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 

A Cape May in Colorful Colorado

Cape May Warbler (Setophaga tigrina) 

Pueblo City Park, Pueblo County, Colorado

Nov. 20, 2018

Of all the vagrant eastern warblers that have occurred in New Mexico, there are a few that are in a class of their own. These include Swainson's Warbler (Limnothlypis swainsonii), Cerulean Warbler (Setophaga cerulea), and Cape May Warbler (Setophaga tigrina).
Of these species, the Cape May primarily uses the Atlantic seaboard while in migration, and can be especially abundant during fall migration. There are few New Mexico records, most of which not chaseable. Even in Texas the species is tricky, requiring good winds, timing, and luck. Unsurprisingly I missed this species back in April when I birded Sabine Woods and High Island on the Upper Texas Coast. High on my list of "most wanted" species, I was excited to hear of one that had been present several days in some pines at Pueblo City Park in Pueblo, Colorado.

I have done some birding in Colorado, but never truly chased anything in the state before. Only four hours away, I woke up at 2:45 am and hit the road, headed north on an empty I-25. I had driven the route many times as far north as Maxwell to bird the myriad of lakes and ponds along this route, working on my Colfax, Mora, and San Miguel County lists. But seldom had I driven as far north as Raton, and never past there into Colorado. This was a great opportunity to see a life parulid and add several Colorado birds to me paltry state list (only 117).

Cape May Warbler (Setophaga tigrina)

Pueblo City Park, Pueblo County, Colorado

Nov. 20, 2018

I arrived at the City Park in Pueblo, CO right around 7am. This turned out to be overkill as the Cape May usually didn't appear until about 10am or later (probably once it got warm enough for insects to begin stirring), though I didn't know this at the time, nor did I know where the bird was most often seen as most reporters had included frustratingly little in the way of location information on their eBird checklists. It was a large area, but I stuck around the Administration Building and worked the evergreen trees, sifting through the occasional mixed flock. It was interesting to hear the sharp high-pitched "peek" of what I took to be "Eastern" Downy Woodpeckers (Dryobates pubescens pubescens/medianus) which sounded much different than the "Rocky Mountain" Downies (D. p. leucurus/glacialis) I am used to hearing in New Mexico. Also interesting were several Blue Jays (Cyanocitta cristata) which are seldom reported in the Raton/Maxwell area (but more common further east), and an immature Yellow-bellied Sapsucker (Sphyrapicus varius) which is apparently the nominate species here, but also unusual further south in New Mexico. It is amazing what about 100 miles due North means for the composition of eastern-to-western avifauna.  

Around 9am I ran into Dan and Brandon, both Colorado birders and both looking for the warbler (Brandon had found the bird originally with his uncle Van). They filled me in on where the bird was most often seen and its apparent 10:30am schedule. With this in mind I walked down a nearby alley to kill time and look for a state White-winged Dove (Zenaida asiatica) without luck. By the time I made it back to the Admin Buildings around 9:30 Brandon and Dan had found the Cape May in its preferred tree. It was quite confiding and I was able to watch it for over an hour and a half as it foraged for insects at the base of pine needle clusters. It appeared to be a bright adult in basic plumage, though I am unsure of the sex. It was fun to add another New World Warbler to my life list and experience an interesting part of Colorado, so different than the parts of New Mexico due south that I knew so well.

Cape May Warbler (Setophaga tigrina)

Pueblo City Park, Pueblo County, Colorado

Nov. 20, 2018

After succeeding with the Cape May I made my way to Pueblo Reservoir to work on my Colorado Gull list. I found the large flock at the southern marina and began sifting through them. I quickly located an adult aspect Great Black-backed (Larus marinus), several Herring (L. argentatus), California (L. californicus), two Lesser Black-backed (L. fuscus), and a Iceland (Thayer's) (L. glaucoides thayeri) amongst about 700 Ring-billed Gulls (L. delawarensis). In New Mexico just seeing a single Lesser Black-backed or Thayer's Gull would constitute a good gull day, but to see multiple Lesser Black-backed, Thayer's and Great Black-backed (still unrecorded in NM) at the same site was a lot of fun. Also interesting was the mention that most of the more unusual gulls that occur here are in adult aspect. In my experience most of New Mexico's rarer gulls are usually immature birds. It was an interesting study of a diverse group of gulls, and I was proud to be able to point out and explain the identification of the Thayer's to another Colorado birder that was present (the Thayer's was an immature bird, so my limited NM gull experience was quite useful).

Iceland Gull (Thayer's) (Larus glaucoides thayeri)

South Marina of Pueblo Reservoir, Pueblo County, Colorado

Nov. 20, 2018

On my way south I also checked Lathrop Lake State Park where I added a few more Colorado state birds, including a basic plumaged Common Loon (Gavia immer) that was diving close to the shore picnic area. I very much enjoyed seeing this part of Colorado and will hopefully explore this area more in the future.

Great Black-backed Gull (Larus marinus)

South Marina of Pueblo Reservoir, Pueblo County, Colorado

Nov. 20, 2018

Rarity Unto Death- searching for the rarest birds in the continental US (part 1)

"Let's start by imagining a fine Persian carpet and a hunting knife. The carpet is twelve feet by eighteen, say. That gives us 216 square feet of continuous woven material... We set about cutting the carpet into thirty-six equal pieces, each one a rectangle, two feet by three... When we're finished cutting, we measure the individual pieces, total them up- and find that, lo, there's still nearly 216 square feet of recognizably carpetlike stuff. But what does it amount to? Have we got thirty-six nice Persian throw rugs? No. All we're left with is three dozen ragged fragments, each one worthless and commencing to come apart."
David Quammen
The Song of the Dodo

Ragged patches of untouched Sagebrush gleam silvery-blue in sharp and ironic contrast amid a sea of agricultural fields

Hickman Flat Rd (Monticello), San Juan County, UT

Mar. 24, 2017

The concept of habitat fragmentation that Quamman so eloquently illustrates in the analogy above has now become established among the world of ecologists. By now most children in Elementary school are introduced to the idea amid lurid photos of burning tropical rainforest in Brazil and Malaysia. I know I was. We were then bombarded with numbers that were supposed to quantify the destruction. The number of acres per year, per month, per day, per minute. They used phrases like "by the end of this program, "x" number of acres will be felled." In the end the room full of kids was just sad to see the distressed sloths and jaguars, and the full extent of the destruction was lost on us. 

What those programs and lessons failed to mention were the reasons behind the destruction. Beef production in the Amazon fueling the conversion of forest to pastureland so that Americans can enjoy cheap hamburgers. The continued practice of slash-and-burn agriculture by locals just to produce enough food to survive due to the nutrient poor soil. All of it adds to the continued creation of "recognizably carpetlike stuff," but the destruction of what was once a Persian carpet.

What is most frustrating about this curriculum, is the fact that it pulls attention away from the current crisis happening in North America. While the extent of biodiversity lost is exponentially greater in the tropics, there is a similar ecological-holocaust occurring here on the mainland United States and Canada that is largely ignored.
Habitat fragmentation among the average populace is colloquially viewed as an issue endemic to the equatorial region, but this couldn't be further from the truth, especially considering the added impacts of a climate that is becoming increasingly unpredictable and chaotic.

Fallow agricultural field, Hickman Rd (Monticello), San Juan County, UT

Mar. 24, 2017

The owner of this property may be participating in the USDA's Conservation Reserve Program (CRP) which compensates enrolled landowners who allow fields to revert to a natural state to conserve soil and wildlife. Though not an active agricultural field, in its current state it is still nearly useless to a species that relies on Sagebrush except to act as a buffer between the Sagebrush habitat and the active fields. 

Unfortunately, what headway was made protecting the natural and biological resources of the United States over the past eight years is likely to be largely undone by the current administration, and the pro-development sentiment seems to be shared by Canada's administration, which has voiced their support of increased oil and gas development between the two countries.

Expecting the worst, and desperately wanting to see those species which are most imperiled before their potential extinction, I made it a personal priority to see those bird species whose futures are clearly uncertain. While many species will likely become endangered (and possibly even extinct) in the United States in my lifetime, I feel compelled to observe, experience, and enjoy them before they do potentially become extinct. Especially with the looming threat of climate change and an administration that has made it quite clear in its first two months that it is not going to take action against it, I felt that these species are already disappearing whether I see them or not, so I might as well get out there and do what I do best: look.

Piping Plover (Charadrius melodus)
Golden-cheeked Warbler (Setophaga chrysoparia)
Gunnison Sage-Grouse (Centrocercus minimus)
California Condor (Gymnogyps californianus)

The first portion of my week off (spring break) was devoted to a camping trip in Texas with my parents, so birding wasn't the primary priority, but I still managed to see quite a few species. I made a try for Piping Plover (Charadrius melodus) on South Padre Island, but didn't have any luck. I was pretty discouraged by the rampant development, and the additional garbage produced by college students engaging in a more "traditional" spring break only made things worse.
The US Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS) sites exploitation for the millinery (plumed hat) trade in the 1800's as decimating the Piping Plover  population. Further development in the breeding region (Great Lakes, Great Plains, and northern East Coast region) including dam construction and filling in of wetlands has caused a decline in breeding success. The species winters on the Gulf Coast and southern East Coast where beach development and pollutants have further crippled the population. 

Common Bottlenose Dolphin (Tursiops truncatus) breaching adjacent to the SPI South Jetty, Cameron County, TX

Mar. 21, 2017

After a few days on the coast it was time to head north, but not before an over-night stop at South Llano River SP in Junction, TX to search for a special species of warbler.

South Llano River SP- Fawn Trail, Kimble County, TX

Mar. 22, 2017

The entire known breeding range of the Golden-cheeked Warbler (Setophaga chrysoparia) lies within 33 Texas counties (Texas Parks and Wildlife Division hereafter TPWD). The Golden-cheeked is an Ashe Juniper (Juniperus ashei) obligate, stripping the bark and incorporating it in its nest construction. However, the Golden-cheeked apparently requires a diversity of hardwood trees within its breeding habitat as well, and is not found in stands comprised of 90% J. ashei or more (TPWD).
With such a narrow range of habitat requirements for suitable breeding territory, it is little wonder that habitat degradation has lead to the decline of this species. TPWD sites development, grazing by native and non-native ungulates, as well as the clearing of land for livestock grazing as all contributing to the increased fragmentation and degradation of Golden-cheeked habitat.

Breeding range of the Golden-cheeked Warbler (Setophaga chrysoparia)

(eBird)

Less than 2% of Texas is publicly owned (federal and state combined). This makes management difficult because so much land is under the jurisdiction of private land owners. With the continued onslaught of suburban development around population centers such as San Antonio, it seems unlikely that much headway will be made in protecting more habitat for this species. There is relatively little published on the requirements of this species' requirements on the wintering grounds (Central America south to Costa Rica), so it is possible the fragmentation of habitat there could impact wintering survival. 

Golden-cheeked Warbler (Setophaga chrysoparia)

South Llano River SP, Kimble County, TX

Mar. 22, 2017

This species returns earlier than most other neotropical migrant warblers, arriving and occupying territories by mid-March it also is one of the first to leave, with most departing by early August

After receiving wonderful directions from the park staff I managed to hear up to four singing male Golden-cheekeds (and got to see and photograph one). I was delighted to hear both the type "A" song (buzzy notes towards the beginning) and the type "B" song (buzzy notes towards the end). 
I had looked forward to seeing this species also because it was the last of the "yellow-faced" North American Wood-Warbler complex I had yet to see. This includes the similar looking Black-throated Green (S. virens), Hermit (S. occidentalis), Townsend's (S. townsendi), and of course the previously mentioned Golden-cheeked Warbler.
Regardless, it is a very pretty bird, and one I was quite happy to see (especially after missing the Piping Plover).

Golden-cheeked Warbler (S. chrysoparia) inquisitively checking out the source of my pishing

South Llano River SP, Kimble County, TX

Mar. 22, 2017

After a full day of driving back to Santa Fe, I bid adieu to my parents and continued north on my own. I left Santa Fe around 7:00pm and drove through a snow storm to the Gunnison Valley in Colorado (5 hrs). As the elevation climbed and the mercury dropped near Monarch, CO the wind drove the snow in a nearly impenetrable white sheet, though it wasn't sticking to the roadway. After making it over the pass and into the Gunnison Valley I pulled off onto the very wide shoulder of the highway at the edge of the National Forest land where I was able to get about four hours of fitful sleep. I arrived at the fabled Waunita Hot Springs Lek at 05:00 and as the sun slowly illuminated the landscape through the dense clouds, I waited in nervous anticipation for the sound of lekking Gunnison Sage-Grouse (Centrocercus minimus).

Waunita Hot Springs lek in the cold glow of dawn.

"Lek" is actually derived from Swedish where it essentially means "play"

This is a reference to the apparent "dance" displaying males give at these congregations and is a phenomenon shared by many gallinaceous birds

 As the light got brighter my hopes sank. Not only was it breezy, but the storm had deposited a fair amount of snow, blanketing the landscape. I had hoped that the males' drive to reproduce would outweigh their desire to sit tight and stay warm (or forage). Unfortunately, it seemed that the desire to survive had won out, and around 08:00 I decided to try driving along CO RD 38 south of Gunnison where I had seen a lot of birders had encountered this species spontaneously (no lek). Had I been here a month later and this storm had moved through, I imagine they would have still displayed, but this early in the breeding season, it seems the males could afford to stay home.

To make a long story short, I didn't find any Sage-Grouse along this road either, despite several hours spent driving and hiking along the road. So, seeing someone had reported seeing one near Monticello UT, I decided to try there instead (beyond the reaches of this recent storm).

Entire extant range of the Gunnison Sage-Grouse (Centrocercus minimus) is confined to the Gunnison Valley in Colorado and a tiny isolated population in southeastern Utah

(eBird)

 The Hickman Flats Rd just northeast of Monticello, UT is toted by the Utah Division of Wildlife Resources as being the only place in the state where the Gunnison Sage-Grouse occurs, and after seeing an entry in a helpful Utah birding blog about birding along the road, I did as was advised and called the DWR to inquire as to where I might best position myself to hear the lekking birds (none of the leks are accessible from the road itself). I was also hoping to get advise as to how to avoid disturbing the birds). This inquiry went nowhere as I was forwarded to the head biologist with whom I left a message explaining I was going to try and look for the Sage-Grouse and would greatly appreciate any tips. I never got a call back, so I proceeded anyway. Granted, answering phone messages from visiting birders is probably not high on his priority list, especially when considering the status of this species in Utah is truly precipitous. It was still disheartening, and considering how scarce this species is in Utah, I would have expected a less laissez faire attitude when it came to birders potentially disturbing the birds. After seeing the area however, I realized birders driving the road at dawn were probably the least of Utah's DWR worries.

A portion of intact Sagebrush along Hickman Flats Rd (Monticello), San Juan County, UT

Only a few patches of "original" Sagebrush seem to persist in the area, all of which are separated at best by marginal grassy habitat, and at worst by open agricultural fields, creating small insularized populations and contributing to the genetic bottlenecking of the Utah population of Gunnison Sage-Grouse (C. minimus)

I had the fortune of hearing Clait Braun's presentation on the current status and history of the Gunnison Sage-Grouse last spring, and when looking towards the future, he painted a dire picture for the persistence of this species. There is little doubt that Braun knows more about this species than probably anyone else on earth, and he was one of the driving forces behind not only getting it recognized as a full species, but also its listing as an endangered species. Emphasizing the accumulated impact of habitat fragmentation and genetic degradation, Braun mentioned that it seemed unlikely that this population in Utah would persist for another 50 years (best case scenario).
After seeing the area for myself, I would certainly agree. Even genetic augmentation through the introduction of transplants from the Gunnison Valley would not change the fact that the habitat is in a very poor state for a bird that relies on extensive continuous Sagebrush. The miniscule portion of "undisturbed" Sagebrush is surrounded by a few fallow fields that are beginning to grow some Sagebrush, but it mostly consists of grass. Other portions are bordered directly by active agricultural fields.
The Gunnison Valley population may have more habitat at its disposal, but it too could fall victim to the ills of genetic bottlenecking as vulnerability to diseases increases as the population's accumulated gene pool becomes increasingly homozygous. It would seem the persistence of this species into the 22nd century is uncertain at best.

Recently plowed agricultural field, Hickman Flats Rd, San Juan County, UT

Mar. 24, 2017

Just like the famous scraps of tropical rainforest vegetation left amid a sea of barren red earth immortalized in documentaries shown to children of the Western world, the silvery patches of sagebrush lie amid a sea of equally auburn soil, right here in the United States. There are no Jaguars or Sloths fleeing the destruction here in Utah. Instead the loss is much more discreet. A few peculiar birds, persnickety in their habitat requirements, slip closer to extinction. A little more Sagebrush is converted, leaving less contiguous habitat for the Sage-Grouse. A few more individuals die. Soon even a mundane event such as a minor drought or relatively cold winter leads to the death of several individuals. However, because the population is so small, these instances have a greater proportional impact on the population then if the population had been large. Then, suppose a case of Blackhead disease is transmitted to these wild fowl via domestic chickens on nearby farms. When this species slips finally slips into the vortex of extinction, the initial loss is subtle, but one more thread has been torn from one of the ragged Persian throw-rugs. 

After dipping on the Sage-Grouse in the evening, I slept along the road in National Forest land outside of Monticello. I woke at 05:00 and made it to a hill overlooking the most extensive patch of Sagebrush along Hickman Flats Road that I could find and waited and listened. Eventually, I managed to hear a distant lekking male. The low pitch burblings of the display carried fairly well. It wasn't as satisfying as I'd had liked, but I did get to hear one, which may be as close as I ever get to a Gunnison Sage-Grouse (especially in Utah). At least for now they persist in these fragments of habitat. For how much longer is anyone's guess. I at least felt some sense of relief at hearing one before its peculiar vocalization may be lost from the landscape forever.

Finally, with a day before I needed to return to Las Cruces, I decided to make a run for one final species on my "four-corners and Texas" state tour of endangered species. I would also be visiting a place that was on my bucket list.

Grand Canyon at dawn looking westward from Moran Point (South Rim), Coconino County, AZ

Mar. 26, 2017 

Unlike the other species on my list of targets, the California Condor (Gymnogyps californianus) has a particularly convoluted path to near-extinction, though it too is due to industrialized humans entering the West. The population experienced a steady decline, reaching a critical point in the 1970's, at which point they were removed from the landscape and became the subject of an intense captive breeding program. Reasons for the decline are varied, but include egg-collection and active persecution by land owners. Being scavengers, Condors rely on carcasses for food, and as pioneering Americans entered the Condor's range they began clearing it of the native game. Even with cattle ranching and the associated carcasses this industry produced, there apparently was not enough food available to sustain the Condors. The most damning contributor to the decline was ingestion of lead shot by Condors which resulted in lead poisoning. Condors would consume gut piles left by hunters and subsequently consume the shot, an issue that still impacts the population today (though now there are also instances of Condors dying of zinc poisoning after consuming coins thrown into the canyon by tourists). I had dreamed of coming to the Grand Canyon and seeing a California Condor for a while, and was ecstatic at the opportunity to finally go and look.

Grand Canyon from Bright Angel Trail

(South Rim), Coconino County, AZ

Mar. 25, 2017

I had seen a recent reporton eBird from the Bright Angel Trail, and despite being unable to get into the Visitors Center to ask a ranger (parking was a zoo with spring break adding to what I assume is typical tourist volume) I heard from a friendly local that Bright Angel was indeed a good place (they apparently sometimes nest just down-canyon).
Unfortunately, the weather wasn't terribly cooperative. On the rim it would swing between pleasant and warm (though windy) to driving hail/snow (and windier). Not conducive weather for thermals, nor good for a bird partial to riding them. So, given my limited time I decided to hike the Bright Angel Trail. If I happened upon a Condor, then great. Regardless I wanted to experience the canyon in a more intimate sense then merely gawking down on it from the rim. I started out at 14:30 and made it to Indian Garden in two hours. I had wanted to go all the way down to the river, but knew I didn't have enough time, so I turned around and hiked back out, getting back on top right before sunset at 18:25. I didn't see any Condors, but I did hear a male Broad-tailed Hummingbird (Selasphorus platycercus) in the vicinity of Indian Garden, which seemed a bit early for being so far north. I was amazed at how much warmer it was down there, but at approximately 4,000 feet lower than the rim (the river itself being about 5,000 ft lower) I guess I shouldn't be so surprised.

Afterwards I took in a gorgeous view of the sunset from the rim before making my way to a forest road in the Kaibab National Forest where I spent the night. Getting up at dawn I managed to catch the sunrise into the canyon from Moran Point which was equally splendid. I milled about for about an hour or two, taking in the canyon as much as I could before painfully tearing myself away so I could make the nine hour drive to Las Cruces (I had classes the next day).

I was so delighted when I first arrived at the Desert View overlook of the Grand Canyon to spend a full 10 minutes gawking at it with the multitude of tourists before I heard anyone speak American English. It was nice to think that even in a world of such political animosity, people are still willing to come and see the treasures that make America truly unique and great among the world's nations: our National Parks system.