I bought my dad a 10,000 Birds t-shirt last Christmas not realizing that it would turn out to be a priceless piece of magic. I bought him the t-shirt that has a Northern Goshawk on the front and a crazy picture on the back of a Goshawk taking a swipe at a deer. It says something prophetic like, “Go birding- you never know what might happen.” As if Goshawks really do attack deer or something. It’s a great t-shirt, but unfortunately I don't think the 10,000 Birds guys sell them anymore.
Today (Mother’s Day, 2008) I met up with my folks for a little spring birding in Connecticut at a great place called Bent of the River in Southbury. We had warblers on the brain, of course, because it’s early May and that’s what you look for at this time of year in the Northeast. We really weren’t having such a great day. We saw a few Ovenbirds, a pair of Louisiana Waterthrushes, we heard a Black-throated Green Warbler, saw a few Black and White Warblers, had a brief look at what might have been a Grey-cheeked Thrush, had great looks at a Worm-eating Warbler and we were waiting for the birding to improve.
After we walked through a gorgeous patch of forest, the trail meandered through a grassy open area that was filled to the brim with Prairie Warblers (which don’t actually live in prairies), Indigo Buntings, Blue-winged Warblers, and a few Baltimore Orioles and Field Sparrows sprinkled in for good measure. Nice birds for sure, but still kind of a slow day for warblers. We met up with a small group of birders having a similarly slow day and chatted briefly before going our separate ways on the trail. The sun had just managed to burn through the heavy fog that had covered the little river valley (where Bent of the River is located) and the temperature was starting to creep above 40 degrees F and we were optimistic that the warbler action would pick up.
I glanced up in time to catch a raptor flying overhead followed quickly by another. My initial thought was that they were perhaps a pair of Peregrine Falcons because I glimpsed what looked like a mask on one of their faces. They began climbing higher very quickly on the thermals that were being generated by the sudden sunshine so I couldn’t see their faces any more. After a bit more scrutiny, we had to rule out falcon because of wing shape and we decided they were accipiters, but they didn’t look small enough to be Sharp-shinned Hawks and the way they flapped their wings was too slow for Cooper’s Hawks. It’s difficult to judge size of soaring hawks, so it was certainly convenient that the two birds met up with a Red-shouldered Hawk riding their thermal, which gave us a great size comparison. These birds were about the same size as the Red-shouldered Hawk. Have you guessed yet that what we were seeing was a beautiful pair of Northern Goshawks? These were the second and third Northern Goshawks I’ve ever seen.
We noticed that the birds were both fairly light underneath, not cinnamon like a Cooper’s or a Sharp-shinned hawk. Also, they had the most peculiar fluffy undertail coverts that looked like bloomers fluttering around their legs. When we checked the field guide it mentioned this field mark as diagnostic of Goshawks and also pointed us to the noticeable bulging secondaries. After we clinched the ID, I sprinted off down the trail to find the other group of birders so they could see the birds. I didn’t find the birders but I continued to enjoy great looks at the birds. I called to my parents who were looking the other way, ”I can still see them if you want another look!” They turned and looked at me like I was crazy. “WE’RE looking at them over there, what are you talking about?” My dad walked over to where I was and looked at MY pair of Goshawks, turned to look at the OTHER pair that my mother was looking at and then looked at me in disbelief.
Those were my 4th and 5th Northern Goshawks of my life. Noone that I know of sees 4 Northern Goshawks in central Connecticut on Mother’s Day unless they are summoning the benevolent bird powers by wearing their 10,000 Birds Northern Goshawk t-shirt!
MORAL: Go birding – you never know what you might see. (And wear a 10,000 Birds t-shirt when you go!)
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
When does spring really spring?
This is a little out of season...re-post from 10,000 Birds...again.
If you live in my part of the world, the Northeastern US, or farther north, you’ve probably been anticipating the arrival of spring in all its glory, waiting to be freed of winter’s clutches. The calendar says it doesn’t officially start until March 20 but if you’re a birder you’ve probably noticed that spring sprang some time ago. So what was it that got your blood pumping about spring migration? What made you get out the lens cleaning kit and go to town on your optics in preparation for warbler season?
This is a question I’ve been pondering for a while now and I know it varies from person to person and region to region. I live in a place with very distinct seasons and in addition to meteorological cues, I anticipate the living cues that herald spring’s arrival, and often the two are not aligned with one another. For example, just today as I write this, the temperature is a brisk 25 °F and it feels like winter, yet the birds in my yard are singing like it’s a beautiful May morning.
So I’ve been trying to decide which of the many avian cues I’ve noticed recently really told me that spring is here. Perhaps it was when I first noticed that my American Goldfinches were starting to look a bit spotty, with random patches of lemon yellow brightening their winter plumage and the beginnings of little black caps starting to show on the males.
Perhaps it was when I saw the Red-tailed Hawks in the area pairing up and exhibiting courtship behavior. They started flying around in pairs, sitting together in trees, behaving aggressively toward other Red-tails. Ah, spring!
Maybe it was when my friend Rich told me his House Finches were singing and I noticed that mine were too. Or perhaps it was when my White-throated Sparrows started polishing up their act. Their off-key whisper songs of winter have recently become perfectly pitched, beautiful renditions of “O’ sweet Canada-Canada-Canada”. That is my favorite bird song, I think.
I know! It was the day that I was working at my computer and I was yanked from my desk by the screams of 2 Red-shouldered Hawks whooping it up in my yard. I ran out with my binoculars and there they were in all their glory, right outside, announcing their arrival and likely intentions to move in for the summer. If you’ve ever lived near a Red-shouldered hawk nest, you know that they make a lot of noise. But I consider myself lucky to have them because in New York State (where I live) they are considered a species of special concern, which means their numbers are declining and they receive some additional state protection.
Well, actually, maybe it was on February 28 when I heard my first Red-winged Blackbird sing and show off his brilliant crimson epaulets to whomever was looking. No no no it was when the Tufted Titmice in the yard started their incessant “peterpeterpeter” singing. Or when my Carolina Wren started letting loose with his loud “teakettle-teakettle-teakettle” song. I’ve got it! It was when the Northern Cardinals began imitating car alarms before dawn! Hmmm…maybe it was when I heard my first American Woodcock displaying in the morning before work. No maybe it was the first Wilson’s Snipe I saw the other day. Or it’s the Song Sparrows that have been singing for a few days. I know it is the Eastern Meadowlarks singing “spring-of-the-year”!
Maybe it was seeing Ring-necked Ducks, Wood Ducks, Green-winged Teal, American Wigeon, Blue-winged Teal, Gadwall, and other first of the year waterfowl sightings in partially frozen ponds. I’m still waiting for my first Pied-billed Grebe, though, so I should wrap this up and get out and look for a few more spring arrivals! Did you notice I didn’t even mention the American Robin as a sign of spring? Truthfully, I’ve been seeing Robins all winter here and there, so their reputation as a sign of spring is a little over-rated. The Red-winged Blackbird is a much more reliable harbinger of spring than the American Robin.
As you can see, when you’re looking and listening, there are many signs of spring coming from the avian world and I can’t decide which one is the definitive sign of spring for me. But when you look at how many signals we’ve been receiving, it’s indisputable that spring is definitely here, in the Northeast anyway, so get those binoculars cleaned and start limbering up for Warbler season. It’s just around the corner! I’m still waiting for an unambiguous amphibious sign of spring – the call of the ubiquitous Spring Peeper frogs (Hyla crucifer) from every puddle and pond around. So, how do you know that spring has sprung where you live?
If you live in my part of the world, the Northeastern US, or farther north, you’ve probably been anticipating the arrival of spring in all its glory, waiting to be freed of winter’s clutches. The calendar says it doesn’t officially start until March 20 but if you’re a birder you’ve probably noticed that spring sprang some time ago. So what was it that got your blood pumping about spring migration? What made you get out the lens cleaning kit and go to town on your optics in preparation for warbler season?
This is a question I’ve been pondering for a while now and I know it varies from person to person and region to region. I live in a place with very distinct seasons and in addition to meteorological cues, I anticipate the living cues that herald spring’s arrival, and often the two are not aligned with one another. For example, just today as I write this, the temperature is a brisk 25 °F and it feels like winter, yet the birds in my yard are singing like it’s a beautiful May morning.
So I’ve been trying to decide which of the many avian cues I’ve noticed recently really told me that spring is here. Perhaps it was when I first noticed that my American Goldfinches were starting to look a bit spotty, with random patches of lemon yellow brightening their winter plumage and the beginnings of little black caps starting to show on the males.
Perhaps it was when I saw the Red-tailed Hawks in the area pairing up and exhibiting courtship behavior. They started flying around in pairs, sitting together in trees, behaving aggressively toward other Red-tails. Ah, spring!
Maybe it was when my friend Rich told me his House Finches were singing and I noticed that mine were too. Or perhaps it was when my White-throated Sparrows started polishing up their act. Their off-key whisper songs of winter have recently become perfectly pitched, beautiful renditions of “O’ sweet Canada-Canada-Canada”. That is my favorite bird song, I think.
I know! It was the day that I was working at my computer and I was yanked from my desk by the screams of 2 Red-shouldered Hawks whooping it up in my yard. I ran out with my binoculars and there they were in all their glory, right outside, announcing their arrival and likely intentions to move in for the summer. If you’ve ever lived near a Red-shouldered hawk nest, you know that they make a lot of noise. But I consider myself lucky to have them because in New York State (where I live) they are considered a species of special concern, which means their numbers are declining and they receive some additional state protection.
Well, actually, maybe it was on February 28 when I heard my first Red-winged Blackbird sing and show off his brilliant crimson epaulets to whomever was looking. No no no it was when the Tufted Titmice in the yard started their incessant “peterpeterpeter” singing. Or when my Carolina Wren started letting loose with his loud “teakettle-teakettle-teakettle” song. I’ve got it! It was when the Northern Cardinals began imitating car alarms before dawn! Hmmm…maybe it was when I heard my first American Woodcock displaying in the morning before work. No maybe it was the first Wilson’s Snipe I saw the other day. Or it’s the Song Sparrows that have been singing for a few days. I know it is the Eastern Meadowlarks singing “spring-of-the-year”!
Maybe it was seeing Ring-necked Ducks, Wood Ducks, Green-winged Teal, American Wigeon, Blue-winged Teal, Gadwall, and other first of the year waterfowl sightings in partially frozen ponds. I’m still waiting for my first Pied-billed Grebe, though, so I should wrap this up and get out and look for a few more spring arrivals! Did you notice I didn’t even mention the American Robin as a sign of spring? Truthfully, I’ve been seeing Robins all winter here and there, so their reputation as a sign of spring is a little over-rated. The Red-winged Blackbird is a much more reliable harbinger of spring than the American Robin.
As you can see, when you’re looking and listening, there are many signs of spring coming from the avian world and I can’t decide which one is the definitive sign of spring for me. But when you look at how many signals we’ve been receiving, it’s indisputable that spring is definitely here, in the Northeast anyway, so get those binoculars cleaned and start limbering up for Warbler season. It’s just around the corner! I’m still waiting for an unambiguous amphibious sign of spring – the call of the ubiquitous Spring Peeper frogs (Hyla crucifer) from every puddle and pond around. So, how do you know that spring has sprung where you live?
A Bird in the Hand…
This is also a re-post of something I wrote for 10,000 Birds a while ago.
The first time I held a wild bird in my hands I was about 8 and my father found a recently fledged Northern Flicker. We mistakenly believed the bird to be in trouble, or abandoned, so we picked it up in a shoebox and took it home. We named him Flicker, because we are that creative, and took him home to raise him for a while, until he could fly a bit better. We read that Flickers ate berries so we harvested the strawberries out of my mom’s garden, supplemented those with some nice cat food, and did our best to keep Flicker well fed. We weren’t the best Flicker parents, making a bit of a mess when we fed the bird, and our Flicker always had a bit of a strawberry mustache on his impressive bill. After about 2 weeks with us, he decided to take his leave, and flew off into the neighbor’s White Pines and seemed to be doing OK. I cried my eyes out, but Flicker was hanging out with some other Flickers, so I tried to get over it.
A few days after his heartbreaking departure, while my family was having dinner, we heard quite a commotion in the back yard, and when we went to take a look, we saw that Flicker was back! Are you wondering how we knew it was our Flicker? We could see his strawberry mustache, of course. Being a spry 8-year-old, I climbed the Maple he was in, reached over, and picked him up. He sat in my hands for a moment, looked me in the eye, and gave an ear-piercing shriek as I wished him luck before he flew away for good. Maybe he was saying thanks. I was certainly thanking him when my college essay about him, titled creatively, My Friend Flicker, got me accepted to my top choice college about ten years later!
Now I realize that Flicker never needed our help, but he did get me into college, so it worked out well for both of us. Having the chance to hold a wild bird in your hands is an amazing experience, but is not something that we should undertake without good reason, for the birds’ sake as well as our own. Bird banders do it routinely but I don’t think the thrill of holding something as amazing as a bird in your hand ever wears off. I have had the opportunity to help a few bird banders in my short tenure as a birder and I must admit, it is addictive.
Recently, I had the chance to help band Northern Saw-whet Owls in the Shawangunk Mountains of Ulster County, New York. Glenn Proudfoot is part of a small group of researchers in North America that bands these birds as they shift out of the boreal forests of Canada in October to find a bit of winter respite in the more temperate latitudes, say around Maryland and North Carolina. The birds only stay in this area for a few short months before they return north in late winter to breed. For some unknown reason, at this time of year they can be called in with audio broadcast of their territorial call.
Their song is a monotonous repeated ‘toot – toot – toot’ that sounds like someone whetting a newly sharpened saw, like people used to do when these birds were first identified by early ornithologists.
The night I was lucky enough to help out, we caught 5 Owls. A few weeks earlier Glenn caught more than 30 in one night. A light mist net that is set up near the broadcast unit playing the digitally recorded call traps the birds when they fly in to investigate. Every 45-60 minutes the nets must be checked so the birds don’t get too tangled or too cold, and also to prevent the Barred Owls from finding them and, uh, I’d rather not say what would happen then. The tiny owls, which are SMALLER than an American Robin, are carefully untangled from the netting while keeping a firm grip on their little feet, which pack quite a formidable set of talons. The little owls are then unceremoniously stuck head first into a tube constructed of two 6-ounce tomato paste cans taped end-to-end. Taped together into a pyramid, 12 cans form a 6-pack, with a handy carrying loop. “What if you catch more than six,” I asked, of course. “I stick the rest in your pockets,” replied my new best friend.
The nets are cleared of any debris and the owls are whisked into the little shed where they are measured, weighed, and basically treated as humans are when they are abducted by aliens, minus the probe. Well, except usually there is a DNA swab taken of the inside of their mouth. This year, Glenn has run out of DNA swabs, and doesn’t have the budget to buy more because each swab costs $1.50 (but I think he accepts donations). He caught at least seven times as many owls as last year (52 last year, 379 and counting this year) so probably wasn’t anticipating using up all the swabs. The birds’ molt pattern of the flight feathers is recorded, a few wing measurements are taken, a few feathers are donated to science, and the owls are again unceremoniously stuck head first into a tomato paste can to be weighed. The little owls patiently put up with this somewhat inconvenient treatment, occasionally snapping their bills to remind you who’s boss, receive their new metal leg bands with dignity, and are ready to be released.
After the first Owl of the night was processed, and Glenn had smoothed its feathers, he asked me if I wanted to release it. My stomach did 15 somersaults but I tried to retain my cool, unflappable demeanor, and I said, incredulously, “You’re going to let me hold it???????” I felt like an 8-year-old again.
I grasped the little feathered legs, keeping the talons safely inside my hand, and carefully walked into the crisp evening with the tough little owl. I was amazed at how light the 80-gram bundle of feathers was in my hand. I carefully tested the talons with my other hand and they were sharp as needles – big needles. The claws are about twice the size of a housecat’s and the foot can grasp with significant force around the spinal column of an unwary rodent, easily breaking a neck or piercing a skull and some vital organs. I just looked with wonder at this amazing creature, a tiny killing machine. I let the owl’s eyes adjust to the dark for a few minutes, gave it a little pat on the back and opened my hand. It calmly swiveled to look me in the eyes, and I knew it would be just fine. I didn’t need to wish it luck as it flew off silently into the cold night, but I did say thanks.
The first time I held a wild bird in my hands I was about 8 and my father found a recently fledged Northern Flicker. We mistakenly believed the bird to be in trouble, or abandoned, so we picked it up in a shoebox and took it home. We named him Flicker, because we are that creative, and took him home to raise him for a while, until he could fly a bit better. We read that Flickers ate berries so we harvested the strawberries out of my mom’s garden, supplemented those with some nice cat food, and did our best to keep Flicker well fed. We weren’t the best Flicker parents, making a bit of a mess when we fed the bird, and our Flicker always had a bit of a strawberry mustache on his impressive bill. After about 2 weeks with us, he decided to take his leave, and flew off into the neighbor’s White Pines and seemed to be doing OK. I cried my eyes out, but Flicker was hanging out with some other Flickers, so I tried to get over it.
A few days after his heartbreaking departure, while my family was having dinner, we heard quite a commotion in the back yard, and when we went to take a look, we saw that Flicker was back! Are you wondering how we knew it was our Flicker? We could see his strawberry mustache, of course. Being a spry 8-year-old, I climbed the Maple he was in, reached over, and picked him up. He sat in my hands for a moment, looked me in the eye, and gave an ear-piercing shriek as I wished him luck before he flew away for good. Maybe he was saying thanks. I was certainly thanking him when my college essay about him, titled creatively, My Friend Flicker, got me accepted to my top choice college about ten years later!
Now I realize that Flicker never needed our help, but he did get me into college, so it worked out well for both of us. Having the chance to hold a wild bird in your hands is an amazing experience, but is not something that we should undertake without good reason, for the birds’ sake as well as our own. Bird banders do it routinely but I don’t think the thrill of holding something as amazing as a bird in your hand ever wears off. I have had the opportunity to help a few bird banders in my short tenure as a birder and I must admit, it is addictive.
Recently, I had the chance to help band Northern Saw-whet Owls in the Shawangunk Mountains of Ulster County, New York. Glenn Proudfoot is part of a small group of researchers in North America that bands these birds as they shift out of the boreal forests of Canada in October to find a bit of winter respite in the more temperate latitudes, say around Maryland and North Carolina. The birds only stay in this area for a few short months before they return north in late winter to breed. For some unknown reason, at this time of year they can be called in with audio broadcast of their territorial call.
Their song is a monotonous repeated ‘toot – toot – toot’ that sounds like someone whetting a newly sharpened saw, like people used to do when these birds were first identified by early ornithologists.
The night I was lucky enough to help out, we caught 5 Owls. A few weeks earlier Glenn caught more than 30 in one night. A light mist net that is set up near the broadcast unit playing the digitally recorded call traps the birds when they fly in to investigate. Every 45-60 minutes the nets must be checked so the birds don’t get too tangled or too cold, and also to prevent the Barred Owls from finding them and, uh, I’d rather not say what would happen then. The tiny owls, which are SMALLER than an American Robin, are carefully untangled from the netting while keeping a firm grip on their little feet, which pack quite a formidable set of talons. The little owls are then unceremoniously stuck head first into a tube constructed of two 6-ounce tomato paste cans taped end-to-end. Taped together into a pyramid, 12 cans form a 6-pack, with a handy carrying loop. “What if you catch more than six,” I asked, of course. “I stick the rest in your pockets,” replied my new best friend.
The nets are cleared of any debris and the owls are whisked into the little shed where they are measured, weighed, and basically treated as humans are when they are abducted by aliens, minus the probe. Well, except usually there is a DNA swab taken of the inside of their mouth. This year, Glenn has run out of DNA swabs, and doesn’t have the budget to buy more because each swab costs $1.50 (but I think he accepts donations). He caught at least seven times as many owls as last year (52 last year, 379 and counting this year) so probably wasn’t anticipating using up all the swabs. The birds’ molt pattern of the flight feathers is recorded, a few wing measurements are taken, a few feathers are donated to science, and the owls are again unceremoniously stuck head first into a tomato paste can to be weighed. The little owls patiently put up with this somewhat inconvenient treatment, occasionally snapping their bills to remind you who’s boss, receive their new metal leg bands with dignity, and are ready to be released.
After the first Owl of the night was processed, and Glenn had smoothed its feathers, he asked me if I wanted to release it. My stomach did 15 somersaults but I tried to retain my cool, unflappable demeanor, and I said, incredulously, “You’re going to let me hold it???????” I felt like an 8-year-old again.
I grasped the little feathered legs, keeping the talons safely inside my hand, and carefully walked into the crisp evening with the tough little owl. I was amazed at how light the 80-gram bundle of feathers was in my hand. I carefully tested the talons with my other hand and they were sharp as needles – big needles. The claws are about twice the size of a housecat’s and the foot can grasp with significant force around the spinal column of an unwary rodent, easily breaking a neck or piercing a skull and some vital organs. I just looked with wonder at this amazing creature, a tiny killing machine. I let the owl’s eyes adjust to the dark for a few minutes, gave it a little pat on the back and opened my hand. It calmly swiveled to look me in the eyes, and I knew it would be just fine. I didn’t need to wish it luck as it flew off silently into the cold night, but I did say thanks.
In praise of the Black-capped Chickadee
I also wrote this for 10,000 Birds and am re-posting it here.
There are almost too many reasons to love Black-capped Chickadees, but I will try to elucidate just a few of the more important ones for you here. Sometimes people overlook a bird like the Chickadee, because they are one of those birds that you probably see every day. But if you really take the time to watch Chickadees for a little while, you will probably not be able to keep yourself from falling in love with them. First of all, they are absolutely adorable with their tiny little black bills, black chins, white cheeks, and little black caps. They flick their little tails around calling, “Hey sweetie,” when they’re happy and “Chicka-dee-dee-dee” when they’re worked up. Watch them at your feeder as they zoom in to chase away bigger birds like House Sparrows or Tufted Titmice. Chickadees are pretty much fearless, or as Corey of 10,000 Birds might say, “Chickadees are bad-ass.”
Chickadees are the tiny sentinels of the woods. They tell each other, and whoever else is paying attention, when something isn’t right. Once, I parked my car at a trailhead in the Shawangunks and heard about 6-8 Chickadees making their namesake call, “Chicka–dee-dee-dee.” I read a few years ago that Chickadees actually broadcast the relative size of potential danger by changing the number of “dees” they use. A larger animal like a bear or sometimes a human might warrant 5 “dees” while something a little smaller like a Jack Russell Terrier might only get 2 or 3 “dees”.
These Chickadees sounded pretty agitated which usually means something is up, so I took out my bins and watched them for a while. The little group of Chickadees was hopping around in some bushes and small trees about 3-4 feet off the ground. They were all looking down and calling repeatedly, “Chicka-dee-dee-dee.” They were moving through the little hedgerow and it definitely looked like they were following something. So, I kept watching, because no matter what, it’s just fun to watch these little guys.
After watching for about 5 minutes, I finally got a glimpse of their quarry. I saw a flash of bright red fur and a big fluffy tail with a white tip – a Red Fox! It zipped through the hedgerow and into the woods with the tough little Chickadees in hot pursuit. That fox wasn’t going to get anything to eat that afternoon if the Chickadees had anything to say about it. I hope the other animals know enough to listen to the Chickadees because they really know what’s up. And, they’re really cute to boot!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The Thrill of the Chase...
I wrote this and posted it on my friend Corey's blog, 10,000 Birds, which is a great place to visit!
I usually don't chase birds unless they're fairly close (2 hours drive or less) and I have a pretty good shot at getting them. I recently chased the Scott's Oriole in a New York City park for the following reasons: it was close (NYC is 2 hours from me), some friends were going and offered to drive, it was a New York State first, and I thought it was a life bird! Well, the only part that turned out to not be a good reason was the last part - I had actually seen one in Arizona, but I forgot. This Oriole was perhaps the easiest rarity I've chased. It was in a tiny city park and it was depending on a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker to drill wells in some Holly Trees so it could eat the sap. The bird was found within 5 minutes of me arriving at the park, we got excellent looks, those who wanted pictures took them, and we were off to see the Townsend's Solitaire a little ways out on Long Island. Perfect!
This Ross's Gull that turned up in Niagara Falls was another story. Of course, it's a Ross's Gull, so exceptions must be made. When a Ross's Gull turned up near Newburyport Massachusetts in the 1970's it was the "Bird of the Century". The Niagara Falls bird is one of the few Eastern US sightings since that time, and many people were itching to see it. Some people had already gotten great looks and photos but the bird was difficult to track down. The weather in the Niagara Falls region had been abysmal just days earlier and the river was far icier than it should have been, and conditions for feeding gulls were changing daily, if not hourly.
It was 6 hours away, not a guaranteed tick, and I was having a hard time finding people to go with me to help defray expenses. Finally a birder from Long Island decided to go up with me (he had dipped on the bird a few days earlier and wanted another shot). It was Friday morning and some bad weather was heading in. Originally we were planning to leave after my workday and arrive in Niagara Falls around 10 PM. As luck would have it, I had a snow day (excellent perk of being a teacher) and we were off mid morning. We hit a few miles of abysmal road conditions, with multiple cars off in roadside ditches but I just took it slow and we made it up to the Falls in 7 + hours. Not bad. We had a leisurely dinner, found some dirt-cheap hotel rooms (no one goes to Western NY in the winter unless absolutely necessary) and rested up for our big day.
We were on Goat Island (a good viewing spot for the bird) before daybreak on Saturday. I think we were the first birders on the island. A car-full from Michigan arrived shortly after. The only report we had from the previous day was that 2 people had looked in the afternoon unsuccessfully. Later we would learn that someone had seen it Friday morning and that the weather had prevented others from looking. Shortly after dawn, birders began streaming out of the various parking lots, frantically asking others if the bird had been seen and exchanging cell numbers like mad.
Birders were spread out all over tiny Goat Island, desperately searching for the beautiful adult Ross's Gull and the hours ticked by with no success. Every time someone's cell phone rang, people would become hopeful, eavesdropping on conversations, hoping to hear that the bird had been located, poised to pick up their scopes and run or drive to the magic spot. Moments later, they would realize the call wasn't what they'd hoped, and they'd turn dejectedly back to their scopes and the fruitless scans of thousands of gulls.
My chase partner and I walked up and down that island countless times, looking at every gull and blob of ice, trying to see the tiny black bill and thin black crescent behind the eye of the Ross's Gull. Even my 2 life birds (Little Gull and Thayer's Gull) of the day weren't enough to cheer me up. By 4 PM we were ready to pack it in and head back downstate. We slowly packed our things in the car and headed to get a bite to eat before getting on our way. While at a pizza joint waiting for our food, my phone rang and it was one of the birders from Michigan. I panicked and ran to the vestibule so I could hear him clearly. With dark approaching I wanted to hear every word in case he had the bird. Heart pounding, I listened to what he had to say. But alas, all he wanted was directions to the Black-headed Gull that was being seen nearby. I sighed and went back to my mediocre meal, ready to leave that place.
No one saw the Ross's Gull that day, and many of the birders stayed over another night to continue the search. I wish them luck, but I am done with that bird. I doubt I'll be able to get the time to go back for it if it is found again. My chase partner and I tried to keep our spirits up on the long drive home and talk turned to our many exciting birding adventures. We shared stories of the great places we've been and the many places we plan to go and that made the drive go quickly. In the end, I'm glad I tried for that bird, and having missed it, well, that's just the way it goes. Maybe the next Ross's Gull will turn up within the next 25 or so years and I look forward to chasing that one too.
I usually don't chase birds unless they're fairly close (2 hours drive or less) and I have a pretty good shot at getting them. I recently chased the Scott's Oriole in a New York City park for the following reasons: it was close (NYC is 2 hours from me), some friends were going and offered to drive, it was a New York State first, and I thought it was a life bird! Well, the only part that turned out to not be a good reason was the last part - I had actually seen one in Arizona, but I forgot. This Oriole was perhaps the easiest rarity I've chased. It was in a tiny city park and it was depending on a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker to drill wells in some Holly Trees so it could eat the sap. The bird was found within 5 minutes of me arriving at the park, we got excellent looks, those who wanted pictures took them, and we were off to see the Townsend's Solitaire a little ways out on Long Island. Perfect!
This Ross's Gull that turned up in Niagara Falls was another story. Of course, it's a Ross's Gull, so exceptions must be made. When a Ross's Gull turned up near Newburyport Massachusetts in the 1970's it was the "Bird of the Century". The Niagara Falls bird is one of the few Eastern US sightings since that time, and many people were itching to see it. Some people had already gotten great looks and photos but the bird was difficult to track down. The weather in the Niagara Falls region had been abysmal just days earlier and the river was far icier than it should have been, and conditions for feeding gulls were changing daily, if not hourly.
It was 6 hours away, not a guaranteed tick, and I was having a hard time finding people to go with me to help defray expenses. Finally a birder from Long Island decided to go up with me (he had dipped on the bird a few days earlier and wanted another shot). It was Friday morning and some bad weather was heading in. Originally we were planning to leave after my workday and arrive in Niagara Falls around 10 PM. As luck would have it, I had a snow day (excellent perk of being a teacher) and we were off mid morning. We hit a few miles of abysmal road conditions, with multiple cars off in roadside ditches but I just took it slow and we made it up to the Falls in 7 + hours. Not bad. We had a leisurely dinner, found some dirt-cheap hotel rooms (no one goes to Western NY in the winter unless absolutely necessary) and rested up for our big day.
We were on Goat Island (a good viewing spot for the bird) before daybreak on Saturday. I think we were the first birders on the island. A car-full from Michigan arrived shortly after. The only report we had from the previous day was that 2 people had looked in the afternoon unsuccessfully. Later we would learn that someone had seen it Friday morning and that the weather had prevented others from looking. Shortly after dawn, birders began streaming out of the various parking lots, frantically asking others if the bird had been seen and exchanging cell numbers like mad.
Birders were spread out all over tiny Goat Island, desperately searching for the beautiful adult Ross's Gull and the hours ticked by with no success. Every time someone's cell phone rang, people would become hopeful, eavesdropping on conversations, hoping to hear that the bird had been located, poised to pick up their scopes and run or drive to the magic spot. Moments later, they would realize the call wasn't what they'd hoped, and they'd turn dejectedly back to their scopes and the fruitless scans of thousands of gulls.
My chase partner and I walked up and down that island countless times, looking at every gull and blob of ice, trying to see the tiny black bill and thin black crescent behind the eye of the Ross's Gull. Even my 2 life birds (Little Gull and Thayer's Gull) of the day weren't enough to cheer me up. By 4 PM we were ready to pack it in and head back downstate. We slowly packed our things in the car and headed to get a bite to eat before getting on our way. While at a pizza joint waiting for our food, my phone rang and it was one of the birders from Michigan. I panicked and ran to the vestibule so I could hear him clearly. With dark approaching I wanted to hear every word in case he had the bird. Heart pounding, I listened to what he had to say. But alas, all he wanted was directions to the Black-headed Gull that was being seen nearby. I sighed and went back to my mediocre meal, ready to leave that place.
No one saw the Ross's Gull that day, and many of the birders stayed over another night to continue the search. I wish them luck, but I am done with that bird. I doubt I'll be able to get the time to go back for it if it is found again. My chase partner and I tried to keep our spirits up on the long drive home and talk turned to our many exciting birding adventures. We shared stories of the great places we've been and the many places we plan to go and that made the drive go quickly. In the end, I'm glad I tried for that bird, and having missed it, well, that's just the way it goes. Maybe the next Ross's Gull will turn up within the next 25 or so years and I look forward to chasing that one too.
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