Tag Archives: Ninepipe NWR

Starting 2023 in the Dumps

If you’ve been following our posts the past five years, you’ve probably learned that Braden and I like to kick off a new year with a big day of birding. Last year on January 1, we enjoyed an exceptional day, chalking up almost 50 species including Snowy, Short-eared, and Great Horned Owls. This year, we didn’t get out until January 3—and following a much colder snap of weather—and weren’t sure what we might find. I predicted we’d see 45 species while Braden opted for a more conservative 40. We both agreed, though, that we might be a bit optimistic.

We backed out of our driveway in total darkness and an hour later, as dawn spread over the horizon, were greeted by the sheer majesty of the snow-covered Mission Mountains, surely one of the most stunning mountain ranges in the Lower 48. Our first destination? Duck Road at Ninepipe, perhaps our most reliable spot for Short-eared Owls. Alas, these owls are not to be trusted. They had obviously received advanced intel about our arrival and skedaddled to some other part of the refuge. As we crept along in the early light, though, we spotted a flock of about sixty small birds suddenly rising up from the snow-covered grass. “Waxwings?” I asked as Braden quickly got his binoculars on them. I parked the car as he answered, “No. Guess again.” “Snow Buntings?” I asked excitedly. “Yes!”

Can you find the buntings? Even with the spotting scope, the rascals proved challenging to observe.

We watched the birds whirl around before landing again, and quickly broke out the spotting scope. Often, Snow Buntings travel with Lapland Longspurs, but as we scanned the birds feeding hungrily about a hundred yards away, we saw that this flock was pure buntings. Remarkably, these were the first Snow Buntings we’d ever seen on the west side of the mountains and it kicked off the day in fine fashion.

We left Ninepipe with only about ten species, but felt optimistic heading north, and sure enough, found a pair of gorgeous Long-eared Owls at a well-known spot near Polson, Montana. At a nearby bakery, we also happened to snag two donuts and a cinnamon roll for our Year List. Yum!

**Bird of the Day: Even concealed in this thicket, this Long-eared Owl and its companion gave us our best-ever look at these animals in the wild.**

We weren’t sure what we were going to do next, but decided to retrace last year’s route and continue on to Kalispell in hopes of finding a Snowy Owl. Last year, we had happened into an amazing group of waterfowl at the north end of the lake, but this year we ran into a much smaller group about halfway up the west side of Flathead at Dayton Bay. Here we found Trumpeter Swans and six kinds of ducks, and it was a good thing as we discovered that the north end of the lake was almost completely frozen.

After an unsuccessful search for Snowy Owls, we stopped at Panera’s for lunch and contemplated our next move. “We could go to the Kalispell dump,” Braden suggested. I cringed at the idea since we’d been yelled at a couple of years before when trying to go there to find gulls and Gray-crowned Rosy-finches. The trick was to arrive with some trash to throw away, but we’d forgotten to bring any. As we munched away on our Kitchen Sink cookies, however, we formulated a plan. After leaving Panera’s I drove behind some of the big box stores nearby and, sure enough, found some wasted cardboard sitting there. I tossed it into our trusty minivan and we were all set!

Alas, we found nothing truly extraordinary at the landfill. We did pick up Herring Gulls, which can be a bit tricky to locate in Montana, but the real surprise was a group of about ten turkeys feeding on garbage. Hm. “I didn’t know they could do that,” Braden said, but it made sense. After all, the amount of food Americans throw away could easily feed several other countries. Though we failed to find anything really rare, we had completed our covert mission and headed south again feeling like we’d done our best. Click here for our dump checklist!

Who knew that Wild Turkeys liked to forage in landfills? We didn’t get any photos of this happening since we had to get in and out of the dump quickly, but thought you’d enjoy this “non-landfill” turkey—a different subspecies than the Landfill Turkey.

As the day again drifted toward darkness, we again hit Ninepipe on our way back to Missoula, picking up American Kestrels, a Northern Harrier, and a couple of large groups of pheasants, but no Short-eared Owls. As a consolation prize, though, as soon as we got home, Braden heard Great Horned Owls hooting from our front porch and called me out to listen. We ended the day with 35 species, undershooting even Braden’s smaller target, but felt good about the day. It was still a respectable number to start the new year, and with Braden heading back to college soon, we both cherished another day getting to bird together. How can you do better than that?

The Good ‘Ole College Try: As our first 2023 day of birding wound down, Braden trudged off across this field to determine if perhaps any Short-eared Owls were just laying low. They weren’t. Still, we felt pleased by our first day of birding, 2023.

A New Year’s Triple-Shot of Owls

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You PhD students of FatherSonBirding may recall that our debut post related to our very first Snowy Owl sighting on March 9, 2018, almost four years and 100+ posts ago. Today’s post marks a return to our roots—sort of.

After a successful birding trip to Oregon to close out 2021, Braden and I decided to kick off 2022 with a modest New Year’s Day tour of Ninepipe National Wildlife Refuge in the vain hope that we might see a Short-eared Owl, a species that totally eluded us last year and is one of our favorite birds. As we headed north in our trusty minivan, however, a crooked nail of a thought kept scratching at my brain. Finally, as we approached St. Ignatius I glanced at Braden and said, “You know, people eBirded the Snowy Owl again yesterday, and this might be our last chance to see it together before you head back to college. What do you think?”

“I’m in,” he answered, “but let’s hit Duck Road first.”

I exhaled, relieved. Even though it would mean an extra two hours of driving, now we were committed. We quickly hit Duck Road at Ninepipe looking for Short-eareds, and of course got skunked, though we did get a great look at a hunting Prairie Falcon and flushed a Great Horned Owl that had taken up residence in a small tree. Then, we high-tailed it toward Kalispell, stopping only for an unsuccessful attempt to find a Lifer Glaucous Gull at Somers Bay.

This Great-horned has apparently taken up residence in a new tree. Don’t be surprised to see it your next time on Duck Road. (Water tower of Charlo in the background—don’t you love telephoto lenses?)

Turning left onto Farm Road in Kalispell—er, Somers to be exact—dark clouds of failure haunted me. After all, we had scoured this neighborhood for four hours in 2021 without so much as a glimpse of a Snowy Owl (see our post “Payin’ Raptor Dues, Reapin’ Raptor Rewards”) and as we crept slowly forward, it felt like history would repeat itself as we passed one owl-less roof and field after another . We turned left on Manning Road and continued driving, stopping a couple of times to scan every house in sight. “I’ve got Collared Doves,” Braden said, just as I focused in on a fuzzy white lump on a roof.

“Got it,” I said. Braden said, “Good,” thinking I was referring to the Collared Doves. “No, I mean the owl,” I clarified. And indeed, only ten minutes after beginning our search, there it was—no more than a quarter mile from where we’d seen our first Snowy in 2018! As beautiful as Snowy Owls are, they don’t usually do a whole lot, but we enjoyed staring at it for ten minutes and taking lousy photos. We thanked the owl and then, with a whole afternoon suddenly freed up, began birding our way back home.

**Okay, not the best photo, but give me a break already. The Snowy was far away!**

We hit numerous spots on our way south, picking up one Year Bird after another. One of the great things about birding on New Year’s is that it resets the birding calendar, making every new bird a Year Bird! In fact, perhaps because of our low expectations, we saw almost everything we could wish for: Common Redpolls, American Tree Sparrow, half a dozen ducks, and an unlikely Double-crested Cormorant. As we once again approached Ninepipe, we had plenty of daylight for a second go at Short-eared Owls. We again bombed on Duck Road so made our way around the fringes of the refuge, ending up on Ninepipe Lane. Suddenly, a large bird leaped into the air.

**I’ve never been able to take sharp in-flight photos, but I just love this image as this Short-eared Owl looks and listens for prey.**

“Short-eared!” Braden shouted. Yes! We got a beautiful look at the amazing creature as it flew a couple of circuits around us and then dove on a hapless mammal in a snowy field. Even more amazing, in the next mile we saw four more Short-eareds! They all perched at a fair distance, but we didn’t mind. In fact, we were glad that we wouldn’t be disturbing them by driving close. Not surprisingly, the SEOWs swooped in for Bird of the Day honors, but we had more birding pleasures in store—including Cedar and Bohemian Waxwings, a Great Blue Heron and kingfisher, a Northern Shrike, and right in our own neighborhood, our last bird of the day, Wild Turkey. It was an awesome way to kick off 2022, and with 46 species under our belts, by far our best Montana New Year’s Day birding experience ever—one we will treasure as Braden prepares to return to college in Maine.

Payin’ Raptor Dues, Reapin’ Raptor Rewards

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Gamblers and fishermen are famous for being superstitious. Birders aren’t much better. Sure, we feed ourselves platitudes such as, “The more you get out, the more you’ll see,” but deep down, we know that the birding gods control our fates, and that our success depends on whether we’re deemed worthy. In our last post, I recounted how Braden and I spent six hours and two days looking for a Gyrfalcon near White Sulpher Springs, only to endure the gods’ wrath. Yesterday morning, when we set out on a quest for a Snowy Owl, we wondered if the gods would continue to scorn us, or whether we had proven ourselves humble and dedicated enough to curry their birdly favor.

**Northern Harriers and other raptors were abundant wherever we looked. They, unfortunately, were not the birds we set out to see!**

We left the house at 6:30 a.m. and by 7:30 were at Ninepipe National Widlife Refuge, where we hoped to score an elusive Year Bird, Short-eared Owl. We drove the dirt roads for more than an hour and saw more than a dozen Red-tailed Hawks, Rough-leggeds, Bald Eagles, Harriers—even a Merlin. No Short-eared Owl. “Ah, well,” I told Braden. “We’ll get ‘em next time.” Inside, though, I was thinking, “Oh, man. Is it going to be that kind of day? Again?”

Well, apparently, it was. Reaching the Snowy Owl neighborhood near Kalispell, we again drove for more than an hour without so much of a glimpse of a white owl. By now, I realized that the BGs must be really pissed at us. We decided to chase some other birds and come back later, however, and did score our first Gray-crowned Rosy-finches in three years at the Kalispell dump—while getting bawled out by the “dump lady” for our efforts. We also found a White-winged Crossbill among a flock of Red Crossbills feeding on some nearby spruce trees. Nice, but not a Snowy Owl.

**Mallards are no doubt the most underrated duck, but this flock of five thousand birds made a big impression on Braden and me!**

After a lunch at Panera Bread (hey, more chicken in my Napa Almond Chicken Salad Sandwich, please!), including our favorite kitchen sink cookies, we hit an amazing field full of about 5,000 Mallards. Stunning! Then, we returned to the Snowy Owl site, where we encountered several other birders. None of them had had any success, either, but while we were commiserating, a photographer named Dick Walker introduced himself and asked, “Are you the father-son birding team?” We’d never been called that, but I answered “Yes,” and he started talking about the Mallard spot we’d just left. He showed us photos of Lapland Longspurs and, most exciting, a Gyrfalcon he had seen only thirty minutes before!

We tore back to the place, forever hopeful. No longspurs. No falcon. After fifteen minutes, though, a massive group of a thousand Mallards lifted off and seconds later, a sleek, jet-fighter shape zoomed across our field of vision. “It’s the Gyr!” Braden shouted.

**Our first Gyr was a darker bird and left no doubt it was master of the skies. We’ll never forget it!**

Indeed it was. We quickly lost it in the distance and decided to race over to another road closer to where it disappeared. We got there and jumped out of the car just as the amazing raptor reappeared, obviously enjoying terrifying the thousands of ducks and geese swirling around it. While Braden set up our scope, I tracked the bird with my binoculars. It seemed to toy with a large group of ducks, but its madness had some method as more and more Mallards peeled off until only two remained. As I watched, breathless, the Gyr hit one of them and took it to the ground. “It got a duck!” I shouted.

**I was astounded how quickly this Baldie swooped in to steal the Gyr’s kill. It made me wonder how many ducks the falcon has to kill before it actually gets to eat one!**

Its victory was temporary. Within thirty seconds, a much larger brown shape swooped in—an immature Bald Eagle. It effortlessly drove the Gyr from its kill, eliciting shouts of outrage from yours truly. We continued watching the amazing creature for another fifteen minutes before it vanished again. Then, after another unsuccessful Snowy Owl circuit, we began the long drive home. As we headed south along Flathead Lake, I thought about BB King, who often talked about paying his dues, and asked myself why we’d seen a Gyrfalcon here, in the last place we’d ever expected. “Maybe our efforts in White Sulphur Springs satisfied the birding gods after all,” I speculated. “Or maybe we just had to pay our birding dues to see the Gyr.” Either way, it had been one of the best birding days Braden and I had ever experienced—even without the Snowy Owl.

Fighting Our Way into Fall Migration!

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As always, we appreciate you sharing this post!

Spring migration traditionally sparks furious activity by both birds and birders. If you want to see a ton of species, you’d better hit spring migration—and hit it hard. Fall migration, on the other hand, is often pretty much ignored. At least Braden and I ignored it until the last couple of years. Then we discovered that we’d better get our tail feathers out there in fall if we want to see some key species—especially shorebirds.

You wouldn’t think that Montana would be a great place for shorebirds. After all, shorebirds like, well, ocean shores, don’t they? Sure, but a surprising number of shorebird species pass through Montana every fall on their way to their wintering grounds. That doesn’t mean that finding them is easy! Especially here in western Montana, finding shorebirds can take persistence and dedication. We began our fall shorebird pursuit last week with a trip up to Ninepipe National Widlife Refuge, about an hour from our house. We were especially hoping to find a Short-billed Dowitcher, a rare Montana visitor that we still needed for our Year List. And guess what? No dowitcher. I did add Least Sandpiper to the year’s tally, and we enjoyed a terrific visit with a perched Peregrine Falcon, but clearly, (more) desperate measures were called for.

**As the Rolling Stones sang, “You can’t always find the birds you want,” but we’ll take a visit with a Peregrin Falcon on any outing!**

A few days later, Braden and I left the house at 6 a.m., heading for Helena, where large numbers of shorebirds had been reported during the past week. We made stops at Lake Helena and the Helena Valley regulating reservoir and saw some nice birds, including some pelicans, but . . . no shorebirds.

One of the great difficulties of IDing shorebirds is that they are often far, far away, necessitating hours hunched over a spotting scope. Unfortunately, our scope is not the best, either. Swarovski or Zeiss or Leica, are you listening??? We’d be happy to mention your name in the next ten posts for a free scope!

Heading south, we reached the day’s major destination, Canyon Ferry Lake. After spending thirty minutes on a fruitless search of one area, we finally reached the place hundreds of shorebirds had been reported just two days earlier. Thankfully, a few—a very few—still remained. That, however, was only the beginning of our challenge because this time of year, shorebirds are even harder to identify than usual. Mixed in with adults that are losing their breeding plumage are countless juveniles who, frankly, are a real pain in the butt to ID. Fortunately, Braden had been studying like crazy and was able to pick out Baird’s, Semipalmated, and Least Sandpipers—and a Year Bird for both of us, Pectoral Sandpiper. Hooray—but where had all the other shorebirds gone?

**After much searching, we finally located a flock of Baird’s Sandpipers at the Willow Creek Reservoir near Harrison—along with a nice raft of American Pelicans behind them.**

We decided to chase them by driving to a place neither of us had ever birded—Willow Creek Reservoir about thirty minutes south of Three Forks—and there, we found at least some of the missing Baird’s Sandpipers that had been farther north before. In fact, we found a flock of 64 of them, along with a pair of beautiful American Avocets. Even better, hiding among them were two “Semis” and a Western Sandpiper—another Year Bird for us! We drove the long route back to Missoula tired but satisfied. Fall migration doesn’t have the glamour and wow factor of spring, but for the patient, it can reap a beach full of rewards.