The sharp eyes of our intrepid Saturday Benton Lake field crew let no bird escape our detection!
Saturday, our trip got off to a good start when one of the participants told me about a Burrowing Owl right off the road leading up to the refuge. Driving my intrepid minivan, we turned right onto a muddy track—only to drive right under the owl without seeing it! Fortunately, the two cars behind us were more observant, and we all got great looks at this rarely seen animal before heading to the refuge. Turns out, we would glimpse another BUOW at the refuge itself—but it would be only one of many stars for the day.
I’d never seen a Burrowing Owl atop a telephone pole and as a result drove right under it. Fortunately, the folks following behind us spotted it.After our first sighting of a Burrowing Owl, we were astonished to find another at the refuge itself!
Birding Benton Lake NWR entails two distinct phases: a grasslands phase and a wetlands phase, and today, neither one disappointed. Driving through grasslands on our way to the start of the main loop, we were rewarded with multiple looks at Willets, Marbled Godwits, Long-billed Curlews, and Upland Sandpipers. The Willets and curlews especially put on a show for us, circling around the visitor’s center parking lot, uttering their looping, haunting calls. Thanks to recent rains, the vegetation in the prairie sections seemed especially tall and that probably suppressed one of our main targets, the Chestnut-collared Longspurs, but other birds turned out in force, especially Horned Larks and Savannah Sparrows. When we’d almost reached the turn for the wetlands section, I spotted several large-bodied birds flying low across the horizon—Sharp-tailed Grouse!
No one I know gets tired of Long-billed Curlews, and they’ve become a reliable bird for Braden and me at Benton Lake NWR.I know I post a lot of Upland Sandpipers, but I just love these iconic, bizarre-looking prairie birds.
With more water in them, the wetlands ponds sported a different mix of birds than last year. We counted 13 species of ducks, more than twice what I saw last year, but none in huge numbers. Wilson’s Phalaropes were present, but in smaller numbers than last year. While I’d counted 220 American Avocets and 20 Black-necked Stilts last year, today we saw neither species. Fortunately, the Franklin’s Gull colony appeared healthy and intact with at least 1,000 birds, as did the smaller number of White-faced Ibises. I worried when we didn’t see our dependable Black-crowned Night Heron colony—until one of our intrepid crew spotted one when we walked out to the end of the boardwalk during our early lunch break.
Franklin’s Gulls dominate a whole section of Benton Lake—including, at times, laying claim to the roadway.
Undoubtedly, one of the stars of the day were the Eared Grebes, who had constructed hundreds of raised nests in the “upper” pond. In fact, our little caravan stopped to break out our spotting scopes and admire this incredible sight for at least ten or fifteen minutes. On our way out, we passed the tree where Braden and I had enjoyed nesting Swainson’s Hawks multiple times over the years. Sure enough, a SWHA parent sat dutifully on a branch watching us as we slowly lumbered by.
It was a great treat to again visit the refuge the following day and I wondered how these two visits would compare. The verdict? Pretty similar. On Sunday we missed the Sharp-tailed Grouse—but again saw the Burrowing Owl, placidly sitting in the middle of the road. We missed the pair of Black Terns we’d seen the day before—but saw far more Forster’s Terns, and finally spotted a lone Black-necked Stilt along with a single Sandhill Crane.
From a distance, I assumed all of these dark spots out on the water were ducks. Our crew was delighted to discover that most of them were Eared Grebes sitting on nests!
We wrapped up Sunday’s visit by pulling over at a section of the road with shorter grass, and sure enough, soon spotted a couple of Chestnut-collared Longspurs, doing flight displays above their territories. But my favorite sighting came a few moments later, when we all turned our binoculars on a buteo hawk circling high overhead. The bird had unusual coloring, and we debated what it could be. Swainson’s? Red-tailed? An uncommon Broad-winged Hawk? Finally, my co-pilot for the day, Kevin Cox, called the correct ID: Ferruginous Hawk! I was thrilled. I usually see a FEHA in Montana every year, but it’s not a guarantee—and to see it out in such a glorious spot, and on such a glorious day, and in the company of so many people who appreciated it, well, that perfectly crowned a very memorable festival.
This Ferruginous Hawk was the perfect bird to cap off a wonderful festival weekend!
Note: The 2024 Wings Across the Big Sky festival will be held in Helena, Montana, which I’ve always considered to be the best home base for birding in Montana. No matter where you live, I hope you’ll plan on attending, either the first or second weekend in June. You won’t regret it!
You may have noticed a paucity of posts since my daughter and I returned from Japan. It’s not for a lack of birding action. In fact, the past couple of months have seen our busiest birding in a couple of years. Braden has been strenuously counting eastern songbirds while I have been crisscrossing the state on various writing and speaking assignments, some of which I hope to share with you when I get several deadlines out of the way. Meanwhile, big thanks to our recent guest poster Roger Kohnfor stepping in during our delinquence! And now, for today’s story . . .
The second weekend in June, my work took me to Montana Audubon’s Wings Across the Big Sky Festival, to be held in Great Falls. I had received a surprise invitation to speak at the event as well as lead two birding outings to one of Braden’s and my favorite Montana hotspots, Benton Lake National Wildlife Refuge. The festival kicked off on a Friday afternoon, but I cunningly calculated that if I got up early, I could get in a couple of solid birding sessions beforehand on the east side of the divide. I was on the road by 5 a.m. and cautiously drove into the dawn on Hwy 200, headed toward Great Falls. Why cautiously? Because this was the time of greatest risk of striking deer and other animals on the highway. Near Lincoln, in fact, I passed a dead elk and a smashed up car flashing its hazards off to the side of the road. I drove by, but then thought, “Wait. What if someone is still inside of that car?” and quickly turned around. Fortunately, I discovered no bleeding bodies, but it reinforced my caution as I continued my journey.
On my approach to Freezeout, I espied a Wilson’s Snipe and couldn’t resist pulling over for a photo. Can you see the raindrops?
The first stop on my birding agenda was Freezeout Lake, a place readers will be familiar with from past posts. Since we began birding, Braden and I have visited Freezeout more than a dozen times—and not just when the lake receives its famous influx of tens of thousands of Snow Geese migrating north in March. Over the years, we had made great discoveries at all times of year, including Clark’s Grebes, Tundra Swans, awesome shorebirds, and our Lifer Short-eared Owl. One bird that had always eluded us? American Bittern.
At first it’s not much to look at, but Freezeout Lake is a vital resting and breeding location for tens of thousands of Montana birds.
“I don’t understand it,” Braden told me via telephone the night before I left. “Other people go to Freezeout and see bitterns right in front of them, but we’ve never seen one there.”
“I guess we just haven’t paid our dues,” I said. “But I’ll keep a close eye out for them.”
Despite this promise, I held little hope of seeing one of these secretive birds. For one, they were thinly scattered across the state. Braden and I had heard one in the Swan Valley two years ago, and I had heard another at Bowdoin in 2022, but we had never seen a bittern in Montana, and I didn’t expect to this morning. Nonetheless, I arrived at Freezeout before 8:00 a.m. and eagerly set out along the management area’s dirt roads. Northern Shovelers and Gadwalls sat in the middle of the road, only reluctantly moving out of my way as I approached. Savannah Sparrows and Killdeer called through my open windows. I spotted several Wilson’s Phalaropes and, out on the water, a complement of American White Pelicans and Western Grebes. I especially searched for Short-eared Owls, but not a one was to be seen. After spending half an hour tolerating the mosquitoes, I turned around and made my way back to the beginning of the main driving loop.
I’d never seen so many Western Grebes at Freezeout as I saw last weekend. Surprisingly, I found not a single Clark’s Grebe despite studying more than a dozen possibilities through the scope. Up close, Clark’s are easily distinguished by a more orange-colored bill and the black facial line that rises above the eye, not below it as in this fellow.
Turning left onto the loop, I sharpened my senses as I guided my minivan into an area of thick cattails and brimming canals. Yellow-headed Blackbirds emitted their harsh cacophony and I heard a Sora in the distance. Glancing out my right window, I hit the brakes.
“No way,” I said.
Like most birders, I had been victim to wishful thinking countless times while birding, but as soon as I saw the thing standing out among the cattails a hundred yards away, I knew what it was. American Bittern!
With the bird’s amazing camouflage,I may not have seen this American Bittern if that Red-winged Blackbird hadn’t shouted, “Hey, Dude in the minivan, check this guy out!”
I turned off the engine, picked up my camera, and quietly climbed out of my minivan. I took several documentation photos and then silently studied this remarkable apparition through my binoculars. American Bitterns truly are bizarre-looking creatures. Grouped with shorebirds, bitterns display some of the most superior camouflage in the bird world. Brown overall, with brown and white stripes running down their long necks, they are famous for their “freeze pose” in which they extend their necks vertically, making them blend in almost perfectly with the cattails or rushes around them. In fact, as I watched, the bittern held this pose for several minutes before lowering its head and looking for food.
As famous as their freeze pose is, their call matches it for bizarreness. A deep guttural sound that some describe as pump-er-lunk, the bird sounds like nothing else in the natural world. The first time Braden and I heard it in the wild, I hardly believed it was real and accused Braden of playing it on his phone. It was real alright, and this morning, to my amazement, the bittern in front of me emitted this sub-woofer sound across the marsh.
When I first saw this guy, I was hopeful I’d found a Red Knot, which Nick Ramsey had told me were passing through the state. Still, I was not unhappy when my knot untied itself into a Willet!
After a few minutes, the bird flew away, and I watched it go, still in shock that this bird had decided to grace me with an actual sighting. I knew it could be a long time before I saw another one. Once hunted widely, bitterns continued to decline through the twentieth century due to wetlands loss and degradation, and perhaps pesticides. According to Cornell Labs’ Birds of the World, “Remarkably little is known about the biology of this species.” As I continued driving, though, I hoped that this one-of-a-kind bird would continue to find safety and nesting areas in Montana—even if I never personally got to see one again.
After speaking at the inaugural Billings Kid Lit Festival (see Billing’s Riverfront Park: Montana’s Premier Songbird Hotspot?), I awoke at 4:30 the next morning and hit the road by 5:15. My plan was to book it to Bowdoin National Wildlife Refuge and start driving around the lake by 8:30. The problem? I kept passing ponds with birds in them—and I, of course, had to stop to find out what they were! My efforts were rewarded with a variety of ducks, Wilson’s Phalaropes, American White Pelicans, Sandhill Cranes and more, but delayed my arrival at Bowdoin until 9:30. Then, even greater disaster struck: I ran into way more birds than I expected at the Bowdoin visitor’s center—including both male and female Baltimore Orioles!
Bowdoin NWR lies at the eastern edge of the Baltimore Oriole’s range, but Braden and I have seen them often enough that it seems certain they breed there. Oh, and seeing both the male and this female offers an added clue!
Finally entering the first five-mile stretch of the loop, I was shocked by how much of the lake had been sucked dry by eastern Montana’s multi-year drought. This really was a disaster and I wondered if I would even find any place conducive to water birds. Meanwhile, I encountered great grassland birds including Long-billed Curlews, Loggerhead Shrike, Chestnut-collared Longspurs, Lark Buntings, and Grasshopper, Vesper, Clay-colored, and Savannah Sparrows. Finally, near the end of the lake, I found water but at pathetically low levels. A much-vaunted Cassin’s Sparrow (discovered by Joshua Covill, I believe) had been observed repeatedly at about Mile 7 of the loop and I ran into Robin Wolcott and her husband who had driven over from Big Fork to see it. While we stood there, Robin did hear the sparrow, but with my crummy ears I couldn’t be sure so didn’t count it. I also had many miles to drive so I kept on truckin’, driving the three hours to Great Falls.
Chestnut-collared LongspurGrasshopper Sparrow
The next morning I again woke early, loaded up the car and arrived at Benton Lake NWR as dawn filtered over the prairie. After the dry conditions at Bowdoin, I fretted about Benton Lake—but my worries were hijacked by what may have been the most astonishing grassland birding experience I’ve ever had. It began with a sighting of a Long-billed Curlew in flight, always a welcome bird. Then, I saw other large shorebirds and stopped to behold the incredible courtship displays of Willets, flying madly around emitting their haunting, looping calls over the prairie. Other curlews joined in and a Marbled Godwit briefly gave chase to a Willet. Meanwhile, meadowlarks sang and a pack of coyotes unleashed their insane yelping cacophony across the landscape—all in the dawn light.
Most birders take Willets for granted, but watching and listening to them display over the prairie where they breed will forever make them a favorite bird ‘o mine.
Suddenly, I spotted a small bird rising high into the sky in an obviously courtship display. “No way,” I excitedly muttered, struggling to focus my camera on the small black dot. My thought? That it could be one of the prairie’s most magical creatures, a Sprague’s Pipit! Alas, Nick Ramsey studied my photos later and suggested it was actually a Horned Lark, and after further study, I agree. Still, it was no less incredible—especially because I didn’t even know that Horned Larks make such displays!
This “Sprague’s Pipit” got me uber-excited, but I learned later that it was almost surely a Horned Lark performing a similar high-altitude display. Thank you, Nick Ramsey, for setting me straight!
Passing the visitor center, I thought that I would finally make my way to the lake and start looking for water birds. Guess again. As soon as I turned right, down the dirt road, I stopped to look at juvenile Horned Larks and saw more Willets and curlews. Then, I spotted one of my top target birds: Upland Sandpipers! I had barely had a chance to look at them, when I saw another top target bird—a Short-eared Owl! As I was snapping some blurry photos of the owl, eight Sharp-tailed Grouse flew low across the road 100 meters in front of me and zoomed like cruise missiles across the prairie—something Braden and I had never seen at Benton Lake. But the best was yet to come . . .
Upland Sandpipers are one of our favorite grassland species—and they undertake one of Earth’s most incredible migrations, traveling from our prairies to southern South America in a matter of weeks each year!
As I was watching the Short-eared Owl, I noticed a white spot perhaps a quarter-mile away. At first I thought it was some man-made structure, but then it moved. I drove closer and raised my binoculars to see a sight I had never in my life observed—a male Sharp-tailed Grouse in full “impress mode” trying to woo a nearby female! Fumbling for my camera, I was so excited that my hands actually shook, and I watched this chase-and-pursue courtship for the next ten minutes. Like so many birds recently, a displaying male grouse was something I never thought I would see, and yet here it was when I was least expecting it!
A hopeful male Sharp-tailed Grouse tries to woo a mildly interested female (left). Sound familiar, gents?
My heart still racing, I finally moved on, and was relieved to see water filling the two main ponds—along with thousands of avocets, ducks, Eared Grebes, Yellow-headed Blackbirds, phalaropes, Forster’s Terns, Franklin’s Gulls, White-faced Ibises and just about everything else I had hoped to see. Water levels looked good to me, but refuge manager Bob Johnson later told me that they struggled to keep the ponds filled. They had the water rights, he said, but it cost so much—think hundreds of thousands of dollars—to pump the water up to the refuge that they had run out of money. That makes it more imperative than ever to support increased funding for our refuges and other wild lands by calling or emailing U.S. Senator Daines and our other representatives.
It’s hard not to love ibises, and I was delighted to see at least nine White-faced during my circumnavigation of Benton Lake.
I had planned to continue on to Freezeout Lake, but after four breathless hours at Benton, I wasn’t sure my sensory systems could handle it. As I said, it was my most incredible grassland birding day ever, and certainly my best at Benton Lake, not just for the species I saw, but for the intimate observations of their natural behaviors as they repeated their ancient life cycles. What’s more, I didn’t see a soul the entire time I was on the driving loop. It gave me a real, reverent feel for what the prairies must have been like before we plowed, grazed, and harnessed the vast majority of them. My wish is that we continue to protect Benton Lake and other vital refuges—and that all of you reading this get to visit there on a summer sunrise of your own.
The only thing better than experiencing the beauty of the prairie is to do it in the company of an Upland Sandpiper and Long-billed Curlew. Can you find them?
Braden and Nick are close to the finish line! This penultimate day of their epic Florida adventure would bring revelation, frustration, traffic jams, and finally, the realization of a key (no pun intended) target species of the trip. They also happened to be nearing their goal of 200 species for their expedition—as well as moving Braden significantly along in his quest to see 400 species during his 2022 Big Year. Read on to find out what happens . . .
Unfortunately, sleep was not in our immediate future after leaving the Keys that night. We pulled back into the Everglades, passing the campsite I’d enjoyed the night before, Chuck-will’s-widow calls sailing through our rolled-down windows. As we drove south in the dark towards Flamingo, the “town” at the bottom of the glades, we scanned the roads looking for our targets: snakes. Soon enough, Nick spotted one, and we pulled off the road, turning on our emergency lights so oncoming cars wouldn’t run us, or the snake, over as we walked down the road towards it. We left Dixie in the car, given that this snake was a Florida Cottonmouth, and probably could have killed Dixie if she got too close. The snake coiled on the warm road, its mouth open, and we showed another group of people that pulled over to see what we were photographing. Our spirits high, we headed back to the car—only to discover that Dixie had peed all over both seats. The smell infiltrated our noses, and we wiped up the mess with various towels and toilet paper that would be going in the next garbage can we came across.
Half an hour later, we rolled into the dark parking lot of a wooded trail near Flamingo. We set off in the dark, using a stick to brush spiderwebs out of the way and looking back frequently to make sure we wouldn’t get lost. Eventually, the trees gave way to a massive field of saltbush, slightly silver in the moonlight. This was the winter home of another incredibly elusive species, the Black Rail. This bird, a member of a group of birds already known to be difficult to find, was the size of a mouse and completely nocturnal. If Mangrove Cuckoo wasn’t the hardest regularly-occurring species to see in North America, it was definitely Black Rail. While hearing them was slightly easier, they didn’t seem to know that as we played for them in the dark, and we walked back to the car, our legs covered in scratches from the saltbushes, after forty fruitless minutes of searching. Nick fell asleep immediately as I took the wheel, just trying to get a little further north before crashing so the driving would not be as terrible during the next few days. I didn’t get far, however, and pulled into another parking lot. Between the smell of urine and the oppressive humidity, I didn’t get very much sleep that night.
Birds such as this juvenile Black-crowned Night Heron helped compensate for a terrible night’s sleep and Dixie’s, ahem, perfuming of the car seats!
At seven, Nick drove us to our next spot, a place called the L31W Canal, a little northeast of the Everglades. Struggling against my fatigue, I stepped out of the car in the brightening sky, and we began trudging along a straight road bordered by brambles on one side and grassy pine forest on the other. We had several goals here, the primary one being a Smooth-billed Ani that had been hanging out for a while. After doing some digging on eBird, I discovered that the ani was a ways down the dusty road, and I sighed, preparing for a long, hot, uneventful hike. Fortunately, I was quickly proven wrong.
We passed another pair of birders, one of them guiding the other. Nick pointed out the calls of Northern Bobwhites, quail I hadn’t seen since South Texas and had never before heard, and all of a sudden, an orange blur caught my eye. I looked to the right, where a beautiful Barn Owl had just alighted on top of a tall, branchless snag.
This was the best photo I could manage of my first really good look at a Barn Owl.
“Holy cow, look!” I said, pointing as all four of us birders turned towards it and raised our various devices (camera, binoculars, and in the guide’s case, a scope). The bird had dark eyes and a grayish, circular face peering at us in the morning fog. It took off before I was able to secure any good pictures, its flight reminiscent of a bounding rabbit. We watched the Barn Owl, a species I had only seen the butt of before, our eyes transfixed on the vibrant orange of its wings as it floated around for a while and then disappeared. It was almost like the birds had seen my poor mood and responded accordingly, putting the smile back on my face—and they were just getting started. In fact, the best birding of the entire trip unfolded before us.
As we scanned the pine savannah to our right, searching for White-tailed Kites, Nick pointed out Eastern Meadowlarks, a bird I somehow hadn’t seen until now. Pishing in agricultural parts of the walk yielded a variety of sparrows, including Savannah and, surprisingly, a Grasshopper Sparrow, a bird I associated with the shortgrass prairie of Eastern Montana rather than the humid scrubland of south Florida. More Swallow-tailed Kites appeared above us, circling above the pineywoods as if cheering us on. At one point, a bright red bird zoomed across my path, briefly perching up in a low bush—a male Painted Bunting! The bird was even more stunning than I’d expected, with its deep blue head, green back and brilliant crimson belly lit up in the sun.
The L31W Canal continued to deliver great birds with my first ever Eastern Meadowlark and a spectacular male Painted Bunting.
While we didn’t find the ani, the other birders pointed out other rare species to us. This place seemed to be a rarity hotspot, which became apparent with a kingbird flock we found. Western Kingbirds were regular winter residents in this area, but this flock also included both a Cassin’s Kingbird (a Western species) and a Tropical Kingbird (a tropical species), and I learned the difference between the three as we watched them fly around us. As much as Nick and I wanted to stay longer, we had miles to cover and Mangrove Cuckoos to find, so we said goodbye to the other birders and began the drive through the glades towards the Gulf Coast.
This was my first time getting to directly observe the differences between Tropical (shown above), Cassin’s, and Western Kingbirds in the field.
Yet again, we drove through prime Snail Kite habitat, and yet again, we found no Snail Kites. The sawgrass marshes gave way to densely forested glades as we drove along the Tamiami Trail, and we pulled into the visitor center for Big Cypress National Preserve for a quick glance around the center grounds. While we did see a fair number of birds along the drive and at the visitor center, the main attractions were the aquatic creatures. Amazingly, we spotted a pair of porpoises in the canal as well as a Brown Pelican, both an unusually far distance inland. That meant that somehow, this canal must have had some saltwater. What’s more, at the visitor center we found large schools of fish, including mean-looking Florida Gar. In front of our eyes, a Softshell Turtle snagged one of them and was promptly ambushed by several more. However, the most mind-blowing animals were the alligators. Dozens sulked in the canal, and at the visitor center alone I counted thirty or so, all within several feet of the humans peering at them from the safety of the boardwalk.
Eventually, the scenery changed as we left Snail Kite habitat and entered the habitat of the snowbirds, people who migrated south from the northern United States to their homes in the warmth of Florida. More specifically, we were in Cape Coral, a hot, concrete-covered town known for its tourists as well as another species that I’d only seen previously in the prairies of Montana: the Burrowing Owl. A threatened, urban owl population existed in this part of Florida, surviving in parks, yards and abandoned lots here only because of the protection the city provided. As we pulled up to the Cape Coral Public Library, we saw the fencing and stakes marking their burrows, although no birds were to be found. The heat of the day seemed to be keeping them down, so we headed west, towards our last chance at Mangrove Cuckoo: Ding Darling National Wildlife Refuge on Sanibel Island.
Fish Crows entertained us in many of South Florida’s habitats, including mangroves.
Again, this refuge caught me off guard. I’d expected large marshes and ponds, similar to Montana’s refuges. Instead, we were met with thick, tall, healthy mangroves. The trees were larger and denser than what we’d seen in the Keys, and more accessible too. We drove the main refuge loop, stopping at various trails to play for the cuckoo. One boardwalk in particular displayed the complexity of the Red Mangrove ecosystem, giving us great looks at the trees’ prop roots as they plunged into the shallow, salt-covered mud, and the crabs scampering up their trunks. Fish leapt from the water of the mangrove-encased bays, and we spotted a few shorebirds and waders wherever land showed itself. Here, again, the primary songs we heard were those of Prairie Warblers, singing from all around us in this perfect breeding habitat. And yet again, more Swallow-tailed Kites flew over us, reminding us of the excitement we’d felt when we’d first seen them at Merritt Island.
As we left Ding Darling, cuckoo-less, we discovered what else the area was known for: traffic—the worst traffic I’d ever been in, hood-to-bumper cars stretching for miles as people tried to get off the island. We probably could have gotten off Sanibel faster if we’d been as we covered three or so miles in roughly an hour. Eventually, though, we made our escape, and headed to a nearby baseball field in a last ditch attempt for Burrowing Owls. Again, though, after half an hour of walking around, they evaded us, frustration rising inside us. While the day had been great, we’d missed every single target—no ani, no cuckoo, no kites and no Burrowing Owls, not to mention the uncomfortable night spent looking for nonexistent Black Rails. As the sun began to set, a baseball game started next to us. I stared as the young Little League players hit line drives over each others’ heads. A single ball flew into the outfield, and then I saw it: yellow fencing, located just beyond the baseball diamond. I raised my binoculars, revealing two brown lumps perched on the chain link fence within the yellow caution tape.
“I’ve got em!” I said, and Nick and I began running, Dixie leading the way. As we got close, we put Dixie on a leash, lying down to photograph what we’d found: two incredibly cooperative Burrowing Owls perched in front of us, one on the lawn and one on the fence above the first. They stared at us, their mottled brown-and-white pattern complementing their intense, unmoving eyes. Nick and I moved a little further to take a selfie. Finally, we’d found something we were looking for!
Finally, after an afternoon-long search complete with horrendous South Florida traffic, we were rewarded with a great look at Burrowing Owls in Cape Coral.
We ended our day at a campsite just south of Gainesville at roughly eleven o’clock, a surprisingly earlier bedtime compared to the rest of the trip. While my goal was sleep, Nick went off in search of Eastern Whip-poor-wills. I lay there, in the back of Nick’s truck, thinking about where we’d been. After spending the day in the glades and the mangroves, we were back in the Pineywoods, hoping for another chance at their birds tomorrow before heading back to New Orleans. While we’d gotten several of my target birds for the trip so far, we’d missed an unfortunate number, and I’d hoped that tomorrow would go better. Would it? Or would we miss everything yet again, to return to Louisiana only with a few of the birds we’d set out to find? Stay tuned to find out!
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You PhD students of FatherSonBirding may recall that our debut post related to our very first Snowy Owl sighting on March 9, 2018, almost four years and 100+ posts ago. Today’s post marks a return to our roots—sort of.
After a successful birding trip to Oregon to close out 2021, Braden and I decided to kick off 2022 with a modest New Year’s Day tour of Ninepipe National Wildlife Refuge in the vain hope that we might see a Short-eared Owl, a species that totally eluded us last year and is one of our favorite birds. As we headed north in our trusty minivan, however, a crooked nail of a thought kept scratching at my brain. Finally, as we approached St. Ignatius I glanced at Braden and said, “You know, people eBirded the Snowy Owl again yesterday, and this might be our last chance to see it together before you head back to college. What do you think?”
“I’m in,” he answered, “but let’s hit Duck Road first.”
I exhaled, relieved. Even though it would mean an extra two hours of driving, now we were committed. We quickly hit Duck Road at Ninepipe looking for Short-eareds, and of course got skunked, though we did get a great look at a hunting Prairie Falcon and flushed a Great Horned Owl that had taken up residence in a small tree. Then, we high-tailed it toward Kalispell, stopping only for an unsuccessful attempt to find a Lifer Glaucous Gull at Somers Bay.
This Great-horned has apparently taken up residence in a new tree. Don’t be surprised to see it your next time on Duck Road. (Water tower of Charlo in the background—don’t you love telephoto lenses?)
Turning left onto Farm Road in Kalispell—er, Somers to be exact—dark clouds of failure haunted me. After all, we had scoured this neighborhood for four hours in 2021 without so much as a glimpse of a Snowy Owl (see our post “Payin’ Raptor Dues, Reapin’ Raptor Rewards”) and as we crept slowly forward, it felt like history would repeat itself as we passed one owl-less roof and field after another . We turned left on Manning Road and continued driving, stopping a couple of times to scan every house in sight. “I’ve got Collared Doves,” Braden said, just as I focused in on a fuzzy white lump on a roof.
“Got it,” I said. Braden said, “Good,” thinking I was referring to the Collared Doves. “No, I mean the owl,” I clarified. And indeed, only ten minutes after beginning our search, there it was—no more than a quarter mile from where we’d seen our first Snowy in 2018! As beautiful as Snowy Owls are, they don’t usually do a whole lot, but we enjoyed staring at it for ten minutes and taking lousy photos. We thanked the owl and then, with a whole afternoon suddenly freed up, began birding our way back home.
Okay, not the best photo, but give me a break already. The Snowy was far away!
We hit numerous spots on our way south, picking up one Year Bird after another. One of the great things about birding on New Year’s is that it resets the birding calendar, making every new bird a Year Bird! In fact, perhaps because of our low expectations, we saw almost everything we could wish for: Common Redpolls, American Tree Sparrow, half a dozen ducks, and an unlikely Double-crested Cormorant. As we once again approached Ninepipe, we had plenty of daylight for a second go at Short-eared Owls. We again bombed on Duck Road so made our way around the fringes of the refuge, ending up on Ninepipe Lane. Suddenly, a large bird leaped into the air.
I’ve never been able to take sharp in-flight photos, but I just love this image as this Short-eared Owl looks and listens for prey.
“Short-eared!” Braden shouted. Yes! We got a beautiful look at the amazing creature as it flew a couple of circuits around us and then dove on a hapless mammal in a snowy field. Even more amazing, in the next mile we saw four more Short-eareds! They all perched at a fair distance, but we didn’t mind. In fact, we were glad that we wouldn’t be disturbing them by driving close. Not surprisingly, the SEOWs swooped in for Bird of the Day honors, but we had more birding pleasures in store—including Cedar and Bohemian Waxwings, a Great Blue Heron and kingfisher, a Northern Shrike, and right in our own neighborhood, our last bird of the day, Wild Turkey. It was an awesome way to kick off 2022, and with 46 species under our belts, by far our best Montana New Year’s Day birding experience ever—one we will treasure as Braden prepares to return to college in Maine.
