Gamblers and fishermen are famous for being superstitious. Birders aren’t much better. Sure, we feed ourselves platitudes such as, “The more you get out, the more you’ll see,” but deep down, we know that the birding gods control our fates, and that our success depends on whether we’re deemed worthy. In our last post, I recounted how Braden and I spent six hours and two days looking for a Gyrfalcon near White Sulpher Springs, only to endure the gods’ wrath. Yesterday morning, when we set out on a quest for a Snowy Owl, we wondered if the gods would continue to scorn us, or whether we had proven ourselves humble and dedicated enough to curry their birdly favor.
We left the house at 6:30 a.m. and by 7:30 were at Ninepipe National Widlife Refuge, where we hoped to score an elusive Year Bird, Short-eared Owl. We drove the dirt roads for more than an hour and saw more than a dozen Red-tailed Hawks, Rough-leggeds, Bald Eagles, Harriers—even a Merlin. No Short-eared Owl. “Ah, well,” I told Braden. “We’ll get ‘em next time.” Inside, though, I was thinking, “Oh, man. Is it going to be that kind of day? Again?”
Well, apparently, it was. Reaching the Snowy Owl neighborhood near Kalispell, we again drove for more than an hour without so much of a glimpse of a white owl. By now, I realized that the BGs must be really pissed at us. We decided to chase some other birds and come back later, however, and did score our first Gray-crowned Rosy-finches in three years at the Kalispell dump—while getting bawled out by the “dump lady” for our efforts. We also found a White-winged Crossbill among a flock of Red Crossbills feeding on some nearby spruce trees. Nice, but not a Snowy Owl.
After a lunch at Panera Bread (hey, more chicken in my Napa Almond Chicken Salad Sandwich, please!), including our favorite kitchen sink cookies, we hit an amazing field full of about 5,000 Mallards. Stunning! Then, we returned to the Snowy Owl site, where we encountered several other birders. None of them had had any success, either, but while we were commiserating, a photographer named Dick Walker introduced himself and asked, “Are you the father-son birding team?” We’d never been called that, but I answered “Yes,” and he started talking about the Mallard spot we’d just left. He showed us photos of Lapland Longspurs and, most exciting, a Gyrfalcon he had seen only thirty minutes before!
We tore back to the place, forever hopeful. No longspurs. No falcon. After fifteen minutes, though, a massive group of a thousand Mallards lifted off and seconds later, a sleek, jet-fighter shape zoomed across our field of vision. “It’s the Gyr!” Braden shouted.
Indeed it was. We quickly lost it in the distance and decided to race over to another road closer to where it disappeared. We got there and jumped out of the car just as the amazing raptor reappeared, obviously enjoying terrifying the thousands of ducks and geese swirling around it. While Braden set up our scope, I tracked the bird with my binoculars. It seemed to toy with a large group of ducks, but its madness had some method as more and more Mallards peeled off until only two remained. As I watched, breathless, the Gyr hit one of them and took it to the ground. “It got a duck!” I shouted.
Its victory was temporary. Within thirty seconds, a much larger brown shape swooped in—an immature Bald Eagle. It effortlessly drove the Gyr from its kill, eliciting shouts of outrage from yours truly. We continued watching the amazing creature for another fifteen minutes before it vanished again. Then, after another unsuccessful Snowy Owl circuit, we began the long drive home. As we headed south along Flathead Lake, I thought about BB King, who often talked about paying his dues, and asked myself why we’d seen a Gyrfalcon here, in the last place we’d ever expected. “Maybe our efforts in White Sulphur Springs satisfied the birding gods after all,” I speculated. “Or maybe we just had to pay our birding dues to see the Gyr.” Either way, it had been one of the best birding days Braden and I had ever experienced—even without the Snowy Owl.
First of all, let me vent my rage at those cheapskates from Panera. You promise chicken, you better freakin deliver, people! Hungry birders need their nourishment.
What an awesome birding experience. I can’t imagine how thrilling it must have been, not only to finally see a Gyrfalcon (a spectacular and rare Lifer), but also to see it take a duck in mid-air and then be robbed by the Baldie. Action, Jackson! Do you guys ever consider taking video on your outings?
FYI, there seems to be a caption (“ominous cross”) without a photo. Also, if I might be so bold, with full acknowledgement of my own photographic limitations, I would like to suggest that you crop your photos more tightly and pay attention to the Rule of Thirds. Cropping would show the viewer more detail, while improved composition would give your photos more drama and grab the viewer’s attention. I hope I won’t be banished to the Collard doghouse for having the temerity to suggest this, lol. (Woof?!)
Bird on, Dudes.
Roger, may I forward your post to Panera? They need to hear this! Yesterday, we wished we had taken a video, but the Gyr was so far away, it would not have turned out. As far as cropping, I usually crop more tightly when I have a sharper image. If I don’t, the photo would look blurry and not as appealing. Rule of Thirds is always good, but again, only works well with a strong image–not something we always get out in the wild, brutal field!
Oh, and I fixed the photo, so if you click on the title, you will get the full Monty!
I will accept your photography explanations, Counselor, as they make sense. However you should be able to capture SOME sharp photos out there. I’ll look for tighter cropping and Rule of Thirds when you post those.
Still no photo associated with the “ominous cross” caption on my end. Wonder if others see it?
I think l this was my favorite blog so far,
but I say that every time. Deliver Panera or suffer the rather of my Chihuahua!
Keep these coming Love them! Ma
Aaaaaw. Thanks so much. Wish you could see these birds!
Awesome (cropped) photo of the flying flock of mallards. Worthy of a poster, or home screen. (I will now try to overuse the phrase “flying flock” in my prose.) The problem with Panera is that they have a corporate mentality working down the quality of a basically good food concept, good fresh ingredients and decent breads for sandwiches etc. As a supporting example, excellent sourced buns and breads make sandwiches (burger, pastrami, and even avocado toast) truly gourmet at our (historic) Mill Restaurant. However, the overriding message to corporate managers is “short cut on ingredients to max out profits”. What is left is a customer who wants to go to Panera but doesn’t because the memory of disappointment and stomach emptiness lingers beyond the ravages of early-onset dementia. Especially during out Covid economic crisis, what does last in the memory is the pleasant surprise of local small businesses working their small little bizness butts off and providing quality, locally-sourced food at a good value. The corporate goons should take notice of customers wanting to help out their neighbors by eating out and fully feed their hungry customers. They may save money on a sandwich but lose more money because customers like me will not regularly go back. Sometimes I think corporate managers don’t give a “flying flock” to what their customers actually want until they lose them. I’ve gone back to The Mill; proof is that I gave three sandwich examples. (Haven’t even started talking about the entrees.) Yes, you can send this to Panera.
Couldn’t have said it better myself, Mr. Callow. Would you please contact Panera for me?