Texas - Part VI

It was early.  Almost 5 a.m., and still pitch dark.  The night sky shone with innumerable pinpoints of starlight, clearer than almost anywhere else in the country.  And it was quiet.  When you're in a public place, like the Chisos Mountain Lodge, and you walk outside to begin your adventure that early in the morning, what you notice most, however, is not the silence, but the motionlessness.  There's no one else.  No one.  No cars coursing through the parking lot.  No hikers on the trails.  No rangers making their rounds.  A complete lack of human presence: no one moving, no one observing.  You're alone.

You can't help but feel like you're on a covert mission.  While everyone else sleeps soundly in their beds, you're alert, sprung to action, and on the hunt.  You're one step ahead.  You're communing with the pre-dawn world, as if by some sacred pact, you alone have been entrusted with a knowledge and awareness to which the rest of humankind is oblivious.

But I wasn't entirely alone on my mission.  A cabal of five, illuminated only by flashlight, had formed outside in the parking lot, and there, in the privacy of the darkness, my four accomplices and I began to talk strategy.  Zack, Mike, Melanie, and Marcia confirmed that we had flashlights, water, food, and other supplies for the day's journey.  We would be hiking up the Pinnacles trail for the first hour or so without daylight.  Our goal was to reach, by daybreak, an elevation high enough to provide the proper habitat preferred by our primary target, the Colima Warbler.

The Colima Warbler has one of the most limited ranges within the United States of any breeding bird in the country.  It's found only in the Big Bend area of west Texas, only in the Chisos Mountains, and only within oak woods at high elevations.  Even in the proper area, and in the proper habitat, it's rare.  And even if you're fortunate enough to find one at last, seeing it well is still another challenge.  As its name implies, the Colima Warbler also breeds in Mexico, but finding one there is even less of a picnic.  You've got to work hard and you have to be lucky.  However, the more I grow as a birder, the more I subscribe to the sage words of Obi-Wan Kenobi: "In my experience, there's no such thing as luck."  Better said, birders make their own luck.

If locating and observing a Colima Warbler is a formidable challenge on its own, you can imagine how herculean a task it must have been for Bill to try to get all of the participants on our trip to get the bird.  My group was already heading out, but Bill would be leading a second charge up the mountain about thirty minutes later.  We would all try to stay within radio contact, and if one group located the Colima Warbler first, the others would hurry to that location and we would all try to get the bird together.  Eighteen of us.  Were we daunted?  When you take your first steps up the Pinnacles trail, you feel only one emotion: exhilaration.

Perhaps we should have been daunted, though.  I spoke to three other groups of birders staying at the Chisos Mountain Lodge who climbed for the Colima Warbler.  One of them got only half of their team on the bird, and the other two groups struck out entirely.  In addition, all of the successful sightings that had been reported thus far were coming from the Laguna Meadows trail, which Bill had decided to forego.  That was a gentler but longer trail, one with which Bill had experienced less success during prior trips.  His hunch was to explore the Pinnacles Trail which was shorter but steeper and which might afford better viewing opportunities if we did find a Colima.  The Pinnacle Trail it was, and my group now took its first steps in that direction.

To get to the Pinnacles Trail, we first had to walk down a paved road lined with quiet cottages.  We were still on that paved road when we first heard an eerie, alien sound, a muffled yelping, emanating from the woods behind the cottages.  An Elf Owl, cheering us along on our mission.  There was no hope in seeing the tiny owl this time (although we would have somewhat better success a few days later...), so we continued.  We located the beginning of the Pinnacles Trail, a narrow, gravel path that would wind uphill for several miles, and we began.

It was dark for the next hour.  Our flashlights lit the way ahead.  It was especially quiet, save for our footfalls on the crunchy gravel below.  And therefore it came as a surprise when we heard another nighttime call, this time a Whip-poor-will, sounding from ahead.  After a few moments of listening, it dawned on us that this was a Mexican Whip-poor-will, recently described as a new species, distinct from the Eastern Whip-poor-will back home.  The range maps made it clear that this was indeed a Mexican Whip-poor-will, but we didn't need the maps to figure that out.  The songs of the two species are noticeably different.  Want to listen for yourself?  Ok, here's the call of an Eastern Whip-poor-will.  Pay attention especially to the smooth tone of the first note:

Eastern Whip-poor-will

Now, compare that to the sound we heard along the Pinnacles Trail.  Unfortunately, the only recording I could find online includes a couple of irritating commentators, as you'll hear, who like to talk over the beautiful call.  But you can still hear the Whip-poor-will fine.  Again, pay close attention to that first note...

Mexican Whip-poor-will...and annoying narrators

Play both variations in quick succession.  Can you hear the difference in the tone of the call, especially in the first note?  The Mexican Whip-poor-will's call is much huskier and burrier, and we could clearly discern that distinct burriness in the call of the whip-poor-will that lured us farther forward.

We never did see the whip-poor-will, and once the sun began to rise, it ceased calling.  But now that dawn was breaking, other birds began to sing, and as we said good-bye to the owls and nightjars, we braced for the dawn chorus that awaited us.

We had now been hiking for over an hour.  No sight or sound of a Colima Warbler yet, but we were still too low.  We were high enough for a different new species, however.  As we ascended, we began to hear shrill, raucous cries from all directions, and even before we could see them, we knew they were Mexican Jays.  As the morning light brightened, we began to catch little snatches of blue and white swooping through the trees.  They knew we were there.  They were on to us.

But they weren't displeased with our presence.  Like most jays, they were very inquisitive, and soon, they left off circling us surreptitiously and flew right in, within just a few feet, to size us up.  And once one bold jay had broken rank and established that we were innocuous, others followed.  One jay followed another, and in moments, we had a full audience of Mexican Jays, peering at us curiously from every branch.

"Hmmm...should I trust these strangers?"

It was still too dim for me to take many good photographs, although I would have more chances in the afternoon...But, when jays approach, your hands instinctively reach for peanuts and trail mix, to see what might be possible. These jays were ready to throw caution to the wind, so when we all extended our open palms peppered with various nuts and crackers, the jays pounced, landed on our outstretched hands, stole the booty, and retired to a safe perch to enjoy their unexpected treats.

"Who cares?  They have almonds!"

After the jays grew tired, or satiated, they left us alone, and we continued up the trail.  White-throated Swifts called as they coursed through the sky above.  Bewick's Wrens and Black-crested Titmice were all over the place.  And then this guy.  Ooooooh, this guy.

The Empidonax, the thorn in the side of birders everywhere.

I believe this may be a Hammond's Flycatcher.  They are frequently found along the Pinnacles Trail in April, although this particular fellow didn't vocalize, so it's tough to be sure.  I'm basing my inclination on the long primary projection, the narrow shortish notched tail, the overall gray coloration, the short darkish bill, the eye-ring, and the head shape (with a peak more toward the rear).  Usually a Dusky Flycatcher will show a rounder head with a "bulge" more toward the front, as well as a shorter primary projection, making the tail appear long.  A Least Flycatcher would also be expected to show a shorter primary projection, in addition to a bolder, more complete eye-ring.  Can we have a look from another angle?

Does that make it any easier?  Not really.

We'll never know for sure, but the close scrutiny is definitely good practice.  I'd love to hear your thoughts, especially if you feel like you know these Empids well, or just had a strong gut feeling when you saw the photographs!  Let me know what you think in the comments below!

And now, back to our story...

We continued to climb, Zack, Mike, Melanie, Marcia, and I.  By now, it was light, and we could fully appreciate the breathtaking view of the rugged Chisos Mountains and the basin below.  We were now in range, high enough to satisfy the habitat requirements of our primary target.  And with little fanfare, out of the din of the morning chorus, from somewhere within that lush and layered curtain of song, the five of us heard the quiet and unassuming sound of a Colima Warbler.

Our hearts leapt, but the key word there is somewhere.  The bird was singing, but farther up the trail, not within our current field of view.  We moved onward and upward apace, not speaking, not risking any sound that might obscure the location of this vocalizing warbler.  It continued to sing, and we were getting closer.  Here the trail proceeded to twist back and forth in a series of sharp switchbacks.  Every time we turned the corner, we hoped and expected to come face to face with the source of the song, but for what seemed like an eternity, each successive turn only reinforced the fact that we were still too low.  After fifteen minutes or so, the trail leveled off, and we heard one bout of song that sent shivers down our spines.  The bird was here.  The Colima Warbler was here, somewhere, right in front of us.

We scanned the trees on the right side of the path.  Movement.  Some jumpy movements within the leaves.  A snippet of color from behind the foliage.  There's a bird!  Is that it?  Have I got it?  Argh, it's a Ruby-crowned Kinglet!  But the Colima is still in there, somewhere, still singing.  And then, a tail end.  An orange undertail.  That's it!  It's the Colima!  But...aaah, I still can't quite get a view.  A few disconnected looks at backs and tails, and the bird disappeared.  Some members of our corps had had decent looks, but it wasn't what we had hoped for.  We radioed down to Bill and his group, who were thankfully within range, gave them the story, and they hurried up to meet us.

There were now eighteen of us strewn up and down the trail, all trying to relocate this Colima Warbler.  And over the next half-hour, it would occasionally reappear, sometimes on one side of the group, finally giving great looks to one or two people there, sometimes on the other, showing off for a few more birders.  At one point, Gene had taken a well-deserved rest on a comfortable rock at a bend in the trail, and he somehow willed the Colima Warbler to come down to meet him!  The warbler alit on a low branch, right at eye level, and Gene and a few others had probably the best look of the day!

We all kept working, and at last, after being patient for so long, the bird landed in a tree whose branches hung just over the path, and most of the group, those who hadn't yet gotten their "life looks," raced over and were finally treated to a beautiful view of the rare and elusive Colima Warbler.

Success!

I know he doesn't look like a showstopper.  In fact, overall, he's pretty drab.  But click to enlarge, and you can see, as we did, the surprisingly bold eye-ring, the various shades of brown and beige, and the warbler body-shape.  With a bird as difficult to find as the Colima Warbler, you just don't care how showy his plumage is.  And what's more, in the field, as he flits about, he actually does show off bright tawny tail coverts and a chestnut crown patch.  They don't show in this photo, but we enjoyed these field marks and more as he continued to sing and display.

Eventually, he moved off, singing from farther away, and then he was gone.  We wouldn't hear or see another Colima Warbler then or any time afterwards.  Bill's strategy of hiking the Pinnacles Trail and leaving early in the morning had paid off.  All eighteen of us saw the bird well, a true accomplishment!

Once you've gotten your eyes on a target of such significance, and after such hard work, you feel so light-hearted, you could just fly back down to the bottom!  Everyone was grinning and chatting and skipping around...It didn't matter what happened the rest of the day.  The Colima Warbler was in the bag!  Now, we were at our leisure to continue up the trail, all the way to Boot Spring, and then back down via the Laguna Meadows trail.  We were completely content.  Whatever happened the rest of the day would just be a bonus.

Most of us did continue up the trail.  Boot Spring would be a fun destination, a migrant trap at the end of the Pinnacles Trail where who knows what rarities might be discovered?  Along the way, as we bounced buoyantly along the path, the clown faces of Acorn Woodpeckers could be seen inspecting the oak trees, Hutton's Vireos impersonated kinglets, and Painted Redstarts flashed their tails to scare up tasty snacks.  A few Broad-tailed Hummingbirds buzzed by overhead, but never landed.  And many blooming cactuses lined the path.  I believe these are Barrel Cactuses:

Prettier than a Colima Warbler?

Much easier to see!

There was a bloom or two on every cactus.

Definitely the best time of year to visit Texas!

When we reached Boot Spring, we were dismayed to discover that the spring was completely dry.  Two years of severe drought in Texas has taken its toll.  No water flowed through the riverbed, and the once active waterfall stood as silent as a statue.

But one poignant, almost inaudible sound pierced the silence.  And I knew just what it was.  A Blue-throated Hummingbird!  No water to speak of, but perhaps the Blue-throat had found other water nearby?  Or maybe he just showed up today, as surprised as we were to find the well dry?

We walked down the stairs into the spring area, and began to scan for the hummingbird.  His piercing short call continued incessantly, but we were frustrated in our attempts to find him.  Mike, at last, and his razor-sharp eyes found the hummer.  The light was tough, and in my experience, the Blue-throated Hummingbird is one of the toughest to see the iridescent gorget well.  Still, a great bird to see in any conditions:

He's got his mouth open!  He's saying, "Where the hell did all the water go?!"

You can just begin to make out the blue gorget!

Then, to our surprise, someone else spotted another bird, a warbler, feeding calmly and contentedly in the same tree where the hummingbird sat!  At first, the new mystery man remained obscured, but still, he wasn't fooling anyone...

That's not really the best hiding spot!

He played at staying hidden like the Colima for a while, but the bright afternoon sunshine was just too much for him, and the gorgeous male Townsend's Warbler left off hiding and began jumping from branch to branch, feeding on insects right out in the open.

Also more photogenic than a Colima Warbler?

Is it any wonder we love wood-warblers so?

Light as a feather...Or, thousands of feathers.

Center of attention

Dizzy?

Just adorable

After our fun hiking stop at Boot Spring, we turned around and headed back down to the basin via the Laguna Meadows trail.  Everyone returned at his or her own pace, and we enjoyed whatever birds we happened to encounter along the way.  For my own part, I was accompanied for quite a while by an engaging pair of Blue-gray Gnatcatchers.  A Wilson's Warbler revealed himself briefly.  But the real highlights were the Mexican Jays.  The word must have gotten out among the jay community that we were especially generous donors, because when Bill, Zack, and I paused to rest and enjoy a snack, the floodgates opened, and the jays descended upon us.  No problem for us, though...We had snacks to spare!

"Just what is this human concoction?"

"First, I will peer at it with due suspicion."

"Another moment of hesitation, just for show..."

"Fools!  I was going to eat your precious cookie the whole time!  Sweet victory!"

Many jays came down just to watch the action from above, posing on various perches:

The overseer

Some watched from below:

Mexican Jays from Texas are a brighter blue than the ones from Arizona.

Surveying from below

They're often described as "plain blue and gray."

But when you see one, "plain" doesn't come to mind!

No necklace or breastband, unlike a scrub-jay.

And no black cheek...just black lores.

But just as much attitude!

After leaving the jays once again, our snacks depleted, we made the final trek down the trail, enjoying the gorgeous scenery all the while.  Back at the basin, now late in the afternoon, I found the resident Say's Phoebe, the one nesting in the eaves of the restaurant, once again at her lookout post, scanning for prey.

En garde!

The resident Cactus Wren was also discovered to be nesting in a Yucca near the restaurant.

Our largest wren

Dinner and drinks at the restaurant were especially satisfying that evening.  Not only had we seen the Colima Warbler, but we had done so on our first attempt, freeing up the remaining days in Big Bend to search for other birds.  We ran into other birders during the dinner hour who had also hiked for the Colima...All had either had only some group members see the bird or had missed out entirely.  We had been the first ones up and the only birders that day to see the Colima Warbler well.

After dinner, despite the long day (and over ten hours of hiking), we followed Bill to one of his personal locations where we hoped to find an Elf Owl at dusk.  After positioning the cars, we first saw Lesser Nighthawks flapping low through the evening sky.  Soon, we were hearing Elf Owls.  One was calling from a telephone pole a ways down the road.  As there was no traffic where we were, we repositioned, and with the help of my trusty Workforce spotlight, we were able to see the Elf Owl flying around the pole and landing on the telephone wires.  Not everyone saw the owl well, and at the time, we didn't know how well we might expect to see an Elf Owl again.  The biggest surprises come when you least expect them.  For the time being, we returned to our cabins for a good night's sleep.  The next morning, we would be attempting a hike of a much different nature - through Blue Creek Canyon...low and flat but hot and possibly even more arduous than what we had endured earlier that day.  But the targets would be just as exciting, if possible, such as the beautiful but very local Lucifer Hummingbird.  One bird at a time, though.  The Colima was "tucked away," as Bill says, and we could all sleep easy knowing that hurdle lay behind us.  A well-strategized and well-executed team effort by all involved...Congrats, everyone!

Now, what time are we getting up tomorrow?