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So after getting home from my Blue Mountain hike on Monday, I began planning Tuesday’s birding therapy outing to the Missoula Cemetery, a place I have monitored since the pandemic began last year. Almost immediately, however, I received a message from a friend of a friend (FOAF) about a putative Peregrine Falcon pair a few miles from our house. Peregrines are not uncommon in Montana with well over a hundred nesting pairs—a remarkable resurgence considering the DDT disaster that devastated dozens of bird species through the 1960s and 70s. However this possible nest site was one that neither Braden nor I had heard of, so instead of hitting the cemetery Tuesday morning, I convinced Braden to skip first period and go check it out by bike.
Braden and I never tire of seeing Red-naped Sapsuckers, especially in a new location!
It was a perfect morning for a bike ride and we spotted or heard Black-capped and Mountain Chickadees, Red-breasted Nuthatches, and an assortment of other birds—Braden more than I thanks to his Bionic Ears of Youth! We were especially excited to find a nice boggy area with a couple of Red-naped Sapsuckers drumming on snags. Finally, we reached the area the FOAF had described and almost immediately thought that we heard the peregrines calling. We set up “camp” and watched, hoping to catch sight of them. No luck. Even worse, Braden had to leave to get back to school. “Well crap,” I thought. I didn’t want to see them without him, but also knew I might not head back to the spot anytime soon so decided to stay longer.
One of the benefits of hauling a camera with you is to “slow down” birds that are too fast and too far away to easily observe. Peregrine Falcons are a case in point!
I pulled out my phone to play a peregrine recording—not to attract them but to make sure what they sounded like. WHAM! Almost instantaneously a loud answering call hit me from above and I looked up to see the unmistakable shape of a falcon flying against the gray skies. That turned out to be just the opening salvo in an amazing twenty-minute aerial exhibition that the peregrine and his mate put on for me. I watched them chase off another raptor, skim forest treetops, and in a grand finale, copulate on the branch of a tree! Granted, the birds were far away, but I can’t recall a more exciting raptor experience—well, at least since seeing the Gyrfalcon with Braden earlier this year.
I got in touch with the Montana Peregrine Institute to see if they knew about this particular nest and it turns out that the pair was first discovered in 2020 and had apparently successfully fledged three young! My FOAF went even further and single-handedly convinced the Forest Service to delay a controlled burn that was supposed to happen this last week—right in the peregrines’ territory! Hopefully, the burn will go ahead in the fall—and give the birds a wonderful larder of new prey to raise their next batch of chicks.
Even though the birds were far away, it was thrilling to watch them mate—something that will hopefully ensure a new crop of peregrines this year!
Gamblers and fishermen are famous for being superstitious. Birders aren’t much better. Sure, we feed ourselves platitudes such as, “The more you get out, the more you’ll see,” but deep down, we know that the birding gods control our fates, and that our success depends on whether we’re deemed worthy. In our last post, I recounted how Braden and I spent six hours and two days looking for a Gyrfalcon near White Sulpher Springs, only to endure the gods’ wrath. Yesterday morning, when we set out on a quest for a Snowy Owl, we wondered if the gods would continue to scorn us, or whether we had proven ourselves humble and dedicated enough to curry their birdly favor.
Northern Harriers and other raptors were abundant wherever we looked. They, unfortunately, were not the birds we set out to see!
We left the house at 6:30 a.m. and by 7:30 were at Ninepipe National Widlife Refuge, where we hoped to score an elusive Year Bird, Short-eared Owl. We drove the dirt roads for more than an hour and saw more than a dozen Red-tailed Hawks, Rough-leggeds, Bald Eagles, Harriers—even a Merlin. No Short-eared Owl. “Ah, well,” I told Braden. “We’ll get ‘em next time.” Inside, though, I was thinking, “Oh, man. Is it going to be that kind of day? Again?”
Well, apparently, it was. Reaching the Snowy Owl neighborhood near Kalispell, we again drove for more than an hour without so much of a glimpse of a white owl. By now, I realized that the BGs must be really pissed at us. We decided to chase some other birds and come back later, however, and did score our first Gray-crowned Rosy-finches in three years at the Kalispell dump—while getting bawled out by the “dump lady” for our efforts. We also found a White-winged Crossbill among a flock of Red Crossbills feeding on some nearby spruce trees. Nice, but not a Snowy Owl.
Mallards are no doubt the most underrated duck, but this flock of five thousand birds made a big impression on Braden and me!
After a lunch at Panera Bread (hey, more chicken in my Napa Almond Chicken Salad Sandwich, please!), including our favorite kitchen sink cookies, we hit an amazing field full of about 5,000 Mallards. Stunning! Then, we returned to the Snowy Owl site, where we encountered several other birders. None of them had had any success, either, but while we were commiserating, a photographer named Dick Walker introduced himself and asked, “Are you the father-son birding team?” We’d never been called that, but I answered “Yes,” and he started talking about the Mallard spot we’d just left. He showed us photos of Lapland Longspurs and, most exciting, a Gyrfalcon he had seen only thirty minutes before!
We tore back to the place, forever hopeful. No longspurs. No falcon. After fifteen minutes, though, a massive group of a thousand Mallards lifted off and seconds later, a sleek, jet-fighter shape zoomed across our field of vision. “It’s the Gyr!” Braden shouted.
Our first Gyr was a darker bird and left no doubt it was master of the skies. We’ll never forget it!
Indeed it was. We quickly lost it in the distance and decided to race over to another road closer to where it disappeared. We got there and jumped out of the car just as the amazing raptor reappeared, obviously enjoying terrifying the thousands of ducks and geese swirling around it. While Braden set up our scope, I tracked the bird with my binoculars. It seemed to toy with a large group of ducks, but its madness had some method as more and more Mallards peeled off until only two remained. As I watched, breathless, the Gyr hit one of them and took it to the ground. “It got a duck!” I shouted.
I was astounded how quickly this Baldie swooped in to steal the Gyr’s kill. It made me wonder how many ducks the falcon has to kill before it actually gets to eat one!
Its victory was temporary. Within thirty seconds, a much larger brown shape swooped in—an immature Bald Eagle. It effortlessly drove the Gyr from its kill, eliciting shouts of outrage from yours truly. We continued watching the amazing creature for another fifteen minutes before it vanished again. Then, after another unsuccessful Snowy Owl circuit, we began the long drive home. As we headed south along Flathead Lake, I thought about BB King, who often talked about paying his dues, and asked myself why we’d seen a Gyrfalcon here, in the last place we’d ever expected. “Maybe our efforts in White Sulphur Springs satisfied the birding gods after all,” I speculated. “Or maybe we just had to pay our birding dues to see the Gyr.” Either way, it had been one of the best birding days Braden and I had ever experienced—even without the Snowy Owl.
It continues to be a crazy year for everyone, and we feel deeply for all of those who are being directly or indirectly affected by the coronavirus, either through their physical or mental health, loss of employment, or simply missing their friends and family. It stinks. One bright spot is that many people are rediscovering the simple pleasures of spending time outdoors, and for many, birding is a big part of that. A reminder that Braden and I have posted several bird-related educational videos on my YouTube channel, including a Birding Basics that introduces people how to bird and some common birds to look for. Our friend, ornithologist Dick Hutto, and his wife Sue Reel, have also been posting some great short tip videos for you to look at.
Cassin’s Kingbirds were one of seventy Year Birds we found on our epic Eastern Montana birding safari.
As you can see from our last post, we haven’t been blogging as much—but we have been birding. In fact, once we returned from Israel, we decided to shoot for 250 Montana birds as our goal for the year. We spent an exhilarating week taking an eastern Montana birding safari, during which we saw more than 180 species of birds—including about 70 Year Birds. Braden also has been conducting an independent bird-related science project for his upcoming senior year of high school. So how are we doing?
A great thing about climbing a mountain is that it can put you at birds-eye level with spectacular species you usually just see from below. Meet a Townsend’s Warbler!
By the beginning of this week, Braden had seen 243 species of birds while I was pegged at 234. Now for non-birders it might seem like a shoe-in for us to hit 250, but believe it or not, we were (and remain) more than a little anxious about our prospects. For one thing, we have seen virtually every one of the “easy” species there is to see in Montana. For another, birds are “quieting down” now that they are in the process of, or have already finished, nesting, making them more difficult to find. In other words, every new Montana Year Bird we get from now on will take significant effort, luck, or both. Undaunted, we woke early Wednesday morning to investigate a new birding location for us just west of the town of Lolo. A logging road led up into the high country from there, and even more intriguing, it passed through a two-year-old burn area where we hoped to see one of our most coveted species, the Black-backed Woodpecker.
On the day, we located five of the dozen or so common warbler species that breed in Montana, including this stunning Yellow-rumped.
It was a flawless day, and we pulled over a couple of times to listen for birds in green, lusher forest. Thanks to Braden’s sharp ears and ear-birding skills, we immediately picked up a host of species including several kinds of warblers, Swainson’s Thrushes, Warbling Vireos, and a surprise flock of Gray Jays (I refuse to cede this species to Canada!). Driving further, we finally reached a burn area where Braden had seen a Three-toed Woodpecker several days before. The burn had mostly smaller trees and I wasn’t optimistic, but Braden played a Three-toed drumming call and a Hairy Woodpecker immediately responded. Then, a blacker bird swooped in. “Three-toed!” Braden shouted. Ka-ching. A Year Bird for me.
Black-backed Woodpeckers aren’t endangered, but can usually only be found in burned forests 1-5 years old that have NOT been salvage-logged. This one immediately leaped into our Bird of the Year competition!
A mile or so further, we reached an even better burn area with larger-diameter trees. I pulled over and we played a Black-backed drumming call. Within fifteen seconds, a gorgeous female Black-backed arrived to investigate, but that wasn’t all. Another half-mile up the road, we found a yellow-crowned male! “A Black-backed! We found Black-backed Woodpeckers!” Braden exulted several times. They were our first since doing our Big Year in 2016. The day was far from finished, either. Over the next couple of hours, we added Sharp-shinned Hawk to our Year lists, and I added two more that Braden already had: Fox Sparrow and Golden-crowned Kinglet, both of which Braden found me by ear. We also found Wilson’s Warblers on their nesting grounds—our first time doing so near Missoula.
The day brought our totals to 245 and 239 respectively. Will we make it to 250? We’re finally starting to feel better about our prospects, but stay tuned. We still have a lot of birding to go!
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On Tuesday, February 4th, my dad woke me up at 7 o’clock, a
restful relief from the 4:45 wake-up time I’d adapted to being on the Hellgate
High School Swim Team. Despite an increasingly significant school workload, I’d
decided (with parental permission, of course) to take my birthday off and head
north to bird with my dad. Aside from the obvious perks of birding places like
Ninepipe National Wildlife Refuge and Flathead Lake, we had several goals in
mind. A few days earlier, an Ivory Gull, an incredibly rare arctic species, had
been sighted at Blue Bay on Flathead. There was also supposedly a Northern Hawk
Owl, a boreal species that rarely visited the United States, at Swan River
National Wildlife Refuge in the valley just to the east of the lake. We set out
at eight o clock, fifteen minutes after the bell for my school rang, heading
north with visions of rare birds soaring through our minds.
Though the gull, being the rarest of the possibilities
today, was our priority, we had to make several stops. First, we made a
speed-run of Ninepipe, visiting both the frozen lake itself and a nearby road
that supposedly had been supporting a Ferruginous Hawk all winter. The hawk
wasn’t quite as rare as the other species we were chasing, but raptors proved
hard to find even in their regular, summer habitat in the eastern prairies. Today,
we found the white-breasted bird fairly easily, along with several Red-taileds,
Bald Eagles, Rough-leggeds and a Prairie Falcon flashing its dark armpits as it
fled from a telephone pole. At Ninepipe itself, we almost collided with an
airborne Ring-necked Pheasant, and crept down a dirt drive to snap photos of a
possible Ross’s-Snow Goose hybrid.
We grabbed a delicious breakfast at the Ronan Cafe, then drove north through Polson, stopping at a fishing access on Flathead to check for gulls. The Ivory had last been seen heading south, and this hotspot, known as the Ducharme Fishing Access, also reliably held uncommon arctic and seafaring gulls like Iceland, Herring and Mew. In fact, due to the lake’s size, seabirds showed up on an annual basis, confusing it with an inland sea. The Ivory Gull was just the most recent, and possibly rarest, of these visitors. Today, however, we glimpsed only a few Ringed-billeds in the distance.
When the gull took flight, we thought it might be leaving. Instead it landed on a dock only about fifteen feet from us. Wish we’d had some krill in our pockets!
Normally, my dad and I don’t have the best luck chasing rarities. We’ve successfully found a few, usually by accident or thanks to excessive diligence of Nick Ramsey. Last summer, for instance, we chased an Indigo Bunting, Virginia’s Warbler, Black-throated Gray Warblers and Blue-gray Gnatcatchers in central Montana, only finding the bunting, which was difficult to miss in its neon blue plumage. When we pulled up to Blue Bay, though, we found two birders and one bird. That bird was the Ivory Gull, dressed in blank plumage dotted with black. At first we thought it was a plastic bag, due to its immobility, and proceeded to freak out immediately after raising our binoculars. The other birders, who had travelled from Washington to see this bird that normally dwells among the pack ice with polar bears, left fairly quickly after our arrival, leaving us alone on the beach to bask in the bird’s rarity and fill up our camera memory cards. The gull was incredibly tame, at one point landing five feet from us on a dry dock!
Strike a pose! This gull is obviously a huge Madonna fan!
After our success with the gull, we decided to drive north, then east, to Swan River in hopes of finding the owl. The location had been given to us by Nick, and it was much less direct and accessible than the gull had been. First we pulled off the highway at a makeshift parking lot, far from civilization, then trudged a mile through snow to a huge, open field. We proceeded to check and double-check the top of every pine, fir, larch and spruce in the area, searching for the diurnal bog-dweller. After searching the entire south end of the field, where the owl was supposed to be, we took a quick glance across the other side of the field. On a particular conifer far from us, a gray smudge caught the edge of my vision. I took a distant photo, confirming that it indeed was a gray smudge, and we continued to walk towards it. Once we got close enough to determine that it was at least bird-shaped, it disappeared!
If this isn’t an imposing, regal look, we don’t know what is. Good thing the owl couldn’t shoot lightning bolts down at us!
We frantically began re-checking every tree in the area, eventually relocating it again and—it was the owl! This time we didn’t take our eyes off it, eventually getting to about twenty feet from the tree that it perched on top of, like a star on a Christmas Tree. It glared at us, and we stared back, taking in its broad shoulders, square head and beautifully-patterned plumage. In an attempt to get better photos, my dad crossed a ditch, filling his rain boots with ice-cold water, and after the owl got bored with us, everyone departed. We had set out and seen every bird we’d wanted to, including three rarities, one of which (the gull) would quickly become at least nationally famous! To seal the deal, on the way home we glimpsed a Northern Shrike, another uncommon winter species that we hadn’t seen in a while. All in all, an incredible bird-filled birthday!
Me with my Birthday Gull perched behind me. Best Gift Ever!
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If you’ve been following this blog at all you know that Braden and I love birding Texas. Not only does the Lone Star State offer a delicious smorgasbord of temperate and tropical bird species, it provides an equally delicious variety of food, from Tex-Mex to BBQ. Little wonder I jumped at the chance to lead a professional development workshop for teachers there last week. I quickly learned, however, that birding in Texas in June is a far cry from birding there almost any other time of year.
I don’t know about you, but I’m getting sick of Houston’s annual “Hundred-Year Floods”, which, among other things, wreak havoc with birding plans!
I should have guessed that birding would be tough when my flight down got diverted to San Antonio for four hours because of thunderstorms over Houston, eliminating an entire afternoon of birding I had planned. Nonetheless, I scored some great Tex-Mex food at Gringo’s that night and the workshop the next day went fabulously well. The following morning, I optimistically set off early to check out Brazos Bend State Park, which I raved about in last year’s post Winter Birding at Brazos. Unfortunately, at the entrance I was greeted with a giant sign informing me that the park was closed because of recent flooding.
The flooding did afford me some close-up looks at White Ibises, including this juvenile, which was foraging on the flooded lawns of Bear Creek Pioneers Park.
“What?” I exclaimed, outraged. At least the drive there and back proved fruitful as I spotted a Crested Caracara and Scissor-tailed Flycatcher, along with an impressive display of Cliff Swallows at a bridge. Alas, I found more flooding at my next stop, Bear Creek Pioneers Park. I walked around for more than an hour and managed some great looks at White Ibises and a Red-bellied Woodpecker, but by then temperatures were edging past 90 with a heat index above 100. I wiped my brow and muttered, “I’m good for one more spot. Then it’s back to the hotel to watch HBO.”
For my last birding gasp, I chose one of Braden’s and my favorite Texas birding spots—Jesse H. Jones Park & Nature Center. I guzzled a pint of water, donned my hat and insect repellent, and set out to see if any birds could actually survive in Houston’s legendary heat and humidity. Not much stirred, but I had a fun encounter with Carolina Wrens and two separate experiences with one of my favorite Texas birds, Red-headed Woodpeckers—including a juvenile that had just fledged. The woodpeckers didn’t entirely make up for the day, but they helped—along with seafood enchiladas and a margarita at Gringo’s!
It’s hard to complain too much about a day that presented not one, but five Red-headed Woodpeckers. A former Team Collard nemesis bird, Braden and I first tallied RHWOs at this same park in 2016!
Before my flight home the next day, I had one more mission—to meet with biologist Donna Work at the W.G. Jones State Forest. The forest is the best place near Houston to learn about and observe endangered Red-cockaded Woodpeckers. Populations of these interesting birds have declined over the decades, mainly due to the destruction or replacement of the longleaf pines that they prefer to nest in. Donna met me just as dawn light reached across the sky and we chatted about all things woodpeckers while hoping to see the birds leave their roosting holes.
Biologist Donna Work was kind enough to meet me at 5:45 a.m. to observe Red-cockaded Woodpeckers at W.G. Jones State Forest and tell me about their management in a place now surrounded by suburbs. The green paint marks trees the birds use or have recently used for roosting or nesting.
We missed the birds’ exit, but did glimpse them in the trees overhead. Donna explained that the forest hosts about four RCWO family groups and that nesting success varies year to year. This year, the group we were watching had fledged only a single chick. I asked her if the birds would survive without active management. “No,” she replied, explaining that the birds were too isolated from other RCWO populations to avoid getting inbred. To make up for this, forest managers bring in woodpeckers from other areas to breed with the resident birds. The forest itself also requires active management to mimic the natural fire regime that maintains conditions conducive to the woodpeckers. Despite the tough birding, I left Texas with my belly full, and felt glad that so many people are working hard to protect Texas’s avian treasures.
