The Big Yard: Birdwatching in a Time of Quarantine

Or: The Evolution of an Unapologetic Lister

The famed Eared Quetzal, a very rare visitor to Arizona that draws hundreds of birdwatchers.

Day 178 of the Quarantine (September 8, 2020)

            The eared quetzal has returned to the Chiricahua Mountains—a pair actually—this time in Rucker Canyon where dozens of reports of sightings and photos have been hitting the listserv.  This morning, I filled up my tank with climate-change fluid and drove for an hour in an attempt (#2) to get this astonishing bird from the woodlands and canyons of western Mexico on my Cochise County list.

            I arrived about noon, threading my Subaru through a forest choked with oak and Apache pine to the trailhead parking area, the shoulder lined with a dozen cars with out-of-state plates and nylon tents.  When I passed one campsite, a tall, lanky guy sat in a camp chair with a leather hide in his lap as he sanded a thin wooden shaft.  Something looked familiar.

            I parked along the road and walked back to the campsite.  “Ken Lamberton,” the guy said as I approached.

            “Chuck LaRue,” I responded.  “I thought that was you.  Who else would be sitting here carving on some ancient atlatl or something.  The last time we were in Rucker Canyon was 18 years ago when I was writing my second book.”

            “And I haven’t been back since.”

            “Not that we haven’t ventured into other places since then—the Little Colorado Gorge, San Francisco Peaks, Grand Falls, Romero Pools...”  Chuck appears in several of my books.  He’s been my hiking compadre for 35 years.

Chuck and Spot the Wonder Dog during our hike to 12,633’ Humphrey’s Peak in 2012 (Drawing from my book, Chasing Arizona).

            But I had no idea he’d be here.

            “No one has seen the quetzal,” he said.  “Not today.”

            Chuck introduced me to his neighbors, a guy and his two teenage kids from Houston.  They saw the bird two days ago but nothing since.  “We’re headed back today,” the dad said while his son and daughter sat in the bed of their truck and devoured huge tubs of ramen. “Maybe get as far as El Paso.”

            Then a woman walked up carrying a camera with a lens as long as my arm.

            “This is Liz,” Chuck said.

“That’s quite a lens,” I wiped the drool off my lower lip. Probably had a 10k price tag.

She held it up.  “Yeah, Nikon. 500mm f/4.” 

            I recognized Liz (or maybe her camera lens) from Herb Martyr campground last June when that eared quetzal was a no-show after treating dozens of people with spectacular views for several weeks.  “This is all-to familiar…” I said.

            “It is.  But I don’t mind traveling for such a great bird,” she said.  “I did get the crescent-chested warbler when it was here last May.”

            “Me, too—Are you local?” I figured she’s hiked in these mountains as much as I have this year.

            “I’m from Boston.”

           

Normally from Mexico and Central America but rare in Arizona (only 15 prior records), the Crescent-chested Warbler appeared in the Chiricahua Mountains in May 2020.

Chuck and I hiked through the afternoon along Rucker Canyon, catching up on our lives since we’d last seen each other in Flagstaff and reminiscing about adventures with mountain lions and elegant trogons and Anasazi throwing sticks.  Hammond’s and dusky flycatchers launched themselves from dead snags to intercept moths with an audible snap.  Spotted towhees and hermit thrushes scurried like rodents in the dark undergrowth.  Broad-tailed hummingbirds zipped along the dry creek with ringing wings.  A Chiricahua fox squirrel, a subspecies of the Mexican fox squirrel and found only in these mountains, shook out its ocher plume of a tail from high in a pine.  The woods were full of warblers and flycatchers and hummingbirds—all the birds I could see in my yard—but no quetzals. 

            We snacked on apples and then turned back where people reported the quetzal pair regularly fed on wild grapes over several days.  “This was the place,” Chuck said.  “Check out the grass.” 

As if a herd of elk had slept here, birdwatchers had matted to the ground every tuft and blade.

A Hammond’s Flycatcher, one of the several similar-looking Empidonax flycatchers—note this one’s slight crest, longer wings, and shorter tail.

A Dusky Flycatcher, another “Empid” with a round head, short wings, and long tail.

The Spotted Towhee, a common resident of brushy woods and open forests across the West.

Another common forager of brushy habitats in pine-oak woodlands, the Hermit Thrush.

A regular summer visitor to western piney woods and meadows, the Broad-tailed Hummingbird.

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