Tag Archives: fall migration

Montana Shorebird Surprise

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We’re sharing our most recent birding adventure in reverse order. The day before chasing the wily White-Tailed Ptarmigan, Braden and I had an incredible outing at Benton Lake National Wildlife Refuge (see also The Best Prairie Day Ever). Normally a go-to place for grassland birds and waterfowl, Benton didn’t seem likely for the birds we most wanted to see—shorebirds. Were we in for a surprise! Here’s Braden’s report.

Visiting the Pacific Ocean this summer and having several great days of birding there did nothing but increase my drive to find shorebirds. Between Monterey, the Bay Area and Point Reyes, I had seen species like Red Knot (my lifer), Black and Ruddy Turnstones, Red and Red-necked Phalaropes, Short-billed Dowitchers and more. Now, I was ready to see these and other species during my short stay in Montana before heading back to college in Maine. However, seeing shorebirds along the ocean, where there were miles and miles of great habitat for thousands of birds to choose from, was one thing. In Montana, shorebirds were often hard to find, even during their peak migration in August and September. Two autumns ago, my dad and I had birded hard, visiting the Ninepipe Valley half a dozen times as well as Helena and Three Forks in a quest to find shorebirds. While we had found most of our target species eventually (including finding Baird’s and Pectoral Sandpipers a handful of times and Western Sandpiper once), we found very low numbers across the whole season and missed our main target species, American Golden-Plover. This was fairly normal for Western Montana.

This year, on our way to Glacier National Park for an entirely different bird (see In Search of the Wily White-tailed Ptarmigan), my dad and I decided to seek shorebirds at refuges along the Rocky Mountain Front. I’d seen several reports of large numbers of Stilt Sandpipers at Freezeout Lake in past Augusts, and so we thought maybe we could find some of them there. And so, two days after I arrived home from California, we woke up at four in the morning and headed for Great Falls.

Unfortunately, we didn’t find that much at Freezeout. A few yellowlegs and Solitary Sandpipers picked the mud along the shoreline of the ponds, and we ran into a small flock of Baird’s Sandpipers right at the end of the driving loop. Overall, the refuge—famous for its spring Snow Geese—had been disappointing. However, that didn’t really matter given that we had gone to Benton Lake National Wildlife Refuge first. 

As soon as we arrived at Benton Lake, flocks of Baird’s and (probably Greater) yellowlegs greeted us.

Benton Lake normally did not seem to have good shorebird habitat. Every May, when we would come here to get our Upland Sandpipers and Chestnut-collared Longspurs for the year, we would drive by cattail marshes and open grasslands—not mudflats. The drought in the West this year had been changing everything, though. Bowdoin, one of the best refuges in Montana, had such low water levels that ducks were hard to come by. At Ninepipe National Wildlife Refuge, the ponds on Duck Road had disappeared by May. The upside? Some lakes that previously had been terrible for shorebirds suddenly had extensive mudflats filled with millions of tasty invertebrates for these arctic migrants to feed on. Which is what happened at Benton Lake.

With high numbers and some close approaches, Baird’s Sandpipers proved to be the highlight of our Benton Lake shorebird extravaganza. Baird’s are larger than peeps (though some people group them together), and are identified by their black legs, robust breast markings, medium bill, and wings that extend out over the tail.

In fact, as soon as we arrived at the first pond, a large flock of small shorebirds lifted off from some distant mud, speeding over another flock feeding in the shrinking lake. My dad set up the spotting scope and we quickly determined that both of these flocks were primarily composed of one of Montana’s most common fall shorebirds, Baird’s Sandpipers. As we scanned these favorite sandpipers, we marveled at how much individual variation there was within each group. Though every bird was of the same species, each differed slightly in color, size, shape or bill length, allowing us to learn about what features confirmed a bird as a Baird’s. Soon, I noticed several more Baird’s on the shoreline next to us less than ten feet away, allowing us to get even better views and great photos. However, Baird’s were not the only species out on the mudflats. During my scan of one of the more distant flocks, I spotted a taller sandpiper, with a longer, more curved bill and thick supercilium.

“Stilt Sandpiper!” I yelled, and my dad was able to glimpse the species before the whole flock took off again. That same flock held a few peeps that I struggled to identify, debating whether the bills were long enough for Westerns or if the colors were right for Least or Semipalmated. Despite having some practice with peeps, they always manage to confuse me.

We moved on to the next pond, where more shorebirds waited. More Baird’s flew circles around us, and we spotted a huge group of dowitchers lifting off in the distance, complete with both species of yellowlegs. Solitary Sandpipers foraged on the shore, alongside Killdeer and a few Leasts. Near the end of the final lake, I spotted two Pectoral Sandpipers, another one of our targets, picking invertebrates off the rocks right next to the car alongside our only Wilson’s Snipe of the day! We’d never had better looks or photos of any of these species, and never in these high numbers! At least the drought was creating some good.

Right along the road, we got our best looks ever at several species including this cooperative Pectoral Sandpiper, distinguished from Baird’s by its yellow legs, larger size, and more extensive and abrupt cutoff of markings on its breast.

Our most astounding discovery happened as we were picking through another flock of Baird’s Sandpipers, searching for something unusual. As I looked up, I spotted three striking black and white birds flying towards us, and my heart rate jumped. They landed a short distance away, and I stared at them through my binoculars: three Black-bellied Plovers, still completely in breeding plumage! While we’d seen these birds in Montana in previous years, we’d never had such an experience with their breeding colors! They hadn’t been on my radar at all, either, though perhaps they should have been.

Black-bellied Plovers weren’t even on our radar, so imagine our delight seeing three fly in—and in full breeding plumage! (Note the Baird’s Sandpipers next to them.)

My dad and I had finally done it. This was the shorebird experience we’d been hoping to have in Montana for years, and Benton Lake, not any other famous shorebird hotspot, had been the place to provide it for us. The next day we’d leave the prairie behind and head for the mountains of Glacier, though hopefully our year of shorebirds wasn’t quite through!

As usual, peeps were hard to pick out, but we did get a great experience with a Least Sandpiper near the end of the driving loop.

A Montana Nemesis Bird in Maine (Braden’s 2nd Report from Maine)

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One thing that surprised me about the birds in Maine is that while many of the state’s breeding birds are different from Montana’s (obviously—did you read the warbler post?), many of Maine’s year-round and winter birds are the same since Bangor, Maine and Missoula, Montana are at very similar latitudes. This means that I can chase birds like Northern Shrike and Snow Bunting in both states, and I will be doing so given that I’ll be spending a portion of my winters in both states over the next four years! Many of the nemeses I had in Montana also carry over, including one that I just happened into while checking my eBird alerts last week.

If you read my dad’s and my blogs last fall, you know that we worked our butts off to get shorebirds in western Montana. While we did find quite a few, our lists still contained a massive hole by the end of shorebird season: American Golden-Plover. We went to the place that they were most frequently-reported in the state (Pablo National Wildlife Refuge) at least four times, just missing the birds by a few days each time. Ironically, I already had seen the other two species of golden-plovers: Pacific (which I got in Hawaii) and European (which I got in Iceland), despite living within the range of American. So when an American showed up on a mudflat less than an hour from the University of Maine, I began talking to everyone I knew that had a car. I convinced Hayden and Nick, two sophomores and fellow nature-lovers I’d gotten to know during the past few months, to make the trip to Sebasticook Lake with me, and that Saturday we got up early and headed west.

Okay, this isn’t an American Black Duck—but maybe it should be! Have you ever seen a Mallard with such a black head? We’re thinking some kind of hybrid, but feel free to weigh in!

Once we arrived at the lake we started pulling off at every possible point to scan the water and shoreline for shorebirds, waterfowl or anything else that happened to show up. After all, my Maine list is still fairly short, so many common species would still be new for me within the state. In one bay we found a pretty large flock of ducks including some Northern Shovelers that should’ve been much further south and seven American Black Ducks, which were lifers for me!

A few stops later, we found ourselves staring at a massive field of half-frozen mud. The plover had been reported here, along with several dozen Snow Buntings, which I would never pass up the chance to see. Lacking a spotting scope, the three of us just began walking across the mudflat towards the south end. While I scanned the area for shorebirds, Hayden and Nick marvelled over the freshwater mussels and snails that had been exposed by the lake’s receding water. The two boys were Marine Science majors, and in the absence of birds, they taught me a whole lot about freshwater and marine ecosystems. After getting to the other side of the mudflat without seeing anything other than the usual suspects (Ring-billed Gull, Great Blue Heron, Bald Eagle, Double-crested Cormorant), we turned around and began the trudge back to the car. However, upon turning around both me and Nick spotted a small bird lift off on the opposite shore from us. After finding it in my binoculars I concluded that it was definitely a shorebird, but much too far away to distinguish anything else. We saw where it landed though, and began walking, slightly more quickly than before, in that direction.

I had to chase American Golden-Plovers from one end of the country to the other, but finally found one!

About fifteen minutes later we got there. All three of us began scanning the mudflats, but finding the bird seemed a bit hopeless. For one, it was a small brown bird hiding amongst a large brown background. And secondly, it easily could have flown away during our trek to where I’d last seen it land. In a last attempt, I played some American Golden-Plover calls on my phone. Suddenly, me and Hayden spotted movement about twenty yards in front of me. I raised my binoculars and there it was: my number one nemesis bird for the last year! The bird was sporting a nice golden-brown nonbreeding plumage and foraging around a log embedded in lake muck, and gave me the impression of a very dainty Black-bellied Plover, which is, taxonomically, basically what it is! I stood in place for at least twenty minutes, firing off photos and admiring the bird that we’d somehow just found. At one point I turned around to see that two more birders had set up their scope behind us and were watching it! It also took at least ten minutes to discover it, but at some point a Pectoral Sandpiper (another late migrant) had joined the plover and was foraging alongside it, although I didn’t pay this second bird very much attention. Eventually I could detect Hayden and Nick getting bored, so I said goodbye to the plover, briefly introduced myself to the other birders (who turned out to be graduate students at the University of Maine!), then we headed out. After a few more spots to try for Snow Buntings, which we did not find, we headed back to campus.

Hey, where did that Pectoral Sandpiper come from? It was a nice bonus to discover it next to the the AMGP!

A few days later, me and Hayden found ourselves in a car with those two grad students we’d met at the American Golden-Plover stakeout! I’d gotten in contact with Liam Berigan after hearing that he and Meredith Lewis were going down to Rockland, Maine to chase the Barnacle Goose (either a Code 3 or 4 for the ABA) that had shown up at an elementary school the week before. We decided to carpool, and were now spending our Veteran’s Day driving down the coastal Highway One for the goose. Once in Rockland, we rolled up to the school and immediately spotted the rarity—one that at least fifty people had chased throughout the week—feeding in a field with a few dozen Canada Geese. The goose was smaller than the Canadas, with a much cooler color template and a tiny black visor. Despite the fact that I’d seen the species before in Svalbard and Iceland, I still ogled at it alongside Hayden, Meredith and Liam, for all of whom it was a lifer. It was one of the easiest chases I’d ever participated in.

Now that’s one good-lookin’ goose—and an ABA rarity to boot! Let’s honk for Barnacle Geese!

We hit a coffee shop in Rockland to celebrate, then headed to the coast, which was about a hundred yards away, to look for sea ducks. We found a pair of Surf Scoters and several Black Guillemots in the harbor, then scoped a raft of Common Eider and not one, not two but seven Common Loons from the Owl’s Head Lighthouse. On the way back to campus, we stopped at a lake to try and get Ruddy Duck for Meredith and Liam’s year lists. We missed the ducks but saw a large number of coots, which was unusual so far north in Maine, plus two Bonaparte’s Gulls and a Mallard with a deformed head!

Riding on last week’s high, I decided to hit the Cornfield Loop this morning. After the warblers had left the state, the hotspot’s numbers had fallen dramatically, so I hadn’t been in several weeks. However, this morning started off with a lone Bohemian Waxwing perched atop a tree in the Littlefield Garden, one of the first seen in the state this fall! In the marsh I had a late flyover American Pipit, another state bird for me, and the walk concluded with a cloud of Snow Buntings lifting off the western side of the field, making their bubbly calls as they flew over my dorm and out of sight! Despite the fact that Snow Buntings are more common in Maine than in Montana, they lifted my spirits and continue to enforce that fact that birding doesn’t slow down in winter. I’m excited to see what’s next!

HawkWatch Spectacular!

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My recent trip to Texas offered so many rich avian experiences, I am hard-pressed to blog about them all, but one I simply must add is my first—and entirely accidental—visit to a HawkWatch site. It all began when my friend Jeanette Larson, author of the wonderful book Hummingbirds: Facts and Folklore from the Americas, suggested I bird a place I’d never heard of: Hazel Bazemore park just west of Corpus Christi. Waking up the morning after my last HummerBird Celebration event, I threw my stuff in the rental car and headed through Corpus Christi, experiencing a delay of half an hour when I encountered a shorebird-rich target area at a place called Indian Point!

Arriving at Hazel Bazemore, an unassuming park in the suburbs, I spied two people with binoculars and spotting scopes and stopped to ask them where the best places to bird might be. They suggested a couple of spots and let slip that they were there to observe migrating raptors at a platform just across from where we stood. “You can come over and hang out,” they offered, but since they weren’t set up yet, I decided to explore the rest of the park. I’m glad I did as I saw several each Couch’s Kingbirds, Baltimore Orioles, and Scissor-tailed Flycatchers, one of Braden’s and my favorite birds. Little did they prepare me for the main event!

Braden and I have no doubt that the Scissor-tailed Flycatcher should be the Texas State Bird, but instead, their neighbor Oklahoma stole the prize designation!

Looping back to the HawkWatch platform, I watched fascinated as the official observers picked out migrating birds from incredible distances including individual Mississippi Kites, Northern Harriers, Swainson’s Hawks, and more. Just between you and me, I have no idea how they could ID most of them, but assume that thousands of hours staring into the sky had ingrained a mastery of subtle visual and behavioral clues that betrayed each species. A few, such as a Crested Caracara, did fly close enough for me to confirm, but for most, I just had to take their word for it.

Considering I’d just seen my Lifer Broad-winged Hawk two days before, this kettle of hundreds of Broad-wingeds pretty much gob-smacked me. Can you find the token Turkey Vulture?

Suddenly, one of the observers shouted, “Big group of Broad-winged Hawks!” I, and several other visitors followed the direction of their scopes and, at first, I saw only clouds and blue sky. Then, I saw them—hundreds of black specks moving toward us! The hawks, accompanied by Turkey Vulture escorts, streamed directly overhead at a height of perhaps three or four thousand feet (I forgot to ask), making me forget everything except this magnificent show above me. They weren’t the last group either, as ten minutes later, another large group streamed by on the invisible river of air overhead. The second group did one better and also began circling, or “kettling”, above us, forming about as magnificent a spectacle as one can imagine. In between the two groups, a formation of about fifty Anhingas migrated by—something I didn’t even know they did, while off in the distance, more than one hundred White Pelicans also circled.

Before this trip, I didn’t even realize that Anhingas migrated. To see a large group fly overhead was nothing short of astonishing!

As if that weren’t enough, I also picked up my Lifer Bronzed Cowbird and ABA Lifer Buff-bellied Hummingbird at feeders next to the platform, both thanks to the keen eyes of a fellow birder who had come to join the bird spectacular. This was all enough to make me more interested in HawkWatch International activities. The organization runs or oversees dozens of sites throughout the world for scientific research purposes, including some sites in my home state of Montana, but I have never been to any. Going forward, this is something I need to change!

Going Cuckoo for Fall Warblers in Texas

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In a remarkably fun coincidence, as Braden was immersing himself in Life Birds migrating through Maine, I happened to be observing migrating songbirds in Texas following my recent trip to the HummerBird Celebration in Fulton-Rockport. For the trip, I had a number of goals, including shorebirds and raptors, but seeing migrating warblers perched at the top of my list.

Departing Rockport after HummerBird, I immediately headed to what has become a second home for us while in Texas: Winnie. Winnie is not a lot to write home about, a small town dominated by fast food joints, gas stations, hotels, and donut shops. So why go? Simple. It is surrounded by incredible birding including High Island, the Bolivar Peninsula, Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge, and my first destination upon waking the next morning: Sabine Woods.

Because it takes more effort to reach, Sabine Woods is less visited than High Island, but it can offer up a delicious smorgasbord of birding during migration seasons.

Birders usually flock to coastal Texas in April or May during the height of spring migration. This being fall, my expectations were tempered as I drove east to the vast petrochemical complex of Port Arthur and then south toward Sabine Woods, a tiny preserve owned by the Texas Ornithological Society. Only one other car was parked outside of the entrance and I soon met its owners, a nice birder couple from Austin. They, too, had just started birding, and while we chatted, we saw both Blue-gray Gnatcatchers and a Black-and-White Warbler, boosting my hopes for a productive morning.

Less shy than most warblers, Blue-gray Gnatcatchers delight Braden and me wherever we find them!

Setting off on my own, the woods seemed quiet except for some Blue Jays calling and the scuffling of hundreds of toads hopping through the dead leaves. After about a hundred yards, however, I suddenly saw a flash of yellow land on a branch and raised my binoculars. Prothonotary Warbler! I smiled because this was the first eastern warbler Braden and I ever saw together during our Big Year back in 2016. As I continued to walk, however, the birds were few and far between. I ended up at a marshier area in the back of the preserve and through some hard birding managed to find a Common Yellowthroat and, with the help of Merlin’s Sound ID, an Acadian Flycatcher. It wasn’t until I ran into Howard Davis, a volunteer from Golden Triangle Audubon, that my luck really began to change. He showed me one of the three drips on the property and, sure enough, I discovered a trio of warblers there: Black-and-White, Wilson’s, and Northern Parula. Still, these were all birds I had seen several times before, and I wanted something new. Something unusual!

Drips—artificial water sources for birds—are a photographer’s friend, especially when it comes to photographing tiny, fast-moving warblers such as this Black-and-White.

At another drip, Howard and a second birder pointed out the first great score of the day: my Lifer Painted Buntings! Sure, they happened to be females and/or juveniles, so I didn’t get to see the glorious breeding plumage of a male, but I was elated even as I headed off alone again, doubtful I’d see anything more. Then, near where I’d seen the Common Yellowthroat, I spotted another flash of yellow. I got my binoculars up just in time to focus on my first ever Canada Warbler—the thin necklace around the throat a giveaway for the ID! Walking farther, my luck continued as I got a great look at my first Hooded Warbler since 2016.

By this time I’d been birding hard for three-and-a-half hours, so I sat under a tree near the entrance to review my final eBird list and enjoy the Blue-gray Gnatcatchers that frequented the clearing. As I sat there, though, I spotted something large and gray in a nearby tree. At first I thought it might be a jay or dove. As I stared at its partially-concealed form, however, my previous study paid off and a bolt of recognition split my skull: Yellow-billed Cuckoo! It was a great way to wrap up an inspiring session. Braden and I had unsuccessfully searched for cuckoos many times in Montana and Texas without success. Suddenly, to have one appear right in front of me, well, I felt I had earned it!

Sneed’s Sabine Woods List

My Lifer Yellow-billed Cuckoo was totally absent from my radar—and put a delightful exclamation mark on a productive morning of Fall birding.

Note: Only days before my visit, a group of birders had counted twenty species of warblers in Sabine Woods. Such sightings and our own experiences are really changing Braden’s and my opinions of fall birding. While we used to pretty much write off the fall, it has now become one of our favorite birding seasons, whether in Maine, Texas, or Montana.

A Tornado of Warblers (Braden’s first report from Maine)

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My dad and I were hungry. Not for food; we’d already eaten at a fabulous breakfast place in Bar Harbor following the cancellation of our whale-watching trip (which we weren’t all that disappointed by). No, my dad and I wanted warblers.

Earlier that week we’d gotten a taste of the eastern warblers we’d heard so much about, nabbing Common Yellowthroat, Yellow, and a nice Black-and-White Warbler in Massachusetts. The day before today we’d gone to Taylor Bait Farm, a well-known hotspot in Orono, Maine, where the University of Maine (my new home for the next few years) was located. The farm was fairly productive, nabbing us a few cool county birds like Solitary Sandpiper and some Great Egrets. The best part about Taylor Bait Farm, however, was the warblers—specifically, a bright, nonbreeding male Chestnut-sided Warbler that posed for us below eye level for thirty seconds before diving back into the bushes! It was a first lifer warbler in several years, and probably the best-looking one in terms of nonbreeding plumage. During our whole outing at Taylor Bait Farm, we saw a few more Chestnut-sided Warblers and Northern Parulas, and got a really poor look at a Palm Warbler, another lifer, in a tree above us.

Chestnut-sided Warbler proved our Bird of the Day when my dad and I visited the Taylor Bait Farm in Orono.

But it wasn’t enough. Furthermore, we had ended up at Acadia National Park, which was known for its beautiful views and seabirds, not its warblers. My dad and I started driving around the main park loop, stopping at parking lots to try to pick up some of the eastern seabirds that we needed. After a few stops with nothing but eiders and Great Black-backed Gulls, we finally got our dose of Atlantic birds with a few Black Guillemots floating offshore and a distant Northern Gannet flying through the sea fog, both lifers for my dad. Unfortunately, it looked like that very fog was going to limit our chances of seeing things like shearwaters and storm-petrels from shore.

At the third parking lot, as we piled out to scope the beach, I happened to look up at a tree just beginning to turn yellow and I spotted a small yellow bird foraging in it. I brought my binoculars to my eyes and yelled, “Daddy! There’s a Blackburnian Warbler above you!” As he looked up, I started to see that the Blackburnian Warbler, a species we hadn’t seen since 2016, was not the only bird above us. There were passerines flying between and feeding in trees all around us.

We started calling out names as we followed the mixed flock. 

“Red-eyed Vireo! Black-and-White Warbler! American Redstart!”

One of our favorite songbirds, Black-and-White Warblers have become almost commonplace for me since moving East.

As the flock moved into a group of conifers I glimpsed one of our target species for the trip feeding on the left side of a spruce. “Magnolia Warbler, get your eyes on it!”

We left the parking lot (and the people wondering what we were gawking at) and walked into the woods, continuing to see if we could pull more warblers out of the already insane mixed flock. I spotted several “Baypoll” warblers at one point, a group that includes Blackpoll and Bay-breasted Warblers that look notoriously similar in fall. Finally, I watched one long enough to see a hint of a bay-colored side, identifying it as a Bay-breasted. The mixed flock, in total, had 14 species including 8 species of warblers—more than we’d ever seen in any flock in Montana!

https://ebird.org/checklist/S93635091

Unfortunately my dad had to fly home a few days later, but the warblers weren’t done with me yet. September, the best birding month in much of the east, had just begun, and the University of Maine campus happened to be located next to some perfect habitat for warblers during fall migration. I began birding a trail near my dorm, called the Cornfield Loop, several times a week to search for my other eastern target species: Canada Warbler, Cape May Warbler and Philadelphia Vireo.

The hits came fast. After about a week of scoping the area out, I started seeing large mixed flocks of migrating warblers coming through and in one spot had both of my first two targets within a few trees of one another! My reaction for both of them was the same: I can’t believe this bird actually exists! Warblers became the norm, and I got used to listening for chickadees in order to tell me if there might be something else nearby. Red-eyed and Blue-headed Vireos, Northern Parulas, American Redstarts and Common Yellowthroats popped out of every piece of plant life available, and one marsh yielded huge flocks of sparrows every time I walked through it. Seeing familiar warblers was also a treat: I found both Nashville and Wilson’s during my walks, the latter of which isn’t the easiest to find in the east. Here is one of my lists:

https://ebird.org/checklist/S94686023

It is odd seeing warblers, such as this Wilson’s Warbler that my dad and I see fairly frequently in Montana, back here in Maine—especially since they are more difficult to see here.

It wasn’t just the Cornfield Loop that had warblers; campus was covered in them. Several mornings I left my dorm for breakfast to be greeted by Black-throated Green Warblers foraging in my face. One night as I walked back from a movie with friends, I began to wonder what all of the high-pitched chips I was hearing were. Could they be sleeping chickadees? No, that doesn’t sound right…and then it hit me. The east was known for its nocturnal migration, and the University of Maine sat right in the middle of the Atlantic Flyway. This meant that the chips I was hearing were the nocturnal flight calls of hundreds, maybe thousands of birds passing over in the dark on their way south to Texas, Florida and beyond! I stared up at the stars, hoping to catch a glimpse of a silhouette as one of these migrating champions flew over.

I got my Philadelphia Vireo by mid-September, pointed out to me by a non-birder friend. 

“Hey,” he asked, “What kind of warbler’s that?”

Before I even had my binoculars up I could see the yellow breast, dark eyeline and cute demeanor of a species I’d been dreaming about finding in Montana ever since my friend Nick first alerted me to it. “Philadelphia Vireo, nice find!”

Philadelphia Vireo has definitely been one of my favorite new eastern birds, and I’ve seen them multiple times right on the Cornfield Loop right across from my dorm!

On one walk about a week ago, I was running through the options in my head as to what warblers I still needed for Maine. I had not yet found a Tennessee or Blackpoll Warbler, which was kind of funny considering those were two species my dad and I have found the last few springs in eastern Montana. I was also somehow missing Black-throated Blue, a supposedly common bird that I still needed for my life list.

Suddenly, I spotted a skulky, heavyset passerine fly into a bush near me, making heavy calls. It was acting a lot like a Common Yellowthroat, by far the most common warbler on campus, but I continued to watch it just in case it was one of the rarer species. Sure enough, it briefly popped into view before flying over the trail and out of sight. It flashed me a very dark chest spot contrasting with a complete gray hood as it flew, what I would have called a MacGillivray’s out west. That meant that I’d just scored a Mourning Warbler—MacGillivray’s eastern counterpart and a supposedly much more difficult bird to find. No way!! While Mourning had been on my radar, I hadn’t expected to get it or any of the rarer warblers given that I’d just gotten to Maine less than a month before and was still very content with the common birds.

Though not as flashy as many other species, Palm Warbler surprised me and my dad, and was a welcome addition to our Life Lists.

This past week I’ve gotten both Blackpoll and Tennessee Warbler on the Cornfield Loop, bringing the total number of warbler species of seen in Maine to 20, all of which I’d seen in a month compared to the sixteen species of warblers I’d seen in Montana across seven years of birding. I still don’t have Black-throated Blue (though it is definitely still possible), but unfortunately warbler migration is beginning to die down here. Just yesterday eBird marked my report of American Redstart as rare, meaning that a few species are beginning to leave for good. The warblers are now moving through much of the southern United States, including Texas, which you may get to hear about soon from my dad!