Birds in Opposition

I found a new place for lovely birding today, along a section of the Provo River that is only infrequently familiar to birders, hikers, and other guests. While it is following along a section of an historic railroad track (one unused on Sundays), it is a lush riparian zone that is home to many birds. Along the way, I spotted American robins, song sparrows, American dippers, European starlings, at least two annoying varieties of swallows that wouldn't slow down nor fly straight enough for a positive identification, and a new bird on my life list - the absolutely lovely yellow warbler. If you haven't yet seen this bird, it's a must to find with its vibrant yellow plumage and lovely red streaking on the chest. Its bright color is coupled with an equally perky personality, as it too doesn't sit still for long periods and seems to enjoy flitting about just out of camera (and often binocular) range. Still, I managed to nab a passable shot of this beautiful songbird.

As we drove home - I'm so fortunate in that these lovely birding trails are not too distant - my husband spotted what he though was a falcon or hawk soaring nearby, and he pulled over to let me take a closer peek. While I do love raptors, I was even more thrilled that it was a bit larger than either a hawk or falcon -- it was a turkey vulture, and another new addition for me to positively identify. The ironic part, however, is that there really isn't any other bird that could be more diametrically opposed to the yellow warbler.

Whereas the yellow warbler is brightly adorned, the turkey vulture is a slaty gray and black. The yellow warbler is a tiny bird that measures just five inches in length, the turkey vulture is five times that size. The yellow warbler is an active, mobile bird that flits through bushes and trees, while the turkey vulture soars slowly at great heights and carefully scrutinizes the ground below.

It's a great pleasure to see such unique and beautiful birds whenever I manage to go for a birding walk. I'm especially excited for next weekend and the Great Salt Lake Bird Festival, but even if those field trips are not as adventurous, it's always grand to know that I have such a diversity of avian life near to home.

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Snapshot

It's amazing what different bird behaviors you can capture with a camera that you just might miss with your eyes or binoculars. Several days ago, when the outrageous mixed horde of birds descended on my meager backyard, I was fascinated by watching multiple American robins take turns sipping from the concrete birdbath. I snapped several pictures of them drinking, but it wasn't until I was reviewing the pictures that I noticed one was different. I knew I'd hit the shutter button as each bird was sipping, so why was this one robin so fixated on something other than the birdbath? She was, in fact, watching the timely arrival of her friend (both birds are female, as shown by their gray rather than black heads - see the American robin profile for more), whom I also caught unwittingly in the same frame. Had I been watching more closely, rather than birdwatching through a digital lens, I might have witnessed the bird's arrival and the subsequent reshuffling at the birdbath, rather than only noticing it in hindsight.

When we spend too much time watching just one bird, whether we are attempting to identify a new visitor, capture that perfect photograph, or just admiring a single bird's beauty, we miss the overall richness of the bird life all around us. I urge everyone to take a few moments to step back from the lenses of their binoculars and cameras to just watch the birds, and you'll be surprised at what you see. Threat displays, mates begging, shy birds, meticulous eaters, sentries, dominant individuals, problem solvers, reckless fliers, daring intruders, and curious individuals will all visit your feeders - but will you see them if you don't look?

No Fooling, an April Poll

It's fascinating to see that not only is all birdseed not the same, but different bird species have very strong preferences for what types of seed they prefer. I've discovered several bird preferences by observing my very mixed and very hungry flock...

• Pine siskins and lesser goldfinches prefer almost exclusively nyger seed, most frequently from sock feeders or ground feeding.


• American goldfinches prefer nyger seed but will also indulge in black oil sunflower seeds. They will feed from mesh socks, tube feeders, or platforms, as well as spilled seed.


• House finches prefer black oil sunflower seeds and eat from the hopper feeder and spilled seed. They do try to balance on the tube feeders, but the size isn't quite right for their comfort.


• House sparrows are more likely to take millet but will also eat black oil sunflower seeds. Platform feeders are their favored buffet line.


• Eurasian collared doves will eat milo, millet, and black oil sunflower seeds; it just seems to depend on what is readily available on the ground for them, and they swallow it without removing the shell.


• Mourning doves prefer millet but will also swallow black oil sunflower seeds.


• Dark eyed juncos are exclusively millet diners, perferably on the ground but also on open platform feeders.


• American robins don't care for seed but enjoy the bread scraps on the ground.


• Mallards will gorge on black oil sunflower seeds and millet from beneath feeders or on the ground. That they will also sample treats from low platform feeders seems to be quite the eccentricity from my neighborhood ducks.


• Cassin's finches prefer black oil sunflower seed but will also taste nyger in hopper and platform feeders.

Seeing such varied dining preferences reinforces the idea that a backyard will be filled with richer bird life if we offer a range of unique foods and different ways for the birds to eat. That, then, is the crux of this month's poll -- what bird foods do you offer in your backyard? Cast your votes!

Just Ducky

I've always been thrilled that our neighbors, whose backyard is far more developed than ours, have a pond, but never more so than today. Not only have the mallards returned, but they've brought a friend: a wood duck. All four, for the wood duck has apparently paired up with one of the mallard hens in a cozy way, visited our yard today, and I obligingly provided a treat of whole grain bread.

Wood ducks are stunning creatures, quite possibly one of the most beautiful native duck species in North America. Aptly named, their exotic coloring and stark, bold markings make them appear to have been carved from fine wood. As I learned from this afternoon's observation, however, they can also have quite the territorial attitude and do not tolerate any other male's attention to their perceived companions. Time will tell, of course, if this pairing is meant to last.

While all four of the ducks enjoyed the bread scraps, they also proceeded to snack on the black oil sunflower seed and millet. Not only would they take it from the ground, but one pair quickly found the recently filled platform feeder and decided that it was more convenient than ground feeding. They both tasted the peanuts, but wisely decided they weren't as tantalizing and left them for the scrub jay, who also visited this afternoon for his own treat.

The backyard excitement didn't end there, either. Earlier today, I spotted the first of the returning Cassin's finches. There is also an unusual yellow marked bird that has stumped my identification techniques; I've asked Bill Fenimore for assistance on that one and will spread the word as soon as I know. With all the excitement that I've had today, I hope your backyards are just as entertaining!

Up Close and Personal

It is always amazing when you can get up close and personal with wild birds, though sometimes they may not seem so wild at all, as is the case when visiting well populated ponds. Some birds, such as this mallard hybrid I befriended in St. George, are more than eager to invade a visiting birder's personal space in the hopes of charming them out of a tasty tidbit or mouth watering morsel. Fortunately, I had bread with me on this occasion, or else he may not have been so friendly.

Getting close to one's backyard birds is not always so easy. I'm fortunate in that I have plantation shutters on the picture window that faces my backyard birdfeeders, and I can keep the blinds partially shut to block the birds' view of me. In this way, I can often get within inches of visiting pine siskins, American goldfinches, house finches, California quail, and other guests without them wising up to my presence.

There are ways to get close to birds without blinds, however. Birders who provide a generous food or water source will find that birds grow more bold as they become more comfortable with the surroundings, and if they feel safe they will often disregard your presence even if you aren't that far away. Window feeders can also bring the birds up close, though I'd recommend a design with a back mirror to keep the birds from noticing your observation. Of course, good binoculars or a spotting scope can make you seem as if the birds are mere inches away, regardless of how physically close you are.

Getting close to the birds truly brings this hobby alive and makes it all the more fascinating. I'm often close to pond birds (we feed ducks and geese regularly), I have my faithful -- and famished -- backyard guests, I was privileged to be less than twenty feet from a wild golden eagle, and I've fed western scrub jays from my fingers. As I draw closer to each new bird, they become closer to my heart, and that connection is a birder's greatest privilege.

Unpredictable

There are a lot of unpredictable factors about backyard birding: which birds will visit when, how much they'll eat, whether they'll prefer a new seed or treat, if predators will be lurking nearby, if they'll nest in the yard, how they'll behave with one another, and even if they'll react the same way to the dedicated birder who fills their feeders and scrubs their birdbath in the cold of winter, during a snowstorm, or when a soggy rain is lazily dripping from dingy clouds. This week has been a disappointing one in my backyard, as many of the birds vanished for several days during our poor weather. This weekend the flock of American goldfinches and pine siskins has returned as the sun peeked from behaind the clouds, however, and they are as starving as ever. If there's one thing I can predict about this hobby, it's that I'll be out to fill the feeders again, whether the birds seem to appreciate my efforts or not, because I always appreciate their companionship.

It is also amazing to me how you can begin to recognize specific birds if you observe them long enough. There are two American goldfinches that I can easily recognize at the moment -- one fat, fluffy bird I've christened Teresa (she looks like a Teresa, though it could as easily be a male bird), and another male named Scruffy. I know he's male, and his moniker is appropriate, because he's begun his spring molt and his bland plumage is interspersed with shockingly bold yellow patches that are but a prelude to his mating glory. Granted, in another week or two many of his companions will likely appear scruffy as well and I'll probably lose him in the flock, but for the moment he's an old friend I'm glad to see occasionally, even if his visits are unpredictable.

A Hawk's Life

Over the weekend we were struck by yet another winter storm, this one with wet, heavy snow in varying intensities throughout the day. Yet even a heavy snow does not dampen bird activity, and in the midafternoon we discovered that our yard was under strict surveillance: Spook had returned.

It is fascinating to really watch a sharp shinned hawk, or any bird of prey. For long periods of time he perched attentively where he had good visibility -- at the top of a power pole, on the peak of a nearby garage, or in a tree along the property line. Once, for a moment, he alighted on our fence, but only for as long as it took to regain his balance before finding a more comfortable perch. The smaller birds: the finches, sparrows, and siskins, were conspicuous by their absence, but eventually the American goldfinches began to taunt our accipiter friend. One finch, or several, would fly erratically near the hawk, just out of reach of a quick strike but clearly meant to be seen. Spook might shift his weight, eyeing this seemingly easy prey, but he did not easily take the bait. Only when the finches would venture just a tad too close would he launch and dive after them, testing both his and their agility to the limit.

After less than a minute of frenetic activity, Spook would find another perch and rest there, his head continually scanning the landscape in a methodical pattern, searching for a morsel. After a time, the finch taunting would begin again only to culminate in another intense chase of aerobatics.

In the hour or more that he lurked around our yard, Spook's appetite must only have grown because his attacks were unsuccessful. Yet this juvenile hawk (clearly marked by the white feathers still showing through his darker plumage) is succeeding at survival, because even in the coldest, most unforgiving winter weather, he continues to hunt, to live, and ultimately, to soar. In the midst of the darkest winter days, if we can remember his perseverance, we too shall grow stronger and wiser as we survive until spring.

Lighting Up

Despite the birds' initial protests, the outdoor lighting is complete and finally illuminated: nearly 5,000 multi-colored twinkle lights adorn every window, gutter, and eave of the house, along with each tree in the front, and more than two dozen smaller lit trees are placed around borders for the season. While a halogen streetlight in front of the house washes out some of the seasonal glow, our home is a beacon to holiday revelers just as it is a beacon to birds.

And yet, the birds must appreciate the lights as well, because as soon as the project was completed the guest populations in the backyard soared. In the past week, in addition to the regular house sparrow and house finch residents, dark-eyed juncos, American goldfiches, and pine siskins have resumed their regular visits to our tasty feeders, and Spook -- our sharp shinned hawk -- has flown by looking for some tasty feed of his own. A voluable flock of robins also paused for a respite in the yard.

While some days are more barren in the backyard than others, on the days when the feeder is popular it seems as though the small trees and the brush pile are decorated all on their own, with living, breathing ornaments with fluttering feathers and chirping carols. Tis the season.

There are only a few days left before Christmas: what birding gifts are on your wish list? Vote in the December poll!

High Flying Hazards

Over the past few days, my husband and I have begun stringing Christmas lights on our house -- this seemingly quaint holiday tradition is actually an enduring test of nerves involving a 28-foot aluminum extension ladder, more than 40 strands of multi-colored twinkle lights, countless binder clips and gutter hooks, frozen fingers, precarious balance, and more than one thought about the effectiveness of renting a cherry picker or scissor lift. This year, however, has brought a new hazard to the holiday season: anxiously agitated house finches and sparrows.

The west side of the house is perhaps the most difficult on which to string lights. The steeply angled roof reaches its utmost highest point there, right above a patch of particularly rocky and uneven ground that is less than forgiving to the intrusions of a fully-extended ladder. Furthermore, that western patch of scrub ground -- just a few feet between the house and the fence, guaranteeing the steepest ladder angle possible -- is also home to the birds' new favorite habitat, the brush pile.

Whether they were curious or furious is unclear, but it is a whole new challenge stringing delicate lights with dozens of small birds insistently flocking around your head, shoulders, and legs as they flit to and from their shelter. They whiz back and forth, chittering in a most uncivilized fashion, berating you for disturbing their very haphazard pile. Where's the holiday spirit, the appreciation, the good will toward man or bird? And I'd even refilled the feeders with tantalizing, rich black oil sunflower seeds.

Those birds have no holiday spirit. Yet most of my holiday list is filled with birding supplies -- feeders, treats, nesting material, and other objects I can't wait to share. Ah, well, at least they're keeping us company. Kind of like the relatives you see every holiday season whom you can't tell whether to hate or love, but you enjoy seeing them anyway. And I suppose that's the real holiday spirit -- tolerance.

Now, if they could only help put up the lights...

My holiday wish list has lots of birding items on it -- does yours? Share in the December poll!

Exploding Trees

While checking the seed in the feeders this afternoon (I'm about to travel for the holiday -- hopefully to see new birds!), I was walking along the side of the garage when our neighbor's apple tree exploded. Or at least, one branch exploded in a noisy burst of leaves and action.

Sharp shinned hawks are small birds of prey, and don't make very big explosions.

Our juvenile hawk was lurking in the tree, waiting for his moment to dine. He was literally on the tail of either a house finch or house sparrow -- at the speeds they were flying it was impossible to tell -- and they veered between the houses, reappearing a second or two later in the opposite direction. Across our yard and just barely above trees across the property line they flew, the smaller bird darting and obviously terrified, but the hawk keeping up with precise determination. He dove, but missed, and the smaller bird flew rapidly away frantically chirping a warning while the hawk caught a small updraft and glided more leisurely in the opposite direction, ostensibly to find his next meal elsewhere.

In these few seconds of wild kingdom action, it was fascinating to observe the hawk's beautiful and acrobatic flight. Though he was unsuccessful in this attempt, his skills are obviously advancing from what they were earlier in the season. Our dear Spook is growing up.

Just one week left to vote in November's poll: How many species are on your life list?

High Speed Birding

Lately, illness and a hectic schedule have kept me from doing too much birding, other than what species can be spotted while whizzing along on the interstate. While it is exciting to see the birds, passing a hawk perched on an electric pole at 70 miles per hour doesn't afford much opportunity for identification. Nonetheless, it is fascinating to see such a range of birds of prey staking out sections of the highway -- clearly, carrion and road kill have become a valued and consistent part of their diet. Of course, drivers should always be aware of birds feeding at the roadside and be cautious not to injure any of the scavengers. Life is a highway, and we're all just along for the ride.

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!

Winter Weather, for a Moment

True to the forecast, winter arrived with a vengeance on Saturday night. From sleety rain to firm crystals and eventually to large, fluffy flakes, the snow fell for hours, leaving an accumulation that coated the hopper feeder, filled both the hanging and freestanding platforms, and froze in the bird bath. That didn't, however, stop the eager house finches and house sparrows from enjoying a meal, but it did change their attitude toward the seeds available. Perhaps sensing that natural seed sources might be harder to come by or just grateful for a food source they didn't have to scrounge, the birds were much more aggressive at the feeder and were apt to chase away others whom they felt might be impinging on their dining experience. While they're still very social birds, they are certainly more territorial about the feeder they feel is theirs (and rightly so, as they're welcome to it).

The finches and sparrows aren't the only birds that have been more aggressive lately, however. The western scrub jays have been particularly vehement about caching their peanuts and not sharing with others. They have violently defended the small dish where I place the peanuts, even to the point of snapping at intruders and flying after them to see them out of the vicinity. Undoubtedly these birds are siblings or at least familiar with one another, but as the weather cools their self-preservation instincts come to the fore.

It is fascinating to see how the birds react to the turning weather, both for gradual changes (less light each day and gradually lower temperatures) as well as abrupt shifts. They have definitely been eating more than they were a week or two ago, and several of the finches and sparrows have put on enough weight to draw amazed stares from this birder -- the term "butterball" comes to mind. But whether they're rifling through the seed to find their favorite tidbits, perching on a frozen bird bath as they munch, or peering through the patio doors in hopes of more seed, they're welcome and I will oblige.

Be sure to vote in the October poll and share the types of feeders you use!

Fall Flee

Just as the hummingbirds are beginning their long migrations, so too are other bird species vanishing from backyard feeders, but not all for the same reasons. During the fall, seed heads, fruits, and other food sources ripen, offering greater natural abundance in addition to the helping hands of humans. Because of this, it may seem that birds are less plentiful, but the truth is that they are exploring more culinary options than just mixed seeds and other treats offered at feeders. While some do take to the skies and won't return for months, others are merely expanding their epicurian tastes.

It is crucial that backyard birders do not abandon their feeding efforts at this juncture. Many of the birds who are still visiting feeders are storing seed -- either in caches or through layers of body fat -- for the coming cold, and others are eager to get quick energy sources as they pass through on their way to warmer winter homes. In preparation for winter, it is suitable for birders to slowly reduce the supplies of seed they offer as feeders are not emptied as quickly, but maintaining a good supply will give birds a reference and the knowledge that they can rely on these resources. If they know that, they will be welcome friends when winter's need strikes.

My own feeders are less frequented of late, though the lesser goldfinches, house finches, sparrows, and Eurasian collared doves are still steady guests, though perhaps in lesser numbers than weeks past. For however long they remain -- and I know a good few of them will not leave -- they will be welcome, as will be any friends who might be passing through our skies.

Aw, Nuts

Proof positive that western scrub jays are persistent birds: all summer, one particular jay has tried -- and been frustrated at his failure -- to cache a peanut in a small tree in the backyard. Frequently he'd try to position a nut correctly, only to watch it fall to the grass below, at which time he'd glare at it for a moment before retrieving it to hide in an easier location.

This week, however, his persistence paid off and for a few hours, one small nut was firmly wedged among the narrow branches and fluttering leaves. It took several minutes of hopping about the top of the tree and pounding on the nut to keep it steady, but he accomplished the feat. It is not his fault, certainly, that the first windstorm of autumn relocated the nut later that evening.

Watching the jays cache their nuts is fascinating. They will meticulously hide the nut among grasses, mulch, weeds, or other debris, even to the point of picking up stray pieces of grass or bark to cover it. They manage to hide them so effectively that even if I approach the area moments later, it can be difficult if not impossible to find the nut. Other jays, however, are more skilled at finding the nuts, and often I've watched one follow a sibling moments later to unearth what the first has just cached, usually amid much squawking and arguing.

At this point, there must be hundreds of peanuts hidden around the neighborhood lawns, flowerbeds, and indeed, even trees. Having watched these antics, we all know who to blame -- after all, I keep putting peanuts out each morning.

Migrations and Mutations

As most birds eventually migrate, so too have I for the past two months. While I returned to an earlier nesting ground of my own, I was able to observe many different species with vastly different behavioral patterns than those that flit through my backyard from time to time.

I saw a rare treat, an albino sparrow with creamy yellow coloring. Another sparrow conspicuously lacked a tail but had no trouble surviving on the richly abundant food sources available -- though I doubt they were the same nutritious fare that their wilder cousins would dine upon. I saw different species of birds take advantage of fountains, waterfalls, and lagoons to keep cool in the relentless summer heat. During nesting periods, birds of all species fiercely defended the territory they had deemed their own, regardless of the constant intrusions (and woe upon us whose necessary attire was mistaken for aggression). Fearless enthusiasm was rampant both among the birds and the humans who unwittingly increased their food supply through casual discards of fries, breads, and crackers.

Naturally, these birds and their antics are not part of my typical backyard observations, though I have enjoyed comparing the differences between the more aggressive, decadently fed birds in a less wild atmosphere and the equally entertaining birds that thrive in my growing sanctuary. While they are different species separated by hundreds of miles, the joy and determination they all find in life is identical. At times we all need a migration out of the ordinary to appreciate that.

Feral Foreigners

Birds are incredibly adaptable species, a fact I witnessed firsthand during a recent visit to San Francisco. Not only is the city alive and vibrant with its human residents, but it is also home to an astonishing colony of feral parrots, the Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill.

The first night of our visit, my husband and I were walking through the bold skyscrapers of the financial district, heading toward the Embarcadero and the Ferry Building. As we approached a small park near the waterfront, we were assaulted with a wild screeching, a cacophany of sound that clearly wasn't human. Nor was it originating from the pigeons and mallard ducks calmly browsing along the manicured lawn. Intrigued, we crossed into the park and were startled to see what appeared to be a mass of angry leaves, so perfectly did the birds blend into their surroundings. As we observed them, we discovered a tremendous flock of parrots with brilliant green plumage, bright red caps, and creamy yellow bills.

Our visit was cut short; after a quick photograph or two, it was clear that these parrots were exceedingly territorial and did not appreciate guests in what I would later discover was their roosting ground. Further research revealed that these were cherry-headed conures and a variety of interbred parrot species initially native to Ecuador and Peru. The birds had been imported in large numbers as exotic pets, but their loud, raucous voices and impatient mannerisms make poor companions and many birds were released by frustrated owners. Over the years (importing these tropical birds is now heavily restricted), the released birds gathered and flocked near Telegraph Hill, a region of the city rich in lush foliage and abundant food sources. The flock has grown and interbred, and today they are firmly established as somewhat unique residents of the city.

While they are a marvel to watch and hear for residents and visitors of San Francisco, this is also a clear lesson on the dangers of choosing birds as pets without fully understanding their habitat and behavioral needs. It is wonderful to feed the birds, but interfering with their natural lives should never be condoned.

For more information on the Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill, I highly recommend the book and film of the same name, as well as information posted by the book's author, Mark Bittner.

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.