Category Archives: Fall Migration

“Zoning Out” on Zonotrichia Sparrows

You may have noticed that many of my recent posts have centered on a) sparrows and b) nemesis birds. This post will combine those topics in a way that I hope will elicit six-figure offers for film rights along with invitations to various network morning shows. Strap in, because it promises to be a thrilling ride. Or mildly entertaining. Or at least more interesting than scrubbing the bathroom sink. Here goes.

**Do you see the Golden-crowned Sparrow in this roadside pullout? I didn’t either.**

In my recent pursuits of nemesis birds (see From One Nemesis Bird to Another and Gambling on a Grouse-fecta), one bird that I have sorely neglected is the Golden-crowned Sparrow. In fact, it may have been the most common species still missing from my Montana life list. Braden and I first beheld one of these gorgeous birds at the Moonglow Dairy outside of Monterey, California while we were pursuing our first Big Year back in 2016. Since then, we’ve seen them several times in California and Oregon—which is probably why they never became a top priority for us in Montana. Nonetheless, stray GCSPs show up in Montana often enough that they should have been beeping more loudly on our radars. Last week, when Braydon Luikart (see Gambling on a Grouse-fecta) notified me that a Golden-crowned had been spotted in Missoula, well, I guess I was finally alert enough to seize the opportunity. I threw Lola into our trusty minivan and headed out to LaValle Creek Road near the airport.

As I turned onto the muddy track, it was clear that word had gotten out when I began passing a veritable Who’s Who of Missoula birding. These included avian biologist William Blake (formerly of MPG Ranch, now with the American Bird Conservancy), and veteran birders Adam Mitchell, Thomas Kallmeyer, and Di Litz. William and Adam gave me directions to the sparrow spot, and a mile or so later, I pulled over onto a muck-filled turnout.

“It should be right there,” William had told me, but when I climbed out of the car with my binoculars and camera, I didn’t see a thing. Figures, I thought. I’m going to be the only birder in Missoula who doesn’t see this bird.

I studied the surrounding bushes and road without spotting anything, then took a couple of steps forward. Suddenly, I saw movement at my feet. The Golden-crowned! It was so perfectly camouflaged with the muddy ground that my eyes scanned over it two or three times without detecting it! Talk about your easy nemesis birds! I had a nice long visit with this fellow, admiring its subtle yellow lores and crown, boldly striped back, and finely striped breast. Its gray bill indicated it was a “1^st winter bird,” fledged this past summer. Whoo-Hoo! Montana Lifer #303!

**Golden-crowned Sparrows breed in western Canada and Alaska, but a few clip Montana every year on their way to their wintering grounds along the West Coast.**

William and Adam had told me they’d seen Pine Grosbeaks and Gray-crowned Rosy-finches further up the road, so I continued on to a place locally known as “the corral.” There, I found UM grad student Tim Forrester also looking for the birds. Tim’s been all over the U.S. and many places abroad studying birds, and we had a nice conversation while waiting for other birds to show up. Alas, I guess I’d hit my limit for great birds for the day—though I did see a nice pair of American Tree Sparrows on the drive out.

As I always do after a great find, I called Braden to share the news. After congratulating me, he asked, “You know what this means, don’t you?” “Uh, no.”

“It means,” he said, “that you’ve seen all four of Montana’s Zonotrichia sparrow species!” He recounted the four species for me, and I realized that they were four of my favorite sparrows: White-crowned, White-throated, Harris’s, and now Golden-crowned. What’s more, I’d seen all but Harris’s Sparrow this year.

**Braden and I find White-throated Sparrows almost every fall in Missoula—but we have to work hard for them.**

“But what exactly are Zonotrichia sparrows?” you may be asking. Good question!

Birds in the genus Zonotrichia are among our largest sparrows. They all have heavily-streaked backs and are ground-feeders, snagging seeds, grain, insects, and spiders. At first, their bold head markings look quite different from each other, but if you compare the four species side-by-side, you will see that they bear strong similarities. White-crowned Sparrows (see Welcoming White-crowned Sparrows—with Observer Bias) and White-throated Sparrows (see March Madness Birding in Missouri) have the widest distributions and are probably the “Zones” that people are most familiar with. In Montana, Harris’s probably have the greatest cool factor. Braden and I have seen them only once together (see A Quest for Snowy Owls), and I saw them once more a couple of years ago. No two ways about it, though, adding Golden-crowned to my Montana list made my day.

**Only the second Harris’s Sparrow I’d ever found—while looking for loons with Amy at Seeley Lake. And no, we didn’t find the loons!**

I’m not quite finished zoning out, however. So far, I’ve mentioned four species of Zonotrichia, but there’s a fifth, and it’s one almost anyone visiting Latin America will recognize: the Rufous-collared Sparrow. Braden and I first encountered these handsome critters during our 2017 family trip to Ecuador and Peru, though I’m sure I saw them in Costa Rica before I became a birder. In fact, this is probably the most common bird we saw in urban and suburban settings—so common, that we soon began taking them for granted. I hereby pledge not to ever do that again. Meanwhile, wherever you are, I invite you to zone out for yourself. Especially if you live in the southern half of the U.S., the West Coast, and much of the Atlantic seaboard, I guarantee there’s some Zonotrichia near you. Braden and I will be waiting for your reports!

White-crowned Update: In writing my recent post “Welcoming White-Crowneds,” published October 1st, I felt pretty sure that I had seen my last White-crowned for the season. However, just yesterday, October 31st, I saw yet another one out at the Fort Missoula Gravel Quarry, reinforcing my feeling that these “Zoned-Out” birds are having a very good year!

**The “Fifth Zone,” Rufous-collared Sparrows were our constant companions during our 2017 family trip to Ecuador and Peru.** **(Photo by Braden Collard—no relation to Rufous Collard.)**

Sifting Through Maine’s Fall Migrants

2 Replies

Congratulations to Braden for having his first full-length article published, in the July/August 2023 issue of Bird Watcher’s Digest! The editor actually plucked the piece from our blog post “Montana Shorebird Surprise”! If you don’t already subscribe to BWD, I strongly encourage you to do so. It is packed with fun and interesting articles about all aspects of birds and birding—and honestly, magazines like this need our help to keep promoting bird conservation and foster our birding community. Learn more by clicking here. Meanwhile, enjoy Braden’s new fall migration report from Maine.

October, in Maine, is usually a major cutoff point for neotropical migrants. Warblers, specifically, seem to disappear from the state right around October 1st, having already moved through in large numbers in late August and September. Last year, I barely detected any warblers after the October curtain dropped, with my only species being Yellow-rumped and Palm Warblers (which are later migrants and do stick around until November) and two Tennessee Warblers that I worked my butt off to find on the first of the month.

**Oct. 1 is usually about the cutoff for seeing fall warbler migrants in Maine, leaving residents such as Downy Woodpeckers and . . .**

Because of this knowledge, I had no expectations when I hit the University of Maine Bike Path last weekend, October 7th. I had already birded the path several times this fall, once by myself (when I scored great looks at two Ovenbirds and a Canada Warbler, both of which were long gone by now) and once with the University of Maine Birding Club, which I had restarted in mid-September. This was the same path, though, that offered up American Woodcocks and American Bitterns in spring; the same place that hundreds of salamanders and frogs would migrate across on rainy nights in April. Unfortunately, none of those animals were active now, so again, I had no expectations and was pleasantly surprised to run into a flock of Yellow-rumped Warblers and other birds right off the bat.

**Ruby-crowned Kinglets are one of the “later” songbird migrants—in Maine as well as in Montana. I saw 17 of them on this outing!**

In fall, my birding strategy is to find the mixed flocks and sift through them until I’m reasonably sure I’ve identified all of the species. I did just this with the flock, finding a Palm Warbler, several Ruby-crowned Kinglets, and a Blackpoll Warbler in its drab, green winter plumage, adorned with orange feet. In terms of warblers, Blackpoll Warblers are one of the later migrants in Maine, and travel the farthest of any of the group, heading east from their boreal breeding grounds before flying south straight across the Atlantic Ocean to South America. I’d seen several in the Adirondacks this summer, in their spiffy black and white plumage, and it was nice getting to wave goodbye to them for the winter.

**Swamp Sparrows are a real find in Montana, but on my birding walk today, I counted at least 33 of them—a low estimate!**

After pishing in a few more mixed flocks, I reached one of the the bike path’s main attractions—a large, weedy field, hosting tall goldenrod and other plants that reminded me of the Fort Missoula gravel quarry back home. This, like the gravel quarry, was Sparrow Central. I waded out into the grass, flushing flocks of Song and Swamp Sparrows into the bushes, from where they watched me carefully as I checked each and every one of them. Ruby-crowned Kinglets chattered from the aspens and birches lining the perimeter of the field, and I pished at them with every chance I got, searching for anything rare. Soon, amongst a group of White-throated and Savannah Sparrows, I spotted a smaller, more crisply-patterned sparrow hop up onto a bramble: the Lincoln’s I had been hoping for! My dad and I had gotten our lifer Lincoln’s Sparrows in fall, and while I had seen and heard many this summer between the Adirondacks and the joint Western Field Ornithologists and Colorado Field Ornithologists conference I attended in alpine Colorado, I still sought out these stunning birds every time the colors on the trees began to change.

**My dad went out four times last week before he found a White-throated Sparrow migrating through Missoula. I counted 23 of them on my single outing**!

The Lincoln’s Sparrow abruptly disappeared as a small, yellow bird took its place: a Nashville Warbler, about a week after the last Nashville Warblers should have left for Central America! A few minutes later, in another horde of kinglets, I briefly spotted a Tennessee Warbler. Yay! The warblers were still here!

It wasn’t until I circled back over to the far end of the grassy field, however, that I found my real prize. As I sorted through yet another flock of kinglets and sparrows, I spotted it: a greenish, grayish warbler. Now, in Maine, in fall, this could describe just about every species of warbler since most have adopted relatively drab nonbreeding plumage. Nonetheless, I started checking off options in my head, narrowing it down.

The body was mostly green, with a green throat. That eliminated Palm, Pine, Nashville, Yellow-rumped, and any of the more colorful fall warblers. The head, meanwhile, contrasted with the green—it was slate gray, and the bird had broken eye-arcs. Those two features alone, plus a total lack of yellow or white, eliminated Blackpoll, Bay-breasted and Chestnut-sided. That left two species. Tennessee Warblers are easily identified in fall by their white vents (butt feathers)—but this bird’s vent was green. The bird I was looking at was one my dad has surely seen many times this fall and paid little attention to—an Orange-crowned Warbler!

**While migrating fall Orange-crowned Warblers are fairly common in Montana, in Maine they qualify as a genuine rarity!**

Orange-crowned Warblers are fairly common in most of the United States. They breed throughout the Rockies and are commonly seen in migration and winter across the country. They avoid Maine in migration, however, and don’t breed in the state, so this warbler is quite a rarity here! What’s more, early October is actually one of the best times to find them here, which is not the case for any other common Maine warbler. I celebrated for a moment before whipping out my camera to snap some photos of the bird, which I assumed I would need to prove that I’d actually seen it.

After the Orange-crowned Warbler moved on, I continued to walk the rest of the bike path, finding more flocks of sparrows, thrushes, and the occasional warbler. I even heard a few pipits fly over as I headed to McDonald’s for a respite from UMaine’s dining hall food. I’d had my best fall day of birding so far this year. Hopefully, more great birding was to come!

From One Nemesis Bird to Another

2 Replies

Before sharing my recent search for nemesis birds, a quick update on our last post, “Welcoming White-crowned Sparrows—with Observer Bias”. In the post, I discussed how the apparent abundance of White-crowned Sparrows coming through western Montana this year may have to do more with my birding effort than actual sparrow numbers. Well, after I published the post, several birders around the state shared that they also have been seeing unusually high numbers of White-crowneds. This greater “sample size” of observations leads me to believe that the birds might be having an exceptional year after all. Go White-crowneds! This last Monday, in fact, I saw another WCSP feeding with some American Goldfinches. Will it be my last observation of the season?

**There’s not many better things in life than birding in the Mission Valley on a glorious fall day—even when nemesis birds are eluding you!**

In recent posts, I have shared my foiled attempts at finding one of my biggest nemesis birds, Spruce Grouse. Here in Montana, I have started to become known as “The guy who’s never seen a Spruce Grouse.” It’s not my favorite moniker, but well, I am learning to live with it. To distract me from my shame, last week I decided to look for a different nemesis bird: American Golden-Plover.

Arguably one of America’s most stunning birds during breeding season, the AGPL has thwarted Braden and me here in Montana at least a dozen times. Every year, birders spot the plovers up in the Mission Valley north of us, and countless times we have saddled our trusty minivan and galloped up to Ninepipe National Wildlife Refuge or Pablo Reservoir—only to find no American Golden-Plovers in sight. Braden did finally find one in Maine a couple of years ago (see his post “A Montana Nemesis Bird in Maine”), but the arrival of 2023 still saw the absence of this marquis bird on my Life List, let alone my or Braden’s Montana lists. This has obviously caused us great pain and anguish, so when I saw that someone had observed six, count ‘em SIX, American Golden-Plovers up at Ninepipe last week, I had to seriously ask myself if I wanted to put myself through yet more misery.

My answer, with Braden’s encouragement: Yes.

**The second of two Peregrine Falcons I would see this day. Definitely PEFA migration season!**

As a result, last Thursday, I woke early, walked Lola, and then headed north on 93. My first stop? Ninepipe. I usually begin my explorations here with a drive down Duck Road, but today I was a man on a mission, so I entered at the bottom end of the refuge. Almost immediately, I spotted small shorebirds at the edge of a pond and pulled over to get out my spotting scope. Before I could get my eyes on them, though, a large dark shape swooped in and the shorebirds frantically flung themselves into the sky. Peregrine Falcon! my mind shouted as I excitedly watched the raptor give chase. The falcon and shorebirds circled the pond twice, but then fled toward the horizon. I had failed to get a look at the shorbs, but seeing a Peregrine was a thrilling start to the day!

**They weren’t the plovers I was looking for, but it’s always, ahem, great to see Greater Yellowlegs in Montana.**

After climbing back into the car, I continued to wind my way north, getting glances at Trumpeter Swans and several kinds of ducks. I also got great looks at a trio of American Pipits on the road. My major destination, though, was the dam on the west side of the main lake. There, I observed several Greater Yellowlegs and, driving a bit farther, a couple of other shorebirds on the muddy shore below. I quickly parked and began breaking out my spotting scope when a car pulled up containing yet another impressive trio: accomplished Montana birders Craig Hohenberger, Shawn Richmond, and Braydon Luikart! I had last met Craig all the way out in Westby this past summer so it was a nice surprise to see him here again now, and to chat with all of them.

“Are you the one who is trying to find the Spruce Grouse?” Shawn asked.

“Well, uh, yeah,” I sheepishly replied. “But today I’m looking for American Golden-Plovers.”

Shawn knows the Mission Valley like the back of her hand, and said, “They should be around.” She then gave me the name of a place she had seen them only in the past few days.

“Thanks,” I told her, “I’ll check that out.”

First, though, I wanted to scope the ground in front of me. To my surprise, the pair of shorebirds below me turned out to be Pectoral Sandpipers—Year Birds for me and, I suspect, what the Peregrine Falcon had been going after earlier. Again, though, no golden-plovers, so I packed up my scope and moved on.

**Still no golden-plovers, but it was great to see Pectoral Sandpipers for the first time this year.**

In a tradition Braden and I have followed since we began birding, I grabbed an egg biscuit at the McDonald’s in Ronan, and continued on to another well-known place for sighting AGPLs, Pablo Reservoir. Again, I began at the south end and slowly continued north on top of the dam. I was delighted to discover a pair of Baird’s Sandpipers scouring the shore in the company of half a dozen American Pipits. The gurgling calls of Sandhill Cranes ricocheted across the water as I looked out on hundreds of geese, ducks, gulls—and a lone American White Pelican. A dark shape perched on a little rock on the far mudflats, and I trained my scope on it with a strong suspicion. Yes! It was another Peregrine Falcon! I was definitely hitting migration season for those! As for the American Golden-Plovers???

Nada. Zilch. Klum.

**Though the golden-plovers again foiled me at Pablo Reservoir, I got my best look of the year at a couple of Baird’s Sandpipers!**

Normally, that would have been the end of my day—except for running into Shawn Richmond earlier. “I’m here,” I told myself. “I have plenty of iced tea. I might as well check out the spot she told me about.”

I punched up the location on Google Maps and it showed a 25-minute drive. Though an official hotspot, it definitely sat off the beaten path enough to receive fewer visitors. I parked behind an abandoned house of some sort and could see that viewing would be less than ideal. A lake lay several hundred meters away, but the near shore was obscured by vegetation while the far shore shimmered another couple of hundred meters beyond that. Nonetheless, even through my binoculars I could see that there were birds on that far shore. Even better, I felt pretty sure they were shorebirds!

I assembled my scope and began tromping across the field, hoping I wouldn’t scare any of the distant birds. I didn’t, but before I could get closer, a Northern Harrier did, and the birds on shore scattered before I had any hope of identifying them. I cursed at my luck, but then, amazingly . . . the birds came back! This spectacle, it turns out, would repeat itself quite a few times during my short visit.

**A Northern Harrier kept stirring up the shorebirds as I was trying to ID them. Don’t tell the shorebirds, but I think the harrier had its sights on other prey!**

I got my scope focused and picked out about a dozen each Greater Yellowlegs, Killdeer, and Pectoral Sandpipers—but they weren’t what got my heart beating. Among the other birds, I also saw three distinct shapes. Plover shapes. Large plover shapes. Zeroing in on them, I got even more excited. They definitely could be what I was looking for!

One problem with finding American Golden-Plovers is that in nonbreeding plumage, they are challenging to distinguish from Black-bellied Plovers. That’s not as much of a problem when Black-bellieds are in breeding plumage as they were here when Braden and I visited Benton Lake NWR near Great Falls last summer.

The problem is this: the plovers were not breeding males. Instead, they were in their much drabber juvenile or nonbreeding plumage, and that meant that they possibly could be either Black-bellied Plovers or American Golden-Plovers. I had seen nonbreeding Black-bellied Plovers several times—but didn’t have enough experience with them to say, “Those are NOT Black-bellied Plovers out there in front of me.” Still, thinking back on prior experiences, and studying my Sibley phone app, I had a hunch these might just be my nemesis Amercian Golden-Plovers. For one thing, their bodies and necks seemed slimmer than Black-bellied Plovers. They also gave off a kind of smooth, grayish sheen on their bellies whereas I remembered BBPLs as being whiter and more distinct.

**It looked like an American Golden-Plover, but was it??? I would have to wait to hear from Braden to be sure!**

Bottom line: I just wasn’t sure.

I took tons of lousy photos, and as soon as I got home, sent them to Braden. A couple of hours later, he called me from Maine. “Daddy!” he exclaimed. “You saw American Golden-Plovers!” We then proceeded to detail the various aspects of his ID. Not only was it a great learning process, it felt good to be able to share this nemesis sighting with my son from all the way across the continent. AGPL, finally, after many years, became my 301^st Montana Life Bird and the 997^th on my Life List.

I’ll bet you can guess what I hope number 998 will be!

Welcoming White-crowned Sparrows—with Observer Bias

3 Replies

FatherSonBirding is a totally free, non-commercial blog that Braden and I write to share our passion for birds and birding, and to help educate others about birds and bird conservation. We do not accept donations, but if you would like to support us in our endeavors, please consider purchasing *new copies* of one or more of Sneed’s books—the new picture book Border Crossings, for example. These books are widely available online or can be ordered from your local independent bookstore. Oh, and they make great holiday gifts! Thank you for your support.

In previous posts, we may have mentioned that when we first began birding, Braden and I pretty much ignored the fall. Once spring migration and breeding petered out, we figured, how exciting could it be? The answer, we’ve learned, is: Plenty! In past posts, Braden and I have focused on fall shorebirds, but in the last couple of weeks alone, I’ve also watched waves of Savannah Sparrows, Yellow-rumped Warblers, American Pipits, Ring-necked Ducks, and a whole slew of raptors cascading through Montana. This fall, I’ve especially been impressed by White-crowned Sparrows.

In their adult, or definitive, plumages, White-crowned Sparrows show bold black and white striping on their heads. In fall, however, most of the birds you’ll see sport sub-adult or “1st winter” attire (see below).

If you live in California or parts of the Great Basin, you probably don’t give White-crowned Sparrows much thought. After all, you can see them all year round, and they may even be the most abundant native sparrow you encounter. The same goes for much of the rest of the country, where White-crowned Sparrows overwinter, basically from coast to coast.

Here in Montana, it’s a different story. In spring, White-crowneds zoom through the state on their way to our high mountains or far north Alaska and Canada to breed. Our most impressive encounter? Watching a male singing to high heaven on its breeding territory in Glacier National Park (see our post, “Are You Ready for the Quach?”). Our best chance at seeing them, however, is in the fall, when they saunter through at a more leisurely pace.

**Not only have I seen a LOT of White-crowned Sparrows this fall, they have been extremely cooperative in striking fetching poses.**

Scientists recognize at least four sub-species of White-crowned Sparrows, and choose them as a favorite research animal both because of how common they are, and how easy they are to keep in captivity. Many studies have focused on song learning in the birds, and it seems that different populations, like humans, learn different dialects based on what they’re hearing around them. Researchers even talk of “bilingual males” that live on the borders between different populations. Breeding males aggressively defend their territories by flying at intruders, puffing out their feathers and crests, and singing loudly. They may even “wrastle” with their feet—a sparrow’s version of Brazilian jiu-jitsu!

Each fall, I usually see White-crowneds in a couple of different locations around Missoula, including a skulky adult that often shows up for a day or two in our backyard. This year, though, it seems I’ve been seeing White-crowned Sparrows almost everywhere I look. In September alone, I recorded seven sightings of White-crowneds. I was sure this must be some kind of personal record, and it led me to believe that these delightful songbirds might be having an especially great year.

Not so fast.

**At one of our favorite birding spots, the Missoula Gravel Quarry, White-crowned Sparrows seem drawn to an abundance of seed that will help them fatten up for the rest of their migrations.**

One of the wonderful things about eBird is that you can quickly go back through all of your species observations for a particular place and/or time of year. Searching through my White-crowned Sparrow records, this is what I found:

2015: 1 sighting

2016: 0 sightings (our ABA Big Year!)

2017: 8 sightings

2018: 4 sightings

2019: 11 sightings

2020: 18 sightings

2021: 14 sightings

2022: 5 sightings

2023: 11 sightings (so far)

At first glance, you might think this data reveals good and bad years for White-crowned Sparrows. Alas, that may or may not be true. Why? For the simple reason that my birding effort also has its “good” and “bad” years. You’ll note that by far my biggest year for WCSPs was 2020. Well, guess what? That’s the year Braden and I were doing our Montana Big Year, trying to find as many species as possible in our state from January through December. It was the year we most likely spent the greatest number of hours and days birding here, and so it’s no surprise that our White-crowned Sparrow sightings peaked that year.

**“Are you lookin’ at me? Are you LOOKIN’ at ME??? Well, if you want this observation to be useful for science, you’d better look HARDER and more consistently.”**

If we really wanted to start getting a handle on good and bad years, we would have to introduce some consistency to our birding madness by sampling spots at the same times and same locations throughout the year or season. This, in fact, is one way scientists study bird populations. They return to places at the same times and for the same durations every year. Braden spent this past summer doing “point counts” for songbirds in eastern Pennsylvania. He visited locations (“points”) that other field biologists had sampled in past years and at each point, he looked and listened for ten minutes, recording all of the birds that he detected.

I have done a similar thing in our own neighborhood, but on a much more informal basis. From spring through fall, every weekend or two, I walk our dog Lola on a particular neighborhood route at about the same time of day, recording all the bird species I detect. I call the route “Old Pond Road” and here are this year’s results (also see our post “Best Fall Warbler Flock Ever!”):

May 14: 18 species

June 3: 14 species

June 24: 20 species

July 1: 16 species

July 9: 16 species

July 15: 12 species

July 23: 12 species

August 12: 10 species

August 27: 21 species

September 5: 5 species

September 10: 11 species

September 16: 8 species

September 24: 8 species

September 30: 12 species (this morning)

I am the first to admit that this is not a rigorous study. I birded at different times of the morning, put in varying amount of effort—and I have lousy ears, so I’m definitely not hearing everything that’s around me. Still, you can see some interesting patterns. Species numbers came on strong in the spring breeding season, slumped in mid-summer, and then hit a high for the year in fall migration. Now, as the passerines (songbirds) have mostly passed through heading south, things are settling down to those hardy year-round residents that can handle a Montana winter.

**“Just checkin’ out the photographer before I get back to eating!”**

I encourage all of you to start your own neighborhood bird studies. Even with my rather haphazard approach, my data may come in useful to a scientist one day. Just as important, this study has taught me a lot about the birds living in my neighborhood—and it will for you, too. To begin, you’ll want an eBird account, of course. After that’s set up, though, just pick out a favorite route and begin birding it at about the same time every week or month. In no time, a year or two will pass and you’ll be able to look back on some interesting results that will teach you and help you appreciate this remarkable world around us.

As for the White-crowneds, I will continue to be glad to see them and will welcome them back any time—whether or not they’re having a particularly good year.

Fall Birding in Glacier National Park

11 Replies

Last week, after speaking at the monthly meeting of Flathead Audubon (see post “Birding with the President”), I spent the night with my gracious hosts, Darcy and Rob Thomas, and rose at 5 a.m. for a birding excursion to Glacier National Park. Powered by an egg and sausage burrito from City Brew, I made it to the park by 7:00 and rumbled and bumped my way up Inner North Fork Road. Braden, Nick Ramsey, and I had been here only five weeks before on a quest to find me a Lifer Spruce Grouse, and guess what? I was still on that quest! Today, though, I decided to try a different route, the Camas Creek Trail that leads east toward the heart of the park. I arrived to find the little parking area totally empty and, after strapping on my fanny pack, and slinging my camera and binoculars over my shoulders, set out under a dawn sky.

**Sunrise at Camas Meadow. Need I say more?**

Entering a patch of woods, I walked quietly and raised my senses to full alert. I didn’t want to scare away a Spruce Grouse along the trail, but I also wanted to spot a grizzly bear before it spotted me! Of course, park officials recommend hiking noisily to alert bears to your presence, but for birders this obviously is a counterproductive strategy. Bear spray would probably have been a good idea, but as usual I forgot to bring any. Within a quarter mile of the trailhead, however, I got a good scare.

I was rounding a bend with some trees on the right when suddenly a large shape launched from a branch and spread enormous gray wings. Owl! my brain shouted as my heart hammered, but which kind? The park contained only two large-owl possibilities: Great Gray and Great Horned. I hurried forward, trying to see where it was headed, but failed miserably. Without ever facing toward me, it disappeared through some trees, never to be seen again. My gut and the length of the owl’s wings tells me it was a Great Gray Owl but I will never know. Sigh.

After that startling start, my hike settled down. I reached Camas Meadow just as the sun began peeking over the Continental Divide and savored being absolutely alone in one of the world’s most beautiful places. I got here so early that the birds were off to a slow start. I saw a few flitting around, and Merlin’s Sound ID feature informed me that they were Pine Siskins and Yellow-rumped Warblers. It also told me that the chickadees I was hearing were Mountain Chickadees. Other than that, the action languished.

**Despite this rather poor image, one of the highlights of my Camas Meadow trail hike was the abundance of Yellow-rumped Warblers fattening up for migration.**

Fortunately, that held true on the grizzly bear front, too. I passed some scat, but it looked like black bear poop (smaller, full of berries, less messy), and was old to boot. In fact, I passed few fruiting plants relative to other places I’d recently visited in western Montana—a fact that might bode poorly for possible grouse sightings.

I hiked for about two, two-and-a-half miles, before pausing for a drink of water and, reluctantly, turning around. Fortunately, as I began retracing my route, rising temperatures seemed to lead to greater bird activity. Most impressive were the number of Yellow Warblers. I tallied at least 30, but am sure I undercounted. Their chips sprung from many locations, and I also spotted a couple of Ruby-crowned Kinglets (one boldly displaying its red crown), Dark-eyed Juncos, and Pine Siskins. An occasional Northern Flicker called sharply overhead.

I was surprised to spot this Red-naped Sapsucker in Glacier. I hadn’t realized they hung around Montana quite so long!

About halfway back to the car, I saw a small brown bird flitting about in a bush. Its furtive skulking behavior distinguished it from the other birds I’d been seeing, so I stopped and raised my binoculars, waiting for a clear look. It took a few moments, but it finally showed itself—a Lincoln’s Sparrow! One day, Braden and I will have to list our Top 10 Favorite Sparrows, but for me, Lincoln’s is Number One. Not only does it display a gorgeous, subtle color palette, it seems to have a more curious, delightful nature than other sparrows. When Braden and I began birding almost a decade ago, a Lincoln’s Sparrow was the first sparrow that really made a big impression on me. We devoted several outings to the chase before finally seeing one, so maybe its uncommonness also has something to do with my ranking.

**This delightful Lincoln’s Sparrow captured “Bird of the Hike” honors for my visit to Camas Meadow.**

After spending a few minutes with Mr. Lincoln’s, I continued hiking. A Red-naped Sapsucker surprised me. Then, I heard a series of eerie whooping noises that reminded me a bit of an Osprey. “What the heck?” I muttered. Then I saw it: a Canada Jay swooping in for a landing high in a nearby tree. A couple of other CAJAs also appeared. The jays, one of my favorite corvids, always delight with their antics and these provided a great way to wrap up my hike. Yes, I had once again missed a Spruce Grouse, but I’d gotten a good sense for what’s going on with the birds in Glacier this time of year. That was invaluable knowledge in my continuing education as a birder. It also happened to make a real contribution to science in the park.

**I had no idea what was making that eerie looping call—until I saw this Canada Jay fly to a nearby treetop.**

Returning home, I looked up how many eBird checklists have been posted for Camas Creek Trail in the fall. To my astonishment, mine was only the second ever checklist for September! (The other list, from later in the month, noted only three species.) A couple of lists have been posted later, but my own provides the only eBird data for this interesting time of year. Now I know this sounds like boasting, but I mention it to emphasize two important facts:

Even though birding has been around a long time, HUGE gaps remain in what we know about almost every bird species, its movements, and habits.
Your citizen science contributions matter. Sometimes it’s a pain or inconvenient to post what you see on eBird, but you just never know when you will be providing crucial information to a scientist or policy expert wanting to learn something new or make an important decision.

And really, could it get any better? Contributing to knowledge while being out having a great time? I don’t think so. Just keep an eye out for those grizzly bears.