Happiness is a Rare Bird

by Gene Walz

  Despite the cold, we did spot over one hundred species of birds. Black-bellied Plovers so sated on wild berries that they just sat stock-still on the ground as you approached them within a foot or so. Most of us had first-time-ever sightings. Jaegers flying overhead. Willow Ptarmigan in mid-molt—changing from their all-white winter plumage to their brown camouflage of summer. Both kinds of Eiders, Common and King, bobbing offshore, although whether we’d actually seen a King Eider was a matter of some dispute. But since this was the end of June, and the midnight sun kept Churchill in daylight around the clock, we could finish a full day’s birding with a lively dispute over drinks at mid-“night.” King Eider, yes, as well as Common Eiders. The more fanatical in our group became almost round-the-clock birders. If you worry about sleep-deprivation, don’t go birding at Churchill in late June.

  The most spectacular sighting of the trip was a pair of Ross’s Gulls. A dainty white gull with a rosy-hued breast and belly, this gull is native to northern Asia but has chosen the Churchill area for its breeding home for several years. It’s a target bird for birders from all over the world and its nest was being carefully monitored by volunteers from the World Wildlife Fund so that collectors would not sneak in and poach its precious eggs.

  We saw the birds regularly, but one memorable morning walk on the pebbled beach of the bay stands out. A male Ross’s Gull flew over and around us within touching distance as we got ourselves dizzy trying to photograph it in close-ups. Was it curious about our well-parkad and toqued group? Or maybe searching for a hand-out? We’ll never know. All we’ll know is that this close encounter with an alien bird couldn’t have been more of a treat.

  In 1984, Tundra Buggies had just arrived in Churchill but they were not yet ferrying tourists around the area. On Cape Mary, a ranger accompanied us on our bird walk, a loaded shotgun at the ready in case a polar surprised us. Later we took an old van to the town dump (now closed), and watched a couple of hungry polar bears, blackened with soot from burning garbage, scavenge for food. Black polar bears! Some with orange circles spray-painted on their backs denoting troublesome bears. Repeat offenders were locked in the polar bear jail. Not what we’d expected.

  Nor was the balmy weather we got at the end of our visit. With winds out of the south, the temperature rose to plus thirty! From minus fifty to plus thirty in a week! People from town were sailboarding on the now (mostly) ice-free ponds. It was so warm that Bob Shettler, a seemingly sober-sided engineer, unexpectedly stripped down and dove into the still-frigid Churchill River. “Now I can say I swam north of the Arctic Circle,” he chattered as he emerged from the water. I took my boots and socks off and slowly inched in. My feet went numb. I feared they’d they’d suffer irreparable damage. Thirty years later I can still feel the cold!

  The hot temperatures brought out the bugs. We had to cover every square centimetre of potentially exposed skin against their stinging onslaught with mosquito netting, bug spray, two layers of clothing, anything available. Everyone walked with an aura of mosquitoes and black flies around them, swarms of bugs a foot thick, visible from a distance. The buzzing from the bugs was so loud and unceasing that townspeople wore earplugs to dampen the noise. Using binoculars was almost impossible.

  Twenty-five years after this trip, my wife and I flew up on Halloween Eve to see the polar bears and maybe some birds and animals I’d missed before. Churchill had changed dramatically. From a few buildings huddled around the municipal centre, it had become a small tourist town. We boarded one of a dozen Tundra Buggies and lumbered out to Polar Bear Alley where most of the bears waited for the bay to freeze over. Fierce winds (70 kph) prevailed for most of the day and snow swirled about frequently, creating almost white-out conditions. Though the bears were mostly hunkered down in the bushes, we did manage to see seven bears up close (two weighed about 1,000 kilograms each and stood six feet at shoulder) and two Arctic foxes. On the windless day before, people had seen over thirty bears and many lingering birds, but today there was “grease ice” all around Gordon Point where the shorebirds had been spotted, including a Purple Sandpiper that I’d hoped to see. The shorebirds and ducks (especially the Brants, top on my must-see list) had sensibly departed south.

  Still, our one-day visit was memorable. We got to see small gangs of costumed Churchill kids trick-or-treating though town with shotgun-toting guards watching out for trick-or-treating polar bears. (No one wore a polar bear or seal costume.) And we ended the day with an Arctic char dinner with all the fixins at The Churchill Hotel. We skipped the dog sled and Skidoo rides, the helicopter flyovers, and a night at the Tundra Buggy Lodge (a Tundra Buggy with bunks). Churchill is truly a wonder of the world. Even a day there without many bird sightings makes the trip well worth taking..

  The Big Spit

  At a Birding Festival

  Ninety bird species in one day. Eight lifers in four days. That’s what a good bird guide can get you, even if you’re an experienced birder. And that’s what birding festivals can provide: a chance to hook up with bird guides who are local experts. Even if you aren’t able to join the guides, you can always follow their itineraries and find some birds on your own.

  Plus you get a chance to check out the latest optics, apps, artwork, birding publications, destinations, and tours. And an opportunity to listen to nationally recognized speakers (like Richard Crossley of The Crossley ID Guide series and James Currie of Birding Adventures TV) as well as participate in birding seminars and workshops.

  With thousands of participants, the Space Coast Birding and Wildlife Festival in Titusville, Florida is among the biggest and considered to be among the best in America. Because it’s so big (around 4,000 registrants, I heard), you’d better sign up early for everything, especially the field trips. I was at a cruel disadvantage here: I didn’t check things out until I got there—the day before it officially opened. By then, most of the bird outings that I wanted to join were full. No room on the bus for North Brevard Hotspots, the St. Johns National Wildlife Refuge, the Ritch Grissom Memorial Wetlands at Viera, or Zellwood and Lake Apopka. Although I mapped out the general itineraries of all of these trips and went there on my own, I was birding blind. I saw none of my target birds, birds that the experienced guides familiar with the territory could easily find.

  No Black Rails, no Gull-billed Terns, no Black-necked Stilts, no Short-tailed Hawks, no Grasshopper Sparrows, no Vermillion Flycatchers. And on and on. No. No. No.

  Local knowledge can be crucial for finding birds. It’s one thing to go to a wildlife refuge. It’s quite another to know that in this small grove of trees, at this particular time of day, behaving in this characteristic way, calling rather than singing, you will find this particular bird. A bird guide can provide those insider tips.

  Still, even though I was late signing up and missed out on what I’m sure were incredible birding adventures, it was a fruitful experience, both for me and for my lifer list.” [I’ve taken “still” from the second line of your sentence and used it to introduce the paragraph.

  They call Florida a peninsula, but it’s just a giant sandbar. A friend of mine calls it The Big Spit. My original plan was to go there for the winter—toss my binocs, my bird guides, my bathing suit, my golf clubs, and my dog into my camper and head south for a couple of months. Ah, warmth. I was really looking forward to being roasted brown.

  Well, those plans went out the window.

  Then I got an invitation from my long-time friend Charlie Rattigan to join him at the aforementioned Space Coast Birding and Wildlife Festival. I knew nothing about the festival, but it was in an area where I could finally, maybe, find the Florida Scrub-jay, a bird that had eluded me on three previous trips to The Sunshine State. Maybe the Red-cockaded Woodpecker and the Brown-headed Nuthatch too.

  Only one week in Florida instead of two months: I’d better make the most of it.

  We got to Titusville a day before the festival began and decided to do
some preliminary birding on our own. Using the Audubon Bird Guide app with its “Find Birds with eBird” connection on Charlie’s iPhone, we quickly found out where Florida Scrub-jays had recently been spotted. Of the numerous sightings, Canaveral National Seashore seemed like the perfect choice; it was not only close but also shared a border with Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge.

  When we got to the fee station on Merritt Island, we asked the ranger on duty where the Scrub-jays were. An affable, talkative guy, he told us to park the car and walk behind the ranger station. We couldn’t believe it. They could be right there!

  Then again, the curse of the mythical Florida Scrub-jay could still be operational. I’d missed a sure thing before; I could be unlucky again.

  Before we began walking around, we checked the app for the songs and calls of the jay. Not as noisy and insistent as a Blue Jay. Quieter, a more modest “shreep.”

  Right away, we saw a jay-sized, grey-ish bird scooting through the bushes. Could we be so lucky as to see a Scrub-jay this quickly?

  Nope. It was a Northern Mockingbird (very plentiful in Florida).

  Was that a “shreep” we heard on the other side of the bushes? Was that the mockingbird mocking us, imitating the jay?

  We cut though the bushes and got to an opening where the railroad tracks separated the refuge from the Kennedy Space Center. We’d been warned not to go past the tracks. Homeland Security, don’t ya know. For a second I thought to myself: am I willing to be clapped in jail for a lifer? Will I have to cross the tracks to find the elusive Florida Scrub-jay?

  In the time it took to ask and answer my own question, it became irrelevant. A Scrub-jay appeared as if out of nowhere, flying across the tracks from the Space Center property and perching in a small tree next to the tracks. Then suddenly another, and another, and another. Four Scrub-jays. Three hopping on the tracks, coming ever closer. We hoisted our binocs and took them in. Soon we didn’t really need to. The jays were close enough to see them clearly with the naked eye. These are lovely birds: a blue that reminds me of the colour of a Mountain Bluebird with a white throat and a necklace of blue.

  Scrub-jays are curious and fearless like their cousins the Grey Jays, the “Whiskey Jacks.” The boldest one, with four leg bands, bounced along the railroad ties and came within a foot of my boots. The three others, without bands, got within six feet or so, but no closer. The jays stayed until we had imprinted them indelibly in our minds. What a great way to get a lifer!

  On our way out, we thanked the park ranger. He asked us if we were interested in owls, too. When we said yes, he told us to stop down the road and look in an open field surrounded by a fence.

  There on a fifty-foot pole was an osprey nest. In the nest was a Great Horned Owl. Clearly a lazy but feisty owl.

  We poked around the island some more. Man, there are a lot of vultures in Florida! Has the economic depression attracted them in such numbers, or is it always like this? Hardly a minute passed without us seeing either a Black or a Turkey Vulture. Often dozens at a time. Soaring, teetering, swooping, and looking for carrion. Eerie!

  Our daily list had reached thirty birds in less than three hours when we decided to head out. We’d seen some great birds: a Bald Eagle (always a thrill), Northern Cardinals, Pine Warblers, Boat-tailed Grackles (better vocalizations than their Common cousins), Red-bellied Woodpeckers (pretty common), Eurasian Collared-Doves, and White Ibises to mention just a few.

  On our way off the island we decided to stop at a beach on the north side of the road just before the bridge. We’d seen some gulls and waders along the shore from a distance.

  The gulls included: Ring-billed, Bonaparte’s, Laughing, and Great Black-backed. There were also some interesting terns. Forster’s (always a special treat) and, side-by-side, a Caspian and a Royal Tern, offering a great opportunity to note the subtle differences. White crown and yellow-orange bill on the Royal, black skullcap and red-orange bill on the Caspian.

  And among the gulls and terns, a special bird that, for me, also turned out to be a lifer: Black Skimmers. There were close to one hundred birds resting about ten yards offshore on land that had not been covered by the tide. One took off and flew closer. With its lower mandible skimming the smooth surface of the lagoon, it was unmistakable—even for someone who had never seen one before.

  We then turned our attention to the shorebirds. Shorebirds are a challenging species for me and many people. It’s often impossible to distinguish one from another, particularly when they are dressed in their winter plumage. It can be frustrating. But paying attention to behaviour near the water’s edge will provide the observer with ID clues.

  There were Ruddy Turnstones turning stones—always fun to see; Dunlins poking the sand and actively feeding; and Sanderlings behaving like wind-up toys.

  It was a remarkable morning of birding—sharing the experience of seeing two life-birds with my friend as well as the enjoyment and challenge of finding and identifying birds in this still wild area shared with scrub-jays, rockets, and astronauts. But the best was yet to come.

  On Wednesday I went back out onto Merritt Island. The day before, Charlie and I had missed the two loops north and south of Route 406. I began the south loop just past the visitor centre on Peacocks Pocket Road. No peacocks there (they wouldn’t have counted anyway) but scores of herons and egrets and ibises in the shallows inside the road.

  The most numerous were the ibises, both White and Glossy, because they like to hang out in groups. They’re gorgeous birds in their own separate ways, the one with their pure white bodies and curved red bills and legs, and the other with their almost iridescent brown, green, and purple sheen. I searched in vain for a Scarlet Ibis or a Scarlet/White hybrid or for a vagrant White-faced Ibis. No luck there.

  All three white egrets were present in considerable numbers but usually on their own: Great White with their long necks, black legs, and yellow bills; Cattle with their big, rounded heads; and, my favourites, the Snowies with their black legs and clownish yellow feet.

  I was pleasantly surprised to find Roseate Spoonbills and Wood Storks present, but even happier to find the “blue herons” so close to each other in so many different spots: Little Blue, Reddish, and Tri-coloured. Reddish Herons, with their erratic, quirky fishing behaviour, jumping around and flapping their wings, were the easiest to distinguish and the most fun to watch.

  My primary destination of the day, the Haulover Canal between the Indian River and the more easterly Mosquito Lagoon, was not a great birding site. I headed there to see some Manatees.

  When I arrived at the Manatee Observation Deck, a dozen people were clicking away with their cameras aimed at the brown, turgid water. Most of them were trying to anticipate the time and place of the next surfacing of a couple of small, grey dolphins. There was much grumbling at near misses and not a little confusion as to whether they were actually dolphins or the sought-after manatees.

  Because the water was so murky and the surfacing of the animals so unpredictable, the manatees were very difficult to spot. One briefly came up for air right below me, so close I could see its sad bulldog face. Another rolled slowly above the surface on the other side of the canal long enough for me to see a distinct scar across its dark brown back.

  Although manatee numbers have increased in the past year to over 5,000 individuals throughout Florida, they’re still seriously endangered; scores are killed each year by fatal encounters with powerboats. So I was ecstatic to have even short glimpses of these two. They were my “species of the day.”

  After a mostly uneventful Thursday, I was lucky enough to get the last seat on the Friday morning bus to see “Central Florida’s Specialties.” Led by Wes Biggs (head of Florida Nature Tours and the person with the longest life list in Florida), Dave Goodwin (the one with the third longest list), and Adam Kent (of the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission), we started out at 5:00 am and fini
shed almost twelve hours later. It was a full and memorable day of birding, my birding festival “Big Day.”

  Highlights for me included extended, full-frame views of the endangered Red-cockaded Woodpecker, the Bachman’s Sparrow, and the Brown-headed Nuthatch. Not easy birds to get, they were lifers for me.

  All three birds were at the back of the Three Lakes campground. We were all more than a little nervous at first. This place is also a hunting ground and there was a guy in an orange vest with a yellow “x” stalking the area we wanted to check for birds. In fact, he turned out to be a very careful birder, not a hunter. Since none of us had orange vests, we were relieved that he was rifle-free. And yet we were not entirely comfortable. A camouflaged and over-eager hunter could blast away at us from anywhere. Oops. Thought y’all was a deer!

  Nesting trees for Red-cockaded Woodpeckers all have white circles painted around them about five feet off the ground. As we walked warily past the “Gut Pit” where deer and wild pig remnants are disposed of, our guide called our attention to a painted tree fifty yards or so in front of us. As we focussed on it, Pine Warblers, catbirds, towhees, and cardinals flitted about. Then a Brown-headed Nuthatch appeared in very close range followed by the Red-cockaded Woodpecker, its red cockade barely visible but its full white face clear to everyone. Unexpectedly, Adam Kent thought he heard a Bachman’s Sparrow singing; it was a bit early for them, he thought. Sure enough, one appeared on a stick halfway between our group and the woodpecker. For me, three life-birds in less than three minutes. I don’t think I’ll ever match that experience again!

  Later, on Lake “Toho” in Kissimmee, we found a Snail Kite (another lifer for me), hundreds of Sandhill Cranes and wild turkeys, as well as many Red-shouldered Hawks, the most common raptors in the state. We also found two “uncountable” Whooping Cranes, uncountable because they were what was left of a flock introduced into Florida to provide an alternate breeding colony to the one that winters in Port Aransas, Texas. Unfortunately, most of this second flock has been virtually erased by unforeseen misfortunes—mainly bobcats and hurricanes.