Tag Archives: science

Welcoming White-crowned Sparrows—with Observer Bias

FatherSonBirding is a totally free, non-commercial blog that Braden and I write to share our passion for birds and birding, and to help educate others about birds and bird conservation. We do not accept donations, but if you would like to support us in our endeavors, please consider purchasing *new copies* of one or more of Sneed’s books—the new picture book Border Crossings, for example. These books are widely available online or can be ordered from your local independent bookstore. Oh, and they make great holiday gifts! Thank you for your support.

In previous posts, we may have mentioned that when we first began birding, Braden and I pretty much ignored the fall. Once spring migration and breeding petered out, we figured, how exciting could it be? The answer, we’ve learned, is: Plenty! In past posts, Braden and I have focused on fall shorebirds, but in the last couple of weeks alone, I’ve also watched waves of Savannah Sparrows, Yellow-rumped Warblers, American Pipits, Ring-necked Ducks, and a whole slew of raptors cascading through Montana. This fall, I’ve especially been impressed by White-crowned Sparrows.

In their adult, or definitive, plumages, White-crowned Sparrows show bold black and white striping on their heads. In fall, however, most of the birds you’ll see sport sub-adult or “1st winter” attire (see below).

If you live in California or parts of the Great Basin, you probably don’t give White-crowned Sparrows much thought. After all, you can see them all year round, and they may even be the most abundant native sparrow you encounter. The same goes for much of the rest of the country, where White-crowned Sparrows overwinter, basically from coast to coast.

Here in Montana, it’s a different story. In spring, White-crowneds zoom through the state on their way to our high mountains or far north Alaska and Canada to breed. Our most impressive encounter? Watching a male singing to high heaven on its breeding territory in Glacier National Park (see our post, “Are You Ready for the Quach?”). Our best chance at seeing them, however, is in the fall, when they saunter through at a more leisurely pace.

**Not only have I seen a LOT of White-crowned Sparrows this fall, they have been extremely cooperative in striking fetching poses.**

Scientists recognize at least four sub-species of White-crowned Sparrows, and choose them as a favorite research animal both because of how common they are, and how easy they are to keep in captivity. Many studies have focused on song learning in the birds, and it seems that different populations, like humans, learn different dialects based on what they’re hearing around them. Researchers even talk of “bilingual males” that live on the borders between different populations. Breeding males aggressively defend their territories by flying at intruders, puffing out their feathers and crests, and singing loudly. They may even “wrastle” with their feet—a sparrow’s version of Brazilian jiu-jitsu!

Each fall, I usually see White-crowneds in a couple of different locations around Missoula, including a skulky adult that often shows up for a day or two in our backyard. This year, though, it seems I’ve been seeing White-crowned Sparrows almost everywhere I look. In September alone, I recorded seven sightings of White-crowneds. I was sure this must be some kind of personal record, and it led me to believe that these delightful songbirds might be having an especially great year.

Not so fast.

**At one of our favorite birding spots, the Missoula Gravel Quarry, White-crowned Sparrows seem drawn to an abundance of seed that will help them fatten up for the rest of their migrations.**

One of the wonderful things about eBird is that you can quickly go back through all of your species observations for a particular place and/or time of year. Searching through my White-crowned Sparrow records, this is what I found:

2015: 1 sighting

2016: 0 sightings (our ABA Big Year!)

2017: 8 sightings

2018: 4 sightings

2019: 11 sightings

2020: 18 sightings

2021: 14 sightings

2022: 5 sightings

2023: 11 sightings (so far)

At first glance, you might think this data reveals good and bad years for White-crowned Sparrows. Alas, that may or may not be true. Why? For the simple reason that my birding effort also has its “good” and “bad” years. You’ll note that by far my biggest year for WCSPs was 2020. Well, guess what? That’s the year Braden and I were doing our Montana Big Year, trying to find as many species as possible in our state from January through December. It was the year we most likely spent the greatest number of hours and days birding here, and so it’s no surprise that our White-crowned Sparrow sightings peaked that year.

**“Are you lookin’ at me? Are you LOOKIN’ at ME??? Well, if you want this observation to be useful for science, you’d better look HARDER and more consistently.”**

If we really wanted to start getting a handle on good and bad years, we would have to introduce some consistency to our birding madness by sampling spots at the same times and same locations throughout the year or season. This, in fact, is one way scientists study bird populations. They return to places at the same times and for the same durations every year. Braden spent this past summer doing “point counts” for songbirds in eastern Pennsylvania. He visited locations (“points”) that other field biologists had sampled in past years and at each point, he looked and listened for ten minutes, recording all of the birds that he detected.

I have done a similar thing in our own neighborhood, but on a much more informal basis. From spring through fall, every weekend or two, I walk our dog Lola on a particular neighborhood route at about the same time of day, recording all the bird species I detect. I call the route “Old Pond Road” and here are this year’s results (also see our post “Best Fall Warbler Flock Ever!”):

May 14: 18 species

June 3: 14 species

June 24: 20 species

July 1: 16 species

July 9: 16 species

July 15: 12 species

July 23: 12 species

August 12: 10 species

August 27: 21 species

September 5: 5 species

September 10: 11 species

September 16: 8 species

September 24: 8 species

September 30: 12 species (this morning)

I am the first to admit that this is not a rigorous study. I birded at different times of the morning, put in varying amount of effort—and I have lousy ears, so I’m definitely not hearing everything that’s around me. Still, you can see some interesting patterns. Species numbers came on strong in the spring breeding season, slumped in mid-summer, and then hit a high for the year in fall migration. Now, as the passerines (songbirds) have mostly passed through heading south, things are settling down to those hardy year-round residents that can handle a Montana winter.

**“Just checkin’ out the photographer before I get back to eating!”**

I encourage all of you to start your own neighborhood bird studies. Even with my rather haphazard approach, my data may come in useful to a scientist one day. Just as important, this study has taught me a lot about the birds living in my neighborhood—and it will for you, too. To begin, you’ll want an eBird account, of course. After that’s set up, though, just pick out a favorite route and begin birding it at about the same time every week or month. In no time, a year or two will pass and you’ll be able to look back on some interesting results that will teach you and help you appreciate this remarkable world around us.

As for the White-crowneds, I will continue to be glad to see them and will welcome them back any time—whether or not they’re having a particularly good year.

Braden’s Tales from the High Sierras, Episode 3: Goin’ for Goshawks

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“The Northern Goshawk (Accipiter gentilis) is an apex predator occurring across North America and Eurasia. The species has received considerable conservation focus in late-seral conifer forests of western North America, where its habitat has been substantially reduced and altered by timber harvest and is increasingly at risk from high severity fire, drought, and forest pathogens. In the Sierra Nevada range of California, management and conservation of goshawks are hampered by a lack of knowledge of their basic space use and movement ecology.” —from abstract of Blakey et al. “Northern Goshawk (Accipiter Gentilis) Home Ranges, Movements, and Forays Revealed by GPS-Tracking” J. Raptor Res. 54(4):388–401.

In this third installment of his California adventure, Braden describes his job surveying for Northern Goshawks (see paragraph above for why). The birds are extremely difficult to locate, but as the team heads out into a particularly difficult survey block, success may be just around the corner . . .

The point of my “volunteer position” (with stipend) this summer is to find as many Northern Goshawks in Stanislaus National Forest as possible. The Institute for Bird Populations, my employer, has developed a protocol for looking for goshawks, one that my team follows to the best of our ability, although heat, brush, and apparently, bears, sometimes cause us to modify our schedule and strategy.

**While PACs like this one are fairly easy to negotiate, on others we earn every penny of our summer stipends!**

In late June, after roughly two weeks without any goshawks, we arrived early to another one of our PACs—the areas created for us to survey based on Northern Goshawk territory sizes, analysis of goshawk habitat from GIS and private property lines. I am not allowed to reveal the PAC’s location without violating half a dozen National Security laws, but this one looked particularly difficult. We also got off on the wrong foot when I had to walk back to the truck and retrieve batteries for our FoxPro—aka the “FoxSparrow”—the large speaker we use to call for goshawks. As we finally got started, however, we spread out thirty feet from each other, then followed our compasses north down an intensely steep ravine littered with decaying logs. What’s more, this PAC was the shape of a paint splatter, with all sorts of offshoot areas that would require us to walk up and down the sides of ravines over and over. The Mountain Misery we’d experienced at Brushy Hollow had been a piece of cake compared to this.

After six hundred meters of our first transect, Ivara’s voice crackled through the radio. “Whitewash.”

Now, whitewash (the term for bird poop on a branch or base of a tree) could be evidence for any bird species. After all, every bird poops—I’ve seen statues covered in pigeon whitewash in the middle of cities. However, what caught our attention was what Ivara said next: “Lots and lots of whitewash.”

The four of us halted, scanning the ground for evidence of raptors, and I quickly noticed additional whitewash all over the ground and trees around us. And then Sam spoke up.

“I’ve got an active raptor nest.”

**These bizarre-looking Northern Goshawk babies were a real cause célèbre for our crew after searching for weeks to find a new nest.**

Within minutes, all four of us had gathered to watch the nest from Sam’s vantage point, puzzling over the chicks inside it.

“They don’t look like the Red-tailed chicks we saw at Lyon Ridge.”

“Live boughs are a good indication of a goshawk nest.”

“That thing is so shaded. Would a Red-tailed nest there?”

We hiked a little closer, heading to a nearby hill so I could document the nest and chicks with my camera. Then we waited. No one in our crew had much experience identifying baby raptors, although we certainly got good views of them, but it was only a matter of time before the adult returned. Then we’d have our answer.

And return the adult did, after about twenty minutes. All four of us heard it simultaneously—the call we’d been broadcasting from the FoxSparrow for the last two weeks. The goshawk appeared through the trees, heading right for us. It swooped low, then alighted on a branch above our heads, immediately giving me the best looks I’d ever had of a Northern Goshawk. Miles and Sam quickly went off down the slope towards the nest tree to look for prey remains and identify the tree species, and the adult began to circle us, screaming its head off. After we collected the information we needed, we took one last look at the majestic creature and its babies, then got out of there.

**Our patience waiting at our first “self-found” NOGO nest was rewarded when this adult returned to check us out and try to drive us away.**

It was our first nest of the season, and the first goshawks we’d detected all on our own! Arriving back at the truck at roughly 9 in the morning, we crossed the PAC off of our list, then headed into town to pick up some celebratory s’mores.

Birding the Burn—Again!

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If you’ve followed our blog, you’ve probably realized that some of our favorite places to bird are recent burn areas—that is, burn areas that have not been destroyed by so-called “salvage logging.” I first fell in love with burn areas while researching my book Fire Birds—Valuing Natural Wildfires and Burned Forests. The book highlighted the fascinating work of biologist Dick Hutto, who showed what vital habitat burned forests are for more than one hundred bird species. Yesterday, after dropping Braden off for a Boy Scout leadership weekend near Seeley Lake, I decided to hit a burn area we’d visited with Dick last spring—the Morrell Creek watershed.

Burn areas provide outstanding habitat to more than one hundred species of birds. Unfortunately, so-called “salvage logging” destroys the burned forest by removing the larger-diameter trees that woodpeckers and other birds most need for food and shelter.

I had two ulterior motives for going there. One was to scout out a good place to bird with some kids next month. The other was to see one of Braden’s and my favorite birds, the Black-backed Woodpecker. As I was driving in, I was dismayed to find that the “salvage loggers” had already ruined a lot of the habitat along the road, but I eventually pulled over at a likely place to explore, one with larger-diameter dead trees still left standing.

Forget bluebird boxes! If you really want bluebirds to thrive, leave burned forests alone. Untouched burned forests may be the favorite habitat of these birds, providing food, shelter, and safety from squirrels and other small predators.

Right off the bat, I encountered large numbers of two favorite burn species: Mountain Bluebirds and Dark-eyed juncos, who seem to prefer burn areas to almost any other habitat. The bluebirds especially were going crazy. Twice, I saw groups of three (two males and a female, I think) chasing and mobbing each other, sometimes driving themselves to the ground. A territorial dispute? The birding equivalent of a bar fight over a girl? I wondered.

It didn’t take too long for me to hear woodpecker drumming and my heart raced as I hurried through the trees hoping to see a Black-backed. Unfortunately, I didn’t see the woodpecker until it was too late and spooked it before I got a good ID. Curses!

While Black-backed and Three-toed Woodpeckers get more attention, Hairy Woodpeckers are also burned forest specialists. If you have any doubt, just look at how well this Hairy blends in with its burned background. Like the Black-backed and Three-toed, the Hairy Woodpecker is “hard-headed” enough to drill into the rock-hard wood of newly-killed trees for wood-boring beetle grubs and to drill out nesting and roosting holes.

I kept walking through the forest, finding a great sense of peace from the sounds of Morrell Creek splashing below and from the dark, silent sentries surrounding me. Eventually I located another woodpecker drumming, but only snatched two blurry photos of it before it, too, flew away. My photos, though, did show a yellow crown, narrowing the bird to a Black-backed or Three-toed Woodpecker. Unfortunately, it was a crummy day for light and photography and the next woodpecker I saw was too backlit for me to identify. I did see a Golden Eagle circling above and an American Dipper in the creek below. A Hairy Woodpecker also posed for a picture. Finally, as I was about to leave, I heard more drumming. I grabbed my camera from the car seat and chased it down.

Success!

On a high narrow snag sat a beautiful male Three-toed Woodpecker drumming his heart out. It wasn’t a Black-backed, but I didn’t care. Three-toed Woodpeckers, like Black-backeds, are specialists of burned forests and I was delighted to meet up with this fellow—and even more delighted that he’d found a beautiful, blackened home.