Nature Note #168: The Biggest Weekend on American Birding
As with Friday, the weekend would prove to be some of the most productive time we spent both birding and networking within our rich community of birders, naturalists, and other lovers of nature observation and appreciation.
Saturday was a whirlwind of warbler watching with several wonderful life birds thrown in for good measure. We started as we had the day before, rolling up in the car and into Magee Marsh. Before arriving on the boardwalk, Alison and I watched the optics tent slide past our windows.
"I think it's time I bought a scope", I said as I gazed longingly at the rows and rows of tripods.
"Well, we could do that now or come back later", Alison replied, smiling.
"Later. I want to see if we can find more birds", I answered.
"Ok", she said.
After parking up, we noticed a huge exodus of cars from the parking lot. We are, in a sense, not the most timely of birders. Most birders are "larks", arriving at dawn or in the early hours of the morning in order to watch birds as they begin their morning chorus and hunt for food.
After having worked all week and despite having to sleep on a lumpy mattress at the Rat's Nest (my pet name for the motel we stayed at), we had still slept in. We are not early risers unless we have to be.
Before heading to the boardwalk, we decided that visiting a side trail along the marsh would make for a nice change of scenery. We ambled past the first section of boardwalk, past a Big Sit that was going on, and on up the beach. Before we got to the first trail, we snapped some photos of an enterprising male black-and-white warbler (Mniotilta varia) posing in the tangles along the pond. He was a beauty and remained in the same spot for optimum photographic opportunities. We eventually left him to his devices to look for other subjects along the trail ahead.
As we walked the short trail near the edge of the marsh, thrushes and catbirds skulked in the bushes, while a lone Prothonotary warbler (Protonotaria citrea) briefly provided a shot before racing back to the safety of the woods. While on the trail, the clouds that had threatened rain all morning cleared. We were joined by bustling groups of Amish who were intently studying the bushes as well, clutching old Peterson's and the newer Crossley guides as they wandered in loose parties throughout the park.
While I have many shots of people birding on the trails and boardwalks of Magee Marsh, I declined to take photos of those Amish. I felt that doing so would be disrespectful to their privacy as a both as members of a reclusive society and as individuals in general. Despite my infrequent exposure to the Amish, there were certainly other people that captured my attention as well.
As I mentioned in my earlier post, people were often instrumental in helping us find good birds. This crowd and several others like it held the promise of an interesting find for all to see. Without these crowds, we would have never found our first of the year whip-poor-will (Antrostomus vociferus), Tennessee warblers (Oreothlypis peregrina), and Philadelphia vireos (Vireo philadephicus) eventually later that day,
Alison and I were especially eager to see if some of the reports about owl nests that were floating around were true. While we were unable to locate the great horned owls (Bubo virginianus) that were at Magee, someone suggested we try for an eastern screech owl (Megascops asio) at Maumee Bay Lodge. Maumee was only 15 minutes away, so we decided to hit it that evening in search of the owl. Before heading out, I made a decision. It was time to buy a spotting scope and before long I settled on my choice, a Vortex Optics Viper HD 20-60 x 80 angled lens. I won't mention what it cost me, but it will be well worth the money and allow me to expend much less effort when looking at far off ducks and loons when scanning Lake Onondaga and Montezuma NWR come the fall.
The temperature had dropped by the time we arrived. The wind and light spatters of rain almost discouraged us from exploring the marsh. Before attempting to find the owl on our own, we headed inside to peruse the vendors and low and behold, I saw him. Just a few feet away, I saw a legendary birder, chuckling with a friend near a booth called "Big Year Tours". It was Greg Miller, the birder made famous by Mark Obmascik's book, The Big Year: A Tale of Man, Nature, and Fowl Obsession which centered on a big year attempt that he took part in along with fellow competitors Sandy Komito and Al Levinton in 1998. The record to beat was 721, set by Komito several years earlier. Eventually the year ended with Komito as the victor, smashing his own previous record by recording 745 species.
I took a deep breath and approached him. He was genial and cordial, listening intently to my introduction and asking about my background, interests in birding, and whether I'd seen the movie version of the Big Year. When I mentioned I had read the book first and then three times since, he high-fived me. It was amazing to be in the presence of a birding legend and to have the opportunity to speak with someone so intimate with the obsession that birding can turn into.
I also got the opportunity to speak to one of my idols, the wonderful Kenn Kaufman, creator of the Kaufman Field Guide series and author of his own Big Year story called Kingbird Highway. We chatted about writing and blogging about birds, our backgrounds, and perhaps most importantly, the location of the screech owl on the Maumee Bay boardwalk. We thanked him for his advice and asked for a quick photo. He obliged and I left with the honor of having spoken with two wonderful human beings and having several photos I would have to have framed in the next few weeks.
As Alison and I headed to the boardwalk, it was starting to get dark. With the light seeming to fade so quickly, it would be harder to take sharper pictures without using the camera flash. Fortunately, the light out on the Maumee boardwalk held steady long enough for us to find our prize.
We headed for the first nestbox Kaufman and one of his birding guides had directed us to and sure enough, a red phase screech owl sat glaring out into the swamp forest beyond.
There were other birds as well. Warblers cavorted through the branches, while sheepish catbirds and aerial swallows chattered from their respective haunts. Almost unexpectedly after the fact, Alison and I got a life bird in the form of a young summer tanager (Piranga rubra). As I was watching a mystery flycatcher sally from branch to branch, the flame red bird landed in a nearby maple. It was different from the scarlet tanager (P. olivacea) I had seen on Friday afternoon. Male scarlet's are, well, scarlet with black wings and females are the color of unripened lemons, while male summer's are a solid rosy red or orange color. This unexpected surprise was a welcome addition to our growing list from our visit. As we traveled back to the Rat's Nest, we vowed to rise early to try and find the must see bird of the week, a curlew sandpiper (Calidris ferruginea).
At a place like Magee Marsh, generally speaking, birds like a Connecticut (Oporornis agilis) or even a Kirtland's warbler (Setophaga kirtlandii) would be enough to capture most people's attention. What was special about the curlew sandpiper was that this rare bird had only appeared in Ohio two or three times previously over the past few decades. Adding to its rarity is the fact that it breeds in Siberia and winters in Africa and southeast Asia with casual migrants showing up most often on the Atlantic and Pacific coasts during fall migration.
Given our spotty luck with finding rare birds, we decided (foolishly) to go see it on Sunday morning. We arrived too late after it had apparently flushed with a group of smaller shorebirds. To add insult to injury, according to eBird's rare bird email message service, it had been reported a full 20 minutes before we arrived on the corner of Raab Road and Angola Street in Springfield Township!
Despite this burn from the bird of a lifetime, we managed to pick up a lifer nonetheless. Within the shorebird flock, we found the usual migrants such as yellowlegs and killdeers and dowitchers. Among them however were a pair of small shorebirds. One was a grey bird with a black and rusty brown neck stripe that probed the mud, while its associate preened its less colorful copy of its partner's dress. Most beginning birders would assume that the brighter bird would be the male, but in this case, they would be mistaken.
The birds we were looked at were Wilson's phalaropes (Phalaropus tricolor), a unique member of the shorebird family that typically feeds by paddling in small circles in order to stir up small crustaceans and plankton found in the water. In this species, the females fulfills a male's usual role of displaying and fighting with other females over mates, while it is the male's job to incubate and rear the babies. A few other species that do this include cassowaries, ostriches, and jacanas.
With the curlew sandpiper having given us the runaround and after noticing an ominous grey cloud advancing on the flooded field, we elected to head home.
A 7 hour drive lay ahead of us, but we would carry with us the memories and experiences that graced us on this trip. While our accommodations weren't the best and the weather decided to play tricks on us at times, it was one of the best weekends Alison and I had ever shared together. As we traveled back through a simultaneous blast of wind, sleet, hail, and rain, we planned our next great birding adventure.
For now we would stay close to home, but someday soon, we would journey back out there, to somewhere new, exciting, and hopefully birdy as all heck!
Saturday was a whirlwind of warbler watching with several wonderful life birds thrown in for good measure. We started as we had the day before, rolling up in the car and into Magee Marsh. Before arriving on the boardwalk, Alison and I watched the optics tent slide past our windows.
"I think it's time I bought a scope", I said as I gazed longingly at the rows and rows of tripods.
"Well, we could do that now or come back later", Alison replied, smiling.
"Later. I want to see if we can find more birds", I answered.
"Ok", she said.
After parking up, we noticed a huge exodus of cars from the parking lot. We are, in a sense, not the most timely of birders. Most birders are "larks", arriving at dawn or in the early hours of the morning in order to watch birds as they begin their morning chorus and hunt for food.
After having worked all week and despite having to sleep on a lumpy mattress at the Rat's Nest (my pet name for the motel we stayed at), we had still slept in. We are not early risers unless we have to be.
 |
| Black-and-white warbler |
As we walked the short trail near the edge of the marsh, thrushes and catbirds skulked in the bushes, while a lone Prothonotary warbler (Protonotaria citrea) briefly provided a shot before racing back to the safety of the woods. While on the trail, the clouds that had threatened rain all morning cleared. We were joined by bustling groups of Amish who were intently studying the bushes as well, clutching old Peterson's and the newer Crossley guides as they wandered in loose parties throughout the park.
While I have many shots of people birding on the trails and boardwalks of Magee Marsh, I declined to take photos of those Amish. I felt that doing so would be disrespectful to their privacy as a both as members of a reclusive society and as individuals in general. Despite my infrequent exposure to the Amish, there were certainly other people that captured my attention as well.
As I mentioned in my earlier post, people were often instrumental in helping us find good birds. This crowd and several others like it held the promise of an interesting find for all to see. Without these crowds, we would have never found our first of the year whip-poor-will (Antrostomus vociferus), Tennessee warblers (Oreothlypis peregrina), and Philadelphia vireos (Vireo philadephicus) eventually later that day,
 |
| Eastern whip-poor-will |
 |
| Tennessee warbler |
 |
| Philadelphia vireo |
The temperature had dropped by the time we arrived. The wind and light spatters of rain almost discouraged us from exploring the marsh. Before attempting to find the owl on our own, we headed inside to peruse the vendors and low and behold, I saw him. Just a few feet away, I saw a legendary birder, chuckling with a friend near a booth called "Big Year Tours". It was Greg Miller, the birder made famous by Mark Obmascik's book, The Big Year: A Tale of Man, Nature, and Fowl Obsession which centered on a big year attempt that he took part in along with fellow competitors Sandy Komito and Al Levinton in 1998. The record to beat was 721, set by Komito several years earlier. Eventually the year ended with Komito as the victor, smashing his own previous record by recording 745 species.
I took a deep breath and approached him. He was genial and cordial, listening intently to my introduction and asking about my background, interests in birding, and whether I'd seen the movie version of the Big Year. When I mentioned I had read the book first and then three times since, he high-fived me. It was amazing to be in the presence of a birding legend and to have the opportunity to speak with someone so intimate with the obsession that birding can turn into.
I also got the opportunity to speak to one of my idols, the wonderful Kenn Kaufman, creator of the Kaufman Field Guide series and author of his own Big Year story called Kingbird Highway. We chatted about writing and blogging about birds, our backgrounds, and perhaps most importantly, the location of the screech owl on the Maumee Bay boardwalk. We thanked him for his advice and asked for a quick photo. He obliged and I left with the honor of having spoken with two wonderful human beings and having several photos I would have to have framed in the next few weeks.
As Alison and I headed to the boardwalk, it was starting to get dark. With the light seeming to fade so quickly, it would be harder to take sharper pictures without using the camera flash. Fortunately, the light out on the Maumee boardwalk held steady long enough for us to find our prize.
We headed for the first nestbox Kaufman and one of his birding guides had directed us to and sure enough, a red phase screech owl sat glaring out into the swamp forest beyond.
 |
| The red phase eastern screech owl I dubbed "Capsaicin" |
 |
| Summer tanager |
 |
| "Hello CUSA? Are you up there?" |
Despite this burn from the bird of a lifetime, we managed to pick up a lifer nonetheless. Within the shorebird flock, we found the usual migrants such as yellowlegs and killdeers and dowitchers. Among them however were a pair of small shorebirds. One was a grey bird with a black and rusty brown neck stripe that probed the mud, while its associate preened its less colorful copy of its partner's dress. Most beginning birders would assume that the brighter bird would be the male, but in this case, they would be mistaken.
The birds we were looked at were Wilson's phalaropes (Phalaropus tricolor), a unique member of the shorebird family that typically feeds by paddling in small circles in order to stir up small crustaceans and plankton found in the water. In this species, the females fulfills a male's usual role of displaying and fighting with other females over mates, while it is the male's job to incubate and rear the babies. A few other species that do this include cassowaries, ostriches, and jacanas.
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| Wilson's phalarope (third bird from the left) with a few yellowlegs |
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| Female Wilson's to the left of a dowitcher and below a yellowlegs |
A 7 hour drive lay ahead of us, but we would carry with us the memories and experiences that graced us on this trip. While our accommodations weren't the best and the weather decided to play tricks on us at times, it was one of the best weekends Alison and I had ever shared together. As we traveled back through a simultaneous blast of wind, sleet, hail, and rain, we planned our next great birding adventure.
For now we would stay close to home, but someday soon, we would journey back out there, to somewhere new, exciting, and hopefully birdy as all heck!
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