Etiquette at a Twitch

I have always said that my least favorite part about birding are the birders. Most of my closest friends are birders, but the most infuriating behaviors, attitudes, and encounters I've ever experienced have usually involved birders. This trip certainly maintained this trend.

After spending an entire day planning out a route for a trip to Texas that Roger Clark and I had been contemplating for a month or so, my heart sank when I saw the report for a Red-flanked Bluetail (Tarsiger cyanurus) in Los Angeles, California. I have never been a fan of the traffic and I had really wanted to track down the Fork-tailed Flycatcher in Van Zandt County, Texas. Instead, Roger and I decided to leave Santa Fe at midnight on Wednesday, January 9th. We made our way westward, arriving in Kingman, AZ at first light. The interstates were wide open, and even L.A. traffic was flowing well, which enabled us to get to the UCLA William Andrews Clark Library after thirteen hours of travel. We made sure to play the requisite "L.A. Woman" as we made our way past downtown Los Angeles, arriving at the Bluetail spot around 11:40am.

At this point Roger and I realized the theme for this trip. I had expected a lot of people staking out this bird, and to be honest, it wasn't exactly as bad as I expected. However, that doesn't excuse the bad birder behavior on display at this site. For one thing, the hedge the bird was most frequently seen in was crawling with shuffling birders. Then, one birder demanded all who were present gathered together so they could play a tape. Apparently this had worked yesterday, but unsurprisingly (to me at least) the bird didn't respond to the tape. It isn't so much the act of playing the tape that irked me, it was the justification that, because birders had done that yesterday, it was ok to do it today. This is a slippery slope that could be used to justify just about anything. After the tape failed the crowd began to thin out, it was approaching one o'clock and people undoubtedly had to get back to work. Fortunately the lower number of birders (30 rather than 50) meant everyone could disperse a little more. I had been standing near the spot where the bird was most frequently seen as Roger began mentioning "Rule Number One" (never leave the stakeout for a rare bird that you know is around). Before he could even get the words out of his mouth I noticed some movement off to my right at the base of a different hedge. After glancing at it through my binoculars I instantly recognized it as the Bluetail. A handful of people also standing around me also managed to see the bird, though the bird disappeared within ten seconds. Of course, this prompted many of the birders present to proceed to walk around and beat this hedgerow, ensuring the bird wouldn't reappear in this spot any time soon. I don't know if it is ignorance, entitlement, or impatience that makes people think it is ok to walk right on top of where a bird had been seen. Why on earth would the bird show itself or come back to a shrub with someone standing three inches from it?

I believe this is a third California record and the ninth US/Canada record away from Alaska

Not a great photo, but about the best I could do (for whatever reason my camera was having a hard time focusing)

Red-flanked Bluetail (Tarsiger cyanurus)

UCLA-William Andrews Clark Library, Los Angeles County, CA

Jan. 9, 2019 

After about another hour and a half the bird put in a more prolonged appearance at a different portion of hedgerow allowing all who were present to see and photograph the bird for several minutes as it appeared to snatch insects near the base of the hedge, occasionally flicking its tail. It eventually flew off, but shortly after I began to hear its thin "Su-weeet!" call. After recording it I ran into several other birders and found out that some of what I had been hearing was someone playing a tape, making my recording useless as I didn't know which vocalizations were the bird and which a birder's phone. I was predictably angry, especially considering there was no reason to play the tape in the first place. Everyone had already seen the bird, but apparently that hadn't been good enough. My prodding for an explanation as to why they used the tape was met with sheepish grins and dismissive mumbling. Apparently oblivious to my frustration one of the perpetrators began asking me about how one might go about seeing the Rosy-Finches at Sandia Crest. I gave a curt reply and was rescued from the conversation by a security guard asking us to leave. Despite the fact that the library didn't technically close until 5pm (and it was only 3pm), exhaustion was beginning to set in (neither of us had gotten more than an hour or two of sleep before taking off at midnight) so we didn't argue and left the Library grounds.

Mitred Parakeet (Psittacara mitratus) 

UCLA- William Andrews Clark Library, Los Angeles County, CA

Jan. 9, 2019

Roger and I then began the hellacious slog through greater Los Angeles traffic eastward. I had noticed a White-throated Thrush (Turdus assimilis) had been discovered in Madera Canyon that afternoon and we figured we might as well swing by on our way back home. This meant heading westward on I-10 through the City of Angels with the hope we could get to the outskirts and get a room for the night. After nearly three hours we managed to travel about forty miles and finally exited a congested I-10 to hole up for the night in a motel.

Free of the crushing L.A. traffic, Roger and I made good time eastward. After a largely uneventful drive we made it to the Madera Canyon Picnic area around 2:00pm. We then naively joined the throng of people staking out the pyrocantha bush where the bird had been photographed that morning. We stayed until dark but the bird never returned. This certainly isn't much of a surprise given then number of birders clustered around the bush and the frequency of birders walking by the bush on the trail. It wasn't all bad though, as a male Elegant Trogon (Trogon elegans) appeared several times to eat berries, give a chortled call, and show off its formerly name-sake coppery tail.

Elegant Trogon (Trogon elegans) 

Madera Canyon Picnic Area, Pima County, AZ
Jan. 10, 2019

The next day at the pyrocantha White-throated Thrush stakeout couldn't be described as anything but a clusterfuck.

This was partly the fault of Roger and I as we decided to stakeout the pyrocantha once again in the hopes the bird would come in to eat. Of course the litany of clueless shufflers walking by the bush aimlessly (one woman passed it nine times, one couple five, and many others I didn't even bother to count) ensured the bird wouldn't show. Throw in the added aggravation of people parking illegally on the shoulder in front of no parking signs and the untold number of people not paying the access fee meant that by about 10:30am we were ready to leave lest we suffer an aneurism. One bright spot however, was seeing the Elegant Trogon again and running into a former New Mexico birder now living in Montana, Cole Wolf. After leaving the site we made it to Green Valley when I noticed a report on the listserv explaining the bird had been rediscovered along the stream further north from where we had been. We turned back, hoping it would cooperate, but after about two hours of searching we really had to start heading back to Santa Fe. It was more frustrating than anything as we had surmised early on that the bird wouldn't reappear at the pyrocantha given the activity. However, we weren't familiar enough with the trail system to know to search there.

Despite this bitter miss (made worse given the suffering we had to endure at the pyrocantha stakeout) I resolved to try again in a few weeks when I'll be back in Las Cruces for the Spring semester. A shorter drive (4 hours as opposed to 8 from Santa Fe), it will make for a straight-forward twitch, and hopefully after a while the madness will settle down for a much more pleasant experience. It was clear this is why there are few long-staying Aztec Thrush (Ridgwayia pinicola) records in easily accessible locations in AZ. While most birders may behave respectfully, it only takes a handful to chase a bird off and ruin it for everyone.

Elegant Trogon (Trogon elegans) 

Madera Canyon Picnic Area, Pima County, AZ

Jan. 11, 2019

All in all, I am certainly not a purist. Contrary to popular belief, playing a tape probably won't cause the bird to instantaneously expire. A Red-flanked Bluetail on the "wrong" side of the Pacific Ocean in the middle of winter certainly isn't in any danger of abandoning a nest because a tape was played. Most birds are much more robust than I think we typically give them credit for. In a world that is already so altered by climate change, feral cats, and glass buildings, there are much more relevant threats to birds than a tape recorder. That said, from a social perspective, playing a tape can be disrespectful to other birders. As is walking through the habitat that the bird is trying to use. Unfortunately, bad behavior is contagious. It only took one birder shuffling past the Pyrocantha at the Madera Canyon Picnic area before a wave of torpid birders were trundling by the shrub. Most weren't even looking for birds, but studying their feet. If you are bored from standing in one spot, walk up and down the road, don't ruin the chances of the bird appearing for those waiting patiently. In a similar vain, if the shoulder of the road has a no parking sign, don't park there, and just because the government is shut down, don't skimp on paying the access fee for Madera Canyon.

Year of the Ross's Gull: 2018 in Review

While not the rarest bird I saw in 2018, the trio of Ross's Gulls (Rhodostethia rosea) present for several weeks in June in Utqiagvik was an undeniable highlight of my year.

Ultimately, seeing lots of birds in the United States in the Information-Age is not very difficult. More than ever, the limiting factors appear to be time and (maybe more importantly) money. The information age has proved to be a double-edged sword. It allows anyone to have access to an abundance of information instantly. It has also acted to shrink the world we live in, allowing nearly instantaneous communication with other birders over vast distances. While I certainly enjoy the social aspect birding can afford, and I am happy to have made friends from all over the world, this heightened connectivity means that it is harder to avoid birders. The social aspect of birding is not the dominant motivation for my pursuit of bird study, and as often as not, I like to be alone when I'm birding. I am happy to make new friends, and there are times that I appreciate the company of other birders, but my focus is on the birds, not people. While most of my closest friends are birders, I have realized that many of the situations and people that have driven me the craziest this year (and in general) were also birding-related.

It is safe to say that most listers have benefited from cameras and the internet, I certainly have. It isn't a stretch to posit that more vagrants are found, documented, and shared publicly than before the late twentieth century. Photos allow more objective independent review (usually), though I think it is folly to believe that a photo will always replace the importance of a written description. Lighting changes, behavior isn't always captured in a still frame, vocalizations would need to be recorded. Photography is certainly important, but it seems that generally the effort to craft a written description is declining. I have noticed this trend particularly with respect to those twitching vagrants, often with a simple "continuing" providing the only written documentation. While sometimes this is just a placeholder until the traveling birder gets home and can upload photos and/or write a more complete description, just as often this phrase constitutes the entirety of the description. If I've made the effort to chase a bird, I feel I owe it to myself (and perhaps the bird) to make that extra bit of effort to describe the thing. Birders are a diverse and interesting lot, and there is probably an equally diverse suite of reasons people enjoy birding. There are some who want an excuse to travel. Others prefer the competitive aspect of listing. Some may be scientists that wish to learn more about the natural world. There is no "right" way to enjoy birds. All the same, I do wish there were more Harold Axtells in the contemporary world of birding. Perhaps they are out there, I just have yet to find them.

A list can represent a lot to the curator, but represents very little to the beholder. It holds a numerical value, but it has no true worth to anyone but the person who created it. I believe my lists (and I keep many) are representative of the effort I have spent studying species field marks, vocalizations, occurrence, habitat preferences, and my time actually in the field. The places I have travelled. My familiarity with not only the birds themselves, but the places where they occur. Species (including our own) cannot live in a vacuum. While it is possible to compare the value of one person's list to another's, it is impossible to compare the worth of two people's lists as they are incongruous. I can never fully realize the extraneous circumstances that have shaped another person's list, just as they may never fully understand mine.

I mention this because I want to make it clear that this summary was not created with competitive intent for anyone but myself in mind. Some people saw more species than I did in 2018, and others saw fewer. Some went to a greater number of places, some a lesser. Ultimately that doesn't really matter because every birder sees what they see (as juvenile as that statement may sound). Perhaps they misidentified the bird, perhaps they didn't. The point here is to share some of the stories I accumulated over the course of 2018. I enjoy observing and trying to understand birds in their environment. Appreciating the incalculable time and evolutionary pressures that have resulted in the forms and functions we see in modern Aves today. Comparing one of my years to another is one of my favorite things because come January first you never really know where the next 365 days will take you. You may have a general idea, but as the calendar unfolds plans can change, challenges will surface, common species may prove elusive, and vagrants always appear somewhere. Such is the adventure of birding.

At the outset of 2018 I had never expected to see my life Cape May Warbler (Setophaga tigrina) in Colorado in late November, but such is the serendipity of birding

Pueblo City Park, Pueblo County, Colorado

Nov. 20, 2018

In 2018 I managed to see birds in 9 different states and 2 countries (US and Mexico), though I did not officially leave US soil this year. I saw 563 species over the course of the year, 50 of which were new for me bringing my life/US lists to 681 and 654 respectively. 2018 was my last full year of school at New Mexico State University, and I am excited about the prospects of starting a career and exploring more of the world. In May I returned to Utqiagvik (Barrow), Alaska for a third (and final) field season working for Dr. Richard Lanctot (USFWS) and studying shorebird breeding demography. While I am certainly ready to see what other adventures (and birds) the Last Frontier has to offer, the end of this year's field season was bittersweet. I have very much enjoyed working in Barrow, both the birds, the location, and the camaraderie of my fellow crew members while braving difficulties associated with working at a high-arctic field site. This year produced the most outlandish vagrants (out of my three years), and even though the weather was the roughest yet, it was well worth it.

I had set several unofficial goals for myself this year (as I am apt to do). I won't recount all of them, but here are a few of my major ones organized by geographical region.

UNITED STATES (whole)
Break my personal best year total for species (504 from 2017)- 2018 total: 563
     I hadn't explicitly set this goal for myself, but I secretly knew I'd want to improve upon my best total. My over arching goal was to fill in more holes in my life list, and this strategy led me to see a lot of new birds, places and people. By the end of April (when I spent a weekend on the Upper Texas Coast) I was a solid 30-40 species ahead of my pace from 2017 and I figured if I kept the momentum I'd be able to surpass my previous best. I managed to break last year's total in early August while on a boat tour of Kenai Fjords National Park near Seward, AK. I don't know what the bird was that broke my record but I believe it was a Sooty Shearwater (Ardenna grisea).

ALASKA 

• Surpass 1000 complete eBird checklists submitted for North Slope Borough (all time)- total: 1116 

     Is it ridiculous? Kinda. Is it a clear demonstration of my competitive side? Certainly. Do I care? Not really. Complete checklists are the bread-and-butter of eBird, and so I try to break lists down by location as much as I can. By doing this, I can now tell you that demography Plot 8 had the highest species diversity over the three years I was in Barrow and Plot 1 had the lowest. This level of detail is lost if I had lumped all my effort into a single day list. I spend a lot of time in the field (don't we all?) and I feel its only fair that my checklist total reflects this. It takes a lot of time transcribing my lists from my notebook into eBird, but its worth it and the extra effort often helps to self-proof the data.

• Reach 125 species in North Slope Borough (all time)- total: 123. 

     While Barrow is one of the best places on the North Slope for vagrants (this may be an artifact of coverage as much it is geography), it is much different than other parts of the Borough. This limits the number of species one can expect to find (it is the high-arctic) if all of one's North Slope experience is confined to Barrow. While I didn't quite reach my goal, I'm happy with what I did see (I had a job to do in Barrow after all, and it wasn't to go birding all day). There were a few bitter misses (Curlew Sandpiper (Calidris ferruginea) still stings), but I made a lot of friends and caught up with a respectable number of interesting birds. Plus, the birds I could expect to see on any given day included Steller's (Polysticta stelleri) and Spectacled (Somateria fischeri) Eiders, so I can't complain.

The last new North Slope species I saw in Utqiagvik (#123), and by far the rarest bird I saw anywhere in 2018 was this [Siberian] Common Chiffchaff (Phylloscopus collybita tristis) found by my fellow USFWS shorebird crew member and friend Ben Lagasse. It took us a solid 3 days to figure out what it was (mostly because of its battered appearance and habit of keeping its tail cocked like a wren). It was incredibly exciting to see this bird which was a first mainland North American record. I can't think of a better way to end my time in Utqiagvik, thanks to Ben we certainly ended the season on a high note!

Utqiagvik- Nunavak Road Gravel Pit, North Slope, Alaska

Jul. 17, 2018

• Do a lot of Seawatching in Barrow- total cumulative hrs: 148

     Having never lived near the ocean for an extended time I took full advantage of my time in Barrow (and the camp's Swarovski spotting scopes). I spent many a cold 'night' (24 hours of light makes it hard to call it that) standing around with numb fingers and toes, but I can't say I regret it. There are too many highlights for a complete list, but Polar Bears (Ursus maritimus), Belugas (Delphinapterus leucas), Short-tailed Shearwater (Ardenna tenuirostris), Fork-tailed Storm-Petrel (Oceanodroma furcata), and various Alcids are all worth a mention. I also met a colorful cast of locals I happened to meet while staring at the Arctic Ocean. The CIA/Doomsday Conspiracy Theorist (2016), the friendly Beluga Guy (2017 & 2018), and the AR-15 Dude (2018), were all memorable standouts. My time spent scanning the Arctic Ocean surrounding Barrow certainly helped to cement my interest and fondness for marine birds, and helped to shape my desire to work more with this fascinating group of birds.

Northern Fulmars (Fulmarus glacialis) occurred sparingly in July of 2016 and 2017 while I was in Utqiagvik, AK but multiple rafts of hundred(s) of birds appeared in mid to late July of 2018 (likely related to the large die-off further south in the Bering and Chukchi Seas). While it was sad to see so many undoubtedly hungry fulmars, the chance to study this species from shore at close range was interesting (as was investigating the stomachs of deceased birds that had washed up- all of which were empty)

Utqiagvik, North Slope, Alaska

July 27, 2018

CALIFORNIA

• See an Albatross- they're even cooler than I expected

     While I could have accomplished this goal anywhere on the western seaboard (or with great luck on the eastern), I decided to do a pelagic out of Half Moon Bay in order to try for Black-footed Albatross (Phoebastria nigripes) and Buller's Shearwater (Ardenna bulleri) over Labor Day weekend. I had always been somewhat interested in tubenoses since I started birding, but living in land-locked New Mexico made it difficult to really appreciate the group. That changed when I began seawatching in Barrow and went on my first pelagic in San Diego last year. I quickly decided that seabirds were the taxa for me. That said, I felt that before I applied for a bona fide seabird job I needed to see an Albatross. I know its a weird stipulation, but it was worth it. The choppy seas on this particular outing made for an invigorating 10 hours and seeing Albatross in their element, with wind whipping and heaving seas made the experience feel even more genuine.

NEW MEXICO

• Reach 450 state birds before leaving the Land of Enchantment- total 445

Fortunately for me there is still some time to complete this goal. I have very much enjoyed birding in New Mexico. It is where I started out, made friends, and honed my identification skills. Birding New Mexico can't be described as anything but rewarding (or maybe frustrating). The sparse birder-to-area ratio means you could be the only person birding in a county on a particular day, but it also means a likely substantial number of vagrants slip through the cracks. Its a challenge, adventure, and quest all wrapped into one and it forces every motivated state lister to be an active participant, more so than I have noticed for some other more populated states. Chasing will only get you so far, and self-discovered rarities are a crucial component of any New Mexico list. I am proud to have started my birding "career" in New Mexico and look forward to continuing to explore this diverse state.

This Tropical Kingbird (Tyrannus melancholicus) in Carlsbad was NM State bird #441. Note the structure of the bill (longer and thinner) compared to the Couch's below (yes, angle of head is different, but I believe the comparison is still valid).

Lake Carlsbad, Eddy County, New Mexico

Sep. 7, 2018

Never expecting to see both unexpected yellow-bellied Kingbird species in the same year, I was delighted when this Couch's Kingbird (Tyrannus couchii) vocalized vociferously at the Bosque Del Apache NWR Visitor's Center, clinching the ID and becoming my 443rd NM species. Note the markedly stouter appearance to the bill compared to the Tropical above.

Bosque Del Apache NWR- Visitor's Center, Socorro County, New Mexico

Oct. 12, 2018

• Make it into the unofficial "New Mexico County Century Club"

By the end of January 1, 2018 I had seen 102 species in San Juan county, making for 31 New Mexico counties with 100+ species recorded. This left just Guadalupe (96) and Catron (78) with fewer than 100 species. I did a day trip along the Pecos River (south of Santa Rosa) in May before leaving for Alaska which allowed me to break 100 in Guadalupe county (121), and I spent a weekend in Catron county (115) in August which rounded out my 100 species for every one of New Mexico's 33 counties. I find county listing an interesting exercise as it encourages one to study and analyze the perceived habitat requirements of various species and apply this to the habitat present in a given county. Most of New Mexico's counties are rather large (compared to other states) and there are relatively few. Most encompass a fair elevational gradient and contain at least some reliable water bodies. Ultimately, New Mexico county listing requires strategic timing and effort in a wide variety of habitats and I find this type of exploration most rewarding. It also encourages coverage of counties that are seldom visited, and if it were not for this desire to cover different counties, Nancy Hetrick, Christopher Rustay, and I would not have stumbled upon New Mexico's first record Orange-billed Nightingale-Thrush (Catharus aurantiirostris) in Nutria Canyon, McKinley County back in 2015. While that is certainly an extreme example, county listing can be more motivation to get you out into new and exciting places.

• Break 300 County Birds in Dona Ana County before graduating from NMSU- total: 300

For the most part I have enjoyed birding in Dona Ana County, though the largest reliable body of water in the county (Burn Lake) became defunct well before I arrived, making many formerly reliable waterbirds very difficult to find. This severely handicapped my list, as did my absence from the county during the summer months (though I'd much rather be in the Arctic than Las Cruces during the summer). I think if I had spent time in the Organ Mountains in the summer I would have been able to add several interesting species. While there are a several birders in the Las Cruces area, it still feels like a fairly under-birded county. In recent years the West Mesa Grasslands (part of the Organ Mountains-Desert Peaks National Monument) have received inconsistent coverage, as have higher elevations of the Organ Mountains (e.g. Aguirre Springs). Even so, the southerly position, wide elevational gradient, and inclusion of the Rio Grande has made it an exciting county to explore.

Only a second record for Dona Ana County, this Magnolia Warbler (Setophaga magnolia) was a one-day-wonder in the yard of Marcy Scott and Jimmy Zabriskie who were kind enough to notify me of its presence. Only the second individual of this species I'd seen in New Mexico, it was an unexpected and colorful addition to my DAC list this fall. 

Radium Springs, Dona Ana County, New Mexico

Oct. 15, 2018

Keeping with a "theme" of unexpected eastern vagrants added to my Dona Ana County list this year was a male Ruby-throated Hummingbird (Archilochus colubris) that spent several days at a feeder on the east side of Las Cruces. Many thanks to Tim Lawton for allowing me to visit his yard to see this bird.

Las Cruces, Dona Ana County, New Mexico

Sep. 14, 2018

Number 300 came in the form of an immature Harris's Sparrow (Zonotrichia querula) I managed to track down on December 31st (after trying and failing to locate it on the 30th).

Dona Ana County 300: Harris's Sparrow (Zonotrichia querula) not a great photo, but a it felt nice to hit my goal nevertheless

Dec. 31, 2018

TEXAS

• Break 400 state birds- total: 443

The Lone Star state is a pretty cool place, and there's a lot I enjoy about travelling in Texas. The speed limits are swift, the drivers (while fast) are often courteous. There are Armadillos, Alligators, and lots of birds. Living near El Paso has made Texas listing a little easier, as I have easy access to many species that are geographically unique among the panoply of Texas avifauna. Conveniently, many of the "eastern" birds I needed for my Texas state list were also potential life birds for me, which made the effort to find them more about building my life list than just state listing. I used this logic to justify several multi-day trips to Texas this year, including a visit to the Upper Texas Coast in late April to witness the passage of neotropical migrants across the Gulf of Mexico. The parade of colorful passerines was veritable eye-candy, and the antics of a flock of Buff-breasted Sandpipers (Calidris subruficollis) near Anahuac NWR was captivating. As luck would have it, I would visit the Lone Star State on 4 separate multi-day trips in 2018, visiting the LRGV three times, stopping in the Edward's Plateau three times, the Upper Texas Coast twice, and the Piney Woods of Eastern Texas once. I also made half a dozen day trips in western Texas, mostly in El Paso and Hudspeth counties.

My 2018 birding in Texas began much as my 2017 Texas birding had ended, searching for a Snowy Owl (Bubo scandiacus). This time however, I was much more successful after John Groves and I relocated this female/immature bird that had been hanging around a megachurch in Odessa (because of course it was). 

Odessa, Ector County, Texas

Jan. 28, 2018 

Not a great photo, but this Swainson's Warbler (Limnothlypis swainsonii) was my 400th Texas state bird and one of the species I had most wanted to add to my life list during my trip to the Upper Texas Coast in late April

Sabine Woods, Jefferson County, Texas

Apr. 28, 2018

Closing Thoughts
I know many people who christen a year based on the first bird they see. By that metric my 2018 would have been the year of the American Crow (Corvus brachyrhynchos). I have nothing against Crows, but after encountering 563 species across North America this year the one species with which I had the most memorable experience was the Ross's Gull. I was lucky to see the two (and later three) Ross's several times during their June tenure at the end of Fresh Water Lake road in Utqiagvik, Alaska. I was able to share the experience with several birders (and on some occasions I had the gulls to myself). The last time I watched them was the most intimate, as I was alone at midnight, with a dark cloud from moving in on 25 mph arctic winds from the north. A blazing "sunset" to my west threw a soft warm glow on one of the birds as it picked at large black worms from puddles near my feet. I watched this Ross's Gull for nearly two hours as it fed and called several times, even taking flight to chase the pair. I'll never forget the way these birds sashayed around as if they knew they were the show-stealers, occasionally squabbling with a Sabine's Gull (Xema sabini). At any other time watching a Sabine's under these conditions would be enough to make my night, but not so with Rosea le' petite (as one visiting birder called them, I may have butchered the spelling) in attendance.

By the time I finally forced myself to leave it was 2am and I had lost feeling in my toes. My nose stung painfully. My fingers were difficult to flex, stiff as they were with cold. The sky was a brooding dull cobalt, as dark as it ever gets in Utqiagvik during the summer. The skies threw snow fitfully and this weak attempt at precipitation was buffeted by the bitter stinging winds. I don't know if or when I'll see another Ross's Gull, but this was by far one of my favorite birding experiences of all time. There is something about seeing a species such as this in the environment for which it evolved that feels "right." I found myself wondering how the pressures of an Arctic existence could have possibly produced such an organism. Why had it needed the bright vermillion legs? The thin black necklace? the pointed tail? The rose-colored blush? How might these marks convey the fitness of a particular individual? If the modern Larid phylogeny is to be believed, how did the most recent common ancestor of Sabine's and Ross's Gulls so quickly diverge to occupy niches within an Arctic that has only occurred in its present form for a relatively short period of time?
My questions were met only with the howl of an Arctic wind and the occasional thin rattled call from the Ross's Gull at my feet. Perhaps that's all the answer I can hope for.

I couldn't help but imagine James Clark Ross, standing on a wooden ship in the Arctic Ocean with a similarly bitter arctic wind while near the Melville Peninsula of Nunavut, Canada in 1823. Seeing a peculiar looking gull flying naively near the ship, he collects it. I'd like to think the polar explorer was just as enraptured by this "Cuneate-tailed" gull when he saw it as I was nearly two centuries later.

I don't know where 2019 will take me, but you can bet that dawn on January 1st will find me looking at a bird somewhere.
I hope 2019 finds you birding somewhere too!
Cheers and Happy Birding!

Watching this Ross's Gull pick at worms in a puddle virtually at my feet was beyond surreal and I was afraid to breathe for fear it might fly away. Fortunately it was content to pick at invertebrates despite a consistent 20 mph wind blast of Arctic wind coming from the north. By the time I left this site at midnight I was unable to feel my fingers or toes, making for an uncomfortable ATV ride home. I'm not sure when I'll have another chance to witness one of these denizens of the Arctic in their natural habitat, making it all worth it. 

Utqiagvik- Freshwater Lake Road, North Slope, Alaska

Jun 

West Coast Swing

A flock of several thousand Sooty Shearwaters (Ardenna grisea) 

Half Moon Bay, San Mateo County, CA

Sep. 1, 2018

The familiar opening tune prompted a pantomime of Ray Manzarek playing the keyboard as I listened to 'L.A. Woman' for the umpteenth time. I was skirting the eponymous city on Interstate 210 headed westward, the southern skies glowed with incandescence, indicative of the crushing humanity and urban sprawl surrounding me. As someone who has spent most of their life in the wide open desert southwest the idea of navigating the cityscapes of the east and west coasts produces significant anxiety. At 11 pm on a Thursday the highway was pretty much wide open, even if it was the Thursday before Labor Day weekend. After seeing the reports from several pelagic trips in the more southerly part of California I had decided to scrap my plans of poking around Val Verde County Texas Labor Day weekend (I'll get to it at some point) and make a swing out to California to do a pelagic and pick off a few of the remaining west coast specialty species I still hadn't managed to track down.

The next dawn found me at the Mt Pinos Campground in the Los Padres National Forest. The breaking sun blazed in the eastern sky and I was reminded of the immense swaths of forest that had been incinerated in the western United States and Canada this summer. As if the fiery sky wasn't enough, as the light strengthened the dense brown haze across the horizon became increasingly evident. Despite the smoky air I was excited to start searching for my first target of the trip, White-headed Woodpecker (Dryobates albolarvatus). Walking up the road from the campground I was momentarily tripped up by the peculiar sounding White-breasted Nuthatches (Sitta carolensis). I had been following the proposed split of this complex over the past few years, but hadn't realized the degree to which West Coast nuthatches differed from the eastern population vocally.

Mt Pinos- Chula Vista (Los Padres NF), Kern County, California

Aug. 31, 2018

Looking up I noticed a large dead snag a few hundred yards up the road and thought to myself "well, that certainly looks like a good woodpecker tree." Famous last words. The next time I looked up towards the tree there was a female White-headed Woodpecker calling from one of the upper boughs. After about a minute the bird decided to move on. I continued up the road to the Chula Vista Campground and parked at the large parking area before wandering around on some of the trails for the better part of an hour, hoping to hear the quirky call of a Mountain Quail (Oreortyx picta). Unsurprisingly I had no luck with the quail, but I did encounter another White-headed Woodpecker feeding low in a pine that I was able to watch this bird for several minutes as it worked about on the tree trunk. The light was dim and my settings weren't great, but I was able to get a few photos.

My sharpest photo, unfortunately not looking at the camera

Los Padres NF- Chula Vista CG, Kern County, CA

Aug. 31, 2018

Working westward I kept an eye out for soaring California Condors (Gymnogyps californianus) as I passed through Bitter Creek NWR on Hudson Ranch Rd. I didn't see any Condors, but I did enjoy having the road to myself, a far cry from the bustling of Interstate 5. After several hours I made it to Hwy 1 near Moro Bay. I was hoping to run into a California Condor as I made my way north through Big Sur. I hadn't anticipated the number of people also on Hwy 1 so I created a game where every time I ran into a string of slow cars, I'd pull over at the near rest overlook and bird for a few minutes. If nothing else it kept me from having to tailgate and it saved my sanity. Coincidentally after pulling over for the third time I looked up to see an immature Condor circling overhead. I'd searched unsuccessfully for this species over a year earlier at Grand Canyon NP over spring break. It was nice to take a moment and appreciate the fact that had it not been for captive breeding programs I probably wouldn't have had the opportunity to see this fascinating species.

However, I couldn't shake the fact that the bird I was seeing now probably wasn't quite the same bird that went extinct in the wild in 1987. The intervening three decades of captive breeding have undoubtedly had an impact on the overall genetics of the species. While the genetic bottlenecking is probably not as severe as that faced by other species brought into captive breeding programs (for example the Hawaiian Crow (Corvus hawaiiensis)), like the crow there has also undoubtedly been an impact on the species in ways not measurable in deoxyribonucleic acid base pairs. Using the crow as an example again, the reintroduction has shown that in pulling the last few crows from the wild, the culture of the species (the myriad of vocalizations and the pugnacious attitude towards Hawaiian Hawks (Buteo solitarius) have disappeared in the reintroduced population. Without wild Hawaiian Crows to instill the repertoire or attitude in the next generation, the new Hawaiian Crow isn't quite like the former species. It may be genetically more-or-less identical, but some of what made a Hawaiian Crow a Hawaiian Crow seems to have been sacrificed. Being a highly intelligent species of corvid perhaps makes the disparity between the newly introduced individuals more noticeable, but the concept is the same for all species humans decide to "rescue." This reductive theme of conservation has only grown increasingly desperate with the development of cryogenic technology. Ultimately a decision will need to be made as to what actually constitutes a species. Is it simply a genetic code, or is it a functioning set of organisms within an ecosystem. Currently we seem to be straddling an uncomfortable medium, desperately attempting to stop the hemorrhaging of our wild places, not quite past the point of no return for most species. In a world where the term "pristine" is essentially a fallacy without a temporal context, we are going to be forced to choose which species to try and resurrect. I appreciate the monumental effort of those who have helped to return the California Condor to the wild so someone like me can enjoy the sight of one circling over the Pacific Ocean. But what exactly is a California Condor now?

For anyone interested in this sort of thing, I would highly recommend Resurrection Science: Conservation, De-extinction and the Precarious Future of Wild Things by M.R. O'Connor. It is perhaps one of the best books I have ever read (right up there with David Quammen's Song of the Dodo).  For that matter I would also recommend Paradise Found: Nature in America at the Time of Discovery by Steve Nicholls.

But I digress, after seeing the Condor I continued northward to Monterey where I spent some time sea watching at Point Pinos. I didn't see anything unusual but I enjoyed sea watching for the first time since leaving Alaska at the start of August. Living so far from the ocean has gotten harder and harder and I'm honestly glad to be graduating in May so I can transplant nearer the coast (though hopefully I can avoid throngs of people).

Point Pinos, Monterey County, CA

Aug. 31, 2018

I continued working my way northward checking a few spots here and there for a few west coast specialties I hadn't seen yet in 2018.

The next morning saw me up before dawn and driving to Point Pillar Harbor. I was pretty excited for what would be my second offshore pelagic and third time on the ocean. While the pelagic trip I had taken out of San Diego in September of 2017 had encountered relatively calm seas, this trip came with a significant swell. In fact we were told to stay off the bow while fighting choppy seas on the way out. The pitch was pretty significant. I was fortunate enough not to get sick, though the conditions were certainly good for it. The choppy seas and wind made the prospects of finding Cassin's Auklet (Ptychoramphus aleuticus) or Scripp's Murrelet (Synthliboramphus scrippsi) pretty much nil, so I settled in looking for Buller's Shearwater (Ardenna bulleri) and Black-footed Albatross (Phoebastria nigripes) enjoying the rocking boat and briny mist.
While I was a little disappointed at the lack of alcids, the main reason I had come on this trip was to see an Albatross. It might sound silly, but as someone who really wants to study seabirds, it was embarrassing to admit I hadn't seen any members of this magnificent and charismatic group. But mostly Albatrosses are awesome and I really wanted to witness these intensely adapted mariners in action. In this respect the day's conditions did not disappoint. We had several Black-footed Albatrosses follow the boat over the course of the day and I can't say I was quite prepared for how graceful these birds were. Gliding over a swelling Pacific Ocean, cutting in-to and out-of the wind in soaring arcs, hardly flapping at all. It was in the moment that I had an Albatross fly over my head for the first time that I knew I really did want to study seabirds.

Black-footed Albatross (Phoebastria nigripes) cutting close off the starboard side of the boat

Pacific Ocean off Half Moon Bay, San Francisco/San Mateo County, CA

Sep. 1, 2018

 Other exciting finds were several Ashy Storm-Petrels (Oceanodroma homochroa), two Black Storm-Petrels (Oceanodroma melania), and a Fork-tailed Storm-Petrel (Oceanodroma furcata). While I'll never forget seeing this species back in June in Utqiagvik (Barrow), Alaska from shore, seeing one at see felt a little more natural. We did eventually encounter a Buller's Shearwater, but it was a quickly cruising by the starboard side and most didn't see the bird. I managed a quick enough look to identify it, but hope to see more in the future, it certainly is a handsome species.

Ashy Storm-Petrel (Oceanodroma homochroa)

Pacific Ocean off Half Moon Bay, San Mateo County, CA

Sep. 1, 2018

I was happy to have remembered the nuances of Storm-Petrel identification from my last California pelagic a year earlier. Seeing more Ashy Storm-Petrels was certainly helpful, with their frenetic, snappy flight. Particularly apparent when juxtaposed with the fluttery nighthawk-esque flight of the Black Storm-Petrel. For me though the show stealer will always be the Fork-tailed (even if the encounter was brief).

After about 10 hours we made it back to the harbor and I reluctantly departed the boat. The trip was organized by Alvaro Jaramillo and I certainly have no complaints. I imagine this is only the first of many more trips in the future with Alvaro. The price was good and I had a lot of fun talking seabirds.

As the sun set behind a blanket of clouds I made my way southward and east up Tassajara Road. After scrutinizing eBird for some time before leaving on this adventure I noticed a fair number of Mountain Quail reports along this road. I made it about two thirds of the way to China Campground before deciding to pull over and sleep. Dawn burned brightly to the east as I got my bearings and walked up the road a short ways.

Dawn at Tassajara Road, Monterey County, CA

Sep. 2, 2018

I was surprised that it didn't take long before I heard several "work" calls of Mountain Quail coming from down slope. They struck me as sounding somewhat like Scaled Quail (Callipepla squamata) but perhaps with a head cold. I managed to see several other west coast specialty species that were new for the year and got my first good looks at a Wrentit (Chamaea fasciata) which until then I had only ever heard. After an hour and a half I began moving eastward towards Gloria Road in San Benito county where I hoped to add the last two of my expected target life species for the trip. Upon reaching the Monterey/San Benito County line and dropping into San Benito County I had a Yellow-billed Magpie (Pica nuttalli) fly across the road which was an unexpected year bird. Getting out to look for the Magpie I heard a slightly off-sounding goldfinch flying overhead. Several minutes later a second group of Lawrence's Goldfinches (Spinus lawrencei) flew over, giving me better views. I was relieved to have found this species as it was becoming something of a nemesis for me. Continuing down the road I made it to the water tank just before 11 am. I settled in to wait for the other target species to arrive, but upon scanning the edge of the tank I found it almost immediately. Eventually about a half dozen Bell's Sparrows (Artemisiospiza belli). While the range of the canescens ssp of Bell's Sparrow is closer to NM (with some even wintering as close as western AZ), I was happy to see these coastal Bell's Sparrows for my first introduction to the species. They looked quite striking compared to the more subdued Sagebrush Sparrow (Artemisiospiza nevadensis) I was used to and the differences were pretty obvious. Most surprising was a Bobcat (Lynx rufus) that came in to drink at the tank less than 20 feet from me.

Bobcat (Lynx rufus) drinking from a cattle tank

Gloria Rd, San Benito County, CA

Sep. 2, 2018

After my adventure in the hills of central California it was time to make tracks south and eastward. After debating for several hours on my way back to Los Angeles I decided not to try for the Ruff (Calidris pugnax) that had been hanging around for some time. I probably should have, but that's a bird I'll undoubtedly run into sooner or later and I didn't feel like getting off the I-210 bypass and try battling the traffic. I managed to escape the gravitational pull of the greater L.A. area with minimal stop-and-go traffic and continued east. After doing some reconnaissance on eBird I found a few spots around Blythe, I wanted to check out. Situated on the west side of the Colorado River, I figured it would be fun to look for some Southwest specialties in this corner of California. The next morning I poked around the Palo Verde Reserve and a few other spots amid the agricultural fields of Blythe and found about 80+ species in 3 hours including Gray Flycatcher (Empidonax wrightii), Dusky Flycatcher (Empidonax oberholseri), and Abert's Towhee (Melozone aberti) the latter being a year bird.

Abert's Towhee (Melozone aberti)

Palo Verde Reserve, Riverside County, CA

Sep. 3, 2018

I ended the trip with 7 life birds (648 US/675 Life) and over 160 species for the trip. I covered 2671 miles over a little over 4.5 days. My 2018 list now sits at 544 which is one species shy of the personal record I set last year (which included a trip to Sonora, MX so only 503 species were observed in the US in 2017). Looking forward to getting back to the West Coast soon.

Black-footed Albatross

Pacific Ocean off Half Moon Bay, San Mateo County, CA

Sep. 1, 2018

Earning My Sea Legs

By the time 11:30am rolled around on Friday, September 22, 2017 I was finished with classes for the week and headed west on I-10 bound for Tucson. Ultimately I was bound for the West Coast and my very first pelagic birding trip on Sunday, but until then I was watching the Sonoran desert dry out and give way to the Mojave as I headed west.

One of hundreds of Black-vented Shearwaters (Puffinus opisthomelas) seen flitting over the Pacific about 10 miles off of Point Loma, San Diego County, California

Sep. 24, 2017 

After getting an obligatory date shake at Dateland, I headed for Yuma, turning off the interstate and heading for Mittry Lake. As I headed north into the desolate Mojave desert in the golden evening light several dozen Lesser Nighthawks (Chordeiles acutipennis) flitted buoyantly over the road. I couldn't help but flash back to nine months earlier when I had visited Mittry Lake on a similar mission. I had been lucky enough to hear a Ridgway's Rail (Rallus obsoletus) "keking" several times in the dark. This time however I was after a much more elusive species, the Black Rail (Laterallus jamaicensis). This species has been experiencing population declines throughout its eastern range, and is very sporadically distributed in the West.
An hour and a half of listening after dark yielded several satisfactory grunts and "brrr" notes. From here I continued my track West, following the signs along I-8 for San Diego well into the night.

After a few hours of sleep, I continued the final 45 minutes into San Diego hoping to get to the first spot on my itinerary in the Golden State.
Lake Murray is a residential park that includes the eponymous lake as well as a few acres of undeveloped chaparral habitat surrounding it. My hope was this would prove to be enough acreage to support a few of California's specialty species. As the gray light of dawn played across the lake and the hum of Saturday morning traffic began, I managed to find a small flock of nutmeg-colored birds feeding on grass seed heads around the shore of the lake.

A sharp male Scaly-breasted Munia (Lonchura punctulata) feeding around the edge of Lake Murray, San Diego County, California 

September 23, 2017

These Scaly-breasted Munia (Lonchura puntulata) (formerly Nutmeg Mannikin) are an introduced species from Southeast Asia that have spread throughout the greater Los Angeles/San Diego areas. This is just one of several introduced species that have managed to establish populations in southern California.
Meanwhile, as the sun began to rise above the horizon I managed to find several other species I had hoped to detect. A male Allen's Hummingbird (Selasphorus sasin) landed in a bush near me, giving me great looks at its tail feathers (and fortunately allowing me to see the narrower outer retrices). Amid the many Blue-gray Gnatcatchers (Polioptila caerulea) present I also found a California Gnatcatcher (Polioptila californica). This species' population has suffered declines due to the increased development of the southern California coastal chaparral habitat as more people move to the already crowded suburbs of San Diego and Los Angeles. Watching one of these birds flitting agitatedly in a bush, it was difficult to shake the foreboding claustrophobia of the infringing houses surrounding this shred of scrub habitat. Crowding the hills like jackals waiting to scavenge the last shreds of unravelling chaparral habitat in this unique corner of the United States.

Next I headed south to the Tijuana River Valley Regional Park Bird and Butterfly Gardens in the hopes of finding a species that had thus far eluded me on my previous West Coast trip: the Wrentit (Chamaea fasciata). While trying to track down this peculiar species I was able to spend some time watching a sub-adult male Allen's Hummingbird feeding on a bright red flower.

Sub-adult Allen's Hummingbird (Selasphorus sasin) sporting a solid green back and much of an iridescent red gorget

Tijuana River Valley Regional Park- Bird and Butterfly Gardens, San Diego County, California

Sep. 23, 2017

Splayed tail of the sub-adult male Allen's Hummingbird (Selasphorus sasin) showing the narrower outer retrices (R5)

Tijuana River Valley Regional Park- Bird and Butterfly Gardens, San Diego County, California

Sep. 23, 2017

A Wrentit finally piped up after about an hour of searching and I was able to enjoy the unique piercing accelerated hollow song. This prompted me to head further south to Border Field State Park beach and do some seawatching. A few weeks before this location had hosted a Red-footed Booby (Sula sula).

US/Mexico border at Border Field SP beach looking south into Tijuana, MX

San Diego County, California

Sep. 23, 2017

I was relieved to find several Elegant Terns (Thalasseus elegans) (a life bird), roosting with several Royal Terns (Thalasseus maximus) and Heerman's Gulls (Larus heermanni). While scanning the ocean I was lucky enough to see an adult Pomarine Jaeger (Stercorarius pomarinus) zoom north from Mexico into the United States. While all three North American Jaeger species were a regular sight on the tundra surrounding Barrow, Alaska where I spent the last two summers volunteering for the USFWS, Pomarine was the last Jaeger I hadn't observed in the Lower 48. A short while later I watched as a Brown Booby (Sula leucogaster) fly into US waters and leisurely plunge-dive before working its way back into Mexican waters. I had seen this species several years before when a young bird wandered to Lake Havasu, Arizona, but it was nice to see one in its natural habitat rather than lethargically standing on a buoy amid speedboaters.
After getting some lunch and recombobulating in Point Loma, I was investigating reports of Red-masked Parakeet (Psittacara opisthomelas) at the Point Loma Nazarene University when I stumbled upon reports of a continuing Kentucky Warbler (Geothlypis formosa) at the University.

Red-masked Parakeet (Psittacara opisthomelas) a native of Ecuador and northwestern Peru has established a population in the suburbs of Point Loma and a larger population in the Los Angeles area.

Point Loma Nazarene University, San Diego County, California

Sep. 23, 2017

Excited by the prospects of an unexpected life bird I quickly headed over and tried to find the spot. I ran into some other birders who helped me to get on the bird. It appeared to be a young bird, and was quietly feeding in the undergrowth close to the trail. Unfortunately, I underestimated the lighting and had my camera settings incorrectly set. This led to a much slower-than-needed shutter speed and very poor photos. The bird was difficult to see at times, and getting better photos was made impossible by several other birders who showed up and insisted on crawling into the undergrowth, crowding the bird, and snapping photos. I made a few comments, but these birders clearly didn't care what I thought, or about the well-being of the bird.

Its terrible, but *technically* it is identifiable as a Kentucky Warbler (Geothlypis formosa). While my photos suck, I was able to get good views of the bird, which was enough.

Point Loma Nazarene University, San Diego County, California

Sep. 23, 2017 

I awoke just after 5:00am on September 24 with great excitement. After a short drive and a brief moment of confusion, I managed to get my car parked and found the group of birders gathered on the dock awaiting the Grande to be prepped for 12 hours out at sea. This was my first Pelagic trip, first time on a boat, and ultimately a test. I wanted to see if I could hack it on the ocean. I didn't expect to get seasick, but I also didn't want to begin taking the steps to pursue a career working with seabirds without knowing whether I enjoyed being on the ocean.

I loved it.

The Pacific is known for its calm seas. I found the snappy roll of the boat to be relaxing and fun to maneuver. Anticipating the amplitude of each roll became a game, and holding binoculars or cameras steady to observe birds had the added challenge of a world in motion. It was certainly no Bering Sea in fall or North Atlantic in winter, but there were several people who clearly weren't having as much fun as I was, which the gulls investigating our chum throughout the day can attest.

Pacific Ocean approx. 25 miles West of San Diego Bay, San Diego County, California

Sep. 24, 2017

In general (aside for the return adjacent to Point Loma) the numbers of tubenoses wasn't particularly high and the individuals were rather dispersed. However, there was amble opportunity to study the petite size and hurried flight of the Black-vented Shearwaters (Puffinus opisthomelas) compared to the burly form and stronger flight of the Pink-footed Shearwaters (Ardenna creatopus). I personally derived a lot of joy from seeing a handful of Sooty Shearwaters (Ardenna melania) and making mental comparisons of color and structure to the thousands of Short-tailed Shearwaters (Ardenna tenuirostris). I had gotten to observe this past July during a storm in Barrow, Alaska.

Several Short-tailed Shearwaters dodging waves during a summer storm in Barrow, Alaska. The spectacle of seeing several thousand Shearwaters stream by over the course of the day during this storm is what really sparked my interest pursuing a career in tubenose study and conservation.

Utqiagvik (Barrow), North Slope, Alaska

July 22, 2017

Watching diffuse groups of Storm-Petrels was also quite exciting. Noting the differences between the Nighthawk-esque flight of the Black Storm-Petrel (Oceanodroma melania) versus the more direct persistent flapping of the Ashy Storm-Petrel (Oceanodroma homochroa).
Around noon the enthusiasm from many of the participants was at an apparent lull. The relatively distant and patchily distributed Storm-Petrel flocks didn't appeal to those who were interested in easily identifiable species. I took advantage of the vacated bow to wedge myself into a position and continued scanning, eventually striking up a conversation with one of the leaders, Gary Nunn. I had met Gary several months before when he and some friends spent a week birding in Barrow. While we were catching up and reminiscing on the particularly cold June the North Slope had experienced this year, we noticed two birds flying high over the bow of a large cargo ship. Upon further investigation I muttered that one of the birds appeared to be a Sulid. The glare from the sun was bad and I couldn't tell for sure, but my heart began to quicken as it appeared to be a black-and-white colored booby. Gary was quick to get word out and soon everyone on the boat was scrutinizing this bird. It didn't take long before it became apparent this bird had an orangey-pink tinge to the bill which suggested it was a Nazca Booby (Sula granti). This realization caused the excitement on the boat to increase to 11.

Nazca Booby (Sula granti) approx. 30 miles west of San Diego Bay, San Diego County, California

Sep. 24, 2017

Lucky for us the bird eventually peeled off and investigated our chum allowing for close study and photos. Nazca Booby was formerly considered a subspecies of the more widespread Masked Booby (Sula dactylatra). Nazca is regularly encountered near the Galapagos Islands and off the coast of Central America northward to Mexico, though it has only been documented in US waters a handful of times (with at least one breeding attempt in Hawaii in which an individual paired with a Masked Booby). The past two years have seen an apparent increase in the detection of this species off the coast of southern California. Its hard to tell if this is due to a true increase in the northern population of this species, or if it is simply owed to an increase in detection and photographs by observers. However, when considering the Swallow-tailed Gull (Creagrus furcatus) that made an appearance in Washington state this year (which is also a species favoring the Humboldt Current and localized in the Galapagos) it seems there may be some oceanographic factor aiding in the dispersal of these species across the equator and north into the California Current (perhaps squid abundance?)

Nazca Booby (Sula granti) approx. 30 miles west of San Diego Bay, San Diego County, California

Sep. 24, 2017

Things slowed down considerably after the excitement over the Nazca and aside for a spectacle of several hundred lovely Black-vented Shearwaters cruising north in the golden glow of the lengthening afternoon there was little to be found. Talking with some of the leaders it seems the Storm-Petrels haven't been rafting in the traditional spots the two years. It is unknown whether they have found another "sweet spot" to raft and find food or if there isn't enough concentrated food and they aren't rafting at all. The water temperature at the "traditional" spot was between 68 and 72 degrees Fahrenheit which (to me) seems quite warm for an area that was supposed to be a site of upwelling.
Ultimately it was a wonderful day out on the Pacific and it undoubtedly won't be my last.

Possible Least Storm-Petrel (Oceanodroma microsoma) based on the short tail and differing flight style from Ashy and Black Storm-Petrels seen nearby. When it landed on the water near a flock of Red-necked Phalaropes (Phalaropus lobatus) it was clearly smaller.  

Seen approx. 30 miles west of San Diego Bay, San Diego County, California

Sep. 24, 2017