Lifer Journal 1: Franklin's Gull

Franklin's Gull: The Heartwarming Story of Frankie the Gull, who Traveled Thousands of Miles Through Deadly Storms, Devastating Hurricanes, and Worst of All, Kansas, to Finally Arrive at his Cruddy Winter Home at a Concrete Pond in Orange County

California, for birders, is essentially a gazillion mile long, eighth-a-gazillion mile wide mushy pot hole of vagrants.

In winter? No sinter (nothing else rhymed). Rare birds? You bet. No sweat (HAHA GET IT BECAUSE IT'S WINTER)!

 In summer? No bummer!

Spring?  Time for a bird fling.

Fall? It's a goddang bird mall.

Here is a Song Sparrow, for absolutely no good reason whatsoever. 

Which is all nice if you're a compulsive lister, a normal birder, or a birder looking to compose absolutely atrocious poems, but for the average, middle-aged Susan John birder with a job, it's kind of a pain in the binoculars to have to browse slowly and agonizingly through pages of finicky reports with photo-contest winning shots of some arrogant Rustic Bunting or annoying Roseate Spoonbill or punch-in-the-face Bronzed Cowbird that's only a couple hours away and could be accessed if it wasn't for some little painful thing. And this goes on for all the seasons. A heap of rare bird reports the size of all the swimming pools in Beverly Hills. It can turn any wannabe twitcher more insane then they already are, which is an accomplishment. 

Of course, this is all just a small pimple on the face of California birders. California is, after all, the place where you can take a leisurely drop in at a concrete lake with 2 potted bonsai trees and stale water filled with dead koi and get in-your-face looks at an Eurasian Wigeon, or two. Or a Falcated Teal.

Eurasian Wigeons may be considered as a tad rare here, but I still don't think much of their sanitary habits. 

This poopy (literally) pond was also a home to a Glaucous Gull and an Aleutian Cackling Goose last winter. 

On this particular day, I was strolling along at some hole-in-the-ground lake that was chock full of pooping coots and domestic mutt Mallards.  And then, there, sitting on the crap-carpeted fence, was a Franklin's Gull making the most hideous "waffle, waffle" racket I have ever heard from a gull, and that means it's bad. I scrutinized its rather ubiquitous plumage from 10 feet away. It didn't budge a Gony's spot.* The first thing I thought was "Shoot, I forgot this darn thing was even here. Of all places." The next was "Crap," because that's what I had leaned on without realizing it.**

A heartbeat later, some cool biker dude zoomed right past the gull. Almost being barreled into by a cool biker dude was apparently too much for the gull, which took off over the concrete coot-filled lake, never to be seen again (or for the next hour or so) by the next two birders who came a second too late. 

Cheers to the best kind of bird lifer there is.

*The Gony's spot is a part of a gull's bill. On Western,  Herring, etc. gulls, it's the thing that looks like a miniature Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer nose. On other species of gulls it can be a lot less noticeable.

**And because I forgot my binos and cam. This time, it was a known continuing bird, so I just enjoyed the view. But imagine being unarmed with Weapon of Vagrant Proof (camera) while being in the same park as a House Finch or European Starling. Yikes. I can imagine the eBird confirmation emails already. 

You can see the humongous Gony's Spot quite clearly on this Western Gull. Apparently the owner of this bag of chips did not.