A Trip to Alaska

This weekend I took a trip to Alaska and back, at least with birding spirit. On a listserv tip, I visited a new-to-me park along the Jordan River in West Valley City to observe some winter waterfowl, including the 245th bird to be added to my life list - the Barrow's goldeneye. The black-and-white males have elegant, chic plumage with a distinct crescent-shaped patch on the cheek, while the more camouflaged females sport their mostly orange bills with pride. At this location, the males were in full masculine form trying to impress their chosen females with a series of craning necks, fluffed heads, and short, pleading honks. The girls seemed not to watch, but undoubtedly they're sizing up the competing males before deciding who will be their mate when they arrive back at their northern breeding grounds in just a few weeks.

I've wanted to add this duck to my life list for some time, ever since I saw the common goldeneye with its circular cheek patch. At first glance there doesn't seem to be much else different between these two types of ducks, but this sighting gave me an unmatched opportunity to see both species in close proximity. They are actually quite different in their coloration, with the Barrow's goldeneye being a darker bird with more prominent black. The head shapes of the two species are also bit different, though that's hard to tell because they change postures frequently.

In behavior, they do act similar - both goldeneyes were very skittish as I watched, even though the path I was on is set a bit back from the riverbank, and the river itself is wide and open in that area, providing good visibility. In contrast, the mallards, northern shovelers, and Canada geese that were also in the floating flock didn't mind my presence at all.

What a treat to add this bird to my life list; the first of many I hope to see in 2011. May your birding be as productive all year long!

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Pining for Winter

Anyone who might doubt the need for evergreen trees in a winter landscape as part of a bird habitat need only to watch my trees on any chilly day. My house sparrows flit back and forth from the feeders to their favorite winter perches, which include a dwarf mugo and two Colorado blue spruces, and at times it can look like the trees are strung with feathered ornaments. On a stormy day, they will duck deeper into the branches, and a whole flock of small birds may be sheltering in quite a small tree.

As I continue planning my landscaping, I intend to add more pines. They're relatively hardy trees and provide fantastic cover, not to mention being attractive in all seasons. Birds can nest in them, some birds will eat the seeds, and they don't require too much maintenance (and no raking for the short-needled varieties!). At this time of year, they provide critical shelter, so long as you do continue to care for the smaller varieties. Just today - as I was refilling my front yard bird feeders - I took some of the iced over snow off the mugo so it would straighten up, fluff out, and be better shelter than an icy pancake. Larger pines and mature trees, of course, don't need that type of quick care and are perfectly usable even in the harshest winter weather or deepest snowfall.

For now, I'm happy that my pine trees can entice my shivering flock to safer shelter, and they're welcome to decorate it anytime.

Got Doves?

I may not have great bird diversity in my backyard during the wicked Utah winter, but there's no denying that I have great numbers of birds. That is never more obvious than when the flock of Eurasian collared-doves comes to feed. My backyard doves, in particular, never seem to have learned that doves are typically ground feeding birds, and instead they've learned how to attack the hopper feeder from my flocks of sparrows and finches. They crowd one another out, land on one another, and occasionally nip one another in order to get at the hulled sunflower I feed. Some are more patient, however, and will stake out positions on top of the feeder, on the nearby stump, or in the adjacent hawthorn tree to wait their turns (or just because they won't fit at the feeding ledge). I've had as many as a dozen or more at once, and these are not small doves by any means.

I never tire of watching these birds, and Eurasian collared-doves hold a special place for me. I had never seen one before moving to Utah, and the first day I saw one on our patio I dismissed it at a quick glance, believing it to be a mourning dove. Something about it caught my eye, however, and I looked closer - it didn't have the spotty wings of a mourning dove, it was much too big, and no mourning dove had that ring on the back of the neck. After a quick consultation with my favorite field guide (Kaufman Field Guide to Birds of North America), I had a new lifer on my list, and it's been a favorite bird of mine ever since.

Over the years, I've marveled at these doves' personalities - they tend to be more skittish and nervous than mourning doves and they're frantic eaters, which stems from that nervousness and a wariness of any potential predators. Their harsh coos remind me of owls, and like all birds, they are distinct individuals. I've had one that would smack its comrades with a wing if they got too close when feeding, and another one is a definite nipper. I've even had one visit that was partially leucistic, with patches of much paler feathers and an overall lighter coloration that made it distinctive.

A lot of backyard birders may feel that doves - particularly ones with such voracious appetites - are less than welcome at their feeders, but these beautiful birds will always be welcome at mine.

Welcoming 2011

When this first day of the new year dawned bright, cold, and clear, I could think of no better way to welcome 2011 than with a birding walk. My husband and I headed down to the Provo River trailhead near Utah Lake, a stretch we've walked several times in the past couple of weeks, but every walk is a surprise. This morning's birding was among the best I've had there in the past weeks, and twenty fun and fantastic species joined me in the new year.

• Song Sparrow
• White-Crowned Sparrow
• Black-Billed Magpie
• Northern Flicker
• Black-Capped Chickadee
• Mountain Chickadee
• Dark-Eyed Junco
• Downy Woodpecker
• Ruby-Crowned Kinglet
• Brown Creeper
• House Finch
• American Goldfinch
• Mallard
• Spotted Towhee
• Common Goldeneye
• American Coot
• Great Blue Heron
• Pied-Billed Grebe
• American Kestrel
• Bald Eagle

What a wonderful turnout, despite no new lifers. I had particularly good views of many of the songbirds, including the brown creeper and ruby-crowned kinglet, and the bald eagle was a juvenile roosting in the same trees where we saw two adults earlier in the week. This is deservedly one of my favorite birding spots, and each time I visit I'm always hopeful for even more avian friends. With a bit of birding luck, the new year will bring even more species along this and my other favorite birding walks.

To all of you, best wishes for a very happy, very birdy new year.

Mixing It Up With a Lifer

Patience certainly pays off with birding, and no matter how many times you visit the same area, you never know if you'll spot something new. I couldn't tell you how often I've birded the section of the Provo River Trail from the lakeside trailhead to the first loop, but this past weekend, during my most recent visit, I added a new lifer to my list: the white-breasted nuthatch. These aren't very rare birds here, though they've eluded me (and continue to elude my camera), but I had the privilege of superb views of at least three different birds foraging in the loop area of that trail section.

They weren't the only birds I spotted at that moment, however. In winter, many birds form mixed flocks, and the trio of white-breasted nuthatches was joined by a number of black-capped chickadees, two brown creepers, and one ruby-crowned kinglet. It was a rare pleasure to observe the species in such close proximity and to have the opportunity to see their vastly different personalities.

• The black-capped chickadees were highest in the trees, flitting rapidly but staying along branches near the upper third of the winter-denuded canopy.
• The brown creepers preferred to stay low on the trunks of trees, working their way up as they hunted for insects, but rarely getting further than halfway up the tree.
• The ruby-crowned kinglet stayed out of the largest trees altogether and instead foraged in nearby brushy areas at low and mid-range heights.
• The white-breasted nuthatches started three-quarters of the way up the trees and quickly worked their way down as they foraged, but only down to the last quarter of the tree, and not often to the base.

Though they forage together, each bird has a different niche to fill and different ways to go about it. Together they can all keep watch for predators or better potential food sources, but they rarely intrude on one another's personal space.

Too often birders get too taken with seeing a new bird - and I was thrilled at the chic colors and swift grace of the nuthatches - and fail to see the amazing behaviors of their more familiar species. I'm glad I had the chance to watch all these birds together and note both their similarities and their differences, and when I next go into the field I'll be watching all the birds I know a bit more closely to see their unique personalities in action.

Snipe Hunt

Okay, so the title is a misnomer - I wasn't actually looking for a snipe when I was birding this past weekend, but the Wilson's snipe near the Provo River trailhead was an astonishing surprise. I was watching a few chilly mallards and a pair of winter-plumaged pied-billed grebes when I saw a bit of movement on a sandbar island in the river. A quick check through the binoculars was all that was necessary to confirm the Wilson's snipe with its long, probing bill and distinctive striped upperparts.

This wasn't a new bird for my life list, but I haven't seen one in nearly two years. That first view was a close but quick encounter at the St. George Winter Bird Festival in January 2009, but because this bird is so beautifully marked, it was easy to identify even then. This past weekend, I was able to watch it for several minutes as it probed along the edges of the sandbar. I had very satisfying, close-range views, as the bird was only about 35 feet away. Given that an arm of the very frigid river separated us, the snipe was utterly unconcerned with my presence, and only flew off down the waterway after it had probed all areas of the sandbar that looked promising.

I'd initially gone birding hoping for a lifer, and while I didn't see anything new, who can be disappointed with such an unexpected surprise?

Happy Anniversary

This past Sunday marked my two-year anniversary as the About.com Guide to Birding / Wild Birds, and what a flight it's been. In December 2008, I was fresh from initial training and introductions, and overwhelmed with how much lay ahead. Two years later I'm no less overwhelmed, and I'm still learning more every day. Today there is even more ahead of me, despite two years of content, daily bird blogs, featured profiles, weekly newsletters, forum contests, and more. I'm anticipating some hefty changes to my work arrangements in the coming weeks (by choice), and to that end I'm planning even more exciting content - more bird profiles, range maps, bird crafts, product reviews, an extensive listing of field guides... The list goes on, and I'm pleased to keep flying.

Tale of a Tail

Sometimes you can look at a familiar bird for quite some time before realizing just why the bird looks "off." This happened to me a couple of weeks ago when I noticed an unusual house finch at my Nyjer feeder. Now, for a lot of backyard birders, the fact that this male is orange rather than red would be enough to bring him to notice, but I've actually had all three male house finch color variations in my yard - red, orange, and yellow. It took me a few minutes of watching this bird to realize the reason he looked different was he's missing something quite important to a bird - he has no tail.

There can be a few reasons why a bird might lose its tail. It could be a natural part of that bird's molting cycle, or the tail feathers could have been shed because of illness or parasites. It could even have been pulled off by a predator the bird was fortunate enough to escape from or be a genetic anomaly. For this bird specifically, there are no strong indicators as to why he doesn't have his tail feathers. While he does show a touch of swelling around the eye (I regularly have outbreaks of house finch eye disease - avian conjunctivitis - at my feeders, despite my best efforts to keep the feeders clean), losing tail feathers isn't a typical symptom of that disease. He has no other signs of illness, and the condition of the rest of his plumage indicates he isn't molting. If he had a close call with a predator, he shows no other signs of it. All of those factors considered, and given that he's well able to fly and isn't lacking in any way, I'm inclined to believe this may be a genetic condition for this bird.

Still, it is interesting to see, and more interesting still when those unusual conditions help us learn to recognize individual birds. Terry the tail-less house finch has been around for a few days off and on, feeding with the other members of my house finch flock without detriment. Tail or no tail, he's as welcome as any.