Bicknell's Thrush in New Hampshire

The lure of finding a Bicknell's Thrush –– a rare summer denizen of high elevations in New England and southeasternmost Canada –– pulled me away from the heat of southern Arizona last month. (The cool mists of northern New Hampshire might have had something to do with it, too!)

Alan and I set out on an eventful drive through Tornado Alley, which results in our seeking refuge in a truck stop's reinforced shower area with perhaps 100 other refugees from the raging tornados. Truckers study the tornado apps on their cell phones while the winds howl.

Resuming our drive, we eventually land in Philadelphia at Bartram's Gardens, where I bequeath my painting of Bartram's Painted Vulture to the museum's permanent collection. Our friend Jim Shiflett joins us here, and curator Joel Fry gives the three of us a wonderfully fun tour of the famous botanical garden. (You can read more about William Bartram and see the painting in my post from March 20, 2013.)

But enough city! In my mind I can hear the haunting flute-song of a Bicknell's Thrush, shimmering over the krummholz. Krummholz is the stunted, bent forest often found at timberline, where exposure to fierce winds prunes the trees. These Black Spruce and Balsam Firs of New Hampshire's northwoods survive at timberline where they have sheltering rocks and enough snow cover. They form a dense tangle of twisted, short trees at timberline, which –– along with the taller bordering forest that grows slightly lower on the mountain –– is just this thrush's cup of tea... Labrador tea!

Krummholz on Mt Washington, New Hampshire (Photos by Narca)

Perhaps the harsh conditions contribute to the thrush's unusual breeding system: a single female will mate with as many as four males, all of whom help to feed the nestlings. It may take that many adults to optimize the chances of raising a clutch of chicks in this challenging environment!

Hmmm

Mt Washington wreathed in cloud

We have chosen Mt Washington in New Hampshire, with its private, good road to the top, as our destination for searching for the thrush. Rain threatens, and the mountain is crowned in cloud, as we make our way to timberline. A pullout allows for parking, and we walk back down through the krummholz and into the taller forest next to it. Very soon we hear the thrush's melody, and Jim spots our singer at the tip of a nearby spruce. Jubilation!

Bicknell's Thrush is a cryptic species, originally lumped with the more widespread Gray-cheeked Thrush. Studies show them to be a species in their own right. It is not only rare but secretive, and we are very lucky to have such a fine look, even though the early light doesn't allow for good photos. Here's the best I can do: guess you'll have to trust me with this one.

Yes, it really IS a Bicknell's Thrush!

Mt Washington is home to a host of other northern birds, like Yellow-bellied Flycatchers, Boreal Chickadees, and Blackpoll Warblers, and we thoroughly enjoy our morning. Even a Black Bear is romping through the ferns –– a mammal I didn't expect to see in New England!

A chewed-on Black Bear on Mt Washington, New Hampshire

Huachuca Canyon with WFO

Our immersion in Huachuca Canyon, emerald-green and moist in this monsoon season, was a balm. One of the morning field trips at the Western Field Ornithologists' annual meeting explored this beautiful canyon, which is less often visited than neighboring Garden and Sawmill Canyons. Tony Battiste and Adam Searcy ably led the group.

At the mouth of Huachuca Canyon in the Huachuca Mountains

(All photos by Narca)

Some of the out-of-state folks had never seen an Elegant Trogon, so that species was a big highlight, as were a couple of juvenile Gray Hawks begging frequently and chasing after harried parents.

Immature Gray Hawk in Huachuca Canyon

Mary Gustafson pointed out a field mark on the young Gray Hawk that I hadn't been aware of: look at the tail bands. Those bands become increasingly thicker toward the end of the tail. This mark, Mary says, is reliable for separating young Grays from young Broad-wings.

Elegant Trogon male in Huachuca Canyon

A charming Canyon Tree Frog swam across the stream where it crossed the road. I don't see this amphibian very often. Its eyelids gleamed with glints of gold and copper.

Canyon Tree Frog in Huachuca Canyon

Overall the migrants still seemed low in number, but we did see a number of the resident "trophy" species of southeast Arizona: Sulphur-bellied Flycatchers, Hepatic Tanager. I saw a Violet-crowned Hummingbird, which appeared to be mobbing something at the back of an oak tree. They will mob Northern Pygmy-Owls, but if an owl was present, it didn't show.

A fair-sized Black Bear in Huachuca Canyon

The decision of how far to walk upcanyon was made for us: a big cinnamon-shaded Black Bear was lapping up berries at the side of the road and was loathe to abandon his feasting spot.

Out on the grasslands, singing Cassin's and Botteri's Sparrows gave everyone great views; a Greater Roadrunner was sunning in a clump of yuccas; and a gorgeous Painted Grasshopper added a burst of color to the scene.

A sunning roadrunner exposes the black bases of its back feathers to soak up more sun.

A spectacularly-marked Painted Grasshopper

As always, the WFO meeting was great fun. About 180 people attended, and both field trips and the science sessions were excellent. The annual meetings are renowned for the appearances of great rarities, with so many skilled field biologists scouring an area, and this was no exception. An Aztec Thrush wowed Homer Hansen's group in Garden Canyon.

Next meeting: Petaluma, California. Go! You'll love it.

Winter Walk in South Fork

The beauty of the South Fork of Cave Creek Canyon never fails to enchant those who stray into it. Most know it in spring when neotropical migrants pour through the canyon corridors, or in summer, when the croaks of Elegant Trogons echo off the burnt orange cliffs, overlain with lime-green lichens.

Arizona Sycamores in South Fork (Photo by Narca)

Now it's winter, and peacefulness lies as deep as the drifts of sycamore leaves.

I often hike up the South Fork road with friends, usually Peg or Rose Ann, but some days when the call of the canyon is especially strong, I go alone, quietly. That's when a Black Bear is more likely to amble across the dirt road, oblivious to a hiker. That's when I'm more likely to tune into the small flocks of confiding Yellow-eyed Juncos that forage unobtrusively at the road's edge.

Today sparkles, after last night's mix of rain and light snow. The luminous cliffs glow intensely orange against the skyblue. Flocks of ubiquitous Mexican Jays probe into crevices and under leaves. An Arizona Woodpecker taps softly in the oaks.

The cliffs of South Fork (Photo by Narca)

Today a troop of Coatis cavorts in the creek bed and noses through the drifts of fallen, rusty-gold leaves. Females and young gather in troops like this one. The males (like this big guy who visited our house last month) are solitary. In Costa Rica, people used to think that there were two species of Coatimundi––those that lived in groups, and those who were solitary, the "Lonely Coati."

A lone male Coati (Photo by Narca)

When our own quiet matches the forest's quiet, we find its life.