Category Archives: Bird Behavior

Swift-ecta!

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In an earlier post, we may have let slip that both Braden and I are on a tear for our 2025 global species lists (see our post In Search of the Green-tailed Towhee). That’s due to a variety of factors. Braden not only drove across the country from Maine to Montana this past spring (see last post), he embarked on intense birding trips to Oaxaca, Mexico (see post Birding in Oaxaca, Mexico) and Costa Rica. As for me, I received delightful last-minute invitations to Colombia (post Antpittas and Tody-Flycatchers), thanks to FSB contributor Roger Kohn, and to Texas, where I spoke about my book Birding for Boomers. The upshot of all this is that Braden has seen almost 800 species of birds this year, while I am within twenty birds of breaking my all-time record of 527.

The thing is, twenty birds in Montana in late July is more challenging than it sounds. Birds common in May or June become increasingly difficult to detect and find, so if you don’t have them by August you may not get them at all. That means you’ll have to rely on migrants—which are notoriously unpredictable—or winter arrivals that you probably got earlier in the year. As a result, I’ve recently been focused on picking up the remaining common birds that I so far haven’t seen. Top on my list? Say’s Phoebe.

Last year, I saw a Say’s Phoebe near the base of Missoula’s Pattee Canyon. Alas, that one eluded me this year, forcing me to search farther afield!

Say’s Phoebes are cool little flycatchers that love to nest on human-made structures such as barns, covered porches, and utility buildings. While not rare, they seem to be pretty picky about their accommodations, and we run into them only infrequently in Montana. As I write this, for example, only four sightings have been reported in Missoula County in the past month. While scouring eBird, though, I did note regular sightings up at Kerr Dam below Flathead Lake. Braden and I had discussed doing a birding day trip, so two Tuesdays ago we set out early, Say’s Phoebes our Number One goal.

Before leaving Missoula, Braden asked if we could stop at Greenough Park. He had been pursuing a birding challenge with friends back East to see how many species they could find every day for seven days in a row. “I want to pick up Lazuli Bunting and Swainson’s Thrush,” he told me. This search happened to lead to the first delightful surprise of the day. As we were walking up a dirt trail, we approached a cottonwood tree where Braden had found a Western Screech Owl two days before. Today, he suddenly exclaimed, “Oh my god! It’s a baby!” Sure enough, a WSOW baby sat only a yard from its parent about twenty feet up the tree. Here, our day had just begun and already it had been a wonderful outing!

This adorable little guy was the first baby Western Screech-Owl Braden and I had ever seen!

Still, we had a lot of ground to cover. After a fortifying meal at our favorite French restaurant, McDaniels (in honor of Rogére), we headed up to Ninepipe NWR. We didn’t have any major agenda there except perhaps to snag some shorebirds. For July, it was an unusually cool, overcast day and we joked that we might see some Black Swifts. For those unfamiliar with Black Swifts, they are one of the most elusive and rare birds in the US. They nest mainly behind waterfalls and, especially with climate change, are highly vulnerable throughout their range. In Montana, I had never seen one outside of Glacier National Park, and it was pie-in-the-sky logic to even hope we might see one here out in the valley.

Braden poring through intermolt ducks at Ninepipe.

Anyway, we stopped at one Ninepipe pullout just off Hwy 93. The ducks were in their almost-impossible-to-identify intermolt plumages, but we still saw a nice variety of them plus Trumpeter Swans, American White Pelicans, Double-crested Cormorants, and Great Blue Herons. “Where are the Black Swifts?” I pressed Braden, but he shrugged off my flippant remark.

Though we hadn’t seen any Black Swifts, the low cloud cover at least admitted the possibility that they would venture down into the valleys from their mountain waterfall hideaways.

The phoebes on our minds, we didn’t want to spend too much time at Ninepipe, but decided to stop at one more pullout and, again, found the usual suspects. We both searched the skies for Black Swifts just in case, but didn’t see any. “I have to go to the bathroom,” Braden said, and I kept looking around for various birds. As soon as Braden emerged from the outhouse, however, he shouted, “Black Swifts!” Huh? My eyes darted back toward the low clouds, and there they were—four unmistakable dark shapes scything through the air!

Black Swifts were a stunning find on a day for which we had almost no expectations.

Though I’d seen Black Swifts before, this was my first time really getting to study them, and I noticed both similarities and differences between other swifts. Like other swifts, BLSWs have distinctive almost sickle-like shapes when they fly. With a wingspan of eighteen inches, however, they are significantly larger than Montana’s other swifts, and this shows in their flight. While Vaux’s Swifts zip around with almost mechanically stiff rapid wingbeats, Black Swift wings bend more noticeably. They still look like advanced jet fighters as they zoom through the sky, but with more flexible bodies. Braden also pointed out that Black Swifts show noticeable forks in their tails compared to Vaux’s Swifts, which look like their tails have been chopped off with a cleaver.

Swifts can usually be distinguished from swallows by their stiff-winged, scythe-like silhouette. Note the prominent fork in the tail of this BLSW that distinguishes it from Vaux’s Swifts—though White-throated Swifts can also show a fork.

We watched these rare beauties for a full five minutes before they drifted away across the lake and I even managed some cool photos. After they had gone, Braden and I just looked at each other. “Black Swifts,” he said, and we gave each other a hug.

Swifts always remind me of fighter jets—captured here doing an F-35 impersonation.

Remarkably, it was still only 8:30 and we had a ton of birding ahead of us. Our next stop was the roadside rest stop just south of Ronan where we picked up lone Semipalmated, Spotted, and Solitary Sandpipers, along with a pair of Long-billed Dowitchers, all undoubtedly in migration. After that, we headed to Pablo NWR in hopes of some interesting water birds. We struck out on those—but were amazed to see more than 300 Bank Swallows resting on the dirt road. “They must be migrating, too,” Braden marveled, and I agreed. In fact, it has been a very lucky swallow year for both of us with, for example, great looks at large numbers of migrating Tree Swallows and Cliff Swallows. This was the first time we’d ever seen Bank Swallows in such numbers, though. From there, it was on to our primary destination: Kerr Dam.

Braden had never been to Kerr Dam before, and I’d just gone to the overlook, but the entire site reminded me of a throwback to gentler, more civic times, when people shared more of a vision for the common good. From the overlook, we looked down on the dam itself with the Flathead River backing up into Flathead Lake beyond. Below the dam, dramatic, highly eroded cliffs framed a dramatic canyon full of promising riparian habitat.

Braden and I both wondered what secrets the dramatic cliffs below Kerr Dam might be hiding!

From the overlook, we watched Ospreys and Braden said, “Look, there are some Violet-green Swallows. White-throated Swifts should be here, too.” Not two minutes later, he spotted a pair flying overhead, their sickle-shaped wings and white breasts clearly visible against the blue sky. “Uh-oh,” I said. “That means that we might have to go for the Swift Trifecta and find some Vaux’s Swifts.” Braden sighed in agreement. Darn those swifts!

But we had not forgotten our main target, Say’s Phoebes. “I’m guessing they are down there at the power station below the dam,” I said. “You up for going down there?”

“Sure.”

Squinting into the sun at the overlook to Kerr Dam, the Flathead River running south below the dam in the distance.

Winding our way down to the power station, we were greeted by a cluster of neatly-kept houses and a fenced-in area full of transformers and other “power stuff.” All of this was surrounded by an open, pleasant park-like setting that reminded me of my days working on the Pitt River dam network in northern California just after college. We decided to get out and walk around and immediately started seeing and hearing Western Wood-Pewees, American Goldfinches, robins, Eastern Kingbirds, and other songbirds. We hadn’t walked ten minutes when suddenly, some kind of flycatcher darted out in front of us to snag an insect.

“Say’s Phoebe!” I exulted, and Braden gave me a high five. There weren’t just one, but two, working the area around the fenced-in transformer area. “This is perfect for them,” I said. “Lots of insects and plenty of structures to nest on.” Alas, they didn’t care for our attentions and kept flying away as we approached, but they and the Black Swifts brought my global year total to 509 species—just nineteen shy of breaking my record of 527. Braden already had the phoebe for the year, but the Black Swifts took his global 2025 total to an astonishing 776 species! BUT . . .

This elusive Say’s Phoebe finally cooperated with me for 2025!

There was still that little matter of a swift trifecta on our minds. After a cultural stop at Richwines Burgerville in Polson, we made our way slowly back to Missoula. Nowhere did we see the third Western Montana swift, Vaux’s Swift. “Let’s go to Caras Park,” Braden suggested as we reached Missoula. “I see them there pretty regularly.”

We parked near the iconic metal salmon sculpture and walked out onto the grass below the Higgin’s Street Bridge. The sun was out by now and things were warming up. Cliff Swallows flew to and from their mud nests on the side of the bridge, but I didn’t expect to see any swifts. “There’s one!” Braden suddenly shouted. Sure enough, several birds with fast, mechanical wingbeats darted back and forth after insects above the Cliff Swallows. It was a final satisfying sighting on a totally surprising, remarkable July day in Montana.

Our Day’s Trip Report: https://ebird.org/tripreport/396651?welcome=true

The small size and “chopped off” tails of Vaux’s Swifts are solid ID features to distinguish them from both Black and White-throated Swifts. These wonderful little birds completed our Western Montana “Swift-ecta” and wrapped up one of our best birding days ever.

Campsite #512: Algonquin Provincial Park, Canada (Maine to Montana, Part 4)

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Today, we continue Braden’s epic birding trip from Maine to Montana with an astonishing visit to a place few people get to experience: Algonquin Provincial Park. Enjoy this latest installment, and if you’d like to support FatherSonBirding and independent journalism, please consider buying one of Sneed’s books shown to the right. Oh, and please share this post!

Twelve hours west of the Maine border, I spotted the giant sign reading “Welcome to Algonquin Provincial Park.” When many birders think of Canada, they imagine huge tracts of boreal conifer forest filled with the birds of the north: Canada Jays, Yellow-bellied Flycatchers, crossbills and, of course, Black-backed Woodpeckers and Spruce Grouse. Much of my drive from western Maine towards Ontario did not give that impression at all. In fact, the part of Canada that includes Montreal and Ottawa (both cities that I drove through) is lower altitude than western New England, and much of it lies in the St. Lawrence River Valley, a warmer, more humid region filled with deciduous forests, agriculture and suburbs. The area reminded me more of central Pennsylvania or New Jersey than of western New England, despite being at a similar latitude.

But Algonquin Provincial Park was noticeably different from the St. Lawrence River Valley. Three hours west of Ottawa, this large preserve sat at a higher elevation than the valley. The soil was rockier and because of that, far more conifers grew here, especially around the various lakes and bogs scattered through the park. Finally, I felt like I was back in good boreal habitat.

Algonquin Provincial Park represented a significant departure from lower altitude St. Lawrence River Valley only a few hours away.

I wasn’t allowed to camp in the park without paying a hefty fine, so I pitched my tent on a dirt road right outside it, in what appeared to be a site for keeping horses on the shore of a large lake. As dusk fell, I heard the twitter of an American Woodcock displaying high above. I’d seemingly settled in the middle of his territory, and he kept me company all night as I dreamed of what birds I’d see the next day.

My impromptu campsite outside of the park rewarded me with an American Woodcock that serenaded me to sleep.

After a short walk around my campsite at dawn, during which I detected a few Cape May Warblers, I headed into the park. My first location: the Spruce Bog Boardwalk. Spruce bogs, which I’d gotten to know during my time in Maine and the Northeast, are strange, almost other-worldly habitats scattered across the northern United States. Generally consisting of an outer area dominated by spruce trees with a core of peat moss floating atop water, they are home to a variety of unique species including carnivorous plants like pitcher plants and sundews. Because of their unique habitat structures, spruce bogs are also havens for a variety of boreal bird species that are otherwise less common in more southern parts of their range. So, as I set foot on the boardwalk, I found myself once again searching for Spruce Grouse and Black-backed Woodpecker—species I find myself looking for frequently.

Extensive searching brought no luck, although I did find more boreal warblers, including several Cape May Warblers and another great look at a Bay-breasted. I also heard a Lincoln’s Sparrow, my first of the year, singing from the wet back half of the bog. I had much of the day to bird Algonquin Park, so after striking out on my main targets at the boardwalk, I decided to take a short stop at the visitor center. 

I had hoped for both Black-backed Woodpeckers and Spruce Grouse in this spruce bog, but struck out with both species.

Within ten seconds of pulling out onto the road my Toyota RAV4 screeched to a halt. There, ten feet away, staring me down, stood a huge female moose. The animal had to be at least five feet tall, though from my seat in the car it seemed a lot taller! After we shared several seconds of each other’s presence, the moose trotted off into the woods. I didn’t end up seeing any of my bird targets at the visitor center and the center itself was closed, but I was now filled with adrenaline—I’d just scored my most wanted mammal of the trip!

Next, I hit Rock Lake Road. While I hadn’t seen many reports of my target boreal birds here, I figured that this road—a dirt track winding past marshes and through patches of spruce and budding Paper Birch—was as good a spot to try as any! Over the next hour and a half I drove slowly with my head out the window. Again, no woodpecker and no grouse, but I ended up tallying 40 species, 15 of which were warblers! Nashville and Magnolia were the most abundant, along with a smattering of Black-throated Blue, Blackburnian, Canada and others. Near the beginning of the road I also heard several Wood Thrushes singing, a surprise this far north. Along my drive I was also accompanied by the near-constant drumming of Ruffed Grouse, and the loud, piercing whistles of a pair of Broad-winged Hawks.

Though I continued to strike out on BBWOs and SPGRs, Algonquin presented a nice assortment of warblers including Nashvilles, always a favorite!

At this point I admit that I was feeling a bit ungrateful. I’d been birding for three or four hours and had not so much as glimpsed either of my targets—birds that were supposed to be somewhat regular within the park, and had compelled me to drive through Canada in the first place. Sure, I’d seen some great birds and a moose. But if I went the whole day without getting a Black-backed or a Spruce Grouse, I was going to be a bit salty. I jumped on eBird to check on any recent reports of either of them nearby and elected to visit, as my last stop of the morning, Pog Lake Campground. A Black-backed Woodpecker had been seen there only a few days before, and I figured it would be my best chance before continuing my journey west. I parked the car and began walking toward Pog Lake, keeping my ears and eyes peeled for my target species. One of the first birds I heard was a Tennessee Warbler, another boreal species with an electric song, singing loudly from a campsite nearby. I recorded it and continued onwards.

Then, I came across Campsite #512. Surrounded by gorgeous coniferous trees, it at first seemed just like any other campsite in Pog Lake Campground. The first thing that made Campsite #512 stick out, though, was the Ruffed Grouse drumming in the bushes nearby. Now, I’ve heard plenty of Ruffed Grouse drumming in my life—and had heard dozens on this trip already. Seeing one in action was a different story. I’d tried to sneak up on them before, but was always unsuccessful—the birds would flush from under my feet. However, this particular bird sounded incredibly close so I shelved my other goals and went into full stealth mode, sneaking towards the campsite to see if I could watch the grouse in action. After about ten minutes of tiptoeing around, I heard the beating of its wings—and that’s when I spotted it. Through ten feet of dense foliage, there the grouse stood, its wings striking its chest to make the sound that you feel more than hear.

I promptly sat down and spent the next thirty minutes with that grouse. Every five minutes or so, it would stand upright on its mossy log and begin its display. Bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom-bom. I watched it drum five or six times—with and without binoculars, and filmed it on my phone’s camera. It was magical. (Click the above image to watch my short clip.)

After twenty minutes, I also heard honking overhead. At first, I couldn’t see any birds above me, but I figured it was just a flyover flock of Canada Geese, though the calls sounded a bit strange. Then, in the gap above Campsite #512, I spotted several flocks of two hundred or so geese—and quickly realized that these were not Canadas. Between a bad view I got through my binoculars and listening to their sounds on Merlin, I realized I’d just seen a massive flock of Brant migrating over me, headed for the Arctic! I’d never seen these birds away from the ocean and never in such numbers! Sure enough, though, Algonquin Park lies right in the middle of Brant’s narrow migration route across Canada, and I’d just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

The Brant disappeared into the distance and the grouse drummed again, and I decided that, even though I hadn’t found my targets, I felt more than satisfied with my experience with Pog Lake Campground. But Campsite #512 hadn’t finished with me. 

As I slowly stood, taking care not to startle the grouse, I heard strange, frantic calls coming from the woods on the other side of the campsite. I quickly recognized them as calls I’d been listening for all morning, and suddenly, a male Black-backed, decked out in sleek black feathers with a yellow cap, flew into the campsite. It landed on a downed log near me, and proceeded to hop along the ground, getting closer and closer to until it stood only five feet away! It either didn’t notice me or didn’t care, poking for insects in the roots of the nearby spruce trees. After a minute or two, the woodpecker flew away, leaving me debating if I should EVER leave Campsite #512.

My best-ever look at a Black-backed Woodpecker will forever embed Campsite 512 in my birding heart.

As you can probably guess, I did continue on my journey, but knew that my visit to Campsite #512 would become one of my most memorable birding mornings ever, one that would be etched in my brain for a long, long time.

Birding the Burn 2025

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In many ways, my own birding journey began with my book Fire Birds: Valuing Natural Wildfires and Burned Forests. That’s when my birding mentor, UM Professor Dick Hutto, showed me the critical importance of burned forests and the spectacular birds that colonize them. It’s also when Braden and I began birding avidly. Since then, we have explored burned forests many times and they have become some of our favorite places to bird. Last week, we were excited to check out one of our area’s newest burns, last year’s Miller Creek fire area, about an hour from our house. To reach it, we headed all the way out Miller Creek and then wound our way up dirt roads until we reached the burn at Holloman Saddle. On the drive, we passed through terrific riparian and conifer habitat, and Braden could pick out Yellow and Orange-crowned Warblers, Swainson’s Thrushes, and Willow Flycatchers through the car window. At about 6,300 feet elevation, we reached the burn, parked, and began exploring.

Researching and writing Fire Birds: Valuing Natural Wildfires and Burned Forests set me firmly on my birding journey—and propelled Braden and me to start birding burned forests. The multiple award-winning book is a great primer for kids and adults on many little-known aspects of forest ecology. To order a copy, click anywhere on this block!

Thanks to Dick’s tutoring, I had some experience sizing up burns and at first, this one didn’t seem ideal. Three birds essential to “opening up” a burned forest are Black-backed, American Three-toed, and Hairy Woodpeckers. These birds hunt wood-boring beetle grubs in the newly-charred forest and along the way, drill out cavities essential for other cavity-nesting birds. But Dick’s research had shown that Black-backed Woodpeckers need larger-diameter trees to nest in, and the forest that greeted us now mainly seemed full of smaller-diameter trees. I also saw stumps where larger trees had already been removed—another huge problem in human (mis)management of burns.

Braden trying to locate a promising bird call in the Miller Creek Burn.

Through decades of well-intentioned Smokey Bear messaging, we have all been taught that all fires are bad, bad, bad. Even when a natural fire does occur, the forestry Powers That Be have taught us that humans must somehow “save” a burn by salvage logging it. For those unfamiliar with it, salvage logging involves going into a burn and removing trees that retain commercial value. The problem? These trees are exactly the larger-diameter trees that woodpeckers need to drill out their homes and, in the process, provide homes for dozens of other animal species. Salvage logging also often severely compacts forest soils and removes the seed sources (cones of burned trees) needed for the forest to regrow. This means that we now have to pay people to replant the burn site—when the forest was already perfectly equipped to replant itself.

Left to their own devices—i.e. without “salvage logging”—most burned forests recover quickly—and with a much greater variety of plant and animal life than before.

Nonetheless, shortly after Braden and I began walking, we heard the distinctive drumming of either an American Three-toed or Black-backed Woodpecker. These can be distinguished from other woodpeckers because the drumming noticeably slows at the end. To find out which bird was drumming now, we began making our way down a steep hillside toward some larger trees, but the burned ground proved very crunchy and we may have spooked our quarry before we got eyes on it. Disappointed, we climbed back up to the road, and continued walking. Fortunately, the forest around us sang and flitted with bird life.

Almost immediately, we began seeing Mountain Bluebirds, one of Montana’s most spectacular species. MOBLs are well-known “fire birds” and their vivid blue plumage looks especially striking against the blackened trunks of a burned forest. Today, we saw these birds everywhere. During our three-mile walk, Braden recorded seven of them, but we both agreed we probably undercounted.

By popular consensus, Mountain Bluebirds are the most stunning “fire birds” you’ll find in burned forests. However, another common fire bird, Western Tanager, might challenge that opinion. Did you know that bluebirds are thrushes? They are relatives of at least four other popular Montana thrushes: American Robin, Swainson’s Thrush, Varied Thrush, and Townsend’s Solitaire.

Suddenly, a large shape took off from beside the road and spread its wings as it glided down into the woods. “Dusky Grouse!” Braden exclaimed. It was one of the birds he most wanted to see since arriving back in Montana the previous week. Hoping for a better look, we crept down after the bird and, sure enough, espied it sitting quietly in the shadows. We enjoyed it through our binoculars for five minutes and then slipped away, leaving it in peace.

Before heading out, Braden told me, “I really want to see a Dusky Grouse.” This one obliged perfectly—and it was the first we’d ever seen in a burned forest.

Except for the mystery woodpecker that had drummed earlier, we had not heard a trace of other woodpeckers, but what we did hear was astonishing: wood-boring beetle larvae actually munching away inside of the dead tree trunks! I’d been told that one could hear these, but with my crummy hearing, I didn’t believe that I ever would. Sure enough, in several places, we listened to these big juicy grubs take noisy bites out of the wood!

Score! While we watched, this Hairy Woodpecker extracted a juicy beetle grub from a dead tree.

Finally, we also heard tapping on a large tree ahead. Braden got his eyes on it first. “It’s an American Three-toed,” he exulted. We could tell it was a female by the lack of a yellow crown, and we settled in to watch this amazing bird. It was working its way down the trunk, flaking away burned bark, presumably to check for insects hiding underneath. Once in a while, it stopped and really began pounding away after a beetle deeper inside the wood. It sounded like someone driving nails into cement!

Even female American Three-toed Woodpeckers can be distinguished from Black-backed Woodpeckers by having some streaky white on their backs—though not as much as on Hairy Woodpeckers (compare with previous photo).

As we continued our walk, we also saw Hairy Woodpeckers and another three-toed, this one a male. Woodpeckers, though, were just some of the birds making use of the burn. We got great looks at Townsend’s Solitaires, Red Crossbills, American Robins, Dark-eyed Juncos, Yellow-rumped Warblers, and Chipping Sparrows, and heard both Red- and White-breasted Nuthatches. Most of these are classic “burn birds” and we felt exhilarated to see them.

Though we didn’t get eyes on one in the burn, we did hear a White-breasted Nuthatch—and saw this one the day before up nearby Pattee Canyon.

At a couple of places, unburned green scrubby areas abutted the fire boundary, and it was fun to see birds dash from these green protected areas into the burn for quick meals or nesting materials before dashing back to safety. Many birds, in fact, love to “set up shop” at the boundaries of such two contrasting habitats.

We never did find a Black-backed Woodpecker, but that did little to detract from yet another great birding outing. We vowed to return to this spot the next few years, hoping that no one would move in to “save” this precious forest that didn’t need saving. On the drive down, we also stopped at some of the lower riparian areas for great “listens” at MacGillivray’s, Orange-crowned, and Yellow Warblers along with our favorite empid species, Willow Flycatchers. Amid the current chaos of the world, our burn bird outing offered a fun, revitalizing—and yes, inspiring—break. If you’re lucky enough to have a burned forest near you, we hope you’ll check it out.

We can’t prove it, but it seems to be a really good year for Orange-crowned Warblers—not always the easiest birds to see in Montana.

Hi-Line Report: Bad Weather Can Bring Good Birds

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Want to support FatherSonBirding? It’s easy! Simply pick up a copy of Birding for Boomers by clicking here—or by ordering it from your local independent bookstore! We thank you!

Most serious Montana birders try to make it up to the Hi-Line every year. If you’ve never heard of the Hi-Line, it is the northern region of the state that basically follows Highway 2 from East Glacier National Park all the way to the North Dakota Border. It’s an area full of rolling hills, badlands, farms and ranches—and a whole lotta birds. For Braden and me, the region is best represented by the Bowdoin National Wildlife Refuge, a sprawling 15,551-acre refuge near Malta that encompasses a rich variety of wet and dry habitats. We don’t make it up to Bowdoin every year, but this year I was fortunate enough to get invited to visit a school in nearby Chinook. Even better, I timed the visit for spring migration and breeding. I booked an Airbnb in Malta and drove up two days early to give me a full day at Bowdoin. The bad news? The forecast called for rain.

Indeed, when I arrived at the refuge at 6:00 a.m., rain pelted the car, propelled by a cold wind. Geez, I thought. I’m not going to see anything today. It was so cold and wet that I skipped my usual stop at the visitor center and instead headed straight out onto the first, five-mile section of the fifteen-mile loop around the lake. I noted that water levels, although not great, were better than I’d seen them two years before, but the first five-mile section was a time to focus not on water birds, but on denizens of the grass. Normally, in fact, Braden and I spend the most time in this section, stopping frequently to listen for Grasshopper Sparrows, Baird’s Sparrows, Chestnut-collared Longspurs, and other grassland favorites (see our post “Great Grassland Birding”). Today, that proved impossible. Every time I opened the window, wind and rain cascaded in and made it almost impossible to hear calls beyond the heavy-metal songs of Western Meadowlarks.

Steady rain and wind limited my ability to find grassland birds!

Mercifully, a few species took pity on me. Right off the bat, I espied one of our favorite birds, a Bobolink—the only one I would see the entire trip. Then, I spotted a drenched Grasshopper Sparrow perched on a small bush—the lone GRSP I would see that day. Lark Buntings also put in an appearance, along with Horned Larks and Savannah Sparrows. I also was pleased to see shorebirds, but on this section of the drive, they were far away. At one point, I leaped out to set up the scope I was testing out (see our next post), but immediately got drenched and was unable to ID much except for Wilson’s Phalaropes, American Avocets, and a Willet.

Lark Buntings were the most cooperative grassland birds I managed to see on this cold, wet, windy day. Thank you, Lark Buntings!

As I kept driving, however, conditions steadily improved and I got better looks at shorebirds. The phalaropes were especially impressive and I estimated at least a thousand out on the water and working the shore. The vast majority were Wilson’s, but with patience, I found a group of four Red-necked Phalaropes—most clearly identified by their smaller size, overall darker appearance, and distinct light lines running down their dark backs. Ducks were not super abundant, but plentiful and I counted at least ten species, including my first-of-the-year Canvasbacks!

Twice, I drove down to some boat ramps and, despite the rain, nabbed a good “harvest” of shorebirds. I found about half a dozen Semipalmated Sandpipers and one Western Sandpiper. The real surprises, which I confirmed later with Braden’s help, were a Baird’s Sandpiper and a White-rumped Sandpiper! The latter was especially difficult to figure out because it didn’t readily show the diagnostic, thin lines of spots extending from the neck down to below the wings, but the overall appearance and body size fit. I was thrilled to find these birds as we’d never found them at Bowdoin before. Then again, we’d never birded Bowdoin this early in the season, so they were all part of my continuing Montana birding education.

Both this Baird’s (left) and several Semipalmated Sandpipers (right) proved early season surprises on this cold, rainy Bowdoin day. The larger size, long wing tips extending beyond the tail, and “medallion” appearance on the wings help distinguish Baird’s from the smaller peeps.

As I was leaving the second boat ramp, I noticed a Marbled Godwit in the parking area. Godwits, like Willets and Long-billed Curlews, are shorebirds and grassland birds. They nest in grasslands, usually near water, so seeing one here didn’t surprise me. I was about to drive off when the godwit suddenly launched itself. As I watched, it flew a hundred yards or so to the shore—and landed next to two birds I had especially hoped to see: Black-bellied Plovers! Loyal FSB readers will note that I’ve written about these fine birds a lot in the past couple of years (see, for instance, this post), and so it was with special pleasure I observed them now—and in their best black-bellied breeding plumage. Thank you, Mr. Godwit, for pointing them out!

This helpful Marbled Godwit (right) made a special effort to point out two Black-bellied Plovers that I had so woefully overlooked!

By the time I made it back to the visitor center, my stomach rumbled and, though the rain had slackened, the cold and wind remained. I debated whether I should even get out of the car to explore around the small pond there, but I knew that Braden would never forgive me if I didn’t. Marshaling my determination, I walked over to the start of the little path that circumscribes the pond. Almost immediately, a curious face popped up from behind a bush thirty feet away. “Whoa!” I whispered. At first, I thought it was a weasel, but it was much larger than the three or four weasels I’d observed in the past. Stoat? Ferret? I asked myself. Could it possibly be a mink? I’d never seen a mink and didn’t know if they even lived in Montana, but it seemed to fit the profile. Later, iNaturalist experts helped me confirm that that’s what it was. After looking at me for several moments, the long, bizarre-looking creature loped across the road and disappeared into the brush. The birds, however, were not to be outdone by a mere mammal!

Seeing my lifer American Mink was about the last thing on my mind as I braved Bowdoin’s visitor center area for one last birding effort!

As I began poking around the beginning of the trail, I saw shapes flitting about in the bushes. A brownish bird streaked by me giving off Swainson’s Thrush vibes, but I didn’t see it well enough to definitely identify it. Minutes later, a reddish-backed bird landed on a nearby branch below me—a Veery! Then I got a good look at another Swainson’s Thrush, this time confirming the ID. In the branches above it, an adorable little Least Flycatcher watched me, but none of these would be the stars of the show.

Empidonax flycatchers are notoriously difficult to identify by sight, but this bird’s “cute” appearance—and the fact that no other empids should have been anywhere in the area—helped clinch the ID.

Even through the wind, I could hear both Yellow Warblers and Common Yellowthroats around me, even if I couldn’t get clear looks at any of them. Then, a small songbird landed in a tree about thirty feet away. I got my binoculars up in time to recognize a species I had longed to see—a Blackpoll Warbler! Like the Swainson’s and Veery, the warbler was clearly in migration, on its way to northern breeding grounds in Canada and Alaska. Braden and I had found them three times before in Montana, but always females. Not only did a gorgeous, breeding plumage male now stare back at me, it was the first Blackpoll I had ever found on my own!

As you can tell, the day proved tough for photography all-around, but I managed to get fuzzy ID photos of my Bird of the Trip, Blackpoll Warbler!

You won’t be surprised to hear that the Blackpoll Warbler immediately secured Bird of the Trip honors. Even more, it cemented the notion that just because conditions are bad for birders, they can still be great for birds. In fact, storms often cause birds to hunker in place for a day or two—perhaps the reason I found some of the especially cool birds I found today. I plan to remind myself of that the next time I’m debating whether to venture out into the pelting wind and rain.

Cock-of-the-Rock Extravaganza—with Video! (Colombia Birding Part 5)

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We wrap up our Colombian birding blogs with a terrific post by Roger Kohn, sharing his recent experiences with one of South America’s most famous birds—the Andean Cock-of-the-Rock. If you’ve been reading recent posts, you know that in addition to being a past guest contributor to FSB, Roger was the evil genius behind getting Sneed to Colombia! Alas, an injury kept Sneed from seeing the cock-of-the-rock this time around, but Roger was able to experience these wondrous birds in full glory. He even took an awesome video of a male Andean COTR that’s almost like being there. Our big thanks go out to Roger, and we know you will enjoy this post. Oh, and be sure to watch the Cock-of-the-Rock video below!

Four a.m. My cell phone alarm chirped and the screen lit up and pierced the early morning blackness, rousting me from a sound sleep. If you want to see one of the iconic birds of the Andes, you’d better be dragging yourself out of bed well before dawn!

Our guide Luis with Roger before they went slippin’ and a slidin’ down to see one of South America’s most iconic birds.

Today was one of the most anticipated days of my Colombia birding expedition. Sneed and I would visit “Alto Anchicayá – El Descanso,” commonly referred to as Doña Dora’s place. The owner, Doña Dora, began her business by selling empanadas and coffee to workers on their way to and from a nearby hydro-electric facility. The small restaurant quickly became popular with birders because its location, perched in the cloud forest at about 4,000 feet above sea level in Colombia’s Western Andes, attracts a huge variety of bird species to its feeders and offers some of the best birding in South America. As if that weren’t enough, birders have the opportunity to see the Andean Cock-of-the-Rock, a bizarre-looking bird that inhabits narrow ribbons of cloud forest slicing through the Andes of Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador, Colombia, and Venezuela.

A male Andean Cock-of-the-Rock in its full, bizarro glory!

After Sneed and I downed a quick cup of coffee and a muffin, our guide Luis picked us up at the Araucana Lodge (see “Video Post: A Visit to Araucana Lodge”) at 4:30 a.m. Light rain fell as we drove west for about 50 minutes. Our destination? An Andean Cock-of-the-Rock lek located in steep terrain below Doña Dora’s place.

Leks are assembly areas where males of some bird species, including Greater Sage-Grouse and Greater Prairie-Chickens in North America, perform courtship displays to attract prospective mates. At this time of year, we were pretty much guaranteed of seeing the Andean Cock-of-the-Rock between approximately 6 and 7 a.m.; the only question was whether we would see both sexes or only males.

Arriving at Doña Dora’s, the last raindrops fell as we gathered our walking sticks and prepared for the hike down to the lek. I was a little nervous, having heard that the trail is rough and steep. The recent rain added an additional layer of concern. Turning on our headlamps, Luis, David—a visiting birder from Spain—and I departed in the darkness. Sneed, nursing a sore leg and having already seen the Andean Cock-of-the-rock in Peru, opted to skip the hike and instead get an early start birding at Doña Dora’s.

Tawny-breasted Flycatcher, one of five flycatchers Roger saw on his ACOR trek.

Fortunately, the trail wasn’t as treacherous as I feared. The ground was damp, but the soil and leaves seemed to have absorbed most of the rainfall, so the trail didn’t have much mud and standing water. Steps built into the trail, along with a rubber handrail, made the descent very do-able. Pausing at the moth trap, a great birding area we would visit on the way back up, we turned off our headlamps as the first light of the day penetrated the cloud forest, and made our final push. About 25 minutes after we had departed, we arrived at the lek, an area with lots of open space for the birds to strut their stuff, and a small shelter with benches for birdwatchers.

Buff-rumped Warbler, a New World warbler species that does NOT migrate to the US—or anywhere else for that matter.

Immediately we saw two male Andean Cock-of-the-rocks, then three, and eventually five. These were the strangest-looking birds I’ve ever seen — veritable avian aliens. Bright red on the head and chest, black wings, silver tertiary feathers in the back, large pale staring eyes, a helmet-like round crest on the head with their bills only barely visible at certain angles, and bright orange legs. They perched on branches, and periodically pranced with herky-jerky movements to attract the attention of females. Their periodic calls, which eBird describes as “piglike squeals,” were odd guttural shrieks, comical to the human ear.

Ever wonder what male Andean Cock-of-the-Rocks do at their leks besides drink beer and boast about past conquests? This highly-classified video gives you a behind-the-scenes look! (Copyright Roger Kohn)

We did not see any females, which are brownish and look more like a conventional bird species, but we assumed they lurked nearby. Despite the absence of the females, I felt privileged to witness this display and add this remarkable Andean cloud forest dweller to my Life List. It was a sublime encounter that I will always treasure.

Andean Cock-of-the-Rock female (photo taken at Machu Picchu, Peru, copyright Sneed B. Collard III)

A huffy puffy ascent awaited us—but also a treat about a third of the way back to the top: the moth trap. The trap is a large white canvas sheet suspended vertically, and is a birder’s delight. Moths and other insects land on it, providing a feasting opportunity for resident cloud forest birds, which converge and gorge on bugs they pick off of the canvas. Pausing here, we racked up 15 species in 20 minutes of very fun birding. They included four species you can find in the United States: Summer Tanager, Canada Warbler, Acadian Flycatcher, and Blackburnian Warbler. The rest were species I’ve never encountered before. We saw five flycatcher species, including great looks at a handsome Tawny-breasted Flycatcher. Four warbler species graced us with their presence, including a very cooperative Buff-rumped Warbler. A Yellow-throated Chlorospingus, a yellowish “tanager-like sparrow” (eBird), dined on a big fat moth.

A Yellow-throated Chlorospingus, a member of a bird group Sneed & Roger had never heard of before the trip.

The superstar of the show was a Squirrel Cuckoo, a large dull orange bird with a yellow bill and a long black and white tail. It flew in and perched on a branch out in the open right in front of us, giving us fantastic looks and unbeatable photo opportunities. It would be my only sighting of that species during my 16-day Colombian adventure.

Is this a good-looking bird or what? Squirrel Cuckoos are quite common throughout Latin America, with a range extending from Argentina all the way up into Mexico.

Elated, we climbed up the remainder of the trail, arriving back at Doña Dora’s place, where a pile of scrambled eggs and a full morning of world-class birding awaited us. If you ever have the chance to take a birding trip to the birdiest country on earth, do not miss the opportunity to visit this cloud forest gem.

https://ebird.org/checklist/S215430499

If you enjoyed this post, be sure to check out our previous Colombian birding blogs:

Video Post: A Visit to Araucana Lodge (Colombia Birding Part 4)

Antpittas and Tody-Flycatchers (Colombia Birding Part 3)

Owl’s Watch Ecolodge (Colombia Birding Part 2)

Layover Birding in Bogota, Colombia