In a remarkably fun coincidence, as Braden was immersing himself in Life Birds migrating through Maine, I happened to be observing migrating songbirds in Texas following my recent trip to the HummerBird Celebration in Fulton-Rockport. For the trip, I had a number of goals, including shorebirds and raptors, but seeing migrating warblers perched at the top of my list.
Departing Rockport after HummerBird, I immediately headed to what has become a second home for us while in Texas: Winnie. Winnie is not a lot to write home about, a small town dominated by fast food joints, gas stations, hotels, and donut shops. So why go? Simple. It is surrounded by incredible birding including High Island, the Bolivar Peninsula, Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge, and my first destination upon waking the next morning: Sabine Woods.
Because it takes more effort to reach, Sabine Woods is less visited than High Island, but it can offer up a delicious smorgasbord of birding during migration seasons.
Birders usually flock to coastal Texas in April or May during the height of spring migration. This being fall, my expectations were tempered as I drove east to the vast petrochemical complex of Port Arthur and then south toward Sabine Woods, a tiny preserve owned by the Texas Ornithological Society. Only one other car was parked outside of the entrance and I soon met its owners, a nice birder couple from Austin. They, too, had just started birding, and while we chatted, we saw both Blue-gray Gnatcatchers and a Black-and-White Warbler, boosting my hopes for a productive morning.
Less shy than most warblers, Blue-gray Gnatcatchers delight Braden and me wherever we find them!
Setting off on my own, the woods seemed quiet except for some Blue Jays calling and the scuffling of hundreds of toads hopping through the dead leaves. After about a hundred yards, however, I suddenly saw a flash of yellow land on a branch and raised my binoculars. Prothonotary Warbler! I smiled because this was the first eastern warbler Braden and I ever saw together during our Big Year back in 2016. As I continued to walk, however, the birds were few and far between. I ended up at a marshier area in the back of the preserve and through some hard birding managed to find a Common Yellowthroat and, with the help of Merlin’s Sound ID, an Acadian Flycatcher. It wasn’t until I ran into Howard Davis, a volunteer from Golden Triangle Audubon, that my luck really began to change. He showed me one of the three drips on the property and, sure enough, I discovered a trio of warblers there: Black-and-White, Wilson’s, and Northern Parula. Still, these were all birds I had seen several times before, and I wanted something new. Something unusual!
Drips—artificial water sources for birds—are a photographer’s friend, especially when it comes to photographing tiny, fast-moving warblers such as this Black-and-White.
At another drip, Howard and a second birder pointed out the first great score of the day: my Lifer Painted Buntings! Sure, they happened to be females and/or juveniles, so I didn’t get to see the glorious breeding plumage of a male, but I was elated even as I headed off alone again, doubtful I’d see anything more. Then, near where I’d seen the Common Yellowthroat, I spotted another flash of yellow. I got my binoculars up just in time to focus on my first ever Canada Warbler—the thin necklace around the throat a giveaway for the ID! Walking farther, my luck continued as I got a great look at my first Hooded Warbler since 2016.
By this time I’d been birding hard for three-and-a-half hours, so I sat under a tree near the entrance to review my final eBird list and enjoy the Blue-gray Gnatcatchers that frequented the clearing. As I sat there, though, I spotted something large and gray in a nearby tree. At first I thought it might be a jay or dove. As I stared at its partially-concealed form, however, my previous study paid off and a bolt of recognition split my skull: Yellow-billed Cuckoo! It was a great way to wrap up an inspiring session. Braden and I had unsuccessfully searched for cuckoos many times in Montana and Texas without success. Suddenly, to have one appear right in front of me, well, I felt I had earned it!
My Lifer Yellow-billed Cuckoo was totally absent from my radar—and put a delightful exclamation mark on a productive morning of Fall birding.
Note: Only days before my visit, a group of birders had counted twenty species of warblers in Sabine Woods. Such sightings and our own experiences are really changing Braden’s and my opinions of fall birding. While we used to pretty much write off the fall, it has now become one of our favorite birding seasons, whether in Maine, Texas, or Montana.
My dad and I were hungry. Not for food; we’d already eaten at a fabulous breakfast place in Bar Harbor following the cancellation of our whale-watching trip (which we weren’t all that disappointed by). No, my dad and I wanted warblers.
Earlier that week we’d gotten a taste of the eastern warblers we’d heard so much about, nabbing Common Yellowthroat, Yellow, and a nice Black-and-White Warbler in Massachusetts. The day before today we’d gone to Taylor Bait Farm, a well-known hotspot in Orono, Maine, where the University of Maine (my new home for the next few years) was located. The farm was fairly productive, nabbing us a few cool county birds like Solitary Sandpiper and some Great Egrets. The best part about Taylor Bait Farm, however, was the warblers—specifically, a bright, nonbreeding male Chestnut-sided Warbler that posed for us below eye level for thirty seconds before diving back into the bushes! It was a first lifer warbler in several years, and probably the best-looking one in terms of nonbreeding plumage. During our whole outing at Taylor Bait Farm, we saw a few more Chestnut-sided Warblers and Northern Parulas, and got a really poor look at a Palm Warbler, another lifer, in a tree above us.
Chestnut-sided Warbler proved our Bird of the Day when my dad and I visited the Taylor Bait Farm in Orono.
But it wasn’t enough. Furthermore, we had ended up at Acadia National Park, which was known for its beautiful views and seabirds, not its warblers. My dad and I started driving around the main park loop, stopping at parking lots to try to pick up some of the eastern seabirds that we needed. After a few stops with nothing but eiders and Great Black-backed Gulls, we finally got our dose of Atlantic birds with a few Black Guillemots floating offshore and a distant Northern Gannet flying through the sea fog, both lifers for my dad. Unfortunately, it looked like that very fog was going to limit our chances of seeing things like shearwaters and storm-petrels from shore.
At the third parking lot, as we piled out to scope the beach, I happened to look up at a tree just beginning to turn yellow and I spotted a small yellow bird foraging in it. I brought my binoculars to my eyes and yelled, “Daddy! There’s a Blackburnian Warbler above you!” As he looked up, I started to see that the Blackburnian Warbler, a species we hadn’t seen since 2016, was not the only bird above us. There were passerines flying between and feeding in trees all around us.
We started calling out names as we followed the mixed flock.
“Red-eyed Vireo! Black-and-White Warbler! American Redstart!”
One of our favorite songbirds, Black-and-White Warblers have become almost commonplace for me since moving East.
As the flock moved into a group of conifers I glimpsed one of our target species for the trip feeding on the left side of a spruce. “Magnolia Warbler, get your eyes on it!”
We left the parking lot (and the people wondering what we were gawking at) and walked into the woods, continuing to see if we could pull more warblers out of the already insane mixed flock. I spotted several “Baypoll” warblers at one point, a group that includes Blackpoll and Bay-breasted Warblers that look notoriously similar in fall. Finally, I watched one long enough to see a hint of a bay-colored side, identifying it as a Bay-breasted. The mixed flock, in total, had 14 species including 8 species of warblers—more than we’d ever seen in any flock in Montana!
Unfortunately my dad had to fly home a few days later, but the warblers weren’t done with me yet. September, the best birding month in much of the east, had just begun, and the University of Maine campus happened to be located next to some perfect habitat for warblers during fall migration. I began birding a trail near my dorm, called the Cornfield Loop, several times a week to search for my other eastern target species: Canada Warbler, Cape May Warbler and Philadelphia Vireo.
The hits came fast. After about a week of scoping the area out, I started seeing large mixed flocks of migrating warblers coming through and in one spot had both of my first two targets within a few trees of one another! My reaction for both of them was the same: I can’t believe this bird actually exists! Warblers became the norm, and I got used to listening for chickadees in order to tell me if there might be something else nearby. Red-eyed and Blue-headed Vireos, Northern Parulas, American Redstarts and Common Yellowthroats popped out of every piece of plant life available, and one marsh yielded huge flocks of sparrows every time I walked through it. Seeing familiar warblers was also a treat: I found both Nashville and Wilson’s during my walks, the latter of which isn’t the easiest to find in the east. Here is one of my lists:
It is odd seeing warblers, such as this Wilson’s Warbler that my dad and I see fairly frequently in Montana, back here in Maine—especially since they are more difficult to see here.
It wasn’t just the Cornfield Loop that had warblers; campus was covered in them. Several mornings I left my dorm for breakfast to be greeted by Black-throated Green Warblers foraging in my face. One night as I walked back from a movie with friends, I began to wonder what all of the high-pitched chips I was hearing were. Could they be sleeping chickadees? No, that doesn’t sound right…and then it hit me. The east was known for its nocturnal migration, and the University of Maine sat right in the middle of the Atlantic Flyway. This meant that the chips I was hearing were the nocturnal flight calls of hundreds, maybe thousands of birds passing over in the dark on their way south to Texas, Florida and beyond! I stared up at the stars, hoping to catch a glimpse of a silhouette as one of these migrating champions flew over.
I got my Philadelphia Vireo by mid-September, pointed out to me by a non-birder friend.
“Hey,” he asked, “What kind of warbler’s that?”
Before I even had my binoculars up I could see the yellow breast, dark eyeline and cute demeanor of a species I’d been dreaming about finding in Montana ever since my friend Nick first alerted me to it. “Philadelphia Vireo, nice find!”
Philadelphia Vireo has definitely been one of my favorite new eastern birds, and I’ve seen them multiple times right on the Cornfield Loop right across from my dorm!
On one walk about a week ago, I was running through the options in my head as to what warblers I still needed for Maine. I had not yet found a Tennessee or Blackpoll Warbler, which was kind of funny considering those were two species my dad and I have found the last few springs in eastern Montana. I was also somehow missing Black-throated Blue, a supposedly common bird that I still needed for my life list.
Suddenly, I spotted a skulky, heavyset passerine fly into a bush near me, making heavy calls. It was acting a lot like a Common Yellowthroat, by far the most common warbler on campus, but I continued to watch it just in case it was one of the rarer species. Sure enough, it briefly popped into view before flying over the trail and out of sight. It flashed me a very dark chest spot contrasting with a complete gray hood as it flew, what I would have called a MacGillivray’s out west. That meant that I’d just scored a Mourning Warbler—MacGillivray’s eastern counterpart and a supposedly much more difficult bird to find. No way!! While Mourning had been on my radar, I hadn’t expected to get it or any of the rarer warblers given that I’d just gotten to Maine less than a month before and was still very content with the common birds.
Though not as flashy as many other species, Palm Warbler surprised me and my dad, and was a welcome addition to our Life Lists.
This past week I’ve gotten both Blackpoll and Tennessee Warbler on the Cornfield Loop, bringing the total number of warbler species of seen in Maine to 20, all of which I’d seen in a month compared to the sixteen species of warblers I’d seen in Montana across seven years of birding. I still don’t have Black-throated Blue (though it is definitely still possible), but unfortunately warbler migration is beginning to die down here. Just yesterday eBird marked my report of American Redstart as rare, meaning that a few species are beginning to leave for good. The warblers are now moving through much of the southern United States, including Texas, which you may get to hear about soon from my dad!
My dad walked back to the car, frowning. “Well, unfortunately it looks like we’re gonna have to go birding somewhere else today.”
I sighed, frustrated. We’d been trying to bird Swiftcurrent, in east Glacier National Park, for years, and we’d still never gotten a normal birding session there. Most years it had been closed, like it was today, because of COVID-19 or construction. The year we had gotten to bird, it had been pouring down rain, and while we scored an incredible experience with a pair of Harlequin Ducks in Lake Swiftcurrent, those were basically the only birds was saw. Now, not birding Swiftcurrent drastically decreased our chances at Boreal Chickadee, a bird we’d been wanting to find for as long as I could remember.
Reviewing our options, we could just immediately head south and hope to bird Two Medicine, and possibly arrive in West Glacier earlier than expected to look for Black Swift and Harlequin Duck. I wanted to go somewhere new, however, so we headed north towards the closed Canadian border crossing. Hopefully we could find some cool habitat, possibly with Boreal Chickadees, though that species had rarely been reported from that area of the park. Along with it being a cool bird, the main reason my dad and I wanted the chickadee so badly is because in terms of Montana lifers we’d been completely skunked during the rest of our trip, missing American Golden-Plover, Broad-winged Hawk, Magnolia Warbler and more. We’d gotten cool birds, like Sprague’s Pipit, but none of them had been new species for us.
As we learned in Glacier National Park this summer, birding the road less traveled almost always leads to great surprises.
After taking a short loop through the most desolate plains we’d seen yet in Montana, we turned towards Glacier’s mountains again. As we drove, the habitat shifted, first to stunted aspen forest and then tall, dense spruce-fir forest. It was a habitat I’d never seen in the state, if at all: the southernmost reaches of the vast boreal forest that stretched across Canada. As we crossed back into the national park, my dad spotted what was probably a robin, but we pulled over anyway—I was excited to see what birds were singing from this new habitat.
A Northern Waterthrush echoed from the side of the car as we got out, and several Brown-headed Cowbirds whistled from the tops of trees. Every single bird was a surprise to us, since we really had no idea what to expect. And despite the fact that we hadn’t truly entered the mountains yet, my dad’s altitude app told us that we were at more than 5000 feet!
Suddenly my dad turned around. “I just heard a chickadee.” I spotted something flit to the top of a tall spruce about fifty feet away, and raised my binoculars. While it was still too far to tell what kind, I was definitely staring at a chickadee, so I grabbed my camera from the car and hurried over to where there appeared to be a pair of them. Once we drew closer, I raised my binoculars, registering salmon flanks and a brown cap.
Finding not one, but half a dozen Boreal Chickadees in a place we never expected not only checked off a long-held goal, but laid the crucial foundation for the QUACH!
It was one of if not the first time I’d ever said the F-word in front of my dad! It was like my brain had exploded, I’m not sure whether from the fact that the birds were Boreal Chickadees or from the fact that we’d managed to find a new Montana species at last on this trip. The chickadees bounced around the spruces for a while, then disappeared.
After recovering from the shock, my dad and I hugged and got back in the car, intent on seeing what else we could find along this paved-yet-empty road. Starting at the closed Canadian border crossing, we drove south doing five-minute point counts along the road like we’d done searching for Sprague’s Pipit the day before.
Seeing a White-crowned Sparrow on its alpine breeding grounds gave us new appreciation for this relatively common species.
The most common sparrows were White-crowned Sparrows belting confusing songs from every level of the trees, and while Yellow and Yellow-rumped Warblers were present, they were at least equalled in number by Wilson’s Warblers and Northern Waterthrushes, neither of which were common in Missoula. Amazingly, we picked up Boreal Chickadee at two more points, getting much better looks and photos of three more pairs. They were one of the more common species here, too, and were by far the most common chickadee, though we also picked up a lone Mountain and a possible Black-capped, the latter from a lower altitude aspen area. Canada Jay was the most common corvid, though we also saw a single Steller’s. Another treat were two boisterous Olive-sided Flycatchers, well-known boreal forest breeders, calling and posing for us.
In the wetter areas we found Fox and Lincoln’s Sparrows, Tree Swallows and Warbling Vireos. Red-breasted Nuthatches, Ruby-crowned Kinglets, Pine Siskins and Chipping Sparrows greeted us at most stops. We also got a Varied Thrush, which was a surprise as we were probably about two miles from the easternmost limit of its breeding range.
What? A Mountain Chickadee near a Boreal Chickadee? What was this songbird madness???
I’d recently read a book about the lack of birds in the boreal forest, and while there definitely was lower diversity than say, the wet second-growth of West Glacier, it was not as if there weren’t any birds. At most stops we picked up at least three or four species singing or calling.
After drinking our fill of the boreal forest and saying goodbye to the chickadees, we headed south along the eastern edge of Glacier National Park. We stopped at a good-looking, alder-filled riparian area for lunch, picking up new species for the day like Black-headed Grosbeak, Lazuli Bunting and our first-of-year MacGillivray’s Warbler, then got onto Highway 2 again, back in familiar territory.
When we reached West Glacier, though, we discovered something tragic—you had to have a permit to enter the park, a new rule they’d employed to counter the insane surges of tourists they’d had the past few years! Thankfully, we could enter without a permit after 5 p.m., but still it was sad that the days of entering Glacier easily may be over.
Since we know them mostly from burn areas, this Olive-sided Flycatcher at a roadside pullout proved a special delight!
We parked by the old park entrance to wait until five o’ clock, and while my dad took a nap I wandered around the healthy mountain-riparian forest along the milk-blue Middle Fork of the Flathead River. As I hiked, I suddenly heard more chickadees calling, and in a dense patch of Lodgepole Pine I found them: Chestnut-backed Chickadees!
Earlier in the day, after seeing the Boreal Chickadees, I’d mentioned to my dad: “Just you wait. We’ll somehow manage to see three of the four chickadee species and have trouble finding a Black-capped.” Black-capped, of course, is well-known for being not only the most common chickadee in Montana but also one of the most common birds here, period.
Suddenly, my fear had come true: I’d seen the three most difficult chickadees in one day, but had not yet seen a Black-capped (while again, we’d possibly heard one up by the Canadian border, it had not been a positive identification so we hadn’t counted it). I rushed back to the car to wake my dad.
“Let’s go find some cottonwoods. I need to see a Black-capped Chickadee.”
As we drove around West Glacier (the town; the park hadn’t opened yet), I rolled down my windows, straining to hear any piece of a chickadee call. We pulled into a fishing access parking lot surrounded by cottonwoods and began walking, though the birds were fairly quiet. Four in the afternoon was about as bad a time as you could go birding, yet here we were, trying to find one that we saw in our backyard every single day. I promised to myself that if we found a Black-capped, I would memorize its scientific name, Poecile Atricapillus.
After admiring a gorgeous male Rufous Hummingbird that posed for us, I heard a chickadee call from behind me. Then, a sharp-looking Black-capped flew towards us, landing mere inches from us on a branch! I’d done it! I restrained myself from hugging the chickadee and instead gave my dad a high-five in celebration of the Quad-Chickadee Day I’d had—or, as my dad officially christened it, “the Quach.”
Note: “Quach” is a registered trademark of FatherSonBirding, legally protected throughout the solar system. Anyone using it will be subject to massive fines and stern looks. Not really.But you heard it here first!
Who would have thunk a common Black-capped Chickadee would prove the key to Braden’s epic QUACH? Only the wily chickadee, of course!
During our Birding Therapy Week posts, FatherSonBirding achieved the milestone of receiving our ten thousandth view! To celebrate, we’d first like to thank all of you who have been following our adventures and other stories about our favorite non-human animals (including our dog, Lola,). We know that everyone has an avalanche of blogs, news, posts—and yes, even books and magazines—competing for reading attention, and we greatly appreciate each and every one of you. It also, though, seems like a good time to reflect and re-evaluate.
Our Lifer Snowy Owl—from our very first blog post on March 13, 2018
It seems hard to believe, but we launched FatherSonBirding more than three years ago with our post A Quest for Snowy Owls. Since that time, we’ve posted 81 times, and garnered 65 subscribers (there were actually more, but we lost several dozen while getting hacked by suspected Russian provocateurs). On average, about a hundred people read each post. Which is all good, but like a certain ex-president’s approval ratings, our numbers don’t really budge much. On top of that, Braden will be heading off to the University of Maine soon to begin his college career, highlighting the bittersweet fact that we will not have nearly as many birding adventures together as we’ve enjoyed the past few years.
That said, we could shift the focus of the blog from our birding exploits to bird conservation, bird education, or something else. In fact, if you are reading this, we ask that you send us your thoughts on where we might take this forum going forward—including just chugging along as we are, posting occasionally about something that strikes our fancy. Honestly, I (Sneed) have so many mixed feelings about social media that we will probably never do what it takes to build a huge following. I mean, we probably should have launched a blog about watching MineCraft videos or breaking plates over our heads or cooking Julia Childs’ recipes, but we didn’t. Still, we have enjoyed sharing with you and would love it if you’d take time to send us your honest thoughts about what might come next.
Just a few of the birds we saw during our Montana Big Day on May 18, 2021. Clockwise from upper left: Black-necked Stilt, American Avocet, Chestnut-backed Chickadee, American Redstart, Lincoln’s Sparrow.
As you ponder those, we’d like to leave you with some photos from our best Montana Big Day ever last week, during which we drove 500 miles and found 114 species—the first time we’d ever seen more than 100 different birds in a day in Montana. Ironically, our Bird of the Day was one that we didn’t even see—an American Bittern that we heard calling in the Swan River National Wildlife Refuge! We’d gone looking for AMBIs at least seven or eight times the past two seasons, so it was a real thrill to finally hear one. We hope that you all are having great birding adventures this spring, whether it’s watching your backyard feeder or planning your own Big Day, Big Week, or Big Life!
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To wrap up Birding Therapy Week, I leaped onto my bike Sunday morning and pedaled to a spot I’d been sorely neglecting this year: the Missoula Cemetery. One thing that got me through the first year of the pandemic was cycling out there on a regular basis just to see what was flitting around. I’d ended 2020 with a total of 50 species, firmly cementing my position of Cemetery King, and seeing many surprising birds as a result. Braden and I had ventured out there once this winter and been rewarded with a flock of Common Redpolls, but I needed to get out there again before the trees fully leafed out, making it difficult to spot passerines.
As usual, I parked near the entrance to put in my hearing aids, grab a drink of water, and stretch out before beginning my tour. As I tried to loosen my hamstrings, however, I was already hearing some interesting sounds. “Hm . . . maybe Pine Siskins?” That’s when I looked up to see a flock of 20+ Red Crossbills! Not only was this a new sight for the cemetery, just that morning we’d seen our first ever crossbills at our backyard feeder. In fact, this was shaping up to be our best crossbill year yet, and I spent a solid 15 minutes enjoying the cemetery flock, which also contained liberal doses of Pine Siskins and a Yellow-rumped Warbler.
The wonky bills of Red Crossbills have evolved to pry open cone scales, allowing the birds’ long tongues to extract the hidden seeds.
Setting off through the tombstones on my bicycle, I wasn’t sure what else I’d find, but encountered other common cemetery birds such as robins, ravens, and flickers, but it was a weird morning, a bit cool and breezy and I began to lose hope that I’d see the unusual passerines I really craved. Turning on to the last access road, however, I stopped to investigate a couple of little birds that turned out to be House Finches. But among them, I spotted a flash of yellow—a Nashville Warbler!
Two (Yellow-rumped and Nashville) warblers were better than none, but I always can’t help feeling a large place like the Missoula Cemetery should attract many more of the “delicate” species than it does.
Alas, I failed to find any sparrows in the spot I’d seen both Song and White-throated Sparrows before, but I did get my Year Brewer’s Blackbird and a new “location bird”—Turkey Vulture—while racking up a total of 17 species. All of which left me satisfied—but not really.
One thing Braden and I have noticed during the past seven years of birding is how much better many of our public open spaces could be for birds, insects, and other wildlife. The Missoula Cemetery is a great example. I mean, it potentially has everything: lots of land, trees, even a fountain, and the dedicated staff obviously works hard to keep it looking nice. Unfortunately, the place is groomed to death—literally. Dead limbs and trees that could provide insect food for birds are meticulously removed. Messy brush—the stuff many songbirds love—is absolutely not tolerated. I could smell some kind of chemical—weed killer, I’m guessing—emanating from the lawns. Even the fountain where birds could drink is blue from some kind of bleach or detergent in it.
American Robins seem to thrive in almost any urban environment, but many more sensitive species need more habitat—and fewer herbicides & pesticides—than many parks and other open spaces provide.
Sadly, this is a situation that repeats itself over and over across America. Our vision of what is nice, neat, and orderly actually represents an extremely unhealthy environment, one that is undoubtedly harmful to wildlife and perhaps humans as well. No one really is to blame. It’s in our nature to want to make things neat and orderly. However as our knowledge has improved, this is something we as citizens can change. As I wrapped up Birding Therapy Week, I promised myself that I would redouble my efforts both to educate others and perhaps change some of our outdated thinking about both our personal and public open spaces.
