Most of my ideas for posts and stories materialize quickly: I take first-time shots of an owl or I cross paths with a bear in the woods. Other times they take a year or two as I build up a library of photos and encounters with various members of a bird family until I think the collection is informative; I still haven't completed a post on doves in the Arizona wild. And once in a while the story percolates in single brush strokes of unique events until the picture suddenly sharpens and comes into focus. The finishing touch this past weekend on one such tome was a brief and sonorous encounter with a single hummingbird.
Hummingbirds are always a fascinating bird to observe, photograph and write about. I've seen many of the more than a dozen species that call Arizona at least a part-time home or that just pass through on their migrations. Outside of the very southeastern corner of the state, the variety of visitors or residents is maybe only in the single digits. And until now, one of those individuals, the black-chinned hummingbird, eluded me.
I first saw one in the area at the beginning of June, in my very own Prescott neighborhood, on a leafless branch high in a neighbor's front yard. Even from far away, something seemed different about him. With a dark head he might have been any male hummingbird, whose tell-tale iridescent feathers only sparkle in the right light. Perhaps it was his bright white chest, less mottled than that of the many Anna's in the area. Or maybe it was something different about his vocalization.
Focusing my zoom lens on the treetop subject, I snapped a couple of shots. While his head was inky, in a few pictures he twisted his neck and showed a streak of purple. This thin amethyst clerical collar bordering his jet-black chin was the definitive identifying feature.
I was quite excited to find my first black-chinned hummingbird in the central Arizona mountains, part of a broad area of the West where the species migrates for summer breeding. But I sat on the idea of a story for a while because I didn't think I had a "Wow!" photo to illustrate any meaningful story.
Several weeks later, on the Fourth of July, I observed a male black-chinned at one of several feeders outside a Prescott area restaurant. Allowing diners to observe hummingbirds, the sugar water dispensers were in the shade, hanging on the other side of dirty windows - hardly ideal conditions to observe his purple collar. But his black head and chin did contrast with a flash of color in at least a couple of my hazy shots.
So I had yet another compelling reason to write about this long-distance traveler. But I thought I'd wait for better photos and mulled writing a different story about spotting my first juniper titmouse of the season.
Later that weekend, a visit along the Verde Valley wine trail around Clarkdale gave me a chance to visit some wineries bordering two unobstructed waterways: Oak Creek and the Verde River. In between Prescott and Flagstaff, the high desert area is suitable habitat for both grapes and migratory birds. And again at a restaurant and at a feeder and through thick glass, I observed a male black-chinned hummingbird. Maybe the windows were cleaner as I got an especially clear shot that displays his full purple collar.
But shortly after lunch, at a nearby winery, I witnessed a kerfuffle between a pair of common black hawks and a pair of Bullock's orioles. A flurry of attacks and calls coupled with some photographs of these spectacular avian subjects kicked any idea of another hummingbird story a little further down the road.
A day later, back at the Prescott cabin and toward the end of the long holiday weekend, I noticed an insect-like high frequency beeping just behind me as I read a book on the deck. I turned around to look over my right shoulder and quickly noticed not ten feet away, sitting on an oak-tree's branch, a male black-chinned hummingbird staring directly at me. By this point I didn't need a purple flash or a zoomed photograph to identify him - his unique sound was enough.
Ever the aspiring nature journalist, I slipped into the house for my camera. But alas the bird had flown away by the time I returned. He didn't reappear in the next hours or days, but he left a complete story, ripe to pick and prepare and serve to perfection.
Hummingbirds are always a fascinating bird to observe, photograph and write about. I've seen many of the more than a dozen species that call Arizona at least a part-time home or that just pass through on their migrations. Outside of the very southeastern corner of the state, the variety of visitors or residents is maybe only in the single digits. And until now, one of those individuals, the black-chinned hummingbird, eluded me.
I first saw one in the area at the beginning of June, in my very own Prescott neighborhood, on a leafless branch high in a neighbor's front yard. Even from far away, something seemed different about him. With a dark head he might have been any male hummingbird, whose tell-tale iridescent feathers only sparkle in the right light. Perhaps it was his bright white chest, less mottled than that of the many Anna's in the area. Or maybe it was something different about his vocalization.
Focusing my zoom lens on the treetop subject, I snapped a couple of shots. While his head was inky, in a few pictures he twisted his neck and showed a streak of purple. This thin amethyst clerical collar bordering his jet-black chin was the definitive identifying feature.
I was quite excited to find my first black-chinned hummingbird in the central Arizona mountains, part of a broad area of the West where the species migrates for summer breeding. But I sat on the idea of a story for a while because I didn't think I had a "Wow!" photo to illustrate any meaningful story.
Several weeks later, on the Fourth of July, I observed a male black-chinned at one of several feeders outside a Prescott area restaurant. Allowing diners to observe hummingbirds, the sugar water dispensers were in the shade, hanging on the other side of dirty windows - hardly ideal conditions to observe his purple collar. But his black head and chin did contrast with a flash of color in at least a couple of my hazy shots.
So I had yet another compelling reason to write about this long-distance traveler. But I thought I'd wait for better photos and mulled writing a different story about spotting my first juniper titmouse of the season.
Later that weekend, a visit along the Verde Valley wine trail around Clarkdale gave me a chance to visit some wineries bordering two unobstructed waterways: Oak Creek and the Verde River. In between Prescott and Flagstaff, the high desert area is suitable habitat for both grapes and migratory birds. And again at a restaurant and at a feeder and through thick glass, I observed a male black-chinned hummingbird. Maybe the windows were cleaner as I got an especially clear shot that displays his full purple collar.
But shortly after lunch, at a nearby winery, I witnessed a kerfuffle between a pair of common black hawks and a pair of Bullock's orioles. A flurry of attacks and calls coupled with some photographs of these spectacular avian subjects kicked any idea of another hummingbird story a little further down the road.
A day later, back at the Prescott cabin and toward the end of the long holiday weekend, I noticed an insect-like high frequency beeping just behind me as I read a book on the deck. I turned around to look over my right shoulder and quickly noticed not ten feet away, sitting on an oak-tree's branch, a male black-chinned hummingbird staring directly at me. By this point I didn't need a purple flash or a zoomed photograph to identify him - his unique sound was enough.
Ever the aspiring nature journalist, I slipped into the house for my camera. But alas the bird had flown away by the time I returned. He didn't reappear in the next hours or days, but he left a complete story, ripe to pick and prepare and serve to perfection.
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| Male black-chinned hummingbird in my Prescott neighborhood. My first photo of the species outside of southeastern Arizona. |
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| Male black-chinned hummingbird in my Prescott neighborhood. |
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| Hazy shot of male black-chinned hummingbird at Lynx Lake Cafe near Prescott. |
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| Male black-chinned hummingbird at Up the Creek Restaurant in Cornville. |
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| Male black-chinned hummingbird at Up the Creek Restaurant in Cornville. |
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| Clear shot of a male black-chinned hummingbird at Up the Creek Restaurant in Cornville. |
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| My first photo of male black-chinned hummingbird, at Santa Rita Lodge in Madera Canyon, southeastern Arizona. |
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