Category Archives: Adventure

The Land of 10,000 Birds—and Deep-fried Snickers Bars

This year my daughter Tessa and I decided that for our daddy-daughter trip we should take Amtrak to the Land of 10,000 lakes. You got it. Minnesota! Our primary purpose was to visit my brother, his wife, and their two-year-old son, but we also timed our visit for an event I’d always wanted to see: the Minnesota State Fair.

For us Westerners, Red-bellied Woodpeckers are always a treat and I was glad to see a few during my week in Minnesota. (Photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

I must be clear: this was not a birding trip, but as always, birding opportunities presented themselves and I came prepared. Especially since it was fall migration, I arrived in Minneapolis hoping to see a slew of warblers and other songbirds not easily found in Montana. My first morning there, while Tessa slept in, I stole my brother’s car and headed to a promising eBird hotspot, Westwood Hills Nature Center. I arrived optimistically, a feeling that blossomed when I encountered a group of birders who reported that they’d just seen more than half a dozen warbler species including Chestnut-sided, Black-and-White, Bay-breasted and American Redstart. Unfortunately, as soon as I arrived, the warblers vanished. Argh! I did find a Northern Waterthrush skulking in an overgrown pond and managed a Lifer, Philadelphia Vireo, but departed asking myself what could have been.

Sharks, not birds, were the highlight of the Minnesota State Fair!

Still, we had the fair to look forward to, and despite an incredible thunderstorm, made the most of it. We devoured the most delicious cheese curds ever, along with an entire bucket of cookies. My daughter also won a giant four-ton stuffed shark that we would have to drag back home on the train. And that deep-fried Snickers? Well, I wish I hadn’t done that.

My birding adventures weren’t over, however. My brother and his family happened to live only two blocks from the Mississippi River and on a whim I headed over there early the next morning. There, I ran into yet another terrific group of birders. Again, all the best birds deserted as soon as I arrived. “What the heck is going on?” I grumbled.

This was only my third time seeing diminutive, but spectacular, Black-and-White Warblers, and they alone satisfied my bird cravings for the trip. (Photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

Undeterred, I returned to the same spot the next morning, and this time my birding stars aligned. Right away, I found a flock of chickadees and settled in to watch them. Soon, I made a thrilling discovery: a Black-and-White Warbler gleaning insects in an oak tree! Downy and Red-bellied Woodpeckers arrived along with Ruby-throated Hummingbirds, and Red-eyed and Yellow-throated Vireos. Even better, I saw three more warbler species: American Redstart, Nashville, and Wilson’s. As I was leaving, I also happened to take a photo of a weird-looking sparrow, but didn’t think much of it. That night, I boarded the train, happy both with our daddy-daughter experiences and my birding observations.

And guess what? When I got home, I showed Braden that weird-looking sparrow.

“Daddy,” he said. “That’s an Indigo Bunting!”

Uff-da! Minnesota, we’ll be back!

This surprise, drab Indigo Bunting provided an exclamation mark to my Minnesota birding outings. (Photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

All About Alcids

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Braden here.

“Pigeon Guillem-wait, no that’s just a pigeon,” my dad said as we stood underneath the ferry dock in Anacortes, Washington, “I must have guillemots on the brain or something.”

Just then, a football-shaped bird shot out from underneath the platform we were on. It was jet black, with white wing patches and strawberry-red feet—an actual Pigeon Guillemot!

“Awesome!” I said as we high-fived, “It appeared just as you said it! Wait a minute…Marbled Murrelet.”

Unfortunately for us, a Marbled Murrelet did not shoot out from under the dock like the guillemot had, but we weren’t that disappointed. My dad hadn’t seen a guillemot since the year we started birding!

A Black Guillemot, identified from a Pigeon Guillemot by the lack of the black stripe across the wing patch.

The Pigeon Guillemot is a seabird belonging to a family of birds called Alcidae, or alcids. Alcids are the penguins of the north, and share many similarities: they both are much better in water than on land, they both(for the most part) live in the colder parts of oceans, and they even share the same coloring! Once upon a time, there was even an alcid that couldn’t fly, the Great Auk. Sadly, it went extinct in 1844 thanks to hunting and invasive species. Guess where the last individual lived? Iceland.

Iceland is a great place to start learning alcids. It has at least six fairly-regularly ocurring species: the Atlantic Puffin, Common Murre, Thick-billed Murre, Razorbill, Dovekie, and Black Guillemot, the last of which is the Arctic-dwelling cousin of the Pigeon Guillemots we saw in Washington.

When I was in Iceland, I saw all of these except the Dovekie, which, during the breeding season, only inhabits the pack ice of the high Arctic. Each one was under slightly different conditions. When it came to colonies, Puffins were the weakest of the bunch, digging burrows in dirt, while Razorbills nested in cracks and ledges on sheer rock cliffs. Unlike most birds, Razorbills actually lay lopsided eggs so that they will roll in a circle and not off the cliff. If not for seasickness and an angry ocean, I would’ve gotten to see Latrabjarg cliffs as we passed it, a huge expanse of rock in western Iceland home to 40% of the world’s nesting Razorbill population!

Razorbills are named for the white stripe that crosses their beaks.

We also saw Razorbills farther away from shore than the other alcids, some accompanying flightless chicks. Once the chicks are ready to leave the nest, one naturalist told me, it would jump straight off the cliff! The parent, and sometimes parents would then join it and undergo catastrophic molt—molting all of their feathers at the same time, meaning that for a few weeks, neither the adults or the chicks would be able to fly!

Not all alcids are as devoted parents, though. After a while, Atlantic Puffins just stop bringing food to the nest, forcing the starving chick to leave and fend for its own. And while this may be for many reasons, it is not for lack of food—using the spines on their bills, puffins can carry up to 20 fish at a time, unlike other alcids. The record for one bird is 80 fish!

Atlantic Puffins are declining in southern Iceland, as their main food supply, the sand eels, moves north. This also is affecting Arctic Terns.

Some alcids live all over the Northern Hemisphere, while others are much more localized For instance, while I saw Common Murres in both Iceland and Washington, every other species was unique to one of the locations. If you are looking for alcids, I suggest you start in Alaska, which is home to 17 species alone!

Icelandic Seabird Storm

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Braden here again for my second Iceland post.

Saturday, July 14^th, 2018. 9:00 a.m.

I have just finished breakfast and arrived on the bridge of the National Geographic Explorer. We are continuing our circumnavigation of Iceland, and this is our first day with some free time at sea. I have chosen to spend that time on the bridge, searching for marine mammals and possibly life birds. There are two seabirds in specific I am hoping for: Great Skua and Northern Gannet. Neither are particularly rare, but I have yet to see them.

Great Skuas, the “pirates of the seas”, will chase down other birds and steal their food. (Photo by Braden Collard)

James (Jamie) Coleman, one of the ship’s naturalists and leading bird experts, is also on the bridge, and he knows my quest. “You seen a Skua yet?” he asks me. “They’re everywhere this morning.”

“No, I’ve mostly been focusing on sleeping and eating.”

“Ah. I guess that’s also important. Anyways, keep your eyes open. We’ve also seen some White-beaked Dolphins.”

I settle into a chair, and, seeing no activity in or over the water, begin reading a large guide book titled Marine Mammals of the World.

“Is that the one by Bob Pitman?” Jamie asks.

I nod.

“He’s seen every marine mammal in the world but two, I think.”

“Has he seen a Vaquita?” I ask, knowing that the endangered porpoise’s last stand was going down in the Gulf of California.

“Yeah—he’s working with the Mexican government right now to save them.”

“Cool!”

“Oh, I’ve got a skua!” Jamie suddenly exclaims. “Flying right in front of the bow!”

I quickly raise my binoculars to see a large, dark bird with silver wing patches flying directly in front of the ship, its wingbeats heavy.

Approximately one second later, the Explorer’s captain, Aaron Woods, shouts, “Gannet! Even with the horizon—two o’clock and moving left!”

I again raise my binoculars level to the horizon. Far off, a bird that appears to be the opposite of a skua catches my eye. Its feathers are a clean white, with black tips on the wings, and its outline is sleek.

Like their southern cousins the boobies, gannets will perform spectacular vertical plunge-dives while hunting. (Photo by Braden Collard)

“How’s that?” Jamie asks, “Two lifers in the same two seconds!”

I grin. “Awesome!”

During the next couple of days, as we continue back towards Reykjavik, seabird numbers pick up. On my last full day on the ship, it all culminates in one big seabird showdown.

We have just left the island of Heimaey, the only inhabited island of the Westmann Archipelago, and the Explorer is headed for Surtsey, the new island to the south. I am on the bridge again, as is Jamie, talking about what else has been spotted. Suddenly, he looks up and spies a large, white cloud in the distance.

“Feeding frenzy!”

As our ship draws closer, I see large, straight dorsal fins rising from the water. Killer Whales!

Killer Whales, or Orcas, are actually dolphins–the largest in the world!

There are at least 30 Killer Whales, or orcas, on all sides of the boat now, feeding on whatever huge school of fish swarms below the waves. The whales aren’t the only ones feasting. A tornado of gannets has engulfed us, following the whales. At certain points, squadrons of them leave the storm to plunge-dive, torpedoing straight into the water.

Northern Fulmars, the common tubenoses here, are also in large numbers, and have attracted their rarer cousins, Manx and Sooty Shearwaters! These just remind me of how many miles seabirds have under their wings—the Manx’s have probably bred on the coast of Britain, while the Sooties could have travelled from as far as New Zealand!

Northern Fulmars are circumpolar–meaning they live all around the Arctic Ocean. (Photo by Braden Collard)

The Duck Capital of Europe

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Braden here.

Lake Myvatn, Iceland, is the Waterfowl Capital of Europe, and maybe the world. Its rich wetlands and nutrient waters provide habitat for more than 15 breeding species of ducks, more than anywhere else on the continent (well, the European Continent. Technically Iceland is on two continental plates, but whatever).

Our tour was not for the waterfowl, however. Myvatn is also famous for its geology—the place is a geologist’s playground. We had just come from Godafoss, the waterfall of the gods, where I’d scored a family of 13 Rock Ptarmigans along with the stunning landscape.

We pulled up at our first and only stop close to the lake. This area was known for its pseudocraters, or fake craters, created by lava running over areas of water. To be honest, though, the “famous” craters were not much to look at. They were just dips in the ground, surrounded by farmland. The bird numbers, however, were incredible.

When I first glimpsed the lake, I found myself staring at hundreds, possibly thousands, of white speckles scattered around the shorelines: Whooper Swans! In mid-summer, apparently, these swans congregated in large numbers in sheltered areas of freshwater, and Myvatn was perfect! Huge rafts of ducks also decorated the surface—closer looks told me that these were mostly Tufted Duck, Eurasian Wigeon, and Greater Scaup, the males transforming into their drab summer or “eclipse” plumages.

Pairs of Whooper Swans dominated the lake, more swans than I’d seen anywhere else at one time. (Photo by Braden Collard)

And another, less obvious species was on the lake in numbers—Red-necked Phalaropes! These tiny shorebirds were barely half the size of the nearest duck, and spun in rapid circles to stir up food from the bottom.

This farmland was not a desert of biodiversity like some—it also had a great number of birds around. In the hedge rows, Common Snipe hid with their newborn young, hoping to avoid their human, camera-carrying “predators.”. Alas, they did not succeed—I got great shots!

The short grass of the fields was a shorebird and songbird’s feast—Common Redshanks, Dunlins, Red-necked Phalaropes, Whimbrels, Redwings, White Wagtails, Meadow Pipits and Snow Buntings nibbled at the seeds.

Red-necked Phalaropes are one of the few species of birds in which females are brighter than males. (Photo by Braden Collard)

Along one side of the trail, I suddenly heard a haunting, ghostly call echo across the lake—a Common Loon! Known as the “Great Northern Diver” to the Brits, a pair and baby sat amidst a flock of swans, about 100 meters offshore. I spotted another prize, too—Horned (“Slovenian”) Grebes, much closer to shore. They were another reason European birders loved Lake Myvatn, as they were another specialty of the region. Other Iceland-exclusive birds occurring at Myvatn were Harlequin Ducks (which I did not see) and Barrow’s Goldeneye (which I did). However, the loons, grebes and ducks all occurred much more commonly in the United States, so I was more excited about what the Europeans would consider “common” birds—the snipe, redwings, wagtails, phalaropes, etc.

This baby snipe was less than a foot off of the trail! (Photo by Braden Collard)

Amazon Birding Bonanza at Sani Lodge

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Braden here.

The majority of our first week in South America was spent in Ecuador’s portion of the Amazon. It was May, 2017, and we were staying at a place known as Sani Lodge, a resort run by the Yasuni people. The lodge was located about a half mile from the Río Napo, a large tributary of the Amazon River, nestled on a small lagoon. The only way to reach the lodge was by a combination of motorboating, canoeing and hiking.

Hoatzins, an Amazon version of a crazy turkey, provided plenty of entertainment around Sani Lodge. (Photo by Braden Collard)

Bird-wise, I was super excited about the Amazon—it hosted more species than all of the ABA area! As we approached Sani Lodge, though, we saw and heard few birds. Our guide, Danny, pointed out flocks of oropendolas flashing through the canopy or the echoing call of a lone tinamou, but birding was tough as we hiked to our canoe dock, and my expectations slowly diminished. I figured there were lots of birds here, but almost all of them would be difficult to see through the brush. The lodge itself proved my idea wrong, however.

As we canoed up to the dock, our guide began pointing out a broad array of activity—White-winged Swallows flying low over the lagoon, Black-capped Donacobiuses meowing from the marsh, and “stinky turkeys”, or Hoatzins, weighing down branches and screaming about it. As we walked up to the open-air lounge, Danny pointed out two Tropical Screech-Owls roosting in a palm tree next to the trail. In the bar, a chicken-like bird picked crumbs off the floor. Danny introduced us to Apasha the Gray-winged Trumpeter. An Australian birder nearby, the only other tourist in the lounge, stressed that Apasha was “completely wild,” and therefore “completely countable” on ebird. Apasha had shown up a few years ago and just stuck around. In fact, my sister soon discovered that Apasha enjoyed picking insects off of peoples’ heads.

Got critters in your hair? A Gray-winged Trumpeter may be just the ticket! (Photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

Feeders were set up next to the bar, snagging my attention from the manager, who was giving us a presentation on the expectations of the lodge. Silver-beaked and Masked Crimson Tanagers decorated the fruit feeders, while White-eared Jacamars and Scarlet-crowned Barbets watched from nearby.

Masked Crimson Tanagers were some of the most spectacular “feeder birds” at the lodge. (Photo by Braden Collard)

The lodge grounds were small and mostly unmanicured, as the Yasuni wanted to be as eco-friendly as possible. This also meant that the electricity generator ran only twelve hours a day, around mealtimes.

One day, we went for a canoe ride around the lagoon. The story behind the lagoon was that it was a sanctuary for endangered Yellow-spotted Turtles and Black Caimans, both of which we saw. In fact, we released four baby turtles into the lagoon, named Tortugi, Speckles, Rick Turtle and Terminator. As we canoed around, we all suddenly heard drumming. As we looked into the trees nearby, we glimpsed a brilliant-yellow woodpecker—one Danny said was the rare Cream-colored!

One of the most thrilling birds we saw around Sani Lodge, this Cream-colored Woodpecker even made it into my dad’s book, Woodpeckers: Drilling Holes and Bagging Bugs. (Photo by Braden Collard)

My expectations were filled, but more was to come…