The Rarest Bird I've Ever Seen?

What began seven or eight years ago as an innocent enough attempt to learn the birds in my neighborhood and nearby habitats has rapidly ballooned into an all-out, fully-fledged quest to see as many of these incredible feathered creatures as possible.  There is no denying it now: I have well and truly become an unapologetic birder.    

And as such, I've also begun dipping my toes into the thrilling pursuit known as "chasing," that is, traveling away from my local patch to seek out previously reported rare birds.  As a general rule, I only chase the rarities that show up within a couple hours' drive of home, but these are my own personal parameters: serious chasers would never let silly things like time, distance or money come between them and a mega rarity!

Chasing rarities is not something I do very often, however, and generally only indulge in the pursuit when I'm pretty sure that I will be unlikely to see that species any other way.  Two years ago, I successfully "chased" a Harris's Sparrow up in Yolo county; last July, I "got" the Little Gull that had been found in Moss Landing.  And in December, I was thrilled to see two rare birds in one day: a Snow Bunting and a Curlew Sandpiper, both in the Bay Area.  

In January, I heard about another even more tantalizing discovery, just a few days after it occurred.  A female-type Red-flanked Bluetail, a small Asian member of the Old World flycatcher family, had been found in Santa Cruz, a scant 120 miles from my home.  

And let me tell you, this little bird's appearance anywhere in the western hemisphere is a big, big deal!

But I must confess: before that moment, I had never even heard of a Red-flanked Bluetail.  Though naturally, I was intrigued... especially since it had been found a mere two-and-a-half hour drive away.  

Knowing nothing about the bird or the situation, I passed it off as a "one day wonder" that I was unlikely to have the chance to see, and did my best to forget about it.  Or, at least not tempt myself with the idea of driving over to chase it.  

But, as the days and weeks of consistent reports kept streaming in, the proximity of this little rare bird became harder for me to ignore.  Even more tantalizing was the reliability with which it was being re-found by birders searching the same small area, day after day.

And then the rains came.  So, I waited as heavy storms battered the coast.  I waited as the spring semester began, along with all the extra responsibilities involved for us this year.  I waited through more rain.  I waited through social engagements and family obligations.  I waited through even more rain, and then a nasty head cold.  

I was beginning to worry that this overwintering bird, so reliably seen for the past two months, would soon feel the irresistible tug of the shifting seasons and set out on her return migration northwestwards.  And of course, by now, I just had to get over there to see her!  

So, at last, I picked a day, cleared my schedule... and went.

After a three-hour drive (factoring in a bathroom break and inevitable traffic), I arrived at the spot.  The day was young, the sun was shining, and a few other birders were present: good news all around.  I was informed that the notoriously elusive little bird hadn't been seen yet that day, but shortly after I began scouring the area it tended to frequent, a mass of tangled vegetation around the base of a gnarled old cypress, I had my first fleeting glimpse of this tiny, beautiful bird.  Almost as quickly as I got my bins on the bird, it hopped down into the undergrowth and disappeared, and I was left with "countable" but entirely unsatisfying looks at this mega-rarity.  (Also, none of the other birders present were able to get on the bird before it vanished, which is never a good feeling!)

More birders came and went as the long minutes passed and the bird remained hidden.  Another birder had brief glimpses of the bird from the other side of the tree about an hour after my first sighting, giving the rest of us hope (and lending credibility to my earlier report!)  

Eventually, as the sun rose higher in the sky and began to lighten the dark understory where this flighty little bird likes to lurk, she popped out on a branch, in full view.  To say I was elated to see her so well, in good light, and even manage a few decent photos, would be an understatement!  But I will say it anyway: I was absolutely elated!  She posed, flicked her wings, and disappeared, only to reappear a few yards away.  This became her pattern, and for the next half-hour, I joined in as the small group of birders trailed her around the cypress and willow thicket in hushed excitement, enjoying good, long looks and snapping photos enthusiastically.  

What a delightful reward!

Since this small bird's advent on the central coast of California, I've done some reading in order to enlighten my formerly ignorant-of-this-species self.  

Red-flanked Bluetails are native to Eurasia, where they breed in the damp coniferous forests of Russia, northern China, Korea and Japan.  It appears that a small population even breeds farther west in Finland.  They favor areas of mature vegetation and dense undergrowth, where they prefer to remain low to the ground and largely hidden.  Highly migratory, Red-flanked Bluetails head south to spend the winter in southeast Asia, where they inhabit forest edges, parks and wooded areas.  While Red-flanked Bluetails forage mainly on the ground, they also exhibit some flycatching behavior, making short flights from perches to nab aerial insects on the wing.  During the summer months they feed largely on insects, and in the winter shift their diet to consume more readily available fruits and seeds.

So, with all this "chasing," what then, you might ask, is the rarest bird I've seen, to date?  I suppose that depends on how you define "rare."  (And remember: I've only just begun!)

California Condors are certainly rare, with only 343 individuals flying over select regions of the southwestern United States, as of this writing.  But in Pinnacles National Park, they are almost guaranteed to be seen (with a bit of time, patience, and luck).

Island Scrub-jays are also rare, as their population of around 2,300 individuals occupies one single island, measuring 24 miles long by 6 miles wide, off the coast of southern California.  This is the smallest range of any bird in North America, and is accessible only by boat.  But again, they're almost a sure-bet on the island, and like the condors, seeking them out is not exactly a "chase."

The Oriental Turtle-dove that turned up in Palo Alto last year was only the third record of this Asian species in all of California; a very rare bird indeed!  And that trip was a chase... though with a pretty anticlimactic ending!  (Read about that adventure here.)

But while this little gem, the Red-flanked Bluetail of Santa Cruz, was the sixth record of its species in California, it was only the second mainland record, the others being from the essentially inaccessible Farallon Islands and San Clemente Island.  (The previous mainland record was from late December of 2018, when a Red-flanked Bluetail was found in Los Angeles, and seen consistently through March 22, 2019.)  A quick search in the records shows that Oregon and Washington each have one report of this species as well, and British Columbia has two.  

So, needless to say, this adorable little bird is a contender for the title of "rarest bird I've ever seen."  And it certainly wins for the cutest... Sorry, turtle-dove.