ABA Blog

Open Mic: A Veterinarian's Pespective on the Feral Cat Issue

At the Mic: Brian Monk

Brian Monk is a veterinarian, birder, photographer, and professional orchid grower and lecturer. He received his DVM from Virginia Tech in 1997 and currently resides in Ft. Lauderdale, Floirida, with his wife Mary-Margaret and his 5 rescued cats. 

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    Let me make myself perfectly clear:  I love cats. I am a veterinarian, quite a few of my patients are cats, and I count five of them as my pets. I believe that cats have an inherent value to us, both as living things and as companions. I also love birds, and have been watching them before I was old enough to know what they were. Without question, birds also have inherent value, both to our planet and our hobby. My position as both a birder and a veterinarian lends me a unique perspective about the current controversy surrounding feral cats, and the various solutions offered up to address this issue.

A recent study has determined that 1.4-3.7 billion birds are killed by feral cats per year, and its publication has pitted wildlife conservation groups against feline advocacy groups. The controversy centers around the most important question, “What is the solution to this problem of cat overpopulation?” The only thing that these two groups seem to agree on is that feral cat overpopulation exists. 

Feral cats lead short and brutal lives. Kittens suffer a 50-75% mortality rate.  Disease is prevalent in feral cat populations, as expected.  They are plagued with parasitism by various worms, arthropods, and protozoa; viral diseases like Feline Leukemia, Feline Immunodeficiency Virus, Herpes, Distemper, and Rabies; bacterial infections such as Toxoplasmosis, and Haemobartonellosis. Traumatic injury is common. Feral cats suffer attacks from dogs, other cats, and other wildlife. And they suffer from the inexplicable cruelty of some humans. Personally, I have seen cats poisoned (both inadvertently and intentionally), caught and tortured, shot (with arrows and bullets), and set on fire. Many feral cats are chronically malnourished.  Regardless of the debilitation, feral cats for the most part receive no veterinary care for their illnesses, even in “managed” colonies, and suffer needlessly. Feral cats rarely live more than 6 years, and rarely die peaceful deaths.

    Rabies in feral cat colonies is a serious concern. Rabies is an untreatable and uniformly fatal disease. Prophylatic preventative therapy is long, painful, and expensive. Though cats are not a primary carrier of the disease (like raccoons or bats), they are easily infected due to their interactions with other wildlife. And because cats are generally accepted, humans are easily exposed. According to the Centers for Disease Control, cats are the only species with an increasing frequency of rabies infection.

    Feline advocacy groups are in favor of continued tolerance of feral cats, citing the effectiveness of Trap-Neuter-Release programs (TNR) and managed colonies in reducing feral populations. Trap-Neuter-Release programs are intended to reduce cat populations by surgically sterilizing as many feral cats as can be caught. These cats are then released back into the environment. In some instances, the groups attempt to “manage” these feral populations by feeding cats in a specific area, the intention being to keep them from preying on other animals. 

    This solution on its face has a certain moral palatability and logical origin. If all feral cats are prevented from reproducing, then eventually the population will be reduced to zero, and this can be accomplished without killing a cat. But the flaws in this thinking should be apparent. Not all cats can be captured, and these continue to reproduce.  New individuals can enter the TNR area at will, and they will reproduce. And surgical sterilization does nothing to prevent continued predation on native wildlife.  TNR can neither eliminate feral cats, nor reduce predation, and does not address illness or disease, facts supported by actual scientific study. 

    Proponents of TNR ignore these facts. They downplay or deny outright the problems with rabies and other diseases. They counter that feral cats are a natural part of the ecosystem and play an important role in the biologic control of pest species, that the estimation of wildlife killed by cats is grossly exaggerated, and that conservation groups have more important things to worry about. They have provided no studies that refute the numbers of wildlife killed. The studies that they do refer to regarding the effectiveness of TNR are of limited scope, and often contradictory in their findings. All of these studies openly admit that TNR will not be effective at eliminating feral cat populations.

          What is not in dispute is that domestic cats are an invasive species, with a population of 60-70 million in North America. Derived from the desert-dwelling wild felines of northern Africa, and brought to this continent by European settlers, cats are exceptionally well adapted to a predatory lifestyle, having keen eyesight, acute hearing and sense of smell, incredible strength and speed, lethal weaponry, and an incredible rate of reproduction. Cats are beautiful, efficient, and almost-perfect predators. And they are an alien species, altering the landscape, and causing- environmental, agricultural, and economic harm. There is no other small cat native to North America similar to Felis sylvestris, and thus they have a huge and disproportionately damaging effect on wildlife.

    Cats have their own biology, ecology, and ethnology, and their behaviors directly impact the biome.  There are 60-70 million feral cats in the North America. Feral cats draw their sustenance almost entirely from wildlife that they catch and kill.  A cat will eat as often as possible, and must eat several times a week (at least) to survive. These are facts, undisputed by both sides. One shouldn’t need to use statistics or  years-long research to see how quickly the numbers of dead prey add up.

    Clearly, given the stated facts, feral cats must be completely removed from the environment, and by that I mean active extermination. From an ethical perspective, this may sound like a difficult thing to do, and I understand the visceral response concerning the outright extermination of an individual life.   But only the complete elimination of feral cats will provide the solutions that both conservationists and feline advocates want. Disease, health problems, public safety, and environmental concerns are all addressed successfully by eliminating the feral feline population. I have considered all other possible solutions from the perspective of both a veterinarian and a conservationist, and they are either impractical or impossible.

    The removal and eradication of harmful invasive species has become an important part of most conservation plans, and is actually supported by federal, state, and local law. These laws mandate the protection of native wildlife, and as such require the active elimination or control of alien species. Laws currently exist that allow specifically for the control, prevention, and elimination of feral cat colonies, while protecting pet cats and their owners. 

    Feline advocacy groups like Alley Cat Allies approach this situation without compromise. They use vague moral reasoning and use this to generate guilt in their audience, tearfully pleading that no one needs to kill the poor, defenseless little kitty-cats. Questions about the effectiveness of TNR and the health of feral cats are dismissed, or met with a furious, venomous, and illogical character assassination. They state as loudly as possible that “cats are not a threat to wildlife” and scream that the science behind cat-predation studies is flawed, all without offering up any evidence to the contrary.  Fingers are pointed to habitat loss, cell-phone towers, and anything else that might play a role in population or biodiversity loss, and admonishments handed out to the guilty conservationists.  With these methods, they apply pressure the public to adopt TNR. Unfortunately, this has been effective at even the legislative level.  A bill is currently being explored in the Florida legislature that would make the creation of feral cat colonies much easier, regardless of their effect on wildlife, disease, or property rights, and it has gained some traction, already receiving unanimous passage by the Florida House Agriculture & Natural Resources Subcommittee. They are essentially being treated as a naturally occurring wild species.

    This problem of feral cats is a difficult one. Although it is only a part of the greater question of avian conservation, it is obviously an important part. Further, it seems to be a part where real progress could be made, with benefits that are not so vague as biodiversity for biodiversity’s sake. Improving feline health in general, while keeping our precious wildlife safe, is a noble goal, that we can only approach ignobly. Feral cats exist because of man’s ego and carelessness. But TNR does not adequately address the issue. It does not ease feline suffering or eliminate feline predation on our wildlife to a point that is acceptable, to me as a veterinarian and a conservationist, or to anyone else who considers the facts.  As difficult as it may be, the elimination of feral cats via Trap and Euthanasia is the only truly viable solution.

EDITOR'S NOTE: We are aware that this subject prompts passionate responses and we welcome strong opinions about ideas, but we ask that commentors please stay courteous and refrain from personal attacks. Otherwise we will delete your comment and ask you to resubmit using more civil language. 

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Loss, Will, & Marra; The impact of free-ranging domestic cats on wildlife of the United States. Nature Communications, Volume: 4:1396, Jan 2013 

Hildreth, Vantassel, Hyngstrom; Feral Cats and Their Management. University of Nebraska-Lincoln Extension Service; Publication EC1781.

Levy, Gale, Gale; Evaluation of the effect of a long-term trap-neuter-return program on a free-roaming cat population. Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association, 2003:222, pp 42-46, Jan 2003.

Foley, Foley, Levy, Paik; Analysis of the impact of trap-neuter-return programs on populations of feral cats. Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association, 2005:227, pp 1775-1781, December 2005.

HB 1121 Passes Through First Committee Stop; http://audubonoffloridanews.org/?p=13340.

Nutter, Levine, Stoskopf; Reproductive capacity of free-roaming domestic cats and kitten survival rate. Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association, 2004:225, pp1399-1402, November 2004.

Horn, Mateus-Pinella, Warner, Heske; Home range, habitat use, and activity patterns of free-roaming domestic cats. The Journal of Wildlife Management, 75:5, pp1177-1185, July 2011.

Barrows, Jessup, Winter, Levy, Crawford, Stoskopf, Nutter; Animal Welfare Forum:Management of Abandoned and Feral Cats. Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association, 2004:225, pp1354-1383. November 2004. 

Open Mic: The Making of "Birders: The Central Park Effect"

At the Mic: Jeffrey Kimball

Jeffrey Kimball was born in San Francisco, and graduated from Stanford University before getting his MFA in film from NYU.  He has worked as a producer, cinematographer and editor on shorts, documentaries and features.  However, he is perhaps best known as a Music Supervisor, and for founding the music department at Miramax Films where he worked on the score and soundtrack for more than a hundred films.

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Upon seeing my nearly completed film, my sixteen year-old son turned to me and said that he finally “got it,” he understood why I spent so much time wandering around outside looking at birds.  Some years earlier, my life had changed when I began taking binoculars into Central Park. Having been raised in the suburbs of Northern California and spending vacations in the vast western national parks, I had always thought of the city as something “other-than” nature, that only rats and pigeons shared the urban space with humans.  Then, hidden in plain sight in the middle of the largest city in the country, I stumbled upon a wild world of nature.  My amazement at that revelation, and the incredulous looks I would see on the faces of most anybody I would mention it to, inspired me to make a film about my discovery. 

Of course, I wasn’t the only one who knew the secret.  For decades Central Park has hosted a vibrant birding community practically as colorful and diverse as the avian one.  And for those people, the respite to nature that the Park provides is almost as essential as it is for the thousands of birds who use it as a stopover during migration. 

Birders: The Central Park Effect is distinctly not a traditional nature film.  It is an experiential, visceral journey to an unseen world that is invisible to most visitors of America’s most famous urban park.  Using only minimal narration, the storyline is supplied by the people who express their passion and philosophy about birds and birding.  As one of them says “we have this innate love of the natural world.  We grew up inside of it, and so we need it around us to feel more like ourselves.”  The film is less concerned with the natural history of birds’ lives, than it is with the interaction and inter-dependence of humans and birds, and the blurring of the line between the urban landscape and wild nature.

From the beginning of this five-year labor of love, I wanted to offer a general audience an experience of what it was like to “go birding,” to be in the middle of the bird migration with all its sounds and colors and mysteries. My hope was that by making come alive these often overlooked yet spectacularly beautiful creatures that exist right under our noses, I could help lead the non-birding viewer to a greater appreciation of birds and therefore take a stake in preserving their habitats, wherever they might be: forest, grassland, wetlands or urban parks. 

Birders: The Central Park Effect can be seen now on DVD and digital download. 

Open Mic: Another Birding Podcast (or How Birding Can Help the World)

 

At the Mic: Radd Icenoggle   

Radd Icenoggle is a native Montanan, who has spent a lifetime as an outdoors and wildlife enthusiast. He possesses a degree in biology with an emphasis on habitat relations. He has worked for the U.S. Forest Service as a botanist, bird biologist, and hydrology technician. Through his writing at Radley Ice and photography, he endeavors to bring nature to his audience.  His regular podcast, More than Birds, is available at his website and on iTunes.  

Editor's Note: We mentioned this last week, but as Radd has recently interviewed none other than ABA President Jeff Gordon, I decided it probably deserves just a little extra plug.  

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 “We just saw 50 Sage Grouse on the lek this morning” I blurted out as the waitress’s eyes rolled with such force that her head jerked backward.  The Bearded Bird Freak Barricade landed at her table, and boy, was she duly impressed. Well, at least, she will have a new story now about the 3 oddballs that told her way too much about sage grouse. Every birder I know suffers from the same glorious condition of over-the-top enthusiasm for birds, birding, and the natural world. We write, take pictures, ear-beat our friends and family, and, some of us, podcast about birding.

     I listen so many podcasts that headphones are my permanent cranial accessory. I subscribe to all the birding podcasts, and most of them are terrific. The hosts share their love of birds with that familiar passion in their voices.  But, I felt something was missing, a certain gap was present. What was missing? That thought stuck with me for months, and then, finally I knew what I could add to the birding discussion.

     Birding is more than just birds. Birding is a biological study, natural world immersion program, spiritual practice, conservation effort, economic agent for positive change, and goodwill ambassadorship program all rolled into one incredibly powerful package. The problem is that most of the public and many of our fellow birders do not see this fact. I started the More Than Birds podcast to start telling these largely unknown stories. I want to touch on spiritual aspects of birding with a Buddhist monk and birding friend. I want to know how a father balances family and his birding passion. I want to talk with a filmmaker whose passion is to share the natural world in order to protect it.

    You may think that I seem grandiose, but please take a moment to ponder it. How many times have you been silently walking through a still forest, only to notice that you have been become immersed into the world as it is at that moment? No concerns, no desires – just the birds and the present. This is a moment of mindfulness, the very basis of any meditative practice. Birding is spiritual.

    Let’s do another thought experiment by way of the following quote.

 "I've been bird-watching in Israel with both Palestinians and Israeli bird-watchers who've gone out with me early in the morning, both inside Jerusalem and in other places."

     This statement is from perhaps the greatest agent of peace in our time, former President Jimmy Carter. He has used his birding passion as part of his peace-making toolbox. When people are totally enthralled by the beauty of a displaying Houbara Bustard, it is hard to aim weapons at one another.

     I firmly believe that we as birders can help change the world for the better of all living beings. We can help protect wild areas, save endangered species, provide much-needed monies to less than fortunate economies – all by birding. I hope that my little voice via the podcast can help, but I sincerely encourage you to help in your own way, even if that is sharing your passion with a disinterested waitress. I promise you, she will remember.

 

Open Mic: Rage Against the Machines - The case against pressing Play to tick

 

At the Mic: Chris McCreedy

Chris McCreedy is currently a biologist for Point Reyes Bird Observatory Conservation Science and a graduate student at the University of Arizona. The views expressed in this blog post represent the personal opinions of the author.

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Are you Chris McCreedy?

The car slowly pulled up next to me as I birded the river road.

Whoa, yes. How do you know that?

I Googled you! I recognize you from your pictures. You were ahead of me by two species, but then I passed you up.

I smiled. This was weird but fun. Competition!

Dang, I said. What did you find?

I got the siskins at the river, and I found the woodpeckers.

That’s awesome! They were beautiful. Where did you find them?

Oh, I couldn’t find them, so I went back and played a tape to get them.

My face screwed up. I don’t like playing tapes much was what I managed to say through my disappointment.

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    On-line listservs, eBird, and smartphones have changed birding, and of course, listing. If I want to find a Wrentit, I can load up a map of the month’s eBird sightings within a 100-mile radius in under 45 seconds. If I want my birds spoon-fed to me, I can sign up for a needs alert for immediate notifications of sightings of unticked birds in my area. If I am blowing my day on an Arizona Ovenbird that never was, my iPhone can save me from my folly in order to chase the Eastern Wood-Pewee that was just heard across the county.

    This is no Luddite rant; I love eBird. I find the website and my friends’ checklists endlessly fascinating. eBird’s daily-updated Top-100 lists were a stroke of genius, an ego-engine that motivates hundreds of users to spend untold hours entering their data into eBird for free. If you doubt the power of their pull, watch an eBird staffer muse on the number of hits the top-100 URLs draw daily.  The competition! The fury! A motivation for the playback.

    If someone tries to tell you that playback recordings do not have a negative impact on birds, ask them if that bridge is still for sale. I’ve watched cowbirds cue on Willow Flycatcher excitement in response to playbacks. I’ve even seen cowbirds skip that step and cue on the flycatcher playbacks themselves. Disturbance effects from playback are a question of degree, of species, and of location, and it certainly frames my approach to birding. Yet disturbance is not my issue here.

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     I drove across Michigan nearly three hours in the dark, my first serious twitch since my return. This solitaire was in the dunes, in a state park that I once visited in a wayback forest ecology class because of its unique stands of old growth trees. I was so excited to be back! Beeches! A wandering western winged monster! A worthy twitch, a true expedition. Early gray January light greeted me when I pulled in. Cars were already in the parking lot. The temperature was slated to hit a gassy 60-something. A great lake was behind those dunes somewhere.

    I unfolded a piece of paper. An eBird user had detailed the stakeout to the exact tree— all I had to do was print out their checklist. Walk here. Turn there. Stand, wait. I walked. I found a small group of birders near the tree. They were super friendly. 

Is it here? I asked.

It just left about two minutes ago.

I started laughing. It will come back! Then, less certain: I hope it comes back.

Without hesitating, one birder pulled out his phone. Oh I can call it in.

    I had come across this situation before, with a big lister in Arizona. As then, I asked them not to call it in, and like in Arizona, gracefully they respected my request. To our cheers, the bird soon topped a nearby dune and warily approached its juniper fix. After driving two or three hours to arrive here, they left in five minutes – onto the next tick. It gave me a chance to dawdle, to goof on the dunes, mindmeld with the solitaire, and to try a few exposures in the hesitant January light (here).

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     To my memory, outside of research requirements, I have used playbacks twice. In 2011, my friends invited me to try a Mono County big day with them, and then we did it again two weeks later. At our first stop, a friend broke out a small set of speakers and an iPod. I was amazed. What are you doing? I asked. We have to use recordings, otherwise we’ll never beat the record.

Northern Saw-whet Owls can be found without playback, you just have to look a little harder, photo by Chris McCreedy

    To many, listing is self-indulgent, a game. It is also really fun. Those Mono days were two of the best of my life; I love my friends and I love Mono.  We would have beaten the record without the tapes - and spared ourselves the embarrassment of tooling around at 5PM, blaring Mountain Quail calls from a Toyota MPV like jackasses. As fakes on bikes cry on the news that they had to dope in order to compete, I think about Mono and my playback encounters of recent weeks.   

     A tick conveys some bragging rights. It is a measure of earned knowledge, luck, planning, respect for the birds and their ecology, communication with your peers, persistence, and hard work. Each species represents untold glorious dips, days where you took it in the shorts chasing that unchaseable hawk while your rival gained three on you across the state. Yet with all of our internet gadgetry, the inclusion of playback renders the tick an entirely prosaic measure of one’s ability to click a mouse, to drive, follow a map, own a smartphone with an app, and to press Play. Why boast about this? Why riff on a wild night of owl playbacks on your big year blog? 

 `It seems that many more of my friends use playback if they need a tick than I would have believed.  The most common form of denial is, I had to be in the right spot to play the tape. This is a way of saying ‘I used skill to get to the spot to play the recording’. Sorry, my high school writing assignments required more research effort than looking up Barred Owls on eBird maps. Another example is You’re young; older birders cannot hear their birds and so they need to bring them in. While I fear and loathe the thought that one day I will not be able to hear Rock Wrens, retired birders can also spend all day, perhaps every day, looking for their birds. One of my favorite angles was this: I am helping eBird by finding owls with playbacks.  I hadn’t realized nobility resided so close to rationalization.

    Playback remains an important (and occasionally required) research tool, and I believe that playback can be extremely effective in education and outreach. If I have my ABA Ethics correct, limited use of playbacks is encouraged. But given the rise of internet-based birding aids and the prevalence of smartphones, I dream that the ABA would forswear the use of playbacks for ticking, just for the sport of it, to give the endeavor a little art. Otherwise, why keep track? Who cares if you cannot find the sky but you can find the smartphone in your pocket? I doubt that will happen; tour guides would go bananas, we would not know what to do with our old lists and the world would then definitely explode.

     Listing is about the birds, the birds! Birds are beautiful, ugly, weird, and they have wings. They are hard to find! And to me, they disappear when you press Play, replaced by a number.

 

Goodbye to the Matriarch of Central Park

 

 By David Wimpfheimer

For the last thirty years, birding in New York’s Central Park often meant going on a walk with Starr Saphir.  This green oasis amongst the concrete sprawl can rival High Island, McGee Marsh or any site in spring and fall; fifteen to twenty warbler species, countless flycatchers, tanagers and grosbeaks seem to drip off the trees.  Starr, however, made even the common birds come alive.

    Since birding gave her so much joy she wanted to inspire others to have the same experience. And she did.  Several times a week Starr could be seen with twenty or more birders following her.  She loved teaching and knew the names and skills of everyone on her walks.

    I met Starr at Jamaica Bay in August 1982.  She had just moved back to New York City and it was obvious to me that she brought with her an energetic California style of birding. By mastering species distribution and occurrence, she could predict what uncommon birds would be in an area. Of course she tried to see every one of them, often traveling by subway for hours.  And her wide geographic expertise meant that no bird would go unidentified.

    That fall we did a Big Day and were pleased to find over a hundred species.  We were even more thrilled to find my life Connecticut Warbler near 101^st Street in Far Rockaway.  The abandoned lot behind razor wire and broken glass was a classic migrant trap as much as any at Point Reyes or Death Valley and we returned to Trap 101 many times.

    When I visited family in New York I birded with Starr.  Of course we tried to find any good birds in the area, but mostly were satisfied with the quest and our enhanced friendship.  She was my mentor, but more importantly a close friend.  There was no aspect of our lives we didn’t share.  This was especially true over the last decade as she tenaciously fought the cancer that ultimately claimed her life on February 5.

     Starr was born in Brooklyn in 1939.  She was only six years old when she began birding.  It was unusual for such a young girl to be a dedicated birder then.  Perhaps less unusual was that she was an avid Brooklyn Dodger fan.  She had a hard time forgiving her team when they moved to Los Angeles in 1958.  Ironically Starr herself moved there, with her daughters, to pursue an acting career in 1975.

     She quickly became active in the Southern California birding scene.  Jon Dunn looked for shorebirds with Starr in the Antelope Valley. “We spent lots of time carefully studying them and she was a very keen student,” he remembers. That keen eye for detail served her well for decades as she taught details of identification and feather molt.

    Long birding trips to Yosemite, Death Valley and other wild areas created a strong bond with her ten-year-old daughter, Lara.  Even the sweltering inferno of the Salton Sea was no problem for them; that’s where the birds were.

     Don Roberson enjoyed traveling with Starr because she was an excellent companion. “Starr didn’t complain about bad roads or primitive camping conditions, and she was interested in snakes and lizards, not just the target birds. Better yet,” Don recalled, “she had lived a full life and told stories about New York, working as an actress and about the lessons to be learned in life.”

     Starr and I led several tours in the West. On our 1995 Alaska tour we detoured to Homer to look for a Black-tailed Gull. After we saw the bird she calmly revealed that it was her 697th life bird. It was impressive that she always knew exactly how many species were on her lists which included half the states and fourteen countries.   By knowing the birds on her lists Starr became aware of species not on her lists.  She then focused her energies on finding them, which increased her expertise.

     I feel fortunate to lead birding walks in wild places like Point Reyes. However, Starr made the remarkable achievement of taking people for a few hours off the busy city streets and enriching their life with her love of birds.  She heard every chip and call, getting people to focus all their senses on the birds around them.  Starr taught them that “Looking at birds takes you out of yourself and into the real world.”

    Although best remembered for her birding walks, Starr expertly taught groups about butterflies and dragonflies as well. The thousands who were enriched by her love of birds included school and youth groups exposed to the natural world for the first time.

     There are many memories of our companionship I’ll cherish including a Montezuma Quail that miraculously appeared on a rock behind her in Madera Canyon.  And I will especially remember the last adventure I shared with her finding a Barnacle Goose in New York City’s Inwood Park

     Whenever I bird in the park I will think of her and see her wearing her trademark blue bandana.  And if by some incredible magic I see a Cerulean Warbler, her favorite bird, I will know her joy and love of birds is still there.

Open Mic: Becoming a Birder While Doing a Big Year

 

At the Mic: Robert Baumander

Robert, of Toronto, Ontario, is a 52 year old obsessive compulsive who has been the video coordinator for the Toronto Blue Jays for 32 years.  He gives equal blame and credit for his extreme birding obsession to Sue Clark for taking him to The Big Year, and Sandy Komito for doing two Big Years and setting him off on this endless quest.  When not birding he likes to pretend he is an Iron Chef.  His two kids, family, and friends think he is crazy, but in a nice way.  His photos and stories can be found at his website, I'm Just Here for the Bird. 

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In 2011 I was not a birder. I wouldn’t have even qualified as a bird watcher. I was a casual observer and photographer of birds. That all changed that November when my spouse Sue Clark and I went to see the movie, The Big Year. Who knew there was a “contest” to see the most birds?  

     I have always liked birds and photographed them but the only bird names I knew were Cardinal, Blue Jay and Oriole, mostly because they are the emblems on baseball uniforms. Otherwise I didn’t really care what the birds’ name was, just whether it was nice to look at or photograph.

    Big Year listing changed all that. Now there was a reason to be a birder. There were lists to be made, records to be broken, other birders to compete against. As the movie played out, my obsession built. The scene in the movie that turned me from a normal, average human being to an overly obsessive compulsive birder was the montage scene on Attu. I wanted to do that. I wanted to be there. The idea that you could go out and make a great, big, long list of birds, seeing and identifying new ones nearly every day for one calendar year, is what sent me over the edge. I knew I had the personality traits of all three of the men depicted in the movie. I knew I would be not just a bird watcher, not just a birder, but an extreme birder, a Lister.

    I read Mark Obmascik’s book about the 1998 Big Year, featuring Al Levantin, Greg Miller, and Sandy Komito, a man after my own obsessive heart. In Komito I found a kindred spirit. Like Sandy, I didn’t just want to see birds, I wanted to see all the birds. Like Sandy, I obsessively go after goals. For example, when I saw a man at a fair balancing rocks in impossible configurations, I obsessively spent two years becoming one of the best rock balancers in the world. 

A little diversion while waiting for a Nutting's Flycatcher

      When I finished the book I was committed - perhaps should have been committed - to experiencing as much of a real Big Year as I could afford. I had no money and a full time job working for The Toronto Blue Jays, but what made this year possible was a number of work related trips to Nevada, Florida, Michigan, and British Columbia. Those trips earned me enough air miles to book trips to Alaska, California, Texas and Arizona.  I also kept my expenses to a minimum by eating lots of fast food and spending a number of nights sleeping in my car, though never did I eat Friskies cat food mixed with cold soup.

    I went on the internet and read everything I could find on birding and Big Years. I found John Vanderpoel’s blog and read about his attempt to break Sandy Komito’s record. I knew that one day I would know enough to try for it myself, but first I had to learn to be a birder and with the help of Sue, Ontbirds, eBird, FLARBA, NARBA and a host of birders I met in the field, I began my journey.

    I set out to do something no one else had ever done: to begin birding with no experience and do a Big Year.  For 366 days I was a bird watcher possessed. There were times when I was standing in the middle of a field on a hot July afternoon in Texas, with sweat snaking down my legs and into my shoes, asking myself what the heck I was doing. I even almost died of heat exhaustion chasing a Fork-tailed Flycatcher outside Orlando. But there were times when I was jubilant with the triumph of finding the one bird I was searching for after hours of scanning the trees or ponds or empty fields. 

    The day I decided to attempt a Big Year, 300 species was my goal, one I could reach just birding in Ontario and wherever I traveled for work. By the end of January I was hooked and knew that this quest had become bigger than I imagined and more important to me than I would have thought possible.  It was the near impossibility of seeing 600 birds that pushed me into going to Alaska, Arizona five times and Texas on four occasions.  To the Florida Keys, the Dry Tortugas, and the rice fields of Louisiana.  To Newfoundland in July and California in January and September. It drove me to take long pelagic boat trips where sea sickness made me question why anyone would put themselves through such agony just to see one more bird.

 

Great Shearwater

    I ended the year with 596 ABA countable birds, plus 5 that those pesky folks at the ABA have deemed not wild enough to list for a total of 601, which had become my goal less than two months into the year. Could I have seen more? Yes. If I knew a year ago what I know now I'd have not made at least a dozen rookie mistakes and would have easily passed 600 ABA species. I made tactical errors that cost me a dozen species at least, but I had no road map to follow and didn't have 30 years of birding experience most birders have when they throw themselves into a Big Year.

    I counted birds in 17 states and 3 provinces, saw 138 of my 595 in Florida,(189 for the state), 110 in Arizona,(167 for the state), 45 in Texas, 20 in Alaska,(I only had time for 5 days there, and 147 at home in Ontario,(235 provence wide). I saw 45 species of wood-warbler and I hadn’t the faintest idea there was even such a bird prior to 2012. I saw 16 species of Owl, and I had never seen one outside a zoo before, (now I want to see all the Owls). I flew and drove untold thousands of miles, walked and biked hundreds of miles, and was seasick on 3 of 5 pelagic trips.

    Of course it was all about the birds, and I loved chasing and finding the Northern Lapwing, Tufted Duck, Barnacle Goose, and especially the Nutting’s Flycatcher and Pink-footed Goose that opened and closed the very movie that got me going. I loved spotting the Sooty Grouse, White-headed Woodpecker, Rufous-backed Robin and Western Spindalis all on my own. I loved all the flycatchers, especially the elusive Fork-tailed and beautiful Vermilion. The hummingbirds were particularly beautiful, including the Plain-capped Starthroat I saw at the Ash Canyon Bed and Breakfast and the Allen’s I saw in Connecticut.

 

Allen's Hummingbird

     But my favorite bird of the year, not just for its rarity and beauty but for the satisfaction of finding it, had to be Elegant Trogon. I looked for it on two occasions up at the Cary Nation Trail in Madera Canyon without success. On my last day in Arizona one was reported in my favorite birding spot in North America, Patagonia Lake State Park. I rushed over there and had about 3 hours to find it before I had to drive back to Tucson to get to catch a flight. I walked the stream bed for nearly the entire three hours when I turned my head at the exact right time to find the bird not 10 feet in front of my nose. Neither of us spooked. The Trogon posed. I took photos. It was one of the more exciting birds of the year.

 

Elegant Trogon

     My final birding trip of the Big Year was to Cape May, New Jersey, to find a Dovekie. On the hour and half ferry ride from Lewes, Delaware, I was treated to an amazing show of gannets and scoters. I enjoyed just watching the birds so much it didn't really matter that, as the sun set on my Big Year, I didn't even see the Dovekie. What mattered was that I never gave up. What mattered was that after 12 months of chasing, of just being there "for the bird," just seeing the birds that were there to see on the ferry and at the beach was satisfaction enough. Sue, and a few others that view "listers" as birding pariahs, would have been proud of me.

   I met the most extraordinary people along the way. Fred in Hamilton, Ontario, was one of the first birders to take me under his wing back in January, but I can't forget Melody Khel, Matt Brown, Eddie Bartley, Hutch Hutchenson, Ken in Alaska, and the professional guides I hired throughout the year. I met the kindest strangers, sometimes the middle of nowhere chasing rare birds posted on NARBA and eBird, like Hemant, whom I ran into in Texas and Arizona, and Edna, Ray, and Sandy from New Jersey.  

    I met John Hargrove, who was doing his own Big Year at the age of 69, on two pelagics on opposite coasts and again on the final days of the Big Year down in Florida. With his wife Beverley, we successfully chased down the Western Spindalis but missed the Thick-billed Vireo. And how can I forget Sandy Komito, who was nice enough to keep in touch via email a few times during the year with advice and inspiration?

     I know that for most of the year I was inaccessible to friends, coworkers, and family who must have thought I was out of my mind to just pick up one day and devote myself to a single minded goal at their expense, (especially Sue who had to put up with this obsession for 366 days herself). In the end, though, I have no regrets, and I've learned and seen so much and accomplished more than I set out to do when this all began.

    Now that the Big Year is over it doesn't mean I will stop chasing. During the first week of January of this year I chased a Townsend’s Solitaire here in Ontario, as I had not photographed the one I had seen in 2012. But I think I'll confine the chasing to inexpensive local trips and birds close to where I am at the timeand birds close to where I am at the time, which included finally getting the LaSagra's Flycatcher in Florida this past week. Then, one day, when I have sufficient time, money and birding knowledge, perhaps when I am closer to 65 than to 55, I will go out  and break Sandy Komito's record.

    For the present, though, I can say that this was my favorite year. I hope my story inspires people to take the leap from just casual birdwatching to birding, and will serve as both a road map and a warning as to what they might be getting themselves into. There is a cost, both in the pocket book and in your personal life that goes along with this kind of quest, but it's worth every dollar spent, every day spent in the field and, in my case, all those nights spent sleeping in my car.

 

Open Mic: A New Field Mark for Differentiating Stints and Peeps

At the Mic: Catherine Hamilton

Artist Catherine Hamilton, of New York, NY, holds a Bachelor of Fine Arts from the Rhode Island School of Design and a Master of Fine Arts from Bennington College, but is currently, as usual, walking a bit off the beaten path. Her drawings and observations can be found at her blog, Birdspot.  

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As an artist and a birder, I can’t seem to get enough suffering from studying gulls and sparrows, so over the past few years I have spent some effort in learning to draw shorebirds. Assessing proportion or pattern in a manner that involves the eye and hand simultaneously can give people who draw a unique perspective on avian identification, whether through field sketches, specimen studies or in using photographic references. Reviewing photographs is a tricky arena - its parameters and pitfalls are outside of this article, but I want to point out that photographic limitations can provoke discovery as well as heated arguments.

    I was once emailed a photo of a lone shorebird, puffed out against the cold, the photograph weirdly exposed and the bird itself in a particularly drab basic plumage. Bill shape and proportions were hard to assess, scale and size were impossible. The bird was a Sanderling - this one should have been easy, no? Not to the beginning birder who posted it, and not even to others, who ranged through various Calidris IDs. I wrote him, explaining why, even though its shape looked all wrong, it was in fact a Sanderling (heart racing and hoping fervently that I wasn’t wrong!). My identification points ended with a simple “Even if all other characteristics look off or muddled, you can always spot a Sanderling in a photo because of its gape notch. Semipalmated and Western Sandpipers really don’t show that.”

     I discovered this Sanderling “gape notch” from drawing them, and wrote about it in a blog post in 2010. I then went on to look at other Calidris sandpipers in the field, in museum specimens, and in thousands of photographs, and what I found startled me. Amongst the small peeps, there are noticeable differences in the feathering around the gape, most notably between the black-legged Old World stints and our black-legged New World peeps.

    I have illustrated the differences here. Little Stint and Red-necked Stint typically show a well-defined gape notch:

Whereas Semipalmated and Western Sandpipers do not:

    In the field, it might be useful to look for this, since the determining field mark of toe semipalmation in Western and Semipalmated Sandpipers is often frustratingly obscured by mud or water. I was delighted to see this feature while observing the Little Stint at Piute Ponds in July of 2011.

     Plumage differences have been thoroughly described (Veit, Jonsson, 1987), but also referred to as being so difficult in nonbreeding plumage that identifications are often wisely left hanging, or that only breeding adults are easily identified (Sibley, 2000). Bill variation is great enough among these species that bill structure has been stated as insufficient to establish an ID alone (Veit, Jonsson, 1987). Given these difficulties, and given the desirability of finding vagrant stints in North America, it would be nice to have another point of reference to clinch an ID. Individual variation exists, birds might look a bit different if they are molting feathers at the gape, and this is based upon a closed bill, but even with these caveats the gape notch can be quite striking and is worth looking for on a suspected stint.

    As a side note, the gape feathering on Least Sandpipers (not illustrated here) is also different from Little and Red-necked Stints, but less markedly so: Least Sandpipers show a slightly different notch, but since the feathering in this area is likely variable, I am not sure I would rely on it while in the field. It does not seem that it will help with the conundrums of identifying a Least Sandpiper from a Long-toed Stint, for example. The differences in the gapes of Western and Semipalmated Sandpipers are more clearly evident.

    I would love to hear from other birders with more Calidris experience than I, especially if you have reference photos. I have discussed this with some notable authors and birders, and it appears to hold up. The gape notch is evident on both breeding, non-breeding, and juvenile plumages. In fact, look for a prominent upcoming book with this feature in it - I have been told that plates were changed to reflect this!

    Thanks to Steve Howell for encouraging me to write up this observation and to Kimball Garrett for access to the Museum of Natural History of Los Angeles specimens and for pulling out a number of extra fresh and pickled specimens to help out. Many thanks to Luke Tiller for reviewing this article.

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References:

Veit, R. R., and Jonsson, L. (1987). Field Identification of Smaller Sandpipers within the Genus Calidris. American Birds, 41(2), 213-236.

O’Brien, M., Crossley, R., & Karlson, K. (2006). The Shorebird Guide. New York, NY: Houghton Mifflin Company.

Jonsson, L. (1992). Birds of Europe. London, England: Christopher Helm, A & C Black Publishers, Ltd.

Sibley, D. A. (2000). The Sibley Guide to Birds. New York, NY: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.

 

Open Mic: Reflections on a Big Year

 

At the Mic: Robert Ake

Ake, of Norfolk, Virginia, saw 731 species of birds in the ABA-Area in 2010.  He wrote about his Big Year at his blog, Bob's Birds and Things.

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   There’s no doubt that listing is or can become an obsessive behavior.  Getting new birds for a trip, day, year, or life is exciting; it makes the juices flow.  Doing a big year is perhaps the most obsessive of all, particularly if it’s for a large area such as the ABA region.  It comes at a cost both in money and in time.  If you choose to go all out and chase every rarity, it can consume all of your time and a large chunk of your money.  I think most people understand these consequences.

       Of course some birders feel anyone with enough resources can amass a big list and that no skill is really involved.   At the end of each talk I’ve given about my big year, there’s always an audible gasp when I relate the financial cost.  I’m sure those in the audience are thinking of better ways that they could have spent that money. But then we all don’t choose to spend our money and time the same way.

       On the matter of skill, very few of us are birding gurus, able to differentiate two similar species at the drop of a feather.  During a big year most of the rarities are found by others, then chased and added to the year’s list if the chase is successful.  Few birders actually find ultra-rarities during their pursuit.  And when it happens, as it did with me at Gambell when I found a Blyth’s Reed Warbler which would have been a first North American record had the Alaska committee accepted it, a group effort was involved in taking photos, haggling over details, and writing the manuscript.

      All of this listing and chasing is just plain fun.  As I said many times during my big year, “If I’m not having fun, I shouldn’t be doing it.”  I certainly do encourage taking good notes and photographs, working on bird identification skills, and teaching others good field techniques.  But in the end birding is such a broadly based activity that there’s plenty of room in it for everyone.  It’s really not necessary to force every birder into the same mold.  So let’s each of us enjoy our own compulsive behavior and allow other birders the same opportunity.

Open Mic: Hoary Redpoll; A False Dichotomy?

 

At the Mic: Andy Boyce

Missoula, Montana, resident, Andy Boyce is a graduate student currently working on his PhD at the University of Montana.  His area of interest is the ecology of tropical birds in Borneo.

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    We are currently experiencing  one of the largest southern movements of redpolls in the last 50 years and birders across the country are out and about, scrutinizing flocks of redpolls at Nyjer feeders, looking for that holy grail of the redpoll flock; Hoary Redpoll.

    With the birds, there has been a surge of posts to local list-servs, blogs, etc. One group searching for advice -- “just one dark streak on the undertail coverts, is this a Hoary?”, and others diligently going through all of the traits espoused by field guides and experts that are supposed to allow us to sort through these messy flocks of finches.

    Doing my own research on this topic, I discovered a paper published in 2008 entitled “Low support for separate species within the redpoll complex from analyses of mtDNA and microsatellite markers” (Marthinsen et al. 2008). Understandably I was a little shocked. My first thought being, what the heck are we doing trying to sort these things out into species if there is no evidence that they are even species at all?  After a thorough read I was totally convinced that attempting to sort redpolls into species, or even subspecies is a totally futile exercise. 

Colorado's first Hoary Redpoll? photo by Bill Schmoker

    The crux of the paper is this; based on museum specimens from across the old-world range of the 2-3 redpoll species commonly recognized, the authors found no evidence at all that what we humans are describing as species or subspecies corresponded to any sort of meaningful, genetically differentiable groups.  After reading through this paper, I looked around some more and found out that several previous studies have also failed to find any genetic structure among species or subspecies of Redpolls (Marten & Johnson 1986, Seutin et al. 1995, Ottvall et al. 2002, Hebert et al. 2004, Kerr et al. 2007).

    The phylogenetic work was done using both mitochondrial and nuclear DNA, which evolve/mutate at different rates. Thus, this is a pretty robust study in terms of methodology and is unlikely to be a false negative. Some have argued that they simply missed the appropriate genetic markers to differentiate the species/subspecies, but this is also unlikely given that they were able to show the monophyly of two subspecies of Twite (close relatives of Redpolls) using the same methods.

Another hypothesis suggested by some is that the Redpolls represent incipient species undergoing sympatric speciation. I suppose that it possible, but we would still expect genetic differentiation between groups if this was the case.

This finding leaves us with 2 interesting possibilities;

1)      All redpolls belong to one single panmictic gene pool. There is no Hoary Redpoll, there is no Common Redpoll, there is no exilpes, there is no flammea…etc. They are just Redpolls.

2)      There are monophyletic (genetically distinct) groups somewhere in the redpoll complex, but we humans, in particular museum curators and collectors, cannot identify them based on morphology, plumage, or even range.

    These are two very different hypotheses, but for birders they really mean the same thing. They mean that we cannot ID a Hoary Redpoll. You know why? Because we have absolutely no idea what (or even if) a Hoary Redpoll is! If there is a mysterious genetically distinct group out there, it appears that it isn’t linked to any convenient suite of external traits. That means that Sibley’s wonderful page describing how to score a pale redpoll on a scale from 1-Hoary is more or less meaningless. The paper that the page is based on even admits to having essentially no clue about what a Hoary is, they simply state that they assume that any individual falling in the “hoariest” third of the total distribution of variation is a Hoary. This is shaky to begin with, but when you take into account that there is actually no such thing as a 100% surefire Hoary Redpoll, it’s totally nuts!

Common Redpoll, Quebec, photo from wikipedia

    Ok, so you don’t care about genetics, let’s talk about probability. We know that Redpolls that breed in shrubby habitat in the far north, in areas without trees tend to be larger, smaller-billed and whiter in various nebulous ways. For the sake of argument let’s throw the latest science out the window (if the government can, why can’t we, right?). Let’s call those hulking, frosty seed-killers Hoary Redpolls. Unfortunately, we know that all of these traits that are “good” for Hoary Redpoll are extremely variable and they don’t always occur in concert within an individual.  That is to say, there are birds out there that have extremely white upperparts, reduced “poll”, very little flank streaking, but gosh-darn-it look at those monster undertain covert streaks! Blast!  Given that these traits are fallible, we have the following problem, straight from the Ted Floyd book of rhetoric.

    Based on observed traits we can assign some sort of probability that a bird showing those traits is a Hoary Redpoll. We can also assign some probability of a Hoary Redpoll showing up in Colorado versus a Common Redpoll.  Based on that, we can get a probability of a pale redpoll in Colorado being a Hoary Redpoll.  Here are some numbers:

    Probability of a pale redpoll being a Hoary: 99% (this is incredibly generous)

    Probability of a redpoll in Colorado being a Hoary: .001% (numbers from the east coast during irruptions suggest ratios of around 1000:1.

    Probability of a pale redpoll in Colorado being a Hoary Redpoll: ~1% 

    I should point out that the current ratio of Common Redpoll to Hoary Redpoll on Colorado Ebird checklists for 2013 is more like 100:1. This ratio is tremendously skewed because birders, understandably, chase and report rare birds more than common ones.  Even if we take that ratio as gospel, the probability of any given pale redpoll being a hoary in Colorado is still only 50%.

    So, what am I trying to say with all this? I guess the take home message is that if you believe in the current scientific evidence, you have to acknowledge that we have no idea what or if a Hoary Redpoll is. If you don’t believe in the scientific literature but you do believe in the power of statistics, then you have to acknowledge that even if you see a pale redpoll in Colorado, there is no reason to believe that it is a Hoary. In fact, the statistics tell us that it is almost certainly NOT a Hoary Redpoll.

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Literature Cited:

    Hebert, P.D.N., M.Y. Stoeckle, T.S. Zemlak, C.M. Francis. 2004. Identification of birds through DNA barcodes. Pub. Lib. Sci. Biol. 2; 1657-1663.

    Kerr, K.C.R., M.Y. Stoeckle, C.J. Dove, L.A. Weigt, C.M. Francis, P.D.N. Hebert. 2007. Comprehensive DNA barcode coverage of North American Birds. Molecular Ecology Notes 4: 535-543.

    Marten, J.A., and N.K. Johnson. 1986. Genetic relationships of North American Cardueline finches.  Condor 88: 409-420.

    Marthinsen, G., L. Wennerberg, J.T. Lifjeld. 2008. Low support for separate species within the redpoll complex (Carduelis flammea-hornemanni-caberet) from analyses of mtDNA and microsatellite markers. Mol. Phylo. & Evolution 47: 1005-1017.

    Ottvall, R., S. Bensch, G. Walinder, and J.T. Lifjeld. 2002. No evidence of genetic differentiation between lesser redpolls Carduelis flammea caberet, and common redpolls Carduelis f. flammea. Avian Sci. 2: 237-244.

    Seutin, G., P.T. Boag, and L.M. Ratcliffe. 1995. Mitochondrial DNA homogeneity in the phenotypically diverse redpoll finch complex (aves: Carduelinae: Carduelis flammea-hornemanni). Evolution 49: 692-973.

Open Mic: Why do a Big Year?

At the Mic: John Spahr

John Spahr, of Blue Grass, Virginia, is a member of the rarefied 700 Club, birders whose ABA-Area Big Years have topped 700 species in a calendar year.  John reached 704 species in 2010.  

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    This past December I had the opportunity to spend several delightful days in south Texas with most of the birders who have ever counted more than 700 birds while doing a North American “Big Year” -- notables like Benton Basham, Sandy Komito, John Vanderpoel, Bob Ake, Lynn Barber, Greg Miller, Dan Sanders, Al Levantin and Chris Hitt.  We socialized, shared anecdotes, viewed presentations, and birded many of the Rio Grande Valley “hotspots.” 

Image 1:  Big Year 700 Club members at Quinta Mazatlan, McAllen TX

(from left: Dan Sanders, Greg Miller, Chris Hitt, Benton Basham, Al Levantin, Sandy Komito, John Vanderpoel, Lynn Barber, Bob Ake, John Spahr. (Photo by Jeff Gordon)

    On my flights back to Virginia I ruminated on this experience and came away with several conclusions.  First, I had to admit that these were all better birders than I am.  Secondly, their motivation for doing a Big Year was perhaps different than mine.  They loved the chase, challenge and competition of encountering as many birds as they could in one calendar year, and I commend them for that level of enthusiasm.  

    As for me, I’m neither very competitive (to which my high school athletic coaches would attest) nor much of a “chaser” for strays or vagrants.  I do keep a cumulative life list but do not strive for annual, state or regional totals.  Then, why did I do an ABA Big Year in 2010?  The simple answer is that I wanted to learn more about North American birds and become a better birder. 

     I started birding in my mid teens.  For the next 3 decades my birding was episodic and casual and my skills average.  I would blame this mediocrity on distractions like higher education, family, and employment.  Although I know many superb birders who were not limited by similar obligations, which left me with the realization that I simply did not put in the time and effort to excel in this avocation of mine.

     When I finally decided to ramp up my birding skills in my 40s I occasionally opted for extremes, like visiting multiple foreign countries and up to three continents in one year, or participating in the World Series of Birding for two years.  I also became more active in local bird clubs and my state’s ornithology society, which afforded opportunities to give presentations and lead field trips, both locally and internationally.  From these experiences I learned much about bird identification, avian biology, taxonomy, systematics, as well the habitats and haunts of birds.  As a consequence I’ve since become emboldened to try almost anything to continue this learning curve. 

     So, when Bob Ake told me in the fall of 2008 that he was planning to do a Big Year in 2009 I immediately asked him to consider postponing it for one year so that I could join him in my first year of retirement.  To my surprise and good fortune he agreed.  Bob is one of those superior veteran birders who I had known for a few years and with whom I had done some quality international and Virginia birding.  He has the right mix of dedication, knowledge, experience and compulsion to plan and pull off a great Big Year. 

    So, for much of the first 9 months of 2010 I tagged along with Bob as we birded in our home state of Virginia, drove to and from Texas twice -- once via Florida, flew to Arizona, California and Alaska twice, chased “chicken birds” in Colorado, joined multiple pelagic trips off both coasts, and many places in between.  

Image 2:  Bob Ake and Florida Scrub Jay. Oscar Scherer State Park, near Osprey, FL

     Unfortunately, I had to disengage for several days each month to visit elderly and ailing parents and I also spent two weeks abroad in March.  Consequently, Bob’s list grew at a faster pace than mine.  By the time I left Gambell, Alaska, on September 8 my total was 683.  Bob remained three more days and left with 700.   The balance of the year our travel schedules intersected rarely as our goals diverged.  Bob decided to go for broke and ended 2010 with 731 species, while I was burning out and wanted more time at home.

    Were it not for my wife I would have been content finishing the year six birds shy of 700.  However, thanks to Nancy’s urging (shaming?) I made a final foray in December, a solo 8-day swing through South Dakota (Ross’s Gull), Arizona (Baikal Teal, Streak-backed Oriole), California (bean goose, Thayer’s Gull, Brown Shrike {#700}, Tufted Duck) and Calgary, Alberta, where I finished with White-winged Crossbills, Gray Partridges and a Snowy Owl for a final total of 704.

     Of course I was thrilled to exceed 700 species in one year, but this was neither my goal nor my reason for doing a Big Year.  As I stated, I simply wanted to become a better birder and learn more about NA birds.  I feel that I’ve attained those goals.  I became a better birder, in part, by simply birding day after day in both familiar and unfamiliar areas.  I also learned much from Bob’s accumulated experience, birding acumen and knowledge. 

    Before 2010 most of my North American birding was in the eastern U.S.  In doing the Big Year I gained extensive exposure to the west, including my first Pacific pelagic trips and my first visits to Alaska.  This let me encounter many birds with which I had little or no prior experience.  In fact, I added over 100 “lifers” during this year.  These new birds were more than a tick on a trip list.  They were all special experiences, many of which remain encoded as long-term memories.

    For example, my first Smith’s Longspurs in January at Stuttgart Municipal Airport, Arkansas, taught me about the limited winter range of this species.  As we flushed a small flock we were able to appreciate the buff bellies and diagnostic white lesser coverts.  Three weeks later in the San Rafael Grasslands of southeast Arizona I added another “lifer” with an even more limited winter range in the US, the Baird’s Sparrow.  A single bird furtively sneaking through the snow-dusted short grass prairie paused long enough to afford good looks.  I made sure to note the short streaks of the upper breast and the face pattern that distinguishes this from the only other Ammodramus sparrow here, the Grasshopper Sparrow.

Image 3:  Snow dusted San-Rafael Grasslands, AZ

     Speaking of Ammodramus sparrows, we had a humbling experience a few weeks earlier back in Texas.  An experienced birder friend led us to some grassy fields near Galveston, where we searched specifically for Le Conte’s Sparrow.  When a likely candidate popped up for a brief view we all exclaimed success.  Bob was even able to take a good photo that he posted on his daily blog.  Several experienced birders who later viewed that photo suggested (or exclaimed) that we blew the ID.  We reviewed the image and were chagrined to admit that our bird was not a Le Conte’s Sparrow but a Nelson’s Sparrow.  Fortunately, only four days later (and, for me, additional field guide study) we found several real Le Conte’s Sparrows at Estero Llano Grande State Park near Weslaco.  This time I made sure I noticed the white crown stripe and streaked nape of yet another “lifer.”  From this experience I learned that diligent observation must always trump expectation.  

     Alaska alone gave me 23 “lifers” and let me experience some fascinating ecosystems.  Ecosystems like the cliffs of St. Paul Island with its clinging colonies of alcids, puffins, kittiwakes and cormorants.  Or the Yupik village of Gambell on St. Lawrence Island, literally within sight of Russia, where I saw Asian vagrants like Stonechat, Rustic Bunting and Common Rosefinch.  For me the most impressive avian spectacle here was the flights of birds that skirted the pea gravel shores.  In one day we saw all four eiders, both guillemots, both puffins, both murres, all the jaegers, a few Ivory and Sabine’s Gulls and thousands (if not millions) of auklets with their rapid constant wing beats.  I learned that most of these birds are here because of the abundant phytoplankton that blossom in the nutrient-rich coastal waters under the prolonged sunshine, and that this in turn feeds the zooplankton eaten by the smaller auklets and by the small fish.  The puffins, murres and larger alcids then consume these fish.  A fascinating ecosystem, indeed.

Image 4:  Murres and Kittiwakes on the cliffs of St. Paul Island, Alaska

     Although not a total landlubber, prior to 2010 I had only a handful of pelagic trips under my belt.  By doing a dozen Big Year pelagics I got much more of an appreciation for yet another ecosystem, the open oceans.  Of course, I added more “lifers.”  However, what really impressed me was that these larids, tubenoses, alcids and phalaropes survive and thrive in a habitat of waves and wind.  I was awed learning that millions of least auklets, the size of house sparrows, can survive violent open ocean storms.  And, I learned that the name of the order Procellariformes comes from a Latin word procella, which means violent storm or tempest, a fit name for these families of albatrosses, petrels, and shearwaters.

    From Bob, I learned the value of persistence, the first time by doing three repeated hikes up Florida Wash in the Santa Rita Mountains of Arizona over several days in search of Rufous-capped Warbler.  We finally scored the third try.  A second example was the repeated two-mile hike up to Island Lake in the Ruby Mountains of Nevada in an attempt to locate Himalayan Snowcock, found nowhere else in the US but these mountains.  Both treks began in the predawn cold and darkness, the first on June 21 when, upon arrival, we stood at the margin of the snow-covered lake for nearly 3 hours without hearing or seeing a single snowcock.  August 17 we returned and repeated the ascent in slightly warmer temperatures (low 50’s).  Shortly after dawn we heard a distant long-billed curlew-like howl from the ridge to our east, almost certainly our target bird.  Nevertheless, we remained and continued to listen and watch, and were soon rewarded with two birds flying about 100 feet in front of us at eye level. 

        Other learning experiences include attempting to distinguish Hammond’s and Dusky Flycatcher by their songs, call notes and subtle field marks.  For me this required multiple attempts plus study with digital recordings and field guides.  

     In marathon ventures of this sort there will be a few counted birds to be identified by song/call only without sighting them, which is OK by ABA rules.  For me, two notable examples were the rapid staccato hoots of a distant boreal owl on Cameron Pass in the dark, freezing mid-April Colorado cold, and the hollow hoots of a flammulated owl on Mosquito Ridge near Foresthill, CA two months later.  Although I was pleased to add these distinct vocalizations to my list of “heard only birds” I now have the future challenge to return for visual confirmation before I count them as true “lifers.”  With this hobby of birding there’s always more study and learning to anticipate, which I heartily welcome.