My First Time Birding in the Chiricahuas: Searching for the Elegant Trogon

By Sean Benesh

The road from Douglas to Portal feels like a portal itself, one that carries you out of the desert and into another world. On that August morning, clouds were stacking up on the horizon, those towering monsoon formations that make the Arizona sky look impossibly tall. I was behind the wheel, sipping coffee and watching the desert shift from muted golds to deep greens as I climbed toward the Chiricahua Mountains. Riding along with me was Dave Nevins, the City of Douglas Tourism Coordinator. Our mission for the day was simple: find the Elegant Trogon.

I had never been birding before. I didn’t own binoculars, didn’t know a flycatcher from a finch, and couldn’t tell a call note from a cricket. Dave was patient, the sort of calm guide every rookie needs. He knew a lot more than I did about birding, but was quick to admit he was still learning himself. That made me feel better. We were both in this for the adventure.

We turned onto the road into Cave Creek Canyon, and suddenly the world changed again. Towering cliffs rose up around us, streaked with lichen and shadow. Oaks, sycamores, and pines lined the road. If there was ever a place to become a birder, this was it.

Dave handed me his camera lens, a Sigma 150–600mm f/5–6.3, the kind of lens that feels like a telescope attached to your camera. I mounted it to my Canon EOS R, and it transformed instantly into something out of National Geographic. The first time I lifted it to my eye and tried to track a small bird darting between branches, I realized how hilariously difficult birding actually is. I’d snap a dozen photos of a single flutter, confident I had captured something rare and majestic, only to discover later that I’d photographed a branch.

We stopped often, stepping quietly along shaded trails, the canyon silent except for the rustling of leaves and the distant gurgle of flowing water. Every now and then, Dave would pause mid-step and listen. I’d follow suit, standing still, straining to hear what he heard. Sometimes it was nothing. Other times, faint chirps or trills echoed through the trees.

It was peaceful, almost meditative. I felt like I’d stumbled into a world where time moved differently. I wasn’t checking my phone or thinking about work. I was listening, watching, trying to spot movement in the canopy high above.

The Elegant Trogon was the star of the show, the one every birder comes here to see. With its emerald-green back, red belly, and coppery tail, it’s the kind of bird that looks painted rather than real. It’s also notoriously elusive. People drive across the country for a glimpse. The Chiricahuas are one of the few places in the United States where you can find them, thanks to the range’s unique position as a “sky island,” a mountain ecosystem that bridges the Sonoran and Chihuahuan Deserts. Over 300 species of birds live here, making it one of the most diverse birding destinations in North America.

That day, though, the trogon stayed hidden. We saw flashes of movement and a variety of birds, but I couldn’t tell you which ones they were. I just knew they weren’t Elegant Trogons. I’d raise my camera, focus, and fire off a burst of shots, proud of my speed, only to realize I had no idea what I was actually photographing. I was a clueless but enthusiastic participant in a centuries-old pastime.

Along the way, we met other birders, each equipped with big-lens cameras, field guides, and an intensity that made me grin. They spoke in shorthand about sightings, lighting, and elevation like a dialect of their own. In a funny way, I thought to myself that birders might just be their own species.

There was something satisfying about the pursuit itself. The quiet hours spent searching, the surprise of discovery, the gentle rhythm of looking and listening.

Driving back down toward Douglas, I realized that somewhere between the first awkward attempt to identify a bird and that peaceful moment standing still in the canyon, I’d fallen in love with birding. Not because I was good at it. I wasn’t. But because it made me slow down and notice things I’d usually miss.

For anyone visiting Douglas, the Chiricahua Mountains are only about an hour’s drive away, and they’re worth every mile. Whether you’re a seasoned birder or someone like me, armed with curiosity and a borrowed lens, there’s something transformative about those canyons. You might not spot the Elegant Trogon on your first trip either. But if you’re lucky, you’ll find something better: a reason to return.