Tag Archives: fall migration

Birding Race Point: Cape Cod’s Pelagic Playground

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The week before Thanksgiving, my family had the opportunity to visit a place that featured prominently in my childhood—Cape Cod, Massachusetts. We headed to Boston so that I could accept a big award for my picture book, Border Crossings, but the trip provided many piggybacking opportunities. These included a chance to look at colleges for Braden’s sister, Tessa, and to meet up with Braden for Thanksgiving. After Amy, Tessa, and I spent a few days in Boston, in fact, Braden drove down from the University of Maine and whisked us off to the Cape.

I spent parts of many summers in Woods Hole on the Cape. My father did his post-doc at WHOI—the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution. My step-father spent dozens of summers in Woods Hole doing research and teaching classes at the MBL—the Marine Biological Laboratories. I have many fond (and some not-so-fond) memories of those summers, but had not been back for (gasp) 45 years! I looked forward to revisiting old haunts and showing my family some of the places that had shaped my childhood. Naturally, Braden and I also considered the birding possibilities.

Race Point Lighthouse.

When Braden first mentioned going to Race Point near Provincetown, I hesitated. I recalled driving up there as a ten-year-old and didn’t relish spending an extra four hours of our vacation in a car. When Braden started telling me what we might find there, however, I quickly changed my mind.

Race Point, it turns out, is one of the nation’s premiere places for spotting seabirds from land. A map reveals an obvious reason: Cape Cod juts miles out into the Atlantic Ocean, and the tip—Race Point itself—is surrounded on three sides by the sea. This means that birders have an opportunity to see both regular beach-type birds and many species that only rarely show up near land. Braden and I especially hoped to see jaegers, “tube noses” such as shearwaters, and any interesting gulls or ducks that happened to be around.

After a delicious breakfast at Liz’s Café in Provincetown, Braden and I left Amy and Tessa to explore while we headed off to the parking lot near Race Point lighthouse. As soon as we approached the beach, we spotted Northern Gannets soaring above wild, wind-raked seas. I’d only ever gotten a brief look at a NOGA before, when Braden and I had visited Acadia National Park three years before, so right away the drive up to Provincetown redeemed itself!

However, the excitement was just beginning.

One of perhaps 150 Northern Gannets we saw at Race Point. Like Blue-footed Boobies, these birds torpedo straight down into schools of fish.

As wind and sand pelted us, groups of White-winged and Black Scoters, Common Eiders, and Long-tailed Ducks skimmed the waves just offshore. Some occasionally landed, but most seemed hell-bent for destinations only they knew about. All were birds I had scant experience with, so I soaked up every sighting.

This was only my second time seeing Common Eiders, and I was uber impressed by the coloration of both females and males.

“There’s a Red-throated Loon!” Braden said, pointing to a bird with an exceedingly pale, long neck reaching up from the surface. It wouldn’t be long before we saw several Common Loons, differentiated by blockier heads, chunkier bills, and more black on their faces.

Only my second Red-throated Loon ever. Note the smooth, rounded head and white “winter” face.

At the top of our To Find list were Great Shearwaters, a potential Lifer for both of us. These birds belong to the “tube noses,” the same group of birds that includes albatrosses, fulmars, and storm-petrels. These birds are truly seafarers, rarely approaching shore. Only a few weeks ago, I had caught a glimpse of Sooty Shearwaters while visiting California’s Point Reyes National Park with my friend Scott. Great Shearwaters had been sighted regularly at Race Point for the past couple of weeks, but alas, we arrived too late to see them today.

Braden fruitlessly searching the seas for Great Shearwaters and jaegers.

We still had plenty of thrilling birds to look at, however. As we trudged the mile and a half through the soft sand toward the very tip of the Cape, flocks of Dunlin and Sanderlings in their winter plumages worked the drifts of foam left on the beach by each encroaching wave. We even saw a group of six Horned Larks, birds we were used to seeing on the backroads of Montana—not here at the end of the world.

It had been years since I’d gotten to hang with Dunlins, and it was a real treat.

Not to be outdone, gulls also put on a show. This was the first time I’d ever gotten to see Great Black-backed Gulls in a natural setting. They are the world’s largest gulls, and I gotta say they looked like they belonged in this rugged, challenging environment.

“Look!” Braden suddenly shouted. “Iceland Gull!” Two of them, in fact. These gulls had until recently been split into Iceland and Thayer’s Gull, and Braden and I had seen the latter at the Helena landfill in Montana. This look was much more memorable as both a juvenile and adult landed near us. Both were gorgeous birds with subtle markings, and they quickly jumped into contention for Bird of the Day honors. Not long after seeing the Iceland Gulls, Braden also spotted a Black-legged Kittiwake. I was grateful he’d gained experience with all of these birds while on the East Coast, because I certainly would have missed a lot of them.

I don’t even want to know what this Great Black-backed Gull is eating, as our two Iceland Gulls look on.

I picked up two Lifers for the day. One was Razorbill, a kind of black-and-white alcid I had dreamed about seeing for years (see our post “All About Alcids”). During our hike to the lighthouse and back, we saw about eighty of these birds in groups, flying low or bobbing up and down in the jagged waves. My second Lifer was a pair of Purple Sandpipers that landed in front of us and shouldn’t have been anywhere near a wide sandy beach. Like its closely-related West Coast cousin the Rock Sandpiper, these are rocky shore birds.

I was especially thrilled to see my Lifer Razorbills, but it’s a tossup whether these or the Iceland Gulls grabbed Bird of the Day honors.

“They must be migrating,” I said, and Braden agreed, though we were well within their wintering latitudes.

As we trudged back toward the car, Braden spotted a fin jutting out of the water. At first we thought it might be the dorsal fin of a shark or orca, but after watching it for a few minutes, we concluded that we were looking at the tail flukes of a larger whale. I’d seen quite a few humpback whales before, and these didn’t look anything like it. “I think it’s a Right Whale,” I said. Later, we learned that Right Whales had been regularly spotted in the area. It was one more unforgettable discovery for a memorable day.

Race Point eBird Checklist: https://ebird.org/checklist/S203601766

Race Point selfie!

In Montana, Some Real October Surprises

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For birders, October is an odd month—especially in Montana. Our resident birds have left. Winter residents are just arriving. Most migrating birds have passed through the state—but not quite all. The month poses a special dilemma for those trying to set any kind of Big Year milestone, because time for new birds is running out. This year, for instance, I have found myself tantalizingly close to making 2024 my second best Montana birding year ever. 2020 was Braden’s and my best year, when we put a ton of effort into it, and I recorded 266 species on my list (see our post “2020 Wraps, 2021 Underway”). Last year, thanks in part to an Eastern Montana trip with my pal Scott, I notched my second best year with 253 species. As October wound down this year, however, I found myself with 247 species—seemingly within striking distance of breaking that 253 mark. Or was it?

The Fort Missoula gravel quarry delivered our first American Tree Sparrows of the season—a bird that, unbeknownst to me, I had failed to see earlier in the year! This, dear readers, is also where Braden and I got our lifer ATSPs years ago.

A mere seven species might seem like an easy task with three months to go in the year, but that small number is deceiving. As mentioned above, very few new birds arrive this time of year. As for winter arrivals, most birders (myself included) already saw those in January and February. Bottom Line: By October, birders hoping to set a mark need to track down some rarities.

Braden and I have chased plenty of rarities in the past, but I am more reluctant to do so these days. The main reason? Unless I really, really want to see a particular bird, I can’t justify burning up gasoline just to notch another species on my list—especially to break a rather arbitrary record. After all, climate change—powered in large part by burning fossil fuels—is one of the major threats to birds, not to mention to all other species, and my desire to make 2024 my second best year doesn’t rate as a worthy enough goal to place the planet in even greater peril. With Braden gone, chasing rarities also isn’t as much fun.

Still, last week, with the end of the month in sight, I felt like I could use a good birding session to take advantage of our last warm weather and improve my mental health, made particularly jittery by the craziness of the upcoming elections. And then, out of the blue, I got a text from Nick Ramsey: “Hey! Are you in Missoula? And any shot you want to go birding tomorrow?” I didn’t hesitate. “Yes and yes!” I shot back.

With only hours to spend in Missoula, Nick picked me up for a quick trip to the Fort Missoula gravel quarry and Lee Metcalf NWR, showed above.

Nick, it turns out, had a brief layover in Missoula between a summer field job in Alaska and guiding gigs in Louisiana. Regular readers of FatherSonBirding (or of my new book Birding for Boomers) will recognize Nick both as a member of our extended family, and as our most important mentor when Braden and I first started to bird. We’ve had countless birding adventures together including our first expedition to eastern Montana and Braden’s and Nick’s epic Florida birding trip in 2022. I was thrilled that Nick, who recently graduated from LSU, reached out to me—especially because he had only hours to spare before hitting the road for a 30-hour drive to Louisiana. I asked him what he’d like to do and he suggested visiting the Fort Missoula gravel quarry and Lee Metcalf National Wildlife Refuge. That sounded great to me, and just by coincidence, a Northern Parula had just been sighted at Lee Metcalf.

Decidedly eastern birds, Northern Parulas are almost unheard of in Western Montana. Although chances were low that it would still be there when Nick and I got there the following day, I couldn’t help thinking this could move me closer to tying my “second place” record of 253. For his part, Nick especially wanted to see a Swamp Sparrow, another uncommon bird for Montana. I figured we had almost no hope of finding one of those, but if anyone could, it was Nick.

Nick picked me up at eight the next morning, in the company of his adorable diminutive companion, a chihuahua mix named Dixie, who decided that my lap would be her domain for the rest of the day. Our first stop? The gravel quarry. Nick hoped for a Swamp Sparrow here and we both thought it might be a good chance to see scoters, Long-tailed Ducks, or other laggards passing through the area. Unfortunately, a guy flying a drone was most likely scaring off any interesting water birds. Still, we had a nice sparrow session, finding a ton ‘o Song Sparrows, along with White-crowned Sparrows, and the season’s first American Tree Sparrows—which, I didn’t realize I had failed to find earlier in the year! By the time we headed back to the car, the drone flier also had departed, giving us a look at a few Hooded Mergansers. “Hey, there’s also a Horned Grebe!” I told Nick. That was a nice surprise since I’d managed to miss them in Montana the entire year. Click. With the American Tree Sparrows and Horned Grebe, my Montana Year List had leaped from 247 to 249!

I had given up on Horned Grebes for my 2024 Montana list when this one showed itself at the Fort Missoula gravel quarry.

Continuing on to Lee Metcalf, Dixie keeping me warm, Nick and I caught up on the rest of our lives. This, I realized, was the first time Nick and I had ever birded together without Braden along, and though we both missed him, it was a great chance to share our adventures and discuss future birding dreams, plans, and possibilities. In no time, Nick was pulling into the Lee Metcalf visitor’s center parking lot. Several birders had arrived before us, but none seemed aware of the Northern Parula sighting the previous day. The bird had supposedly been seen in the elm trees next to the closest pond, but as we headed over there, what first caught our attention were two shorebirds pumping for food in the mud.

A pair of Long-billed Dowitchers presented our first surprise at Lee Metcalf. More surprises would follow!

“Are those Long-billed Dowitchers?” I asked Nick. “What are they doing here?” So late in the season, they surprised both of us and immediately made our trip down here worthwhile. While we were studying them, however, Nick’s sharp ears caught something else and he began walking over toward the south edge of the pond. I thought he had heard the Northern Parula, but when I caught up, I found him studying the cattails below us. “I thought I might have heard a Swamp Sparrow,” he explained. Then we saw movement. “There!”

Nick’s Montana lifer Swamp Sparrow was too quick for me to catch in full sunlight, but did pause briefly behind this fence.

Several other birders joined us and it took several minutes for us to get clean looks at the bird. “Furtive” is a good word to describe Swamp Sparrows as they like to stay hidden in reeds along the water’s edge, but finally, the bird gave us full, if brief, views. I was astounded. While only about fifty records exist for Montana, Nick explained that the birds definitely move through the state every year, and Birds of Montana lists several cases where the birds have overwintered. I’d only ever seen one in Montana—in the Shiloh recreation area in Billings—so for me, this was a big deal. Click. 250.

As we moved slowly, following the sparrow to a small brush pile, Nick almost casually said, “The parula’s right behind us.”

What?

It being fall, I expected that if we saw the Northern Parula, it would be a drab specimen. The gorgeous bird, however, delivered a real October surprise.

I spun around and, sure enough, spotted a spectacular yellow-and-bluish-gray warbler plucking insects from leaves in a deciduous bush not twenty feet from us. Nick called to other nearby birders, and they joined us for one of the most leisurely looks at a rare migrant ever. Much like the Black-throated Blue Warbler that appeared in Lolo last year, this bird seemed little bothered by people. We all hung back about thirty feet, trying to fill up our cameras’ memory cards while the bird fattened up on whatever it could find. Just to mix things up, it flew over to an elm tree for a while, before heading back to the bush. After a hike out to the more distant ponds (still no scoters), Nick and I hit the road back to Missoula, making only a quick nearby stop to get Nick a look at California Quail for the year. In a single outing, and at a most improbably time of year, my year list had advanced to 251 species, making me wonder if I could somehow nab three more species through December. Even better, I had enjoyed a wonderful day of birding and companionship with one of the best rare migrants possible, our friend Nick.

Two happy birders following an improbable day of October rarities.

Abbotts Lagoon, Point Reyes National Seashore (or Chasing Migrants, Part II)

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After our amazing encounter with Vaux’s Swifts and shorebirds (see our last post), Scott and I had another productive session the next morning at the Ellis Creek water recycling facility and Tubbs Island, both in Sonoma County. As an added bonus, we got to bird with two of Scott’s pals, Steve and Sean. Steve and Scott began birding about the same time and were still in the beginning phases of their birding careers, but Sean grew up birding and taught us all some cool ID features. Most important, he confirmed that the peeps Scott and I saw the day before were indeed Least Sandpipers. With his help, we were also able to identify a couple of sneaky Western Sandpipers that were comingling with the approximately 400 Least Sandpipers in front of us. As much as we enjoyed these sessions, what Scott, Steve, and I looked forward to the next day even more. That’s when we planned to bird legendary Abbotts Lagoon.

(L to R) Sean, Steve, and Scott investigating the wilds of the Ellis Water recyling plant!

Abbotts Lagoon sits within Point Reyes National Seashore, and none of us had ever before birded it. However, Braden and our occasional guest contributor, Roger Kohn, had both been there and given it high marks. As we crested the mountains at Point Reyes and drove down toward the coast, I didn’t know what we would find, but held my hopes high.

Reaching the beginning of the lagoon requires a mile or so hike through remarkable dwarf-like vegetation that reminded me of steppe or tundra, probably because fog enshrouded the lands around us. I hadn’t realized we would have to hoof it so far, but I was grateful because we got great looks at many California residents: California Quail, California Scrub-Jays, White-crowned Sparrows, and most exciting, Wrentits. One of these, in fact, popped up no more than fifteen feet from us—unusual for a generally secretive bird. Nontheless, it was the lagoon and beach beyond that propelled us forward and when we reached the lagoon we found . . .

Though a bit of a hike, the mile-long walk to the lagoon offered a nice variety of songbirds and raptors, including this banded White-crowned Sparrow.

Nothing.

Well, almost. Instead of vast rafts of shorebirds ripping up the mud, only a couple of wading birds and American White Pelicans could be made out as far as the eye could see. Darn, I thought to myself. But if there’s an, ahem, cardinal rule to birding it is this: You Never Know. So we plowed ahead, following the harder beach sand, and soon came to a little bend where we got great close-ups of three Red-necked Phalaropes and a Pectoral Sandpiper—a bird I recognized only from my hours studying them in Montana. This bird, in fact, was quite interesting because PESAs show up only in small numbers on the West Coast, and generally only in fall. A lifer for Scott and Steve!

These Red-necked Phalaropes and a lone Pectoral Sandpiper were the highlights of our walk around the lagoon to the beach.
Pectoral Sandpiper.

Continuing toward the ocean, we spotted two Black-bellied Plovers and a flight of shorebirds in the distance, but it wasn’t until we reached the ocean that we got some real action.

I was just as excited by pelagic bird possibilities as I was by shorebirds, and once on the beach I immediately set up the spotting scope we’d lugged the two miles out there. Like shorbs, I rarely have a chance to observe pelagic birds, and I felt determined to make the most of this rare opportunity. Right away, I saw a number of dark shapes out on the water—shapes that appeared and disappeared on the four-foot swell. Oh man, I thought to myself, I’m never going to be able to figure out what those are. In such situations, I have learned to relax and just hang in there, and that’s what I did now.

From studying before the trip, I came up with several likely possibilities of species that could be out there. These included Common Murres, Pigeon Guillemots, various storm-petrels, and Sooty Shearwaters. In fact, as we arrived, I noticed at least eight medium-sized dark birds swooping low over the water. When they turned, I spotted light patches under the wings. First victory: Sooty Shearwaters.

Then, I saw a larger bird floating a couple of hundred yards offshore. The shape shouted “Loon” and I thought, “Hm, that looks like it has a silvery sheen on its head.” Victory #2: Pacific Loon!

Identifying pelagic birds at great distance can take great patience and not a little skill, but in time, many species reveal themselves. The keys to this Pacific Loon? A silvery sheen on its head, a thinner bill than found on Common Loons, and a thin black “chin strap” or collar around the neck.

After that, it got harder, but I did manage to ID some distant Common Murres by the white around the face and neck, thinner “up-pointed” bills, and longer body lengths. A seabird expert undoubtedly would have found additional species, but as a seabird novice, I felt satisfied. Humorously, as I was looking through the scope, I suddenly saw a whale’s tail emerge behind several of the birds. Did I look up? Of course not! Who has time for pesky mammals when there are ocean birds to be seen!

But let us not ignore the beach itself. As Scott, Steve, and I enjoyed the waves and emerging sun, the shorebirds decided to put on a show. On one side of us, a flock of at least 150 Least Sandpipers landed only a hundred yards away. On the other side, a couple of hundred Western Sandpipers settled down. Talk about your perfect conditions for comparison! In fact, this was my first chance ever to get good, leisurely looks at Westerns and I took full advantage of it.

The beach at Abbotts Lagoon offered by far my best opportunity ever to study Western Sandpipers. Note (if you can) the overall pale appearance and the reddish “shoulder blades” typical of juveniles this time of year. WESAs also tend to have longer, more curved bills than other peeps.

You remember that Sesame Street song “One of these things is not like the other?” Studying the Least Sandpipers, I spotted a much paler bird with a thick black bill and black legs. Another peep: Sanderling!

Meanwhile, among the Western Sandpipers, I espied smaller birds with shorter bills and dark collars around their necks—Semipalmated Plovers!

I was especially tickled to find half a dozen Semipalmated Plovers among the Western Sandpipers. Go plovers!

To add to the show, a Peregrine Falcon landed on the sand behind us, and on the way back we saw several other raptors including a White-tailed Kite. After Abbotts, we got a delicious lunch at Inverness Park Market, and then headed to Limantour Beach for great looks at Surf Scoters. All in all, it was an awesome day chasing migrants, featuring good birds, good food, and best of all, great company.

Trip Report: https://ebird.org/tripreport/276917

Compared to the Abbotts Lagoon Beach, Limantour Beach was a bit of a desert, but did offer up three nice Surf Scoters.

Chasing Migrants, Part I: Swifts, Peeps, and Plovers

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In case you missed our last post, be sure to check out my new book, Birding for Boomers. It’s a great gift for anyone you know of any age or background who might be interested in getting into birds. It’s also a great way to support our efforts here at FatherSonBirding! Why not order one or two copies—or even a dozen—right now?

I’ve had little time to catch up on our birding adventures this time of year. With new books to promote, house guests to entertain, seeing Braden off to his senior year at UMaine, and more, life has been a juggling act through August and September. I did manage two lovely trips to Freezeout Lake in August, one with my occasional birding buddy Steve Flood, the other with Braden right before he headed East. In mid-September, I also rewarded myself with a personal trip to the Bay Area to visit friends and relatives—and, of course, see as many birds as possible. Like the recent trips to Freezeout, my primary objective was to find and study as many migrating shorebirds as possible.

Despite birding for more than a decade, I still feel like a beginner when it comes to shorebirds. My recent trips to Freezeout were “study sessions” more than birding excursions, and I was grateful that Baird’s Sandpipers, Red-necked Phalaropes, Semipalmated Sandpipers and other species offered hours of observation and ID practice on each trip. I hoped for similar sessions in California. After I spent a few days with relatives in Oakland and reconnected with the delightful birds of oak woodlands, my friend Scott (see Eastern Odyssey 24: Return to Westby) whisked me off to the North Bay, where serious birding adventures commenced.

Before heading across the Richmond Bridge, we gave McLaughlin Eastshore State Park in Berkeley a try, but our timing was off as high tide covered the mudflats. Next, we visited the Las Gallinas Valley Sanitary District in Marin County. I enjoyed that, but again, we saw nothing spectacular. I was surprised to spot a lone Vaux’s Swift—a lifer for Scott—and eight or nine Black Phoebes put on a show, but it was a slow start to meeting our birding ambitions. Fortunately, things would pick up—dramatically.

Though they didn’t perch at the top of our target list for the day, Black Phoebes charmed us at the Las Gallinas water treatment ponds in Marin County.

After Las Gallinas (“The Hens”), Scott drove us to Reclamation Road in the San Pablo Bay National Wildlife Refuge, where we hoped—finally—for some shorebird action. Our first surprise wasn’t shorebirds, however. As soon as we got out of the car, I spotted four tiny shapes frantically flying west. “Hey, there’s more Vaux’s Swifts.” I really hadn’t expected to see these, but it did make sense. I knew they’d departed Montana in the past few weeks and that they followed the West Coast down to their wintering grounds in Mexico and Central America. Our four birds were merely a prelude, however. As Scott and I walked out toward the shore, we saw half a dozen more swifts. Then a dozen. Then, as we looked east, we witnessed a veritable river of Vaux’s Swifts flying toward us.

This photo doesn’t begin to capture the remarkable river of migrating Vaux’s Swifts that passed over our heads. Yes, those “dots” are the swifts! Swifts are a species of concern because of the loss of old growth forests and other natural roosting sites. Ironically, saving old brick chimneys should be a priority for those interested in protecting these birds.

“This is amazing,” Scott said as the birds stiff-winged it over our heads. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

I shook my head. The most VASWs I’d ever seen at one time was perhaps a couple of dozen. Now, hundreds streamed past us—probably thousands! We learned from a passerby that they were most likely heading to the chimney of an old brick-making plant, a well-known roosting place for them. Scott and I were suitably awed by the sight. It was enough to make the whole day worthwhile, whether or not we ended up seeing shorebirds.

Nonetheless, as we walked out to the bay I was gladdened to see shallow mudflats and hundreds of dots scattered over them. “Shorebirds!” I rejoiced.

With San Francisco in the distance, you couldn’t ask for a more dramatic setting to study shorebirds! Many of those specks in the foreground are Least Sandpipers—though you’ll see a lot of other species mixed in!

As we drew closer, I set up the spotting scope, and quickly zoomed in on a dozen-plus Long-billed Curlews, at least fifty Willets, and what would turn out to be a couple of hundred Marbled Godwits. These were easily-enough identified. Not so the hundreds of small sandpipers, or “peeps,” that peppered the scene in front of us. Birders generally include four species under the “peep” category: Sanderlings, Western Sandpipers, Semipalmated Sandpipers, and Least Sandpipers. Since it was the nonbreeding season, Sanderlings should have given off a distinctive whitish vibe by now, so I ruled them out, but what of the other three? The problem with peeps is that their coloration, size, bill shape and bill length overlap to a frustrating degree, and I just didn’t have enough experience with these to make a call. Least Sandpipers can be easy to pinpoint if you can see their leg color—yellow compared to black for Westerns and “Semipalms”—but when they were feeding in the mud, determining leg color often proved impossible.

As I often do in such situations, I called Braden. I described what I was seeing and said, “I am guessing that they are Semipalmated Sandpipers, but I just don’t know.”

“Well,” he informed me, “the good news is that if there are large numbers of them, they aren’t Semis because Semipalmated Sandpipers don’t move through the West Coast.”

With Braden’s help, I narrowed down these far-away “peeps” to either Least or Western Sandpipers. Confirmation would have to wait until later, however.

Doh! This surprised me because we do see them in Montana. I never realized, though, that our Montana birds were on the western edge of their migration pathway from their northern breeding grounds to their wintering grounds in the coastal tropics.

“If I had to guess,” Braden continued, “I’d say you’re looking at Least Sandpipers. You said that they’re darker brown and Westerns give off a grayer color.”

Still, even through the scope, the birds were too far away for me to be sure, so I recorded “peep sp.” in my eBird checklist—at least for now.

One species, however, excited me more than all the others. Almost as soon as we reached the mudflats, I spotted birds that I had especially hoped to see: Black-bellied Plovers. Black-bellied Plovers are one of the world’s largest plovers, and they have the widest distribution. Like many shorebirds, they breed mainly in the arctic regions, but in winter they disperse to coastal areas of every continent sans Antarctica.

At San Pablo Bay NWR, I was especially excited to see Black-bellied Plovers mixed in with Long-billed Curlews, peeps, Marbled Godwits, and other shorebirds.

Braden and I had only ever seen Black-bellied Plovers about twenty times—and only four times as they migrated through Montana. The birds are known to flock up in winter, but even in places such as California and Texas, we generally only saw a few at a time. Now, as I trained my scope out over the mudflats, I began picking out more and more of these birds. At first, their light color and larger size made them look kind of like gulls, but their more erect posture and stubbier dark bill gave them away. One bird they can easily be confused with are American Golden Plovers, which look almost identical except for their smaller bill, head, and overall size. Some AGPLs also show flecks of gold color even in winter, but today, I saw no AGPL suspects and counted sixty Black-bellied Plovers in front of me.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many before!” I effused to Scott. “This is really amazing.”

What I didn’t realize is that I vastly undercounted. I took a couple of photos of shorebirds in flight and later, going over the images, I made a startling discovery. One of the flying flocks consisted of at least 140 Black-bellied Plovers! How could I tell they were BBPLs instead of other shorebirds? In this case, it happened to be easy. Black-bellied Plovers are the only shorebirds to show distinct black armpits under their wings!

When I took this photo, I didn’t realize these birds were Black-bellied Plovers—easily the largest flock I have ever seen. The black armpits make IDing this species particularly easy in flight.

It was a great way to end the day for both me and Scott and we celebrated with a fabulous Mexican food dinner with Scott’s wife Ginny and step-daughter Hayley. I went to bed happy—but eagerly looked forward to more migrating bird opportunities ahead.

https://ebird.org/checklist/S195291789

August: It’s Just Weird

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August is a weird month to bird. As we’ve no doubt mentioned before, we used to just write off August. I mean, most birds have stopped singing. No songbirds are migrating. Oh, and in Montana, hot, smoky weather often sucks the motivation from every pore of our bodies. Over time, however, our “bad August attitude” has, like the current presidential race, suffered a total reversal. Now, Braden and I cautiously look forward to August birding. The only problem? We’re never sure what we’re going to find. (See, for instance, last year’s August post “Birding Treasure at Garnet Ghost Town.”)

This August has been no different, but we began the month with some clear objectives. As Braden’s summer in Montana dwindles ahead of his final year of college, he had accomplished most of his summer birding goals save one: finding a Spruce Grouse. I could relate! After all, I saw my lifer spruce grouse only last year (see our post “Gambling on a Grouse-fecta”). As for me, I too coveted another Spruce Grouse on top of other Year Birds that had so far eluded me. The latter included Olive-sided Flycatchers, and Three-toed and Black-backed Woodpeckers. We both wanted to see migrating shorebirds, but realized it might be a tad early for some of them.

Sadly, Braden and I probably had only one day left to bird together before he departed, so any strategy to accomplish our remaining goals would involve compromise. Nonetheless, we set off last Sunday morning for a place we’d never birded together—Skalkaho Pass east of Hamilton. We got on the road before seven and made a brief stop at Lee Metcalf NWR hoping for shorebirds. No luck, probably because water levels were too high, but we did see a lot of the other usual suspects. Most surprising? Vaux’s Swifts, which I myself had probably never seen at Metcalf before, and at least half a dozen Sandhill Cranes—an unusually high number for that location. “Hm,” we thought, “Maybe some birds are already on the move for their fall migrations!”

There was something off about this Sandhill Crane at Lee Metcalf. I just can’t quite figure out what it was!

After a quick stop in Hamilton for breakfast sandwiches, we headed toward Skalkaho, the road transitioning from a two-lane road with a painted yellow line, to a “one track” paved road, and finally to dirt. We encountered an early surprise with a herd of bighorn sheep, and then climbed through a gorgeous forest canyon that gave off moist Pacific Northwest vibes and hosted a huge variety of trees. Here, we heard Pacific Wrens and Golden-crowned Kinglets, but our real destination lay high above us.

A great advantage of birding is that we see a huge variety of mammals during our adventures—including these bighorn sheep.

As the road snaked upward, we entered large burn areas that looked about ten years old. If you’ve been reading this blog (or my book Fire Birds) at all you know that we love to bird in burned forests. Not only do they provide great visibility, standing dead trees attract some of Montana’s most special birds. We pulled over a couple of times to listen for woodpeckers, but didn’t hear anything. Getting out of the car for the third time, however, we were greeted by a loud “Quick! Three Beers!” Braden and I laughed.

Though not a great photo, this is exactly the kind of pose we usually find Olive-sided Flycatchers striking in a burned forest.

“Olive-sided!” he exclaimed. And not just one, either. We would count at least half a dozen in the next couple of hours.

When we passed 7,000 feet we at last felt we had reached proper Spruce Grouse country. I had located a promising dirt road on the map, but before we reached it, we spotted another dirt road leading to the left. “That looks good,” I told Braden. “Let’s take that.”

“Sounds good,” he answered.

The burns near Skalkaho Pass were custom-made for finding cool birds.

It felt like a good day to find a Spruce Grouse. As on my Spruce Grouse excursion with Braydon Luikart last year, the day was overcast and misty, and I kept expecting to see bevies of grouse sitting in the middle of the road. That didn’t happen. In fact, we drove slowly for about twenty minutes, I keeping my eye on the road while Braden searched trees and openings along the road.

“C’mon, grouse,” I urged them, but it seemed like it might end up being a grouse-less day after all.

Then, Braden said, “Stop! Back up a few feet.”

I obeyed. “There, next to that stump,” he told me. “That definitely looks like a grouse.”

Sure enough, it was a gorgeous female emanating a distinctly Spruce Grouse aura. Just to make sure, I called up my Sibley app and compared it to a female Dusky Grouse. The two looked very different. Most diagnostic were this bird’s golden-brown patina and horizontal stripes across its breast and belly. Dusky females are grayer with more vertical barring in front.

We could have easily driven past this female Spruce Grouse as it imitated a tree stump, but Braden’s sharp eyes caught it as we rumbled by.

“We did it!” I affirmed. “We found a Spruce Grouse!” Neither of us could quite believe it. Even better, we spotted two babies popping their heads up and down right behind mom.

We continued up the road for another ten minutes, hoping to glimpse a male, but didn’t see one, so turned around and began bumping back toward the main road. We were not finished with this promising area, though. At another burn area, I pulled over. “Let’s just walk up the slope a bit,” I suggested, grabbing my camera and binoculars. We did, scanning the forest of dead tree trunks for any sign of woodpeckers. Then, we heard drumming to our right and our eyes locked.

“Let’s go over there,” Braden said, and we began picking our way over fallen logs and slash, and through fresh, thriving young trees and shrubs. As we walked, the drumming sound was replaced by tapping, and we grew closer and closer until we felt sure it was coming from a tall tree right in front of us.

“Do you see it?” I asked peering hard at the trunk against a backlit sky. Braden shook his head, so I circled around the tree, trying to spot it from different angles. Finally, I saw movement down low behind a green branch of a living tree. “I got it,” I called to Braden.

It took some time to get a clear look at it, and the first thing I saw was a lot of white showing on its back. This led the pessimistic side of me to conclude it was a Hairy Woodpecker. After all, no yellow showed on its head—the clear sign of a male Three-toed or Black-backed. As Braden also got his eyes on it, though, we began going through its other features. Most prominent? Black barring on its breast.

“Do Hairys have those black markings?” I asked, quickly consulting Sibley. “They don’t!”

This female American Three-toed Woodpecker provided an ideal “study bird” for teasing out the finer details of this species. We were thrilled to find it!

“It’s a Three-toed!” Braden agreed.

Wow. On this one day we had set aside to bird at elevation, we had found almost all of the birds we longed for, missing only a Black-backed Woodpecker.

We weren’t as successful with shorebirds, but that didn’t surprise us. Making our way over to Warm Springs, we found a nice group of Long-billed Dowitchers, and Greater and Lesser Yellowlegs, but not the Baird’s or Pectoral Sandpipers or small “peeps” (Least, Semipalmated, or Western Sandpipers) we were hoping for. Still, we did discover a surprise Black-crowned Night-Heron at the main Warm Springs ponds—something totally off our radar. In fact, I had started the day hoping for maybe one or two Year Birds, and ended up with six! Our success was only dampened by the knowledge that it might be our last big day of birding together this summer. Still, that is the yin and yang of birding—and of life. You just gotta enjoy it all.

Our grouse eBird checklist: https://ebird.org/checklist/S190227269