Category Archives: Mammals

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.

Puffin Party! (Maine to Montana, Part 2)

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The state of Maine can be simplified to four things: lobster, moose, blueberries, and puffins (with Dunkin Donuts as a runner-up). During the four years I’d spent going to school in the state, I’d eaten lobster rolls, visited blueberry bogs, and tried my hardest to find a moose, a quest that would continue later this week. Through no fault of my own, I had never even tried to see a puffin and the reason was simple—my school year did not overlap with the Atlantic Puffin school year. This year, however, was different. I was actually still in the state of Maine as puffins were arriving at their breeding colonies, and was not going to miss my last chance to see these iconic seabirds. So, on May 14th, I boarded a large boat in Bar Harbor and took my seat in the cabin, binoculars and camera ready.

Unlike previous boat rides I’d taken to see birds, this cruise was relaxed and family-friendly. About two hundred people crowded the deck, many of whom were just as interested in the Bald Eagles and American Herring Gulls circling above the harbor as the prospect of seeing any alcids (Alcidae is the family of birds that includes puffins, murres, auks, and guillemots). Over the intercom, a very knowledgeable guide spouted off a non-stop stream of facts about the islands, lighthouses, and wildlife of the area as we headed for Egg Rock, a sparse strip of land just barely visible to tourists standing onshore in Bar Harbor. With the coastline of Acadia National Park to our right, we slowed as we approached the island.

This Common Murre was the only one I saw the whole boat ride. While this species hasn’t yet started nesting at Petit Manan, the ornithologists are hopeful that they will soon!

Egg Rock did not have a puffin colony—it was too close to shore for that. What it did have were colonies of several other species of seabirds. Gulls dominated the island, mostly Herring with scattered numbers of Great Black-backed Gulls mixed in, their charcoal backs sticking out amongst the sea of gray. Cormorants patrolled the southern side of the island, standing tall like gargoyles on the rocks. And in the waters lapping up against the side of the island I saw my first alcids—Black Guillemots! Although guillemots, which are black with white wing patches in the summer and white with black wing patches in the winter, are in the same bird family as Atlantic Puffins, they are far easier to see in Maine. Not only do they breed right on the coast during the warm months, they also stay for the winter—something that the puffins do not do. That’s one of the reasons why I’d never seen puffins here during my time at the University of Maine: From August to April, these birds stay as far from shore as possible, floating around somewhere in the North Atlantic.

After circling Egg Rock to look at the seabird colonies, as well as the dozens of Harbor and Gray Seals lounging on the rocks, the boat picked up speed and headed out to sea. While we never lost sight of the coastline, it grew hazier and hazier until eventually, a new island appeared on the horizon: Petit Manan. The first thing I noticed about Petit Manan were the buildings. Many islands off the coast of Maine had lighthouses, built during centuries past to help steer ships into harbors. As recently as the late 1900s, lighthouse keepers and their families lived on the islands and maintained the lighthouses, although by now many of the keepers had left, likely because boats had better forms of navigation at their disposal. The houses they left behind had been taken over by people working a very different type of job.

The Lighthouse on Petit Manan Island.

Both Egg Rock and Petit Manan are part of a large reserve known as Maine Coastal Islands National Wildlife Refuge. Every summer, dozens of wildlife technicians head out to these islands to spend weeks and months working with the birds that live there. On some islands, like Petit Manan, this work includes Atlantic Puffins, but it also includes monitoring and conservation of other species like Common, Arctic, and Roseate Terns, Common Murres, Black Guillemots, Razorbills, Common Eiders, and Leach’s Storm-petrels. Several of my peers at the University of Maine worked for Maine Coastal Islands and would be heading out to their assigned locations within the next few weeks.

I began to make out large rafts of birds next to the island as our boat approached, and was delighted to spot football-sized alcids with rainbow bills taking off in front of us. I raised my binoculars and smiled—these were the first Atlantic Puffins I’d seen in seven years, since 2018 when I’d been lucky enough to visit Iceland with my grandparents (see my post “All About Alcids”). The birds lounged in the water close to the rocks, and our guide told us that many of them had likely just returned for the summer from their mysterious marine wintering grounds. I counted ninety or so during our half hour stay at Petit Manan.

A raft of Atlantic Puffins and Razorbills!

The puffins weren’t alone. Black Guillemots were here, too, as were a couple dozen Razorbills, another gorgeous black-and-white alcid named after the unique shape and decoration of its beak. I spotted a single Common Murre amongst their ranks, my fourth alcid of the day and a species that had not yet attempted to nest at Petit Manan—but scientists were optimistic! A dozen or so Common Terns circled the island loftily, letting out loud “kyeeeer” calls to notify everyone who was really in charge here. In a few weeks, the numbers of terns would swell into the hundreds, and include Arctic as well as Common. Terns were the aggressive defenders of islands, and would dive-bomb anything they perceived as a threat, including people. I remembered one walk in Iceland when we were asked to hold a tall, wooden stick so the Arctic Terns there would target that instead of our heads!

These birds are the reason that so many alcids nest at Petit Manan. The huge tern colony on this and other islands provide safety for the puffins from predators like gulls and Peregrine Falcons that might otherwise raid their nests. Of course, the biologists working for Maine Coastal Islands NWR were also there to aid these species and chase predators off the island. It hadn’t always been that way, unfortunately.

Common Terns nest in huge, aggressive colonies along the Maine coast!

A hundred years ago, feathered hats were all the rage in cities across the east coast of North America. The demand for white feathers meant that large numbers of terns, gulls, and egrets were harvested—to the extent that these species declined dramatically across much of the country. With no terns to protect them, puffins nesting in Maine were faced with higher predation, but not just from other birds. Rampant collection of eggs and puffin meat also plagued many of Maine’s islands, leading to a dramatic decrease in this species down to just two tiny colonies. Sadly, it was looking like the Atlantic Puffin would join the ranks of the Great Auk and Labrador Duck in Maine’s list of extinct birds.

Thankfully, ornithologists and bird-lovers alike noticed how much environmental damage was being caused by these practices and stepped in. Groups like Audubon formed and began lobbying for the protection of birds, eventually leading to the passing of the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918. And in 1973, Audubon launched Project Puffin. Scientists were sent out to islands equipped with broadcasting equipment and decoys, as well as a small number of puffin chicks donated from colonies in Canada. Step one was the rearing of chicks on islands that had previously been occupied by puffin colonies; step two meant attracting terns back to the islands. Finally, with their defenders back in place, Atlantic Puffins began returning to many of the islands they’d previously been extirpated from. They now occupy six colonies in Maine.

Today, Atlantic Puffins are doing well, but are still being monitored very carefully. Puffins feed on fish that thrive in deep, cold water. That’s why the species only nests on the outermost islands in Maine. Our guide told us, “Puffins would lay their eggs in the ocean if they could.” Unfortunately, the Gulf of Maine is warming faster than any other body of water in the world, and this means that puffins are having to travel farther and farther out to sea to obtain their prey items of choice. During particularly warm years, puffins have switched their selected prey entirely to other species. Many of these other species of fish, which are brought back to their chicks on Petit Manan and other islands, differ in their size and the toughness of their skin. Often puffin chicks cannot eat them, and will starve even when food is sitting right there.

The man-made burrows where puffins nest on Petit Manan!

The good news is that there are many, many people keeping an eye on these birds, doing their best to keep their numbers high. Last year was an especially good year for the species, so optimism is in the air. I felt cautiously hopeful for the future of this species as the Bar Harbor Puffin Tour headed back to shore, content with the pictures and new memories I’d experienced with this iconic Maine species.

A pair of Atlantic Puffins!

Hi-Line Report: Bad Weather Can Bring Good Birds

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Want to support FatherSonBirding? It’s easy! Simply pick up a copy of Birding for Boomers by clicking here—or by ordering it from your local independent bookstore! We thank you!

Most serious Montana birders try to make it up to the Hi-Line every year. If you’ve never heard of the Hi-Line, it is the northern region of the state that basically follows Highway 2 from East Glacier National Park all the way to the North Dakota Border. It’s an area full of rolling hills, badlands, farms and ranches—and a whole lotta birds. For Braden and me, the region is best represented by the Bowdoin National Wildlife Refuge, a sprawling 15,551-acre refuge near Malta that encompasses a rich variety of wet and dry habitats. We don’t make it up to Bowdoin every year, but this year I was fortunate enough to get invited to visit a school in nearby Chinook. Even better, I timed the visit for spring migration and breeding. I booked an Airbnb in Malta and drove up two days early to give me a full day at Bowdoin. The bad news? The forecast called for rain.

Indeed, when I arrived at the refuge at 6:00 a.m., rain pelted the car, propelled by a cold wind. Geez, I thought. I’m not going to see anything today. It was so cold and wet that I skipped my usual stop at the visitor center and instead headed straight out onto the first, five-mile section of the fifteen-mile loop around the lake. I noted that water levels, although not great, were better than I’d seen them two years before, but the first five-mile section was a time to focus not on water birds, but on denizens of the grass. Normally, in fact, Braden and I spend the most time in this section, stopping frequently to listen for Grasshopper Sparrows, Baird’s Sparrows, Chestnut-collared Longspurs, and other grassland favorites (see our post “Great Grassland Birding”). Today, that proved impossible. Every time I opened the window, wind and rain cascaded in and made it almost impossible to hear calls beyond the heavy-metal songs of Western Meadowlarks.

Steady rain and wind limited my ability to find grassland birds!

Mercifully, a few species took pity on me. Right off the bat, I espied one of our favorite birds, a Bobolink—the only one I would see the entire trip. Then, I spotted a drenched Grasshopper Sparrow perched on a small bush—the lone GRSP I would see that day. Lark Buntings also put in an appearance, along with Horned Larks and Savannah Sparrows. I also was pleased to see shorebirds, but on this section of the drive, they were far away. At one point, I leaped out to set up the scope I was testing out (see our next post), but immediately got drenched and was unable to ID much except for Wilson’s Phalaropes, American Avocets, and a Willet.

Lark Buntings were the most cooperative grassland birds I managed to see on this cold, wet, windy day. Thank you, Lark Buntings!

As I kept driving, however, conditions steadily improved and I got better looks at shorebirds. The phalaropes were especially impressive and I estimated at least a thousand out on the water and working the shore. The vast majority were Wilson’s, but with patience, I found a group of four Red-necked Phalaropes—most clearly identified by their smaller size, overall darker appearance, and distinct light lines running down their dark backs. Ducks were not super abundant, but plentiful and I counted at least ten species, including my first-of-the-year Canvasbacks!

Twice, I drove down to some boat ramps and, despite the rain, nabbed a good “harvest” of shorebirds. I found about half a dozen Semipalmated Sandpipers and one Western Sandpiper. The real surprises, which I confirmed later with Braden’s help, were a Baird’s Sandpiper and a White-rumped Sandpiper! The latter was especially difficult to figure out because it didn’t readily show the diagnostic, thin lines of spots extending from the neck down to below the wings, but the overall appearance and body size fit. I was thrilled to find these birds as we’d never found them at Bowdoin before. Then again, we’d never birded Bowdoin this early in the season, so they were all part of my continuing Montana birding education.

Both this Baird’s (left) and several Semipalmated Sandpipers (right) proved early season surprises on this cold, rainy Bowdoin day. The larger size, long wing tips extending beyond the tail, and “medallion” appearance on the wings help distinguish Baird’s from the smaller peeps.

As I was leaving the second boat ramp, I noticed a Marbled Godwit in the parking area. Godwits, like Willets and Long-billed Curlews, are shorebirds and grassland birds. They nest in grasslands, usually near water, so seeing one here didn’t surprise me. I was about to drive off when the godwit suddenly launched itself. As I watched, it flew a hundred yards or so to the shore—and landed next to two birds I had especially hoped to see: Black-bellied Plovers! Loyal FSB readers will note that I’ve written about these fine birds a lot in the past couple of years (see, for instance, this post), and so it was with special pleasure I observed them now—and in their best black-bellied breeding plumage. Thank you, Mr. Godwit, for pointing them out!

This helpful Marbled Godwit (right) made a special effort to point out two Black-bellied Plovers that I had so woefully overlooked!

By the time I made it back to the visitor center, my stomach rumbled and, though the rain had slackened, the cold and wind remained. I debated whether I should even get out of the car to explore around the small pond there, but I knew that Braden would never forgive me if I didn’t. Marshaling my determination, I walked over to the start of the little path that circumscribes the pond. Almost immediately, a curious face popped up from behind a bush thirty feet away. “Whoa!” I whispered. At first, I thought it was a weasel, but it was much larger than the three or four weasels I’d observed in the past. Stoat? Ferret? I asked myself. Could it possibly be a mink? I’d never seen a mink and didn’t know if they even lived in Montana, but it seemed to fit the profile. Later, iNaturalist experts helped me confirm that that’s what it was. After looking at me for several moments, the long, bizarre-looking creature loped across the road and disappeared into the brush. The birds, however, were not to be outdone by a mere mammal!

Seeing my lifer American Mink was about the last thing on my mind as I braved Bowdoin’s visitor center area for one last birding effort!

As I began poking around the beginning of the trail, I saw shapes flitting about in the bushes. A brownish bird streaked by me giving off Swainson’s Thrush vibes, but I didn’t see it well enough to definitely identify it. Minutes later, a reddish-backed bird landed on a nearby branch below me—a Veery! Then I got a good look at another Swainson’s Thrush, this time confirming the ID. In the branches above it, an adorable little Least Flycatcher watched me, but none of these would be the stars of the show.

Empidonax flycatchers are notoriously difficult to identify by sight, but this bird’s “cute” appearance—and the fact that no other empids should have been anywhere in the area—helped clinch the ID.

Even through the wind, I could hear both Yellow Warblers and Common Yellowthroats around me, even if I couldn’t get clear looks at any of them. Then, a small songbird landed in a tree about thirty feet away. I got my binoculars up in time to recognize a species I had longed to see—a Blackpoll Warbler! Like the Swainson’s and Veery, the warbler was clearly in migration, on its way to northern breeding grounds in Canada and Alaska. Braden and I had found them three times before in Montana, but always females. Not only did a gorgeous, breeding plumage male now stare back at me, it was the first Blackpoll I had ever found on my own!

As you can tell, the day proved tough for photography all-around, but I managed to get fuzzy ID photos of my Bird of the Trip, Blackpoll Warbler!

You won’t be surprised to hear that the Blackpoll Warbler immediately secured Bird of the Trip honors. Even more, it cemented the notion that just because conditions are bad for birders, they can still be great for birds. In fact, storms often cause birds to hunker in place for a day or two—perhaps the reason I found some of the especially cool birds I found today. I plan to remind myself of that the next time I’m debating whether to venture out into the pelting wind and rain.

August: It’s Just Weird

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August is a weird month to bird. As we’ve no doubt mentioned before, we used to just write off August. I mean, most birds have stopped singing. No songbirds are migrating. Oh, and in Montana, hot, smoky weather often sucks the motivation from every pore of our bodies. Over time, however, our “bad August attitude” has, like the current presidential race, suffered a total reversal. Now, Braden and I cautiously look forward to August birding. The only problem? We’re never sure what we’re going to find. (See, for instance, last year’s August post “Birding Treasure at Garnet Ghost Town.”)

This August has been no different, but we began the month with some clear objectives. As Braden’s summer in Montana dwindles ahead of his final year of college, he had accomplished most of his summer birding goals save one: finding a Spruce Grouse. I could relate! After all, I saw my lifer spruce grouse only last year (see our post “Gambling on a Grouse-fecta”). As for me, I too coveted another Spruce Grouse on top of other Year Birds that had so far eluded me. The latter included Olive-sided Flycatchers, and Three-toed and Black-backed Woodpeckers. We both wanted to see migrating shorebirds, but realized it might be a tad early for some of them.

Sadly, Braden and I probably had only one day left to bird together before he departed, so any strategy to accomplish our remaining goals would involve compromise. Nonetheless, we set off last Sunday morning for a place we’d never birded together—Skalkaho Pass east of Hamilton. We got on the road before seven and made a brief stop at Lee Metcalf NWR hoping for shorebirds. No luck, probably because water levels were too high, but we did see a lot of the other usual suspects. Most surprising? Vaux’s Swifts, which I myself had probably never seen at Metcalf before, and at least half a dozen Sandhill Cranes—an unusually high number for that location. “Hm,” we thought, “Maybe some birds are already on the move for their fall migrations!”

There was something off about this Sandhill Crane at Lee Metcalf. I just can’t quite figure out what it was!

After a quick stop in Hamilton for breakfast sandwiches, we headed toward Skalkaho, the road transitioning from a two-lane road with a painted yellow line, to a “one track” paved road, and finally to dirt. We encountered an early surprise with a herd of bighorn sheep, and then climbed through a gorgeous forest canyon that gave off moist Pacific Northwest vibes and hosted a huge variety of trees. Here, we heard Pacific Wrens and Golden-crowned Kinglets, but our real destination lay high above us.

A great advantage of birding is that we see a huge variety of mammals during our adventures—including these bighorn sheep.

As the road snaked upward, we entered large burn areas that looked about ten years old. If you’ve been reading this blog (or my book Fire Birds) at all you know that we love to bird in burned forests. Not only do they provide great visibility, standing dead trees attract some of Montana’s most special birds. We pulled over a couple of times to listen for woodpeckers, but didn’t hear anything. Getting out of the car for the third time, however, we were greeted by a loud “Quick! Three Beers!” Braden and I laughed.

Though not a great photo, this is exactly the kind of pose we usually find Olive-sided Flycatchers striking in a burned forest.

“Olive-sided!” he exclaimed. And not just one, either. We would count at least half a dozen in the next couple of hours.

When we passed 7,000 feet we at last felt we had reached proper Spruce Grouse country. I had located a promising dirt road on the map, but before we reached it, we spotted another dirt road leading to the left. “That looks good,” I told Braden. “Let’s take that.”

“Sounds good,” he answered.

The burns near Skalkaho Pass were custom-made for finding cool birds.

It felt like a good day to find a Spruce Grouse. As on my Spruce Grouse excursion with Braydon Luikart last year, the day was overcast and misty, and I kept expecting to see bevies of grouse sitting in the middle of the road. That didn’t happen. In fact, we drove slowly for about twenty minutes, I keeping my eye on the road while Braden searched trees and openings along the road.

“C’mon, grouse,” I urged them, but it seemed like it might end up being a grouse-less day after all.

Then, Braden said, “Stop! Back up a few feet.”

I obeyed. “There, next to that stump,” he told me. “That definitely looks like a grouse.”

Sure enough, it was a gorgeous female emanating a distinctly Spruce Grouse aura. Just to make sure, I called up my Sibley app and compared it to a female Dusky Grouse. The two looked very different. Most diagnostic were this bird’s golden-brown patina and horizontal stripes across its breast and belly. Dusky females are grayer with more vertical barring in front.

We could have easily driven past this female Spruce Grouse as it imitated a tree stump, but Braden’s sharp eyes caught it as we rumbled by.

“We did it!” I affirmed. “We found a Spruce Grouse!” Neither of us could quite believe it. Even better, we spotted two babies popping their heads up and down right behind mom.

We continued up the road for another ten minutes, hoping to glimpse a male, but didn’t see one, so turned around and began bumping back toward the main road. We were not finished with this promising area, though. At another burn area, I pulled over. “Let’s just walk up the slope a bit,” I suggested, grabbing my camera and binoculars. We did, scanning the forest of dead tree trunks for any sign of woodpeckers. Then, we heard drumming to our right and our eyes locked.

“Let’s go over there,” Braden said, and we began picking our way over fallen logs and slash, and through fresh, thriving young trees and shrubs. As we walked, the drumming sound was replaced by tapping, and we grew closer and closer until we felt sure it was coming from a tall tree right in front of us.

“Do you see it?” I asked peering hard at the trunk against a backlit sky. Braden shook his head, so I circled around the tree, trying to spot it from different angles. Finally, I saw movement down low behind a green branch of a living tree. “I got it,” I called to Braden.

It took some time to get a clear look at it, and the first thing I saw was a lot of white showing on its back. This led the pessimistic side of me to conclude it was a Hairy Woodpecker. After all, no yellow showed on its head—the clear sign of a male Three-toed or Black-backed. As Braden also got his eyes on it, though, we began going through its other features. Most prominent? Black barring on its breast.

“Do Hairys have those black markings?” I asked, quickly consulting Sibley. “They don’t!”

This female American Three-toed Woodpecker provided an ideal “study bird” for teasing out the finer details of this species. We were thrilled to find it!

“It’s a Three-toed!” Braden agreed.

Wow. On this one day we had set aside to bird at elevation, we had found almost all of the birds we longed for, missing only a Black-backed Woodpecker.

We weren’t as successful with shorebirds, but that didn’t surprise us. Making our way over to Warm Springs, we found a nice group of Long-billed Dowitchers, and Greater and Lesser Yellowlegs, but not the Baird’s or Pectoral Sandpipers or small “peeps” (Least, Semipalmated, or Western Sandpipers) we were hoping for. Still, we did discover a surprise Black-crowned Night-Heron at the main Warm Springs ponds—something totally off our radar. In fact, I had started the day hoping for maybe one or two Year Birds, and ended up with six! Our success was only dampened by the knowledge that it might be our last big day of birding together this summer. Still, that is the yin and yang of birding—and of life. You just gotta enjoy it all.

Our grouse eBird checklist: https://ebird.org/checklist/S190227269

One-of-a-Kind Birds—and a One-of-a-Kind Book to Go With Them

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This week’s blog focuses on one-of-a-kind birds—and a book to go along with them. For those of you who have been following FatherSonBirding for the past couple of years, you may remember a February, 2022 post about monotypic animals. These are animals that have no other species in the scientific genus to which they belong. At the time of the post, I had begun researching a new children’s picture book about animals that were not only monotypical to genus, but to the family or order taxonomic level. In other words, these animals are really alone in their taxonomic world. What’s more, they often possess wonderful adaptations and behaviors found nowhere else in the animal kingdom. They include both animals you are undoubtedly familiar with such as the platypus, leatherback sea turtle, whale shark, and pronghorn. They also include lesser-known critters such as India’s purple frog and the South American monito del monte.

Often called an “antelope,” the Pronghorn is actually a unique survivor of our Ice Ages, whose closest living relatives are giraffes and okapis.

The good news is that Like No Other: Earth’s Coolest One-of-a-Kind Creatures is now a reality, exploring 13 of earth’s most remarkable creatures! But since this is (mostly) a birding blogsite, let me focus on the one-of-a-kind birds in the book.

Like No Other’s very first animal is Africa’s Secretarybird. I first learned about this bird 25 years ago when I was researching a book called Birds of Prey: A Look at Daytime Raptors. That book is now out of print, but while researching it, I came upon this bizarre-looking, long-legged raptor that often kicks and stomps its prey to death—when it’s not carrying them up into the air and dropping them from great heights. This grassland- and savanna-dwelling bird originally lived throughout much of Africa, but has declined sharply in much of its range. Culprits include habitat loss and degradation, collisions with fences and powerlines, and poisoning from pesticides. It is a dream of mine to see these birds in the wild before I croak (or hit a powerline myself).

Though a bird of prey, the Secretarybird’s appearance, behavior, and ancestry is unlike any other raptor.

The second bird in Like No Other is a bird I’m not sure I’d even heard of before writing the book: South America’s Oilbird. These squat, kind of chubby-looking birds are reminiscent of nightjars such as the Common Nighthawk or Common Pauraque, but similarities stop there. Oilbirds roost in colonies of up to 10,000 birds in caves of forested areas of northern South America and along the spine of the Andes. Like bats, they use echolocation and an excellent sense of smell to locate fruits of forest trees. Birds of the World lists them as of “Least Concern,” but they contain so much fat that in the past they have been boiled down for oil lamp fuel. No one has any idea how long they live.

Oilbirds live in caves in South America and hunt using echolocation, good night vision, and a great sense of smell.

You know me. I would have packed a lot more birds into Like No Other but felt obligated to include a fair number of other vertebrate groups (those darned vertebrates!). I did manage to wedge one more monotypic bird into the pages, however—New Zealand’s enigmatic Kakapo. For those of you who haven’t heard of it, the Kakapo is the world’s heaviest parrot. Even more amazing, it doesn’t fly! I first learned about the birds 35 years ago when I was on a four-month bicycle trip through New Zealand. At the time, fewer than 50 Kakapo were thought to exist, and as is so often the case on Pacific islands, invasive mammalian predators were largely to blame. Thanks to an intensive conservation program that included captive breeding and eradication of introduced species from offshore islands, however, the Kakapo’s future now looks much rosier. Kakapo are by no means out of the woods, but their population is up to about 250 birds, and they are being closely monitored. It’s another wonderful example of what humans can accomplish when we put our minds to it.

The Kakapo provides an inspirational story of what we can do to save species if we try.

Humans are the very last one-of-a-kind creatures in Like No Other. Nothing like us has ever existed on the planet before, and the jury’s still out whether we can figure out what to do with our big brains and ambitions without destroying ourselves. Stories of protecting the Kakapo and other species in Like No Other, though, give me hope we’ll come up with solutions.

Like No Other is available now from your local independent bookstore, online stores, and other outlets.

Like No Other is available now through your local independent bookstore and other outlets.