I’d slipped out to Tavasci Marsh Friday afternoon for a few minutes, so was really looking forward to this morning’s formal field trip. I wasn’t alone in my excitement, and Rob, the fine leader for this excursion, had his hands full with a couple of dozen eager birders.

The place is simply dazzling, a cattail marsh in a tight little valley surmounted by the ruins of Tuzigoot, one of the most beautiful Native American sites I’ve ever seen. It is particularly impressive in the low-angled light of early morning, when shadows create volume and depth and the silence of the desert helps the imagination hear the voices of the long-dead. This is a place to visit often, in respect, and alone.

Oblivious to the weight of the centuries, though, the marsh birds go about their business in full voice and sometimes in full view. Yellow-breasted Chats contribute most of the audible song, and we actually saw ridiculous numbers of these amazing birds, including one singing bird whose breast and throat were decidedly towards the orange end of yellow. Song Sparrows, pale and sparsely marked fallax (or fallax/montana intergrades), were equally conspicuous out in the dense cattails. Soras and Virginia Rails whinnied and grunted, but unfortunately never left their Typha fastnesses to give us good looks.

The gigantic cottonwoods offer nest sites for raptors, and at one point the neighborhood seemed a bit cramped for the Red-tailed and Cooper’s Hawks occupying adjacent territories. One of the Cooper’s Hawks was so unfortunate as to be discovered by a Western Kingbird, which chased the poor birdhawk long and hard before either losing interest or rediscovering its instinct for self-preservation. The Cooper’s Hawk, no doubt smarting from the injury to his pride, decided that the best way to restore avian self-esteem was to find somebody to pick on himself, and at that moment one of the neighboring Red-tails rather unwisely took flight, only to find itself beset by an accipiter in a decidedly bad mood; the Cooper’s struck the larger bird several times as victim and aggressor alike rolled through the sky, each trying to gain altitude above the other. The Red-tail finally managed to get above the Cooper’s, and the sight of those dangling talons discouraged the smaller bird from further attack. A great show, and a great way to end the last field trip of the festival!

An early start and a late finish to this, the longest day of the festival. I managed to get a space on the “Condor Caper” trip to the Grand Canyon, co-led by the informative and congenial team of Rob (The Lost Ecologist) and Kathy (from AZGFD). The long drive up was relatively unimpeded by birdiness, though I did enjoy being back in the land of the American Crow, particularly when I saw one chasing a Common Raven near Flagstaff.

We arrived at Bright Angel just as the California Condors were starting to fly around a bit, and had the usual unbelievably close views of four or more individuals, including an untagged juvenile that Kathy said was probably a wild-hatched bird. They are truly astounding birds, but the whole “condor experience” sometimes leaves a lot to be desired: they’re way too close to the crowds, and the crowds are way too noisy, and it’s just plain depressing to know that these birds are handled regularly and re-released. The high point of the morning for many of us was picking out a lone bird miles away against the north rim of the Canyon, too far to see its plastic name tag, nearly too far to identify, but so much more like what I think condor-watching must have been like before 1987. Sigh.

The pine forests around Grand Canyon Village were pretty bleak, though it was fun to watch Pygmy Nuthatches at the nest. I enjoyed a pair of Red-backed Juncos, too. I think we were all a bit relieved, though, when it was time to head back. We made a quick and unscheduled stop in Coconino National Forest, and split up into 2 groups to see what we could come up with. The ponderosa pine forest was looking pretty empty when suddenly we heard the metallic, rasping song of Olive Warbler, and most of the group got a good look at the bird high up in the trees. I’d never seen one this far north.

My evening lecture, “Birding the Southwest Frontier,” was well received; I was especially gratified by the sophistication of the questions afterwards, a couple of which gave me ideas for new talks. It’s a really fine group of birders who have assembled for this festival!

Tired.

Rain, and lots of it, a welcome sight to those of us used to this long Arizona drought; when I got in the car early this morning to head out to Dead Horse, I had forgot how to use my windshield wipers! But I figured that the birds would react at least as enthusiastically as I did to the precipitation, so spent 45 minutes along the Rio Verde before joining up with this morning’s field trip to Page Springs.

Glad I made the effort, too. Though the rain was occasionally annoying to me, the be-spectacled, the birds were positively frolicking. The feeders had essentially the same species as yesterday, but Chipping Sparrow numbers had greatly increased, and among them was a partial albino, the first I could recall ever having seen of this species. What was perhaps more interesting was the fact that the albinism was asymmetrical: on one wing, most of the median coverts and a couple of the greaters were white, while on the other all but a few median coverts were normally colored. The rump was patchy white and gray, and there were small white patches on each side of the neck as well. The bird was terrifically aggressive, chasing conspecifics from the feeder.

The attempt to revisit the placid pools I’d discovered yesterday was frustrated by the rushing waters of the Verde; I think we got a lot of rain last night. So I strolled downstream. I was puzzled by how quiet this stretch was: until, that is, I realized that the pale lump in the tree ahead of me was a Barn Owl! Poor bird was as surly as it was sodden, and barely twitched at my intrusion; it was still there a minute later when I returned with a couple of the more weatherproof birders waiting for their morning vans. Why the crazy bird was not snug in a dry hole in the riverbank is a mystery.

Off to Page Springs then, where Noah did a great job of showing a big crowd of eager birders the local attractions. The rain stopped, for the most part, and we enjoyed a fine raptor show, including Bald Eagle and a pair of Common Black-Hawks on a nest. Though we could not see far enough into the nest to be sure, the adults appeared to be brooding, and perhaps feeding, a nestling or two. This is a very special bird, one of the few “Arizona specialties” less common in southeast Arizona than in the central and northern parts of the state (and in fact, I can’t remember whether I’ve seen it in the southeast at all yet this spring!).

Noah smiled a bit when I asked him about shorebirds, but thanks to good scouting, he still managed to find me some Killdeer and a few Spotted Sandpipers on the open ponds. A breath-taking American Pipit showed everyone why the species is better styled “Buff-bellied,” and Violet-green and Northern Rough-winged Swallows fluttered and swooped, respectively, above our heads. A great morning!

Birding festivals can be a great way to see new birds, get to know new localities, and hang out with new friends (and some old ones, too, sometimes!). I’m delighted to have been invited to this year’s Verde Valley festival, based in Cottonwood, AZ, and everything seems to be off to a great start.

I showed up a couple of hours early this morning to wander a bit along the Verde River in the evocatively named Dead Horse Ranch State Park. The river itself was alive with birds, including Wood Ducks overhead and Summer Tanagers chick-chupping in the magnificent cottonwoods. A feeder area has been set up just across the road from the registration tents, and seed and sugar water has already attracted great numbers of Chipping Sparrows and Gambel’s Quail, with good numbers of Black-headed Grosbeaks, Lazuli Buntings, and Black-chinned and Anna’s Hummingbirds dropping in. There is a local pair of Cooper’s Hawks, and I think I glimpsed a Sharp-shinned Hawk at one point, too, so all this feathered plenty is unlikely to go unexploited by the raptors.

For most of the day, I joined a field trip to Agua Fria National Monument, about an hour south of Cottonwood, wonderfully led by John; we were a small group, and everyone enjoyed great views of the birds in this beautiful desert area. Costa’s Hummingbird was easy to find, and I counted, conservatively, five males along our walk. The cottonwoods and willows were full of migrants, mostly Wilson’s Warblers, but the big surprise was the number of Cassin’s Vireos: I think the fourteen (fourteen!) I counted were the most I’d ever seen in a day, and many of them gave spectacularly close, long views. Streamside skulkers graciously let themselves be glimpsed, too, and I think everybody eventually got good looks at Lincoln’s Sparrow and MacGillivray’s Warbler.

Restaurant recommendation: Georgie’s Cafe, in Cottonwood; simple, good-quality food and excellent service.

Curve-billed Thrashers work hard, as they would no doubt tell you themselves if they could speak; every fallen leaf, every rock pile, everything potentially edible or potentially hiding something edible is a task, a challenge to be overcome, and they go about their business with an earnestness and an energy that makes me glad to outweigh them.

Never are they busier than right now, though, with the first fledglings joining their parents in the search for food and adventure. Our quail block sustained such a family all morning today, the fluffy juveniles giving an incessant squeaky chatter, the parents whacking off great chunks of seed with those wicked bills and stuffing them into the fledglings’ throats in equal efforts, I think, to sate them and to shut them up. The other birds stay carefully out of their way, probably a good choice!