Mike in the Wild

I write a lot about the sounds I hear in the wild: the hoot of an owl, the melody of a mockingbird and the squawk of a woodpecker, to name just a few.  But the song of a canyon wren might be one of the most beautiful in the bird world as it beckons the hiker and birdwatcher like a Siren calling Odysseus.  And there's a double reward because spotting this tiny bird is also a singular visual delight, well worth the effort and patience it might take. Fitting for such a special bird, each memory of my three life-time encounters with the canyon wren is indelibly etched in my brain.  The first time I saw one was at Boyce Thompson Arboretum, Arizona's oldest and largest botanical garden, located an hour east of Phoenix in Tonto National Forest.   The individual of this wide-ranging bird species was perched on a boulder in the Sonoran Desert Exhibit and initially seemed more curious about me than I was of him; I was new to birding and didn't quite know the difference between a

I had just finished lamenting   in my last post   over the dearth of "wow" moments in this year's bird sightings when I drove into just such an event three houses up the street from my home.  In fact I actually drove under an entire flock of them. I've seen cedar waxwings only once before, near my sister-in-law's home in Ventura County near Los Angeles.  There might have been two dozen of them gathered high in some trees in that tightly manicured neighborhood.  Even when I was more than twenty feet below them, my camouflaged presence so close to their perch's leafy canopy scared them away.  Nevertheless they kept returning to the same couple of trees which allowed me to get a few photographs over the course of a weekend. I wasn't quite that lucky with last week's sighting though.  As I drove along my street, I noticed the group of birds in a palo verde tree.  Since the tree hadn't burst into its spring blooms yet, the eight or nine individual b

By this time every year I've usually written a couple of stories about the waterfowl visiting local waterways.  Phoenix is crisscrossed by canals carrying fresh water from reservoirs up the Salt River and by parks landscaped with lakes.  These bodies of water create habitat for lots of waterfowl, especially seasonal migrants from northern climates. Last winter for the first time in the neighborhood, I discovered mergansers - both the hooded and common varieties - and canvasbacks spending some time on these local waterways.  They joined my list of local first time sightings, a collection that includes wood ducks, northern pintails, goldeneyes and northern shovelers, to name a few. But this year is different.  My stops at nearby Granada Park allow me to see a multitude of visitors like ring-necked ducks and American wigeons: they're there every winter.  And I spot plenty of mallards dabbling in the Arizona Canal and American coots paddling on my neighborhood's decorative

I see lots of what I call water birds in Arizona.  Also called waterfowl, these creatures spend most of their lives on or near bodies of water, where they depend on a lake or river for their primary habitat.  But there are many other general names for the ever-present mallards and the winter-visiting ring-necked ducks, to name just a couple of the species that are easy to spot in Phoenix. Ducks are frequently described as either dabbling or diving, with the fowl in the first category (e.g. mallards) feeding closer to the water's surface and the second (e.g. ring-necked ducks) hunting deeper below.  And depending on your source of information, dabbling ducks are very often referred to as marsh ducks, and divers as bay ducks.  Now you may be starting to understand why I just call them all water birds. But I became even more enlightened when on a recent trip to San Diego I discovered yet another group of these birds: sea ducks.  These animals are indeed ducks but they're k