Big Year #5: July Update

I last updated the world on my Thoreauvian Big Year – an attempt to see as many bird species as possible within a 10-mile, foot- or bike-powered journey – in mid-April, at which point the year to date tally was 168 species. (My territory, to clarify, is based on a comfortable 10-mile outward bike journey, not a straight line. Given the indirect routes around various obstacles natural and man-made, this translates to more like a 5-6 mile radius drawn on a map, covering all of Novato and extending a little bit to the south to encompass all of Big Rock Ridge, Lucas Valley, and the Las Gallinas Ponds.)

As expected, the steady clip of new species soon slowed down as spring migration drew to a close, so I haven’t had a lot to share. But “not a lot” does not mean “nothing”! As of the beginning of July, I have clawed my way up to 183 species, adding 15 more birds to the year list. There are some interesting ones!

Mid-April to Mid-May: Spring migrants, many helpfully singing

When I posted my mid-April update, I had found the bulk of the common spring migrants, but there were a few more birds of passage yet to come. These later and scarcer migrants included a few birds that do regularly return to our area to nest, but also featured a number of birds just passing through on their way north. Such ephemeral sightings add significant spice and excitement to birding in late April and early May – you never know what you might come across singing in the woods at that time of year.

1. Purple Martin: I’ve written at length about our five common swallows. The purple martin is the sixth breeding swallow of Marin, and a notable one in many respects. They are larger and differently colored than the others, sexually dimorphic (males are shiny purple all over; females are duller and browner), and locally uncommon. Widespread in the east, where “apartment-style” martin houses are popular, in our area they stick to natural nest sites, preferring hollow trunks of large dead trees, which forms a distinctly limited housing market. Given this scarcity of local breeders, my April encounter with what I presume was a squadron of northward-bound migrants represented the high point of my lifetime purple martin experience.

   

   I was coming down from Big Rock Ridge, descending the third tallest peak (the nice ~1600’ one with nice rocks to perch on rather than fenced off or graffitied buildings), when I saw them: five large swallows, exulting in the powerful currents of air as they climbed and dived and chased each other.

   A horned lark – an otherwise worthy subject of interest – was innocently foraging in the dusty roadway when he fell victim to several high-speed martin passes (the motive, I suppose, was more playful rather than truly aggressive, but they were moving fast and the lark was predictably discomfited by the purple rockets exploding in front of him). I myself became the rather jubilant target of several such exhilarating passes, standing in the wind trying to track these swift moving birds in binoculars, an exercise made suddenly superfluous when one of the troop altered course to investigate the grinning biped. I looked up from the binos to see a bird hurtling directly towards me, until the slightest tip of the tail sent it whipping by, affording me a brief and memorable glance into the calm and controlled eyes of a 50 mph martin at a distance of a few paces. This exercise was repeated several times before they shifted their aerial circus farther down the ridge.

2. 

   Black-throated Gray Warbler: There are many migratory warblers who don’t breed in our area, but who feature strongly among the birds that draw the rarity-chasers to Point Reyes and other migrant hotspots. On my extra local level, the black-throated gray warbler is perhaps the most common such bird, regularly seen in spring and fall on their way to and from more northerly breeding areas. They do nest in limited numbers in open conifer forests in Marin, such as around Rock Spring on Mount Tam, but I do not believe they nest in Novato, as far as I can tell (let me know if you know different!). So watch for them in this April-May window in any of our wooded preserves such as Mount Burdell’s Dwarf Oak Trail, Indian Valley, or Big Rock Ridge.

3. Western Tanager: One of the most striking of forest birds, this is one that definitely doesn’t breed here, but does pass through in spring and fall. I saw one beautiful male on Mount Burdell on 4/26, and then another right in my yard the next day.

   

4. Lazuli Bunting: One of the most striking of open country birds, this is one that definitely does breed here, but which arrives relatively late in spring. Mount Burdell is the place to see them locally; the Loma Alta Fire Road going south from Lucas Valley Road is the next closest site.
   

   

5. Tundra Swan: Major rarity! These are winter birds in the Central Valley, breeding way to the north as their name suggests. When one popped up (and stayed put for several days), practically in my backyard at Hamilton, my Big Year received an unexpected easy bonus. This was one that I probably would have missed were it not for the invaluable resource of eBird, where normal citizens post their bird observations, contribute to science, and help the birding community better find and understand their local birdlife.
6. Black-headed Grosbeak: Along with the black-throated gray warbler, this is another one of our easier-to-find migrant songbirds of spring. Especially when, like this one, they decide to sing in my yard.

   

7. Olive-sided Flycatcher: Noticing these birds is much easier when they are calling with their famous “quick-THREE-beers” call. As a bird that prefers somewhat wetter habitat for nesting, they are uncommon in our dry northeast section of the county, but I found one (along with the next two birds) in one very successful day on Big Rock Ridge, calling from partway down a deepish canyon paralleling the Ponti Fire Road.
8. Western Wood-Pewee:

   

   I’ll admit that I have underestimated the presence of this bird in our area for years – that’s the value of a local big year like this! Although it took me until that mid-May day on Big Rock Ridge to locate one this spring, I have since seen several more on Mount Burdell, Indian Valley, and Stafford Lake. Like many other flycatchers, they are not particularly eye-catching and achieving a greater familiarity with their calls was definitely a worthwhile bit of learning. Until you do so, you are likely to overlook them as I mostly did for years.

9. Cassin’s Vireo: The third find of that three-species day – a number which constitutes a major haul in mid-May – this is the scarcest of our three vireos (Hutton’s is common year-round, Warbling is common in spring and summer). Yet again, a visually inconspicuous bird is revealed through a distinctive song, here taking the form of  “Question? Answer” with an upwards and then downwards phrase. I was fortunate enough on this day to actually see all three of these species, but when dealing with small birds in densely wooded areas, recognizing their vocalizations (or at least recognizing different vocalizations) is key to finding what might otherwise go overlooked.

June: Not much migration means more work for new birds

After migration essentially wrapped up in mid-May, fresh birds for the list would no longer be conveniently dropped into my lap by showing up in my yard or general unfocused birding. Instead, I would have to go look for them, repeatedly visiting likely habitat and combing historical eBird records for clues.

10. Least Bittern: This locally uncommon bird has now bred for the past few years at the Las Gallinas Ponds on the southern border of my radius. They seem to arrive relatively late in spring, and become more visible once the pair is established (and then the young appear). Still, they are small and can be very skulky, and it took me a few visits after they were first reported in spring to find them this year.

    

11. 

    Black Rail: One of the hardest of local birds to see, this sparrow-sized, mostly nocturnal rail lives on the ground level of salt marshes, invisibly traipsing underneath the canopy of pickleweed. I haven’t managed to see one yet this year, but you will eventually hear their distinctive ki-ki-doo calls if you hang out around salt marshes in spring. Good places include the marshes surrounding Las Gallinas or Bahia.

12. Barn Owl: Long overdue for my list. I simply hadn’t made many nocturnal or crepuscular visits to appropriate open habitat; I live in a more wooded area which did make finding Great Horned and Western Screech-Owls easy. I found this one by following the cheater’s route of looking at barn owl nest boxes in spring, when inquisitive faces begin to peer out of the doorway during the day.

13. 

    Bonaparte’s Gull: Generally more common in winter, this small and graceful gull was quite scarce this past winter. When a few were reported on eBird at Rush Creek, I made a little detour to see them at this somewhat unexpected time of year, June 10th. The other highlight of the Binford frontage road at this season are the views of fuzzy young stilts and avocets – this is the best local place to see those two relatively uncommon breeders.

14. Swainson’s Hawk: Another eBird lead. Two of these hawks – mostly Central Valley breeders, but potentially capable of expanding their breeding range into more coastal counties – were reported out at Black Point in the hay fields being harvested. I went out to the low-profile Day Island Wildlife Preserve and peered out across the fields. It was as described: egrets and crows worked the area disturbed by the tractor, and so did the hawks, including both the resident red-tails and one Swainson’s hawk, a similar Buteo hawk with broad wings and a short tail, but with a distinctive plumage pattern of lighter wing linings and darker flight feathers (the opposite of the turkey vulture pattern). Interestingly, I saw another Swainson’s hawk working hayfields being harvested next to Pacheco Pond towards the end of June – their attraction to these locations is a very handy piece of information that I will gratefully stow in my mental arsenal of local birding lore.

    

15. Swainson’s Thrush: Lastly, I completed the “double Swainson” by hearing two birds give the beautiful rising warble of this shy woodland thrush. Their primary breeding habitat involves dense creekside woods (often conifer forest). We don’t have too much forested riparian habitat here, but a few historical records at Stafford Lake in summer were enough of a lead for me to investigate the upper portion of Novato Creek, above the lake (I was also looking for yellow warblers in the willows, but I seem to have struck out there).

So that’s where we are now: 183 species, still basically on target for my aim of the nice round  number of 200 birds by year’s end. Fall migration is about to start, with Wilson’s and red-necked phalaropes to hope for in July and August, as well as the ever tantalizing possibility of uncommon shorebirds. I still have some notable misses to chase: rufous hummingbirds and both eagles topping the list. And when winter rolls around I’ll have to up my gull game in order to add a few more species to the basic lineup I checked off last winter.

The Thoreauvian Big Year

1. Introduction: How many birds can I find in a year within 10 miles of my Novato home, without using a car? I kick off the Thoreauvian Big Year.
2. Late January Update: The easy resident and wintering birds pour in – along with a few surprises – among the highlights of the first 115 species. What local sites should you visit in January if you want to see more birds?
3. March Update: I climb to 142 species, wrapping up most of the common winter birds and seeing the first signs of spring as we pass through February.
4. April Update: Spring ramps up and I work harder to find some special birds.
5. July Update: Spring winds down with some of our most spectacular migrants.
6. October Update: Fall migration passes south and I begin to think creatively about how to reach 200 species.
7. Conclusion: Did I make it? What were the highlights? What did I learn? Why would someone undertake a Thoreauvian Big Year again?

Header image: Least bittern by John Sutton