Seabirds as Sentinels (FSB Book Review)

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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. (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.

Gunnison Sage-grouse: Bird #13 on Braden’s ABA Life List Countdown, April 10th, 2026

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Today, Braden shares the latest installment of his series counting down the remaining ABA Life Birds he has been attempting to see. It’s just like listening to Casey Kasem’s American Top 40 Countdown—but better, because it’s about BIRDS! To catch up on his other recent life bird adventures, click on these previous posts:

Black-chinned Sparrow: Bird #14 on Braden’s ABA Life List Countdown

Fulvous Whistling-Duck: Bird #15 on Braden’s ABA Life List Countdown

Lower 48 Life List Countdown: Crissal Thrasher (Bird #16)

The sun still hadn’t woken up when I pulled over behind the half dozen or so other cars parked along the side of the road. I rolled down my window as a local game biologist approached.

“Are you here for the grouse?”

“Yes,” I answered quietly as a Horned Lark began singing somewhere in the darkness.

“And where are you from?”

“Montana, though I’m en route from California.”

She marked a few things off on her clipboard, then returned to her car. Through the gray pre-dawn darkness, I could make out a huge field of sagebrush, the foreground for Ponderosa-covered hills rising in the distance. In other words, my car was parked on a dirt road surrounded by a typical landscape of the American West. Even the birds were similar to those found in Montana: a winnowing Wilson’s Snipe, calling Red-winged Blackbirds, the husky chirps of a singing Mountain Bluebird. And yet, in Gunnison County, Colorado, there lives a bird that has never lived in Montana. Me and the other birders, silhouetted through their car windows, had driven from various corners of the country to see it: The Gunnison Sage-grouse.

The Gunnison Sage-grouse birder “lek” watching the actual Gunnison Sage-grouse lek in the distance at sunrise.

Superficially, Gunnison Sage-grouse and Greater Sage-grouse aren’t all that different. Both species require expansive sagebrush habitats like the plain that stretched out before me in the rising light. The Greater is larger (hence the name), and, during the breeding season, Gunnisons have much longer filoplumes adorning the males’ heads. While Greater Sage-grouse are found across much of the West, Gunnisons occupy only a small area in Colorado and western Utah. The ranges of the two birds do not overlap.

Many of the birds I saw while driving through Colorado reminded me of my home in Montana—complete with meadowlarks on signs!

Sage-grouse breeding displays are some of North America’s most famous avian experiences. Males and females gather in breeding groups in early spring. Both the breeding groups and their display grounds are commonly referred to as leks. While lekking, the males, decked out in the most ridiculous plumage of any North American bird, pump their chests to the viewing amusement of nearby females. Although I’d seen Greater Sage-grouse a few times in my life, I’d never been able to experience one of these leks. And while there are several sites across the country where one might watch a Greater Sage-grouse lek, there is only a single public Gunnison Sage-grouse lek, a spot about fifteen miles east of Waunita Watchable Wildlife Area. Because of their small population and increasing threats to the habitats they’re found in, the grouse are endangered, and so the public lek is open for viewing only during certain weeks of the year. I had arrived on April 10th, the last day the lek would be open for another two weeks.

The Black Canyon of the Gunnison.

About half an hour before dawn, another birder’s car alarm went off. I could see everyone in their cars wince—Gunnison Sage-grouse are quite sensitive to disturbance, and this could have been enough to send them scampering away. Thankfully, the birds (which were about ¾ of a mile away from the road), didn’t seem bothered, and about ten minutes later, I began to hear the popping sounds of their displays. I eventually located them, distant black dots, even through my binoculars. Fifteen minutes later, with the permission of the biologist, we started getting out of our cars to set up spotting scopes.

Though our “birder lek” stood too far away from the Gunnison Sage-grouse to get photos, their behavior is very similar to lekking Sharp-tailed Grouse, captured here by my dad at Benton Lake NWR a couple of years ago (see post “The Best Prairie Day Ever: Benton Lake NWR.”)

Through the scope my viewing experience was marginally better. I could make out the males, with their furry white chests and black heads, pumping their shoulders at each other. Occasionally, a female would scamper through my view. Though far away, lekking sage-grouse had been on my bucket list for years and taking them in as the sun peeked above the horizon could only be described as a magical experience. Fog escaped my lips every time I took a breath, and a few nearby Sage Thrashers began singing across the road from us. Soon my fellow birders were beginning to whisper to each other, and I learned just how far people had come to see these birds. The man in the car whose alarm had gone off had driven through the night from Oregon en route to a bird point-count job in Oklahoma, stopping here just for this species. Another man had come here from a few hours away. 

As my dad pointed out in his recent post “Colorado’s Ute Mountain Mesa Verde Birding Festival,” numbers of Spotted Towhees in Colorado are CRAZY!

“My kid loves it, birding,” he said to me. “The last year especially, he’s really gotten into it. He wanted to see these grouse, so here we are.” I couldn’t help but see the similarities between that father and son and my birding experiences with my own dad.

After about four minutes of the grouse lekking, a group of birders stormed out of the blind that was set up beside the cars. I’d run into this group last night and learned they were doing a “chicken run.” Colorado is known for having almost every grouse species in the US and tour groups often target all of them during weeks in March and April. One of the birders asked if I knew any nearby spots for White-tailed Ptarmigan before the four of them noisily piled into their car and drove away. So much for staying quiet while the grouse were displaying! Either way, the birds didn’t seem to mind.

I was especially excited to see Pinyon Jays in Colorado, since they can be a challenge to find back home.

Beyond seeing these endangered birds, I had been enjoying seeing more and more landscapes that reminded me of home as I neared the middle of my road trip back to Montana. On my drives through Arizona and Colorado I watched the desert transition into mountainous valleys, complete with juniper and sagebrush-covered canyons, rushing streams with permanent water, and the snowcapped peaks of the San Juans and other mountain ranges. Of course, my trip was nowhere near over. I’d be visiting several more new habitats before that happened. In fact, one of those habitats would be later in the day, where I might just manage to see another life bird! Stay tuned to see what comes next . . .

Bustin’ Out for Birdathon

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The Wings Across the Big Sky Festival is less than two weeks away and Braden I look forward to seeing some of you there. It’s not too late to sign up. Just click here for what promises to be a terrific weekend of birding Montana’s stunning northwest corner. Braden and I will be leading two field trips, one to Tally Lake and the other to the CSKT Bison Range. Even if you’re not on those trips, please say hello! Meanwhile, we are happy to share another recent big birding event—an exhilarating day of Birdathon to raise money for our local Audubon chapter!

On Friday, May 15th, I woke at 4 a.m., excited to be devoting a full day—and I mean FULL—to birding. Unlike most days of birding, however, I and my team of Braden, Susan Snetsinger, and her son Eli would be dedicating our day to raising money for a good cause under the auspices of Birdathon.

Birdathon is an annual event put on by many different bird-related conservation groups, and it works much like those death marches you probably got suckered into as a youngster in which you would commit to walking twenty miles and sign up sponsors to pay you for each mile walked. Birdathon, though, is MUCH more fun than those blister-packing marathons of yesteryear because birding teams get to raise money by BIRDING!

I find it impossible not to photograph Black-necked Stilts when I see them and, indeed, the birds showed up aplenty for Birdathon.

In the spirit of healthy, fund-raising competition, we dubbed our team Bird Domination, but none of us had ever actually participated in a Birdathon. Undaunted, we coerced an assortment of family members and friends to donate money for each bird that we might find, deceitfully telling them that we probably would see about 100 birds during the day—even though we harbored much higher aspirations. Our donations would go to support the wonderful conservation and education work of our local birding chapter, Five Valleys Audubon, and Braden and I diligently crafted a route that would net us the most birds in a single day.

Team Domination: (L to R) Sneed, Braden, Eli, and Susan.

Braden and I decided to start at dawn with a quick trip up Rattlesnake Creek in our own neighborhood to pick up a few birds we might not see anywhere else. Arriving at the trailhead at 5:30 sharp, the birds did not disappoint. In the parking lot, we immediately heard Nashville Warbler and Hammond’s Flycatcher, and walking up the main trail, an American Dipper popped out onto the trail. Turning up a side creek called Spring Gulch, we heard our last two targets for here: Townsend’s Warbler and the boom boom boom of a Ruffed Grouse! Then we hurried back to the car to collect the rest of our teammates so that our proper Birdathon could launch.

It would take way too many words—and probably bore the heck out of you—to give you a blow by blow of the entire day, but to give you the scope of our endeavor, here are the basics and highlights.

Three distant American Bitterns (!) above Sčilíp (formerly Dixon) Marsh. Unimpressed, two Osprey watch from a nest.

Our route took us from Missoula to Sčilíp (formerly Dixon) Marsh and past the CSKT Bison Range to Ninepipe National Wildlife Refuge. From there, we drove to Bigfork, down the Seeley Swan Valley and then over to Browns Lake. Our last big push carried us across the Continental Divide to Great Falls and our final destination—Benton Lake National Wildlife Refuge—before making the long return trip to Missoula.

Total time elapsed: 17-1/2 hours.

Total miles driven: 552.

Swainson’s Hawk perched high on our list of desired raptors and we saw four at Benton Lake NWR.

Before getting to our actual bird highlights, I must say a few words about how much gasoline we consumed. As I’ve continued birding, I’ve been more and more reluctant to drive a lot, even to chase birds since burning gas contributes to climate change and directly impacts the creatures we love. Birdathon, however, coincided with birding destinations Braden and I had planned to visit this spring anyway. I especially wanted to make sure I got over the divide at least once to see some of Montana’s eastern species. So in addition to raising money, Birdathon allowed us to “double dip” on a lot of things we were going to do anyway—and it was a bonus to “carpool” with Susan and Eli, making it a relatively energy-efficient trip overall.

Sandhill Cranes have a habit of nesting right under our noses and, indeed, we discovered one nesting only a few yards away at one of our stops near Browns Lake.

Speaking of energy, I also have to add that while Braden and I drove and planned the event, Susan and Eli kept us energized with homemade egg sandwiches, 18-inch torpedo sandwiches, caffeinated beverages, and an unlimited variety of snacks. In other words, Team Bird Domination set out perfectly prepared to have an epic day. And with that, here are but a few of the day’s incredible highlights:

A fun shorebird assortment at Benton Lake NWR. Can you name them all? (Answer at the bottom)
  • Watching three American Bitterns flying over Sčilíp (formerly Dixon) Marsh. For context, we had never even heard an American Bittern here—and seen and heard only three or four in the entire state. At first, in fact, we thought the three birds might be Great Blue Herons, but Braden’s astute eyes picked out the brown color and dark ends of the wings. WOW!
  • A surprise Short-eared Owl at Ninepipe. Usually, these critters “bed down” a couple of hours after sunrise, but overcast skies probably helped this one keep hunting until we arrived. THANK YOU, OWL.
  • A Long-billed Curlew at Ninepipe—a curlew that turned out to be a WHIMBREL, again, thanks to Braden’s keen ID skills. Only a handful of whimbrels end up in Montana each year, and almost never west of the divide. This was the first one recorded at Ninepipe in six years—a truly rare find that helped render the entire day a spectacular hit, even though it wasn’t half over.
  • A clean sweep of large prairie-dwelling shorebirds at Benton Lake NWR, including Upland Sandpiper, Long-billed Curlew (that didn’t turn into a whimbrel), Willets, and Marbled Godwits.
Grabbing Bird of the Day honors, we caught this rare-for-Montana Hudsonian Whimbrel hanging out with some distant Canada Geese!

Speaking of Benton Lake, this was the first time we’d birded there in mid-May and it was interesting to note who was home. Usually, for instance, there are thousands of breeding Franklin’s Gulls, but we saw only a couple of dozen. Ditto for Eared Grebes which can dot the lake in the many hundreds. We counted fewer than one hundred, though couldn’t accurately assess the far sides of the upper lake where they mostly hang out. On the other hand, we saw more White-faced Ibises than we’d ever seen—about seventy. It’s hard to make any generalizations from this since the bar charts show that all of these birds should be there in strong numbers now, but we did feel that some of the birds are arriving a bit late this year.

A great bonus to birding this time of the year was witnessing several species courting and mating, including these Western Grebes.

Other great birds we saw or heard included Yellow-breasted Chat, a lagging Snow Goose, a Horned Grebe, Cassin’s Vireo, Chestnut-collared and Thick-billed Longspurs, Wilson’s Phalarope, Swainson’s Hawk, and the marsh trifecta of Sora, Virginia Rail, and Wilson’s Snipe. We definitely had a few misses, such as Common Loon, Golden Eagle, Black Tern, and Black-crowned Night Heron but we all agreed that the birds really came through for us, perhaps having heard that our efforts were going to help birds!

Our final tally came in at a mind-blowing 135 species—enough to bankrupt our sponsors and ensure that we will participate in Birdathons far into the future!

Photography did not rank high on our list of priorities during Birdathon, but this Dark-eye Junco with prey did pose for my best ever DEJU shot.

Bird ID Answers: Long-billed Curlew (1), American Avocets (2), Marbled Godwits (5).

Black-chinned Sparrow: Bird #14 on Braden’s ABA Life List Countdown

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Today, we continue Braden’s countdown of the remaining birds he needs to complete his American Birding Association life list. For more information on this journey, check out his post, Lower 48 Life List Countdown: Crissal Thrasher. As always, if you’d like to support FatherSonBirding, consider buying new copies of some of Sneed’s books shown to the right. If you already have them all, why not buy a copy for a friend? As always, thanks for reading!

On April 4th, 2026, I left my job of eight months, with my internal compass pointing home. I’d lived and worked in Running Springs, California since late August of 2025, as an educator and camp counselor at Pali Institute for Outdoor Education. I’d seen so much of the country during this time, and met some really cool people, but on April 3rd I finished my last work shift. The next day, I moved out of staff housing and drove south to Ramona near San Diego to stay with my cousins. That night would be the first of many on a twelve-day road trip I’d planned across the American West on my way back to Montana. Though I looked forward to seeing many birds (see my Crissal Thrasher blog) on the trip, I especially set my sights on the last US sparrow that I’d never laid eyes on: Black-chinned.

Black-chinned Sparrows are classic chaparral birds found in canyons and hillsides across much of California, Arizona and New Mexico. They’re particularly drawn to post-fire habitats—the dense shrubbery that rises from the sooty ground five to ten years after a burn. Outside the core of its range, the species can be quite local, which might explain why I hadn’t bumped into one so far. While I have spent extensive time in both central California and southeast Arizona, a lot of the birding I’ve done in these locations is either too wooded or too deserty for Black-chinned Sparrows. The one concentrated effort I made for the species was both at a bad time of year and a bad time of day for the species, when a friend and I had driven up a random road south of San Francisco where a single singing bird had been reported weeks prior.

The Beeline Highway

When planning my route home from Running Springs, I had several goals in mind: to explore parts of the West I’d never before visited and to target a few bird species that would either be lifers, or living in new locations I’d never explored. With all of this in mind, I left my cousin’s house in Ramona on April 5th and drove six hours through the Mojave Desert, arriving at a location known as the Beeline Highway an hour or so after sunset. This section of the highway ran through Sycamore Canyon, a middle-elevation canyon that stretched from the saguaro-covered foothills north of Phoenix up towards 7,000-foot Mt. Ord. No longer a through road thanks to a closure on the lower section, it was known to be one of Phoenix’s top birding locations. 

As I began to set up my tent, thinking about all the fun canyon country birds I might see tomorrow, a barking echoed from the creek a couple hundred meters away. I recognized it as a sound I’d only heard a few times: an Elf Owl! Deciding my tent could wait, I grabbed my flashlight and camera, walking towards the sound. When I got to the tree I thought it was coming from, I raised my light and immediately spotted the bird: America’s smallest owl was barking, unperturbed, from a small cavity in the sycamore. Then another Elf Owl landed on a tree on the other side of the road! I’d only heard this species before, never gotten eyes on one, and I hadn’t even realized they lived this far north! Happy, I went to bed as the Elf Owls called into the night.

Sycamore Canyon

The next morning, unfamiliar bird songs woke me, and I packed my tent before the sun crested the hills. As I headed down the road, I spotted Northern Cardinals and Ash-throated Flycatchers, knowing full well that Black-chinned Sparrow reports were more frequent higher up the canyon but curious as to what else lived below. Arizona sycamores followed the creek down the canyon, which contrasted with the dry, rocky, juniper-covered slopes surrounding me, and created great habitat for birds like Hooded Oriole, Bell’s Vireo and Cassin’s Kingbird. From the hillsides sang Rufous-crowned Sparrows, a southwestern bird with a messy jumble of a song that I’d been learning to love over the last few months. 

Phainopepla

Forty minutes after I started walking the canyon, another car pulled alongside me. A woman got out, introducing herself as Shannon and stating that she was a local birder. From then on, we mostly birded together, taking turns pointing out cool birds as we encountered them.

“Zone-tailed Hawk above us!”

“Check out that male Scott’s Oriole!”

“Oooh, that Costa’s Hummingbird is displaying!”

Scott’s Oriole

Eventually, we arrived at a natural turnaround point—a large, grassy pile of dirt blocking the road. The road continued behind it, but Shannon decided to turn around. I felt that I should keep going a little farther, a birding strategy that I’d adopted in recent years. Often, when I feel like turning around, I decide to push on around ‘just one more corner’, and it’s gotten me some great birds over the years. I did just that, and wasn’t disappointed.

To be honest, Black-chinned Sparrow was not the main reason I’d selected this location. No, the Beeline Highway was known for another species, one I’d seen before in Costa Rica but never in the US—Common Black Hawk. In the tropics these raptors are hard to miss, using mostly coastal habitats, especially mangroves. North of the Mexican border, though, there are fewer than 300 nesting pairs, confined to sycamore-covered canyons. 

Sure enough, after walking around ‘just one more corner’, I spotted it: A Common Black Hawk sitting on a nest in the crook of a sycamore. I snapped a bunch of pictures and watched as it began flying back and forth, its calls bouncing off the walls of the canyon.

Common Black Hawk

I headed back up the canyon and again met Shannon, who gave me a ride to my car. We parted ways and I continued driving slowly with the windows down. I’d seen a ton of cool birds so far, but I couldn’t help feeling a little stressed. Where were the Black-chinned Sparrows?

Apparently, near the top of the canyon! Pulling over for probably the fourth time, I immediately heard one sounding off from the valley below—a musical, descending song like that of a Field Sparrow but more piercing. While I don’t enjoy using playback, I went ahead and played its song. My bird didn’t come any closer, but the sound prompted another sparrow to start singing on the other side of the road. I snuck up on him and suddenly, not ten feet from me sat a male Black-chinned Sparrow. Almost immediately, a second male flew in to join him and the two flitted from bush to bush together, never staying in one place for longer than ten seconds but giving me satisfying views. I knew they were both males because only the male of this species has the diagnostic black chin.

Black-chinned Sparrow

The Beeline Highway offered up one more gift before I left. While watching the sparrows, I heard the telltale varied song of a mimid. I walked to the edge of the road expecting a Northern Mockingbird, and instead was treated to great views of a Crissal Thrasher! This high-altitude shrubby habitat differed in nearly every way from the desert wash where I’d seen one in Vegas, but the bird seemed to be thriving here! As I headed north, away from the sycamores and saguaros, I felt a pang of regret since I likely wouldn’t be seeing these birds again for a long time. However, I knew that today’s experience would give me hours of pleasant reflection as I continued my adventure into new, exciting habitats.

Colorado’s Ute Mountain Mesa Verde Birding Festival (FSB Festival Report)

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I hadn’t visited the Four Corners region of Colorado in sixty years, so when I got an email inviting me to keynote a birding festival almost literally in the shadow of Mesa Verde National Park, well, it took me about one wingbeat of a Broad-tailed Hummingbird to accept. The festival was the Ute Mountain Mesa Verde Birding Festival and why they chose me harkens back to last year’s blog post In Search of the Green-Tailed Towhee. Each year, the festival selects a different featured or mascot bird to help promote the fest, and the committee just happened to choose the GTTO (the bird, not the car) for 2026. After doing a quick web search, they found my blog—and the rest is history.

My invitation to the Ute Mountain Mesa Verde Birding Festival resulted from last year’s blog post In Search of the Green-tailed Towhee.

Well, not quite. I still, after all, had to attend the festival—and what a delight it turned out to be.

After being invited, the first thing I did was to look up what kinds of birds I might see. It was a good list, consisting of a nice mix of conifer forest, wetland, and sagebrush birds. What got me doing lizard push-ups, however, were the birds of the pinyon-juniper forests—what the locals refer to as the “PJ forest.” These birds included several species that are challenging to find in Montana such as Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Gray Flycatcher, Pinyon Jay, and Green-tailed Towhee. Even better, it included a couple of potential lifers pour moi, especially Virginia’s Warbler and Gray Vireo.

Having Amy along for the first few days helped make this trip extra special!

What made the trip even more exciting was that I convinced my wife Amy to fly down with me a couple of days early to explore Durango and visit Mesa Verde National Park—where we saw my first Black-throated Gray Warbler in eight or nine years and heard both Rock and Canyon Wrens right next to the famous Cliff Palace dwellings (see above photo)! Afterward, we took a delightful hike on the park’s Knife Edge Trail, and almost immediately Merlin’s Sound ID picked up one of my top trip targets: Virginia’s Warbler! It took only about five minutes to get a glimpse of this gorgeous little creature and as a bonus, the trip’s first Blue-gray Gnatcatchers joined it. Alas, Amy had to head home Wednesday, but that may have been just as well since three intensive days of birding lay ahead of me.

Seeing a Black-throated Gray and . . .
Virginia’s Warbler while visiting Mesa Verde helped start the week out strong!

When you get invited to speak at a festival, it is common to be asked to “co-lead” field trips with local birders who are the real experts. Doing this may be the best part of the invitation, and I felt especially excited about the trips I had been assigned. The first, led by Mesa Verde’s Chief of Natural Resources, Paul Morey, took us into the little-known wilderness part of the park—a section along the Mancos River closed to the public. The river—a creek by Montana standards—led through spectacular groves of cottonwoods as well as PJ forest and sagebrush habitat, overlooked by the impressive main ridge of the park.

A special bonus of our Mesa Verde wilderness hike was getting to see the restoration work the park has been doing–including facilitating the return of beavers to the Mancos River. This has already improved water levels and sedimentation that the cottonwood gallery forest needs to thrive.

We got some nice surprises on our four-mile hike: Golden Eagles, Plumbeous Vireos, Lark Sparrows, more Virginia’s Warblers, and two Red-naped Sapsuckers. Lazuli Buntings and Yellow-breasted Chats earned crowd favorite honors, though the chats did their best to elude us visually until late in the hike. Another great thing about the trip, however, was getting to meet wonderful, bird-loving folks from all over the country—new friendships that would solidify over the next couple of days of birding.

Not surprisingly, Lazuli Buntings were one of the crowd favorites of our first-day group.

Friday’s trip took me to another place that had limited access—a downstream section of the Mancos River located in the heart of the Ute Mountain Tribal Park. To enter this area, you need to be on an official tour organized by the Tribe (see details here) and all I can say is “Do it!” I got an inkling of what we were in for as we passed the impressive Chimney Rock and entered the canyon itself. On both sides of us, incredible walls like giant Jenga constructions rose for miles upstream, the river threading through them as if nothing had changed for millennia.

A highlight of our Ute Tribal Park trip was a Black Phoebe, a bird common in California but fairly scarce in these parts.
Our group eyeballs the Black Phoebe—and also spots a migrating Lincoln’s Sparrow!

Don Marsh, our fearless leader, had us stop at many locations and the birds repeatedly surprised us. Almost immediately, we saw ten Western Tanagers moving together upstream, surely still in migration. Say’s Phoebes, Ash-throated Flycatchers, Lark Sparrows, and Woodhouse’s Scrub-Jays flitted between trees and bushes while more chats and Gambel’s Quail provided an alluring soundtrack.

Most visitors to Mesa Verde don’t realize the remarkable number of Puebloan sites—thousands of them—that fill the area, including this spectacular cliff site in the Ute Mountain Tribal Park.

Don had been charged by festival organizer Diane Cherbak to find me my Number One Target Bird, Gray Vireo, and he set about this task with determination. On only our second or third stop, he said, “I hear one,” and for the next fifteen minutes, we doggedly tried to get a glimpse of it. The little bugger didn’t make it easy! We saw movement in bushes and others in our party shouted, “There it is!”—always a split-second late for me to see. FINALLY, the bird quit taunting us and popped up to the top of a bush where I got a lengthy, glorious glimpse of this drab, but thoroughly enchanting little bird! This trip also provided some additional adventures including a flat tire and a break to admire impressive cliff dwellings and petroglyphs few people ever get to see.

My top trip target bird did its best to stay out of sight before finally posing for a photo op. Thank you Gray Vireo—and Don, for finding this bird for me!

Saturday saw us in the good hands of Brenda Wright and Coen Dexter, two of the area’s top birders, as we explored the Canyons of the Ancients National Monument, a sprawling region northwest of Cortez. This was the heart of Pinyon-Juniper country and offered a wonderful mix of PJ forest, agricultural fields, Puebloan ruins, and yet more stunning canyons. On our explorations, we saw yet another Gray Vireo along with Brewer’s Sparrows, Cassin’s Kingbird, Juniper Titmice, both Sora and Virginia Rail, and perhaps the day’s highlight, a pair of mating dark morph Swainson’s Hawks! Fittingly, our last new species of the day here was the festival’s featured bird, a Green-tailed Towhee that I saw dive into a bush and stuck around long enough for everyone to see it.

Woodhouse’s Scrub-Jays greeted us every day of the festival—incredibly adaptable birds that I had seen only twice before.

I honestly felt sad to leave this amazing festival in a remarkable part of the world—and I encourage you to give it a try. The festival offers more than twenty tours over its five days and has some of the friendliest people I’ve met anywhere. Both Durango and Cortez are fun towns to explore and hang out in, and both offer great Mexican food, fun shopping, and other cool activities. Speaking of food, a wonderful local caterer creates some of the yummiest “field lunches” I’ve ever had—so yummy that I usually ate them by 9 or 10 o’clock each day. Best of all, the festival is for a good cause, being the main fundraiser for the Cortez Cultural Center.

For more information, check out the festival website: https://utemountainmesaverdebirdingfestival.com/

I certainly hope it’s an event I’ll return to one day.

My Colorado eBird Trip Report: https://ebird.org/tripreport/519560

The Ute Mountain Mesa Verde birding festival is the major fundraiser for the Cortez Cultural Center each year. The center’s mission is to “provide programs that enrich the lives of our community and its visitors by increasing cultural awareness, promoting the arts, and educating about the area’s history, diversity and natural environment.”