Archive for Seattle Audubon

Malheuring Around Pt. 3 (Conclusion)

Posted in Birding, Birds, Conservation, Environmentalism, Malheur Bird Observatory, Natural History, Oregon, Road Tripping, United States with tags , , , , , , , , on May 23, 2012 by Brendan McGarry

The unflagging exuberance of young birders (or simply those enamored with nature) is draining on those even just slightly older. Certainly it’s uplifting and I felt energized as we left the Sage Grouse Lek on Foster Flats. Energy was entirely welcome after all, we still had a full day ahead of us.

Vesper Sparrows (Pooecetes gramineus) and Horned Larks (Eremophila alpestris) serenaded us down from the lek “parking lot.” In a couple slimy sections of the road, I inwardly thanked our lucky stars for making it up. After the other visitors had squirmed upslope, the track was a sloppy mess of mud ruts. The refreshing air wafted through aromatic shrubs had a calming effect though. The were windows rolled down and ears pricked at notes from the steppe.

There.

Just as I expressed doubts about the promise we’d see a certain sage obligate, we heard cheery, ebullient notes tossed across the shrubs. The Sage Sparrow (Amphispiza belli) is a delicately colored bird, enjoyable and beautiful in subdued shades of gray and brown in the way we find subtle geology dazzling. I’d also reckon it has one of the prettier sparrow songs. The first individual sat dutifully staking claim, broadcasting for mates long enough for Eric and I to creep near clutching cameras.

Before we made it back to the highway we couldn’t resist a few more stops to enjoy the sunny morning. A Ferruginous Hawk (Buteo regalis) sailed far above and more sparrows sang around us. We all developed platforms of mud, inches thick, caked to our soles that had to be scraped off each time before returning to the van.

Already pleased with the sights, we curved down the highway to the The Bureau of Land Management’s (BLM) Diamond Craters Outstanding Natural Area. The mention of the BLM never gets me excited except knowing that the land has few rules to fetter the adventurous. When entering their properties (or as many say, “our property, our land”), I vacillate between imagining open pit mines and overgrazed riparian areas festering with watery cow pies. “The Bureau of Land Mismanagement.” Let it be said that the road we traveled in to see the lek was a derelict BLM road, so I can’t entirely grouse. Diamond Crater’s must be the crown gem of all the BLM land.

What pleased me the most about visiting this area was the fluency of the Birdwatch kids in all things natural. Sure, they wanted to go far and see much birdwise, but they could enjoy roaming geology and settling down for a good old fashioned lizard catching romp too. Before we’d even made it past the first designated stop on the auto tour of the “Outstading Natural Area,” we were crawling over the thin crust of a basaltic flow in search of reptiles.

 

Midday birding what it is, we had the geology and herps to keep us busy. This first stop saw us clambering on a vertically tilted slab of basalt attempting to outwit several behemoth Western Fence Lizards (Sceloporus occidentalis). A cooperative Sagebrush Lizard (Sceloporus graciosus) proved much more easily caught and photographed. At the same time, someone noticed that many of the cracks in the rock were filled with Pacific Chorus Frogs (Pseudacris regilla)! Between trying to capture images of frog faces wedged in fissures and snagging lizards, we laughed and scrambled away an hour. This was good, respectable fun that had nothing to do with age or ability or knowledge.

The Diamond Craters are true geological wonders, much deserving of their cornball designation. I’d visited previously but hadn’t been compelled to contemplate the spread. Much of the rock we’d seen before this point was from a comparatively ancient 9.2 million year old vent located near where Burns, Oregon is today. The Diamond Craters are a geologically young formation, around 25,000 years old, and display a huge array of basaltic volcanic features localized and easy to see. Massive craters admired are in various states of erosion, collapsing in on themselves. The evidence of explosive events, fueled by the interaction of water and magma, were strewn about. I couldn’t help but wish to have viewed this from afar over the thousands of years of activity. The tumult, the explosions, the flows of viscous lava bubbling from vents to cover lakes and millions of years of older formations. I reckon I could probably give up television for that opportunity.

Possibly the gravity of the geology was lost on some of the students but they couldn’t ignore the unique features. Nor could they deny the desire to roam the slopes or climb into the craters. (Parents, don’t worry, this is no longer volcanically active). At the particularly stunning Lava Pit Crater, a collapsed shield volcano that repeatedly flooded lava over the surrounding slopes until it subsided and began to crumble, we had another good scramble. Here we found some delicate Side-blotched Lizards (genus Uta) near the crater rim and the more intrepid accidentally sussed out both a Great-horned (Bubo virginianus) and Barn Owl (Tyto alba) while exploring a particularly large vent.

The day went on like that. Driving, stopping at a gaudy volcanic feature, spreading out over it till we looked like ants, and circling back up to pile into the car. I don’t think any of us could have asked for a more enjoyable afternoon to cap the day and the trip. As the weather began to foul again, we turned back to the field station, satisfied and tired.

Back at the field station we discovered a Bushy-tailed Woodrat (Neotoma cinerea) that had been captured in the director’s residence and left for us to release. Only in this bizarre world I’m a part of does releasing giant rats count as fun. The giddy troops were dispatched and those of us who drove at 3 AM took a rest. Somehow, when they returned, I got convinced to hunt Kangaroo rats one last time.

So, excuse my lack of eloquence here: this shit is important. These kids are going to grow up and change the world. They are going to be stewards of the environment, no matter what choices they make in their career paths (doctors, business people, politicians need to have a connection with the natural world too). The volunteers of the program said this about my cohort when I was in Birdwatch and they were right; we’re working on it. I can think of little that is more important than helping this generation along, particularly considering this is a dying pursuit amongst the youngsters of America. Nature Deficit disorder may not be diagnosable but it is real. There is a widening disconnect between young people and nature, in my generation, and those after. I’ll never stop asking this of you, of myself, of anyone: how we can expect to save things we don’t understand, let alone care about? Simply knowing an animal or a landscape is endangered doesn’t inherently fuel action.

I’ll calm down and stop jumping on my soap box in just a second. My point is, if you have kids, get them outside and let them get dirty. If you are a kid (read: if you are young of heart), get out yourself. You don’t need to know what everything is or fret over dangers. For shit’s sake, live a little!

There are plenty more details, stories, and exciting things to share about our travels in Oregon but I choose to leave it here. We had an immeasurably good time and were all sad to leave and head back to the city. All ten hours back there were constant pleas from students (and whispered from the volunteers) to stop and explore. To get sidetracked.

Get sidetracked.



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Big Day. May 5. 2012.

Posted in Big Day, Birding, Birds, Eastern Washington, Natural History, Road Tripping, Seattle, Washington with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on May 11, 2012 by Brendan McGarry

A quick note: for those of you haven’t donated yet, my big day was in support of Seattle Audubon. This money is for a general fund but continues programs like Birdwatch, the high school group I volunteer with and have blogged about. Please consider pledging to my Birdathon. Thanks so much for your support!

I woke in the confusion of deep sleep, unsure where I was. Blearily, I cast about for my glasses, brushing frost off my sleeping bag. When my brain caught up it was with a mournful reproach. What had I gotten myself into. Oh no…this was just the start of the day. This could be the intro to a horror movie.

Welcome to our big day: 12 AM on a dirt road in Wenatchee National Forest on May 5th.

Five hours later we were sitting in the car waiting for first light. Our first bird had taken nearly two hours – a Spotted Owl barking in a distant drainage. We stood watching wind push surreal globular clouds across a full moon the rest of the time. The second species in four hours, was a Northern Pygmy Owl right at dawn.

I’ll freely admit that I despise owling. Owls are indelibly special birds, species which have always held a corner of the human imagination. However, interminable hours standing in the cold, listening to air move over your ears and the gaseous irruptions of your fellow owlers, imagining distant barks, hoots, or whines, are almost never worth it. Not the best way to get excited about a big day.

For those of you who aren’t familiar, a big day is when manic birders try to see as many species of birds as possible in 24 hours. This could be in a county, a state, even a city. My expedition mates, Adam Sedgley, Micheal Willison, and I were making our go in Washington State. Adam and I were raising money for Seattle Audubon with pledges for our endeavors.

We secretly knew from the start that we wouldn’t approach the state record of 211 birds. For one we were going out a bit too early in the year for some vital species. Give or take a few weeks, May is universal big day month in North America yet early May in Washington doesn’t afford time for some neotropical migrants to arrive. Second, our route needed some fine tuning. Third, completely out of our control, was wind. A birder can never get worse luck than high winds.

A big day more or less consists of rushing about from place to place. We’d see or hear a bird, make sure everyone got on it, and rush off. This wasn’t about beautiful views or remarkable observations, it was about efficiency and tallying off species within our 24 hour frame.

We started daybreak on Bethel Ridge, which is on a random forest service road near Rimrock Lake on Highway 12. In typical dawn activity we dashed off most species we could possibly snag. Wham bam. Time to move on.

Down Umptanum road between Naches and Ellensburg, we weren’t feeling particularly enthusiastic. Aiming to hit certain habitats is key and it’s a serious issue when you miss birds with only one opportunity to see them reliably. Later in the day when we were going over species we still needed, minutes before a Red-breasted Sapsucker flew across the road I said something like “they’re easy to see flying.” I wished we’d had that kind of fortune with White-breasted Nuthatch or White-headed Woodpecker in the few Ponderosa stands visited. We were getting skunked.

Early in the game we’d adopted a strategy of running to and from the car. After finding Sage Sparrow along the Old Vantage Highway, Adam and I dashed back out of the sage, warily eyed by two geared up gentlemen on dirt bikes next to the car. They were probably used to seeing birders but were maybe a bit uneasy as to our running.

“Stop! Back up a bit……there….a bit further. It just flew. Pull forward…”

Equally so our driving probably wasn’t convincing any bystanders of our sanity. Stopping in the middle of the road or weaving to see a bird. All in all we were safe. But erratic, very erratic.

Things were not looking fantastic by mid day. Noon was literally the halfway point, we’d been up for 12 hours and would be for another 12. Sheer lunacy.

Despite feeling pessimistic I was having a surprisingly good time. That’s what big days are about. Testing yourself, in planning, in ability to pick out birds whizzing by or calling quietly, pushing your limits of sleep deprivation.

By the time the crest of the Cascades at White Pass came and went I’d already started to nod. Time was slipping by as we crossed into Southwestern Washington, hoping to scoop what we could before the sun traded places with the moon around 8:30 PM.

I’d never been to Rainbow Falls State Park but I was grateful to stretch my legs. Everything counts, even common birds (which are so often missed). Pacific Wren, Townsend’s Warbler, Pacific-slope Flycatcher, and Wilson’s Warbler were all birds I can potentially see minutes from my home in urban Seattle. Hermit Warbler however was not. Time to move on.

Desperation setting in and we saw our first gulls in a field near Roy. Luckily they were worth studying, Herring and Mew Gull represented. We were tempted to waste precious minutes to make another bird a Thayer’s. I made an unethical, silly, and unsuccessful attempt to get the bird to fly by running down the road parallel to it.

There’s a certain salvation in getting to an entirely new habitat. Suddenly coastal Washington and all its marine, intertidal species spread before us. Crunch time and we crunched much of what we’d hoped for, waterfowl, shorebirds, a few songbirds. Yet, those missed species always make you cringe.

Big days are unapologeticly crude. You eat horribly, relieve yourself in convenient, not polite, places, and largely reject courtesy. Vespertine sputtered out on a platform at the Wesport Jetty. Pelagic and Brandt’s Cormorants were our last species roosting offshore. As we scanned with flagging enthusiasm, we probably managed to ruin a man’s attempt to photograph the blood orange moon creeping over Gray’s Harbor, shaking the platform and his tripod.

153 species, 890 miles driven.  Not terrible but not great either.  Definitely fun.  The callous road trip nation easily folds into the world of birding. Maybe we could have driven further and seen more? Then again the need for dinner, rest, and the camaraderie of sharing a meal surpassed a more hours standing in the cold, hoping for owls. I wasn’t going to suggest that anyway. Like I said, I sorta hate owling.

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Malheuring Around Part 2

Posted in Birding, Birds, Malheur Bird Observatory, Migration, Natural History, Oregon with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 23, 2012 by Brendan McGarry

Shoving as much natural history as a place holds into the space of five days will never promise restfulness. During the course of a few days we drove hundreds of miles in pursuit of birds, mammals, and reptiles. I’m feeling pretty pooped just thinking about it now and blogging about it during the trip was ultimately beyond me completely. In younger years I would have blown off writing completely but I’ve come to realize that memories fade and that this is the craft I wish to work and grow in. When these experiences are penned (or typed), they take on a whole knew life. The photos of this trip will always exist but the embellishment of a good yarn is equally important in immortalizing stories. Years from now I’ll thank myself for recording any experiences I had. I’m already kicking myself for not doing a better job in more formative times.

I left off on day three of our twisting navigation of the Malheur area. We continued to drift on and off the refuge and saw much of the birdlife the place offered.  A few surprises even popped up along the way.

To begin the day we decided to drive Central Patrol Road in hopes of seeing some good birdlife by using our vehicle as a blind. While we certainly saw a few nice things, including the first Brewer’s Sparrow of the year, this turned out to be unproductive in terms of seeing new species on the trip. Adam was particularly vocal in letting us all know we’d not seen any new species much of the day. However, it was a pleasant drive along the Donner und Blitzen River surrounded by the eroded walls and hills of basalt. (No, this river was not named after the reindeer but with German for the thunder, Donner, and lighting, Blitzen, that an early exploration encountered in a crossing).

Central Patrol Road runs practically the length of the refuge North to South, ending at the base of epic block fault Steens Mountain. While the gate to the top is closed till June, when snow from Steens has mostly melted bringing life to the wetlands below, Page Springs campground at the base offers variety to the sage weary. We retreated into the bowels of the upper Donner und Blitzen for a break amongst willows and juniper.

As I mentioned before a lot of the breeding songbirds hadn’t arrived yet. So as we entered the canyon, it was to enjoy new sights more than new birds. We heard both Canyon and Rock Wren, the later of which sat singing in plain sight, but that was the extent of our avian experience. Tristan and Ira sprinted off in search of snakes (and a potential Mountain Quail), hoping the hot day would reveal some serpent treasures (they caught a large Gopher Snake). The rest of us took our time along the slow river, admiring butterflies, plants and geology. Afternoon found us strolling about with no particular aim, what I consider a great joy in life. A few of the more bird manic of the group were initially disappointed as this pace but later admitted it a pleasurable way to spend the less active afternoon.

Night drives are one of the pleasures of being out in a place rife with mammals. You’ll never know what will be bounding along the road. What’s more, it offers and opportunity to acquaint yourself with a few of the animals more easily convinced to say a quick hello. Many cottontails and jackrabbits skittered about the roads on the nights Tristan, Ira, and I went out exploring but we were particularly keen to encounter kangaroo rats the most common of which was Ord’s Kangaroo Rat (Dipodomys ordii).

These desert adapted rats were surprisingly easy to find along the road on the nights I got up enough energy to drive us around. Most active at night, they spend their days deep in burrows and emerge in cooler weather to find seeds, which I learned they cache for later use. We spent a lot of time catching reptiles and amphibians during the trip, so it should come as no surprise that kangaroo rats were also handled. Luckily I’d learned from past experiences prowling for nocturnal mammals that they are beyond friendly in the hand, cuddling up, sitting calmly, or gently exploring your shoulder and hair.  (You may take issue to catching wild animals simply to admire but I think the benefits of understanding and appreciation that result far outweigh the negatives – every rat we caught was handled with care and released uninjured).

Bleary eyed from rat catching, I woke to rain and wind the next morning. The sage and rabbitbrush turned a pleasant saturated gray-green to match the weather. Us Seattlites weren’t going to let the rain hold us back and besides this weather was needed. According to Duncan, a director of the field station, it was drier than normal, with 60% less rain than the average. The state of the more pluvial loving Greasewood (Sarcobatus vermiculatus) was evidence of this, having lost most of their succulent leaves in response to the dryness.

Again we had a full day ahead of us and we struck out on a similar route we’d driven our first full day. This reaffirmed my notion that repeat visits gain you new, different sights. Almost immediately we noticed Clark’s Grebes amongst the Western Grebes on Malheur Lake. Stopping to admire one and some Cliff Swallow nests, Adam spotted a rare sight, a Great-horned Owl nest beneath a bridge on a highway!

The rest of the day was spent tooling around, just like we’d done on days before but with more activity. We were treated to a herd of Pronghorns right off the highway – a cooperatively perched Golden Eagle (we visited a nest too) – hundreds more American White Pelicans (which I tried to sneak close to unsucessfully) – a Common Raven nest – for once a sitting Prairie Falcon (all we’d seen were ones on determined wing). And there was one more delight and total surprise, a Snowy Owl!

If you paid any attention to the news or nature in North America this last winter, you’ve probably heard about Snowy Owls being all over the place. Last season was a good lemming year and there were a lot more owls born, which means they need to disperse to find food, often very far from their tundra homes. Many young birds die when they get far south (and in the case of the first record in Hawaii are shot….). That fact was not far from thought as we crept up to this shining white emblem of the North, sitting placidly right off the highway. The theories to explain it’s reluctance to fly were that either it was very sick or that it was stuffed on abundant food. Snowy Owls eat lots of waterbirds in addition to rodents, which could very well have meant it was simply in a blissed out state of heavenly indulgence while the weather stayed cool. Whatever the case, we saw it three times during our stay and it seemed content, even with two trailer semis zooming by mere feet from its fluffy face.

There will be one more installment on the trip coming soon. There’s some star characters to be sure, spectacularly absurd obligates of the shrub steppe that lek. See if you can guess what I’m talking about and stay tuned!

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Wingtrip Does Arizona (Long)

Posted in Arizona, Birding, Birds, Natural History, Road Tripping, Southeastern Arizona, United States with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 18, 2010 by Brendan McGarry

(When I go on week long trips, see massive amounts, and come back with a lot to say, brevity goes out the door. I appreciate all my readers, however few, and I promise shorter entries in the future. However, I hope you enjoy my notes from a week in Arizona.)

“Can we go to the Sun City Golf Course?” came a voice from the back of the van. “They have water there.”


If you guessed this the plea of a link-obsessed geriatric under my watch, you’d be wrong. The voice belonged to one of the six high schoolers in the van, one in particular I was on the verge of strangling. I didn’t want to hear about the course one more time, mainly because I abhor golf (not the sport, the implications of green grass in places such as Arizona), and also because this wasn’t a golfing trip. Because one of their grandparents happened to see a few things on the edge of the golf course he lived by, this waste of water had been elevated to Mecca.

Wedged into a van we’d been driving around Southeastern Arizona for the past week. A little over a year ago I started volunteering with this mad hatter group of teens, Seattle Audubon’s Birdwatch program. My reasons, that is, beyond a pure benevolent nature? I’m alumni.

At the risk of revealing my tender youth, I joined Birdwatch 10 years ago, a bird crazed freshman. Already a seasoned Seattle Audubon member and I was chomping at the bit to be of age. It turned out to be one of the most important experiences of my life. Finding peers was paramount, but through Birdwatch I spent a summer volunteering in the ornithology collections at the Burke Museum. As a paid intern (!!) for a local bander Don Norman, I was introduced to the art of banding birds. I practiced environmental education. I went on fantastic spring trips all over the country.

Continuing to help a program so formative for me only makes sense. When I moved back to Seattle after college, I did. The fringe benefit is getting to go on the annual spring trip, which for the past years I have helped fundraise and organize. Peddling shade-grown coffee, executing rummage sales, and working in people’s yards – Birdwatch finds ways to make the trip happen. In an ideal world Seattle Audubon would be able to find grants and monies to float the entire trip, but we’re a non-profit. And not so secretly, I insist the importance for the kids to truly own the trip, providing most of the funding. They pay a fraction of the cost out of pocket because an accessible trip is essential.

For those who didn’t know, the many and jagged mountain ranges and baking deserts of Southeastern Arizona provide for some of the best birding in the United States. Part is due to the steep climbing mountains allowing for the so-called sky islands of stratified, distinct habitats and the summer storms with origins far south to revitalize every July and August. The proximity to the border of Mexico has much to do with the diversity too, but it also provides for an uneasy police state. The fact that it’s chalk full of specialty birds is a strange contrast. Calling them specialties is slightly misleading because almost all of these birds are just across the border, in higher abundance. Calling them specialties is a figment of our imaginary American divisions (the same goes for the Lower Rio Grande Valley in Texas – where went last year). No matter, the experiences these kids got scrambling around in the Southwest were priceless.

The value of cultivating teenage interest in the natural world is that these kids will go on to save the world. That’s not even vaguely a joke. Many of them have the passion and drive to change our planet. Birdwatch gave me that empowerment and I want to continue that legacy.

Starting our tour in the florid Saguaro National Monument, flush with new growth and pungently fresh from a week of rain, we headed south. The Santa Rita Mountains and infamous Madera Canyon were the first stop. Without going to Mexico you can’t stray too far – so we veered east at the border town of Nogales. Patagonia, the only vibrant riparian area we visited along the way, was on way to the steep Huachuca Mountains. Finally, we strode on to the Chiricahuas, the land of Jeronimo’s final stand, before circling back to Tucson. Whirlwind week is an understatement.

And oh the birds we saw! Although it was slow, with extended winter chill, we found almost all the species we could expect considering this constrained schedule. Any experienced birder knows a rushed schedule doesn’t leave time for error or time sunk into looking for uncooperative species. But I’ll be damned if we didn’t luck out (we missed some stuff, but who cares?!).

A nearly resident Flame-colored Tanager visited the bird feeders in Madera Canyon. A first for many, I’d only spied them through a patchwork of canopy. In neighboring Florida Wash, we teased out a Rufous-capped Warbler (Basileuterus rufifrons), which had been skulking about in a birder typical, trickily specific location. Unusual for Arizona, raucous water from the snowmelt made it impossible to communicate as we scoured the creek basin scrub for the bird. A male Elegant Trogon (Trogon elegans) at Patagonia Lake that was magnificently cooperative, hamming it up as we slammed down our shutters. Cave Creek Canyon in the Chiricahuas provided us a rather intimate moment as a pair of Elf Owls (Micrathene whitneyi), unabashedly going about the “business.” At the South Western Research Station where we stayed in Cave Creek, a Whiskered Screech Owl (Megascops trichopsis) was readily found. At the risk of boring the non-birder, I’ll stop the prattle on bird species.

Birds weren’t the only animals on the platter. We were fortunate to have a good number of budding herpetologists, including Sam Riley, who is well on his way to becoming a prodigy. Over my four high school trips, I never remembered thinking about anything beyond the avian; these kids had a one up on me. The winter also affected the reptiles we found but Sam and his fellows teased out a Black-tailed Rattlesnake (Crotalus molossus), a Banded Gecko (Coleonyx variegates), many Scleropus species, and a Regal Horned Lizard (Phrynosoma solare) (the lizard famed for squirting blood out it’s eyes in defense). Although Sam often tried to hijack the trip for his own purposes, I was glad to have this added element.

In the past (this was my third trip in the area), I’d underestimated watching birds around Tucson. But there were tons of places to visit and I began to appreciate the overgrown vacant lots filled largely with native plants. A rather surreal encounter with a Harris’s Hawk (Parabuteo unicinctus) was had at the Sweet Water Wetlands on our last day.

Although it sounds rather “new agey”, I firmly believe that many species are capable of comprehending human intentions. That being said, I don’t like to encourage tameness and trust in wild animals because while I have faith in humanity on the whole, a rotten few spoil it for the rest.

At the wetlands, one of the other photographers of the group, Colin and I were strolling through the converted sewage treatment ponds. Ahead of us we could see a young Harris’s Hawk perched on some of the treatment equipment. Over the two trips Colin and I have been on, we both think fairly alike in approaching birds. We stand shoulder-to-shoulder, walk slowly, and pause periodically with multiple frames – it’s the digital, nature photographer’s way. But this bird wasn’t phased. Suddenly we were five feet from it. In shock at it’s nonchalance, I didn’t know what to do next.

I ended up taking over 400 photos of the bird. Having the opportunity to fill your frame with a wild raptor’s face or talons is unquestionably thrilling and once in a lifetime. The teens ran to grab their cameras, other people walked up, I left and came back with a fresh memory card. The bird lounged. For a while I though it was sick or feared it would latch to the face of one of my charges. I had visions of a talon pocked face, blood streaming down a face as we missed our flight and took someone to the hospital. Wiggling my toes, I caught the hawk’s attention, muse for an inquisitive twist of the head. I realized that I didn’t want my toes the focus of a predator.

Only when I slid into my seat on the plane did I realize how tired I was. Now I finally understood what the Birdwatch coordinator, Emily Sprong, had meant when she’d wanted another week off to relax. But I didn’t sleep on the plane. Instead of took photos from the plane window for a whole three hours. These kids were non-stop, but I was just an enabler.

Considering myself an adult but being not too far out of the fold, working with teens is challenging. The little buggers are far from forgiving and constantly demanding. Sometimes I felt like I was losing rank with them because I’d have to rein in their perpetual wanderings (in retrospect I was the same way). Paranoid I’d become the grump chaperone, I convinced myself that being a grump isn’t a problem as long as the teens realized I really cared.

Birding is a pastime that very purely selfish. We drive about a landscape, using gas, water, and countless other resources in a manner that has seemingly no purpose. But if only one of the Birdwatch kids (and I suppose I count too), grows up to inspire others, it’ll all be worth it.

And thankfully we managed to avoid that f***ing golf course.

By the quantity of photos in the entry, you can tell I took a lot of photos.  I encourage everyone to check out my collection for the trip here.  I was fairly satisfied at my results.

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Bird-a-thon 2010 (Long)!

Posted in Big Day, Birding, Birds, Eastern Washington, Natural History, Seattle, The Montlake Fill, Washington with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 12, 2010 by Brendan McGarry

I’d like to preface with a warning.  This entry contains the manic depictions of deviants.  Birding has many manifestations.  Some are the gentle musing of the causal observer, no less informed, simply less hastened or statistic driven.  This is a trip report of the absurdist, the crazed who don’t sleep for 24 hours, the big day birders.

Favored with employment in an organization that focuses heavily on birding, this April I was lucky to participate in our major fundraiser for work.  Birdathon is an event created to fuel fundraising through friendly competition.  Solo or on a team, birders get sponsors who either foolishly give $.50 per species (this gets expensive when lists soar above 100 species) or pledge a static amount.  Then they go birding and try their best to see as many birds as possible.

The big day has roots in the East (I could never see it coming out of say, California). According the Scott Weidensaul’s book Of a Feather (a brief history of American birding), as early as 1898 birders in Ohio were out on grueling daylong assaults.  Different areas had colloquial terms for their endeavors.  The bottom line was that you end up spoiling a perfectly respectable and cerebral activity into baseball statistics.  I’m the first to point out the flaws in this extreme form of birding, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t fun!

Half of Seattle Audubon’s staff was willing to ship out the night before our Birdathon and camp on the Columbia River, where we’d begin.  When we arrived at Wanupum Damn State Park, the reason for the windfarms perched on nearby hills was evident.  It was a blustery night.  Wind isn’t good for birds and if you haven’t figured it out yet, this practice in mania is grounded in number of species seen.

Thankfully the morning was calm.  With time to rake the surrounding area before a 7:30 rendezvous with the rest of the staff in Vantage, we wasted no time.  While only two of us were so far removed from reality as to wake up at 5 am to bird (before light), we had a good showing for the morning walk.  Yellow-rumped Warblers (Audubon’s specifically) dripped from the poplars, but they seemed to be the only songbirds about.  I started to get nervous.  But no worries, we soon stumbled into a Dusky Flycatcher, some Ruby-crowned Kinglets, a House Wren, Golden-crowned, Lincoln’s and Fox Sparrows.  You cherish every bird on a big day, you may not see it somewhere else.

With a large staff and no one nearly as enthusiastic as Adam, our science associate, and myself, a real big day wasn’t entirely possible.  Contrary to what you might believe, not all the staff at Seattle Audubon are expert birders, who would have been fine with a slapdash day.  People actually wanted to see birds, not rush through, ticking them off.  We also weren’t going to be able to go owling.  A final admission was that most big days are centered on mid-May. My most epic have always been as late as possible to coincide with Birdathon dates to maximize incoming migrant birds.  Late April was slightly premature. My main goal was to beat our board members’ team.  They’d amassed a respectful 122 species a few days earlier. (To avoid sounding like a sniveling snob, I had a great time birding with my coworkers regardless of their sane tendencies).

On the other side of the Columbia River, the Shrub Steppe opens up into the willow lined shores of the potholes and Moses Lake.  Water always attracts birds and we soon found ourselves another twenty species deep.  Never a certain bird, a Black-crowned Night Heron flushed into a tree at Martha Lake and we saw, astonishingly, our only sandpiper of the day, a Least.  Swainson’s Hawks glided on gracile wings overhead, back from their sojourn in Argentina.  Cinnamon and Blue-winged Teal floated on many a waterway.

Before we knew it, we’d blasted through the wetlands and headed back over the Columbia River to Vantage.  Wind had picked up again which meant finding things in the quickly diminishing shrub steppe (read: land being bulldozed for wind turbines), wasn’t going to happen.  We still managed Sage Thrasher and both Mountain and Western Bluebirds en route to Ellensburg.

Unfortunately one of our stops, Robinson Canyon, was closed till May (to allow Elk to winter in lowlands without being bothered by people).  Luckily Carly, a former staff member who ran Birdwatch, came through for us and suggested we visit Taneum Canyon.

Not only were the high basalt walls that wrapped the road in the canyon beautiful, we managed some good birds in Taneum.  Townsend’s Solitaire busied themselves on the hillsides, Evening Grosbeaks flew over, and we finally got both Mountain and Black-capped Chickadee.  A bonus was a Golden Eagle that came in low over the road!  Not being able to get into Robinson still cost us key species – it was time to get back on the road!

The intersection of the Teanaway and Yakima Rivers just outside of Cle Ellum is a traditional spot for any serious Washington-wide big day.  This is mainly because it’s a reliable and simple place to find American Dipper. Rufous Hummingbird (which I unfortunately missed), Downy Woodpecker (astonishingly only the second woodpecker of the day, and Vaux’s Swift were also about.

It was time to cut our losses and head to the less fruitful western slope.  With weather moving in, a stop a stampede pass didn’t seem promising but out of the car we had Golden-crowned Kinglets, Varied Thrush, Pine Siskin, and Red-breasted Nuthatch.  The beauty of big days is that they make every bird exciting!

Our only owl of the day was pure luck.  A few staff were trailing behind and luckily for the rest of us, heard a pair of Barred Owls!  Sitting listening to them we heard Red Crossbill, just as I had said they were something we hadn’t seen yet.  Finally we had Oregon Junco, a shock to not get sooner on the trip.  A Red-breasted Sapsucker called, giving Adam and I views.  Just as we started to walk back, I heard the quick, sweet call note of a Brown Creeper.  We could still beat those board members yet – I was above 100 species.

Rain was slamming down through Snoqualmie pass but when we finally started to get close to Seattle, during rush hour, the clouds parted and traffic was actually moving.  The group, diminished from dropping off a few deteriorated staff in town, descended on the last main stop at the Montlake Fill.  This was crunch time and Adam and I took off from the rest of the group to try to see as much as possible.  Cleaning up on easy species we had Savannah Sparrow, Anna’s Hummingbird, American Wigeon, Glacous-winged Gull, and Common Yellowthroat.  While we didn’t get Wood Duck, a regular at the fill, we had Cedar Waxwings and a Virginia Rail.  A Bewick’s Wren was singing as we left the park.  Chomping at the bit, we headed back to the office to drop off the rest of the staff, empty the van, and head to the rental place.  I followed Adam in his car and after the van was parked – we jetted off to West Seattle, our final stretch.

As absurd as it sounds, just writing this report is getting my heart rate up.  Birding like this is about uncertainties and it calls into action your absolute ability and attention.  You have to be on point perpetually.

Pigeon Guillemot, Western Grebe, Horned Grebe, Red-necked Grebe, Mew Gull, Brant.  We were doing well and the light was cooperating, it was past 8 pm by the time we’d reached the final park on our loop around Alki Point in West Seattle.  The sunset over the Olympics with a contrasting storm was so spectacular that I had break for a photo but then it was back to business.  An Eared Grebe was nestled in a group of Horned Grebes.  Finally a Harlequin Duck!  A Barrow’s Goldeneye flew away from us as we strained but failed to find Long-tailed Duck or Marbled Murrelet further out on the Sound.

As the light failed, we made out last-ditch attempt to find Western Screech Owl or Winter Wren in the forested section of Mee-Kwa Mooks Park.  Every crow back in the trees seemed to be an accipiter (it’s embarrassing to admit that we missed both Sharp-shinned and Cooper’s Hawks) as we stood patiently listening.  Finally the strangled croak of a Hermit Thrush rang out, as if calling the end to our day.  We’d been up since 5 am and by the time I got home it was 10pm.

As it turns out, I managed to squeeze by the board members at 124 species.  But that doesn’t really matter too much.  What was really important is that I raised over $600 for Seattle Audubon and all that money will be going to leave a legacy of the environment.  Maybe if I have kids and they are so unfortunate as to find themselves addicted to birding, they’ll be able to follow in my footsteps.

Thank you to all my sponsors (there’s still time to give money, till the end of May): Linda Carroll, Marti Davis,  Rebecca Evans,  Al Ferkovich,  Thomas Mansfield,  Jean Mills, Eldon Olson,  Roberta Roberts, Paul & Barbara Webster,  Diana Aubin de Paradis, Barbara Clark,  George Johnson,  Penny Koyama, and last but certainly not least Virginia Morrison!

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