Listing Through Life

calothorax lucifer

Hereford, Arizona — Ash Canyon Bird Sanctuary

Sunday, May 8, 2022 — 10:34 am

This was another bird I’d been tracking on rare bird reports for the past couple months. A pair of Lucifer Hummingbirds was being seen at a tiny bird sanctuary that used to be some woman’s yard. When the woman died, the Southeastern Arizona Bird Observatory bought the place. Volunteers keep the feeders filled and answer questions. It was only a little after 10:00 when I arrived, but I’d already been up for six hours to get my tire fixed in Douglas. I was tired and needed something good to happen.

A guy came out into the parking lot and greeted me. He gave me an orientation speech and pointed out the feeders where the Lucifer Hummingbird usually showed up. He said it often fed on the flowers on a nearby ocotillo too. I found a spot on a bench in the shade and waited. A van full of birders on a guided tour from Delaware came a short while later and filled the other seats in a semi-circle around the feeders. I chatted with them some — particularly with a Black woman from Philadelphia who noticed that we had similar cameras and considered that a good reason to be my friend. It was a good enough reason for me too. She likes birds, but mostly just travels all over the world because she can. I ran into her (and her tour) in Patagonia two days later and then in the Santa Rita Mountains the day after that. We always said hello and checked up on how each other’s weeks were going. She said the tour had actually been in Rucker Canyon to see the Tufted Flycatcher just a couple minutes before I got there the day before.

I was the one who first noticed the hummingbird when it showed. The male was feeding on the ocotillo flowers and gave me good looks. It hung around for a couple minutes.

Later, both the male and the female came to the feeder. The key field marks are its small size, long purple gorget, and long bill.

Another tidbit from the visit. There are no signs before you get to the parking lot. The road splits and I chose the fork that led to a building with three cars parked out front — it had the feel of a visitor center. I’d only gone a short way when I spotted a small parking area at the end of the other drive so I knew I was on the wrong road. I found a bare spot and turned my car around. As I parked my car at the refuge, some guy from the first house walked over and said “We get a lot of birders pulling into our drive and we prefer that they back out rather then turn around.” I was nice and apologized but said that there were no signs, I’d never been there before, and was unlikely to ever be there again. He said “I hope you do come back because it’s a beautiful place and I’m a birder myself. Just remember next time to back out instead of turning around.” By this time I realized the guy was a condescending moron who liked to hear himself talk. I’d already apologized and said I’d never be back, but he had to give me his speech. But here’s the thing — if I ever did go back, why would I pull up the wrong drive again? And if he’s concerned, why doesn’t he put up a sign saying “private drive” with an arrow pointing to the sanctuary? Weird dude. When the volunteer came out to greet me, I said I’d hoped I hadn’t caused any problems because of the guy. The volunteer just scoffed to indicate that it was no big deal.

mitrephanes phaeocerus

Cochise County, Arizona — Coronado National Forest — Rucker Canyon Road

Saturday, May 7, 2022 — 1:59 pm

For a couple months before I headed to Arizona, I checked the U.S. rare bird report almost every day to see what rare birds were being seen in the Portal-Patagonia area. Since it’s so close to the Mexican border, Mexican species regularly wander into the area. One that was seen consistently this spring is the Tufted Flycatcher. The location where it was found was out of the way and would take an extra effort to see it — a 20-mile drive south of Rodeo, then 20 miles back north on a dirt road into the National Forest. When I got to Rodeo, I hadn’t made up my mind whether I would bother looking for it.

On Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, I got in many conversations with other birders. Several of them asked if I’d seen the Tufted Flycatcher yet and encouraged me to go for it. I explained that I just had a sedan and wasn’t crazy about driving 40 miles on dirt roads. They all assured me that the road was fine, and a couple of them said they’d done it in their cars. You can probably guess how this is going to end.

After seeing the Crissal Thrasher, there were no likely lifers left to hunt in the Rodeo/Portal area. I decided to go for the flycatcher.

The dirt road into Rucker Canyon crossed about nine miles of flat desert, which wasn’t too bad. It then wound its way up into the Chiricahuas. The road wasn’t in a big hurry to get anywhere, and apart from the road itself, there was little sign of civilization. I would have been much more confident in an SUV, but I’ve taken my car on worse roads. Just not often 20 miles of them in the middle of nowhere.

I made it to the stakeout for the flycatcher. Two guys were standing there peering up into the trees and they showed me the bird as soon as I arrived. We got to chatting, and they were very friendly. They were from Canada and were camping in the area. The flycatcher was high in a tall tree when I got there, but soon flew across the road to a lower branch in the shade and stayed in that general area for about half an hour. It kept flitting out and returning to the same branch.

It looked like an empidonax flycatcher but was a bit smaller, with a larger crest, a forked tail, and a buffy yellow wash all over.  If I understand correctly, it’s actually nesting in the area.

Two other birders — not very friendly ones — showed up. We pointed out the flycatcher. Shortly thereafter, the bird crossed the road again and worked its way through the trees along a creek. The two Canadian guys said goodbye and wandered up the road to look for a lake. I sought out some other birds singing in the area —Painted Redstart, Plumeous Vireo, Grace’s Warbler.

As I drove the 20 miles back along the dirt road, I was probably going faster than I should have been, although I don’t know if that’s what caused my problems. At some point, I punctured a tire. Because the road was gravel, I’m not sure when it happened. Just before I got back to the pavement, I slowed down to look at a Horned Lark, and that’s when I noticed the thumping noise. I said out loud, “I do NOT like that noise.” I pretended it was just the gravel road and kept going onto the pavement, but it soon became apparent that something was wrong. There was little shoulder, so I pulled over as far as I could on the pavement and got out. My right rear tire was flat. I’d been riding on the flat for some time, and the walls of the tire were almost worn through. I don’t know why I didn’t destroy the rim, but it was fine.

There were no buildings of any kind in view. There were no cars on the road. I was isolated. It was dry and windy and felt very remote. The nearest hint of civilization was Rodeo. That was 20 miles away and had no gas station. I pulled out the donut spare and the jack and went to work changing the tire. After five minutes or so, a camper pulled over. A guy — who also happened to be from Canada — walked back and asked if I had everything I needed. I said I thought I did but I wasn’t sure about the pressure in my spare. I’d never used it before. He said he had a gauge and a pump and walked off with my tire. As it turned out, the spare had about 35 lbs. of pressure and should have had 60 lbs. I probably would have been OK, but it was nice to get it filled to the right amount, and it was nice to not be quite so alone. The guy stuck around to make sure I got the spare on before leaving. I thanked him heartily. I was on my way about 20 minutes after I’d pulled over. In that time — in addition to the camper — only two cars had passed.

To finish the story, the owner’s manual recommends not driving more than 50 mph on a donut or going more than 70 miles total. I went 20 miles just to get back to my cabin. I checked in Sierra Vista for tire places and discovered they were all closed on Sunday. I did find a Walmart in Douglas, 68 miles away, that was open at 7:00 on Sundays and had an auto center. The next morning I got up at five and drove at 45 mph to get there when it opened. I forgot that Arizona doesn’t observe daylight savings time, so I arrived at 5:45 and had an hour-and-fifteen minute wait. Actually, it was closer to an hour and thirty minutes because the place didn’t open when it was supposed to. But they had my size tire, I was the first customer of the day, and by 8:05 I was on my way, $119 poorer. All things considered, that could have gone much worse.

Was the flycatcher worth it? I know I wouldn’t have bothered chasing it if I’d know what would happen. But I survived, I saw another lifer, and I have a story.

toxostoma crissale

Portal, Arizona — Rodrigues yard

Saturday, May 7, 2022 — 12:14 pm

There’s an odd birding culture in southern Arizona. Homeowners set up huge feeder stations to attract a wide variety of birds, then invite the public into their yards to see the birds for a price. The set-ups I saw were impressive and worth the price of admission, but to visit very many of them could get expensive.

I was told that this guys house in the desert below the Chiricahua Mountains is the only reliable place to see a Crissal Thrasher in the Portal area. It’s usually a secretive bird, but it regularly comes to the feeders here. A 50-yard trail leads to a clearing in the mesquite tangle. A garage-size area is fenced off with chicken wire and there are feeders and fruit all over the place. Twenty feet outside the fence there’s a picnic table and chairs in the shade of a sycamore. The lady who was hosting (the owner is out of town) said the Crissal comes regularly, and she was surprised it hadn’t been seen yet that day.  Three other birders were there for the first half hour and then the hostess was there for the last half hour but I was alone the rest of the time. I determined to stick it out till I saw the bird. It took over two hours. The thrasher finally came in from the scrub. It foraged under a feeder for a bit, spent a short time on a platform feeder, drank at the bird bath, and then somehow clung to a hanging feeder meant for much smaller birds and ate seed.

The bird isn’t as crisp and clean as it looks in the field guides. I could see the black line on the pale chin and the rusty under-tail coverts (most clearly seen at the end of the video clip), but overall it was a dingy gray. The most noticeable thing about it was the comically long bill, much longer than that of a Curve-billed Thrasher.

The hostess said it very rarely posed for photos as nicely as it did for me. I watched for about 10 minutes until it flew off into the scrub and then I left for other adventures. The video shows a few seconds of the bird and then a longer time-lapse of the feeder set-up in the yard.

picoides arizonae

Cochise County, Arizona — Coronado National Forest — South Fork Road

Saturday, May 7, 2022 — 9:25 am

The Arizona Woodpecker is about halfway in size between a Downy and a Hairy Woodpecker. It’s brown instead of black, and the back is solidly colored with no white. It’s not a particularly flashy bird, but I like woodpeckers and I hadn’t seen one yet. When I mentioned it to other birders, they scoffed and told me it was easy to find along South Fork Road or, if not there, at any one of several feeder stations in the canyon.

I was returning to my car after a couple hours of beautiful but dusty birding. The dust was kicked up by the steady stream of cars driving further up the canyon in search of the trogon (which I kept seeing and hearing this morning even though I wasn’t looking for it). I heard the tapping of a woodpecker. It sounded far away and I was struggling to locate it. After a few minutes of walking back and forth to triangulate, I spotted a male Arizona Woodpecker in a large pine right next to the road.

It was perched on the shady side of the tree right next to the stump of a short broken-off branch. The woodpecker would look around for 10-15 seconds, then turn its head and drum on the branch for a bit. The sound wasn’t all that loud. I watched for about eight  minutes before it flew off. Its back was solid brown. It’s cheek was white. From my perspective, its bill seemed disproportionately long. Its chest and belly were streaked brown and white.

The only other one I saw on the trip was at the feeders at Santa Rita Lodge in Madera Canyon four days later. That one landed on a suet feeder at one end of the row and quickly made its way down the line, stopping very briefly at each. They were all empty, so it moved along quickly and then flew off out of sight.

myiarchus tiberculifer

Cochise County, Arizona — Coronado National Forest — South Fork Road

Friday, May 6, 2022 — 4:23 pm

After I heard the Mexican Whip-poor-will, I continued walking down the road toward my car. With the valley in shadow, things were quiet. I saw a bird fly into an oak along the road. I knew immediately it was a myiarchus flycatcher by its posture and coloring. It had a brown crest and face, a gray breast, and a bright yellow belly. After only a second, it flew to another tree further into the woods and up the slope. It was now facing me. It was small for a myiarchus — obviously smaller than an Ash-throated. I knew to look for the pattern on the underside of the tail — there was no rufous. That and the small size proved it was a Dusky-capped. I decided to try for a photo even though it was back in the trees, but as I took my camera out, I was distracted by a Hairy Woodpecker that landed nearby in the same tree. I was hoping it was an Arizona Woodpecker, so I checked it out. When I looked back, the flycatcher had disappeared. I hadn’t heard it call.

I had my lifer, but it wasn’t a satisfying look. I called it a day, but went back the next morning. After being distracted by the pesky trogon that came by to wish me a good morning, I walked down the canyon through the section of oak woods where I’d seen the flycatcher the night before. I heard, and then saw, a Dusky Flycatcher in the trees along the road. It was engaging in typical flycatcher behavior, sitting on branches looking around, then flitting out after insects. I now had audio as well as visual confirmation, but I wanted a photo. The bird wasn’t being super-cooperative, and I had to follow it off the road and into the woods for perhaps 100  yards before I managed good photos. By this time there were two of them flitting through the branches about 20 feet off the ground.

I’m very familiar with the Great Crested Flycatcher of the east. This bird looked similar but was obviously smaller. I saw a few others during the trip — at Tubac on my walk to see the Becard, at Paton’s in Patagonia, and along the trail through the hills nearby. I generally felt confident calling it a Dusky-capped by size alone.

When I finally tracked down the flycatcher for photos, I was along the creek and close to the canyon wall. I could see the rocks through the trees and spotted two creatures climbing up the steep slope. Through my binoculars, I could see that they were Coatis, an animal I’d seen very briefly on my previous trip to Arizona but didn’t expect to see again. Their huge tails were extended downhill behind them, giving them a very elongated, prehistoric look. I didn’t get my camera out in time, which I regretted. A few seconds later, I saw a third one through another gap in the trees. As it turned out, seeing Coatis was not hard. I ran into them at three locations near Patagonia and had my fill, but seeing these climbing the wall was a novel experience.