Tag Archives: corvids

Epic Florida Adventure Day 2: Merritt Island

This is Braden’s second installment of his epic Florida adventure with our recent guest blogger, Nick Ramsey. In six days, the daring duo hoped to bird the entire length of Florida from N’Orleans to Key West and back—and see 200 species of birds in the process. Day 2 began well when all of a sudden, they were beset by an equipment malfunction. Would they push on? What about the mosquitoes? Read on to find out—and, as usual, please share this saga, which we hope will soon become a major Hollywood movie called “The Big Tear”.

A buzzy rising song, marked by short, evenly-spaced notes, echoed from a nearby mangrove. “Northern Parula?” I asked Nick as he walked up with his dog Dixie by his side.

“Prairie Warbler!” he said, holding up his phone to record the song and then playing it back at the bird. Sure enough, a bright yellow male, complete with eye stripes like a football player, hopped into view, singing its heart out as I snapped dozens of photos. We were at the Lighthouse Point Park and Jetty in New Smyrna Beach, approaching the Atlantic Ocean, a different body of water than the day before. Common Ground Doves called from the mangroves around us, and early-morning beachgoers strolled past as we scanned the dunes for Gopher Tortoises and Wilson’s Plovers. Our primary target this morning was a well-known bird of the Atlantic, although not one that was supposed to be this far south: Purple Sandpiper. I’d recently seen my United States lifer on a rocky shore in the Maine winter, and yet one had been reported consistently from this subtropical beach. Soon enough, we located the jetty where the bird had to be, passing a large flock of roosting Royal Terns with a ratty-looking Black Skimmer in their midst. Ruddy Turnstones wandered the beach and Forster’s Terns plunge-dived around us as we walked out on the rocks, scanning for a small, gray shorebird with a slightly curved bill. Right near the end, Nick shouted “I’ve got it!” and sure enough, there it was, acting exactly like every other “jetty bird” I’d ever seen: tame and fearless. With Purple Sandpiper and a Florida sunrise under our belts, we headed back to the car and our next destination: Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge.

**This may be the most co-operative Prairie Warbler ever!**

Merritt Island is well-known for its birds, but the island itself is more famous for something else. To the south of the refuge stand the tall, white towers of Cape Canaveral, the site of numerous rocket launches, positioned so that, in case of emergency, the rockets can be safely brought down into the ocean without harming anyone. I was more interested in the Florida scrub habitat of the wildlife refuge, however. Lone pines sprouted dozens of feet above the sea of palms and brambles, and Tree Swallows and Purple Martins flew overhead as we pulled into the parking lot of the Pine Flatwoods Trail. As soon as we got out of the car, we were met by Nick’s grandmother and her boyfriend Bud, whose cabin we had slept at the night before in New Smyrna Beach. I’d heard countless stories of the adventures Nick and his grandma had had, so it was great to finally meet her.

**Purple Sandpipers look almost identical to the West Coast’s Rock Sandpipers. Don’t believe me? Watch our video!**

The three of us began walking, with Bud staying behind to watch the car. As we did so, Nick’s grandma handed me a flyer starring a dark blue corvid with a long tail and a mischievous expression—our major target for this outing. The flyer informed me that Florida Scrub-Jays occurred only in roughly 51 locations across the state, threatened by habitat loss from the clearing of Florida scrub habitat. As Florida’s only endemic bird species—and one that is Federally Endangered—the scrub-jay’s remaining habitats would fortunately remain undeveloped for the foreseeable future. In no time, Nick pointed out the call of a scrub-jay, and we began scanning the brush intently. Suddenly, I spotted several long-tailed silhouettes flying in the distance. As they grew closer, their plumage matched the color of the blue sky above.

“There they are!” I yelled, and the three of us raised our binoculars to watch them alight on a nearby bush. Several more scrub-jays called from behind us, gradually increasing our total count to eleven, and given their conservation status, it was heartening to see so many of them.

**Florida Scrub-Jay is a species I’d been wanting to see since I started birding eight years ago. To see so many was a real treat.**

We high-fived, then headed back to the car to drive to our next spot. As we pulled out of the empty parking lot, however, Nick slammed on the brakes, pointing forward.

“Swallow-tailed Kite, incoming!”

We’d been watching the skies all of yesterday and today looking for this neotropical migrant, a species with a population of only several thousand in the United States. I jumped out of the car, armed with my camera as two of the most beautiful birds I’d ever seen soared several feet above us, their white-and black plumage shimmering in the rising heat. They circled for a few moments, allowing me to snap some decent photos, then resumed their journey, long tails flowing behind them. The birds reminded me of oddly-proportioned, differently-colored Barn Swallows, which is indeed how they had gotten their name. My dad and I had seen this species while zip-lining through the cloud forest of Ecuador, but it had been five years since then and this was a much better look. As I got back into the car, Nick smiled. “They never give looks that good! Did you see their backs??? It’s impossible to see their backs!!”

**Though I’d seen Swallow-tailed Kites in Ecuador, nothing compared to the view we got on this morning!**

We spent most of the rest of the day at Merritt Island, driving loops and investigating the visitor center. Just like at St. Marks, the ducks that the refuge was famous for weren’t here in large numbers, though we did find one flock of American Wigeon and Northern Shoveler. However, White and Glossy Ibises, the three egrets, Little Blue, Green and Tricolored Herons, and Roseate Spoonbills put on spectacular shows, feeding in almost every habitat from lawns to roadside ditches to marshy lagoons. Many of the birds were in breeding plumage, sporting fun plumes and colors that I’d never seen before. These plumes were the exact feature that had led to the birds’ downfall a century earlier. Snowy and Great Egrets especially had gorgeous white feathers reminiscent of wedding dresses trailing from their wings that had attracted the lady’s hat industry in the nineteenth century. Millions of birds were slaughtered during this time, and the two species disappeared from much of their range. However, with the beginning of a conservation movement in the early twentieth century, these birds soon began to recover, once again becoming common across the southern United States.

**Anyone who gets bored with Roseate Spoonbills has lived too long—or should go bowling!**

Immediately after seeing the scrub-jays and kites, we drove to a small path overlooking a large lagoon. Manatees surfaced and at the visitor center Nick found two White Peacock butterflies, beautiful white insects with intricate orange details on their wings. And while looking for a previously-reported Eurasian Wigeon at the edge of the refuge, we came across a Prickly Pear Cactus fruiting! We both tried one of the magenta fruits after brushing off the spines, and they weren’t half bad!

**It’s hard for a mammal to compete with birds, but manatees come pretty close!**

When we got back in the car, Nick began rolling up the windows when we heard a click, followed by one of our back windows falling down into the door, its mechanism broken. Deciding to deal with the problem later, we taped a large yellow towel to the window with Nick’s emergency supply of duct tape, then followed Nick’s grandmother to a nearby Thai restaurant where she bought us a tasty lunch. We said our farewells to her, then drove to an Ace Hardware to look for solutions to our window problem. Eventually, we came up with a makeshift window of plastic wrap and duct tape, which Nick carefully applied while I fed Dixie and a daring, dog-food-snatching Boat-tailed Grackle. Back on the highway, we headed south towards our last spot for the day as a light rain started, testing Nick’s makeshift window. The plastic held, despite making loud smacking sounds, and we pulled into a shady-looking restaurant on the side of the highway called Doc’s Bait House. A Black-headed Gull, another northeastern vagrant, had been hanging out at this strange place, and we hoped to add it to Nick’s life list.

**It wasn’t perfect, but Nick’s window-repair job would get us through the rest of the trip!**

Unfortunately, as we walked around in the light rain and the setting sun’s light, no Black-headed Gull showed. The birds were active, though—Lesser Black-backed Gulls, Brown Pelicans, Forster’s Terns and other common coastal birds circled the harbor in impressive numbers, and a Wood Stork flew right over us on its way to its roost. It was a great way to end the birding part of day two, as Nick put another layer of plastic over the window and we headed south towards the outskirts of Miami. A long night lay ahead of us and little did we know that our birding luck was about to run out.

Celebrating Hummingbirds and More in Texas

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Believe it or not, I just returned from my first actual birding festival in two years—and it was worth the wait! I was invited to speak at the 33^rd a nnual HummerBird Celebration in Rockport-Fulton, Texas last year when, for covid—not corvid—reasons, organizers were forced to cancel the event. Even as I flew down this year, however, I had little idea what the celebration would be like. I was in for a treat.

One advantage of having mainly one kind of hummingbird in a region is that it greatly simplifies the almost impossible task of distinguishing female Ruby-throated from female Black-chinned hummingbirds!

The festival is organized by dedicated staff and volunteers at the Rockport-Fulton Chamber of Commerce and the event, as its name suggests, celebrates hummingbirds. “Wait a minute,” some of you may be asking, “aren’t there only three or four species of hummingbirds in eastern Texas in the fall?” Correct. But the event doesn’t focus only on diversity. It celebrates raw numbers, mainly of one species: Ruby-throated Hummingbirds. The entire community joins in, and one of the coolest things about HummerBird is the self-guided tour of houses full of feeders and backyard habitats where participants are encouraged to feast their eyes on a plethora of Ruby-throateds. The festival, though, offers much more.

**Our hayride around Fennessey Ranch was definitely one of the highlights of my time at HummerBird!**

One of my duties as a speaker was to co-lead a four-hour field trip of 40 birders out to Fennessey Ranch, a working ranch that also focuses on conservation and research. After struggling a bit to find the place, we split into two groups and began “hay rides” around the property, looking for as many birds as we could find. Coming from Montana, I discovered that almost every species was a Year Bird for me, but Braden has coached me well over the years, and together with my co-leader, ranch naturalist Sally Crofutt, we identified almost everything we heard and saw. They included some real surprises, including my Lifer Broad-winged Hawk, migrating Anhingas (I didn’t even realize they migrated!), and my find of the day—only my second-ever Blue Grosbeak.

**Green Jay was our Fennessey group’s Most Wanted Bird, and this fellow obligingly complied with our wishes!**

But the celebration offered much, much more, including:

other field trips to Welder Wildlife Refuge and boat trips up to Aransas NWR
a fabulous Hummer Mall packed with all kinds of bird-related vendors and demonstrations
a host of interesting speakers
great birding all along the area’s waterfront

**One great thing about HummerBird is that terrific birding surrounded us. I found this cooperative Crested Caracara—along with numerous other species—along the shore just down from my hotel.**

Speaking of speakers, I spoke to two enthusiastic audiences about Braden’s and my 2016 Big Year and other adventures, and before one of my talks I had the pleasure of listening to Dawn Hewitt, editor of Bird Watcher’s Digest. She gave wonderful hints on learning bird calls—something I would use almost immediately. I was surprised how well-attended the entire celebration turned out to be, and I headed back north feeling full of positive bird vibes as I prepared to spend a couple of days birding High Island and the Bolivar Peninsula—the subject of my next post(s)!

Are you ready for . . . the QUACH?

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My dad walked back to the car, frowning. “Well, unfortunately it looks like we’re gonna have to go birding somewhere else today.”

I sighed, frustrated. We’d been trying to bird Swiftcurrent, in east Glacier National Park, for years, and we’d still never gotten a normal birding session there. Most years it had been closed, like it was today, because of COVID-19 or construction. The year we had gotten to bird, it had been pouring down rain, and while we scored an incredible experience with a pair of Harlequin Ducks in Lake Swiftcurrent, those were basically the only birds was saw. Now, not birding Swiftcurrent drastically decreased our chances at Boreal Chickadee, a bird we’d been wanting to find for as long as I could remember.

Reviewing our options, we could just immediately head south and hope to bird Two Medicine, and possibly arrive in West Glacier earlier than expected to look for Black Swift and Harlequin Duck. I wanted to go somewhere new, however, so we headed north towards the closed Canadian border crossing. Hopefully we could find some cool habitat, possibly with Boreal Chickadees, though that species had rarely been reported from that area of the park. Along with it being a cool bird, the main reason my dad and I wanted the chickadee so badly is because in terms of Montana lifers we’d been completely skunked during the rest of our trip, missing American Golden-Plover, Broad-winged Hawk, Magnolia Warbler and more. We’d gotten cool birds, like Sprague’s Pipit, but none of them had been new species for us.

**As we learned in Glacier National Park this summer, birding the road less traveled almost always leads to great surprises.**

After taking a short loop through the most desolate plains we’d seen yet in Montana, we turned towards Glacier’s mountains again. As we drove, the habitat shifted, first to stunted aspen forest and then tall, dense spruce-fir forest. It was a habitat I’d never seen in the state, if at all: the southernmost reaches of the vast boreal forest that stretched across Canada. As we crossed back into the national park, my dad spotted what was probably a robin, but we pulled over anyway—I was excited to see what birds were singing from this new habitat.

A Northern Waterthrush echoed from the side of the car as we got out, and several Brown-headed Cowbirds whistled from the tops of trees. Every single bird was a surprise to us, since we really had no idea what to expect. And despite the fact that we hadn’t truly entered the mountains yet, my dad’s altitude app told us that we were at more than 5000 feet!

Suddenly my dad turned around. “I just heard a chickadee.” I spotted something flit to the top of a tall spruce about fifty feet away, and raised my binoculars. While it was still too far to tell what kind, I was definitely staring at a chickadee, so I grabbed my camera from the car and hurried over to where there appeared to be a pair of them. Once we drew closer, I raised my binoculars, registering salmon flanks and a brown cap.

It was one of if not the first time I’d ever said the F-word in front of my dad! It was like my brain had exploded, I’m not sure whether from the fact that the birds were Boreal Chickadees or from the fact that we’d managed to find a new Montana species at last on this trip. The chickadees bounced around the spruces for a while, then disappeared.

After recovering from the shock, my dad and I hugged and got back in the car, intent on seeing what else we could find along this paved-yet-empty road. Starting at the closed Canadian border crossing, we drove south doing five-minute point counts along the road like we’d done searching for Sprague’s Pipit the day before.

**Seeing a White-crowned Sparrow on its alpine breeding grounds gave us new appreciation for this relatively common species.**

The most common sparrows were White-crowned Sparrows belting confusing songs from every level of the trees, and while Yellow and Yellow-rumped Warblers were present, they were at least equalled in number by Wilson’s Warblers and Northern Waterthrushes, neither of which were common in Missoula. Amazingly, we picked up Boreal Chickadee at two more points, getting much better looks and photos of three more pairs. They were one of the more common species here, too, and were by far the most common chickadee, though we also picked up a lone Mountain and a possible Black-capped, the latter from a lower altitude aspen area. Canada Jay was the most common corvid, though we also saw a single Steller’s. Another treat were two boisterous Olive-sided Flycatchers, well-known boreal forest breeders, calling and posing for us.

In the wetter areas we found Fox and Lincoln’s Sparrows, Tree Swallows and Warbling Vireos. Red-breasted Nuthatches, Ruby-crowned Kinglets, Pine Siskins and Chipping Sparrows greeted us at most stops. We also got a Varied Thrush, which was a surprise as we were probably about two miles from the easternmost limit of its breeding range.

**What? A Mountain Chickadee near a Boreal Chickadee? What was this songbird madness???**

I’d recently read a book about the lack of birds in the boreal forest, and while there definitely was lower diversity than say, the wet second-growth of West Glacier, it was not as if there weren’t any birds. At most stops we picked up at least three or four species singing or calling.

After drinking our fill of the boreal forest and saying goodbye to the chickadees, we headed south along the eastern edge of Glacier National Park. We stopped at a good-looking, alder-filled riparian area for lunch, picking up new species for the day like Black-headed Grosbeak, Lazuli Bunting and our first-of-year MacGillivray’s Warbler, then got onto Highway 2 again, back in familiar territory.

When we reached West Glacier, though, we discovered something tragic—you had to have a permit to enter the park, a new rule they’d employed to counter the insane surges of tourists they’d had the past few years! Thankfully, we could enter without a permit after 5 p.m., but still it was sad that the days of entering Glacier easily may be over.

**Since we know them mostly from burn areas, this Olive-sided Flycatcher at a roadside pullout proved a special delight!**

We parked by the old park entrance to wait until five o’ clock, and while my dad took a nap I wandered around the healthy mountain-riparian forest along the milk-blue Middle Fork of the Flathead River. As I hiked, I suddenly heard more chickadees calling, and in a dense patch of Lodgepole Pine I found them: Chestnut-backed Chickadees!

Earlier in the day, after seeing the Boreal Chickadees, I’d mentioned to my dad: “Just you wait. We’ll somehow manage to see three of the four chickadee species and have trouble finding a Black-capped.” Black-capped, of course, is well-known for being not only the most common chickadee in Montana but also one of the most common birds here, period.

Suddenly, my fear had come true: I’d seen the three most difficult chickadees in one day, but had not yet seen a Black-capped (while again, we’d possibly heard one up by the Canadian border, it had not been a positive identification so we hadn’t counted it). I rushed back to the car to wake my dad.

“Let’s go find some cottonwoods. I need to see a Black-capped Chickadee.”

As we drove around West Glacier (the town; the park hadn’t opened yet), I rolled down my windows, straining to hear any piece of a chickadee call. We pulled into a fishing access parking lot surrounded by cottonwoods and began walking, though the birds were fairly quiet. Four in the afternoon was about as bad a time as you could go birding, yet here we were, trying to find one that we saw in our backyard every single day. I promised to myself that if we found a Black-capped, I would memorize its scientific name, Poecile Atricapillus.

After admiring a gorgeous male Rufous Hummingbird that posed for us, I heard a chickadee call from behind me. Then, a sharp-looking Black-capped flew towards us, landing mere inches from us on a branch! I’d done it! I restrained myself from hugging the chickadee and instead gave my dad a high-five in celebration of the Quad-Chickadee Day I’d had—or, as my dad officially christened it, “the Quach.”

Note: “Quach” is a registered trademark of FatherSonBirding, legally protected throughout the solar system. Anyone using it will be subject to massive fines and stern looks. Not really. But you heard it here first!

**Who would have thunk a common Black-capped Chickadee would prove the key to Braden’s epic QUACH? Only the wily chickadee, of course!**

Winter Birding in Israel, Part 1: Neighborhood Birding

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Alert: the hackers are back. We’ve had a number of suspicious sign ups recently so if you really have subscribed in the last three months, please shoot Sneed a confirmation email at collard@bigsky.net and I will make sure that you stay subscribed. Meanwhile, feel free to share this post with all the wonderful birders in your lives. Thanks!

If you are an avid fan of FatherSonBirding—and let’s face it, who isn’t?—you’ll know that Braden and I recently had an adventure of a lifetime in Israel and Jordan. Over the next few posts, we’d like to share that adventure, starting with ordinary neighborhood birding, and what any casual visitor might expect to see in Israel in January.

**The Hooded Crow not only was our first Israeli bird, it was one that would provide constant entertainment and companionship throughout our trip.**

Before flying to the Holy Land, Braden and I had already learned the value of studying up on birds of a new area, so when our flight touched down in Tel Aviv at 2 a.m., we hit the ground running. Well, sort of. First, we got on a train and traveled to our friends’ house in the pleasant coastal town of Binyamina. As soon as we’d showered and eaten breakfast, our hosts’ 14-year-old son, Noam, led us out on a tour of the neighborhood.

Now, I have to preface this by saying that Israel is the only place I know where if you go out birding, you not only have a chance of encountering some amazing historic site, you are almost guaranteed it. Only a block from his house, Noam led us to a remarkable Ottoman well that was 400-plus years old. Braden and I would have been more in awe if we weren’t already mesmerized by the variety of birds we were seeing! Our first Israeli bird? Hooded Crow, a handsome and charismatic corvid that would become a regular companion on our trip. This was soon followed by other delights including Great Tits, White-spectacled Bulbuls, Graceful Prinias, and Common Chiffchaffs, none of which we really expected to see! The most “crowd-pleasing?” The Palestinian Sunbird, an analog to American hummingbirds. We saw several, in fact, hovering to slurp up the nectar of some bright red flowers.

**The Middle East’s “hummingbird”, the Palestinian Sunbird. The convergence of both habits and appearance of these guys with our own hummers is remarkable.**

Once we passed the Ottoman well, we headed out to open farmland where we encountered a totally different suite of birds, starting with the same Rose-ringed Parakeets we’d seen in Amsterdam literally hours before (see our post “Layover Birding in Amsterdam”). Here we also encountered a charming little flycatcher called the European Stonechat—another frequent companion for our next two weeks. In the distance, we saw our first Black-winged Kite and Common Buzzard—Europe’s “Red-tailed Hawk.” Near a pond, we spotted several Glossy Ibis in flight and then came the punctuation of our first birding experience: a flight of four Great White Pelicans that flew right over us.

**Besides having a great name, the European Stonechat is a great behavioral study as it behaves very similarly to American flycatchers.**

Our first bird list totaled a satisfying twenty-one species, many of which we wouldn’t have recognized if we hadn’t done our homework ahead of time. Best of all, there was much, much more to come! Stay tuned . . .

**The appearance of pelicans overhead both floored and delighted us!**

Our 50th Post—Philmont Scout Ranch, New Mexico!

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Braden celebrates our “Half-Century” post with a lively recount of our two-week backpacking adventure in New Mexico. Why not celebrate with us by subscribing using the box on the right below? As always, feel free to share this with other birders, bloggers, Scouts—anyone you wish!

My dad and I recently got back from a two-week backpacking adventure on the Philmont Scout Ranch, a 220-square-mile swath of wilderness in northern New Mexico. The ranch is the largest of the Boy Scouts of America’s High Adventure Bases, and is jam-packed full of wildlife, history, culture and breathtaking experiences. Our trek, which we did with twelve other scouts and adults from our troop in Missoula, covered 74 miles. During this time, we hiked through canyons, and summited mountains, including the Ranch’s highest peak, Mount Baldy, at 12,441 ft. We also were exposed to and learned a wide variety of new skills at staffed camps we visited, including how to pack and unpack a burro, how to build a railroad, how to blacksmith, how to lasso, how to shoot Old West-style guns and black powder rifles and more.

**Braden with our trusty Burro, “Nigel”—named because, when necessary, he could turn it up to “11”! We were lucky to have Nigel’s company for two days of our trek.**

The trek also exposed us to a wide variety of diverse habitats. We travelled through Ponderosa Pine savannah and forest, valley riparian, desert scrub, spruce-fir forest, alpine meadow, aspen forest, subalpine forest and alpine tundra. We saw many different species of animals throughout our journey, including Monarch and other kinds of butterflies, pronghorn, mule deer, a rattlesnake, bats, and a praying mantis, not to mention evidence of elk. And then, of course, were the birds.

**Because we didn’t haul our five-pound cameras with us, this was by far our best bird photo from the trip. Flamingoes in New Mexico? Who knew?**

My dad and I together tallied a total of 84 species throughout the trip, including the birds we spotted in the desert on the drive from Albuquerque to the Ranch. The most common species we saw were Spotted Towhee, Cordilleran Flycatcher, Western Wood-Pewee and Common Nighthawk, which we saw almost every day. These four birds had adapted to almost every habitat on the ranch, especially the Cordilleran Flycatcher, which we tallied everywhere, from lowland riparian to subalpine forest, missing it only in the Ranch’s Base Camp. Other common birds included Pine Siskin, Red Crossbill, Rufous and Broad-tailed Hummingbird, Western Bluebird, American Robin, Pygmy and White-breasted Nuthatch, Mountain Chickadee, Chipping Sparrow, Black-headed Grosbeak and Western Tanager. What was especially interesting was the abundance of Black-headed Grosbeaks in most of the habitats we visited; while they seem to be much more riparian-based in Montana, we saw them in scrub, second-growth, aspen and spruce-fir forest.

**We were surprised to commonly encounter White-breasted and Pygmy Nuthatches—but rarely Red-breasted—on our twelve-day trek.**

Lesser Goldfinches were also quite common, though were much more exclusive to riparian areas. The subspecies here was different from the west coast—they had more solidly black backs, though still kept the same green necks. The main subspecies of Dark-eyed Junco at Philmont was also interesting, it being the Gray-headed rather than the Oregon we were used to. These juncos were slate gray with red backs and dark spectacles. More common Montana birds like Red-breasted Nuthatch, and both kinglets only occurred at very high altitudes.

**Braden’s keen eyes and ears allowed us to pick up Clark’s Nutcrackers and most of Philmont’s other resident corvid species, though good looks were hard to come by!**

While at Philmont we spotted six of the seven reported corvids (Steller’s Jay, Common Raven, Clark’s Nutcracker, Pinyon Jay, Gray Jay, Woodhouse’s Scrub-Jay), missing only the rare desert-specific Chihuahuan Raven. We also managed to get three lifers during the trip, those being the beautiful pine-loving Grace’s Warbler, the by-ear-only Common Poorwill and the previously mentioned Woodhouse’s Scrub-Jay. Other highlights include a family of Dusky Grouse, a small flock of Band-tailed Pigeons, a nesting pair of Williamson’s Sapsuckers and the hordes of migrating hummingbirds attacking the feeders at Base Camp, where we saw four species including with Black-chinned and Calliope. Overall, it was a great trip!