SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA — I’d heard that agents say, “Welcome home,” when you present a U.S. passport on your way into the States. I made it past the snuffling beagle of doom to a nice young woman who told me to have a nice day but did not welcome me home. Ah well.

I was soon reunited with my long-lost (well, sort of) friend Shroud. He, glimpses of Mourning Doves, and faint caws from American Crows were all the welcome I really needed. We got on I-5 (”the 5,” I learned to call it) and headed south for San Diego.

When he asked how we’d fill the next two days, I said, “Let’s go birding,” flinching only internally. Despite memories of the last trip we’d taken together, he agreed almost unhesitatingly. We went to the library to do some research online. I decided that the Salton Sea would be perfect, but it would have to wait until morning. Returning to the apartment where Shroud is a squatter, I collapsed on the couch for a few precious moments of sleep while he continued making phone calls in his desperate attempt to scare up a job and a place to live.

He woke me up at 4, and we made another trip to the library before striking off to find beach. It can’t be that hard, we figured. Just drive west!

Eventually, we ended up on a nice, not-too-crowded beach somewhere near La Jolla. A few Western Gulls drifted overhead, and Shroud asked me what the big birds were over the water. They were Brown Pelicans, and small groups passed steadily south. A handful of shorebirds scampered among clouds of tiny insects and piles of seaweed.

They were dark and chunky, and I realized with satisfaction that they could be Black Turnstones. Trying not to point directly at scantily clad humanity, I raised my binoculars to confirm my hunch. They were blackish on the back, head, and breast and had white bellies. Yes! A little later, I noticed another bird with them, this one clearly a Ruddy Turnstone with bright orange legs and traces of breeding colors. I pointed them out to Shroud, and I also showed him a Least Sandpiper, explaining that its diminutive size and yellowish legs were distinctive.

My life Black Turnstones!

Shroud really wanted that stick you can just barely see down there. He got himself quite wet in an ill-fated attempt to retrieve it.

I had a lifer, and Shroud had soggy pants, socks, and shoes. The fun was just beginning, but we had to hustle in order to make Balboa Park by 7:30 to see an organ concert with Mark. I wondered how I would explain to Mark about tomorrow’s birding. I decided that perhaps the matter-of-fact, yes-of-course-I-am-perfectly-serious approach might be in order.

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