Category Archives: Bird Conservation

Epic Florida Adventure, Day 3: Miami, Baby!

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Welcome to Episode 3 of Braden’s account of his remarkable Spring Break birding with Nick Ramsey. Part 2, last week, got almost a record number of views, and we have no doubt you’ll love this post every bit as much. I mean, parrots! How can you resist? If you enjoy these posts, please share and subscribe. Thanks for reading!

The heat was already wet and oppressive when I woke around dawn the next morning, after a very minimal amount of sleep. I crawled out of the passenger seat of the car, still groggy, into the gray light of a forest in the process of waking up. Nick was already there, and suggested that we head over to the main parking area for Loxahatchee National Wildlife Refuge, a place famous for its snail-loving birds: more specifically, Limpkins and Snail Kites. We did so, and then began our two-hour tromp around the refuge. 

It’s not like there weren’t birds at Loxahatchee. For one, the marshy, reedy areas were filled with Common and Purple Gallinules, both colorful, entertaining water birds that I spent a while photographing. The waders, specifically White Ibises, were around, and kept making flights over us as we scanned the marshes for Limpkin. And in the forested areas, we did manage to draw in a few passerine species, including American Redstarts, a new warbler for the trip, and a very cooperative Blue-headed Vireo.

Blue-headed Vireos are one of several kinds of vireos that wear white “spectacles”.

All-in-all, however, the wildlife refuge proved disappointing. We missed Snail Kite and the only Limpkin we saw was a brown blob disappearing into a stand of trees, never to be seen again. The Gray-headed Swamphens (an Old World exotic marshbird) that Nick had spotted here last time weren’t around, and we didn’t find any of the particularly cool wintering warblers that we could have. Ducks, again, were lacking, and the wader numbers aside from the ibises were notably worse than expected. The day (along with the poor sleeping conditions the night before) was not off to a good start.

Gray-headed Swamphens get less attention than parrots, but are also introduced species to South Florida.

In a search for swamphens, Nick and I drove to a small park on the outskirts of Fort Lauderdale called Markham Park next. This park was situated right next to a part of the Everglades (though not the National Park yet) and was known for having most of the Miami exotics that Nick wanted to see on the trip: Spot-breasted Oriole and White-winged and Yellow-chevroned Parakeets. We picked a small portion of the park nearest to the wetlands and hiked towards them, noting butterflies I’d never seen before, including the Zebra Longwing, which belonged to a tropical genus. Eventually we got to the wetlands, finally nabbing one of our targets for the day. Two giant water-chickens, sporting an even crazier range of colors than Purple Gallinules, lounged in the reeds. Gray-headed Swamphens were related to gallinules and native to southern Asia, and thrived in several places in southern Florida. These were one of many exotics we would see as the day progressed.

Unlike the Gray-headed Swamphen, Purple Gallinules are native members of the rail family. They definitely fit in with Florida’s tropical color scheme.

As far as biodiversity is concerned, south Florida is about as crazy as you can get. Along with a remarkable sweep of native and endemic species, including American Crocodile, Snail Kite and Florida Cottonmouth, hundreds if not thousands of species have been introduced to the area. The United States once had two native parrots. The Carolina Parakeet is now extinct, and the Thick-billed Parrot’s population is too small to support natural wanderings across the Mexican border. Now more than fifty parrot species from Latin America and the Old World have been reported within our country’s borders, most of them from Florida. Many are established too—my dad and I had Nanday and Red-masked Parakeets and Red-crowned Parrots on our life lists from Point Mugu State Park, San Diego, and Brownsville. Florida, though, boasted more species than Texas or California, and later in the day we would be looking for some of them.

First, though, we were headed to Alligator Alley, a large highway cutting across a portion of the Everglades. As we drove away from the suburbs of Miami, the buildings were replaced by sawgrass wetlands as far as the eye could see. I’d never seen any habitat this expansive and undeveloped, and as we drove into healthier and healthier habitat, waders began to lift out of the marsh on both sides of the car. Black-crowned Night-herons flew high overhead while large flocks of White Ibis dropped into distant marshland. It was incredible—I’d only seen this number of birds in one other place—Freezout Lake, Montana. It was as if the grass was covered in patches of cotton composed of egrets and ibises. Every once in a while, a radiantly-pink spoonbill or large Great Blue Heron joined the fray, trailing behind a flock of Tricolored or Little Blue Herons. As Nick drove, I took as many mental pictures as I could—there was no place like this anywhere else on the planet.

I know I posted a picture of a Roseate Spoonbill with White Ibises last week, but figured you wouldn’t mind!

We pulled off the highway towards a small highway rest stop, spooking some lazy Black Vultures. There was an observation tower here, and we hoped to spot some Snail Kites, birds we’d missed at both Loxahatchee and Markham Park. We climbed the tower with Nick’s spotting scope, then got to work scanning the Serengeti of Florida. Right next to us a wide canal provided us with avian entertainment as we looked for the kites. Five Green Herons had taken up residence in the canal, and they began fighting with the other species for prime perching spots overlooking the water. Boat-tailed Grackles, Fish Crows and both Turkey and Black Vultures tussled around us, covering most of the trees and walkways. And from our vantage point, we could see roughly five American Alligators eyeing the birds above them.

Black and Turkey Vultures are always a welcome sight for birders. Not only are they amazing fliers, they usually indicate a pretty healthy habitat.

While we didn’t find any Snail Kites, we did finally get a good look at a Limpkin as it foraged for snails on top of a patch of trash on the other side of the canal. The bird only appeared for a few minutes, and it made me wonder just how many of this species lived in the endless marsh. After checking the other side of the highway and getting poor looks at my lifer Painted Bunting, we drove back into Miami, our minds focusing on exotic species. Iguanas soon dotted the streets, and we got Common Mynas, a songbird introduced from Asia, next to a McDonald’s as we stopped for lunch. Nick pointed out a Peter’s Rock Agama, a funky red-headed lizard native to West Africa, scampering up a palm tree. Then, as we pulled into the Biltmore Hotel parking lot, we immediately heard screeching above us: parakeets.

We piled out of the car just as a large flock touched down in front of us. The flock consisted of both Red-masked and Mitred Parakeets, two very similar species native to South America. Interestingly enough, I’d seen both species before, the former in San Diego and the latter in its native range in Peru. This hotel had more to offer though: it was a roost site for at least half a dozen species. It also happened to be one of the ritziest hotels in Miami, offering rooms between six hundred dollars and two thousand a night, and its towering red walls hosted cavities that parrots liked to roost in. What’s more, it overlooked a large golf course, and Nick and I felt like outsiders as we walked around the courtyard in clothes that hadn’t been washed in several days. This was the kind of place I’d imagined when I’d thought about Florida.

Even though parrots are exotic introductions to Florida, it’s hard not to get excited when a stunning Mitred Parakeet lands in front of you!

While the parakeets were plentiful, we did not find either of our targets: Yellow-chevroned and White-winged Parakeets. Both species, which were substantially smaller than the parakeets, were mostly green, with small markings on the wing that identified them. While Yellow-chevroned was firmly established in the area, White-winged was on the decline, having disappeared from all of South Florida in the last few years. No one understands the cause of this decline was since there appears to be plenty of food (palm nuts) around, and parrot species have coexisted here for decades. Suddenly, though, this species that had been reliable ten years ago was nowhere to be found, mirroring the disappearance of another parrot species from Miami thirty years prior, the Budgerigar. 

Our next spot was a run-down park called Pine Woods Park, a place Nick picked out for both Red-whiskered Bulbul and Spot-breasted Oriole, species that had been introduced from southern Asia and central America, respectively. Upon walking through the tall cane grass in the park, we immediately found a beautiful, crested bulbul perched up on a stalk, marking Nick’s first (and spoiler alert, only) lifer for the trip! We marveled at it as two other exotic species, Scaly-breasted Munias and Monk Parakeets, called nearby. Next, we headed to the Baptist Hospital in Kendall, a known location for the oriole. We struck out on the species again, but did get to enjoy more time with Red-masked Parakeets clinging to buildings and Egyptian Geese and Muscovy Ducks with babies running around a nearby lawn. We then drove the neighborhoods, trying and failing to find the oriole, and in a last-ditch effort, returned to Pine Woods Park. Walking among the introduced vegetation, we again struck out but did spot a smaller parakeet flying with the Monk Parakeets above us. It landed and Nick called “Yellow-chevroned Parakeet!” It was no White-winged, but it did bring our total parakeet species count for the day up to five, including a few Nandays we’d seen at Loxahatchee earlier!

One of the world’s largest and most bizarre ducks, the introduced Muscovy Duck is one of the oldest domesticated waterfowl species in the world, having been domesticated in South America before the arrival of the Spanish.

Somewhat more content, we headed south towards Everglades National Park, pulling into the parking lot right outside the entrance at around 8 P.M. I’d requested an earlier night tonight, so we set up a tent for me as Nick prepared to go look for snakes in the glades. As he was about to leave, though, we suddenly heard something go “chuck-willow-widow!” from a stand of trees nearby. Nick looked at me excitedly.

“Chuck-wills-widow!”

Originally from Asia, the Red-whiskered Bulbul was yet another exotic target on our lists for South Florida.

This nocturnal species was not a bird I’d imagined getting on the trip, and we high-fived as we heard at least half a dozen calling from around us. Nick then headed off into the National Park for a few more hours as I dozed off to sleep to the sound of the Chucks. The day had turned out all right after all, and tomorrow we would finally reach our main destination for the trip: the Florida Keys.

Epic Florida Adventure Day 2: Merritt Island

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This is Braden’s second installment of his epic Florida adventure with our recent guest blogger, Nick Ramsey. In six days, the daring duo hoped to bird the entire length of Florida from N’Orleans to Key West and back—and see 200 species of birds in the process. Day 2 began well when all of a sudden, they were beset by an equipment malfunction. Would they push on? What about the mosquitoes? Read on to find out—and, as usual, please share this saga, which we hope will soon become a major Hollywood movie called “The Big Tear”.

A buzzy rising song, marked by short, evenly-spaced notes, echoed from a nearby mangrove. “Northern Parula?” I asked Nick as he walked up with his dog Dixie by his side.

“Prairie Warbler!” he said, holding up his phone to record the song and then playing it back at the bird. Sure enough, a bright yellow male, complete with eye stripes like a football player, hopped into view, singing its heart out as I snapped dozens of photos. We were at the Lighthouse Point Park and Jetty in New Smyrna Beach, approaching the Atlantic Ocean, a different body of water than the day before. Common Ground Doves called from the mangroves around us, and early-morning beachgoers strolled past as we scanned the dunes for Gopher Tortoises and Wilson’s Plovers. Our primary target this morning was a well-known bird of the Atlantic, although not one that was supposed to be this far south: Purple Sandpiper. I’d recently seen my United States lifer on a rocky shore in the Maine winter, and yet one had been reported consistently from this subtropical beach. Soon enough, we located the jetty where the bird had to be, passing a large flock of roosting Royal Terns with a ratty-looking Black Skimmer in their midst. Ruddy Turnstones wandered the beach and Forster’s Terns plunge-dived around us as we walked out on the rocks, scanning for a small, gray shorebird with a slightly curved bill. Right near the end, Nick shouted “I’ve got it!” and sure enough, there it was, acting exactly like every other “jetty bird” I’d ever seen: tame and fearless. With Purple Sandpiper and a Florida sunrise under our belts, we headed back to the car and our next destination: Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge.

This may be the most co-operative Prairie Warbler ever!

Merritt Island is well-known for its birds, but the island itself is more famous for something else. To the south of the refuge stand the tall, white towers of Cape Canaveral, the site of numerous rocket launches, positioned so that, in case of emergency, the rockets can be safely brought down into the ocean without harming anyone. I was more interested in the Florida scrub habitat of the wildlife refuge, however. Lone pines sprouted dozens of feet above the sea of palms and brambles, and Tree Swallows and Purple Martins flew overhead as we pulled into the parking lot of the Pine Flatwoods Trail. As soon as we got out of the car, we were met by Nick’s grandmother and her boyfriend Bud, whose cabin we had slept at the night before in New Smyrna Beach. I’d heard countless stories of the adventures Nick and his grandma had had, so it was great to finally meet her.

Purple Sandpipers look almost identical to the West Coast’s Rock Sandpipers. Don’t believe me? Watch our video!

The three of us began walking, with Bud staying behind to watch the car. As we did so, Nick’s grandma handed me a flyer starring a dark blue corvid with a long tail and a mischievous expression—our major target for this outing. The flyer informed me that Florida Scrub-Jays occurred only in roughly 51 locations across the state, threatened by habitat loss from the clearing of Florida scrub habitat. As Florida’s only endemic bird species—and one that is Federally Endangered—the scrub-jay’s remaining habitats would fortunately remain undeveloped for the foreseeable future. In no time, Nick pointed out the call of a scrub-jay, and we began scanning the brush intently. Suddenly, I spotted several long-tailed silhouettes flying in the distance. As they grew closer, their plumage matched the color of the blue sky above.

“There they are!” I yelled, and the three of us raised our binoculars to watch them alight on a nearby bush. Several more scrub-jays called from behind us, gradually increasing our total count to eleven, and given their conservation status, it was heartening to see so many of them.

Florida Scrub-Jay is a species I’d been wanting to see since I started birding eight years ago. To see so many was a real treat.

We high-fived, then headed back to the car to drive to our next spot. As we pulled out of the empty parking lot, however, Nick slammed on the brakes, pointing forward.

“Swallow-tailed Kite, incoming!”

We’d been watching the skies all of yesterday and today looking for this neotropical migrant, a species with a population of only several thousand in the United States. I jumped out of the car, armed with my camera as two of the most beautiful birds I’d ever seen soared several feet above us, their white-and black plumage shimmering in the rising heat. They circled for a few moments, allowing me to snap some decent photos, then resumed their journey, long tails flowing behind them. The birds reminded me of oddly-proportioned, differently-colored Barn Swallows, which is indeed how they had gotten their name. My dad and I had seen this species while zip-lining through the cloud forest of Ecuador, but it had been five years since then and this was a much better look. As I got back into the car, Nick smiled. “They never give looks that good! Did you see their backs??? It’s impossible to see their backs!!”

Though I’d seen Swallow-tailed Kites in Ecuador, nothing compared to the view we got on this morning!

We spent most of the rest of the day at Merritt Island, driving loops and investigating the visitor center. Just like at St. Marks, the ducks that the refuge was famous for weren’t here in large numbers, though we did find one flock of American Wigeon and Northern Shoveler. However, White and Glossy Ibises, the three egrets, Little Blue, Green and Tricolored Herons, and Roseate Spoonbills put on spectacular shows, feeding in almost every habitat from lawns to roadside ditches to marshy lagoons. Many of the birds were in breeding plumage, sporting fun plumes and colors that I’d never seen before. These plumes were the exact feature that had led to the birds’ downfall a century earlier. Snowy and Great Egrets especially had gorgeous white feathers reminiscent of wedding dresses trailing from their wings that had attracted the lady’s hat industry in the nineteenth century. Millions of birds were slaughtered during this time, and the two species disappeared from much of their range. However, with the beginning of a conservation movement in the early twentieth century, these birds soon began to recover, once again becoming common across the southern United States.

Anyone who gets bored with Roseate Spoonbills has lived too long—or should go bowling!

Immediately after seeing the scrub-jays and kites, we drove to a small path overlooking a large lagoon. Manatees surfaced and at the visitor center Nick found two White Peacock butterflies, beautiful white insects with intricate orange details on their wings. And while looking for a previously-reported Eurasian Wigeon at the edge of the refuge, we came across a Prickly Pear Cactus fruiting! We both tried one of the magenta fruits after brushing off the spines, and they weren’t half bad!

It’s hard for a mammal to compete with birds, but manatees come pretty close!

When we got back in the car, Nick began rolling up the windows when we heard a click, followed by one of our back windows falling down into the door, its mechanism broken. Deciding to deal with the problem later, we taped a large yellow towel to the window with Nick’s emergency supply of duct tape, then followed Nick’s grandmother to a nearby Thai restaurant where she bought us a tasty lunch. We said our farewells to her, then drove to an Ace Hardware to look for solutions to our window problem. Eventually, we came up with a makeshift window of plastic wrap and duct tape, which Nick carefully applied while I fed Dixie and a daring, dog-food-snatching Boat-tailed Grackle. Back on the highway, we headed south towards our last spot for the day as a light rain started, testing Nick’s makeshift window. The plastic held, despite making loud smacking sounds, and we pulled into a shady-looking restaurant on the side of the highway called Doc’s Bait House. A Black-headed Gull, another northeastern vagrant, had been hanging out at this strange place, and we hoped to add it to Nick’s life list.

It wasn’t perfect, but Nick’s window-repair job would get us through the rest of the trip!

Unfortunately, as we walked around in the light rain and the setting sun’s light, no Black-headed Gull showed. The birds were active, though—Lesser Black-backed Gulls, Brown Pelicans, Forster’s Terns and other common coastal birds circled the harbor in impressive numbers, and a Wood Stork flew right over us on its way to its roost. It was a great way to end the birding part of day two, as Nick put another layer of plastic over the window and we headed south towards the outskirts of Miami. A long night lay ahead of us and little did we know that our birding luck was about to run out.

Our First Guest Post: “Rare Rail Round-ups” by Nick Ramsey!

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This week we are thrilled to offer a post by our good friend and Montana Native Son, Nick Ramsey. Helping to lead a new wave of outstanding young birders dispersing throughout the country, Nick was there at the beginning as Braden and I took our first tentative steps into serious birding. The list of “firsts” he showed us would take up a whole blog by itself, but includes our first Black Terns, Northern Saw-whet Owl, and perhaps most memorable, Sprague’s Pipit. Currently, Nick is a sophomore at Louisiana State University majoring in Natural Resource Management and Ecology with an emphasis on Wildlife Ecology. We hope this is the first of many blogs he will write for FatherSonBirding. (Nick shown here holding a Yellow Rail.)

Our Special Guest Contributor Nick Ramsey holding a Yellow Rail captured for banding.

Yellow Rails are one of the most sought-after, most elusive species for birders in North America. Usually, they are near impossible to see. Most people that have them on their lists have gone in the evening to tall upland marshes in their northern breeding range, just to hear a soft song akin to pebbles getting hit together. Finding one in the winter is nearly impossible – right?

Not quite. I’ve serendipitously encountered Yellow Rails twice. Once, in eastern Montana with Braden and Sneed, we were looking at our lifer Nelson’s Sparrows at Bowdoin National Wildlife Refuge, one of their westernmost breeding sites in the state. The habitat looked great for Yellow Rails, and it was on the back of my mind. While I was taking photos of the sparrows, Braden asked for us to be quiet. Soon, I heard what he was hearing – the clicking of a distant Yellow Rail! And in broad daylight, no less! A lifer for all of us, and quite a rarity for the state of Montana, although there were historical records from the area. We were never able to see the bird, which is just part of the experience with Yellow Rails. 

Audubon Marshbird Biologist Jonathon Lueck holding a secretive Yellow Rail—a bird Nick, Braden, and Sneed first encountered at Bowdoin National Wildlife Refuge.

The second time, I was stomping around an old helipad at St. Mark’s National WIldlife Refuge in the Florida Panhandle. The tall, wet grass was home to a wintering LeConte’s Sparrow and potentially Henslow’s Sparrows. As I worked the grasses, hoping to flush one of these seldom-seen sparrows, a bird jumped up. It wasn’t much bigger than the sparrows I was searching for, but its legs were dangling beneath it. And – it had white secondaries!! It was a Yellow Rail! It landed only about 15 feet from me, but despite another hour of searching I was unable to flush it again. I was hooked – these shy rails had quickly become one of my favorite birds.

In Louisiana there is an active effort to survey populations of Yellow Rails, in conjunction with work on endangered Black Rails and other secretive marsh species. We are also home to the Yellow Rails and Rice Festival, where people from all over flock to Louisiana’s rice fields as combines flush rails during the rice harvest. Researchers use this opportunity to band rails and monitor Yellow Rail populations. As with most conservation efforts, they operate on a tight budget, so they love volunteers. They especially love college students, because when we trip in a marsh or a rice field after chasing a rail, we bounce. The older subset of birders that volunteer is not quite as bouncy. 

Jonathon Lueck holding a prized Black Rail.

On three occasions this winter, I’ve been able to volunteer on rail surveys, targeting Black, Yellow, and other rails. The primary method for these surveys is the “rail drag.” Four to eight people drag a rope about 50 feet long through prime rail habitat – wetter for Clapper, King, and Virginia Rails, dryer high marsh for Black and Yellow Rails. The line is fixed with a few gallon jugs full of cat toys spread out evenly. These serve two purposes. First, they weigh the line down, assuring no rails just hide in the grass while the line passes over them, and second, they make a ton of noise, frightening the rails into flight. These drags are conducted at night, and everyone carries a net and a flashlight. Once a rail is spotted, the lights temporarily freeze the bird and we gallop through the marsh to go catch it! This is my favorite part. 

Jonathon Lueck with a Clapper Rail in hand.

The first time this winter that I volunteered we were lucky to catch Black, Clapper, Yellow, and Virginia Rails on the Cameron Coast of southwest Louisiana. I personally netted a clapper, and chased after lots of other birds. We also netted a couple of Sedge Wrens, abundant in the drier marshes we dragged. Several weeks later, I was able to get back out to the Cameron coast with my friends Kraig and Ravynn, who’d never birded outside of Baton Rouge. After a fruitful day birding near the coast with 100 species, including my stater White-tailed Kite and over thirty lifers for my friends, we set out to go catch some rails. We met Audubon Delta’s marsh bird biologist, Jonathan Lueck, as well as a couple other volunteers, at the site. Jonathan is a character – he had a skinned-out otter and a skinned-out raccoon in the bed of his truck amongst the rail netting supplies. He found them on the side of the highway and was using the fur to make gloves, hats, and other products as a side hustle (ornithology is fun, but it doesn’t pay very well.) Jonathan passed out the nets and lights, and we got started! The first two transects didn’t yield anything, but there was another site just down the road that needed to be surveyed as well. On the way back to the car, I flushed a Clapper Rail! Kraig ran ahead and caught it. It was his first time seeing one, and getting to hold it made it that much cooler. After processing the bird, we went to the next site. This one was a lot more productive, yielding two Yellow Rails! We also flushed several of the larger species, but weren’t able to catch them. Kraig was the man of the hour, catching a Yellow Rail and a Clapper (as well as spotting many of our best birds earlier in the day, like Limpkin and American Bittern.) After a great night, we made the three hour drive back to Baton Rouge, capping off 22 hours straight of birding and travel. 

I’ve been very lucky to get involved with a ton of fun research here, and the Yellow Rail banding might be my favorite. Every time we catch one we widen the window into the natural history of these adorable little birds. 

Rail-hunting can lead to some great bonus birds such as this Henslow’s Sparrow with new bird band.

All photos copyrighted, courtesy of Nick Ramsey.

Save an Endangered Bird . . . Magazine! A Review

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Please share this post—and don’t forget to subscribe 🙂

News Flash: As if to underscore how difficult it is to keep a magazine going these days—and how much bird-related magazines need our help—as soon as I posted this I learned that Bird Watcher’s Digest was sadly forced to close its doors. But see the next paragraph . . .

Summer 2022 Update: I am happy to announce that Bird Watcher’s Digest is back in business! Its passionate staff found new backers for this venerable bird publishing icon. To subscribe, click here—and you might even find an article by yours truly!

Birds aren’t the only things that need our help these days. So do bird and birding magazines! You all probably know about Audubon, and yes, it is first rate. But are you aware of the many other great birding magazines out there? Braden and I have devoured quite a few and thought it might be useful to share our recommendations. At least a couple of these magazines/organizations have seen a big drop in advertising revenue because of covid and the limitations on bird-related travel, so we encourage you to take the plunge and subscribe or join. Not only will you receive great content, you will help support the larger birding community that is so essential to protecting the birds that we love. And no, we are not being compensated by any of these journals—though we would dearly love a free trip to South Georgia and the South Sandwich Islands. Hello? Is anyone listening? O’well. Here goes:

BirdWatching may be my favorite birding magazine—and not just because I write for it. It offers a wonderful variety of news, ID Tips, and science, but also entertaining features on conservation, travel, and photography. It regularly features columns by Laura Erickson, Pete Dunne, Kenn Kaufman, David Allen Sibley and other top birding experts. Subscribe here.

BirdLife is Braden’s favorite magazine because of its focus on bird conservation. This quarterly—which comes with membership to BirdLife International—offers an engaging mix of conservation news, alerts, science, and stories about the group’s many successes. It’s impossible to read this without feeling more engaged and hopeful about what humanity is doing to protect birds. Join here.

Birding caters to members of the American Birding Association, offering a wonderful mix of articles on birds, birding, travel, science, and conservation. It appeals especially to “listers” but also will interest anyone else with a love of birds. Plus, you will receive other ABA benefits when you join. Join the ABA here.

(See note at top of blog!) Bird Watcher’s Digest may be a more familiar name for many of you, and gives off a more informal “Mom and Pop” vibe, but don’t let that fool you. Despite its smaller, “hand-held” trim size, it is loaded with interesting articles, species accounts, ID tips, and other resources that I always find useful. My article “Messier is Betterer” appears in their Jan/Feb electronic version of the magazine. Learn More.

To round out our review, I want to mention Birds & Blooms, a magazine that focuses more on backyard birding and creating gardens that provide birds with the resources they need. It’s definitely given me a greater appreciation of the many plants that benefit birds and butterflies. If only I had more time for yard work! Subscribe here.

Rare Bird Hat Trick!

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In my last blog, My Accidental Big Year, I recounted my fun birding adventures with some of Houston’s top birders in my quest to “accidentally” break my Big Year record of 336 ABA species. Even as I posted that blog, I harbored serious doubts if I could do it. However, after this week’s—dare I call them shocking?—events, I am more optimistic. It all started when I got a great email from Will Sebern, who had read my last blog and asked if I had gotten an Anna’s Hummingbird for the year and, if not, would I like to come over and see the one visiting his feeder. The answer: No and a resounding Yes! Less than 24 hours later, I was pleasantly chatting with Will on his porch admiring a gorgeous beauty sipping at his feeder. Ka-ching! My year count rose to 328—only nine short of my goal! Thank you, Will! (Note, I picked up number 327—Woodhouse’s Scrub-Jay— during a daddy-daughter trip to Salt Lake City last week!)

Anna’s Hummingbirds sweep through western Montana every year, but Braden nor I had ever seen one—until my surprise invitation from Will Sebern!

That said, nine new Year Birds in Montana—in winter—was not a small number. For one thing, I was not willing to race everywhere across the state to chase birds. Burning up gasoline to see birds, birds that are directly harmed by carbon dioxide emissions, has become more and more of a concern for me and other birders. I was willing, though, to travel an hour or two, especially if I could carpool with others. “Maybe,” I thought, “I might be able to run into two or three rarities fairly close to Missoula,” and began eyeing eBird rare bird alerts. During my trip to Texas, I missed quite a few opportunities, but then, a few days ago, Montana eBirder Sharon Dewart-Hansen posted a picture of a Long-tailed Duck at Brown’s Lake only an hour from Missoula! I couldn’t go that day or the next, but called Braden and asked, “Do you think it will still be there tomorrow?” He answered, “Well, ducks often stick around for a while. I’ll bet it will.”

One of the delights of our day was the first sightings of so many of Montana’s western winter birds—including this immature Northern Shrike!

I fired off a text to several local birders to see if they wanted to join me—and no one could make it. “That’s okay,” I thought. “I’ll take the dog and we’ll have a good time whether or not we see anything.” The next morning, though, Steve Flood texted that he could make it after all. We rendezvoused at the truck stop in Bonner and merrily headed up Highway 200.

Arriving at Brown’s Lake, a surprise flock of Common Redpolls greeted us, but though we saw some cool grebes and ducks, THE duck was nowhere in sight at our first stop. We kept circling the lake, though, and spotted a suspicious critter near the campground. I hit the brakes. “Is that it?” Steve answered, “I think it is!” Sure enough, the Long-tailed Duck paddled only fifty feet offshore. The duck, however, was just the beginning. At the campground, Steve found three distant Pacific Loons while I spotted two gulls that turned out to be Bonaparte’s Gulls. A pair of American Tree Swallows—the first of winter—put an accent on our finds.

Seeing only my second Long-tailed Duck ever will long lodge itself in my memory banks. Never did I suspect it would be the first of three Big Year birds Steve Flood and I would see that day!

Elated with our finds, we headed out along the backroads behind Brown’s Lake, which I had never birded, but Steve knew well. More surprises greeted us including a bevy of other new winter arrivals including my first Rough-legged Hawks, Bohemian Waxwings, and Northern Shrikes of the season! Since we were on a roll, I asked, “Hey Steve, you want to take a quick run up to Seeley Lake on our way home?” Steve was game. We turned right at Clearwater Junction and twenty minutes later pulled into the River Point picnic area on the lake’s west side. I had few expectations, but we saw Common Loons, Western Grebes, Hooded Mergansers, and another surprise flock of Common Redpolls. Then, looking through his scope, Steve said, “I have a present for you.” I peered into the eyepiece and saw . . . A beautiful Pacific Loon! Er, check that . . .

Birding with top-notch birder Steve Flood proved not only a way to learn a lot and help reduce our carbon footprints, it was a great way to make a new friend!

It was the same Red-throated Loon Steve had discovered a couple of weeks before! Neither of us had any idea it would still be around, and it capped a remarkable day, one that not only netted me three new Big Year birds, but almost every winter bird that Braden and I work hard to find every year. Well, okay, except for Snowy Owls, Great Gray Owls, Lapland Longspurs, and Snow Buntings. You’ve got to save something for later, right? Even better, I felt like I’d made a new friend in Steve, who is not only an excellent birder, but a pretty darned good guy! Once again, it brings up the adage, “In birding, you just never know—but you won’t unless you keep getting out there!”