Category Archives: Warblers

Are you ready for . . . the QUACH?

My dad walked back to the car, frowning. “Well, unfortunately it looks like we’re gonna have to go birding somewhere else today.”

I sighed, frustrated. We’d been trying to bird Swiftcurrent, in east Glacier National Park, for years, and we’d still never gotten a normal birding session there. Most years it had been closed, like it was today, because of COVID-19 or construction. The year we had gotten to bird, it had been pouring down rain, and while we scored an incredible experience with a pair of Harlequin Ducks in Lake Swiftcurrent, those were basically the only birds was saw. Now, not birding Swiftcurrent drastically decreased our chances at Boreal Chickadee, a bird we’d been wanting to find for as long as I could remember. 

Reviewing our options, we could just immediately head south and hope to bird Two Medicine, and possibly arrive in West Glacier earlier than expected to look for Black Swift and Harlequin Duck. I wanted to go somewhere new, however, so we headed north towards the closed Canadian border crossing. Hopefully we could find some cool habitat, possibly with Boreal Chickadees, though that species had rarely been reported from that area of the park. Along with it being a cool bird, the main reason my dad and I wanted the chickadee so badly is because in terms of Montana lifers we’d been completely skunked during the rest of our trip, missing American Golden-Plover, Broad-winged Hawk, Magnolia Warbler and more. We’d gotten cool birds, like Sprague’s Pipit, but none of them had been new species for us.

As we learned in Glacier National Park this summer, birding the road less traveled almost always leads to great surprises.

After taking a short loop through the most desolate plains we’d seen yet in Montana, we turned towards Glacier’s mountains again. As we drove, the habitat shifted, first to stunted aspen forest and then tall, dense spruce-fir forest. It was a habitat I’d never seen in the state, if at all: the southernmost reaches of the vast boreal forest that stretched across Canada. As we crossed back into the national park, my dad spotted what was probably a robin, but we pulled over anyway—I was excited to see what birds were singing from this new habitat.

A Northern Waterthrush echoed from the side of the car as we got out, and several Brown-headed Cowbirds whistled from the tops of trees. Every single bird was a surprise to us, since we really had no idea what to expect. And despite the fact that we hadn’t truly entered the mountains yet, my dad’s altitude app told us that we were at more than 5000 feet!

Suddenly my dad turned around. “I just heard a chickadee.” I spotted something flit to the top of a tall spruce about fifty feet away, and raised my binoculars. While it was still too far to tell what kind, I was definitely staring at a chickadee, so I grabbed my camera from the car and hurried over to where there appeared to be a pair of them. Once we drew closer, I raised my binoculars, registering salmon flanks and a brown cap.

Finding not one, but half a dozen Boreal Chickadees in a place we never expected not only checked off a long-held goal, but laid the crucial foundation for the QUACH!

It was one of if not the first time I’d ever said the F-word in front of my dad! It was like my brain had exploded, I’m not sure whether from the fact that the birds were Boreal Chickadees or from the fact that we’d managed to find a new Montana species at last on this trip. The chickadees bounced around the spruces for a while, then disappeared. 

After recovering from the shock, my dad and I hugged and got back in the car, intent on seeing what else we could find along this paved-yet-empty road. Starting at the closed Canadian border crossing, we drove south doing five-minute point counts along the road like we’d done searching for Sprague’s Pipit the day before.

Seeing a White-crowned Sparrow on its alpine breeding grounds gave us new appreciation for this relatively common species.

The most common sparrows were White-crowned Sparrows belting confusing songs from every level of the trees, and while Yellow and Yellow-rumped Warblers were present, they were at least equalled in number by Wilson’s Warblers and Northern Waterthrushes, neither of which were common in Missoula. Amazingly, we picked up Boreal Chickadee at two more points, getting much better looks and photos of three more pairs. They were one of the more common species here, too, and were by far the most common chickadee, though we also picked up a lone Mountain and a possible Black-capped, the latter from a lower altitude aspen area. Canada Jay was the most common corvid, though we also saw a single Steller’s. Another treat were two boisterous Olive-sided Flycatchers, well-known boreal forest breeders, calling and posing for us.

In the wetter areas we found Fox and Lincoln’s Sparrows, Tree Swallows and Warbling Vireos. Red-breasted Nuthatches, Ruby-crowned Kinglets, Pine Siskins and Chipping Sparrows greeted us at most stops. We also got a Varied Thrush, which was a surprise as we were probably about two miles from the easternmost limit of its breeding range.

What? A Mountain Chickadee near a Boreal Chickadee? What was this songbird madness???

I’d recently read a book about the lack of birds in the boreal forest, and while there definitely was lower diversity than say, the wet second-growth of West Glacier, it was not as if there weren’t any birds. At most stops we picked up at least three or four species singing or calling.

After drinking our fill of the boreal forest and saying goodbye to the chickadees, we headed south along the eastern edge of Glacier National Park. We stopped at a good-looking, alder-filled riparian area for lunch, picking up new species for the day like Black-headed Grosbeak, Lazuli Bunting and our first-of-year MacGillivray’s Warbler, then got onto Highway 2 again, back in familiar territory.

When we reached West Glacier, though, we discovered something tragic—you had to have a permit to enter the park, a new rule they’d employed to counter the insane surges of tourists they’d had the past few years! Thankfully, we could enter without a permit after 5 p.m., but still it was sad that the days of entering Glacier easily may be over.

Since we know them mostly from burn areas, this Olive-sided Flycatcher at a roadside pullout proved a special delight!

We parked by the old park entrance to wait until five o’ clock, and while my dad took a nap I wandered around the healthy mountain-riparian forest along the milk-blue Middle Fork of the Flathead River. As I hiked, I suddenly heard more chickadees calling, and in a dense patch of Lodgepole Pine I found them: Chestnut-backed Chickadees! 

Earlier in the day, after seeing the Boreal Chickadees, I’d mentioned to my dad: “Just you wait. We’ll somehow manage to see three of the four chickadee species and have trouble finding a Black-capped.” Black-capped, of course, is well-known for being not only the most common chickadee in Montana but also one of the most common birds here, period. 

Suddenly, my fear had come true: I’d seen the three most difficult chickadees in one day, but had not yet seen a Black-capped (while again, we’d possibly heard one up by the Canadian border, it had not been a positive identification so we hadn’t counted it). I rushed back to the car to wake my dad.

 “Let’s go find some cottonwoods. I need to see a Black-capped Chickadee.”

As we drove around West Glacier (the town; the park hadn’t opened yet), I rolled down my windows, straining to hear any piece of a chickadee call. We pulled into a fishing access parking lot surrounded by cottonwoods and began walking, though the birds were fairly quiet. Four in the afternoon was about as bad a time as you could go birding, yet here we were, trying to find one that we saw in our backyard every single day. I promised to myself that if we found a Black-capped, I would memorize its scientific name, Poecile Atricapillus. 

After admiring a gorgeous male Rufous Hummingbird that posed for us, I heard a chickadee call from behind me. Then, a sharp-looking Black-capped flew towards us, landing mere inches from us on a branch! I’d done it! I restrained myself from hugging the chickadee and instead gave my dad a high-five in celebration of the Quad-Chickadee Day I’d had—or, as my dad officially christened it, “the Quach.”

Note: “Quach” is a registered trademark of FatherSonBirding, legally protected throughout the solar system. Anyone using it will be subject to massive fines and stern looks. Not really. But you heard it here first!

Who would have thunk a common Black-capped Chickadee would prove the key to Braden’s epic QUACH? Only the wily chickadee, of course!

Crossbill Sunday: the Final Day of Birding Therapy Week

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To wrap up Birding Therapy Week, I leaped onto my bike Sunday morning and pedaled to a spot I’d been sorely neglecting this year: the Missoula Cemetery. One thing that got me through the first year of the pandemic was cycling out there on a regular basis just to see what was flitting around. I’d ended 2020 with a total of 50 species, firmly cementing my position of Cemetery King, and seeing many surprising birds as a result. Braden and I had ventured out there once this winter and been rewarded with a flock of Common Redpolls, but I needed to get out there again before the trees fully leafed out, making it difficult to spot passerines.

As usual, I parked near the entrance to put in my hearing aids, grab a drink of water, and stretch out before beginning my tour. As I tried to loosen my hamstrings, however, I was already hearing some interesting sounds. “Hm . . . maybe Pine Siskins?” That’s when I looked up to see a flock of 20+ Red Crossbills! Not only was this a new sight for the cemetery, just that morning we’d seen our first ever crossbills at our backyard feeder. In fact, this was shaping up to be our best crossbill year yet, and I spent a solid 15 minutes enjoying the cemetery flock, which also contained liberal doses of Pine Siskins and a Yellow-rumped Warbler.

The wonky bills of Red Crossbills have evolved to pry open cone scales, allowing the birds’ long tongues to extract the hidden seeds.

Setting off through the tombstones on my bicycle, I wasn’t sure what else I’d find, but encountered other common cemetery birds such as robins, ravens, and flickers, but it was a weird morning, a bit cool and breezy and I began to lose hope that I’d see the unusual passerines I really craved. Turning on to the last access road, however, I stopped to investigate a couple of little birds that turned out to be House Finches. But among them, I spotted a flash of yellow—a Nashville Warbler!  

Alas, I failed to find any sparrows in the spot I’d seen both Song and White-throated Sparrows before, but I did get my Year Brewer’s Blackbird and a new “location bird”—Turkey Vulture—while racking up a total of 17 species. All of which left me satisfied—but not really.

One thing Braden and I have noticed during the past seven years of birding is how much better many of our public open spaces could be for birds, insects, and other wildlife. The Missoula Cemetery is a great example. I mean, it potentially has everything: lots of land, trees, even a fountain, and the dedicated staff obviously works hard to keep it looking nice. Unfortunately, the place is groomed to death—literally. Dead limbs and trees that could provide insect food for birds are meticulously removed. Messy brush—the stuff many songbirds love—is absolutely not tolerated. I could smell some kind of chemical—weed killer, I’m guessing—emanating from the lawns. Even the fountain where birds could drink is blue from some kind of bleach or detergent in it.

American Robins seem to thrive in almost any urban environment, but many more sensitive species need more habitat—and fewer herbicides & pesticides—than many parks and other open spaces provide.

Sadly, this is a situation that repeats itself over and over across America. Our vision of what is nice, neat, and orderly actually represents an extremely unhealthy environment, one that is undoubtedly harmful to wildlife and perhaps humans as well. No one really is to blame. It’s in our nature to want to make things neat and orderly. However as our knowledge has improved, this is something we as citizens can change. As I wrapped up Birding Therapy Week, I promised myself that I would redouble my efforts both to educate others and perhaps change some of our outdated thinking about both our personal and public open spaces.

Quarrying Species: Birding Therapy Day Six

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Saturday, Day 6 of my Birding Therapy Week, I arrived at Fort Missoula at 7:45 a.m. with my daughter for the first of her two soccer games that day. While she warmed up with her team, I took Lola back over to the gravel quarry hoping to catch some magical morning birding. I didn’t have to wait long to kick off a great session. Even before leaving the soccer fields parking lot, my first Barn Swallow of the year flew past me, and once I reached my first stop at the northward quarry pond, I found myself struggling to keep up with all of the species I saw and heard. On the ponds themselves, I ID’ed eight species of ducks, Canada Geese, a Horned Grebe, and a Common Loon—perhaps the same one I’d seen two days before.

I had to play hide-and-seek with this loon even to get this poor shot, but I didn’t mind. Was just thrilled it stopped by the quarry on its way to its breeding grounds.

As I walked along the fence line, a sparrow popped up with a bold face pattern and pale “moustache”—the year’s first Vesper’s Sparrow! Nearby landed a Savannah Sparrow while a Western Meadowlark serenaded us. At the cliff edge above the river, Northern Roughed-Winged and Tree Swallows swarmed while a Red-tailed Hawk, Osprey, and Great Blue Heron sauntered by.

Meadowlarks always make me pause to ooh and ah, especially when they perch and sing in full view!

The hits kept on coming: two Red-naped Sapsuckers, a pair of Wood Ducks flushing from beside the river, a Yellow-rumped Warbler. As before, I made a special effort to find unusual sparrows. In one of our favorite spots, I located a couple of White-crowneds and then I saw something that really got my heart thumping: a bold bird with a peaked crown and distinct gray and brown facial lines. Even more exciting, I thought I detected a bit of yellow on the sides of the breasts—sure signs of a Lincoln’s Sparrow. Unfortunately, the bird was facing away from me and I was just moving in for a better look when two good-natured women walked up behind me and loudly shouted “Good morning!” I turned around and smiled, putting my finger to my lips, but it was too late. The sparrow fled.

Sigh.

Still, it was an amazing morning, with 36 species and delightful experiences. Even better, my daughter’s team won her soccer game. I’ll get you next time, Mr. Lincoln.

Here is my complete checklist: https://ebird.org/checklist/S86803129

I missed the Lincoln’s Sparrow, but was delighted to find my first Vesper’s Sparrow of the year. Braden got his first in a different location the very same day! Note that Vesper’s Sparrows are identified by their bold facial pattern including white eye ring and white “handlebar moustache” curving down and back from its bill. When they fly, look for the white outer tail feathers. Many also show an upside down “heart” on their breasts—though this one is “heartless.” Poor thing.

Five Year Birds: Birding Therapy Day Four

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I especially looked forward to Day 4 of Birding Therapy Week because I would get to take a hike with one of my favorite Missoula people, Paul Queneau. As fellow Assistant Scoutmasters, Paul and I have shared a number of adventures including helping lead Scouts for week-long trips down the Missouri River and to Glacier National Park. Paul is an outstanding photographer, writer, and naturalist, so we always have a lot to share when we get together.

Though one of the last Montana warblers we learned, Nashvilles have quickly become one of Braden’s and my favorites.

Before meeting up with Paul Thursday morning, however, I wanted to make a quick stop at the base of Mount Jumbo because Braden had spotted his first Nashville Warbler of the year there the day before. The shining sun bode well as I hiked up a short little trail to a brushy area that often holds an assortment of great spring songbirds. In no time, I heard the calls of a Spotted Towhee and a Western Meadowlark. I also detected a song that I thought might be the Nashville and . . . it was! Nashville Warblers are one of my favorite spring Montana birds and this little guy just put a huge smile on my face. As a bonus, I scored two more Year Birds I didn’t expect: Calliope Hummingbird and Vaux’s Swift!

It’s a swallow . . . It’s a starling . . . No, it’s a Vaux’s Swift! Though easy to mistake for swallows, swifts have more rapid, stiffer wing beats and, to my mind, a more classic scythe or boomerang flying profile. As you can tell, I have never managed a good flight photo of one!

Flush with three Year Birds, I picked up Paul and he directed me to a new trail I’d never been on out near the Canyon River Golf Club in East Missoula. Though more of a mammal man, Paul has been staking out the site to photograph hummingbirds and Spotted Sandpipers. We headed down along the river hearing multiple Spotted Towhees and Song Sparrows, but didn’t see any Spotted Sandpipers. Then, a bird flew in and landed right next to the water. I assumed it was a sandpiper, but focusing in I found myself staring at an American Pipit—a total surprise for this time of year and location, at least for me. American Pipits breed in alpine and Arctic habitats, and can be found at lower elevations/latitudes during migration, but Braden and I had never seen them along a river like this. Best of all, it was another Year Bird pour moi—and not the last.

Though American Pipits are reported around Missoula this time of year, the appearance of this one right on the Clark Fork River was a delightful surprise.

As Paul and I kept walking, pleasantly chatting about birds, writing, photography, and more, we saw a sparrow fly into a bush. We’d been hearing a lot of Song Sparrows singing and thought it might be one. Closer inspection revealed yellow above the eye—a sure giveaway for Savannah Sparrow, and Year Bird Number 5 for the day! All too soon, we had to turn around so we could get back to work, but it was an exhilarating morning, and I knew I would return to this spot again and again—hopefully with both Paul and Braden.

A Week of Birding Therapy: Day One

I know it’s hard to believe but even underpaid writers living in Montana can get to feeling down sometimes. Covid certainly has not helped the situation since it and the gut-wrenching economic and societal upheavals it has triggered make the future look blurry at best. In this kind of situation, however, birders have a distinct advantage over non-birders. Why? Because we can immediately step outside for a dose of birding therapy. Last weekend, in fact, I decided I needed not one day, but a week of birding to try to set things right. I began with a return to a place that in many ways inspired my and Braden’s journey into birding: the Blue Mountain Nature Trail just south of Missoula.

It’s always a good day when you see shooting stars in the wild. We tried planting them in our garden when we moved in 15 years ago and the deer loved them. Only one highly-protected plant survives!

The nature trail takes hikers through a twenty-year-old burn that in years past has been a birders’ paradise with plenty of snags for woodpeckers and a lush resurgence of native plant growth on the newly-sunlit forest floor. The trail, in fact, is where UM biologist Dick Hutto—an expert on the value of burns to birds—took me when I began researching my book Fire Birds: Valuing Natural Wildfires and Burned Forests. At the time, Black-backed Woodpeckers still lived there, but I wondered what it would be like some eight years later. I was not disappointed.

Though the Black-backed Woodpeckers have long departed for blacker pastures, Northern Flickers still take full advantage of the burned forest twenty years after the blaze.

Though I arrived a week or two early for the crush of cavity nesters about to descend on the forest, seeing my first shooting stars and Pasque flowers of the year immediately cheered me up. And the birds, while not abundant, were of the highest quality. On my way up I saw a pair of Townsend’s Solitaires, and heard Cassin’s Finches and my year’s first Williamson’s Sapsucker, which I IDed both by its higher, forest-edge location and its almost halting, hesitant drum pattern. Moving on, I spent time with a Hairy Woodpecker and Northern Flicker, and at the forested saddle where I usually turn around, spotted my year’s first Cooper’s Hawk flying furtively and low to the ground.

Townsend’s Solitaires are hands-down one of our favorite Montana passerines and nest in the root balls of fallen trees. This makes them perfect burn birds.

I had hoped to hear an Orange-crowned Warbler, but alas, was probably a bit too early for those. Back near the road, however, I was rewarded by Red Crossbills and the year’s first look at a dazzling male Yellow-rumped Warbler. Satisfied with my thirteen species, I continued on to the car, planning my next day’s trip to the Missoula Cemetery to see what I could find. Unbeknownst to me, fate was about to deal Braden and me a radically different birding destination for Tuesday . . .