Saturday, March 12, 2011

Sweet Sweet Sweet Springs

Happy Saturday Morning, Everybody!

Piper and I just got back from a lovely jog. We started from the house, just before sunrise. Our loop took us out to the back bay, through Sweet Springs, along a dirt road that connects Ramona to Los Osos Valley Rd., up to the end of Broderson Rd., west on the sandy scrub brush trail behind the houses of Highland, down Bayview Heights, past the skate park, through the frisbee golf course, behind the library, up the hidden path from 5th to 9th and down hill all the way home from there.

It was beautiful every step of the way. And birdie-full too!

I was a better runner back before I was a birder because I didn't stop as often! But I know I didn't enjoy my morning outings near as much as I do now. Here are just a few of the exciting species I saw this morning...all within the ten acres of enchanting and protected waterfront woodland that makes up Sweet Springs Nature Preserve.

At the park's edge, hopping through what looked like a wild raspberry bush, I spied a fat robbin's red breast! But the rest of the bird didn't belong to a robin at all. The wings were dark with white spots, and the whole head was shiny black. Usually, when I see a bird I've never seen before, I need a help from a friend or a field guide before I can identify it. But, I knew this one right away, because K had seen one a couple of weeks ago and told me about it.

We had looked it up and identified it as a black headed grosbeak, like this one. (All the photos on this posting are swiped off the web...they are not from my camera or even from my guidebook.)


Of course, it's belly isn't really red and it lacks the roundness of a robin...but we chalked that up to individual variation and figured we'd correctly identified her bird. After all...the "compare" feature in our birding book didn't mention any other similar looking birds in the area that might cause confusion.

But later, we came across a picture of this bird:


And K had her "AHA!" moment. She had seen a spotted towee...no doubt about it.

So when I saw one this morning, hopping through roadside brambles, I was able to instantly identify it! So exciting.

But it wasn't until I actually entered the park that things got really interesting.



The first thing I noticed was the sound. Or rather, the ruckus. Maybe I have been surrounded by that much bird-noise before, but I certainly haven't noticed it enough to really hear and pay attention. Good grief. It was worse than a zoo. From every direction came hoots and hollers, cheep and chirps, grunts and groans, twitter and tweets. It was maddening, being surrounded by all this bold and unmistakable evidence of interesting avian activity...without being able to SEE any of it. Each time I tried to follow my ears with my eyes, all that came into view was a patch of wild grasses or a cluster of eucalyptus branches. I was starting to think these birds were invisible. There just didn't seem to be anyway that normal birds could make that much noise without revealing themselves just a little bit!

And then a "rattatatatat" directly overhead caught my attention. The early morning sun was casting more shadows than light, so it was hard to see details. But I did manage to make out the shape of a 6-7 inch bird chipping away at a tree trunk with it's sturdy little beak. It had black wings, a white belly and a white back, so I'm pretty sure it was a downy woodpecker, like this one:


Then, wading through the springs themselves, I saw a snowy egret lifting it's bright yellow feet in and out of the mud. Hoping not to scare it away, I froze mid-step and whispered at Piper to "sit! stay!" I've seen these birds before, but only a handful of times.



What we see a lot more often around here are the great white egrets. They're taller, sleeker and more dramatic to look at with their graceful legs and long curves necks. But I don't find them as thrilling, because they are more common.


I'm learning this is a normal way to react, now that I'm a "real" birder watcher. The uninitiated expect the bigger, flashier birds to be the most exciting. Those are fun to spot, no doubt about it. But I'd give up a blue heron sighting any day,



in exchange for a glimpse of an LBJ (little brown job) like this dusky warbler, here on a rare visit from Siberia.


Another nice thing about being a "real" birder, is that I am starting to be able to identify some birds even when I can't see them very well. For instance this morning I saw, perched on the the bushes between the eucalyptus grove and the sandy beach of the back bay, a teeny tiny little bird with it's beak in profile against the dull light of the western sky. Even without being able to see it's color or the shape of it's body, I'm SURE it was a hummingbird. And, I'd bet that it was an Anna's hummingbird, because I now know that those are the most common ones in Los Osos.

In the picture below, you can see the face is a reddish-pink, but a still photo cannot communicate the thrill of watching one in the wild when the light is working in your favor. Most of the time their heads look rather dark and dull. But, if you find one when the sun is behind you on a bright afternoon, keep it steadily in your sights. You will eventually be rewarded by a POW, Shabam! "Did you see THAT?!" kind of moment when the light hits the surface of the face feathers just right and the bird's head lights up like a hot pink disco ball.


Of course, just because I'm getting good at identifying my flying, feathered neighbors...doesn't mean I have to do it all the time. Sometimes I do what I used to do, just watch and enjoy them. From the look-out deck at the end of the board-walk, I could see a whole crowd of long-billed shore bird. If I'd tried, I might have been able to pick out the individual species. There were probably some whimbrels and marbled godwits it the bunch, maybe even a long billed curlew.



One day soon I'll be over there again, with my field books and binoculars, ready to make some positive identifications.

But sometimes, it's nice to just relax and enjoy watching them. They are miraculously beautiful, no matter what their names are.

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