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Birders Scott and Penny set out for a two-part birding adventure. Check out what they saw in colorful detail…

Bored with the normal weekend pursuit of new yard birds, Scott and I went looking for a novel local area in which to bird.  After all it was Scott’s birthday weekend and we needed something completely different in order to celebrate.  After much head scratching, hemming and hawing, we lit upon an idea.  How about Olympia?  Washington’s state capital lies at the southern end of Puget Sound, ideally placed for winter birding along saltwater shores.  Tragically, neither of us had ever visited our state capital, but now we had a perfect reason to go.

We headed out into the dark gray rainy January morning, our mood reflecting the weather.  By the time we reached Nisqually Wildlife Refuge, a perfect rest stop on the trip, the sun had broken through and the clouds had lifted, taking our spirits upward with them.  It was just a few moments later down I-5 that we easily located Priest Point Park on the northern border of Olympia.  An old park in Western city terms, it was founded in 1905 on land formerly controlled by a missionary, hence the name of Priest Point. The park’s forested hills and slopes border Budd Inlet, a southern arm of Puget Sound.  Ellis Creek flows into Ellis Cove and Budd Inlet.  Many of the parks’ lengthy trails explore the ravines around the creek, cove, and inlet.

As a naturalist with the City of Seattle it was a bit like taking a busman’s holiday.  I cast a sad, disapproving eye on the tremendous amounts of English Ivy quickly engulfing the understory.  Everywhere it seemed trees were snugly wrapped in the death grip of this invasive.  But despite the threat of non-natives, large tracks of very old conifers tower over a relatively healthy understory.  Due to the park’s age and the steepness of the slopes, many very large and old conifers dominated the forest and skyscape.  Grand firs of immense height were circled by Bald Eagles- an unforgettable sight when viewed through binoculars or a spotting scope. The view was complemented by their sharp cries, which rang throughout the forest.  Could they be defending territories?  A good possibility, as the firs were the perfect shape, size and location for Bald Eagle nests.

We meandered for miles, enjoying the sun and joy of bumping into mixed feeding flocks of Golden-crowned and Ruby-crowned Kinglets, Chestnut-backed Chickadees, and yanking Red-breasted Nuthatches.  A quiet tapping alerted us to the presence of a Red-breasted Sapsucker.  Surely he was not alone as countless Western Red-cedar showed the neat lines of sapsucker wells from base to heavenly heights.  Every ancient, uprooted tree had a winter wren scolding and defending the new territory that winter winds had created.  Glimpses of the inlet and beach access were all used as opportunities to scan the water.  By far the most common bird on the water were Buffleheads, the males’ bright white and black heads glowing in the sunshine.  Lesser Scaup abounded and Common Goldeneye were peppered amongst the Buffleheads.

Eventually hunger drove us out of the woods. We took our picnic lunch to Percival Landing. Resting on boardwalk benches over the saltwater, we delighted in the birds of the inlet feasting on their lunch as well.  A Belted Kingfisher perched nearby making a catch of small fry every third try.  Double-crested Cormorants joined the feast in droves.  First, one was diving, then five then ten more traded places under the water.  Most beautiful of all were the Red-breasted Merganser males in spectacular breeding plumage joined by less showy females for a lunch of fish.

Follow Scott and Penny in the next installment of their Olympia birding adfventure. If you thought their morning was filled with a variety of species, just wait to see what the afternoon had in store…

“Can we go bird chasing tomorrow?!”

We are visiting Scott’s family in the tiny town of Spences Bridge, British Columbia.  His young great-nephew is eager to go birding with us again.  We have taken him out in the height of the spring and early summer when Lewis’s Woodpecker, Lazuli Buntings, and Osprey drip from the trees around the rivers.  But this is November. The birds have moved south for the winter and seeing anything is going to be a real challenge - particularly for an active 9-year-old.

But undaunted, we arm Dillon with a pair of Nikon 9×25 Travelite V Binoculars, grab our Leica spotting scope, pocket my iPhone loaded with bird apps, and head up the Thompson River to Scott’s brother Mike’s orchards.  Surely we’ll be able to find something, anything, at the Hilltop Gardens.  We venture up into a canyon above the gardens where pure mountain water burbles down through rocky walls and supports a large stand of naked trees shut down for the winter cold.

An hour later we have seen nothing, not a peep, whistle, or chip note, to be heard.  But we are undeterred.  With eagerness and energy only a 9-year-old can produce, we scrambled high on the canyon walls following Big Horn sheep trails while Scott struggled below next to the rushing stream, desperately balancing the scope as he maneuvered the narrow trail.  We stop to inspect an old mine, hoping to spy hibernating rattlesnakes; to my disappointment and Dillon’s relief, the snakes seem to be sleeping in a protected area away from our prying eyes.

Having thoroughly explored the canyon, the three of us decide perhaps the orchards near the river may have attracted some birds.  Surely the combination of water, trees, and leftover fruit will produce something… anything!  We meandered through the apple trees, scanned the river repeatedly, stepped carefully around and over the bear scat, but still nothing.  Scott and I cannot remember a time when birds were completely absent.  And now the cold and silence are taking a toll on Dillon- he is getting understandably anxious and a bit bored.  Unwilling to let this moment pass and dampen the flame of a young birdwatcher, Scott and I continue to plod along.

Suddenly Dillon spots a flash of green across the river.  Training his binoculars on movement he declares, IT’S A BIRD!  No prettier words have ever been heard.  We all scan madly and come up with five Black-billed Magpies.  After almost two hours of empty skies and desolate habitat, no bird has every looked better.  Hopping, sailing, and yakking from pine to pine, the Magpies flash their iridescence in the pale winter light.  Dillon astonishes us with his scoping skills as he focuses on each Magpie so we can all enjoy a long look.  He quickly follows individuals with the scope as they fly along the cliff face above the Thompson River - a scoping feat that took me hours of practice to achieve.  Happy and chilled to the bone, we turn toward the path home.

No sooner had we quit “birdchasing” when Dillon spots another bird.  Quickly he picks up the silhouette perched on the pine with his Nikons; positions the scope precisely on the target; and proceeds to whip out the iPhone, scroll through the bird guide apps, and locate the page for Clark’s Nutcracker.  While he is delighting in playing the calls and viewing the range map, we spot more movement in the lone pine.  Sure enough, there is a Downy Woodpecker.  Dillon repeats his modern birding technique, bin scan, scope lock, and bird app.  It is a marvel to watch his focus, energy, skill, and enthusiasm.  A Northern Flicker joins the Downy and Nutcracker in this busy tree.  Never have so few species of birds provided such an incredible reward.  With four species under our belts and the cold taking a toll on all of us, we happily end our day of birdchasing.

Bundle up. Bird bloggers Scott and Penny take us on a winter birding adventure, north of the border.

“^(!@&$%(! Hawk Owl!”

I braked sharply, sliding the car to a stop, narrowly avoiding the snow bank.  Following Scott’s shaky directions, I spied the lovely Northern Hawk Owl perched serenely on the top of a stunted pine.  Turning to look in amazement at Scott after his uncharacteristically explicative outburst, I see he is still shaking with excitement, barely able to hold his binoculars.  And rightly so… we had been exploring the Hat Creek drainage in southeastern British Columbia for hours.  Through deep 4-wheel drive snow searching high and low for birds - any birds.  And here, not only do we have a spectacular owl but a life bird for Scott as well.

Birding during the winter in eastern British Columbia gives one a whole new perspective on migration.  Birders often congregate and chase birds during migration, flocking to fallout areas of warblers, sparrows and raptors.  But on the reverse end of migration is the emptiness left behind by departing species.  The frozen north is an area for birds to leave, not to congregate.  But the species that do make their winter home in this frozen landscape are spectacular finds - giving proof to quality over quantity.

During our long winter birding expeditions in British Columbia we have been rewarded with Prairie Falcons perched on the cross bars of power poles along the highway, Short-eared Owls silently sailing over frozen ranch land, Trumpeter Swans floating serenely over the last remaining open water.  Where else could the most commonly-seen bird, Townsend’s Solitaire, be?  Each Solitaire staking out a territory of juniper bushes loaded with bitter, sweet berries; calling back in forth incessantly to each other; proclaiming their rights to this coveted winter food source.  Where, too, are birders rewarded with glimpses of Common Redpoll flocks flitting from pine to pine?  Desperate searching can turn up gold nuggets such as a Pygmy Owl, decorating the top of an evergreen, mimicking the star on top of a perfect Christmas tree.

But now all the swans and Solitaires are forgotten - we have a life owl!  Gently easing out of the car so as not to bump the Hawk Owl, we quietly set up the spotting scope.  Breathlessly we take turns gazing at this remarkable bird; its gold eyes ablaze and piercing within its black bordered white facial disc.  The Northern Hawk Owl, also known as the Canadian Owl, is one of the few diurnal owls in North America.  Their penchant for hunting during the day is a treat for us, allowing an unobstructed look into the otherwise obscured life of owls.  This owl’s style of swooping low and reemerging at the top of fence post, tree or other handy perch during active hunting is very reminiscent of Accipiters.  The pointed wings and long rounded tail add to this impression.  But the distinctly rounded head does not allow this impression to remain long.

We watched the Hawk Owl for precious moments as it hunted its way down the snowy farm lane.  Eventually it was out of sight and we were left with a life bird and a lifelong memory of the rare wonders of the Canadian winter.