Category Archives: Gulls

Braden’s 2022 Recap: Scrambling to 500

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Well, another great year of birding has passed for Braden and me—and we hope for you, too. Both of us had remarkable experiences the likes of which we’d never had before, and in the process once again broke our previous Big Year records—I, accidentally, and Braden with determination and grit. As you enjoy Braden’s year-end recap, we want to tell you how much we appreciate your interest in our adventures over the years. In 2022 we smashed viewership for our blog with more than 7,000 views for the first time, bringing our total to more than 21,000 views since we first began writing this blog (gasp) five years ago. We have never had any goals with the blog except to share our love of birding, provide some education about birds, and encourage a will to protect them. With that in mind, we don’t know how long we’ll continue writing it, but as long as you all keep checking in, chances are good that we’ll stay with it, too. Happy 2023 and may birds continue to grace your lives!

Roaring winds, carrying hordes of gulls and Northern Gannets with them, ripped past Schoodic Point as I stood on the wave-battered rocks. The sky was beginning to brighten, and a few other people had made an appearance, including a guy in the parking lot with a spotting scope who I’m pretty sure was counting migrating sea ducks. I had no particular need to talk to him. Instead I was content to stare at the sea, reflecting on one of the most memorable weekends I’d had in a long time.

One of the fun things about returning to Maine for fall semester was hitting the Cornfield Loop and seeing tons of fall warblers, including this Palm Warbler. (See also warbler photos below.)

I was several hours away from the end of my EES 217 class, a one-credit course completely confined to the past two and a half days. During this time, I and a group of like-minded students had designed projects relating to the ecology of the Schoodic Peninsula, a part of Acadia National Park. My group was chosen to study the impact that humans were having on Acadia’s saltmarshes, and we tackled this issue by wading out into the marshes around the peninsula and collecting data on trash, invasive species (specifically a tall grass called Phragmites) and erosion. Yesterday we had arrived back at the Schoodic Institute, our home for the weekend, to begin analyzing our data, and later today we would be presenting our project to the public, all under the guidance of the head of the University of Maine Ecology and Environmental Sciences Department, Katharine Ruskin.

The first Rusty Blackbird I’d seen in six years, also on the Cornfield Loop, was a key ingredient to hitting my Big Year goal.

The fact that I’d been doing science all weekend wasn’t the only great thing about this class. The food was great— welcome relief from dining hall food—and the people were amazing. It was the first time I had been surrounded by like-minded people in a long time, people who cared deeply about conservation and the environment. No one knew each other whatsoever on the Friday that we left, but by Sunday night I felt like I had made some really great friends. I talked to everyone I possibly could during the brief breaks we had to be social, including on Saturday night, when we all grouped together to do icebreakers for a few hours, and Sunday morning, when we all walked out to see the sunrise at Schoodic Point. It truly was an incredible experience.

I was especially proud to pick out this juvenile Iceland Gull from a flock of Herring Gulls at the UMaine campus this fall.

Now, as I stood on the rocky cliffs above the Atlantic (half an hour after everyone else had gone back to eat breakfast), I spotted a tiny gull fly by—one with a yellow bill and tiny black wingtips. 

“Kittiwake!” I yelled, to no one in particular.

Black-legged Kittiwake was not a bird I had been expecting to see on this trip, or this year for that matter, and had the distinction of being my 498th bird species for the year. 

After my dad’s and my amazing shorebirding and ptarmigan experience in August, I had arrived back on the University of Maine’s campus with low expectations—500 birds for the year was within reach, but unlikely since I had only 484 species and didn’t know where 16 more could possibly come from. I took advantage of my campus’s great location during the month of September, however, circling the campus’s Cornfield Loop as often as possible to look for warblers as they migrated south from their breeding grounds in the boreal forest. During that month, I added six species of warblers to my year list: Blackburnian, Bay-breasted, Canada, Cape May, Blackpoll and Tennessee. I also saw the first Rusty Blackbirds and Scarlet Tanagers that I’d seen in six years. Suddenly, my year list passed 490. A trip to St. John, New Brunswick with my girlfriend added White-rumped Sandpiper to my ABA list, and in late October, my friend Wesley Hutchens volunteered to drive me to Lake Sebasticook to see two long-staying Hudsonian Godwits, which I got to watch through fellow Montana birder Ed Harper’s spotting scope. And then, on November 6th, I saw those Black-legged Kittiwakes, cruising by Schoodic Point, and was suddenly two birds away from 500 with two months left.

During a long weekend in New Brunswick, Canada, I encountered the largest flock of White-rumped Sandpipers I’d ever seen.

I was not to be deceived by that seemingly long amount of time remaining, however. There just weren’t that many possibilities left, and the birds were leaving. American Golden-Plovers were making brief appearances around the state, but my chances of finding one were slim. Rare wintering birds like Glaucous Gulls and King Eiders also were things I needed on my year list, but again, there was no easy way to find them. Besides, my class load had picked up significantly, and the time I had allotted for birding diminished with every day.

Thanks to Ed Harper and his spotting scope, I picked up my Lifer Hudsonian Godwits in late October at Sebasticook Lake, about an hour away from Orono.

And yet, in mid-November, a local birder reported a Snow Goose from a farmer’s field in Bangor, Maine. The next day, people went to see it, and apparently the identification had changed to Ross’s Goose. Wesley Hutchens went that morning, and reported back to me as I was getting out of my Honors Lecture: it wasn’t a Snow Goose or a Ross’s Goose. It was both. And I needed both for the year, which was ironic given that had I been in Montana, I likely would have picked them up months earlier. I couldn’t resist, but I also couldn’t get there. I didn’t have a car.

Wes solved that problem. “Dude, you’re going to get these geese. I might be late to class, but we gotta get you these geese.”

Needless to say, Wesley Hutchens had been responsible for a large chunk of the birds I’d seen this fall, and I’m very grateful to him for that. We drove the fifteen minutes from campus, pulling over near an abandoned church across the road from a large field, and there they were. Two differently-sized white geese, standing right next to each other. It was almost too easy. And yet, maybe it was a reward for all of the time I’d put into getting the other 498 birds I’d seen in 2022. I’d seen a lot of birds in 2022.

Who would have thought my 499th (Ross’s Goose) and 500th (Snow Goose) birds of the year would be standing right next to each other—and only a few miles down the road?

Before leaving Montana in January, my dad and I had racked up nearly 70 species just birding around Montana, including uncommon winter species like Great Gray and Short-eared owls, Lapland Longspur, Pine Grosbeak and Canada Jay. February had been a rough month for birding, but March brought the trip from New Orleans to Key West with Nick Ramsey, giving me lifers in the form of Prairie Warblers singing from mangroves and Swallow-tailed Kites circling over the Pineywoods. That trip got me over 200 for the year. April was when a few migrants showed back up in Maine, followed by a stellar few days of May birding in New York City with my dad. I arrived back home to Missoula later that month, just in time for the migrants to hit Western Montana, which allowed me to see 100 species in a day just birding around my hometown.

Tennessee Warbler, Cornfield Loop
Cape May Warbler, Cornfield Loop

Then, it was off to Southeastern Arizona, a region that was already wilting under ninety-degree temperatures during the middle of the day. Thoughts of Spotted Owls and Scott’s Orioles accompanied us as we crossed the border into southern California, then up the coast, across the Central Valley into the Sierras, where the town of Twain Harte became my home base for three months. It was there that I’d met Sam Darmstadt, Miles Carlile and Ivara Goulden, amazing people with whom I shared amazing experiences throughout the summer. We camped in the hottest desert in the world, we climbed one of California’s tallest peaks, we set off into the formidable Pacific Ocean in search of lifers. If you want to know what wildlife we saw during these adventures, well, there are posts about each and every one of them!

Despite all of the great adventures I’ve had this year, I never tire of being home and enjoying Montana’s birds, including the Bohemian Waxwings flying around our neighborhood.

And now, flash-forward to now, December 26th, 2022. I’m back home in Missoula for a few more weeks, then I head back to Maine to kick-off another year. My goals? I don’t have any numbers in mind, but I would like to see a Northern Pygmy-Owl while I’m still out west. Learning the Eastern wood-warblers by song would also be awesome, should I get a summer job in New England somewhere. 

But what about the birds of 2022? What were my dad and I’s top ten, or top twenty? You’ll just have to stay tuned!

The Best Prairie Day Ever: Benton Lake NWR

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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 Longspur
Grasshopper 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.  

My Benton Lake eBird list Oh, and my species count for the trip totaled 110!

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?

Our Accidental Big Year: Final Tally, Part 2

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Happy New Year Everyone! Thanks for reading, and may the birds be with all of us in 2022!

After zooming past my former Big Year record, as highlighted in our last post, Braden and I woke the next morning with the promise of a mostly rainless day—and therefore a chance to bird some exciting new places we’d never birded before. Armed with recommendations Braden had gleaned from Oregon native Miles Scheuering (see “When Montana Birders Collide”), we first hit a place just north of Cannon Beach called Seaside Cove, hoping to see Braden’s Number One Target Bird for the entire trip: Rock Sandpiper.

I didn’t know much about Rock Sandpipers except that they breed in far north Alaska and the Aleutians, with a similar coastal distribution in eastern Asia. They can be found in small numbers along the West Coast to Northern California on rocky shores, and are basically the West Coast equivalent of Purple Sandpiper. Unfortunately, they are decidedly uncommon, and when we pulled up to Seaside Cove we saw nothing but a few surfers braving the roaring, messy waves. We walked along the beach anyway, though, and began scanning the rocks, and soon movement caught our eyes: a couple of dozen Surfbirds scattered along the shore, together with a Black Turnstone here and there. As we were walking back toward the car, though, Braden suddenly shouted, “I’ve got him!” Sure enough, next to a Black Turnstone, a bird that looked a lot like a Surfbird—but with a longer, curved bill similar to that of a Dunlin—picked barnacles off the rocks!

This Rock Sandpiper proved to be the “Bird of the Trip” for Braden and me—and just happened to be my 500th All-time ABA Life Bird, a milestone Braden passed earlier in the year. Note the larger, darker—and equally handsome—Black Turnstone behind the sandpiper. Watch the video here!

Thrilled, we watched the ROSA for a good fifteen minutes, just enjoying this rare bird that we were unlikely to see again anytime soon. After finding this Lifer for both of us, we climbed back into the trusty minivan feeling like the rest of the day would be gravy. And what gravy it turned out to be!

NOTE: To watch a live-action video of our Rock Sandpiper discovery, check out our YouTube video here: https://youtu.be/oFaNC3aR8CQ

After a couple of stops at Necanicum River Estuary to look at distant Dunlins and Sanderlings, and less distant Surf Scoters, we drove Del Rey Beach in an unsuccessful bid for endangered Snowy Plovers, though we may have run over six or ten while speeding along the sand. Oh well.

Though our beach drive in search of Snowy Plovers proved a bust—our only miss of the day—nearby Necanicum River Estuary gave us the trip’s closest look at Surf Scoters.

Then, we moved on to Sunset Beach Recreation Area. Starting down the trail, I didn’t expect much, but soon, WHOA! Songbirds started popping up everywhere: Fox Sparrows (hard to observe in Montana), Yellow-rumped Warblers, Spotted Towhees, Black-capped and Chestnut-backed Chickadees—even a Bewick’s Wren made an appearance. Two species were stars of the show: at least ten spectacularly-plumed Varied Thrushes that flew and perched around us, and a pair of Wrentits, birds that had been high on my target list, but seemed like an uncertain possibility. Both species are some of our favorite birds, and this was by far our best, most intimate look at the thrushes, and one of the best of the Wrentits, which were noticeably darker than those we’d observed in California. Incredibly, our day was far from finished!

  • Varied Thrushes are not only some of our favorite ABA birds, they are without a doubt some of the most stunning visually!
  • We also love Wrentits–and noticed that those in Oregon are significantly darker than the ones we’d seen in California.

As the morning zoomed on, we continued to pick up species, grabbing Braden’s FOY (First Of Year) Cackling Geese, and breaking another of his trip goals, exceeding 100 species on his Oregon Life List. BOO-YA! Minutes later, at another spot Miles had recommended, Wireless Rd. near Astoria, we found more than 60 Short-billed (formerly Mew) Gulls in a cow pasture, along with yet ANOTHER ABA LIFER, Lesser Black-backed Gull. Then, looking the other direction, Braden watched a large flock of American Wigeon take off and shouted, “I think I see orange!” We spun the scope around, and sure enough, located a Eurasian Wigeon and an American-Eurasian Wigeon hybrid.

Not until we posted this uncommon West Coast visitor, a Lesser Black-backed Gull, did Braden and I realize that we had also seen them in Israel right before the pandemic. Note the dainty Short-billed Gulls (formerly Mew Gulls) and, perhaps, a large juvenile Western Gull surrounding it in this cow pasture.

The rest of our trip, we added County, State, and Year Birds, reaching almost every goal that we had set for ourselves. For Braden that included seeing the Rock Sandpiper, breaking 100 in Oregon, and yes, ALSO breaking his Big Year Record, coming in at 335 species! For myself, I shattered every expectation, reaching 352 Accidental Big Year Birds, nudging Oregon past Idaho into the fifth spot of states with my highest totals, and scoring two unlikely Lifers, Black-legged Kittiwake and Rock Sandpiper. In fact, Rock Sandpiper, proved special for another reason. It became my 500th ABA Life Bird, a milestone long in the making.

Of course, you all know the best part of the whole deal: getting to bird with Braden again after a three-month absence. As 2022 kicks in, we look forward to a lot more birding together and apart, and wish you all wonderful, satisfying birding in the company of those you love. Sneed and Braden

Our Accidental Big Year: Final Tally, Part 1

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Request: with the year’s end at hand, please support the groups that depend on your help to protect our precious avian wildlife. If you need ideas, here are the groups we have given to so far this year: Houston Audubon, Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Montana Audubon, Five Valleys Audubon (our local group), National Audubon, BirdLife International (Braden’s favorite group), the American Birding Association, the Union of Concerned Scientists, the Center for Biological Diversity, Conservation International, the Montana Natural History Center and the Rainforest Alliance. Please share this list, and let us know if you have questions about any of them. If you want to donate to several of them at once, you can simplify the process by giving via Charity Navigator. You can also learn more about the groups there.

Dear Gentle Birders, Braden and I would like to wish you a Very Birdy 2022, with hopes that in the coming year you enjoy birding and helping birds more than ever. To wrap up the year, we have some very (choose one) a) exciting b) surprising c) alarming birding tales to share with you. Many of you read our post My Accidental Big Year, which highlighted how, quite by accident, I (Sneed) was closing in on my all-time Big Year record of 336 species. Thanks to unanticipated trips to New England, Texas, Washington—even Utah—I found myself creeping tantalizingly close to breaking the record thanks, in great part, to many of you helping me track down birds that I needed! Alas, with six species to go, my momentum ground to a halt in Montana as I unsuccessfully searched for Surf Scoter, Rusty Blackbird, and other rarities that might nudge me closer. Fortunately, I had one more “accidental” ace up my sleeve: our family Christmas trip to Oregon.

This rather blasé Western Gull on the roof of “Mo’s Chowdah” kicked off our final pushes to break both of our Big Year records!

After wrapping up his semester at UMaine, Braden flew home to Missoula early on December 16th, and the next day—thanks to Andy Boyce—we got him his 300th Montana Lifer: Anna’s Hummingbird! I mean, WOW! A couple days later, we headed West on I-90, encountering harrowing conditions that included snow, ice, rain, and a jack-knifed truck on the ascent to Idaho. Even worse, it looked like we would be hitting solid rain and snow in Oregon—potentially kyboshing my aspirations not only to reach 337 species, but push beyond it to 350, something I optimistically thought might be possible if I hit every Oregon target in the vicinity. We arrived at Cannon Beach at about noon on Monday and, since it was raining, and too early to check into our AirBnB, decided to stop at Mo’s for clam chowdah and then tool on down to Tillamook to gorge on cheese curds.

As we pulled into the Mo’s parking lot, Braden pointed to the roof and said, “Well, there’s the first of your six birds!” I laughed, spotting a Western Gull sitting in the rain. Half hour later, as we masticated mediocre chowdah, a Surf Scoter flew by the window. 2 down. 4 to go! Still, as we continued driving down the coast, I wondered if we’d see any other Year Birds in this weather. At Nehalem Bay, however, we pulled over to scout a flotilla of 50 Surf Scoters, and spotted a Red-breasted Merganser for Year Bird number 334. Then, before Tillamook, Braden instructed me to pull over at a place called Barview Jetty where we might find a number of birds high on my needs list. I should have known we were in for a treat when even before the car stopped, Braden exclaimed, “There’s a pair of Harlequin Ducks!” I eagerly jumped out to see my favorite ducks, ducks I had missed in Montana this past summer.

After missing breeding Harlequin Ducks in Montana last summer, I was thrilled to see a pair wintering on the Oregon coast—the only pair we would see during two intensive days of birding!

Within moments, though, other birds sent my head spinning. Five Black Oystercatchers were sitting out on the jetty. Then, through our new Vortex scope, we ID’ed my RECORD BREAKER: Brandt’s Cormorant! The thing? I hardly had time to appreciate it because, driving to another part of the jetty, we saw even MORE great birds. In the parking lot, we got Glaucous-winged Gull, and only a few yards from the car, Black Turnstones. Walking out onto the jetty, we saw Pelagic Cormorants, Dunlins and more turnstones—only to realize that they were another of our favorite birds, Surfbirds!

Braden and I ‘oohed’ and ‘ahed’ over these adorable Barview Jetty Surfbirds, birds that have long placed high on our Favorite Birds list. I especially love the rain bouncing off of their feathers in this photo!

As if that wasn’t enough, as we were walking back to the car, a group of gulls lifted off nearby and Braden studied them for possible Glaucous-winged Gulls. As he did so, I saw a bird that looked a lot like a winter Bonaparte’s Gull. “Oh, there! There! There!” I shouted, not sure what I was seeing. Braden, quickly spotted the bird and said, “Oh my god! That’s a Black Kittiwake!” Neither of us could believe it. It was a bird I never even imagined I’d see on this trip, and it pushed my Accidental Big Year total to a shocking 343 birds, smashing my previous record.

Braden had fallen in love with Black-legged Kittiwakes in Svalbard (Norway) and Iceland, but I never dreamed I’d see my first one right here in the U.S. of A.!

Would I tick off even more birds? Could I tempt that almost magical total of 350? Was it possible Braden would break his own Big Year record??? I’d tell you, but I am craving a chocolate chip cookie. Come back next time to find out!

Our Barview Jetty eBird list: https://ebird.org/checklist/S99200064

When Montana Birders Collide, Great Birds Can Happen (Report from Braden)

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There was no Snowy Owl in the field. Someone had reported the owl from the field this morning, but there was nothing white in sight aside from the post office where we’d parked—not even a plastic bag pretending to be a Snowy Owl! I turned to Miles. “I thought Snowy Owls were supposed to be easy in Maine. What do you wanna do now? There was a Gray Kingbird reported from York County, Maine, yesterday. Although that’s a three hour drive…” I suggested, sure that was out of the question.

To my surprise, Miles looked at me. “Well, we missed the owl. Might as well go big or go home!” We piled into the car and headed south!

Miles Scheuering had contacted me a few weeks ago about the fact that he would be in Maine as part of a going-on-three-month road trip he’d been on this fall. I’d run into him a few times in Missoula when he’d attended the University of Montana, but never really gotten the chance to talk to him, so I jumped at the chance of birding together! He’d picked me up at my dorm that morning, neither of us with specific birding targets in mind. Now we were driving towards southern Maine on a whim, hoping that the Caribbean bird that had randomly showed up in a coastal neighborhood would still be there when we arrived. Along the drive, we began filling in our lists for the counties we passed through as I learned about how Miles’s road trip had gone. He’d struck out from Portland, Oregon in September, driving through Colorado up to Montana, and then straight down to the Salton Sea in southern California. He then had shot east through the Lower Rio Grande Valley in Texas, around the Gulf of Mexico, and up through New England until arriving in Orono to pick me up. 

Having fellow Montana birder Miles Scheuering show up in Maine was a welcome surprise—and led to some BIG BIRDING! Thank you Miles!

And now he found himself again driving south with me in tow to chase what appeared to be only Maine’s fourth ever eBird record of a Gray Kingbird, a Caribbean bird that shouldn’t have been within 1500 miles of Maine but had an unusual habit of straying north in late fall. Ironically, I had been in Florida a few weeks ago for Thanksgiving but had not even dreamed of seeing this bird then.

Driving south, we passed small, coastal towns including Biddeford and Kennebunk that had become familiar to me during the last few months, especially because I’d made friends who lived there. A few miles south of Biddeford, we hung a left, and the Atlantic Ocean soon came into view. So, too, did a large number of cars and people wearing binoculars and cameras walking along a single road bordered by a rocky breakwater. We parked, then headed toward the commotion. Almost immediately, someone pointed a small bird out to us several dozen meters away. It was actively flycatching and landing on the rocks, stopping periodically to admire the large crowd that had gathered to watch it. The flycatcher was slate gray, with a dark, raccoon-like mask and a hefty, Eastern Kingbird-esque bill. It was definitely a Gray Kingbird!

Maine is the last place I expected to nab my lifer Gray Kingbird—a bird that shouldn’t have been within 1,500 miles of Maine!

As Miles and I watched the flycatcher sally back and forth across the breakwater, a lady approached us.

“Hey, I know that it’s not the star of the show, but there’s a Snowy Owl on that roof over there.”

I looked up, and sure enough, spotted a large white ball perched on a chimney several hundred meters behind the Gray Kingbird. “No way! I wonder if anyone has ever had Gray Kingbird and Snowy Owl on the same list before today?” I said to Miles as he began scoping the ocean for sea ducks.

It wasn’t the Snowy Owl we’d set out to find, but we’d take it!

“I doubt it…got some Black Scoters though!”

Soon enough we’d picked up all three scoter species (my second time doing that in a day in Maine and my first time doing it in one spot) and Long-tailed Duck. After snapping photos of both the kingbird and the owl, which were both incredibly cooperative, and scanning a large gull flock for anything interesting, we headed out. We probably should have turned around to begin the long drive north again, but instead we continued south to investigate a report of a Black-headed Gull in the town of York, half an hour away. We pulled up at a large sandy beach—a rare sight in Maine—and immediately picked out several flocks of gulls standing beside the rolling tide. Sure enough, I soon observed a dainty gull with bright red legs, a red bill and a dusky ear spot hiding among the larger Ring-billed and Herring Gulls. Black-headed Gull was a lifer for Miles and an ABA lifer for me, and we watched it loiter on the beach as its American counterpart, a Bonaparte’s Gull, dove into the surf behind it.

Can you find the Black-headed Gull here?

Hungry for more, we drove to a nearby lighthouse to check for Purple Sandpipers and Harlequin Ducks. No sandpipers showed themselves but Miles quickly found two groups of mostly male Harlequins hugging the rocky coastline. It was really cool to see these in their wintering habitat as compared to the fast-flowing streams I’d usually seen them in in Glacier National Park.

Not the best photo, but this was the first time I’d ever seen Harlequin Ducks outside of Montana!

We decided to head back towards Orono, briefly stopping to look for a Clay-colored Sparrow in a cemetery in Portland to no avail. Miles dropped me back at UMaine at around 5 pm, and we made sure to exchange information about birding Maine and Oregon. In fact, Miles will be back in Oregon when my family heads over there for Christmas, so you may see his name pop up on another blog in the near future! It had been an epic, rarity-filled day, and I went to bed dreaming of owls on rooftops and flycatchers by the sea.