Ducks aren’t the first avian group most birders think of when they think of the Sonoran desert, but the diversity of waterfowl species here in the winter is matched only by their concentration: because water is scarce here, the birds mass in big numbers on whatever ponds and puddles they can find. Many of them are driven to feed and loaf in Tucson’s city parks, where otherwise shy species often “tame down” quickly and give amazing views.

This is especially remarkable among the Aythya divers, none of which one typically thinks of as confiding. But even Lesser Scaup can be approached to within a few feet on the concrete pond at Reid Park.

Even more astonishing, Bryan had a pair of Greater here last week–I should have dropped everything and run!

Redheads have been common everywhere for the last couple of weeks. (This was intended to be another Lesser Scaup photo, but then this beauty swam into the picture.)

It’s always fun to show people this species and Ring-necked Duck together at close range; suddenly the distinctions come clear in ways that they might not through a scope at half a mile.

Even the king of the bay ducks, or in this case the queen, is common and calm; I can’t imagine what Canvasbacks are eating here.

And there’s always the chance of a surprise, like this fine Hooded Merganser at Fort Lowell a couple of days ago.

The desert really is ducky this time of year!

A post-prandial stroll anywhere in Tucson can be counted on for a flycatcher or two. This time of year, the commonest are also two of the prettiest, one a feathered ember, the other shaped of reddish clay.

Vermilion Flycatchers are common enough, but demanding in their habitat choices, stubbornly refusing to leave the cemeteries, irrigation ditches, and parks that provide them with water and a little shade. Several winter less than a quarter mile from our house on the grass-lined ponds of the golf course, but not once has one wandered up out of the wash to visit us. And we’ve been watching.

A little more understated, Say’s Phoebe has dropped by a time or two. Unlike Vermilion Flycatcher and the other phoebe species, Say’s doesn’t care one way or the other about water, and they are every bit as much at home out on the cotton flats of the Lower Santa Cruz as in city parks and parking lots, where they hover-hunt low over dusty fields and concrete. The past couple of weeks, the males have become quite vocal, singing a sweet little whistled song that is as gentle as their faces.

There’s nothing like a walk in Reid Park or Fort Lowell to break up a day at the office. This time of year, both localities are full of flashy, colorful birds, but somehow I always find myself lingering over the icterids.

Brewer’s Blackbird is exclusively a winter resident here in southeast Arizona, where it tends to occur in feedlots, pastures, and city parks. They are at their brightest right now, the dull edgings of winter worn away and the males’ eyes glinting with thoughts of the season to come.

Even the females, like this one, have a certain elegance as they high-step it across the sidewalks and through the cow patties.

More dramatic are the Great-tailed Grackles, stunningly beautiful bruisers of parking lots and other wastelands. The males are busy tuning up their squeals and trumpets for spring, but the females have been strangely inconspicuous recently: perhaps already on the nest?

Unlike Brewer’s Blackbird, Great-tailed Grackle is a permanent resident–but like so many Tucsonans, a recent arrival. The species has just celebrated its 70th anniversary in the state, and its appearance in 1935 was, in retrospect, one of the first sorties in its continuing campaign to take over the continent.