Birdathons are serious stuff, but this one means a great deal to me, and it has a lot of potential to be the best BushWhacking team effort ever! My favorite birding buddies are also my teammates, and with Kevin’s truly remarkable birding prowess and knowledge, and the spotting skills and enthusiasm of the rest, I know Eileen, Kevin, Carol, Steve, Chris and I can kick some serious tail feather this year. And we deserve it. The money we earn will be dedicated to helping save an under-funded yet incredibly valuable and effective bird banding and conservation project, and the valuable nature reserve on which it occurs in Hungary. If we raise a lot, I will be able to make good on a promise I made last summer during a life-altering visit there. I even have a current student who will be visiting Hungary this summer and who will detour to the preserve to deliver the check!

If there ever was a "perfect storm" for birding, this could be it. A trip to Ken Malloy/Harbor Regional Park (KMHRP) on the Thursday before the event confirmed what I could hardly hope would happen: a persistent large, slow moving cold front from the north seemed to be knocking down north-bound migrants, while keeping wintering birds from departing northward. Now, the front has developed a component that is bringing winds from the east (potentially blowing coastward the migrants that normally follow the inland mountains.) I could only dream that things would hold until Saturday, and a clear evening Thursday night scared me a bit (migrants usually take off during clear early evenings because they can see the stars they need for navigation). But either headwinds persisted until today, or the tired birds needed another day to feed and rest, or both, because today...

Up before the alarm at 3:45 AM, Eileen and I are already psyched. The same thing happens with the others. The four in my car hit our first planned stop at 5:30, where we just missed a great horned owl that, fortunately Kevin and Carol heard (our self imposed "rules" required that at least 2 teammates witness and fully identify each counted species, either by sight or hearing.) It is still dark, but up the hill we hear Northern Mockingbirds, Spotted and CA Towhees, House Finches-all birds we will see later, but we might as well knock them off now. No Barn-Owl, so time to head to the Point.

Pelagic birding from shore is my Achilles' heel, and thankfully Kevin takes the lead. I am in awe of his talent for spotting a speck a mile away, in the pre-dawn light and haze, and narrowing it to species. Flocks of loons go by—the abundant Pacifics in groups numbering up to 40 or 50, but Kevin picks out the lone Red-throat, then we get a Common. Good, we knocked off that whole category! Low on the water, Black Skimmer...we will get them at Cabrillo, likely, but there are never any guarantees. The tiny flock of peeps has to be Red-necked Phalaropes. Kevin spots a shearwater but I can't get on it. Carol does, however, and we get our Sooty. I get frustrated. But that big low flock that I AM able to see has to be Brant, so I forget for a moment. In a way, for me, this day is about forgetting a lot of things that are troubling me. We hear Cactus Wren on the cliffs behind us, then a Rufous-crowned Sparrow. Whew, those would have required precious time elsewhere, probably. Each species represents more insurance. I think to myself, what other place can give you Cactus Wrens and shearwaters simultaneously?

A Hooded Oriole chatters in the palm next to us. Remarkably, Kevin keeps pulling pelagic birds, gulls, terns, and flying shorebirds out of the pre-dawn murk (how in the world can you tell that's Long-billed Curlew at this distance?..son of a gun, it is!), but not the high diversity we'd hoped for. Then, to rub it in, he hears a Rock Wren. Dammit, I missed that, as did the others. (It turned out to be the only one of the day, so we missed the species.) But there are Western Kingbirds soaring and CA Gnatcatchers mewing on the shoreward slopes, and we draw some comfort.

Then we hear a Yellow Warbler flight note..kind of weird for here. We look up, and a stream of various warblers is flying overhead, COMING FROM THE OCEAN! OK, this is a good sign-there is a lot of migrant activity. Perhaps these birds took off 12 hours before in some place where the skies were clear, guided by an instinctive faith that links their DNA with the north star, Polaris. This crude map led them in the right general direction, but at dawn they ended up offshore. In the early light, in a desperate visual search for land they make a course correction, heading for the point on which we stand, hoping that food, shelter, and water are not far beyond. We leave the Pt. Vicente fishing access lot near dawn. I refuse to do a preliminary count yet. I need more species and a chance to redeem myself.

I talk about skipping Forrestal, Cabrillo, and such for now and heading right for Ken Malloy. After all, and remarkably, we got most of the Coastal Scrub specialties of Forrestal at the last stop. But Kevin changes my mind without too much trouble. I really hope the Black-chinned Sparrows I found the week before are still there, and who knows what could have just popped in off the water! We'll make it quick (I hate doing Forrestal "quick," but this IS a birdathon...)

It was worth it, I guess. No Rock Wren, of course, or CA Quail or Costa's Hummer, but we get White-crowned and, with some work, Golden-crowned Sparrows. It is late in the season, and believe it or not, we missed White-crowns last year, so these are a relief. Maybe more stuff is late, as I had hoped... Bewick's Wren calls on the slope...hey, that's a BLUE-GRAY Gnatcatcher, which right now is far scarcer than Californias! I am feeling much better, like I've got my Mojo working again! OK, let's see if I can get our Black-chins...

I hear "t..t..t..tt..tt..tt.tttttttt," like a bouncing ball and kind of "pinched" at the end. I hardly believe it when I look up and there is a SINGING Black-chinned Sparrow! They're still here, and acting territorial. That beautiful, Junco-like dark hood, black face, pink bill, brown body; what a gorgeous bird! A poorly understood species, little is known of their migration, and even seeing them on the coast is highly unusual, but if they BREED here...

Kevin hears a MacGillivray's Warbler chip note, and I think I see it fly out of a bush, so we chase it, probably for too long...but you never know if you will miss this skulking species, so we stick with it. Finally, I get an ID look/hear. OK, diminishing returns at this point, time to go. Shall we stop at Royal Palms? It is still kind of early, sure, why not, but just for scoping from the top. I suggest that Kevin and Carol go to the north pullout and the rest will go to the south, and we will call on our radios to alert each other to anything interesting. On the rock jetty, I am certain that Kevin catches the rest of the cormorants we needed. Not a lot else at first. OK, an Oystercatcher here, another Whimbrel that I can actually see this time, a Black Turnstone.., "Hey Kevin, there is a Wandering Tattler on the other side of your rock!" I am glad we chose both vantage points. Kevin spots a Glaucous-wing Gull here, as I recall. We pick out a few more new species, then gotta run! We stop very briefly to peer into the White's Point Preserve for Meadowlarks (unsuccessfully) and Hawks. There's our first Red-tail...and a Kestrel. I hear a familiar mournful whistle. Behind us, on the fence, a late Say's Phoebe! Cool. We take off for Cabrillo.

Based on past birdathons, Cabrillo can be good, and we pick up a Bonaparte's Gull, some Forster's Terns, a few others, but things are slow today; no Snowy Plovers, few rocky shorebirds...Eileen gets startled by a raccoon that runs over her head on the fence by the restored wetland, but we are counting birds, not mammals, and we GOTTA GO.

But not QUITE yet. In a different sense of “Gotta go,” birdathons can be hell on bladders! Some of us need to psych up with mass quantities of coffee, but like beer, we only rent it. The guys have, shall we say, some flexibility in terms of the consequences of significant fluid uptake, but the gals have to hope that the outhouses or public toilets are not only tolerable (and present) but unlocked. In this case they are all of the preceding, so we wait a bit longer, grabbing one more chance to scan the beach. Darn, the Cackling Goose we found last year isn't here, but then, why should lightning strike twice?  Time for a reality check, but I still refuse to do a tally...not until after KMHRP.

Keeping the windows open as we drive, we need to be able to hear as well as see. There, hear that? Our first Killdeer. It is overcast, which means the birds will stay lower to the ground and better yet, it isn't windy. We pull into the Anaheim lot at KMHRP, and the fun begins in earnest. A beautiful male Bullock's Oriole. Warblers and sparrows flocking everywhere. Where to look first? It's almost overwhelming, and we haven't even made it to the dam! Marsh Wren singing, good, this is the only place for that one. What are all these sparrows still doing here? I see a Lincoln's before my first Song Sparrow! Vaux's Swifts are all over, as in the spectacle I witnessed Thursday. Hey, a Belted Kingfisher, one we always miss! I go out on the dam, and I have seldom been more excited to find a very late little Ruby-crowned Kinglet, a common winterer that we nevertheless seldom get on a Birdathon.

Carol calls us all back, she thinks she heard a Least Bittern. I am dubious, figuring that few if any bitterns remain after the poisoning of the waterweed and butchering of the tules recently by Rec and Parks, done in an attempt to keep Vector Control off their backs. But I cheat just a bit, playing a tape very briefly. Carol hates this, but I try to convince her (and reassure myself) that if you play a tape briefly and then stop, the bird can respond, successfully "chasing away" his competitor (and thus, anthropomorphically speaking, perhaps boost his confidence and possibly even his testosterone output.) I know that misused tapes can easily drive off breeding species, so I am exceptionally careful in such rare instances, reserving tapes mainly for use with wintering or migrating species, and then for only short periods. The others see movement, and slowly, a male Least Bittern materializes in the reeds. He is a remarkable creature, with deep red facial skin not shown in any book I have seen. On the cognitive side, Kevin and I concur that this must be how the "high breeding" stage manifests in this species, but on the affective side, we are all in awe and ecstatic about this success. Thanks, Carol!

Back on the dam, I am transfixed; warblers are virtually dripping out of the trees. I haven't seen anything like this since I went to High Island in Texas. Wilson's, (late) Yellow-rumps, Orange-crowns, Yellowthroats, and Warbling Vireos in profusion, with dapplings of Nashville's, Townsend's, and Hermits. Black-throated Grays are scarcer, but we get one. The Chat that was here Thursday is more elusive, but between Kevin and Carol we get one. I see a Green Heron, but no one else catches it, so I make a mental note to try to find another later (which we do.) We haven't quite made it across the dam yet! We check the little pond for the Solitary Sandpiper that has been around, but miss it. Oh well, we get a Least Sandpiper and then a Cassin's Kingbird on the slope. We approach the field on the east side of the dam and stop. The field is alive with birds. Flashes of blue. I have never seen Lazuli Buntings in such profusion! The nearby "sparrow corner" is cooking! As we continue, we find a Chipping, then a SINGING Brewer's Sparrow! An Olive-sided Flycatcher in the nearby willows is the first I recall on a local birdathon, but only the first of many this day.

Suddenly, Carol calls out, "Cardinal!" Sure enough! A brilliant red Northern Cardinal, spotted a few days ago by Bob Beckler, is still here. OK, it’s almost certainly an escapee, and there is no way to prove otherwise. But let's see, today we have counted exotic Peafowl and Nutmeg Mannikin. We don't count feral ducks, but anything that is breeding and is not human-assisted counts, by our rules. Well, the Cardinal isn't breeding, but he isn't human assisted. More power to him, we will count him. If our sponsors pay an extra quarter, it will be worth it, just to see his name on the final tally!

We continue around the lake. The Cassin's Vireo I had Thursday is gone, but the "Reggie Trap" hidden on the shoreline is still present, having caught only a swarm of mosquitofish so far. We press on, and walk over to the lower wetland. Kevin is getting nervous about the time, but we add Savannah Sparrow and a few others. We still need to hit the north end. Chris and I walk there while the others drive. Fortunately, we catch a glimpse of a Swainson's Thrush and a few other new birds on the way over. We miss some of the exciting birds we had hoped for, however, and decide to press on.

We are in the drive through line at Der Wienerschnitzel. I took German for two years in high school, and have been reluctant to eat at one of these ever since I learned that correct grammar dictates that it should be “Das” Wienerschnitzel. If they can't even say it right, how good could the food be? But any port in a bird storm. And I don't want my team to get hungry, tired, or mutinous. While waiting for our order, I finally do the first serious tally, and this is when I realize: we are at 126, and we still have some very promising sites, and more precious time! Last year our total was 128, and the BushWhacker record is 132. One year, one of "the other" teams hit a peak migrant day and got 139. I want 140.

As we pull up to Banning, I shove the food down my throat and don't even finish before I leap out of the car. Really, we have gotten nearly all the land migrants at KMHRP, so we are here mainly to sweeten the pot with the unpredictable but likely still-present Thick-billed Kingbird. Kevin is ready to call it quits when I see a large bird fly into the southwest corner of the park. I run in that direction, and begin to hear a once common but now rare song that is music to my ears. I gesticulate frantically to get the team over to hear the Spotted Dove. OK, we’ve gotten exactly ONE new species at Banning. Carol and I are gushing over a beautiful mix of Hermit and Yellow warblers and others in a tiny pool under a tiny tree. Every tree in the park is loaded with birds. It seems crazy to leave, but I know Kevin is right: we need to get into new habitat. But this is the kind of day at Banning everyone dreams about! And Eileen still needs a good look at a Hermit! And how can we leave after only ONE species? Any excuse...

We tear ourselves away and immediately focus on our next venue. We park at Willow St. on the LA River, and I grab my scope and run up the embankment, ignoring the path. I am breaking a lot of rules today, but my karma is holding, since it is the "greater good" to which I aspire. Chris and I spot the big flock of Blue-winged Teal and some gorgeous chestnut headed American Avocets, and I luckily see a tiny Spotted Sandpiper, while Kevin is picking up new birds with the rest of the group. Steve somehow pulls a nearly-hidden Cattle Egret out of the reeds. We linger a bit longer, but new birds are getting harder to find. We decide to hit DeForest Park, our last chance for Red-shouldered Hawk, Cassin's Vireo, and others, plus maybe the female Black-Chinned Hummer Kevin found on a nest there the previous day. 

We eventually find the hummer on her nest at DeForest, but the sky is clearing, which in this case is not a good sign: the wind is picking up. So, once again, after only one new species, we head for our last destination. I do another tally. We are at 134! Could that be right? We have already broken our old record, and there are "guaranteed" species, several in fact, ahead. We start talking seriously about hitting 140, maybe more.

At Del Rey Lagoon, we tick off a batch of new birds. Excellent comparison of beautiful, alternate plumaged Short- and Long-billed Dowitchers. Kevin quickly finds both "stakeouts," the Red Knot and the female Pintail. Every new bird is a delicious if not short-lived treat; Semipalmated Plovers, Marbled Godwits, more. Kevin and I walk out onto the breakwater and scope into the water to pick up Eared and Clark's Grebes. At this point, I dare to start whispering "150?" We join up with the group and head up Ballona Creek. Kevin picks up an odd immature gull, and after careful consideration, we agree he has a Herring Gull! On the flats, I finally spot a Western Meadowlark, a species that has eluded us at several other locations. A bird or two more, then off to our last planned spot, the Ballona Freshwater Marsh.

It is slow at first. We are at 147, I believe. We are about to leave, but I am determined to find something, anything new. I check every swallow until I pull out a Bank Swallow. A good bird, I feel like I am on a final push! The rest are ahead, about to leave, but I see a flock of brown Icterids, and one of them has a yellow throat. "Yellow-headed Blackbird!" The rest of the team comes back, but it is too late, the flock is gone amid the reeds. No way I can leave. We re-find the flock, which turns out to be a mix of Cowbirds, Red-wings, and a few Yellow-heads. I was a bit afraid I had been a bit "creative" with my call, but I have learned to trust my instincts.

It is sunset, and Chris needs to stay behind and get picked up by his wife. He was a trooper this year! Kevin says there is a spot I have never visited where we might pick up a Green-wing Teal or something. 149 is such a penultimate number, so I say let's go! We zoom over to an industrial area where we can walk out into a trash-filled concrete channel. Not a garden spot, by any means. We start walking. Kevin scopes way ahead, says we should drive to the next crossing, but I say I want to walk.  Eileen and Steve dutifully follow me. Kevin has been going like this for 2 days, and will likely do it again tomorrow (this is also the 'America's Birdiest County" weekend, and there are still more species to be had) so he and Carol do the sensible thing and bow out. Steve decides to hang back. I can't believe Eileen is still with me. We walk to the next overcrossing, finding a few beautiful Bonaparte's Gulls, this time in their full black-headed alternate plumage. We find nothing else except trash and an oiled Ring-billed Gull (got one earlier). It is a depressing way to end the day, and we start back. I linger a bit, birding in near-desperation in the twilight. I can hardly see anything, but I scan and re-scan the opposite bank. Eileen has already met up with Steve when I call to them, "Green-wing Teal!" I figure they don't believe me, but they come back to humor me anyway. There, in the dark, were 2 males and 2 females. We got our 150!