DECEMBER 2000/JANUARY 2001

Sunday, April 16: The alarm sounded at 4:30 a.m. like a breath of cold water. We were on the road once again, tires rolling, at the excruciating hour of 5:15. Philip directed the van up a steep gradient to Monarch Pass (11,312'). It had snowed overnight and the dark highway was treacherous near the summit. Any excitement we may have felt at crossing the Continental Divide was muted by serious concerns over traction. The Gunnison valley to the west was stark and cold in the dim twilight. Everything in view was coated with an icy hoar frost, eerily beautiful.

Our destination was a quasi-public lekking ground of the Gunnison Sage Grouse, a distinctive race of Sage Grouse that is likely to be split-off as a separate species in the near future. [Author’s Note: Already happened. The Auk, Vol. 117, No. 3 at 849 (July, 2000).] The rangers who guard the grouses allow birders to congregate at this site, undoubtedly because these particular booming grounds are "naturally" protected by heavy barbed wire fencing, soggy wetlands, a respectable-sized stream and a herd of ominous-looking bovines, quite possibly attack cows.

As we approached the lek, Anthony’s gaze tightened a bit, since we were passing spots where he and Philip had seen the birds in 1999 – but not in 2000. All was set right quickly enough, however, as the leaders picked out a pair of loosely connected leks, containing a total of between 15 and 20 birds. The display behavior of these huge, unlikely looking creatures is bold and stagy, more akin to grand opera than to the choreographic stylings of the Lesser Prairie-Chickens. A displaying male Sage Grouse stands proud and portly, like a tenor at the Met delivering Nessun dorma. The bird literally hurls its outsized breast-ruff out in front of itself to force air from it large, yellow throat sacs, creating a distinctive and far more emphatic vocalization than the prairie-chicken’s. Indeed, the sound was loud enough to carry several hundred yards across the wide bottomland to our ears (the birds themselves, despite their size, were barely visible without binoculars, and could be seen well only with a scope.) We spent quite a bit of time absorbing the spectacle. In addition to the grouse, we saw Northern Raven, Rough-legged Hawk, Coyote, American Kestrel and an assortment of sparrows.

Dawn came officially at 6:30, as the sun rose over a tall ridge line to our east. Shortly afterwards – on some tacit signal – the grouse flew off in two large flocks across the road, continuing beyond the next rise and on to an unseen feeding area further west. (Their strong, sustained flight differed notably from the "burst and glide" pattern seen in most gallinaceous birds, which is used primarily as an escape maneuver.) We left the lek site shortly after the grouse did, returning east on Route 50 up Monarch Pass. We made several stops in the conifer zone below the pass, adding a number of new species for the trip, including Red-breasted Nuthatch, Steller’s Jay and Clark’s Nutcracker. Interesting birds were scarce, however, and the only really common species in the area was American Robin.

Arriving back at Salida at 8:00, we stopped (at last) for breakfast. From here, we turned north on Route 285, up the narrow Arkansas River valley, then over a low pass into South Park (of twisted cartoon fame). Colorado "parks" are actually wide, flat intermountain plateaus, handsome grassland mostly with bits of forest interspersed. Woefully, the landscape is increasingly punctured by large yuppie villas, egotistically situated at the most visually disruptive locations possible. This is the work of a new breed of weekend recreationalists, all of whom, I felt, should be taken out of their ostentatious homes and tortured. Torturing settlers is a savage act, of course, but maybe this suggests that the native inhabitants of the area knew a thing or two after all.

We stopped along the way to identify a raptor, and were treated to aerial courtship displays by four Golden Eagles. In addition, a lone Bald Eagle also soared among them. As we watched, a Prairie Falcon whisked by and Mountain Bluebirds hawked for insects. At a nearby home, Pine Siskins were visiting a feeder, and we finally located Cinnamon Teal in a marshy pond nearby; this was a target species that had eluded us to this point.

While on the question of lists, I began to assemble an official trip list, and in doing so asked each participant which birds had been lifers for them. Amazingly, the magic number for the trip at this stage turned out to be 101. That was the total number of species we had seen, and it was the number of life sightings amassed by trip participants. (For this purpose, the prairie-chicken and Sage Grouse both counted for seven, because they were new for all trip members except the leaders, the Dipper counted for 3, the Western Scrub-Jay for 2, and so on). This cosmic alignment would not persist for long, but it remains shrouded in mystical significance all the same.

Our next stop was Kenosah Pass, where the road crossed a low ridge line covered with thin aspen forest. Winter snows lingered on the ground, although expanding patches of bare soil were now visible – a rare moment in the seasonal cycle, quietly appreciated. Along with several repeat forest birds, we added Red-naped Sapsucker, and I had a quick look at a likely Williamson’s Sapsucker.

Shortly after 11:00, we arrived at Grant, where we left the main highway and began a steep, 24-mile drive to Georgetown, crossing Guanella Pass (11,668'), our highest point on the trip. There was little bird activity on the ascending slope, but in a sunny glade at a roadside campground Emily and I found a Satyr Comma – a colorful nymphalid butterfly that overwinters as an adult, awakening in the spring to search for food and a mate. Continuing upward, we had a close encounter with a herd of Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep along a hairpin turn. Higher still, in dense montane conifers, we came across Golden- and Ruby-crowned kinglets, Black-capped Chickadee, and a handsome Milbert’s Tortoiseshell (another butterfly).

Guanella Pass itself – at the feet of Colorado’s highest peak (Mt. Evans, 14,264') – was still covered with thick snow. Despite diligent slogging we were unable to scare up a White-tailed Ptarmigan. Considering the large area to be covered and the ptarmigan’s excellent camouflage at this season, however, this was not a surprising miss. After lingering at the top for awhile, we descended on a steep road down the north slope to Georgetown, another bustling tourist center. Calls to the Colorado Rare Bird Alert had already warned us that we were unlikely to find rosy-finches at the feeders in Georgetown this winter, where they customarily hang out off-season. In fact, we saw few birds of any kind in the town, just Rock Doves and a few American Crows (a catch-up bird for those who had missed it earlier). We tried feeder poaching in the nearby town of Silver Plume, and there we did turn up three types of junco (Slate-colored, Gray-headed and Pink-sided), as well as Cassin’s Finch, Slate-colored Fox Sparrow (race schistacea, another possible split candidate), several Pine Siskins and an Eastern Fox Squirrel – but no rosy-finches.

It was mid-afternoon by now, and suddenly our free time was spent. Reluctantly, we cut short our expedition and drove straight east, across the Front Range to Denver, then on to the airport (which is quite a distance from the city). We made one final stop along the way, a quick tour on a dirt track that borders the Rocky Mountain Arsenal near the airport, and were pleased to see Mule Deer, numerous prairie-dogs and a dozen or more Burrowing Owls. We left at 4:50 to turn in the van and start home.

Total miles for the trip were 955. Total birds were 111 species (no final count of life ticks), total mammals 18, total butterflies three (the two nymphalids already mentioned plus one sulphur sp. on the prairie).
Everyone on the trip had at least one life bird (except Philip, and even he will have one if Slate-colored Fox Sparrow is ever split).

And that is how it goes with extreme birding. Sound fun? We have several alternative plans ready for next time. Might be surfing for seabirds, hang gliding for eagles, snow boarding for Himalayan Snowcock, outriggers for pterodromas, or who knows what, really. With a new vista open, the sky is the limit.