Listing Through Life

In the spring of the first full year we lived in our house, I noticed a Say’s Phoebe repeatedly attempting to build a nest on a narrow ledge on our front porch. The nest kept falling off the ledge long before the bird finished building it. I ripped the roof and one wall off an old birdhouse and nailed it up under an overhang on the porch. Before the day was through, the phoebe was building a nest in it.

The phoebes returned the next year, but did not return in 2020. This year they got a late start because a pair of House Finches used the nest early in the spring. But when they moved out, the Say’s Phoebes came back. We knew they’d laid eggs when they began getting aggressive when we went outside.

On July 4, I climbed up and took this photo of four just-hatched babies in the nest. They couldn’t have been more than a day or two old at the time.

Every few days, I took an update photo.

July 9

July 13

July 16

July 19 at 8:00 am. Only two of the four babies were still in the nest.

July 19 at 1:00 pm. One of the remaining babies left the nest. It landed on the roof right outside my study window and spent eight or ten minutes observing the world.

July 19 at 10:10 pm. The phoebe was taking some practice flights around the yard. As I was working at my desk, I was startled by something large flashing right past the window at high speed. My fears were confirmed. A Cooper’s Hawk grabbed the phoebe and carried it to a nearby tree. As I watched, the hawk tore into the bird. For a while, I could tell the phoebe was still alive. It flapped a bit and turned its head toward the hawk and opened its mouth in what I presume was a threat posture. It did no good. Within minutes, all that was left was a small pile of feathers in the neighbor’s yard. One of the parents called repeatedly from the top of our tree, but that did no good either.

I understand nature and even like hawks. But this was just a little bit too close to home — geographically and emotionally.

One phoebe remained in the nest. It was gone when I went outside at 6:30 on July 20. Hopefully, it and the first two made it to the open space where there is cover.

sylvilagus nuttallii

Goldfield, Colorado — Vindicator Valley Trail

Thursday, July 15, 2021 — 2:07 pm

Mountain and Desert Cottontails are both widespread in Colorado, and I’ve never found a definitive way to tell them apart. I’m not sure if anyone has. I saw my lifer Desert Cottontail near La Junta, where the elevation along the Arkansas River is just above 4,000 feet, so I feel pretty confident about that one. I see cottontails in my neighborhood all the time and have never been sure which species they are.

Our great-nieces came to visit for a couple days. On Thursday, I took them up to Vindicator Valley and hiked the trail past the old gold mines. I saw this cottontail on the hillside below the first big mine hoist. The elevation there is almost 10,000 feet, and since every bit of information I can find says that Desert Cottontails don’t go above 7,000 feet, I feel confident that this was a Mountain Cottontail.

I saw it hopping away from me as I walked down the trail. It went about four feet to cover beneath a bush, where I took this photo. The hair in the ears and on the feet of a Mountain Cottontail is longer than on a Desert Cottontail, and the ears are rounder, but without seeing two of them right next to each other, these marks aren’t worth much.

Since this observation, I’ve paid closer attention to the cottontails I see around my neighborhood. The hair on the leading edge of the ear is definitely shorter than that on the cottontail in the photo above. The difference isn’t one that jumps out at me, but it’s definite and consistent, leading me to believe even more strongly than the one in the photo is a Mountain Cottontail, and that I could tell the difference if I got a good, close look at the two side-by-side.

While I was watching the White-tailed Ptarmigan at Medicine Bow Curve, I heard one of the other birders refer to a phalarope. I looked up to see a medium-sized shorebird flying back and over the tundra. It circled and landed in a small puddle that was about the size of a one-car garage. For the next 15 minutes or so, it swam and waded around the edges. It was a Wilson’s Phalarope. I think it’s a female, but I’m not positive.

As I headed back to my car, a Yellow-bellied Marmot watched me walk past.

Earlier in the morning, I’d passed a herd of Elk relaxing in the grass along both sides of Trail Ridge Road. The ptarmigan was my goal for the day, so I didn’t stop. I did take a video as I went by. This is a freeze-frame from that video.

They were still there as I left, and this time I stopped and got out to get some photos.

This one looks like its head is on backward.

Calves. There were six or seven on one side of the road with several cows. Most of the Elk on the other side of the road were males.

The one in front has a huge collar around its neck that makes it look like a pet.