Pygmy Nuthatches in the Bristlecone Forest

I don't see Pygmy Nuthatches (Sitta pygmaea) all that often. This is only the second post about them, and they are both from the same place: the Bristlecone Forest in the White Mountains east of the Sierra Nevada and Owens Valley. It's almost a cheat to see them here for one particular reason: water. Specifically, there isn't very much of it.

The White Mountains are a huge mountain range, as high as the adjacent Sierra Nevada, but just as they are overshadowed in public perception by the Sierra, they are "rain-shadowed" too. The Sierra Nevada gets several times the precipitation from Pacific storms, and the only forest trees in the White Mountains are the drought resistant Pinon Pine, the Utah Juniper, the Limber Pine, and the ancient Bristlecone Pines, the oldest living trees on the planet. There are few sources of water in the high ridges where the Bristlecones survive, but there is a visitor center at the end of the paved road. The staff usually has a bowl of water set out, and that is enough to bring out a number of birds and small mammals.

If you are ever visiting the Owens Valley, find a half day to visit the Bristlecone Pine forest. It's incredible just to see the birds and the trees, but at 10,000 feet, the views are beyond belief.

Western Meadowlark in the Volcanic Barrens of the Sierra Nevada Foothills

The western foothills of the Sierra Nevada are one of the least-known parts of the range. Every year, millions of tourists drive quickly through the grasslands on their way to Yosemite Valley or the recreational lakes towards Sonora Pass. They pay little heed to the barren landscape, but in so doing they are missing out on one of the most dramatic parts of the geological story of the Sierra Nevada.

Nine or ten million years ago, the Sierra Nevada was a different place. The range was lower, and Cascades-style volcanoes were active in the summit regions around Sonora and Ebbets Passes. There may not have been large-scale glaciers, but the volcanoes may have been covered with snow at times, and erupting ash would have produced volcanic mudflows (lahars) that traveled dozens of miles down the western slopes. The mudflows came to rest in the foothills where today the deposits are called the Mehrten Formation.

In some circumstances, the volcanic muds could produce rich soils, but yearly rainfall is only enough for prairie grasses to grow. It's not a desert, but it's not a woodland either. The grasslands do provide excellent habitat for the Western Meadowlark (Sturnella neglecta), and it's a rare trip when I don't see one in the area. These pictures are from a short excursion a week or two ago on Willms Road near Knights Ferry on the Stanislaus River. One can just make out the bird on the rocks in the foreground of the first picture, but zooming in I got a better view. I love the colors of the lichens on the rocks.

Horned Lark on the California Prairie (what's left of it, anyway)

Although I no doubt had seen them, I didn't recognize Horned Larks (Eremophila alpestris) until early last year during my travels through the remaining prairies of Central California. At a distance I mistook them for Meadowlarks. I was on a work errand in the Sierra Nevada foothills a few days ago, helping to select rocks (well, really giant boulders) that will become part of our Outdoor Education Laboratory next to our Science Center. I was near Knights Ferry and Willms Road, so I took ten minutes to check out the prairie off to the south. It didn't take long to find a few of the Horned Larks (and some Meadowlarks too).

The birds have declined in the last few decades, to only about 30% of their former population. There are probably plenty of factors, but humans are behind most of them. The biggest factor is probably loss of habitat as more and more prairie is plowed under in service to nut orchards (in our area at least), and the essentially unrestrained use of pesticides that has caused the insect population on our planet to plummet drastically (recent reports suggest that 70-80% of bugs have disappeared in recent decades). There's the cliché of the canary in the coal mine to describe the harbinger of things to come, but a new version would be the disappearing Larks of the prairie.

I've been kind of depressed lately that we really have arrived at the Silent Spring that Rachel Carson wrote about half a century ago.

In case you were wondering why they are called "horned" larks...

One of the Obvious Ones: The Northern Mockingbird at the Merced National Wildlife Refuge

There are some birds you just can't miss. They are in your neighborhood. They're in your yard. Maybe you see them where you work, especially if you work outdoors. And if you can't see them, you probably hear them. They sing incessantly, and it doesn't matter if it's day or night. Some individuals will sing 200 different songs over the course of their lifetime. On top of everything else, they are territorial, and will be perched in obvious places, making sure they are seen. And they'll fight with other birds. There's a virtual war that takes place in my backyard between them and the Scrub Jays.

It is of course the Northern Mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos), a bird that is almost unique to the United States (there are quite a few in Mexico, almost none in Canada). They've been found in all the lower 48 states, and are now common in Hawaii where they are an introduced species. They've also been seen in Alaska, but only very rarely. When I walk my neighborhood, I tend to ignore them. But when I toured the Merced National Wildlife Refuge a few weeks back, this individual was there to great me at the entrance to the auto-tour, literally perching on the welcome sign. I took it as an invitation, and snapped a number of close-ups.

As common as they are, the Northern Mockingbird almost disappeared from the eastern United states because they were cherished as songbird pets. They were enshrined in literature as well, being part of story of Scout and Atticus Finch. I guess Mockingbirds were on my mind this week as yet another misguided school districted decided to remove the book "To Kill a Mockingbird" because it made people "uncomfortable". From the movie version:

Atticus Finch: I remember when my daddy gave me that gun. He told me that I should never point it at anything in the house; and that he'd rather I'd shoot at tin cans in the backyard. But he said that sooner or later he supposed the temptation to go after birds would be too much, and that I could shoot all the blue jays I wanted - if I could hit 'em; but to remember it was a sin to kill a mockingbird.
Jem: Why?
Atticus Finch: Well, I reckon because mockingbirds don't do anything but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat people's gardens, don't nest in the corncrib, they don't do one thing but just sing their hearts out for us.

White-faced Ibis at the Merced National Wildlife Refuge

The White-faced Ibis (Plegadis chihi) certainly has one of the more interesting beaks in the bird kingdom. Everything in evolution has (or once had) a purpose, or the adaptation would have disappeared. The thick curved beak of the ibis is an excellent tool for probing deep into the mud of shallow ponds. We saw this one on a brief tour of the Merced National Wildlife Refuge last week.

The "white face" part appears during the breeding season, which as can be seen is not right now. The Ibis is more of a tropical species, and we have one of the northernmost winter populations in the country. Most of those seen in western North America are headed to winter roosts in Mexico.

An Oak Titmouse, the Quintessential California Bird, in my Backyard

I don't report on birds from my backyard very often. I have several feeders, but for the most part they attract California Scrub Jays, House Finches and European (House) Sparrows. But once in awhile a more unusual bird will show up. The White Crowned Sparrows have arrived on their fall migration, for instance, and today there was a Black Phoebe in the yard, which I've only seen there once before. But the other bird was a surprise, because I've never seen one here ever: an Oak Titmouse (Baeolophus inornatus).

It was fairly cautious, waiting until the other birds left the feeder, and quickly grabbing a bit and then retreating to the Mulberry tree. It came back four times, and I tried to be ready, but only got these couple of slightly overexposed shots. I'll have to spend more time back there "relaxing".

The Oak Titmouse is about as close as a bird can be to being a California endemic species without actually being one. Like the Acorn Woodpecker, it ranges through the California oak woodlands that extend from the northern edge of Baja California to the hills and mountains of southern Oregon. There is a closely related species in Nevada called the Juniper Titmouse. They were once considered to be a single species, but there are differences in their coloration, and also in their songs. They are almost completely isolated by the Sierra Nevada with only a small area of overlap in northwest corner of the state.

A bonus shot of a White-crowned Sparrow, which also visited this morning

Red-shouldered Hawk on the Tuolumne River Parkway Trail

I haven't seen too many Red-shouldered Hawks (Buteo lineatus) of late. The last ones I got pictures of seem to have been in 2015, and the only one on the Tuolumne River Parkway Trail was a juvenile. So, maybe this is the same one, grown up now. I couldn't say. But it was a pleasant surprise to see it perched on the dead cottonwood tree below the water treatment plant.

The Red-shouldered Hawks have a strange distribution. They are common and widespread across the eastern United States and eastern Mexico, and then there is a broad swath across the Midwest, the Rocky Mountains, and Great Basin where they are almost never seen. And then in California, they are common. The separation has produce evolutionary changes, with four distinctive subspecies in the east, and one in the west.

The Red-shouldered Hawks are territorial, and unlike many in the east who migrate with the seasons, they remain in California year-round. That obviously means I need to pay better attention if I want to see this one again.