Raptor Roundup: American Kestrel

American Kestrel, Falco sparverius

With its beautiful slate-blue wings and head, chestnut back, and black mask, the American Kestrel is strikingly marked. Tiny but mighty, it is North America’s most widespread, yet smallest falcon. They can be found near open, grassy areas, where they can often be observed hunting from a perch or hovering in midair as they wait to dive on their prey. Although they usually eat invertebrates like dragonflies, grasshoppers, shrews, mice, bats, and small songbirds, these fierce little falcons have been documented taking prey as large as a Northern Flicker!

Most American Kestrels will migrate to the southern United States for the winter, though some will travel further to Central America. Their peak migration time is between mid-September to early October along the Atlantic Coast. At some hawk watches like Cape May, NJ and Kiptopeke State Park, VA, there are days when hundreds or even thousands of kestrels migrate through in a single day!

An American Kestrel takes a break from its long flight to sit on a pole at Cape May Point beach. Cape May, NJ

Since starting as a hawk watcher at the beginning of September, I have felt very grateful to American Kestrels for being, all things relative, on the easier side of raptors to identify even when they are far away. Like all falcons, their wings taper to a sharp point like a boomerang. I have noticed that sometimes a gliding Broad-winged Hawk can position its wings in such a way that they become superficially pointy and tapered, so I have learned to watch out for this. On the flipside, an American Kestrel with its wings and tail fully stretched out can appear superficially stocky enough to resemble a Sharp-shinned Hawk. However, Kestrels have many more identifiers that help clinch their ID:

• Kestrels are very orangey on their backs and appear white on their bellies, which can be seen even from far away in good lighting.

• American Kestrels are dainty flyers. They feel light and airy, and bounce around in the air instead of jetting powerfully forward like other falcons. At times, their flight can remind me of the bat-like flight of Common Nighthawks, though usually not as extreme. They will flap and glide more often than other falcons.

• American Kestrels are the only falcon to hover.

• A great line from my hawk watching friend: “If you had time to look at a falcon to figure out what it was, it was a kestrel. A Merlin or a Peregrine would be gone already.”

When they return in the spring, these tiny falcons will look to build their nests in hollowed out tree cavities. Unfortunately, although they are widespread their populations are in decline due to habitat loss and pesticides. If they continue to decline at their current rate, their populations will decline by fifty percent by 2075. You can help American Kestrels by building kestrel nest boxes, or by leaving hollow trees standing to provide them places to nest. Information about monitoring kestrel nests, and building kestrel nest boxes, can be found on The Peregrine Fund's American Kestrel Partnership website.

Moments after I took this photo, the kestrel disappeared into its nest cavity right below where it was perched. Ucross, WY

Bird of the Day: Magnolia Warbler (Fall Plumage)

Magnolia Warbler, Setophaga magnolia

For a birder, nothing says “spring” quite like the arrival of colorful singing warblers. They are vividly colored, each with their own unique hues and patterns and loudly belted songs. Fall warblers are a different story! When I look at a fall warbler, I often feel like I am looking at something that looks so different from it’s spring counterpart. Yellow seems to be the fall color of choice, making so many fall warblers look similar to each other as they flit by. And, instead of singing, they are uttering little chips that all sound the same.

I have not been on the east coast to experience fall warblers in two years, and I was never very good at identifying them to begin with. I rolled out the door to do some fall migration birding and was overwhelmed by how much I felt like a beginning birder all over again. All the warblers looked impossibly the same. I was grateful to find some warblers, like the Black-and-white and Black-throated Green, that resembled their spring counterparts when they stood still long enough for me to get a good look at them. Northern Parulas look much more drab, but still resemble their spring counterparts. Eventually, I found myself looking at a warbler that I could just not recognize at all. It had a yellow belly, gray back, and a white eyering. “It’s a Magnolia Warbler!” my friend tells me.

I look at it incredulously. While many warblers are named after their color patterns, the Magnolia Warbler’s name is less of an identifier and more of a coincidence. Ornithologist Alexander Wilson just happened to spot his first one in a Mangolia Tree during spring migration, although really these birds are more associated with coniferous trees during their breeding season. Nonetheless, without its iconic thick black mask, black back, and black-striped chest, I have trouble buying that the bird I am looking at is a Magnolia Warbler. It looks like a totally different bird. Eventually I find the relics of its spring plumage: the thin streaks in its yellow chest, the gray head and body, the white eyering. I admittedly feel a little disappointed- it feels so bland in comparison to the spring male.

Fall Magnolia Warbler in (unfortunately invasive) porcelain berry.

After a few moments of watching it, though, I realize I find the white eyering in the gray face against its pink beak endearing. The combination gives the warbler an expression that feels excited, surprised, slightly confused-perhaps all three at once. I think that is how I would feel if I started every day in a new place on traveling thousands of miles! Without the sharp contrasts created by its black feathers, the bird feels softer and smoother overall. The gray is now the darkest color without the striking black, and I can appreciate the subtle steel-blue grays in the feathers that I never have before. I love the juxtaposition of that steel-blue color against the lemon yellow. I cannot help myself, I blurt out “this bird is ADORABLE.”

Male Magnolia Warbler in spring

By the time the Magnolia Warbler flits away, I am smitten. I wish it well on its epic journey. Over the next few weeks, this tiny bird will fly over the Gulf of Mexico and beyond to Mexico, Central America, the West Indies, and the Yucatan Peninsula. This 3,000-plus mile journey will then be repeated in the spring, when the Magnolia Warblers will return. This time, when I see the male with the black mask, I am going to remember the adorable bird from the fall and reconcile the two as a single species.

Raptor Roundup: Broad-winged Hawk

Broad-winged Hawk, Buteo platypterus

Broad-winged Hawks are small buteos that prey on frogs, toads, snakes, insects, small mammals, and small birds. They are distributed throughout eastern North America, as far west as British Columbia and Texas. Every year, they migrate south. They will travel as far as Brazil as they funnel through Mexico and Central America chasing their food sources.

Broad-winged Hawks are compact buteos. Their primary feathers taper so that their wings look like flickering candle flames. A large white band across a dark tail is also helpful for identification.

The most amazing way to identify these hawks, however, is to watch them in migration as they kettle and stream overhead in enormous groups. Before hawk watching, at most I had seen five Broad-wingeds soaring together. This week, I got to witness a spectacle that was truly one of the most awing things I have seen in birding. On Monday, wind and temperature conditions were optimal for big movements of these birds. I waited all day with a group of eager hawk watchers looking for Broad-wingeds to soar over, but throughout the day only trickles passed by. Then, all of a sudden, at around 3PM, the kettles got bigger. Groups of 20, 30, 40 Broad-wingeds started to fill the sky. All around there were kettles and streams of Broad-winged Hawks, and I could barely keep track of them. Over the next hour and a half, 1,200 Broad-winged hawks passed overhead. The biggest kettle had 85 birds.

A small section of a sky filled with Broad-winged Hawks. I would need a wide-angle lens to accurately capture the size of their kettle.

Tuesday was another great day, with over 500 Broad-wingeds. On Wednesday and Thursday, the winds shifted, and almost no raptors of any kind were seen at all. Then, on Friday, the winds changed back to optimal Northernly gusts. All day long we waited and waited, but the wind seemed to be too gusty and only a few individual birds passed by. Then, at 2:50 PM, it started. An enormous kettle was spotted to the east, with easily a hundred birds. As they rose up and kettled, streams from below kept feeding into the cloud of raptors until there were at least six-hundred birds forming a sort of double helix as they rose. My thumb was getting so sore from clicking my counter I could barely move it. Switching hands, I looked to the south to see another enormous group of Broad-wingeds gathering. There were hundreds of birds rising, soaring, streaming, kettling, and in the span of about ten minutes I depressed my counter clicker 1,497 times. By the time the day was ending, a final kettle of Broad-wingeds settling down for the day pushed the total of Broad-winged Hawks to 2,698 birds. There were so many birds, you could look anywhere in the sky and see them. Seeing so many individual birds pouring across the sky was one of those things that made me feel truly privileged to be alive to see such magic.

Quaker Ridge Hawk Watch has averaged over 9,000 Broad-winged Hawks in a season. This week alone, we counted over 4,500. I now understand why hawk watching is so addicting- I want to break that record! Whether we do or not, I’m so grateful I had the opportunity to witness such a spectacle of nature. Keep up with our sightings at hawkcount.org- it’s amazing to watch as hawks move across the country!

Bird of the Day: Brown Booby (A tale of Two Boobies!)

Brown Booby, Sula leucogaster

Ah, boobies- so often the targets of birding innuendos, and so often the targets of far-flung chasing. Boobies are usually found in tropical waters far from most North American birders, and the Brown Booby is no exception. The Brown Booby is typically found by most birders in the Floridian Dry Tortugas, and even this is not an easy trip. Fortunately (for birders), recent hurricanes blew a juvenile Brown Booby into Summit County, Ohio, the last week of August. At the same time, I found out that another Brown Booby had been found in the New York Hudson Valley’s Ashokan Reservoir.

I received all of this information while I was house-sitting in Michigan, a state without any Brown Boobies to speak of. I had already seen my lifer Brown Booby in San Francisco, so I was a little hesitant to drive 12 hours round-trip to maybe see a bird in Ohio when I could play with Common Loons about ten minutes from me instead. But by the end of that week, I learned that I would be the new hawk watcher at Greenwich Audubon in Connecticut and I was soon back in my car embarking on my 15 hour drive back east. Earlier that morning, my friend in CT texted me a photo of the beautiful adult Brown Booby at the Ashokan, and I decided then that no matter how many more hours it added to my drive I was not going to be outdone.

Finding the Brown Booby in Ohio was ridiculously easy. The metro-park had wonderfully labeled parking lot signs that corresponded to eBird reports, and when I arrived at the correct lot it was obvious that the booby was close by. Dozens of people with masks, huge cameras, camo, and binoculars were all heading down a thin path into the trees by the water’s edge. It took about two minutes to reach the shoreline, and the Brown Booby was posing like a celebrity right above our heads. The hardest part of the whole venture was making sure not to step in poison ivy.

Ohio’s Brown Booby. Score!

The Ohio Brown Booby, as a juvenile, admittedly did not look as dapper as the one in the picture my friend texted me, but I was still smitten. It had a bill of washed out blue, and light orange webbed feet that looked like crepes wrapped around a branch. It was mostly still as I watched, occasionally twisting its head to look behind it. All of the people gathered were so considerate, and we all figured out how to move around and take turns getting the best looks so we could adhere to social distancing.

Thirty minutes late, I was back in the car and on my way to Connecticut. A few days later, I find out, to my horror, that I saw the Ohio Brown Booby only days before it was attacked and killed by (most likely) a Peregrine Falcon. Yikes.

Since the NY Brown Booby was still there the following Monday, I decided it was only fitting that I take this crazy opportunity to see two Brown Boobies hundreds of miles outside of their range in less than a week. A much shorter drive later, I said hello to the White Pelican (who has been at the Ashokan Reservoir for quite a while) before heading over to find the Brown Booby. I had seen some really great photos taken of it fishing, so I was hoping I would get to see it in action. Booby plunge-diving is amazing, and Brown Boobies expertly slice through the water by tucking in their wings and tail after diving out of the sky. However, since it was evening, the booby was instead perched on what looked like a yellow submarine with a group of Double-crested Cormorant. Not the greatest of views because of the lighting, but it was still amazing to see such a rare bird so close to where I grew up birding!

Adult Brown Booby at the Ashokan Reservoir with its Double-crested Cormorant friends

To commemorate seeing two Brown Boobies in a week, I made this Bird of the Day painting a combination of both experiences: an adult Brown Booby (from the Ashokan, but in non-breeding plumage) sits on a branch (as did the bird in Ohio) and looks up at its Double-crested Cormorant friends flying in ahead of, alas, a Peregrine Falcon. I like to think that this amalgamation of Brown Boobies will have a happy ending despite that little inclusion!

Raptor Roundup: Red-tailed Hawk

Red-tailed Hawk, Buteo jamaicensis

On September 2, I started my first ever official bird job as a hawk watcher! For the next three months I will be counting migrating raptors passing through Quaker Ridge. Quaker Ridge Hawk Watch is one of many official hawk watch areas that contribute valuable data to scientists worldwide. In 1972, it was determined that Quaker Ridge provided one of the best viewing sites of hawks in the state, and volunteers and paid hawkwatchers have manned the site during the fall ever since.

The first week of September has seen few migrating hawks, but this has provided an amazing opportunity to spend time watching local raptors. In particular, I have been able to spend ample amounts of time watching Turkey Vultures and Red-tailed Hawks. Since I have already spent hours and hours with vultures as a college student, I spent the last week really focusing on the hawks. The Red-tailed Hawk is a bird that I see so often perched by the side of the road or soaring above my car as I drive. It’s red tail is so wonderfully diagnostic that it is easy to forget to consider other traits that help classify it as a Red-tail. This week, considering that most of the hawks I watched were so far away they looked like black specks, I got to go through Red-tailed Hawk identification boot camp.

While the red tail is a fantastic ID tool, it is unfortunately not always visible. On top of that, Red-tailed Hawks exhibit remarkable plumage variation throughout the species. There are dark morphs, light morphs, juveniles…they are not as simple as they should be, even with that red tail! I have learned a few other ways to nail down this bird when it is a mere speck on the horizon:

1. Juvenile birds have fantastic panels of light through their primaries that show through their primary feathers. When compared to the light white crescents that show through the wings of a Red-shouldered hawk, these wing patches seem like windows. I love this tool.

2. Adult birds do not have the white windows, but they do have a dark trailing edge along their wings. (Broad-wingeds have this too, but they also have black and white banding in their tails that Red-tails do not)

3. They soar in wide circles (unlike Broad-winged Hawks that make tight circles) and have powerful, shallow wingbeats.

4. Red-tails have a “Charlie Brown shirt” band across their belly. I usually just hear this described as a belly band, but my friend recently told me his Charlie Brown reference and I think that it’s way more fun.

5. In flight, it will occasionally hover in place like a kestrel.

Of course, even with all of these things in mind, identifying hawks at a distance can still be tricky. I have been studying The Crossley Guide to Raptors by Richard Crossley as well Hawks at a Distance by Jerry Ligouri, which are both a wealth of knowledge on working through this group of birds. Red-tailed Hawk migration through Quaker Ridge is at its peak in the second part of October, so until then I will be spending most of my time with the “local Tails,” as I have heard them called. Broad-winged Hawks are supposed to start picking up en masse over the next week, so that is who I will be focusing on next!

The Messenger, 24x18, Watercolor, Ink, Gouache. 2016

Bird of the Day: Tufted Puffin

Tufted Puffin, Fratercula cirrhata

By an incredible stroke of good fortune, I have had the opportunity to visit Glacier Bay National Park three times in two years. Each was an experience beyond words, with stunning vistas of Southeast Alaskan mountains and fantastic views of truly wild creatures.

Unlike most national parks, the main attraction- the glaciers- are pretty much only accessible by boat. The first time I visited the park in late August of 2018, my girlfriend and I embarked on the National Park dayboat to reach the glaciers. The knowledgable naturalist helped point out wildlife and explain the history of the various glaciers as we traveled. The second time I went was in August of 2019. This time, I went with my friend Captain Billy of Wooshkeetan Tours out of Hoonah, AK and wow, David Attenborough could not have gotten better creature encounters. Orcas swam right under out boat, we crept up on a brown bear flipping rocks for clams, sea otters lazily floated right past the side of the boat…it was truly indescribable. By the time we got to the seabird nest rocks, I was utterly beside myself.

Brown Bear

Mountain Goat

Sea Otter

Orca

My biggest vanity point is my hair. It is short, and I love it when it is super bedraggled and tufty- the tuftier the better. So I have great respect for the Tufted Puffins, and was practically leaping off of the boat with excitement as we carefully approached the rocks where already, we could see hundreds of Black-legged Kittiwakes at their nests. Pelagic Cormorants, Pigeon Guillemots, and Common Murres also peppered the rocks. And then there, on a small ledge, was a group of six Tufted Puffins! Captain Billy skillfully moved the boat around the rocks so we could see their marvelous tufts from all angles.

The tufts of the Tufted Puffin show up alongside its bright red bill and red feet during the breeding season. Once summer ends, the tufts are actually moulted off. Tufted Puffins will make their nests by digging a shallow burrow or creating a nest within the crevice of rocky cliffs. Like many seabirds, they breed on isolated islands. Tufted Puffins range throughout the North Pacific Ocean, and are a familiar sight from both Pacific Northwest and Russian coasts. The Russians know the Tufted Puffin by the name toporok, which means “small axe.” Looking up at its big red bill, I could sort of see the resemblance, though to me it looked it is so big that it seems as much a small maul as a small axe!

Like many seabirds, Tufted Puffins are suffering from climate change. The winter of 2016-2017 saw a mass die-off of Tufted Puffins near St Paul island in Alaska. Including fly-bys, I only counted about 10 Tufted Puffins near these rocks in Glacier Bay. Just a year earlier, in 2019, there had been at least several dozen. While we were visiting the park a few weeks earlier in 2019 than we were in 2018, these numbers still do not reflect well on the well-being of the puffin population, especially considering seabird numbers have been falling dramatically.

Now that I no longer live in Hoonah, I do not know when I will return to Glacier Bay. I hope that I can get back there one day. It saddens me, though, to think that the next time I return, it will inevitably be very different. Whether the glacier is smaller or there are fewer seabirds, climate change is going to continue to irrevocably shape the park, and not necessarily for the better. In the meantime, I will hold close the memories of Glacier Bay’s wild creatures, and paint them as beautifully as a I can so that people might become inspired to help protect them.

Trip list:

Mammals: Steller’s Sea Lion, Orca, Humpback Whale, Sea Otter, Brown Bear, Sea Otter, Dall’s Porpoise, Harbor Seal

Birds: Black-legged Kittiwake, Pelagic Cormorant, Red-necked Phalarope, Glaucous-winged Gull, Mew Gull, Fork-tailed Storm-petrel, Bald Eagle, Common Raven, Black Oystercatcher, Surf Scoter, Kittlitz Murrelet, Marbled Murrelet, Common Loon, Red-throated Loon, Pigeon Guilemot, Tufted Puffin, Horned Puffin, Common Murre, Northwestern Crow, Great Blue Heron

Riverhawks

Common Nighthawk, Chordeiles minor

I learned to bird on the Hudson River. As a student at Bard College in the mid-Hudson Valley, I would wake up hours earlier than my peers, everyday, and spend my time before classes in the Tivoli Bays wetland right behind the college. Some of my closest friends became Great Blue Herons, Yellow Warblers, and Red-winged Blackbirds. No matter where I have traveled to since graduating, I feel myself called back to the Tivoli Bays when I need to feel that sense of familiarity, a sense of home.

This spring, for the first time in my entire life, I was unable to spend even a day of spring in New York. I was stuck in quarantine in Hoonah, Alaska, a place that is an entirely different world than that of the Hudson Valley. My annual pilgrimage to the Tivoli Bays during spring migration was impossible due to COVID-19, and the feeling of separation hurt. Time seemed to function differently this year- without spring migration in the Tivoli Bays, I could barely tell that it was spring at all, and then suddenly, it was summer, and now, it is almost fall. I had been seeing birds I normally see way earlier - American Goldfinch, blackbirds, Tufted Titmice, House Wrens- for the first time this year, and it felt wildly disorienting. Becoming a birder in New York had imprinted the migration patterns of the area into my being, and I have come to expect specific birds at specific times the same way in which I expect Valentine’s Day in February, Christmas in December. Seeing my first goldfinch in August made me feel as strange as though I were walking around with a Santa hat in June.

From the seat of a kayak, I floated along the Hudson River, breathing in the smell of marshy grasses and estuarine salt. Hearing the rustle of grasses in the Tivoli Bays felt like a soothing lullaby welcoming me home.

As the sky melted into the colors of a Hudson Valley Sunset, purple washed away the blue and thin rose light crept up above the mountains. There is nothing quite like a Hudson Valley sunset. The plants and shorebirds that dotted the river lost their color, becoming black silhouettes. Suddenly, a dark shape flew towards me, jerking upwards to avoid colliding with my head, and as I whipped around to watch the batlike shape I could see the white windows in the wings shining within the silhouette of a Common Nighthawk. It flew in front of the moon, creating an x-shape with its boomerang-like wings before veering off into the shadows. Looking around, I could count four nighthawks dipping and dancing as they feasted on insects above the river.

A Common Nighthawk perched at Magee Marsh during the Biggest Week in American Birding. It was incredible how well it blended in to its surroundings!

Common Nighthawks are members of the nightjar family caprimulgiformes (which is a really fun word to say!) Their wings are long and slender like a falcons, which they expertly deploy to twist and turn in the air like a bat while hunting insects in flight. Nightjars are nocturnal, and because of their excellent camouflage are almost impossible to see during the day while they rest completely still against tree limbs. Unlike most nightjars, nighthawks lack conspicuous rictal bristles on their face that are believed to possibly help with the capture of insects.

Common Nighthawks begin to migrate through the Hudson River at the end of August. Unlike every other bird, I was seeing them for the first time on-time. It made time feel right again, as though everything was on schedule after all, even though it had, of course, been on time all along. With all of the chaos and uncertainty in the human world, I felt grateful to the nighthawks for this moment of normalcy, and for what felt like a homecoming party.

Bird of the Day: Burrowing Owl

Burrowing Owl, Athene cunicularia

Burrowing Owls have, in my opinion, the greatest range of facial expressions you could ask for. I love how one owl can look like a space case while another looks like it needs coffee asap. It is amazing how such tiny owls (only 9 inches in height) can have such big expressions!

Unlike most owls, Burrowing Owls are diurnal. They make their nests in abandoned burrows dug by other animals, especially prairie dogs. Burrowing Owls are very comfortable on the ground; in fact, they more often run and flatten themselves against the ground than fly to escape enemies.

When we got to Badlands National Park in mid-July, we found prairie dogs everywhere. They were so numerous that their burrows went right up to the road, and we could see how unbelievably adorable they are up close. I was delighted to see young, cream colored prairie dog pups alongside the older rusty ones. After squealing over the prairie dogs for a good while, we turned our attention to the fields beyond them, looking for Burrowing Owls amongst the burrows.

Black-tailed Prairie Dog, Cynomys ludovicianus

I had seen a single Burrowing Owl back in September 2016 in the fields just beyond Robert’s Prairie Dog Town. We were disappointed when we did not find any in this section, but kept driving forward figuring we would continue to look until we reached the park boundary. To our delight, just as we reached the intersection where the road veered north to head to Wall, a herd of bison began cresting the hill on the side of the road. There were dozens of them. Male bulls harassed females who were more interested in watching their young red calves; the young calves were often more interested in playing with each other. We followed the bison at a safe distance, and were suddenly flabbergasted when Burrowing Owl after Burrowing Owl appeared as if out of nowhere and began flying through the fields about thirty feet from us. Western Meadowlarks, Horned Larks, and prairie dogs were also running through the grasses ahead of the bison. It dawned on me that the march of the bison was disturbing the Burrowing Owls and causing them to flush! The whole spectacle felt like the North American edition of the opening to Disney’s The Lion King. It was truly breathtaking and spectacular.

Mother and calf

Bull Bison, Bison bison

Two younger bison playing

After the bison had passed, we went back to look for the owls more closely. They are so well camouflaged against the brown and golden grasses of the Badlands that we almost missed them again- until we noticed an adult Burrowing Owl diving into the grass with food. Unbelievably, we found a series of burrows about fifteen feet from the side of the road, complete with two young Burrowing Owl fledglings. They were old enough to fly, but still apparently young enough to beg for food from the parents. The younger birds were much less spotted than the adults, and still a bit fluffier. We watched the birds for about an hour before the winds kicked up and threatened rain and the owls hunkered down in their burrows.

Adult Burrowing Owl

Young Burrowing Owl in flight

Takeaway Tips: The Badlands in the summer are hot. It hit over triple digits on the car thermometer, and this was early on in the day. We were fortunate to have cloud cover from 10AM onward, or we may have cooked. We got to the Badlands at sunrise so we would have the best chances for birds and to stay cool. Even though it is really, really hot in July, if you can stand the heat, the young animals are worth it. There are young animals everywhere and they are adorable!

One of the best places to see Burrowing Owls consistently seems to be the section around Robert’s Prairie Dog Town, which makes sense there are hundreds of pre-made burrows for the owls to take advantage of. Now I know that bison proximity can make a difference in seeing one of these owls, and it makes sense- if I had a herd of bison marching over my roof, I would get out of the house too!

Badlands National Park Trip List:

Mammals- Bighorn Sheep, Bison, Black-tailed Prairie Dog, Black-tailed Jackrabbit

Birds: Burrowing Owl, Black-billed Magpie, Western Meadowlark, Horned Lark, Sharp-tailed Grouse, Mourning Dove, American Kestrel, Turkey Vulture, Red-tailed Hawk, American Pipit

Bird of the Day: Cassia Crossbill

Cassia Crossbill, Loxia sinesciuris

With their unique crisscrossed bills and their nomadic habits, crossbills are an intriguing family of birds. In 2017, a subspecies of Red Crossbill in Idaho was granted species status. Unlike other Red Crossbills, this species is not nomadic and stays in one place. On top of that, it has developed a slightly thicker bill to feed on the seeds of lodgepole pine that regular Red Crossbills cannot open. Because it is endemic to Cassia County in Idaho, this new species was named the Cassia Crossbill.

Fortunately for me, my road trip to move from Alaska to Wisconsin gave me an opportunity to pass through Cassia County and attempt to find the Cassia Crossbill. I had never before been to Idaho, and do not know when I will be passing through again, so I knew I had to make every effort to see this bird while I had the chance. Using Ebird, we were able to find Cassia Crossbills that had been reported in the souther portion of the Sawtooth National Forest. A number of crossbills had been reported during the week at the Diamondfield Jack Campground, which fortunately offers overnight camping. Figuring that we could spend the entire evening looking for them upon arrival, we also reasoned that we could camp and devote the next morning to looking for them if necessary.

It took us about a half hour of driving to reach the campground from the western entrance to the National Forest. When we got there it was around 6PM, so there was still plenty of daylight left to look for the crossbills. A group of birders was already there, and they told us that they had been staking out the crossbills for hours already and had seen them earlier that morning in a tall snag at the far edge of the campground.

Figuring that we had some time to get situated before setting up our own stakeout, I went to go relieve myself in the woods. No sooner had I found a good spot then I heard the unmistakable (albeit weird sounding) call of a flock of crossbills, and I looked up to see about thirty of the birds zooming towards the aforementioned snag. Changing plans, I ran back to the campground and raced over to get to see the flock of Cassia Crossbills spend a few minutes eating some cones before moving on. Now that’s what I call instantaneous (albeit poorly timed) gratification!

The next morning, we got up at daybreak and sure enough saw the entire flock in the snag. We chased them from tree to tree as they foraged, getting better looks as the sun got higher. The other group of birders, who had also stayed the night, called us over to a pile of downed tree limbs. To our delight, the Cassia Crossbills were eating from the pinecones about eight feet away, completely oblivious to our presence. Since it was mid-July, we even got to see a juvenile bird beg for food and then get fed! It was amazing to be able to see such a unique bird so closely.

Adult male

Juvenile Crossbill

Takeaway Tips: The Diamondfield Jack Campground has a ring of lodge pines that the crossbills feed on. They do laps, so patience will eventually pay off. Looking for fallen limbs with pinecones can help you see the crossbills close up, otherwise it was a case of serious warbler-neck looking at them at the tops of the pines (and the looks were not nearly as satisfying.)

Note that there is no cell service in the campground. I needed to use Ebird to familiarize myself with its calls, since they are the best way to distinguish Cassia Crossbill from Red Crossbill. I wish that I had recorded the call with my phone so I could have accessed it while I was in the campground; luckily it was different enough (and the other birders were able to help us confirm that we were indeed seeing Cassia Crossbills).

The Fisher Kings and Queens

The Belted Kingfisher sits atop a mast in Hoonah, AK, waiting for just the right moment to dive!

This week, I have the opportunity to give mini-presentations on local birds in for the fourth and fifth graders in Hoonah, Alaska. First up: the Belted Kingfisher!

The Belted Kingfisher (Megaceryle alcyon) is great. It’s everywhere. According to the range map on the Cornell Lab’s website, it can be found all over the continental United States. Talk about a friendly face!

Which is fair, because it is more or less the only kingfisher in the country, unless you spend any time in Texas. There, you can get the larger Ringed Kingfisher and stunning-green (and well named) Green Kingfisher.

Green Kingfisher in Cano Negro, Costa Rica. The range of these birds extends juuuuuuust into the United States through Texas! Notice that super-long beak.

Worldwide, there are 114 species of kingfishers that inhabit six continents (not so much Antartica). While they all have the same stocky shape, long, spear-like beak, and small feet for perching, there is certainly variation in size! African Dwarf Kingfishers are a tiny 4 inches in length. Giant Kingfishers, on the other hand, measure 22 inches long! Australia’s Laughing Kookuburra is the heaviest of the kingfishers, weighing in at 18 ounces. The Belted Kingfisher, by comparison, is 11-14 inches long, and weighs 5-6 ounces (think about the size of an American Robin).

Many kingfishers, including the Belted Kingfisher, build their nests out of tunnels in cavities in muddy banks. Occasionally, they will build their nests among Bank Swallows (Riparia riparia) since they require similar nesting conditions. Kingfishers are also unusual amongst birds because they can hover in place, an energy-demanding feat that few families of birds can accomplish.

With its wild crest, powerful bill, and showstopping dives, it is hard to imagine that the Belted Kingfisher would be a shy bird. But in my experience, this bird is a serious flight risk. It took me five years of birding to finally get a halfway decent picture of one. After photographing these birds across the country, an obliging Belted Kingfisher in Hoonah finally posed for me while devouring dinner.

The Fisher Queen, 2016. After no Belted Kingfishers would pose for a photo, I decided to take matters into my own and paint one into existence!

If watching Belted Kingfishers has taught me anything, it is the importance of patience- both in trying to photograph them, as well as in observing their behavior. They wait to dive until the perfect moment, conveying a sense of tenacity and mastery of their fishing skill. Humans across the world have often viewed the kingfisher as a symbol of patience, peace, and prosperity. My experience with the Belted Kingfishers of Hoonah would cause me to add that kingfishers are smart. I was told by a local that "the kingfishers follow the bears.” Grizzly Bears are everywhere in Hoonah during the spring, summer, and fall. When I think about it, that makes such perfect sense. Why not follow an animal that will find the best fishing spots for you, and then leave its scraps behind?

I am really lucky in that the students listening to my presentations are teaching me in return. I am learning the Tlingit names for the local birds. The Belted Kingfisher is “Tlaxaneis’” (Cluck-a-nase) in Tlingit.

Coming up next, a gander at geese!