Tag Archives: winter birding

Birding Glacier National Park in “The Hot, Dry Winter” of 2024

Our thoughts go to all of the Californians getting hammered by unprecedented rains right now, and we hope that you are all staying safe—and preferably indoors. While the Southwest is getting one historic climate event, Montana has been getting another: record heat and dryness. Both of these add a heightened sense of urgency to tackling climate change by reducing greenhouse emissions and promoting renewable energy. And, of course, these events are certainly impacting birds. Last week, I had a chance to explore one of our nation’s most pristine areas to see what the birds are doing.

Even before I moved to Montana in 1996, I had visions of visiting the Many Glacier Valley in the depths of winter. In college, I had spent the best summer of my life working as a cook at Swiftcurrent Motor Lodge, and had returned to the valley many times since then—but never in our darkest, coldest season. What would this wonderland be like covered in snow and ice? Last week, almost fifty years after working there, I got a chance to find out. The only thing missing? Winter itself.

I had been invited to spend four days visiting with pre-K through grade 1 students in Browning, Montana, a trip I looked forward to for many reasons, including the chance to learn more about Blackfeet culture and explore the area. As a bonus, I would be working mainly in the afternoons, freeing up the mornings for birding and other activities. As the librarian and I put together the trip, however, I never imagined that I would be visiting during an unprecedentedly warm winter in which temperatures were breaking records daily and the landscape stood almost devoid of snow.

On the drive to Browning, I stopped at the Freezeout Lake wetlands complex near Great Falls and counted several thousand Canada Geese and Mallards. To my surprise, the geese were flagged as rare on eBird for this time of year. Why? Because the lakes are almost always frozen in January and February, but this year large areas of open water shimmered, inviting both geese and ducks.

**The disturbing presence of open water at Freezeout Lake is attracting its share of Canada Geese and Mallards this “non-winter.”**

Reaching the outskirts of Browning, I turned right for a side trip to Cut Bank. In a normal winter, this entire area would be covered in snow, providing a chance to find Snowy Owls, Snow Buntings, and other typical winter birds. Not today. Driving mud and gravel back roads, I was lucky to find a solitary Rough-legged Hawk on a telephone pole. I did flush one group of 15 smaller birds that I assume were Horned Larks, but nothing else of note. In fact, the main birds I was seeing were the stalwart ravens, magpies, House Sparrows, starlings, and pigeons.

When Thursday rolled around, my birding hopes rose as I got up early and drove toward Babb, the entrance to the Many Glacier Valley on the east side of Glacier National Park. I had no idea how much of the road was open, but made it to the park boundary at Lake (reservoir) Sherburne dam. There, I parked and donned my camera and binoculars.

**The Lake Sherburne Reservoir at the Glacier National Park boundary, where I began my jaunt into the Many Glacier Valley.**

I couldn’t have asked for a more astonishing day. By 9:00 a.m., temps had reached into the mid-30s and were rising rapidly. Despite an extremely dry winter, a thin layer of snow covered the spectacular peaks of the continental divide and full sunlight created an unparalleled, dazzling landscape. As an extra “cherry,” a waning gibbous moon slowly sank toward 9,300-foot Mount Allen. I paused to take a deep breath and appreciate that I was probably the only person on earth observing this incredible scene. Then, I set out.

A raven greeted me as I stepped into the park, but I wondered if I would see any other animals. Would a grizzly bear be taking a mid-winter stroll on a day this warm? I didn’t know, but spotted no other critter as I walked half a mile along the reservoir. I didn’t have a great deal of time, so I turned around after 20 minutes, and as the day continued to warm, a few birds made an appearance. I heard Black-capped Chickadees and a woodpecker drumming in the distance. Then, a grouse burst out of some stunted aspen trees to my left. I desperately watched it flying away, looking for any ID clues, but alas, I just don’t know grouse well enough to be sure. The bird was gray, however, and the habitat was wrong for Ruffed and Spruce Grouse, rendering a 95% probability of Dusky Grouse, but since I wasn’t sure, I didn’t record it on eBird.

Despite the incredible scenery, I was feeling a bit thwarted bird-wise, and calculated that I had time for another hour of exploration, so I drove back out to Babb, turned left, and then left again on the road leading to the Canadian border and Waterton Lakes National Park. My mission? To find Boreal Chickadees! In fact, I was driving the very road where Braden and I had discovered our lifer BOCHs three years before (see post “Are you ready for . . . the QUACH?”). That had been during early covid days when hardly a soul traveled the road. Would I be able to find any birds today?

My first chickadee sighting along the road proved to be a mixed flock of Black-capped and Mountain Chickadees feeding on knapweed seed pods—perhaps for insect larvae. Cool, but not the object of my quest.

The road wound its way up through scenic pastures and aspen groves, climbing steadily until it reached conifers—all under the magnificent gaze of Chief Mountain. As before, I passed not a car along the way. I pulled over twice and played the calls of Boreal Chickadees, but no bird responded. Then, I actually saw a flock of chickadees up ahead and eagerly braked to a halt.

Not BOCHs. Instead, a mixed flock of Mountain and Black-capped Chickadees, with a Red-breasted Nuthatch joining them.

**One of Glacier’s most iconic mountains, Chief Mountain stands watch over the northeastern part of the park, including the road up to Waterton Lakes National Park.**

Undeterred, I continued, and soon stopped for another flock of Black-cappeds. I wondered how much exploring I had time for, but passed a Border Patrol truck and soon was forced to stop at the closed boundary of Glacier National Park. Turning around, I again parked to play a BOCH call with no luck. The Border Patrol truck approached and the agent rolled down his window for a chat. I told him what I was looking for and asked him if he saw many birds along this stretch. “Some Stellar’s Jays,” he answered, “but not a lot else.”

**I thought the road to Canada’s Waterton Lakes National Park might be open, but alas, no. Fortunately, the chickadees were on my side of the boundary!**

I wished him a good day and continued driving back toward Babb. Before the road began descending again, a large pull-out opened up on the left and I stopped one last time. Not expecting much, I played a BOCH song and made some pishing noises. Within moments, six chickadees surrounded me! Boreal Chickadees!

**With their curiosity and handsome features, Boreal Chickadees may just seize the title for Most Delightful Chickadees.**

The chickadees were much more curious about me than their congeners (animals in the same scientific genus, i.e. the Black-capped and Mountain Chickadees). The Boreal Chickadees flew back and forth above me and called from nearby branches. I even nabbed some decent photos. I spent ten or fifteen minutes with them, barely believing I was having such a great experience with these elusive, high-altitude and high-latitude songbirds. It once again renewed my appreciation for living and birding in Montana, since this region is one of the few places this species dips into the United States from its main distribution in Canada.

**This Boreal Chickadee might have been auditioning for the Chickadee Choir with how much it called to me.**

Feeling satisfied and grateful for such a marvellous morning, I headed back to Browning, spotting only a few ravens and Rough-legged Hawks along the way. No matter. The BOCHs and breathtaking views of the Many Glacier Valley had made this a day I would never forget. Now if we can only get some snow.

Return of the Northern Hawk Owl

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Last week, Wise River resident Rory Macdonald reported a bird that got every Montana birder—and quite a few from other states—giddy with excitement: a Northern Hawk Owl. NHOWs are a decidedly boreal species, but venture south from Canada in a handful of places, mostly in winter. Cornell Lab dubs this owl one of the least studied birds in North America, but we do know that it preys on rodents as well as larger ground birds and hares. Many birders travel to Minnesota’s Sax-Zim Bog to see one, and every once in a while an irruption year brings more of the owls down into the U.S., but even so, NHOWs are considered one of the most difficult birds to see in the Lower 48. Here in Montana, breeding has been documented in Glacier National Park (mostly in burn areas), but breeding there has dried up in recent years and reports elsewhere are few and far between. It’s no surprise, then, that when the NHOW popped up last week, dozens of birders immediately leaped into their cars and headed to Wise River. Braden and I joined the fray.

**Our first Northern Hawk Owl, seen on Braden’s birthday in 2020. Read tha t story here.**

Wise River sits about two hours from Missoula, and after I got up early to take my daughter to driver’s ed class and walk our dog Lola, I returned home, grabbed Braden, and pointed our trusty minivan east on I-90 in the pre-dawn darkness. Fortunately, the roads were dry and we made good time, stopping at the Deer Lodge McDonald’s for our customary egg sandwich breakfasts before heading on. We arrived at Wise River just before 9:00 a.m. “Do you know exactly where the owl’s been spotted?” I asked Braden. “In two different places,” he replied. “The first is at the USFS ranger station up here on the left.”

I turned left as instructed. No owl. Braden then directed me to another location maybe a half mile to the west. We crept slowly down a snow-covered side road, carefully studying every fence post, roof, and telephone pole. I started to get the feeling that we wouldn’t find it, and Braden did, too. In our experience, it seemed that whenever we chased something really rare, we either saw it immediately—or missed it altogether.

The road turned left and we saw a pickup truck parked where the road made another left at the base of a mountain. “I hope that’s a birder,” Braden said. I did, too, but I also looked at the trees beyond. “There it is!” I exclaimed. “Oh—yes!” Braden said.

**If you’re out hunting or skiing in winter, keep an eye out for something that looks like this. You just may be looking at one of Montana’s rarest residents!**

After parking, I quickly set up our spotting scope, and we carefully walked forward. The pickup ahead of us belonged to veteran Montana birder and photographer Dan Ellison, and we enjoyed a nice, fun conversation before focusing in on the owl, which fortunately didn’t appear to be going anywhere. “He doesn’t seem to be spooky at all,” Dan told us, and sure enough, the owl posed beautifully as I took photos and Braden trained the scope on it. As other birders joined us, however, the owl suddenly flew and torpedoed toward something in the sagebrush. Watching the bird fly was a real treat. Though definitely on the chunky side, the owl “handled” more like a falcon; fast and with surprising agility. After grabbing—or missing its prey—it disappeared around a rocky outcrop.

**With a stare like that I, for one, am not inclined to get this bird upset.**

Fortunately, it soon reappeared in another tree, perhaps hungry for more “Oohs” and “Ahs” from admiring birders. Braden and I find ourselves chasing rarities less often these days, but we were definitely glad we chased this one. This was only the second Northern Hawk Owl we’d ever seen (for the story on the first, see our 2020 post “Incredible Birthday Birding”), and frankly, I never expected to see another. Not only did this one give us great, leisurely views, it was a wonderful ambassador for birds and bird conservation.

Is this hawk owl facing toward you or away?

After an hour admiring the bird, Braden and I headed back out toward I-90, detouring up to Discovery Ski Area to find a few more winter birds—but maybe we’ll write about that later!

Battling the February Birding Blahs

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In a recent Redpolling poll, voters overwhelmingly chose February as the worst month for birding (except for a few cheeky Floridians who lorded it over the rest of us). But is February really that bad? In Montana, after all, you can go find some wonderful winter residents such as Rough-legged Hawks, Northern Shrikes, and Snow Buntings. On the other hand, by February you’ve usually seen those already so where does that leave you?

**February is a great month to catch up on bird-related reading. For my review on this and other excellent titles, Follow @sneedcollard on Instagram.**

For me personally, February is a time to get a lot of actual WORK done such as writing birding articles, banging out new children’s books, writing letters to the editor and my senators about bird conservation, and reading bird books. That doesn’t mean, however, that I’m not curious about which birds are around—while remaining optimistic that I’ll find some surprises if I go out. On a morning dog walk recently, for example, a Northern Goshawk flew right over me and Lola! This last Sunday morning, Lola and I again headed out wondering if we might see any other surprises.

**Just to prove that in birding you never know—even in February—a Northern Goshawk flew right over me and my dog Lola only a couple of weeks ago! It was the first I’d ever seen on my own.**

We decided to do a loop I only rarely traverse anymore, through a private neighborhood that COULD be great bird habitat but has instead been landscaped with acres of lawn and over-pruned trees. Still, even before we got to that neighborhood, I noticed that our resident birds have shifted into courtship mode. On Valentine’s Day I heard the first two-note song of a chickadee for the year and also the first throaty warble of an advertising Northern Flicker. This morning, I heard both of those—plus an amazing number of Song Sparrows also advertising. I haven’t kept track of “first spring calls” before, but I wondered if they are on a trend toward “springing out” earlier and earlier every year?

**After not hearing a Song Sparrow call for many weeks, I was gratified to hear four of them singing in different locations on our recent Sunday morning walk!**

In the private neighborhood itself, we heard some distant wild turkeys, a Red Crossbill, and an unknown high-pitched cacophony. My hearing is so sucky anymore I couldn’t tell who was making this chattering, but whipped out Merlin’s Sound ID, which ID’ed them as Pine Siskins. But where were they? I walked forward a bit, turned around and there they were—more than forty of them in a tree! Okay, so it wasn’t a Northern Pygmy-Owl, but I was still happy. Lola and I had headed out expecting maybe 6 or 8 species and ended up with sixteen! Just goes to show you that, even in the February Blahs, birds are around and ready to teach us new things.

**A flock of 40 Pine Siskins proved a delightful highlight of our unlikely February neighborhood walk.**

A New Year’s Triple-Shot of Owls

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Still on the fence about subscribing? Kick off the New Year right and go for it. We won’t share your info or use it for any nefarious purposes. We promise! Just fill out the box down and to the right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our Accidental Big Year: Final Tally, Part 2

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Happy New Year Everyone! Thanks for reading, and may the birds be with all of us in 2022!

After zooming past my former Big Year record, as highlighted in our last post, Braden and I woke the next morning with the promise of a mostly rainless day—and therefore a chance to bird some exciting new places we’d never birded before. Armed with recommendations Braden had gleaned from Oregon native Miles Scheuering (see “When Montana Birders Collide”), we first hit a place just north of Cannon Beach called Seaside Cove, hoping to see Braden’s Number One Target Bird for the entire trip: Rock Sandpiper.

I didn’t know much about Rock Sandpipers except that they breed in far north Alaska and the Aleutians, with a similar coastal distribution in eastern Asia. They can be found in small numbers along the West Coast to Northern California on rocky shores, and are basically the West Coast equivalent of Purple Sandpiper. Unfortunately, they are decidedly uncommon, and when we pulled up to Seaside Cove we saw nothing but a few surfers braving the roaring, messy waves. We walked along the beach anyway, though, and began scanning the rocks, and soon movement caught our eyes: a couple of dozen Surfbirds scattered along the shore, together with a Black Turnstone here and there. As we were walking back toward the car, though, Braden suddenly shouted, “I’ve got him!” Sure enough, next to a Black Turnstone, a bird that looked a lot like a Surfbird—but with a longer, curved bill similar to that of a Dunlin—picked barnacles off the rocks!

This Rock Sandpiper proved to be the “Bird of the Trip” for Braden and me—and just happened to be my 500th All-time ABA Life Bird, a milestone Braden passed earlier in the year. Note the larger, darker—and equally handsome—Black Turnstone behind the sandpiper. **Watch the video here!**

Thrilled, we watched the ROSA for a good fifteen minutes, just enjoying this rare bird that we were unlikely to see again anytime soon. After finding this Lifer for both of us, we climbed back into the trusty minivan feeling like the rest of the day would be gravy. And what gravy it turned out to be!

NOTE: To watch a live-action video of our Rock Sandpiper discovery, check out our YouTube video here: https://youtu.be/oFaNC3aR8CQ

After a couple of stops at Necanicum River Estuary to look at distant Dunlins and Sanderlings, and less distant Surf Scoters, we drove Del Rey Beach in an unsuccessful bid for endangered Snowy Plovers, though we may have run over six or ten while speeding along the sand. Oh well.

**Though our beach drive in search of Snowy Plovers proved a bust—our only miss of the day—nearby Necanicum River Estuary gave us the trip’s closest look at Surf Scoters.**

Then, we moved on to Sunset Beach Recreation Area. Starting down the trail, I didn’t expect much, but soon, WHOA! Songbirds started popping up everywhere: Fox Sparrows (hard to observe in Montana), Yellow-rumped Warblers, Spotted Towhees, Black-capped and Chestnut-backed Chickadees—even a Bewick’s Wren made an appearance. Two species were stars of the show: at least ten spectacularly-plumed Varied Thrushes that flew and perched around us, and a pair of Wrentits, birds that had been high on my target list, but seemed like an uncertain possibility. Both species are some of our favorite birds, and this was by far our best, most intimate look at the thrushes, and one of the best of the Wrentits, which were noticeably darker than those we’d observed in California. Incredibly, our day was far from finished!

Varied Thrushes are not only some of our favorite ABA birds, they are without a doubt some of the most stunning visually!

As the morning zoomed on, we continued to pick up species, grabbing Braden’s FOY (First Of Year) Cackling Geese, and breaking another of his trip goals, exceeding 100 species on his Oregon Life List. BOO-YA! Minutes later, at another spot Miles had recommended, Wireless Rd. near Astoria, we found more than 60 Short-billed (formerly Mew) Gulls in a cow pasture, along with yet ANOTHER ABA LIFER, Lesser Black-backed Gull. Then, looking the other direction, Braden watched a large flock of American Wigeon take off and shouted, “I think I see orange!” We spun the scope around, and sure enough, located a Eurasian Wigeon and an American-Eurasian Wigeon hybrid.

**Not until we posted this uncommon West Coast visitor, a Lesser Black-backed Gull, did Braden and I realize that we had also seen them in Israel right before the pandemic.** **Note the dainty Short-billed Gulls (formerly Mew Gulls) and, perhaps, a large juvenile Western Gull surrounding it in this cow pasture.**

The rest of our trip, we added County, State, and Year Birds, reaching almost every goal that we had set for ourselves. For Braden that included seeing the Rock Sandpiper, breaking 100 in Oregon, and yes, ALSO breaking his Big Year Record, coming in at 335 species! For myself, I shattered every expectation, reaching 352 Accidental Big Year Birds, nudging Oregon past Idaho into the fifth spot of states with my highest totals, and scoring two unlikely Lifers, Black-legged Kittiwake and Rock Sandpiper. In fact, Rock Sandpiper, proved special for another reason. It became my 500th ABA Life Bird, a milestone long in the making.

Of course, you all know the best part of the whole deal: getting to bird with Braden again after a three-month absence. As 2022 kicks in, we look forward to a lot more birding together and apart, and wish you all wonderful, satisfying birding in the company of those you love. Sneed and Braden