Great Gray Owls--Ghosts of the North

One of the great things about winter birding is that every year is different and you never quite know how far south different species of birds will travel in search of food. Summer species are mostly predictable, as species typically return to the same nesting habitat each year since each species has fairly specific requirements for nesting. Finding a good place to nest requires the right type of vegetation, a good source of high-protein food for nestlings, and protection from predators. But in winter each species is only focused on one thing--finding enough food to survive the winter so that it can breed again next year. The availability of food changes each winter based on the cycles of temperature and precipitation, and thus determines how far a bird may have to migrate to find these food sources. Most of our insectivorous species have to travel to tropical climates where insects are available year-round, but frugivores (fruit-eating birds), granivores (seed-eating birds), carnivores, and omnivores can usually find year-round food sources in or near their breeding habitat and won't migrate south unless conditions such as drought or extreme cold diminish their food sources. When food becomes scarce non-migratory species will slowly move their range south in search of a reliable food source. For some species, such as Redpolls, this happens regularly, on a fairly predictable 2-3 year cycle, but for other species the cycles are much less predictable, and may only happen every 5-10 years. One such species is the Great Gray Owl, which relies mostly on voles and other small rodents to get through the winter. Rodents are prolific breeders, so they tend to be abundant year-round, but occasionally the lack of food will cause rodent populations to crash, forcing the Great Gray Owl out of its northern boreal forest habitat and into areas where rodents are still abundant. Surprisingly one of the best places for an owl to find a good supply of rodents this time of year is the bustling metropolis of Montreal.

A Great Gray Owl, photo from owling.com

About a month ago reports of Great Gray Owls throughout Quebec started appearing on birding list-serves, mostly from urban parks that are in and around Montreal. Great Gray Owls need open fields to hunt, and mature trees to hunt from, which many of Montreal's parks provide. The last Great Gray Owl invasion was eight years ago, in 2005, when there were dozens of them across the city. The greatest concentration of them was on Ile Bizard, an island on the northwest side of Montreal, that has a large nature park surrounded by suburban housing--perfect rodent habitat. In 2005 I had just moved to Plattsburgh, only an hour from Montreal, and so I made the trip up there to see the owl invasion. It was an incredible experience, Great Gray Owls seemed to be everywhere, I saw at least half a dozen that day. Even more amazing was how close you could get to them, you could practically walk right underneath them and they still wouldn't leave their perch. Being such a large bird, 70-80cm in length and a wingspan up to 152cm, they don't take flight unless absolutely necessary due to the energy involved, so they just stay perched most of the day. Since they aren't hunted and have few natural predators they don't seem to feel threatened by humans, they simply stare at you as you walk by with their gorgeous yellow eyes. Then they look quickly look away and return to what they were doing before you disturbed them--using their incredible senses to listen for food. Though owls have excellent eyesight it is near impossible to spot a rodent in snow-covered fields so they rely on sound instead to find rodents burrowing beneath the snow.The disk-like appearance of a Great-Gray Owls face serves a purpose--the arrangement of the feathers funnels sound into the owl's ears, making its hearing keen enough to hear a vole tunneling beneath a foot of snow. When they hear a vole they take to the air with very slow stiff wingbeats and then glide silently over the field so that they can use their ears to pinpoint the vole's exact location before it plunges into the snow to capture its prey. Their silent flight has earned them the nickname "Ghost Owl", because they glide like a ghost over the field, undetectable by their prey.

The Great Gray Owl near Cap St Jacques, Montreal.
 Photo by Eric D'Amour

Such a cool creature is certainly worth making a second trip to Montreal to see, eight years later, so this past weekend I assembled a car full of birders to ride with me across the border in search of one of these amazing birds, two of which had never seen a Great Gray Owl before. Any trip to Quebec is quite the adventure, as navigating the streets with french names, exits in french, and Quebec drivers makes driving a little challenging. Throw in a few inches of snow and it's downright dangerous, but we had cancelled the trip the weekend before due to freezing rain so I was determined not to cancel again. We crossed over the border with no issue--I find that when you tell the border officials that your purpose is birding they ask very few questions after that, since who would make up such a thing? A generous birder in Montreal had e-mailed be detailed directions to some of the recent sightings of the owls in and around Montreal, so with the help of google we headed along the snowy streets toward the west side of Montreal to begin our quest. One of the places the owls had been reported was Blvd Gouin, which happens to be the route to Ile Bizard, so we started there but had no luck along the road so we continued over to the nature park on Ile Bizard. At the park we were told that a Great Gray Owl was sighted the previous day along one of the nature trails, about a half mile in, so we decided to give that a try. The region was blanketed in about 1-2 feet of snow, with about 4" of fresh snow from the previous night, so everyone in the bustling park was on skis or snowshoes--except us. It was fairly laborious to trudge along the snowshoe path, so we didn't venture very far before we encountered a photographer, also on foot, who informed us that she didn't have any luck finding the owl today. Pressed for time we headed to our next destination, Cap St Jacques, where 3-4 owls had been seen the previous weekend. We weren't sure what Cap St Jacques was, but it turned out to be a very lovely park located on a small peninsula that juts out into the St. Lawrence River. The park had numerous ski, snowshoe, and foot trails and was bustling with people. The nicest asset of the park was that even the foot trails were groomed--packed down so that literally anyone could enjoy the park in the winter. At the visitor center we were informed that owls had in fact been seen, but that "it was up to us to find them". We weren't sure with the language barrier whether they didn't know where they were, or if they just didn't want to tell us, as some people are hesitant to disclose an owl's location since the owls are often harassed by photographers who try to flush the birds or even bait them with mice in order to get the perfect shot. So we set off blindly and hiked for about 2 hours in the park with no signs of any owls. The only birding highlight was a flock of about 80 Bohemian Waxwings, which are always a treat to see. We had directions to another owl in Laval, but by the time we returned to the parking area we only had about an hour of daylight remaining, not enough time to drive to Laval. We started thinking about finding overnight accommodations for the four of us, like how cheaply we could rent a room and who would sleep on the floor, so that we could try again tomorrow. But before giving up completely we decided to keep driving around the island, aimlessly at this point, hoping to see something. So from the park we turned left to continue down Blvd Gouin, hoping to find some open fields along the way. About ten minutes into our drive someone yelled "what's that?!" and I looked up to see the silhouette of a very large bird perched in the top of a tree across an open field. We all jumped out of the car overflowing with excitement to see a Great Gray Owl, perched patiently about 1000 feet away.

The Great Gray Owl gliding across the field at dusk

After exchanging high-fives we all set up our spotting scopes and took turns admiring the owl as it sat in the tree across the field, constantly turning its head to look and listen for prey. Owls hunt mainly at dawn and dusk, and being only minutes from sunset we were treated to a fine display of its hunting abilities. Within a few minutes the owl flew from its perch and glided low over the field for about 100 feet before plunging into the snow after its prey. Due to a hump in the landscape we were unable to see what it had captured, but it appeared to be a successful plunge because a few minutes passed before the owl returned to its perch. We watched it make a few more hunting attempts, in complete awe of its appearance, which really was like a ghost drifting through the air. We spent about 20 minutes watching the owl before the light began to fade and we headed back to our car, thrilled by our success.

When I returned home and reported my sighting to E-bird I saw that 8 other owls were reported in Montreal that same day, including 2 others in the area where we had been. It seems that either numbers of owls are increasing or more birders are seeking them out, but either way it seems the chances of finding one are fairly good. So if you have a passport, a day off, and a map of Montreal I highly recommend making the trip up there to see these owls, as it may be another 8 years before they're seen again.

One Lost Common Pochard and Dozens of Lost Birders on Lake Champlain

This past week has turned out to be one of the most exciting weeks for birding that I've had in a long while, even more exciting than the four Christmas Bird Counts that I did in December. The experiences of the past week have inspired me to write not only about birds, but about the little understood pastime of "birding" as well. To this point I've focused this blog mainly on hiking and birding from a naturalist's point of view, but for this entry I'm going to remove my naturalist hat and put on my "birder" hat, which has gotten a little dusty in recent years.

To preface this blog I think a few terms, including "birder", may need some clarification. Birdwatching has become a very popular hobby in recent years, and refers to anyone who has a general interest in birds. Many birdwatchers spend most of their hobby admiring common backyard birds, such as the chickadees and cardinals that visit their feeding stations. Some birdwatchers learn most or all the species in the area they live in, by sight or by call, and keep a list of the birds they see. Avid birdwatchers know the species where they live and may travel to see new species as well, keeping lists wherever they go and reporting their sightings to other birdwatchers or on-line databases such as e-bird. An avid birdwatcher takes the time to seek out birds for the pure enjoyment of them, admiring even the most common birds, usually as part of another outdoor activity such as hiking or kayaking. A "birder" takes it one step further, turning the hobby of birdwatching into a sport that can sometimes be competitive. Listing birds become more complicated and breaks into multiple lists such as life list (master list of species seen in a lifetime), state list (species seen within the state), county list (species seen within the county in which the birder resides), and year list (species seen in each given year so that a new list can be started with the new year). Birders are driven by listing, always looking for a species to add to one or more of their lists. Some birders compare their lists with others via birding clubs, a select few strive to have the biggest lists of all. Each year there are dozens if not hundreds of people chasing birds in the name of having a "Big Year"--seeing more birds than anyone else in a given state or even the entire country in one year (last year a movie called "The Big Year" was released, a comedy about birders doing just that). Birders never stop birdwatching, our eyes are always on the sky and our ears are always listening for calls. While everyone else is eating lunch at the family picnic a birder is tuned to the calls of the half-dozen  species of birds in the nearby trees, or watching a sparrow hop around the bushes. We've seen all the common species, most of the uncommon species, and are always hoping to see a rare species. "Rare" has it's own series of classifications, the American Bird Association rates how rare a bird is with a 1-6 scale, with code 6 being the rarest (and virtually meaning the species is thought to be extinct). The internet makes it easier than ever to hear about rare species, as there is a code of ethics among birders to share rare bird reports with others, which they can now do within seconds via smartphones.

For a better explanation of
birding just rent this movie

The most extreme of all the birders, the ones competing with other birders, will do just about anything to see a really rare bird. A competitive birder will skip work and drive 300 miles if a code 5 bird is reported. A select few with the means to do so will even hop on a plane to see a bird that hasn't been seen in the U.S. in 20 years. I consider myself a birder and a fairly competitive person, but I don't consider myself a competitive birder. When a rarity is reported I carefully weigh such factors as the likelihood that I will see it and how much gas money it would cost me. Generally I only look for rarities within an hour of where I live, which may happen once or twice a year. Luckily for me the rarest bird in the United States this week according to the ABA website was located less than an hour away--a Common Pochard on Lake Champlain. While it only has an ABA rare bird rating of 3 because a breeding population in Alaska uncommonly appears on the west coast, it is only the second sighting in history of the bird being seen in the eastern U.S., though the species is widespread in Europe and Asia. Seemed worth the gas money to me.

Juvenile Glaucous Gull, like the one seen at Crown Point

The bird was first reported Wednesday, so on Thursday I convinced a friend of mine to skip work (as birders do) to go look for the bird. The bird was first spotted from the new Crown Point bridge in a raft of thousands of ducks that spend the winter on Lake Champlain. In addition to the Pochard there were also reports of many other uncommon species, such as Tufted Ducks and Barrow's Goldeneye, both of which are also Eurasian species that are regularly found mixed in with more common like species like Common Goldeneye and Ring-necked Ducks. There were also reports of a Glaucous Gull, which would be a new life bird for me, so I was hoping to see at least one of these species on our trip to make it worth while. We arrived at the Crown Point bridge to find that the below-zero temperatures of the night before caused much of the lake to freeze, so there weren't any ducks to be seen there. We had heard however that there was a state park another mile up the lake on the Vermont side where it was suspected that the duck might move to, so we headed there. The road by the entrance to the closed park was lined with about a dozen cars with license plates from DE, NJ, MA, VT, and NY, as the Pochard sighting had drawn birders from all over. As we walked into the park about a dozen birders were walking out with looks of disappointment--no one had been able to locate the bird that day. When we got to the edge of the lake we found that a few people were still looking, including four birder friends of mine from Saranac Lake, and together we searched the flock of about 2000 birds in the hopes of finding the Pochard or any of the other uncommon duck species. We didn't have any luck with the ducks, but we were treated to flyovers of a Northern Goshawk, a Peregrine Falcon, and at least a half dozen Bald Eagles while at the park, all impressive sights. I resigned to the fact that I wasn't going to see a life bird on this journey and headed back to NY. But lo and behold a little bit of luck struck me as we were crossing the Crown Point bridge back to NY when a Glaucous Gull flew right over our car, giving me a clear view of it's pale white plumage below and pale speckling above. To me that was just as good as seeing a Pochard, maybe even better, as it's really one of the prettiest gulls and I could add it to my life, state, and Essex county lists.

Common Pochard male photo from its native Europe 

In the days that followed birders continued to come out by the dozens, possibly hundreds, to search for the Pochard, but those who came Thursday and Friday were disappointed despite all the eyes and spotting scopes that were searching for this bird all over the lake. Fortunately on Saturday the ice receded a little and the bird was spotted again from the bridge, bringing a whole new wave of birders to look for the bird on Sunday, including my friend and I to give it another go. Along the way we stopped to scan the lake at the pier in Port Henry, where there were thousands of ducks but terrible lighting with the early morning sun. As we scanned the raft of ducks my friend found one duck that looked like a possible Pochard, but it's head was tucked and the lighting was terrible so we continued on to the bridge. When we got to the bridge there were about 15 people standing on it with spotting scopes, but no one had yet found the bird. After about 20 minutes we were pondering where to go next when an SUV pulled up behind us and informed us that the Pochard was sighted at the Port Henry pier where we just were. It was quite the sight to watch how fast everyone cleared that bridge and got into their cars to drive the 10 miles to Port Henry! Most people were from out town and therefore needed directions to this new spot, which we quickly shared and then headed on our way. The pier that had only one other birder on it this morning was now bustling with  cars and people, which continued to pour in as word got out about the bird's location. With thousands of ducks on the lake I expected the bird would be way offshore with the other diving ducks and that we'd barely have a view of it, but instead the bird was only 50 feet from shore with a flock of Mallards and we had amazing looks! When we first got the bird in the spotting scope it had its head tucked in, hiding the bill that makes it distinctive from other like species. I sat there chuckling at how oblivious this bird was to all the commotion that it was causing, completely unaware that people had driven hundreds of miles to see it. More entertaining than the bird itself really was the spectacle of birders gathered at that pier, how everyone gasped when he finally lifted his head to reveal his two-toned bill, and how everyone lifted their heads up from their scope in unison when the bird dove underwater. By the time we left the crowd had grown to 50+ people, and probably grew even larger as the day went on. The few local birders there were well outnumbered by people from New York City, New Jersey, and New England. The bird even drew a team of birders from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, who managed to get some excellent pictures of the bird to confirm the sighting, one of which caused a bit on controversy...

This photo by Larry Master (masterimages.org) shows the
metal leg band on the Pochard

When "listing" birds there are rules to follow, such as the bird has to be alive and free, not restrained in any way, and not brought there by human means. So one of the questions that pops up with extremely rare birds, especially species such as waterfowl that are often kept as pets, is whether the bird wandered over from Eurasia or whether it may have escaped someone's private collection. While we were viewing the Pochard something spooked the flock and the bird took off and flew a few hundred feet, and in that moment one of the birders from Cornell snapped a photo of the bird that revealed something no one wanted to see--a leg band. Any bird raised in captivity has to be issued a band to prove that it wasn't illegally imported, so the presence of a leg band means the bird most likely escaped from a nearby collection, making it not wild and disqualifying it from "lists" by ABA rules. The matter hasn't been settled yet, as there is still the possibility that the bird was banded in the wild as part of a scientific research project while on its breeding grounds in northern Europe where banding (known there as "ringing") is quite common. Such a  debate has been heating up the birding message boards for the past 24 hours and is likely to go on for some time.

The Pochard as I saw it through my friend's scope,
image was digiscoped by Eric D'Amour

Since I'm not competing with anyone else's lists it doesn't much matter to me what the official ruling is, whether the bird is accepted as wild or not. I put it on my life list because I saw the bird, and I'll keep it there regardless of what the official referees decide. It was a beautiful bird to see, and the experience of seeing it with so many others was really quite exciting. If it weren't for an important NFL playoff game at 1:00 I would have stayed there all day just for the experience of meeting people and sharing the experience with others. Being a birder makes you an outcast in most situations, so it's always a welcome experience to meet so many other people with the same unusual passion. And wild or free it still makes for a great story that I'll be able to share with other birders for years to come.