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Peregrine Possibilities: Birding Therapy Day Two

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So after getting home from my Blue Mountain hike on Monday, I began planning Tuesday’s birding therapy outing to the Missoula Cemetery, a place I have monitored since the pandemic began last year. Almost immediately, however, I received a message from a friend of a friend (FOAF) about a putative Peregrine Falcon pair a few miles from our house. Peregrines are not uncommon in Montana with well over a hundred nesting pairs—a remarkable resurgence considering the DDT disaster that devastated dozens of bird species through the 1960s and 70s. However this possible nest site was one that neither Braden nor I had heard of, so instead of hitting the cemetery Tuesday morning, I convinced Braden to skip first period and go check it out by bike.

Braden and I never tire of seeing Red-naped Sapsuckers, especially in a new location!

It was a perfect morning for a bike ride and we spotted or heard Black-capped and Mountain Chickadees, Red-breasted Nuthatches, and an assortment of other birds—Braden more than I thanks to his Bionic Ears of Youth! We were especially excited to find a nice boggy area with a couple of Red-naped Sapsuckers drumming on snags. Finally, we reached the area the FOAF had described and almost immediately thought that we heard the peregrines calling. We set up “camp” and watched, hoping to catch sight of them. No luck. Even worse, Braden had to leave to get back to school. “Well crap,” I thought. I didn’t want to see them without him, but also knew I might not head back to the spot anytime soon so decided to stay longer.

One of the benefits of hauling a camera with you is to “slow down” birds that are too fast and too far away to easily observe. Peregrine Falcons are a case in point!

I pulled out my phone to play a peregrine recording—not to attract them but to make sure what they sounded like. WHAM! Almost instantaneously a loud answering call hit me from above and I looked up to see the unmistakable shape of a falcon flying against the gray skies. That turned out to be just the opening salvo in an amazing twenty-minute aerial exhibition that the peregrine and his mate put on for me. I watched them chase off another raptor, skim forest treetops, and in a grand finale, copulate on the branch of a tree! Granted, the birds were far away, but I can’t recall a more exciting raptor experience—well, at least since seeing the Gyrfalcon with Braden earlier this year.

I got in touch with the Montana Peregrine Institute to see if they knew about this particular nest and it turns out that the pair was first discovered in 2020 and had apparently successfully fledged three young! My FOAF went even further and single-handedly convinced the Forest Service to delay a controlled burn that was supposed to happen this last week—right in the peregrines’ territory! Hopefully, the burn will go ahead in the fall—and give the birds a wonderful larder of new prey to raise their next batch of chicks.

Even though the birds were far away, it was thrilling to watch them mate—something that will hopefully ensure a new crop of peregrines this year!

A Week of Birding Therapy: Day One

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I know it’s hard to believe but even underpaid writers living in Montana can get to feeling down sometimes. Covid certainly has not helped the situation since it and the gut-wrenching economic and societal upheavals it has triggered make the future look blurry at best. In this kind of situation, however, birders have a distinct advantage over non-birders. Why? Because we can immediately step outside for a dose of birding therapy. Last weekend, in fact, I decided I needed not one day, but a week of birding to try to set things right. I began with a return to a place that in many ways inspired my and Braden’s journey into birding: the Blue Mountain Nature Trail just south of Missoula.

It’s always a good day when you see shooting stars in the wild. We tried planting them in our garden when we moved in 15 years ago and the deer loved them. Only one highly-protected plant survives!

The nature trail takes hikers through a twenty-year-old burn that in years past has been a birders’ paradise with plenty of snags for woodpeckers and a lush resurgence of native plant growth on the newly-sunlit forest floor. The trail, in fact, is where UM biologist Dick Hutto—an expert on the value of burns to birds—took me when I began researching my book Fire Birds: Valuing Natural Wildfires and Burned Forests. At the time, Black-backed Woodpeckers still lived there, but I wondered what it would be like some eight years later. I was not disappointed.

Though the Black-backed Woodpeckers have long departed for blacker pastures, Northern Flickers still take full advantage of the burned forest twenty years after the blaze.

Though I arrived a week or two early for the crush of cavity nesters about to descend on the forest, seeing my first shooting stars and Pasque flowers of the year immediately cheered me up. And the birds, while not abundant, were of the highest quality. On my way up I saw a pair of Townsend’s Solitaires, and heard Cassin’s Finches and my year’s first Williamson’s Sapsucker, which I IDed both by its higher, forest-edge location and its almost halting, hesitant drum pattern. Moving on, I spent time with a Hairy Woodpecker and Northern Flicker, and at the forested saddle where I usually turn around, spotted my year’s first Cooper’s Hawk flying furtively and low to the ground.

Townsend’s Solitaires are hands-down one of our favorite Montana passerines and nest in the root balls of fallen trees. This makes them perfect burn birds.

I had hoped to hear an Orange-crowned Warbler, but alas, was probably a bit too early for those. Back near the road, however, I was rewarded by Red Crossbills and the year’s first look at a dazzling male Yellow-rumped Warbler. Satisfied with my thirteen species, I continued on to the car, planning my next day’s trip to the Missoula Cemetery to see what I could find. Unbeknownst to me, fate was about to deal Braden and me a radically different birding destination for Tuesday . . .

Presume Not the Common Robin

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This time of year we observe a remarkable influx of American Robins in western Montana. True, the birds are year-round residents in small numbers through much of the state, but by April, instead of spotting the occasional bird, Braden and I begin counting them by the dozens. As much as I love this “thrush flush”, I have to admit it has led to some close calls in bird IDs this past week.

This time of year, it’s easy to assume that every medium-sized bird is a robin—but BIRDERS BEWARE!

Every morning I grab my binoculars when I head out to take our dog Lola for her morning tramp around our neighborhood. We follow a mile-long route around a school, down to a park, and then back up home, skirting the edges of houses, woods, and Rattlesnake Creek. Over the years, Braden and I have compiled a healthy bird list for the route, but I have to say that it rarely yields any real surprises. As a result, I become lulled into a sense of complacency about what I am looking at.

To wit, with all the robins around lately, I have naturally assumed I am looking at Turdus migratorius when I see medium-sized, nondescript birds perched in a distant tree. On my Wednesday dog walk, I again made those assumptions. I mean, there were a ton of robins about and I identified many by sight and sound. When I saw fifteen birds sitting in another tree, I thought, “More robins.” Fortunately, something made me pause—perhaps my inner birder conscience or a feather that didn’t look quite right. Ignoring Lola’s piercing eyes, which pleaded for me to throw the ball again, I raised my binoculars and found . . .

This photo sheds light—or shadow—on how easy it is to mistake other groups of birds for American Robins.

Cedar Waxwings! “Huh,” I thought. “That’s cool.” Waxwings weren’t earth-shattering, but I didn’t expect to see such a group this time of year. I threw the ball for Lola and continued walking, and a hundred yards later saw another group of birds in a tree. “More robins,” I thought, then remembered the waxwings and again raised my binoculars to find . . .

Evening Grosbeaks! Even better, it was my first good look at them for the year! Those two back-to-back sightings taught me a valuable birding lesson: never assume what you’re looking at just because certain birds are more common or you’ve seen them before. I hope it’s a lesson that will serve you well this spring—not that there’s anything wrong with robins.  

Up close, an Evening Grosbeak’s markings are distinctive, but even from medium range, light and shadow can obscure an accurate ID!

Camas National Wildlife Refuge Update

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After last week’s post on our visit to Camas National Wildlife Refuge (see Pocatello or Bust), I received a welcome call from Refuge Manager Brian Wehausen. I had left a message with him, wanting to learn more about the seemingly bleak situation at the refuge, and he generously shared half an hour with me explaining the water shortage and prospects for the future.

When the refuge was purchased in 1937, Brian began, local farmers were taking water from the nearby Henry’s Fork stream and surface irrigating their crops in such a way that loads of excess water “skipped down” to the refuge, creating ample ponds for birds and other wildlife. When farmers switched to sprinkler irrigation in the 1980s, that load of water ceased and the refuge began drying up. “Before agriculture,” Brian shared, “the refuge probably had good and bad years, but we don’t really have any way of knowing what it was like.” Even so, the current situation has been impacted by the drop in the aquifer due to overpumping by agricultural and other interests so that in bad years such as this, migrating birds meet mud instead of water on their way north.

While offering little for migrating birds now, infrastructure improvements at Camas NWR will soon allow the refuge to fill at least some of their ponds even in bad years.

The good news is that the refuge recently received money from the Great American Outdoors Act to drill new wells that will put water into areas that they know retain it better. Brian doesn’t think they can return the refuge to what it was in its heyday in the 60s and 70s, but hopes to definitely improve the situation for waterfowl. “My whole goal,” he said, “is to be efficient with the surface water and also be efficient with the well water, and most of the water we pump will go right back into the aquifer.”

Unlike in some other places, the local community supports the refuge and agrees it’s worth keeping wet. “Generally, people love to see the birds,” Brian says. “We were a mecca for hunting in the 1970s, and that’s gone away, but people still come. Photography is our Number One use today.”

Before we hung up, I was curious what happens to the snow geese and other birds who arrive to find the refuge dry. Brian told me that when Camas is dry, Dillon (just over the border in southern Montana) also tends to be dry so most of the birds head straight up to Freezeout Lake (see our post A Real Wild Goose Chase)—which is where many birders are enjoying them as I write this. It sounds, though, that we’ll all be able to add Camas to our great birding hotspot lists in the very near future!

Pocatello or Bust

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In our last post, I gave the background story of my newest book, Waiting for a Warbler. The irony is that even as I posted it, Braden and I, like many of you, were impatiently waiting for warblers and other spring migrants to show up—so much so that we jumped the gun and leaped into our intrepid minivan for a 1,000-mile road trip. The trip’s main impetus was to hear Boreal Owls after dusk at Lost Trail Pass on the Montana/Idaho border, and things started well as we picked up an uncommon Eurasian Wigeon near Lee Metcalf NWR on the way down. Alas, despite spending two hours hitting the ski area parking lot and various locations along highway 43, we heard not a single bird—this, despite our friend Nick hearing FIVE Boreal Owls several years ago. Disappointed, but not shocked, we proceeded to Wisdom to spend the night at the comfortable Pioneer Mountain Lodge.

Totally unexpected, this was perhaps our closest look ever at one of our favorite winter birds, American Tree Sparrows, right alongside the road in Wisdom, MT.

Before heading south the next morning, we decided to do a quick tour of Wisdom and were fortunate to spot American Tree Sparrows and a Northern Shrike. Along the highway, our luck continued with great raptor looks, including a ginormous Great Horned Owl sitting on a mile marker next to the road! At the ghost town of Bannack, however, we struck out on Sagebrush Sparrows and Sage Thrashers (still too early) and, after “dipping” on Chukars in Dillon as well, decided to head to Idaho for our first interstate birding in months.

We were especially excited to visit Camas National Wildlife Refuge, but when we arrived, instead of ponds overflowing with waterfowl, we found depressing drying mud with a few determined Canada Geese and Mallards wondering what the heck was going on. We wondered, too, and a little research pointed both to a dry year and, more crucially, a lowered water table caused by over-pumping of groundwater by agricultural interests. This is a situation faced by more and more places in the West and national wildlife refuges seem to be particularly at risk as their budgets for new wells, staff, and infrastructure haven’t nearly kept up with their needs (see the Audubon article “Overwhelmed and Understaffed, Our National Wildlife Refuges Need Help”).

The kind of depressing scenes we found at Camas National Wildlife Refuge are playing out all over the West as human demand for water robs wildlife of essential habitat and resources.

Determined to redeem our day, we pushed on to Pocatello, where we had a delightful hike through juniper forest and saw our Lifer Juniper Titmice. In fact, these wonderful little birds may have ended up being the highlight of our trip as we got to watch them sing, bicker at each other, feed on berries, and generally make the most of life.

Both Braden and I fell in love with Juniper Titmice, described by eBird as “Possibly the plainest bird in North America.”

The next morning we decided to heed Supertramp’s advice and take the long way home through Craters of the Moon National Monument (closed) and Sun Valley. We had a special interest in Sun Valley because another Lifer, Black Rosy-Finch, had been reported there, and as we drove up a long canyon road we wondered if we would again be disappointed as this was the year’s fourth attempt to find this elusive bird. We arrived and . . . no birds. We hung out for several minutes, though, and suddenly heard finchy chirps above us. The rosy-finches! And not just Black, but Gray-crowned, too. It was particularly gratifying to find these gorgeous little passerines both because we’d looked for them many times and because this might well be Braden’s last chance to see them before he heads east for college this summer. The rosy-finches and titmice made the scenic drive home through the Sawtooths especially enjoyable—and a surprise find of a Ruffed Grouse along the highway extra sweet.

Hard to find at best, Black Rosy-Finches are some of North America’s most beautiful passerines. They nest at high altitudes and, not surprisingly, are some of America’s least-studied birds.