Mike in the Wild

The mourning doves gather like vultures on the highest eaves of my house.  They're waiting for an opportunity to swoop down and vacuum up the few seeds I put out for several of my favorite backyard birds.  Puffed out and clamoring, the larger doves bulldoze the lankier cardinals and scrawnier house finches that get in their way. A northern cardinal pair are indeed two of the birds I'm eager to feed.  They are the only members of the species I ever see in my Phoenix neighborhood and are probably surpassed in their eye-catching color by only the herons and mallards that ply the area's waterways.   Outside of chasing them away with my imposingly human size and thunderous hand claps, there's not a lot I can do to keep the mourning doves away from the meager sunflower seeds I leave out.   At least that was the case until I realized I had a specialized bird feeder hanging in front of me: a wall sconce for votive candles. It's been on my backyard's block wall for a dec

The first time in a very long time that I saw a common goldeneye was two weeks ago, in a flock of mallards dabbling along the Arizona Canal during my morning jog on the adjacent path.  She was the lone representative of her species, a family of birds that migrates to warmer climates like Phoenix from their summer breeding grounds closer to the Arctic.   On my next run I noticed there were two of them, keeping to themselves a little further to the west on the same canal.  One of the female goldeneyes croaked a warning to the other when it seemed like I was paying too much attention to them.  However she had nothing to worry about because it was cold and I wanted to finish my jog and trot quickly home.   Not many days later, I discovered that the little group had become a threesome as a third girl had joined the tiny flock.  Of course it made me wonder about their migration habits and the timing of it all.  Do they fly together, at least at their journey's beginning, and do they have

While I love birdwatching, it's safe to say I don't love every bird I encounter.  For example, house finches are a species that have never been high on my list of favorites.  It's probably because they're everywhere.  Or it's because they're not especially attractive with their plain features and dull colors.  So, bah humbug to the house finch! They join the mourning doves in being the two easiest native bird species for any birder to find in the wild.  (Of course a person living in a city will have no problem quickly identifying house sparrows, starlings, or rock pigeons: all introduced from Europe.)  And when it's time for you to take your interest in our feathered friends to a higher level (e.g. installing a seed feeder in your backyard) I guarantee the finches and doves will be the first indigenous visitors.  Fortunately these birds are not endangered and are actually expanding their ranges and numbers in America.  As a result I'm not especially conc

Every stride on my six-mile morning run offers a unique opportunity for birdwatching.  Believe me when I say finding my feathered friends is a motivation to hit the trail on these recent chilly mornings, when I've not only needed a pair of gloves but also a neck gaiter and hat.  My last mile yesterday brought this point home when I was rewarded by spotting a female common goldeneye in a flock of mallards on the Arizona Canal. I wrote last summer about encountering a number of lesser nighthawks at the very beginning of my mostly routine, looped run through my little corner of Phoenix.  Those seasonal migrants were hunting just before daybreak, a time when I could avoid the sun during the hottest period of the year.  To get an early jump on busy days, I'm still starting my runs before sunrise, which is mercifully later now that winter is approaching.  I like to begin on the nearby Links golf course that leads lazily downhill to the Arizona Canal that acts as a recreational artery

I figured the birds in my backyard would be upset when I removed a three year-old palo verde tree.  After all, I wasn't happy about the act myself.  The tree had grown quickly, reaching over a dozen feet tall and spreading its canopy even further, mercifully providing much needed shade and a cooling effect on a hot, sunny wall. An additional benefit was that it offered perches for towhees, cardinals, and thrashers.  Also verdins gorged on insects or seeds at the tips of the tree's skinny branches and gila woodpeckers hunted for grubs in the cavities of the expanding trunk. However there was a problem below ground: the roots were outgrowing the raised planter box that anchored the tree.  The strong winds from a heavy summer monsoon had buffeted the tree so violently that the container's concrete blocks were cracking.  I was beginning to fear that another storm might even cause the adjacent wall to tumble down. A local tree service arrived on a Wednesday and quickly started s