Pelagic birding trip from San Diego: What's it like?

Sunrise: Pelagic birding trip aboard Grande out of San Diego, California. September 21, 2014. Greg Gillson.

I've spent nearly 200 days at sea watching birds. I've organized and led over 150 pelagic trips--ocean bird watching boat trips--from Oregon during the past 21 years. I've taken another twenty pelagic trips in North America and Mexico, including some multi-day trips, and 3 cruises on luxury liners.

I enjoy watching birds at sea. I enjoy being at sea.

On September 21 I was privileged to be one of the guides on a pelagic trip from San Diego, sponsored by the Buena Vista Audubon Society. The trip was aboard the 88 foot Grande. Though not as large as the 95 foot Searcher, also out of San Diego, it is much larger than the 45-55 foot charter fishing boats available for these purposes off Oregon. Even with 50 birders aboard it was not crowded.

Passing Point Loma and entering the Pacific Ocean.

This is the third time I've traveled on Grande--all as a guide. The first time was a double-overnight trip in 2008. Then I went out last October on a single-day 12 hour trip to 30 Mile Bank. The trip just completed was another 12 hour trip over 9 Mile Bank to 30 Mile Bank and back.

The double-overnight trip in 2008 was what some might call "roughing it." Biggest problem for me was there was only one head (marine toilet) each for men and for women. I had to get up before the crack of dawn to make sure, well... if you are older you know. If not, then you don't want to. There were no showers available for those three days. Sleeping was in bunks--stacked 4 high. There is a left and right aisle with bunks on left, center, and right of the boat. The center bunks shared a common wall between their neighbor on the opposite aisle. The "wall" was just a canvas divider. The 45 passengers slept in their clothes. It was not a luxury liner. On the other hand, I've gone overnight in a small fishing boat sitting on the floor with my back against the oven and my feet down the stairwell, almost, but not quite, falling asleep.

Not everything was primitive, though, this boat has a galley and chef to provide meals. As far as I know, no other pelagic trips in North America have this available (except Searcher, also from San Diego, California). I had purchased and brought along a Subway sandwich to eat during the day, but took advantage of the galley to have a breakfast burrito.

A view from the stern.

This trip started pretty much as all pelagic trips--looking for a parking space before dawn. Even the pay lot was full when I arrived at 5:30 am (the consequences of an insanely great, and badly needed, bluefin tuna fishing season). I found street parking 4 blocks away. The charter was busy. As a guide I didn't have to go to the office to check in, rather just sign the passenger manifest on the clipboard handed around. Then I helped load chum onto the boat and set up some deck chairs.

Passengers were loaded and an orientation speech by the trip leader began. The captain discussed boat safety as we departed.

Most West Coast pelagic trips are damp and cool to cold. However, on this September date it was nearly 70 degrees as dawn approached. I left my hooded coat in the car and only brought my light weight rain jacket/wind breaker. But I never put it on. It was a shirt-sleeve trip from start to finish. Even if cloudy, one can be sunburned. I always tell everyone to put on sun block, but didn't take my own advice. Even though I work outside all day, the left half of my face is now peeling.

The Coronado Islands on the horizon are in Mexico, 15 miles from the San Diego harbor.

The bird watching trip ran out the bay, past the bait barges with hundreds of attendant Brant's Cormorants and some egrets, pausing near Ballast Point to view several Black Oystercatchers and a hybrid Black x American Oystercatcher on the cobble beach. Brown Pelicans and Royal and Elegant terns flew overhead. The boat then passed the tip of Point Loma and entered the ocean.

It's a bit confusing until you get used to it, but the mouth of San Diego Bay faces due south, not west. So our trip went south, straight out the bay heading along shore in the direction of the Coronado Islands off Tijuana, Mexico. Brown Boobies nest there, and we saw 3 along this section of our trip. Black-vented Shearwaters are regular here, and there were many Red-necked Phalaropes flying about. When we neared the Mexican border we turned around and headed northwest to Nine Mile Bank, an underwater mountain range about (yes) 9 miles offshore.

In Oregon these backpacks would be drenched with wave splash! But not here.

Birds dropped in number as we moved farther offshore. We were hoping for the numerous Craveri's Murrelets seen a couple of weeks earlier, but were not here this day. We did pick up Cassin's Auklets and the first of several Common Terns. Trip leaders took turns chumming popcorn all day and had a burlap sack of fish scraps hanging over the stern rail, dripping into the water. Western Gulls were present the entire trip, Heermann's Gulls were common, more so near shore, and we had a few California Gulls.

Birds were nearly absent between Nine Mile Bank and Thirty Mile Bank. We did spot a couple Pink-footed Shearwaters and barely discernible Black Storm-Petrels flitted about at about a quarter mile distant, but didn't approach the boat more closely. A Blue Whale spouted several times and finally sounded. I didn't get a photo--I was too entranced by the sight of this huge animal!

For "county listers," those concerned with keeping lists of birds in each individual county, we left San Diego County and entered into Los Angeles County. Now Orange County is between the two on the mainland, but ocean birding follows the "closest point of land" rule. We had been traveling from Point Loma, San Diego County (the nearest point of land), toward San Clemente Island, which was officially owned by Los Angeles County. When we reached half way, over Thirty Mile Bank (yes again, about 30 miles from San Diego Bay), we crossed into the new county, skipping over Orange County, which owns none of the southern California islands.

Returning to San Diego Bay in late afternoon.

We finally had a couple of Craveri's Murrelets--requiring photos to make sure. And we added Pomarine and Parasitic Jaegers.

Was this a disappointing trip for passengers? I'm not sure. In Oregon we always have the big Black-footed Albatrosses (always a crowd-pleaser) and at least 3-5 species of shearwaters, as well as 3-5 species of alcids: murrelets, auklets, puffins. But these birds are not common in southern California waters. Instead, storm-petrels are the draw. But we only had very distant Black Storm-Petrels, no big rafts, nor anything unexpectedly rare.

Personally, I added 10 species of new birds for the year in San Diego County: Black Oystercatcher, Brown Booby, Pomarine Jaeger, Cassin's Auklet, Pink-footed Shearwater, Black Storm-Petrel, Common Tern, Sabine's Gull, Common Murre, and Craveri's Murrelet. In fact, Brown Booby was a first for me in all of California. Additionally, the Sabine's Gull and Common Murre were new birds for me in San Diego County.

I've got another trip scheduled for next weekend. So, if it doesn't get weathered-out by rough seas, I'll have lots of seabird photos to share over the next few weeks. I'm not a guide this time, and had to pay my way aboard. But I probably won't do anything less than I've done the last 20 years--point out, teach, and explain about pelagic birds, fishes, and marine mammals; sharing my excitement with whoever is nearby.

Returning to the marina at sunset.

Chipping Sparrows at Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery

Chipping Sparrow. Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery, San Diego, California. September 14, 2014. Greg Gillson.

Two weeks ago at FRNC I photographed a sparrow I thought might be Brewer's Sparrows. Some of these desert sparrows had been reported there along with the common resident Chipping Sparrows. Later at the cemetery I encountered similar sparrows and decided these new birds were Chipping Sparrows in non-breeding plumage. When I looked at the photos, it turns out that they were all the common Chipping Sparrows. Nothing rare after all.

The photo above is of the first bird that I thought might be Brewer's Sparrow. It was in bright sun and this photo has been adjusted to bring down the over-exposed breast and face from the bright sun. In the field, the dark whisker mark stood out to me and the lores (feathers between eye and bill) appeared pale. These two field marks should indicate Brewer's Sparrow. However, looking again I do see that the lores are somewhat dark and the whisker mark is diffuse. Tricky!

Another possibility is Clay-colored Sparrow. But that bird has well-defined crown streaking, especially a broad white central crown stripe that this bird lacks. Chipping Sparrows in breeding plumage have a solid chestnut cap, but here you can see the crown is slightly chestnut with black streaking. Brewer's Sparrow would not show any chestnut color on the crown.

Young sparrows, just out of the nest, are heavily streaked below, as this bird shown above. In the field I didn't know exactly what species this was, and concentrated on getting several photos that I could examine later. There were adult Savannah Sparrows and Song Sparrow there and I thought this might be a young Savannah Sparrow. The wing bars and a rather plain facial pattern (with just a line through the eye and not much of a lateral throat stripe) point to this being a juvenile Chipping Sparrow.

Juvenile Wilson's Phalarope at San Luis Rey River Mouth

Wilson's Phalarope. San Luis Rey River mouth, Oceanside, California. September 7, 2014. Greg Gillson.

Of the over 200 species of shorebirds in the world, the three species called phalaropes are the only ones that are usually found swimming. The Red Phalaropes and Red-necked Phalaropes breed on the Arctic tundra in both the Old and New World, and migrate south in fall to spend the winter far at sea in tropical oceans. The Wilson's Phalarope is more of a landlubber, breeding in prairie potholes in western Canada and the United States and wintering primarily at inland ponds in western and southern South America.

Most shorebirds have unwebbed feet. Some shorebirds, however, have partial webs between their toes. The phalaropes are unique among shorebirds in being lobate--having flaps or lobes that aid in swimming, much as the feet of grebes and coot.

Phalaropes also reverse their sexual roles. Females are larger and more brightly-colored than males. The females pursue the males and fight off other females from their mate. As with many shorebirds, the males take all the work of raising the young--incubation and chick care. Vocabulary word for the day: Serial Polyandry: females take multiple mates, one after the other, abandoning their mate after they lay eggs.

As with many shorebirds, phalaropes have a bright breeding plumage, a gray winter plumage, and the young have a long-held juvenile plumage they keep through the fall into winter.

For a photo I took of a bright female in breeding plumage in Oregon in 2010, see my Pacific NW Birder blog post: "Memorial Day weekend at Malheur: Part 9."

Black-bellied Plover at San Luis Rey River Mouth

Black-bellied Plover. San Luis Rey River mouth, Oceanside, California. September 7, 2014. Greg Gillson.

A rather unwary juvenile Black-bellied Plover was on the beach at Oceanside, California. I find these photos rather pleasing to look at, artistically. The camera angle is low. The sun is also low, creating side shadows that accentuate the shape of the bird. The focus is sharp and depth of field good. The seaweed provides an interesting background. The second photo shows the bird engaged in an activity--which always makes wildlife photographs more interesting.

Of course, with wildlife photography, you can't control many of these things in the field. You just keep taking photos while the bird will let you--paying attention to potentially distracting background elements and sun angle--and just hope one of the pictures turns out.

Bed In Summer

A Child's Garden of Verses

(First published 1885)

The 1957 version Illustrated by Gyo Fujikawa

(above) was my first book!

Bed in Summer 

by Robert Louis Stevenson

In winter I get up at night 

And dress by yellow candle-light. 

In summer quite the other way, 

I have to go to bed by day. 

 I have to go to bed and see 

The birds still hopping on the tree, 

Or hear the grown-up people's feet 

Still going past me in the street. 

And does it not seem hard to you, 

When all the sky is clear and blue, 

And I should like so much to play, 

To have to go to bed by day?

---

Besides sharing my first book and first memorized poem from that book, I want to share the reason the poem was written. Stevenson was Scottish and that far north there is a major difference in daylight hours, summer to winter. Thus, getting up in the dark in winter, and going to bed when it was still light in summer. There is much less of a difference in daylight hours, summer to winter, in San Diego, compared to Scotland, or even what I experienced in Oregon. In fact, that's one of the major reasons I left Oregon almost exactly a year ago.

I am totally solar-powered. When it is sunny, I am full of energy and good cheer. When it is dark or gloomy, so am I. And cold and tired. In Oregon in June I would wake with the sun before 5 am, and keep going until nearly 10 pm. November-February? I had a hard time staying awake. The marked difference in the number of daylight hours between summer and winter was hard on me. Every fall and winter I would experience Seasonal Affective Disorder symptoms to some degree, sometimes rather severe. So, besides looking for a place that was warmer and drier and sunnier than Oregon in winter, I wanted to move south where there was less seasonal change in daylight hours... and less seasonal changes in my mood.

Near the equator there are about 12 hours of direct sunlight all year. But right now, in late September (and again in late March, the autumn and spring equinoxes), the earth is tilted perpendicular to the sun. Thus, the day (sun visible above the horizon) and night are both about 12 hours right now everywhere on the planet.

As I discussed, in late June in NW Oregon it was light (civil twilight) from 4:45 in the morning to 9:40 at night. Almost 17 hours! In San Diego the longest day of summer, dawn to dusk, runs from about 5:15 in the morning to only 8:30 in the evening. 15 hours and 15 minutes.

And winter? In late December in Oregon there was at least some light visible on the horizon from 7:15 in the morning to 5:00 in the afternoon. That's 9 hours and 45 minutes. Of course, it was usually overcast in western Oregon in winter, thus often much darker. In San Diego, the winter sunlight is extended from 6:20 in the morning to 5:15 in the evening. Just about 11 hours.

But that is not all. As Oregon is farther north, even when the sun is out, it is not as high in the sky. At noon in late December the sun only reaches 21 degrees above the southern horizon. Point your arm straight up, drop it half way to the horizon, then drop it half way again. That's as high as the sun gets during the shortest days of winter. The sun angle for San Diego at noon in mid-winter is 34 degrees.

In late June the angle of the sun at noon in Oregon reaches 68 degrees above the horizon. In San Diego it is much closer to overhead--at 81 degrees (as you'll recall, straight up is 90 degrees).

By moving to San Diego I gave up pronounced seasonal changes, including not being able to go birding for an hour or two before work in late spring and early summer, as I used to in Oregon. But I'm getting a more even amount of sun now, throughout the year. Even so, I've noticed that it is now dark when I get up in the morning... reminding me of a poem I knew in childhood.