The week before Thanksgiving, my family had the opportunity to visit a place that featured prominently in my childhood—Cape Cod, Massachusetts. We headed to Boston so that I could accept a big award for my picture book, Border Crossings, but the trip provided many piggybacking opportunities. These included a chance to look at colleges for Braden’s sister, Tessa, and to meet up with Braden for Thanksgiving. After Amy, Tessa, and I spent a few days in Boston, in fact, Braden drove down from the University of Maine and whisked us off to the Cape.
I spent parts of many summers in Woods Hole on the Cape. My father did his post-doc at WHOI—the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution. My step-father spent dozens of summers in Woods Hole doing research and teaching classes at the MBL—the Marine Biological Laboratories. I have many fond (and some not-so-fond) memories of those summers, but had not been back for (gasp) 45 years! I looked forward to revisiting old haunts and showing my family some of the places that had shaped my childhood. Naturally, Braden and I also considered the birding possibilities.
Race Point Lighthouse.
When Braden first mentioned going to Race Point near Provincetown, I hesitated. I recalled driving up there as a ten-year-old and didn’t relish spending an extra four hours of our vacation in a car. When Braden started telling me what we might find there, however, I quickly changed my mind.
Race Point, it turns out, is one of the nation’s premiere places for spotting seabirds from land. A map reveals an obvious reason: Cape Cod juts miles out into the Atlantic Ocean, and the tip—Race Point itself—is surrounded on three sides by the sea. This means that birders have an opportunity to see both regular beach-type birds and many species that only rarely show up near land. Braden and I especially hoped to see jaegers, “tube noses” such as shearwaters, and any interesting gulls or ducks that happened to be around.
After a delicious breakfast at Liz’s Café in Provincetown, Braden and I left Amy and Tessa to explore while we headed off to the parking lot near Race Point lighthouse. As soon as we approached the beach, we spotted Northern Gannets soaring above wild, wind-raked seas. I’d only ever gotten a brief look at a NOGA before, when Braden and I had visited Acadia National Park three years before, so right away the drive up to Provincetown redeemed itself!
However, the excitement was just beginning.
One of perhaps 150 Northern Gannets we saw at Race Point. Like Blue-footed Boobies, these birds torpedo straight down into schools of fish.
As wind and sand pelted us, groups of White-winged and Black Scoters, Common Eiders, and Long-tailed Ducks skimmed the waves just offshore. Some occasionally landed, but most seemed hell-bent for destinations only they knew about. All were birds I had scant experience with, so I soaked up every sighting.
This was only my second time seeing Common Eiders, and I was uber impressed by the coloration of both females and males.
“There’s a Red-throated Loon!” Braden said, pointing to a bird with an exceedingly pale, long neck reaching up from the surface. It wouldn’t be long before we saw several Common Loons, differentiated by blockier heads, chunkier bills, and more black on their faces.
Only my second Red-throated Loon ever. Note the smooth, rounded head and white “winter” face.
At the top of our To Find list were Great Shearwaters, a potential Lifer for both of us. These birds belong to the “tube noses,” the same group of birds that includes albatrosses, fulmars, and storm-petrels. These birds are truly seafarers, rarely approaching shore. Only a few weeks ago, I had caught a glimpse of Sooty Shearwaters while visiting California’s Point Reyes National Park with my friend Scott. Great Shearwaters had been sighted regularly at Race Point for the past couple of weeks, but alas, we arrived too late to see them today.
Braden fruitlessly searching the seas for Great Shearwaters and jaegers.
We still had plenty of thrilling birds to look at, however. As we trudged the mile and a half through the soft sand toward the very tip of the Cape, flocks of Dunlin and Sanderlings in their winter plumages worked the drifts of foam left on the beach by each encroaching wave. We even saw a group of six Horned Larks, birds we were used to seeing on the backroads of Montana—not here at the end of the world.
It had been years since I’d gotten to hang with Dunlins, and it was a real treat.
Not to be outdone, gulls also put on a show. This was the first time I’d ever gotten to see Great Black-backed Gulls in a natural setting. They are the world’s largest gulls, and I gotta say they looked like they belonged in this rugged, challenging environment.
“Look!” Braden suddenly shouted. “Iceland Gull!” Two of them, in fact. These gulls had until recently been split into Iceland and Thayer’s Gull, and Braden and I had seen the latter at the Helena landfill in Montana. This look was much more memorable as both a juvenile and adult landed near us. Both were gorgeous birds with subtle markings, and they quickly jumped into contention for Bird of the Day honors. Not long after seeing the Iceland Gulls, Braden also spotted a Black-legged Kittiwake. I was grateful he’d gained experience with all of these birds while on the East Coast, because I certainly would have missed a lot of them.
I don’t even want to know what this Great Black-backed Gull is eating, as our two Iceland Gulls look on.
I picked up two Lifers for the day. One was Razorbill, a kind of black-and-white alcid I had dreamed about seeing for years (see our post “All About Alcids”). During our hike to the lighthouse and back, we saw about eighty of these birds in groups, flying low or bobbing up and down in the jagged waves. My second Lifer was a pair of Purple Sandpipers that landed in front of us and shouldn’t have been anywhere near a wide sandy beach. Like its closely-related West Coast cousin the Rock Sandpiper, these are rocky shore birds.
I was especially thrilled to see my Lifer Razorbills, but it’s a tossup whether these or the Iceland Gulls grabbed Bird of the Day honors.
“They must be migrating,” I said, and Braden agreed, though we were well within their wintering latitudes.
As we trudged back toward the car, Braden spotted a fin jutting out of the water. At first we thought it might be the dorsal fin of a shark or orca, but after watching it for a few minutes, we concluded that we were looking at the tail flukes of a larger whale. I’d seen quite a few humpback whales before, and these didn’t look anything like it. “I think it’s a Right Whale,” I said. Later, we learned that Right Whales had been regularly spotted in the area. It was one more unforgettable discovery for a memorable day.
In our last post, we detailed where to buy bird-related books. For our 200th post (gasp), we’d like to share some of our favorite bird books. We are by no means attempting to be comprehensive and we apologize to the many fine authors and books we didn’t have space to include. When it comes to holiday shopping especially, however, we realize that “less is more” so we’ve limited ourselves to the books that first soar to mind. Note that we haven’t gone crazy on the hyper-links here, but recommend just calling your local indie bookstore and placing an order (see our last post). Any of these books can also be ordered from Buteo Books or from a certain not-to-be-named e-commerce giant. Please feel free to share this post with friends and others in desperate need of holiday gift ideas!
Field Guides
There are so many field guides available that your head will spin considering them. Braden and I have enjoyed field guides by Peterson, National Geographic, Kenn Kaufman, and many other sources. The one we return to again and again, however, is The Sibley Guide to Birds, Second Edition. While many other guides seem cramped or present information in a difficult-to-use format, Sibley strikes the right balance with generous, uncluttered illustrations and to-the-point identification information and range maps. If you’re going to buy one guide for the US and Canada, this is the one. Note that if you need field guides for specific countries or regions, you often won’t have a great deal to choose from. Our first stop is usually Princeton University Press, which seems to have field guides for many of the world’s regions (see our last post).
“How To” Guides for Beginners
I swear, I wasn’t going to include my own book near the front here, but it logically follows field guides. Especially when it comes to buying a gift for the beginning birder, you can’t beat Birding for Boomers—And Everyone Else Brave Enough to Embrace the World’s Most Rewarding and Frustrating Activity. Here’s a recent review from Foreward Reviews: “Because the book is aimed at new birders, it includes advice about what kinds of binoculars to consider, what clothing and equipment to use, the value of a good field guidebook, and useful online resources. Its guidance is casual, often relayed with light humor and embellished by personal anecdotes. Challenges specific to boomers factor into its advice on birding with hearing, eyesight, and mobility challenges, and into its considerations for those on fixed incomes. It also makes important points about safety for nonwhite and LGBTQ+ birders. With its ranging approach and easy-to-follow advice, Birding for Boomers is a handy guide for all those—boomer or otherwise—who are looking to pick up an ornithological hobby.” Click here to order!
Birding Road Trip Books
We’re going to stick with two classics here. The first is Wild America: The Legendary Story of Two Great Naturalists on the Road by Roger Tory Peterson and James Fisher. This really is required—and enjoyable—reading for those working on a life list or doing a Big Year, or anyone wanting to educate herself on the history of birding in the United States. Our second choice is Kenn Kaufman’s irresistible Kingbird Highway: The Biggest Year in the Life of an Extreme Birder. This was one of the first birding books Braden and I read and it is still one of our favorites, recounting the passions and pursuits of someone who just couldn’t help but chase and learn about birds. If you need to add a third title to this list, we wouldn’t complain if you picked up Warblers & Woodpeckers: A Father-Son Big Year of Birding!
Natural History and Science
This category could fill several blogs, but we’ll keep it brief except to say that you must read all of the books below—and they all make great gifts for anyone remotely interested in nature.
Where Song Began: Australia’s Birds and How They Changed the World by Tim Low: highly entertaining, it will change the way you think about birds.
A Most Remarkable Creature: The Hidden life and Epic Journey of the World’s Smartest Birds of Prey by Jonathan Meiburg: a fascinating account of one of our favorite groups of birds, caracaras.
Far From Land: The Mysterious Lives of Seabirdsby Michael Brooke: a wonderful account of birds most of us want to spend more time with—but, sadly, never will.
Hard to Categorize—But Read Anyway
The Ravenmaster: My Life with the Ravens at the Tower of Londonby Christopher Skaife. The title says it all, but doesn’t come close to reflecting just how entertaining and fascinating this book is!
Imperial Dreams: Tracking the Imperial Woodpecker Through the Wild by Tim Gallagher. This book provides a captivating blend of adventure and natural history, following a small group’s dedicated efforts to find a species that now is almost certainly extinct—but just might not be!
The Falcon Thief: A True Tale of Adventure, Treachery and the Hunt for the Perfect Birdby Joshua Hammer. A fascinating look at the world of falcon and egg poaching.
And One More for Montanans
If you really want to buy something special for your Montana birder or birding family, take the plunge on Birds of Montana by Jeffrey S. Marks, Paul Hendricks, and Daniel Casey. This remarkable volume summarizes just about everything that is known about more than 400 Montana resident, migrant, and vagrant bird species. Rarely a week goes by when we don’t dive into this book to learn about a bird we’ve seen or have been thinking about. The book occupies a prominent place on our shelves and is a prized acquisition in our bird book library. Click the image below to order.
A wonderful compendium of information about birds living in, frequenting, or just visiting Montana. As an author, I reference it constantly.
After our amazing encounter with Vaux’s Swifts and shorebirds (see our last post), Scott and I had another productive session the next morning at the Ellis Creek water recycling facility and Tubbs Island, both in Sonoma County. As an added bonus, we got to bird with two of Scott’s pals, Steve and Sean. Steve and Scott began birding about the same time and were still in the beginning phases of their birding careers, but Sean grew up birding and taught us all some cool ID features. Most important, he confirmed that the peeps Scott and I saw the day before were indeed Least Sandpipers. With his help, we were also able to identify a couple of sneaky Western Sandpipers that were comingling with the approximately 400 Least Sandpipers in front of us. As much as we enjoyed these sessions, what Scott, Steve, and I looked forward to the next day even more. That’s when we planned to bird legendary Abbotts Lagoon.
(L to R) Sean, Steve, and Scott investigating the wilds of the Ellis Water recyling plant!
Abbotts Lagoon sits within Point Reyes National Seashore, and none of us had ever before birded it. However, Braden and our occasional guest contributor, Roger Kohn, had both been there and given it high marks. As we crested the mountains at Point Reyes and drove down toward the coast, I didn’t know what we would find, but held my hopes high.
Reaching the beginning of the lagoon requires a mile or so hike through remarkable dwarf-like vegetation that reminded me of steppe or tundra, probably because fog enshrouded the lands around us. I hadn’t realized we would have to hoof it so far, but I was grateful because we got great looks at many California residents: California Quail, California Scrub-Jays, White-crowned Sparrows, and most exciting, Wrentits. One of these, in fact, popped up no more than fifteen feet from us—unusual for a generally secretive bird. Nontheless, it was the lagoon and beach beyond that propelled us forward and when we reached the lagoon we found . . .
Though a bit of a hike, the mile-long walk to the lagoon offered a nice variety of songbirds and raptors, including this banded White-crowned Sparrow.
Nothing.
Well, almost. Instead of vast rafts of shorebirds ripping up the mud, only a couple of wading birds and American White Pelicans could be made out as far as the eye could see. Darn, I thought to myself. But if there’s an, ahem, cardinal rule to birding it is this: You Never Know. So we plowed ahead, following the harder beach sand, and soon came to a little bend where we got great close-ups of three Red-necked Phalaropes and a Pectoral Sandpiper—a bird I recognized only from my hours studying them in Montana. This bird, in fact, was quite interesting because PESAs show up only in small numbers on the West Coast, and generally only in fall. A lifer for Scott and Steve!
These Red-necked Phalaropes and a lone Pectoral Sandpiper were the highlights of our walk around the lagoon to the beach.Pectoral Sandpiper.
Continuing toward the ocean, we spotted two Black-bellied Plovers and a flight of shorebirds in the distance, but it wasn’t until we reached the ocean that we got some real action.
I was just as excited by pelagic bird possibilities as I was by shorebirds, and once on the beach I immediately set up the spotting scope we’d lugged the two miles out there. Like shorbs, I rarely have a chance to observe pelagic birds, and I felt determined to make the most of this rare opportunity. Right away, I saw a number of dark shapes out on the water—shapes that appeared and disappeared on the four-foot swell. Oh man, I thought to myself, I’m never going to be able to figure out what those are. In such situations, I have learned to relax and just hang in there, and that’s what I did now.
From studying before the trip, I came up with several likely possibilities of species that could be out there. These included Common Murres, Pigeon Guillemots, various storm-petrels, and Sooty Shearwaters. In fact, as we arrived, I noticed at least eight medium-sized dark birds swooping low over the water. When they turned, I spotted light patches under the wings. First victory: Sooty Shearwaters.
Then, I saw a larger bird floating a couple of hundred yards offshore. The shape shouted “Loon” and I thought, “Hm, that looks like it has a silvery sheen on its head.” Victory #2: Pacific Loon!
Identifying pelagic birds at great distance can take great patience and not a little skill, but in time, many species reveal themselves. The keys to this Pacific Loon? A silvery sheen on its head, a thinner bill than found on Common Loons, and a thin black “chin strap” or collar around the neck.
After that, it got harder, but I did manage to ID some distant Common Murres by the white around the face and neck, thinner “up-pointed” bills, and longer body lengths. A seabird expert undoubtedly would have found additional species, but as a seabird novice, I felt satisfied. Humorously, as I was looking through the scope, I suddenly saw a whale’s tail emerge behind several of the birds. Did I look up? Of course not! Who has time for pesky mammals when there are ocean birds to be seen!
But let us not ignore the beach itself. As Scott, Steve, and I enjoyed the waves and emerging sun, the shorebirds decided to put on a show. On one side of us, a flock of at least 150 Least Sandpipers landed only a hundred yards away. On the other side, a couple of hundred Western Sandpipers settled down. Talk about your perfect conditions for comparison! In fact, this was my first chance ever to get good, leisurely looks at Westerns and I took full advantage of it.
The beach at Abbotts Lagoon offered by far my best opportunity ever to study Western Sandpipers. Note (if you can) the overall pale appearance and the reddish “shoulder blades” typical of juveniles this time of year.WESAs also tend to have longer, more curved bills than other peeps.
You remember that Sesame Street song “One of these things is not like the other?” Studying the Least Sandpipers, I spotted a much paler bird with a thick black bill and black legs. Another peep: Sanderling!
Meanwhile, among the Western Sandpipers, I espied smaller birds with shorter bills and dark collars around their necks—Semipalmated Plovers!
I was especially tickled to find half a dozen Semipalmated Plovers among the Western Sandpipers. Go plovers!
To add to the show, a Peregrine Falcon landed on the sand behind us, and on the way back we saw several other raptors including a White-tailed Kite. After Abbotts, we got a delicious lunch at Inverness Park Market, and then headed to Limantour Beach for great looks at Surf Scoters. All in all, it was an awesome day chasing migrants, featuring good birds, good food, and best of all, great company.
Braden and I write FatherSonBirding in the hopes of sharing the wonders of birds and birding, and the urgency to protect them. We do not accept advertising or donations, but if you’d like to support our work, please consider buying *NEW* copies of some of Sneed’s books—First-Time Japan, for instance, or my forthcoming picture book for younger readers, Like No Other: Earth’s Coolest One-of-a-Kind Creatures, available for pre-order now. We appreciate your interest and hope you will keep reading!
Saturday was the long-anticipated wedding day of our friends, Jazz and Brad, but the Big Event wasn’t kicking off until 3:30 p.m. True to my recent trend, I awoke at 3:30 a.m. with ample time to hit the birding spot that I most looked forward to on the trip: March Point. Why? Because I thought it might offer my best opportunity to find both seabirds and shorebirds. Looking at a map, in fact, March Point looked like a wonderful, natural area and I was already envisioning pristine beaches and offshore waters loaded with birds. Imagine my surprise when I arrived at 6:00 a.m. to find that March Point is actually the site of a gigantic Marathon Petroleum refinery!
March Point was not quite the undisturbed natural area I was expecting!
It was a cold, blustery morning, but undeterred, I pulled over and scanned the offshore waters. I spotted several groups of presumed Pelagic Cormorants, but precious little else on the waters or the shore. With some persistence, I did locate another Pigeon Guillemot out near the ginormous pier jutting out into Puget Sound, but it was slim pickins.
What do you suppose this Pelagic Cormorant is about to eat? I’m guessing an eel-like fish called a wrasse!
I kept driving, pulling over now and then to scan the shore—no doubt closely monitored by the refinery’s security team. Finally, at one pull-out, I spotted a bird near the top of my trip wish list: a Black Oystercatcher. I watched this magnificent bird from my car for several minutes before it flew off, leaving a smile on my face.
This Black Oystercatcher at March Point definitely strolled into contention for “Trip Bird” honors for our Wedding Day weekend.
Turning around, I made my way back around immense oil storage tanks and stopped to study some Glaucous-winged X Western hybrid gulls. It took some research and a discussion with Braden to figure out exactly what these gulls were. Glaucous-winged Gulls are known for beautiful soft gray wings and wing tips, but all of the gulls I was seeing looked too dark—yet not dark enough to be Western Gulls. According to Braden, though, this part of Washington State was dead center in the transition zone between the two species, and accordingly, most of the birds were hybrids.
This Glaucous-winged X Western hybrid gull is typical of the gulls I saw during our entire trip to Washington: too dark for Glaucous-winged, too light for Western. Very educational!
On my way back to the hotel, I stopped at Padilla Bay at the base of March Point for a nice visit with some warblers and swallows. There, I heard my year’s first Black-headed Grosbeak giving off its frenetic robin-like song. Then, it was back to Burlington to prepare for the wedding.
The wedding was a smash hit, full of love and music and joy. And never fear, dear readers, I did amass an eBird list of six species at the wedding venue, including the year’s first look at a Black-headed Grosbeak, singing in celebration of Jazz and Brad’s big day. Oh, and they (Jazz and Brad, not the grosbeaks) served Thai food at the wedding. How good is that???
Alas, the next day, we were due to return to Seattle for our flight home. Fortunately, we didn’t need to be at the airport until noon or one o’clock, leaving time for one last morning birding adventure. I really wasn’t sure where I should go. I wasn’t having much luck along the coast, and felt I’d seen most of the forest birds that interested me. But there were two more species I wanted to take a shot at: Black-throated Gray Warbler and Red-breasted Sapsucker.
Ted Reep Park offered the trip’s last birding opportunity—and my best shot at seeing both Red-breasted Sapsuckers and Black-throated Gray Warblers.A bit of bush-whacking required!
It had been years since I’d seen either one of these birds and, well, I was missing them. Lucky me, eBird showed a spot only a mile from our hotel which had recorded both birds in the past month. I wasn’t sure what my chances of finding them might be, but after a quick bowl of oatmeal, I made my way over to Ted Reep Park. I parked in the deserted YMCA lot, despite warning signs threatening that I would be towed. After all, I was a member of the Missoula YMCA!
From the time I pulled up, the spot looked—or rather, sounded—promising. Merlin’s Sound ID immediately picked up White-crowned Sparrow, Black-headed Grosbeak, Warbling Vireo, Song Sparrow, Yellow Warbler, and more, and I soon started seeing some of these birds.
You just gotta love Song Sparrows. Not only are they incredibly handsome critters, they often pose for close-up photographs!
This was thick riparian habitat, however, where visuals were hard to come by and most birding was by ear—not ideal for someone like myself with hearing disabilities and a brain that had trouble remembering bird vocalizations. My new hearing aids were a vast improvement over my old ones, though, and with the help of Sound ID I began teasing out most of the species around me. Then, I heard something that got me really excited: a stuttering drumming sound, like a car having trouble starting up! A sapsucker! But which one?
A quick look at my Sibley app told me that Red-breasted was the only sapsucker remotely likely to be in this area, so I plunged into the woods, following the trail toward the stutter-step drumming. Predictably, the trail grew more and more sketchy, and I soon found myself crawling under and over logs that had fallen across the path. Nevertheless, after five minutes, I found myself standing directly beneath the sapsucker drumming.
There were at least two sapsuckers—but probably three or four—and it became evident that they were dueling, perhaps over territories or mates. But darn it, try as I might, I could not spot any of them against the backlit tree trunks and branches! Just as frustrating, the birds kept moving around, so like a Keystone Cop I chased the birds up and down the trail. Finally, I despaired of getting a look at any of them, but by now I at least was confident that these were indeed Red-breasted Sapsuckers. And wouldn’t you know, as soon as I decided that, two of the birds chased each other right by me, their red heads clearly visible even in the dark forest!
Happy, I bushwhacked through raspberry vines and a swath of chest-high grass until I ran into another trail that led me back toward my car. I still hadn’t seen a Black-throated Gray Warbler, and didn’t find one on the hike back, but I was delighted to have discovered such a wonderful birding spot. It again reaffirmed how important it is to protect natural habitats for animals and people. Bravo Washington for protecting places like Ted Reep Park!
I failed to capture any photos of the Red-breasted Sapsuckers, but just love this White-crowned Sparrow’s pose out at March Point. I think he’s singing “Once we all wean ourselves off of fossil fuels, we can turn this place back into the natural habitat it is meant to be!” At least that’s what Google Translate came up with.
After almost two months in the Sierras, Braden and his co-worker San Darmstadt headed to the coast for a much-anticipated chance to go on a pelagic birding cruise out of Half Moon Bay—familiar territory for his dad (yours truly) during his college years at Cal. While Braden had suffered from seasickness on previous pelagic cruises, he hoped that today would be different—especially because he was within three species of reaching the coveted 1,000 mark for his Life List. Would he make it? Would he lose his lunch—and breakfast? Read on to find out—and, as always, please feel free to share this post.
Photography note: as you will read below, Braden was not able to take photos of this trip, so I (Sneed) have taken the liberty of including photos from our first pelagic trip, out of Monterey with Debi Shearwater, during our Big Year of 2016. Photos of the actual Half Moon Bay cruise graciously provided by Sam Darmstadt! (Photo captions by Sneed.)
As far as I could count, I had taken not one, not two, but at least five precautions to counteract seasickness. As our boat, the Captain Pete, pulled out of Pillar Point Harbor, I stood on the ship’s port side, staring at the foggy seaside communities of Half Moon Bay, confident that this would be the time I finally avoided turning green out on the ocean. I could not have been more horribly wrong.
The leader of the Institute for Bird Populations Spotted Owl crew, Ramiro Aragon, had told us about this Half Moon Bay pelagic trip back in early June, and Sam Darmstadt and I had quickly signed up. That had given us close to two months of growing anticipation for the trip, and both of us were thrilled as we stepped aboard the boat at seven in the morning, backpacks loaded with saltines and minds filled with possible lifers we could see. I had taken a “Less Drowsy” Dramamine tablet half an hour earlier, and wore two acupressure bands on my wrists that supposedly helped to prevent motion sickness. The night before, I’d gone to bed early rather than socializing so that I would feel well-rested for the ten-hour pelagic the next morning. I even left my camera in the cabin, swearing to only use my binoculars if absolutely necessary as I grasped the railing with one hand and tucked the other in my pocket for warmth.
The birds began rolling in as soon as the boat cleared the harbor. Thousands of pelicans and cormorants roosted on the breakers, waiting for the heavy fog to lift. Alvaro Jamarillo, one of the United States’ best birders and a leading expert on all water-related birds (especially gulls), called out a Wandering Tattler feeding just above the water line on some of the rocks, providing everyone onboard with stellar looks at this species that I’ve only seen twice before. Behind Debi Shearwater’s famous pelagic boat tours that ended a few years prior, Alvaro’s Adventures were the most famous West Coast pelagic tours, in part thanks to Alvaro’s skill and experience, along with the rarities he’d encountered over the years. In 2014, this exact trip out of Half Moon Bay had run into the first ABA record of Salvin’s Albatross!
Hearts flutter with anticipation whenever a pelagic birding cruise leaves the harbor. Unfortunately, for those prone to seasickness, it will soon be a different part of the anatomy that flutters . . . and lurches and heaves!
Besides taking measures against seasickness, I’d compiled a slideshow to identify many of the species that were possible on this trip, and spent a good few hours staring at jaeger plumages, identification of winter alcids, and tubenose flight styles. I had a good idea of which birds were likely or possible on this trip, and had several targets in mind. Two of those were the birds I’d missed on the trip my dad and I had taken out of Monterey Bay six years earlier, Buller’s Shearwater and Ashy Storm-petrel. I’d been in the cabin, trying not to throw up, as these birds had flown by the boat. I intended for a different story this time.
Leaving the harbor, Alvaro called out a lifer almost immediately: Marbled Murrelet. I quickly saw smaller, browner alcids sitting in pairs between the groups of Common Murres, and allowed myself a few looks in my binoculars at these birds with such interesting ecology. Marbled Murrelet is a bird that has been on my dad’s and my minds for some time now, in part because, despite being seabirds, they breed dozens of miles inland in old growth forests. I learned later that in this area, while land was still in view, we had the highest count of this species ever recorded on any of Alvaro’s pelagic trips!
Even though they are some of the most common birds on pelagic trips, Common Murres are also some of the most remarkable. Before the chicks can even fly, the male parents goad them into leaping off of their cliff-face birthplaces into the sea, and raise them on the ocean surface. I’m thinking I should have tried that with Braden!
We began to move north and away from shore, and the water began to grow choppy. As I waited for birds to begin appearing, I talked with a friendly British birder standing next to me, and learned about all of the rare birds he’d been seeing in Britain in the last few years, including an American Robin that thousands of birders had gone to look for. The fog did not show any signs of disappearing, but we soon began to see birds streaking by in the distance: our first Sooty Shearwaters of the trip. Soon, we were amongst them, and by the end of the trip we had tallied thousands of the species. Pink-footed Shearwaters began to join them in low numbers, and I glimpsed a Northern Fulmar sitting in the water, a bird that I’d never seen in the United States.
Braden and Sam were delighted to see thousands of Sooty Shearwaters streak through the fog and alight on the ocean. (Photo courtesy of Sam Darmstadt)
Alas, the seas were not cooperating with my stomach. I later spoke to a birder who had been on upwards of twenty pelagic trips out of California who told me that he had never been on seas this rough. The wave heights reached seven or more feet at some points, and I stood there with my eyes on the horizon, refusing to glance at any birds that flew by. Please, I prayed, No seasickness today. It’s dampened enough of my pelagics already.
It was wishful thinking. After about an hour and a half of holding out, I made my way to the back of the boat and released my breakfast. This began a day of the most physical pain I have ever been in while birding. I had to visit the back of the boat eight times, in-between lying flat on my back on a seat in the cabin. I felt frustrated. I’d tried so hard, and done everything right, yet still, I was almost the only person on the boat stricken with seasickness and by far the worst case. And what’s more, I missed birds because of it.
As I lay in the cabin, trying to ignore the dizziness in my head, I heard one of the spotters out on the deck call out “Buller’s Shearwater!” I jumped up and rushed outside, but couldn’t spot the bird as it flew away from us. I could barely stand up, and had no intention of standing out there if the bird wasn’t there. There will be others, I thought, but there weren’t. It was the only Buller’s spotted on the whole trip, and as I learned later, the rarest bird seen that day. Sigh. I had really wanted to see that bird, a tubenose with such a detailed, beautiful wing pattern, yet something beyond my control had taken it from me for a second time. Adding to my frustration, I had no idea when I would be able to take another pelagic out of coastal California, but it would surely be years.
But as I lay in bed, I had to remind myself that a birding trip is not just defined by what birds you miss. Circumstance, not skill, had been the reason I’d missed the bird, and I’d see another one someday. And the birds (and other wildlife) I had seen had made the trip very worth it.
I missed one other lifer due to seasickness, one that was considerably less impressive than Buller’s Shearwater: Cassin’s Auklet, what I still believe to be not only the most lackluster alcid but one of the more boring birds in the United States. When several were called out, I sat up from my bench in the cabin and looked through the window in vain, straining to see a shape, but with no luck. However, when Ashy Storm-Petrel was announced over the intercom, I did the same thing, with success. I briefly spotted several dark, swallow-like birds flapping over the open ocean before collapsing back onto my seat. I lay there thinking, well, the looks weren’t great, but at least I saw the bird. And then it hit me. Marbled Murrelet had been my life bird #998. Ashy Storm-Petrel was #999. I’d just missed the Buller’s, but could not miss the next lifer that was called out, no matter how much physical pain it caused me.
The next bird called out was not a lifer, but it was a bird I hadn’t seen in six years and one I had been looking forward to seeing again. “Black-footed Albatross at nine o clock, flying towards the boat!”. I lifted myself up to stare out the window, and sure enough, there it was. A huge, dark seabird with a light-colored face cruised by at close range, causing me to smile as I fell back into my seat.
Black-footed Albatrosses are a special treat for any birder, and often give great looks, as Braden and I found on our 2016 Monterey pelagic cruise.
And then it happened. “There’s a flock of Sabine’s Gulls at nine o clock, and a Long-tailed Jaeger’s chasing them!” I again leapt out of my seat, stomach doing flips, and grabbed my binoculars from the table before stumbling out onto the deck. “Where is the jaeger?” I said, half-asleep (the “Less Drowsy” Dramamine had not been what it claimed to be). “There, behind the gulls!”
I stared out at a large flock of Sooty Shearwaters floating in the water. There were no gulls here. And then, the water dipped, revealing twenty-or-so Sabine’s Gulls in full breeding plumage, something I’d never seen before. I spent very little time admiring them, however—I was about to throw up again and I needed to get on this lifer. Then I saw it: a cream-colored bird with a dark cap and brown wings sitting in the water, its two long tail streamers waving in the wind. The whole flock suddenly flushed, scattering everywhere. The shearwaters went away from the boat, while the gulls flew off towards the front. The jaeger, however, decided to fly right over us. I stared up in astonishment as this beautifully-patterned, rare seabird floated right overhead, giving me the best views I’d ever had of any of the three jaeger species. It even had its tail feathers completely intact, making the identification much easier than anything I’d prepared for! Then, in celebration of my 1000th world life bird, I emptied the contents of my stomach over the back of the boat.
Braden could not have asked for a better 1,000th Life Bird than this cooperative Long-tailed Jaeger! (Photo courtesy Sam Darmstadt)
I forced myself to get up and peer through the cabin window for one more animal: Killer Whales. When they were called out, I ignored the thoughts in my head about how I’d seen them before in Iceland and should try to sleep instead, again peering out the foggy window. Sure enough, a young male Orca surfaced right next to the boat, showing off its white eye-spot and gray, saddle-like patch located behind its fin. That was all I could do before laying back down. The cetaceans then proceeded to put on a show for the rest of the boat, and turned out to be significantly rarer than anything else we saw that day, having only been seen on trips like this a handful of times. Other mammals that I got glimpses of were Humpback Whale, California Sea Lion and Harbor Seal.
Pelagic birding cruises might just as well be called pelagic cetacean cruises as, more often than not, various whales and dolphins put in an appearance—to wit, these Risso’s Dolphins from our 2016 trip.
Once we were about an hour from shore, on our way back, I got up and walked back out on the deck, feeling significantly better after sleeping for a few hours. Both the sky and the ocean had cleared up, and I stared at the Sooty Shearwaters that flew by, hoping another Buller’s would make an appearance. Besides those two lifers, I’d missed two other species: a Tufted Puffin that had flown by while I was in the bathroom, and several Pomarine Jaegers. As we drew closer to shore, however, I noticed a strange-looking gull flying in front of the boat. I raised my binoculars, and shouted out an identification before my brain could even decide if that identification was right or not. “Pomarine Jaeger!”
The Loch Ness Seabird??? No, a Tufted Puffin peaking over a wave!
Sure enough, all of the experts agreed—it was a clean-looking light morph jaeger with a dark breast band and a barrel-chested look. Despite the fact that the spotters had been calling out jaegers all day, I’d never spotted and identified one by myself, and a feeling of pride washed over me as everyone else got on the bird. This bird also helped me knock down my list of missed species to only three.
I basically kissed the ground once we got back to shore. Me and Sam’s birding for the day was not yet done, but that will have to make another blog. Despite the fact that my entire body was sore, and I was frustrated about missing one of the birds I’d most wanted to see, I had also had a great time. Getting great looks at Pomarine and Long-tailed Jaeger alone had made the trip worth it, besides all of the year birds and other lifers I’d seen. I’d gotten to one thousand species—roughly one-tenth of all of the bird species on the planet, and well on my way to seeing the other nine thousand. I was also firmly hooked on seabirds. One of the first things I said to my dad when he called me the next morning was this, “If I had to go through everything I went through all over again today, it would be worth it. I would get back on that boat.”
