Braden’s Costa Rica Report #2: Of Stingrays and Macaws

I stood on the wooden platform a hundred feet above the forest floor, staring down the long metal cable leading off into the foliage. The ziplining guide unhooked the carabiner on my belt from one line and attached it to another, then banged on the cable with a wooden bat—a signal to whoever was on the other end that I was ready to go. A colorful iguana watched from a nearby tree as I leaned back, grabbed the cable with my leather gloves, and jumped into the air. Humid, tropical wind hit me as I zipped past epiphyte-covered trees, and I heard the calls of parrots flying over. Thirty seconds later, I landed on the next platform, where the guide unclipped my carabiner and clipped it to another cable for another thrilling ride. An hour and fourteen platforms later, I touched down on the ground and joined the rest of the USAC students in gushing about how awesome ziplining had been—just the beginning to an exhilarating, chaotic weekend on the Pacific coast of Costa Rica.

**I’m going to get the, ahem, hang of this eventually!**

After lunch, our program directors took us to the coastal tourist town of Jaco. Some people split off to take a paid surfing lesson, but I opted to stay on the main beach and enjoy the waves. As my friends and I waded into the warm, salty water, we discovered that we were not alone. As we swam in the surf, something soft and slimy suddenly collided with my leg.

“Ack!” I cried, jumping backwards. Everyone around me stared. “What?”

A pair of fins appeared in the water to our left. Sharks! my mind shouted, but a sudden rolling wave gave us a glance at their true identities—stingrays! And the Pacific Cownose Rays (according to our limited research on Google) were not strong swimmers. Every time a more powerful wave rolled in, it carried the animals straight into us. Thankfully, none of the human—stingray collisions ended in harm to either party, but feeling a large, slimy animal run into me was not something I got used to.

**The beach at Jaco—a favorite for tourists and stingrays!**

We retired from the beach to the hostel where we would be staying for the night, a mere hundred meters from the ocean. As the sun set, however, our activities continued. At around 5, two of my friends and I went on a probably ill-advised walk through the town of Jaco in search of owls. We ended up on a long dirt road leading towards the jungle. Before we got there, brooding clouds materialized above us, and a downpour soaked our clothes. We didn’t see any owls (or at least not well), but we did spot a few other night birds, including Lesser Nighthawks and Common Pauraques. Upon our soggy return to Jaco, we stopped briefly on a bridge crossing a small stream in town. There, in the dark, moonlit water, stood a tall, powerful-looking heron, staring straight down into the current. We watched from the bridge as the Bare-throated Tiger-Heron crept closer and closer to its desired target. After five minutes of holding our breaths, the heron plunged its neck into water, pulling out a fish and swallowing it whole!

That night, our entire cohort of students went out for drinks in downtown Jaco (the legal drinking age in Costa Rica is 18). Some of us grew restless sitting in the bars, however, and made our way back to the beach to watch the ocean pound relentlessly into the dark sand. Near our hostel, a river mouth emptied into the ocean, running in all directions to create a maze of shallow streams and sandbars. And there, under the moon, we spotted more herons, fishing in the dark. Another tiger-heron strutted on the shore. Two Yellow-crowned Night-herons fought over a frog dinner. But the coolest animal we saw was a bird straight out of a horror movie—the uncommon and elusive Boat-billed Heron (I didn’t take a picture because it was so dark but you should definitely look this thing up). There on the sand it stood, with large, dark, soulless eyes complementing its wild, black hairdo. Its bill looked more like a shovel than a boat, and we watched as it rushed into the water, chasing after a fish.

The next morning, Kiley, Leah and I caught an Uber to Playa Hermosa (“Beautiful Beach”—one of several Playa Hermosas scattered around the country) south of Jaco. Silvery streaks of sand ran across the less-touristed coastline, but the biggest prize had little to do with the ocean. Planted along the edge of the sand stood large trees of many species, including palms and almonds. Feeding on those almonds were giant, long-tailed Scarlet Macaws! The macaws flew over us in groups of two to four, calling abrasively and flashing the streaks of blue and yellow that decorated their otherwise crimson bodies. At one point, one landed no more than ten feet away, and we watched and filmed it in awe. Scarlet Macaws are a threatened species because of the illegal pet trade and habitat loss, but their story in Costa Rica is one of success. After declining significantly in the 1900s, Scarlet Macaws are increasing in numbers on both the Pacific and Caribbean coasts of the country, thanks to conservation work. They are now once again a common sight in much of Costa Rica.

**Scarlet Macaws feeding in trees along the beach. Their beaks are especially designed to crush the largest, hardest nuts!**

The next morning, our last of the weekend, eight of us caught an early-morning bus north to Carara National Park, one of the last tracts of pristine Pacific lowland rainforest in the country. Once we bought our tickets and entered the park (if you go, make SURE to buy tickets online in advance—it was a hassle doing it there), we followed a trail deep into the forest, marveling at the height and circumference of the smooth-barked trees rising before us. Many of the trees had thick buttresses stretching out from their bases. Here, the deeper soils held little nutrients, so tree roots stretched out rather than down. Leaf-cutter ant trails crossed the trail every couple hundred meters, and we thanked a guide who pointed out a White-lined Bat roosting on the side of a tree.

**One of several troops of leaf-cutter ants we enjoyed watching.**

White-faced Capuchins preening during siesta time.

Loafing on a log laid across a bubbling river we spotted not one but two Brown Basilisks or Jesus Christ Lizards, that special reptile with the ability to run on water. White-faced Capuchins stared down at us from trees as they picked through each other’s fur, and we startled a White-nosed Coati from the trail, where it had been quietly gobbling down ants. We got great views of Slaty-tailed Trogons—big, red-bellied birds that look kind of like frogs—and a Yellow-throated Toucan that flew in as we watched yet more Scarlet Macaws. My personal bird of the day was a Black-faced Antthrush, a small, quiet songbird poking through the leaf litter about fifty meters away from the trail. This lowland rainforest (which was the final of the three prominent forest types in the country for me to visit) held many species from the tropical dry forest, too, as Carara National Park sits near the zone where the two habitats blend together. To see true, pure lowland tropical rainforest, however, we’ll have to visit the Osa Peninsula or Manuel Antonio National Park, quite a bit farther south.

My favorite bird of the weekend, a Black-faced Antthrush.

Stay tuned!

Birding Glacier National Park in “The Hot, Dry Winter” of 2024

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Our thoughts go to all of the Californians getting hammered by unprecedented rains right now, and we hope that you are all staying safe—and preferably indoors. While the Southwest is getting one historic climate event, Montana has been getting another: record heat and dryness. Both of these add a heightened sense of urgency to tackling climate change by reducing greenhouse emissions and promoting renewable energy. And, of course, these events are certainly impacting birds. Last week, I had a chance to explore one of our nation’s most pristine areas to see what the birds are doing.

Even before I moved to Montana in 1996, I had visions of visiting the Many Glacier Valley in the depths of winter. In college, I had spent the best summer of my life working as a cook at Swiftcurrent Motor Lodge, and had returned to the valley many times since then—but never in our darkest, coldest season. What would this wonderland be like covered in snow and ice? Last week, almost fifty years after working there, I got a chance to find out. The only thing missing? Winter itself.

I had been invited to spend four days visiting with pre-K through grade 1 students in Browning, Montana, a trip I looked forward to for many reasons, including the chance to learn more about Blackfeet culture and explore the area. As a bonus, I would be working mainly in the afternoons, freeing up the mornings for birding and other activities. As the librarian and I put together the trip, however, I never imagined that I would be visiting during an unprecedentedly warm winter in which temperatures were breaking records daily and the landscape stood almost devoid of snow.

On the drive to Browning, I stopped at the Freezeout Lake wetlands complex near Great Falls and counted several thousand Canada Geese and Mallards. To my surprise, the geese were flagged as rare on eBird for this time of year. Why? Because the lakes are almost always frozen in January and February, but this year large areas of open water shimmered, inviting both geese and ducks.

**The disturbing presence of open water at Freezeout Lake is attracting its share of Canada Geese and Mallards this “non-winter.”**

Reaching the outskirts of Browning, I turned right for a side trip to Cut Bank. In a normal winter, this entire area would be covered in snow, providing a chance to find Snowy Owls, Snow Buntings, and other typical winter birds. Not today. Driving mud and gravel back roads, I was lucky to find a solitary Rough-legged Hawk on a telephone pole. I did flush one group of 15 smaller birds that I assume were Horned Larks, but nothing else of note. In fact, the main birds I was seeing were the stalwart ravens, magpies, House Sparrows, starlings, and pigeons.

When Thursday rolled around, my birding hopes rose as I got up early and drove toward Babb, the entrance to the Many Glacier Valley on the east side of Glacier National Park. I had no idea how much of the road was open, but made it to the park boundary at Lake (reservoir) Sherburne dam. There, I parked and donned my camera and binoculars.

**The Lake Sherburne Reservoir at the Glacier National Park boundary, where I began my jaunt into the Many Glacier Valley.**

I couldn’t have asked for a more astonishing day. By 9:00 a.m., temps had reached into the mid-30s and were rising rapidly. Despite an extremely dry winter, a thin layer of snow covered the spectacular peaks of the continental divide and full sunlight created an unparalleled, dazzling landscape. As an extra “cherry,” a waning gibbous moon slowly sank toward 9,300-foot Mount Allen. I paused to take a deep breath and appreciate that I was probably the only person on earth observing this incredible scene. Then, I set out.

A raven greeted me as I stepped into the park, but I wondered if I would see any other animals. Would a grizzly bear be taking a mid-winter stroll on a day this warm? I didn’t know, but spotted no other critter as I walked half a mile along the reservoir. I didn’t have a great deal of time, so I turned around after 20 minutes, and as the day continued to warm, a few birds made an appearance. I heard Black-capped Chickadees and a woodpecker drumming in the distance. Then, a grouse burst out of some stunted aspen trees to my left. I desperately watched it flying away, looking for any ID clues, but alas, I just don’t know grouse well enough to be sure. The bird was gray, however, and the habitat was wrong for Ruffed and Spruce Grouse, rendering a 95% probability of Dusky Grouse, but since I wasn’t sure, I didn’t record it on eBird.

Despite the incredible scenery, I was feeling a bit thwarted bird-wise, and calculated that I had time for another hour of exploration, so I drove back out to Babb, turned left, and then left again on the road leading to the Canadian border and Waterton Lakes National Park. My mission? To find Boreal Chickadees! In fact, I was driving the very road where Braden and I had discovered our lifer BOCHs three years before (see post “Are you ready for . . . the QUACH?”). That had been during early covid days when hardly a soul traveled the road. Would I be able to find any birds today?

My first chickadee sighting along the road proved to be a mixed flock of Black-capped and Mountain Chickadees feeding on knapweed seed pods—perhaps for insect larvae. Cool, but not the object of my quest.

The road wound its way up through scenic pastures and aspen groves, climbing steadily until it reached conifers—all under the magnificent gaze of Chief Mountain. As before, I passed not a car along the way. I pulled over twice and played the calls of Boreal Chickadees, but no bird responded. Then, I actually saw a flock of chickadees up ahead and eagerly braked to a halt.

Not BOCHs. Instead, a mixed flock of Mountain and Black-capped Chickadees, with a Red-breasted Nuthatch joining them.

**One of Glacier’s most iconic mountains, Chief Mountain stands watch over the northeastern part of the park, including the road up to Waterton Lakes National Park.**

Undeterred, I continued, and soon stopped for another flock of Black-cappeds. I wondered how much exploring I had time for, but passed a Border Patrol truck and soon was forced to stop at the closed boundary of Glacier National Park. Turning around, I again parked to play a BOCH call with no luck. The Border Patrol truck approached and the agent rolled down his window for a chat. I told him what I was looking for and asked him if he saw many birds along this stretch. “Some Stellar’s Jays,” he answered, “but not a lot else.”

**I thought the road to Canada’s Waterton Lakes National Park might be open, but alas, no. Fortunately, the chickadees were on my side of the boundary!**

I wished him a good day and continued driving back toward Babb. Before the road began descending again, a large pull-out opened up on the left and I stopped one last time. Not expecting much, I played a BOCH song and made some pishing noises. Within moments, six chickadees surrounded me! Boreal Chickadees!

**With their curiosity and handsome features, Boreal Chickadees may just seize the title for Most Delightful Chickadees.**

The chickadees were much more curious about me than their congeners (animals in the same scientific genus, i.e. the Black-capped and Mountain Chickadees). The Boreal Chickadees flew back and forth above me and called from nearby branches. I even nabbed some decent photos. I spent ten or fifteen minutes with them, barely believing I was having such a great experience with these elusive, high-altitude and high-latitude songbirds. It once again renewed my appreciation for living and birding in Montana, since this region is one of the few places this species dips into the United States from its main distribution in Canada.

**This Boreal Chickadee might have been auditioning for the Chickadee Choir with how much it called to me.**

Feeling satisfied and grateful for such a marvellous morning, I headed back to Browning, spotting only a few ravens and Rough-legged Hawks along the way. No matter. The BOCHs and breathtaking views of the Many Glacier Valley had made this a day I would never forget. Now if we can only get some snow.

Braden’s First Costa Rica Report: Monteverde

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Many annoying things have kept me (Sneed) from birding so far this year. Not so Braden, who is enjoying a semester abroad in the town of San Ramón, Costa Rica. In just his first few days, he tallied almost 100 Life Birds—and he’s just getting started. Here is his first report, from a weekend trip to the cloud forest haven of Monteverde, where I visited to research a book almost thirty years ago.

The town of San Ramón and its colorful, ramshackle buildings sits in an ecological crossroads as far as Costa Rica’s ecosystems are concerned, located near Caribbean slope rainforest, Pacific slope dry forest and high-altitude cloud forest. The dry tropical forest, situated in the northwest part of the country, is a habitat characterized by distinct dry and wet seasons. The southwestern part of the country (including the Osa Peninsula) holds tropical rainforest, and these two habitats constitute the “Pacific Slope.” The “Caribbean Slope,” meanwhile, is all rainforest, although its communities differ from those of the Pacific rainforests. Why? Several large mountain ranges run through the middle of the country, reaching heights of 3,800m (about 12,500 feet) in the Talamancas to the south. These mountain ranges not only separate species living on the Pacific Slope from those living on the Caribbean Slope, but also hold another, incredibly important ecosystem: the cloud forest. This ecosystem is the one I’d been most wanting to visit since learning about it a decade ago, and so, on the first of our semester’s sixteen three-day weekends, two fellow UMaine students, Kiley Chen and Leah Hart, and I caught the bus towards Santa Elena for a two-night adventure.

**Okay, maybe we do look a little TOO happy in this photo, but can you blame us? We’re in COSTA RICA!!!**

The long and winding bus ride did not do good things for our stomachs, but soon enough, we arrived in Santa Elena. The next morning, we caught a taxi up the mountain to the Monteverde Cloud Forest Biological Reserve. Despite the fact that this reserve is a well-known tourist destination, especially during the dry season (December-April), Kiley, Leah and I were the first people to arrive, and proceeded to spend the next seven hours exploring the cloud forest, hiking nearly every trail available to us. It blew our minds.

**Cloud forests are especially known for their CRAZY abundance and diversity of epiphytes—plants that grow on other plants.**

A forest with nearly 100% humidity year-round is a botanist’s dream. Giant bromeliads grew from every branch, and we could hardly see the bark on the trees because of the high densities of moss and lichen. Thick, woody vines (known as lianas) hung down from above, and prehistoric-looking tree ferns, with the trunk of a tree and the leaves of a fern, rose above us. At one point we walked across a red, metal bridge suspended above a gully, and we could see just how the habitat had received its name. Powerful winds carried large fogbanks through the trees, and we could not see more than thirty or so feet out from any viewpoint because of the mist. These constant clouds, caused by winds from the east and high-altitude condensation, lead to the air being constantly saturated with water, allowing a luxuriance of plants to grow here. High concentrations of plants usually mean high concentrations of animals, and the animals we saw did not disappoint. Leah rescued several giant millipedes from the path during our hike, and at one point we saw a group of White-nosed Coatis approach us, completely fearless as they foraged for insects in the damp soil. From the suspended bridge we spotted a large mixed flock of birds, including Ruddy Treerunners, Spotted Barbtails, Spangle-cheeked Tanagers, Prong-billed Barbets and a variety of warblers (including some that spend the summer in Maine!). And, after returning to the entrance to ask directions, we finally found ourselves sitting on a wet bench, staring at an epiphyte-laden tree looking for Resplendent Quetzals.

The Resplendent Quetzal is not the national bird of Costa Rica, but with all of the attention it garners, it might as well be. We spotted a female in the tree as we first arrived, admiring its deep, emerald green plumage reflecting light through the mist. The real prize we sought, however, was the male—a bird of emerald and ruby, with green tail streamers up to three feet long. These birds are altitudinal migrants, meaning that they spend the non-breeding season at lower elevations. During the breeding season, they travel upslope to the cloud forest to feed on wild avocados and raise young. They are icons of the cloud forest, a rare animal living in a rare habitat. Eventually, as we sat on that bench, we did spot a male, although the look was incredibly brief and unsatisfying. What was satisfying were the other animals that paid us a visit : Spider Monkeys. After sitting there for about thirty minutes, we suddenly spotted movement in the tree ahead of us. From the leaves emerged a pair of long-limbed, rust-orange monkeys, a mother and baby, and we watched spellbound as they swung effortlessly from branch to branch in front of us. It was awesome.

Emerging from the forest, we made a stop at Café Colibri, a restaurant known for and named after the feeders it hangs in the garden outside, and the animals that visit those feeders. At Café Colibri, we spotted seven different species of hummingbirds, almost thirty or so different individuals, each zipping right by our faces in search of sugar water. The hummingbirds had a hierarchy, with the large Violet Sabrewings bullying many of the smaller birds. My favorite of the hummers were the Purple-throated Mountain-gems, the males of which had turquoise foreheads and violet gorgets that shimmered in the sunlight.

We walked back down the road to Santa Elena, admiring the rainbows formed by the mist being blown down the mountain. Following a short rest, we headed out again, this time with a guide to see what animals dwelled in the mountain forests at night. The night walk exceeded our expectations. Our guide, Brandon, pointed out all manner of animals, including Pygmy Rain Frogs, a Robust Climbing Salamander, a Horned Tarantula, an Orange-kneed Tarantula, a Stripe-sided Palm Pitviper loafing in a tree, and two Keel-billed Toucans, fast asleep above us (or they were, until someone pointed a light at them). At one point Brandon wetted a stick with his lips and used it to try to draw a tarantula out of its burrow for us. On our walk back to the entrance to the forest, we spooked a Mottled Owl from its perch in a large banana tree.

Our weekend in Monteverde abounded with sightings of wildlife, and while it may sound like an out-of-reach location for college students, it’s not! The Gilman Scholarship, a scholarship specifically provided to low-income students looking to study abroad and experience new places, is a large part of how I was able to afford going to Costa Rica this semester. If you’re looking to go to Costa Rica, or Ireland, or Japan, or anywhere else, but are worried about the costs, I highly recommend applying for the Gilman. It’s easy to apply, and can support you following your dreams of spending part of your college experience in another country. If you’re enjoying learning about my time abroad and want to have a similar experience of your own, I could not recommend the Gilman more.

Monteverde was just the first place I’ve visited since I’ve been here in Costa Rica, and I already have more weekend trips planned for the next few weeks, so be sure to check out my next blog to learn about the other cool wildlife and ecosystems I see!

**Collared Trogon—named after our family, of course!**

Our Official 2023 FSB Recap: Bird Names, Bird Clubs, and Lifers

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2023 proved to be another wildly surprising year for the FatherSonBirding team. Not only did Braden and I see birds we never dreamed we’d see, but birding opportunities and the enthusiasm of our loyal FSB followers exceeded every expectation. But first, some 2023 stats:

Blogs Posted: 32

FSB Views: 9,361 (easily eclipsing last year’s record of 7,185)

Most Viewed Post: Avian Reveal: Our Five Picks for New Bird Names (598 views)

In addition to the above stats, we surpassed 30,000 lifetime blog views and have now published 174 posts since we began FSB in 2018. Even though this is far short of what is required to annoy you with paid advertisements, it’s still remarkable to us. When we began FSB, Braden and I thought we might keep at it for a year or two at most. Now, almost six years later, FSB has actually generated a body of work that we are immensely proud of. It’s been a way for us to share our adventures, promote birding, and connect with other birders. It’s also been a fun vehicle for educating others about birds and bird conservation. So let’s get to 2023’s highlights for each of us.

Sneed’s 2023 Birding Highlights

Japan: Without a doubt, my biggest highlight of the year was taking my daughter, Tessa, to Japan for three weeks. Together, we created a lifetime of memories in a country we loved even more than we thought we would. As you all discovered with my posts about Tokyo, Kyoto, Kanazawa, and other places, I got in plenty of birding, adding 28 species to my Life List and getting to know more than fifty species of common Japanese birds. (Note that Kanazawa is near the epicenter of this morning’s 7.5 earthquake. We are thinking of all of you over there, and hope everyone is safe!)

**One of my favorite Japanese birds, a male Daurian Redstart.**

Birding Eastern Montana: Thanks to assignments from Montana Outdoors magazine, I had the opportunity to drive out to Westby with my childhood buddy, Scott Callow. We not only hit hotspots such as Bowdoin NWR, Plentywood, Makoshika SP, and Bear Canyon, we had a wonderful visit with FWP biologist Heather Harris who took us on an up-close-and-personal visit to some of Montana’s healthiest short-grass prairie. There, we got my best looks ever at Sprague’s Pipits, Chestnut-collared Longspurs, and other prairie residents.

**Heading to Westby with my friend Scott was not only a great way to see great Montana birds, but a rare chance to catch up with a lifelong friendship!**

Adding Montana Lifers: While in Westby, Scott and I saw my first Piping Plover in Montana, but during the rest of the year—and with the help of other Montana birders—I also added three species to my all-time worldwide Life List: Sagebrush Sparrow (Bear Canyon), American Golden-plover (Mission Valley), and Spruce Grouse (Mission Mountains).

**This Sagebrush Sparrow was probably my favorite new ABA Lifer of 2023–and proves that great things can come in small packages!**

In addition to the above highlights, Braden and I got to bird together several times, including a breakneck trip to Glacier NP with our buddy, Nick Ramsey. I also had the pleasure of meeting a lot of other Montana birders at Wings Across the Big Sky and the meeting of Flathead Audubon. At the beginning of 2023, I had entertained visions of breaking my Montana Big Year record with my work trips to eastern Montana—but didn’t. I came close, however, racking up 253 species, including my last two: Short-eared Owl and Northern Shrike on Braden’s and my last big Montana outing. And now . . .

**Despite Braden and Nick’s busy lives getting educated and building their birder resumés, we all managed to squeeze in a quick 3-day trip to Freezeout Lake and Glacier National Park last summer.**

Braden’s 2023 Birding Highlights

Eastern Songbirds: A long-time goal of mine has been to learn the eastern songbirds, specifically the eastern wood-warblers, by ear. This summer, thanks to my job doing point counts in the woods of northeastern Pennsylvania, I succeeded at that goal, solidifying nearly two dozen warbler songs in my mental repertoire, including those of Magnolia, Canada, Mourning and Golden-winged Warblers. Beyond that, I got to spend all of May and June, and some of July, romping around the forests of the Appalachians, learning about the ecology of all of these species. I fell in love with Golden-winged Warblers, with their specialized habitat needs and endearing personalities, and came to know not only the species of birds in these forests, but also the trees the birds were using. Highlighted by a trip to Cape May and a trip to the Adirondacks, my summer in Pennsylvania may have taught me more about the natural world than any summer I’ve lived through yet!

**Getting to know Eastern warblers—including Golden-winged Warblers—fulfilled a long-held ambition of mine.**

Western Field Ornithologists Conference: In July, I said goodbye to my co-workers and the woods of Pennsylvania and flew across the country to Denver, Colorado, where I was picked up by one of the members of the board of Western Field Ornithologists (WFO). There started my week-long, high-energy stay in the alpine zone of Colorado, where I proceeded to not only see hordes of birds (including two lifers, Virginia’s Warbler and Brown-capped Rosy-finch) as well as meet a variety of people of all ages, who had converged at the WFO annual conference thanks to their passion for birds. During this conference, I got to hang out with a squadron of young birders from California and meet people like David Tonnessen, a native Coloradan guide, Nathan Pieplow, one of North America’s leading experts on bird sound, Ted Floyd, the editor of Birding magazine, Chris Wood, one of the founders of eBird, and Jesse Barry, one of the lead developers for the Merlin app. It was a whirlwind week, during which I bushwhacked through alpine tundra in search of White-tailed Ptarmigan and Dusky Grouse (only the latter of which we saw), scoped distant prairie potholes for shorebirds, and trekked through spruce-fir forest in the dark of night in an attempt for Boreal Owl. I’ll be sure to attend more of these conferences, whenever I am able to!

The field trips before the WFO conference gave me my first crack at Colorado birding!

Starting the UMaine Birding Club: Last semester, several people told me that if the University of Maine had a Birding Club, they would join. This year, after a few MORE people told me that, I just decided to buckle down and start one. Our first meeting, which took place on September 14th, was a raging success, with more than thirty people filling the classroom I’d reserved to hear me give my elevator pitch for the club. After a ten-minute talk, we headed out across campus in search of fall migrants, which we found in the form of a Ruby-throated Hummingbird and several Cape May Warblers. The rest is history. I put on twelve meetings this year, and led twelve outings as well. I made sure that our meetings were diverse, with some days featuring guest lectures about bird jobs or indoor bird scavenger hunts and others pitting club members against each other in Bird Jeopardy. My personal favorite was a thirty-minute talk I gave on everything wrong with the state birds, and we finished out the year last Thursday with a movie night featuring The Big Year. Our outings, highlighted by one trip to Sebasticook Lake and another to the coast, tallied ninety total species, including Sandhill Cranes and an American Goshawk, which both became “Bird of the Day” on their respective trips. Overall, starting a Birding Club was one of the most meaningful things I’ve ever done and I can’t wait to jump back into it next fall—after I’ve returned from studying abroad in Costa Rica!

**Quizzing the UMaine Birding Club on bird vocalizations!**

So that’s a wrap, people. Braden and I want to thank you for tuning in and sharing your enthusiasm with us, and we hope that 2024 brings you a rewarding year of seeing, learning about, and protecting the animals we all love.

Lost in Owls

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As 2023 winds down, we hope you enjoy our penultimate post on one of everyone’s favorite subjects. Before that, we have some great news to share. Sneed’s picture book Border Crossings has received NCTE’s prestigious Orbis Pictus Award for nonfiction! This is one of the literary world’s top children’s book awards and was inspired by, you guessed it, Braden’s and Sneed’s birding adventures along the US Mexico border. Learn more and order by clicking here!

**Border Crossings—winner of the 2024 Orbis Pictus Award!**

Owls consistently rank among the favorite bird groups of birders, and Braden and I are no exceptions. We’ve had a pretty good year for owls in 2023. It got off to a roaring start with wonderful encounters with Long-eared Owls, Northern Pygmy-Owls, and Saw-whet Owls the first days of the year, and continued with the now-famous Northern Hawk-Owl in Wise River. Unfortunately, after that, our owl experiences stalled. We failed to see both Great Gray Owls and Snowy Owls last winter, nor even a Barred Owl. We also missed both Western and Eastern Screech Owls, though did pick up Burrowing Owls near Great Falls. When Braden got home from college a few days ago, however, we decided we would make one last effort to see perhaps our biggest miss of the year: Short-eared Owl.

**Short-eared Owls are one of our favorite Montana birds—but so far in 2023, they had totally skunked us!**

We had looked for Short-eareds multiple times in 2023, both at Ninepipe National Wildlife Refuge, and on our forays into eastern Montana. In fact, I had never gone to eastern Montana without seeing one of these spectacular creatures, but this year? Zip. Ditto at Ninepipe, where we can almost always count on at least one SEOW during the year. What was going on? Joni Mitchell’s prophetic lines haunted me:

“I’ve looked at owls from both sides now

From up and down, and still somehow

It’s owl illusions I recall

I guess I don’t know owls at all.”

Why does Joni always have to be so darned depressing? Nonetheless, when our neighbor Tim told me he’d been encountering gobs of Short-eared Owls while out hunting in the Mission Valley, Braden and I were determined to give SEOWs one last try. We parked at Tim’s spot amidst a winter wonderland of frosted fields created by low fog and freezing temperatures that have been blanketing the area for the past couple of weeks. A sign invited pedestrians into the property so unlike our other searches for SEOWs, which relied on driving rural roads for miles and miles, we zipped up our jackets, slung our optics over our shoulders, and followed a frozen dirt path out into a field.

Almost immediately, rodents (voles?) scurried in front of us while Northern Harriers circled the perimeter.

“There have got to be owls here,” I said. “Look at all this prey!”

Well, not so fast. We kept walking, expecting an owl to fly up at any moment, but no dice. We heard Canada Geese, saw magpies and a hawk or two, but no owl. As the road curved left, I decided to crunch my way over to a big group of cattails. As I paused to study it, I suddenly heard Braden shout, and spun around to see a Short-eared Owl quickly flying away!

**More often than not, we observe the rear end of a SEOW, and this one was no exception!**

For those who haven’t seen these creatures, they truly are marvels of engineering. While perched, they appear only medium-sized. Once they take off, they unfurl impossibly long, flexible wings that leave an observer breathless. Like Northern Harriers, which also hunt low over fields and marshes, listening for prey, Short-eared Owls hunt by both sight and sound, moving low and slow, their long wings giving them plenty of lift with minimal flapping. We watched, elated as this one flew in a lazy arc away from us—but it was so much fun to be out alone in the middle of this giant field that we decided to keep walking.

When a fence blocked our way, we turned right and followed an embankment along an irrigation ditch. Braden heard Marsh Wrens, and then we encountered another fence. I pride myself on having good directional sense, so I said, “Let’s head this way back toward the road.”

One advantage to the frozen ground is we could walk across normally wet places without plunging into cold water. We walked in parallel, forty or fifty feet apart, and at one point I saw Braden pause to study another group of cattails. He motioned me over, and I was stunned to see a white face with beady eyes pop out to look at me. A weasel! The mammal was in full winter “plumage,” and it was only the second one we’d ever seen in Montana, so it quickly grabbed “Bird of the Day” honors!

**This Short-tailed Weasel (we think) grabbed Bird of the Day honors as we searched for Short-eared Owls.**

But our owling, it turns out, had just begun. As we headed back toward our car, Short-eared Owls started popping up like jack-in-the-boxes! We tried to spot them on the ground so we could steer around them, but they were so well hidden in the grass and cattails that we never saw one until it took flight. Then we just stood in awe, watching it navigate on their incredible wings until they settled a couple of hundred meters away. One owl even had a little tête-à-tête with a Northern Harrier, exchanging some words neither Braden nor I could make out.

**I had the ISO of my camera cranked too high, so my owl shots are all grainy, but this photo still captures the magnificence of SEOWs.**

One thing we wondered was why the birds weren’t actively hunting. Prey scurried everywhere, and the cold air shouldn’t have been a problem for such masterful fliers. In fact, Braden and I have seen them active in all seasons and at all times of day, though they do tend to be crepuscular—most active at dawn and dusk—especially in winter. Beyond this, I am guessing that the birds were so stuffed with voles that they could afford to chill out—literally. (But see my earlier comments on my understanding of owls re: Joni Mitchell.)

After observing at least half a dozen of these glorious creatures, we finally made it back to the road. Alarmingly, our minivan had disappeared!

“Geez, where is it?” I asked. “Did someone tow it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “This road is paved. Didn’t we park on a dirt road?”

“Oh, yeah,” Braden confirmed.

So much for my infallible sense of direction! As we wandered across fields, we had veered at least 90-degrees off course and ended up in a totally different place than we’d intended. Fortunately, Braden was able to use our eBird track to quickly figure out where our car was actually located. After a short hike down the paved road, and a turn right, we reunited with our faithful birding-mobile.

Seeing one of our favorite birds was a great way to wrap up our Montana birding adventures for the year and made us feel good knowing that great habitat and plenty of food still abounded for this wonderful species. The weasel (probably a Short-tailed Weasel) was also a great bonus. The Short-eared Owl pushed my Montana Year Bird list to 252 species, my second highest total ever. That number would tick over to 253 species an hour later when Braden and I saw a Northern Shrike up near Polson. Braden’s 2023 Montana total reached 198—pretty darned good considering he spent only five or six weeks in the state. None of us can predict the future, but if we all keep getting out there, we can guarantee that 2024 will bring plenty more birding adventures. What are we all waiting for?