On the Trail of the Rufuos-Backed Robin
From WildWiki
February 5, 2003
In Search of The Elusive Rufus-backed Robin by Jay Roberts
It all started one morning in the Santa Rita mountains of southern Arizona. We were camped high up in Madera Canyon with Bill Buskirk- our visiting Earlham Biologist. He had taken us here ostensibly to teach us something about the natural history of the Sonoran desert and to go over elevational transects- the variations in flora and fauna that occur with changes in altitude. We all knew, however, that Bill had a few ulterior motives to this particular site. Madera Canyon just happens to be one of the birding meccas of the United States. And Bill happens to be one passionate birder.
The Rufus Backed Robin is, apparently, one rare bird here in the United States. It is not rare at all in Mexico but that seems to be beside the point. I am learning that “rare” in the birding world is not unlike a Pavlovian dinner bell for Birders. Once they hear or read that word-usually followed by a rather humorous (to non birders) species name like “Lesser Pink-Sided Junco”- the binoculars are drawn and the game is on. This particular rare bird, the Rufus-Backed Robin, had recently been seen at a watering hole just down canyon from where we were camped. How Bill knew this I don’t know. But it was clear from his suggestion that we “might wake up early to go take a look” that this was serious business.
So a merry band of us awoke with the sun the following morning, piled in an Earlham van and headed down to the watering hole. We pulled up at the end of a wash-board road and hiked down a trail hot in pursuit of this rare bird. The Rufus-Backed Robin looks exactly like the American Robin except it has an orange (Rufus) back and a slight difference in eye coloration. This made it somewhat difficult to get excited about. Nonetheless, we anxiously hiked along looking up at every winged beast that happened by. The way it usually worked was that Bill or James would see a bird, I would scramble for my binoculars, they would simply denote its name in a casual, conversational tone-“acorn woodpecker, ruby kinglet” and I was left whizzing my binoculars to the heavens to catch nothing more than an eye full of glaring sunlight. This process would repeat every five minutes or so.
We arrived at our destination and I was a bit taken aback. The “watering hole” consisted of a cement cattle tank in the middle of a rather humble looking clearing. A lone, sad Mesquite sat in the corner near a fence. There were no birds in sight. We stood there for what seemed like an eternity until a group of birds zoomed by high above. I fumbled for my binoculars. James and Bill glanced up and said, “robins.” We sat there staring at the cement block for another five minutes until Bill finally said, “I think they must have flown to another water source.” At that, we walked back down the trail and piled back in the van. It was just barely 8:00am. I love birding.
That night, after a hearty meal, I was pretty sure that I didn’t have it in me to go back to the cement tank the next morning. But something in me said, “if you don’t go and they see this bird, you’ll be sorry.” Why I thought I would be sorry I can’t really say but it seemed logical at the time. So once again I arose before dawn, piled into the van with several other sleepy-eyed students and headed down the washboard road for our date with destiny. Today, apparently, we would try the other watering hole. As we approached cattle tank number two, something in my brain clicked and I glanced around me at the thousands of acres of land that stretched as far as the eye could see. “James,” I said, “are we looking for the species of Rufus-Backed Robins here?” James looked at me with a sad sort of smile and said, “No, were looking for the bird.” “You mean, like, ONE bird?” I replied. “Yup,” said James as he scanned the nearby trees. “So in all of the United States right now there is, like, ONE Rufus-backed Robin, and we are here trying to find that ONE bird?” “Well, there might be two” chimed in Bill from behind me. “Great,” I mumbled as I picked up my binoculars and scanned the water tank. One bird. Big country. One bird.
After fifteen minutes of sparrows, Mexican blue jay’s, blue birds, and nuthatches I was quite sure these bird people were worse off than I thought. But just then James saw something. Once again, he described what he saw is that same causal tone. “Wait. I see a Robin in the tree over there and it definitely has an orange back.” Bill spots it as well. “Yep. That’s the bird we have been looking for.” I finally fumble my way on to the bird myself. It looked just like a Robin except it has an orange back. Here I was, one of less than 1% of all birders in the U.S. ever to have seen this bird and I was staring right at it through my binoculars for a good minute while it puffed its feathers in the sun. Then, just like that, it flitted away and was gone. Bill wasted no time. We packed up and left immediately-the bird was in the bag. As we headed for the van I began to feel a strange sensation come over me. I actually felt pride-proud that I achieved something special. “Hey Bill!” I called out, “so does this make me an official Birder now?” Bill turned around and looked at me square. “No,” he emphatically replied, “it does not.”
I hopped in the van and watched the sun rise over the Santa Rita’s for the start of yet another pristine Southwestern morning. “Rufus-Backed Robin,” I whisper to myself as I stare out the window of the van as in bounces back down the dirt road. “I saw a Rufus Backed Robin today.” I looked toward Bill as he drove and happened to notice that he was smiling in the rearview mirror. “You’re still not worthy,” he laughingly replied. No, Bill, I am not. But maybe tomorrow, I’ll see if I can properly identify that Pink-sided Junco I think I have been seeing.
