I’m excited this week to offer our very first equipment review of a Nocs Provisions product: The Field Tube 10X32 monocular. This is the very first monocular that I’ve ever used, and I was so excited that I tore it out of the packaging and immediately set about field testing it. Before I offer my thoughts, however, I want to say a bit about Nocs.
Everything about this smaller optics company compels me to like them. For one, they take pains to send their products in sustainable packaging—a definite plus for a birder wanting to protect birds and our environment. They are a 1% for the Planet member and a Climate Neutral certified brand. To quote their PR info, “At its core, the company believes that the more we observe and understand how intricate and delicate our planet’s ecosystems are, the more motivated we are to protect them.”
The 8X32 Field Tube shown in Banana Slug (Yellow). This version also comes in Corsican (Blue), Coral (Red), and Desolation (Black). The 10X32s I tested are offered in Ponderosa (Green), Paydirt (Brown), and Oxblood (Maroon). Order by clicking here or on the image above.
Nocs, though, also offers products with super cool designs. The rubber “wave grip” coating of the Field Tube not only offers a great gripping surface, it looks way bitchin’ compared to the standard black exteriors offered by most other manufacturers. Not only that, Nocs products are offered in different colors. Need a pair of binoculars to match your powder blue tux for the Birding Academy Awards? Perhaps something to blend in with your Ferrari while visiting Tuscany? Nocs has got you covered.
But let’s get to the main point, the Field Tube 10X32 monocular itself. First let me say that for birders, this is a “next item” purchase. It’s not intended to replace your binoculars. Rather, it is designed for situations where a slim profile and super light weight are of premium concerns. With a length of only five inches and weight of half a pound—or about a third of traditional binoculars—the Field Tube easily fits into a front pocket and can barely be felt hanging around your neck. This makes it perfect for backpacking, travel, and paddle-boarding. But I can envision other ideal scenarios for this equipment, too. For instance, imagine . . .
The Field Tube is so small and light that you can take it virtually anywhere without noticing it. We call this BIRD PREPARED!
You are in an expensive Tokyo restaurant trying to close a deal with a major Japanese tech company. Suddenly, an Azure-winged Magpie lands in a tree outside the window. You do not want to offend the company president sitting across from you, but . . . as soon as he gets up to use the restroom, you whip out the Field Tube from your front pocket for a delightful look at this long-hoped-for life bird. Or . . .
You’re waiting for your perfect big wave set at Mavericks near Half Moon Bay and an intriguing small black bird lands in the water. Unfortunately, it is too far away to ID with the naked eye. BUT, you just happen to have your Nocs Field Tube stuffed inside the neck of your neoprene wetsuit and, focusing in on the bird, you discover it is a Long-billed Murrelet, just flying in from Siberia! Not only is it a life bird, it allows you to break the ABA Big Year record for surfers, earning you glory, fat promotional contracts, and a sponsorship to bird and surf the world!
You can see where I’m going with this, and I’m sure you can come up with other equally realistic scenarios where you’ll want this item close by.
The Field Tube comes with a handy wrist strap, soft protective carrying bag, and lens cloth—all packed in 100% sustainable recyclable packaging.
A couple of things I especially like about Nocs products is that they come with solid rubber stoppers that snugly pop in over the objective lenses. It’s amazing how even high-end manufacturers have not solved the problem of keeping the objective lens covers firmly in place. I also really like the strap systems for Nocs products. In fact, when you order, I recommend purchasing the woven strap versions as they are more comfortable and, again, look cool.
But back to the Field Tube, it features a fairly close (9-10 feet) minimum focal length and is waterproof down to three feet deep for up to thirty minutes, making it perfect for birders, butterfly watchers, and surfers. As you would expect, Nocs uses fully coated lenses and prisms, and has a lifetime warranty. I found light transmission quite good in these despite the relatively small 32 mm objective lens.
Just for fun, I decided to see if I could get a digiscope photo through my Field Tube. Not bad for my first effort, if I do say so myself. I mean, you can easily see both the Harpy Eagle and Imperial Woodpecker in the photo, right?
At a price of $129.95, you wouldn’t expect perfection from the Field Tube, and I did notice a couple of things that could use improvement. While the focus is quite sharp at close and medium ranges, it gets a bit softer at distance. I’d also like to see fewer turns of the knob required to bring the focus from close to far distance. However, most people will find these minor issues acceptable trade-offs for the incredibly small profile and convenience the Field Tube offers.
Nocs has recently unveiled a monocular upgrade called the Zero Tube which is even smaller and lighter than the Field Tube, and uses a different focusing mechanism. Hopefully, I’ll get to test that one in the future. Next up, though, will be my review of the Nocs Pro Issue 10X42 binoculars, which I am taking to Costa Rica on my trip with Braden next week. My initial impressions of the Pro Issues are extremely positive and I look forward to giving them a full tropical workout. Stay tuned!
A happy by-product of our second child going to school in California is that Amy and I have the perfect excuse to go visit the Golden State. Not that I would everdo any birding during a family trip, but you know, it’s hard not to see some great birds when you just happen to stop at a wildlife refuge or stumble into a local park that happens to be a bright red eBird hotspot!
I was especially excited to head to California a couple of weeks ago because, as previously reported, I was perilously close to breaking my all-time single year species record of 527 birds. In fact, when Amy and I landed in Sacramento and headed up to Chico, I needed only one bird to hit 528 species for the year. What would my “go ahead bird” be? (And yes, that is an homage to the upcoming World Series, which happens to feature a team named after birds!)
Visiting our youngest in California has given me a great opportunity to see friends and get in some bonus birding!
When we arrived, I quickly finagled a couple of birding opportunities, but saw only species I had seen on our last trip to California in August: California Scrub-Jays, Acorn Woodpeckers, Yellow-rumped Warblers and the like. My biggest discovery was a White-winged Dove at the Panera’s near the hotel! It was a rare bird so far north in California’s Central Valley, but not unheard of. Still, I felt proud to have spotted the distinct white stripe across each wing as it flew—undoubtedly hoping to score one of Panera’s kitchen sink cookies!
The next morning, I headed out to the home of a close childhood friend who just happens to live outside of Chico in an agricultural area. I had almost reached her place, when I noticed birds feeding on a coyote carcass on the side of the road. I saw Turkey Vultures and ravens. Then, I saw something that got my heart racing: magpies!
My All-Time Best Year Record Breaker: Yellow-Billed Magpie! Whoo-Hoo!(Photo from earlier trip.)
Not just any magpies. I knew that the Black-billed Magpies we had back home in Montana were unlikely in this part of California. No, these were Yellow-billed Magpies—a bird I had failed to see on our last trip in August! Ka-ching! My record shattered like falling glass! And with a California endemic species no less! Personally, I couldn’t have been happier. YBMAs are some of my favorite birds, and hold an interesting history, too:
“This species was named by John James Audubon in 1837 (as Corvus nutallii, corrected the following year to nuttalli) in honor of the ornithologist Thomas Nuttall, who collected the first specimen near Santa Barbara, California. Nuttall was a prodigious botanical collector and ornithologist who authored a Manual of the Ornithology of the United States and of Canada.” —Birds of the World database by Cornell Lab of Ornithology (accessed Oct. 19, 2025)
Later that day, I picked up an “insurance bird” at the Llano Seco refuge just southwest of Chico, where Amy and I delighted in Sandhill Cranes, Black-necked Stilts, and my 529th bird of the year, Greater White-fronted Goose.
Greater White-fronted Goose was a great “insurance bird” for my record-breaking year—just in case the Birding Powers That Be decided to lump a couple of species together or I found a mistake in my earlier checklists!
But my fall California birding adventures had just begun!
After a few wonderful days with our child, Amy flew home from Sacramento, and my high school buddy Scott (see Scott’s Guest Post about the Morro Bay Bird Festival), picked me up for an additional four days of exploration. As I’ve mentioned, my emphasis lately has not been so much chasing target species, but exploring places I’ve never before birded, and Scott indulged me to the hilt. After he collected me in Sacramento we explored the Sacramento River delta, hitting Cosumnes River Preserve, where we got a little shorebird action—and a LOT more Sandhill Cranes and Greater White-fronted Geese. On the following days, we hit a huge variety of habitats as we hiked through oak woodlands, explored the large abandoned—and very birdy—grounds of the Sonoma Developmental Center, and scoured rocky shores and intertidal areas in American Canyon, Golden Gate National Recreational Area, Bolinas, and Bodega Bay. I loved every location and, not surprisingly, my “insurance bird” list grew.
Scott and I enjoyed a wet hike through Sugarloaf Ridge State Park in Sonoma County and fortunately, the rain did not dissuade the birds as we sighted a host of classic oak woodland species including Oak Titmouse, Golden-crowned Sparrow, and Nuttall’s Woodpecker.
I picked up Mute Swan in American Canyon as Scott and I gleefully observed thousands of shorebirds including Western and Least Sandpipers, Long-billed Dowitchers, Marbled Godwits, and Black-bellied Plovers. That afternoon, we saw my FOY (First Of Year) White-tailed Kites at a place called Buchli Station Road.
Our adventures gave us plenty of time to learn more about peeps as we picked out the subtle details of Least and these Western Sandpipers. Note the rufous shoulder patch (not always present), black legs, and longer, curving bill that distinguishes these Westerns from Least’s.
Our favorite—and most productive—day happened October 15th. With a visit to Rodeo Lagoon, we found one of my favorite California birds, Wrentits, along with Western Gulls, which I had somehow managed not to see the entire year! At the nearby Bolinas Lagoon, we also observed hundreds of Elegant Terns and my trip MVB (Most Valuable Bird), a Whimbrel.
This Whimbrel at Bolinas Lagoon nabbed Bird of the Trip honors as it was the first WHIM I’d seen in more than six years.
Another bird I had somehow failed to see all year was Red-shouldered Hawk, but as we made our way north toward Point Reyes, Scott suddenly shouted, “Red-shouldered!” We pulled over to look at this handsome creature perched on a power line and even got to see it nab some kind of morsel from roadside weeds. The funny part? We saw four more Red-shouldered Hawks on our drive back to Scott’s house in Glen Ellen! I call that a Grand Slam!
I don’t know that I’ve ever appreciated Red-shouldered Hawks more than I did this one—especially when it launched after some prey!
One thing that made the trip so fun was eating lots of great food and kicking back to watch the MLB playoffs with Scott each evening. I hadn’t seriously watched baseball since Amy and I were still childless more than twenty years before, and it was wonderful to lean back, relax, and watch grown adults try to hit balls with sticks. Goooo Ohtani!
For our final day of birding, Scott drove me to Bodega Bay, one of my favorite places in California. While studying at Cal I had taken an ichthyology course here one summer, and now that I was a birder, the place held even more charm. On the rocks below Bodega Head, Scott and I were astonished to see a group of sixteen Surfbirds—far more than I had ever seen in one place! We also got great looks at both Brandt’s and Pelagic Cormorants, and spotted a Pigeon Guillemot in the far distance.
Since Braden and I saw our first Surfbird from a distance during our first pelagic cruise in Monterey in 2016, these birds have held a special place in our hearts. Never, though, have I seen so many in one place! (Can you also find the lone Black Turnstone in this photo?)
After a lunch of fish tacos, we headed up to the beaches north of Bodega Bay and were treated to a second Whimbrel sighting and more than 120 Surf Scoters casually ducking the breakers offshore. It was a wonderful way to wrap up the trip, and I am grateful to Scott both for being such a great host and for his patience when I was experiencing a blood sugar meltdown at Bodega Head. Of course, you may be wondering where my year list stands now, and I’m happy to report that I am now at 537 species. Will there be any more? I don’t know, but 550 seems awfully tempting, so stay tuned!
Update: Just before posting this, I picked up bird #538 for the year, Lapland Longspur, in some fields northwest of Billings!
Can one ever get tired of Surf Scoters? I don’t THINK so!
Just for fun, can you name the birds and places above? Answers in the nest—I mean next—post!
Conservation Update: Not long ago, I wrote about an amazing opportunity to protect a key piece of habitat on the famed Bolivar Peninsula in Texas. This property is a critical resting point and staging area for birds migrating across the Gulf of Mexico, and Houston Audubon is leading the effort to raise $3 million to purchase the property. To learn more, please read our recent blog post, and if you have not already done so, consider contributing to this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to protect birds by clicking here. So far, more than four hundred donors have chipped in, but many more are needed! Thank you and please spread the word!
For birders, fall migration is a season like no other. That’s because birds fail to look at the range maps of where they are supposed to be and show up in all kinds of unusual and surprising places! You may recall that recently, I have been moving perilously close to breaking my all-time one-year global species record of 527, but instead of frantically trying chase down species (and burning up a lot of gas in the process), I have decided to see how many species just come to me during the fall. Last week, I picked up a Clark’s Grebe in the local Missoula Gravel Quarry, moving me to within seven species of a new record. That really wasn’t too surprising since a few pairs of Clark’s do breed in Western Montana, and it made sense that one might end up passing through my home town. A couple of days ago, however, when I saw a report of a Red Phalarope, my mind shouted “Whoa!”
A Clark’s Grebe at the Fort Missoula Gravel Quarry helped push my 2025 world species count to 521. (A different CLGR shown here.)
Braden and I have mentioned phalaropes in several past blogs (see, for instance, THIS POST), and they are fascinating birds. Phalaropes are shorebirds in the family Scolopacidae and in the entire world, there are only three species: the Wilson’s, Red-necked, and Red (called the Gray Phalarope in Europe). Montana is fortunate to host Wilson’s Phalaropes each spring and summer, as they are the only phalarope to breed in the interior of the continent. The first time we encountered these beauties was in 2015 at Lee Metcalf National Wildlife Refuge. I had barely heard of phalaropes when we drove past the main pond at Metcalf and Braden—who was and still is better prepared than I—shouted Wilson’s Phalaropes! Since then, I have become increasingly enchanted by these birds and, according to eBird, have seen them 123 times.
Wilson’s Phalaropes gather in large numbers at some Montana breeding locations—including this flock Braden and I observed near Westby.
Several things make phalaropes stand out from other birds. For one thing, they flip the rule on “males are brighter than females.” With phalaropes, it is the female that is the stunning, brightly-colored sex during breeding, not the male. Females compete for males to mate with and may even “service” several different males, leaving the guys totally in charge of parental care once the eggs are laid. Can I hear legions of human females shouting “Amen”?
Female phalaropes such as this Wilson’s Phalarope are undoubtedly some of our most beautiful shorebirds. Note the longer, thinner bill compared to the Red Phalarope shown later.
Another thing everyone loves about phalaropes is their method of hunting by spinning rapidly on the surface of the water. This spinning creates a little aqueous “tornado” that sucks up crustaceans and other invertebrate prey from below. The birds also hunt in more traditional shorebird manners by probing shallows and even picking off prey from nearby vegetation.
Spinning is not just a yuppie exercise class, but a method for phalaropes to draw up prey from below the surface.(Red Phalarope shown here.)
Whenever Braden and I are lucky enough to visit eastern Montana in spring and summer, we usually see large numbers of Wilson’s Phalaropes feeding and setting up nesting sites (see THIS POST). If our timing is right and we stay persistent, we also usually spot a few Red-necked Phalaropes. With their dramatically contrasting red, white, and dark gray heads, these phalaropes are even more stunning than the Wilson’s. The window to see them is short, however, as they breed high in the Arctic and can only be “caught” while they are resting or staging for their final journeys north. A couple of times we have also spotted them heading back south in August, when they are invariably in their duller gray-and-white plumages.
A pair of Red-necked Phalaropes my buddy Scott and I saw at Point Reyes, CA, last winter. Note the thinner, more pointed bill than I observed on the Red Phalarope.We have so far failed to get a good shot of a female Red-necked Phalarope in breeding plumage–but this photo by Braden should give you an idea of how gorgeous they are.
However, one phalarope that we have never seen in Montana in more than a decade of birding is the Red Phalarope. The reason is that, in general, these birds migrate over the ocean—not over the interior of the continent. Red Phalaropes are the most pelagic of the three phalaropes and, except during breeding, spend their lives out at sea. In fact, the only Red Phalaropes that Braden and I ever saw was a single pair off the coast of San Diego during the San Diego Birding Festival several years ago. Only about twenty sightings have ever been reported in Montana.
Naturally, when I read the recent report of a Red Phalarope in Missoula, my excitement went into overdrive. The next morning, after Amy and I went to a pickleball class, I convinced her to drive down to a little spot called Cattail Corner where the Red Phalarope had been reported. Mind you, this is not where one would expect to see a rare bird. It’s just a tiny wetland wedged between a shopping center, a gas station, and two busy roads. I used to bird there a lot just to see what I could find, and recently the dense cattails had been cleared out, creating more open water and even a bit of shoreline. Early this spring, Braden and I were surprised to find several Spotted Sandpipers hopefully setting up breeding territories there, but still . . . a Red Phalarope???????
Finding a rare bird such as a Red Phalarope at the tiny, worked-over Cattail Corner seemed unlikely at best.(Bonus: Can you spot a phalarope in this photo?)
As soon as we parked, I grabbed my camera and binoculars and Amy and I began circumnavigating the little wetland. My natural pessimism kept repeating, Oh, I’m sure it’s gone now. After all who would want to hang out in this crummy little wetland? Sure enough, Amy and I spent thirty minutes walking around the ponds without a single sighting of anything resembling a phalarope. Oh, well.
As we were leaving, our friend and fellow birder Susan Snetsinger arrived. We told her we hadn’t seen the phalarope, but if she happened to spot it to please call right away. Then, we got back in the car and began heading home, a bit disappointed but not surprised at failing to find the bird. Besides, Amy had a lot to do and I needed to tackle a number of chores myself.
We were just passing Tremper’s shopping center when the phone rang. I hit the “answer” button on the steering wheel and it was Susan. “Did you see a phalarope at all?” she asked. “No.” “Well, I’m looking at one now, but I’m not sure it’s a Red Phalarope.” “We’ll be right there!” I told her.
I made a quick U-turn and in five minutes was again parking the minivan. We quickly spotted Susan on the far side of the shore, and even before reaching her, I could see a phalarope on the water. “How on earth did I miss that?” I asked Amy. What’s more, the phalarope seemed blissfully unconcerned as we drew close enough for good viewing and photographs. The problem? This bird was in basic (nonbreeding) plumage and it looked remarkably similar to a Red-necked Phalarope in the same plumage. In the fall, both birds are basically gray and white, with prominent black patches behind the eyes. Red Phalaropes are a bit larger than Red-neckeds, but if they aren’t side-by-side that’s not a useful feature. According to Sibley, Red-neckeds also are streakier on their backs—but this bird before us also looked pretty darned streaky to me.
The slightly thicker bill of this Red Phalarope was a key to its identification.
From what I can glean, the key ID feature that distinguishes the two birds is the thickness of their bills. While Red-neckeds have thinner, needle-like bills, those of Reds are thicker, almost pencil-like. The bird in front of us did indeed seem to have a thicker bill, but there is so much variation in these kinds of features that I still felt less than confident—even though this bird had already been confirmed as a Red Phalarope by the eBird Powers That Be. Later Dan Casey, prominent Montana birder and co-author of Birds of Montana, sent me a phalarope comparison guide that helped convince me further. This can be found at:
We watched the phalarope for about ten minutes and then, to my surprise, it climbed ashore and disappeared into the weeds. “Ah, that’s why we didn’t see it earlier,” I told Amy, grateful that the bird had decided to put in an appearance out on the water where we could see it.
Phalaropes are mainly visual predators, picking off invertebrates wherever they see them.
But the Bottom Line? Red and Red-necked phalaropes are very difficult to tell apart in their basic, nonbreeding plumage, so never assume you’re looking at one or the other. Personally, I hope to get more chances to observe and get to know them in the field in the future.
The other Bottom Line? It was WAY COOL to see a Red Phalarope here in my hometown and it became my Montana Lifer #312. As a bonus, I now need only six more species to break my all-time one-year record. Hm . . . I wonder what will show up next?
To learn more about phalaropes, we recommend the book The Shorebirds of North America, reviewed here.
Sneed’s Bird #522 for 2025. Will I get to 528? It may be up to rare migrants such as this Red Phalarope!
The following is a written version of a presentation Braden gave to the UMaine Birding Club at last Thursday’s meeting.Warning: Do Not Read unless you have a sense of humor!
In the 1920s, the General Federation of Women’s Clubs decided that every state should have a bird to represent it, a bird of its very own. A diverse array of groups, including women’s clubs, schoolchildren, and state legislatures voted on the state birds, eventually giving each state a bird (well, almost every state, and we’ll get to that). But put quite simply, most of the state bird selections are bad, and I’m not the only birder who believes this. Almost anyone with knowledge of North America’s avifauna agrees that the people who selected the state birds of the United States of America did a woefully horrible job. Let’s go over why that is.
In order to call a state bird “bad,” you must first determine what makes a state bird “good.” I designed the following set of criteria expressly for this purpose:
Each state must have a state bird.
The state bird must be a real bird.
The state bird must be wild.
The state bird must be unique to, native to, and representative of that state.
The state bird name must not be offensive or insulting to the vast majority of American citizens.
These criteria should be easy to fulfill, but after analyzing each and every state bird, I determined that a mere thirteen of the state birds qualify as “good.” Willow Ptarmigan, for example, is the state bird of Alaska. Willow Ptarmigans are real, wild birds found across the entire state. Furthermore, they represent their state in a way no other state birds could. To wit, much of Alaska in summer is brown—and so is the Willow Ptarmigan. In winter, Alaska is white—and so is Willow Ptarmigan. Finally, their name doesn’t offend anyone. This, then, is a great example of what a state bird can and should be.
The Scissor-tailed Flycatcher is a stunning example of a great state bird. Good job Oklahoma—though how Texas overlooked it is beyond us.
Twelve other states met my criteria, due to their well-thought-out, unique selections. These include Georgia, with the Brown Thrasher, a widespread backyard bird with a great singing voice, and Oklahoma, with the Scissor-tailed Flycatcher, a bird that only breeds in a limited part of the country that includes Oklahoma. It also sports striking colors and an impressive caboose. The other states with good state birds are: Arizona (Cactus Wren); Colorado (Lark Bunting); Hawaii (Nene); Louisiana (Brown Pelican, my dad’s favorite bird); Maryland (Baltimore Oriole); Minnesota (Common Loon); New Hampshire (Purple Finch); New Mexico (Greater Roadrunner); South Carolina (Carolina Wren); and finally, Vermont, with Hermit Thrush as its avian emblem.
New Mexico’s Greater Roadrunner offers yet another excellent state bird example—though we saw this one behind a gas station in Tucson, Arizona.
The bad news? THIRTY-SEVEN states fail the “good bird” criteria, which, honestly, is ridiculous. Let’s take a closer look at how various states have failed in their selections, one criterion at a time.
CRITERION #1: EACH BIRD MUST HAVE A STATE BIRD.
Now, you’d think this one would be easy, right? The General Federation of Women’s Clubs said that each state should have a bird to represent it, and so all fifty of the states should have followed suit, right? Wrong. Pennsylvania, of all places, failed this most simple of tests. I had a job in Pennsylvania last summer, and loved it. I got to know the state’s avifauna well, with its dozens of breeding warblers and melodic Wood Thrushes and goofy Scarlet Tanagers. Golden-winged Warblers have leapt to the top of my all-time favorite birds list because of what I experienced—so you can imagine my utter disappointment upon finding out that the Keystone State completely lacks a “Keystone bird.”
Now, Pennsylvania does have a state game bird. Is this the same? No. No, it is not. South Carolina’s state game bird is the Northern Bobwhite. That is different from its state bird, the Carolina Wren. Georgia’s state game bird is the Wild Turkey, while its state bird is the Brown Thrasher. State birds should represent the cultural and ecological aspects of the regions they are chosen for. State game birds, on the other hand, are birds that people most like to shoot at. So no, I don’t care how adorable a Ruffed Grouse’s neck feathers look during the breeding season. It is the state game bird of Pennsylvania, but it is not the state bird. Sigh.
As much as we love Ruffed Grouse, we’re sorry Pennsylvania: it does not count for your state bird!
CRITERION #2: THE STATE BIRD MUST BE A REAL BIRD.
This is what I got the most flack about during my birding club presentation, and it was mainly due to the two club members from New Jersey. Go figure. So let’s talk about goldfinches. There are three goldfinches native to North America. One is the American Goldfinch, one of the continent’s most widespread species. Another is the Lesser Goldfinch, found in the arid southwest (and now, likely thanks to climate change, parts of Montana). The third breeds only in California and winters in the desert—the Lawrence’s Goldfinch. American, Lesser, Lawrence’s. Three goldfinches. Just three.
So why is New Jersey’s state bird the EASTERN Goldfinch? That’s not a thing! It does not exist! You might say, “Well, Braden, I’m from New Jersey and think I’m pretty cool and would like to inform you that Eastern Goldfinch is actually the subspecies of American Goldfinch found in New Jersey.” My response: “Well Mr. and/or Mrs. New Jersey, I didn’t think I had to clarify that a state bird must be a full species!” Your state bird cannot be an obscure subspecies, and beyond that, the people who picked the Eastern Goldfinch didn’t even know what subspecies are. They likely chose it because back then, American Goldfinches were known as Eastern Goldfinches in New Jersey. Well, guess what? It’s 2023 now, not 1923, so wake up and change your state bird’s name. Oh, and by the way, Iowa did the same thing! Thankfully, no western states would make this kind of ridiculous mis—
Oh, wait a minute. I forgot about Washington. Its state bird is the WILLOW Goldfinch! Did I stutter when I said there were three goldfinches in the U.S.? Eastern is not among them, and Willow most certainly is not! All this being said, these errors are mostly due to changes in bird names over the last century and states not updating those bird names. I was joking about what I said above, concerning Mr. and Mrs. New Jersey. Mostly. Let’s move on.
Hello, New Jersey? These are Lawrence’s Goldfinches—actual, real birds. So-called “Eastern Goldfinches” are not!
CRITERION #3: THE STATE BIRD MUST BE WILD.
Domesticated animals do not represent the unique land that each state contains. We brought them here for our own reasons, and they exist here simply to serve us. Wild birds are not like that. And so what was Rhode Island thinking when it selected a breed of chicken, the Rhode Island Red? Granted, Rhode Island doesn’t have much land to work with, but the state still has recorded more than 300 species of native, wild birds. Were all of the state legislators hungry the day they picked a chicken? Was Colonel Sanders sitting amongst these legislators, throwing feathers at them and offering to fund their next campaigns for office? Whatever the reason, Rhode Island somehow did a better job than Delaware, which not only selected a chicken, but picked the Delaware Blue Hen, something that isn’t even an officially recognized breed. Still, we’re not going to honor either selection with a photo.
CRITERION #4: THE STATE BIRD MUST BE UNIQUE TO, NATIVE TO, AND REPRESENTATIVE OF THAT STATE.
Oh, boy. Here we go. Up to this point, we’ve had a few failures per criterion—a state without a state bird here, two chickens there—but things are about to ramp up.
Let’s start with a state bird that isn’t *that* bad: California’s state bird, the California Quail. It’s found across the state, it’s familiar, it’s endearing, and it even has the state’s name embedded in it. There are seven birds named for the state of California, and I have to admit that the California Quail was a better choice than most of the others: the California Thrasher, Scrub-Jay, Gnatcatcher, Towhee and Gull. The quail is the second best California bird. But one overshadows it, one of North America’s largest birds, a critically endangered species that soars between the canyons of Big Sur State Park and over the rocky red pillars of Pinnacles National Park. This bird almost went extinct, thanks to DDT among other things, and is only still with us because of the work of Rachel Carson and hundreds of other hard-working conservationists. There’s really little to debate; the California Condor should, hands down, be California’s state bird. It may not be as widespread as the quail, but with persistent conservation efforts and luck, it may be again someday.
During our Big Year, my dad and I were lucky enough to see California Condors—a slam-dunk for California’s state bird!
Leaping down from that majestic image, I present to you Utah’s state bird: the California Gull. Do you see anything wrong here? Not only did Utah select a bird named after another state, it probably picked the worst of the California-named birds. The choice involves Mormons and agriculture and hordes of grasshoppers and gulls appearing like angels in the rising sun to gobble up those grasshoppers and save the day. Still, human agricultural practices and ravenous insects are no reason to pick a state bird named after another state. Utah, you can do better. Maybe a project for Mitt Romney, now that he’s retiring?
And that brings us to the repeats. Maine and Massachusetts share Black-capped Chickadee as their state bird. Is Black-capped Chickadee a bad state bird? No. They’re one of North America’s most familiar birds and have adorable, curious personalities. In fact, they’re probably on my fairly long list of favorite birds. That said, a state bird should be unique. My solution? Give Mass the chickadee. Maine has a variety of excellent options, including boreal birds like Spruce Grouse and seabirds like Razorbill. And of course the Atlantic Puffin is plastered on every sign, billboard and advertisement in the coastal part of the state—why not make it the state bird?
Eastern Bluebird represents both New York and Missouri, creating the same problem. Again, there is nothing wrong with the bluebird as a state bird, but only one of these states should claim it. Idaho and Nevada both have Mountain Bluebird, and American Robin is the state bird of three states: Connecticut, Wisconsin and Michigan.
Northern Mockingbird represents five states, and it gets worse, because they include two of best birding states in the country: Texas and Florida. Both states receive a phenomenal array of species within their borders, with Florida recording more than 500 species and Texas surpassing 600. Texas is home to the endangered prairie-chickens that dance in the shortgrass prairie, an endemic warbler and vireo found in the hill country, dozens of colorful Mexican species, and just about every bird that migrates into or out of North America. Florida, meanwhile, holds two birds that feed exclusively on snails, a trio of birds found only in the endangered Longleaf Pine Savanna ecosystem, and a completely endemic corvid named after the state itself: the Florida Scrub-Jay. And yet, what did they choose? The Northern Mockingbird—along with Tennessee, Mississippi and Arkansas. As a humorous aside, I found this defense from an op-ed in a Florida newspaper arguing for the mockingbird and against the scrub-jay as the state’s bird: “The mockingbird is a well-established, independent, prolific bird that doesn’t need government protection or our tax dollars to survive.”
Don’t get us wrong, people. We LOVE Northern Mockingbirds, but don’t you know you’re not supposed to copy off of other people’s exams?
Believe it or not, Northern Mockingbird isn’t even the most commonly chosen state bird. Western Meadowlark is the state bird of six states, including Montana and Oregon, two diverse states that mean a lot to me. I’ve had a lot of fun experiencing the birdlife of these two places over the last decade (yes, my dad and I have been birding for a decade as of this January), and Western Meadowlark is an icon of the West, but again, six states do not need to have the same bird. For Montana I might suggest Black Swift, Sprague’s Pipit, or Chestnut-collared Longspur. Varied Thrush would make a stunning bird to grace Oregon’s flags and signs.
And that brings us to the Northern Cardinal, the state bird that just won’t stop. After Kentucky chose it in the early 1920s, six more states followed suit. I mean, it’s fun and red, but seriously??? With all the other great birds to choose from, the lack of creativity amongst these states is mind-boggling.
The selection of Northern Cardinal by seven, count ’em, SEVEN states proves that a) state bird committees are lazy or b) Americans have an outsized love of Santa Claus and his red outfit.
Oh, and as for the “native to” part of this criterion? South Dakota’s state bird is the Ring-necked Pheasant—a native of China, not the United States. Not even the same continent! Note to South Dakota politicians: you may not want to use this bird as part of your political platform. Which, finally, brings us to . . .
CRITERION #5: THE STATE BIRD MUST NOT BEAR A NAME OFFENSIVE TO LARGE GROUPS OF PEOPLE.
This is a no-brainer, and my dad will address it in an upcoming post.
For now, this post is longer than expected so I’ll wrap up swiftly. The state birds are bad, plain and simple. Most need to be changed. Do I think they ever will be? No. Meanwhile, if this post raised your blood pressure (and it should!), please let us know what you think your state bird should be!
This week, enjoy Braden’s Part II of an Undetermined Series of Posts about our recent birding adventures in Israel and Jordan!
Over the next few days, our host family showed us around Northern Israel. We explored Akko, a seaside town with a great market full of delicious Arab and Jewish food and tall, Crusader-era walls. In Haifa, we took a drive around Mount Carmel and dined on amazing pizza and fantastic pistachio ice cream. My dad and I even spotted a Eurasian Griffon soaring over a residential area, a rare species of vulture that nested in the Carmel range.
A lone Eurasian Spoonbill enjoys refuge in the Hula Valley Nature Reserve, once part of a vast wetlands that covered much of north-central Israel.
After sightseeing, though, we were ready to do some serious birding. One day, my dad, one of our friends named Noam and I hopped on the train to Haifa (spotting flamingos feeding in salt ponds on the way), where we were picked up by our host’s brother Barak and father Avi. We headed north, stopping only to grab a snack at a roadside falafel & humus stand overlooking the vast Sea of Galilee and its nearby canyons and mosques. Soon, though, we left the mountains, driving past agricultural fields filled with Common Cranes. Eventually we arrived at the Hula Valley Nature Reserve, and were greeted by a large, modern visitor center. The best way to sightsee the refuge was to rent a golf cart, and that we did, setting off around a lake at Formula 1 speeds—about 10 miles per hour. We were soon greeted by hundreds of cranes, as well as various tactics that farmers used to prevent the birds from eating their crops. Every few minutes a gunshot, firework or horn would echo across the landscape (the birds were protected, don’t worry), and we even glimpsed a few people chasing the huge flocks.
In the Hula, we got our first great look of the trip at what would prove to be one of our Top Five favorite Israeli birds—the White-throated Kingfisher.
Before reaching the main lake, we stopped at a forested spot and were immediately astonished to see not one, but two birds that we’d been hoping to see: a White-throated Kingfisher and a Eurasian Hoopoe! The large kingfisher showed off its azure wings as it scanned the ground for rodents, while the hoopoe foraged quietly like a flicker, probably looking for ants. Spur-winged Lapwings, birds with sharp patterns of black and white on their wings, stood right by the path, unafraid, and almost every bird in the area allowed us to snap sharp, close-up photos. Before leaving we spotted a pair of European Goldfinches, chirping cheerfully despite their “sunburnt” faces.
At the lake itself bird activity increased substantially. Raptors were abundant, including Black and Black-winged Kites, Eurasian Marsh-Harriers, Common Buzzards and Eurasian Kestrels, all flying over the marshes. One kestrel even posed for us on a sign, devouring a mouse right in front of us! The species diversity of ducks was low, but those that were here, primarily shovelers, mallards and teal, foraged in the fields in huge numbers, and Eurasian Coots, Eurasian Moorhens and Little Grebes floated on the water. Shorebirds and waders also were present, and we spotted a few Glossy Ibises, Black-winged Stilts, Ruff and a single Eurasian Spoonbill by the shoreline. Gray Herons, Great, Cattle and Little Egrets and Great and Pygmy Cormorants topped every bare branch and island in the area.
As this Eurasian Kestrel can attest to, there’s nothing like a good stretch after tearing the head off a mouse!
At a lookout a helpful naturalist pointed out several harder-to-see species to us, including Black-tailed Godwits and Northern Lapwings hiding in the distance among the huge numbers of cranes. I snapped photos of several raptors that flew by, later identifying them as eagles! The two we spotted were Booted and Greater Spotted, just a small percentage of the eagle species the Old World supported. Pied Avocets floated on the waves of the pond like ducks.
Sing along with us: “One of these things is not like the other. One of these things is not the same. One of these things—” Oh, you get the idea. It’s hard to blend in with 30,000 Common Cranes!
We completed our loop, tracking down cranes for better photos and spotting a Common Kingfisher skulking in the brush back at the visitor center, the only one we’d see for the rest of the trip! This little refuge, surrounded by farmland, was all that remained of the huge wetlands that had once covered much of this area and supported hippos, ostriches and cheetahs. While much of the diversity of the past had disappeared, Hula still provides habitat for thousands of birds during all seasons and efficiently allows the public to experience them. The day had not disappointed.
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