Category Archives: Woodpeckers

Epic Florida Birding Adventure: Final Birds & Statistics—including Big Year numbers

We interrupt our New York adventures to bring you Braden’s final post on his and Nick’s epic Florida adventure. As you’ll see, it was a wild ride. Tomorrow we will resume New York with our visit to Central Park. You won’t want to miss it!

A loud bang shook the car as we sped along the highway through the worst rainstorm I’d ever experienced. I looked at Nick.

“Did you hear that?? That lightning bolt almost hit us!”

We’d been driving through this hurricane-level rain for about fifteen minutes by now, gripping the edges of our seats as Nick avoided large puddles and watched the lights of the cars in front of us. After reading about flash floods, I had my fingers crossed that our car wouldn’t get swept away. Thankfully, after about half an hour, the water stopped pouring from the sky just as suddenly as it had started, and we celebrated by driving north towards Alabama, with one last place to bird before the sun went down.

**Strike a Pose! Many of Florida’s Sandhill Cranes are unusual in that they a) are non-migratory and b) live in very urban areas. As you can see, this makes them a photographer’s best friends!**

That morning had been a rollercoaster of bird-related emotions. We awoke at dawn, saying goodbye to even more Chuck-wills-widows as we drove to a large pineywoods preserve in search of the specialty birds we’d missed on the drive down. While yet again the beauty of this southeastern pine forest dazzled us, we only got fleeting glimpses of a Bachman’s Sparrow, and left the preserve disappointed. Next, we sidled up to a cemetery, home to a wintering population of Henslow’s Sparrows. We stomped around in the thorns for roughly forty minutes, leaving with no sparrows and legs covered in scratches. In a last ditch effort to get a new species for the trip, we found a small park in Gainesville home to a population of Red-headed Woodpeckers. Thankfully, Nick spotted them, flying around a group of burned snags in the distance.

We grabbed McDonald’s in Gainesville and headed North, planning to stop at several more spots for Bachman’s Sparrow before booking it towards the Alabama border. As we left town, though, my dad called me.

“Hey guys, how’s it going? Have you guys been to Sweetwater Wetlands yet?”

“No,” I said, looking at Nick slightly confused, “What’s there?”

“Snail Kites! And a bunch of other cool things.”

“Wait, really?!” I said, quickly pulling the hotspot up on eBird. Sure enough, Snail Kites had been seen there yesterday, and seemed to consistently visit the park. Unfortunately, the wetlands were in the opposite direction of where we wanted to go. After a brief discussion, we decided to go anyway—after all, Snail Kites were still one of our biggest targets on the trip. We’d had no idea they could still be found this far north, but if we had one last shot at them, why not take it?

We pulled up at the wetlands, putting Dixie in Nick’s backpack and starting our speedrun of the hotspot. The area was a large, freshwater marsh, divided by gravel trails quickly warming up under the midday sun. We split up, trying to cover as much ground as possible. Soon, it became apparent to us that there were indeed birds here.

Warblers and vireos serenaded us from the massive live oaks standing in the entryway to the area, and water birds were everywhere. Many of these were fearless, too—I managed to get great photos of both Sandhill Cranes and Limpkins standing less than ten feet from me. The Limpkins signaled that there were snails around, and we kept careful eyes on the sky as we walked. Me and Nick met up after half an hour.

**Our last-minute visit to Sweetland Wetlands in Gainesville nabbed us our first good looks at Limpkins—and many other birds.**

“Any kites?”

“Well, there are some over there. But they’re Swallow-tailed, not Snail.”

“Me neither. I heard a King Rail over here, so we could probably play for that…wait. Are those harriers?”

Nick pointed behind me at three distant raptors soaring behind us over the marsh. I raised my binoculars. The birds were brown, with white rumps and slender wings, two features common to Northern Harriers. However, they were flying differently. The birds slowly drew nearer, and before long, we could see their striped faces, indicative of juvenile Snail Kites.

“Snail Kites!” Nick yelled, and we high-fived as we watched one of our top targets for the trip fly closer to us. While the kites never got as close as the Swallow-taileds on our first day, we still got decent views. We’d only seen these birds because my dad had been following our adventure and found us a reliable spot to look for them!

**Our last shot at Snail Kites paid off big as we backtracked to Sweetwater Wetlands on a hot tip from my dad!**

Now, as the rain on the highway subsided, I began to reflect on the trip. It had been an absolute whirlwind of fun and disappointment, euphoria and frustration. Had it not been for Sweetwater Wetlands, we would have missed a significant chunk of our targets for the trip (including up-close Sandhill Crane and Limpkin). We’d chased many birds and came up short often, although we had a few successes with the flamingo at St. Marks and grassquit in the Keys. We’d driven hundreds of miles and dozens of hours, sacrificing sleep and food for the birds. And we’d seen so much of the country too, despite only truly getting to know one state. Florida had continued to amaze me, with its extensive saltmarshes and stunted mangrove forests, tacky fishing villages and five-star hotels. We’d birded in so many habitats I hadn’t even realized existed—Florida savannah scrub, Caribbean Pine Rockland, sawgrass glades and urban parks covered in animals from every continent.

**We can thank the abundance of Great Egrets and many other birds to the visionary conservation efforts of Teddy Roosevelt who, among other things, helped put a stop to plume-hunting for hats.** **We need similarly radical action today to save many of our planet’s species—including ourselves.**

As for the birds, we’d done pretty damn well. We’d found success on about half of our chases, missing stuff like the Smooth-billed Ani and Black-headed Gull finding other rarities like the Black-faced Grassquit in the Keys. Thanks to Sweetwater Wetlands, we had hit most of our targets, only missing the Mangrove Cuckoo (which, it turned out, it was the totally wrong season for) and several of the Miami specialties, plus Bachman’s Sparrow, which we still had a shot at. I’d obtained some of the best photos I’d ever gotten, including Prairie Warbler and Blue-headed Vireo, and really gotten to know several species that I’d had little to no experience with prior to the trip. The two species that topped my “Bird of the Trip” list were the aforementioned Prairie Warbler and Swallow-tailed Kite. I’d “discovered” an entirely new breeding population of the warblers, having had no idea that this species could thrive in coastal Floridian mangroves, and learned to recognize their buzzy, rising song every time Nick and I had set foot in that strange, coastal habitat. The kites had accompanied us everywhere we’d gone, and we’d seen them soaring above us almost every day of the trip, not discriminating between any certain habitat. Even after I returned to Maine the next day, it was hard to break the habit of scanning the skies for these sharp-looking black and white birds.

**As the sun set on our Florida adventure, one of our nemesis birds—Bachman’s Sparrow—finally put in a solid appearance, and in a place where my dad used to camp with *his* dad fifty years ago.**

As our car raced towards the Alabama border, Nick and I decided to make one last stop. We were driving past Pensacola, where I’d gone for Thanksgiving the previous fall, and we headed north, heading to Blackwater State Forest following a Google Maps pin that supposedly had Red-cockaded Woodpeckers. The Honda Pilot pulled over on a dirt road as the sun began to set, dangerously low on gas, and we jumped out, cameras and binoculars in hand. Dixie immediately took off into the tall grass, covering herself in the mud formed by the intense rainstorm that had just ended. The longleaf pines towered upwards around us—this was the healthiest patch of this habitat we had seen during the whole trip. Suddenly, as we began walking, a melodious song echoed across the pine savannah.

“Bachman’s Sparrow!” said Nick, whipping out his phone to play for the bird. Almost as soon as the song escaped the phone’s speakers, a small, brown sparrow zipped towards us, landing on the low branch of a tree. I raised my binoculars, and sure enough, there it was–a bird I’d searched for and missed half a dozen times in the last six months. The bird’s plumage was not particularly special, but the music it created stuck with me for hours after we left. Several more sparrows began singing from the grass as the sun set, and were joined by a chorus of Pine Warblers and Brown-headed Nuthatches. On our way back to the car, we suddenly heard some loud calls similar to that of a Hairy Woodpecker. We looked over in the trees just in time to see a family group of Red-cockaded Woodpeckers fly in, moving up and down the pines energetically. I walked off into the grass in an attempt to get some photos, and called my dad back.

**Despite the lousy photo, finding Red-cockaded Woodpeckers in a place my dad had spent his summers proved the perfect way to round up our epic adventure.**

“We got the woodpeckers…hell, we got everything!”

We’d ended the trip right where we’d started, in these strange, fire-dependent southeastern forests. Not everything had gone right, but Nick and I had gotten a great story out of it. We’d seen so many birds, and mammals, and plants, and reptiles and more, and as I boarded the plane from New Orleans the following morning, wearing clothes that hadn’t been washed in a week and clutching my camera and binoculars, I smiled. Florida had dragged me in, and I couldn’t wait to return to the land of the grass pines.

Trip Statistics!

Miles Driven: 2,100

Hours Driven: 31

Bird Species: 197

States Driven Through: 4

Counties Driven Through: 43

Life Birds: 23

Year Birds: 143

Bird(s) of the Trip: Prairie Warbler, Swallow-tailed Kite and Bachman’s Sparrow

Birds to Date for Braden’s Big Year: 244 (at end of Florida trip)

My Accidental Big Year

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If you’ve been a loyal fan of FatherSonBirding, you probably know about Braden’s and my 2016 Big Year in which we saw 337 species in the American Birding Association (ABA) region in a calendar year. Since then, we have never set out to topple that record even though, with our vastly improved birding skills and knowledge, it would be a relatively easy thing to do. In fact, a couple of times we have come perilously close without really trying thanks to trips to Texas, California, and in Braden’s case, a band trip to Hawaii. When I received two invitations to Texas for this fall, however, I thought to myself “You know, maybe it’s time to give this a shot.”

Mind you, it was still a long shot. When I left for The Hummerbird Celebration in September I had managed to scrape together only about 260 species in Montana, Idaho, and Washington for the year, and knew I’d have to go BIG that first trip to Texas. I did, scoring about fifty Year Birds—but still left myself more than 20 birds short in perhaps the toughest time of year to bird. “Still,” I thought, “if I can somehow get ten or twelve more species on my second Texas trip, I might get within striking distance.”

I knew I would need help.

I’ll take a blurry Lifer any day—including this beautiful Brown-headed Nuthatch. By the way, this bird brought my ABA Life List to 498 birds! Only two hours later, I got number 499, Monk Parakeet! What will be 500?

My trip last week unfolded when I was invited to give a keynote address at Houston Audubon’s (HAS) annual Avian Affair fundraising gala (more on that in my next post). As you probably know I love HAS and was honored to accept, but I brazenly asked my hosts if there was a chance anyone could take me birding when I arrived. Before I knew it, a team of expert birders, all HAS board members, had been assembled with the express goal of helping me tackle my Texas “needs” list! In fact, within twenty minutes of my arrival, Bill Matthews picked me up at the airport and whisked me off to our first stop, the W.G. Jones State Forest—home to some of the state’s most accessible Red-cockaded Woodpeckers.

To be honest, I didn’t think we’d find the RCWOs since they can forage over a large area, but I was also hoping for a Life Bird, Brown-headed Nuthatch. As we began walking around the forest, we found no woodpeckers near their roosting trees, so decided to take a longer walk down a trail. Very little stirred, leaving me feeling that maybe we wouldn’t see much—until, that is, we had walked about half a mile. Then, all of a sudden, Eastern Bluebirds were flying everywhere. Other Year Birds soon surrounded us—Carolina Chickadees, a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, Tufted Titmice, Pine Warblers, and oh joy, Brown-headed Nuthatches!

My W.G. Jones eBird List.

Though Braden and I had seen Monk Parakeets in Israel before the pandemic, this was my first ABA Monk Parakeet. Bill Matthews mentioned that the severe freeze in Texas earlier in the year had pared down the parakeets’ numbers significantly.

We left without RCWOs, but I was elated with our finds. Bill hadn’t finished with me, though, as we stopped by a roosting Eastern Screech-Owl in a neighborhood nesting box and two Monk Parakeets behind his wife’s studio. By this time, Bill’s fellow board member and well-known bird guide Glenn Olsen joined us, so after the parakeets, we adjourned to Molina’s Cantina for some great Tex-Mex food and to plan our next day’s conquests. Unfortunately, the next day proved a lot tougher than the first, but we still were able to hear a Limpkin—a rare visitor to Texas—at Sheldon Lake, and see some incredibly cool Brown Boobies on a “tower of power” at Baytown Nature Center, accompanied by yet another great birder and HAS board member, Skip Almoney.

**World’s Most Cooperative Owl? This Eastern Screech just may take the prize!**

With a total of 8 Year Birds, I was fairly satisfied as I actually did some work the following day, speaking to fifth-graders at Western Academy—and saw Year Bird #9, Scaly-breasted Munias! Glenn Olsen was not satisfied, however, so on my last morning, he picked me up early before my flight and we headed back out to W.G. Jones, meeting up with another great HAS board member, Eric Mayer, out at the site. Again, I didn’t think we’d see the woodpeckers and we didn’t. After an hour, in fact, it was time to head back to the car so Glenn could take me to the airport. As we approached the parking area, though, Glenn shouted, “Woodpecker!” I got my binoculars on a black-and-white bird landing on a pine tree and guess what? Red-cockaded Woodpecker! It was a great way to finish up a great trip, and left me with a flock of wonderful new friends—and only 11 birds to break my record. Will I make it? Good question. While in Texas, I missed four or five migrating rarities in Montana and it appears they have left the state. I will keep up my quest, however, so stay tuned!

**I was a doubter, but this Red-cockaded Woodpecker really wanted me to break my Big Year record!**

Heavy Metal Suckers: Birding Therapy Day Five

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After my inspiring outing with Paul Queneau on Thursday, believe it or not I had another “man date” the next day with our awesome former Scoutmaster, Tony Higuera. Tony and I would be meeting for coffee, not birds, so to continue my week of birding therapy I decided leave early and hit another great Missoula birding location close to Starbucks—Tower Street.

Honestly, I am still getting to know Tower Street. It consists of meadow, pine, and riparian habitats, and Braden and I have birded it four or five times, but heading in there Friday morning I really didn’t know what to expect. From the parking lot, I could hear flickers, House Finches, Pine Siskins, and Red-breasted Nuthatches. As I walked along the path paralleling the giant metallic power poles, I spotted and heard more of the usual suspects. Then, an incredibly loud metallic drumming sound startled me. “Holy cow!” I gasped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

**The source of the drum solo that startled me: a rocking Red-naped Sapsucker!**

The drumming’s staggered, uncertain pattern told me which species had made it, but where was it coming from? More important, how could it be so loud? I looked up at the immense metal power pole a few yards away. I mean, this was not one of the street lamps you see. It was HUGE—an amplifier at least twenty meters high and a meter or two in diameter. I searched all around it but couldn’t find a bird. Then, I spotted an inconspicuous, hunched down figure on a climbing stud high above me. It was a Red-naped Sapsucker—and it had just found the best drum set in woodpecker history!

I watched as the bird again drummed against the power pole, and it immediately got a response from another Red-naped that flew in to investigate. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud and wondered if the bird would permanently stake out this amplified windfall.

**Assuming this is the female, I wonder if she’s hear to consider the male’s mating proposition or just join his band—maybe on lead guitar?**

During the next hour, I saw or heard another three or four sapsuckers and nothing else matched them, but when I reached the river, I heard a strange bubbly sound. At first I didn’t know what it was, but then recalled a song that Braden has been trying to teach me the last couple of years—the “giggle call” of a White-breasted Nuthatch. I didn’t see the bird at first, but then spotted it with its partner. Even more fun, I got to see the two of them mate. While WBNUs are by no means rare, we see them on only about 20% of our forest visits, so this was a real treat—and the only ones I would see during my Birding Therapy Week. That doesn’t mean my good birding was at an end. The next morning, in fact, I would experience my best birding—and therapy—of the week . . .

**White-breasted Nuthatches are quite a bit less common than their Red-breasted brethren, but learning the “giggle call” certainly helps alert one to their presence.**

Peregrine Possibilities: Birding Therapy Day Two

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So after getting home from my Blue Mountain hike on Monday, I began planning Tuesday’s birding therapy outing to the Missoula Cemetery, a place I have monitored since the pandemic began last year. Almost immediately, however, I received a message from a friend of a friend (FOAF) about a putative Peregrine Falcon pair a few miles from our house. Peregrines are not uncommon in Montana with well over a hundred nesting pairs—a remarkable resurgence considering the DDT disaster that devastated dozens of bird species through the 1960s and 70s. However this possible nest site was one that neither Braden nor I had heard of, so instead of hitting the cemetery Tuesday morning, I convinced Braden to skip first period and go check it out by bike.

**Braden and I never tire of seeing Red-naped Sapsuckers, especially in a new location!**

It was a perfect morning for a bike ride and we spotted or heard Black-capped and Mountain Chickadees, Red-breasted Nuthatches, and an assortment of other birds—Braden more than I thanks to his Bionic Ears of Youth! We were especially excited to find a nice boggy area with a couple of Red-naped Sapsuckers drumming on snags. Finally, we reached the area the FOAF had described and almost immediately thought that we heard the peregrines calling. We set up “camp” and watched, hoping to catch sight of them. No luck. Even worse, Braden had to leave to get back to school. “Well crap,” I thought. I didn’t want to see them without him, but also knew I might not head back to the spot anytime soon so decided to stay longer.

**One of the benefits of hauling a camera with you is to “slow down” birds that are too fast and too far away to easily observe. Peregrine Falcons are a case in point!**

I pulled out my phone to play a peregrine recording—not to attract them but to make sure what they sounded like. WHAM! Almost instantaneously a loud answering call hit me from above and I looked up to see the unmistakable shape of a falcon flying against the gray skies. That turned out to be just the opening salvo in an amazing twenty-minute aerial exhibition that the peregrine and his mate put on for me. I watched them chase off another raptor, skim forest treetops, and in a grand finale, copulate on the branch of a tree! Granted, the birds were far away, but I can’t recall a more exciting raptor experience—well, at least since seeing the Gyrfalcon with Braden earlier this year.

I got in touch with the Montana Peregrine Institute to see if they knew about this particular nest and it turns out that the pair was first discovered in 2020 and had apparently successfully fledged three young! My FOAF went even further and single-handedly convinced the Forest Service to delay a controlled burn that was supposed to happen this last week—right in the peregrines’ territory! Hopefully, the burn will go ahead in the fall—and give the birds a wonderful larder of new prey to raise their next batch of chicks.

**Even though the birds were far away, it was thrilling to watch them mate—something that will hopefully ensure a new crop of peregrines this year!**

A Week of Birding Therapy: Day One

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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 . . .