Focus on California |
 Arnel Guanlao, despite having a full-time job, spends his weekends wandering around the Bay Area checking out the trees, birds, wildflowers, critters, and whatever else crosses his path. Luckily for us, he enjoys sharing his findings with others. Here's his report dated April 22, 1999. Hi Carol -- Over the past two weeks, I made a few trips to McClellan Ranch Park in Cupertino (Santa Clara County). This park was quite small - no more than a half square mile in area - yet I was able to find an amazing variety of bird life crowded into its meager space. The primary reason for the diversity of bird life here was water - the rushing, gurgling, bustling water of Stevens Creek, which formed the park's western boundary. The creek's water slaked the thirst of the verdant ribbon of trees lining banks: tall western sycamores (Platanus racemosa), stately black cottonwoods (Populus balsamifera ssp. trichocarpa), graceful California buckeyes (Aesculus californica), tough coast live oak (Quercus agrifolia), sprawling blue elderberries (Sambucus californica), and others, including a lone coast redwood (Sequoia sempervirens). This dense riparian woodland sheltered the birds, concealing them from the eyes of hungry raptors and other predators. It supplied them with nesting sites, branches and boughs and holes in dead trees. And it provided them with food, either directly (in the form of berries and seeds) or indirectly (in the form of insects, small lizards, and other tasty creatures that also took shelter in the canopy). With so much of what birds need to survive available within the confines of this park, it was no wonder that there were so many of them here. There was only one trail through the park, a nature trail that wandered along the creek's shaded banks. Before investigating this trail, however, I usually scanned the area around the parking lot for any interesting activity. In front of the parking lot was an empty field that stretched from the edge of the riparian woodland along Stevens Creek to the park's eastern boundary. It was normally empty, except for the occasional black phoebe, western scrub jay, or nervous sparrow. Behind the parking lot was a collection of small ranch buildings, preserved from a past era when the Santa Clara Valley was the home of orchards and dirt roads, not glass buildings and freeways. From the eaves of the nearest building hung three or four bird feeders, which always had greedy swarms of white-crowned sparrows and house finches flocking about them. The sparrows and finches would alight on the feeders, consume their fill of seeds, then fly off to the branches of nearby shrubs and trees. There, they would chatter and whistle melodically, and with so many of them present, their songs just filled the air. Once, I also saw a mischievous western gray squirrel scamper along the building's eaves, eyeing the bird feeders wistfully. However, the bird feeders had been installed with such care that even the most intrepid of squirrels couldn't have found a way to raid them. It paused a few times to stare at the feeders before finally giving up. With a few hops, it scampered across the building's roof and then leapt into the leafy bough of a nearby tree. The trail began on the western end of the parking lot, beneath the outstretched branches of the coast redwood that I mentioned earlier. The birds were especially active within the first 100 feet of the trailhead. In a western sycamore next to the redwood, I found an intersecting pair of stout branches where a house finch tried to build a nest in the early days of April. Later visits revealed that this attempt had ended in failure; blustery winds had torn the nest from the branches, leaving only a few limp leaves. On the muddy bank of Stevens Creek immediately below this tree, Brewer's blackbirds often strolled, occasionally taking a sip of the creek's water. In the sycamore trees on the opposite bank, European starlings squeaked and rattled, especially in the early mornings just after the break of dawn. Many of the starlings were young, with bright speckles on their breasts, bright yellow bills, and fresh flight feathers that were still untattered. A Nuttall's woodpecker sometimes appeared, playing hide and seek with me whenever it noticed my stare. A band of acorn woodpeckers were a little less shy, stridently mocking each other in full view until my approach frightened them away. And, deep within an impenetrable tangle of periwinkle (Vinca major), California blackberry (Rubus ursinus), and poison oak (Toxicodendron diversilobum) vines, there came the plaintive song of a golden-crowned sparrow, a straggler who should have been well on its way to its northern breeding grounds. The tangle of vines continued as I progressed down the trail. Poking up through spaces among the vines were a few wildflowers, mainly Bermuda buttercup (Oxalis pes-caprae), California Indian manroot (Marah fabaceus), and common mallow (Malva neglecta). This dense undergrowth provided cover for both types of towhee resident in the area - the plain brown California towhee, and its gaudier cousin, the spotted towhee. The California towhees were the more brazen of the two; each of my footsteps seemed to flush out a California towhee, who usually uttered a brief "peek!" before retreating into the underbrush. The spotted towhees were more secretive, preferring to hide in the underbrush and make their presence known by harsh rasps of alarm. Intermingled among the towhees' noises was the metallic twitter created by a miniature squadron of bushtits, who patrolled the canopy overhead, apprehending and consuming all of the insects that they found there. In a few places, tiny side trails led down to the creek's edge, where I could look at the swiftly flowing waters. On sunny mornings, the waters were tinged green with the canopy's reflection; on cloudy mornings, they turned a cold, steel gray. Along the water's edge, the canopy often became quite thick with leaves, and it was in such situations where I would sometimes stumble upon a hermit thrush or two. A plain bird similar in size and shape to the American robin, the hermit thrush was dull brown above and white below, with a brown-spotted breast and a cinammon tail. The tail color and the lack of an eye ring separated it from the very similar (but less common) Swainson's thrush. In these densely wooded situations, the hermit thrush was often joined by one or two ruby-crowned kinglets, who fluttered from one leafy branch to the next, flicking their wings in a distinctive manner as they inspected every twig and leaf for bugs and other bits of food. About halfway down the park's western boundary, the trail swerved away from the creek slightly, traveling along the riparian woodland's edge, instead. To my left, the trees were now mainly coast live oaks, cottonwoods, and willows (Salix sp.), with an understory California blackberry, California Indian manroot, poison oak, annual bedstraw (Galium aparine), wild radish (Raphanus sativus), and cutleaf geranium (Geranium dissectum). To my right, there was an open field, broken only by the occasional clump of coyote brush (Baccharis pilularis). With less cover, most birds tended to shy away from this end of the trail, although I occasionally spotted a few brave souls fluttering about: some mourning doves, more European starlings, both towhees, and the occasional Anna's hummingbird, which often used the coyote brush as perches from which they could utter their territorial song. During my last visit, I also heard another bird calling at this end of the park. Its voice pierced the cool, early morning air: "kee-AR! kee-AR! kee-AR!" I suspect that it was a northern flicker, but since vocalization can sometimes be deceptive, I can't be certain what bird this was. The trail ended on the park's northern boundary, at the edge of a housing tract. Turning around and retracing my footsteps, I usually searched the canopy above and the tangled underbrush below for any birds that I might have missed. This was a good exercise, for it allowed me to discover a mating pair of Bullock's orioles that might actually have been nesting in the area. The Bullock's orioles could be found anywhere along the first half of the trail. They especially favored the California buckeyes on the opposite banks of Stevens Creek. The male was brilliantly colored in a stunning pattern of hues: the fiery orange of hot embers emblazoned on its underparts, breast, cheeks, and eyebrows; the black of midnight staining its crown, chin patch, back, wings, and upper tail surfaces; the white of newly fallen snow, forming a visually striking sequence of pronounced wing bars. He seemed to glide from one branch to the next, while it sang to its mate. His song was rather variable, ranging from a few sharp buzzes to a metallic "teetoo! teetoo! teetoo!" Inevitably, its mate responded by emerging from her hiding spot and alighting on a perch nearby. Although less brightly patterned than the male, she was still fairly colorful in her own right. Below, her feathers were steeped in shades of yellow and white; above, she was largely olive gray, with less pronounced, white wing bars. In some ways, she resembled an oversized warbler. I wasn't lucky enough to find their nest (if they were indeed nesting in the area). However, because orioles prefer nesting along the edges of rivers, lakes, and ponds, this was a prime nesting location for them. If you come by for a visit and are a little bit luckier than I was, then you might catch a glimpse of their nest, an elaborate sac-like structure woven from grasses and other plant fibers, suspended from the end of a branch. Otherwise, you'll have to content yourself with a few glimpses of the birds themselves. Make sure that you keep your eyes open for them, as they don't stay in one place for long! TO GET THERE: McClellan Ranch Park is located in the city of Cupertino (Santa Clara County). Take Highway 85 to the Stevens Creek Boulevard exit in Cupertino. Go west on Stevens Creek for about a mile until it intersects with Stevens Canyon Road. Make a left turn onto Stevens Canyon Road, then proceed for about a third of a mile (heading south), until you see McClellan Road on your left. (You may have to drive slowly to find the street sign.) Make a left turn onto McClellan, then proceed about one quarter of a mile, until you will see a golf course on your right. At this point, slow down; the park will be on your immediate left. There is currently no admission fee. The best time to arrive is at dawn when the birds are most active. From about 10:00 AM on, bird activity dies down considerably, and only the most common birds remain active. On cloudy days, bird activity may continue on until much later in the day. ©1999 Arnel Guanlao |
