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We spent the weekend with family in L.A, and took advantage of the trip to explore a new, northerly birding spot.

At the suggestion of L.A. birder and blogger Bob Kaufman, we decided to check out Placerita Canyon and look for the Spotted Owls recently seen there.

The birding was terrific—even though we chose the dumbest possible day to go.

I suspected Saturday was going to be warm. I didn't suspect it was going to be record-breaking, head-stroke-inducing (for some) hot. And I had forgotten that the Santa Clarita area is about 15 degrees hotter than Newport Beach/Costa Mesa at any particular time. And that "emergency" bottle of Gatorade I kept in my car trunk for precisely such occasions had already been open for a couple of months, and was now filled with algae.

Crap!

When we got to Placerita Canyon, the temperature was already in the eighties, but the landscape was beautiful: rolling hills covered with shiny gold grass and clusters of dark brushy oaks--the trailhead looked like the opening shot of a well-made 1960s western. Only a few yards down the trail, we saw the first of many Acorn Woodpeckers, and the first of two shiny male Phainopeplas.

Further up, we spotted White-breasted Nuthatches, unusually fat Nuttall's Woodpeckers, and bright Western Tanagers. As Bob had warned us, the trail to the purported lair of the Spotted Owls was steep and narrow--but also beautiful: it was essentially a rocky creekbed leading to a waterfall which may or may not actually have had water in it this weekend. There was a steady, if small, drip of water all the way up, and it was greener and cooler than the flatlands below.

We saw fat American Robins, nesting House Wrens, a large flock of Dark-eyed Juncos chasing off a large grey squirrel, more Western Tanagers, various butterflies, and strange foot-long lizards that slithered like snakes--but no Spotted Owls. There was tons to see, but since the trail was so steep, Glenn carried his camera and big lens in a backpack, and I carried his tripod--so whenever we saw something cool that was close by, it was gone by the time we managed to set everything up. Hence, the absence of evocative waterfall-dwelling bird shots here!

By the time we got back down to the flatlands, it was well into the 90s, so I went back to the car to recover the single bottle of now-dishwater-temperature water that we had brought along. At the campground near the trailhead, we saw Steller's Jays (a species we don't see at our usual haunts), as well as Oak Titmice and Spotted Towhees. Weirdly, all the birds we saw there were hopping around with their beaks open, like panting dogs. I'm guessing this was because of the heat.

We spent the rest of the weekend chilling out indoors or splashing around in my parents' pool. But we agreed that Placerita Canyon is definitely worth another visit--once it cools off.

Birding Alone

Solitary birding can be either a huge rush or a frustrating pain in the butt. One one hand, I love it because it's fantastically soul-cleansing and relaxing, and it gives me the freedom to obsess over favorite places and birds without worrying about boring anyone.

On the other hand, there's something sad about seeing something really cool and having nobody to share it with. It's kind of like opening your Christmas presents by yourself. Then there's the problem of seeing something neat and unusual and having nobody believe you. I hate it when birds pull that Mr. Snuffleupagus routine.

And they tend to do that a lot.

Yesterday, they were having quite a time of it. Early yesterday morning, I ran a few short laps around Tanager Park in Costa Mesa. It's a tiny park, and a good spot to find Downy Woodpeckers, Northern Flickers, and Western Bluebirds, but it hasn't been very birdy as of late. But as I circled the park, I noticed a large, stocky, short-tailed bird on the lawn near some playground equipment: a Red-shouldered Hawk. It stayed on the ground briefly, then flew into one of the small trees near the footpath.

He was perched only about 7 feet off the ground, so I got a really close look at him as I ran past the tree. This surprised me, since the Red-shouldered Hawks I've seen so far have been fearful of people and seemed to perch as high off the ground as possible. Glenn has been trying since forever to get a close-up photo of one of them, but the mere sight of a camera lens 25 yards away is enough to send them flapping off into the ether.

Glenn would have loved this. But of course, he wasn't there.

After lunch, I headed to San Joaquin to give a tour of the marsh to a visiting conference group. They couldn't have chosen a worse time to look for birds: 2:30 in the afternoon in mid-August. Before we set out, I warned them that what we would see wouldn't be representative of the full diversity of bird life in the Marsh. And that it would be hot and uncomfortable.

Still, even the usual suspects in the marsh are fun to watch, and surprising and exotic to non-birders. (Every time I give a tour, I remember how beautiful and elegant-looking American Avocets and Black-necked Stilts really are.) A five-second sighting of one of the resident bobcats was an added bonus. But on the whole, the marsh was quiet, almost sterile. The trees were silent and empty....

... until after the tour ended and the conference-goers took off. After filling out the required paperwork in the Audubon House, I decided to take another spin around the marsh by myself. And of course, NOW a flock of Song Sparrows and a pair of Spotted Towhees were scratching gleefully in the middle of the path. And an Osprey was perched on a pole by the ponds near the entrance. And the female Wood Duck was back where I saw her last week. And a female Hooded Oriole was calling and jumping about in the trees in front of the Audubon House.

And there was nobody to show this to, and since I didn't bring a camera, no way of documenting it.

I hate it when this happens.