Tag Archives: Glacier National Park

Birding Glacier National Park in “The Hot, Dry Winter” of 2024

Our thoughts go to all of the Californians getting hammered by unprecedented rains right now, and we hope that you are all staying safe—and preferably indoors. While the Southwest is getting one historic climate event, Montana has been getting another: record heat and dryness. Both of these add a heightened sense of urgency to tackling climate change by reducing greenhouse emissions and promoting renewable energy. And, of course, these events are certainly impacting birds. Last week, I had a chance to explore one of our nation’s most pristine areas to see what the birds are doing.

Even before I moved to Montana in 1996, I had visions of visiting the Many Glacier Valley in the depths of winter. In college, I had spent the best summer of my life working as a cook at Swiftcurrent Motor Lodge, and had returned to the valley many times since then—but never in our darkest, coldest season. What would this wonderland be like covered in snow and ice? Last week, almost fifty years after working there, I got a chance to find out. The only thing missing? Winter itself.

I had been invited to spend four days visiting with pre-K through grade 1 students in Browning, Montana, a trip I looked forward to for many reasons, including the chance to learn more about Blackfeet culture and explore the area. As a bonus, I would be working mainly in the afternoons, freeing up the mornings for birding and other activities. As the librarian and I put together the trip, however, I never imagined that I would be visiting during an unprecedentedly warm winter in which temperatures were breaking records daily and the landscape stood almost devoid of snow.

On the drive to Browning, I stopped at the Freezeout Lake wetlands complex near Great Falls and counted several thousand Canada Geese and Mallards. To my surprise, the geese were flagged as rare on eBird for this time of year. Why? Because the lakes are almost always frozen in January and February, but this year large areas of open water shimmered, inviting both geese and ducks.

**The disturbing presence of open water at Freezeout Lake is attracting its share of Canada Geese and Mallards this “non-winter.”**

Reaching the outskirts of Browning, I turned right for a side trip to Cut Bank. In a normal winter, this entire area would be covered in snow, providing a chance to find Snowy Owls, Snow Buntings, and other typical winter birds. Not today. Driving mud and gravel back roads, I was lucky to find a solitary Rough-legged Hawk on a telephone pole. I did flush one group of 15 smaller birds that I assume were Horned Larks, but nothing else of note. In fact, the main birds I was seeing were the stalwart ravens, magpies, House Sparrows, starlings, and pigeons.

When Thursday rolled around, my birding hopes rose as I got up early and drove toward Babb, the entrance to the Many Glacier Valley on the east side of Glacier National Park. I had no idea how much of the road was open, but made it to the park boundary at Lake (reservoir) Sherburne dam. There, I parked and donned my camera and binoculars.

**The Lake Sherburne Reservoir at the Glacier National Park boundary, where I began my jaunt into the Many Glacier Valley.**

I couldn’t have asked for a more astonishing day. By 9:00 a.m., temps had reached into the mid-30s and were rising rapidly. Despite an extremely dry winter, a thin layer of snow covered the spectacular peaks of the continental divide and full sunlight created an unparalleled, dazzling landscape. As an extra “cherry,” a waning gibbous moon slowly sank toward 9,300-foot Mount Allen. I paused to take a deep breath and appreciate that I was probably the only person on earth observing this incredible scene. Then, I set out.

A raven greeted me as I stepped into the park, but I wondered if I would see any other animals. Would a grizzly bear be taking a mid-winter stroll on a day this warm? I didn’t know, but spotted no other critter as I walked half a mile along the reservoir. I didn’t have a great deal of time, so I turned around after 20 minutes, and as the day continued to warm, a few birds made an appearance. I heard Black-capped Chickadees and a woodpecker drumming in the distance. Then, a grouse burst out of some stunted aspen trees to my left. I desperately watched it flying away, looking for any ID clues, but alas, I just don’t know grouse well enough to be sure. The bird was gray, however, and the habitat was wrong for Ruffed and Spruce Grouse, rendering a 95% probability of Dusky Grouse, but since I wasn’t sure, I didn’t record it on eBird.

Despite the incredible scenery, I was feeling a bit thwarted bird-wise, and calculated that I had time for another hour of exploration, so I drove back out to Babb, turned left, and then left again on the road leading to the Canadian border and Waterton Lakes National Park. My mission? To find Boreal Chickadees! In fact, I was driving the very road where Braden and I had discovered our lifer BOCHs three years before (see post “Are you ready for . . . the QUACH?”). That had been during early covid days when hardly a soul traveled the road. Would I be able to find any birds today?

My first chickadee sighting along the road proved to be a mixed flock of Black-capped and Mountain Chickadees feeding on knapweed seed pods—perhaps for insect larvae. Cool, but not the object of my quest.

The road wound its way up through scenic pastures and aspen groves, climbing steadily until it reached conifers—all under the magnificent gaze of Chief Mountain. As before, I passed not a car along the way. I pulled over twice and played the calls of Boreal Chickadees, but no bird responded. Then, I actually saw a flock of chickadees up ahead and eagerly braked to a halt.

Not BOCHs. Instead, a mixed flock of Mountain and Black-capped Chickadees, with a Red-breasted Nuthatch joining them.

**One of Glacier’s most iconic mountains, Chief Mountain stands watch over the northeastern part of the park, including the road up to Waterton Lakes National Park.**

Undeterred, I continued, and soon stopped for another flock of Black-cappeds. I wondered how much exploring I had time for, but passed a Border Patrol truck and soon was forced to stop at the closed boundary of Glacier National Park. Turning around, I again parked to play a BOCH call with no luck. The Border Patrol truck approached and the agent rolled down his window for a chat. I told him what I was looking for and asked him if he saw many birds along this stretch. “Some Stellar’s Jays,” he answered, “but not a lot else.”

**I thought the road to Canada’s Waterton Lakes National Park might be open, but alas, no. Fortunately, the chickadees were on my side of the boundary!**

I wished him a good day and continued driving back toward Babb. Before the road began descending again, a large pull-out opened up on the left and I stopped one last time. Not expecting much, I played a BOCH song and made some pishing noises. Within moments, six chickadees surrounded me! Boreal Chickadees!

**With their curiosity and handsome features, Boreal Chickadees may just seize the title for Most Delightful Chickadees.**

The chickadees were much more curious about me than their congeners (animals in the same scientific genus, i.e. the Black-capped and Mountain Chickadees). The Boreal Chickadees flew back and forth above me and called from nearby branches. I even nabbed some decent photos. I spent ten or fifteen minutes with them, barely believing I was having such a great experience with these elusive, high-altitude and high-latitude songbirds. It once again renewed my appreciation for living and birding in Montana, since this region is one of the few places this species dips into the United States from its main distribution in Canada.

**This Boreal Chickadee might have been auditioning for the Chickadee Choir with how much it called to me.**

Feeling satisfied and grateful for such a marvellous morning, I headed back to Browning, spotting only a few ravens and Rough-legged Hawks along the way. No matter. The BOCHs and breathtaking views of the Many Glacier Valley had made this a day I would never forget. Now if we can only get some snow.

Fall Birding in Glacier National Park

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Last week, after speaking at the monthly meeting of Flathead Audubon (see post “Birding with the President”), I spent the night with my gracious hosts, Darcy and Rob Thomas, and rose at 5 a.m. for a birding excursion to Glacier National Park. Powered by an egg and sausage burrito from City Brew, I made it to the park by 7:00 and rumbled and bumped my way up Inner North Fork Road. Braden, Nick Ramsey, and I had been here only five weeks before on a quest to find me a Lifer Spruce Grouse, and guess what? I was still on that quest! Today, though, I decided to try a different route, the Camas Creek Trail that leads east toward the heart of the park. I arrived to find the little parking area totally empty and, after strapping on my fanny pack, and slinging my camera and binoculars over my shoulders, set out under a dawn sky.

**Sunrise at Camas Meadow. Need I say more?**

Entering a patch of woods, I walked quietly and raised my senses to full alert. I didn’t want to scare away a Spruce Grouse along the trail, but I also wanted to spot a grizzly bear before it spotted me! Of course, park officials recommend hiking noisily to alert bears to your presence, but for birders this obviously is a counterproductive strategy. Bear spray would probably have been a good idea, but as usual I forgot to bring any. Within a quarter mile of the trailhead, however, I got a good scare.

I was rounding a bend with some trees on the right when suddenly a large shape launched from a branch and spread enormous gray wings. Owl! my brain shouted as my heart hammered, but which kind? The park contained only two large-owl possibilities: Great Gray and Great Horned. I hurried forward, trying to see where it was headed, but failed miserably. Without ever facing toward me, it disappeared through some trees, never to be seen again. My gut and the length of the owl’s wings tells me it was a Great Gray Owl but I will never know. Sigh.

After that startling start, my hike settled down. I reached Camas Meadow just as the sun began peeking over the Continental Divide and savored being absolutely alone in one of the world’s most beautiful places. I got here so early that the birds were off to a slow start. I saw a few flitting around, and Merlin’s Sound ID feature informed me that they were Pine Siskins and Yellow-rumped Warblers. It also told me that the chickadees I was hearing were Mountain Chickadees. Other than that, the action languished.

**Despite this rather poor image, one of the highlights of my Camas Meadow trail hike was the abundance of Yellow-rumped Warblers fattening up for migration.**

Fortunately, that held true on the grizzly bear front, too. I passed some scat, but it looked like black bear poop (smaller, full of berries, less messy), and was old to boot. In fact, I passed few fruiting plants relative to other places I’d recently visited in western Montana—a fact that might bode poorly for possible grouse sightings.

I hiked for about two, two-and-a-half miles, before pausing for a drink of water and, reluctantly, turning around. Fortunately, as I began retracing my route, rising temperatures seemed to lead to greater bird activity. Most impressive were the number of Yellow Warblers. I tallied at least 30, but am sure I undercounted. Their chips sprung from many locations, and I also spotted a couple of Ruby-crowned Kinglets (one boldly displaying its red crown), Dark-eyed Juncos, and Pine Siskins. An occasional Northern Flicker called sharply overhead.

I was surprised to spot this Red-naped Sapsucker in Glacier. I hadn’t realized they hung around Montana quite so long!

About halfway back to the car, I saw a small brown bird flitting about in a bush. Its furtive skulking behavior distinguished it from the other birds I’d been seeing, so I stopped and raised my binoculars, waiting for a clear look. It took a few moments, but it finally showed itself—a Lincoln’s Sparrow! One day, Braden and I will have to list our Top 10 Favorite Sparrows, but for me, Lincoln’s is Number One. Not only does it display a gorgeous, subtle color palette, it seems to have a more curious, delightful nature than other sparrows. When Braden and I began birding almost a decade ago, a Lincoln’s Sparrow was the first sparrow that really made a big impression on me. We devoted several outings to the chase before finally seeing one, so maybe its uncommonness also has something to do with my ranking.

**This delightful Lincoln’s Sparrow captured “Bird of the Hike” honors for my visit to Camas Meadow.**

After spending a few minutes with Mr. Lincoln’s, I continued hiking. A Red-naped Sapsucker surprised me. Then, I heard a series of eerie whooping noises that reminded me a bit of an Osprey. “What the heck?” I muttered. Then I saw it: a Canada Jay swooping in for a landing high in a nearby tree. A couple of other CAJAs also appeared. The jays, one of my favorite corvids, always delight with their antics and these provided a great way to wrap up my hike. Yes, I had once again missed a Spruce Grouse, but I’d gotten a good sense for what’s going on with the birds in Glacier this time of year. That was invaluable knowledge in my continuing education as a birder. It also happened to make a real contribution to science in the park.

**I had no idea what was making that eerie looping call—until I saw this Canada Jay fly to a nearby treetop.**

Returning home, I looked up how many eBird checklists have been posted for Camas Creek Trail in the fall. To my astonishment, mine was only the second ever checklist for September! (The other list, from later in the month, noted only three species.) A couple of lists have been posted later, but my own provides the only eBird data for this interesting time of year. Now I know this sounds like boasting, but I mention it to emphasize two important facts:

Even though birding has been around a long time, HUGE gaps remain in what we know about almost every bird species, its movements, and habits.
Your citizen science contributions matter. Sometimes it’s a pain or inconvenient to post what you see on eBird, but you just never know when you will be providing crucial information to a scientist or policy expert wanting to learn something new or make an important decision.

And really, could it get any better? Contributing to knowledge while being out having a great time? I don’t think so. Just keep an eye out for those grizzly bears.

In Search of the Wily White-Tailed Ptarmigan, 2022: with VIDEO!

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Happy Labor Day Weekend, Everyone! We hope you are not laboring too much and, instead, getting out for some birding. We’ve been “blog quiet” for a few weeks, and that’s no accident. I have been once again driving for Missoula Fire Cache once or twice a week (see Birding by 5-Ton Truck), Braden came home from California & then jetted back to school in Maine, and the birds? Well, they’ve been pretty quiet. During his time at home, though, Braden and I decided on a last-minute two-day intense trip of birding, first to look for shorebirds and then to find a bird I had wanted to see for years. Here is Part 2 of our adventure, Part 1 to come soon. Enjoy!

They were the first birds of the day—a pair of roosting Osprey silhouetted against the indigo dawn sky at the Saint Mary’s entrance to Glacier National Park. We had arrived on schedule after rising at 4:00 a.m. and driving from our Super 8 motel in Cut Bank—the only affordable lodging within a 100-mile radius of Glacier. We had had to get here early, too, as the park’s new visitor policy required a reservation for anyone arriving between 6 a.m. and 4 p.m. Chances are we would have risen early anyway since we faced a long hike and, for me, a lifelong ambition: to see a White-tailed Ptarmigan.

First birds of the day: Osprey at the St. Mary’s entrance. I’m pretty sure that Glacier NP pays these birds to sit here and keep visitors entertained while they endure the long lines into the park!

If this goal sounds familiar it’s because just a year ago, Braden had accompanied a storied group of other birders with the same mission and in the very same location (see Ptarmigan Party in Glacier National Park). Unfortunately, I had been forced to skip that outing because of work obligations—and now was my time to make amends. Entering the park with a handful of other early-rising vehicles, we quickly encountered our only charismatic megafauna of the day—a handsome black bear angling across the road. As the dim light gradually revealed the spectacular peaks around us, we drove for twenty more minutes until we reached the tiny parking area for the Piegan Pass trailhead. After getting ourselves sorted, we set out through forest, savoring our solitude, the crisp morning air, and more than anything, the enchanting smells of Glacier National Park.

Our hike would take us five miles and more than 2,000 feet up to Piegan Pass, a climb I’d always wanted to make but never had, despite spending an entire summer working as a cook in Glacier in 1979. In addition to our primary goal, we had several other targets, some more likely than others: Boreal Chickadees, Spruce Grouse, Black Swifts, Three-toed Woodpeckers, White-winged Crossbills, and any kind of rosy-finch. As we climbed one mile, then another, however, Braden remarked, “It’s quieter than it was last summer.” Still, I didn’t complain. It just felt wonderful to once again be doing a “real hike” with my son in one of my favorite places on the planet. And slowly, a few birds started showing themselves: Mountain Chickadees, Golden-crowned Kinglets, Chipping Sparrows, and to our delight, a pair of Boreal Chickadees (see Are You Ready for the QUACH?).

**A Boreal Chickadee from Braden’s “Ptarmigan Hike” in 2021.**

“Well, we got at least one target bird,” I said, and Braden nodded. As we climbed higher and higher, however, I felt anything but confident that the ptarmigan would be waiting for us. The thing about the White-tailed Ptarmigan, though, is that I was pretty sure I’d seen one before. In 1979, while hiking to Grinnell Glacier, I’d encountered a bird with a chick or two sitting right in the middle of the trail. At the time I felt certain it was a ptarmigan, but I hadn’t been a birder, and forty years on, I had reasoned, “Well, it could have been another kind of grouse.” Bottom line: I had never listed it and felt I still had to earn it for my Life List.

**Grizzly Bear? No. Grizzly, or rather, Hoary Marmot 7,000 feet up.**

After about four miles, we left the last of the trees and could see the trail cutting across more than a mile of rocky slope up to the pass. My body had started to feel the effort and elevation by now, but that last mile passed remarkably quickly—perhaps because we were trying to keep ahead of this older Belgian woman who threatened to put us to shame. Where do these vigorous geriatric European hikers come from anyway??? In any case, we finally reached the pass and before beginning our ptarmigan search, sat on some rocks to enjoy lunch while staring out at one of the world’s most superlative views down the far canyon to the Many Glacier Valley.

**While eating our lunch, we were treated to a glorious gibbous moon “setting” over the rugged cliffs above us.**

After we stowed our daypacks behind some rocks, Braden showed me where they had found the ptarmigan the year before. “They like to hang out right at the base of snow banks with some cover nearby,” he explained. Despite our ultra-hot summer, some snow persisted at the pass and we began making our way along the bottom of the longest, most promising field. After ten minutes, we had discovered a couple of burly marmots and an adorable pika, but no ptarmigan and I began thinking, I guess we’re not going to see them today. I felt disappointed, but kept my positive attitude, focusing on the near-perfect, glorious day and the unparalleled views of Jackson Glacier several miles away. And, of course, I kept looking.

**Even as my hopes for finding a ptarmigan faded, I felt more than consoled by spectacular views of Jackson Glacier several miles away.** **(Our parking area is visible below.)**

Braden had taken a higher route than I and disappeared around a bend. I walked more slowly, scouring every suspicious rock, and wondered if I’d even see a ptarmigan if my eyes happened to land on it. I scrambled down some rough scree to a lower level and started back toward the pass, hopping over rivulets of meltwater trickling over the rocks. I was standing at the edge of a little grotto when I heard a really strange noise coming down from the mountainside above. It was unlike anything I’d heard and I can’t even describe it here, but I wondered, “Could that possibly be a ptarmigan?” I didn’t think so, but hadn’t a clue what else it might be.

**While searching, I heard a bizarre noise from the rocky cliffs above me. “Could it be a ptarmigan?” I wondered.**

Just then, I saw Braden reappear above me and about fifty meters away. “Did you hear that noise?” I called.

“What?” he answered, too far away to hear me.

“Never mind,” I said—just as I happened to glance at the grotto behind me.

And for a split second, I wondered about the powers of wishful thinking. Why? Because not fifteen feet away, two birds walked slowly across the wet gravel. Two White-tailed Ptarmigans!

And they were real.

**How many ptarmigans are in this photo? I’ll forgive you if you at first see only one. I always do! It shows just how wonderfully adapted these birds are to their environment.**

I stared at them for a moment and then whirled to holler, “Braden!”

“Do you have something?” he called back.

I excitedly held up two fingers and pointed behind me. A minute later, we were standing together admiring some of the coolest birds in Montana. The birds—an adult and a juvenile—seemed totally unalarmed by our presence. They gave us the once-over occasionally, but as long as we stayed ten or fifteen feet away, they seemed to have no problem with us. They just walked slowly, picking at the ground for various plant material and invertebrates as we took dozens of photographs and gave each other several hugs. Soon, we spotted a second adult doing its own thing ten yards away. It was a dream fulfilled for me, and perhaps even for Braden since we got to see them together. As we hiked back down the mountain, I felt real satisfaction at having experienced these amazing birds and a sense of peace knowing that they are still up there, high in the mountains doing their thing. I hope that you all get to see one for yourselves one day, but if not, please enjoy this video. It’s the next best thing.

As the gals from Pitch Perfect might say, our day in Glacier proved “Ptarmi-Pterrific!”

FatherSonBirding’s 100th Post Video Spectacular: Counting Down Our Top 5 Most Popular Posts!

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If you’d like to see us continue our posts, PLEASE SUBSCRIBE by filling out the box down and to the right. We promise we will not share or give away your information to ANYONE—though you can always feel free to share our posts with others who might enjoy them!

Do you remember listening to American Top 40 as a kid? Sure you do! To celebrate our 100th post, we decided to count down FSB’s All-Time Most Popular Posts—with a video!

Yes, believe it or not, this is FatherSonBirding’s 100th post! Since we seem to be evolving toward a video world, Braden and I agreed that a video post would be a fun way to celebrate our last four years of birding and blogging. Just don’t get used to it! Videos take a lot more effort than regular blogging and, frankly, making videos eats into our birding time!

A few notes about the Top 5. They may not be technically correct since for some of our early posts, we may not have been gathering statistics on views. Also, we had not yet switched to a Payola scheme by which people pay us to make sure that certain posts are more popular. Just kidding! About the Payola, that is. I’ll always be curious just how many views our first post, A Quest for Snowy Owls (published March 13, 2018) has really received!

Also, below are some quick links to the posts mentioned in this blog. They are NOT IN ORDER of popularity so there’s no opportunity for cheating here! You’ll just have to watch the video to find out WHAT IS NUMBER ONE! Also, I have misspelled “Maclay Flat” as “McClay Flats” and other permutations. You’ll just have to forgive me!

Thank you for following our birding adventures. We appreciate you and hope this winter brings you plenty of birding adventures of your own!

Links to Blogs mentioned in the video (not in order of popularity):

Lucky Day at Maclay

Birding San Antonio’s River Walk? Are You Nuts?

Incredible Birthday Birding

For Birders, Every Year is a Big Year

Are You Ready for . . . the QUACH?

To view this video post on YouTube, CLICK HERE!

Ptarmigan Party in Glacier National Park

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(by Braden) By the time our posse of eleven reached Logan Pass at 6 in the morning, the parking lot was already full, though that did not hamper the views. Nick Ramsey and I rushed over to the bathrooms, admiring a view we had not experienced for years (despite having been to the lower-altitude parts of Glacier Park every year since 2017) and nabbing Cassin’s Finch and White-crowned Sparrow, then hopped back into Joshua Wade Covill’s car and headed for the Piegan Pass trailhead.

Nick and I had arrived at Josh’s house in Columbia Falls late the night before after a helping of early-summer shorebirds south of Kalispell and were greeted by not only Josh, one of Montana’s birding mammoths, but also by an assortment of the country’s top birders: Tom Forwood Jr., a southern Montana-based birder well-known for the Big Day records he had set across Montana (some of which had been with Josh) and working at Lewis and Clark Caverns State Park; Marky Mutchler, a recent graduate of Louisiana State University who had been the ABA young birder of the year a few years back and whose six-out-of-five star photos decorated every part of eBird’s website; four field techs currently studying nesting birds like Lazuli Buntings and Spotted Towhees on MPG Ranch, and two more birders, who along with Marky, currently spent their time researching grassland birds like Long-billed Curlews and Sprague’s Pipits out on the American Prairie Reserve. Several of the people I had already met through Facebook, while I was excited to meet others for the first time. I knew I was in the presence of greatness the minute I stepped out of the mini-van and onto Josh’s lawn, where I pitched my tent.

We were all here for one reason: to see Glacier National Park and its birds under the guidance of Josh, who knew the park like a Black Swift knows the underside of a waterfall, and who had, in fact, just started a Glacier-based guiding company! While several of us had been here before, others (including many of the field techs) had never seen this part of the country before, and we were prepared to assist in blowing their minds.

We woke up on Saturday morning at 5, getting into the park before the ticket period started, and were up and over Logan Pass by 6. A MacGillivray’s Warbler sang downslope of us as we bug-sprayed up in the Piegan Pass trail parking lot, and then set off into the forest of Engelmann Spruce and Subalpine Fir. Almost immediately Josh halted the group to point out several White-winged Crossbills singing from treetops, their complex trills a new sound for me. This habitat made much more sense than the cemetery in which I’d gotten my lifers earlier in the year.

**My dad and I usually see Pine Grosbeaks at lower elevations during winter, so it was very special to see them at their breeding altitudes.**

In a clearing several miles up the trail Josh called in a Varied Thrush for the photographers of the group (several people including Marky, had brought giant lenses) and a pair of Pine Grosbeaks, not wanting to be left out, had decided to forage in the grass and shrubs at eye-level about ten feet from us.

As we hiked, I learned about the individual research projects that each of the field techs were looking at on the APR, which included Long-billed Curlew migration patterns and parasitism on grassland birds by Brown-headed Cowbirds. We talked about top birding spots everywhere from New Mexico to Missouri and exchanged stories about how everyone had gotten into birds. It was particularly fun visiting with Tom and Josh, as they seemingly had an answer to everything I wondered about along the trail. Tom didn’t just know the birds—he identified every flower and butterfly we came across, and he and Josh pointed out the glaciers and peaks around us as we rose in altitude, many of which they had individually hiked to. They also had a wealth of knowledge of birding Latin America, specifically Costa Rica, something I was incredibly interested in.

After about three miles we rose above the stunted forest marking the end of the subalpine zone and were hiking along scree fields and across lingering snow patches. A Golden Eagle soaring high above welcomed us to the alpine zone as pikas mewed at us from their rocky burrows, and the bird community changed abruptly. Rather than crossbills and grosbeaks, Gray-crowned Rosy-finches filled the finch role up here, and all of us were shocked to encounter a Brewer’s Sparrow belting out a song from a patch of young trees! A rare subspecies of Brewer’s Sparrow, known as the Timberline Sparrow, lived above the tree line in Glacier Park and in mountain ranges farther north, a rather strange change from the normal sagebrush habitat the species used elsewhere in its range. No one in the group had ever seen one before, including Tom and Josh, which meant that everyone had gotten at least one new bird out of the hike!

**This surprise Timberline Sparrow (a subspecies of Brewer’s Sparrow) was a Lifer for our entire group!**

Speaking of new birds, I was here for my Montana life bird #299: White-tailed Ptarmigan. These cryptic, high-altitude game birds only lived in the northwest part of the state, and only in Glacier were they easily-accessible. As we reached Piegan Pass, Josh pointed out a large snowfield. We would be walking around the base of the field after a quick lunch, as it was perfect ptarmigan habitat: it turns out that most alpine habitat was unsuitable for ptarmigan. These picky birds require access to water, shade (i.e. low cliffs) to hide from the sun, and vegetation (i.e. moss) for food. If a site does not have one of these three things, it’s unlikely to contain ptarmigan.

After a lunch full of various mammals from Least Chipmunks to Hoary Marmots trying to steal our food, we set off in a large search line to try to find ptarmigan as an American Pipit displayed in the air high above us, an activity shared with the Sprague’s Pipits my dad and I had found earlier this year. After about fifteen minutes, Skyler Bol, one of the MPG Ranch field techs, yelled, “Got one!”. We all maneuvered across the rocks over to where he stood, and sure enough, there sat a surprisingly small game bird, half-white and half-brown, curiously staring up at us.

**It had taken me more than seven years for me to finally see a White-tailed Ptarmigan, but I couldn’t have asked for a better experience—or company—in finding my 299th Montana bird species!**

Everyone whipped out their cameras and settled around the fairly unconcerned bird, and soon Skyler spotted another one sitting on a small waterfall nearby! We basked in the ptarmigan glory for at least an hour, then wished the small birds good luck and cold temperatures, and headed back down the trail.

Once we were firmly in the subalpine forest again, we began stopping periodically and playing for Boreal Chickadee. It was great habitat for them, and several members of the group had never seen them before. You might call it “pushing our luck”, but hey, it worked! About two miles from the parking lot after hearing a Mountain Chickadee and several Canada Jays impersonating Yellow-throated Toucans, Josh decided to play for them and a pair of Boreal Chickadees showed up! I had not expected to see them again this year after nabbing my lifer in May and it was great to watch them from a distance as other people took photos of their very first of these boreal birds.

**Though our goal was to see White-tailed Ptarmigan, the day facilitated several epic QUACHs as well!**

After spying a trio of Golden Eagles again at the parking lot, we headed back to Josh’s house, stopping briefly for a Chestnut-backed Chickadee (there would be several QUACHs completed today) at Avalanche Campground. I had to head home but many of the others stayed another day, and I would soon hear stories of Black Swift, Spruce Grouse and American Three-toed Woodpecker.

As we left the Piegan Pass trailhead, Josh mentioned that he thought it had been his best day of birding in the park, and I would have to agree. And not just because of the great and cooperative birds we saw—because of the people. I had learned so much from everyone as we hiked, and had really gotten to experience what the community I would soon be immersed in would be like. Everyone was so knowledgeable, yet humble and kind, and I was honored to be a part of the first annual “Camp Montana”, even if it was only for a day.

However, seeing the ptarmigan was also a bit sad—who knew how long these alpine birds would be here? With temperatures already breaking record highs within the park, the birds living at the tops of mountains barely had anywhere to go, and snow was disappearing fast. I am very fortunate that I got to experience the birds while they are still here, and hope that somehow, they can adapt to whatever climate change throws at them.

Ptarmigan are a poster bird for how climate change is negatively impacting our planet. As permanent snow fields disappear, habitat for these birds is rapidly shrinking—a call to action to drastically and rapidly reduce the CO2 emissions we as humans produce.

Another problem was posed by seeing the ptarmigan: What will my 300th Montana bird be? Now that I’d nabbed #299, I had no choice but to get to 300, but my options were few and far between, and my days in the state are running out…stay tuned to see what it will be! (I don’t have it yet).