Cool as a Cooper's

Exciting news from the backyard this week: after careful study, consultation with Bill Fenimore, and more than a little research, I've concluded that this year's mystery hawk is a juvenile Cooper's hawk. I'm thrilled, as my earlier hawk visitors have most definately been sharp shinned hawks, but from the outset this one looked different. Not so much in general coloration - though the slight red tinge on the cheek and the differences in the spotting are clues - but the fact that this bird just seemed immediately larger and with a longer tail, thicker legs, and larger head.

It is a joy to watch juvenile hawks, however; they're so certain of what they need to do (catch birds) but so clumsy as to how they go about it. This one, whom I've christened Dart, landed in the yard on the birdbath, then wondered why the birds were gone. She strutted around the birdbath for several minutes, still looking both hungry and confused, before flying to the back fence and waiting concealed by overhanging branches. She's not patient, however, and after just a bit of waiting flew off beyond the fence, then later to another yard. She's a fine, big bird, however, and will undoubtedly find her dinner eventually.

I'm thrilled to have had the opportunity to observe her (and I use the gender pronoun randomly - last year's sharp shinned hawk, Spook, I'd christened male), since this month is Raptor Month on my About.com site and I am planning a feature on telling the difference between sharp shinned and Cooper's hawks. Be sure to sign up for the free weekly newsletter for all the raptor happenings!

Back in Black

With a little identification help from Bill Fenimore (owner of the Wild Birds Unlimited store in Layton, my very favorite birding supply store), I've added another bird to my life list -- the Brewer's blackbird. This is a lovely glossy black bird (as if you couldn't have guessed) that closely resembles grackles but is significantly smaller. I spotted several of them during our walk last weekend at Liberty Park, but monochrome birds without distinct markings are quite challenging to identify. Nonetheless, I'm thrilled to add yet another bird to my list.

These are the types of birds that many birders miss, in fact. We so often focus on the rare, exceptional, and unusual that we fail to notice the devoted everyday visitors all around us. Is that a sparrow in your backyard, or might it be a house finch? Could that cedar waxwing really be the more unusual bohemian waxwing? Are you mistaking that rare winter wren for a more common house wren? Good birders will be observant every day, even when it seems they have seen the birds a thousand times before. You never know when you'll be rewarded with a surprise visit from someone new.

To bring new birds to your yard, how would you change it? Vote in the March poll today!

Life List Latecomer

After some meticulous observation and a lucky coincidence of visitors, I've added another bird to my life list. Initially, I believed I'd only seen lesser goldfinches, common in the west, at my feeders. In the past few weeks, however, I've been a regular stop for a flock of what I now know to be American goldfinches in their winter plumage.

At first, I'd assumed that the winter plumage of the lesser goldfinches was what made the American goldfinches more dull than the brilliant canary yellow they prominently display in spring and summer (first mistake, never make assumptions - lesser goldfinches do not molt so boldly). What should have clued me in are the white wing bars, which are far more prominent and clearly defined than any markings on the lesser goldfinches. Yet just recently, I spotted what is unmistakably a male lesser goldfinch, complete with his brighter plumage and scruffy black cap, feeding alongside the muted finches. As they were feeding beneath my niger feeders (and you wouldn't believe the mess I'm going to have to clean up in the spring), I noted a very discernible size difference between the two species. A bit of cross referencing later, including the note that American goldfinches are notoriously unfaithful to any particular feeding spot which would explain their sudden and sporadic appearances, I've concluded that my backyard has now been discovered by both species of goldfinches.

It pays to observe birds carefully. What you at first believe to be one type of bird may actually be something very different, or you may discover that what you've been assuming were two different types of birds are actually different genders or ages of the same species. While some birds do change appearance more obviously with the seasons, even small changes can be worthwhile to note and will lead to a richer birding experience. Happy feeding!

Towhee Mystery Solved

After careful examination of the one photo I managed to take of the mystery towhee this past weekend along the Provo River, I've definitively concluded that it must be a spotted towhee. The first photo, as you can see, shows the bird's head and breast clearly, with the clear coloration of the towhee, but what might be spots along its dark flanks might also be a trick of that day's bright sunlight.

Having looked at the whole photo, rather than just the cropped section, more closely, however, I've found that I actually took a picture of two birds in that flock rather than just one. The "rear view" presented by this shier towhee is more in shadow, and clearly shows the white markings lining its wings and flanks. A spotted towhee it is, making my life list grow to 51 and marking a very prosperous birding beginning to the new year. I wish everyone as much enjoyment birding this year as these puzzlers give me!

Birding in the Rain

Birding in the rain, I'm birding in the rain... And if you can imagine that sung to a popular, happy rain tune, you'll have an idea of how I felt during yesterday's constant drizzle. But it wasn't the rain that was exciting, it was the close-to-home birding that was a thrill.

Walking through the city arboretum on my way home from working at the library (such is the life of a freelance writer), I noticed a group of American robins flitting from tree to tree, looking much perturbed at the wet weather. One robin, however, appeared none the worse for the sprinkling as it foraged eagerly beneath a pine tree, looking for what I assumed would be worms forced to the surface. But as I got closer -- that tree was near my path across the park -- the bird flew away, and I knew instantly by the rich cinnamon under its wings and the bold white patch on its rump that it was no robin. It was, in fact, a rogue bird I'd spotted several times before, but had never been able to get close enough to in order to properly identify.

It didn't fly far, and naturally I followed, my rainsuit making the loudest scuffing noises I could imagine -- exactly what you don't need when you're approaching a fidgety bird. I followed it from tree to tree to tree, and in that third tree I managed to get close enough to watch its behavior and see, without a doubt, its distinctive markings. The heavy spotting on the back and abdomen, long straight bill, red cheek swipe, double spiked tail, and curved black bib left no doubt -- I've added the Northern Flicker to my life list.

This woodpecker is the only one that regularly feeds on the ground, and it wasn't worms I saw it feasting upon -- it was ants. The northern flicker has an antacid saliva that neutralizes the acidity that is ants' natural protection. I also saw the distinctive undulating flight pattern, and watched the bird use its powerful bill to delicately pry beneath bark for morsels. Such a thrill to be able to identify a bird not only by its appearance, but by its behavior -- both of which left me unconcerned about the rain dripping down the back of my neck after craning for 15 minutes to observe this latest addition to my confirmed life list.

My life list is up to 45 -- how many bird species are on your list? Share your total in the November poll!

Life List - 43

What a weekend for birding this has been; I've added three new species to my life list. First, I took the time while grocery shopping to observe a flock of gulls in the parking lot, and while they were arguing over the scraps of some abandoned fast food, I noted their gray-blue legs, mottled necks, small patch of lower bill color, and wing spotting. Those details were enough to identify them as California Gulls in their winter plumage.

Today, as my husband and I took a leisurely walk along the Provo River, digital camera in hand, I was privileged to spot two additional species to add to my list. The first is the Steller's Jay, the western equivalent to the Blue Jay (which I am very familiar with, having spent my childhood being harassed by their calls just outside my bedroom window too early on weekend and summer mornings). The Steller's jay has a tall head crest, but where the blue jay has white markings, the Steller's jay has black ones. The bird is darker overall, though just as querulous as other jays, including the western scrub jays that are frequent backyard visitors. As I live in a relatively urban area, western scrub jays are much more apt to visit, while Steller's jays are more likely to remain in the mountains and canyons further from human interaction. Nonetheless, it was a treat to see them flitting among the pine trees, breaking nuts free and cracking them to eat. Unfortunately, because of the dense foliage and their hyperactive behavior, I was unable to capture a better photograph, but they are so distinctive that even a poor photo is easily identifiable.

The real treat, however, was the next new bird -- a Golden Eagle. This is one of the largest birds of prey in North America, and the solitary bird is a magnificent hunter. Readily identifiable by his huge size (roughly 30 inches tall with an 80 inch wingspan), his rich brown plumage, powerfully hooked bill and talons, and golden-tinted head and neck coloration, he is a regal and beautiful sight. We observed him for several minutes, first perched on a utility post where he was watching the river carefully, then later after he flew downstream, we were able to get even closer as he perched on a dead tree. Clearly at the top of the food chain, he was unconcerned with several people along the trail who crept closer to see him better, and he calmly continued watching the river for his next meal. He waited, occasionally itched, and once in awhile graced us with a condescending glare. We, of course, were thrilled.

It is amazingly rewarding to see such rich, varied avian life so close to home. While the golden eagle will not become a backyard visitor, that he is nearby illustrates the wonderful birding climate I live in. Any birder can easily discover the wider variety of birds beyond their backyard if they only take the time occasionally to enjoy a lovely walk in an unsullied area, keeping their eyes to the sky for new birds to see.

A List for Life

Many birders keep life lists of all the species they've positively identified, and this is one area where I have been seriously remiss. While I've enjoyed observing birds for more than 25 years, it is only recently that I've become meticulous about ensuring that my identification is correct, and only those birds that I am 100 percent certain about now appear on my life list. Currently, my list stands at a paltry 40 species, but there are dozens more I'm fairly certain about but just can't quite guarantee accuracy.

When I seek to identify a bird, I use a minimum of two field guides and one website to check my observations on appearance, markings, behavior, habitat, size, and more, including a cross comparison with similar species. If a species has distinctive markings, I must have included those in my observations for a positive identification as well, which isn't always easy with birds I haven't seen in years. If even one of my sources disagrees or sheds serious doubt on my identification, I don't feel that I can include the species as a permanent member on my life list. While this may seem overly detailed, it is important to remember that there are approximately 10,000 species of birds in the world, and just a few incorrect assumptions can vastly inflate one's life list. This can have a devastating impact on bird watch projects, such as the annual Backyard Bird Count and Project FeederWatch.

It can be thrilling to add new species to my list, and for the time being I occasionally have the opportunity to make armchair additions as I browse through my field guides and verify identifications of birds I've seen in the past. Even as the temperatures continue to drop, however, I'm eagerly awaiting the opportunity to travel as well as the arrival of spring so my life list can grow and prosper just as the birds I hope to see in the backyard.

Have you voted in the October poll? Tell us about the types of feeders you use!

Dinner Visit

What a difference being in the right position with different camera settings can make. Our juvenile sharp shinned hawk has returned -- frequently -- for dinner visits, though with poor success from our menu of finches and sparrows. There is a tree just over our property line that he tends to perch in, moving to the same spot on the fence occasionally for a better view. Still, the smaller birds can spot his immature, unrefined approach from enough of a distance to seek shelter quickly, and he's left without a bite.

Twice today he's visited, ironically once at lunch and once at dinner, neither time to any avail. With a clearer picture, however, there is no doubt remaining that he is a sharp shinned hawk. The pale stripe over his eye is clearly visible, a trait that is lacking in both adult species as well as juvenile cooper's hawks. The thinness of his legs is also startlingly apparent. Whereas some birdwatchers would find his appearance unwelcome and unattractive, I find him noble and graceful. It's a delightful treat to have him so near, though I will refrain from putting meat in the feeders; the buffet I set for the smaller birds is undoubtedly enough to supply food for all visitors, even if not in the way intended.

If you have trouble identifying your own hawks between these two species, I highly recommend the accipiter identification table and other resources from Project Feederwatch. Happy hawking!

Hawk Revealed

Thanks to generous assistance both from CapeCodAlan and now Bill Fenimore, a well-respected Utah birder and owner of the Wild Bird store in Layton, my accipiter visitor has been throughly identified as a sharp shinned hawk. Some tidbits about this graceful bird of prey:

• They feed by catching other birds on the wing.
• They have quite thin legs, sometimes described as "pencil thin."
• While they do migrate in other states, they are year-round residents in Utah.
• They are the smallest of the accipiter family.
• Their rounded wings and long tail make them extremely agile.

I hope to see him again soon, now that I know well what details to check, and with camera in hand to capture his poise and beauty. He's a rare treat, all the better for familiarity.

Who's the Hawk?

I have recently been paid a pair of puzzling visits by an as-yet-unknown hawk. He looks like he could be either a sharp shinned or a Cooper's hawk, but the two are so similar that identification is gravely challenging (see this lovely comparison by Project Feederwatch). At first glance he bears characteristics similar to both hawks, and it's maddening trying to ascertain which he really is. The only positive characteristic I can note is age; he has lighter colored, nearly yellow eyes, which according to CapeCodAlan of ebirdseed.com, indicates the bird is a juvenile.

His behavior also indicates inexperience. Twice in the past two weeks he has arrived with great fanfare at our backyard feeders, but neither time has he been successful in securing a meal. The first time he landed near the hopper feeder and waited there for a minute or two, stretching his wings and looking about as if wondering where the buffet had disappeared to. The second time, just this past weekend, I went to our patio doors to look out at the yard and he was perched on the platform feeder we keep just a few inches from the house. He stayed there for a period, eyeing me with caution but not concern.

Unfortunately, I have no superb pictures by which to determine a clear identification. I am wondering if indeed this is the same bird -- I believe so, but the first to visit may have been larger. CapeCodAlan believes he may be a sharp shinned hawk, and any fellow birders who have leads as to his identity are welcome to chime in; I'd love to know for certain who is preying in the backyard.

Which brings up the question of welcome. To some backyard birders, these birds of prey are most unwelcome -- our neighbors would prefer to chase him away when he frightens the smaller species. To me, however, it is a rare treat and privilege to have this unusual visitor grace my yard. And if, in doing so, smaller birds fall victim to his dives, then that too is a type of backyard birdfeeding. Perhaps not what I'd intended when refilling the seed feeders, but it is all part of the migration of life I'm happy to be a part of.

A Diversity of Guests

Two new visitors have made fleeting appearances at the hopper feeder's catch platform in the past few days. The first, several days ago, was a vibrant black headed grosbeak, easily identifiable by his distinctive orange hue, bold white markings, and characteristically scruffy appearance. While he did not linger, I was also able to distinguish his unusual bill shape and his fondness for cracking seeds with it. I am particularly thrilled at his visit because I'd hoped to attract an orange bird this summer, for no real reason other than they seem more vibrant yet less common at many backyard feeders in this area. Certainly the house finches with their orange color variants are a pleasant addition to my avian rainbow, but the black headed grosbeak is a truly orange species.

The second new visitor was even more fleeting, but for a few moments as I sat working at our patio table, I heard a hauntingly familiar stacatto call and moments later a black capped chickadee flitted to the feeder and snuck a few bites before flittering away. I haven't heard that call in years, for while these small yet hyper birds were common in the north woods where I frequently spend childhood summers, they are absent from the southeast where I lived for several years. I have seen them on some walks here in Utah, and I'm thrilled to have one as a guest at my backyard feeder, however brief the visit.

Motion Blur

In a brief burst of hovering, at least two hummingbirds have returned to our backyard. The nectar feeder has been out for a short period of time and it is not frequently visited by a somewhat anonymous friend who is both camera shy and frustratingly devoid of identifying features. While I have been able to snap his picture with a wingstroke of luck, one distant shot only shows his baleful glare amid of a fluff of gossamer white and green feathers, and the other, while a delightful close up, is on such a cloudy day that no light source is available to give me better odds of learning his true identity. My best guess is that he may be a Calliope Hummingbird, the smallest bird in North America and not unknown in this region, but he may also be a fledgling of several hummingbird varieties, and thus the indentification difficulties.

He is a bizarre puff of feathers, however. Last summer, the hummingbirds who regularly visited sipped well at the feeder but rarely stayed on the property beyond using it as a fruit-flavored bar. This new friend is hesitated at the feeder but will perch in the nearby tree for long periods while he scopes out the vicinity. Should he spot anyone other than a fellow avian nearby, he is gone in a burst of wingbeats.

Being nestled between mountain ranges, Utah does not get as many hummingbirds in spring and early summer as will visit in later summer and fall. This is because many of the migratory paths of these tiny birds take them north along the Pacific Coast, while their autumnal routes are more inland and hence through Utah. By August, I should see a great number of hummingbirds in clearly identifiable plumage visiting the yard.

Definition of a Backyard

With the sighting of another new visitor -- a boldly colored male Western Tanager in his vibrant breeding plumage -- I'm coming to question the definition of where, precisely, the boundaries of one's backyard are. This bird, for example, did not alight within the invisible property lines that border my backyard. Instead, several of the birds perched in a tree in an adjacent yard, barely across the fence and easily visible from both the upstairs and downstairs windows where I sought a better view. The bold red head, brilliant yellow body, and strong black wings with thick markings made identification easy, yet still, were the birds truly in the backyard?

So what, then, defines a backyard for birding purposes? At first, one might say feeding. If a bird regularly stops for a bite, it could be considered a proper addition to a backyard roll call. But what of the Cooper's hawk? I've yet to spot him having a quick munch in the yard, yet he's a regular visitor, perching on the fence as he calculates the likelihood of his next meal coming from the smaller birds who regularly visit my feeders.

Frequency might be another determining factor. Migrating birds, then, pose special challenges as they may only be seen for a few days each year as they pass by on their way to breeding grounds or winter homes. The dark eyed juncos, for example, have moved on to their more northern homes and won't return for months, if they even recall this small sanctuary. Yet I would say that they, too, are legitimate backyard birds even if they aren't always evident.

At this time, I'm considering the western tanagers to have been a fleeting visit and a wild confirmation rather than a positive backyard sighting, yet I'll keep a keen watch for them in the coming days and they may even be pleased to find dried and fresh fruit in my feeders to help tempt them to a longer stay.

Walking Observations

On a picnic near the Provo River at Mt. Timpanogos park, just at the mouth of Provo Canyon, I spotted a new wild friend with easy identification: a Bullock's Oriole, a brilliant orange and black bird somewhat smaller than an American Robin and a cousin similar to the Baltimore Oriole of the east. He has a sharply defined black mask with a chin stripe that does not continue to his chest, and his vibrant color makes him easy to spot. This one was foraging in trees, nibbling off the leaf buds far above our heads, chattering randomly as he enjoyed his own picnic.

Spotting birds while walking trails is a great joy, but one that takes some practice in order to identify the wild wanderers. I would recommend going at a time when the light is good so any color variations in plumage are easily spotted, and try to get as close to the birds as possible so you can see details in their markings. Especially note the bill size and shape, head colorings, body size, wing markings, and rear view. If possible, also note what the bird is doing and any sounds you can clearly identify as coming from them.

When possible, snap a digital picture of the bird, one that you can zoom in on at a later date in order to compare the bird to books, field guides, websites, and other identification resources. Binoculars can also be a help, particularly for more reclusive species, if you have them available. My camera and zoom has helped me discover new species on several occasions, though with the clear and distinctive markings of the Bullock's Oriole, it wasn't necessary. I wouldn't recommend taking field guides with you while birding casually on a trail, since you'll waste valuable behavior observation time flipping through pages and making comparisons you can easily make after the bird has moved on.

With care and practice, you can easily find new and remarkable species no matter where you are, if you're prepared to observe them adequately. The best observation tools you have are your eyes, and with them, new birds can reveal a world you may never have known existed, a world that you share with many other intelligent and remarkable species.