Category Archives: Hawaii

Birding Ohau: A Hawai’i Report from Roger Kohn

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Following Memorial Day, it is fitting that FSB presents a wonderful guest birding post about Hawai’i by Roger Kohn. For many Americans, World War II began in Hawai’i and left few families untouched by the experience. Roger’s dad served in the Navy during the war, and both of my grandfathers (Braden’s great-grandfathers) served in the Pacific. Meanwhile at home, my grandmother and great aunt worked in the huge Pratt & Whitney aircraft engine plant in Kansas City. As we honor all who served, I can’t help wonder how astonished our veterans would be to see peacetime Hawai’i today—a peace won by their commitment, intelligence, and sacrifice.

“I’m just going out there to hang out with my brothers, sip a few local beers, and eat good seafood”, I told Sneed in a February phone call. “Of course I’ll bird some, but it’s not really a birding trip.” I had made plans for what I called The Brother Summit. My California brother and I would go to Honolulu in April and visit our other brother, a Hawai’i resident. “Every trip is a birding trip,” Sneed quipped. I immediately knew he was right.

Our Special Hawai’i Correspondent, Roger Kohn, celebrates a big birding score at a viewpoint on the descent from the Koʻolau mountains.

Although I wanted to see as many birds as possible, I faced some built-in barriers. My brothers are not birders and I would not have a car, so I would have to find creative ways to get to some good birding hotspots. One way was to book a tour with a bird guide. I knew this was my only chance to see two Oahu endemic species (found nowhere else in the world, including other Hawaiian Islands): the Oahu Amakihi and the Oahu Elepaio.

On the first morning of the trip, my guide and I ascended the Koʻolau mountains that tower above Honolulu. Our first stop? A roadside spot for seeing the Oahu Amakihi, a bright yellow honeycreeper and our first Oahu endemic target. As we searched for the Amakihi, we picked up two dove species (Spotted and Zebra, both very common), Red-vented Bulbuls, the omnipresent Red-crested Cardinals and Rose-ringed Parakeets (an invasive species considered a pest in Hawaii due to its impacts on agriculture, but I must confess, fun to see). I also saw my first Warbling White-eye of the trip, a Lifer for me. (For some fun perspective on this and other widely-introduced species, also Sneed’s Japan posts such as “Birding Japan: Tokyo, Part I” and Braden’s and Sneed’s post, “Layover Birding in Amsterdam.”)

I saw this Warbling White-eye near the pool at my brother’s condo tower.

After a while, the guide spotted our target bird feeding in a ginger plant at the edge of the road, and we enjoyed good looks. The Oahu Amikihi is a beautiful bird, and the first honeycreeper species I’ve ever seen. The species is designated “near threatened” in eBird, so I felt very fortunate to see it. With this success under our belts, we headed down from the mountains, pausing at a viewpoint to take in epic views of Honolulu, with its skyscrapers and Diamond Head (the volcanic feature that looms over the city), backed by the deep blue waters of the Pacific.

I loved seeing an Oahu Amakihi, a honeycreeper found on Oahu and nowhere else.

Our second stop was a forest trail with the goal of locating the Oahu Elepaio. This proved difficult, and at one point we had been trying for at least an hour and half without success. Finally, as we made our way back to the trailhead, the guide spotted two or three individuals in bushes near the trail! We did not have good looks at the birds, which moved rapidly and offered us only brief, very filtered views as they flitted among the bushes. This flycatcher species is not much to look at, brown on top and white-ish underneath. But this Oahu endemic is listed as “vulnerable” in eBird, and once again I was grateful for the chance to see a rare Hawai’ian species.

A gorgeous Red-billed Leiothrix allowed me a few good looks in the Makiki Forest Recreation Area. Even though introduced species such as this have had direct and indirect impacts on native Hawai’ian animals and ecosystems, they do offer an unusual opportunity to observe and learn birds from other parts of the world.

The next day, I got my first good looks at a Pacific Golden Plover on somebody’s front lawn. In breeding plumage, this plover species is quite striking, with a black belly and face, a thick, clean white stripe down the side of the neck, and brown, white, and shiny gold patches on the back. I would subsequently see this species all over town in any available stretch of green space, from small lawns to big city parks. Their migration to Alaska loomed, so my April visit proved ideal.

Resplendent Pacific Golden Plovers were a common sight in any available green space in Honolulu as they prepared to migrate to Alaska.

Fast-forward a couple of days, and I was thrilled to get a chance to score some seabird Lifers. I had a big gap in my life list, with no shearwater, tropicbird, noddy, or booby species. However, during my pre-trip study, I came across a hotspot where many of these species could potentially be seen: the Japanese Fishing Shrine, on the southeastern coast of Oahu. This hotspot is literally just a shrine on a hunk of lava rock that juts out into the sea. There is nowhere to walk, so whatever birds I would see would have to come to me. One species that I particularly wanted to find was the Red-tailed Tropicbird, an elegant white seabird with a red bill and long red tail streamers. Not long after I arrived, I got my target, as four or five Red-tailed Tropicbirds traced large circles in the sky. At first, they were pretty far away, but as time went on their flight paths kept coming closer and closer to me and I was able to see them up close and capture great photos. A Lifer, and a spectacular one at that! In between tropicbird sightings, I scanned for other species and managed to pick up a pair of Sooty Terns, another Lifer, flying low over the ocean in the distance. Rendezvousing with my brothers, we headed to Kona Brewing, where they helped me celebrate my seabird treasure with a couple of rounds of delicious seasonal beers at the bar, with sea breezes whooshing around us in a pretty marina setting.

An elegant Red-tailed Tropicbird patrols the southeastern coast of Oahu.

One area that piqued my interest was the wetlands near Kailua, on the southeastern coast. After a pretty, 25-minute drive on the Pali highway and a superb lunch of a grilled mahi mahi sandwich and guilt-free fries (highly recommended!), my brothers dropped me off at Kaha Park. This is the starting point for exploring the Kawainui Marsh Wildlife Sanctuary, a delightful spot graced with abundant water and velvety green mountain views. Right away, I was rewarded with up-close views of Common Gallinules, including a super cute youngster that would melt the heart of even the most jaded observer.

A Common Gallinule chick at the Kawainui Marsh Wildlife Sanctuary. Whoose da cutest bird in the marsh?!

As I continued walking, I got good looks at both bulbul species (Red-whiskered and Red-vented), Common Waxbills, and Northern Cardinals. In the grasses, I saw another Lifer: a Scaly-breasted Munia, a songbird with rich chestnut hues above and an attractive and well-defined scaly pattern on the belly. Another introduced species (native to India and southeast Asia), this was another Lifer for me.

A handsome Scaly-breasted Munia in the grasses on my wetlands exploration.

As I returned to the trailhead, someone pointed out a Black-crowned Night Heron, which I had missed as it stood as still as a statue in the water a mere 50 feet away from me. While I waited to be picked up, I scored yet another Lifer, Java Sparrows (which are actually finches, so I wonder what genius named them Sparrows?), which were foraging in a grassy field nearby. In an hour and a half, I had picked up three Lifers, which I celebrated with my brothers at Lanikai Brewing. The parking lot for the brewery faces a pretty stretch of Hamakua Marsh, where I was delighted to pick up another Lifer, Hawaiian Coot, and see Black-necked Stilts for the only time on the trip. Bonus brewery birding, woohoo!

Finding Black-necked Stilts in Hamakua Marsh right behind Lanikai Brewing was a serendipitous event.

Another trip highlight was finding a small flock of Yellow-fronted Canaries, a boldly patterned bright yellow finch native to Africa, in a waterfront park. I had assumed I’d have to head up into the mountains or to some specific hotspot to find this species. Yet here they were, busily calling and feeding in a park amidst the hubbub of Waikiki. I also got brief but spectacular views of a Red-billed Leiothrix in all its multicolored glory, which I had barely seen on the guided tour, in the Makiki Forest Recreation Area. Bird of the Trip honors is a tough call, but I’d say it’s a toss-up between this species and the Red-tailed Tropicbird.

A Yellow-fronted Canary poses for me at Fort Derussy park in Waikiki.

As of mid-May, according to eBird, 108 species have been reported in Honolulu County (encompassing the entire island of Oahu) so far this year. In a nine-day trip in which birding was only one of several priorities, I managed to see 31 species. Seventeen of those were Lifers, which far exceeded my expectations. With determination and a little help from my brothers, I had an excellent birding trip to Honolulu. Indeed, in the words of a wise blogger I know, every trip is a birding trip.

Our Bend, Oregon-based correspondent, Roger Kohn traces his birding obsession to a November 2016 Sneed visit to the Bay Area and considers Sneed his birding mentor. Though grateful for that, he sure wishes Sneed would increase his consumption and appreciation of craft beer. (Editor’s Note: I’m not sure what Roger is complaining about. I have been known to drink up to two beers a month!)

For more on birding Hawai’i, see Braden’s post “Hawai’i: The International Jungle.”

All photos copyright Roger Kohn.

Getting Serious About State Birds

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The following is a written version of a presentation Braden gave to the UMaine Birding Club at last Thursday’s meeting. Warning: Do Not Read unless you have a sense of humor!

In the 1920s, the General Federation of Women’s Clubs decided that every state should have a bird to represent it, a bird of its very own. A diverse array of groups, including women’s clubs, schoolchildren, and state legislatures voted on the state birds, eventually giving each state a bird (well, almost every state, and we’ll get to that). But put quite simply, most of the state bird selections are bad, and I’m not the only birder who believes this. Almost anyone with knowledge of North America’s avifauna agrees that the people who selected the state birds of the United States of America did a woefully horrible job. Let’s go over why that is.

In order to call a state bird “bad,” you must first determine what makes a state bird “good.” I designed the following set of criteria expressly for this purpose:

  1. Each state must have a state bird.
  2. The state bird must be a real bird.
  3. The state bird must be wild.
  4. The state bird must be unique to, native to, and representative of that state.
  5. The state bird name must not be offensive or insulting to the vast majority of American citizens.

These criteria should be easy to fulfill, but after analyzing each and every state bird, I determined that a mere thirteen of the state birds qualify as “good.” Willow Ptarmigan, for example, is the state bird of Alaska. Willow Ptarmigans are real, wild birds found across the entire state. Furthermore, they represent their state in a way no other state birds could. To wit, much of Alaska in summer is brown—and so is the Willow Ptarmigan. In winter, Alaska is white—and so is Willow Ptarmigan. Finally, their name doesn’t offend anyone. This, then, is a great example of what a state bird can and should be.

The Scissor-tailed Flycatcher is a stunning example of a great state bird. Good job Oklahoma—though how Texas overlooked it is beyond us.

Twelve other states met my criteria, due to their well-thought-out, unique selections. These include Georgia, with the Brown Thrasher, a widespread backyard bird with a great singing voice, and Oklahoma, with the Scissor-tailed Flycatcher, a bird that only breeds in a limited part of the country that includes Oklahoma. It also sports striking colors and an impressive caboose. The other states with good state birds are: Arizona (Cactus Wren); Colorado (Lark Bunting); Hawaii (Nene); Louisiana (Brown Pelican, my dad’s favorite bird); Maryland (Baltimore Oriole); Minnesota (Common Loon); New Hampshire (Purple Finch); New Mexico (Greater Roadrunner); South Carolina (Carolina Wren); and finally, Vermont, with Hermit Thrush as its avian emblem.

New Mexico’s Greater Roadrunner offers yet another excellent state bird example—though we saw this one behind a gas station in Tucson, Arizona.

The bad news? THIRTY-SEVEN states fail the “good bird” criteria, which, honestly, is ridiculous. Let’s take a closer look at how various states have failed in their selections, one criterion at a time.

CRITERION #1: EACH BIRD MUST HAVE A STATE BIRD.

Now, you’d think this one would be easy, right? The General Federation of Women’s Clubs said that each state should have a bird to represent it, and so all fifty of the states should have followed suit, right? Wrong. Pennsylvania, of all places, failed this most simple of tests. I had a job in Pennsylvania last summer, and loved it. I got to know the state’s avifauna well, with its dozens of breeding warblers and melodic Wood Thrushes and goofy Scarlet Tanagers. Golden-winged Warblers have leapt to the top of my all-time favorite birds list because of what I experienced—so you can imagine my utter disappointment upon finding out that the Keystone State completely lacks a “Keystone bird.”

Now, Pennsylvania does have a state game bird. Is this the same? No. No, it is not. South Carolina’s state game bird is the Northern Bobwhite. That is different from its state bird, the Carolina Wren. Georgia’s state game bird is the Wild Turkey, while its state bird is the Brown Thrasher. State birds should represent the cultural and ecological aspects of the regions they are chosen for. State game birds, on the other hand, are birds that people most like to shoot at. So no, I don’t care how adorable a Ruffed Grouse’s neck feathers look during the breeding season. It is the state game bird of Pennsylvania, but it is not the state bird. Sigh.

As much as we love Ruffed Grouse, we’re sorry Pennsylvania: it does not count for your state bird!

CRITERION #2: THE STATE BIRD MUST BE A REAL BIRD.

This is what I got the most flack about during my birding club presentation, and it was mainly due to the two club members from New Jersey. Go figure. So let’s talk about goldfinches. There are three goldfinches native to North America. One is the American Goldfinch, one of the continent’s most widespread species. Another is the Lesser Goldfinch, found in the arid southwest (and now, likely thanks to climate change, parts of Montana). The third breeds only in California and winters in the desert—the Lawrence’s Goldfinch. American, Lesser, Lawrence’s. Three goldfinches. Just three.

So why is New Jersey’s state bird the EASTERN Goldfinch? That’s not a thing! It does not exist! You might say, “Well, Braden, I’m from New Jersey and think I’m pretty cool and would like to inform you that Eastern Goldfinch is actually the subspecies of American Goldfinch found in New Jersey.” My response: “Well Mr. and/or Mrs. New Jersey, I didn’t think I had to clarify that a state bird must be a full species!” Your state bird cannot be an obscure subspecies, and beyond that, the people who picked the Eastern Goldfinch didn’t even know what subspecies are. They likely chose it because back then, American Goldfinches were known as Eastern Goldfinches in New Jersey. Well, guess what? It’s 2023 now, not 1923, so wake up and change your state bird’s name. Oh, and by the way, Iowa did the same thing! Thankfully, no western states would make this kind of ridiculous mis—

Oh, wait a minute. I forgot about Washington. Its state bird is the WILLOW Goldfinch! Did I stutter when I said there were three goldfinches in the U.S.? Eastern is not among them, and Willow most certainly is not! All this being said, these errors are mostly due to changes in bird names over the last century and states not updating those bird names. I was joking about what I said above, concerning Mr. and Mrs. New Jersey. Mostly. Let’s move on.

Hello, New Jersey? These are Lawrence’s Goldfinches—actual, real birds. So-called “Eastern Goldfinches” are not!

CRITERION #3: THE STATE BIRD MUST BE WILD.

Domesticated animals do not represent the unique land that each state contains. We brought them here for our own reasons, and they exist here simply to serve us. Wild birds are not like that. And so what was Rhode Island thinking when it selected a breed of chicken, the Rhode Island Red? Granted, Rhode Island doesn’t have much land to work with, but the state still has recorded more than 300 species of native, wild birds. Were all of the state legislators hungry the day they picked a chicken? Was Colonel Sanders sitting amongst these legislators, throwing feathers at them and offering to fund their next campaigns for office? Whatever the reason, Rhode Island somehow did a better job than Delaware, which not only selected a chicken, but picked the Delaware Blue Hen, something that isn’t even an officially recognized breed. Still, we’re not going to honor either selection with a photo.

CRITERION #4: THE STATE BIRD MUST BE UNIQUE TO, NATIVE TO, AND REPRESENTATIVE OF THAT STATE.

Oh, boy. Here we go. Up to this point, we’ve had a few failures per criterion—a state without a state bird here, two chickens there—but things are about to ramp up.

Let’s start with a state bird that isn’t *that* bad: California’s state bird, the California Quail. It’s found across the state, it’s familiar, it’s endearing, and it even has the state’s name embedded in it. There are seven birds named for the state of California, and I have to admit that the California Quail was a better choice than most of the others: the California Thrasher, Scrub-Jay, Gnatcatcher, Towhee and Gull. The quail is the second best California bird. But one overshadows it, one of North America’s largest birds, a critically endangered species that soars between the canyons of Big Sur State Park and over the rocky red pillars of Pinnacles National Park. This bird almost went extinct, thanks to DDT among other things, and is only still with us because of the work of Rachel Carson and hundreds of other hard-working conservationists. There’s really little to debate; the California Condor should, hands down, be California’s state bird. It may not be as widespread as the quail, but with persistent conservation efforts and luck, it may be again someday.

During our Big Year, my dad and I were lucky enough to see California Condors—a slam-dunk for California’s state bird!

Leaping down from that majestic image, I present to you Utah’s state bird: the California Gull. Do you see anything wrong here? Not only did Utah select a bird named after another state, it probably picked the worst of the California-named birds. The choice involves Mormons and agriculture and hordes of grasshoppers and gulls appearing like angels in the rising sun to gobble up those grasshoppers and save the day. Still, human agricultural practices and ravenous insects are no reason to pick a state bird named after another state. Utah, you can do better. Maybe a project for Mitt Romney, now that he’s retiring?

And that brings us to the repeats. Maine and Massachusetts share Black-capped Chickadee as their state bird. Is Black-capped Chickadee a bad state bird? No. They’re one of North America’s most familiar birds and have adorable, curious personalities. In fact, they’re probably on my fairly long list of favorite birds. That said, a state bird should be unique. My solution? Give Mass the chickadee. Maine has a variety of excellent options, including boreal birds like Spruce Grouse and seabirds like Razorbill. And of course the Atlantic Puffin is plastered on every sign, billboard and advertisement in the coastal part of the state—why not make it the state bird?

Eastern Bluebird represents both New York and Missouri, creating the same problem. Again, there is nothing wrong with the bluebird as a state bird, but only one of these states should claim it. Idaho and Nevada both have Mountain Bluebird, and American Robin is the state bird of three states: Connecticut, Wisconsin and Michigan. 

Northern Mockingbird represents five states, and it gets worse, because they include two of best birding states in the country: Texas and Florida. Both states receive a phenomenal array of species within their borders, with Florida recording more than 500 species and Texas surpassing 600. Texas is home to the endangered prairie-chickens that dance in the shortgrass prairie, an endemic warbler and vireo found in the hill country, dozens of colorful Mexican species, and just about every bird that migrates into or out of North America. Florida, meanwhile, holds two birds that feed exclusively on snails, a trio of birds found only in the endangered Longleaf Pine Savanna ecosystem, and a completely endemic corvid named after the state itself: the Florida Scrub-Jay. And yet, what did they choose? The Northern Mockingbird—along with Tennessee, Mississippi and Arkansas. As a humorous aside, I found this defense from an op-ed in a Florida newspaper arguing for the mockingbird and against the scrub-jay as the state’s bird: “The mockingbird is a well-established, independent, prolific bird that doesn’t need government protection or our tax dollars to survive.” 

Don’t get us wrong, people. We LOVE Northern Mockingbirds, but don’t you know you’re not supposed to copy off of other people’s exams?

Believe it or not, Northern Mockingbird isn’t even the most commonly chosen state bird. Western Meadowlark is the state bird of six states, including Montana and Oregon, two diverse states that mean a lot to me. I’ve had a lot of fun experiencing the birdlife of these two places over the last decade (yes, my dad and I have been birding for a decade as of this January), and Western Meadowlark is an icon of the West, but again, six states do not need to have the same bird. For Montana I might suggest Black Swift, Sprague’s Pipit, or Chestnut-collared Longspur. Varied Thrush would make a stunning bird to grace Oregon’s flags and signs.

And that brings us to the Northern Cardinal, the state bird that just won’t stop. After Kentucky chose it in the early 1920s, six more states followed suit. I mean, it’s fun and red, but seriously??? With all the other great birds to choose from, the lack of creativity amongst these states is mind-boggling.

The selection of Northern Cardinal by seven, count ’em, SEVEN states proves that a) state bird committees are lazy or b) Americans have an outsized love of Santa Claus and his red outfit.

Oh, and as for the “native to” part of this criterion? South Dakota’s state bird is the Ring-necked Pheasant—a native of China, not the United States. Not even the same continent! Note to South Dakota politicians: you may not want to use this bird as part of your political platform. Which, finally, brings us to . . .

CRITERION #5: THE STATE BIRD MUST NOT BEAR A NAME OFFENSIVE TO LARGE GROUPS OF PEOPLE.

This is a no-brainer, and my dad will address it in an upcoming post.

For now, this post is longer than expected so I’ll wrap up swiftly. The state birds are bad, plain and simple. Most need to be changed. Do I think they ever will be? No. Meanwhile, if this post raised your blood pressure (and it should!), please let us know what you think your state bird should be!

Hawai’i: The International Jungle

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During Spring Break this year the Hellgate High School Band travelled to Oahu, Hawai’i for the Pacific Basin Music Festival. Almost every day my friends and I worked with music professors, performed, and enjoyed music in many different forms. The festival provided us with experiences we’d never forget. However, we did not spend every second playing—we actually had quite a bit of free time. During this time, we hiked, surfed, snorkeled and shopped around Honolulu, giving me time to take in the island and its birdlife.

White Terns lay their eggs precariously on bare branches, without nests. In Oahu, the White Terns did not discriminate between native and nonnative trees.

Only about 6 of the birds I spotted on the trip were actually native to the island chain (Brown Booby, Hawai’ian Coot, White Tern, Pacific Golden-Plover, Oahu Amakihi and Wandering Tattler), which opened my eyes to the exotics of the tropics. The city of Honolulu itself was an international jungle, full of plants and birds from all over the globe. A few native Hawai’ian birds had taken to the civilized landscape; wintering Pacific Golden-Plovers lounged on lawns, suited in their dappled patterns, and ghostly White Terns floated between skyscrapers. The majority of the birds, though, hailed from other continents. Familiar birds included Rock Pigeons and House Sparrows (Europe), and House Finches and Northern Cardinals (North America). Lawns yielded a high diversity of species, including Common Mynas, Red-vented Bulbuls, Chestnut Muñias, Zebra and Spotted Doves, and Java Sparrows (Asia) and Cattle Egrets, Common Waxbills, African Silverbills and Yellow-fronted Canaries (Africa). Red-crested Cardinals (South America), which are brilliant gray birds topped with crimson crests, sang from palm trees.

Red-crested Cardinals swarmed the streets of Honolulu. They were almost as common as pigeons!

One morning, when hiking through densely rain-forested canyons, I encountered a plethora of different species. I did manage to hear one native, the Oahu Amakihi, but the forest echoed with mostly non-natives’ songs, like in the city. White-rumped Shamas (Asia) belted out complex, froglike songs, and Red-billed Leiothrixes, Japanese White-eyes and Red-whiskered Bulbuls (Asia) lurked high in the damp canopies. Red Junglefowl (Asia), the ancestors of domesticated chickens, as well as actual domesticated chickens, ruled the streets. By the end of the trip I had reached my goal of 30 species, even if one of them was an unidentifiable white booby (I’m guessing a Red-footed) dodging the waves off of North Shore.

The White-rumped Shama is a subtly beautiful Asian songbird that now makes its home on the forest-covered slopes of Oahu’s extinct volcanoes.

We ran into large numbers of Rose-ringed Parakeets (Asia and Africa) on several occasions, and I glimpsed a pair of Red-masked Parakeets (South America) shooting past the scrubby slopes of Diamond Head volcano in southeastern Honolulu.

Rose-ringed Parakeets (or known by pet-lovers as Indian Ringnecks) aren’t just introduced to Hawaii. Parrots escaped from a damaged aviary in Bakersfield, California a while ago, and now also can be found there with a little effort.

This raised controversial questions. Most of these species definitely did not belong here, that much was true. But now, thanks to human involvement, they had established and thrived, and many of them caused no obvious harm to the native birds. So, what should we do with them? Should we eradicate them, killing innocent birds because of a crime humanity committed? Or should we allow them to stay, letting these foreign species form their own niches in Hawai’i and other places?

In the case of many of the birds, it is too late. For better or for worse, they will be here forever, and I think that if they are not harming indigenous birds, we should let them be, and let nature decide what to do with them. Introduced predators such as cats, rats, and mongooses, however, are another matter and take a terrible toll on all of the islands’ birdlife. More resources should definitely be allocated to eliminating these destructive invasive pests.