gear and with the stealth of a stalking leopard approached my quarry. But, the keenness of the falcon's eyes were better than my best stalking capabilities and it flew away just as I was about to focus my lens on it. That was a portent of things to come, an omen that the vast conglomerate of feathered conspirators are trying to inculcate in my addled brain.

But then once in a while, lady luck would smile and I would spot a Blue Grosbeak. Not really my best shot - the bird was a football field away.

We also heard (a lot) and saw (once) a Yellow-breasted Chat but its picture was denied me. After a wait of about an hour (and I thought Americans were punctual) the gate was finally opened and we proceeded to the park which overlooks the ocean and the city of Tijuana, Mexico. We were so close to the border that the bullring was just a stone's throw away (Ok you have to be a big-league pitcher to be able to throw that far. Ok, ok, you have to use a slingshot).

The Border State Park was quite unproductive, bird-wise, so we proceeded to the Tijuana Estuary where we met up with some local birders who were quite agog over some rare species that was found in the area. It wasn't long before Don, one of the birders, shouted, "There it is!". And there it was, in all it's glory just a few feet away from us - a Yellow-crowned Night Heron. The uncommon bird just stayed there in the creek doing what night herons do, unmindful of the throng of bulged-eyed, jaw-hanging bunch of elderly (and not-so-elderly) people just going ga-ga over it. I, of course, took that opportunity and just fired away. 

We were even given a bonus by the sight of a mother Clapper Rail escorting her two chicks across the creek.

Having our fill of these beautiful birds, we then decided to satisfy our cravings for something more mundane.  A stop at Margie's Karihan nearby (a Filipino restaurant in San Ysidro? Wow!)  calmed the growling beast in our bellies. Flushed and energized by Bistek and Sinigang na Baboy we proceeded to Lake Murray in Chula Vista. The place turned out to be a dud. Next stop was Mission Gorge where, we were told, we will find lots of Blue Grosbeaks and Yellow-breasted Chats. Well, we didn't see those birds, not even one! But we did see a Violet-Green Swallow which was a lifer for me. (Note to the uninitiated: A lifer is a bird that you see for the first time in your life, which, of course, will be added to your life list - a list of all the birds you have seen in your lifetime). 

We also saw a Yellow Warbler (or is it?) but as I have said before, the feathered conspiracy was up against us.

It was getting late in the afternoon, the heat was sweltering so instead of spending the night in San Diego, we decided to return home. We just felt that we had birded the San Diego area to the hilt and one more day there would not bring anything new to our list. We took the I-15 route going back. It was then that I decided to fulfill a long-time promise to Cynthia that I will take her to this fabulous seafood restaurant in Temecula. Vera Cruz is still the same as I remember it; cozy, with a huge aquarium lining the walls. The 30-minute wait was worth it as we gorged ourselves with shrimp, scallops and filets of fish skewered and grilled to perfection. We drove home heavily laden. We were in a state of semi-stupor when we got home and it didn't take long before we were off to slumberland. It was a good day.