HOW SOON IS NOW? THE SMITH'S LONGSPUR

As a self-confessed coffee junkie / aficionado, I've finally met my match in Washington State. I'm standing at the counter of Olympia Coffee Roasting Company, feeling under-tattooed, under hipster-dufusy, and undereducated on the bean offerings. Heck - I don't even know why the coffee needs to be ground to within fractions of a second, filtered over lab scales, and dripped into Erlenmeyer flasks. But I do know it tastes heavenly!

My caffeine nirvana is interrupted by news from the interwebs - the Smith's Longspur was just seen this morning. Damn my inability to get out of bed while it's still dark! But at least that means the bird is still there / alive / willing to pose for birders.

I arrive at Ocean Shores and meet some birders who arrived after the initial sighting and haven't seen it (yet.) I'm hoping this initial early morning sighting and then disappearing until evening isn't a pattern for this bird. While I'm waiting, stomping around the marsh grass, there's plenty of other birds to watch...

Red-necked Phalarope - these birds breed in the high Arctic, on shores in Canada and Alaska. It's heading south to spend the winter at sea in the southern hemisphere. 

(Western Sandpipers in the background.) 

Peregrine Falcon - taking a break from chasing sandpipers. 

This is a juvenile bird (adults are steel blue above.) 

The pale eyebrow and spotting suggest this is the northern tundrias subspecies.

And then the weather starts getting worse. Then really worse. And then un-birdable (rain, 30 mph winds, no birds, slight to moderate chance of planet-destroying apocalypse.) Those of us still holding vigil decide to leave and come back later. For me, that means a much-needed caffeine injection in distant Aberdeen. It also means an unintentional 90 minute sleep as I pass out in the car (thankfully parked *outside* of Starbucks and not *on the drive* there. When are we getting those robotic flying cars?) 

Not that I've missed much while being comatose. When I get back to Ocean Shores, the weather is even worse, if that's possible. It's early afternoon, and I'm calling it quits for the day. Beaten again by the pesky Longspur.

Smith's Longspur 2 - Neil Hayward 0

As I'm sitting in the car at Ocean Shores, being rocked by the howling wind, I have 2 crazy thoughts:

(1) to check the forecast for tomorrow morning, to see what I would be missing as I'm flying to Alaska: apparently 5mph winds and no rain (seriously?);

(2) to delay my 6am flight for later in the day (Alaska Airlines only charges $25 for a later flight.) 

That's it! I'm staying. I'm going to spend the night at Ocean Shores and give the bird one last try in the morning and endanger my mental health if I miss it.

Not too rainy for State Capitol ticks - Olympia at sunset.

I wake up before dawn with one pesky Longspur, a 3 hour drive and a flight to Anchorage ahead of me. I'm relieved to find Ocean Shores is calm and dry. Perfect weather for Longspur hunting. But wait - there's a new type of weather…

Fog. Just when you thought it was safe to go birding in Washington.

The fog sticks around most of the morning, making it hard to see much ("much" of course includes the Smith's Longspur.) 

And then, after an hour of waiting, I suddenly hear it: the dry rattle I've been waiting 3 days for. I look up as a long-tailed bird, silhouetted against the low ceiling of fog, bounds off into the distance. That's it! The call is diagnostic for Smith's Longspur - but what a lousy view of the bird. 

I stick around, hoping for better views, and am joined by local birder - Rolan Nelson. Forty-five minutes later, we get a repeat performance of the flight call. But this time I'm able to follow the bird to a distant log, half hidden in the long grass. I run like crazy, getting close enough for a distant scope view…

Smith's Longspur. Warm cinnamon-brown body tones, and distinctive Longspur shape and posture. The diagnostic bright white outer 2 tail feathers are completely hidden on the perched bird. Notice the longish primary projection on this bird.

We watch the bird for 5 minutes before it leaps into the air, calling and showing its white outer tail feathers. It makes a wide circle over the entire area before dropping down into the short, muddy area. Another quick sprint, and I'm 10 feet from a feeding Longspur…

Smith's Longspur.

Like many birds this year, patience finally pays off. After 3 days of tracking the bird down, it's incredibly confiding. It's a real treat being able to watch it feed right next to me, picking at the long vegetation and occasionally sticking its head up, periscope-like to scan the horizon for danger.

Here's a movie of the bird feeing in the grass...

Smith's Longspur feeding in the grass - the movie!

And that's it for Washington! Thank you Pacific Northwest for 3 great birding experiences - the chimney of roosting Vaux's Swifts, the ferry over to Vancouver Island for Sky Lark, and the chase for the Longspur.

I'm jetting off to Anchorage today, and then to Gambell, St Lawrence Island tomorrow. I guess that means it's officially fall.

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BIG YEAR LIST: 705

NEW YEAR BIRDS (1): Smith's Longspur

WHAT A LARK!

It's late afternoon and I'm running out of options.

"I'd allow 3 hours"

This is Hans de Grys' suggestion for time allocation in chasing the Sky Lark on Vancouver Island. This is great advice. Fantastic advice except for the numerical part: it's now 7 hours and I still haven't seen or heard a Sky Lark. 

The Sky Lark is a European bird. Growing up in the UK, in a village surrounded by fields, it was a familiar bird of my childhood. An otherwise nondescript brown bird, it comes to life during spring when it flutters high above the ground, so high it almost disappears into a tiny dot, and delivers a continuous, liquid song. It's the background music to pastoral England. Well - it was 30 years ago. Today, it's estimated there's only about 10% of that population - a reflection of changing agricultural practices (especially planting cereal crops in the winter rather than the summer thus depriving the birds of open fields during the breeding season.)

So - what's it doing over here? Barely surviving - that's what. After many failed attempts in the 19th century to introduce the bird onto mainland USA, it finally took hold in 1903 on Vancouver Island, Canada. It gradually spread south to the San Juan Islands (WA state) and east to the Canadian gulf islands. By 1965 there were over 1,000 birds. Since then, its decline has largely mirrored that in the UK, and for many of the same reasons. Today it's only found on Vancouver Island - at the airport, the Vantreight bulb fields and the Martindale Valley. 

To Vancouver Island. 

(Not all these people have come for the Larks)

I arrived on the ferry this morning and I've been spending the day alternating between not seeing the birds at the airport and not seeing them at the bulb fields. Admittedly, this isn't the best time to be looking for this bird - they've stopped singing, and haven't formed winter flocks yet. 

Vancouver Island airport. A certified Sky Lark free zone today.

It's 5pm, I'm back at the bulb fields desperately scanning through plowed fields, becoming more and more anxious as the sun moves closer to the horizon. In the back of my mind I'm resigned to spending the night on the island, which means being forced to repeat the agony again tomorrow. And even further back in my mind is the prospect of having to come back later in the year if I strike out tomorrow.

The Vantreight bulb fields. Another popular spot today for not seeing Sky Larks.

"What are you looking at?" A car pulls up next to me. They must be wondering why anyone would have a telescope pointing at the middle of a muddy field.

"Nothing" I only just manage to omit the adjectival profanity. "Absolutely nothing. I was hoping for Sky Lark. I've been here all day." And will be tomorrow, I think.

"Oh. That's not good! Let me call a local guide - I think they've seen them recently." She's a birder. And a birder with connections. Her name is Carolyn. And she just may be my savior today.

"OK. So, the bad news is they're not here. Or anywhere, pretty much - apparently they only recorded 17 singing males this year." 17! Yikes. 

"The good news is that they were seen a few days ago at a different field." Finally some good news.

Carolyn very kindly drives to the correct field with me following. We spend a few minutes checking before she has to leave and I thank her for leading me in the right direction. Again, I'm blown away by how friendly and helpful local birders have been in my travels this year.

It's a very scraggly field, and almost impossible to see the ground - and thus the birds. But at least I know where to look. And I have the whole of tomorrow. I walk around the edge hoping to catch sight of movement, and then I hear it - a sound I haven't heard for over a decade. It's a partial song of the Sky Lark. I look around, and spot a bird flying low across the field - on bowed, fluttery wings showing white trailing edges and white on the edges of the tail. And then it's gone - deep in the scraggly.

And then I hear it - the liquid trill of the Sky Lark. I look around, and there's a bird flying low across the field, showing a white rear edge to the wing and white on the sides of the tail. And then it's gone - down into the scraggly stuff. 

Sky Lark! Wow. Phew. I try looking for it on the ground, but never succeed. I have to do with another quick flight view, and that's it.

Time for another gratuitous photo of a field with no birds.
This one though actually has the larks. Well, one of them.

Maybe today wasn't so much of a surprise. This whole month has been tough with the birds really making me work for them (Blue-footed Booby, Snowcock, Mountain Quail, Herald Petrel...) I guess that's what happens when you get to the 700s. I'm running out of the easy ones.

I race back to the ferry and the relief of being connected to civilization again (I didn't take out a second mortgage to activate my phone for use in Canada so I'm reliant on the free wifi on board.)

As soon as I turn my phone on, I find out that the Smith's Longspur was seen again today. Damn that bird! Seriously! I was really looking forward to a relaxing day tomorrow of blog writing and drinking lots of coffee (hey - this is Seattle, where they pretty much invented the stuff. At least the good stuff.) Now I have to go chase this bird again, which means a lot more driving. This bird is quickly ruining the relaxing part of my trip. 

So, rather than spend the night in Vancouver, I drive as far south as I can before falling asleep. I get to Tacoma and set my alarm for an early start tomorrow.

And thank you Carolyn. You saved my day!

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BIG YEAR LIST: 704

NEW YEAR BIRDS (1): Sky Lark

SMITH'S LONG SHOT

I'm in Washington State, 4 days before my flight to Alaska and St. Lawrence Island. I'm here for a couple of geographically-convenient targets birds: Vaux's Swift (my last code 1 bird of the year) and Sky Lark. As I'm on my way, I hear from my local Big Year friend, Hans de Grys, that there's a Smith's Longspur out at Ocean Shores. It's quite a rarity out here (they breed in central Alaska) and is attracting a lot of attention from state listers. And from me - it would save a trip down to the grasslands of Oklahoma this winter. A trip I'd be more than happy to miss!

As I land, I check the local listserv (rather cutely called Tweeters) and find the bird was seen first thing this morning. Fantastic! I have enough time to get the Longspur first, and then head back to Seattle for the Swifts. I'll have plenty of time to relax before Alaska and catch up with Hans.

Ocean Shores forms the northern entry to Grays Harbor, a vast estuary of the Columbia River south of the Olympic peninsula. It's the second time I've made the 3-hour drive this year (the first being for Rock Sandpiper back in February.) The road gets narrower, windier and slower until I finally arrive at the wind-strewn beach that is Ocean Shores.

Welcome to Ocean Shores!

There's a good number of birders there when I arrive. And most of them are leaving. There are generally two types of leaving in birding: (1) you've seen the bird and you're happy to leave; (2) you can't find the bird and are giving up and need to get home to feed the kids / feed the pets / it's already 2 hours later than you said you'd be home (honey) / you've realized this is a ridiculous hobby, this is the last bird you're ever chasing and you're going to take up knitting instead. From the dejected faces, I could tell this was the bad kind of leaving. It's not long before I hear the scuttlebutt -  a dog walker came after the first sighting and they (presumably the canine part of the double act) scared the bird off. Despite much stomping around in the short grass, the bird has not been seen since. Damn!

I spent an hour walking around the short grass, mainly to reassure myself that it really wasn't here (it wasn't!) and then gave up. 

Peregrine Falcon - probably not helping in the Longspur (no) show.

Eight hours later, I arrive back in Seattle. OK - it was really 4 hours - but based on much empirical data I'm aware of a multiplier effect (of at least 2) after missing a bird that makes the drive back seem much longer. And even with the novelty effect of Kurt Cobain having grown up there, Aberdeen is still not the most exciting place through which to drive. 

Frank Wagner Elementary School in Monroe is famous throughout the US birding scene as a roosting site for migrating Vaux's Swifts. The loss of their natural roosting sites - big hollow Douglas Firs - has concentrated the birds in man-made structures such as chimneys, which provide an internal surface on which the birds can cling (swifts cannot perch, they can only hang.) It's one of only seven sites down the west coast which support the vast majority of migrating swifts, most of which have recorded up to 20,000 birds in a single evening.

Monroe Elementary School - with the chimney in the background.

(The chimney is no longer used, but has been preserved for the swifts.)

I arrive in Monroe an hour before sunset, and as soon as I get out of the car I hear swifts above me. They look like the cigar-shaped Chimney Swifts of the east coast (and one of about 5 birds that appears on my paltry yard list) but the call is much softer and sweeter.

Vaux's Swift. Notice the cigar-shaped body and the crescent wings.

For the next hour the birds continually swirl over the school in a giant seething mass. They're in constant contact with each other chattering away high above me. Occasionally one makes a  sortie for the chimney, diving straight for the opening only to pull away at the last minute. The latter activity increases steadily towards dusk - they're either practicing the approach for the actual landing, checking to make sure the chimney is safe, or just having a lot of fun!

As it starts to get dark, and the birds are presumably convinced that all their friends are there, they suddenly start entering the chimney. Again they hurtle towards the opening, as a column of birds, then put the brakes and gently flutter in. They reverse direction in doing so, from head-first to tail-first. If you drove past this, you'd think they were bats. 

Vaux's Swift funneling into the chimney for the night. 

Swifts spend the whole day on the wing, never perching. They must be pretty tired!

And within 5 minutes they're gone! Inside, they're hanging from the walls and are packed like shingles. By overlapping each other like this they're able to conserve body heat and enter a state of torpor for the night, like hummingbirds (bizarrely their closest relative in the avian world.) The camera at the top of the chimney counts the number of swifts roosting each evening - tonight it's 728. 

Swifts entering the chimney - the movie.

As the darkness becomes complete I head off north, ready for my trip tomorrow to Vancouver Island, Canada. I'm going for one of the last exotics on my list - the Sky Lark, a bird introduced from Europe. And like many of the exotics, it's not doing so well.

Oh - and I guess the dog didn't do such a great job of scaring the Longspur away. It was seen this evening, sitting on a log posing for pics. Damn! Now, where did I put those knitting needles?

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BIG YEAR LIST: 703

NEW YEAR BIRDS (1): Vaux's Swift