Dipping

Dipping

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!

Surprise Visitor

Surprise Visitor

Anna's Hummingbird

Anna’s Hummingbird, 2023

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.

Anna's Hummingbird

Anna’s Hummingbird, 2023

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.

Costa's Hummingbird

Mystery Hummingbird (Read On To Find Out The ID!), 2023

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! 

Costa's Hummingbird

Costa’s Hummingbird; Photo by Gabriel Olin, 2023

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.

Costa's Hummingbird

Costa’s Hummingbird; Photo by Gabriel Olin, 2023

Summer’s Last Gasp

Summer’s Last Gasp

Sanderling and Western Sandpipers

Western Sandpiper with one Sanderling, 2020

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.

Least Sandpiper

Least Sandpiper, 2020

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!

Staten Island, 2023

Staten Island, CA, 2023

Disney Princess

Disney Princess

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, not confident 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 impulsively bought a tiny Mason Jar with four silicone red flower portals for the hummers. I figured that it was such a small thing that I could maintain 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 usually hang the feeder (we kept the dead tree 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 chest-high 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 eye. 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. 

Pursuit of Violet-Green Swallows

Pursuit of Violet-Green Swallows

It’s the first weekend in March. The birding has slowed down substantially – we are in between winter birds and the upcoming spring migration. I had hoped this would translate into a slower pace for me with a little time to recover from a very busy two months of intense birding, but I’m having no such luck for rest.

My goal this weekend was to find a Violet-green Swallow. These gorgeous swallows, sporting their namesake purple and green plumage, apparently only visit this county for about two months, and now is the time to look for them. It’s a now or never situation, as they won’t show up again for the rest of the year.

The Violet-green Swallows were recently spotted at the Mokelumne Fish Hatchery. Last weekend we drove out there and couldn’t find any swallows, let alone our target bird. So I thought I’d try looking in my part of the county, and today we headed to Ripon to test our luck.

We visited the Ripon Sewage Ponds. Water treatment plants offer awesome birding, even if it does get a bit stinky at times. Thankfully today the chemical fumes were not wafting in our direction, so we spent more time looking over the first two ponds. Recently, an Iceland Gull and a rare Glaucous Gull were spotted in South County, so when I saw a large group of gulls plopped in the middle of the ponds, I spent some time scoping them in hopes of finding a goodie. A few petite Bonaparte Gulls and a Ring-billed Gull were the only deviants from the hundreds of California Gulls. Nothing unusual.

I saw a couple of swallows near the parking lot, but they were the expected Tree Swallows with their blue-green backs. But I had a particular spot in mind to find our target bird. Something was calling me to the end of the four main ponds where the geese like to hang out in a grassy mini-field. 

Dragging my scope and camera with me kept my hands occupied as we walked to the field, so I listened intently to the sounds around me. Sandhill Cranes rattled overhead, a pair of Yellow-billed Magpies called to one another, and a Black Phoebe cheerfully chirped as it snapped bugs out of the air.

Upon reaching the mini field, I found that there were indeed swallows. Score one for intuition! Next was the arduous task of picking out each swallow for review, keeping it in my field of vision while it danced around the air in its acrobatic flight pattern. One by one, I glued my binoculars to a swallow and carefully checked for extensive white in the face and white extending up the sides of the rump to the back. FInding the white is an easier ID feature to pick out amongst the Tree Swallows in flight versus catching the purple and green colors. It felt like a Dr. Seuss book: One Swallow, Two Swallows, Tree Swallow, Four Swallows. All were Tree Swallows chattering to each other. After some time of scanning with no Violet-green Swallows popping up, it was time to call it quits.

That’s the thing with the Big Year. I have “dipped” (missed a bird recently spotted by someone else) so many times I’ve lost count. But you keep on going out, trying each day to get the birds, because today might be that special day when the bird cooperates.

For our efforts, our consolation prize later that day was a South County specialty: a Cassins’ Kingbird spotted, ironically, on Bird Road. 

Checklist-A-Day Challenge

Checklist-A-Day Challenge

On January 1, 2018, I embarked on a lofty goal: to submit an eBird checklist every single day that year. This was inspired by a checklist-a-day challenge, sponsored by eBird, for a chance to win a pair of binoculars. Most days I easily fulfilled my goal with at least one bird outing each day, even if it was as simple as watching birds from my window or as I walked to work. On other days, I had to peel myself away from whatever was occupying my time to sneak in an uninspired bird count. But by December 31, 2018, I had done it: 365 consecutive days of eBird lists.

What started as a fun annual goal became a multi-year obsession.

Daily birding became such a happy habit that I continued it through 2019. I kept going in 2020, where it was especially useful to keep me grounded through the pandemic. 2021 was another nutty year, but I documented the birds in eBird every single day. Then in 2022, in spite of a move and a hellishly hot summer, I managed to log in my birds.

It’s a couple weeks into 2023 and I see no signs of stopping this practice. It’s relaxing and meditative, while connecting me with nature for a little bit every single day. In my new area, curious (or perhaps suspicious) neighbors stop to ask me why I’m wearing binoculars in the neighborhood, and it’s been a great opportunity to raise a little awareness of local birds. Perhaps it will plant a seed of interest for a future conservationist, or at least someone who will appreciate and care for the birds.

After five years, I haven’t won a pair of binoculars from the eBird challenge, but I’ve gained so much more by inviting a rich birding experience that threads through each day of the year.

Christmas Bird Count 2022

Christmas Bird Count 2022

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.

Joys of Lawns

Joys of Lawns

I hate lawns.

When I was renting an apartment in the city, I didn’t have to worry about lawn care. The landlord’s gardeners did the required upkeep, and I rarely paid attention to the process, except to feel sad when all the pretty yellow flowers (“weeds”) were hacked off. Apparently, I like the look of longer, wild grass.

Now living in a house, we’ve been thrust into the confusing realm of lawn maintenance. We didn’t want to hire gardeners, figuring we could cut the lawn ourselves. It’s just grass, how hard can that be?

Apparently pretty hard. A combination of record-breaking heat starting earlier than ever in this area, combined with city water restrictions (which I have no qualms about – let’s save water!), the lawn was not happy. We let much of it grow longer for fear of shocking it into submission.

The birds loved the longer grass. I would see birds digging around our lawn and not in the neighbors’ neatly manicured plots. My guess is that less disruption to the grass promoted more life with insects and other food goodies.

Today, a California Scrub-Jay visited the backyard lawn with an enormous nut in its beak. I watched it poke around the grass, trying to find that sweet spot in which to cache it for the winter. I could almost hear its thoughts, “Nope, this spot’s no good. How about here? Ugh, that’s worse! Oh, THIS is the right spot!” Once carefully selected, the jay hammered the nut into the soft ground, like an Acorn Woodpecker shoving an acorn into a tree. Then the jay spent a good two minutes collecting nearby grass to cover its food prize. Little mouthfuls of dried grass slowly covered the spot. It even topped it off with a flower.

I guess a lawn isn’t so bad after all!

Neighborhood Surprise

Neighborhood Surprise

I am a creature of habit. I’ll often return to the same, familiar spot repeatedly. In my new neighborhood, that means circling a little park almost daily. So far, this tiny area has yielded 53 birds since June. That’s a lot more than I would have expected for a manicured lawn with very few trees.

I left for my walk around the park to satisfy my habitual morning routine, yet this time, something was tugging at me to explore a bit more. Outside of the neighborhood is another housing development, but next to that is a marshy field encased in wire fencing. It’ll likely be slated for development at some point. But for now, something urged me to check it out.

I was first drawn in by the seets of sparrows, but they were difficult to locate. The grasses and weeds had grown long, offering cover for foraging sparrows. Once in a while, a sparrow would poke out just long enough for a brief look through the binoculars. White-crown Sparrows, a Song Sparrow, and Savannah Sparrows dominated, until we heard the buzzy seet of a Lincoln’s Sparrow – county lifer #99. Four Lincoln Sparrows eventually popped into view. I looked closely just to make sure there were no Vesper Sparrows sporting a white eye ring among them. I’m not sure if we get Vesper Sparrows here, but it’s good to look anyway!

This little marshy area also housed a couple of Marsh Wrens – a pleasant surprise given that the surrounding area is either housing development or endless fields of almond trees.

We accidentally startled a couple of birds that were rather shorebird-like. My first thought was that they were dowitchers, but this habitat didn’t match up. After searching a bit (and again accidentally flushing them due to their terrific camouflage), I was delighted to figure out that they were Wilson’s Snipes. Now that’s a treat! I hope we didn’t scare them too much and that they will stick around. I’ll have to be more careful when birding along the fence next time.

New Adventures

New Adventures

Several months ago, I bid farewell to the Bay Area. I said goodbye to my neighborhood chickadees, juncos and nuthatches, and did some final visits to the bay waters and peeps. I was sad to leave these special birds that have melted my heart for so many years.

But I knew that new adventures were ahead. I eagerly reviewed eBird lists to see what new birds I might see regularly in my new town. Swainson’s Hawks! Yellow-billed Magpies! Sandhill Cranes! It seems like the Central Valley is filled with goodies and exciting new opportunities to explore. In fact, on the day we moved, we were greeted by a friendly neighborhood Black-chinned Hummingbird. This is a good sign.

Except we moved in June. And during a year with record-breaking heat waves. My Bay Area 80-degrees-is-too-hot mentality was quickly shattered by countless triple digits days. Who the heck can bird in that heat? I resorted to brief early morning walks around the local neighborhood park. That was the only birding I snuck in for months.

During these walks, I became familiar with the local scene. Black-chinned and Anna’s Hummingbirds fiercely battled each other for the right to sit atop a certain tree (while ignoring all the other available trees). Barn Swallows nested in a certain house and loved to dive around the field after the city mowers kicked up bugs. Northern Mockingbirds loved to sing. Loudly. In the middle of the night. Eurasian Collared-Doves mobbed every street lamp, scooting starlings out of their way. What a scene.

Fast forward to mid-September, which brought cooler temperatures. And by “cooler” I mean mid-90s. Migration should start soon. What would that look like in this little neighborhood park?

I found a Say’s Phoebe, which was previously unreported in this spot. I had to submit details to confirm a correct ID. Without a camera, it was a great opportunity to really take in its features. I took this bird for granted in the Bay Area. Now, it’s a treat that one is calling this little park it’s home for the time being.

The first day of fall was marked with nice weather and a clear sky that wasn’t pierced by the blazing summer sun. The Say’s Phoebe was joined by a second one and they called to each other while bouncing from sand pile to treetops. I heard geese in the sky, probably the Canada Geese I’ve seen a few times. Except, these geese sounded weird. My foggy summer bird brain sluggishly flipped through its media library. What the heck sounds like a rattle?

CRANES!

I whipped up the binoculars just as a “V” of Sandhill Cranes flew overhead. Yes! I can see cranes migrating from my little neighborhood park!

In the days after, I had quick visits from a couple of Yellow Warblers and an Orange-crowned Warbler. A Western Tanager made a brief appearance. White-crowned Sparrows have shyly started to emerge singing their familiar tunes. The notorious Yellow-rumped Warblers are also now here, announcing their presence with a solid “CHIP” note. They all like to hang out along one side of the park. How fascinating to see the birds carve out their niches as they arrive.

I look forward to new birding adventures in my new county.