It’s been a couple of months since the Cooper’s hawk (now long gone to its more northern, mountainous summer home) ate Hoover, the feral African Collared Dove who shared our garden.  I’m not mourning him — in fact I’m thankful that a proper wild hawk absorbed his nutrients and energy instead of a second-storey window or someone’s over-fed, bored housecat — but I do miss him still.  Cleaning up my computer desktop during yesterday’s stormy weather I uncovered one of my favorite photos of Hoover: a shot from below of the soles of his salmon-pink feet visible through the translucent plastic of the studio roof:

When I was working in there, he’d land with a thump and stomp to the edge to peer over to look for seeds, his rapid, trundling dove-steps clicking toenails all across the ridged panels.  I’m glad I wasn’t in there the day the Coop’s took him from this very perch — the view from below would have been grimmer than this cheery reminder of him.

Today’s weather has been changeable, to understate the case.  After a week of early warmth, winter has barged back into the low desert in the form of a March Pacific storm, bringing intermittent rain, gusty winds, spotty sunshine, and nippy (for us) temperatures.

Folding clean laundry was the other option, so I chose fiddling on the computer, and this is the result: a highly-edited photo of a Bridled titmouse (Poecile sclateri) snapped up at Montezuma Well last fall, on the exciting fortuitous Tarantula Visit.  Overcome at the time by the thrill of encountering miniature possibly un-named by science marauding arachnids, the comparatively calm pleasure of a small gray bird was passed over until today, when I discovered some “lost” photos on my computer desktop.

<< Bridled titmouse (Photo shot by E and edited by A Shock)

These are the least plain of the titmice, which are known more for their jaunty demeanor than their subtle plumage, which is usually buffy gray and tan.  In fact, before it was split into “Oak” and “Juniper” species, the other western titmouse was officially known as the Plain titmouse.  But the Bridled not only sports a perky peaky head, but has a white face with ornate black “bridle” outlining it.  And look how much that natty head pattern looks like sticks silhouetted against the bright sky — the first and second rules of camouflage: break up your overall body shape, and blend in to the background.

We don’t see Bridled titmice — or any parids (chickadee-related birds) — in the desert very often: they mainly breed in oak-woodland or coniferous forests at higher elevations.  During the colder weather months, however, they can be seen down here, but not usually “in town”.  So spotting one of these guys uphill is always pleasant, and getting a picture of one isn’t easy: like all ‘dees they are dinky, chatty, busy, and speedy.  This was one of a pair foraging in low mesquite trees, gleaning twigs and bark for little joint-legged goodies, staying in touch with one another with continuous contact-calls.  To hear the Bridled titmouse’s punchy vocal efforts, click here.

Hoover, the semi-tame feral African Collared Dove who frequented our yard, is no more.

I’ve been postponing the task of writing an obit for a couple of weeks, hoping that the white dove taken by the wintering Cooper’s hawk wasn’t Hoover.  But I can’t put it off: we no longer hear his soft, two-note cooing, and he doesn’t appear on the back porch to beg for a seed or two, perching on our palms to accept safflower, sunflower hearts, or millet, all the while his dark red eye making sure that we’re not up to something.  His habit of rapidly vacuuming up seeds earned him his nickname.  This habit of coming to the porch for handouts was also likely his demise: I saw the Cooper’s flash past the back door, and heard him strike the studio roof, where Hoover lurked hoping for a handout. Later, I found the sad pale feather pool in the back of the garden near the lemon tree, where the Coop’s had stood on the ground to pluck his prey.  The clear place on the left is where the hawk stood, leaving a “feather shadow”.  >>

In some ways it’s surprising that a non-native and bright-plumaged individual lasted in our predator-rich corner of the Phoenix area as long as he did.  The first photos we have of Hoover date from April 2005.  He’s been a part of our yard experience since then, mooching, alerting us to owls, courting and contributing his exotic genes to the local columbid gene pool. He would occasionally “help” me pack the truck for a sales event, walking into the garage to see what was up, and if there were seeds involved.

He was a cheerful presence, and we miss him.

For more photos, and to read more about Hoover and the small  (now nearly extirpated) population of African Collared doves in our neighborhood, click on the category “Hoover the Dove” in the left-hand sidebar.  (All photos A or E Shock)

Anna’s hummers are capable of setting clutches just about year round in warm climate states like Arizona and California.  The little males have been doing their combo territorial and courtship dives — which culminate in a loud, popping “CHEEP” sound — since December, at least in our neighborhood.  This little Hen in Tucson has gotten a bit of an early start to her reproductive year: here’s a digiscoped shot (acceptable if not perfectly sharp) of her on her fresh nest >>

I was visiting Kate‘s house in Tucson on my way back from Wings Over Willcox, when the motion of the tiny busy hen happened to catch my eye as she flew up into her nest with a beakful of some sort of light-colored fibers to add to the construction.  Mature Aleppo pines seem to be a favored nidification tree for Anna’s, where nests are often built on top of the smallish pinecones, as in this case.  I wish her luck, and I hope there’s not too much more winter weather for her to sit tight through!

(Photo A.Shock)

Tens of thousands of Sandhill cranes winter in the fields and wetlands of far southeastern Arizona each year, and they have their own festival: Wings Over Willcox, held in mid-January by the historical community of Willcox, AZ. This year is the 19th Annual WOW Festival, and it’s part of SE Arizona’s celebration of the state centennial.

>> Dawn pinkens sandhill cranes standing in the icy waters of Crane Lake south of Willcox, AZ (Photo A.Shock)

There are tours to the local hotspots, not just for crane-sighting, but for other winter birding specialties in the bird-rich, high-desert grassland in and around the Sulphur Springs Valley: the Chiricahua Mountains, Whitewater Draw, Lake Cochise, and more.  Not all of the outings are bird-related: there are historical, agricultural, gastronomic, and archeological tours, too. Check availability for tickets here. There are also seminars by local experts on anything from photography to astronomy to more birds and birding, which I believe are free.

If your tour of choice is sold out, don’t despair. The cranes can be viewed (and heard!) flying in v-formation overhead often, but you can also visit places like Crane Lake (above) and Whitewater Draw at dawn and dusk to see flights of cranes leaving (morning) or returning (afternoon) to and from foraging in the agricultural fields during daylight hours.  Driving the public farm roads south of town at any time of day, you can luck into hundreds of cranes moving in a group through a field, or a fierce bird of prey like a Ferruginous hawk patrolling the skies or perched on a wire over the field margins.  Loggerhead shrikes are fairly common, as well: check out a previous post of mine for more photos.

<< three Sandhill crane magnets by Three Star Owl will be available at WOW for $16 each

Three Star Owl will be at the Nature Expo portion of the event, held in the Willcox Community Center, which is the headquarters for the festival.  The Nature Expo will be open from Thursday afternoon until Sunday, check my Events page for more specific hours and a link to a map and driving directions.  If you’re in the area, please stop by and say Hello — admission to the Nature Expo is FREE!

A word of advice to those planning on visiting: although sunny winter days in this part of AZ can be comfortable, Willcox is at 4200 feet above sea level, so night-time temps usually dip well below freezing this time of year, and if it’s windy or overcast, daytime temps will be brisk.  So if you plan to get out into the world on your trip here, dress for the weather!

Photo of an Ocellated Turkey, Chan Chich, Belize (A or E Shock) More photos here.

I felt like a paparazza, drawing as close as I dared, trying to hold my proper camera with the big zoom steady in the failing light.  But she was calmly perched out in the open, low on our back fence, mobbed by smaller birds.  Hummingbirds orbited her, scolding, like cheeky electrons, but she ignored them. She looked at me, and looked away, bored.  She might be the same one I took photos of last year in our big pine tree; maybe, maybe not.

<< tonight’s Great Horned Owl, Bubo virginianus (all photos A.Shock, Canon EOS xti)

She was clutching E’s rain gauge — you can just see its acrylic rim over the fence, one of her dark talons curved over it.  Tomorrow morning I’ll go out to see if she left scratches in the plastic, like the woodpeckers do scrabbling for balance on the swinging hummingbird feeders.

I had been hearing the flickers, hummers, a couple of irate mockingbirds, the pair of thrashers who live in the yard, and even a gnatcatcher for a few minutes before it occurred to me go out to see what the fuss was all about.

Flickering flicker.  If you’ve ever wondered why this woodpecker species is called “gilded flicker”, you can see the golden coloration under the flight feathers and tail >>

The owl was overlooking a part of the yard where the cottontails have little cover but apparently there was no action, because after a while, she made a short flight into a small palo verde that has volunteered in the alley, and sat there for a while until it grew dark, looking around at her hostile avian entourage, glaring upward at a circling helicopter as if it were mobbing her too, yet still keeping a downward eye hoping for dinner.

<< On the palo verde throne, fierce-footed

When last seen, she launched towards the butte into the dusk, a gray blur against the graying sky.

You probably found the bird already — it’s a kea — but if not below is a partially colorized version of the photo in the previous Spot the Bird post.

This big alpine parrot, its head partially obscured by vegetation, was one of the freeloaders who hang out near the line of cars waiting to pass through the one-lane Homer tunnel.  This guy was on the Milford Sound side of the tunnel (Fiordland, South Island, New Zealand) and had been working the cars fearlessly (see photo below).  In the Spot the Bird photo on the left, he’s deep in the shrubbery, pretending to be invisible. Of course, we’d watching him climb in there, or we’d never would have found him.

(All photos A.Shock)

Me: reminiscing about our trip to New Zealand a while back.  You: trying to Spot the Bird.

It shouldn’t be too hard, but here’s a hint: you’re looking for a parrot.  Now don’t go clicking on the photo to enlarge it right off the bat, you’ll make it too easy!  (And, by the way, it’s a giant file, so if you click twice, you’ll get a very large image of a partially obscured parrot on your screen.)

And on the subject of New Zealand ornithology, if you enjoy a nice kiwi, click here and watch the video.

Update: photo key is here.