She scares me sometimes...

The last two days have had us on edge. A little moist air and temperatures in the 80s combined to cook up some thunderclouds, which could bring much-needed rain, dangerous wind gusts, fire-starting lightning, or all three. Yesterday as I worked in the garden, I watched a nice storm developing over the southern Sulphur Springs Valley. Lightning flashed, thunder rumbled, but - big surprise - no rain fell on our half acre.

Today we got the same setup, but I resolved not to get my hopes up even when it looked like a burly slate-gray thunderhead was moving our way. In between butt-numbing stints at the computer dealing with a couple of weeks' worth of e-mail backlog, I popped into the kitchen for a drink. From the living room I heard Jesse say, "It's sprinkling." I replied, "Yeah, right - it's sprinkling. No such luck, my dear." I returned to the computer for another half hour, until I noticed a lovely moist fragrance wafting into the study on the AC. Torn between skepticism and hope, I peeked outside and found the patio drying from a recent shower. Jesse was right - it had been sprinkling.

Jesse is a 19-year-old, captive-bred, hand-raised African Grey Parrot. Until today, I didn't even know that she'd added "It's sprinkling" to her already prodigious vocabulary. Her cage sits by a window overlooking the patio, where she could see the rain falling. Did she really understand what she was saying? I don't know, but she does things like this all the time. In our house, "bird-brained" is a compliment. One of these days, I'll take dictation from her and transcribe a few minutes' worth of her more intelligible utterances into her very own blog entry. --SW

May in Arizona

Well, here’s my monthly blog entry. This is HARD! I have even more admiration for Amy, Julie, Bill, Sharon and others that blog every day. It has been a busy month with a few milestones. Our community radio station KBRP is back to streaming on the web http://www.kbrpradio.com/ so you can catch my Wed. night music mix 7-9 MST from anywhere. The new edition of the Southeastern Arizona Birding Trail Map is finally done and available, and it looks great.

I just finished helping with my second five day birding Elderhostel class in the Chiricahuas. This is a great time to be out and about in the “sky islands” with a few winter birds still hanging around and new arrivals every day. Elderhostel groups are fun; most folks are beginning or moderate level birders so there’s none of the pressure of the white-knuckle lister who HAS to see that 700^th bird. The groups are large (we had 19) but easy to handle.

We had to work hard for the Elegant Trogon but persistence finally paid off. We did amazingly well with most of the other southwestern birds and ended with over 150 species. Highlights included Barn, Whiskered-screech and Elf Owls, a well seen Whip-poor-will and dozens of warblers and tanagers at what little water is available in the mountain canyons.. I’ve often thought that the total list at the end of the day should be weighted with extra points for especially charismatic (Painted Redstart), colorful (Lazuli Bunting), or rare (trogon) species as well as cool behavior (young redtails fighting over an unfortunate Scaled Quail). Mammals (javelina, Apache Fox Squirrel) and reptiles (Whipsnake) should count a little extra since they are so seldom seen. As usual, the total number of birds seen is a poor measure of a good week in the field.

I rarely see a life bird in Arizona anymore - I can’t remember the last one I saw. But I’ve adopted the hockey players system of counting points; one point for a new bird and one point for an assist with a new bird. By that measure, I scored big time with these Elderhostel groups. They probably averaged 40 or so life birds each and we had a grand time showing them.

tw

Back From the Argentine

Spring is upon us in southeastern Arizona, a season announced not with wildflowers but by the arrival of our summer birds. The drought here continues and it has been the driest winter on record in our area. We have had three little sprinkles, totaling .43 inch in our rain gauge since, last October. That’s right, less than half an inch of rain in the last 6 months. We are a desert, but even for a desert that’s too dry. It is going to be a traumatic year for the wildlife, with no snowpack in the mountains, springs will soon be dry and the spring breeding season will be very difficult. But in the midst of all this brown, dessicated landscape, spring is arriving on warbler wings. Swainson’s Hawks are back from Argentina and Great Horned Owls and Golden Eagles have already downy young.

I’ve done a couple of Elderhostel birding classes in the Chiricahuas in the last two weeks and leave tomorrow for another one. In between, the bird observatory has begun our regular walks on the river and in the Huachucas and hummingbird banding along the San Pedro River. This week the river was alive with birds, part of the estimated 6 million songbirds that use the San Pedro as a migratory corridor. The stretch of river where we do our walks has been transformed by the restoration of beaver to the river. What used to be shallow riffles and tiny channels is now a series of wide deep pools. This may not qualify as a river in your part of the country, but in southern Arizona, in a drought year (decade?) this is a treasure. At one point we had 19 Lucy’s Warblers in one binocular view in one bush. Wilson's, Yellow, MacGillivray's and Yellow-rumped Warblers all cavorted in the willows along the river while we got warblerneck. Easier to view Scotts’ Orioles are all over the feeders at the field station and Black- headed Grosbeaks went from non-existent to abundant overnight. Hummingbird banding today on the river produced 15 birds, eight of whom were recaptures - including one banded last year on April 16 recaptured April 15 this year.

Owl Prowls this week were a mixed bag. A trip to Miller Canyon found a nest cavity with 3 (?) Elf Owls displaying around the tree and a touching food exchange from a pair of Whiskered Screech Owls. Apparently a large moth is an appropriate first date meal for a new couple. Closer to home in the Mule Mountains, our resident Elf Owls have yet to settle into their old nest cavity - making our job of showing off our neighbors much more difficult. Hopefully they will return next week.

We are still waiting for our first trogon, Red-faced Warblers and Western Tanagers but they should arrive soon. One of the scariest aspects of this drought is that we are now entering a time of year we EXPECT to be rainless. It may be July before we see any relief and it will be hard to watch the plants and animals suffer. We’ll keep the water features full at home and at the field station and water our wildlife-friendly landscaping and hope for the best.

Climate change? What climate change? tw

Mardi Gras!

Who says there's no culture down here on the border? How about a Mardi Gras parade in Naco, Sonora? O.K., so it's not New Orleans, but the costumes are cuter. We stopped for the elementary school parade on our way through Naco yesterday as we scouted a cool new birding spot just across the border. The rancher is very interested in hosting birders, so we're setting up some day trips and overnights. Should be a great new spot - we will report more on this site as we explore the possibilities. In the meantime "L'aissez les bon temp rollez!" or "Deje el buen tiempo rodar". TW

Dinosaurs in the desert

Tomorrow is our last winter “hawk stalk” of the season and while the emphasis is usually on the dizzying array of hawks, falcon, eagles and owls that winter with us in the irrigated agricultural fields of the Sulphur Springs Valley, other fierce predators also catch our attention. Loggerhead Shrikes, those bandit-masked assassins, are still common in Arizona and will be the topic of a future blog, but tonight’s post is about that icon of the southwest - the roadrunner.

I once had a visitor express disappointment upon seeing her first roadrunner. “ But, that’s a bird!” she said. I’m not sure what she thought a roadrunner was - maybe too many cartoons had blurred the roadrunner/coyote line for her. But most visitors from afar, be it Europe or just points east of the Mississippi, would rather see a roadrunner than many of our true rarities. I’ve lived with roadrunners all my life, hand-raised a few when I was doing wildlife rehabilitation and enjoyed seeing their antics countless times. But behind the cartoon stereotype is a ferocious hunter. The velociraptors in “Jurassic Park” reminded me, not coincidentally, of a hunting roadrunner as they stalked through the park. The special effects wizards of the studio had obviously paid attention to the paleontologists plotting the convergence of birds and dinosaurs. Trade the long expressive tail feathers of a roadrunner for the scaly tail of the movie beasts, add some teeth and there’s your monster. To a baby quail or a lizard, the Greater Roadrunner is scary enough.

The late Sally Spofford in Portal, Arizona once had a roadrunner who had learned to jump off her roof and snatch a hummingbird from the line of feeders on his way down. At the time, she was also hosting a Lucifer Hummingbird that was attracting birders from near and far, and, fearing a revolt if the roadrunner ate her star attraction, she began feeding the predator. A simple meatball of ground beef with vitamins and calcium powder added would suffice, and within a week or two the roadrunner would come knocking on her sliding glass patio door asking for his daily ration. Like a mafia Don demanding protection money – “Gee, I’d hate to see anything happen to your little birds today. You got anything for me?”- he would take his meatball and then disappear for the day. I’m not sure who trained who.

As I mentioned, in Texas we raised baby roadrunners from tiny black amorphous blobs with an egg tooth and no real feathers to adults. Training them to eat grasshoppers in our bathtub progressed to daily walks where I turned over rocks so they could grab whatever lay beneath. Again, I’m not sure who was being trained. The one to whom we grew most attached eventually was banded and released on the nature center I managed, and several weeks later, in one of those rare triumphant moments for a rehabber, paused along the road long enough for me to see the band on his leg. I cried like a proud parent at a graduation ceremony.

On some of our trips to southern Sonora we see the Lesser Roadrunner, the grackle-sized cousin of our Greater Roadrunner and the only other member of the genus Geococcyx , although there are other “ground cuckoos.” I’m glad there’s not a “Giant Roadrunner” coursing through the southwestern deserts. I might have to stay indoors. --TW

Devotion

A post for the week of Valentine's Day...

In the middle of a typical winter morning, the nearly 22,000 Sandhill Cranes that roost in the playa lake at Whitewater Draw Wildlife Area are supposed to be feeding in the farm fields, recycling waste corn into nutrient-rich guano, so it was a shock to see two - just two - cranes standing a few yards from the viewing platform. It didn't take long to figure out why these cranes were not breakfasting with their comrades. One was fluffed, its eyes and red forecrown dull. As we watched, its neck folded into a tight "S," its long black bill came to rest to its breast, and its orange eyes closed against the blustery winds.

What could be wrong? There was no obvious sign of injury - no drooping wing, dangling leg, or bloody wound. Could it be toxic lead pellets in its gizzard, mistaken for grit or grain, or embedded in its body from a hunter's wayward shot? Pesticides or aflatoxin in the corn it's been eating? West Nile virus? Or even old age? Cranes can live more than two decades, but few do.

From fall through spring, safety in numbers is the dominant survival strategy for the three migratory subspecies of Sandhill Cranes. A single crane is an easy mark for a hungry eagle, and two are not much safer than one. The second crane could have left around sunrise with the rest of the enormous flock to fill its crop and lay on fat for the migration to come, but on this chilly morning a deeper need took priority over an empty belly and the vulnerability of being left behind. Cranes bond for life, and within the flocks they travel in pairs and small family groups, maintaining a separate identity among the multitudes. The healthy bird remained where it was needed - at its mate's side, vigilant. Feeling helpless and humbled, I turned my heart and mind away from what the future might bring for these two.

That was yesterday. Returning to the crane roost today, I half expected to see a pile of gray feathers where the crane pair had stood, but there was no sign. I'll take this as cause for optimism, as reason to believe that the sickly bird rallied after a night's rest and returned with its devoted mate to the fields this morning to continue preparing for their long journey to the nesting grounds. May they have many more years together and many healthy children and grandchildren that will return to the Sulphur Spring Valley in decades to come. And may future generations of our kind continue to find inspiration in the lives of cranes. --SW