Hi! I’m Carl. I like birds. I like other things, too. Especially backpacking, rock-climbing, biking, hiking, camping, beer drinking, eating, travelling, great nature, and great cities. My wife and I have a life goal to visit all the US national parks. I mostly started this blog as a way to not forget things we’ve done.
So having a kid limits your time to blog… who woulda thought?!?! Anyways finally catching up on some way overdue posts.
With the prospect of my son’s arrival and greatly limited birding time staring at me straight ahead, I started to think about one last weekend to load up on lifers. After briefly considering the costs and effort to run after the Lesser Prairie-Chickens in Texas/Oklahoma, Birding Buddy Steve, Mr. G, and I stumbled upon cheap airfare to Mexico City. Spouse’s permission and passport in hand, we booked the tickets, found a guide, and counted down the days.
We landed in Mexico City late on February 1st. Once we figured out how to hail a ride, we took a cab to our hotel (which was surrounded by hundreds of riot police due to nearby demonstrations), and got to bed early. I’m glad we got our rest because this was my first foray into international birding and the first day did not disappoint. We started the morning pre-dawn at a gas station in San Nicolás Tlazala. Across from the gas station was a small tamale stand serving the local specialty, guajolota; basically, a tamale in a bread roll. They were amazingly delicious and comforting when we got out of the car at the marsh and the cool fog would cut right through us. We had two main targets here: the endangered Black-polled Yellowthroat and Aztec Rail. The Aztec Rail is essentially a southern King Rail. However, the incredible density of Sora and Virginia Rails lead to several tense moments of watching reeds rustling for the skulking marsh bird and ears straining to separate the remarkably similar grunts among those three birds. Conceding defeat on the rail, we moved on to the money spot for the yellowthroat. Despite sharing the same reputation as skulkers, these birds were far friendlier and the lifer celebration began.
Our next two stops were public parks with the main target being the other central highlands endemic yellowthroat, the Hooded Yellowthroat. Similar to its marsh cousin, this bird had no problem popping out and saying hello. In fact, this bird was found only a few yards from the parking lot at Botanical Garden at the Biology Institute for the National Autonomous University of Mexico. Wandering through the garden yielded a couple more lifers, but we were not to linger, other area specialties awaited.
The fun thing about being a traveling birder is that common birds elsewhere are your lifers. This means that at some point on your trip, you’ll end up freaking out about lifers galore in the most humblest of locations. For this trip, it was on a town road, flanked by houses and small business, just beyond the highway exit. Fifteen minute stop on a roadside, 5 ticks on the list. A new bird every three minutes.
Our last stop of the day was Xochicalco and we had one mega-target, the Balsas Screech-Owl. Endemic to the Balsas River Basin area, the small range of this owl is the reason it’s considered “Near Threatened” by the IUCN. However, we arrived with a few more hours of daylight birding to knock out and crushing views of Rufous-capped Warbler and Black-chested Sparrow were more than sufficient to pass the time. As dusk started to fall, we munched on tacos and Mexican Coke outside our cabins, watching Lesser Nighthawks hunt over the mountain ridge.
Finally, it was dark enough for us to head back towards the main entrance to the Zona Arqueológica. For some reason, I’ve failed to mention our guides, Rafa and Miguel but, they were great. Two young guys, but they knew the spots and were excellent emissaries when we navigated the roadside taco stand scene. Nowhere did this local knowledge come into play more immediately than with the Balsas Screech-Owl. Within a few minutes of arriving, armed with flashlights, Rafa took us to the magic owl spot. We had a slight delay before searching as there were a few late-night cars driving by. Once everything calmed down, a short play of the screech-owl call brought two birds to within 30 feet of us!! Full disclosure, the first time the owls came in, my excitability caused me to loudly shout, “There it is!!” This could have very well been followed by, “There it went!!” Luckily, the owls returned and for the next couple of minutes we were in lifer owl heaven. Returning back to our cabins, we set our optics on the table and shared a couple of beers celebrating a wonderful first day to our trip.
For many reasons, 2016 was largely agreed to be a pretty crappy year. Personally, I had two areas of my life in which I could take refuge from the harsh world: the outstanding year of birding I was having, and the anticipation of my first child. (I’m not saying those are equally good. I mean, I didn’t see THAT many birds.) So, before my bird-laden Facebook feed becomes baby central, Aly and I planned one last road trip up to the frozen abyss of Minnesota.
In the weeks before our trek to the Sax-Zim Bog in Duluth, things were falling in line; nearly a dozen Rough-legged Hawks appeared at Big Marsh, we found 5 screech-owls on an early morning in the Palos area, and I finally added Snow Goose to my Cook County list. (I had seen 2 Ross’s Geese in my home county before finding its larger cousin.) This is how a good birding year was supposed to end.
We headed out early on December 30th. I had planned a slightly longer route for us to pass through the Buena Vista Grassland to try and track down a Greater Prairie-Chicken. The endangered birds do exist in a few pockets in Illinois but it’s about a 4 hour drive from Chicago. After about 90 minutes of driving around, I had turned our car to towards the highway, all but ready to admit defeat. At one of our last stops, I noticed black blobs hanging out at the top of a tree, several hundred yards away. Got em! A quick confirmation in the scope provide excellent views of the treed chickens. As we were packing up, lifer in tow, a light and dark morph pair of Rough-legged Hawks swooped right over our heads. We got to Duluth that night, ate cheese curds, and went to bed. Things were looking up…
…and then it all came crashing down.
Listen, I still picked up 3 lifers (Evening Grosbeak, Pine Grosbeak, and Ruffed Grouse) and the boreal forests are beautiful but, the chasing ineptitude that followed for the next 2.5 days made me want to give up on the trip, birding as a hobby, and life in general. We followed every hot tip to find a Great Gray Owl. We had a can’t miss American Three-toed Woodpecker. We were assured that Sharp-tailed Grouse would visit the feeders if you’d wait a little while. Like suckers, every time we talked to someone who told us new local info, we’d get excited and say, “At least if we can get this bird, it’ll make the trip worth it.” The epitome of this Sisyphean effort were the texts a fellow travelling Illinois birder, a snot-nosed high school kid, was sending me, 30 minutes ahead our present location. (Actually, he’s a real nice kid and a hell of a birder but, when you’re getting gripped on good birds, you hate everything and everyone.) “Get to the Visitor’s Center! Hundreds of White-winged Crossbills!” “The bird is easy at the plow turnout, exactly 4 miles in!” “Just sit by the feeders, it’ll walk up to them!” Argh. No amount of assistance could undo the bad birding mojo that had overcome us. Three lifers of the potential 9-10 and none of the bog specialties that inspired us to spend 3 days sitting in the car.
Alas, that was it: 2016 year birds 425, life list settled in at 510; all in the US. A nice birding year that could have been just a little bit nicer. With the impending arrival of my birder understudy, I definitely won’t have the opportunity for a couple of years to match my US year total. However, perhaps out of concern that my bird-chasing incompetence will affect the self-esteem of our soon-to-arrive son, Aly agreed to let me take a February dad-chelor party weekend and head to Mexico with birding buddy Steve (BWM). This will be my first foray into neotropical birding nirvana. So, since 2017 is looking up already, let’s get crazy. Goals for the year: 500 total year birds, 625 life list. Happy New Year everyone!!
As I sit here, the day before December 1st, the prospect of 4 months of misidentifying gulls stares down at me.
Before that begins, though, it’s worth looking back at what was a pretty nice fall. In my last post, I professed my love for Ammodramous sparrows and the love was reciprocated. While Le Conte’s Sparrows didn’t show up in the same numbers as Nelson’s (they never do), they were equally as obliging.
October also presented me the opportunity to travel to New York City and chase a couple of lifers, because that’s what birders do. I decided to wake up before my family and take a cab out to Plumb Beach, a small intertidal marsh on the south side of Brooklyn where the habitat was fantastic but the upkeep was not. Litter was everywhere and off-leash dogs were bouncing through the grassy dunes. Amid this, I was able to find 3 Clapper Rails. However, with the high tide, none chose to grace me with views; so that lifer must wait. After plodding around the edges of the marsh and getting slight glimpses of sparrow-like birds, one Saltmarsh Sparrow jumped up just long enough to fire off a couple of shots.
Returning to my Midwest metropolis, the rest of the fall played out as expected; late migrants and a few choice November rarities. The main highlights for the Chicagoland birding community were the Brant at Northerly Island and the Purple Sandpiper at Waukegan Beach. My self-designated patch for this year of birding was a south side forest preserve, a 25 minute drive without traffic. So it was particularly enjoyable when I could ride my bike five minutes, find the small goose, and be in vagrant happiness.
The Purple Sandpiper took a little more effort. Heading in to the weekend, the hawkwatchers were ready for a big movement. The forecast showed huge northwest winds coming down from the tundras of Canada. Birding Buddy Steve and I decided to set up on the roof of his apartment building on the northside of Chicago. Within 10 minutes of starting our watch, a migrating Red-tailed Hawk passed on by. In the next 180 minutes, not a single migrating raptor was seen. When you’re not seeing birds, the wind bites and the cold stings. Calling a quick audible, we drove the hour up to Waukegan and walked out on the pier for the hearty shorebird. Not more than 30 yards in, a wave hit the pier and doused us. Undeterred but, grumbling about our soaked optics, we hurriedly walked on and, only by accident, walked within 5 feet on the bird. Most birds would panic and flush but, this bird simply did not give a crap and views were subsequently crushed. After a solid 10 minutes with the bird satisfying our wildest photographic dreams, we headed back to the beach. Fraternizing with other arriving birders, Steve noticed a bird flying with great haste along the shoreline. When it got closer, it clearly had the shape of a swallow. At this time of year, Cave Swallows are the “expected rarity” along the lakefront and an Illinois review list species. While Steve confirmed the identity, I frantically tried to take a few pictures. Steve got conclusive looks; my pictures? Not so much.
So that was an exciting fall. It ended with one last dramatic flourish. Just south of McCormick place, I got wind of a Long-eared Owl hanging around the small but, productive nature sanctuary there. Within minutes of arriving, the owl was sitting on a fence post 30 feet away. Clearly hungry and hunting, I snapped off a few pictures and left to give the silent predator some room but, WOW!! My wife, being an owl freak, asked to go look for the bird the following day, Thanksgiving morning. We had 15 minutes to look for the bird until we had to return home to take a pecan pie out of the oven. In that 15 minutes, we couldn’t find the owl, nor could we find the rear window to our car. Despite not being more than 100 yards away from our car, someone managed to smash a window and grab my tripod and a couple other items out of the back of my car; not a great way to start my favorite holiday. A week later, our window has been replace and insurance is covering the stolen items, so now I’m just disappointed we missed the owl the second time around. Anyways, stolen goods shouldn’t be a problem for the next few months as the temperature plummets and the only people outside are birders, clutching their scopes with frozen fingers, searching for that pale looking gull.
I really dig Ammodramus sparrows. These smartly dressed birds are the sparrows’ answer to every person who gushes about the bright colors of warblers. The elegance of these birds is compounded by the fact that they make you work for it. Even when compared to the skulking warblers, these birds make you wander shorelines (Ammodramus is Latin for “sand runner”) hoping to catch a fleeting glimpse as they dart into thickets of grass and low shrubs. When they decide to bestow outstanding looks, that becomes the day’s headline. They must have decided to be charitable because Nelson’s Sparrows (Ammodramus nelsoni) were absolutely everywhere on the Chicago lakefront the past few weeks. Birds that often number 4-5 seen during migration were spotted in groups of 15-20, setting Cook county record high counts in the process. Le Conte’s Sparrows (Ammodramus leconteii) have just started to show up; hopefully they’ll be as generous as their sharp-tailed brethren.
The other story this fall has been the irruption of Red-breasted Nuthatches across the Great Lakes & Northeast. Having chased and missed about 9-10 times last winter, this bird has been as much of a state nemesis as I’ve had. These birds started to show up in buckets when I was still in Washington which led to the odd situation of being on vacation and having birder FOMO for birds back home. So it was with much relief that I found my state Red-breasted Nuthatch within 10 minutes of arriving at Chicago’s Park #566. That I found the bird in barren, overgrown piece of grassland gives a pretty good indication as to how common these gregarious little guys are this year.
Besides those notable occurrences, the remainder of late summer-early fall wrapped up according to plan. Warblers and shorebirds showed up on schedule, stuck around for a couple of days, and then jumped on the next weather system with winds pointed south. I’ve now started to carry a light coat when I go birding which means that the warm temperatures and humid air of summer are gone for awhile. It’s time to embrace autumn’s shorter days, arctic winds, and cheer the migrants on their southward journey.
Working our way clockwise around Olympic National Park, we had a few days to check out the interior of the peninsula. Since we knew we’d be day-hiking, we looked for a trail that would give us some solitude from the crowds. Helping achieve this goal was the fact that we never quite adjusted from Central time so we were always two hours ahead. While we found ourselves tired early, we got to experience some breathtaking sunrises. Nowhere did we benefit from this more than when we chose the hike to Mount Angeles.
We were pleased when the only car in the lot at the Hurricane Ridge visitor’s center was ours. That rare occurrence was matched with an equally rare clear sky. I don’t know how long I’d have to spend in this region to become complacent to walking above clouds but, after 5 days, it still left me astonished. Our hiking pace was modest as we stopped at nearly every overlook to watch clouds wrap over mountain peaks. For the next 4-5 hours, we could look any direction and not see another person.
This experience also reinforced a thought Aly and I started to discuss. Some parks have access roads that bring you right into the heart of the park and then you branch out from there (i.e. Yosemite). Alternatively, Olympic’s core is only accessible by backpackers and mountaineers. You can chip at the edges with day hikes but, we wished he had backpacked several days to really experience the peace and respite from modern life we seek when we go to places of amazing nature.
We finished our summit of Mount Angeles with some slightly-sketchy scrambling and down-climbing and headed back to our car. At this point, fellow trail travelers began appearing and cars became visible on roads below. As our trip was nearing its end, civilization would only become more apparent as Port Angeles then Seattle were on the docket. However, we’d squeeze in a little more birding at the Ediz Hook. A long, narrow strip of land that runs parallel to the strait, this spit is separated from the mainland by a huge paper processing plant. As we drove past the thousands of tree trunks, felled to be turned into paper, we expressed gratitude for how much of the peninsula has been preserved by the national park. I would have been so easy for the forests to all be turned into tree farms and old-growth wonders like the Hoh Rain Forest, lost forever.
The birding at the hook was good and after some obliging views of sea lions, Pigeon Guillemot, and Harlequin Ducks we started to head further east, towards our ferry to Seattle. Luckily, we were running a bit ahead of schedule and got to stop at the Dungeness National Wildlife Refuge. The spit at Dungeness is awesome and apparently the longest of its type in the country. I would love to have this place be my local patch and spend a Saturday afternoon during migration walking the 5.5 miles to the tip of the sandy land-form. Plovers and pipers were present and the forest and meadow produced several year birds and the last lifer of the trip, a Red-breasted Sapsucker. I had hoped to tour the recently restored Elwha River but, due to flood damage, most access was closed. For those who aren’t familiar with this dam removal project, check out this article, it’s hope-inspiring for those of us who live in areas where nature is always subverted in the name of growth.
This entire trip felt a little like a teaser trailer for a future trip. There were so many things we just barely explored, it left us wishing we had 3-4 weeks here rather than one. The short ferry ride into Seattle makes the Olympic peninsula seem so close that even as I now sit in Chicago, typing this, I feel like I could jump on a plane and within hours, be bounding about the green mountains or be walking endlessly on foggy shores extending indefinitely into the distance.
After bonus mountains and the pelagic, we moved to the main destination for our trip, Olympic National Park (Park lifer #32!!). Since we were already in Westport, we decided to attack the park in the clockwise fashion; working our way up the coast and then turning east to head to the inland portion. We camped out at Kalaloch (pronounced CLAY-lock, apparently) for our first nights in the park. The campground overlooks the beach with incredible views. If you stay at one of the campsites along the western edge, you’ll be able to sit next to a fire, on a rocky cliff rising majestically over the driftwood dotted beach, basking in the serene progression of time as the ocean’s waves roll in below a setting sun. Alternatively, if you’re along the eastern edge, like we were, you get to enjoy a night of logging trucks bearing down on you from 20 feet away.
Regardless, it was a comfortable campground and convenient to the Hoh Rain Forest, our next morning’s target. Being Labor Day weekend, we were not surprised to arrive and see the lot packed. Getting there early definitely gave us a little peace in the mossy forest but, there were always people around. As such, we probably rushed through the two short trails near the visitor’s center. Such is the paradox of the national parks, I suppose. They need to be popular enough so people care about them but, being too popular robs them of their magic that made them worth saving in the first place. Luckily, the Hoh Rain Forest still had plenty of magic left. The “closeness” of the forest was fascinating. The clumps of moss and lichen hanging from the trees, themselves growing up from a fern-strewn carpet, acted as sound dampers that made the trail feel more indoors than outdoors. If you closed your eyes and just listened, you’d swear you were in carpeted room.
The bird life was pretty minimal, likely due to the growing crowds, so after we got our fill of rainforest, we headed back to Kalaloch where we, unfortunately, got rained out. We passed our time sitting in the lodge, play cards and looking forward to the next day’s destination Shi Shi Beach.
Based on a tip from a friend, we added Shi Shi Beach to our itinerary (Pronounced SHY-shy, I swear I’m not making this up). Heading up the Pacific Coast, this beach is right near where the Strait of Juan de Fuca meets the ocean. The hike was a short mile or so through restored, then old-growth forest until you arrive at a hand-rope assisted descent to the beach. The beach itself is probably the source of every Olympic NP postcard that features the coast, and with good reason, it’s extraordinary. We arrived just after low tide, with millions of mussels clinging to wave-worn boulders and tide pools filled with aquatic life.
Having an inkling as to what birds my be around I started to carefully scan the coast. Climbing over some rocks to the beach just north of the Shi Shi campground, I finally found one of my main targets, a Black Oystercatcher! Eventually, as I trapezed around the boulders, searching for every patch of bare rock I could actually stand on, I was eventually able to find myself looking at nearly a dozen oystercatchers. Not only was this a lifer but, the only other time I had seen an oystercatcher was upon reviewing photographs from a previous trip and discovering a few American Oystercatcher I had missed in the field. So this was a lifer bird family, as well.
We spent several hours hanging around the beach then turned our backs to the ocean. We ended the day at the Log Cabin Lodge, alongside Lake Crescent and prepared to explore the interior of the massive park.
Living on the shores of a Great Lake is somewhat of a seabird tease. For example, Sabine’s Gulls and jaegers occur here every year but, they’re usually way offshore, a distant spec over a dark horizon. You need to be out on the right day, at the right time of year to see one, maybe a few, if the winds are right. Seeing one of those birds is cause for much celebration and toasting and almost assuredly requires documentation to your state’s ornithological records committee. Obviously, a bird being rare in one place and common in another is not unusual but, for whatever reason, pelagic birds drive me mad with bird envy. Perhaps it’s because the experience of finding, say, a storm-petrel, requires the better part of a day on a boat, heading out to the deeper parts of the ocean. Lots of people walk on shores or in fields; birders just happened to have binoculars with them while they do it. Pelagic birding trips are just such a “birder” thing to do; it’s the height of a birding obsession.
Lucky for me, Aly really enjoys pelagic birding, as well. After the balance of the birds have been seen, she’s pretty good as carving out a small corner of the boat to enjoy a nap. If anything notable comes by, she knows I’ll wake her.
We arrived on the dock at 6:00 a.m. to board the Monte Carlo, operated by fine people at Westport Seabirds. Once everyone was loaded we head out of the harbor, surrounded by fishing boats and a rising sun.
Once we moved beyond the inshore waters, Common Murres and Sooty Shearwaters started to appear. For the coastal birders, a Sooty is a bird quickly relegated to the trash bin of the day’s list. An inland birder like myself, made sure to appreciate the remarkable flying skill the shearwaters demonstrate while dodging among the waves.
After a few hours heading out, we reached the main focus of our day’s endeavor; the fishing boats. Trailing these vessels were hundreds of gulls, shearwaters, and albatrosses. As soon as one boat would begin to raise its nets, the birds would arrive and gorge on anything dropped or brought to the surface. After the initial frenzy subsided, birds would resume exploring the other boats, looking for the next human-assisted meal. Black-footed Albatross and the smartly-dressed Sabine’s Gulls rounded out the masses of California Gulls and Pink-footed Shearwaters.
After we trailed a few fishing boats, we head out closer to the continental shelf where the water conditions were more conducive to Fork-tailed Storm-Petrels. After about 10 minutes of trailing some cooking oil mixed with fish oil, the scent-guided bird arrived. Like the swallows of the sea, the minute storm-petrel dotted around the boat, eventually being joined by a second.
As we turned towards the coast, we stopped by the fishing boats to see what else might be hanging around. Our species and bird counts being a touch light, we were sure to scan the flock for the less common seabirds like Tufted Puffin, Short-tailed and Flesh-footed Shearwaters. Somewhat disappointingly, only the Short-tailed Shearwater (differentiated from Sooties by head shape and bill length) would make an appearance.
One last pelagic excursion was to see what other marine life we could locate. While we lacked that one “signature bird” to add some spark to the trip’s checklist, a group of 5 active Humpback Whales was one of the most exciting things I’ve ever witnessed. As the captain cut the engine, all on board fell silent and we were able to watch and listen to the 79,000 pound beasts breath through their blowhole and dive into the water. We talk about good looks of awesome birds as being “cripplers” as they freeze you in your tracks; I’m not sure a slang term exists for the condition of the 20 passengers on the boat that afternoon.
On our way in, we swung around the east end of the spit to look for pure Glaucous-winged and Western Gulls (in these parts, the overwhelming majority are hybrids of the two) as well as any shorebirds that might be hanging around the rocky shore. My lifer Glaucous-winged Gull would be the last addition made to my life or year lists on this pelagic trip. What I did get, however, was to see more Marbled Godwits in one place than I have ever seen. I am a huge sucker for numbers of shorebirds and at 700+ godwits, it was a satisfying end to an intense day of birding.
(As a footnote… I cannot recommend Westport Seabirds more highly. Their ship is quite comfortable and the crew is knowledgeable and accommodating. The ginger snap cookies were a welcome snack as we head out on our birding pursuits.)
Early when scheduling our trip, we had our pelagic out of Westport scheduled on our second day in Washington. However, when that outing was moved to Sunday, we were left with an extra day in our schedule. After quick review of driving times, we decided we could swing by Mount Rainier National Park. It was agreed that this would not count as our “Mount Rainier Trip” since it was only going to be about a day and a half but, that this would be a “bonus” park for our Olympic NP trip.
Busting out of Sea-Tac we made, Mount Rainier (National Park lifer #31) early in the afternoon. Rain pelted us the entire way to the visitor center. A short respite allowed us to pitch our tent and go for a short hike on a portion of the Wonderland Trail. This also gave us about 15 seconds of the 30 total we’d actually get to see Mount Rainier with out its cloud veil on. The trail was great and we made it back to our car right as the rain picked up. A bowl of soup and a pot roast later, we were in our tent.
Enjoying the time zone difference, we woke up early to get on the Skyline Trail. Once again, the visibility was pretty low but the fog created an interesting sense of closeness with landscape around you. Not more than 30 minutes on the trail, a group of 5 Sooty Grouse would establish their own sense of closeness. For a bird that has little natural defense other than its camouflage, these birds could not care in the least bit that hikers were walking 5 feet from them. True to the term, these cripplers froze Aly and I in place for at lease 15 minutes. With the sound muffled by the fog, we were able to hear their low hoots as they grazed on the mountain plants.
It’s a good thing those birds gave such great views because, in what became an unwelcome custom for this trip, birds were few and far between. However, the ones that were seen, were quite confiding.
We started looping back around for our return trip as we passed several large groups of hikers on their way to Camp Muir. I can only imagine the commotion there as no fewer than 40 backpackers, replete with rented ice axes, crampons, and $600 hiking books passed us as we lumbered around looking for rosy-finches. Although, Aly and I both admitted, jealously, that we had brought our mountaineering gear and were headed up the mountain. With lifers to stave off any disappointment, we returned to our car and our bonus time in Mount Rainier came to an end.
We drove the two hours to Westport which gave us plenty of daylight to snoop around the rocky spits for shorebirds. Feeling a bit premature, we found a few lifer alcids hanging around as well as a collection of cormorants. Getting ready to turn back, I spotted a few smaller birds hopping around the green mat of algae at the base of one of the rocks and picked up my last lifer for the day, a Black Turnstone. A quick dinner of halibut and cod on the dock and we were in bed, hoping to take advantage of the time zone difference one more time, so we’d be full of energy for the next day’s pelagic boat tour.
Bird buddy Steve and I missed out on a spring trip to southern Illinois so we settled on a late summer trip to Chautauqua NWR. Chautauqua is one of the shining examples of restored wet prairie that has been cropping up around Illinois over the past couple of decades. It’s big, the habitat is outstanding, and unfortunately, it’s difficult to bird. The downside of being such a magnet for birds is that, in order to have the uninterrupted habitat they love, the trails and observation points are kept to a minimum; bring your scope.
As per usual, we left well before sunrise and hit the road. Nearing the end of our drive, we got stuck behind a stopped train. Luckily, the detour took us by some extraordinary flooded fields that were dotted with Killdeer as far as the eye could see. On our way around this field 25 American-Golden Plovers were spotted, year bird for both of us!
Finally arriving at Chautauqua, we donned our rubber boots and slogged it across the dike at Goofy Ridge. Stupidly, I left my scope in the car but, was compensated with point-blank views of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo and a pair of Prothonotary Warblers (state bird!). Beyond that, I satisfied myself with watching the masses of pelicans and shorebirds shuffling about a hundred or so yards away. Meanwhile, Steve would remain glued to his scope looking for the rare but, expected shorebirds. Chautauqua is also one of the places in Illinois where you can get Eurasian Tree Sparrow and they are there in numbers.
Slogging back to the car, we made a quick stop down the road for better views the distant birds but, found we couldn’t get any closer. We did run in to some central-Illinois regulars who told us about the Red-necked Phalaropes hanging around another location. They also had Buff-breasted Sandpipers, the only “expected” lifer for me on this trip. Packing up, we went to the Eagle Bluff/Cross dike area. Here the birds were much closer and I remembered to bring my scope. Decent views of Black Tern, Marbled Godwit, and Black-necked stilts were nice but, off in the distance, the phalaropes were located. We dutifully noted our year tick and continued to walk across the dike.
About halfway, I went to set my tripod down and one of the legs half-collapsed inward sending my scope hurtling towards the ground, eyepiece first. The eyepiece assembly cleanly snapped off and I was back to looking at distant specs in my binoculars. Needing a walk to vent my anger at the fallen scope, I headed back to the car while Steve stayed at his post, looking for year-birds. Even though I lost my scope at probably the worst spot to do so, I walked back out on the dike and tried to enjoy the peculiar mix of birds only a place like Chautauqua can offer.
Stomachs starting to grumble a bit, we made quick work of year-bird Ruddy Turnstone and found a few fall migrants near the park headquarters. Still missing my lifer Buffy, we head to a local bar and grill for a burger, beer, and an escape from the sun. We decided we’d stop by the flooded field that yielded the Golden plovers and then, if time allowed, an occasionally birded wastewater treatment plant that we may or may not have access to.
Returning to the flooded fields, the waters had subsided from the overnight rain but, the birds were still there. After numerous scan, Steve was able to pick out 2 Buff-breasted Sandpipers about 75 yards away. Scope-less he found the birds for me in his scope so I could get a rather unsatisfying lifer. Lifers are great but, I will take drop-dead gorgeous views of a common bird over blurry, distant speck lifers most any day. But, there it was, and after a Peregrine stirred up a bunch of commotion, we decided to make a run for the El Paso Wastewater Treatment Facility.
A place only a birder would think to visit, we were shocked to find the gates wide open. In the ridiculous over-reaction to 9/11 many places of regional infrastructure that were regular stops on the birding circuit were closed. I’m not really sure what a terrorist would do with a place that is, literally, shit sitting in a pool but, the fact that we were able to drive up onto the berms along the wastewater treatment pools took us by surprise. We found one small, mostly dry pool that was absolutely loaded with shorebirds. Even better, two Buff-breasted Sandpipers were quite brazenly hanging out about 25 feet from the edge. So after all, I got my killer views even if it wasn’t my lifer. We didn’t find any new birds for the day here but, we definitely took our time to appreciate looking through our binoculars or naked eye instead of squinting into our scopes.
Tallying our checklists on the way home we pretty much got everything we came for except a Red Phalarope that had been spotted for several days leading up to our visit and Western Sandpiper, the rarest of the “regular” peeps that visit Illinois in the fall. Our buddy list was added to quite nicely and our year lists for shorebirds were mostly rounded out. Next effort will be tracking down those fall sparrows.