Tag Archives: Plovers

The Shorebirds of North America (Book Review)

With spring shorebird migration coming on, we take a break from our Colombian birding series to review a new book that will help prepare you for the exciting, sometimes daunting task of identifying and enjoying some of the world’s most spectacular long-distance migrants. Bird—and read—on!

Legions of FatherSonBirding readers have probably noticed that Braden and I have increasingly become interested—nay, obsessed—by shorebirds over the years. See, for example, our posts

Montana Shorebird Surprise

Abbotts Lagoon, Point Reyes National Seashore (or Chasing Migrants, Part II)

Our fascination may seem odd given that Montana is hardly the world’s epicenter of shorebird activity. Then again, their very rarity here renders them all the more alluring to find and learn about. A natural birding progression also is at work. When beginning one’s birding journey, we birders naturally focus on common, familiar species. As confidence, curiosity, and ambition grow, so does the desire to learn about and identify more difficult groups of birds. When we first began birding, Braden and I focused on woodpeckers, thrushes, waterfowl, waders, owls, and other easier-to-identify species. Over the years, we have plunged into increasingly challenging groups including warblers, sparrows, flycatchers (Braden), gulls, and perhaps more than anything, “shorbs.”

**A flock of Western Sandpipers at Point Reyes during my September visit to California with Scott Callow.**

When out scanning beaches or shallow lakes, the most common phrase Braden repeats to me is “Shorebirds are tough.” This usually happens when I am whining about the difficulty in distinguishing between off-season Least and Semipalmated Sandpipers, or White-rumped and Baird’s Sandpipers—especially at a distance. But many shorbs are relatively easy to identify, and over the years both Braden and I have come to appreciate—nay, savor—the entire breadth of these fascinating, superbly adapted critters. Imagine my joy, then, when a brand new, beautifully photographed book about shorebirds arrived on my doorstep: Pete Dunne’s and Kevin T. Karlson’s The Shorebirds of North America: A Natural History and Photographic Celebration (Princeton University Press, 2024).

*The Shorebirds of North America* by Pete Dunne and Kevin T. Karlson (Princeton University Press, 2024)

To say that The Shorebirds of North America is ambitious would be like calling the 18,000-mile round-trip migration of a Red Knot “neat” instead of “epic” or “mind-blowing.” This terrific addition to birding literature not only gives a wonderful overview of the lives of shorebirds, it provides specific accounts of all the shorebirds likely to interest you. That makes this book a wonderful, highly readable reference for both beginning and advanced birders.

The bulk of the book consists of species accounts of 52 kinds of shorebirds known to breed in North America and my guess is that you, like me, will skip directly to species that happen to interest you at the present time. This is a great approach. One of the first shorebirds I looked up was Black-bellied Plover, a bird I have become more and more enthralled with the past several years. As I started to read, my understanding of this handsome creature immediately swelled. I didn’t realize, for instance, that it is one of the world’s most widely distributed shorebirds, or that it is called Grey Plover outside of North America. What really tickled me was learning how fearlessly aggressive these birds can be:

“On the high Arctic tundra breeding grounds,” the authors write, “this sturdy plover is a fierce protector of its large nest area, and it strikes fear into aerial predators as large as gulls and jaegers. Woe to any flying predator if it hears the whistled alarm call of Black-bellied Plover as it flies swift and low across the tundra before rising to spear the intruder in the belly with its strong bill . . .”

The 4-letter breeding code for Black-bellied Plovers is BBPL. After reading the entry for the bird in *The Shorebirds of North America*, however, I realized that BBPL could easily stand for “Bad-ass-bellied Plover”.

Who knew that one of my favorite birds is such a bad-ass? Similarly delightful “reveals” can be found in each account, many of them based on the authors’ own personal and scientific experiences with the birds.

Far from just being pretty to look at, the book’s incredible photos add real understanding of each species by showing them in a variety of plumages and situations. I enjoyed just quizzing myself on the photos as I made my way through the book, testing and expanding my knowledge as I went. I cannot imagine the effort Kevin T. Karlson and the book’s other photographers invested in creating what may be the world’s finest collection of shorebird photos.

Another thing I learned from *The Shorebirds of North America* is that the bills of oystercatchers are laterally compressed. You can’t tell this from the typical side view, but this compression turns the bills into excellent chisels for prying limpets, snails, and chitons off of rocks.

As delightful as the species accounts are, I strongly urge readers to read the entire first section straight through. In this section, the authors provide excellent perspective on all shorebirds including their remarkable adaptations, habits, diversity, and evolution. Fascinating anecdotes abound, such as the story of B-95, a banded Red Knot known to have traveled more than 400,000 miles during his 21-year lifetime. The authors don’t bother to hide their admiration for these birds:

“Challenged to design the perfect bird, we would without hesitancy delve into ranks of shorebirds and reach down to the Scolopacidae (sandpipers), the largest of the roughly six or seven family groups in the shorebird order Charadriiformes.”

Another fascinating fact I picked up from *The Shorebirds of North America* is that the curved bills of Long-billed Curlews are almost perfectly designed to snatch fiddler crabs from their long, curved burrows. They’re also great for picking off grasshoppers without alerting them to their imminent doom.

I could keep singing this book’s praises, but really, if you have even the tiniest, nascent interest in shorebirds, you should order a copy yourself. Given its length and full-color format, I expected the book to sell for at least fifty or sixty bucks, but at the time of this posting it can be had for a bargain $35. That puts it within reach of most people—and makes it an investment in your birding future you won’t regret.

One-Sentence Summary: A highly-readable, indispensable resource for both beginning and advanced shorebird enthusiasts.

Overall Rating (on a scale of cool birds): Piping Plover (highest)

You can order The Shorebirds of North America from your local independent bookstore, or directly from Princeton University Press. Please tell them we sent you!

(Except for the cover image, photos in this post are copyright Sneed B. Collard III. Review copy of The Shorebirds of North America provided by the publisher.)

Birding Victoria, BC

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For my birthday, my wife Amy surprised me with a week-long trip to Vancouver Island, including a three-night stay in Victoria and three more nights at a little cabin overlooking the majestic Pacific Ocean and the Olympic Peninsula across the Salish Sea (or Strait of Juan de Fuca). Amy’s surprising plans delighted me, especially since this was where we honeymooned a couple of decades before, and we’d always wanted to return. I was puzzled, however, when she said, “It’s supposed to be a good place to go birding.” What? Birding? On Vancouver Island? In January? After doing a little research on eBird, however, I concluded that she might just be right. For winter, the area seemed to have a good variety of songbirds, but I got even more excited about the possibility of ocean birds.

**While at McMicking Point, this American Crow kindly kept a close watch on my backpack—I’m sure with purely altruistic motives!**

Our first morning there, I awoke before dawn, walked to a nearby convenience store to grab nourishment, and then drove our rental car out to McMicking Point just as light seeped across the sky. I was super excited about this spot because someone had reported sixty species there only days before, including several birds that would be lifers pour moi. I had even dragged my large, awkward spotting scope and tripod out from Montana specifically for such opportunities. Alas, I later learned that the “mega lists” I had found on eBird had been compiled by one of the region’s top birders—a guy who apparently could ID a bird miles away just by the way it flew. My experience would prove far different.

**Though the bird action seemed at first a bit slow, McMicking Point offered the most scenic vistas you could imagine.**

As I set up my scope, my first thought was, “Where are all the birds?” A couple of cormorants—too far away to identify—skimmed the water, along with a few Glaucous-winged Gulls, and I could hear a raven in the neighborhood behind me, but that was it. In such situations, I have learned that it’s important to calm down and be patient—something I am horrible at (just ask Amy), but nonetheless have learned to do. Sure enough, as I trained the scope on some nearby surge channels, I spotted a few Buffleheads and then, to my delight, the trip’s first Harlequin Ducks! In Montana, we have only a narrow window to find HADUs as they breed mainly in a handful of whitewater streams in Glacier and Yellowstone (see our post “In Glacier National Park, When It Rains, It Pours—Animals.”). Because of this, I took extra time to enjoy them.

**This trip could be dubbed the “Harlequin Duck Adventure” as I would see far more HADUs this week than in the entire rest of my life!**

Through my brand new binoculars (more about these in the next post), I also could see interesting action stirring out on the Trial Islands about a quarter mile offshore. I trained my scope out there and immediately picked up Black Turnstones, Black Oystercatchers, and Dunlins working the rocky shore. Then, I got even more excited as I noted several larger, pale, medium-sized shorebirds. Yay! Black-bellied Plovers! This especially reinforced the value of preparing for any birding trip—especially with birds that are far away. The Dunlins, for instance, would have been more difficult for me to pin down if I had not learned that they were the most likely small shorebirds in the area this time of year. I also had noted Black-bellied Plovers on recent eBird lists for the site, and so was primed to recognize them.

I almost always undercount shorebirds. When I first trained the scope on the Trial Islands, I counted about six Black-bellied Plovers. When they flew, the number exploded to forty! Once again, the black armpits in flight give these away (see our post “Chasing Migrants, Part I: Swifts, Peeps, and Plovers”). For bonus points, can you ID the flying birds on the far left?

After picking up a few more species, I departed McMicking Point with, I should emphasize, a grand total of sixteen species—not the sixty-plus I had been dreaming about. Still, my next stop, Clover Point, would add a few more good ones for the day. Unlike McMicking Point, where I birded alone, Clover Point was well-trodden by walkers, dog owners and, it turns out, a few other birders. Here, I got closer looks at Dunlins, Harlequin Ducks, and oystercatchers, but also picked up both Red-necked and Horned Grebes and Surf Scoters. A friendly birder named John also joined me and pointed out a group of White-winged Scoters in the distance along with what he said was a Red-throated Loon, which Braden and I had seen recently on Cape Cod (see our post “Birding Race Point: Cape Cod’s Pelagic Playground“). I couldn’t convince myself of that ID, but we did spot a Pigeon Guillemot about a quarter mile distant.

**Clover Point offered a great chance to watch Dunlins probe the rocky shore for invertebrate morsels.**

“Is there anything special you’re looking for?” John asked me.

“I’d love to find some murrelets,” I told him with a sigh.

“Oh, we should be able to find you more alcids,” he told me, scanning the water with his binoculars. Alas, our efforts proved to no avail, and I admit that I wrapped up the morning feeling a bit of a failure. In fact, I mentioned to John the list with sixty birds on it, and he said, “Oh, that birder is a local legend. You look at his lists and you think he’s just making it up, but I’ve birded with him, and he’s the real deal. He can recognize almost anything.”

**Love, love, love Black Oystercatchers. Can’t get enough—even though I got to hang out with a couple of dozen on the trip!**

That did make me feel better, but even if I had not learned this, it’s important not to fall into the “failure trap.” After all, you can only see what you can see—and the whole point is to enjoy every bird you are lucky enough to encounter. Also, I reminded myself, my Victoria birding was far from over. I brought Amy back to Clover Point the next day, and while she walked along the cliffs, I enjoyed another nice session, including my only encounter with Surfbirds the entire week. These are some of Braden’s and my favorite rocky shore birds, and it was awesome to watch them foraging along with a larger group of Black Turnstones.

**Watching Surfbirds (right) foraging with Black Turnstones (left) was one of the highlights of my second visit to Clover Point.**

That afternoon, while Amy rested at the hotel, I decided to make the most of the season’s abbreviated daylight hours and take a stroll through Beacon Hill Park, a large park stretching almost from downtown out toward the sea near Clover Point. I intentionally left my camera in the room so I could just appreciate whatever I happened to see—which turned out to be a lot. On the grass right outside of our hotel, I was astonished to see a dozen Yellow-rumped Warblers—birds that I figured ought to be wintering much farther south (Sibley, though, shows them as all-year-round here after all). Once I reached Beacon Park, I began seeing Pine Siskins, Chestnut-backed Chickadees, Red-breasted Nuthatches, and a bird that, because of my crummy ears, always proves a challenge: Golden-crowned Kinglet.

**Beacon Hill offered my best experience with land birds of the trip—including a bona fide Victoria vagrant, a Green-tailed Towhee!**

After strolling for about half an hour, I stood watching a Ruby-crowned Kinglet flycatching, something I had never seen one do, when another birder approached. In a wonderfully British accent, he asked, “Do you know that within a quarter-mile of here is a great rarity?” I knew immediately what he was talking about. From looking at eBird lists, I had learned that a vagrant Green-tailed Towhee had showed up in Victoria and had set off a frenzy in the local birding community. John at Clover Point had also mentioned it, but I hadn’t realized I had wandered so close.

**Victoria birders enthralled with a “rare” Green-tailed Towhee!**

“I tried to see it,” my newest birding friend confided, “but you know what I heard—‘Oh, you should have been here five minutes ago.’” Nonetheless, he gave me directions in case I wanted to check it out, and with an hour or so of daylight left, I figured I might as well. I crossed the road and followed a little path up and over a hill until I came to a tall flagpole flying the maple leaf. Sure enough, in the field below, a group of four or five birders had gathered around a small thicket. I quietly approached from behind and spotted movement in a darkened space between two bushes. After a few moments, the familiar shape of the Green-tailed Towhee took the stage.

Although fairly common in Montana in summer, the Green-tailed Towhee that showed up in Victoria recently rocked local birders’ worlds! Full-disclosure: this is not THAT bird, but one I photographed in Bear Canyon several years ago.

It was weird seeing a bird that is relatively common in Montana being such a focus of attention here in Canada, but it was cool, too. It helped me appreciate the enthusiasm of birders no matter where you go in this amazing world. What’s funny, though, is that I got much more excited by the Fox Sparrow foraging a few feet away from the towhee. That is always a tough bird for me to find in Montana, so it was great to have one put in an appearance for me here. With that, I made my way back to our hotel so that Amy and I could go find a fun restaurant to dine at. What I didn’t realize is how much good Canadian birding still lay ahead of me.

**The lovely mastermind behind our surprise Victoria trip, my wife Amy, enjoying high tea at the Fairmont Empress Hotel.**

(For the second part of this story, see “In Search of the Marbled Murrelet”.)

Chasing Migrants, Part I: Swifts, Peeps, and Plovers

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In case you missed our last post, be sure to check out my new book, Birding for Boomers. It’s a great gift for anyone you know of any age or background who might be interested in getting into birds. It’s also a great way to support our efforts here at FatherSonBirding! Why not order one or two copies—or even a dozen—right now?

I’ve had little time to catch up on our birding adventures this time of year. With new books to promote, house guests to entertain, seeing Braden off to his senior year at UMaine, and more, life has been a juggling act through August and September. I did manage two lovely trips to Freezeout Lake in August, one with my occasional birding buddy Steve Flood, the other with Braden right before he headed East. In mid-September, I also rewarded myself with a personal trip to the Bay Area to visit friends and relatives—and, of course, see as many birds as possible. Like the recent trips to Freezeout, my primary objective was to find and study as many migrating shorebirds as possible.

Despite birding for more than a decade, I still feel like a beginner when it comes to shorebirds. My recent trips to Freezeout were “study sessions” more than birding excursions, and I was grateful that Baird’s Sandpipers, Red-necked Phalaropes, Semipalmated Sandpipers and other species offered hours of observation and ID practice on each trip. I hoped for similar sessions in California. After I spent a few days with relatives in Oakland and reconnected with the delightful birds of oak woodlands, my friend Scott (see Eastern Odyssey 24: Return to Westby) whisked me off to the North Bay, where serious birding adventures commenced.

Before heading across the Richmond Bridge, we gave McLaughlin Eastshore State Park in Berkeley a try, but our timing was off as high tide covered the mudflats. Next, we visited the Las Gallinas Valley Sanitary District in Marin County. I enjoyed that, but again, we saw nothing spectacular. I was surprised to spot a lone Vaux’s Swift—a lifer for Scott—and eight or nine Black Phoebes put on a show, but it was a slow start to meeting our birding ambitions. Fortunately, things would pick up—dramatically.

**Though they didn’t perch at the top of our target list for the day, Black Phoebes charmed us at the Las Gallinas water treatment ponds in Marin County.**

After Las Gallinas (“The Hens”), Scott drove us to Reclamation Road in the San Pablo Bay National Wildlife Refuge, where we hoped—finally—for some shorebird action. Our first surprise wasn’t shorebirds, however. As soon as we got out of the car, I spotted four tiny shapes frantically flying west. “Hey, there’s more Vaux’s Swifts.” I really hadn’t expected to see these, but it did make sense. I knew they’d departed Montana in the past few weeks and that they followed the West Coast down to their wintering grounds in Mexico and Central America. Our four birds were merely a prelude, however. As Scott and I walked out toward the shore, we saw half a dozen more swifts. Then a dozen. Then, as we looked east, we witnessed a veritable river of Vaux’s Swifts flying toward us.

**This photo doesn’t begin to capture the remarkable river of migrating Vaux’s Swifts that passed over our heads.** Yes, those “dots” are the swifts! Swifts are a species of concern because of the loss of old growth forests and other natural roosting sites. Ironically, saving old brick chimneys should be a priority for those interested in protecting these birds.

“This is amazing,” Scott said as the birds stiff-winged it over our heads. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

I shook my head. The most VASWs I’d ever seen at one time was perhaps a couple of dozen. Now, hundreds streamed past us—probably thousands! We learned from a passerby that they were most likely heading to the chimney of an old brick-making plant, a well-known roosting place for them. Scott and I were suitably awed by the sight. It was enough to make the whole day worthwhile, whether or not we ended up seeing shorebirds.

Nonetheless, as we walked out to the bay I was gladdened to see shallow mudflats and hundreds of dots scattered over them. “Shorebirds!” I rejoiced.

With San Francisco in the distance, you couldn’t ask for a more dramatic setting to study shorebirds! Many of those specks in the foreground are Least Sandpipers—though you’ll see a lot of other species mixed in!

As we drew closer, I set up the spotting scope, and quickly zoomed in on a dozen-plus Long-billed Curlews, at least fifty Willets, and what would turn out to be a couple of hundred Marbled Godwits. These were easily-enough identified. Not so the hundreds of small sandpipers, or “peeps,” that peppered the scene in front of us. Birders generally include four species under the “peep” category: Sanderlings, Western Sandpipers, Semipalmated Sandpipers, and Least Sandpipers. Since it was the nonbreeding season, Sanderlings should have given off a distinctive whitish vibe by now, so I ruled them out, but what of the other three? The problem with peeps is that their coloration, size, bill shape and bill length overlap to a frustrating degree, and I just didn’t have enough experience with these to make a call. Least Sandpipers can be easy to pinpoint if you can see their leg color—yellow compared to black for Westerns and “Semipalms”—but when they were feeding in the mud, determining leg color often proved impossible.

As I often do in such situations, I called Braden. I described what I was seeing and said, “I am guessing that they are Semipalmated Sandpipers, but I just don’t know.”

“Well,” he informed me, “the good news is that if there are large numbers of them, they aren’t Semis because Semipalmated Sandpipers don’t move through the West Coast.”

**With Braden’s help, I narrowed down these far-away “peeps” to either Least or Western Sandpipers. Confirmation would have to wait until later, however.**

Doh! This surprised me because we do see them in Montana. I never realized, though, that our Montana birds were on the western edge of their migration pathway from their northern breeding grounds to their wintering grounds in the coastal tropics.

“If I had to guess,” Braden continued, “I’d say you’re looking at Least Sandpipers. You said that they’re darker brown and Westerns give off a grayer color.”

Still, even through the scope, the birds were too far away for me to be sure, so I recorded “peep sp.” in my eBird checklist—at least for now.

One species, however, excited me more than all the others. Almost as soon as we reached the mudflats, I spotted birds that I had especially hoped to see: Black-bellied Plovers. Black-bellied Plovers are one of the world’s largest plovers, and they have the widest distribution. Like many shorebirds, they breed mainly in the arctic regions, but in winter they disperse to coastal areas of every continent sans Antarctica.

**At San Pablo Bay NWR, I was especially excited to see Black-bellied Plovers mixed in with Long-billed Curlews, peeps, Marbled Godwits, and other shorebirds.**

Braden and I had only ever seen Black-bellied Plovers about twenty times—and only four times as they migrated through Montana. The birds are known to flock up in winter, but even in places such as California and Texas, we generally only saw a few at a time. Now, as I trained my scope out over the mudflats, I began picking out more and more of these birds. At first, their light color and larger size made them look kind of like gulls, but their more erect posture and stubbier dark bill gave them away. One bird they can easily be confused with are American Golden Plovers, which look almost identical except for their smaller bill, head, and overall size. Some AGPLs also show flecks of gold color even in winter, but today, I saw no AGPL suspects and counted sixty Black-bellied Plovers in front of me.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many before!” I effused to Scott. “This is really amazing.”

What I didn’t realize is that I vastly undercounted. I took a couple of photos of shorebirds in flight and later, going over the images, I made a startling discovery. One of the flying flocks consisted of at least 140 Black-bellied Plovers! How could I tell they were BBPLs instead of other shorebirds? In this case, it happened to be easy. Black-bellied Plovers are the only shorebirds to show distinct black armpits under their wings!

**When I took this photo, I didn’t realize these birds were Black-bellied Plovers—easily the largest flock I have ever seen. The black armpits make IDing this species particularly easy in flight.**

It was a great way to end the day for both me and Scott and we celebrated with a fabulous Mexican food dinner with Scott’s wife Ginny and step-daughter Hayley. I went to bed happy—but eagerly looked forward to more migrating bird opportunities ahead.

https://ebird.org/checklist/S195291789

From One Nemesis Bird to Another

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Before sharing my recent search for nemesis birds, a quick update on our last post, “Welcoming White-crowned Sparrows—with Observer Bias”. In the post, I discussed how the apparent abundance of White-crowned Sparrows coming through western Montana this year may have to do more with my birding effort than actual sparrow numbers. Well, after I published the post, several birders around the state shared that they also have been seeing unusually high numbers of White-crowneds. This greater “sample size” of observations leads me to believe that the birds might be having an exceptional year after all. Go White-crowneds! This last Monday, in fact, I saw another WCSP feeding with some American Goldfinches. Will it be my last observation of the season?

**There’s not many better things in life than birding in the Mission Valley on a glorious fall day—even when nemesis birds are eluding you!**

In recent posts, I have shared my foiled attempts at finding one of my biggest nemesis birds, Spruce Grouse. Here in Montana, I have started to become known as “The guy who’s never seen a Spruce Grouse.” It’s not my favorite moniker, but well, I am learning to live with it. To distract me from my shame, last week I decided to look for a different nemesis bird: American Golden-Plover.

Arguably one of America’s most stunning birds during breeding season, the AGPL has thwarted Braden and me here in Montana at least a dozen times. Every year, birders spot the plovers up in the Mission Valley north of us, and countless times we have saddled our trusty minivan and galloped up to Ninepipe National Wildlife Refuge or Pablo Reservoir—only to find no American Golden-Plovers in sight. Braden did finally find one in Maine a couple of years ago (see his post “A Montana Nemesis Bird in Maine”), but the arrival of 2023 still saw the absence of this marquis bird on my Life List, let alone my or Braden’s Montana lists. This has obviously caused us great pain and anguish, so when I saw that someone had observed six, count ‘em SIX, American Golden-Plovers up at Ninepipe last week, I had to seriously ask myself if I wanted to put myself through yet more misery.

My answer, with Braden’s encouragement: Yes.

**The second of two Peregrine Falcons I would see this day. Definitely PEFA migration season!**

As a result, last Thursday, I woke early, walked Lola, and then headed north on 93. My first stop? Ninepipe. I usually begin my explorations here with a drive down Duck Road, but today I was a man on a mission, so I entered at the bottom end of the refuge. Almost immediately, I spotted small shorebirds at the edge of a pond and pulled over to get out my spotting scope. Before I could get my eyes on them, though, a large dark shape swooped in and the shorebirds frantically flung themselves into the sky. Peregrine Falcon! my mind shouted as I excitedly watched the raptor give chase. The falcon and shorebirds circled the pond twice, but then fled toward the horizon. I had failed to get a look at the shorbs, but seeing a Peregrine was a thrilling start to the day!

**They weren’t the plovers I was looking for, but it’s always, ahem, great to see Greater Yellowlegs in Montana.**

After climbing back into the car, I continued to wind my way north, getting glances at Trumpeter Swans and several kinds of ducks. I also got great looks at a trio of American Pipits on the road. My major destination, though, was the dam on the west side of the main lake. There, I observed several Greater Yellowlegs and, driving a bit farther, a couple of other shorebirds on the muddy shore below. I quickly parked and began breaking out my spotting scope when a car pulled up containing yet another impressive trio: accomplished Montana birders Craig Hohenberger, Shawn Richmond, and Braydon Luikart! I had last met Craig all the way out in Westby this past summer so it was a nice surprise to see him here again now, and to chat with all of them.

“Are you the one who is trying to find the Spruce Grouse?” Shawn asked.

“Well, uh, yeah,” I sheepishly replied. “But today I’m looking for American Golden-Plovers.”

Shawn knows the Mission Valley like the back of her hand, and said, “They should be around.” She then gave me the name of a place she had seen them only in the past few days.

“Thanks,” I told her, “I’ll check that out.”

First, though, I wanted to scope the ground in front of me. To my surprise, the pair of shorebirds below me turned out to be Pectoral Sandpipers—Year Birds for me and, I suspect, what the Peregrine Falcon had been going after earlier. Again, though, no golden-plovers, so I packed up my scope and moved on.

**Still no golden-plovers, but it was great to see Pectoral Sandpipers for the first time this year.**

In a tradition Braden and I have followed since we began birding, I grabbed an egg biscuit at the McDonald’s in Ronan, and continued on to another well-known place for sighting AGPLs, Pablo Reservoir. Again, I began at the south end and slowly continued north on top of the dam. I was delighted to discover a pair of Baird’s Sandpipers scouring the shore in the company of half a dozen American Pipits. The gurgling calls of Sandhill Cranes ricocheted across the water as I looked out on hundreds of geese, ducks, gulls—and a lone American White Pelican. A dark shape perched on a little rock on the far mudflats, and I trained my scope on it with a strong suspicion. Yes! It was another Peregrine Falcon! I was definitely hitting migration season for those! As for the American Golden-Plovers???

Nada. Zilch. Klum.

**Though the golden-plovers again foiled me at Pablo Reservoir, I got my best look of the year at a couple of Baird’s Sandpipers!**

Normally, that would have been the end of my day—except for running into Shawn Richmond earlier. “I’m here,” I told myself. “I have plenty of iced tea. I might as well check out the spot she told me about.”

I punched up the location on Google Maps and it showed a 25-minute drive. Though an official hotspot, it definitely sat off the beaten path enough to receive fewer visitors. I parked behind an abandoned house of some sort and could see that viewing would be less than ideal. A lake lay several hundred meters away, but the near shore was obscured by vegetation while the far shore shimmered another couple of hundred meters beyond that. Nonetheless, even through my binoculars I could see that there were birds on that far shore. Even better, I felt pretty sure they were shorebirds!

I assembled my scope and began tromping across the field, hoping I wouldn’t scare any of the distant birds. I didn’t, but before I could get closer, a Northern Harrier did, and the birds on shore scattered before I had any hope of identifying them. I cursed at my luck, but then, amazingly . . . the birds came back! This spectacle, it turns out, would repeat itself quite a few times during my short visit.

**A Northern Harrier kept stirring up the shorebirds as I was trying to ID them. Don’t tell the shorebirds, but I think the harrier had its sights on other prey!**

I got my scope focused and picked out about a dozen each Greater Yellowlegs, Killdeer, and Pectoral Sandpipers—but they weren’t what got my heart beating. Among the other birds, I also saw three distinct shapes. Plover shapes. Large plover shapes. Zeroing in on them, I got even more excited. They definitely could be what I was looking for!

One problem with finding American Golden-Plovers is that in nonbreeding plumage, they are challenging to distinguish from Black-bellied Plovers. That’s not as much of a problem when Black-bellieds are in breeding plumage as they were here when Braden and I visited Benton Lake NWR near Great Falls last summer.

The problem is this: the plovers were not breeding males. Instead, they were in their much drabber juvenile or nonbreeding plumage, and that meant that they possibly could be either Black-bellied Plovers or American Golden-Plovers. I had seen nonbreeding Black-bellied Plovers several times—but didn’t have enough experience with them to say, “Those are NOT Black-bellied Plovers out there in front of me.” Still, thinking back on prior experiences, and studying my Sibley phone app, I had a hunch these might just be my nemesis Amercian Golden-Plovers. For one thing, their bodies and necks seemed slimmer than Black-bellied Plovers. They also gave off a kind of smooth, grayish sheen on their bellies whereas I remembered BBPLs as being whiter and more distinct.

**It looked like an American Golden-Plover, but was it??? I would have to wait to hear from Braden to be sure!**

Bottom line: I just wasn’t sure.

I took tons of lousy photos, and as soon as I got home, sent them to Braden. A couple of hours later, he called me from Maine. “Daddy!” he exclaimed. “You saw American Golden-Plovers!” We then proceeded to detail the various aspects of his ID. Not only was it a great learning process, it felt good to be able to share this nemesis sighting with my son from all the way across the continent. AGPL, finally, after many years, became my 301^st Montana Life Bird and the 997^th on my Life List.

I’ll bet you can guess what I hope number 998 will be!

Birding Japan: Kanazawa

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Since we published them, our birding posts about Japan have been read in more than a dozen countries. If you are planning your own trip to Japan, you’re in luck! Sneed’s new book, FIRST-TIME JAPAN: A STEP-BY-STEP GUIDE FOR THE INDEPENDENT TRAVELER, tells you everything you need to know about how to plan your trip to this remarkable, yet sometimes intimidating, country. Order now by clicking here.

Welcome to our Japan birding posts. In this edition, Sneed explores the “less visited” city of Kanazawa, a place that would turn out to be perhaps one of their favorite stops on trip—and with some surprising birds. If you are just tuning in to Japan, be sure to check in on our last post from Kyoto!

Leaving Kyoto, our (non-bullet) train took us through my favorite scenery yet in Japan. Just north of Kyoto, the train hugged the shoreline of Lake Biwa for more than half an hour. Seeing the lake on a map, I envisioned a forested wilderness, marked perhaps by some resorts or getaways, but the entire lakeshore was surprisingly built up with cities, towns, and farmland. Alas, the train was too far away from the lake to identify any birds except Black Kites and crows, though I did see an enticing shorebird flying across a field. Passing through a tunnel, we then entered picturesque mountain areas where I looked in vain for a Brown Dipper in the roaring streams we crossed. No luck. Emerging back onto a large plain, we more or less re-entered civilization until we arrived at our next destination, Kanazawa.

**Both Tessa and I were taken with Kanazawa Castle and its grounds from the moment we approached the main entry gate.**

I had booked us a hotel right next to Kanazawa’s major tourist feature, a large castle set in a park-like setting, and as soon as we dropped our bags at the hotel, we grabbed a “set lunch” at a local café and headed straight to the castle. Tessa hadn’t seemed too impressed with other castles on the trip, but this one wowed us both—perhaps because of its dramatic approach and the glorious sakura flowers blooming at the gates. After going inside the castle, we took a wonderful walk on paths above it, where Tessa declared this was her favorite place so far on the trip. The birds also liked it well enough, with the omnipresent bulbuls, crows, and kites surrounding us. Descending back toward the castle, though, I spotted a trio of Oriental Greenfinches, and then a bird that stopped me in my tracks. “Oh my god,” I said out loud, and hurried forward hoping the bird wouldn’t move. It didn’t, and I got my first look at another bird at the top of my “To See” list: Daurian Redstart!

**This male Daurian Redstart just made my day—and, of course, my life list. I love the blooming sakura flowers behind it.**

As delighted as I was with the redstart, I saved my real birding enthusiasm for the next morning when I left Tessa to hang out and grabbed a cab out to Kenmin Seaside Park, perhaps the only place left on the trip where I might see shorebirds or pelagic species. As soon as I arrived I glimpsed a departing tit of some kind and saw multiple Dusky Thrushes and White-eared Starlings feeding in a field. I hurried past them until I reached my primary destination, the beach. Alas, this was no natural beach. Giant cement breakwaters were piled up offshore and it was clear the area had been heavily worked over by dredging and industry. I saw a few flying birds too distant to identify and a flock of cormorants that took off long before I got close enough to attempt an ID, but that was it. No shorebirds. No waders. Just trash littering an evidently sterile expanse of sand.

**Trash has become a scourge on beaches throughout the planet. I was hoping Japan’s dedication to cleanliness might make this Kanazawa beach an exception, but no dice.**

I nonetheless started trudging my way north, planning to round the tip of the small peninsula and make my way back to the park to try some forest birding. Suddenly, my eyes caught movement. There among the trash, I saw one tiny shorebird, then another. I guessed right away they might be plovers and as I moved closer, the yellow rings around their eyes cinched it: Little Ringed Plovers—another life bird and perhaps my most rewarding Japanese species yet. I wish I could tell you that this find unleashed a flood of shorebird sightings, but no. They were it—two hardy survivors on a desolate beach.

**Definitely some of my favorite birds of the entire trip, this pair of Little Ringed Plovers were the sole shorebirds on the vast desert of beach next to Kenmin Seaside Park.**

Fortunately, the birding got significantly better as I made my way back toward the main park. I picked up two more lifers in quick succession: Meadow Bunting and Asian House-Martin. Back in the forest, I encountered my best mixed flock of the trip, containing Japanese and Varied Tits, two Japanese Pygmy Woodpeckers, a Warbling White-eye, and a Japanese Bush Warbler.

I had to text Braden a photo of this one to know what it was. I had studied Meadow Buntings a number of times, but for some reason the real thing didn’t register.

My time to meet my cab was, unfortunately, running out quickly, but as I hurried along a trail, I noticed three birds foraging under some trees. The first was a Dusky Thrush and I automatically assumed that the others were, too. I was wrong. They were Hawfinches! Braden and I had really hoped to see these odd chubby birds in Amsterdam or Israel in 2019, but to no avail. Now, on the other end of the Asian continent, I was staring at two of them cocking their heads at me in between going about their business. It was a great way to end the morning, and fixed Kanazawa as one of my favorite birding spots in Japan.

Sneed’s Kenmin Seaside Park eBird checklist.