Tag Archives: Barcelona

Robin Smackdown: Old World versus New

At any time of year, but during the holidays especially, new birders are likely to become confused by some of the birds they see on cards, calendars—even in animations. Don’t beat yourself up. The reason for your confusion is simple: many creative types (including those who aren’t birders) often pay scant attention to what a bird is or where it actually comes from. Artists especially, when they decide to make a bird painting or land a contract for bird art, cruise the internet for photos of birds. “Hey, I like that one!” they may say, not realizing that the bird has no relation to their intended audiences.

Just recently, in fact, Amy and I were wandering around a wonderful art walk night in Billings and stopped in at one place to admire the work of a new artist. Amy noticed some bird cards, and we bought a few. What was on them? A European species! I asked the artist if she knew she had painted a European bird, and she said, “No. I just liked how it looked.”

Can you name this bird? It’s not a North American species—but you will find it on plenty of cards, calendars—even in some popular movies.

In my experience, the most common occurrence of this kind of thing happens with Old World and New World robins. Look at the bird above. What do you see? If you answer “robin”, you are correct—but it’s not the robin we see here in North America. The bird above is a European Robin—in other words, the original robin. The robin we have here is the American Robin. What’s more, the two are only distantly related. European Robins belong to the family Muscicapidae, a group consisting primarily of Old World Flycatchers. American Robins belong to the family—don’t laugh—Turdidae, or thrushes. So how did these birds come to share the name “robin”?

How else? Colonial imperialism.

According to a 2011 segment of BirdNote, early English birders once dubbed the Baltimore Oriole the Golden Robin, though it has little relation to either the European or American Robin.

I won’t try to prove this, but it seems that the English were the original birdwatchers, and they carried their passion with them to the vast territories that they subjugated, usually without their owners’ permissions. In fact, the English pretty much disregarded the original occupants of a place along with any native knowledge of animals these occupants might possess. As a result, Brits gleefully conferred new names on most of the strange and interesting animals they encountered. Often these new names were actually old names that the English were already familiar with—including the name Robin, aka Robin Redbreast.

According to the delightful BirdNote episode titled, “How the Robin Got Its Name,” the English went a little buck wild with the name Robin. They called towhees Ground Robins. They dubbed the Baltimore Oriole the Golden Robin. If you compare the photo of the European Robin at the top with the photo below, it’s not hard to figure out how the American Robin got its name, either. But while chances are good that most American birders have come to appreciate American Robins, I’m guessing many of us haven’t encountered its etymological ancestor.

We can thank early British twitchers for bestowing the name “robin” on perhaps our most colorful THRUSH, the American Robin.

Both Braden and I have had the good fortune to see European Robins several times in the past few years, and I must tell you, they are delightful—if somewhat shy—birds. The first time was in Amsterdam’s Vondelpark, which we birded during a long layover on our way to Israel. Sure enough, in Israel we also saw “EUROs” several times. Most recently, Amy and I enjoyed seeing European Robins in Barcelona (see our post “Birding Barcelona, Part 1: The Urban Core.”).

A European Robin scraping for invertebrates in Barcelona’s most central urban park, Parc Ciutadella.

I always take special delight in seeing this bird, perhaps because of its name, but also because it is every bit as beautiful as our American Robin. As mentioned above, the European Robin belongs to the Old World Flycatcher family, and I have seen them perched—presumably waiting to snag an insect out of the air. Like many other birds in its family, however, the European Robin seems more of a ground forager. Most recently, in Barcelona’s Ciutadella Park, I watched them scraping through dead leaves for invertebrates. Only a few days later, we watched one boldly perched above a pond in the botanical gardens.

Even though they aren’t closely related, AMROs and EUROs share a lot in common. Both live exclusively in the northern hemisphere, and are one of the most common land birds on their respective continents. And while they are year-round residents in large parts of their ranges, they also have distinctly migratory populations. They also both love to gorge themselves on insects, worms, and other hapless, creatures without backbones—but neither turns down fruit and seeds when the right opportunities arise.

Our defiantly anti-imperial bent may lead some American birders to proclaim that our robin is the superior bird. After all, it’s bigger and has a bolder red breast, but making such a claim is downright silly. Both birds are worthy of admiration and provide a terrific opportunity to further our birding educations. Best of all, as we travel North America, Europe, the Middle East, or north Africa, it is likely that we will always have one of these lovely creatures to greet us!

Birding Barcelona, Part 2: In Search of the Greater Flamingo

Braden and I write FatherSonBirding in the hopes of sharing the wonders of birds and birding, and the urgency to protect them. We do not accept advertising or donations, but if you’d like to support our work, please consider buying *NEW* copies of some of Sneed’s books—First-Time Japan, for instance, or my recent Orbis Pictus Award winner, Border Crossings. We appreciate your interest and hope you will keep reading!

When birding big cities I’ve discovered that it often requires a bit of extra effort to reach even a highly modified natural area. That proved true last year when my daughter and I visited Japan (see “Birding Japan: Kanazawa”), and it once again proved to be the case when my wife and I recently visited Barcelona. After birding city parks and tourist sites all week, I had barely breached 30 bird species total—far short of my goal of 50 or 60 species (see “Birding Barcelona, Part 1: The Urban Core”). I had a plan to help rectify the situation—but it was going to take that extra bit of effort to realize it.

On the last full day of our trip, I rose early, wolfed down some yoghurt, and hailed a cab in front of our hotel. In my mediocre Spanish, I explained to Isabella, my driver, where I wanted to go and even showed her the place on Google Maps. She knew about the area and had even been there, so we set out toward the airport in a light drizzle.

When visiting Barcelona, the best chance for a birder to enjoy some natural habitat—and an abundance of birds—is to take a taxi out to the Espais Naturals del Delta del Llobregat near the Barcelona Airport.

My destination was the “Espais Naturals del Delta del Llobregat,” which I’ll just call “Llobregat” for simplicity. Llobregat was a wetland divided into two parts, one on either side of the Barcelona airport, and the reason it existed at all was no doubt due to the fact that you can’t build huge buildings where giant aircraft can run into them. I thank the travel gods for that because these wetlands were the only orange-colored (high species count) hotspots anywhere near the city of Barcelona.

I asked Isabella to drop me off at the area on the far (western) side of the airport, and twenty minutes later found myself standing utterly alone on a road that appeared to lead into the natural area. Turns out, Isabella could have driven me another mile closer to the main action, but that error turned out to be a good thing. As I walked down the road, I began hearing all kinds of bird vocalizations and soon Merlin’s Sound ID picked up a new lifer for me, Cetti’s Warbler, calling from the thick reeds on both sides of the road. Sound ID also picked up Green Sandpiper, which got me really excited because shorebirds were at the top of my list to see on this, my sole real birding outing, of the trip. As I walked, I also saw what would be my only raptors of the trip—three Western Marsh-Harriers—and some high-flying swallow-type birds that turned out to be Eurasian Crag-Martins. I got occasional glimpses at a canal to my left, but saw only Mallards, a pair of Gadwalls, and a Gray Heron in it.

Half an hour later, I arrived at Llobregat’s official entrance and was relieved to see a series of established trails that led to various bird blinds around the reserve. As I followed the first trail, Common Chiffchaffs, Black Redstarts, European Robins, European Serins, and White Wagtails hopped and fluttered around me, but my excitement didn’t spike until I entered the first birding blind.

I had worried that I might miss Greater Flamingos in Spain, but a couple of dozen greeted me at Llobregat. Note how pale they are. Evidently, they are not getting enough crustaceans in their diets!

It took me about five seconds to locate the birds I most wanted to see—Greater Flamingos. But they just formed the tasty appetizer to the huge variety of waterfowl before me. This included many familiar ducks familiar from back home: Northern Shovelers, Gadwalls, Mallards, and the Eurasian variety of Green-winged Teal (which may eventually get split into a new species).

I just love the unique looks of Eurasia’s Green-winged Teals, which have a distinctively different appearance than our North American versions. I hope the taxonomic splitters pounce on them and declare them a distinct species.

The ducks that really got me going, though, were new for my life list: Common Shelducks and a pair of Red-crested Pochards that was doing its best to avoid eye contact on a distant island! I had hoped to see both of these, but had tempered my expectations. No worries—there they were, and in company of a lone Eurasian Wigeon.

Ka-ching! Life Bird #1007! Common Shelduck in the company of a pretty fetching Mallard!

As I sat enjoying the duck show, I also noted Eurasian Coots and Moorhens, along with a delightful pair of Little Grebes, all of which I had seen in Japan almost a year earlier. As I scanned the pond, I also saw something quickly dive into the reeds at the edge of the pond. I strongly suspect that this was a Water Rail, but reacted just a moment too slow to get my binoculars on it.

If you look at this photo carefully, you will see a number of charismatic Spanish species: Graylag Goose, Eurasian Wigeon, and my lifer Red-crested Pochards. The latter two are reported infrequently this time of year.

After about thirty minutes, I continued onto another viewing area. On the way, I passed a plywood wall with a few viewing windows cut into it and happened to take a quick peek. A largish purplish bird stuck out and my first thought was “Eurasian Moorhen.” Then, I did a double-take. “Hold on. Moorhens aren’t that blue—nor do they have bright red bills and legs!” The bird before me was one I had been studying on eBird quizzes, but darned if I could remember the name of it. Scrolling through eBird, I quickly found it: Western Swamphen! Even better, it had two adorable fuzzy black chicks with it!

I had not expected to see such a bird in my wildest dreams and it didn’t stay visible for long—just long enough for me to take a couple of modest photos—before disappearing into the reeds. And that, apparently, is typical for this bird, a species that rarely makes an appearance even where it might be fairly common. It immediately leaped to the top of my Trip Bird list, where it would remain for the rest of our vacation and beyond.

Earning Bird of the Trip honors, this rare sighting of a Western Swamphen put a lasting grin on my face. That black “shadow” to its left is actually one of two chicks accompanying it.

After more bird blind fun, I walked out to the beach in the hopes of seeing shorebirds. No dice. In fact, I didn’t see a single shorebird my entire morning, one of the trip’s big disappointments. I asked the interpreter about it and he confirmed that there hadn’t been many shorebirds around the entire year. Alas, I later discovered that the other section of the wetlands, on the east side of the airport, had been getting some. Nonetheless, I sat down on a jetty, breathed in the salt air of the Mediterranean, and enjoyed some bread and cheese while watching the giant jets taking off to almost every continent in the world. Then, I began making my way back down the long access road, happy with the day despite the shorebird miss.

My morning at Llobregat nabbed me 33 species—as many as I’d seen in the previous five days in Barcelona. It pushed my world life list to 1011 species. It also pushed my trip list to 49 species—one short of my goal of 50 species. “Shoot,” I thought, riding a taxi back downtown. “Where can I go near our hotel to pick up one more species?” I hadn’t a clue, and quietly resigned myself to this epic failure that would mar my reputation and confidence the rest of my life and cast shame upon my friends and family.

More Flamingo fun. These birds sat atop my list of birds I wanted to see in Barcelona and at Llobregat, they did not disappoint.

That evening, Amy—who had spent the day shopping and visiting the Picasso Museum—and I decided to take a walk before our last Barcelona supper. She hadn’t yet visited Parc de la Ciutadella (see my previous post “Birding Barcelona, Part 1: The Urban Core”), so we strolled over there. We reached the pond where they rented rowboats and decided to go for it. I handed over six Euros and we climbed in, joining a huge assortment of merry locals and tourists. Black-headed and Yellow-legged Gulls, Graylag Geese, Gray Herons, and Mallards surrounded us. Monk and Rose-ringed Parakeets squawked overhead. I smiled. This was a perfect way to wrap up the trip.

Then, I spotted a small bird sally out from the edge of the pond and return to land on a rock. From similar sightings in Taiwan, Israel, and Japan, I knew immediately what it was. “Gray Wagtail!” I exclaimed! Just as in Japan, it was the only GRWA I had seen, and it pushed my trip list to 50 species.

I swear, you can’t make this guano up.

Ciutadella’s popular rowing pond—and site of the trip’s sole Gray Wagtail.

Birding Barcelona, Part 1: The Urban Core

Since Braden and I started FatherSonBirding in 2018, I’ve posted a lot about birding in the company of Braden (of course) and my daughter, Tessa. You parents, though, may recognize that with growing kids at home it can be difficult to get one-on-one time with your actual spouse. Last week, Amy and I began to rectify this situation with our first couples vacation in seven years. Our destination was a place we had dreamed of visiting for more than a decade—Barcelona, Spain.

It’s no accident that I booked a hotel near what may be Barcelona’s largest urban parks.

I admit that Barcelona did not draw me for its birding opportunities. The promise of stunning architecture, great tapas, and practicing my Spanish, though, outweighed any potential avian shortcomings. Nonetheless, it will come as no surprise that I felt determined to scour this remarkable European city for every bird possible. I set a goal of 50 or 60 species for the week. Even more intriguing, my life list stood at 999 species. “Which bird will put me over the top?” I wondered.

I booked us in the Park Hotel, an awesome little place in the historic El Born neighborhood near the Barceloneta Metro Station, the Estacio de Franca train station, the waterfront, and hundreds of uber cool restaurants and shops. I did not admit to Amy that I also booked the place because it sat only a block from one of the city’s largest urban parks, Parc de la Ciutadella. As soon as our plane landed, we bought 5-day Metro passes and rode the subway into town. Emerging from Barceloneta Station, I immediately saw both Rose-ringed and Monk Parakeets noisily flying overhead—and then I spotted a black bird atop a light post. I recognized it right away as my bird #1,000—a Spotless Starling!

Bird 1000! A Spotless Starling! Under FatherSonBirding Rules of Full Disclosure, I am still waiting for someone to tell me that this is actually a European Starling. Apparently, they sometimes also take on this “all black” appearance. If that does turn out to be the case, Yellow-legged Gull will assume Bird #1000 honors!

It wasn’t until the next morning, though, that I seriously plunged into Barcelona birding by rising early and heading over to Ciutadella. It was a glorious, crisp morning and even before I reached the park gates, I noted a procession of parakeets, gulls, magpies, and Western Cattle Egrets flying toward the park. Like many urban parks, Ciutadella has a rather down-trodden, worked-over feel to it. Leaves have been obsessively raked, precluding the development of healthy soil layers (and the insect prey they could produce), and very little mid-sized vegetation exists. Still, I set out optimistically and almost immediately encountered Great Tits, a Eurasian Blue Tit, a European Robin, and my lifer European Serin.

Though I never got a great photo of one, Merlin’s Sound ID picked up European Serins in multiple places I birded. I worried I wouldn’t be able to recognize these as a number of yellowish, stripy, finchy birds live in Catalonia.

Wandering haphazardly, I quickly discovered that the park was the Monk Parakeet capital of Barcelona. Not only did this introduced South American species seem to love roosting and nesting in the palms, many people actually enjoyed feeding them, even early in the morning. This included several people who had pitched their tents in the park and evidently lived there (the tents had been cleared out by the end of the week—perhaps in preparation for a giant convention that was about to descend on the city).

Aaaaaaw! Monk Parakeets in love. Or at least sharing food. Or perhaps trying to peck each other’s eyes out.

I kept picking up birds, though, including Common Chiffchaffs, Eurasian Blackbirds, Eurasian Magpies, Rose-ringed Parakeets and then, an especially exciting discovery—my lifer Sardinian Warblers!

Before the trip, I spent a lot of time learning the differences between Sardinian Warblers (shown here) and Eurasian Blackcaps. Once in the field, it was easy to tell them apart—as long as I managed to get a decent look!

What I hadn’t seen so far were any water features, but crossing under a giant gold-plated monument (the Monòlit a la festa de l’arbre de 1899), I encountered a couple of reflecting ponds. In them, I saw a “must-see” species I had somehow never observed in all of my travels—Graylag Goose! Along with the geese, I got good looks at both Black-headed and much beefier Yellow-legged Gulls. I kept an eye out for Lesser Black-backed Gulls, but could never confirm one the entire week.

https://ebird.org/checklist/S161951923

I scored my lifer Graylag Geese right down the block from our hotel, in Ciutadella park. Note the Black-headed Gulls frolicking in the background.

I ended my session with a surprisingly robust 23 species, but my week of birding Barcelona had just begun. During the next few days, I kept my travel binoculars slung around my neck, birding tourist-jammed city streets as well as any greenery I could find. I spotted my only Eurasian Jackdaw in a tree on the well-known avenue, Passeig de Gracia. I was delighted to discover a flock of 20 adorable introduced (and lifer) Common Waxbills in the Placa de Gaudi, right across the street from the modern wonder, Sagrada Familia. (This cathedral, designed by the brilliant Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí, is reason enough to visit Barcelona!) I finally saw the trip’s first European Greenfinches and Long-tailed Tits in the marvellous Parc Güell—one of the city’s better urban birding places and another great place to see Gaudí’s handiwork. My best urban birding opportunity, though, still lay ahead.

Though Common Waxbills are species introduced from Africa, I was thoroughly enchanted by these little “red bandits” when I encountered them across from Sagrada Familia (phone photo).

On our fourth day in Barcelona, we caught the H14 bus to the Parel-lel Metro station, but instead of boarding the Metro, we rode the funicular up the hill to Montjuïc, a prominent mini-mountain overlooking the city’s southern area. Only a couple of hundred meters away from the exit stood one of our top cultural destinations, Fundació Juan Miró, aka the Miró museum. A bit less famous than Picasso, Miró was Picasso’s contemporary, and even better, we caught a joint exhibit featuring the work of both men. After a thoroughly enjoyable hour or two there—and excellent quiche in their café—we walked up the hill heading for an even more exciting destination. Along the way—and with the help of Merlin’s Sound ID—I located my lifer Eurasian Blackcap.

One of the most common birds I encountered in Spain, the Common Chiffchaff always brought a smile to my face, both for its name and its lively behavior. That said, I also always doubted my ID of this bird since they come in several shades of yellow and brown.

We emerged onto a road running along the top of Montjuïc and were making our way gradually downhill toward the Olympic stadium, when I spotted what looked like a prairie dog in a small field below and to our right. I had other suspicions, however, and raised my binoculars to find those suspicions confirmed: a Eurasian Hoopoe! I hadn’t seen one since Israel, but they are apparently a lot less common in Spain, and I was delighted to see its Picasso-esque crest, long curved bill, and graphic brown, white, and black color pattern. I was glad to show it to Amy, too, since we had first seen one together in Ethiopia almost 20 years before!

The first Black Redstart I saw in Spain was working over balcony planters in a densely packed neighborhood of apartment buildings in Barceloneta—a clue to how adaptable this handsome species is.

Another couple of hundred meters brought us to Jardí Bòtanic de Barcelona, and my pulse accelerated as we paid our 3-Euro entry fees and entered. Finally, I would get to bird a somewhat natural area! The only question was, what I would find?

The visit got off to a great start with sightings of Black Redstarts, European Robins, and another blackcap. Making our way around to a little pond, the excitement accelerated with half a dozen flycatching Common Chiffchaffs, another Black Redstart, and a pair of White-Wagtails—the fourth country I’ve now seen this bird in.

Though I’d seen European Robins in Amsterdam, Israel, and Japan, this is the first one that ever fully cooperated with my camera. Love it!

As we headed up to the higher parts of the gardens, a series of unfamiliar high notes pierced the air. I looked around and detected movement on a nearby tree trunk. It belonged to none other than a pair of Short-toed Treecreepers, a bird stunningly analogous to our Brown Creepers, and a species I never thought I’d see in Spain. Awesome!!!!

A series of high sharp notes alerted me to the presence of several Short-toed Treecreepers, a species I had only dared hope to see in Spain.

The treecreepers weren’t the last birds we saw in the gardens, but they were probably the coolest. Our 80-minute visit plus the Miró museum marked this as our most fun day so far—but I had one more major Barcelona birding adventure scheduled for the last day of the trip. Find out what it was by reading my next post. Same bird time. Same bird channel.

https://ebird.org/checklist/S162445992