TO SPY HUMMINGBIRDS AND EAGLES, JOURNEY TO THE PINAL MOUNTAINS

Many People Journey into the Pinal Mountains... For the Birds

The familiar sound of a hermit thrush singing outside the window wakes me. In the dim gray light, this song tells me what my darkened clock cannot: It is about an hour before dawn.

I may as well get up. Soon hummingbirds will raise a ruckus at flowers and feeders. Then will come the boisterous morning melodies of tanagers, vireos, warblers, and wrens. Afterward, jays and woodpeckers will fill the air with their squawks and cackles.

This is a typical summer morning in the Pinal Mountains, a place noisy with birds.

A surprising number of people come to the Pinal Mountains for the birds. And for good reason. You can see plenty of them, particularly if you walk the forested trails paying special attention to the "layers" of birdlife stacked up vertically. On a clear summer day, for instance, you might see a pair of red-tailed hawks hanging motionless in updrafts, a northern goshawk plummeting through the treetops, chickadees and siskins combing the pine branches, and creepers and nuthatches performing their act along lower tree trunks.

To find a specific bird, you must inspect the proper layer.

The "basement" layer of the forest is of particular interest in the Pinals. Here hides a bird that has become a celebrity of sorts. Small, shy, and feathered in drab gray with a bit of rust on its back, its only distinguishing feature is its eye color. Meet the yellow-eyed Mexican junco.

Most juncos are considered common birds, regulars at backyard feeders and long-range migrators between their summer and winter grounds. But the yellow-eyed version is different. This is a stay-at-home type, confined primarily to the mountain ranges of Mexico and Central America. The Pinals are its most northerly outpost in the world.

migrators between their summer and winter grounds. But the yellow-eyed version is different. This is a stay-at-home type, confined primarily to the mountain ranges of Mexico and Central America. The Pinals are its most northerly outpost in the world.

This circumstance has intrigued some researchers. In 1990 Jeff White, a graduate student at the University of Arizona, wanted to see if the yellow-eyed juncos in the Pinals showed any morphological traits divergent from their relatives farther south.

His initial fieldwork found no major variations in the Pinals, but it did turn up something else. During the summer of 1990, the yellow-eyed Mexican junco population in the Pinals was dangerously low.

"Probably due to drought," White said.

"Or maybe the fact that ground forage had recently burned. Cattle grazing depresses junco populations, too," he added. Whatever the reason, White offered a theory: "Given a string of drought years with no recruitment of young, the Pinal population could go extinct." Fortunately, summer rains came early and heavy in 1990.

Inadvertently, White's study turned up other data, some of it decidedly more encouraging. Not all the birds of the Pinals, he found, seemed to be affected by the drought.

"Such as?" I asked.

"Red-faced warblers," he responded. "I've never seen so many anywhere."

Red-faced warblers are, indeed, a specialty of the Pinals. A bird whose range extends north only as far as Arizona and a small portion of New Mexico, this warbler may be found nowhere else in the United States. Fortunately, the upper elevation forests of the Pinals serve them up with regularity. I was first introduced to this little warbler by Betty Jackson. Betty is a birding institution around the Globe area, having kept records of bird observations that date to 1958. During one of my first bird walks with her in the Pinals, we were clambering over fallen aspen logs near Ferndell Spring when Betty suddenly stopped and pointed to a low fir branch. "What is it?" I asked. "Red-faced warbler," she whispered. Then she noticed my blank look. "Once you see it, you'll never forget." I focused my binoculars. Down the fir branch hopped a clown-faced bird with red cheeks. It called a soft chip sound while leaning over for a better look at me. Soon another bird joined in. Then another. They, too, chipped and leaned and looked, and 1 knew Betty was right. I could never forget a bird with a perpetual blush. Hummingbirds are another lure of the Pinals. They come by the hundreds. A few of them set upon me my first morning as a fire lookout on the mountain's secondhighest point, 7,812-foot Signal Peak. Even before I had unpacked, the hummers were busily inspecting my gear, checking supplies, looking for bright-red containers with something sweet inside. I took their hint and quickly mixed some sugar water. The hummers took care of the rest, even showing me where to hang the feeders. Those first hummers I saw were broadtailed hummingbirds with rosy throats and shrill, screaming wing beats. They were everywhere, up to 15 swarming a single feeder at a time. Then came a bird that looked like someone's secret weapon. Dark, stilettoshaped, and monstrously large for a hummingbird, its body was so long it had to lean back from the perch to get its beak into the feeder hole. This bird was the Rivoli's hummer. In good light, it showed off an iridescent green throat, purple cap, deepgreen back and sides. For a hummingbird, it also showed a surprisingly even temper. Not so with most. Hummingbirds are a feisty lot. Whenever a new one visited, you could tell by the uproar from the others. Nevertheless, by summer's end, I had hosted Anna's, black-chinned, rufous, Allen's, and even diminutive calliope hummingbirds, the tiniest bird in the U.S. The calliope slurped on a figwort one day while overhead flew our largest bird of prey, the golden eagle. I marveled at the contrast. But unusual bird contrasts occur frequently in the Pinals. One day, for instance, I recorded a bridled titmouse, a mountain chickadee, a black-throated gray warbler, and a white-breasted nuthatch - four small black and white striped birds all on the same branch. It seemed like some kind of record. Another time I witnessed a western tanager and a phainopepla quarreling over a tall agave stalk bursting with fruit. Who could have guessed those two would ever meet? The tanager, you see, forages exclusively in the mountain forests, while phainopeplas prefer the desert. By all rights, they should remain at least two life zones apart. But such zones sometimes tend to blur in the Pinals. Habitats overlap like so many shingles. For birds it must be confusing, but for birders it is, well, convenient. The Pinal Mountains offer convenience in several other ways, too. For one, they are only two and a half hours from Phoenix, and often 30° to 40° F. cooler in summer. A passable dirt road leads to the summit. For another, the trails are never crowded, partly because they are steep. Pinal Peak's short Pineline and Middle trails, however, avoid most of the ups and downs. These intersecting routes run across the broad 7,848-foot summit connecting its two small campgrounds (Upper Pinal and Lower Pinal) with several other trails. In a little more than a mile and a half, they take you through "birdy" blends of aspen, pine, maple, oak, fir, locust, and even some chaparral. For first-time visitors, the "Birds of the Pinals" field checklist is handy to have. Originally compiled by former fire lookout Don Bailey, this checklist has been updated by Betty Jackson and is available at the Globe office of the Tonto National Forest. The sheet lists 129 birds that have been recorded in the Pinals, including 14 species of raptors, 10 varieties of flycatchers, seven hummingbirds, and 12 warblers. For novice birders, the checklist is a godsend. But a checklist can't help some identifications. I learned this one day when Betty Jackson suggested I keep an eye peeled for tree swallows. Swallows were not my strong point, so I requested a description. "The tree swallow is very much like a violet-green swallow," she told me, "only the white parts don't go as far." "That's a lot of help," I said. "I can't even tell swallows from swifts." "Yes, you can," she chirped. "Just look!" Just look? They never stopped for inspection. As far as I could tell, they were tiny stunt pilots flying perpetual-motion machines. But a few days later, I noticed something flopping in the dirt. Close inspection revealed it was a white-throated swift. Somehow grounded by recent windstorms and too weary to fly, the bird let me pick it up and take it home. White-throated swifts reign as the fastest fliers in North America. They are celebrated for escaping the 175 mph swoops of peregrine falcons. Yet on the ground, these jetlike birds become nearly helpless: They can't walk, only climb.

BIRDS OF THE PINAL MOUNTAINS

I made a bed for my downed swift, and it slept soundly, long naps punctuated only by vigorous climbing expeditions up my legs to the top of my head. After a couple of days, the bird seemed ready to fly again, so we stepped outside for launch.

I expected sudden escape, but the little swift clung tightly to my finger, watching the treetops for signs of predators. Slowly, its confidence returned, and the bird stretched its wings. It released and glided away gently on the air.

Unfortunately, its fixed-wing glide headed on a sure collision course with the Earth. Could it survive another crash? A foot from the dirt, the bird finally decided to pump its powerful wings... one, two, three times . . . accelerating instantly into an impossibly steep climb. In a matter of seconds, the swift cleared the trees and soared high overhead, its curved-winged silhouette turning tightly like a scimitar hurled up against the sky.

I've since learned that wild swifts enjoy extended life spans, some reaching ages of 20 years or more. This is comforting News. Now when I see a swift in the Pinals, I wonder if it's the one that flew from my hand. And tree swallows? Haven't seen one, yet.

The Pinal Mountains are in the Tonto National Forest just south of Globe. From the junction of State Route 88 and U.S. 60, two miles west of Globe, turn south and follow brown-painted “Pinal Mountain Recreation” signs that mark the turns. Pavement ends after 1.5 miles, and the road becomes Forest Service Road 55. About six miles from the highway, turn right onto FR 651. It is about 11 more miles to Pinal Peak. The road is usually passable in a passenger automobile except in winter. The drive takes about one hour.

For maps and information about trails and the bird checklist, call the Tonto National Forest's Globe Ranger District at (520) 402-6200.