Tag Archives: California

Braden’s Tales from the High Sierras, Episode 3: Goin’ for Goshawks

“The Northern Goshawk (Accipiter gentilis) is an apex predator occurring across North America and Eurasia. The species has received considerable conservation focus in late-seral conifer forests of western North America, where its habitat has been substantially reduced and altered by timber harvest and is increasingly at risk from high severity fire, drought, and forest pathogens. In the Sierra Nevada range of California, management and conservation of goshawks are hampered by a lack of knowledge of their basic space use and movement ecology.” —from abstract of Blakey et al. “Northern Goshawk (Accipiter Gentilis) Home Ranges, Movements, and Forays Revealed by GPS-Tracking” J. Raptor Res. 54(4):388–401.

In this third installment of his California adventure, Braden describes his job surveying for Northern Goshawks (see paragraph above for why). The birds are extremely difficult to locate, but as the team heads out into a particularly difficult survey block, success may be just around the corner . . .

The point of my “volunteer position” (with stipend) this summer is to find as many Northern Goshawks in Stanislaus National Forest as possible. The Institute for Bird Populations, my employer, has developed a protocol for looking for goshawks, one that my team follows to the best of our ability, although heat, brush, and apparently, bears, sometimes cause us to modify our schedule and strategy.

**While PACs like this one are fairly easy to negotiate, on others we earn every penny of our summer stipends!**

In late June, after roughly two weeks without any goshawks, we arrived early to another one of our PACs—the areas created for us to survey based on Northern Goshawk territory sizes, analysis of goshawk habitat from GIS and private property lines. I am not allowed to reveal the PAC’s location without violating half a dozen National Security laws, but this one looked particularly difficult. We also got off on the wrong foot when I had to walk back to the truck and retrieve batteries for our FoxPro—aka the “FoxSparrow”—the large speaker we use to call for goshawks. As we finally got started, however, we spread out thirty feet from each other, then followed our compasses north down an intensely steep ravine littered with decaying logs. What’s more, this PAC was the shape of a paint splatter, with all sorts of offshoot areas that would require us to walk up and down the sides of ravines over and over. The Mountain Misery we’d experienced at Brushy Hollow had been a piece of cake compared to this.

After six hundred meters of our first transect, Ivara’s voice crackled through the radio. “Whitewash.”

Now, whitewash (the term for bird poop on a branch or base of a tree) could be evidence for any bird species. After all, every bird poops—I’ve seen statues covered in pigeon whitewash in the middle of cities. However, what caught our attention was what Ivara said next: “Lots and lots of whitewash.”

The four of us halted, scanning the ground for evidence of raptors, and I quickly noticed additional whitewash all over the ground and trees around us. And then Sam spoke up.

“I’ve got an active raptor nest.”

**These bizarre-looking Northern Goshawk babies were a real cause célèbre for our crew after searching for weeks to find a new nest.**

Within minutes, all four of us had gathered to watch the nest from Sam’s vantage point, puzzling over the chicks inside it.

“They don’t look like the Red-tailed chicks we saw at Lyon Ridge.”

“Live boughs are a good indication of a goshawk nest.”

“That thing is so shaded. Would a Red-tailed nest there?”

We hiked a little closer, heading to a nearby hill so I could document the nest and chicks with my camera. Then we waited. No one in our crew had much experience identifying baby raptors, although we certainly got good views of them, but it was only a matter of time before the adult returned. Then we’d have our answer.

And return the adult did, after about twenty minutes. All four of us heard it simultaneously—the call we’d been broadcasting from the FoxSparrow for the last two weeks. The goshawk appeared through the trees, heading right for us. It swooped low, then alighted on a branch above our heads, immediately giving me the best looks I’d ever had of a Northern Goshawk. Miles and Sam quickly went off down the slope towards the nest tree to look for prey remains and identify the tree species, and the adult began to circle us, screaming its head off. After we collected the information we needed, we took one last look at the majestic creature and its babies, then got out of there.

**Our patience waiting at our first “self-found” NOGO nest was rewarded when this adult returned to check us out and try to drive us away.**

It was our first nest of the season, and the first goshawks we’d detected all on our own! Arriving back at the truck at roughly 9 in the morning, we crossed the PAC off of our list, then headed into town to pick up some celebratory s’mores.

Braden’s Tales from the High Sierras, Episode 2: Bearly Birding

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We hope everyone had a nice 4th of July weekend. To help you get back into the usual routine, we’re delighted to present Braden’s second report from his job looking for Northern Goshawks in the California Sierras. So far, the goshawks are few, but the other animals abound! To see his first post, click here. Will there be more goshawks? What other surprises will greet his intrepid crew? Be sure to check in on upcoming posts to find out!

The Brushy Hollow PAC lay about forty-five minutes from Beardsley Lake, a man-made reservoir in the Stanislaus National Forest where we’d be spending the next two nights camping. After waking up at the crack of dawn and unsuccessfully trying to snag some good photos of the Black-throated Gray Warblers around camp, our crew began driving the cliffside road up to Brushy Hollow. As we neared the PAC, my peripheral vision caught a large brown animal absolutely booking it away from the car. Stanislaus National Forest was (unfortunately) filled to the brim with cattle–we either saw them or heard the bells hanging from their necks every time we went out. No cow had ever fled from the car this quickly, though, and as I snapped my head back to look I spotted paws, not hooves, trampling the brush before the mammal disappeared into the forest.

“Bear!” I shouted, but it was too late. The bear wanted nothing to do with us.

**Our crew prepares to tackle another PAC in search of Northern Goshawks. But would mammals intervene?**

Again, the rest of the crew missed it, so a slightly disappointed car arrived at the parking lot for Brushy Hollow. The parking lot consisted of a small patch of grass off to the side of the dirt road, and we were greeted by an army of mosquitoes as we stepped outside of our brand new, cherry-red Nissan rental truck that the rental car company had decided to give us for the summer. We set off into the forest, which was only somewhat brushy and somewhat a hollow, despite the name of the PAC. Many of the usual birds greeted us, including calling Mountain Quail, Olive-sided Flycatcher and pairs of White-headed Woodpeckers flying between the pines. As far as ease of travel, the PAC turned out to be one of our best. Mountain Misery—a native, ground-hugging plant also called “bear clover” (foreshadowing warning)—covered much of the ground, meaning we barely had to lift our feet as we followed our transects. Sam and I met up and began walking up a hill towards Miles where we would enjoy lunch. As soon as we spotted Miles, he stood up and pointed frantically behind us.

“Bear!”

“Bear, bear, bear!!” We echoed as we whirled around to spot another bear sprinting away from us down a nearby road. Ivara followed suit, and we all yelled at the animal for a little while as was protocol before sitting down for lunch.

Adrenaline filling our veins, we sat down in the Mountain Misery, slapping mosquitoes and talking about what we’d just seen. Two bears in one day! And then, our eyes darted again to the same road, where two MORE brown bears ambled by, as if on their way to work!

We finished our lunch quickly, heading towards the other side of the PAC. I proceeded to get very lost, then eventually found, and we took one last break on a log before finishing up our transects for the day. As we scarfed down our last snacks, a crack echoed behind us. The sound of a branch breaking. We turned around, and the response was immediate.

**Five bears in one day was a record for all of us. We were too excited to remember to take any photos, but here’s a mama bear staring suspiciously at my dad in our backyard in Missoula.**

“Bear! Bear!”

This time the brown bear just watched us for several minutes, wondering why four humans had suddenly started yelling at it during its afternoon walk. Eventually, though, this bear did turn tail, but not after my adrenaline hit new levels! Five bears was enough, and Ivara called it for the day.

Bear Note: All bears in California today are black bears. Black bears vary widely in color from black and cinnamon to the “brown black bears” that Braden observed. The bear on the California state flag, however, is a subspecies of the much larger grizzly bear. Apparently, about 10,000 grizzlies once roamed California. Large carnivores such as the grizzly, however, were not welcome by cattle ranchers and the influx of settlers following the gold rush, and the California grizzly was shot, trapped, and poisoned to extinction by the mid-1920s. Some efforts have been made to reintroduce grizzlies to the state, but so far, all proposals have been rejected. To read a nice article about the situation, click here.

Braden’s Tales from the High Sierras, Episode 1: Stumbling into Saw-whets

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We want to thank all of you for making June our biggest month ever at FatherSonBirding! The number of you viewing our posts absolutely demolished all previous records with more than 1300 visits to our site. We kick off July with the first of a series of posts from Braden. Since early June, he has been working as a field intern for The Institute for Bird Populations. His job? Monitoring Northern Goshawks on the west slope of California’s Sierras. While searching for the elusive accipiters, he and his four-person team are having birding adventures most of us only dream about. Here is his first field report: an encounter with Northern Saw-whet Owls.

Northern Saw-whet Owl

In our first week on the job my team leader, Ivara, decided that we would get the Black Oak PAC over with. A PAC is basically an area of land chosen kind of arbitrarily based on goshawk habitat, territory size and private land boundaries that we survey, and we usually try to complete a PAC every two days. Black Oak was by far the toughest PAC, but we dove right in, bushwhacking through brush in search of any signs of Northern Goshawks. Unfortunately, we couldn’t really focus on scanning the trees above us for nests given the sheer density of the vegetation growing on the slope in front of us. While birds certainly loved all of the brush, with Fox Sparrows and Nashville Warblers singing from exposed perches around me, the foliage did not welcome me as it did them. After about thirty minutes, I found myself wildly off my compass bearing, following the edge of an intimidating thicket in an attempt to get back to my correct line. We considered being five degrees off as “off course”. I was off by thirty!

**Some of the typical Sierras terrain where we conduct our Northern Goshawk Surveys.**

I took a deep breath, plunging into the vegetation in the direction of my coworkers and my correct bearing. I bent to avoid spiderwebs stretching between branches, jumping on top of decaying logs at any chance I got to relieve myself from the sticks that drew blood from my legs. After about fifty meters, the brush somehow worsened. I couldn’t see three feet in front of me, but I pressed on. And suddenly, I flushed a bird.

At first, my mind went to American Robin. It was a medium-sized, brown species, and it darted away from me as if planning to disappear into the impossible maze ahead. Instead, it landed on a nearby tree branch. I lifted my binoculars, peering through a small gap in the leaves, and exhaled in shock. My voice quavered as I spoke into my radio.

“Holy cow. I just found a baby Saw-whet Owl.”

I’d only seen pictures of juvenile Saw-whets once before, on a checklist from Missoula that I’d stared at with jealousy. This bird stared right back at me, its curious, unmoving eyes gazing at the beast that had just disturbed it. The bird’s back was a creamy brown color, adorned with a few spots, and a bushy unibrow accented golden eyes. I could barely see its tiny talons clutching the branch, complemented by buffy feathers that coated its legs.

Unfortunately, I was too lost to direct my coworkers to come see the owls, but I was in no hurry to continue the goshawk search. Our rule: looking for goshawks is important, but so is watching cool wildlife that happens to pop up! On cue, in fact, a second bird flew to a lower branch on the same tree. It was another juvenile owl! My brain registered that it must have just abandoned its day roost mere feet from where I stood. That meant—

My eyes scanned the foliage immediately around me and I saw it: a third baby owl who had not yet flushed in a young pine tree two feet from my face. Staring intensely at me. I didn’t dare move, shifting my gaze between this third, most fearless owl and its siblings in the mature tree behind it. I’d left my camera behind in anticipation of the tough bushwhacking, but slowly snapped a few photos with my phone. I’d never found a roosting owl all on my own before, and here I’d just blundered into three!

**This third, and most fearless, of the three baby Saw-whet Owls I discovered will forever be one of my most memorable birding encounters.**

After about twenty minutes of staring contests with the cutest birds I’ve ever seen, I slowly backed out the way I had come, taking a left into more brush. Soon, I was on my stomach, army-crawling through somehow-worse vegetation, but I couldn’t be happier. Little did I know that this would mark only the first of many unforgettable wildlife encounters I would experience in the coming weeks . . .

Big Day Mentality

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This is the Big Day Mentality: Every species, no matter how rare, is worth one tally. During a 24-hour period, a team of birders try to collect as many tallies as possible; the end total is the sum of every single bird species seen or heard during the day by at least two members of the team. At the San Diego Birding Festival, my dad and I were invited to be “first lieutenants” on two Big Day field trips.

We co-led our first outing under the expert leadership of veteran birder Phil Pryde, a local San Diegoan who had an ambitious schedule planned out for the day, in order to maximize the amount of species we saw. From dawn to dusk we scoured San Diego county, which is larger than Delaware and Rhode Island combined; a bird only counted if one of the leaders and one of the participants identified it. By the end of the day we had arrived at a total of 113 species, and my dad and I at just over a hundred individually. The number wasn’t bad, and the day had given us a rough idea of how many birds to expect for the next Big Day. Overall, though, the day hadn’t been very “birdy”—we had missed quite a few common species.

At Lindo Lake we spotted several pairs of the most photogenic Wood Ducks we had ever encountered!

On our next Big Day, under the guidance of our good-natured chief, Eitan Altman, we were determined to break this record. Unfortunately, the conditions didn’t look good—a low, wet mist had rolled over the area. Thanks to the rain, we didn’t have to rush inland to get early-morning songbirds (they were probably huddled in their warm, dry nests with no intent on warbling at the weather), so we birded along the coast at a relaxed pace. While doing this, we saw an unexpectedly high number of species, including Common Loon, Surf Scoter and Brant, which had not been a guarantee, a huge flock of Black Skimmers, and rarities such as Glaucous-winged Gull and the well-known Reddish Egret which hung out in the San Diego River Estuary. The eccentric bird’s gait reminded me of Kramer from the TV show Seinfeld.

This Greater White-fronted Goose is a regular at Lindo Lake.

Finally, around nine in the morning, we headed inland to Lindo Lake, the place which had yielded the highest number of species to us on the previous Big Day. We tallied high numbers of waterfowl, woodpeckers and more, including some more rarities: the resident Greater White-fronted Goose hanging out with a flock of domestic geese, not one but two Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers, and a Bonaparte’s Gull that had somehow wound its way inland.

We continued hitting different habitats to nab species, and by three in the afternoon our total sat at 120 species, the most recent being an altitudinally-challenged Band-tailed Pigeon, a calling Canyon Wren and the ever-rare American Robin. As soon as I confirmed our total, Eitan began thinking of other species we could pick up, now determined to beat his personal record of 128. On our way back to the coast we stopped at places to grab specific birds, including White-tailed Kite and Greater Roadrunner. The tide was out now, and at the San Diego River Estuary we grabbed another six species, though unfortunately none of the rarities being reported there (Tricolored Heron, Mew Gull, Eurasian Wigeon) except the spunky Reddish Egret and a beautiful double rainbow.

We spotted a wintering flock of blackbirds at Lindo Lake, including many Tricolored Blackbirds, a California endemic.

As the day grew closer to our deadline of five o’clock, we opted to try and get a few last birds at a place called Fiesta Island, arguing over possible birds:

“Was that a Northern Harrier?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?.”

And finally, right at the entrance to the island we hit 130 with a Spotted Sanspiper bobbing along the rocks of the coastline. A pair of American Kestrels on the actual island sealed the deal.

We finished the trip, said our goodbyes, then responded appropriately to our biggest day ever by collapsing into bed.

Birding the Mexican Border

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Due to the continuing onslaught of Russian hackers (aka jerks), we’re experimenting with how best to handle new subscriptions. If you’d like to make sure you get subscribed please shoot us an email at collard@bigsky.net with your name and email address and we’ll put you on. You can also use the subscription box down in the right-hand column. Thank you for following us—and for your patience with this crazy world!

Listen to our interview with Sarah Aronson on Montana NPR’s “The Write Question” which aired Thursday, March 7!

Last week, Braden and I had the opportunity to attend the San Diego Bird Festival and do some of the most intense—and fun—birding of our lives. The festival will undoubtedly fill several posts, but before it began, we wanted to do something we’d been thinking about for at least a year—bird the California/Mexico border.

The border couldn’t have provided a greater contrast between the open wetlands and scrub on the U.S. side and the bustling city of Tijuana right across “la frontera.”

Because of a missed connection, we didn’t reach San Diego until 1 p.m., but we picked up our rental car and made a beeline down I-5 toward Tijuana. Our destination was the actual spot where the border meets the Pacific Ocean, and we weren’t sure how close we could drive. We ended up in a parking lot about a mile east and north of our destination and began trekking along a dirt road heading toward the ocean. It was a surreal experience as helicopters circled overhead—Navy fliers, evidently, training for duty—and the city of Tijuana pulsed just beyond the formidable border wall a mile to the south. Around us, though, stretched intertidal wetlands and fields, where we picked up Savannah Sparrows and meadowlarks and collected a number of duck species and a lone Eared Grebe.

This group of 500 Surf Scoters delighted us—especially when Braden identified a Black Scoter among them! Note Mexico’s Coronado Islands in the background—an important nesting site for Scripps’s Murrelets.

After hitting the beach, we headed south, the border fence looming in the distance. Almost immediately, we got a great surprise—a group of 500 or so Surf Scoters floating just offshore. For we Montana boys, this was a true delight—made even more so when Braden discovered a Black Scoter in one of his photos! We were hoping to go all the way to the fence and talk to some folks on the Mexico side, but a stoic Border Patrol agent shooed us back.

The two Heermann’s Gulls on top of these dolphins were vaunted additions to our Mexico list!

Undaunted, Braden said, “Let’s start a Mexico list,” so we spent half an hour watching birds perching on the border fence and flying between nations—without passports! President Trump would have been furious. In all, we tallied seven Mexico species: Rock Pigeon, Willet, Heermann’s Gull, Western Gull, Ring-billed Gull, European Starling, and a lone Willet sitting on the fence. Oh yeah, and a group of twenty Surf Scoters who had drifted across the border without a care in the world!

Next Up: San Diego Big Day #1!