Serendipperty

A mountain chickadee in Taos Ski Valley. Dig that crazy hat. We're goin' back to New Mexico, so fasten your seat belts. In the event of time-travel whiplash, neck braces will descend from the overhead compartment.

In a previous post, I gently chided Bill of the Birds for being so...goal-oriented where birds are concerned. He sets his heart on one species, and he will do anything to see that bird. It's easy for me to cast stones at that and gloat about being happy with whatever shows up. Often, though, I'm the passive recipient of bird-gifts bestowed by his near-psychic powers. Case in point: We pulled over on a road coming down from Taos Ski Valley, where we'd fruitlessly hunted rosy-finches in the dizzy dark forests near the top. We found mountain chickadees at the feeder instead. And we had seen a life mammal for all of us: bighorn sheep! Scoping the balds atop the mountains, we'd picked up distant specks which resolved at 60 power into a band of a dozen Rocky Mountain bighorns--a huge ram (far right, with full-circle horns) with 11 wives and chillun. He was butting them along, moving them over the bald. Beautiful!! Much high-fiving. We hadn't even known to look for them; we had been hoping for a very distant look at a ptarmigan, perhaps. And there they were. Serramdipity.I got this shot with my little 300 mm. telephoto zoom by propping my elbows on the car, then cropping it way down. Those sheep were a LONG way away, but brilliant sunshine helped get a reasonable image.

Bill had a feeling there would be a dipper where he pulled over on our way down. There was a tumbling mountain stream, rock cliff faces, just the kind of place a dipper would choose. He stood patiently at streamside, bathed in golden afternoon light. There was whitewash on every emergent rock. Looked good for dippers. If it showed up, it would be sweeeet. We waited. The kids threw stones in the stream, which tumbled over the rocks. We hopped rocks, and waited. It was a good place to wait. And he came to us, a young dipper with a golden bill, voicing his peculiar ringing call, doing deep-knee-bends on the rocks.

Bill got tons of good pictures the first time he came. I was in the wrong place, and mine were distant and dark. The dipper flew downstream, and we waited. The kids threw rocks and hopped from boulder to boulder. Liam needed help getting to one boulder, so I stepped out into the stream to help him. And the dipper came, practically right to my astonished feet. LIAM! I hissed. He's here! Hold perfectly still while Mommy shoots over your shoulder! Phoebe was right next to us, and both kids were in front of me, and they held still as stones while the dipper held us in complete thrall. Oooh, he's sooo cute! Phoebe whispered. She could have been sitting in math class back in Ohio instead. I think she'd pick standing on a rock in New Mexico stream, watching a dipper.

He flashed his brightwhite nictitating membrane, which protects his eyes underwater (and which he can see through, presumably). He stuck his head underwater and swam-flew from rock to rock. He posed, wrenlike tail cocked. He called, turning from side to side. He seemed to want something.
I wanted for nothing at all. It was a moment beyond hoping or price, to have my camera ready when the dipper came, and I owe it to Mr. Goal-Oriented. Did he arrange the molten gold water, too?
Suddenly, the dipper crouched and flew on an oblique angle up into the rock cliff-face across the stream. He disappeared into a crevice, right next to this:
the nest he had probably been born in. The entrance faces down, protecting the nest's inhabitants from spray. He stayed in his rock crevice, and we adjourned to the house, feeling very lucky indeed. Serendipperty.

November Butterflies

In 1992, when Bill and I first explored Bosque del Apache, we met a woman named Cathie Sandell. She "got" us and knew where to send us to watch birds, take in the New Mexico scenery, and get our heads cleared out. "Go up NM 107 to Magdalena," she said. "If you have time, check out Water Canyon." We did, and it was one of the most magical days of our lives. We've run into Cathie since while speaking in New York for the Federation of New York State Bird Clubs, when Liam was an infant, and it was a pleasure to see her again at Bosque. What a gift she gave us with that one suggestion.

So it was with great pleasure that we agreed to lead two field trips to Water Canyon, which we remembered as one of the quietest places we'd ever been. The weather this trip was magnificent, warm and sunny, and Water Canyon where the sun warmed its lower reaches was birdy, birdy, birdy. We joined renowned local naturalist Mary Alice Root and 30 eager birdwatchers to explore its natural history. It's usually difficult to bird with such a huge group, unless you're on a paved road, and then it's a blast. We were brought up short by an acorn woodpecker perched on an exposed snag, pulled our car caravan over, and pretty much stayed there at the base of the canyon, watching bird TV, for the rest of the morning. It was a showcase of NM winter residents: scrub jays, mountain chickadees, western bluebirds, bushtits, acorn woodpeckers, red-naped sapsuckers, common ravens, canyon towhees, chipping and white-crowned sparrows, gray-headed juncos, Cassin's and house finches and the like. They were all coming in to drink at a watering trough in a rustic corral, so we parked ourselves and enjoyed the show. First rule of birding with a big group: When you find birds, stay with them!
This is a mountain chickadee. I'm proud of this shot, since they're a bit tough to catch at rest. Love those head stripes! They're cute and confiding little birds, and they tend to forage quite low, making them ideal subjects for amateurs. It is such fun to see the Western variations on the chickadee theme.

Because Bill and I were as busy as a couple of long-tailed cats in a roomful of rocking chairs, we spent most of our time pointing out birds and didn't get to shoot too many bird pictures. Butterflies are easier to approach, so I contented myself documenting the amazing array still flying in late November. Our local guides were incredulous to see so many butterflies at this late date, and we speculated about the realities of global warming even as we enjoyed them.
Here's a red admiral, one of my favorite feisty butterflies. I've had red admirals hit me in the chest or forehead, defending a favorite sunspot.
We often get buckeyes, a hardy migrant, in October in Ohio, but here they were in November in New Mexico! Go buckeyes! (That was for Kathi, who knows what a hopelessly lame sportsfan I really am).
Clouded sulfurs were common even on frosty mornings, and I was delighted to add a new butterfly to my life list, the dainty sulfur, Nathalis iole. This multiple-brooded cutie, our smallest sulfur, flies almost year-round in the Southwest. I had to hang on to this picture of it and key it out in my Kaufman guide when I got home. Just another reason to love digital cameras!
For sexy, though, it's hard to beat the California (Arizona) sister, Adelpha bredowii. It loves oak canyons, and acts a bit like the related red-spotted purple of the east, feeding on fermenting fruit and droppins, and basking in the sun. I was clinging to a slidy rocky slope, trying to get a better angle on its beauty, but had to be satisfied with this shot.We're home, after leaving Arroyo Seco at 6 AM Thanksgiving day. We got in at about 9 PM after wrestling with a taxi and a dead van battery (booring) to a verra happy, kennelstinky Chet Baker. He immediately gremlined under Phoebe's bed and roo-rooed at us. He's had his morning bath just now and is lying like a puddle of India ink on the sunny living room carpet, smelling of shea butter baby shampoo. The washing machine is churning away in the basement and clothes are flapping in the cold November sun. It's good to be home.

So much happened on our Water Canyon field trips that I'm going to save the rest for a second post. Stay tuned for bushtits!