CHANNELVIEW, TEXAS — I was in San Diego last week and the week before, and (in addition to birding the beach) I took several early-morning walks through residential San Diego and Florida Canyon on the northern edge of Balboa Park. I know very little about the avifauna of Southern California, unfortunately, so I was very interested to explore the common neighborhood birds, and the birds of remnant habitat in Florida Canyon.

I don’t normally organize posts in a list format, but I’m going to this time because I was curious about each species. I’ve made notes and observations about some species; life birds are in bold.

Red-tailed Hawk
American Kestrel
Killdeer
Western Gull — Seen in small numbers flying high overhead.
Rock Pigeon
Anna’s Hummingbird — These fiesty hummers were everywhere. Their sharp calls and buzzes were one of the common sounds. Males perched atop low shrubs, “singing” scratchy, insect-like songs while their gorgets and foreheads flashed deep iridescent pink. Spectacular!
Nuttall’s Woodpecker — For a bird I’d barely even heard of before this trip, I was impressed by the species’ classy looks. Nuttall’s Woodpeckers look similar to their desert kin, Ladder-backed Woodpeckers, but they show a black (i.e., unbanded) upper back, and the male has less red on his crown.
Northern Flicker — Of the red-shafted variety.
Black Phoebe — Black Phoebes were fairly common, even in residential areas.
Say’s Phoebe
Cassin’s Kingbird — I observed and listened to a small foraging flock one day but didn’t see them again.
Western Scrub-Jay — Beautiful, intense colors but not exactly easy on the ears.
American Crow — Common, which seemed odd to me for some reason.
Common Raven — Had only one.
Bushtit — Common in large, loose foraging flocks with a sort of collective, tinkling call. Individual birds very active and acrobatic.
Bewick’s Wren
House Wren
California Gnatcatcher — Saw two birds, one at a range of about six feet. It seemed impossibly minuscule as it foraged in the scrub, just out of arm’s reach. White in the tail was extremely limited, seeming to occur only on the outer portion of the outermost retrices. Call less harsh than the familiar (to me) Blue-gray call. I was very interested in the fact that the coastal scrub and chaparral hosts endemic species like California Gnatcatcher and Nuttall’s Woodpecker, which have similar counterparts in the desert (Black-tailed Gnatcatcher and Ladder-backed Woodpecker). Towhees, thrashers, and quail are other examples of this phenomenon. Species like the California Gnatcatcher are threatened by extensive habitat destruction.
Hermit Thrush — Another species that I didn’t expect to see here, for some reason.
American Robin — Flight call sounded higher and shriller than eastern birds, but I don’t know if the variation is real or imaginary.
Wrentit — Yes! I didn’t know if I’d be able to get the enigmatic Wrentit, and after watching dozens of Bushtits, I didn’t know if I’d be able to identify one! But it wasn’t so difficult in the end. The first bird I saw was alone, moving slowly low in the brush. Its long tail was cocked, and subtle bill shape and body coloration contributed to the overall impression. I later saw two birds foraging in the same location. One of them pecked open a stem to extract a grub. They were silent.
Northern Mockingbird — Yes, they really do live everywhere.
California Thrasher — Nice-looking birds, and not as secretive as the book suggests. Scroll on down for a picture.
Orange-crowned Warbler
“Audubon’s” Yellow-rumped Warbler — These yellow-chinned warblers were very abundant, noisy, and active. Their calls sounded on average less hard and dry than those of their eastern relatives.
Spotted Towhee
California Towhee — Common, slightly comical.
Fox Sparrow — One of the western races with a plain grayish head but rufous elsewhere.
White-crowned Sparrow — Present in small flocks.
Golden-crowned Sparrow — I kept scanning the white-crowns, hoping to find one of their western cousins. I finally did — it was feeding alone in a bush.
House Finch
Lesser Goldfinch — Males with black caps and olive backs, unlike the black-backed birds I see in Texas.
House Sparrow

SAN DIEGO, CALIF. –

Sleep? Mmm, sounds like a good idea. More about California later. Meanwhile, today’s pictures are up in the gallery.

SALTON SEA, CALIF. — Mark was kind enough not to tell me what he really thought when I suggested we go birding. He was even kind enough to wake me when my jet-lagged body failed to respond to the feeble beeping of my watch. The three of us piled into Shroud’s green bug and were on the road by 6:30, only half an hour later than we’d planned.

We took highway 78 east instead of the 8. As we began descending from mountains into the desert, I saw agaves, cacti, and ocotillo thriving on the dry, rugged slopes. Rabbits and a few little rodents scampered across the narrow, empty road ahead; then there was a roadrunner.

By 9 a.m., we reached the National Wildlife Refuge. I clambered out of Shroud’s tiny backseat and heard a high-pitched racket from a nearby tree. It was a Verdin. Shroud and Mark did not seem interested, and I wondered how well this was going to work. I started hoping for big, spectacular waterbirds.

But it wasn’t clear where the water was. There was only one trail, so we started off. We came first to a wooden observation deck, which we climbed as a few Mourning Doves scattered. From the deck, we had a distant view of water, and it was covered with birds. I could make out white pelicans, but the great distance and heat shimmer prevented me from identifying much else, let alone explaining it to my uninitiated companions.

Just then, a ragged Great-tailed Grackle flew into some nearby scrub. As Shroud and Mark found her in their binoculars, I started talking about grackles in general and Great-tails in particular. They asked me questions, and I began to think that the day might turn out all right after all.

We continued on the trail, which was a parched, dusty affair leading through desert scrub. Power lines ran along on our left, and I spotted a small bird on a lower wire. We stopped to look, and I told Mark and Shroud it was a Western Kingbird. In all honesty, it wasn’t a great view of the bird, and I didn’t see its tail well. I assumed it was a Western, thinking that none of the others made it to Southern California. I didn’t explain that, though.

Mark found a Mourning Dove on her nest just above eye level. As we looked at her, strange little noises kept coming from low in the brush. I looked up just in time to see chunky bodies hurtling low above the road. “Quail!” We spent the next few moments bending low, straining to see into the brush, but the birds never gave us anything more than the most fleeting of glimpses. At first I guessed they were Scaled Quail, but then I wondered whether they might have been California or Gambel’s quail — whichever occur here. It’s really too bad I don’t actually know what I’m doing.

The power line was good to us. We stopped again to look at a shrike and saw a White-tailed Kite perched farther down the line. I talked briefly about shrikes’ notorious eating habits, and then we moved on to get a better look at the kite. After a little bit, it took off and circled ahead, glowing brilliant white against the intense blue sky and providing us an excellent opportunity to study its field marks.

Along the way, we remarked on the strange powdery consistency of the soil and marveled as we were surrounded by a swarm of infinitesimal white insects.

Finally, we approached the lake shore. As we did, a gorgeous skimmer sailed in front of us, swooping low over a channel and slicing the water with its remarkable mandible. A stilt waded in the shallows near shore, and pelicans of both species flew in small groups or rested on the water. A pair of Black Phoebes fed nearby, and Shroud saw one snatch a butterfly from the air. Caspian Terns flew over regularly, fish clasped in their heavy red bills; I wondered if they were nesting.

The lake was on our left, stretching off into the distance and covered by a heavy haze. A white pelican floated on the water’s surface, appearing like a mirage through the hot, dense air. On the right were the small pools we had seen from the observation decks. Now we could see clearly the skimmers, Caspian Terns, and pelicans that filled them. I also noticed a few distant coots. The Caspian Terns screeched continually, and one small group flew straight toward us making all kinds of racket.

As we walked along the shore, we saw more stilts, and a Willet flew in. I tried to explain that its plainness was actually helpful in identification, and then it flew, exposing black-and-white wings and crying, “Willet! Pee-wee-willet!”

Snowy Egrets flushed, yellow feet brilliant in the hot sun.

Then I looked up as a huge gull flew by. It was very dark, and as it passed me, I thought its feet looked yellow. A similarly sized immature gull trailed behind, and then they were out of sight. Was it — oh please come back. Come back and land on a rock, stretching those beautiful yellow legs for us! I kept walking, hoping for another chance.

The trail led up a rocky hill, around which two kestrels circled. We climbed to the top and looked out across the sea. The sun beat down mercilessly, and Shroud had forgotten sunscreen.

We started back down, stopping to examine strange plants that grew in the unforgiving rock. Their leaves were tough and white, and I couldn’t imagine how they eked out an existence in such a hostile place. They didn’t seem to have any chlorophyll, and there was nothing to parasitize. But they lived.

Salt crystals filled tracks in the dirt road like frost on winter’s day. The gull never came back.

We made it back to the car, sweaty, thirsty, and ready for air conditioning. I wanted to keep birding, but our brief time was already used up — and a little more. Yellow-footed Gulls, cormorants, quail, and other desert treasures will have to wait for another day.

TORREY PINES RECREATIONAL AREA, CALIF. — Large swifts slice through the stiff, cool breeze with incredible speed, hugging the spectacular sandstone cliffs. I don’t have my binoculars, but they seem to have flashes of white below.

The paragliders overhead look enticing, but the riders dangle helplessly, depending on the wind. The swifts are wild, daring, and free, unfettered by cables, canvas, or clocks.

Gusts of wind tickle pink flowers that cling to the clifftops and threaten to lift my shirt off my body, as if pretenses do not belong in such a place. Oh for the flight of the swifts. But we should be going soon.

Mark wants a list of the birds we saw today. I wonder….

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.

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.