Bolivar Flats and Anahuac: Friends, Fevers and Feelings

Back to Texas! Let's start with the legendary Bolivar Flats. Our wonderful group went on a couple different days; it was quite good one day and more on the meh side on another day, but it was easy to see why it's such a heavily-birded spot. The first time out we had good looks at this Glaucous Gull, which was lingering late into the spring. This is the southernmost Glaucous that I have ever seen, which also gave better looks than what I'm used to.

I expected a lot of great birds on this trip, but hulking arctic gulls were not among them. You just never know what will turn up when MAX REBO BIRDING TOURS is in the field! Speaking of unexpected hulking arctic birds, we just missed a Pomarine Jaeger by a few days that had been hanging out at Rollover Pass. I've never even seen a Pomarine Jaeger sitting on solid ground before, and I've seen a lot of them. The Vague Runt potential of the Bolivar Peninsula is not to be taken lightly.

Glaucous Gull bills look almost tubular to me sometimes, due to the depth and relative lack of a gonydeal angle on many individuals like this one. We also had Great and Lesser Black-backed Gulls here on this day...three quality gulls, especially for late spring, all of which were Sierra Bravos for me. Over 300 in Texas now, mmmm.

This Machine Nate and Officer Shaw courageously plow through distant flocks.

California has a lot of great birds, but Wilson's Plover is not among them. Birders who dwell within the range of Wilson's Plovers should consider themselves lucky. Be sure to stop and smell the Wilson's Plovers next time you are around them, I bet they smell good.

It's hard not to think of Wilson's as a heavily enhanced Snowy Plover. What invertebrate could withstand the bludgeoning bill and furious charge of a Wilson's Plover? Snowies, while similar, appear to woo their prey into submission by being cute.

We never could find any actual Snowies. Our trip list suffered for it, but we soldiered on.

Black-bellied Plovers were in abundance, as expected, and were looking mighty fine and crispy. At another site, we saw some get strung as American Golden-Plovers...which isn't a digression of the Summer Tanager-Blackburnian Warbler class, but very typical all the same. One past trip report I read from the area (probably at the same site where this misidentification went down) showed photos of an obvious American Golden-Plover, with the author discussing how it was an Upland Sandpiper and how he convinced his whole dubious group of the identification.

Geri, how do you do it? The blunders never cease.

Continuing with the plover theme, Piping Plovers are very lovable and easy to find at Bolivar. I wish I could have spent some more time with them, as they are worth all the time in the world. Speaking of time being a Piping Plover (as opposed to a flat circle), this species has grown into a major blocker in California...I think we are due for another.

One of the great perks of birding the UTC (and the thing that mostly makes the birding so great in the first place) is seeing migrants drop straight in from who-knows-where, like these Wilson's Phalaropes did. Yankee bravos! Oh by the way, you can potentially get ticketed for parking here without a beach pass, which you can apparently get from many local businesses. We just missed getting busted by a couple minutes one day.

Dan found a sand friend (sand-friend), and leaned in to hear what he had to say. His sandy compatriot whispered, "Your work here is finished, my friend. Go out to the command ship and await my orders."

Not as famous as Bolivar Flats but birded just as hard (since it is conveniently halfway between High Island and Bolivar) is Rollover Pass. We didn't see anything too juicy here but there was an enormous tern flock (mostly Commons) here one day.

Back to Anahuac! Yes, I will stoop to taking Cattle Egret photos. Disgusting, I know. What won't I do? Well, you don't get to be #7 by being classy. I will say that I won't chase unambiguous escaped birds though...some things are just wrong. Mandarin Ducks come to mind...seems like quite a few have turned into chase targets in recent years, which defies logic. The only Mandarin Duck I've seen was by accident, and I feel shame in even mentioning it.

Least Bittern in a classic pose. This is much better than a Mandarin Duck. I'm amazed this photo came out, I was pretty much shooting into the sun. Bless you Least Bittern, mysterious wraith of the reeds. Bless you Nikon, god of cameras.

Piles of Purple Gallinules await you on the Shoveler Pond Loop, where they are acclimated to cars and aren't shy. Check out the length of that gallinule talon!

Common Nighthawks were indeed common on multiple days. We didn't have the luck to blunder in to any Eastern Whip-poor-wills anywhere, but incredibly had a day-flying Chuck-will's-widow cruise high over Officer Shaw's Sugar Land yard right before yours truly had to drag himself to the airport. Classic April Magic in Texas.

Dipper Dan and I specifically went down into the bowels of the refuge in search of Seaside Sparrow, which I've only seen a few of and Dan had not seen at all. Finding them was an easy task...there were dozens of them out in Yellow Rail Prairie, singing and displaying everywhere. Seaside Sparrows galore! We were chuffed. Despite our Great Success with seeing copious amounts of Seaside Sparrows, we never did connect with any Nelson's here or anywhere else.

On the way back in from Trinity Bay and the Seaside Sparrows, we stopped at the one and only little woodlot next to the road before the Shoveler Pond turnoff. It was hella birdy! And there was a drip! In eBird this is called the Jackson Prairie Woodlot - I had never heard of it before but it was quite birdy, and I recommend it highly. We saw very few Blackpoll Warblers that week, this is the only one I got deec photos of.

While we had to put some work in daily to find Blackpolls, the other monochrome warbler migrating through the area was abundant day in and day out. Yes, you are in for a treat...I am talking about the Black-and-white Warbler.

On one emotional, tear-filled night, a choked up Dipper Dan confessed to me how much Black-and-white Warblers mean to him. Luckily for Dan, we saw them pretty much constantly. He had Black-and-white Fever, flogging the migrant patches for maximum Black-and-white yield.

Who am I to argue with these warblers, these feelings, these interesting approaches? Not even #7 has jurisdiction over such things.

Speaking of fevers and waking dreams...at one point my head became light...my tongue swelled up, and a salty liquid discharged from my eyes. What had gone wrong? Was this the end of Seagull Steve? It almost was. You see, Bay-breasted Warblers also occupied the woodlot, and this bird was suddenly gleaning about unnervingly close to me, closer than I've ever been before. The crippling effects of this species are not well-publicized compared to other warbler species, but I assure you they are very real and very serious. I thought this was a close call, but it was nothing compared to what I was about to experience at Sabine Woods...more on Sabine in the next installment.

Yet another Philadelphia Vireo that loves to forage in close proximity to people. This is the people's vireo, the vireo of the commons. Philadelphia Vireos are for all to enjoy. For a bird that is misidentified so much, they sure are considerate about trying to make sure everyone gets to see them well.

Maynerayge Days 4-6: A Belly Flop and A Bean Goose...Do You Have Razorbirr?...Just Browning Around.

This is Down By Law Dan.  He is intimately familiar with Down By Law's entire discography and the nuances of their sound. He also knows that iPads make for excellent eBird machines.

After our glory with the small gulls at Pine Point came to a close, it was time to move north. The next morning we went straight to Mr. Bagel, at the edge of Scarborough Marsh, for sharp-tailed sparrows. Knowing that Saltmarsh Sparrow would be a life bird for some, I again sacrificed for the greater good and left the camera in the car. We got both sharp-tailed sparrows and a putative hybrid or two, and rolled north. Sparrow crushes were obtained, but not by me of course. Also, sharp-tailed sparrowing is hard.

Our one and only stop we made after leaving Scarborough was at Higgins Beach, where Down By Law Dan hoped to lifer a Piping Plover, which was done with great ease.  Believe it or not, I used to be in the Piping Plover business, and I continue to relish this species more than most.

Common Terns were a common bird at Higgins Beach, which was a surprise to no one. You can call me a robin-stroker if you like, it would not be inaccurate in this case...I have no shame. 

Adults are so short-tailed compared to Forster's/Arctic/Roseate.

We eventually found ourselves nestled next to the Canadian border in Lubec, where we had rented a house ("THE EDGE") for four nights, which was perched on top of a cliff overlooking Johnson Bay. It was great.  The birding was hit-or-miss in the area, although our trip list grew frighteningly quickly. Some nice pickups in the area included Boreal Chickadee (Lower 48 bird), Black Guillemot (lifer!), Alder and Yellow-bellied Flycatchers, Palm Warbler, and American Woodcocks doing flight displays, which I've never seen before (it was awesome)...I haven't seen one for so long it was almost like a relifer.  We also just picked a random field and hoped they would be there, so that worked out pretty well...even better, earlier in the afternoon Flycatcher Jen made a "peent" sound in the car and Down By Law Dan and This Machine Nate both thought it was actually a woodcock for a considerable amount of time. How embarrassing. In fact, it was even more embarrassing than when I got lost trying to drive home for an absurd period of time just a couple hours later.

Down on the Bold Coast, we had a nice walk out to the ocean hoping for Black-backed Woodpecker (dip), Spruce Grouse (dip) and other boreal specialties. When we got to the coast there were Razorbills flying by close to shore, which I did not expect at all. This one was diving in the surf right below us, like a goddamned scoter. This was a great lifer, and I owe Flycatcher Jen an HJ.

Walking around the boreal forest near the coast, there is no missing the abundant porcupine sign on dead snags everywhere.  In some places there is so much of it that you would think that the forest was just littered with porcupines.  We found this fine specimen on the ground next to the trail, and it hitched up the nearest tree at an unimpressive speed (but fast for a porcupine, I thought).

The business end of a porcupine.  Porcupines are fantastically equipped for defense against predators, not so much with automobiles though.

A bog rimmed by boreal forest at West Quoddy Head.  Our first Yellow-bellied Flycatcher of the trip was near this edge.

The Spruce Grouse stress was beginning to build.  At some point before the trip, it somehow became my Number 1 target bird, although it took me a long time to realize it.  Why that is, I'm not entirely sure, but by the time we were on the ground in Maine I was ready to admit it...I needed Spruce Grouse.  My checklist didn't need it, I did.

Spruce Grouse is not a rare bird in Maine.  They are relatively widespread, but it's not like you can just show up at a lek and expect to see one, since they don't do that.  So we groused here, we groused there, but there was not a grouse anywhere.  Fresh-out-of-the-oven eBird reports of Spruce Grouse in the Lubec area were encouraging though.  We were hot on the grouse trail, no doubt about it, but it was not an easy bird to get.  This Machine Nate thought he saw one right next to the car and got everyone really stoked, but that lead only resulted in confusion and disillusionment...the birding gods were especially sadistic that day.

Eventually we decided to try out Boot Head Preserve, which featured both recent eBird records and fairly specific directions for grouse-finding in the Maine Birding Trail. I was in front of our shameful, socially-challenged group of uber-nerds on the bog boards, when suddenly it was happening.

I was being charged by a Spruce Grouse.

My initial reaction to being charged by a male Spruce Grouse was not to call out "Spruce Grouse!" to the others in my group, but instead at a moderate volume I said, "Grouse grouse grouse grouse grouse grouse grouse grouse grouse grouse grouse grouse" very rapidly, which I thought was an interesting (and unplanned) response to such a bird.  This Machine Nate was taking a leak at the time I gave my grouse alert, and promptly got caught in his zipper.  He may have become permanently mangled, but that is the kind of risk we take when we are out in grouse country.  But take this to heart...when he saw the brave grouse strutting around on the moss, the tears in his eyes were not those of fresh physical disfigurement, no.  They were tears of joy.

The vigilant grouse ran towards us on the forest floor, and promptly flew up on a low perch to take a good look at us.  The grouse was, to put it bluntly, ridiculous.  It completely lived up to its species' rep of not being afraid of people.  The courage and heart that this bird displayed that day will live on forever in our memories.  It would walk around in a certain patch on the ground, fly up to a certain perch, fly up to another certain perch, fly back to the ground, and repeat the process over and over and over again.  It defended the shit out of its territory.

The other ridiculous aspect of this bird was how facemelting it was.  The fine detail but vast variation in feather patterning it displayed was hard for me to process all at once, there was almost too much to look at. Truly, it is one of those birds that far exceeds your previous notions of them you may have had before seeing one. The red eye comb was also the single reddest thing I have ever seen on a bird, maybe period. I still can't quite fathom the degree of redness emanating from this bird's face.  It makes Scarlet Tanagers seem modest in comparison.

The Maine Birding Trail was almost spot on about their grouse advice for this site, the bird was exactly where they suggested looking, and the eBird assist was clutch as well.  With our collective grouse-lust finally sated, we headed back to town for horrible food (delicious bread though, which seems to be abundant in Maine...why?).  After 3 days of rough seas and boat cancellations, we would finally be going out to Machias Seal Island the next day, and preparations had to be made. Though more lifers were on deck, this was definitely the bird of the trip for me.

Bogs are not nutrient rich places, and lovely insect-consuming pitcher plants abound in these places. Oh, and in case you were concerned about This Machine, don't worry, he has come out unscarred and vigorous, and with Spruce Grouse on his life list.

The Perpetual Weekend Bites The Dust

Brown Jay. I have seen many of these, but not in the U.S. I would like to see more. Photographed in Chavarrillo, Veracruz, Mexico.

It's been a good run, but all good things must come to an end. I must lay this Perpetual Weekend down to rest. It's day has come and gone, and I have found gainful employment once again. Next week I will be on my way to Texas...south Texas. The Lower Rio Grande Valley in fact. There are worse places to find yourself, if you're a convicted bird junkie like myself. In fact, the overwhelming majority of the United States' surface area is probably worse.

Rose-breasted Grosbeak. I have seen many of these. Soon, I will see more. Photographed at Des Lacs National Wildlife Refuge, North Dakota.

I've birded a bit in the LRGV and eastern Mexico before, so I'm not set to be hounded by lifers, but the birding will be fun. I'm really stoked on getting to experience spring migration in that part of the world...besides the Mexican specialties, the LRGV gets a lot of eastern species passing through, and the fantastic migrant trap that is South Padre Island is less than an hour away.

Piping Plover. I have seen many of these. Maybe I will run into one of my old piping friends from North Dakota? Photographed at Redmond Lakes, North Dakota.

My friends in California will be longed for, and Booby Brittany will be missed like never before. The stringers will run rampant in my absence. But remember these words: #7 will return.

Fall Birding in Dry Tortugas National Park

Dry Tortugas National Park is doubtlessly one of the most famous and crushingly good birding hotspots in North America. It is mentioned in the same breath as any incredible place birders swarm to for migration...Cape May, Magee Marsh, High Island...you get the picture. Ever since I was a teenager, I drooled about someday going (yes, I also drooled about girls too). Being out in the open ocean, the Tortugas are a migrant vacuum for landbirds...this is one of the few places you can reasonably hope for real fallout. Equally as stoke-inducing is the great collection of nesting and visiting seabirds as well.

Of course, almost all birders go in spring. That's just how it's always been done. That's when warblers are the brightest, that's when fallouts happen, and that's when you have the best chance at seeing the high-quality terns....Sooty, Bridled, Roseate, and Brown and Black Noddies. Fall in the Dry Tortugas is not something birders seem to know much about...so being the Number 7 Birder in the nation, I decided to do something about it.

In the predawn hours of October 17, Booby Brittany and I managed to make it on to the Yankee Freedom III (after I was almost stranded on a sailboat that was NOT going to the Tortugas, but that's another story). Despite my enthusiastic (bordering on desperate) efforts to find any shearwaters or pelagic terns, the boat ride there (and back) was uneventfu beyond a few boobies and frigatebirds. The only surprising thing was the tens of thousands (hundreds of thousands are more likely) of lobster traps that carpet the ocean between Key West and the Dry Tortugas...I can't imagine that's a very sustainable fishery.

As we arrived at the Tortugas, so did a rainstorm. As we passed Brown Boobies on channel markers and the mini Masked Booby (year bird) colony on Hospital Key, a sizeable flock of birds appeared out of the rain. As they crossed the bow, I got a good enough look to see they were thrushes...a good sign.

The skies can get quite congested above Fort Jefferson, with frigatebirds and raptors being the most obvious. The Tortugas are probably the best and most reliable place for Magnificent Frigatebirds in the U.S., as they are persent in numbers throughout the year. The white-headed bird is an immature, the black-headed bird a female.

Garden Key has a good roosting spot for gulls, terns and shorebirds. A Piping Plover (year bird) roosts with Black-bellied Plovers.

A flock of Magnificent Frigatebirds met us as we docked at Garden Key, and Booby Brittany and I quickly made our way to the campground to stake out a good spot...we were to stay 3 nights, and wanted to pick a place with shelter from the rain. We wound our way through the tame flock of Ruddy Turnstones and Eurasian Collared-Doves (what a weird mixed flock) and finally settled on a spot, where a Gray Catbird eyed us with anxiety. It was a precursor of things to come.

After getting camp set up, we took a walk into Fort Jefferson in the pouring rain. The first bird we ran into was a Hooded Warbler (year bird), followed by a redstart, then a Clay-colored Sparrow...then Peregrine Falcons, Merlins, Cooper's and Sharp-shinned Hawks, a flock of Tricolored Herons, and hundreds of Gray Catbirds. Catbirds seemed to be ravaging the place...practically every tree had its own catbird flock. Finally the storm let up, and I was free to bird unrestrained...to put it lightly, it was intense. I knew things were going to be good when we walked right up to a Philadelphia Vireo (year bird), which paid us no attention at all. There were a lot of birds around, which I finally realized was a result of the storm.

The next day was almost just as birdy (another storm rolled in overnight), but with clear skies things really mellowed on days 3 and 4, although it was not hard to figure out that birds were arriving and leaving throughout the day regardless of the weather. I watched birds like Cave Swallow (year bird), Chimney Swift (year bird), and White-winged Dove fly in off the ocean, only to never be seen again. As always, its great to watch migration in action.

A Black-throated Blue Warbler was one of many birds that caused carnage to my adrenal gland. This was our campsite buddy for a day.

This was the one and only Veery I saw while out there. I like it's facial expression. Despite the sizeable thrush flock that flew over as I arrived, the only thrushes present were this Veery and a few Swainson's.

The campground turned out to be one of the best spots on the island. At one point I watched a Swainson's Thrush hop past my feet and into our tent. A male Black-throated Blue Warbler spent a whole day in and around our campsite, brushing me with its wing as it flew past at one point. Ovenbirds strutted under the picnic table while we sat playing cards. Hooded, Canada (year bird), Worm-eating, Blackburnian, Orange-crowned, Magnolia, Palm, American Redstart, etc. all popped in to our campsite as well...not the campground as a whole, mind you, just at our little campsite. A couple of Piping Plovers roosted with the small shorebird flock at the coaling dock, a stone's throw away.

A couple of Blackburnian Warblers came in with one of the rainstorms and foraged point blank. Some birds out there went beyond "confiding" and far into the realm of "not giving a fuck". Awesome.

This crippling adult male Hooded Warbler was one of the brightest birds at Garden Key during my visit.

All in all it was a completely successful trip. My face was left badly disfigured, almost completely melted off by the avian brilliance, and I have had to spend thousands of dollars on plastic surgery since then. Vireo Vita and Booby Brittany had an amazing time snorkeling, and from shore I was happy to see enormous groupers (bigger than people!), parrotfish and angelfish, barracudas, and even the fabled Tortuga Crocodile, which I understand has Loch Ness Monster status among Key West locals (undoctored photos to come soon). In 4 days I tallied 77 species of birds, including 21 species of warblers...pretty good for a 400 X 500 meter island! It would be awesome to get to explore Bush Key or Loggerhead Key, but that's not something many birders get to do.

Sandwich and Royal Terns roost on one of the the old coaling docks. Both coaling docks are quality snorkel sites as well. Bush Island is in the background; that's where the Sooty Terns and Brown Noddies nest in season.

A Northern Parula takes a break from moth-catching to collect itself.

I would definitely recommend camping on Garden Key, although you have to bring all of your supplies (they do have bathrooms though)...but that's just part of the fun if you ask me. Also, the Yankee Freedom III is docked at Garden Key most of the day, and you are welcome to buy lunch, beer, etc. on board, so you are not really 100% roughing it. It's really nice before and after the boat is around though, because there are fewer people around. Biting insects were few and far between.

Birders should check the campground, the trees inside the fort, and the patch of vegetation that lies north of the campground, outside the fort. Both coaling docks should be checked, and don't forget to frequently look up for incoming wayward migrants. Birds come and go throughout the day so it's a good idea to do the rounds regularly (what else do you have to do?). Hope and prepare for rain. As of my visit the famous water fountain in the fort courtyard was not being used in the fall...Booby Brittany overheard a park employee saying something ridiculous about leaving it off so migrant birds don't try to winter there and die.

The conclusion: the Dry Tortugas have huge potential during fall migration. Of course, now I want to go back in spring...

This Mundane Tyranny of Mediocrity

Grasshopper Sparrow. Redmond Lakes, ND.

Congratulations, Bourbon, Bastards and Birds community, for making it through another season with me. As with much of the North Dakotan birdlife, my urge to migrate is quite strong. The Willets and godwits (marbled variety) that harassed me so much earlier in the summer have mostly left for the West Coast already, and their migration path appeals to me....so I will be triumphantly rejoining them in California by the end of the month. With less than a week left and plover work completely wrapped up, its time to sit back, try to eat all the food I have left, dip into the the beer cache, sip on some whiskey and contemplate . 

Who am I kidding? With most field jobs, I generally just want to get the hell out by the time I'm done. All of the contemplating I'll be doing consists of devious plotting for the upcoming months.

Lesser Yellowlegs. Des Lacs NWR, ND.



Now that the Grey-hooded Gull has moved along, The Birdosphere has been pretty quiet lately. People have been sticking to the the tried and true ground of going birding, taking some pictures, and writing about it. Everyone seems to be excited that shorebirds are on their way south, and that the infamous "summer doldrums" are quickly giving away to fall migration, which many consider the most crippling time of year in terms of finding vagrants. No bird scandals to speak of really, aside from low level discussions on Common Gallinule vs. Common Moorhen, both regarding how to tell the two apart and the names themselves. Personally, I think we New Worlders lucked out getting the Gallinule...it's just such a birder's name. 

North Dakota, people, North Dakota. And a bunch of ducks that cant fly.

Of course, The Great Ornithologist Felonious Jive and I have taken a brave nomenclatic (thats not a word is it? whatevs.) stand against the word "common". What does that mean? We here at BB&B are completely against any bird having the word "common" in their name. Its degrading and misleading, and about as interesting as what you flush down the toilet after your first cup of coffee in the morning. If the American Ornithologists Union had any sort of taste or tact, they would immediately strike down the adjective "common" from every North American bird...it is useless for birders and bad PR for the birds themselves.

For example...take the Northern Beardless-Tyrannulet. They are one of the most nondescript birds on the continent. Who thinks its a good idea to rename them "Common Flycatcher?" They certainly can be common in some areas. So lets do it!

No. That is a damn poor idea. I would not hesitate to bet that birders want to see this obscure bird that much more, simply because of the strange and ridiculous name.

A wee Northern Harrier. Not yet a finely-tuned killing machine. Still mostly just good at looking innocent and slightly concerned. Lostwood NWR, ND.

Most of the birds pictured today have decent, semi-accurate names. Grasshopper Sparrows do indeed sound like insects, and spend most of their lives in grasslands. Lesser Yellowlegs are the smaller of the two yellowlegs...a boring name, but an accurate description. Piping Plovers do pipe, and the name invokes their innate cuteness as well. Ruddy Ducks are ruddy colored ducks, Northern Harriers do occur in the north and they do harry. Cedar Waxwings.....well the cedar part is bullshit but it is a nice sounding tree (wait...is it because it's cedar colored???? Ahhh!!!!!!!). Anyways. Let's call that a 5/6 on names.


Now imagine all these birds with "Common" in their name. Disgusting, isn't it? "Common Sparrow"? My god, that is obscene.


So that seems to be where we are ending up today. Write your local AOU representative and give them a piece of your mind. Together we can bring an end to this mundane tyranny of mediocrity!!!!

Juvenile Piping Plovers. Redmond Lakes, ND.

Ruddy Duck with...ducklets. Near Redmond Lakes, ND.

Cedar Waxwing. Lostwood NWR, ND.