June 14, 2015
Almost exactly one year ago to the day I swore to myself I would never do that again. I swore that the Colima Warbler wasn’t worth all that trouble. I swore that the death march was something that would, in all likelihood, kill me.
I did it anyway.
As I had planned, I awoke at three in the morning. As I had not planned, the storms from the previous night returned in full vigor at one in the morning and blew my tent sideways. “Fuck this,” I told myself – well, really more thought to myself, but I digress. So, I went in my car and tried to sleep for the last two hours. I didn’t sleep much, but I didn’t blow away either.
My alarm came. I seriously thought about not getting up. I didn’t. I would make the death march.
It’s called the death march by birders because it is a minimum of a nine mile strenuous hike. This hike is done to get a single bird – the Colima Warbler. The Colima Warbler is only found in the US in the highest part of the Chisos Mountains. It is only there for a few months out of the year, and for those months, it only sings for part of the time. The song is sometimes the only way to find it. It takes an average person some 6 hours to do the whole trip. I’m not average. I’m a fat ass (is fat-ass hyphenated?). I’m out of shape and tubby – getting tubbier all the time. It sucks. But, that’s what being lonely and depressed will do to you (among other things).
I start the march at 3:15. It’s slow going. I have my spotlight to guide the way. Occasionally, my way is also lighted by a lightning storm behind me (to the west I think – directions confuse me in the Basin). That doesn’t bode well at all. Sunrise won’t be until 6:49. Three-and-a-half hours in the dark.
I’m able to hear the night chorus of insects and occasionally a bat that swoops close enough for me to hear. I wish I could have ID’d the bats for my year mammal count, but outside of netting them, it’s impossible. Finally, I hear the first night birds. First to call is a Mexican Whip-poor-will. If my ID from the night I came in the park was suspect, this was dead on. It was the unmistakable whip-poor-will call. Then Elf Owls start calling. I probably have a dozen or more Elf Owls by the time I reach the top. Finally, I hear a few Western Screech-Owls.
#362 – Elf Owl
At 6 in the morning, the lightning turns to rain. I’m still a mile from where I need to be. I was smart enough to bring a rain poncho. Sexy it isn’t, but it is somewhat functional. And hot. It gets hot under there. I trudge on in the rain for about 30 minutes. It finally stops as the first hint of day approaches. This high, I’m much closer to the sun than I was down below. It bet dawn will get here sooner.
About the time I’m able to switch off my lamp, I start to hear more birds calling. First that I can ID are Black-Headed Grosbeaks. I never saw them, but I could hear them.
#363 – Black-Headed Grosbeak
I finally get to the top around 7:00. It’s 7,000 feet up. I’d hiked about 1,600 feet up. I still had more to go. The birds are on the other side of the mountain. The side I hiked up was the dry side. The opposite side, that can only be reached by hiking is the wet side. And it was totally different. When I birded there before, I was there about 11 in the morning. This time, I got there at dawn. The morning and nighttime rains may have sucked at the time, but they had a miraculous effect on the canyon.
As I descended down the opposite side of the mountain, I stepped into a different world. I was in a cloud forest. I felt as if I were in Central or South America. I was in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Lost World. There was true magic here. The fog was dense, and the wind strong. I could see the clouds blowing by giving brief glimpses of what lay ahead and beyond.
I started to hear the birds. So many all at once, I couldn’t ID them at times. Could that have been a Colima? I asked myself that numerous times.
I can’t remember what order the birds came in. But I know I was able to get in pretty quick succession two new vireos.
#364 – Gray Vireo
#365 – Hutton’s Vireo
Hutton’s Vireo
I also heard the faint cooing of a pigeon. Had to be a Band-Tailed
#366 – Band-Tailed Pigeon
Then I heard a hummingbird. It was a juvenile. Hard to ID. But then, the mother came in to feed it. Broad-Tailed! Lifer!
#367 – Broad-Tailed Hummingbird
Broad-Tailed Hummingbird
The hummingbirds were right at the start of the Colima Train, presumably a good place to find them. By this point, I feel pretty confident that I had hear at least one Colima. They sound a little like the end of a Bewick’s Wren’s call. There were numerous Bewick’s up there though, which made the ID difficult.
I start to head back. Then I hear the call. It’s an unmistakable Colima. I scan for it. Then, out of the corner of my eye, a second bird flies in. Do I look at it, or keep looking for the Colima? I look at it. Dark gray body. Yellow belly. Rusty red crown. COLIMA! And it’s gone in less than a second. But I had it. I saw it for a little longer last year (maybe 5 seconds), but this look was definitive and soul satisfying. I wish I could have gotten a photo, but alas, I’m not that quick.
#368 – Colima Warbler
I start heading back about 8:00, when most normal people would just be starting their hike. Birders aren’t normal. As I descend, I start to see White-Throated Swifts buzzing overhead.
#369 – White-Throated Swift
Going down is far easier than going up. The one benefit to going up though is that by then end of this trip, if I keep doing that, I will have an amazing ass. Damn, that is a glut workout. I stop about once an hour going down. When I went up, I had to stop maybe every 15 minutes to catch my breath. At the first stop, I sit for about ten minutes when a large grayish hummingbird flied right in front of me for a split second. It whirred as it went. There are four possible hummingbirds according to recent reports from eBird. One is the Broad-Tailed, which I had just seen. It didn’t whirr. Two more are the Black-Chinned and the Lucifer. Both of these are smaller hummers. They can be mistaken for one another. Neither whirr. That leaves only one option, the Blue-Throated Hummingbird. I mull the ID over in my head all the way down the mountain. By checking reports and guide books, I’m positive that it was a Blue-Throated.
#370 – Blue-Throated Hummingbird.
I finally arrive back at the lodge at 11:00. I promptly go in and buy a nasty sandwich, that I immediately regretted. I was famished and my legs were wobbly.
I decided to pack up camp and head on out. I had paid for another night, but just didn’t feel like staying. I had done everything I needed.
By noon, I was on my way to the Davis Mountains.
I got to Fort Davis at about 3 or so and got a campground. “Oh, by the way,” says the front desk person lady, “there’s an Elf Owl nest at your campsite. It’ll poke its head out every now and then.” I’d say that’s a pretty good welcome to the Davis Mountains.
I then head to the bird blind. My one target here is the Montezuma Quail. They’re hard to find anywhere, and this is the most reliable spot in the state. I run into some other birders at the blind, and the guy will not stop talking to me. I sit there and take his incessant bantering on about how excited he was to see his first Eurasian Collared Dove or how good the Rio Grande Valley used to be in the day. Granted, they do tell me a few things that I wanted to know. Like, where to possibly find the quail, that there is a Zone-Tailed Hawk in the area, and where to find Cassin’s Kingbirds. Actually, the last part wasn’t too hard. We walked outside, that one of the pair points up, “There’s your Cassin’s.”
#371 – Cassin’s Kingbird
Cassin’s Kingbird
The most enjoyable thing about the state park are the showers. I hadn’t bathed in nearly a week. I was beginning to revolt myself from the stench. It felt so good to wash away the funk.
Speaking of washing away, the storms were back. I hadn’t set up my tent yet, and by 6 the deluge had hit, this time with hail. How exciting (he said in a completely non-sarcastic way).
I rode out the storm in my car. Trying to sleep. Not really, I was taking full advantage of the free WiFi at the campgrounds. By 8, I had had it. The rain by then was just a drizzle. I had to set up my tent and get something for dinner. Camp was set up quickly, and for the second time that day I had donned the red rain poncho.
I ate.
Finally, I had one of the most restful nights of sleep I had had so far on the trip. I fell asleep to the soft call of the Elf Owl.
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