Roger and I could easily write another ten or twelve posts about our recent birding adventures to Colombia, but I thought it would be fun to pack a lot of our experiences into a video featuring our main destination down there, the Araucana Lodge. The video not only introduces you to the joys of lodge birding, but features some of the famous birds and birding opportunities to be had in the mountains above Cali. Since large files don’t always work well on this blog host, we embed a YouTube link below. Let us know what you think—and enjoy the show!
Click Here to see the first of our Colombian birding post!
With spring shorebird migration coming on, we take a break from our Colombian birding series to review a new book that will help prepare you for the exciting, sometimes daunting task of identifying and enjoying some of the world’s most spectacular long-distance migrants. Bird—and read—on!
Legions of FatherSonBirding readers have probably noticed that Braden and I have increasingly become interested—nay, obsessed—by shorebirds over the years. See, for example, our posts
Our fascination may seem odd given that Montana is hardly the world’s epicenter of shorebird activity. Then again, their very rarity here renders them all the more alluring to find and learn about. A natural birding progression also is at work. When beginning one’s birding journey, we birders naturally focus on common, familiar species. As confidence, curiosity, and ambition grow, so does the desire to learn about and identify more difficult groups of birds. When we first began birding, Braden and I focused on woodpeckers, thrushes, waterfowl, waders, owls, and other easier-to-identify species. Over the years, we have plunged into increasingly challenging groups including warblers, sparrows, flycatchers (Braden), gulls, and perhaps more than anything, “shorbs.”
A flock of Western Sandpipers at Point Reyes during my September visit to California with Scott Callow.
When out scanning beaches or shallow lakes, the most common phrase Braden repeats to me is “Shorebirds are tough.” This usually happens when I am whining about the difficulty in distinguishing between off-season Least and Semipalmated Sandpipers, or White-rumped and Baird’s Sandpipers—especially at a distance. But many shorbs are relatively easy to identify, and over the years both Braden and I have come to appreciate—nay, savor—the entire breadth of these fascinating, superbly adapted critters. Imagine my joy, then, when a brand new, beautifully photographed book about shorebirds arrived on my doorstep: Pete Dunne’s and Kevin T. Karlson’s The Shorebirds of North America: A Natural History and Photographic Celebration(Princeton University Press, 2024).
To say that The Shorebirds of North America is ambitious would be like calling the 18,000-mile round-trip migration of a Red Knot “neat” instead of “epic” or “mind-blowing.” This terrific addition to birding literature not only gives a wonderful overview of the lives of shorebirds, it provides specific accounts of all the shorebirds likely to interest you. That makes this book a wonderful, highly readable reference for both beginning and advanced birders.
The bulk of the book consists of species accounts of 52 kinds of shorebirds known to breed in North America and my guess is that you, like me, will skip directly to species that happen to interest you at the present time. This is a great approach. One of the first shorebirds I looked up was Black-bellied Plover, a bird I have become more and more enthralled with the past several years. As I started to read, my understanding of this handsome creature immediately swelled. I didn’t realize, for instance, that it is one of the world’s most widely distributed shorebirds, or that it is called Grey Plover outside of North America. What really tickled me was learning how fearlessly aggressive these birds can be:
“On the high Arctic tundra breeding grounds,” the authors write, “this sturdy plover is a fierce protector of its large nest area, and it strikes fear into aerial predators as large as gulls and jaegers. Woe to any flying predator if it hears the whistled alarm call of Black-bellied Plover as it flies swift and low across the tundra before rising to spear the intruder in the belly with its strong bill . . .”
The 4-letter breeding code for Black-bellied Plovers is BBPL. After reading the entry for the bird in The Shorebirds of North America, however, I realized that BBPL could easily stand for “Bad-ass-bellied Plover”.
Who knew that one of my favorite birds is such a bad-ass? Similarly delightful “reveals” can be found in each account, many of them based on the authors’ own personal and scientific experiences with the birds.
Far from just being pretty to look at, the book’s incredible photos add real understanding of each species by showing them in a variety of plumages and situations. I enjoyed just quizzing myself on the photos as I made my way through the book, testing and expanding my knowledge as I went. I cannot imagine the effort Kevin T. Karlson and the book’s other photographers invested in creating what may be the world’s finest collection of shorebird photos.
Another thing I learned from The Shorebirds of North America is that the bills of oystercatchers are laterally compressed. You can’t tell this from the typical side view, but this compression turns the bills into excellent chisels for prying limpets, snails, and chitons off of rocks.
As delightful as the species accounts are, I strongly urge readers to read the entire first section straight through. In this section, the authors provide excellent perspective on all shorebirds including their remarkable adaptations, habits, diversity, and evolution. Fascinating anecdotes abound, such as the story of B-95, a banded Red Knot known to have traveled more than 400,000 miles during his 21-year lifetime. The authors don’t bother to hide their admiration for these birds:
“Challenged to design the perfect bird, we would without hesitancy delve into ranks of shorebirds and reach down to the Scolopacidae (sandpipers), the largest of the roughly six or seven family groups in the shorebird order Charadriiformes.”
Another fascinating fact I picked up from The Shorebirds of North America is that the curved bills of Long-billed Curlews are almost perfectly designed to snatch fiddler crabs from their long, curved burrows. They’re also great for picking off grasshoppers without alerting them to their imminent doom.
I could keep singing this book’s praises, but really, if you have even the tiniest, nascent interest in shorebirds, you should order a copy yourself. Given its length and full-color format, I expected the book to sell for at least fifty or sixty bucks, but at the time of this posting it can be had for a bargain $35. That puts it within reach of most people—and makes it an investment in your birding future you won’t regret.
One-Sentence Summary: A highly-readable, indispensable resource for both beginning and advanced shorebird enthusiasts.
Overall Rating (on a scale of cool birds): Piping Plover (highest)
You can order The Shorebirds of North America from your local independent bookstore, or directly from Princeton University Press.Please tell them we sent you!
(Except for the cover image, photos in this post are copyright Sneed B. Collard III. Review copy of The Shorebirds of North America provided by the publisher.)
“Call me asap,” Roger’s text read. A few minutes later, I dialed his number. “What’s up?”
The answer: a chance of a lifetime.
As faithful FSB readers know, Roger is a longtime friend of mine from UC Berkeley, and a guest contributor to FatherSonBirding. More than six months ago Roger and his wife, Claudia, began planning a dream birding trip to the world’s epicenter of awesome birding—the country of Colombia. How awesome is Colombia? Well, during the Global Big Day of birding each year, Colombia regularly kicks butt on all challengers. In 2024, its birders recorded an astounding 1558 species in a single 24-hour period—more than twice the number of the US despite submitting only about 15% of the number of checklists. It is widely considered to have the highest biodiversity per square meter of any country on earth.
Great Thrush and Eared Dove . . .are two of the first birds you’re likely to see in Bogota!
Sadly, Colombia has a long history of violence that has made it mostly off-limits to birders for decades. That began to change in 2016, when a peace agreement was signed between the government and FARC, the military wing of the Colombian Communist Party. Violence still racks some parts of the country, but that has not prevented a growing number of birders from seizing the chance to visit one of the world’s most spectacular ecological regions. About six months ago, Roger decided to join those growing ranks. He and Claudia mapped out a two-week trip that would include a feast of birding opportunities. However, as the great oracle of our time, Neil Young, sang, “The devil fools with the best-laid plans.” Two weeks before their trip, Claudia was forced to cancel, and Roger asked if I wanted to fill her slot. With a quick nod from Amy and the urging of Tessa, it took me about two minutes to decide.
The plan was to meet up in the Andean city of Pereira to begin our birding adventure (of which I’ll write much more later). Roger planned to fly from his home in Bend, Oregon to Miami and spend the night; then fly to Pereira via Panama City the following day. Being a Delta Airlines loyalist, I left a day earlier, spent the night in Atlanta and then flew to Bogota for a night. This excited me greatly because it would give me a morning to myself before catching a flight to Pereira to meet Roger. Gee, what oh what might I do with that morning?
Simon Bolivar Park, Bogota.
Not by accident, I booked a room in the Hotel Capital, strategically located a short taxi ride to two major birding possibilities. Rising early, I wolfed down a granola bar for breakfast and then caught a cab to Parque Metropolitano Simón Bolívar, one of the world’s largest urban parks. In my atrocious Spanish, I told the cab driver of my interest in birds and he dropped me off at the SW corner of the park near a large central lake. I had worried a bit about carrying my camera and binoculars in this unfamiliar city, but my hotel concierge had assured me the park would be safe. Sure enough, I was relieved to see a steady stream of joggers, dog walkers, and cyclists taking advantage of a beautiful sunny morning. But what of the birds?
As I walked toward the lake, I saw plenty of Great Thrushes and Eared Doves, and Sound ID picked up the songs of Rufous-collared Sparrows, a bird Braden and I had become friends with on our family trip to Ecuador and Peru in 2017.
Like a birder magnet, however, the lake drew me forward. When approaching a large body of water like this, I always look for legions of water birds to be gracing the water, and in Japan and last year’s trip to Barcelona, that had indeed been the case. Not today. Evidently, ducks just aren’t as big a deal in the tropics as in temperate zones. I did spot what looked like a domestic hybrid duck of some sort, accompanied by a much smaller bird, and I focused in on the latter for the day’s first surprise—a Pied-billed Grebe! “I didn’t know they lived this far south,” I thought. Indeed, I later learned that in the Americas, Pied-billed Grebes have the largest distribution of any grebe, stretching from mid-Canada almost to the tip of South America.
Pied-billed Grebes have the widest distribution of any American grebes.
A hundred meters farther, I caught movement in bushes and discovered one of the real prizes of my outing—a mixed flock of warblers! And not just any warblers, but three species that breed in the eastern US. One revealed a brilliant splash of orange on its face. Can you guess which one it was? That’s right—Blackburnian Warbler! It was accompanied by several Tennessee Warblers and my first look at an actual Rufous-collared Sparrow.
Blackburnian Warbler and . . .American Restart in Bogota!
As I followed the flock around, I got an even bigger surprise—a bonafide American Redstart. “Wow!” I said out loud, trying to get a photo of one of everyone’s favorite warblers.
From the main “parky park,” I crossed a pedestrian bridge over jammed up morning traffic and entered a sprawling sports complex.
You’ll be relieved to learn that Colombia has the same kinds of traffic problems as we do!
Soccer players were warming up, track and field athletes ran around a track, and tennis players smacked balls back and forth. Next to the walking path, a pair of familiar-looking black-and-white birds hopped up onto a sign. It didn’t take me long to figure out they were Tropical Mockingbirds—the only ones I would see on the trip! Then, a familiar, largish bird flew noisily by and disappeared over the wall into a stadium. Here, Braden’s and my travels to Israel paid off. Southern Lapwing! my mind immediately shouted. My real destination, though, lay just ahead.
Look familiar? It didn’t take me long to figure out that this handsome fellow was a Tropical Mockingbird.
I paid two bucks to enter the Jardin Botanico de Bogota—which, like the sporting complex, was technically part of the Simón Bolívar Park—and asked a greeter where I might find birds. Then, I set off to explore. My first find? Gorgeous Purple Gallinules. Hummingbirds also flew by, but knowing just how many hummers fill South America, I wasn’t psychologically ready to tackle those just yet.
It’s hard not to be impressed with the technicolor plumage of Purple Gallinules.
Continuing on alongside a wooded area, I spotted a bright red shape about twenty feet high on a branch—my first South American Summer Tanager! I saw another traveler staring up into the trees and walked over to introduce myself. “My name is Edwin,” he told me, along with the fact that he was from the Netherlands. “Are you seeing anything?” I asked him. “Yes, but I don’t know what they are,” he confided. I got my eyes on fast-moving, small shapes and recognized another Blackburnian Warbler, along with what I think were more Tennessee Warblers. I told Edwin what I was seeing.
“Hey, did you see the Summer Tanager?” I asked, and his eyes widened. “No!” So I led him back to where I’d spotted it, relieved to finding it still perched, evidently being well-paid by the botanical gardens staff to stay in place.
I had hoped to see some of our northern birds in their southern wintering grounds, but didn’t expect to see a Summer Tanager in downtown Bogota!
By this time, I was only up to about twenty species, which seemed like a rather poor showing for a morning in a brand new tropical country, even if I was in a major city. Only one of those species, Shiny Cowbird, was a lifer. Even worse, it was about time for me to flag down a cab and make my way back to the hotel so that I could shower, pack, and get to the airport for my flight to Pereira. Before leaving the gardens, however, I decided to make one last stop where I had seen the gallinules. Suddenly, I detected a small bird flitting among some flowers, and my pulse picked up. I didn’t know what it was, but got some decent ID shots of it. As I zoomed in on one of my photos, a smile spread across my face. It was a flowerpiercer—the first I had ever knowingly seen! Later, I consulted with Braden and we agreed that it was a beautiful little species called a Rusty Flowerpiercer.
I was thrilled to find this Rusty Flowerpiercer, the first flowerpiercer I’d ever identified on my own.
It was a great way to finish off a fun morning of layover birding in a new country. It also laid the groundwork for what would promise to be an adventurous—sometimes too adventurous—next couple of weeks.
Oh, wait, did I forget to mention the giant Harpy Eagle I saw in Bogota’s Botanical Gardens?
You may have noticed more references to gulls in our recent posts (see, for instance, “Birding Race Point” and “In Search of the Marbled Murrelet”). Or maybe not. Either way, Braden’s and my interest in gulls has been on the rise in recent years, and for good reason. Gulls are fascinating, beautiful, adaptable creatures worthy of attention. “So why didn’t you pay more attention to them before?” Roger, Scott, and some of our other loyal (and snarky) readers may ask. The reason is simple: gulls are hard. Many of the adults look similar, but if that isn’t perplexing enough, most gull species go through multiple molts which make them look radically different seasonally and from year to year—and frustratingly similar to other gulls in their various molts. The bottom line: to even approach competence identifying gulls, you have to devote a LOT of time to it, and finally, after about a decade of birding, Braden and I have felt ready to dip our toes into this task. Imagine our delight, then, to discover the release of a brand new book from Amar Ayyash, The Gull Guide: North America (Princeton University Press, 2024).
As soon as I heard about The Gull Guide, Amy and I bought a copy for Braden for Christmas. I quickly realized, however, that I wanted a copy of my own, so I contacted Princeton University Press and asked if they would like me to review the book. A week later, my own fresh copy arrived. Flipping through it, I recognized that I may have taken on more than I bargained for. The Gull Guide, I saw, is no mere specialized guide to a group of birds. It is a magnum opus—or in this case, a magnum gullpus—by one of the world’s foremost authorities on a subject. But let’s get to it . . .
First Impressions: attractive design; gorgeous photographic illustrations; logically and intuitively organized; comfortable to hold in your hands (really!).
My first casual flip through The Gull Guide conjured up a deep feeling that I was holding the Rosetta Stone to an important part of the birding universe. Upon the author’s suggestion, I started by reading the introduction and, I gotta say, this alone made the book worth buying. To wit, even though I knew that gulls seem to thrive in human-created places such as garbage dumps and parking lots, I had no idea just how successful and adaptable they are. To quote the author, “No gull species is known to have gone extinct for as long as modern taxonomy has kept records (Dee 2018). In many ways, they are similar to Homo sapiens: omnivores exploiting and consuming whatever they cross paths with.”
The first gull I looked up in The Gull Guide is one of Braden’s and my favorite species, Heermann’s Gulls. I learned that these handsome rascals are known for landing on the backs of Brown Pelicans—and stealing fish right out of their pouches!They nest primarily on a single island in the Gulf of California.
About fifty species of gulls inhabit the planet (fewer than I would have guessed), and The Gull Guide provides coverage of thirty-two that have a presence in North America. The author divides these into three categories:
Small Tern-like and Hooded Gulls
Gulls in the genus Larus
The Herring Gull complex (which is also made up of Larus species, but stands out for the difficulty in identifying and classifying them)
This last fall, I spent a lot of time looking at Glaucous-winged Gulls, part of the “Herring Gull complex”—a large group of beefy white-headed gulls. Adult Glaucous-wingeds can usually be ID’ed by the gray-and-white wing tips. However, this entire group of gulls is especially known to hybridize with each other, often making them notoriously difficult to identify.
If I had any hope that The Gull Guidewould help me learn to easily identify all of these different species, the author quickly laid that fantasy to rest. “It is important to accept that identifying every gull 100 percent of the time is an impractical undertaking,” he states early in the book. “The sooner we come to terms with this, the sooner we’re able to enjoy gulls for what they are. Struggling with an identification should be looked at as an opportunity to grow and cultivate our craft.”
Yeah, sure. Easy for him to say! For my part, I was eager to start building my skills. I therefore proceeded to read the excellent chapters on gull body parts, molts, and overall identification features. Then, I swooped into chapters on individual species.
Loyal FSB readers will recall that we got our lifer Ivory Gull on Flathead Lake on Braden’s birthday in 2020. Hundreds of birders from Montana and several other states made the pilgrimage to see this rare Montana vagrant.
As you would expect, for each species the author provides a basic overview followed by detailed information on the bird’s range, identification, molts, and hybrids—an especially important discussion since gulls are famous for hybridizing with each other in ways that are often difficult, if not impossible, to figure out. Part of what makes the book so impressive, though, is the inclusion of up to dozens of color plates for each species. These show each bird in different molts as well as geographic variation within the species, and abundant examples of hybridization as well.
Although The Gull Guide is very useful for beginning birders, it is clearly written and designed to accommodate expert birders, including those who wish to make the study of gulls one of their primary birding pursuits. As someone in between those two extremes, I have been using the book to tease out some of the gull challenges I have myself encountered—distinguishing between hybrid Glaucous-winged Gulls and Herring Gulls, for instance, or Franklin’s versus Laughing Gulls.
While it’s a treat to catch Bonaparte’s Gulls as they move through Montana, Braden and I had a great chance to observe them on the East Coast this past fall. The distinct black “dot” behind the eye is a good way to ID these widespread gulls in non-breeding plumage. In breeding, it has a totally black head. It is the only gull to nest largely in trees.
I especially pored through the gulls we have here in Montana, beginning with our most common species, the Ring-billed Gull. Here, I noticed something that could use correction, or at least more explanation. Ring-billed Gulls can be readily found in many parts of Montana throughout the year, and yet the range map for the species shows them as “year-round” only in certain Great Lakes locations. Braden confirms they are also on the eastern seaboard throughout the year, and eBird bar charts also show them as present throughout the year in many other states. I’m sure the author knows this, so in the next edition, to avoid confusion, I’d like to see his reasoning or methodology for how the range map is created.
That aside, I am sure that The Gull Guidewill become a dog-eared companion for both Braden and me as our expertise and interest in this fascinating group of birds continues to grow. This isn’t the first reference book a beginning birder will want to buy, but I highly recommend it for anyone expanding birdwatching beyond their backyard feeders, or for those intrigued by gulls and their fascinating biology.
Overall Rating (on a scale of cool birds): Ross’s Gull (highest)
You can order The Gull Guide from your local independent bookstore, Buteo Books, or directly from Princeton University Press.Please tell them we sent you!
The week before Thanksgiving, my family had the opportunity to visit a place that featured prominently in my childhood—Cape Cod, Massachusetts. We headed to Boston so that I could accept a big award for my picture book, Border Crossings, but the trip provided many piggybacking opportunities. These included a chance to look at colleges for Braden’s sister, Tessa, and to meet up with Braden for Thanksgiving. After Amy, Tessa, and I spent a few days in Boston, in fact, Braden drove down from the University of Maine and whisked us off to the Cape.
I spent parts of many summers in Woods Hole on the Cape. My father did his post-doc at WHOI—the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution. My step-father spent dozens of summers in Woods Hole doing research and teaching classes at the MBL—the Marine Biological Laboratories. I have many fond (and some not-so-fond) memories of those summers, but had not been back for (gasp) 45 years! I looked forward to revisiting old haunts and showing my family some of the places that had shaped my childhood. Naturally, Braden and I also considered the birding possibilities.
Race Point Lighthouse.
When Braden first mentioned going to Race Point near Provincetown, I hesitated. I recalled driving up there as a ten-year-old and didn’t relish spending an extra four hours of our vacation in a car. When Braden started telling me what we might find there, however, I quickly changed my mind.
Race Point, it turns out, is one of the nation’s premiere places for spotting seabirds from land. A map reveals an obvious reason: Cape Cod juts miles out into the Atlantic Ocean, and the tip—Race Point itself—is surrounded on three sides by the sea. This means that birders have an opportunity to see both regular beach-type birds and many species that only rarely show up near land. Braden and I especially hoped to see jaegers, “tube noses” such as shearwaters, and any interesting gulls or ducks that happened to be around.
After a delicious breakfast at Liz’s Café in Provincetown, Braden and I left Amy and Tessa to explore while we headed off to the parking lot near Race Point lighthouse. As soon as we approached the beach, we spotted Northern Gannets soaring above wild, wind-raked seas. I’d only ever gotten a brief look at a NOGA before, when Braden and I had visited Acadia National Park three years before, so right away the drive up to Provincetown redeemed itself!
However, the excitement was just beginning.
One of perhaps 150 Northern Gannets we saw at Race Point. Like Blue-footed Boobies, these birds torpedo straight down into schools of fish.
As wind and sand pelted us, groups of White-winged and Black Scoters, Common Eiders, and Long-tailed Ducks skimmed the waves just offshore. Some occasionally landed, but most seemed hell-bent for destinations only they knew about. All were birds I had scant experience with, so I soaked up every sighting.
This was only my second time seeing Common Eiders, and I was uber impressed by the coloration of both females and males.
“There’s a Red-throated Loon!” Braden said, pointing to a bird with an exceedingly pale, long neck reaching up from the surface. It wouldn’t be long before we saw several Common Loons, differentiated by blockier heads, chunkier bills, and more black on their faces.
Only my second Red-throated Loon ever. Note the smooth, rounded head and white “winter” face.
At the top of our To Find list were Great Shearwaters, a potential Lifer for both of us. These birds belong to the “tube noses,” the same group of birds that includes albatrosses, fulmars, and storm-petrels. These birds are truly seafarers, rarely approaching shore. Only a few weeks ago, I had caught a glimpse of Sooty Shearwaters while visiting California’s Point Reyes National Park with my friend Scott. Great Shearwaters had been sighted regularly at Race Point for the past couple of weeks, but alas, we arrived too late to see them today.
Braden fruitlessly searching the seas for Great Shearwaters and jaegers.
We still had plenty of thrilling birds to look at, however. As we trudged the mile and a half through the soft sand toward the very tip of the Cape, flocks of Dunlin and Sanderlings in their winter plumages worked the drifts of foam left on the beach by each encroaching wave. We even saw a group of six Horned Larks, birds we were used to seeing on the backroads of Montana—not here at the end of the world.
It had been years since I’d gotten to hang with Dunlins, and it was a real treat.
Not to be outdone, gulls also put on a show. This was the first time I’d ever gotten to see Great Black-backed Gulls in a natural setting. They are the world’s largest gulls, and I gotta say they looked like they belonged in this rugged, challenging environment.
“Look!” Braden suddenly shouted. “Iceland Gull!” Two of them, in fact. These gulls had until recently been split into Iceland and Thayer’s Gull, and Braden and I had seen the latter at the Helena landfill in Montana. This look was much more memorable as both a juvenile and adult landed near us. Both were gorgeous birds with subtle markings, and they quickly jumped into contention for Bird of the Day honors. Not long after seeing the Iceland Gulls, Braden also spotted a Black-legged Kittiwake. I was grateful he’d gained experience with all of these birds while on the East Coast, because I certainly would have missed a lot of them.
I don’t even want to know what this Great Black-backed Gull is eating, as our two Iceland Gulls look on.
I picked up two Lifers for the day. One was Razorbill, a kind of black-and-white alcid I had dreamed about seeing for years (see our post “All About Alcids”). During our hike to the lighthouse and back, we saw about eighty of these birds in groups, flying low or bobbing up and down in the jagged waves. My second Lifer was a pair of Purple Sandpipers that landed in front of us and shouldn’t have been anywhere near a wide sandy beach. Like its closely-related West Coast cousin the Rock Sandpiper, these are rocky shore birds.
I was especially thrilled to see my Lifer Razorbills, but it’s a tossup whether these or the Iceland Gulls grabbed Bird of the Day honors.
“They must be migrating,” I said, and Braden agreed, though we were well within their wintering latitudes.
As we trudged back toward the car, Braden spotted a fin jutting out of the water. At first we thought it might be the dorsal fin of a shark or orca, but after watching it for a few minutes, we concluded that we were looking at the tail flukes of a larger whale. I’d seen quite a few humpback whales before, and these didn’t look anything like it. “I think it’s a Right Whale,” I said. Later, we learned that Right Whales had been regularly spotted in the area. It was one more unforgettable discovery for a memorable day.
