Contributor
Date
Location
- Age and sex
- Adult, Unknown sex - 1
- Sounds
- Song
- Playback
- Playback not used
Observation details
Lifer! They were singing from in and on the scrubby shrubs on either side of the road, sometimes in prominent perches, but never staying in the same place long enough for me to photograph. Elevation 1500'. It appeared to be an above-average sparrow in size, particularly in the head, which seemed big and round. Most of the head was covered by a gray helmet, but there were also white submoustachials, and thick black malars around a white throat. The breast was pretty plain white aside from the black breast spot. To me its song sounds like Chewbacca wants to slide into your DMs: "Chewy to tweet, Chewy tweet... Chewy to tweet, Chewy to tweet to you." I've been out birding a few times when I probably should have been doing something else. Once I just left work (from home) in the middle of the morning to go chase a suspected Common Pochard. More recently I left my house at 11 pm on the very distant off-chance that a dubious report of a Common Nighthawk was for real. Side note: why are there so many "common" birds that would be super rare in so many places? Like here, we'd all go nuts over Common Shelduck, Common Pochard, Common Eider, or Common Scoter, and those are just the ducks! Anyway, the point is, this is another one of those times when I probably should have been home rather than out birding. See today is my wife's birthday, and it's also the day after she was due to deliver our third child. Well, the kid isn't here yet and isn't giving any indication of arriving eminently, so, after finally getting my toddler to go back to sleep at 3 AM, I slept for an hour and a half, then got up to go out. My plan was to get out early enough to give myself an hour or so to look for the birds and still get home by 7:30. I ended up home closer to 8:40, but that still worked out for me. As has been the case for many other very early morning lifer stories, I ended up getting spooked on this hike, but this time it had nothing to do with the dark. I was at least a mile from the gate when I heard something rustling in the bushes, seemingly just out of view down-slope from me. I could hear it breathe, and thought it might be a coyote, so I picked up a big rock and continued on high alert. I heard the same thing several more times, and though I would try to look back on the area after going around curves that would give me decent views of where I thought the sounds were coming from, I never saw the beast. I guess it was more unnerving than anything else. The bushes don't really seem big enough to conceal anything bigger than a small coyote, and the really strange thing was I never even saw the bushes move. Perhaps it was another pig? I guess racoon is also possible, but it sure sounded heavier. Whatever my secret stalker was, it never gave me reason to use my impromptu projectile. As the fog started coming in, I noted some of the similarities between this location and Sibley Volcanic, where I had previously dipped on a Black-chinned Sparrow twice. One one of those mornings I met John Toldi, who I recall wondering, "If I were a Black-chinned Sparrow, where would I be?" He seemed to think the brushy hillside where I had just seen my lifer Rufous-crowned Sparrows was as good as any spot, and aside from about 1000' of elevation, wasn't so different from where I found myself this morning. It wasn't long after thinking these thoughts that a Rufous-crowned Sparrow appeared, along with at least three singing Bell's Sparrows! The fog made it especially difficult to see them, but I at least got one decent look. Now it was on to try to find a smaller, darker, and rarer sparrow in the ever-thickening fog.
Additional species
Technical information
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