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Birding the Galapagos

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As we watched these male frigate birds ardently advertising for a mate, a female landed next to one of them. Let the family begin! (photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

Almost exactly two years ago, our family was fortunate to visit the Galapagos Islands. Braden and I eagerly anticipated the birds we might see, but weren’t sure what birding might be like in one of the world’s most famous places. Our findings? That while the Galapagos is full of fascinating birds to see, it is one of the world’s best places to think more deeply about birds, their evolution, and behavior.

Upon arriving, the first thing we noticed is how tame Galapagos birds are. Many, after all, evolved with few predators to worry about, and this was clearly demonstrated as we hiked within a few feet of nesting Blue- and Red-footed Boobies, Magnificent Frigatebirds, and a sublime Galapagos Dove. Even Yellow Warblers hopped around our feet seemingly without fear. Just try getting close to one in Montana! This close proximity, of course, was great for photography, but also for watching bird behaviors up-close.

Watching these flightless (Galapagos) cormorants perform their intricate mating dance was one of many unexpected, delightful birding surprises we experienced in the islands. (photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

One time, we stood thirty feet from four or five male frigatebirds sitting in stick nests that they had built. When a female flew over, the males all spread their wings, puffed out their gular pouches, and “rattled” their beaks. It was their way of shouting “Choose me!” It worked too! As we watched, a female landed next to one of the males to begin the “dating” rituals.

The most interesting Galapagos birds were the finches. Perhaps the drabbest, least noticeable birds in the islands, the finches played a key role in helping Charles Darwin tease out the basics of evolution by natural selection. How? When he visited the islands in 1835, he collected many animal specimens—including finches—from the different islands. Back in England, a colleague informed him that the finches actually included many different species. This, along with observations he’d made on Galapagos tortoises and other species, helped Darwin realize how different habitats and conditions can shape animals and create new species.

One Galapagos finch that Darwin missed is the Coke-swilling Finch—a rare species we were lucky enough to see in action! (photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

During our visit to the islands, Braden and I barely got started learning to identify the different finches, but we soon began to distinguish between larger and smaller species. Evolution has especially acted on the birds’ beaks, both in size and shape, as the beaks are a key to what size seeds and other foods the birds can eat. Not surprisingly, the beaks have formed the basis of long-term studies by modern scientists, as documented in one of my favorite books, Jonathan Weiner’s excellent The Beak of the Finch: A Story of Evolution in Our Time. Check it out—and if you ever get a chance to visit the Galapagos, jump on it. It will permanently alter your perspective on birds and life on our amazing planet.

Braden and I never had any doubt about our Bird of the Trip. Every day, Blue-footed Boobies delighted us with their incredible flying and fascinating behaviors! (photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

Irruption!

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This year, there are more Evening Grosbeaks than ever at our feeder–but still nowhere near the amount we saw our first year of birding. (photo by Braden Collard)

Braden here.

During our first year of serious birding, my dad and I thought Evening Grosbeaks were common. Every day in fall, if you just walked the block from our house to Rattlesnake School, you would be amazed at the numbers of these boisterous finches gathered there. There were hundreds, maybe even a thousand of them in their drab fall plumage, tearing apart any pinecone unlucky enough to be spotted.

Two years later, during our first major Big Year (which you can read about in my dad’s fall book Warblers and Woodpeckers: A Father-Son Big Year of Birding), we saw only two individuals: a pair we briefly glimpsed up Pattee Canyon while staking out an American Three-toed Woodpecker nest.

How is it possible that we saw tons one year and only 2 another year? Irruption.

Red Crossbills are another boreal finch that has irruption cycles. (photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

When I say irruption, I’m not talking about a misspelled version of the thing happening in Hawaii right now. An irruption is a mass migration of birds (in this case) to a different area, generally south. Finches are the main type of group that has irruption cycles, but many birds that winter in the U.S. and southern Canada, such as Snowy Owls, Rough-legged Hawks, Bohemian Waxwings and Northern Shrikes also irrupt. Irruption almost always results in large numbers of birds appearing in areas where they normally aren’t, however it isn’t historically unusual.

One of the main reasons for irruptions is food supply. For example, when there aren’t enough rodents to go around up north in winter, Snowy Owls will generally move south into Northern U.S. states. Sometimes, if the shortage is extreme enough, the northern birds will extend their ranges past their usual limits and end up in places that are unheard of. During a major Snowy Owl irruption year, for instance, Snowies were found as far as Texas and Hawaii.

Irruptions can occur due to food abundances, too. The year before we experienced the Evening Grosbeak overload probably had pairs producing higher amounts of young than usual. The next year, the young had nowhere to go, since all of the territories up north were filled, so they moved south into Missoula.

While not as big of an irruption year as before, this year’s Evening Grosbeaks are costing us plenty in bird seed! (photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

This year and last year haven’t quite met that first year’s standards yet, but it has seen crazy irruptions for tons of finches. Last winter kicked off with large numbers of grosbeaks and Pine Siskins, while this year Common Redpolls, Cassin’s Finches and (yet again) more grosbeaks are stealing the stage. Who knows what will show up next?

 

Celebrating Sapsuckers

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When each calendar year begins in Montana, Braden and I always wonder which birds we’ll see—and which we’ll miss. Many species are gimmes. For others, we really have to luck out. Then there’s a whole column of birds that lie in between these two extremes. For us, sapsuckers are in between.

Red-naped Sapsucker at Lee Metcalf NWR (photo by Braden Collard)

We have two kinds in Western Montana: Williamson’s and Red-naped. Both are migratory so we’re never sure when they’ll show up. This year, we just happened to make our first real effort at finding them on Earth Day, April 22. We headed to Pattee Canyon, a place we’d had good success with woodpeckers before, and followed our dog Lola up the mountainside.

At first, results were disappointing. For the first fifteen minutes, the only bird we spotted was a solitary robin. As we began discussing what the problem might be, however, we suddenly heard a loud, throttling, dribbling, drumming sound. Braden and I spun toward it.

“That sounds like a sapsucker!” I exclaimed.

“It sure does!” said Braden.

But what kind? Though we can pick out sapsucker drumming from that of other woodpeckers, we haven’t yet learned to distinguish Williamson’s from Red-naped—and we’d seen both up Pattee Canyon. Moments later, however, we got our answer.

Williamson’s Sapsucker bring ants to babies (photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

“Williamson’s!” Braden shouted as a boldly-colored male flew from one ponderosa pine to another. Within moments, we were immersed in a sapsucker extravaganza. We heard drumming from three different directions. Then, we saw two males squabbling over a female. It was by far our most spectacular sapsucker experience ever.

The next morning, we picked up Braden’s birding buddy, Nick Ramsey, and headed to what has become our favorite local birding spot, the gravel quarry. Though a chilly forty degrees, the sun cast a spectacular light over the Missoula Valley, and the birds did not disappoint. Within half an hour, our day count passed thirty species including a slew of other “In-between Birds” such as Sandhill Cranes, Common Loons, and Horned Grebes. As we walked along the Bitterroot River, however, fresh sapsucker drumming again startled us. We hurried forward and within seconds, Nick raised his camera and said, “I’ve got a Red-naped!”

Red-naped drumming on a Wood Duck box. The Wood Ducks paddled nearby, looking none too pleased! (Photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

For the next hour, we enjoyed a veritable Red-naped convention, hearing and seeing at least four or five of the birds, obviously flush with courtship fever. The only sapsucker day that could rival it? Our previous day with the Williamson’s! We finished our two-hour session with more than fifty species, including a dozen Year Birds.

In-between Birds rock.

 

Woodpeckers: Drilling Holes and Bagging Bugs by Sneed B. Collard III (Bucking Horse Books, 2018)

(To learn more about sapsuckers and other woodpeckers, check out my new book, Woodpeckers: Drilling Holes & Bagging Bugs!)

King of the Tyrants

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Braden again.

We had been in Peru almost three weeks, and birding was on our minds. Okay sure, it had been on our minds the entire trip so far, but none of the things we’d done had been birding-oriented—we’d had a homestay in Cuzco, a weekend getaway to Pisac, a week journeying the Sacred

Probably the coolest ducks at Huarcapay, these Puna Teal glided effortlessly across the mountain lake. (Photo by Braden Collard)

Valley including Machu Picchu. Don’t get me wrong, we saw tons of great birds, including the national bird of Peru and quite possibly the most stunning bird in South America (see Post: “Washout at Machu Picchu”), but nothing on our schedule was designed to see birds. It just included them. So, as our time in Peru came to a close, we decided it was time to hire a guide and really see some birds.

At 5:30 a.m., we were picked up by our guide Juan Jose Salas Falcon and his stepfather from our hotel in Cuzco. We drove in the direction of the ruins of Sacsayhuaman (“Sexy Woman”), which we had visited about a week earlier. Our planned destination was Laguna de Huacarpay, which I had researched on ebird the night before. Thanks to recent lists, my dad and I had picked our target birds: Puna Ibis, Mountain Caracara, Aplomado Falcon, any kind of duck (only five species were common here) and the Many-colored Rush-Tyrant.

Just one of a trio we saw harassing a Variable Hawk, this Mountain Caracara was another Target Bird for the day. (Photo by Braden Collard)

We stopped at a few spots first to see some endemic landbirds (including the exotic-looking Chestnut-breasted Mountain-Finch) and get close to waterfowl, then arrived at the lake. At first glance, it resembled Lee Metcalf Wildlife Refuge, our local Montana go-to spot for waterfowl, but much, much bigger. Surrounding it were polluted neighborhoods, tall chain-link fences, and scrub-covered mountains.

We pulled to the side of the road shortly upon arriving and then trudged through the reeds to an observation tower where we got great looks at a solitary Chilean Flamingo feeding in the shallows. As we were heading back to the car, Juan Jose stopped us.

“Shhh! That rattle—it’s a rush-tyrant!”

We moved towards the sound, and I thought about what he had told us about this bird on the drive up. He said the locals had a story about how this bird had stolen all of the other tyrant’s colors. Suddenly, in response to Juan Jose’s playback, a small rainbow bird popped into view! The bird had a blue face, yellow body, green back and red rump—the entire rainbow displayed on one bird. It reminded me of the Common Yellowthroats we had back home: skulkers, but beautiful. Success! The day following this great sighting was amazing; we got every single target bird, along with more endemics and surprises we could wish for.

This Many-colored Rush-Tyrant was just one of the birds that made our day. (Photo by Braden Collard)

Washout at Machu Picchu

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Machu Picchu between clouds.

Almost exactly a year ago, our family was traveling through Ecuador and Peru. Birding wasn’t the purpose of our five-week adventure, but Braden and I sought out birds wherever we went—including our visit to South America’s must-see archaeological destination, Machu Picchu.

The morning of our visit, we awoke to what can only be described as a gully-washer. Rain didn’t pour, it cascaded down on the streets and rooftops of Aguas Calientes, the ramshackle tourist town that serves as a staging area for MAPI, as it is known in Peru. Not only that, but Braden’s sister, Tessa, awoke with a terrible cold. Nonetheless, a guide met us at our hotel before dawn and led us to the shuttle buses and, as planned, we were some of the first people to reach the famed Incan site.

Our guide explained the significance of the ruins as we wandered, fascinated, through the main site. As the rain continued to drench us, however, my daughter looked ever more miserable. Worse, we knew this would be our only chance to see the ancient complex, as visitors must buy their tickets months ahead of time. Finally, about 11 a.m., Amy decided to take Tessa back down the mountain so that she could rest, leaving Braden and I pondering what we should do with the next several hours.

Birding saved the day.

Saffron-crowned Tanager

On a whim, we decided to walk up the trail to the Sun Gate and almost immediately began seeing terrific birds. They included Saffron-crowned and Blue-capped Tanagers, Inca Wrens, a Tri-colored Brushfinch, and my favorites, Andean Guans.

Andean Guan

After riding the bus back down to Aguas, we decided to visit the Inkaterra Hotel. We’d visited the previous evening and been rewarded by a host of hummingbirds at the hotel’s feeders, along with two Andean Motmots. As the rain finally lightened up, we again hit the hummingbird feeders and explored the rest of the grounds. At one point, we ran into another birder and began talking about what we’d seen.

“Did you see the Cock-of-the-rocks?” he asked us.

“You saw them?” Braden asked with astonishment and envy. The Andean Cock-of-the-rock was, after all, one of the birds we—like many birders—most wanted to see, but we had doubted we’d have the time or resources to visit one of the bird’s famed leks at any time during our itinerary.

Our new friend just grinned at us and said, “Turn around.”

There, only twenty yards away sat a brilliantly orange and black male feeding on palm fruits in a tree.

Male Cock-of-the-Rock (Photo by Sneed B. Collard III)

“The female is over there,” the man pointed.

Braden and I spent the next twenty minutes admiring and photographing the birds. We couldn’t believe our good fortune at finding them and, honestly, it transformed our visit to this iconic location. From then on when we thought of Machu Picchu, we wouldn’t think of the Biblical deluge, cloud-obscured views, or how crummy Tessa felt. We would think of a vibrant orange and black bird sitting in a tree.