Category Archives: Humor

Seeing Red—Phalarope, That Is

Conservation Update: Not long ago, I wrote about an amazing opportunity to protect a key piece of habitat on the famed Bolivar Peninsula in Texas. This property is a critical resting point and staging area for birds migrating across the Gulf of Mexico, and Houston Audubon is leading the effort to raise $3 million to purchase the property. To learn more, please read our recent blog post, and if you have not already done so, consider contributing to this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to protect birds by clicking here. So far, more than four hundred donors have chipped in, but many more are needed! Thank you and please spread the word!

For birders, fall migration is a season like no other. That’s because birds fail to look at the range maps of where they are supposed to be and show up in all kinds of unusual and surprising places! You may recall that recently, I have been moving perilously close to breaking my all-time one-year global species record of 527, but instead of frantically trying chase down species (and burning up a lot of gas in the process), I have decided to see how many species just come to me during the fall. Last week, I picked up a Clark’s Grebe in the local Missoula Gravel Quarry, moving me to within seven species of a new record. That really wasn’t too surprising since a few pairs of Clark’s do breed in Western Montana, and it made sense that one might end up passing through my home town. A couple of days ago, however, when I saw a report of a Red Phalarope, my mind shouted “Whoa!”

**A Clark’s Grebe at the Fort Missoula Gravel Quarry helped push my 2025 world species count to 521. (A different CLGR shown here.)**

Braden and I have mentioned phalaropes in several past blogs (see, for instance, THIS POST), and they are fascinating birds. Phalaropes are shorebirds in the family Scolopacidae and in the entire world, there are only three species: the Wilson’s, Red-necked, and Red (called the Gray Phalarope in Europe). Montana is fortunate to host Wilson’s Phalaropes each spring and summer, as they are the only phalarope to breed in the interior of the continent. The first time we encountered these beauties was in 2015 at Lee Metcalf National Wildlife Refuge. I had barely heard of phalaropes when we drove past the main pond at Metcalf and Braden—who was and still is better prepared than I—shouted Wilson’s Phalaropes! Since then, I have become increasingly enchanted by these birds and, according to eBird, have seen them 123 times.

**Wilson’s Phalaropes gather in large numbers at some Montana breeding locations—including this flock Braden and I observed near Westby.**

Several things make phalaropes stand out from other birds. For one thing, they flip the rule on “males are brighter than females.” With phalaropes, it is the female that is the stunning, brightly-colored sex during breeding, not the male. Females compete for males to mate with and may even “service” several different males, leaving the guys totally in charge of parental care once the eggs are laid. Can I hear legions of human females shouting “Amen”?

**Female phalaropes such as this Wilson’s Phalarope are undoubtedly some of our most beautiful shorebirds. Note the longer, thinner bill compared to the Red Phalarope shown later.**

Another thing everyone loves about phalaropes is their method of hunting by spinning rapidly on the surface of the water. This spinning creates a little aqueous “tornado” that sucks up crustaceans and other invertebrate prey from below. The birds also hunt in more traditional shorebird manners by probing shallows and even picking off prey from nearby vegetation.

**Spinning is not just a yuppie exercise class, but a method for phalaropes to draw up prey from below the surface.** **(Red Phalarope shown here.)**

Whenever Braden and I are lucky enough to visit eastern Montana in spring and summer, we usually see large numbers of Wilson’s Phalaropes feeding and setting up nesting sites (see THIS POST). If our timing is right and we stay persistent, we also usually spot a few Red-necked Phalaropes. With their dramatically contrasting red, white, and dark gray heads, these phalaropes are even more stunning than the Wilson’s. The window to see them is short, however, as they breed high in the Arctic and can only be “caught” while they are resting or staging for their final journeys north. A couple of times we have also spotted them heading back south in August, when they are invariably in their duller gray-and-white plumages.

A pair of Red-necked Phalaropes my buddy Scott and I saw at Point Reyes, CA, last winter. Note the thinner, more pointed bill than I observed on the Red Phalarope.

However, one phalarope that we have never seen in Montana in more than a decade of birding is the Red Phalarope. The reason is that, in general, these birds migrate over the ocean—not over the interior of the continent. Red Phalaropes are the most pelagic of the three phalaropes and, except during breeding, spend their lives out at sea. In fact, the only Red Phalaropes that Braden and I ever saw was a single pair off the coast of San Diego during the San Diego Birding Festival several years ago. Only about twenty sightings have ever been reported in Montana.

Naturally, when I read the recent report of a Red Phalarope in Missoula, my excitement went into overdrive. The next morning, after Amy and I went to a pickleball class, I convinced her to drive down to a little spot called Cattail Corner where the Red Phalarope had been reported. Mind you, this is not where one would expect to see a rare bird. It’s just a tiny wetland wedged between a shopping center, a gas station, and two busy roads. I used to bird there a lot just to see what I could find, and recently the dense cattails had been cleared out, creating more open water and even a bit of shoreline. Early this spring, Braden and I were surprised to find several Spotted Sandpipers hopefully setting up breeding territories there, but still . . . a Red Phalarope???????

**Finding a rare bird such as a Red Phalarope at the tiny, worked-over Cattail Corner seemed unlikely at best.** **(Bonus: Can you spot a phalarope in this photo?)**

As soon as we parked, I grabbed my camera and binoculars and Amy and I began circumnavigating the little wetland. My natural pessimism kept repeating, Oh, I’m sure it’s gone now. After all who would want to hang out in this crummy little wetland? Sure enough, Amy and I spent thirty minutes walking around the ponds without a single sighting of anything resembling a phalarope. Oh, well.

As we were leaving, our friend and fellow birder Susan Snetsinger arrived. We told her we hadn’t seen the phalarope, but if she happened to spot it to please call right away. Then, we got back in the car and began heading home, a bit disappointed but not surprised at failing to find the bird. Besides, Amy had a lot to do and I needed to tackle a number of chores myself.

We were just passing Tremper’s shopping center when the phone rang. I hit the “answer” button on the steering wheel and it was Susan. “Did you see a phalarope at all?” she asked. “No.” “Well, I’m looking at one now, but I’m not sure it’s a Red Phalarope.” “We’ll be right there!” I told her.

I made a quick U-turn and in five minutes was again parking the minivan. We quickly spotted Susan on the far side of the shore, and even before reaching her, I could see a phalarope on the water. “How on earth did I miss that?” I asked Amy. What’s more, the phalarope seemed blissfully unconcerned as we drew close enough for good viewing and photographs. The problem? This bird was in basic (nonbreeding) plumage and it looked remarkably similar to a Red-necked Phalarope in the same plumage. In the fall, both birds are basically gray and white, with prominent black patches behind the eyes. Red Phalaropes are a bit larger than Red-neckeds, but if they aren’t side-by-side that’s not a useful feature. According to Sibley, Red-neckeds also are streakier on their backs—but this bird before us also looked pretty darned streaky to me.

**The slightly thicker bill of this Red Phalarope was a key to its identification.**

From what I can glean, the key ID feature that distinguishes the two birds is the thickness of their bills. While Red-neckeds have thinner, needle-like bills, those of Reds are thicker, almost pencil-like. The bird in front of us did indeed seem to have a thicker bill, but there is so much variation in these kinds of features that I still felt less than confident—even though this bird had already been confirmed as a Red Phalarope by the eBird Powers That Be. Later Dan Casey, prominent Montana birder and co-author of Birds of Montana, sent me a phalarope comparison guide that helped convince me further. This can be found at:

Phalarope Photo ID Guide

We watched the phalarope for about ten minutes and then, to my surprise, it climbed ashore and disappeared into the weeds. “Ah, that’s why we didn’t see it earlier,” I told Amy, grateful that the bird had decided to put in an appearance out on the water where we could see it.

**Phalaropes are mainly visual predators, picking off invertebrates wherever they see them.**

But the Bottom Line? Red and Red-necked phalaropes are very difficult to tell apart in their basic, nonbreeding plumage, so never assume you’re looking at one or the other. Personally, I hope to get more chances to observe and get to know them in the field in the future.

The other Bottom Line? It was WAY COOL to see a Red Phalarope here in my hometown and it became my Montana Lifer #312. As a bonus, I now need only six more species to break my all-time one-year record. Hm . . . I wonder what will show up next?

To learn more about phalaropes, we recommend the book The Shorebirds of North America, reviewed here.

**Sneed’s Bird #522 for 2025. Will I get to 528? It may be up to rare migrants such as this Red Phalarope!**

Records and Road Trips

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Need a good book to read? Birding for Boomers recently racked up its fifth award of the year and has been a hit at indie bookstores throughout the West. Why not help support our efforts at FatherSonBirding by picking up a new copy of “Boomers” or one of Sneed’s other books? Just click on one of the images to the right.

After a slow start, August saw the Collard family shift into hyperdrive as Braden drove to Southern California to take a job as a nature guide and camp counselor, and Amy and I saddled up the minivan to drive Tessa to her freshman year of college at Cal State Chico. Braden left a few days early so that he could bird the summer heat of Arizona before arriving at his job. It seemed like a (heat) rash thing to do, but his efforts paid off as he saw 201 species and scored 9, count ‘em, NINE Lifers! These included Montezuma and Scaled Quail, Lucifer Hummingbird, Buff-breasted Flycatcher, Gray Vireo, Cassia Crossbill, and Rufous-winged, Botteri’s, and Cassin’s Sparrow. Just listing the above stats, in fact, makes me hesitant to bring up my own relatively modest birding luck driving to California—but let’s back up a second.

Our drive to California—complete with a stop in Ashland, Oregon—promised to prove crucial to my quest to break my own one-year species record of 527 species. (Sadly, I did not pick up any Year Birds while watching this Shakespeare play!)

As mentioned in previous posts, both of us Collards are having record-breaking years. Braden’s World Species total for 2025 sits at an astonishing 833 species, thanks not only to trips to Mexico and Costa Rica, but his cross-country drives to Montana from Maine and his recent journey to California via Arizona. As for moi, when last I reported (see our post “Swift-ecta!”), I needed twenty birds to break my all-time one-year World Species total of 527. The thing is, twenty species this late in the year was looking a bit dicey. While it might be possible to pick up twenty more species here in Montana, I was counting on the drive to California to put a major dent in that number. Nonetheless, I birded hard before our departure and by the time we hit the road, my year total had crept upward to 512, leaving only sixteen species to break my record.

Normally, I would have thought, “Piece of cake,” especially since I hadn’t visited any West Coast states so far in 2025. But not so fast. Remember that little winter trip Amy planned for us last January (see post “Birding Victoria, BC”)? Well, believe it or not, in Victoria I had already nabbed Bushtits, Anna’s Hummingbirds, and Chestnut-backed Chickadees, removing three potential gimmes from the California trip. Even my Colombia trip with Roger (see post “Antpittas and Tody-Flycatchers”) had allowed me to pick up Acorn Woodpecker and Lesser Goldfinch, removing those bird potentials as well.

**The birds of Colombia, including this stunning Toucan Barbet, seen on Roger’s and my trip, are one reason my single year species record has crept tantalizingly to within reach.**

Nonetheless, I remained cautiously optimistic as Amy, Tessa, and I hit I-90 for our first stop of the trip, Portland, Oregon. We would spend only two nights there, but I wasted no time, getting up early the first morning to hit Broughton Beach along the Columbia River. My goal was to find cool shorebirds, and I did find both Least and Western Sandpipers—but no Year Birds. While there, though, I met a very nice birder named Ted who told me about another cool spot, Force Lake, and I decided to head over there. I was rewarded by Long-billed Dowitchers and Red-necked Phalaropes—but again, no Year Birds. In fact, the only Year Birds I nabbed in Portland were California Scrub-Jay in the backyard of my in-laws and Black Phoebe at another new spot I visited, Whitaker Ponds Nature Park. As we rolled out of Portland, I hoped that the rest of the trip would prove more productive.

I got turned on to Force Lake by another Portland area birder. It’s a place I’ll return to often, as it offers the best shorebird habitat I’ve found in Portland. Alas, it yielded no Year Birds on our recent trip.

Our next stop was Ashland, Oregon, where Amy had bought us tickets for the Shakespeare play The Merry Wives of Windsor and the musical Into the Woods. Both were excellent productions, but I felt so sleepy I barely made it through them without crashing to floor. Our first morning there, though, I hit another new birding spot, Emigrant Lake (South Shore). Here, I managed to nab three more Year Birds: Oak Titmouse, Bewick’s Wren, and California Towhee. My biggest surprise were a pair of Nashville Warblers. In fact, it’s been a great year for learning about these birds as I saw them migrating through Texas last April and now, making the return migration through California. (Though I must point out that this species has an unusual “bifurcated” distribution so the birds in Texas and California probably came from separate, distinct populations.)

**Finding Nashville Warblers along the shore of Emigrant Lake was one of the day’s best surprises.**

Chico greeted us with 104-degree temperatures, less than ideal for birding. Our major goal here, of course, was to get Tessa settled into university housing, but you know me. My first morning, I was up at dawn to explore Hooker Oak Park, a great city park I’d discovered when first bringing Tessa to check out Chico (see post “College Search Birding in California”) in 2024. This morning, the park did not disappoint. One of my favorite birds, Acorn Woodpeckers, were flying everywhere and I had a wonderful encounter with Anna’s and Rufous Hummingbirds, who put on a real show for me in a dry riverbed. As far as Year Birds go, however, my only score was a bird that happened to earn Bird of the Trip honors.

**I recorded more than two dozen Acorn Woodpeckers in Chico’s Hook Oak Park. Good thing they are one of my favorite birds!**

As I was leaving the hummingbirds and walking back down the dry wash, I glanced up at a medium-sized black bird landing high in the top of a pine tree. The bird showed a distinctive, tall peak on its head like it had styled its feathers with pomade, and at first I thought, “Is that a Stellar’s Jay?” Though I knew STJAs were common in the adjacent mountains, it didn’t seem likely that they’d be here on California’s Central Valley floor. However, as I stared at the bird—and three others that joined it—a wave of delight crept over me. I was looking at Phainopeplas!

**I love that the orange throat patch of this Rufous Hummingbird looks like an upside-down heart! Several of the birds were aggressively chasing each other—and a few Anna’s that were around.**

At first I didn’t believe it. While I knew that Phainopeplas lived in Southern California, I’d only ever seen the birds in Arizona and here in Chico they seemed wonderfully out of place. Quickly calling up Merlin on my phone, however, the range map showed a tiny, seasonal finger stretching up the Central Valley—and stopping almost exactly where I was standing!

**With their surprise appearance in Chico, Phainopeplas easily nabbed Bird of the Trip honors for our sojourn to Chico.**

These, of course, are the moments a birder lives for—amazing surprises in new places—and the encounter put a bounce in my step as I returned to the hotel for a day of getting Tessa ready for college. Alas, the PHAIs were the last Year Bird I managed to find on the trip. I returned to Montana at 520 species for my Year List. Since then, I’ve managed to add Clark’s Grebe to my list, but that still falls seven short of breaking my record.

Will I make it? Do I have any surprise opportunities up my sleeve to put me over the top? And what of Braden? Could he reach that magical 1,000 number for the year? Well, you know the answer: you’ll just have to keep reading to find out!

**A fun visit to Emigrant Lake south of Ashland, Oregon helped nudge me closer to breaking my all-time one-year species count record—but not close enough!**

Swift-ecta!

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In an earlier post, we may have let slip that both Braden and I are on a tear for our 2025 global species lists (see our post In Search of the Green-tailed Towhee). That’s due to a variety of factors. Braden not only drove across the country from Maine to Montana this past spring (see last post), he embarked on intense birding trips to Oaxaca, Mexico (see post Birding in Oaxaca, Mexico) and Costa Rica. As for me, I received delightful last-minute invitations to Colombia (post Antpittas and Tody-Flycatchers), thanks to FSB contributor Roger Kohn, and to Texas, where I spoke about my book Birding for Boomers. The upshot of all this is that Braden has seen almost 800 species of birds this year, while I am within twenty birds of breaking my all-time record of 527.

The thing is, twenty birds in Montana in late July is more challenging than it sounds. Birds common in May or June become increasingly difficult to detect and find, so if you don’t have them by August you may not get them at all. That means you’ll have to rely on migrants—which are notoriously unpredictable—or winter arrivals that you probably got earlier in the year. As a result, I’ve recently been focused on picking up the remaining common birds that I so far haven’t seen. Top on my list? Say’s Phoebe.

**Last year, I saw a Say’s Phoebe near the base of Missoula’s Pattee Canyon. Alas, that one eluded me this year, forcing me to search farther afield!**

Say’s Phoebes are cool little flycatchers that love to nest on human-made structures such as barns, covered porches, and utility buildings. While not rare, they seem to be pretty picky about their accommodations, and we run into them only infrequently in Montana. As I write this, for example, only four sightings have been reported in Missoula County in the past month. While scouring eBird, though, I did note regular sightings up at Kerr Dam below Flathead Lake. Braden and I had discussed doing a birding day trip, so two Tuesdays ago we set out early, Say’s Phoebes our Number One goal.

Before leaving Missoula, Braden asked if we could stop at Greenough Park. He had been pursuing a birding challenge with friends back East to see how many species they could find every day for seven days in a row. “I want to pick up Lazuli Bunting and Swainson’s Thrush,” he told me. This search happened to lead to the first delightful surprise of the day. As we were walking up a dirt trail, we approached a cottonwood tree where Braden had found a Western Screech Owl two days before. Today, he suddenly exclaimed, “Oh my god! It’s a baby!” Sure enough, a WSOW baby sat only a yard from its parent about twenty feet up the tree. Here, our day had just begun and already it had been a wonderful outing!

**This adorable little guy was the first baby Western Screech-Owl Braden and I had ever seen!**

Still, we had a lot of ground to cover. After a fortifying meal at our favorite French restaurant, McDaniels (in honor of Rogére), we headed up to Ninepipe NWR. We didn’t have any major agenda there except perhaps to snag some shorebirds. For July, it was an unusually cool, overcast day and we joked that we might see some Black Swifts. For those unfamiliar with Black Swifts, they are one of the most elusive and rare birds in the US. They nest mainly behind waterfalls and, especially with climate change, are highly vulnerable throughout their range. In Montana, I had never seen one outside of Glacier National Park, and it was pie-in-the-sky logic to even hope we might see one here out in the valley.

**Braden poring through intermolt ducks at Ninepipe.**

Anyway, we stopped at one Ninepipe pullout just off Hwy 93. The ducks were in their almost-impossible-to-identify intermolt plumages, but we still saw a nice variety of them plus Trumpeter Swans, American White Pelicans, Double-crested Cormorants, and Great Blue Herons. “Where are the Black Swifts?” I pressed Braden, but he shrugged off my flippant remark.

**Though we hadn’t seen any Black Swifts, the low cloud cover at least admitted the possibility that they would venture down into the valleys from their mountain waterfall hideaways.**

The phoebes on our minds, we didn’t want to spend too much time at Ninepipe, but decided to stop at one more pullout and, again, found the usual suspects. We both searched the skies for Black Swifts just in case, but didn’t see any. “I have to go to the bathroom,” Braden said, and I kept looking around for various birds. As soon as Braden emerged from the outhouse, however, he shouted, “Black Swifts!” Huh? My eyes darted back toward the low clouds, and there they were—four unmistakable dark shapes scything through the air!

**Black Swifts were a stunning find on a day for which we had almost no expectations.**

Though I’d seen Black Swifts before, this was my first time really getting to study them, and I noticed both similarities and differences between other swifts. Like other swifts, BLSWs have distinctive almost sickle-like shapes when they fly. With a wingspan of eighteen inches, however, they are significantly larger than Montana’s other swifts, and this shows in their flight. While Vaux’s Swifts zip around with almost mechanically stiff rapid wingbeats, Black Swift wings bend more noticeably. They still look like advanced jet fighters as they zoom through the sky, but with more flexible bodies. Braden also pointed out that Black Swifts show noticeable forks in their tails compared to Vaux’s Swifts, which look like their tails have been chopped off with a cleaver.

Swifts can usually be distinguished from swallows by their stiff-winged, scythe-like silhouette. Note the prominent fork in the tail of this BLSW that distinguishes it from Vaux’s Swifts—though White-throated Swifts can also show a fork.

We watched these rare beauties for a full five minutes before they drifted away across the lake and I even managed some cool photos. After they had gone, Braden and I just looked at each other. “Black Swifts,” he said, and we gave each other a hug.

**Swifts always remind me of fighter jets—captured here doing an F-35 impersonation.**

Remarkably, it was still only 8:30 and we had a ton of birding ahead of us. Our next stop was the roadside rest stop just south of Ronan where we picked up lone Semipalmated, Spotted, and Solitary Sandpipers, along with a pair of Long-billed Dowitchers, all undoubtedly in migration. After that, we headed to Pablo NWR in hopes of some interesting water birds. We struck out on those—but were amazed to see more than 300 Bank Swallows resting on the dirt road. “They must be migrating, too,” Braden marveled, and I agreed. In fact, it has been a very lucky swallow year for both of us with, for example, great looks at large numbers of migrating Tree Swallows and Cliff Swallows. This was the first time we’d ever seen Bank Swallows in such numbers, though. From there, it was on to our primary destination: Kerr Dam.

Braden had never been to Kerr Dam before, and I’d just gone to the overlook, but the entire site reminded me of a throwback to gentler, more civic times, when people shared more of a vision for the common good. From the overlook, we looked down on the dam itself with the Flathead River backing up into Flathead Lake beyond. Below the dam, dramatic, highly eroded cliffs framed a dramatic canyon full of promising riparian habitat.

**Braden and I both wondered what secrets the dramatic cliffs below Kerr Dam might be hiding!**

From the overlook, we watched Ospreys and Braden said, “Look, there are some Violet-green Swallows. White-throated Swifts should be here, too.” Not two minutes later, he spotted a pair flying overhead, their sickle-shaped wings and white breasts clearly visible against the blue sky. “Uh-oh,” I said. “That means that we might have to go for the Swift Trifecta and find some Vaux’s Swifts.” Braden sighed in agreement. Darn those swifts!

But we had not forgotten our main target, Say’s Phoebes. “I’m guessing they are down there at the power station below the dam,” I said. “You up for going down there?”

“Sure.”

**Squinting into the sun at the overlook to Kerr Dam, the Flathead River running south below the dam in the distance.**

Winding our way down to the power station, we were greeted by a cluster of neatly-kept houses and a fenced-in area full of transformers and other “power stuff.” All of this was surrounded by an open, pleasant park-like setting that reminded me of my days working on the Pitt River dam network in northern California just after college. We decided to get out and walk around and immediately started seeing and hearing Western Wood-Pewees, American Goldfinches, robins, Eastern Kingbirds, and other songbirds. We hadn’t walked ten minutes when suddenly, some kind of flycatcher darted out in front of us to snag an insect.

“Say’s Phoebe!” I exulted, and Braden gave me a high five. There weren’t just one, but two, working the area around the fenced-in transformer area. “This is perfect for them,” I said. “Lots of insects and plenty of structures to nest on.” Alas, they didn’t care for our attentions and kept flying away as we approached, but they and the Black Swifts brought my global year total to 509 species—just nineteen shy of breaking my record of 527. Braden already had the phoebe for the year, but the Black Swifts took his global 2025 total to an astonishing 776 species! BUT . . .

**This elusive Say’s Phoebe finally cooperated with me for 2025!**

There was still that little matter of a swift trifecta on our minds. After a cultural stop at Richwines Burgerville in Polson, we made our way slowly back to Missoula. Nowhere did we see the third Western Montana swift, Vaux’s Swift. “Let’s go to Caras Park,” Braden suggested as we reached Missoula. “I see them there pretty regularly.”

We parked near the iconic metal salmon sculpture and walked out onto the grass below the Higgin’s Street Bridge. The sun was out by now and things were warming up. Cliff Swallows flew to and from their mud nests on the side of the bridge, but I didn’t expect to see any swifts. “There’s one!” Braden suddenly shouted. Sure enough, several birds with fast, mechanical wingbeats darted back and forth after insects above the Cliff Swallows. It was a final satisfying sighting on a totally surprising, remarkable July day in Montana.

Our Day’s Trip Report: https://ebird.org/tripreport/396651?welcome=true

The small size and “chopped off” tails of Vaux’s Swifts are solid ID features to distinguish them from both Black and White-throated Swifts. These wonderful little birds completed our Western Montana “Swift-ecta” and wrapped up one of our best birding days ever.

Saying Goodbye to Lola, Our Birding Dog

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Today, our family sadly bids farewell to our beloved dog Lola. Those of you that have been regularly following FSB, or have read my book Warbler’s and Woodpeckers: A Father-Son Big Year of Birding, will be familiar with Lola, but to honor her memory, I’d like to share her remarkable story in more detail.

The beginning of that story will always be shrouded in mystery. We adopted Lola thanks to the always-heroic and compassionate efforts of the Humane Society of Western Montana, and Braden’s sister, Tessa, was the driving force behind adding Lola to our family. For a couple of years, Tessa had gently expressed a desire to have another dog. Amy and Braden were on board, but I hesitated. For one thing, I knew that since I work at home, I would be the main caretaker of any new mammal in the household and I wasn’t sure I felt ready to add that responsibility to my list. Honestly, saying goodbye to our previous dog, our Border collie Mattie, had taken a huge emotional toll on me. Many people don’t hesitate to get a new pet when an old one has passed, but not me. I grieved long and hard for Mattie, and wondered if I were ready to invest so much of myself into a new companion.

**We were so heartsick over the loss of our Border collie, Mattie, that it took a few years before we were ready to welcome Lola into our family.**

Nonetheless, one afternoon three years after Mattie passed, I asked Tessa, “Hey, do you want to start checking out the Humane Society website?”

Her whole face brightened. “Really? To look for a new dog?”

We both thought that a black Lab would be perfect for our family—affectionate, but active enough to go on adventures—and about once a week, we searched the website for possibilities. Black Labs are so popular that a number of them became available, but each had some quality we thought would make them a poor fit for our family. One day, though, I was looking at the site by myself when Lola popped up on the screen. HSWM estimated she was about two years old and she had been found in Polson, Montana nursing eight puppies!

**Over the years, Lola spent almost as much time in my office as I did—including time inviting me to play with her and her Whale.**

I immediately called HSWM to find out if Lola was still available and got put through to the director, who actually knew me from some of my past author events. “Well,” she said, “Lola isn’t officially available yet because she and her puppies have been in quarantine for distemper.”

“Oh, is that serious?” I asked. I had heard of this disease but knew nothing about it. “It can be,” the director replied, “but Lola and her puppies have come through just fine. I’ve been keeping them all at my house, but if you’d like to see her you could come out this Saturday.”

**One of my favorite Lola photos, with “her girl” Tessa amid spring Arrowleaf Balsamroots.**

Immediately, my devious mind began imagining surprising Tessa and Braden with a visit to see Lola, and Amy agreed that it would be a fun idea. The night before, I told the kids, “We’re going on a little outing tomorrow morning.” “Where?” they asked. “Oh, just somewhere fun,” I said.

**Hangin’ out in Sneed’s office, waiting for some action.**

I’d like to claim that I stayed mum until we actually saw Lola the next morning, but once we climbed in the minivan I weakened and told them where we were going. “We’re going to see a dog?” Tessa asked. I’d rarely seen so much excitement in a kid, and a big smile also spread across Braden’s face. That excitement only increased when we pulled into the director’s long driveway and saw a slender black Lab trotting ahead of the director, returning from a walk.

**Amy, Tessa, and Lola at the flourishing reclaimed Milltown dam EPA Superfund site.**

“Is that Lola?” Tessa exclaimed.

“I think so,” I said.

We parked near the house and all piled out. The director had warned me that Lola had some issues with men, so I just sat down on the blacktop next to our car and waited for her. Without so much as a growl, she trotted directly to me to receive a vigorous helping of head pets and back scratches. As Amy and the kids approached and also began petting her, none of us had any doubt that this was our dog and that we were her family. With the director’s blessings, we took her home that day.

**The day we picked up Lola to take her home! By the time we got there, only one of her puppies, Jagger, remained to be adopted.**

I’d like to tell you that from that moment on, Lola’s integration into our lives was pure, smooth sailing, but . . . that’s not quite the case. HSWM believed that Lola had lived totally on her own for most of her two-year existence, and not surprisingly she came with some baggage. Almost from our first walk, we discovered that she viewed most adults with suspicion, and she reserved a special repertoire of warning growls and barks for tall men, skateboarders, bicyclists, and anyone carrying any stick-like object, be it a cane, broom, or baseball bat. It didn’t take a genius to conclude that in the past she had endured some hard treatment at the hands of people. It also meant that we had to be especially careful taking her out.

**Lola’s first walk with the Collard Clan.**

After a number of tense incidents, we finally booked some sessions with a dog trainer. These made all the difference, and steadily we were able to teach her to become less reactive to most of the kinds of people she found threatening. Steady doses of love and affection from Tessa and the rest of us also helped build up Lola’s trust in humanity.

Meanwhile, Braden and I were doing our first Big Year of birding, trying to pursue our personal goal of finding 350 species of birds for the year. We easily worked Lola into our birding adventures, whether it was up the Mount Jumbo Saddle, out at Fort Missoula, Blue Mountain, or Maclay Flat.

**One of our first Lola birding hikes, up onto Mount Jumbo Saddle. Lola loved snow almost as much as she loved water.**

**Lola took great interest in this sudden appearance of ducks behind the Missoula YMCA. I’m not sure she ever learned to ID them to species.**

It was during these adventures that we noticed something surprising. When we were out birding, Lola just naturally switched into “work mode.” She seemed to recognize that birding, like hunting, was a serious activity and part of her job in life. During these sessions, Lola proved amazingly responsive, obeying our commands without complaint. When we stopped, she stopped. When she smelled something, she paused in a classic “point”, one front paw frozen in an up position until we she saw us moving on. In this way, she became not only our newest family member, but Braden’s and my “birding dog.”

**A wet morning birding hike with “her boy.”**

During the next eight years, Lola accompanied our family on countless adventures—and led us on some that were strictly her own idea. She had a particular passion for chasing invasive squirrels and re-opened some of our local habitat for our native squirrels to move back in. I also brokered a deal between Lola and our neighborhood deer. In this U.N.-sponsored agreement, Lola was at liberty to chase the deer to the edge of our yard, but then had to halt—a deal to which she generally adhered.

**Squirrel stare down in front of our house. I could leave Lola for fifteen or twenty minutes like this and she wouldn’t budge.**

To be honest, she wasn’t that great at locating birds for Braden and me, but she did find Braden a gorgeous Dusky Grouse once and, last year, rooted out some Gray Partridges from the grass in the hills near our house. She was under strict orders not to try to catch any birds, and I think she was fine with that. Squirrels were much more fun!

Lola at one of our favorite hiking destinations, Mount Jumbo Saddle. Dozens of times in spring, Lola and I woke before dawn to hike up here and check on whether Vesper Sparrows and meadowlarks had returned!

We thought that Lola would be part of our family until she was at least fourteen or fifteen years old. This spring, when we learned that a lump in her mouth was an aggressive oral melanoma, we were at first shocked, and then devastated. Dr. Nicole, our wonderful vet at Pruyn Veterinary in Missoula, removed as much of the tumor as she could, and told us we could elect for radical surgery combined with taking her to Bozeman for radiation treatment—but also said that probably the cancer had already metastasized, limiting chances for success. We did end up doing two more lump “debulkings” to keep the tumor from preventing Lola eating and enjoying life, but mainly vowed just to give her the best remaining time possible.

Until cancer struck, Lola’s most serious injury came from an encounter with a sneaky, sharp tree stump buried in the snow. Despite its gruesome appearance, this wound healed quickly and we thought we would get plenty more years with her.

From then on, we tried to do something special with her every single day, whether it was taking her on one of her favorite hikes, down for a swim at McCormick Park, or to Dairy Queen for a “pup cone.” It was truly a special time for all of us, but by about three weeks ago—three months after her diagnosis—I could tell that Lola’s energy was waning and that the cancer had probably spread to some of her vital organs. Finally, when our girl was obviously beginning to struggle and her appetite decreased, I made an appointment with Dr. Nicole for a home visit.

**During her last couple of months, Tessa and I made sure Lola got to plenty of chances to swim after sticks, an activity that rated as one of her greatest joys in life.**

**Selfie on one of our last big hikes together.**

On our final morning together, we all took Lola for a pup cup at Starbuck’s and then drove out to a local pond. Lola always loved car rides and I could tell she loved this one, especially surrounded by the rest of her pack. What’s more, at the pond, she actually went for a couple of little swims and joyfully chased little splashes we made with rocks while we alternated between laughs and tears. After hanging out at the pond, we took Lola home for lots of cuddles and a nap. As happy as she’d been at the pond, I could tell it had used up her reserves. Overall, we couldn’t have asked for a better last day with our dear sweet dog, and as Dr. Nicole eased Lola out of this life, we had no doubt that she was ready to say goodbye.

Alas, we are not ready, and will be grieving and remembering her as long as our own lives last, always grateful for her joyful, crazy presence in our lives. As a friend of mine once related, we buried Lola not in the ground, but in our hearts.

**Lola on her very last outing, surrounded by her pack. We love you, Lola!**

We encourage you to donate to the important work of your local Humane Society chapter and/or support both national and local animal welfare groups such as the ASPCA, Feeding Pets of the Homeless, and Dogster’s Spay & Neuter Program.

In Search of the Green-tailed Towhee

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Please support our efforts at FatherSonBirding by buying a *New* copy of Birding for Boomers or one of Sneed’s other books shown to the right—and by donating to Montana Bird Advocacy, a wonderful grassroots scientific organization doing novel and unique research on Montana birds.

Confession: Despite the title of this blog, the the main purpose of last weekend was not to find Green-tailed Towhees; it was to learn about a wonderful study of Gray Flycatchers with biologists Jeff Marks and Nate Kohler. However, as I set out Saturday morning, defiant of the grim weather forecast for the next day, I did have a secondary mission in mind—to find and visit with some of the birds in the arid southwest corner of the state. Over the years, these sagebrush areas, from Bear Canyon (see Bear Canyon—Montana’s “Tropical Birding” Paradise) all the way west to Beaverhead County, had become some of my favorite parts of Montana. I credit that partly to my own childhood living in the dry chaparral country of southern California, but I also just love the ecosystems and birds in this part of Montana. I’d have trouble calling myself a real birder if I didn’t get down there at least once each year.

Since you’re pressing me on the issue, I also had a third objective for this trip—to move closer to breaking my all-time one-year species record. The record belonged to 2017, when our family traveled to Ecuador and Peru and I recorded a total of 527 species for the year. This year, thanks to last-minute invitations to Colombia (see THIS POST) and Texas (see THAT POST) I unexpectedly found myself at 498 species—perilously close to setting a new record. That task loomed more difficult than it might appear since once spring migration has passed and breeding season gets underway, it becomes much more difficult to find new species. Still, a trip to the southwest part of Montana promised to nudge me closer to this new goal, and my first target was one of the state’s coolest birds: Green-tailed Towhee.

**On Braden’s advice, my first real birding stops of the trip were along the Jefferson River before Lewis & Clark Caverns.**

Green-tailed Towhees winter in the American Southwest and Mexico, but generally breed in the the Great Basin region of the West, including southern Montana. Though the birds are not strictly rare, I could count the number of times I had ever seen one, and I felt eager for another GTTO encounter. To find this bizarre, poorly understood beauty, I hit I-90 at dawn and steered toward Lewis and Clark Caverns, two-and-a-half hours to the east. To entertain me along the way, I had checked out an audio version of Eat, Pray, Love, a book that invites all kinds of snarky comments but, I found, actually proved moderately amusing. On Braden’s advice, I pulled over alongside the road leading to the caverns and was rewarded with a wonderful assortment of river and cliff birds including Rock Wren, Lazuli Buntings, and White-throated Swifts. Once inside Lewis and Clark Caverns State Park itself, I focused on finding Green-tailed Towhees.

While Lewis & Clark Caverns did not give up its Green-tailed Towhees, I did get nice looks at a Rock Wren and Lark Sparrow.

I struck out. I spent a good hour and a half checking along the road, up around the main parking area, and in the campground. Merlin’s Sound ID picked up a putative GTTO song at one point, but I neither heard nor saw a trace of the bird.

I have to admit that this made me feel like a total failure. I mean, here was my first target bird of the trip, and one that shouldn’t be that hard to find, and I totally “whiffed” on it, as Braden might say. I didn’t plunge into despair exactly, but it definitely put a damper on my mood as I began questioning just what I thought I was doing out here pretending to be a birder! Well, I thought, maybe I’ll have better luck at my next destination.

Which happened to be Birch Creek Road north of Dillon in Beaverhead County. Several years before, Braden and I had found our lifer Thick-billed (formerly McCown’s) Longspur on this road, and once again, the road delivered. I’d driven only a mile before I saw a suspicious dark shape on a fence. I actually didn’t think it was a Thick-billed, but my binoculars revealed otherwise. “Yay!” I exclaimed, feeling the weight of my earlier “whiff” lifting slightly. A few minutes later, I was examining another TBLO when I noticed a large shape sitting in a field about one hundred yards away. “Clearly a hawk,” I thought, “but what kind?” The answer: the best kind, at least for my goals for the trip—a ferruginous hawk. This was another bird I needed for the year and one that isn’t always easy to find in the state.

A desperate flight photo of the Ferruginous Hawk as it flew away.

Digging out the peanut butter sandwich I’d made earlier, I tooled down I-15 for my next destination, Clark Canyon Reservoir. Braden and I had only ever birded here once before, and as near as I recall, we hadn’t found much, so I kept my expectations low. I stopped at one overlook and was surprised to see a Common Loon on the water below, along with a Double-crested Cormorant and a couple of Ring-billed Gulls. Violet-green swallows swirled around me and, as always, they brought a smile.

Snaking around the reservoir, I approached a sign for Horse Prairie Campground and spontaneously swerved left onto a dirt access road. The reason? Tall, healthy-looking sagebrush! Hm, this just might have one of my other target birds for the day. Almost immediately, I saw a really cool bird that had not been on my target list—a Common Nighthawk peacefully chillin’ on the split-rail fence. The bird barely blinked as I fired away with my camera through the car window from only thirty feet away.

**The first of three Common Nighthawks I spotted chilling on the wooden fence leading down to Horse Prairie Campground.**

Creeping slowly forward, I heard a song I didn’t recognize—which was no great surprise in itself, but I did have a guess of what it was. Sound ID confirmed it: Brewer’s Sparrow! This bird loves healthy sagebrush and makes up for the world’s dullest plumage with a vigorous song that bewitches any birdwatcher who hears it. A few moments later, one even sat still long enough for a decent photo. Check. Another target bird—but not the one I expected to find here!

**One of Montana’s drabbest birds, the Brewer’s Sparrow has an enchanting song.**

I kept driving slowly toward the campground and spotted a medium-sized, slender bird up ahead. Wishfully, I thought it might be a Say’s Phoebe—another bird I happened to need for my year list—but it flew off before I got close. As I pulled into the campground, though, two brownish birds were chasing each other around. I assumed they were robins, but when one landed on a “Day Use Only” sign, I realized with a start that it was exactly the bird I had hoped to find here—a Sage Thrasher!

**Sage Thrashers are so flighty that seeing one on a sign was about the last thing I expected!**

Braden and I have never met a thrasher we didn’t like, but Sage Thrashers hold a special place in our birding hearts. For one, they’re the world’s smallest thrashers—which is why I mistook them for robins or phoebes. For another, they are charismatic songsters and often are the most common bird you see in sage country. As I sat in the car, in fact, I counted three more Sage Thrashers around me. Whoo-Hoo!

**One of our favorite Montana birds, Sage Thrashers seemed to be everywhere I looked this afternoon.**

Later, on the road where I was to meet up with Jeff Marks and Nate Kohler, I encountered seven more Sage Thrashers! It was a veritable thrasher party—by far the best experience I had ever had with these good-looking birds.

Unfortunately, the next morning, heavy rain and spitting snow kept me from seeing Gray Flycatchers with Jeff and Nate. More on that in another post. Almost as bad, I began the drive home without a Green-tailed Towhee under my belt and no expectations of seeing one. But bless Nate Kohler’s heart. He told me about a canyon I should check out on the way home. It was still raining when I got there, but I drove slowly and stopped frequently, listening and watching. Lazuli Buntings chattered everywhere and I saw a good variety of birds—but no towhee. Finally, I put on my raincoat, got out of the car and played a Green-tailed Towhee song. Almost immediately, a small shape darted up out of the sagebrush—the bird I was looking for! Not only that, it held still long enough for a photo—but the story hadn’t quite finished.

**I worked hard for this Green-tailed Towhee—only to find that it wasn’t a year bird after all!**

Once I got home and posted all of my checklists for the trip, I was surprised that eBird hadn’t added GTTO to my year list. What’s going on? I thought, and did a quick search to see if I had somehow seen one down in Texas and forgotten about it. Nope. What I did forget was the rare vagrant GTTO I had seen in Victoria, BC during Amy’s and my January trip (see Birding Victoria, BC)! So this one was not a year bird after all, but still a lot of fun to see. Meanwhile, my year list swelled to 503 species thanks to the Thick-billed Longspur, Ferruginous Hawk, Brewer’s Sparrow, Sage Thrasher, and a Prairie Falcon I had spotted the afternoon before. Not exactly the trip I expected, but one I already cherished.