My Birding World

I’ve been writing in this blog since 2018. It has brought me so much joy to share my experiences. At times, I’ve written obsessively, posting multiple times a month. Other times, I’ve taken an extended break. Life requires that we have moments to pause, reflect, and rest our minds.

This year has been one of those times where a longer break was necessary. For the first part of the year, I was exhausted after a marathon race of participating in the Big Year competition. When I finally regained some energy around birding, then summer reared its ugly head and I had to switch gears to surviving the hottest summer I’ve ever experienced. Staying indoors to escape the heat caused my birding world to narrow dramatically to just my backyard. Even the birds found it too hot and largely stayed in the shade and out of sight.

Despite being house-bound to escape the heat, I did have an opportunity to make some interesting observations. Namely, the California Scrub-Jays have commanded my attention as of late. I never really paid attention to these local birds, but watching a large group of them take over my backyard over the summer offered some fascinating insights into their behavior.

For one thing, they are certainly mischievous. I’ve had to battle them to keep my container garden growing. I don’t mind that they bury plum seeds and dog food in my pots, but I do get annoyed when they start messing with my plants. One year I tried planting garlic and we had an extended battle over keeping the bulbs in the ground. Each day the jays would rip out the garlic and damage the bulbs. They wouldn’t eat them, so apparently the jays just didn’t want the garlic in the pots. I had to stick with growing garlic indoors in water (which is easy and yummy, by the way).

This year I tried planting more flowers in the backyard. I thought that succulents would be a good option in this environment, so I purchased two tiny succulents to add to two small pots. Over the course of a week, the jays uprooted the succulents and flung them across the yard on multiple occasions. Even after I lined the edges of the pots with a bunch of BBQ skewers, they still managed to grab the plants and toss them aside. I ended up relocating the pots close to the backyard door, which seems to have finally dissuaded the jays from messing around with these particular plants.

Despite the frustrations with gardening, The jays have been fun to watch as they bathe in the bird bath I set up. There is definitely a pecking order where one is permitted to splash around in the water while the others are sidelined and forced to watch. Only when the alpha bird decides it’s done do the other jays have a chance to drink and bathe.

One day while indoors, I heard a jay calling and I said to my husband, “They must be taking a bath.” Sure enough, there was a jay splashing around in the water. I realized at that point that they have a certain call that I interpret as, “Hey guys, I’m taking a bath!” I can hear that particular call from across the house with the blinds closed and know that they are playing in the water. According to All About Birds, researchers have identified at least 20 different types of jay calls. I think I uncovered one of those calls and can now partially speak jay language!

If you have any California Scrub-Jays around, it might be worth paying a bit more attention to them. They are certainly funny creatures to watch.

Last year I embarked on an incredible journey – my first Big Year competition, sponsored by the San Joaquin Audubon Society. The Big Year is a competition to see as many bird species as possible in one year, and in this case we would be competing within county borders. It proved to be a great way to meet the local birders and to get to know the birding spots here, which was a perfect set-up for newcomers such as myself.

During the year, I experienced many beautiful moments of awe, of being lured into the spell of a rare bird popping by for a day or two. With every rare bird report, I could count on seeing a familiar group of birders later that day as we all rushed out to find the bird. I enjoyed the conversations and friendships that followed.

Because of the Big Year, I went out of my comfort zone by exploring new areas and landed several “lifers” (a bird I’ve never seen before) as a result. I also paid more attention to the birds around me, which undoubtedly aided in my discovery of a Costa’s Hummingbird making my backyard its home. It’s these experiences that I will treasure long after the Big Year is done.

In the end, my husband and I landed first for team effort! We were tied for third in the intermediate category, and placed sixth overall. Not bad for newcomers that were just getting acquainted with an area.

A bucket list item is checked. A new year begins. Now what? After a year of grinding, suddenly I’m left with a feeling of uncertainty of how to bird “normally.” I’ve been focusing on my backyard and observing the bird drama. White-crowned Sparrows establishing a pecking order within their foraging unit, Anna’s Hummingbirds aggressively defending their feeder, and battles between jays and mockingbirds for the prime spot in a tree. There’s been so much to explore within my own backyard, and for now that is bringing me the peace and relaxation I need to wind down from 2023.

Birders often like to keep lists. A popular list is your “life list”, which is a list of birds that you’ve seen over the course of your life. When you add a new bird to that list, it’s called a “lifer.”

There’s a tradition that some birders follow when they add a lifer to their list. You celebrate with a Lifer Pie. For a fun story and the history behind this tradition, check out Audubon’s article, “Birding Is its Own Reward, but ‘Lifer Pie’ Makes it Even Sweeter.”

My sister likes to celebrate with an alternative sweet reward: a Bird Day Cake (as opposed to a birthday cake – get it?). As someone not particularly fond of pies, I prefer this mode of sugar indulgence much better.

Now opposite of getting a new life bird, there’s this thing called “dipping.” Say there is a bird that someone else has reported. If you go out looking for it but end the day missing your target bird, that’s called dipping.

I’ve dipped a ton this year. There were a lot of rare birds reported throughout the county that were required viewing in order to remain competitive for the Big Year. Despite multiple attempts to nab said bird, our efforts were for naught on countless occasions.

Take for example a recent adventure to find a Franklin’s Gull that popped by for a brief visit to a sewage pond. Upon hearing the report, a mass migration of local birders landed on this spot. I was running errands in another county when the WhatsApp chat exploded with updates. My husband and I raced home to grab our gear and rushed off to the ponds. Upon arrival, we walked as quickly as we could to the group who “had the Franklin’s Gull in their scope.” I took a quick look – no gull. Where was the gull? “It was just here, where did it go?” Gone.

We stayed for an hour-and-a-half, long after all the other birders left, looking for the gull and it never returned. As we set to leave, another birder came by and we wished him luck. Apparently our words are magical because as we pulled out of the lot, my phone blasted a text from the birder saying he got the gull. We rushed back to find him. “I had him in my binoculars a moment ago, but now I don’t see him!” The light was quickly fading and the gulls were leaving. No Franklin Gull for us. That is a great example of dipping. (The next day we returned and did find the Franklin Gull, so it was only a momentary setback).

Returning to the topic of Lifer Pie, my sister came up with a brilliant food-related idea to cheer up an otherwise sad ending: celebrate a dipping event with dips! Artichoke dip, hummus, dipping sauces accompanying fried foods, tzatziki, anything you like.

It’s probably best to find a dip that is on the healthier side because there’s a lot of dipping that happens with birding, although that just makes the successes that much sweeter – figuratively and literally with Lifer Pie!

Our backyard has seen a lot of bird action since we moved to San Joaquin Valley. California Scrub-Jays love to hop around and cache food in various places, including the lawn and (rather annoyingly) my garden pots. Black Phoebes like to snatch insects from the air in the evenings. White-crowned Sparrows, Northern Mockingbirds, and Eurasian Collared-Doves will poke around the lawn edges for scrumptious bits of food. Occasionally a hummingbird will hover around the Crepe Myrtle trees looking for bugs.

More recently, Anna’s and Black-chinned Hummingbirds have enjoyed my new mason jar feeder. I even had a magical experience with one impatiently sipping from the feeder while I was still holding it. I spent many warm evenings over the summer watching the two hummingbird species go to battle over this food source, giving me a great opportunity to soak up their personalities.

One evening, I stepped out into the backyard to look at my container garden and to see who might be at the feeder. As I bent down to look at the tender seedlings poking through the soil, an unfamiliar sound caught my attention. I glanced at the feeder and noticed that the call was coming from a little hummer perched on a branch not commonly favored by my usual visitors. I cautiously crept indoors fearing I would scare the hummingbird, and grabbed my husband and our cameras.

After a brief photoshoot, I had convinced myself that this was a young Black-chinned Hummingbird and went back indoors to eat dinner. I was content to carry on with the evening, but my husband rushed through dinner and went straight to his computer to review the photos. Annoyed that he left me to finish my meal alone, I slurped up the last bit of my soup and then casually joined him to look over the images.

This hummer was so cute! Its few gorget (neck) feathers were a vibrant purple, and it sat like a little puff ball patiently observing its surroundings. I started to wonder – is this actually a young Black-chinned Hummingbird or something else?

Grabbing chairs, cameras, monocular, and a phone to record audio, we quietly set up to watch the hummer – who was thankfully still there – as dusk started to arrive.

There was indeed something different about this one. The few gorget feathers were too purple. It didn’t seem as “necky” or as stretched out like the Black-chinned Hummingbird. And its mannerisms felt different to me, giving off a sense of peace and calm while he watched for nearby food competitors.

A Black-chinned Hummingbird arrived, evoking a series of TINKS from the new hummer. I managed to nab a recording of it. We continued to watch it for a half hour until it flew away for the night.

How lucky I was to capture the TINK audio! My heart started to race as I reviewed all the Anna’s and Black-chinned Hummingbird calls, wondering if we had simply heard an unusual vocalization from our familiar friends. However, none of the recordings lined up with ours. On a hunch, I called up a Costa’s Hummingbird and clicked on the first call. Excitement flooded my system as I heard an exact match. Could it be that we just saw a rare bird, and from our own backyard to boot? A quick post to our local birding group confirmed the ID. What a thrilling moment! 

It was only because I happened to step outside for a moment and observe an unusual call that we ended up spending time with this beauty. It goes to show that it’s not required that we memorize all the birds in a field guide. Instead, get to know your local birds well enough so that when something unique comes through, you’ll notice and pay attention to it.

I’m quite sick of summer. The long, hot days and blindingly bright sun have overstayed their welcome. I’d like to think the birds are annoyed with summer as well. They are mostly silent these days, with the exception of the starlings practicing their cover songs. Birding over the summer has largely been uneventful.

As I trudged through June and July, I kept looking to August for a bit of relief. No, it’s not cooler in August by any means. But the birding excitement starts to pick up – it’s sandpiper migration! These tricky little birds offer an advanced lesson in bird ID, and when you’re in the midst of a Big Year, it’s time to learn (and refresh your memory) fast.

In San Joaquin County, some of the best shorebird spots are around the Delta and water treatment plants. On mornings or evenings that were “cool” enough, we would venture out to the appropriate habitat and carefully review each peep (little sandpipers). Least Sandpipers and Killdeer offer good anchor points for IDs. The Leasts are the tiniest of our peeps while Killdeer are easily recognizable with the double-rings on their breast, red eyes, and persistent calls. From there, you can compare peeps in question with the Leasts and Killdeer based on size differences, bill shape, breast streaking, and sometimes leg color.

No matter how much I study, I cannot absorb the ID markers of a Semipalmated Sandpiper, which is a sandpiper that we need for the Big Year. It’s strikingly similar to the Western Sandpiper, the subtle differences being its overall size and its bill shape. Other peeps have more defined features to grasp, such as the Pectoral Sandpiper with its larger size and heavily-streaked breast, and the Baird’s Sandpiper with its long primary feathers that uniquely extend beyond its tail. These are solid structural features, not subjective features that require experience with the species – hard to do when it’s rare like the Semipalmated Sandpiper.

After many days spent in the hot sun looking through all the sandpipers, we finally spotted all the expected species that come through the area during August plus some bonus species, including the Semipalmated Sandpiper, Baird’s Sandpiper, Pectoral Sandpiper, Solitary Sandpiper, and Stilt Sandpiper. As the month – and therefore summer – finally comes to an end, our visits to sandpiper habitat will soon shift to looking for warblers and other fall goodies in wooded areas.

This morning was pleasantly cool, and the sun cast an orange glow through the trees. Fall is almost here, and I can’t wait!

At my old place, I tried out several bird feeders over the span of a few years. The first was a finch sock that attracted Lesser Goldfinches and House Finches, and it was a joy to watch. However, it got really messy with seeds strewn all over the place, and I feared attracting vermin. So I took it down. Then I tried a traditional hummingbird feeder with homemade sugar water. After a particularly hot week and forgetting to clean it, the feeder molded so badly that I had to throw it out, unconfident that I could clean it well-enough to be safe for the birds. I tried another feeder to attract finches, and while it wasn’t as messy, a disease broke out amongst the birds and Audubon advised taking in all feeders in the area to stop its spread. 

It’s a lot of work maintaining feeders. You have to make sure they are kept clean for the birds’ safety. Seed can get expensive and make a mess causing other issues. Sugar water can attract ants and molds quickly in the summer heat. Although feeders bring joy, I didn’t have the energy to keep up with the required maintenance. 

Fast forward to now, I succumbed to an impulse at Tractor Supply Company and bought a teeny Mason Jar with four silicone red flower portals for the hummers. I figured that it was such a small thing that I could keep up with it better – plus the wide mouth would allow for easier cleaning. So far it’s been a hit with the Black-chinned Hummingbirds, and now Anna’s Hummingbirds are taking over.

A few days ago, I cleaned the feeder in the early evening just before the hummers tend to arrive. There was a female Anna’s dancing around the dead apricot tree where I hang the feeder (we asked the landlords to keep the dead tree in place because the birds love to perch on it). The Anna’s was working its way along various skinny branches, picking at bugs caught in spiderwebs. A sudden inspiration hit me – would the hummer be bold enough to drink from the feeder while I hold it?

I approached with a painfully slow scoot so as not to scare it, holding the feeder around my chest and carefully positioning my fingers so that I could grip it with minimal movement. The Anna’s kept an eye on me as I inched closer and closer, my breath quickening with anticipation.

I got just close enough and the Anna’s flew over to me, dipping into the rubbery red flower and gulping up the new batch of cooled sugar water. I was so stunned that I couldn’t even look at it for fear of moving the feeder and spooking it. But, for what seemed like eternity, I finally moved my eyes down and watched this precious little bird downing the homemade nectar. I could hear its buzzing wings keeping it afloat and could sense how light this teeny little thing was. 

I accidentally adjusted my finger which moved the feeder, and the Anna’s instinctively pulled away. I watched it shift over to take a hard look at my ring, as if wondering whether it was a silvery flower worthy of further investigation. Its observation complete, it flew in front of my face and hovered, forcing us to literally see eye to eye. It was so close I could see the bits of web still clinging to the tip of the bill. Time slowed down as I was caught up in its gaze.

Was it telling me to scram? Was it showing a display of courage against this huge giant holding a previous food source? Or perhaps it was giving me thanks or curiously staring deep into my soul.

Admittedly, I was feeling terrified at having this needle-bill mere inches away from my eyeballs. The Anna’s that have hung around lately have been particularly aggressive towards the Black-chinned Hummingbirds, fiercely chasing them away at every opportunity. I wasn’t going to take any chances and I quickly spun around. The hummer flew off a short distance, waited for me to return the feeder to its normal spot, drank some more, and moved on, leaving me with a pounding heart and a huge smile across my face. 

The Big Year has been an experience like no other. When I first started this challenge, it made perfect sense for me to enter the competition. For starters, I always try to see as many birds as possible each year, so this was a natural extension of my personal annual challenges. Then I’ve always dreamed about participating in a Big Year, getting annual inspiration from watching The Big Year movie each New Year’s Eve. When my local Audubon Society announced the county competition, it was a no brainer for me to join.

January and February were great. My husband and I, working as a team, picked up so many birds. We were out birding every day, sometimes squeezing in a quick bird list during work breaks or lunches. We attended every Audubon-sponsored bird trip and, like a sponge, soaked up all the tips that the local birding community had to offer. I frequently updated my spreadsheet that tracked the birds we’d seen and carefully planned our next visits – until a bird alert would force us to pivot to a new location in a hyper search for a unique bird. It was all a thrill.

Until it wasn’t.

Before pursuing this Big Year, I was already burdened by life’s pressures and health set-backs, but I figured that this would give me an escape. Instead, it added to my feelings of overwhelm. By March, my body started to scream, “STOP!” I had been pushing through migraines and waking up too early for field trips when I should have been sleeping in. Chores were left undone and I was eating fast food and sugary sweets much more than I care to admit. I was also feeling really down because we kept on driving all over the county to see rare or infrequent birds, spending countless hours on the road and in unfamiliar places only to not find the damn bird and later see it reported that day by someone else. I was worn out and discouraged.

So I started to rest. I stopped going on field trips in March to allow myself to sleep more on the weekends. We prioritized grocery shopping and I figured out ways to pack lunch and healthy snacks. I tried to incorporate at least one day to focus on being a homebody to do chores. I limited the long birding hours to just a half day, or at least break up a long day with other non-birding activities to recoup.

I think back to my post on birding meditation, where I described the peaceful nature of mindful birding. Reading it, I feel a sense of calm, remembering what it’s like to fully immerse myself into the activity without worrying about getting that target bird that could make-or-break our ranking in this competition. The Big Year disrupted the meditative quality of birding for me. It also caused me to sacrifice other important activities, like cooking or tidying up my home. This hyper-competitive spirit certainly isn’t nourishing, especially if you have a lot of other responsibilities tugging at you.

I’m looking to strike a balance between going all in for a competition that I’ve always dreamed about while also prioritizing my self-care. I’m working to find a place of peace to enjoy this friendly competition, try my best, and respect my personal limitations. This will be increasingly important as we head into spring migration, where the birding frenzy will suddenly pick up again for weeks on end.

Seeing my first Bullock’s Oriole for the year filled me with so much excitement, as the splash of vibrant orange color was a welcomed relief from the dull, dreary, and wet winter days. I am looking forward to tapping into that joy as we welcome a new set of birds arriving for the breeding season. 

I am not a morning person. I laid in bed at 5:45 am, after a bad night of sleep, pondering my decision to set my alarm so early in the morning. What could possibly pull me out from under my pile of warm blankets into the frosty 30 degree weather?

A few weeks before today, a local birder contacted me requesting that I join this year’s Christmas Bird Count (CBC). I’ve always wanted to participate in this event, but lingering questions gave me pause. What if it rains or if it’s too cold? What if I feel sick? Each year I ended up passing up the opportunity.

This year, after comforting assurances that I could cancel at the last minute if needed, I signed up for the Stockton count. Snuggled up in bed, I wondered what would await me today.

Fog. That’s what would await me. Dense, cold fog.

Our team leader modified the plans to take advantage of the fog clearing by noon. We started with a tour of the local country roads. Vast vineyards as far as the eye could see (in this case, about a quarter mile) revealed typical species of various sparrows, finches, and blackbirds. We were greeted with our first Lark Sparrow for the county, and another location sported a lovely Red-breasted Sapsucker – another county lifer.

What was most valuable to me during this first part of the census was learning how to navigate country road birding. I always wondered how birders would find neat birds along rural roads where there was no obvious hotspot. Now I know that it’s common to pull off the side of a country road (if it’s safe and legal) and scout for birds. It’s OK to run an eBird list while driving, provided it stays within five miles. It goes without saying that it’s also important to respect homeowners and their properties. One very kind resident permitted us to wander onto her property for a peek at the birds – what a thrill to walk around a house with acreage all around and beautiful chickens clucking at you!

After several hours of driving the roads, we headed over to the Lodi Sewage Ponds. The fog was stubbornly holding in place in spite of the forecast. We could just barely make out Bonaparte Gulls, a couple of Common Goldeneyes, and flocks of Black-necked Stilts. An American Kestrel peered over the ponds from a fence. I wonder if the kestrel had better luck seeing the birds than us. I’ll be excited to try out this area again when there’s more visibility. I’m not sure what it really looks like yet.

We committed to a half day of the CBC this year and paused around 1pm. We said our goodbyes to our birding companions as they continued on to finish the full day of census-taking. Overall, it was a great experience. We discovered new places and approaches to birding, and added seven new county birds to our list. All this while adding valuable data for science and conservation efforts. I will certainly consider joining a future CBC.