Montana Mid-Summer Birding Break

This summer’s been a busy one for the FatherSonBirding team. I (Sneed) have been buried under a book revision for my next book, Birding the Great Wide Open, due out from Mountaineers Books in Fall, 2027. Meanwhile, Braden has been working hard at an internship with Montana Outdoors magazine while also embarking on his very first jobs as a professional bird guide! (If you’re interested in engaging his services, you can contact him directly at bgcoll2121@gmail.com.) All of this made us especially anxious to just get out and see what the birds are doing, especially down in sagebrush country, and especially before some of the early migrants start to depart. Here is Braden’s excellent account of our intense, two-day adventure!

July marks a time when Montana birding calms down a bit. March brings with it the first waves of waterfowl migration, and after that, each week brings new birds arriving on territory. Birdsong ramps up exponentially in April and May, and after migration ends in the first week of June, there are plenty of birds to catch up with on their traditional breeding haunts. By July, though, the birds begin to get quieter, with many of them settling down onto nests and trying to attract little attention to themselves. Sure, early shorebird migrants start to trickle in, but the latter half of the month, especially, feels like a break. This is compounded by the ever-hotter summers we’ve been experiencing: in recent years, July has brought uncomfortably high temperatures that make being out past 11 a.m. not fun.

And yet, the last few years have proven to me and my dad that July should still be taken seriously as far as birding goes. There may be no better example of that than the ten (!) Burrowing Owls we found on Bench Road last week.

Burrowing Owls were one of the top enticements of heading to Montana sagebrush country in July—and the owls did not disappoint!

One reason my dad wanted to take a mid-July trip is because, well, June had been crazy and autumn was ramping up to be crazier still, meaning that July, the last full month before the bulk of our breeding birds depart, would have to be our chance to head out east. While I had visited many parts of the state earlier in summer, showing my east coast friends around, my dad hadn’t gotten a chance to visit the prairie or the sagebrush, so his target list covered many birds found in those habitats: Sagebrush Sparrow, Lark Bunting, Ferruginous Hawk, Sage Thrasher. And of course, Burrowing Owl—often a tricky target in Montana, but reliably seen on a road through a dry swath of agricultural land south of the town of Three Forks. So, our first stop on our eventual loop through the southwestern corner of the state took us there.

Before even arriving at the Burrowing Owl spot, we checked out the freshwater marsh at the entrance to Bench Road and glimpsed a Short-eared Owl relocating from one patch of cattails to another. What a great way to start the trip! As we continued, my dad pointed out a pair of hawks perched on nearby hay bales—Swainson’s. “There’s more up ahead!” I pointed through the windshield at four more riding thermals above us. Either this was a family group, or these raptors were beginning to think about heading south.

Swainson’s Hawks were out in force on the trip, including this one posing artistically amongst haybales south of Three Forks.

Our car flushed a variety of sparrows from the roadside as we drove, and we stopped periodically to get looks and photos of them. We were delighted to find that the majority of them were Grasshopper Sparrows! Many were adults, but a big chunk of them were babies, too, in a beautiful plumage we’d never seen before. Who knew that these tiny sparrows go through a life stage where their feathers resemble the spotted fur of a leopard! We also got great views at Lark Buntings, never a guarantee this far west, in a small group hopping from fence post to fence post.

A big bonus to birding in July is that we got to see the young of many species, including a wonderful bunch of Grasshopper Sparrows, one of our favorite grassland species.

We drove all the way out to a distant homestead and got out to scope a mound of dirt that my dad was sure would hold a Burrowing Owl. No luck. On our way back to Three Forks, though, I yelled “Stop!” and my dad screeched the Toyota to a halt. Out in a random field stood not one, not two, but SIX Burrowing Owls, all glaring directly at us from their mound (as these owls tend to do). We got out to scope them, noting that at least five were young, including one that fearlessly chased grasshoppers around in the grass right in front of us. Happy with our haul, we continued backtracking, running into a woman who pointed out another Burrowing Owl and told us the location of two more. By the time we got back to the highway, we’d seen ten in total—by far the most either of us had ever witnessed in a day let alone one spot!

It was great to see Burrowing Owls again here on Bench Road—in almost the exact spot we had seen our lifer BUOWs with Nick Ramsey years before.

From Three Forks, we headed south for the sagebrush country of Beaverhead County. Along the way we pulled over a few times to check out wetlands, raptors on telephone poles, and even picked up a Great-tailed Grackle in the Safeway parking lot in Dillon. This species used to be quite rare in our state but has been expanding in recent years, and a population has established itself in town.

We met up with Jeff Marks at a local bar to watch part of a World Cup game, then continued on to Clark Canyon Reservoir to search for shorebirds before heading back to the sagebrush for the evening. After scouring the entire northern side of the reservoir we finally located one migratory shorebird—a Long-billed Dowitcher—as well as a few breeding shorbs like Willets, Killdeer and Spotted Sandpipers.

After seeing the Safeway parking lot birds in Dillon, we saw another Great-tailed Grackle at Clark Canyon Reservoir—more evidence of how this species is moving into southwestern Montana.

We saw our first Prairie Falcon of the year on a pole along Bannack Bench Road, a bird I’d been pessimistic about finding on the trip, then continued along a dirt two-track through the sagebrush. Though there were plenty of Brewer’s Sparrows and Sage Thrashers about, we couldn’t spot any Sagebrush Sparrows, and Nate Kohler, Jeff’s field assistant, hypothesized that they may already had left. These are one of the first passerines to arrive every year, so an early departure date would make sense.

We met up with Jeff Marks and Nate Kohler at the comfortable cabin they rent every year and they showed us where we would be sleeping—a rustic room with bunk beds, a kitchen and a couch. I’d never met Jeff before today and hadn’t seen Nate since December, so it was really good to talk to them, discussing all manner of things from birds and habitats to life adventures and politics. It was also my first time at “Flycatcher Camp”, though my dad had been a couple of times, and I was excited to see the work Jeff and Nate were doing with Gray Flycatchers—one of Montana’s only GRFL populations. After dinner and card games we all started getting ready for bed, and my dad and I watched the sunset from the porch. Montana’s sunsets never cease to amaze me, and this one was particularly special—we got to watch the resident nighthawks take off from their not-so-secret day roosts (open fence posts) as Wilson’s Snipes displayed all around us. A couple Soras sounded off from the creek nearby, and we even heard distant Sandhill Cranes.

My dad calls this “Sunrise Over Cows”, a photo that perfectly captures the incredible beauty of southwest Montana.

The next morning we rose early and packed up the car. Jeff rode with us while Nate followed with Jeff’s girlfriend in their truck. The road had some fairly deep ruts, but my dad expertly handled them, and soon we were all out in the sagebrush, looking for Gray Flycatchers. Our first surprise of the morning came not from a bird, but from a mammal—a Pygmy Rabbit! My dad and I had never seen one before, and we all enjoyed watching it race through the sage ahead of us. This species is fairly widespread throughout the Interior West, but has a small population in Montana and is of special conservation concern. Thankfully, it gave us great looks!

Not the best shot, but our lifer Pygmy Rabbit gave us surprisingly good looks as we searched the sagebrush for Gray Flycatcher nests. Note that Pygmy Rabbits have brown tails that distinguish them from the run-of-the-rabbit cottontails.

The flycatchers weren’t hard to find. Soon, we had two males singing on either side of us, returning over and over to the same perches which allowed us great views. Jeff and Nate really wanted to find the nest of the female that lived here, so we all split up, bushwhacking around. A summer storm had killed all of the flycatcher nestlings in June, but many birds had re-nested, and they believed that this female was one of those. Jeff showed me her old nest, not far off the trail in a large sagebrush near the bottom of a wash—a prime nesting habitat for the species, which avoids building nests out in the driest, flattest parts of the sagebrush country. Nate also showed me a Brewer’s Sparrow nest and a double-decker Sage Thrasher nest, one built right on top of the other. (For more on Jeff’s and Nate’s work, check out last year’s post “Gray Flycatcher Science”.)

Jeff Marks fills me in on his studies as our Gray Flycatcher crew begins its search for nests—Amy and Nate in the background. (See last year’s post “Gray Flycatcher Science” to learn more!)

“There were a ton of thrashers here last week, so we know these ones fledged. It’s been a great year for thrashers,” he said.

It was always good to hear that a species was having a successful year, with so many birds declining year by year.

We couldn’t locate the flycatcher nest within an hour or so of searching, and my dad and I had a few more places we wanted to bird on the way home, so we said goodbye to Jeff, Nate and Amy and headed back to Clark Canyon Reservoir, visions of shorebirds dancing in our heads. Again, no luck with any Arctic shorebirds, but we did find nearly 200 American Avocets mixed in with some other fun breeding species! 

Avocets taking a break at Clark Canyon Reservoir on their way south.

After lunch at a taco truck in Dillon, we stopped along Birch Creek Road on our way back north, the furthest west location for Thick-billed Longspurs in the state. Nate Kohler actually passed us on his way home, and spotted a single longspur on a telephone wire above the road. As we got out to look at it, a snowy-white raptor cruised overhead: a Ferruginous Hawk, one of my dad’s final remaining targets for the trip! We high-fived, ecstatic at our good luck, then continued on our way. After one more quick stop in Madison County, where we picked up a calling Veery, we drove the rest of the way home. What a great midsummer trip!

To learn more about Jeff’s and Nate’s scientific work with Gray Flycatchers, or make a donation, check out the website of Montana Bird Advocacy at https://www.montanabirdadvocacy.org/.

We couldn’t finish up this post without an in-flight shot of a Common Nighthawk. As they have before, they put on a great show during our trip and were birds we could have watched for hours on end.

Chihuahuan Raven: Bird #12 on Braden’s ABA Life List Countdown, April 10th, 2026

In the past few months, Braden has been on a roll finding his last couple of dozen Lower 48 ABA life birds. Today, he takes a deep dive into a bird few of us know much about and even fewer of us encounter. Remember, FatherSonBirding is written and photographed by REAL PEOPLE. If you want to support our work, please consider buying some of Sneed’s books by clicking on images to the right. Better yet, invite one or both of us to headline your next birding festival! While you’re at it, be sure to check out Sneed’s new-and-improved website at www.sneedbcollardiii.com. Thanks!

It had been years since I’d watched a pair of ravens for so long. I’d just finished birding Hanover Road, a dusty track through a habitat I’d never seen before; dry grasslands covered in large cholla cacti. Hanover Road hosted a few strange migrants, including Rock Wrens and Sage Thrashers, but I hadn’t seen either of my main targets for the area, Cassin’s Sparrow or Chihuahuan Raven. Then, just before I was about to pull onto the main highway heading back west towards Colorado Springs, I spotted them: two large, black corvids investigating a smushed prairie dog on the road. I parked my car, got my camera out, and started snapping pictures.

The “raven neighborhood” on my recent trip through Colorado.

This certainly wasn’t the first time I’d attempted to see Chihuahuan Ravens. On every birding trip I’d taken to Arizona I had spent increasingly more and more time looking for the large, dark birds out in the desert. Most recently, in August of 2025, I’d pulled over to look at every raven in the vicinity of the Chiricahua Mountains, coming up short over and over as I realized each and every one was a Common. Finding Chihuahuan Ravens in Texas is far easier, for no Commons occur there, but on my dad’s and my one trip to South Texas we hadn’t seen a single corvid.

On recent trips through the Southwest, I had been frustrated several times in my search for Chihuahuan Ravens.

The bird hadn’t even been particularly on my radar for this road trip home. After bidding the Gunnison Sage-grouse goodbye (click here) earlier that morning, I’d routed east, over the continental divide and out into the open prairie. I knew that southeastern Colorado had desert habitat, or at least desert-adjacent habitat, and had several species that I wanted to find. So, upon my arrival in the Colorado Springs area, I started driving roads through neighborhoods where my target birds had been reported. Curve-billed Thrasher and Canyon Towhee I found with ease. Finding Scaled Quail took significantly more effort, but eventually I lucked into one perched in someone’s driveway, calling loudly and attempting to jump onto a nearby truck. None of these birds were lifers but I’d never seen them in this context before, and the towhee and thrasher were new subspecies and did look notably different from the ones I’d seen in Arizona. 

While I searched for CHRAs with few expectations, I was fortunate to stumble upon a Scaled Quail.

After texting a few friends about my finds, it dawned on me: here were species native to the Chihuahuan Desert, species I’d seen in southeast Arizona. So, if Scaled Quail, Curve-billed Thrasher and Canyon Towhee lived here, what about Chihuahuan Raven? I jumped on eBird and quickly learned the answer—this marked the northern edge of the ravens’ range, and a few individuals had been reported in the area recently. So, I kept my eyes peeled as I drove further out into the cholla-covered grassland. Sure enough, an hour later, here I was, staring down two ravens.

Cholla cactuses were part of the interesting ecology of this unusual southern Colorado landscape—but would ravens be here?

In all my time hunting down this species, I’d learned a lot about the identification of ravens. For one, Chihuahuan Ravens generally had longer nasal bristles, meaning that feathers covered more than half of the upper bill. The birds poking the dead prairie dog definitely had long nasal bristles compared to a Common Raven. Unfortunately, this field mark can be quite variable, so I had to look harder. Another feature of Chihuahuans is the flat head with its peak near the crown, unlike that of a Common which has a peak near the front. Again, these birds were looking more like Chihuahuans in this regard, but this field mark also could be quite variable, especially in the wind. And the wind was definitely blowing!

However, that was great news for me, because the wind gave me access to the largest, most reliable field mark—the raven’s neck feathers. Common Ravens have a gray color at the base of their neck feathers. Chihuahuans, meanwhile, have white. Thanks to the gusts rocketing over the desert landscape, the neck feathers on each bird were exposed every thirty seconds or so. After snapping some pictures and zooming in, I could clearly see that the birds in front of me had white neck feathers!

Thanks to the gusty wind, I was able to see the most reliable ID features of the Chihuahuan Ravens—the white base of the neck feathers (the “star” shape on the bird in the above photo).

Besides being a life bird, my experience with the pair of Chihuahuan Ravens in Colorado taught me something. These days, sometimes it feels like birding is focused on maximizing species and numbers. Birders across the US submit thousands of eBird checklists per day, and the competitiveness can be overwhelming—everyone is always trying to see just one species to add to their list. So seldom, it seems, are birders focused on just watching the birds. My quest to identify those two ravens turned into just that: I got to watch these two animals for half an hour. They flew from telephone pole to telephone pole; they hopped around on the ground; they called, foraged, shifted their weight and interacted with the world around them. Slowing down to be with these two creatures was an important reminder that birds are not numbers on lists, but real, wild animals with personalities and habits. We should all slow down and watch ravens more often.

My time with the Chihuahuan Ravens offered an important reminder to slow down and really pay attention to the wonderful world and creatures around us.

For more information on corvids, or the crow family of birds, check out Sneed’s recent Montana Outdoors cover story, “Corvids to Crow Over.”

How Flowers Made Our World (FSB Book Review)

Today, we’re pleased to present a book that is sure to transform your understanding of plants and their relationship to birds. I am just as pleased, however, to present my new website, www.sneedbcollardiii.com. Some of you probably know that for the past few years, I have devoted more of my writing efforts to writing for adults, and my new website reflects that evolution. Designed by wonderful web designer and birder Thomas Kallmeyer (tarns.net), the new site reflects an elegant simplicity that I just love. If you miss the old content, don’t worry. A button will lead you to it. With that, we present today’s review!

I’ve been studying biology and the environment for almost half a century, and the more I learn, the more I recognize that plants are the key to saving not only birds and other wildlife, but humanity. David George Haskell’s remarkable book How Flowers Made Our World brings that awareness sharply into focus.

How Flowers Made Our World (Viking, 2026)

Plants are a sweeping subject—enough to fill libraries—but Haskell breaks down the topic in an approachable fashion, targeting chapters on specific plants as a basis for broader discussions. The chapter titled Magnolia, for instance, introduces the overall strategies of beauty, scent, and sex that flowering plants use to attract pollinators and ensure reproduction. At the far end of the book, he uses his chapter Pansy to highlight how ornamental plant breeding and the use of pesticides have robbed our gardens of their ecological vitality and ability to support insects, birds, and other wildlife.

In captivating prose, Haskell peels back the complex relationship between pollinators and the plants that manipulate them.

In between these bookends lie a treasure of other topics. Two of my favorite chapters are Grass and Seagrass—not because I find either plant group particularly attractive but because their subjects are so darned interesting. Neither leaps to mind when someone mentions the words flowering plant, but they are both titans among the group. Human civilization, of course, never would have flourished without the cultivation of grasses, but Haskell reminds us just how much we owe them. Today, rice, maize, and wheat supply the world with two-thirds of our food calories. Left to prosper native grasses are among the world’s greatest soil builders and serve as the basis for mind-boggling ecological communities, including North America’s most threatened avian group, grassland birds. Oh, and grasslands have unprecedented abilities to pull carbon out of the atmosphere and sequester it where it can’t keep heating the planet.

For humans, restoring grasslands that have been lost to industrial agriculture could be a key to surviving climate change.

As for seagrasses, these hardy souls acquired mind-blowing adaptations that allowed them to invade the ocean from land. They may be the closest things we have to superheroes when it comes to protecting coastlines, preserving marine biodiversity, and—like terrestrial grasses—sequestering the carbon that is driving climate change. Haskell highlights inspirational projects in Scotland and Virginia in which humans are restoring seagrass beds with terrific results. Seagrasses, in fact, may become one of our most important allies in stabilizing shorelines as sea levels continue to rise. They also provide essential homes and nutrition to a vast web of marine life, from crabs and shrimp to fish and sea turtles.

Beyond the important functions they serve in making Earth inhabitable, flowering plants bring us joy beyond measure—sometimes with the help of a good dog!

Haskell’s final chapters sound the alarm on industrial agriculture and the unprecedented use of pesticides that are devastating insect populations and native plants alike. This is not simply a matter of protecting biodiversity, but of keeping the ecological building blocks in place that will allow us to survive in a rapidly changing world. He doesn’t ignore our own role in turning things around, either. Anyone with a yard can make a huge contribution by halting the use of pesticides and replacing sterile lawns and ornamentals with native plants that sustain the lives of insects and other animals (see our post Turning Useless Lawn into Vital Habitat). Although birds are given relatively minor mention in the book, by the time you finish reading it you won’t have any doubt that the fate of birds, insects, and flowering plants are inextricably linked.

Given half a chance, both native plants and animals can rebound, as we’ve seen in the native plantings that surround our own house.

Beyond all its other wonderful attributes, I have to applaud this book for one final thing: it revealed the identities of two “weeds” I have always wondered about in and around my house—goatsbeard and bittercress. If that isn’t a bonus, I don’t know what is!

Order Here.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

This review is written and photographed entirely by REAL PEOPLE and we received no compensation for writing it—even if you order a copy with the above links.

Wings Across the Big Sky 2026 (FSB Festival Recap)

It’s been a furious month for the Collard Clan. Last week, Braden wrapped up two solid weeks of escorting birding friends around western and central Montana. Before that, we did a Birdathon fundraiser with our good friends Susan and Eli to raise money for Five Valleys Audubon. Then, Friday, Braden and I took off to lead trips at Wings Across the Big Sky 2026.

One special thing about WABS is that it moves to different locations in Montana every year, and this year Kalispell played host. Our very first WABS actually was in Kalispell eight years ago, when we got our lifer Harlequin Ducks in Glacier National Park. Since then, I’ve keynoted the festival and, most recently, Braden and I both attended the event in Helena two years ago. This year, one of the festival’s organizers, Darcy Thomas, asked if we would lead field trips to Tally Lake and the CSKT Bison Range. We, of course, said yes and decided to use the drive up on Friday for a bit ‘o exploration.

We began Friday by hitting one of our favorite refuges, Ninepipe National Wildlife Refuge. We didn’t see as many birds as we expected, but did find the most photogenic Short-eared Owl in the history of the universe!

Could a Short-eared Owl strike a better pose? Not likely!

We followed that up by checking out a nearby road that supposedly had Bobolinks. Before finding them, however, we stopped at a delightful little forest spot with both Red-eyed and (Western) Warbling Vireos. It’s rare to get a really good look at the former, so we stood oohing and ahing when one came out onto a branch for a full minute of posing. Just down the road, we were treated to at least five Bobolinks and later found more near the town of Creston—along with the most adorable family of baby skunks ever!

Like Short-eared Owls, Bobolinks require a mandatory stop for photos—and just to appreciate these beautiful, lively songbirds.

Braden and I felt especially excited to lead the trip to Tally Lake on Saturday because it was a place we had never been. I couldn’t have done the place justice without Braden, because it was a heavy “ear birding” location, full of warblers, vireos, sparrows, and other secretive songbirds. Still, most of the species put in at least one appearance and our friendly birding group ate it up. Braden helped everyone “get on” the various songs and calls, too, so it was a real learning experience.

We had plenty of time after birding Tally Lake, so our group decided to head out to Kalispell’s West Valley Ponds for some waterfowl fun.

Top Tally Lake honors went to Rufous Hummingbirds, who struck exceptional poses out in the open with the sun glinting off of their stunning orange-brown feathers. I didn’t realize how fierce these guys look until I studied my photos later. Other crowd favorites included a Common Loon, Willow Flycatcher, and for me especially, a Fox Sparrow.

Rufous Hummingbirds grabbed top honors at Tally Lake for best bird views. I didn’t realize how fierce these birds can look till I took this photo!

Exhausted from two straight mornings of rising at 3:30 a.m., Braden and I skipped Saturday evening’s workshops to spend with our friends Erica and Larry Wirtala, who hosted us and are also members of Flathead Audubon—the hosts of this year’s festival. We needed the break since Sunday promised another marathon day!

Our trip to the CSKT Bison Range began with a two-hour drive south from Kalispell, during which our caravan enjoyed stunning scenery along Flathead Lake and in the Mission Valley—and I narrowly missed colliding with a deer. Braden and I really didn’t know what to expect bird-wise at the Bison Range because it had been years since we’d birded it, but we’re so glad we got to lead this trip!

We began our exploration by taking the group to the riparian area just below the visitor’s center. There, we were treated to our best Willow Flycatcher experience ever. These plain-looking “empids” seemed to vocalize from every perch with their quick FITZ-pew songs. The group also got a welcome look at Pileated Woodpeckers and raucous Yellow-headed Blackbirds, too—but it was up on the long, two-hour driving loop that we got our biggest surprises.

At the CSKT Bison Range, Willow Flycatchers especially put on an audio showcase with their almost nonstop FITZ-pew songs!

I remembered the loop as mostly very dry grasslands topped by conifer forests, so imagine our delight to discover an excellent riparian zone early on in the drive. Here, we got our group onto Bullock’s Orioles, Lazuli Buntings, and even a Lewis’s Woodpecker. At one point a Golden Eagle gave us an outstanding look while flying right over the car.

Higher up we caught a glimpse of a mama black bear and cub on a ridge before stopping at the #5 marker. Surprises continued as we scooped up another Pileated, a juvie Hairy Woodpecker, Cassin’s Finches, and a Common Nighthawk that was calling while perched in a tree—something we’d never experienced.

Is there anything more adorable than a juvenile Hairy Woodpecker? Maybe a baby bison? Keep reading to compare.

We ate lunch at the summit overlooking the spectacular Mission Valley. Our group got excellent looks at Lewis’s Woodpeckers, Red Crossbills, and Pine Siskins, but traffic had begun to build, so we began making our way down the far side of the mountain. All this time, we asked ourselves, “Where are the bison?” Supposedly hundreds of the animals occupied the reserve, but we’d only seen three or four far down below us.

Finally, on the last stretch of road at the end of the road, we encountered a dozen or so adult bison with their bright tan calves. We, of course, pulled over to admire these remarkable critters—even if they were mammals.

So what do you think? Woodpecker fledgling or bison? Don’t let your mammalian bias influence you!

As before, Braden and I felt grateful we got to participate in Wings Across the Big Sky, and we highly recommend it to those of you who have always longed to bird in Montana. The trips are always fantastic, and are punctuated by informative workshops and keynotes. This year’s keynote was given Steve Hoffman, founder of HawkWatch International, who opened our eyes to the amazing raptor migrations and counting efforts taking place in the West. (We also felt honored to have Steve on our Tally Lake trip.) Next year’s festival will be in Billings and promises to be a good one. Not only does the Billings area offer outstanding grassland and sagebrush birding, but excellent riparian zones as well. I don’t know about you, but I am already trying to figure out how to attend!

Our Tally Lake eBird list: https://ebird.org/checklist/S356850809

Our Bison Range eBird list: https://ebird.org/checklist/S357543551

Our Bison Range crew hopes you will be at next year’s Wings Across Big Sky fest in Billings!

Seabirds as Sentinels (FSB Book Review)

All posts on FatherSonBirding are written and photographed by REAL PEOPLE.

I love living in Montana, but it has one huge drawback: no ocean. This has a particular impact on me and Braden because while we do get a fair number of shorebirds breeding in and passing through the Treasure State, we almost never have the opportunity to observe, study, and enjoy seabirds. You can therefore understand my particular interest in reading Eric Wagner’s new book, Seabirds As Sentinels: Auklets, Puffins, Shearwaters, and the View from Destruction Island (University of Washington Press, 2026).

Seabirds as Sentinels by Eric Wagner, University of Washington Press. Click on image or here to order.

For me and many other birders, seabirds—also referred to as pelagic birds—are almost magical. Not only do they have incredible adaptations to live in what is arguably the world’s harshest environment, they are difficult, if not impossible, for most of us to watch. Loyal FSB readers will recall Braden’s and my account of our pelagic bird cruise during the San Diego Birding Festival (see post San Diego Seabirds). These and a precious few other puke-filled outings gave us rare opportunities to view shearwaters, murres, guillemots, and even albatrosses. Unfortunately, our time with these birds has been altogether too brief—a situation not likely to change anytime soon.

Part of a group of approximately 8,000 Black-vented Shearwaters off the coast of San Diego in 2019.

One of the real delights of Eric Wagner’s book is that he gives readers the chance to hang out with nesting Pacific Northwest seabirds, especially the Rhinoceros Auklet. Before reading Seabirds As Sentinels, I had seen Rhinoceros Auklets a couple of times, but had no idea where they bred. One answer, it turns out, is on certain islands off the coast of Washington and British Columbia. Wagner devotes a good portion of the book documenting scientists’ efforts to tag and learn about these birds as they nest on Destruction Island, only about three miles off the coast of the Olympic Peninsula.

Photos from Seabirds as Sentinels including a Rhinoceros Auklet, bill filled with fish, in the upper right.

His accounts of the birds range from their comical “crash landings” as they return to the island each night to feed their chicks to the birds’ remarkable ability to locate shoals of fish and dive deep underwater to catch them. Similar discussions revolve around Sooty Shearwaters and Tufted Puffins. What makes these accounts so captivating is seeing the birds’ activities “in person” through the author’s eyes, an experience most of us will never have.

A Tufted Puffin from Braden’s and my first pelagic birding cruise off Monterey, California.

Wagner, though, also wants to educate us, and provides discussions of how the world’s primary ocean currents are generated and how these currents impact marine life. He traces the human history of the region from around the time of first European contact to modern day, including recent tribal efforts to protect an environment increasingly at risk from climate change’s many ramifications.

Black-footed Albatrosses are one of the birds most impacted by human activities. According to Wagner, tens of thousands have died in Hawai’i’s longline tuna fishery alone. (Photo taken off the coast of Monterey, California in 2016.)

Unfortunately, it’s impossible to talk about seabirds without pointing out the cataclysmic declines in many species, and the author doesn’t shy away from the topic. As the title suggests, the decline of seabirds mirrors the dramatic impacts human activities are having on our planet. Perhaps most alarming has been the appearance of “blobs,” persistent and unprecedented areas of warm water that either kill or drive away the prey seabirds and a host of other species depend on. Estimates of how many seabirds have died during recent blobs are mind-boggling. As many as four million Common Murres alone may have starved to death as a result of the blob of 2015 and 2016—about half of Alaska’s Common Murre population.

Common Murres have already been severely impacted by warmer ocean temperatures (Monterey, California, 2016).

The author doesn’t provide us with any false solutions about this and other environmental problems. After all, we all know what we have to do. We have to stop burning fossil fuels. We have to stop using our ocean as a dumping ground for plastics and other waste. We have to quit overfishing the prey species thousands of other species also depend on. What the book does do, though, is raise our awareness of why these things matter—and perhaps provide each of us with the resolve to keep working toward a solution in whatever ways we can.

If you enjoyed this post, check out our other bird-related book reviews such as The Great Auk and The Shorebirds of North America.

Review copy provided by the publisher.