THE ALEUTIANISTS: WHOOPING IT UP IN ADAK

ADAK: days 1-2

The Aleutian Islands are strung out before me, like volcanic pearls on a giant string necklace, separating the Pacific to the south, from the cold and foggy Bering Sea to the north. According to the native Aleuts this is where the sea breaks its back - the ring of fire that nimbly steps out from the Alaskan peninsula on its 1,200 mile sweeping march west across the desolate sea to Russia, to the Kamchatka peninsula. 

As I gaze down on the mountains and volcanoes, and their futile vertical struggle to escape the relentless sea, I think of my own struggle this year, to see as many birds in North America as possible. A campaign that has taken me to the furthest cardinal points: icy Barrow in the north, Newfoundland to the east, and the sunbaked Dry Tortugas of the south. And so it's fitting that as I near the end of this year I'm heading to Adak, the most westerly town in North America - an island that the international date line swerves to avoid. 

I'm coming to the edge of America to look for Whooper Swans - a rare Asian swan that sometimes winters in the Andreanof Islands (the group to which Adak belongs.) And the Whiskered Auklet - a tiny black seabird with a comical crest and white whiskers that lives here year round, and is found only in the central Aleutians. 

I'm here with John Puschock, who has years of experience guiding on Adak, Bill Sain from Texas, and fellow Big Year birder Jay Lehman. 

Welcome to Adak - "Birthplace of the Winds"

There are 16 miles of "roads" in Adak, and after picking up our rental car we spend the first evening exploring those to the south. Over the past couple of weeks, locals have reported seeing 4 Whooper Swans flying between various lakes in this area. The bad news is that the island is full of lakes - the swans could be anywhere. The good news is that if they are here, it shouldn't be too hard to spot giant white birds.

The scenery reminds me of the Pribilofs - wind-swept tundra with decaying celery plants. Only here, the horizons swell up with imposing mountains and volcanoes.

 

Adak - tundra, mountains and rain clouds. WIth 263 rainy days per year, 

Adak is the second-rainiest inhabited place in the US, after Hilo, Hawaii. 

We only have a few hours before sunset, and after trying a bunch of lakes, we fail to locate any giant white birds.

No swans here.

We do however find lots of smaller white birds - Rock Ptarmigan. They're molting into their white winter plumage, which without any snow cover yet makes them currently fairly obvious...

As the sun sets on our first evening here we head to the Mexican restaurant - which apart from the bar seems to be the only place to eat in town. It's helpful if you've been here before, otherwise it's pretty hard to find in the dark...

Adak - not known for its street lighting

Despite not finding the swans in our first couple of hours here, we're in a jubilant mood (they have beer here.) We're at the edge of the American world - who knows what exciting birds are awaiting us?

The Aleutianists: John Puschock (still eating), 

Neil Hayward, Jay Lehman and Bill Sain

The next morning - and our first full day here - starts with another loop to the south, again looking for swans. While successfully not spotting any, we stop along the way to put out bird seed...

Ummm...John - I think we're gonna need a bigger feeder. 

(The store had sold out of the larger swan-size feeders.)

There are no naturally-occuring trees on Adak - it's too exposed and windy. But there are some introduced coniferous trees. The biggest concentration is at the Adak National Forest...

Adak - where 3 trees make a forest.

"We'll try Haven Lake next," says John. "They've had swans there in the past."

I'd be more excited about the last part, if John hadn't said the same thing about every other swan-less lake we've spent the morning visiting. I'm thinking a lot about John Vanderpoel and his 2011 big year. He came to Adak in Dec, looking for the same quarry as us. His flight back was cancelled (there are only 2 flights a week in and out of Adak) which gave him a whole week here. And in that week, he did not see any swans. We have 3 days.

It's a bumpy drive over the pot-holed gravel road. As we round each bend a new vista opens up, stopping the car as we excitedly scan for birds. Haven Lake is north of town, and requires a gentle rise in elevation. As we crest the top of the road, the lake suddenly appears, spread out before us. And in those initial and confusing seconds several things happen at once: I hear screaming in the car, feel the harsh application of brakes, and I see a large white bird flapping at the end of the lake. Swans! We've found the swans! There are three - an adult and two gray-colored young...

Whooper Swans - adult (left) with two young. 

Notice the large amount of yellow on the bill of the adult.

These birds breed in northern Eurasia (mainly Russia.) The east Asian birds winter in China, Korea and Japan, with a few, like these, braving the harsh Aleutian winters.

Whooper Swan - adult. 

Whoopers pair for life, and look after their young (cygnets) during the winter.

 Whooper Swan - adult (left) with cygnet (right)

After the initial shock and excitement of finding the swans, we're all speechless as we watch these graceful creatures effortlessly float around the lake. Meanwhile, back on land, there are some less graceful creatures...

Look - swans! 

 

Happy birders at Swan Lake. John's pointing at the swans behind. 

(Wait, that is his index finger, right?)

Adak played an important role for the US military in World War II. After the Japanese took control of the western Aleutian islands of Attu and Kiska, the US Army Air Force launched attacks from a base here in Adak, and successfully reclaimed the islands. After the war, the base was transitioned to the US Navy who developed a base for submarine surveillance during the Cold War. At its peak, the city of Adak housed over 7,000 personnel and families. There was a college, a school, hospital, movie theater, pool, bowling alleys, and even a McDonald's.

The end of the Cold War hostilities prompted the Navy to close the base in 1997. The facilities were transferred to the native Aleut Corporation, and the thousands of personnel that had called Adak home left. Today it's a ghost town - except for some 80 residents that live among the ruins. 

Abandoned to the elements - hundreds of houses 

serve as reminders of a once populous town.

Not much for sale in the Adak Shop these days...

Not so fast food. A McDonald's ruin.

We celebrate our swan sighting that night at the one bar in town - the Aleutian Sports Bar and Grill. It's affectionately known as the ASBAG and less affectionately known as the ASBAG.

And like the restaurant the night before, it's not an easy place to find...

Welcome to the ASBAG!

The ASBAG has all the ambience of the 1980s except for the prices.

As we're celebrating, Jay reminds me how I told him, not so long ago, that "I'm definitely not going to Adak!" As this year has progressed I've found myself in many odd places that I'd never have expected. And being in Adak in the winter is definitely one of them. But with swans, good company and the ASBAG, I could be doing a lot worse!

Stay tuned for the next trip report from the edge of the world...

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BIG YEAR LIST: 741 + 2 provisional (Rufous-necked Wood-rail, Common Redstart)

NEW YEAR BIRDS (1): Whooper Swan

ADAK. ANYONE?

I'm running out of time, and running out of places to find new birds. At least, that's how it feels. And I think I'm about to do something very crazy...

One of the inspirational voices this year for me has been John Vanderpoel and his blog. His incredible Big Year in 2011 netted him 743+1 species. He narrowly missed beating Sandy Komito's all time record of 745+3. By mid December, John realized he needed to up the ante if he was going to beat the record. So he flew to the furthest West town in North America: Adak, a tiny island in the Aleutians - closer to Russia than Anchorage. There, he hoped to see Whiskered Auklet, Whooper Swan and any stray Asian vagrants. He came away with just the Auklet.

Which brings me to the crazy thing I'm considering - going to Adak. (OK. It doesn't sound quite sound so crazy now that John's done it!) Here's why:

1. A flock of swans were seen there yesterday (seen by locals - based on distribution most likely Whoopers - which are known to winter on the island.)
2. Adak is one of the few places in North America to see Whiskered Auklet.
3. There have been several sightings of Smew this fall on Adak.
4. How cool would it be to go somewhere that remote? In the winter?

Oh - and:

5.There's a Dusky Thrush in Anchorage (back for the 3rd winter.) 

I'm thinking of going to Adak on Sunday, Dec 1st and returning to Anchorage on Thursday, Dec 5th. (There are two flights a week to Adak.) I'll be chasing the Dusky Thrush before and / or after Adak, as well as heading up to Nome to try for McKay's Bunting. Or - possibly going to Adak Thursday Dec 5th - Sunday 8th.

I'm posting this now, as I'd love some company out there in the Aleutians. This could be a great trip for anyone who wants to add these hard-to-get species to their ABA list, go somewhere truly remote, and see if I'm making all this big year stuff up! (Am I actually going to all the places that I say that I'm going to?) John Puschock of Zugunruhe Birding Tours has offered to come as a guide (he's been coming to Adak since 2004, but never in the winter.) Plus - there's a sale on air miles with Alaska Airlines. 

 If you're interested in coming, drop me a line at opororniswarbler@gmail.com

Whiskered Auklet (photo by John Puschock) - Adak, Alaska.

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BIG YEAR LIST: 736 + 2 provisional (Rufous-necked Wood-rail, Common Redstart)

650!!!

This was absolutely the wrong day for rain. This was a big, multi-transportational chase - my biggest this year - and it was raining. I was not feeling at all confident while eating my (surprisingly delicious!) Huevos Rancheros in Rockland. (Check out Home Kitchen Cafe!) Gerri and I had driven 4 hours from Cambridge to be here in time for the ferry. The ferry would take us to Vinalhaven, an island off the coast of Maine. From there, we'd be taking another, smaller boat a further hour or so to our final destination: Seal Island. And there, finally, we hoped to see the rare Red-billed Tropicbird. 

The weather wasn't on our side. But we did have one lucky charm up our sleeves - John Drury - the "Tropicbird Man." He'd been taking people out to Seal Island for the past 7 years - ever since this tropical bird - nick-named Tropi - had taken up annual summer residence here - thousands of miles north of where it should have been. The man had an almost tangible bond with the bird and we were hoping that John could work his magic today.

The ferry ride was smooth with lots of Black Guillemots in breeding plumage to keep us busy with our binoculars. An hour and a half later the ferry disgorged us into the tiny fishing town of Vinalhaven. Brightly-colored skiffs bobbed in the harbor, lobster pots crowded the quiet streets, and we felt the cool summer breeze on our sweating brows. The rain had stopped.

Vinalhaven, Maine

Amid the clapboard New England Cape houses, there's a refreshing French influence to the architecture - including where we were staying - the Payne Homestead. 

If this was Nantucket at this time of year, it would be crowded and obnoxious. But this is rural Maine at its best. No TV in the hotel (except the "TV room" which has no cable, but a VCR machine (!) with a bookcase of video *cassettes*) or internet. But plenty of friendly hospitality.

John Drury was waiting for us in his new boat, Skua. He's a tall, quiet man, who espouses shoes, small talk and knows these islands like the back of his hands. Stepping aboard, John coaxed the boat gently out of the harbor…

John Drury at the helm of Skua.

It felt almost appropriate that we were flying the Welsh flag - only one country away from my birthplace, and home to my best friend back home, Jon.

It's about an hour out to Seal Island. On our way we saw Common Eider mothers forming communal rafts, shielding the chicks hidden in the center. A new urgency to this protection has been the recent and dramatic increase in summering Bald Eagles. We saw up to 12 birds. Eider and Cormorant (including several pairs of breeding Great Cormorant) chicks provide regular and bite-size snacks for the Eagles.

After missing the Man of the Mountain in New Hampshire (the face in the rocks that fell down in 2003) we were happy to see an alternative in Maine…

Can you see the famous film director? 

Appropriately, he's among the birds (the one bird here is a Bald Eagle.)

As we reached Seal Island, we were greeted by the irresistibly-cute Atlantic Puffin. 

Atlantic Puffin. 

During spring, the bill increases in size and color which may play a part in mate selection.

As well as a pair of Long-tailed Duck in rare breeding plumage, and Common Loon…

Common Loon.

and the breeding colony of Arctic Terns:

Arctic Tern - notice the very short legs, and bright red bill.

i.e. - everything but the Tropicbird! The delightful Puffins had quelled my nerves for a while, but now they were back. Where was Tropi? There had been one sighting this year back in May. Could this be the final year of the Tropicbird? John circled the island hoping a different view would help. While we were searching we had a pair of breeding-plumaged Common Murres:

A pair of Common Murres.

Unusual this far south at this time of…."Tropicbird!" The scream comes from behind. Gerri's shouting and I almost fall out the boat in surprise! As I wheel around to see why the hell she's shouting a huge bright white bird with an impossibly long tail and blood red bill glides silently past…

I shout out too, and soon we're all shouting "Tropicbird!" Well, everyone except for the yogically calm John, who's nodding, and ready at the helm to follow the bird. After strafing a few terns the bird lands amid a group of Common Loons. We approach close enough to admire the bird:

For the next 15 mins we watch as Tropi takes off and flies among the terns. Despite its huge size, it's a surprisingly graceful flier. John explains that when the bird first arrived it wanted to roost among the terns. Must be pretty lonely being the only Tropicbird in town But the terns were having none of it, and kept chasing it away. In return, Tropi started strafing the terns and generally annoying the hell out of them. This game has gone on for 7 years, and we witnessed some of these playful interactions:

This has been one of the my most amazing birding experiences - such an enigmatic bird, and a really fun trip out to see it. I was happy to share it with Gerri - who's celebrating her birthday this week (Monday.)

Thank you Mr Tropicbird Man! Contact details for John Drury if you're interested in an awesome afternoon out in coastal Maine: 207-596-1841.

So - it's June 23rd and I've seen an amazing 650 birds! I started this year having no idea I'd be doing this. A January trip to Arizona was just a winter break from the (relatively) birdless Massachusetts. It wasn't really until March / April that the audacious thought first entered my mind: this is pretty good start - maybe I could do a Big Year? Back then, a Big Year would have been 550. As the months and birds have rolled by, I've been upping my targets - 600, 625, 650. And now I have a good chance to get into the 700s. John Vanderpoel, who saw an incredible 745 birds during his 2011 big year was at 654 by the end of June (his 650th bird - coming on June 26th.)

Anyway, back to reality. A good night's sleep on Vinalhaven (there's no return ferry after 4:30 so we're stuck on the island) and then back to Boston.

Happy Birthday Gerri! Hope you enjoyed the Tropicbird and Puffins!

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BIG YEAR LIST: 650

NEW YEAR BIRDS (2): Atlantic Puffin, Red-billed Tropicbird.