We wrap up our (choose one: Bonanza, Beneficial, Barbaric) Bonus Birding Blog run with our visit to Brooklyn’s Prospect Park. Brooklyn seems to often get second consideration to Manhattan, but as you’ll see, the birds were just as good. “So what is next?” you might ask. Well, Braden and I are about to leave for a birding excursion to Arizona and California en route to his job working in the Sierras monitoring Northern Goshawks. You can bet we’ll have some posts from that. And if you are wondering how Braden is doing on his Big Year goal of 400 species, we are proud to announce that yesterday’s addition of Williamson’s Sapsucker brings his year count to 319 species! Hm . . . maybe 400 is too low of a goal?Stay tuned to find out!
After our sublime day birding Central Park, Braden and I hopped the F train the next morning to meet my editor and friend Harold Underdown, creator of the amazing website Writing, Illustrating, and Publishing Children’s Books: The Purple Crayon. I had enjoyed working with Harold on my book Beaks!at Charlesbridge Publishing back in the day and now am happy to be working on another picture book with him in his position as Executive Editor of Kane Press. When I invited Harold to bird with Braden and me, he just could not suppress his scientific curiosity and, on his suggestion, we agreed to meet at Brooklyn’s Prospect Park.
Birding Brooklyn’s Prospect Park was a great way to renew my friendship with editor Harold Underdown, here wearing a mask to avoid attention from his thousands of adoring fans!
Fresh off our amazing day before, Braden and I of course woke early and arrived in Brooklyn a full hour and a half early. Braden had researched recent bird sightings so we headed toward the part of Prospect Park known as Lookout Hill. At first we did not see much, but as we continued, the birds began to show themselves, including Northern Parulas, Least Flycatchers, Baltimore Orioles, and Black-throated Blue Warblers. We also saw a feral cat, obviously stalking birds and other wildlife—an unwelcome reminder of the enormous toll outdoor cats take on birds across the country.
After climbing Lookout Hill, we dropped back down and made our way through some woods to a place called the Upper Pool where an unlikely Red-throated Loon had been hanging out. We didn’t see it immediately, but did spot several handsome Wood Ducks. Rounding a bend, though, we suddenly beheld a large gray bird paddling prominently in the middle of the Lower Pool. We dutifully shot a dozen or so photos and then hurried to meet Harold.
The presence of a rare Red-throated Loon in Prospect Park had made birders worry about its health, but we observed the loon take two perfectly normal flights so fingers crossed it is healthy and will move on when it’s good and ready!
Unfortunately, as so happens with we birders, an unavoidable delay smacked us in the face—two warblers we had not yet seen in New York! Braden detected the first by ear, a Black-throated Green Warbler. As we were watching that, however, he suddenly grabbed my shoulder and said, “Daddy, look!” It took me a moment to spot it, but thanks to Braden’s recent Florida posts, I recognized that it was a bird near the top of my New York target list: Prairie Warbler!
Not the best photo, but I was thrilled to see my first Prairie Warbler–species number 503 on my American Birding Association Life List of birds.
It was great to see Harold again and with him in tow, we more or less retraced our earlier route—but with different results. We showed him the loon, and as the sun emerged from gray clouds, we began seeing a wonderful assortment of passerines that included a House Wren, more orioles, Warbling Vireos, and first-of-year Yellow Warblers. The stars of the day? Two warblers, a Black-and-White and a Northern Parula, that put on the best-ever displays for us. The parula spent a solid five minutes in a bush not 15 feet from us, allowing us some of our best warbler photos ever.
Warblers are often so difficult to observe that it is a rare treat to watch one up-close and personal. Thanks to this Northern Parula and Black-and-White Warbler, Prospect Park offered Braden, Harold, and me that chance!
After bidding adieu to Harold, Braden and I strolled down 9th Street and grabbed a pretty good meal at “New” Yummy Tacos, and then caught the F train back to Manhattan, glimpsing the Statue of Liberty along the way. That night, we all went to see the wonderful, poignant musical Come From Away. BUT, our birding adventures had not quite ended.
It was great to see the Statue of Liberty again, but something about her just seemed off.
The next day we walked the High Line, an inspirational elevated train trestle-turned-city park. Along the way, we stopped to eat “Liberty Bagels” in Chelsea Park. While we did see some birds including an oriole and an Ovenbird, bird numbers in both locations seemed significantly lower than we expected and, after talking to other birders, we realized that a migrant wave had probably finished passing through. That, in turn, made us feel how fortunate we’d been birding the last two days. As stated in our last post, the window for migrant songbirds through New York is pretty narrow and if I have any advice to those wishing to check birding NYC off your bucket list, it is this: give yourself at least a week to make sure you have the best chance of seeing a great group of birds. As we prepared to fly back to Montana, we felt grateful that at least this time, we had bit the Big Apple just right.
One of the joys of visiting New York is meeting friendly people from all walks of life, including photographer Ayinde Listhrop, who introduced himself while we were walking the High Line. Check out his inspired photos at https://www.unlimitedphotography.nyc/
We know you’ve been dying for Braden’s last installment of his Florida trip, but just to keep you waiting impatiently a bit longer, here is the first of a new series for you: our spring trip to New York—during migration season! Stay tuned for rapid installments, and to make sure you don’t miss a single one, be sure to subscribe by filling out the boxes down and to the right!
All birders have bucket lists and birding New York’s Central Park during spring migration stood close to the top of ours. Just when that would happen, we didn’t know, but this year the end of Braden’s spring semester, ahem, pigeon-tailed perfectly with my daughter’s desire to return to New York City, so we decided to make a family trip of it. We did not plan the exact dates around spring migrants, but first encounters bore promise.
Seeing an original copy of Audubon’s Birds of America in all its giant glory was an unexpected, great way to launch my New York birding experience!
Amy, Tessa, and I arrived Friday, May 6, but Braden wouldn’t pull into Penn Station until the following Monday and I tried to hold off birding until then. I failed. Despite a rainy day Saturday, we wandered back through Bryant Park after an excursion to the New York Public Library, where I got to see a copy of Audubon’s original Birds of America (WOW!). Bryant Park lacked good habitat, but in a few short minutes I glimpsed Gray Catbirds, White-throated Sparrows, and a Hermit Thrush. The message was clear: THE BIRDS ARE HERE! Even more exciting, Tessa and I planned to take Amy to a well-known hotspot, Governor’s Island, for Mother’s Day the next day. Alas, that night Amy came down with a crummy cold, so Tessa and I decided to instead plan a visit to the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH).
“I’ve been framed!” Actually, this Gray Catbird is not in jail—just visiting the Bright Lights and Big City Life on its way to breeding grounds.
The next morning, as is my wont, I rose way before Tessa so decided to do a bit ‘o bird reconnoitering before we hit the AMNH. Our overpriced, mediocre hotel stood fairly close to the Hudson and I thought There’s gotta be some birds down along the river, right? Uh, not really. Sure, I saw a cormorant, robins, a couple of fish crows (identified by their anemic calls) and the usual city birds—along with a giant aircraft carrier—but was disappointed by the paucity of greenery. On Google Maps, however, I noted a park a few blocks uptown and decided, “What the heck.”
My first cool bird of NYC, White-throated Sparrows are one of Braden’s and my favorites—probably because we have to work so hard to see them in Montana!
DeWitt Clinton Park would be considered a “postage stamp park” in Montana, but I’m guessing it’s an invaluable resource for its neighborhood New Yorkers, consisting of a doggie park and various courts. More important, even before entering I saw that it held trees and strips of shrubbery, and my pulse quickened with the possibilities. Sure enough, as soon as I walked up the first steps, I spotted a small shape scampering along a tree trunk—one of my favorite birds, Black-and-White Warbler! My Bird Excitement Meter surging, I hunkered down to some serious birding, and was rewarded by more catbirds and White-throated Sparrows, and then saw both Hermit and Swainson’s Thrushes. The biggest surprise? A Common Yellowthroat, very far from water—an obvious migrant passing through!
What are you doing here? Seeing a Common Yellowthroat in a postage stamp park in Manhattan both surprised me—and got me really excited about what else might be passing through the crowded megalopolis!
Returning to the hotel, I made sure Amy had what she needed for a day in bed, and then Tessa and I caught the C train up to 81st St. We had ANHM entry reservations for noon and arrived early enough for a quick stroll of Central Park across the street. I kept my expectations low as it was an overcast day and, well, I just didn’t know what spring migration might be like Out East. Within a couple of hundred yards, however, I spotted a small tan bird on the ground with a bold stripe on its crown. “Worm-eating Warbler?” I considered. “No, Ovenbird!” And not just one, but two.
Another bird challenging to find in Montana, Ovenbirds were evidently swinging through Manhattan in large numbers the week we arrived!
Emboldened, we continued walking, seeing catbirds, a blue jay, more WTSPs, a Red-tailed Hawk, and a surprise Chipping Sparrow. Then, a bold flash of yellow caught my eye. I had worried that I might not be able to ID some of the Eastern warblers, but this was a bright, bold male. Even better, it’s a bird I had for years been staring at on the cover of The Sibley Guide to Birds—Magnolia Warbler! Honestly, the bird was just stunning. I didn’t have my camera, but in a way that was better as I could just focus on enjoying this first male MAWA I had ever seen. Even Tessa, a non-birder, appreciated the warbler’s sublime beauty. With a twenty-minute list of 12 species (not even including Rock Pigeon!), we headed off to the museum, fingers crossed that the birds would still be here when Braden and I would get to bird Central Park in earnest two days later.
Braden and Nick are close to the finish line! This penultimate day of their epic Florida adventure would bring revelation, frustration, traffic jams, and finally, the realization of a key (no pun intended) target species of the trip. They also happened to be nearing their goal of 200 species for their expedition—as well as moving Braden significantly along in his quest to see 400 species during his 2022 Big Year. Read on to find out what happens . . .
Unfortunately, sleep was not in our immediate future after leaving the Keys that night. We pulled back into the Everglades, passing the campsite I’d enjoyed the night before, Chuck-will’s-widow calls sailing through our rolled-down windows. As we drove south in the dark towards Flamingo, the “town” at the bottom of the glades, we scanned the roads looking for our targets: snakes. Soon enough, Nick spotted one, and we pulled off the road, turning on our emergency lights so oncoming cars wouldn’t run us, or the snake, over as we walked down the road towards it. We left Dixie in the car, given that this snake was a Florida Cottonmouth, and probably could have killed Dixie if she got too close. The snake coiled on the warm road, its mouth open, and we showed another group of people that pulled over to see what we were photographing. Our spirits high, we headed back to the car—only to discover that Dixie had peed all over both seats. The smell infiltrated our noses, and we wiped up the mess with various towels and toilet paper that would be going in the next garbage can we came across.
Half an hour later, we rolled into the dark parking lot of a wooded trail near Flamingo. We set off in the dark, using a stick to brush spiderwebs out of the way and looking back frequently to make sure we wouldn’t get lost. Eventually, the trees gave way to a massive field of saltbush, slightly silver in the moonlight. This was the winter home of another incredibly elusive species, the Black Rail. This bird, a member of a group of birds already known to be difficult to find, was the size of a mouse and completely nocturnal. If Mangrove Cuckoo wasn’t the hardest regularly-occurring species to see in North America, it was definitely Black Rail. While hearing them was slightly easier, they didn’t seem to know that as we played for them in the dark, and we walked back to the car, our legs covered in scratches from the saltbushes, after forty fruitless minutes of searching. Nick fell asleep immediately as I took the wheel, just trying to get a little further north before crashing so the driving would not be as terrible during the next few days. I didn’t get far, however, and pulled into another parking lot. Between the smell of urine and the oppressive humidity, I didn’t get very much sleep that night.
Birds such as this juvenile Black-crowned Night Heron helped compensate for a terrible night’s sleep and Dixie’s, ahem, perfuming of the car seats!
At seven, Nick drove us to our next spot, a place called the L31W Canal, a little northeast of the Everglades. Struggling against my fatigue, I stepped out of the car in the brightening sky, and we began trudging along a straight road bordered by brambles on one side and grassy pine forest on the other. We had several goals here, the primary one being a Smooth-billed Ani that had been hanging out for a while. After doing some digging on eBird, I discovered that the ani was a ways down the dusty road, and I sighed, preparing for a long, hot, uneventful hike. Fortunately, I was quickly proven wrong.
We passed another pair of birders, one of them guiding the other. Nick pointed out the calls of Northern Bobwhites, quail I hadn’t seen since South Texas and had never before heard, and all of a sudden, an orange blur caught my eye. I looked to the right, where a beautiful Barn Owl had just alighted on top of a tall, branchless snag.
This was the best photo I could manage of my first really good look at a Barn Owl.
“Holy cow, look!” I said, pointing as all four of us birders turned towards it and raised our various devices (camera, binoculars, and in the guide’s case, a scope). The bird had dark eyes and a grayish, circular face peering at us in the morning fog. It took off before I was able to secure any good pictures, its flight reminiscent of a bounding rabbit. We watched the Barn Owl, a species I had only seen the butt of before, our eyes transfixed on the vibrant orange of its wings as it floated around for a while and then disappeared. It was almost like the birds had seen my poor mood and responded accordingly, putting the smile back on my face—and they were just getting started. In fact, the best birding of the entire trip unfolded before us.
As we scanned the pine savannah to our right, searching for White-tailed Kites, Nick pointed out Eastern Meadowlarks, a bird I somehow hadn’t seen until now. Pishing in agricultural parts of the walk yielded a variety of sparrows, including Savannah and, surprisingly, a Grasshopper Sparrow, a bird I associated with the shortgrass prairie of Eastern Montana rather than the humid scrubland of south Florida. More Swallow-tailed Kites appeared above us, circling above the pineywoods as if cheering us on. At one point, a bright red bird zoomed across my path, briefly perching up in a low bush—a male Painted Bunting! The bird was even more stunning than I’d expected, with its deep blue head, green back and brilliant crimson belly lit up in the sun.
The L31W Canal continued to deliver great birds with my first ever Eastern Meadowlark and a spectacular male Painted Bunting.
While we didn’t find the ani, the other birders pointed out other rare species to us. This place seemed to be a rarity hotspot, which became apparent with a kingbird flock we found. Western Kingbirds were regular winter residents in this area, but this flock also included both a Cassin’s Kingbird (a Western species) and a Tropical Kingbird (a tropical species), and I learned the difference between the three as we watched them fly around us. As much as Nick and I wanted to stay longer, we had miles to cover and Mangrove Cuckoos to find, so we said goodbye to the other birders and began the drive through the glades towards the Gulf Coast.
This was my first time getting to directly observe the differences between Tropical (shown above), Cassin’s, and Western Kingbirds in the field.
Yet again, we drove through prime Snail Kite habitat, and yet again, we found no Snail Kites. The sawgrass marshes gave way to densely forested glades as we drove along the Tamiami Trail, and we pulled into the visitor center for Big Cypress National Preserve for a quick glance around the center grounds. While we did see a fair number of birds along the drive and at the visitor center, the main attractions were the aquatic creatures. Amazingly, we spotted a pair of porpoises in the canal as well as a Brown Pelican, both an unusually far distance inland. That meant that somehow, this canal must have had some saltwater. What’s more, at the visitor center we found large schools of fish, including mean-looking Florida Gar. In front of our eyes, a Softshell Turtle snagged one of them and was promptly ambushed by several more. However, the most mind-blowing animals were the alligators. Dozens sulked in the canal, and at the visitor center alone I counted thirty or so, all within several feet of the humans peering at them from the safety of the boardwalk.
Eventually, the scenery changed as we left Snail Kite habitat and entered the habitat of the snowbirds, people who migrated south from the northern United States to their homes in the warmth of Florida. More specifically, we were in Cape Coral, a hot, concrete-covered town known for its tourists as well as another species that I’d only seen previously in the prairies of Montana: the Burrowing Owl. A threatened, urban owl population existed in this part of Florida, surviving in parks, yards and abandoned lots here only because of the protection the city provided. As we pulled up to the Cape Coral Public Library, we saw the fencing and stakes marking their burrows, although no birds were to be found. The heat of the day seemed to be keeping them down, so we headed west, towards our last chance at Mangrove Cuckoo: Ding Darling National Wildlife Refuge on Sanibel Island.
Fish Crows entertained us in many of South Florida’s habitats, including mangroves.
Again, this refuge caught me off guard. I’d expected large marshes and ponds, similar to Montana’s refuges. Instead, we were met with thick, tall, healthy mangroves. The trees were larger and denser than what we’d seen in the Keys, and more accessible too. We drove the main refuge loop, stopping at various trails to play for the cuckoo. One boardwalk in particular displayed the complexity of the Red Mangrove ecosystem, giving us great looks at the trees’ prop roots as they plunged into the shallow, salt-covered mud, and the crabs scampering up their trunks. Fish leapt from the water of the mangrove-encased bays, and we spotted a few shorebirds and waders wherever land showed itself. Here, again, the primary songs we heard were those of Prairie Warblers, singing from all around us in this perfect breeding habitat. And yet again, more Swallow-tailed Kites flew over us, reminding us of the excitement we’d felt when we’d first seen them at Merritt Island.
As we left Ding Darling, cuckoo-less, we discovered what else the area was known for: traffic—the worst traffic I’d ever been in, hood-to-bumper cars stretching for miles as people tried to get off the island. We probably could have gotten off Sanibel faster if we’d been as we covered three or so miles in roughly an hour. Eventually, though, we made our escape, and headed to a nearby baseball field in a last ditch attempt for Burrowing Owls. Again, though, after half an hour of walking around, they evaded us, frustration rising inside us. While the day had been great, we’d missed every single target—no ani, no cuckoo, no kites and no Burrowing Owls, not to mention the uncomfortable night spent looking for nonexistent Black Rails. As the sun began to set, a baseball game started next to us. I stared as the young Little League players hit line drives over each others’ heads. A single ball flew into the outfield, and then I saw it: yellow fencing, located just beyond the baseball diamond. I raised my binoculars, revealing two brown lumps perched on the chain link fence within the yellow caution tape.
“I’ve got em!” I said, and Nick and I began running, Dixie leading the way. As we got close, we put Dixie on a leash, lying down to photograph what we’d found: two incredibly cooperative Burrowing Owls perched in front of us, one on the lawn and one on the fence above the first. They stared at us, their mottled brown-and-white pattern complementing their intense, unmoving eyes. Nick and I moved a little further to take a selfie. Finally, we’d found something we were looking for!
Finally, after an afternoon-long search complete with horrendous South Florida traffic, we were rewarded with a great look at Burrowing Owls in Cape Coral.
We ended our day at a campsite just south of Gainesville at roughly eleven o’clock, a surprisingly earlier bedtime compared to the rest of the trip. While my goal was sleep, Nick went off in search of Eastern Whip-poor-wills. I lay there, in the back of Nick’s truck, thinking about where we’d been. After spending the day in the glades and the mangroves, we were back in the Pineywoods, hoping for another chance at their birds tomorrow before heading back to New Orleans. While we’d gotten several of my target birds for the trip so far, we’d missed an unfortunate number, and I’d hoped that tomorrow would go better. Would it? Or would we miss everything yet again, to return to Louisiana only with a few of the birds we’d set out to find? Stay tuned to find out!
Welcome to Episode 3 of Braden’s account of his remarkable Spring Break birding with Nick Ramsey. Part 2, last week, got almost a record number of views, and we have no doubt you’ll love this post every bit as much. I mean, parrots! How can you resist? If you enjoy these posts, please share and subscribe. Thanks for reading!
The heat was already wet and oppressive when I woke around dawn the next morning, after a very minimal amount of sleep. I crawled out of the passenger seat of the car, still groggy, into the gray light of a forest in the process of waking up. Nick was already there, and suggested that we head over to the main parking area for Loxahatchee National Wildlife Refuge, a place famous for its snail-loving birds: more specifically, Limpkins and Snail Kites. We did so, and then began our two-hour tromp around the refuge.
It’s not like there weren’t birds at Loxahatchee. For one, the marshy, reedy areas were filled with Common and Purple Gallinules, both colorful, entertaining water birds that I spent a while photographing. The waders, specifically White Ibises, were around, and kept making flights over us as we scanned the marshes for Limpkin. And in the forested areas, we did manage to draw in a few passerine species, including American Redstarts, a new warbler for the trip, and a very cooperative Blue-headed Vireo.
Blue-headed Vireos are one of several kinds of vireos that wear white “spectacles”.
All-in-all, however, the wildlife refuge proved disappointing. We missed Snail Kite and the only Limpkin we saw was a brown blob disappearing into a stand of trees, never to be seen again. The Gray-headed Swamphens (an Old World exotic marshbird) that Nick had spotted here last time weren’t around, and we didn’t find any of the particularly cool wintering warblers that we could have. Ducks, again, were lacking, and the wader numbers aside from the ibises were notably worse than expected. The day (along with the poor sleeping conditions the night before) was not off to a good start.
Gray-headed Swamphens get less attention than parrots, but are also introduced species to South Florida.
In a search for swamphens, Nick and I drove to a small park on the outskirts of Fort Lauderdale called Markham Park next. This park was situated right next to a part of the Everglades (though not the National Park yet) and was known for having most of the Miami exotics that Nick wanted to see on the trip: Spot-breasted Oriole and White-winged and Yellow-chevroned Parakeets. We picked a small portion of the park nearest to the wetlands and hiked towards them, noting butterflies I’d never seen before, including the Zebra Longwing, which belonged to a tropical genus. Eventually we got to the wetlands, finally nabbing one of our targets for the day. Two giant water-chickens, sporting an even crazier range of colors than Purple Gallinules, lounged in the reeds. Gray-headed Swamphens were related to gallinules and native to southern Asia, and thrived in several places in southern Florida. These were one of many exotics we would see as the day progressed.
Unlike the Gray-headed Swamphen, Purple Gallinules are native members of the rail family. They definitely fit in with Florida’s tropical color scheme.
As far as biodiversity is concerned, south Florida is about as crazy as you can get. Along with a remarkable sweep of native and endemic species, including American Crocodile, Snail Kite and Florida Cottonmouth, hundreds if not thousands of species have been introduced to the area. The United States once had two native parrots. The Carolina Parakeet is now extinct, and the Thick-billed Parrot’s population is too small to support natural wanderings across the Mexican border. Now more than fifty parrot species from Latin America and the Old World have been reported within our country’s borders, most of them from Florida. Many are established too—my dad and I had Nanday and Red-masked Parakeets and Red-crowned Parrots on our life lists from Point Mugu State Park, San Diego, and Brownsville. Florida, though, boasted more species than Texas or California, and later in the day we would be looking for some of them.
First, though, we were headed to Alligator Alley, a large highway cutting across a portion of the Everglades. As we drove away from the suburbs of Miami, the buildings were replaced by sawgrass wetlands as far as the eye could see. I’d never seen any habitat this expansive and undeveloped, and as we drove into healthier and healthier habitat, waders began to lift out of the marsh on both sides of the car. Black-crowned Night-herons flew high overhead while large flocks of White Ibis dropped into distant marshland. It was incredible—I’d only seen this number of birds in one other place—Freezout Lake, Montana. It was as if the grass was covered in patches of cotton composed of egrets and ibises. Every once in a while, a radiantly-pink spoonbill or large Great Blue Heron joined the fray, trailing behind a flock of Tricolored or Little Blue Herons. As Nick drove, I took as many mental pictures as I could—there was no place like this anywhere else on the planet.
I know I posted a picture of a Roseate Spoonbill with White Ibises last week, but figured you wouldn’t mind!
We pulled off the highway towards a small highway rest stop, spooking some lazy Black Vultures. There was an observation tower here, and we hoped to spot some Snail Kites, birds we’d missed at both Loxahatchee and Markham Park. We climbed the tower with Nick’s spotting scope, then got to work scanning the Serengeti of Florida. Right next to us a wide canal provided us with avian entertainment as we looked for the kites. Five Green Herons had taken up residence in the canal, and they began fighting with the other species for prime perching spots overlooking the water. Boat-tailed Grackles, Fish Crows and both Turkey and Black Vultures tussled around us, covering most of the trees and walkways. And from our vantage point, we could see roughly five American Alligators eyeing the birds above them.
Black and Turkey Vultures are always a welcome sight for birders. Not only are they amazing fliers, they usually indicate a pretty healthy habitat.
While we didn’t find any Snail Kites, we did finally get a good look at a Limpkin as it foraged for snails on top of a patch of trash on the other side of the canal. The bird only appeared for a few minutes, and it made me wonder just how many of this species lived in the endless marsh. After checking the other side of the highway and getting poor looks at my lifer Painted Bunting, we drove back into Miami, our minds focusing on exotic species. Iguanas soon dotted the streets, and we got Common Mynas, a songbird introduced from Asia, next to a McDonald’s as we stopped for lunch. Nick pointed out a Peter’s Rock Agama, a funky red-headed lizard native to West Africa, scampering up a palm tree. Then, as we pulled into the Biltmore Hotel parking lot, we immediately heard screeching above us: parakeets.
We piled out of the car just as a large flock touched down in front of us. The flock consisted of both Red-masked and Mitred Parakeets, two very similar species native to South America. Interestingly enough, I’d seen both species before, the former in San Diego and the latter in its native range in Peru. This hotel had more to offer though: it was a roost site for at least half a dozen species. It also happened to be one of the ritziest hotels in Miami, offering rooms between six hundred dollars and two thousand a night, and its towering red walls hosted cavities that parrots liked to roost in. What’s more, it overlooked a large golf course, and Nick and I felt like outsiders as we walked around the courtyard in clothes that hadn’t been washed in several days. This was the kind of place I’d imagined when I’d thought about Florida.
Even though parrots are exotic introductions to Florida, it’s hard not to get excited when a stunning Mitred Parakeet lands in front of you!
While the parakeets were plentiful, we did not find either of our targets: Yellow-chevroned and White-winged Parakeets. Both species, which were substantially smaller than the parakeets, were mostly green, with small markings on the wing that identified them. While Yellow-chevroned was firmly established in the area, White-winged was on the decline, having disappeared from all of South Florida in the last few years. No one understands the cause of this decline was since there appears to be plenty of food (palm nuts) around, and parrot species have coexisted here for decades. Suddenly, though, this species that had been reliable ten years ago was nowhere to be found, mirroring the disappearance of another parrot species from Miami thirty years prior, the Budgerigar.
Our next spot was a run-down park called Pine Woods Park, a place Nick picked out for both Red-whiskered Bulbul and Spot-breasted Oriole, species that had been introduced from southern Asia and central America, respectively. Upon walking through the tall cane grass in the park, we immediately found a beautiful, crested bulbul perched up on a stalk, marking Nick’s first (and spoiler alert, only) lifer for the trip! We marveled at it as two other exotic species, Scaly-breasted Munias and Monk Parakeets, called nearby. Next, we headed to the Baptist Hospital in Kendall, a known location for the oriole. We struck out on the species again, but did get to enjoy more time with Red-masked Parakeets clinging to buildings and Egyptian Geese and Muscovy Ducks with babies running around a nearby lawn. We then drove the neighborhoods, trying and failing to find the oriole, and in a last-ditch effort, returned to Pine Woods Park. Walking among the introduced vegetation, we again struck out but did spot a smaller parakeet flying with the Monk Parakeets above us. It landed and Nick called “Yellow-chevroned Parakeet!” It was no White-winged, but it did bring our total parakeet species count for the day up to five, including a few Nandays we’d seen at Loxahatchee earlier!
One of the world’s largest and most bizarre ducks, the introduced Muscovy Duck is one of the oldest domesticated waterfowl species in the world, having been domesticated in South America before the arrival of the Spanish.
Somewhat more content, we headed south towards Everglades National Park, pulling into the parking lot right outside the entrance at around 8 P.M. I’d requested an earlier night tonight, so we set up a tent for me as Nick prepared to go look for snakes in the glades. As he was about to leave, though, we suddenly heard something go “chuck-willow-widow!” from a stand of trees nearby. Nick looked at me excitedly.
“Chuck-wills-widow!”
Originally from Asia, the Red-whiskered Bulbul was yet another exotic target on our lists for South Florida.
This nocturnal species was not a bird I’d imagined getting on the trip, and we high-fived as we heard at least half a dozen calling from around us. Nick then headed off into the National Park for a few more hours as I dozed off to sleep to the sound of the Chucks. The day had turned out all right after all, and tomorrow we would finally reach our main destination for the trip: the Florida Keys.
From Sneed: Following our Accidental Big Year last year, Braden has set out to really smash his Big Year record of 335 birds in 2022, with a goal of at least 400 species. He and I got a great start in Montana on New Year’s Day, but that was nothing compared to the trip he just took with our recent guest blogger, Nick Ramsey. As soon as Spring Break began, he flew to New Orleans where Nick picked him up and they embarked on a break-neck marathon birding expedition the length of the state of Florida. Here is Braden’s first installment of this epic adventure.
I awoke at dawn, no more than five hours after I’d fallen asleep in the passenger seat of Nick Ramsey’s gray-gold Honda Pilot named Betsy, parked on a sandy road surrounded by Longleaf Pines in Apalachicola, Florida. Nick was already outside, overturning logs and branches in search of herps—reptiles and amphibians—and he greeted me as I climbed out of the car, as did his dog Dixie, a mutt the size of an obese squirrel, who marked my jeans with the first muddy smears of the trip.
“We’re not that far from the pin,” said Nick, his binoculars and camera slung across one shoulder. “If we just walk along this road and then bushwhack a little, it should be pretty easy to find.”
We set off along the sandy road, and birds I hadn’t seen or heard in years belted out melodies: Pine Warblers, Northern Parulas, Carolina Wrens and Tufted Titmice. While this trip’s main goal was to seek out birds, it doubled as a general nature expedition, and right now we were on the hunt for salamanders. Following directions Nick’s friend had sent him, we walked through oaks and pines until coming across a small seep in the forest. Nick immediately stepped into the water, his sneakers sinking up to his shins, and began overturning logs.
“I got one!” he soon shouted, shoving his hand into the muck and pulling out a small, dark gray amphibian. It was the threatened Apalachicola Dusky Salamander, a creature whose range was almost entirely confined to this small part of Florida and a nearby part of Georgia. This had been Nick’s main amphibian target of the day, meaning that we’d already achieved one of many goals we had talked about for the trip.
Although our expedition was bird-focused, that didn’t mean we could ignore other great Florida flora and fauna—including endangered Dusky Salamanders!
Birdwise, I’d compiled a list of about a dozen or so species that I wanted to see while I was down here. For this Pineywoods section of the state, my main targets were Red-cockaded Woodpecker, Bachman’s Sparrow and Brown-headed Nuthatch, a bird that had eluded me several times already. Unfortunately, while the area surrounding the salamanders’ habitat was indeed filled with Longleaf Pine—which all three of these species needed—there were neither mature-enough trees nor grassy-enough ground for any of them. Further south, though, we hoped to see the endemic Florida Scrub-Jay, as well as Snail Kites and Limpkins, two species well-known for their dependence on apple snails. White-crowned Pigeon was a goal in the Florida Keys, as was my number one target for the trip: the notoriously difficult Mangrove Cuckoo. I also wanted good looks at Burrowing Owls and Sandhill Cranes while, as a veteran Florida birder, Nick’s goals oriented more towards Miami exotic species, specifically White-winged Parakeet, Red-whiskered Bulbul and Spot-breasted Oriole. Besides this, we just hoped to see as many birds as possible—and we’d already made a good start.
After picking me up from the New Orleans airport the day before, Nick had driven us to the largest, ugliest lake in Louisiana in search of a Brown Booby someone had reported on Facebook just minutes earlier. Lake Pontchartrain had all of the color and none of the appeal of chocolate milk, stretching out of view so that it looked just like the Gulf of Mexico. The Brown Booby, a species that lived in the Gulf, had thought so too, and we’d found the bird surrounded with Brown Pelicans and Double-crested Cormorants perched on some sort of piping running into the water. After this early success, we had gone to a bar where I tried Cajun food for the first time. All I can say is that, if there were boudin balls in Maine, I would never eat another dining hall meal again.
This uncommon Brown Booby on Lake Ponchatrain kicked off our epic adventure in style.
After spending our first of many nights in Nick’s car in Apalachicola, we woke to the Dusky Salamanders, and also discovered a Southern Toad under a small log. Then we drove to our next pin, a pull-off on the side of the highway where we were rewarded with pitcher plants, sundews, and introduced Venus flytraps. The rest of the day we devoted to birding. As we cruised the entrance road to St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge, Nick called out the songs of White-eyed Vireos, which sounded like those of the Cassin’s I knew quite well mixed with random “chuck” calls, as they emanated from the forest. We pulled into the Visitor Center Parking Lot, finding ourselves in classic old-growth Longleaf forest. Here, large patches of palmetto and young pines stuck out from the scrubby understory, and Nick immediately began overturning dead fronds to look for Pygmy Rattlesnakes. The young Longleaf Pines looked just like tall, extra-green tufts of grass, a really strange feature unique to this conifer.
White-eyed Vireos would provide a new and pleasant serenade for me on many parts of our adventure.
With few birds at the Visitor Center, we drove to Helipad Landing. Red-cockaded Woodpeckers had been reported here, and a large field of brambles served as a wintering site for Henslow’s Sparrows, LeConte’s Sparrows, and sometimes, Yellow Rails. In true Nick Ramsey fashion, Nick set off across the field in hopes of flushing one of these species while I stayed on the road with Dixie. Again, we didn’t find much.
“Don’t worry,” said Nick as we walked back to the car, “Wait until we reach the ponds. We’ll see so many birds that we won’t know what to do with them.”
Always-impressive Anhingas would keep us company for much of our trip to the Keys and back.
As we rounded a corner towards one of the ponds, however, we were met with an unexpected sight: save for a few Pied-billed Grebes, the water was almost completely deserted. We saw not a single duck, much less the huge wintering flocks St. Marks was known for. Apparently, this year was not the first year that winter waterfowl numbers had been low in Northern Florida. Climate change had rendered conditions more suitable for ducks to winter further north, and thus, the ducks had no need to continue their southward migration. We did spot a few more birds that I hadn’t seen for years at this spot, called the Stoney Bayou, including Anhingas, Little Blue Herons and a Boat-tailed Grackle, but felt a bit disappointed. Thankfully, as we continued to drive things began to pick up.
Nick abruptly stopped the car as we were driving around a pond. “I can’t tell if that’s the call of a Prairie Warbler or a Hooded Warbler. Do you wanna get out and look for it?”
I did, camera-ready, given that Prairie Warbler would be a lifer while Hooded would be flagged for the area. An Eastern Phoebe sat on a snag underneath an Anhinga sunning itself, and I scanned the bushes behind them for yellow birds that might be skulking there.
“Oh crap, it’s both!” shouted Nick from the car behind me.
I hadn’t seen a Hooded Warbler since my Dad and I did our Big Year in 2016.
Sure enough, a bright male Prairie Warbler hopped into view above the phoebe—my first lifer of the trip! And below it, a beautiful male Hooded Warbler hopped onto a log floating in the water, chasing insects around as it dodged and wove between overhanging branches.
The birds continued to multiply as the road reached the ocean at a place called Lighthouse Pond, and we walked around it, tallying waders and seabirds as they flew over our heads. St. Marks was well-known as the wintering site for a single American Flamingo, and we spotted it way out in the bay with its head tucked into its feathers, resembling a pink lollipop sticking out of the ocean. At Lighthouse Pond I also spotted our first American Alligator, floating suspiciously near a Tricolored Heron, and I decided that I would keep a running tally of these cool critters. Back at the Visitor Center, we ran into a mixed flock of warblers, gnatcatchers and vireos foraging in the pines above us. There I spotted my lifer Yellow-throated Warbler alongside parulas and Black-and-White Warblers, and Nick pointed out our first target bird of the trip, a Brown-headed Nuthatch squeaking as it climbed up a nearby tree.
Two for lunch? I hope these waders (Tricolored & Little Blue Heron) know what they’re doing.
At the Panacea Unit of the Wildlife Refuge, known for its old-growth pine forest and extensive saltmarsh, we struck out on Red-cockaded Woodpecker and Bachman’s Sparrow, arriving at the saltmarsh just as the sun began to set. We did spot three Wood Storks, and heard were the raucous calls of Clapper Rails, both species I’d never observed before! Soon enough, Nick waded out into the marsh, flushing up both Seaside and Nelson’s Sparrows for brief looks. An American Bittern lifted out of the marsh as the light grew gray, and we feasted on celebratory sandwiches as we drove through the night towards the Atlantic Coast of Florida, where we’d be crashing at Nick’s grandmother’s vacation home. Despite it not being a particularly lucky day, we’d observed almost 100 species at St. Marks alone, setting a great tone for the rest of the trip. However, we had no idea what was to come in the next five days as we planned to traverse the entire length of Florida and back.
Brown-headed Nuthatches were a lifer for me—and far from the last for this trip!
