Dawn in Yecora November 10 was cold and gray, with only the bright spirits of a clothesline to lighten the scene. The weather continued dank and dark all morning, even with a spit of rain or two, and the dull light made photography difficult (my excuse, at least). But not even the skies could dim the abundant Eastern Bluebirds, gathered in large flocks wherever there were open stands of oak on the edges of town.

We decided to spend the day visiting as many sites along MX 16 as possible, including checking some out that we’d noticed but not investigated the day before. We started just below Yecora, where the river is lined with a series of small ponds. Great Blue Herons and Great Egrets fed along the edges, and the only Belted Kingfisher of our trip was hunting one of the more open ponds. The largest tank was fenced, but we had a good view of the American Coots and a pair of Pied-billed Grebes on the surface; we were expecting ducks and cattail lurkers, but the margins of these ponds seem to have been recently cleared, making the Killdeer and Black Phoebes happy enough.

Thence out past the Yecora cemetery on the road that we thought led to Mesa Grande. We quickly gained elevation to find ourselves in a dry oak woodland, but no mesas in sight, so we contented ourselves with a few Scott’s Orioles, untold zillions of Eastern Bluebirds, and a fine flock of 40 Pine Siskins buzzing the tops of the trees.

We’d made careful note the day before of spots along MX 16 that looked like they might provide access to interesting habitat, and with bird activity fairly low along the road, we took some time to check several of these more carefully.

This beautiful trail at KM275, a scant three miles down from Yecora, led gently uphill through oaks, and would no doubt reward a full day’s hike sometime, as it seemed to lead all the way up the mountain. The wind depressed bird activity, and our most interesting find here was the mortal remains of a Wild Turkey, the only even partial individual of the species we saw. The turkey, the scattered Bridled Titmice and Painted Redstarts, the oaks and the trail all reminded me of Arizona’s Huachucas–as did the November silence.

A few more stops along the road looked equally promising but were, for the most part, equally slow for birding. We did pick up our first Rusty Sparrow, a sneaky creature beneath the manzanita at a wide roadcut, and stopped again at The Barranca; the spring and the woods were remarkably still, with nothing but the chippering of White-eared Hummingbirds to break the silence.

Suppose a bird like that is nothing really to complain about!

We decided to push on west to Tepoco, a name I kept confusing with Topeka. We weren’t in Kansas, though, that’s for sure, when the wheep of a Nutting’s Flycatcher drifted down from the trees; we had our best look at that species here, though the largest numbers were in the deciduous edge near the figs at KM 196 and along what we christened “Bluepipe Road,” a well-built dirt track leading up through fields and forest fragments to, what else, a set of microwave towers.

We didn’t walk very far up, but this photo shows the good-looking habitat this road gives access to. By the time we were here, it had cleared off and warmed up, and bird activity remained low; our best species in here were Nutting’s Flycatcher and Black-capped Gnatcatcher, but I’m sure that many of the other common birds of the tropical deciduous forest lurk in the woods.

It was getting late, as it always does when you’re birding, but we had one more spot to check on: the Puente San Nicolas, a high bridge on MX 16 crossing a small river (perhaps the Rio Morro). We’d seen a road and vehicle tracks leading off along the bank, and set off walking down it towards the river, the electric chacks of a Green Kingfisher accompanying us and dozens of Cassin’s Kingbirds staging in the sunset to go to roost.

The river and the surrounding forest were breathtakingly beautiful, immaculate by west Mexican standards and full of birds: nothing especially unusual, though the loud pip-pipping that I foolishly failed to immediately recognize was in fact a bird on our target list, a Greater Pewee hunting from the highest of the dead twigs.

As dark fell, we resolved to come back for dawn. The site reminded me of the Cuchujaqui and the Magdalena wrapped into one, and it would pay off….

Meanwhile, it was back to La Palmita, where we enjoyed our simple dinner and trundled off happily to our very basic but comfortable–and relatively quiet–rooms for the short night.