Black-capped Vireo + Morelet's Seedeater = 500!

March 26

After a full day of guiding Kristin and Ally from the Carolinas (highlights of the day included a female Crimson-collared Grosbeak, an adult male Bullock's Oriole, and the continuing female Elegant Trogon), we were about to part ways when a text alert about a Black-capped Vireo at the very far end of Estero Llano Grande State Park came through. These girls had already walked more than nine miles with me, and the temperature was nearing 90, the hottest day of the spring so far. 

I quickly explained the situation to them, stating that this is a very rare bird for the area, and not only a needed year bird, but also a life bird for me. I offered for them to join me if desired - but the situation would change - I'm no longer their guide, and they're tagging along on my journey! Despite being very tired, they both perked up and decided to join for the additional two miles. We hiked our butts over to the far side of the Camino de Aves Trail; well, I'll admit to running the last section! Javier, John, and some other park staff and volunteers were already in the area, and within ten minutes of our arrival, we refound the bird again! 

Black-capped Vireo at Estero State Park 

Year List: 499

March 27

A morning upriver at Salineno Preserve turned up a heard-only Morelet's Seedeater in the reeds near the boat ramp, then it quickly vanished (immigrated to Mexico, maybe). Many of the usual good birds for this site were still present - a few Audubon's Oriole's, Hooded Orioles, Gray Hawk, Green and Ringed Kingfishers. Red-billed Pigeons seem to have been exceptionally scarce since the deep freeze 

we had in February. 

The beautiful view at Salineno, looking into Mexico

In the evening, I met up with Kristin and Ally briefly, to visit the Elf Owls nesting at Bentsen State Park. One popped its head out of the cavity in the telephone pole, and the other was calling from a nearby tree. 

 At some point, the previous day, Kristin had commented on the Birdie I had affixed to my belt loop, and said she had one too, that she used for running. I told them about my project, and gave Ally the alarm on my hip. 

Kristin proceeded to tell me that she had originally planned to do this trip to the Rio Grande Valley solo, but her husband was very concerned with her safety, so she had asked Ally to join. They told me that they had picked me, out of the list of bird guides in the area, because I was a woman and they figured they'd be more comfortable with a woman. 

Birding with Kristin (left) and Ally (center) at Bentsen State Park 

I'd love to hear from the women: In what ways have the safety concerns associated with gender affected your birding plans? 

Year List: 500

Raptors, Night and Day; Project Launch!

March 23

I took my dog, Puppet, on a walk at Bentsen State Park, just three miles down the street from where I live. Having checked on the recent local sightings (the Explore feature in the updated version of the eBird app is really something else, and nearly feels like cheating), I was on the lookout for an early Chimney Swift, Broad-winged Hawks, or a Swallow-tailed Kite. 

I was on a short timeline, having spent the first part of the morning doing some scheduling for my guiding company, and didn't make it to the park until around 10 am. I sandwiched in 65 minutes (as my eBird list tells me) between office work and my 12:30 class at the gym. We walked a mile in, and turned around to do a mile back. Wowww! Who turned on the gnatcatcher faucet? I came upon a conservative estimate of 110 Blue-gray Gnatcatchers bouncing around in about ten trees. The only other birds I was able to pick out amongst them were two Black-crested Titmice in the mix.  

On my walk out of the park, a Swallow-tailed Kite buzzed low over the trees before quickly becoming higher and more distant, and several Broad-winged Hawks started circling above, riding the thermals as the earth started heating for the day. 

There's a Swallow-tailed Kite on the left here, and a Turkey Vulture on the right. You might just have to take my word for it though...I suppose I need more practice in "digibinning"! 

Year List: 494

March 24

This morning, I went to Bentsen, again for the dual purpose of birding and dog walking. I brought a Birdie alarm with me, intending to gift it if I found someone suitable. About a mile into my walk, I  ran into a couple who was biking and birding. They'd just ridden under a spot where a Northern-Beardless Tyrannulet was singing. I stopped them to let them know, and we listened a few more times, but never were able to get eyes on the bird. 

We chatted a bit more; Robin and her husband are visiting in town from Arkansas for a week. I asked Robin if she birds alone, and she said she does, sometimes. I began explaining my project, and handing her the alarm I'd been carrying. They offered me their cabin on a river in Arkansas, anytime I'll be in the area or passing through. With limited funds and driving / camping most of the year, connections like this are helpful! 

I made my way up to the hawk tower, where I ran into a woman around my age named Alison from Michigan, on her way out to the parking lot, having just left the "hook-billed kite vigil" that a few other people also from Michigan were a part of. I was disappointed I'd only taken one alarm with me, or I would have given her one, but as it turns out, I ran into her again at the parking lot! I grabbed an alarm from my car, and walked over to her, mentioning I was hoping to run into her again. As it turns out, she had already read about my project on Facebook! I gifted her the Birdie, and she continued on about how she was doing a "Big Year" of sort of her own. Traveling the US for the year and living out of her truck. Another brave lady soul, determined to not let her gender stop her from living as she pleases! Upon the completion of our conversation, I deemed her most definitely a perfect recipient of the alarm. 

Just before sunset, I went back to Bentsen State Park, this time without my pup, to see if the Elf Owls had returned once again to nest this year. Sure enough - around 7:45 pm, one poked its head right out of the cavity. There was probably a second bird around, but I didn't stick around long enough to check, as mosquitoes were having a field day with the little bits of exposed skin I had.

Year List: 495

Homeward to a Package (Thank You Donors!)

I stopped in College Station on my route home, to look for Red-headed Woodpecker and LeConte's Sparrow. The Red-headed Woodpecker was right along a country road edge. After walking through several wet fields in hopes of finding a long-staying LeConte's, it was decided that they most likely have begun their migration north for the spring. There had been no reports for over a month, and this likely means I'll need to wait until fall to see this bird...I've been trying to frontload things as much as possible, so I'm not overloaded on birds I need in the fall and racing against time. I'm actually sitting pretty right now, I think, about 100 birds ahead of where current Lower 48 record holder Jeremy Dominguez was at this time last year. 

Red-headed Woodpecker near College Station, Texas 

Next was a sod farm, trying for Buff-breasted Sandpiper, but it was around 3 pm and not a very great time to be looking. Dipped on the sandpiper as well - I'll have plenty of other places to try for this bird in spring migration as they continue to move through Texas. Consolation prize, though, was a beautiful light morph Swainson's Hawk flying low over the fields at the sod farm, my first for the year. 

Year List: 492

I arrived home to Mission, Texas to the first batch of 100 Birdie alarms on my doorstep! 

Thank you so, so much to the following individuals for making the first batch of alarms possible. These will be gifted to women I meet along the trails throughout my travels. 

Charlie Bostwick

Vjera Thompson 

Jennifer Scranton 

Marion Mason 

Stephanie Seymour 

Mason Sieges

Marie Adams 

John McCoppin III

Kenneth Bader 

Shelly Plante 

Philip Chaon

Robert Cowan 

Paula Aschim 

Christian Hagenlocher

Kori Gasaway 

Butch Ukura

Mark Otnes 

Julie Markham

MaryG Zell 

Anonymous Donor 

I am hoping to gift 200 additional alarms throughout the year. If you're inspired to donate, you may do so here: https://gofund.me/a8fbe56a

If you'd like to purchase an alarm for yourself or a loved one, you can go to shesbirdie.com and use my code TIFFANYKERSTEN10 for 10% off. One big plus for us birder / travelers, is that alarms can be taken on airplanes and pepper spray cannot. 

Coastal Texas: Whooping Cranes and Black Rails!

March 17 

I made my way from my home in Mission, Texas, up the coast, with the primary purpose of finding Whooping Cranes and Black Rails. 

First stop was Rockport Beach Park, where a Sooty Tern has sometimes been roosting for the last several springs. I had brought my pup along for this trip, and the park didn't allow dogs, so I parked outside the park, left the windows halfway down (it was a cool morning with ocean breeze), and walked the mile in to the area where all the Laughing Gulls were roosting - the Sooty Tern had been hanging with them whenever it was present. 

I was unable to turn up a Sooty Tern, but I did find several Common Terns as well as a lone Gull-billed Tern, picking items off the surface of the water, rather than plunging headfirst into the water as most terns do. 

I made my way northward to Goose Island State Park's Big Tree area - an almost surefire place to see Whooping Cranes from land at the right time of year (there are some really fun boat tours that leave out of Rockport if you're wanting to enjoy great looks at the birds feeding in the tidal marshes!), and sure enough, there were six Whooping Cranes feeding with a dozen and a half Sandhills Cranes. 

Whooping Cranes AND Sandhill Cranes near Goose Island State Park, Rockport TX 

My dog, Puppet, had no idea she was about to get Whooping Crane for her life list! (Note: If you're birding with your pup, please please please be sure to keep your distance as to not disrupt any birds! The Whooping Cranes were enjoyed from far away with scope views.) 

Year List: 476

March 18

Next stop was Red-vented Bulbul. Only recently added to the American Birding Association's list of birds in 2017, Houston is the only place in the Lower 48 states this bird is considered countable. Navigating to a recent sighting in eBird, and wandering around about two city blocks, a pair was perched in a medium-sized tree right near the sidewalk. I'm not much into introduced species, but this is a pretty bird indeed! 

Red-vented Bulbul in Houston 

Onward to my very first experience at High Island, the Smith Oaks Sanctuary had built a canopy walk that opened last year, and had to be closed almost immediately due to covid. It was still early, so the migrants present were few, but Hooded Warbler was a new bird for the year! The nesting heron colonies there are quite the sight. I cannot imagine how incredible this place will be with the treetop views filled with warblers a month from now! 

Hooded Warbler at Smith Oaks, High Island 

Sunset at Bolivar Flats was also amazing. Thousands of breeding plumage American Avocets stole the show! New birds included a few Black Terns and nearly two dozen Piping Plovers. 

Piping Plovers at Bolivar Flats 

Year List: 480 

March 19 

Galveston Island State Park was the morning agenda; Assistant Superintendent Kyle posted on Facebook last week that Black Rails have been calling all around the park all the way into mid-morning. I  heard them from the car as I was driving up. Seaside Sparrows sang their hearts out along the trail edges, and a few Nelson's Sparrows flushed from along some vegetation skirting a trail. 

Seaside Sparrow at Galveston State Park 

The next stop was the famous Lafitte's Cove for some more song birding. A Yellow-throated Vireo was foraging near the ground not far into the park entrance, and a Brown Thrasher was not much farther. The park was riddled with sporadic Hooded Warblers and tons of White-eyed Vireos, a sign of much more migration soon to come. A few Northern Parulas and Black-and-white Warblers (aka "flying barcodes"), also flitted throughout the park. 

A quick stop at Bryan Beach was made for a disheveled Long-tailed Duck and great looks at a continuing Chestnut-collared Longspur.

Finishing out the day at Brazoria National Wildlife Refuge, there were lots of shorebirds I still didn't have for the year. Semipalmated Sandpiper, Pectoral Sandpiper and American Golden-Plover were all new. The whole day had included searching for American Bitterns wherever we were, and my friend Simon picked one out along the marsh reeds just before sunset. After watching it for about two minutes, as the sun was setting, it flew, presumably to roost somewhere, followed by seven others that appeared out of the marsh from various locations. Birds are cool! 

Long-tailed Duck at Bryan Beach 

Pectoral Sandpipers at Brazoria NWR 

American Bittern at Brazoria NWR 

Year List: 490

Trickles of Migration

March 14 

Whew! What a day! Over 200 miles in the car, caravaning around Cameron County, Texas, with my client Mary from Austin. The water feature at Resaca de la Palma produced a male Blue Bunting, female Crimson-collared Grosbeak, and a heard Dusky-capped Flycatcher. 

Next we moved on to the Gladys Porter Zoo, where the Golden-crowned Warbler is still giving crushing looks for anyone who cares to notice, a mere five feet away. 

Cell phone photo of Golden-crowned Warbler

South Padre Island Birding Center had a gorgeous male “Mangrove” Yellow Warbler, a target of my client’s and also my first of the year. This bird neither looks nor sounds like a Yellow Warbler, and I'm confident that someday it will be split into its own species. New year birds for me here included Stilt Sandpiper and Louisiana Waterthrush. 

Year List: 471 

March 15

After another full day of guiding Mary (yet another happy Elegant Trogon viewer!), I  stopped over to Hugh Ramsey Park in Harlingen, Texas, where a female Lazuli Bunting had recently been seen. I spent about an hour there, and saw a few Indigo Buntings, but no luck with the Lazuli. 

March 16 

I guided Bill from College Station all day; the Elegant Trogon at Estero Llano Grande State Park in Weslaco was MIA all day by all observers, but we did have a Common Nighthawk give its nasal "peert" call as it flew overhead. After finishing at Estero, we headed over to try for the Lazuli Bunting. The female is noticeably unstressed in the breast, and has white wing bars, compared to buffy wing bars on female Indigo Buntings. After about half an hour of feeder watching, it briefly came in to the brush behind the feeders. We finished our day with a Dusky-capped Flycatcher at Quinta Mazatlan in McAllen. 

Year List: 473

Grassquit: Right Place, Right Time

March 8 

I woke before sunrise to guide a family here birding from Tennessee; Julie and Brent, and kids Aiden (age 13) and Miles (age 9). Having worked in environmental education for a decade, having kid birding clients is one of my favorite things. We met at Estero State Park. This was their first trip to Texas, so dozens of the birds were brand new to them. We first made our way over to Alligator Lake, then circled back around to the Tropical area, where we spent some time waiting near the park host feeding station, in hopes that the Crimson-collared Grosbeak would come in. It did! 

Crimson-collared Grosbeak at Estero State Park 

While standing there, another birder mentioned, somewhat casually, that he had seen a Yellow-faced Grassquit come to the drip there twice that morning. I explained the situation to my clients - this was their day. We could either wait at the feeders longer to see whether it might show, or we could continue on to look for the Elegant Trogon. After a short pause for consideration and family consensus, they decided they’d rather continue on. And so we did. But not for long! We made it about 25 yards down the road, when we heard someone at the feeding station exclaim “there it is!”. We raced quickly back, I set eyes on the bird, and quickly got all four family members on the bird as well. We watched it for less than one minute, and then, quickly as it arrived, it vanished. Dozens of others showed up throughout the afternoon, and I heard there was a large search party the next day as well, but it was never to be seen again. 

We did go look for the Elegant Trogon, and were treated to amazing views. She’s seemingly gotten more confiding as the months have gone by. 

Elegant Trogon at Estero State Park 

Year List: 467

March 11

I guided the same family of four, this time at Quinta Mazatlan, where we found a Tropical Parula, heard the Dusky-capped Flycatcher, and we saw an early Ash-throated Flycatcher, which was number 468 for my year list. Aiden and Miles were great kids and a joy to bird with, and I hope they continue the hobby into adulthood! 

Aiden, Miles, and Tiffany at Quinta Mazatlan 

Year List: 468

March 12

Today the American Birding Association announced that Mitred Parakeet is now a countable species. I had seen this species in Florida in January. I went back and revisited my Florida lists (from before I decided to do a Big Year) and realized I hadn't taken it off my list and had been accidentally counting it all along. I carefully sifted through my list to make sure I didn't have any other strange exotics that don't belong on there. Nope! Current total still remains at 468. 

March 13

It was catch-up day at home after being gone for a month, but I did a quick spin around Bentsen State Park which doubled as birding and dog walking. I saw the Palm Warbler that's been there for a few days now, a rare bird for Hidalgo County. As I was leaving, I drove past the National Butterfly Center, where a male Scissor-tailed Flycatcher was perched on a wire. 

Year List: 469 

Rio Grande Valley

March 2

I awoke at sunrise, packed up my tent, and drove the remaining six hours back to Mission, Texas. A one week trip that turned into three and a half! My roommate, Gloria, had been caring for my dog, Puppet, and boy was she sure happy to see me. It's the longest we'd been apart since I adopted her seven years ago. 

I spent the rest of the day unpacking and recalibrating my life to the idea that I really was doing a Big Year. 

March 3

I didn't get out birding at all, but eBirded a Rufous Hummingbird that's been coming to my feeder most of the winter. We've had an unusual season and many more western birds than average have been wintering here. Spent the day working on creating my website! 

Year List: 455

March 4

My morning was spent guiding clients Mary and Mark from Austin at Bentsen State Park just down the street from my house. Migration was just beginning, and new birds included a flyover Dickcissel with its flatulent call, Indigo Buntings, an early Baltimore Oriole, and a few adult male Ruby-throated Hummingbirds. 

Year List: 456

March 5

It was time to clean up on the Rio Grande Valley birds I hadn't gone after in January, when I  most certainly wasn't planning on year listing of any sort. Simon came down from College Station to join me for a couple of days of birding, and the first stop was at University of Texas Rio Grande Valley - Brownsville, where a Common Black Hawk has been wintering the last few years. The hawk was not present, and hasn't been seen to this date, so it may have already moved on for the spring. A lone Solitary Sandpiper was a new bird for me here, in the Resaca habitat that the hawk had been residing at previously. Next, we visited the Gladys Porter Zoo, where a Golden-crowned Warbler has been unbelievably obliging and bouncing around between two garden patches each not much bigger than the size of a queen bed. I'd seen the bird earlier this year, but got some fun pictures of Simon and the bird in the same shot. Purple Martins overhead were new for year, just barely returning from the south. From there we headed to the famous Brownsville Dump, in hopes of lucking upon some Tamaulipas Crows, which have been absent from the US the past couple years. We sifted through lots of blackbirds, grackles, and ravens, but didn't find a single crow. Simon managed to pick an overwintering Franklin's Gull out of a flock of Laughing Gulls. These birds are much prettier in migration with their pink bellies, and I'd see more soon enough in bigger numbers on South Padre Island, resting up to continue their journey north. 

Golden-crowned Warbler at the Gladys Porter Zoo

Year List: 458

March 6

I spent the morning guiding Joe and Ruth from Houston at Estero Llano Grande State Park, enjoying incredible views of a female Crimson-collared Grosbeak that's been coming to the feeders. We also found the long-staying female Elegant Trogon. They were first-time visitors to the RGV, so everything was good for them! My new tick for the year, continuing on the western-birds-in-the-valley theme, was a Black-headed Grosbeak. They've been showing up everywhere the last few weeks! 

In the afternoon, I met back up with Simon, and we drove over to Cameron County to look for Aplomado Falcon at the viewing spot off of Highway 100. One bird was present on the distant hacking tower, its pale breast contrasting with its aplomado - meaning lead-colored - band and rusty underparts. Less than satisfying views have been giving me conflicting feelings about doing a Big Year. I try to remember that it's all part of the game, but to "check" or "tick" a bird feels disconnected, to me. I remind myself to keep appreciating  the birds, and, as I've mentioned in my first post, my interest is in the adventure and not in the listing. Albeit, they'll be forever intertwined. Such is life. 

First of season Barn Swallows greeted us over the South Padre Island mudflats, just north of the convention center. At a stop down a Highway 48 boat launch, scanning the birds turned up some Wilson's Plovers and a pair of American Oystercatchers. I hadn't realized how many species I'd yet to see for the year here in South Texas, not far from home. 

We finished the day in Brownsville at Oliveira Park, where hundreds of Red-crowned Parrots come to roost each night. Simon is just finishing up his PhD after years of studying these parrots in the Rio Grande Valley, and he answered lots of questions an older couple visiting the park had about them, as we watched and waited for them to come in, group by group. Simon is a much better bird estimator than I, and I    deferred to his expertise eBird data of 320 Red-crowned Parrots. 

Year List: 465

March 7

Simon and I walked through the newly-reopened fields at Anzalduas County Park in hopes of flushing some Sprague's Pipits but no luck. This park is a very popular area for local families to have large gatherings for barbecues, and I suppose that's the likely reason it's been closed for most of the pandemic. A Rock Wren had been present at this location, along the rocks leading toward the dam. We tried for the bird and then all but gave up. I'd been going nonstop since leaving my house on February 8th. I  laid down to rest for a second and ended up falling asleep for an hour in the back of the open hatchback of his rental SUV, along the side of the road in the park, for all park-goers to see. Simon fell asleep in the driver's seat. When we woke, the Rock Wren was in the rip rap just across the street from the car. 

Year List: 466 

Albuquerque Apprehension

March 1 

Living in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas, the phrase "March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb" does not resonate with me. But - given the cold weather, combined with my March 1experience, maybe that'll be the case this year. 

Plotting out my path continuing west to east, I awoke and drove about a mile from the hotel, to a local park near the Rio Grande. A large proportion of the geese here are Cackling, and it was not difficult for me to differentiate Cackling Goose from the Canadas at the close range on the pond, with their short necks and petite, short beaks. 

Next, I made my way up the Sandia Mountains, stopping to bird at a few picnic areas along the way before arriving at Sandia Crest. The picnic areas produced new year birds Clark's Nutcracker (lifer!) and Northern Pygmy-Owl. At the Crest House, I  parked my car in the lower parking lot, with a view of the covid-placement feeder, which was located between the Crest House and the south parking lot. Angling my car sideways so I could see through the passenger window to the feeders, I cracked my driver' s side window so I could hear anything calling from the treetops. I got out and set up my scope just in front of my car, focused it on the feeders, and hopped back in my car to stay warmer until the Rosy-finches arrived. 

After about 20 minutes, the iconic, swirling flock arrived and perched in the nearby trees. I left the car, soaking in the birds, watching them and digiscoping photos and videos. Meanwhile, a big white pickup truck, which had swirled its way around the mountain, appeared in the parking lot. There they sat, idling, for the next ten minutes or so. Finally, two men got out, dressed in jeans that sagged almost to their knees. One had a loose baseball cap whose brim had never been bent. They were both wearing very casual jackets and tennis shoes not very fit for hiking on a mountaintop. They loitered around outside the truck about five minutes. I started to panic a bit. I was alone, miles from anyone, with no cell reception. I was still standing outside, near my scope. Do I pack up and leave? Do I wait in my car? My intuition was screaming at me. In those minutes, I wavered back and forth between thinking rationally, that maybe I was making stereotypical assumptions based on the way they were dressed, and sheer panic. I  once again wondered what was my intuition speaking, and what was weeks of thinking about dangerous situations just making me extra paranoid? It felt as though the more I thought about these situations, the more confusing they became. 

The two men slowly wandered their way down the path to the Sandia Crest overlook. They were out of view for a few minutes, then stood near the trail entrance, one smoking a cigarette. My panic grew. I  walked the handful of steps from my scope back to my car, getting super dizzy within those few steps. 

The trail to Sandia Crest 

View from Sandia Crest 

Rosy-finches on Sandia Crest 

A few years ago, I was having near-fainting spells for months, until I finally realized they were anxiety attacks. Several times it had happened, it was incredibly scary, because I was driving. Stress management combined with magnesium supplements seemed to help. But here at the top of the mountain - where the air was thinner, which may have contributed - it was happening again. 

I slipped into my car and closed the door, the window still cracked open. I put the keys in the ignition just in case. If needed, I'd leave my scope behind. 

They were back at their vehicles now, changing out outer layers of clothing. I  was just waiting for them to walk towards me, or drive their truck to corner me into the edge of the parking lot. I waited. They got in their truck and sat idling for another five minutes. They drove off. My plan had to be to get the Rosy-finches (I'd logged all three before the truck arrived: Black, Gray-crowned, and Brown-capped), and then do some hiking to look for Three-toed Woodpecker, but I was still afraid, and emotionally drained. I  waited ten minutes, and started the drive back down the mountain. 

I stopped at a picnic area where I'd heard Northern Pygmy-Owl on the way up, but anxious to get the Rosy-finches, I didn't stop to look for it. Now I wanted to see if I could manage a view! When I turned into the picnic area, who was there? None other than the white truck! Oh, heck no. I continued down the mountain and drove straight to San Angelo State Park, Texas, where I would spend the night. 

A pair of gray foxes greeted me in the field while I set up my tent. They were welcome neighbors after such unwelcome neighbors earlier in the day. 

I fell asleep, alone in my tent, hoping the latter end of March is, indeed, more like a lamb and less like my stressful introduction to the month. 

From Pacific Golden Plover to Pinyon Jay

 February 26th 

It was time for round two in San Diego and LA. I'd missed birds in both cities on the first go around, and am treating this year as though I'll never be back in each location, in order to minimize the number of trips I'll be taking throughout the year. Time to try to clean house in San Diego! 

My morning started, again, at Tijuana Sloughs, on the long march down the jetty to the river mouth, once again, in search of Pacific Golden Plover. This time, I was successful! The Pacific Golden Plover walked around a bit amongst Black-belled Plovers before settling in to roost with several of them. Along with the shorebirds at the river mouth were two Elegant Terns, slicked-back mohawk birds, amongst the Royal Terns, very similar to them aside from the length of their "hair-do". Another first for the year, they were barely arriving back to California from the south and weren't being seen on my first visit here. 

Pacific Golden Plover with Black-bellied Plovers

From there, I drove across San Diego to Fiesta Island Dog Park, in search of Chestnut-collared Longspur and Thick-billed Longspur. I figured if I could find them here, where they are adjusted to lots of people present, it would save me a stop on my way back through Arizona, and I wouldn't have to carefully scrutinize distant birds, as is often the case with longspurs. 

Chestnut-collared Longspur 

Thick-billed (formerly McCown’s) Longspur 

Yesterday, in North Dakota, Alex and I had left Charlie behind in Fargo before heading to Minneapolis; Charlie would fly out of Fargo to Los Angeles; I flew out of Minneapolis to San Diego...only for Charlie to end up meeting me in San Diego for the Longspurs today. Ha! 

Charlie and I parted ways, and I moved along to try for Yellow-chevroned Parakeet in Los Angeles; I had tried hastily for these birds my first time through and missed, and today I missed again. I was in a hurry to get up to the mountains, where I would meet long-time social media friend Corey, currently living in LA while completing graduate school. Timing worked out and Charlie ended up meeting up with us up the mountain again as well. At the Chilao Visitor Center in the Angeles Mountains, we had Band-tailed Pigeon, Violet-green Swallow, Mountain Chickadee, and....one of my top 10 most wanted ABA life birds for some time now...White-headed Woodpecker. What beautiful creatures! We tried for Mountain Quail but had no luck, and it was starting to get dark. 

We walked back to our cars in the parking lot, and as we were standing around talking about a game plan for the following morning, I  offered to make some hot chocolate on my camp stove. It was in the fifties and the temp was dropping fast! I lit my camp stove, boiled some water, turned off the stove, poured the water into our three powder-filled mugs, and turned back to the stove to noticed that strangely, the flame wasn't out. A small, candle-size flame remained. Figuring it would burn itself off, I left it be. Suddenly, the stove started making a strange noise. The flame grew a bit larger. All at once, the entirety of the stove top was engulfed in flames, sounding like a tiny jet engine. We all backed away and ran down the road and watched in awe and horror, almost certain it was going to explode. I had set the stove up just behind the parking lines, between my car and Corey's. After more than ten minutes of intense burning, the flame started to wane as the tank emptied. Whew. Well that's going to be an Academy Sports complaint. Don't purchase the Magellan single-burner camp stove! After we finished our hot chocolates, we took a look at the damages - the dial was badly melted off. Minimal damage for what could have been a horrible forest fire if we hadn't been in a parking lot. 

February 27th 

The following morning, we caravanned once again out to a spot to another section of the Angeles National Forest, where we heard Mountain Quail calling from the mountainside in many directions. Sadly, we never got a chance to take a look at them! After enjoying their calls for about a mile of hiking, we turned around and headed back down the mountain. We all drove to an area near Lancaster, California, to try for LeConte's Thrasher. The wind made it difficult to hear anything. A few Bell's Sparrows teed up in the bushes for us, and Cliff Swallows danced on the gusty winds overhead. We tried for a good long while, and in several spots, but weren't able to conjure up a LeConte's. We headed to nearby Apollo Park, where a Long-eared Owl had been roosting recently. 

There was a fair bit of habitat within the pines in the park, but I figured with three of us looking we could cover the area rather quickly. About half an hour went by, and none of us had located the bird. I  was pressed for time; my goal was to get to the Salton Sea for Garganey before sunset, and I would have infinitely fewer chances for Garganey throughout the year than I would for Long-eared Owl. Charlie already had his Long-eared Owl for the year, and left us to head back to the LeConte's Thrasher spot to try some more. Shortly after, I parted ways with Corey too, anxious about the duck.

Twenty minutes down the road, I noticed I missed a call from Corey (I'd had my phone on silent with all the birding). He'd found the owl! I was in a hurry, but I also didn't want to miss an already-located owl. I drove back, met Corey in the same corner of the park that we had spent most of our time looking, enjoyed the owl for a few minutes, thanked Corey, and headed on. 

I got to the Salton Sea just before 3 pm; the Garganey was at close range in the harbor when I  arrived. I spent half an hour enjoying the bird, then made my way on to Phoenix to stay with Maggie, a woman I worked with during my very first job in the Rio Grande Valley, at Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge. We spent the evening catching up, having not seen one another in nine years. I went to bed, exhausted, having added five new birds to the year list. 

Garganey at Salton Sea, California 

(Not sure why it’s glitching to not save photo crop edits; will try to address tomorrow!) 

February 28

Buckeye, Arizona. Even just the name gave me goosebumps, as ten years ago, I stayed in the sketchiest hotel of my life in this town. I was thankful for the guest bedroom I was able to stay in last night this time, instead. The beloved "Thrasher Spot" was here, and very sadly it is slated for construction later this year. My targets were Bendire's Thrasher and LeConte's Thrasher, but in two hours of searching, Bendire's was the only one to cooperate. Sagebrush Sparrows were present throughout, and as one of my original "I'll go to Arizona for a week for five life birds" targets. Missing LeConte's for a second time was a tough pill to swallow...it will likely mean veering off course at another time of the year to find it. 

Moving on, I began the trek toward Albuquerque. My friend Raymond suggested stopping at Bluewater Lake State Park, about an hour west of ABQ, for Pinyon Jay. Not only did I  find Pinyon Jays, but Townsend's Solitaires, Juniper Titmice...and....a Northern Goshawk went absolutely blazing low through one of the campground areas. I've only seen a handful of these in my life, and every encounter has been nothing short of stunning. 

I drove to Albuquerque as the sun was setting and found my way to an amazing little retro hotel that Raymond had recommended, the Monterey Motel, recently renovated and reopened about a month ago.

Shocked at my luck and success, I closed out the final day of February having logged 445 species. 

"Balmy" Minnesota

February 21

Well, balmy, relatively speaking. We experienced 35 degree weather in Sax-Zim Bog, nearly unheard of for February in the Northwoods. Negative ten or twenty is a common temp this time of year. 

ABA Big Year birder Charlie invited me to join for a few days in northern Minnesota guided by young and talented Minneapolis native Alex Sundvall. I arrived in Minneapolis with a few hours of sunlight to spare, took a shuttle to the hotel, and found that it conveniently abuts up against Minnesota Valley National Wildlife Refuge. I was off after a quick conversation with hotel lobby staff, asking whether it was safe to walk the sides of the road for the 1/2 mile to get to the road to the refuge (they looked at me like I was crazy). "You're trying to get...where?" 

It's been years since I'd seen snow, and as a Wisconsin native, I had forgotten the extreme peace and quiet of a calm snowshower. I made my way around a few small ponds filled with mostly Mallards and Canada Geese. Black-capped Chickadee was new for the year, as well as Trumpeter Swan. Aside from a few Hairy Woodpeckers, the woods were otherwise very quiet. I walked a few miles in hopes of stumbling upon American Tree Sparrows but didn't wind up with any other birds. 

Trumpeter Swans, as seen through my snow-covered Swarovski binoculars. 

My winding path took me under a bridge; the tromped snow made it obvious it was a fairly well-used path, but nobody was in sight. The highly publicized birding assault was still weighing heavily on my mind. Under the bridge, the first graffiti I noticed read "I wish it never happened". I walked along and wondered what "it" was; I remembered my own sexual assault, and thinking that exact same thing for months afterward, wishing I could undo the past, wishing I would have been "smarter", thinking I had trusted (my archery coach) too much; too confiding in spending time alone with him.

Continuing on, I walked past individual men walking alone on the snowy trail. Were they aware of my discomfort, merely at their existence and proximity to me? I doubt they had any idea. If they did, there was no way to know it. Was my discomfort magnified in proportion to the amount of time I'd given headspace to thinking about these issues over the past week? Was I being too confiding in spending time alone birding this trail? I thought about all the trails I'll be walking down alone over the next ten months. Am I being stupid, just asking for something bad to happen? Or am I brave? Where is the line between courage and recklessness? 

February 22

Alex, Charlie and I began birding at Sax-Zim Bog at sunrise. Our first bird of the day was a gorgeous Great Gray Owl! A Rough-legged Hawk shortly followed, giving great views as it flew over the road. A half hour of feeder watching a big flock of Common Redpolls produced a few frostier, grayer Hoary Redpolls. Pine Grosbeak, Evening Grosbeak, Boreal Chickadee, and Canada Jay were other feeder birds. 

My Minnesota trip was completely unplanned when I left my home in Texas, headed for Arizona. I had planned for camping in 30 degree weather, but not for snow. Luckily, when I mentioned to Clay in California that we’d be guided by Alex, he mentioned he knew Alex’s mom, Joey, and that she was roughly the same size as me, and he would reach out to her, asking to send some size 7 snow boots along with Alex. They were a life saver! Temps into the teens in the mornings sure are frigid when you’re used to 70 degree winters. 

We found Black-billed Magpies, Red-breasted Nuthatches, White-winged Crossbills, and Snow Buntings. Alex took us to a boardwalk trail where a secretive Black-backed Woodpecker had been seen recently. Alex refound it, and we were treated to great looks at it chipping away at the bark of a tree. We finished the day with somewhat fleeting looks at a Sharp-tailed Grouse. 

February 23

Our good fortune on day one left us with fewer birds for day two. We came upon a perched female Spruce Grouse along a back road just after sunrise, much obliging to photos and video clips through my Swarovski scope. Not far down the road was a Ruffed Grouse sitting on a snow-covered path, crested tuft obvious even in the shadows. From there we drove to Ely, Minnesota, where we were treated to a tree full of Bohemian Waxwings in a residential neighborhood. Two Snowy Owls, including one pristinely white adult male, were found at our next stop outside of Rice, Minnesota, and Horned Larks were present along with more Snow Buntings. 

February 24

We stopped at a small pond near a highway for a quick American Tree Sparrow and American Black Duck. The duck was in the parking lot and the sparrow in a nearby tree. Had we known, we probably could have seen both without even getting out of the car. 

By late morning, I had to make my first cost/benefit analysis of the year. Fly back to San Diego as planned, or postpone a day and head to Fargo, North Dakota for Greater Prairie-Chicken? I was drawn to the idea of this life bird, cancelled my flight (covid perk: cancelled flights become credits for another time), and booked a new flight with a different airline for the following day. We'd venture to North Dakota, see some birds in the morning, and I'd need to make it back to the Minneapolis airport by 2 pm. Big Year birding sure leaves little wiggle room or down time. 

Our only two North Dakota birds were a flock of Gray Partridges in a field. They were life birds for me, and, as Alex told us, the exact same flock of birds that Lower 48 Big Year record holder Jeremy had counted on his travels last year. Nearby, across the border back into Minnesota, we sifted through a flock of House Sparrows to find a Eurasian Tree Sparrow. Alex was quickest in locating it. Our next birds were fields full of Ring-necked Pheasants! The number of back-to-back exotic species were starting to get to me. I  want to see a real bird already, one that belongs here! 

Maybe the universe was listening to my wish, because our next bird would be Greater Prairie-Chickens, a Short-eared Owl perched on a fencepost that we nearly drove right by, and a flyover Lapland Longspur. What an incredible couple of days! We headed back to Minneapolis so I could catch my afternoon flight to San Diego. I checked in at the airport, went through security, walked to the gate and directly onto the plane. Not a minute wasted, and yet not a minute to spare, either. Good thing I didn't have to check a bag! 

Southbound

February 19th 

Up at o-dark-thirty, I made it to Pinnacles National Park, about three hours south of San Francisco, by sunrise. I'd seen California Condors twice before; ten years ago over around Big Sur and also at the Grand Canyon. Pinnacles was a new park for me - and man do I love exploring new places! I was told to enter the park from the east and watch for condors roosting on the pinnacles. Not having found one through intensive scope searches from the parking lot, I  decided I might as well start hiking. I found myself in another of those situations where maybe I didn't do as much research as I should have (I had no cell reception for miles and miles before entering the park, as well as within it), and once again, likely due to covid policies, there were not staff to be found in the park, I  picked a seemingly random trail and started hiking. Up, up, and up, and all the way over the top of nearly the highest peak in the park I went. Oak Titmice (new for the year) greeted me all along my way. As I was approaching the top, a binocular-less man walking down told me the condors were just on the other side! I was excited this strenuous hike was going to pay off! Much to my dismay, on the other side, I found a mere kettle of about a dozen turkey vultures, testing out the morning's air currents. No condors anywhere, but one of the prettiest views I've had in my life! 

Pinnacles National Park 

Meticulous binocular scans detected a very distant Prairie Falcon over on the next set of cliffs. I gave it about twenty minutes at the top before admitting defeat and starting the journey back down. Back at the parking lot, I drove in the direction out of the park, to a viewing area for the pinnacles. I figured I might as well spend a few more minutes scanning with my scope. After ten minutes, I noticed movement in my peripherals. Yes! Three California Condors were riding a thermal up, circled over the hillside for a few minutes, and then glided out of view. I soaked in every second of it! With a nine foot wingspan, these birds sure were iconic and awe-inspiring. 

Yellow-billed Magpie has a very protracted range through just a sliver of California, and therefore I was a bit concerned about possibly missing these birds, on my quick one-day drive from San Francisco to San Diego. Upon leaving the park, though, my worries were soon relieved. They lined the road edges and power lines on my drive south of the park. Driving just 20 minutes more, a Golden Eagle graced me with its powerful presence, flying high over the road. 

Time was not in my favor, as the daylight hours were racing by. I drove for over an hour without cell reception, not entirely sure I was going the most efficient direction, with half a tank of gas in my tiny Chevy Spark. The back country highways were desolate, and I tried to push thoughts of what might happen if I broke down on the side of the road out of my mind. An oil change just before leaving down uncovered a slow transmission leak. The part had to be ordered and wouldn't be in for a week, but my mechanic gave me the all clear to drive to Arizona and back, but I was now a few thousand miles past that...

I got to Dana Point, north of Los Angles, about half an hour before sunset. I parked, jumped out, walked to the end of the parking lot, and set my scope sights on the jetty, and there it was, an adult Masked Booby hanging out with the gulls. It wasn't an amazing look, but it was identifiable. I'm very much a fan of enjoyable birding through close, great detailed looks, but as I've been learning, there's a give and take with Big Year birding. Some are ultimately going to have to be boxes checked. I folded up my tripod, heading back to my car while making a mental note to be sure to continue to enjoy the birds throughout the year and not just see them as numbers. I reflected back on the day, and the glorious condors soaring over the hillside. I spent an hour in stop and go traffic in LA after eight hours of driving, but I was elated. How lucky am I to be spending my days, not much unlike the birds, wherever the wind takes me?

My day finished in San Diego, with dinner with Clay from Swarovski, filling him in on my Big Year updates and getting the run down of the logistics for the next day. I'd be on a boat with a pile of binoculars for San Diego Birding Festival participants to try. 

February 20th 

Clay and I met at the dock, along with the 25 or so bird festival participants. I was a combination of stoked and annoyed to be getting on my first boat ever off of the west coast! Stoked, because I  was certain to pick up life birds, and annoyed, because I dislike boats (I don't usually get incredibly sea sick, but usually just ill enough to be looking forward to land after a handful of hours) and I also dislike distant, less-than-satisfying looks at birds. 

New Seaforth, our boat for the day!

After a little boat trouble (working bathrooms are essential!), we coordinated schedules with Paul Lehman (I finally got to meet him - our paths had just barely not crossed over a decade ago during the times he and I each lived in Cape May, New Jersey), we did an impromptu guided bird walk around the harbor area (Brant was new!)  we were on the water about an hour and a half behind schedule. I  was elated at how many mother / daughter couples were on the boat! Two grown pairs, and a woman and her eager teenage daughter. A father had also brought his young daughter along. I particularly enjoyed chatting with the women on the boat, and at one point confused one of the women for another - I suddenly realized I'm so used to there being no women my age around in the birding scene, that I hadn't paid much mind to paying attention to the field marks that would require me to identify one from the other. Good thing I'm better at identifying birds than I am 30-year-old women, or I'd be set up for a tough year ahead. 

Pomarine Jaeger, Sooty Shearwater, Brown Booby and Pink-footed Shearwater joined hundreds of Black-vented Shearwater both on the water and on my year list. One or two spotters on the boat called out Cassin's Auklet and Scripp's Murrelet, but most, or all, of the participants missed them, and I was no exception. Removing them from my version of the shared eBird checklist when it was received a few days later felt painful. Scripp's Murrelet was a tough miss that I'd have to hope to find time to go back for later.

 

Welcome!

Hi there! Welcome to my blog! 

The back story here is long - you can scroll back and read about the beginnings if you'd like, but the TL; DR version is this: 

I took a road trip to Florida with a friend in January to see all the awesome rarities that have been in the Florida Keys this winter - Cuban Pewee, Black-faced Grassquit, American Flamingo, and Red-legged Thrush. Our trip was incredibly successful. We birded the whole state and racked up 186 species in 8 days. 

I returned back to the Rio Grande Valley of Texas, where I work as a professional bird guide. I guided a few novice birder clients, and then guided big year birder Charlie for two days. We managed to round up almost all the rarities being seen in the area in January, as well as almost all of the specialty birds found here. By the end of January, I was at 289 species, and friends were reaching out to ask whether I was doing a big year. 

Nonsense, that's silly. I'm not a lister. I hate listing. 

Early February, after doing some more bird guiding, and making solid progress on my yoga teacher training, I decided it would be fun to do a one week solo camping and birding trip to Arizona, to see five life birds (birds I've never seen before). I arranged pet care for my pup, packed my car, and off I went. 

Two days into the trip, I flushed some Scaled Quail in West Texas, and suddenly found myself asking myself why I wasn't doing a Big Year. I already had an amazing start, and it would certainly be an adventure. I mulled it over while driving to Arizona. I hate listing. But I love adventuring. 

Scaled Quail habitat in Franklin Mountains State Park, Texas 

My trip to Arizona became a trip to South California, then North California, then Minnesota, and North Dakota, back to California, New Mexico, and then Texas. Upon returning to Texas, I was at 451 species on March 1. 

While driving the three hours from Surfbirds in Los Angles to Streak-backed Oriole in San Luis Obispo, the messages started rolling in. "Did you hear the news?" "Are you doing okay?" "Just checking in - I wanted to let you know I've been thinking about you." I was confused. What? News that a prominent figure in the birding community had raped a young woman in the woods while birding circulated throughout the US birding community quickly. 

People were reaching out to me, personally, because I had publicly shared my own sexual assault story, not even three years ago. I, too, was assaulted in a nature setting. Sadly, unlike the birding community, not one single person in the archery community I was a part of had reached out in support, or even to see whether I was doing okay. 

For more than a week, I'd been solo camping, birding and hiking miles down remote trails alone. I had felt nervous at times, but it was manageable. With this news, it suddenly felt less manageable. Even driving down remote highways and roads, I wondered what might happen to me if I had car trouble and an ill-intentioned person stopped to help. Trails? I ran into a man heading the other direction who stopped to chat with me, and I nearly panicked and ran away. It changed the freedom I felt on my trip. I wanted to go home, where I could lock my front door and sleep in the safety of my own home and bed. 

Soon after, I realized, to abandon travel would be akin to defeat. I do not want to live in fear. So many, if not all women, live with some level of such fear, on a most-daily basis. You can read about lists of things women have said they do daily without thinking about. Carry your keys in your hands on the way to your car in case you need to use them as a weapon. Check the backseat. Don't walk alone at night. The list goes on forever. Many times it's not even conscious. It's programmed into our brains. 

All of this needs to change. Women cannot be seen as equals to men in the field of birding until women feel safe while birding. Throughout 2021, I will be gifting Birdie personal safety alarms to women I meet on the trails, and talking with them and others throughout my travels, and sharing those conversations here. The alarm is a band-aid for the safety problem, which is why the blog will be the real place where change is made. I don't have all the answers, but I do believe I can help by being the vector through which these tough conversations can be had and shared. It is a responsibility of us all - men and women alike - to change the narrative here, to create a safe, welcoming place for all in this community. 

*For every $50 raised, I will be gifting an additional personal safety alarm (retail $30) to another woman that I meet on the trails throughout my travels. The remainder of the funds will be used to defer travel costs. For the most part I will be driving, camping, and cooking over my camp stove, and only using hotels and flights when it is necessitated. If you are inclined to donate, you may do so here: gf.me/u/zk4n6t

**If you'd like to purchase a Birdie personal safety alarm for yourself or a loved one, you can use code TIFFANYKERSTEN10 to get 10% off of your purchase:                                    https://www.shesbirdie.com/?rfsn=5441921.62b3728

"Quick Arizona Trip..."

February 10

I awoke in my sleeping bag, the first rays of light barely coming over the Franklin Mountains. Sprawling El Paso lies not far in the distance, just beyond the peaks. I was unemployed. I was seeking birds. I was free. 

After six years managing a nature center, suddenly in November 2020, I found myself jobless. After doing some bird guiding, and making some solid progress on my yoga instructor certification, I decided to take a trip to Southeast Arizona to see the five species of birds that have been wintering there that I’ve never seen before: Williamson’s Sapsucker, Violet-crowned Hummingbird, Rufous-backed Robin, Olive Warber, and Sagebrush Sparrow. Franklin Mountains State Park was night number two of my trek from the Rio Grande Valley of Texas, to Southeast Arizona. 

There was barely enough light to see well enough to pack my tent without the aid of a lantern, but I hadn't used an alarm. No need for it when I had my internal clock, paired with excitement for the birds that were to be seen. Within 10 minutes, I was on the road winding down the mountain, and out of the park. Suddenly, a dozen or so Scaled Quail flushed from close to the road. It was in that moment that it hit me: I'd had amazing luck in January birding in Florida; I'd been guiding in the Rio Grande Valley and seen literally all the rarities there. Before I left for Arizona, I had already logged 286 birds for the United States. Scaled Quail just made 287. Why was I going to Arizona to see only five birds? 

I had a three hour drive upon which to think, en route to join my friend John for some birding near Portal- in initial hopes to see my first "eBird life bird" a bird I had seen before, but didn't eBird before it split. Sagebrush Sparrow was Sage Sparrow last time I saw it. Sage Sparrow had been split into Bell's Sparrow in the west and Sagebrush Sparrow farther east. The split had happened sometime over the last several years when I wasn't birding much, and other hobbies - Latin dance, archery, and training for American Ninja Warrior - were taking up the majority of my free time. 

When I got to John, I was still mulling the idea over. I didn't really plan to go everywhere and try to break a record or anything, but it would be fun to try to see more species of birds this year than I'd ever seen previously in my life. I'd been birding for 22 years, and by the end of 2020, my ABA list was at 653, meaning I was thinking about trying to see 654 species this year. John's first response when I told him my thoughts: "We have to get you Mexican Chickadee!" This little one has an extremely limited range in the United States and is only found in a very small corner of Southeast Arizona's Chiricahua Mountains. And so we went! The Mexican Chickadees were seemingly nowhere to be found, absent from all their usual places. I did pick up twenty new birds for the year, including Mexican Jay, Yellow-eyed Junco, and Arizona Woodpecker. 

Next was on to meet Ken. We'd been Facebook friends for quite some time, but never met in person. I'd be staying one night at Casa de San Pedro, where Ken and his partner Allee are the resident guides. 

February 11

I picked Ken and Allee's brains about starting my own guiding company, and we spent the morning birding. Ten more birds - Abert's Towhee, Gila Woodpecker, and Mexican Duck near the river in the yard of the bed & breakfast; Rufous-crowned Sparrow, Black-chinned Sparrow, Dark-eyed Junco, Canyon Wren, and Bushtit in Hunter Canyon; Painted Redstart, Rivoli's Hummingbird (lots of recalibrating to do - this was Magnificent Hummingbird last time I saw it!) in Ramsey Canyon. After some great birds amidst conversation about guiding rates, policies, and forms, I was off on my way to Patagonia. Solo adventure time. 

I arrived at Patagonia Lake State Park mid-afternoon, and figuring the birding likely wasn't too active anyway, first made a stop at my campsite to set up. It was less than ideal - a tent amidst a sea of RV's, but really I just needed a place to sleep - I'd be birding the rest of the day and off before sunrise the next morning. After setting up, I drove over to the birding trailhead. A Rufous-backed Robin was my target here, along with Black-capped Gnatcatcher, and there'd been an (apparently tailless) male Elegant Trogon seen recently. It was warm and the birding was quiet. I picked up Brewer's Blackbird at the feeders by the trailhead, along with great looks at Curve-billed Thrasher, which looks and sounds very unlike the Curve-billed Thrashers I am accustomed to in the Rio Grande Valley. The lake produced my year Common Mergansers, as well as Eared Grebe, and some flyover Yellow-headed Blackbirds around sunset. The gnatcatcher and robin hadn't been seen recently, and I didn't have luck with them, either. 

February 12 

By sunrise, I was at the Paton Center for Hummingbirds, eagerly awaiting my lifer Violet-crowned Hummingbird. Despite two separate trips here nearly a decade ago, I had never crossed paths with one. Within less than five minutes, one was feeding at the hummingbird feeder right next to my car! Wow! I waited about an hour to see if the Broad-billed Hummingbird would show up, but it did not. Wandering down Blue Haven Road towards the Sonoita Preserve, I carefully searched for the Rufous-backed Robin that had recently been seen there. No luck with the robin, but I did happen upon a woman walking her dog who pointed out a Western Screech-Owl roosting in a cavity in a small tree. 
Violet-crowned Hummingbird at Paton’s

On to the third Rufous-backed Robin spot - the De Anza Trail at Santa Gertrudis Lane, near Tubac. I spent about half an hour birding before I ran into a man birding right on the creek. He was watching a Lawrence's Goldfinch, which can be a relatively difficult bird to track down. He also told me that he'd had the Rufous-backed Robin about an hour and a half ago in some cottonwoods down the trail just a few hundred yards. A fairly non-descript Gray Flycatcher perched across the creek in a tree. The birder stayed and birded with me for another half an hour, and we picked through the American Robins until the Rufous-backed showed itself for a brief second, and then perched nearby for a better look. I'd searched for this bird at this same location a decade ago, so it felt exceptionally nice to have success this time! 

I drove up to Madera Canyon for the evening, with enough light to make some oatmeal with my camp stove next to my car in one of the parking areas. It was chilly, and would drop into the low 30s overnight. Warm food tasted exceptionally good. 

I practiced whistling in my car (I was cold!), and waited until after sunset, in hopes of hearing Whiskered Screech-Owl. Somehow, growing up I could whistle pretty well, when I had braces I could whistle pretty well, but ever since getting my braces off at age 18, whistling has been a struggle for me. I suppose, as with anything, it just takes practice. 

Turn out I got LOTS of practice whistling, as it took over an hour for me to find one, after I circled back to the Madera Picnic Area where I noticed my friend Raymond had one there a few months back. I listened to it call back for a few minutes, then was on to the next task: Where do I sleep tonight?

The campground was open, but it was small, and first-come first served. It was filled with mostly RVs upon arrival. Earlier in the day, I had driven past the primitive camping locations I was given as suggestions, but one was unreachable with my Chevy Spark, due to the rough road, and the others were miles from anywhere, amidst scrubby brush, and my tent and my tiny purple car were likely to be visible for miles. I decided I didn't feel safe camping out there alone, and if I could go back in time seven years, I would not have bought a car that appears by size and color to be fairly likely to be owned by a woman. I pulled back into the campground, and parked at the trailhead parking there, right next to the bathrooms. Now was as good a time as any to give it a try. Could I sleep in the back seat of my Chevy Spark? I moved my camping supplies to the front seat, laid out a comforter across the back, attempting a buffer between myself and the hard, plastic cupholders in the middle of the two back seats, unrolled my sleeping bag, crawled in, and locked my doors. There was no way to get my legs remotely straight, which alone might not have been a problem for me, but there was no physical way for me to stretch my legs full in any direction at all, even for a few minutes. I managed about six hours of sleep before I noticed the first bits of daylight coming. The quality of sleep and the location were not ideal, but it did feel good to know that I had a self-contained sleep option should the need ever arise again. 

February 13

I met Chris at the Whitehouse Canyon trailhead, and we drove covid- caravan style to Florida Canyon. A Phainopepla was perched near the road along the way, which would surprisingly be the only Phainopepla of my trip. Florida Canyon was exceptionally quiet - I had hoped to happen upon Olive Warbler or Black-capped Gnatcatcher, but incredible looks at a Crissal Thrasher singing at the top of its lungs while White-throated Swifts flitted about overhead, was good consolation nonetheless. 

I followed Chris to Kennedy Park in Tucson, where a female Williamson's Sapsucker had been reliable for quite some time. Two laps around the park checking through the pines, and found it, much obliging, lapping up sap from some recently drilled holes. After enjoying the bird for a good thirty minutes, I parted ways with Chris and headed on to see the Northern Jacana on the Santa Cruz River, and finished my day with a flyover Rosy-faced Lovebird at Encanto Park in Phoenix. I would have stayed longer, trying to find the birds perched, but being a Saturday, the park was packed with maskless families who seemed to think covid doesn't exist. Female Williamson’s Sapsucker 

It became obvious to me that it was incredibly too windy to camp, and having proved to myself I can sleep in the back of my car if necessary, but not sure I could handle two painful nights of that, I started calling around looking for a hotel room. They were all booked! I called 30 hotels, and all but the first one, who offered me a whirlpool room, were completely full. I looked on Air B&B. There were three rooms left in the $50 - $100 range, but all were in places owned by single men. A big NOPE there. Needing a place to sleep, I called the first hotel back and booked their whirlpool room at $212. I suppose it was a Valentine's Day present to myself. Not feeling comfortable booking the Air B&B rooms left me feeling like I just paid a $100+ surcharge for being born a woman. 

February 14

I spent Valentine's Day in search of Eurasian Wigeon at a golf course in Phoenix; after scanning from several angles, I had distant but identifiable looks. I stopped by Scottsdale Community College to enjoy the Burrowing Owls living there. Then, I had a decision to make. I'm doing a Big Year. Yesterday was my planned turn-around day. 

Do I drive home? 

Accidental California

February 14 (continued)

....onward I went. Being between jobs, it made no sense for me to continue westward, but I happened to have a friend staying in San Diego for a few days for work, so I decided to crash there and bird Southern California. My first stop after leaving Phoenix was to hit the Salton Sea, trying for the female Garganey that has been see in the harbor pretty regularly all winter. No such luck with the Garganey, but I did get great looks at California Gnatcatcher, and found Western Gulls and Common Goldeneye as well. 

February 15 

Birding near Tijuana provided Tricolored Blackbirds, confiding views of an gorgeous male Allen's Hummingbird, nearly a dozen Snowy Plovers anxious to start nesting, and Western Grebes. I made the hike all the way down the jetty at Tijuana Sloughs in search of Pacific Golden Plover with no luck. There were a bunch of Black-bellied Plovers roosting up in the dunes, and many were out of sight. Seeing a bird is never worth disturbing birds. Back I went, leaving Pacific Golden Plover to (hopefully) be seen another day. 

From there, I went over to look for the long-staying (read: very long staying) Thick-billed Kingbird in San Diego. I had actually tried for the same bird almost nine years ago and missed it! It took almost two hours, but I finally found the bird in the very spot I started looking - in a few tall trees in the middle of a small neighborhood community's greenbelt. California Towhee and Cassin's Kingbird were also new birds for me here. 

Suddenly I realized I had left the Tijuana area this morning without a Ridgeway's Rail, so I headed back. Having scrolled through Thick-billed Kingbird checklists to sift through any notes of detailed locations the bird had been seen recently, my friend Mandy's name popped up. I hadn't seen her in the nine years since I'd been to California - we had met while I lived in Cape May, NJ - and I'd totally forgotten she lives in San Diego! She agreed to meet me back at Tijuana Slough's NWR, and we walked the boardwalk and soon out popped a Ridgeway's Rail. While this bird has a good sized range, I was trying to do my best to treat my Big Year as though I was never coming back to the places I was at - at some point this year I will probably need to get a job, and finances will certainly limit my travel regardless, so the more birds I am able to see while I'm here, the better. It will streamline any potential chase needs later. Western Meadowlarks called in the distance and Mandy and I returned to the parking lot. While brief, it was great to catch up with an old friend, and the lack of social interaction I've had the majority of the last year made it even better. 

February 16 

Most birders know La Jolla Cove, 20 minutes north of San Diego, as the go-to place to seawatch from land. Despite it being mid-February, Brandt's Cormorants had already begun nesting, their brilliant blue gular patches nearly fluorescent in the morning light. A few Pelagic Cormorants were flying from their evening roost and out to see to feed, easily recognizable in flight with their white patch flashing near their rear. Black-vented Shearwaters fed in distant, scope views, along with a Parasitic Jaeger terrorizing the gulls. A few adult Heermann's Gulls are a top contender for prettiest gull in the US, in my book. More careful investigation of the rocky cliffs turned up a few Black Turnstones, awkwardly making their way across the rough rock. 

Next stop was Los Angeles, at the Ballona Creek jetties, in hopes of Wandering Tattler. Pacific Loon, White-winged Scoter, Black Oystercatcher, Surfbird, and California Gull were new birds for me, but over an hour of scanning and repositioning myself to see the jetties from different angles did not turn result in the target bird. 

I made it to Montana de Oro State Park in San Luis Obispo (beautiful, incredible park and highly recommended for the scenery alone), around 4:00 pm, with two hours of daylight remaining. A Streak-ba cked Oriole had been seen in this park for several months. I almost learned a hard lesson with this bird! As I winded down the road several miles into the park, suddenly I realized I had no cell reception. I had figured someone would greet me at the park entrance and could likely point me in the direction of the bird. No such luck, as the "entrance" was miles down the road and there were no staff in sight. I text messaged a friend and it went through, but he was unable to message back. Shoot! Where in this giant park was the bird being seen? Finally, it occurred to me that I was subscribed to the ABA Daily Rarities email, and the emails were downloaded to my phone. I scrolled down through several emails which mentioned Streak-backed Oriole, and was able to piece together enough information to put the puzzle together "cactus" "bridge" "ranch house"-- then found the area of the park where all three are present. Whew! Note to self: Always complete research beforehand. 

I set myself up on the side of the road near the cactus, and waited. After about 30 minutes, I heard a rattle call in the scrubby brush nearby. YES! I waited for it to fly on over to the cactus to feed, as certainly that's what it'd do next. It never showed! How terrible is a heard-only oriole?!?! It was almost more painful than not having seen or heard it at all. Heard-only makes sense for difficult to see birds like rails, but an oriole? A life bird I've never once seen? It feels dirty, but its call is very distinct and I was certain I hadn't confused it with anything else. The time I spent waiting was not completely in vein, though, as Golden-crowned Sparrow, Wrentit, California Thrasher, Pacific Wren, California Scrub-Jay, Nuttall's Woodpecker and California Quail all graced me with their presence and entertained me while I waited. 

I left the park, and once I reached cell reception, checked in with my friend Dorian, who I was supposed to be meeting with that evening. I gave him the frustrating news, and he understood my desire to try again for the oriole in the morning. I camped at Morro Bay State Park, 20 minutes down the road, and wouldn't have to backtrack far. 

February 17

I was back at sunrise to try again. I was much quicker at getting to the location, knowing exactly where to go. Now to debate how much time to spend. Dorian would be waiting for me in Santa Cruz when I got there, nailing down White Wagtail for me even before I arrived, so that we could save time for all that we had planned for the rest of the day. I gave it two hours, but the Streak-backed Oriole never appeared. I left frustrated, but was also anxious for the wagtail and all the other rarities I was needing to cross off my list in the San Francisco Bay Area. I noted my anxiety, and recognized there was no need for me to be as anxious as I was - the birds would either be there, or not, when I arrived. I had no set timeline to need to get back to Texas. This trip - the space, the time away from the working world - has definitely been helpful in putting me more in touch and in tune with my emotions and the reasons behind them. I think I'll be thankful for that, for years to come. 

Dorian delivered, as promised, and had a bead set right on the White Wagtail for me when I arrived in Santa Cruz. A life bird for me, we spent about 30 minutes watching it bounce around amongst the rocks (it should really be called a bobtail or a bounce tail, not a wagtail), and then continued north. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention I finally got to meet Dorian's dog, Roody! Dorian and I both fall within the subset of humans who don't ever want to have kids - and we have been exchanging cute photos of our dogs for years. I met Dorian on his biking big year in 2014, and the only thing my dog, Puppet, has ever torn up, was one pair of Dorian's stinky, dirty socks that he'd left out in the yard one night while he was crashing on my couch. Now, years later, I finally got to meet Roody in real life! Tufted Duck, Mew Gull, Fox Sparrow, and a tame Rock Sandpiper each were individual stops for the rest of the day. 

February 18

I left my car at Dorian's place and we birded together for the day. After driving a few thousand miles, the break from driving was welcomed and appreciated. We started at Golden Gate Park, in hopes of finding the Varied Thrush recently seen there. We were treated to great views of a few Townsend's Warblers, Pygmy Nuthatches and Chestnut-backed Chickadees...and I finally was able to cross off Hutton's Vireo, after having sorted through who-knows-how-many Ruby-crowned Kinglets in search of one with a larger, hooked bill. After about an hour and a half, we finally gave up on the Varied Thrush search, having sorted through American Robins over and over. A quick restroom stop on the way out, and then we'd be on our way. Only, while I was waiting (covid-style, far behind another woman) to wash my hands, Dorian yelled from outside, into the direction of the restrooms. I raced outside, got my bins on the bird, probably yelled out a bit in excitement, and then ran back into the restrooms to wash my hands. The woman ahead of me had been startled, and as she was leaving, I heard Dorian explain the situation to her. Off we went. 

By nothing short of happenstance, I had happened to reach out to Clay with Swarovski, as I am a field tech working occasionally for him. He happened to be in California also, and needed some help with the San Diego Birding Festival on Saturday, for a pelagic trip. Today was Thursday. I agreed to join. The added birds from the boat would help my year list - but would also shorten the window of time I had to find the birds I needed in San Francisco. Yikes. I was flying by the seat of my pants, and really, this whole two weeks so far had been nothing planned, just one happening after another and me driving in whatever direction I felt magnetized to at that moment. 

Seawatching at Pescadero provided the additions of Glaucous-winged Gull, Marbled Murrelet, and Common Murre; my lifer Red-breasted Sapsucker was at Ulistac Natural Area, and then a Barrow's goldeneye in Redwood City. Finally, we drove to the spot in San Francisco that had been hosting a Harlequin Duck all winter. The park was closing to vehicles as we arrived! Quick to invent a new plan, Dorian suggested we drive the two miles back to his house, and bicycle into the the park instead. Hesitant, having not ridden a bicycle since mine was stolen seven years ago, and doubly-hesitant because I'd never biked in the street before - let alone on the streets of San Francisco, I finally agreed, knowing that anyone who biked over 18,000 miles in a year to watch birds probably knew what he was doing. We biked, and it was a rush! My fears turned into excitement as my blood got pumping. We weren't able to locate the bird after all, but it was fun to have a tiny four miles of my big year be classic Dorian-style.