Category Archives: Grosbeaks

Presume Not the Common Robin

This time of year we observe a remarkable influx of American Robins in western Montana. True, the birds are year-round residents in small numbers through much of the state, but by April, instead of spotting the occasional bird, Braden and I begin counting them by the dozens. As much as I love this “thrush flush”, I have to admit it has led to some close calls in bird IDs this past week.

**This time of year, it’s easy to assume that every medium-sized bird is a robin—but BIRDERS BEWARE!**

Every morning I grab my binoculars when I head out to take our dog Lola for her morning tramp around our neighborhood. We follow a mile-long route around a school, down to a park, and then back up home, skirting the edges of houses, woods, and Rattlesnake Creek. Over the years, Braden and I have compiled a healthy bird list for the route, but I have to say that it rarely yields any real surprises. As a result, I become lulled into a sense of complacency about what I am looking at.

To wit, with all the robins around lately, I have naturally assumed I am looking at Turdus migratorius when I see medium-sized, nondescript birds perched in a distant tree. On my Wednesday dog walk, I again made those assumptions. I mean, there were a ton of robins about and I identified many by sight and sound. When I saw fifteen birds sitting in another tree, I thought, “More robins.” Fortunately, something made me pause—perhaps my inner birder conscience or a feather that didn’t look quite right. Ignoring Lola’s piercing eyes, which pleaded for me to throw the ball again, I raised my binoculars and found . . .

**This photo sheds light—or shadow—on how easy it is to mistake other groups of birds for American Robins.**

Cedar Waxwings! “Huh,” I thought. “That’s cool.” Waxwings weren’t earth-shattering, but I didn’t expect to see such a group this time of year. I threw the ball for Lola and continued walking, and a hundred yards later saw another group of birds in a tree. “More robins,” I thought, then remembered the waxwings and again raised my binoculars to find . . .

Evening Grosbeaks! Even better, it was my first good look at them for the year! Those two back-to-back sightings taught me a valuable birding lesson: never assume what you’re looking at just because certain birds are more common or you’ve seen them before. I hope it’s a lesson that will serve you well this spring—not that there’s anything wrong with robins.

**Up close, an Evening Grosbeak’s markings are distinctive, but even from medium range, light and shadow can obscure an accurate ID!**

Birds and Books

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As always, we’d be delighted if you share this post with anyone you think might be interested.

*Waiting for a Warbler* (Tilbury House, 2021) is my first illustrated picture book in more than a decade. It tells the charming stories of a migrating Cerulean Warbler, and a family that has been improving its backyard habitat for birds. You can order it now by clicking on the image or, better yet, placing a call to your local independent bookstore.

As a writer, birding gives me much more than inspiration. It has granted me a second lease on my career. When Braden and I dived into birding, it was the heart of the Great Recession and, like now, publishers were buying zilch. I was trying different things with mixed results, but felt more or less directionless. Birding changed all that. The more we saw and learned about birds, the more ideas I had to write—ideas that have resulted in adult books and magazine articles, and in my children’s books Fire Birds; Woodpeckers: Drilling Holes & Bagging Bugs; and Birds of Every Color. My newest title, Waiting for a Warbler, has a special history I’d like to share.

Woodpeckers: Drilling Holes and Bagging Bugs by Sneed B. Collard III (Bucking Horse Books, 2018)

The idea to write about warbler migration blossomed in my brain only days after Braden and I visited High Island, Texas during our 2016 Big Year of birding. High Island is what’s called a migrant trap. The shelter and food it provides lures thousands of exhausted, migrating songbirds as they complete their marathon eighteen-hour flights across the Gulf of Mexico. We spent only a day at High Island, but during that time observed more than a dozen kinds of warblers along with tanagers, thrushes, vireos, and many other songbirds, and I was so inspired I quickly wrote down a story and sent it to a publisher who had expressed interest. I heard . . . nothing. No call. No feedback. No offer.

I let the idea sit for a year or so—often a useful thing to do to get perspective on a manuscript—and took another look at it. I realized it read a little stiff and impersonal, and decided to recast it as the story of one individual warbler crossing the Gulf of Mexico. I sent it to a different publisher, who wrote back within a month or two and said that he liked it, but what about working in the idea of a family waiting for the warbler to arrive? It was a great suggestion and I quickly revised the story and sent it off. Two years later, the book has been published!

Just a few of the birds we saw during our eye-opening visit to High Island in 2016. From Left to Right, Little Blue Heron, Black-throated Green Warbler, and the most cooperative Rose-breasted Grosbeak in the history of birding!

The book recounts the epic, dangerous journey of a male Cerulean Warbler that runs headlong into a storm halfway across the Gulf of Mexico, but it also focuses on a family that has been working hard to improve its backyard habitat for birds and other wildlife. The two children had glimpsed a Cerulean Warbler the year before, but the bird had not stayed, and they hope to see the bird again this year. I will leave the rest to your imagination—or, better yet, until you read the story for yourselves—but I have to say that I am extremely proud of this book both because of the adventure it shares and the positive role models it offers. The delightful illustrations by Thomas Brooks help make Waiting for a Warbler both a perfect read-aloud and a useful resource for a family or class-room conservation project. Braden and I hope that you all enjoy it, and would be grateful if you share this post with friends, teachers, and others. Bird—and write—on!

Best Fall Warbler Flock Ever!

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After a couple of slightly disappointing birding outings in a row, Braden and I were feeling a little down, especially because we felt like we’d missed our chances to see some uncommon fall migrants as they make their all-too-brief passages through Montana. Nonetheless, I continued taking my binoculars with me on my morning dog walks just to keep an eye on things and learn more about how fall birds behave. Early last Sunday, I decided to take Lola on one of our Top Secret routes—places we can’t tell you about or we’d have to kill you—and had just started down a street near Pineview Park when I saw activity in weird poplar-type trees up ahead. I unslung my binocs and focused.

**You Californians are probably used to this, but sixty Yellow-rumped Warblers in Montana? Almost unheard of!**

I saw about eight or ten little birds, and the first two I identified happened to be Ruby-crowned Kinglets, so I at first assumed they were all kinglets. Rookie mistake. Upon further study, I realized that many of them were Yellow-rumped Warblers (Banding Code: YRWA). What’s more, many more birds filled the surrounding trees. “Hm . . . This could be serious,” I thought and settled in for a better look. For the next twenty minutes, I did my best to identify the frantically-moving targets, finding Red-breasted Nuthatches, Black-capped Chickadees, Evening Grosbeaks—and about twenty Yellow-rumped Warblers. As I was looking at the top of a spruce tree, however, a shocking black-and-yellow face suddenly popped up: a Townsend’s Warbler! By now, TOWAs were supposed to be long gone and when I punched it into eBird, well, the app flagged it as RARE.

**Anyone know what this tree is? Whatever it is, it apparently hosted a lot of insects because the birds loved it!**

Lola and I hurried home and woke Braden. “You don’t have to come,” I told him, “but there’s an amazing mixed-species flock down by Pineview, including a Townsend’s Warbler.” Five minutes later, cameras and binoculars in hand, we zoomed down there in our ’86 4-Runner. To our relief, the birds hadn’t left, and we spent the next seventy minutes following them. My major goal was for Braden to see the Townsend’s, but together, we soon began making other discoveries. For one thing, there weren’t just twenty YRWAs. There were at least sixty of them, along with at least ten Ruby-crowned Kinglets. It wasn’t long before Braden found a Wilson’s Warbler and we both began detecting an occasional Orange-crowned in the crowd. Thanks to Braden’s ears, we also heard Pine Siskins, Red Crossbills, a Song Sparrow—even a pair of Sandhill Cranes in the distance!

**Full Disclosure: I still confuse Cassin’s Vireos with Ruby-crowned Kinglets. The white “spectacles” are the key to IDing the Cassin’s.**

Not to be outdone, vireos made an appearance. Braden spotted a pair of one of our favorite songbirds, Cassin’s Vireo, while I saw another surprise bird face, that of a Warbling Vireo—also flagged as RARE for this time of year.

The species kept piling up with Hairy Woodpecker, flickers, and another surprise, Red-naped Sapsucker. But where was that sneaky Townsend’s Warbler? Had I been imagining it? Had it struck out on its own? Finally, after almost an hour, Braden shouted, “I’ve got the Townsend’s!” I hurried over and sure enough, there it was. I even managed a poor, but unmistakable, photo of it. As the flock made its way slowly down Rattlesnake Creek, Braden and I climbed back into the 4-Runner. “Wow,” I said, “I think that’s the best mixed-species flock we’ve ever seen in Montana!” After some thought, Braden agreed. It hadn’t provided us any Year Birds or Lifers, but had been something we would never forget—and almost in our back yard. Birding doesn’t get better than that.

Click here for our complete list: https://ebird.org/checklist/S74123665

**Townsend’s Warblers are supposed to be long gone by now, but this one apparently liked traveling with the YRWA herd!**

Need Winter Birds? Go Skiing!

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At 6:50 a.m. on January 4, my family awoke and piled into our minivan, looking forward to the white slopes of Discovery Ski Resort near Philipsburg. After picking up my friend Eli, we took off, driving southeast towards the resort and Georgetown Lake, which coincidentally abounded with rare and spectacular birds in winter. During the CBC the week before, Gary Swant informed us that he had spotted both Great Gray Owls and Boreal Owls in the area. So, of course, before we quite arrived at Discovery, we took a short drive along a logging road running through the pine forest above the frozen lake.

Five minutes in, my dad saw birds perched on the road ahead of us, and hit the brakes. We guessed they had to be something interesting. The first two, which turned out to be Mountain Chickadees, flew away as soon as I got out of the car, but the third, a bigger passerine with a heftier beak stayed and allowed us good looks—it was a Pine Grosbeak! In the past week we had ticked off countless nemesis birds (including a Merlin in downtown Missoula on the 3^rd) and this bird proved no exception!

We arrived at Discovery, where no line awaited us, and proceeded to tackle the slopes. The fact that we lived in Montana did not mean we excelled at skiing, so we mostly stuck to the green circle (easy) and blue square (intermediate) runs, though Eli, Tessa and I did try out a very short black diamond (advanced).

At about one o’ clock, we scarfed down a quick lunch, then ran outside equipped with my camera, binoculars, lunch rolls and a bag of birdseed. Two years ago, we learned that the birds around the ski area took full nutritional advantage of their human visitors, and that the resident Mountain Chickadees actually had been trained to feed out of people’s hands! We cast bits of bread on the ground, then took turns holding birdseed out towards the stands of trees around the parking lot. Sure enough, the birds found us, and we each got to feel the tiny, reptilian-esque feet of the chickadees as they alighted on our fingers and snatched up sunflower seeds.

Nothing helps one understand the nature of “being bird” quite like having a Mountain Chickadee land on your fingertips!

Meanwhile, Gray Jays (now known as Canada Jays), Clark’s Nutcrackers and Steller’s Jays pounced on the rolls we purchased from the lodge, the braver ones landing within a meter of our feet. To top that off, we even discovered a big flock of Pine Grosbeaks flying around above us, the males’ robin-like songs weaving through the air.

Alas, this trip prioritized skiing over birding, so we had to leave the feeding fest behind. After racing down a few more runs, we packed up and drove home, with great photos and a new Life Bird under our belts, and more importantly, an unforgettable memory.

We tried to feed these guys some legitimate bird food, but the ski area corvids—including this Clark’s Nutcracker—had developed a fondness for Discovery’s baked goods.

Irruption!

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This year, there are more Evening Grosbeaks than ever at our feeder–but still nowhere near the amount we saw our first year of birding. (photo by Braden Collard)

Braden here.

During our first year of serious birding, my dad and I thought Evening Grosbeaks were common. Every day in fall, if you just walked the block from our house to Rattlesnake School, you would be amazed at the numbers of these boisterous finches gathered there. There were hundreds, maybe even a thousand of them in their drab fall plumage, tearing apart any pinecone unlucky enough to be spotted.

Two years later, during our first major Big Year (which you can read about in my dad’s fall book Warblers and Woodpeckers: A Father-Son Big Year of Birding), we saw only two individuals: a pair we briefly glimpsed up Pattee Canyon while staking out an American Three-toed Woodpecker nest.

How is it possible that we saw tons one year and only 2 another year? Irruption.

Red Crossbills are another boreal finch that has irruption cycles. (photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

When I say irruption, I’m not talking about a misspelled version of the thing happening in Hawaii right now. An irruption is a mass migration of birds (in this case) to a different area, generally south. Finches are the main type of group that has irruption cycles, but many birds that winter in the U.S. and southern Canada, such as Snowy Owls, Rough-legged Hawks, Bohemian Waxwings and Northern Shrikes also irrupt. Irruption almost always results in large numbers of birds appearing in areas where they normally aren’t, however it isn’t historically unusual.

One of the main reasons for irruptions is food supply. For example, when there aren’t enough rodents to go around up north in winter, Snowy Owls will generally move south into Northern U.S. states. Sometimes, if the shortage is extreme enough, the northern birds will extend their ranges past their usual limits and end up in places that are unheard of. During a major Snowy Owl irruption year, for instance, Snowies were found as far as Texas and Hawaii.

Irruptions can occur due to food abundances, too. The year before we experienced the Evening Grosbeak overload probably had pairs producing higher amounts of young than usual. The next year, the young had nowhere to go, since all of the territories up north were filled, so they moved south into Missoula.

While not as big of an irruption year as before, this year’s Evening Grosbeaks are costing us plenty in bird seed! (photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

This year and last year haven’t quite met that first year’s standards yet, but it has seen crazy irruptions for tons of finches. Last winter kicked off with large numbers of grosbeaks and Pine Siskins, while this year Common Redpolls, Cassin’s Finches and (yet again) more grosbeaks are stealing the stage. Who knows what will show up next?