Bhutan: the Paro Valley and the heights of Chelela
This is the fourth and last post covering my recent trip to Bhutan with Eagle-Eye Tours, describing a couple of days in the far west of the country. The Paro Valley (where the country’s only airport is located) has some great birding locations, the best of which is Chelela, the high pass between Paro and Haa.
April 12: Wangdue Phodrang to Paro
Finally, a relaxed morning! We left the Tiger’s Nest Resort at 0730 and drove straight to the Royal Botanical Park for an hour and a half of good birding. A Rufous-bellied Woodpecker provided good views for all those who had missed it way back in Trongsa, and a pair of Darjeeling Woodpeckers were also cooperative. Across the road, three Hoary-throated Barwings put in a timely appearance. We stopped a short way up the highway to make one last attempt for Ward’s Trogon—no luck, but we did get great views of a pair of Black-winged Cuckoo-Shrikes. We had lunch at Dochula, where the rain came down and birding was slow, but we had another good look at yellow-throated martens. After lunch we drove straight on to Paro, marvelling at the new highway we’d driven on the first day without appreciating its true meaning. At times we were going 60 kilometres per hour!
After checking into the historic Olathang Hotel (any Bhutanese hotel dating back to the 1970s is certainly historic) most of us boarded the bus again, not wanting to miss the prime birding spot in Paro, the local landfill. The Paro landfill is located right on the river’s edge, and comes complete with a small marsh. We immediately spotted one of our targets—a Black-tailed Crake foraging right out in the open, quickly joined by another! A short walk up the side channel produced at least three Solitary Snipes, a Green Sandpiper and a Common Sandpiper. I was surprised to see that the Paro River had been radically altered by flood events in the past three years—the bridge I had crossed to see my first Ibisbill in 2007 was totally destroyed and the channel itself seemed rather unsuitable for Ibisbills.
April 13: Chelela
Today was our final full day in Bhutan, so we bit the bullet and got up shortly before 0400 and were off to Chelela, the highest pass on our tour. The target for the day was simple: find a Himalayan Monal. The sky began to lighten as we drove up and up and a couple of Kalij Pheasants signalled the start of the pheasant watch. After that it was all Blood Pheasants—we saw at least 15 of them on the roadside and had great looks. But no monals. By the time we reached the pass (3988 metres elevation) the sun was up, sparkling on the fresh snow that had fallen yesterday. We decided to drive a short distance over the pass towards Haa, so continued on, our eyes fixed on the roadside. Suddenly, there it was! A male monal exploded of the roadbank and soared below us in a long arc, its spectacular iridescent plumage glowing in the morning light. It was such a rewarding view—the red tail, the white back, the blue-green body, the erect crest.
Male Blood Pheasant
Elated, we walked for about a kilometre below that point and the birds cooperated. A small flock of Himalayan (Altai) Accentors foraged on the bank, mixed with larger numbers of Plain Mountain-Finches. Mixed species flocks of tits, Eurasian Treecreepers and at least four Red-flanked Bluetails moved through the small trees. We had breakfast on the roadside, then drove back up to the pass. At a big yak pasture we saw more than a dozen Eurasian Blackbirds, obviously a migrant group heading north—this species can be hard to find in Bhutan. Back on the sunny side of the pass we managed to find a singing male White-browed Rosefinch, then a male Common Rosefinch. The clouds to the north parted long enough for magnificent views of Tsherimgang and Jomolhari, two of the sacred mountains of Bhutan. One last stop in the upper forests produced a lovely surprise—a male Collared Grosbeak. We were back to the hotel for lunch, then had some serious shopping time in the stores of Paro. Before supper we drove up the valley for views of the amazing Tiger’s Nest monastery, then on to the end of the road at the ruins of the Drugyel dzong. There, a Eurasian Hobby flew around the walls, perching on the huge cypress trees next to the ruins. We had a nice farewell dinner in a restaurant in Paro, giving us an opportunity to thank Rinchen and Namgyel for all their work over the past two weeks.
April 14: Paro to Kathmandu
We had an early flight to Kathmandu, so said goodbye to Rinchen and Namgyel at the airport and waited for the flight. It was almost an hour late, likely because we were flying with the Prime Minister of Bhutan who was off on an official visit to Nepal. We checked into the Kantipur Temple House hotel again and spent a relaxing afternoon shopping and chatting. Before dinner we moved to the courtyard on the hotel roof to see the high Himalaya glowing in the sunset while Cattle Egrets, Black-crowned Night-Herons and Black Kites flew to their roosts.
Bhutan birding part 3: the fabled east
I didn’t get to eastern Bhutan in my first trip to the country in 2007, so I was looking forward to this part of the trip with great anticipation. The road from Thrumsingla to Lingmethang, as well as being spectacular beyond belief, has been touted as one of the great birding routes in the world. We would be camping in two fabled locations–the high forests of Sengor, home of the Tragopan Satyr, and in the subtropical forests of Yongkhola.
April 7: Bumthang/Jakar to Sengor via Thrumsingla
The rain had stopped before dawn and we left the Swiss Guest House under cloudy but dry skies. A walk down the hill from the hotel produced the local Bumthang specialty—Eurasian Magpie, a corvid that is strangely restricted in Bhutan to this one valley. We stopped at the bridge over the Jakar River to look for Ibisbill, and Marg quickly found one, then two, on the rocky bar just upstream. Everyone had great looks at them, remarking how they blended in so easily with the round river rocks at a distance but looked so striking with their long, red, down-curved bills at close range. It was a great relief getting this classic Himalayan species after missing it in Paro and Thimphu! Three male Eurasian Wigeon dabbled in a river backwater nearby. We drove fairly steadily after that, climbing up to Sheytangla with only two brief stops for raptors—another Himalayan Griffon and a Northern Goshawk. We stopped for a walk just before the pass and found a flock of subalpine forest species—Red Crossbills, Coal and Grey-crested Tits, and a male Red-flanked Bluetail. A few Eurasian Nutcrackers provided our best looks yet at this species that looked so different from the North American Clark’s Nutcracker, yet sounded and acted more or less the same. We saw four Green-tailed Sunbirds then picked up the best bird of that stop—a gorgeous male Fire-tailed Sunbird.
Ibisbill
Beyond Sheytangla (3596 metres elevation) we descended into the Ura Valley, then climbed once again to Thrumsingla, the pass at the boundary between central and eastern Bhutan. We stopped for lunch before the pass, enjoying a Golden-spectacled Warbler and a pair of Long-tailed Minivets among other visitors to our picnic area. Near the pass, three Black Kites soared into the clouds, obviously migrating through the area. There was still plenty of snow on the north facing slopes at Thrumsingla (3780 metres elevation), covering the ground under the rhododendrons and firs. The forests were quiet though, so we kept driving down through the forests to Sengor. Just past the village we found our campsite set up on a roadside pull-out, with fabulous vistas of old-growth hemlock forests and misty mountains. Before supper we got back in the bus for a short drive down the road—the Satyr Tragopan drive. Our eyes were glued to the roadsides ahead, but it was sharp-eyed Namgyel who spotted not one, but two tragopans at different spots a few kilometres down the road. And, as had been the case for several species, everyone remarked on how the field guide didn’t come close to doing this bird justice. The richness of its red plumage was incredible against the green foliage. We all whooped for joy over these birds—especially Anne, who had come on this tour at least in part after reading about the Satyr Tragopan in the book “100 Birds to see Before You Die”.
Old-growth hemlock, Sengor Camp
April 8: Sengor to Yongkhola
We were up early this morning, and a chilly morning it was. The ice droplets on our tents clattered as we stumbled out for coffee and tea. A Satyr Tragopan gave its mournful call from the hill above camp as we breakfasted. We birded around camp until 0730. A Grey-sided Bush-Warbler sang around the tents, eventually showing itself for everyone interested, but a Red-headed Bullfinch proved more uncooperative. Once on the bus, the road to Yongkhola lived up to its legendary reputation, clinging to soaring cliffs and intersecting waterfalls through Namling. “Beware of shooting boulders” was a popular sign.
We reached our Yongkhola camp at noon and spent the afternoon relaxing and birding along the road below the camp. The subtropical flavour of the forest was evident in its birds, such as Bar-winged Flycatcher-Shrike, Little Pied Flycatcher, Black-chinned Yuhina and Rufous-breasted Bush-Robin. A Golden Babbler sang from the fern-covered roadbank and a flock of Rusty-fronted Barwings moved through the bamboo. A Brownish-flanked Bush-Warbler was well seen by most as it sang from the shrubbery below camp. As at Tingtibi, we fell asleep to the calls of Mountain Scops-Owls calling from the forest.
April 9: Yongkhola and Lingmethang
Camping made it easy to get up early, and birding around camp produced some nice birds, including a Collared Owlet, which nicely showed the false eyes on its nape. Rinchen found a small flock of Black-throated Parrotbills, but the rest of us had no more than glimpses of the birds as they moved through thick shrubs along the road. After breakfast, we boarded the bus and drove down to Yongkhola and beyond to Lingmethang. A female Scarlet Finch flew across the road and allowed itself to be refound after all had got off the bus. At a stop below Yongkhola, Simone spotted a Speckled Piculet which cooperated nicely as it foraged on roadside shrubs. Nearby, three Rusty-flanked Treecreepers worked the treetrunks. Scimitar-babblers put in a good show with extended looks at a White-browed, a pair of Rusty-cheeked and a glimpse of a Streak-chested. We drove as far as the Black-tailed Crake marsh, where we had a couple of peeks at the crake but certainly no extended views. We stopped at a creek-crossing for lunch where we’d had distant views of Green Magpies on the way down. A Bay Woodpecker put in an appearance in the gulley below us—it’s always nice to look down on birds rather than craning your neck upwards in this mature forest. As we drove back up the hill we spotted a small flock of White-rumped Munias, along with a family group of capped langurs.
The best birding of the day came as we drove back through good forest habitat a few kilometres below the camp. A few birds flying across the road suggested a flock, so we piled out of the bus to investigate—and what a flock it was. Red-tailed Minlas, White-browed Shrike-Babblers, Whiskered Yuhinas, Nepal Fulvettas and a good number of Himalayan Cutias (the species has recently been split in two: Himalayan and Vietnamese) moved through the trees. I played the cutia recording and was surprised at the number of them as they crossed the road—18 in all! Before dinner we walked up to the corner above camp and had some frustrating moments trying to lure a Lesser Shortwing and a couple of Slaty-bellied Tesias into view as they sang from the tangles below.
April 10: Yongkhola to Bumthang
After another early breakfast, we walked down the road to a known Wedge-billed Wren-Babbler site, but were greeted with silence by the reputed denizens of the gulch. A nice view of a Crimson-breasted Woodpecker at the campsite was much more accommodating. As we drove back up the hill we briefly heard a Ward’s Trogon deep in the valley below us but could not locate the bird. A flock at the same spot produced more cutias and the only sighting we had of a Green Shrike-Babbler. Above Namling a group of three female Crimson-browed Finches were a nice find. We stopped just below Thrumsingla for lunch, where Irving and I, wandering off for a pitstop, saw a Common Rosefinch singing from the top of a fir. Farther up we glimpsed a few more rosefinches and a big flock of Plain Mountain-Finches, but the best find there was a male White-winged Grosbeak accompanied by two females. Over the pass we were enveloped in a snowstorm and marvelled at the cyclists climbing the mountain road. And some people think birders are crazy! One of the cyclists surprised a Blood Pheasant that ran across the road and gave us a brief look at this gorgeous species. We arrived in Jakar at 5:30 p.m., just in time for some handicraft shopping.
April 11: Bumthang to Wangdue Phodrang
This was another day of long drives, the schedule being driven more by road closure times than birding opportunities. Despite a strong sentiment for a relaxed departure time to take full advantage of the comfortable mattresses of the Swiss Guest House, we were up at 0530 and off by 0630 to catch the 0930 road-block opening at Trongsa. En route, we found out that the opening was at 10:30, leaving us a full hour for birding! We took advantage of this good fortune in the Chumey Valley, stopping in farmland west of town to look for Beautiful Rosefinches. It was a complete change of habitat for us and we revelled in the skylarking Oriental Skylarks, flocks of Olive-backed Pipits, Rufous-breasted Accentors hopping through farmyard bushes and hoopoes “hooping” from the trees. And there in the field next to us, were a small number of Beautiful Rosefinches including a couple of, well, beautiful males. We pushed on over Yotongla, surprising a “flurry” of Snow Pigeons just before the pass. On the other side we were lucky enough to see a pair of Alpine Accentors on the roadbank. We arrived at Trongsa a bit ahead of schedule, but snuck through the roadblock with some minor subterfuge. During our lunch stop at Chendibjee, we heard that the next roadblock opening (near Nobding) was actually earlier than we thought, so we had to push on over Pelela without stopping. That change put us into Wangdue Phodrang early as well, so it was easy to make the decision to go straight to Punakha for one last try for the White-bellied Heron before supper.
We took the new road on the east side of the Punatsangchhu, stopping briefly to watch another (the same as last week?) Pallas’s Fish-Eagle and a flock of Red-rumped Swallows. We were quickly up to the Phochhu and into heron country when small van coming toward us on the road stopped us with frantic waving. Out jumped Rinchen Singye, the guide on my previous trip to Bhutan in 2007. After quick hugs and greetings, Rinchen said “The heron is there in the river, just five minutes ahead—you better get going before it leaves!” We took his advice and continued on, stopping at the point he mentioned. We quickly scanned the river with no success, but Rinchen (Tshering, our guide) asked a passing farmer about the heron, who casually pointed it out in the river opposite us. It was foraging in the middle of a shallow riffle, and was almost invisible to binoculars with its dark grey plumage against the dark water. But in the scope we had glorious views of it in its breeding plumage finery. The passing farmer turned out to be a local who kept track of the herons in the area, part of a group of people deeply concerned about the conservation of this species. Recent population estimates suggest that there may be as few as 25 or 30 breeding White-bellied Herons in the world, though parts of its range, particularly in Burma, are poorly known.
Birding Central Bhutan
Bhutan is often divided into three regions: west, central and east. Central Bhutan is bounded by two passes on the national highway–on the west by Pelela (3420 metres elevation) and on the east by Thrumsingla (3780 metres). We spent four days birding central Bhutan this time; hardly enough but certainly a good introduction to the region.
April 3: to Phobjikha and Trongsa
When Rinchen suggested a later departure today, we were happy to sleep in until 0630 and get onto the road by 0730. We drove east from Wangdue Phodrang through the beautiful Dangchhu valley, its lower hillsides cloaked in the purple blooms of Indigofera shrubs. The first of many nice birds of the day was a lovely male Blue-capped Rock-Thrush along the roadside, topped quickly by magnificent views of a Crested Serpent-Eagle. A Kalij Pheasant dashed across the road just before we got to the Yellow-rumped Honeyguide cliffs at Khelekha, a few kilometres west of Nobding. We stopped at the cliffs and Rinchen quickly spotted the honeyguide near the huge honeycombs hanging from the rocks. Other stops near Nobding produced good warblering, including good views (and songs!) of Yellow-browed, Greenish and Chestnut-crowned Warblers. As we approached Lawala, Rinchen suggested that we go into Phobjikha to see a lingering Black-necked Crane. Everyone heartily agreed, so we made the turn and were quickly in the dwarf bamboo meadows of the famous subalpine valley. A Northern Harrier flew across the road but had vanished by the time we got out of the bus for a look, replaced by a kettle of 10 or so Himalayan Griffons. Some of us got quick looks at a pair of Oriental Skylarks on the road, but they weren’t singing in the noonday sun. At the bottom of the hill we saw another small group of griffons, and watched open-mouthed as one flew directly at the bus, only pulling up to clear the window at the last second. Having only seen this species from a distance before, I reveled in the opportunity to watch several birds at very close range.
Black-necked Cranes, Phobjikha, November 2007
We went straight to the crane information centre, where Rinchen quickly found the lone crane in the scope, foraging on the far side of the valley. We all got good looks, then went next door to the Phuntshocholing Farmhouse, a guesthouse owned by Namgyel’s family, for lunch. After an excellent meal topped off with butter tea, we went back up to Lawala and on to Pelela, the main pass west of Trongsa. Birding was rather quiet there in the mid-afternoon, and we spent much of our time trying to get decent looks at some very skulky Spotted Laughingthrushes. Perhaps the biggest surprise at the pass was a quick flyover of a Lesser Racket-tailed Drongo, first spotted as it sailed over the trees with its amazing tail waving behind it. We were well behind time by now, so drove quickly through the valleys below the pass, stopping briefly for photos of the impressive stupa (chorten) at Chendebji. It was early evening as we approached Trongsa, its white dzong glowing through the dusk above the awe-inspiring Mandechhu Valley. We checked into the Yangkhil Resort, happy with its obvious comforts and good food, but disappointed to find the entire region without electricity due to a transformer accident. So much for charging our batteries before camping! A couple of Mountain Scops-Owls called from the woodland below the hotel as we went to bed.
Phobjikha Valley
April 4: Trongsa to Zhemgang and Tingtibi camp
The rain poured down all night but we woke to a sunny morning, a good sign for our long drive down the Mangdechhu to Tingtibi. Clara and I were the only ones on time for the 0630 bus departure, and spotted a Rufous-breasted Woodpecker from the parking lot—it pays to be punctual! A couple of stops in the fine forests just south of Trongsa produced some nice flocks including a stunning Blue-beared Bee-eater and a Black-winged Cuckooshrike. A pair of Spotted Forktails flew up from the roadside, but proved difficult to see well, unlike the pair of Little Forktails nesting at a bridge crossing lower down towards Samcholing. Down and down we went, through the terraced paddies to the banks of the Mandechhu where the forest was brightened by many flowering Bauhinia trees. We had great looks at a Black Eagle actually soaring below us at one point! Along the Mangdechhu we reached a point where the river had been dammed somewhat by a debris flow coming in from a valley to the west, and there, on one of the few bits of calm water in Bhutan, was a Great Crested Grebe!
Bauhinia blossoms
We decided to have lunch just past the bridge at Wangdigang, since the towering trees along the river were known to harbour Beautiful Nuthatch. Birding was great there—flocks of Black Bulbuls in the flowering cotton trees, a pair of little Grey-capped Woodpeckers, a small group of Silver-eared Mesias and even a pair of magnificent Sultan Tits. We had great looks at Chestnut-bellied Nuthatches, but couldn’t find any of their Beautiful cousins. A fine view of a Rufous-necked Hornbill made up for that, though—this huge bird is rare throughout its range in the southern Himalayas and has been extirpated entirely from neighbouring Nepal. After a relaxing lunch, we went up to the ridgetop town of Zhemgang, then wound down again to our roadside campsite at Tingtibi. The first site was already taken by another birding group, so we continued a few more kilometres to another site along the same creek. After supper we fell into our tents to the sound of Mountain Scops-Owls calling from the forest.
April 5: Tingtibi
We crawled out of our tents at first light and shared stories over morning coffee, celebrating the small victories of camping (such as the presence of peanut butter on the table!). Several of us had heard a series of descending, yodel-like screams between 0200 and 0230. Realizing I hadn’t been dreaming after all, I did some reading up on possible origins of this call and came to the conclusion that it could have only been a Spot-bellied Eagle-Owl. Unfortunately we didn’t hear the call the next night. Highlight of breakfast was a very cooperative Hair-crested Drongo perched atop a tree in our camp clearing. After breakfast we got on the bus again and drove back towards Zhemgang for 15 kilometres or so, stopping and walking occasionally. Birding in this subtropical forest was excellent. Two Asian Barred Owlets called from the forest but refused to show themselves despite my best attempts at imitation. A pair of Kalij Pheasants crossed the road and this time offered great looks. A bit of work got us good views of a pair of Little Niltavas down a roadside gulley. We searched more sites for Beautiful Nuthatch without success (strike two), but were happy with a lucky sighting of a Pale-headed Woodpecker. After another relaxing lunch along the roadside, we worked our way downhill again. An enormous Great Hornbill posed in a tree for good looks, then took off, showing the striking black-and-white pattern on its broad wings and tail. At one point I saw a medium-sized brown bird fly back through the forest parallel to the road; amazingly John found it again and we had excellent scope views of an Asian Barred Owlet. Most of us walked the last two kilometres to camp and some had brief looks at both Pin-tailed and Wedge-tailed Pigeons. After supper we tried to call in the scops-owls again without success.
Subtropical forest, Tingtibi
April 6: Tingtibi to Bumthang
Today was to be our longest driving day, and events conspired to make it even longer. We were up at first light again and left after breakfast, stopping at multiple spots to try for Beautiful Nuthatch (strike three!). After puzzling over a partiallly visible dove, Margaret suggested Barred Cuckoo-Dove, solving the mystery! We spent some time trying to call a Chestnut-headed Tesia out of its tangled shrubbery, but had good looks at a pair of Blue-throated Flycatchers while we tried. Nearby, a mating pair of Greater Yellownapes were a big hit. The forests just before Zhemgang were alive with cuckoo song, and we had good looks at both Common and Large Hawk Cuckoos. A small thrush that flew up from the road proved to be a female Tickell’s Thrush. We wanted to time our drive through the construction zone past Wangdigang for the noon-hour break, so had an early lunch there. A nice Streaked Spiderhunter was the highlight of that stop, as well as superb views of a pair of Rufous-necked Hornbills. As evidence of the lack of traffic on National Highway 4, we picnicked in the middle of the road (it was the only flat shady spot Namgyel could find) and only had 2 trucks go by us in the hour we were there.
We drove on through the construction site after lunch, only to find that the road was closed at a second blasting zone along the Mangdechhu. We were stuck there for over an hour in mid-afternoon, but managed to make the best of it by studying a nice mixed flock of bulbuls (Red-vented, Mountain, Ashy and Black), as well as a group of four Brown Dippers. We had a pit stop in Trongsa at 5 p.m., then drove on over Yongtola in the gathering darkness and rain, reaching the Swiss Guest House in Bumthang/Jakar in time for a late but very welcome supper.
Next post: birding eastern Bhutan: Thrumsingla, Yongkhola and Lingmethang
Springtime in Bhutan
I was fortunate enough this spring to visit Bhutan for the second time. This tiny Himalayan kingdom was the inspiration for Shangri La and is a fascinating destination for many reasons. Famously remote and difficult to get to (it didn’t even have a road linking it to the outside world until the 1960s) it is now moving into the 21stCentury at a rapid pace. Since I first went there in 2007, the roads have been widened (from one lane to almost two lanes), there is mobile phone coverage everywhere, and most hotels have wireless internet. The king voluntarily gave up his powers in 2008, moving the country to a parliamentary democracy. While not a utopian society, the people are very welcoming to strangers, the speed limit on the highways is 30 kph (except on the superhighway between the airport town of Paro and the capital, Thimphu, where it is 50 kph), and, above all, the natural ecosytems are largely intact. Most of the country is still forested, and much of that forest is old-growth stands of great beauty and richness. It’s not surprising that Bhutan has become a popular destination for both cultural and natural history tourism. It is certainly the best place for Himalayan birding, and that’s what I was there for.
I was leading a tour for Eagle-Eye Tours, and my wife Margaret and I met the other tour members in the Nepalese capital of Kathmandu. After a couple days of jet-lag decompression and casual birding around Kathmandu, we boarded a Druk Air flight for Paro. The jet climbed through the smog of Kathmandu and the clouds of the Himalayan foothills, then burst into the sunlight right beside the towering massif of Mount Everest. A truly awe-inspiring sight of the high Himalayas, with Everest joined by Lhotse, Kanchenjunga and lastly the white pyramid of Jomolhari as we began our descent into Paro. The landing was exciting as usual, the airliner banking off the mountainsides and turning at the head of the Paro Valley before touching down.
Mount Everest
After clearing immigration with some delays due to minor visa problems, we met our guide Rinchen Tshering and driver Namgyel. Because of the delay, we decided to forgo the usual Ibisbill search at Paro and proceeded directly along the new highway. The pine-clad hills were strongly reminiscent of the drier valleys of British Columbia, and we were surprised to see a family group of Grey Langurs perched in one of the big blue pines—monkeys somehow seemed out of place in the prickly conifers. A Eurasian Kestrel hunted over the paddyfields outside town, and it was nice to see a Blue Whistling-Thrush on a riverside rock, even though that was to be one of the “seen everyday” species on the tour. We stopped at a Great Cormorant colony and lucked into a pair of handsome Snow Pigeons spotted by Namgyel in a crevice above the guano.
Blue pines along the Parochhu (Paro River)
We arrived in the outskirts of Thimphu at 1300 and decided it would be worth a quick stop at every birder’s favourite place—the sewage lagoons—to search for Ibisbills along the adjacent Thimpu River. A small flock of Ruddy Shelducks flew off as we arrived and a Mallard and a Common Merganser remained on the river (two of the handful of species seen on the trip that were familiar to us from birding in North America!). A Grey Heron, rare in Bhutan, fished on the bank of the Thimphu River and a pair of River Lapwings called in killdeer-like fashion from the lagoon dykes. The new species came thick and fast—Common Sandpiper, Green-backed Tit, Red-billed Chough, Hodgson’s Redstart, White Wagtail and Russet Sparrow. We had good looks at a couple of Rosy Pipits on the river rocks, but try as we might we couldn’t find a single Ibisbill.
We checked into our hotel, but were anxious to continue birding, so after lunch and a short nap we took a late afternoon jaunt into the Chari Valley. This valley is a great introduction into the combination of great birding and beautiful scenery offered by Bhutan. The river tumbles over huge boulders through oak forests and the birds didn’t disappoint—a group of Black Bulbuls and Rufous Sibias atop some high trees, stunning White-capped Redstarts flashed their finer on the riverside boulders, a White-collared Blackbird foraged on the shore like a black-and-white American Robin. Himalayan Swiftlets twinkled overhead in the low clouds and a Rufous-gorgeted Flycatcher showed briefly. Finally, as dusk fell, we saw a Brown Dipper bobbing on the rocks—a nice finish for the afternoon.
Grey langurs in a blue pine
April 1: Thimphu-Dochula-Wangdue Phodrang
Looking forward to our first full day of birding in Bhutan, we left the hotel shortly after 0600 and drove through the misty outskirts of Thimphu. We had brief looks at a Brown Dipper in the river and an adult Northern Goshawk along the road, then began climbing through the blue pine forests to the pass at Dochula (the suffix –la means ‘pass’ in dzongka, the Bhutanese language). The spruce-hemlock forests at the pass (3115 metres elevation) were in thick fog, but we did manage to see our first Rufous-breasted Accentor and a few pikas foraging in the shrubbery. Pikas are relatives of rabbits that are common (and species-diverse) throughout the mountains and steppes of Asia; there are also two species in western North America. A pit stop at the Dochula restaurant produced great looks at a flock of Black-faced Laughingthrushes. We walked several stretches of road below the restaurant and were rewarded with steady flocks moving through the forest. The highlight was seeing at least two exquisite Fire-tailed Myzornis feeding in the rhododendron flowers with Green-tailed Sunbirds, a study in brilliant reds, yellows and greens. The flocks were dominated by various tit species—Coal, Grey-crested, Green-backed, Yellow-browed, Black-throated and Black-browed, joined by Whiskered, Stripe-throated and Rufous-vented Yuhinas. Farther down, where the conifers give way to oaks, we found Fire-capped Tits and a lovely male Gould’s Sunbird.
We stopped for lunch at the highway department rest area just below the Royal Botanical Park. Ashy Drongos sallied out from the treetops and a stunning blue Verditer Flycatcher foraged along a fenceline and we had our first views of the amazing Gold-billed Magpie. A Mountain Hawk-Eagle flew overhead was only seen by two of us, but thankfully this spectacular raptor would become a daily sight for much of the tour. A big flock of White-throated Laughingthrushes moved noisily through the woods. Two Hill Partridge called from the forests below while a pair of Grey-winged Blackbirds foraged out in the open on the roadside. We slowly made our way downhill and arrived at the Dragon’s Nest Resort at Wangdue Phodrang at about 3:30 p.m., ready for pre-dinner naps, but not before noting some of the low elevation species common in the Punatsangchhu valley: Red-vented Bulbuls, Oriental Magpie Robins and Common Mynas.
April 2: Punakha
Just upstream from Wangdue Phodrang is Punakha, the winter capital of the Bhutanese Bhuddist monks located at the confluence of the Mochhu (female) and Phochuu (male) rivers. We left the hotel at 0600 with plans to bird the rich forests of the Mochhu Valley in the morning, visit the magnificent Punakha dzong in the early afternoon, then find the rare White-bellied Heron in the late afternoon. It didn’t work out that way, though. Rinchen received word that a heron had been seen in the morning at its traditional foraging site on the Phochhu, so we decided to make a quick dash in that direction before going up the Mochhu. Things quickly went awry as we found ourselves mired in a crowd of hundreds of high school students doing a 10-kilometre run. Our progress slowed to, well, the speed of high school students running for 10 kilometres, and our plans of a quick heron sighting vanished. While snaking our way through the throng we did see a distant flock of Great Black-headed Gulls and were even more surprised when a small flock of Pied Avocets flew overhead. We eventually made it through the crowds, but found to our dismay that the heron had obviously left that stretch of the river. Great looks at a Pallas’s Fish-Eagle boosted our spirits, though, as did a sighting of a Crested Kingfisher. On our return, we decided that since it was late morning already we would visit the dzong via a walk across the cable suspension bridge over the Phochhu. At the dzong, we were fortunate to see a puja procession, complete with orange-hatted monks, vuvuzela-like horns and a colourfully dressed lama. A Eurasian Kestrel called overhead, then flew into a garuda on the corner of the dzong to feed its noisy young. The interior of the dzong was fascinating, as was watching the disciplinarian monks cracking their leather straps on the stone floors to call the young monks to prayer.
The dzong at Punakha
We took the shorter bridge over the Mochhu to our waiting bus, then drove north up the valley towards Jigme Dorji National Park. It had obviously rained a great deal there lately and the road was in poor shape; we bounced over recent wash-out repairs and found a roadside meadow of marijuana to have lunch in. Even though it was midday the bird activity was fairly high and we quickly added Mountain Bulbul, Orange-bellied Leafbird, Maroon Oriole and Red-tailed Minla to the trip list. A Mountain Hawk-Eagle perched on a roadside snag offered crippling views. As we drove back, we spotted a Wallcreeper on a roadside bluff—a stunning bird that can be hard to find in spring in Bhutan. We bounced back south and reached the hotel by 5:30 p.m.
More from Bhutan in my next post!
Birding and bird biology have truly embraced the internet age. The huge amount of information generated by amateur birders and professional ornithologists has spawned a plethora of websites devoted to birds. Many sites offer help in bird identification, but that is not my focus here (though I will say as an aside that perhaps the best site for honing your identification skills on the birds of North America (Canada, the USA and Mexico) is Dendroica—check it out!). Where I spend most of my time, both for business and pleasure, is on some of the myriad sites that provide information on the distribution and status of birds. After an increasing number of requests (well, a friend of mine asked me about this last week), I offer this short guide to those websites and the information they provide on the distribution, populations and trends of North American birds. This list, presented in no particular order, is restricted to programs that span the continent; there are many other programs that run at more regional scales.
Avibase
While not devoted to the status of birds (though it does highlight species of conservation concern in its checklists), Avibase is a great place to start any query into the birds of the world. The brainchild of Denis Lepage of Bird Studies Canada, Avibase is the go-to site for information on checklists, taxonomy and nomenclature—and much more. Do you want a checklist to the birds of Senegal using the taxonomy of Clements’ 5th edition? Trying to figure out the taxonomic mess formerly known as the Yellow Wagtail? Want to know what family the Cuckoo Roller is in, or the Finnish name for the American Robin? Or just need a printable field checklist for your spring break holiday in Arizona? Avibase is where you want to go. Avibase also has a huge compendium of links to bird websites around the world and a search tool for trip reports. It is simply an indispensable resource for the serious birder. And, in case you’re wondering, the Cuckoo Roller is in the Leptosomidae, and the Finns call the American Robin punarintarastas.
NatureServe Explorer
This website is a goldmine of information about the conservation status of bird species (and almost every other species of plant or animal!) in every province and state in North America (and throughout Latin America throughInfoNatura). It also has range maps and short reports on the conservation biology of many species.
Partners in Flight
Partners in Flight is “a cooperative effort involving partnerships among federal, state and local government agencies, philanthropic foundations, professional organizations, conservation groups, industry, the academic community, and private individuals” whose aim is to coordinate bird conservation throughout Canada, the United States and Mexico. As part of its mandate, Partners in Flight has produced a large database that ranks bird species for monitoring and conservation activities. Among other things, this database includespopulation estimates of each species in each state or province. These population estimates are largely based on data from the Breeding Bird Survey, and while they generally have wide confidence limits they do provide an idea of how many individual birds are out there (e.g. Dark-eyed Junco: 260,000,000!). Partners in Flight also developed the concept of Bird Conservation Regions, areas of North America that share similar bird faunas and conservation concerns. Pete Blancher of Environment Canada and Bird Studies Canada has developed an interesting series of maps for Partners in Flight showing the links between provinces and states and where their breeding birds spend the winter.
Status of Birds in Canada
A new program developed by Environment Canada, this site aims to provide a clear idea of the status of each bird species in Canada. Information on the site includes population trends, conservation and management issues, which surveys best monitor the species, and the confidence level in population trends generated by those surveys. About 100 species are feature on the site right now and more will be added over the next few months.
eBird
This is the future of birding and the digital world—a site where birders submit their sightings data and the public can visualize those data in a remarkable number of ways— bargraph checklists of provinces, states, counties and birding hotspots; maps at all scales; frequency graphs; abundance graphs; tables; rarity alerts and much more. eBird recently went global, so you can enter or view data from anywhere on earth—and the database now contains over 4 million checklists listing 9022 species from 223 countries. There is so much more to eBird that I can’t do it justice here—suffice to say it can be seriously addictive, both in terms of uploading data and trolling through the maps and graphs. eBird has many regional portals for different countries and states, but all the data is stored and analyzed centrally; for instance if you enter data through the eBird Canada portal, your information will be visible on the primary eBird website and vice versa.
Breeding Bird Survey
This is one of the primary sources of data on the status of North American birds. The BBS was started in 1966 by Chandler Robbins of the US Fish and Wildlife Service in response to growing concerns about population declines in North American songbirds. It has grown into a remarkable effort of 4100 volunteers who survey the continent each summer. The population trends generated from this huge database are available through theUSGS website and the Environment Canada website (trends for Canadian populations can differ slightly between the two sites because of differences in methodology). You can also view range maps generated by the data, including maps that show increasing or decreasing populations. If you are interested in doing your own analyses, you can even download the raw data.
Christmas Bird Count
The grandfather of all broadscale bird surveys, the Christmas Bird Count has data on the distribution and numbers of birds across North America back to the year 1900. You can explore this data by count or by species. The data has proved valuable for generating long-term population trends, as well as analyses that demonstrate shifts in species’ ranges due to climate change.
Project FeederWatch
Project FeederWatch was started in 1976 by the Long Point Bird Observatory (now Bird Studies Canada). First called the Ontario Bird Feeder Survey, it was renamed Project FeederWatch when it expanded across the continent in 1987. It is now jointly run by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and Bird Studies Canada and in partnership with the National Audubon Society and Nature Canada. It has participants (10,000 each year, 16,000 overall) in every state and province in the United States and Canada and generates about 5 million bird records annually. Participants monitor their backyard bird populations regularly from November through early April each year. You can explore the data through tables and maps (many of the animated through time, either within years or between years). The data can be used to calculate population trends, investigate the irruptions of finches and other species, and document range expansions or contractions. It has also been used to effectively track the spread of bird diseases, such as the mycoplasmal conjunctivitis that swept through eastern House Finch populations in the 1990s.
Great Backyard Bird Count
This program is designed as a simple survey that a wide range of participants can easily participate in. It is run jointly by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and the National Audubon Society; Bird Studies Canada is the Canadian partner. Participants are asked to report the numbers and species of birds they see on any day in a set 4-day period in February. Over 90,000 checklists are now submitted each year. It was originally restricted to backyards, but participants were so enthusiastic about the survey that the rules were relaxed and now allow reports from any site in North America. You can explore the data through online tools similar to those used in Project FeederWatch, including the animated annual maps–here’s a link to the animated map showing the spread of the Eurasian Collared-Dove across North America. There is also an array of online educational materials to help participants identify common birds.
Migration monitoring
In conjunction with programs that count birds on the breeding grounds (such as the Breeding Bird Survey) or on the wintering grounds (such as the Christmas Bird Count), there are programs that count birds as they fly north in spring and south in fall. The grandfather of these programs in North America is the Long Point Bird Observatory on the north shore of Lake Erie in Ontario. LPBO began monitoring birds in 1960, and after it was demonstrated that the data could indeed be used to generate meaningful population trends the model was expanded across the continent. The Canadian Migration Monitoring Network now has more than 25 full members across Canada (and one in the northern USA), most of which have been operating for more than 10 years. While it is very labour-intensive (generally involving daily censuses and standardized mist-netting for at least two months every year), migration monitoring offers some advantages over other surveys. It can effectively monitor populations that nest in remote northern forests that are impossible to survey on a broad scale in summer, as well as populations that winter in Central and South America where there are few winter surveys underway. Fall migration monitoring also offers data on age ratios in birds (since a portion of the birds surveyed are extracted from nets and can be closely examined before release) and thus provides a quick index of breeding success for each species that year. And because most of these birds are banded, the program contributes data to the calculation of survivorship of songbirds. You can read a 10-year summary report of the results here.
Breeding Bird Atlases
Many states and provinces (and even some counties) have Breeding Bird Atlas projects which, although they are regional in scope by definition, can provide remarkably detailed and important data on bird distribution and abundance across the continent when looked at together. These atlas projects are listed on the North American Ornithological Atlas Committee (NORAC) website. Breeding Bird Atlases endeavour to provide a snap-shot, usually over a 5-year span, of the distribution and abundance of breeding birds in the region. The standard atlas generally divides up the area into small squares, then asks participants to go into as many squares as possible and inventory the species there, gathering evidence of breeding from as many species as possible. Once an atlas has been completed in a state or province, the project can be rerun at some time in the future (usually 20 years) to generate comparative data for trend analyses. Most earlier atlases were published only as books but more and more atlases (even those in still in the data-gathering phase) now have data displayed online as well. A good example of an online atlas is that from Ontario. Here are the websites of some atlases in progress, if you’re looking for an exciting place to go for your summer holidays: British Columbia, Manitoba, Ohio, Québec, South Dakota.
Raw Data
If you are a real raw data junkie, you can download data from most of these programs online. There are varying levels of permission needed, but a lot of data (e.g. eBird) is freely available at the click of a link. The Avian Knowledge Network is the primary online source for data from across the Western Hemishpere; for Canadian data you can also go to the NatureCounts website.
Legal Status
For information on the legal status of species of conservation concern, go to the following sites:
A new year in the Okanagan
If we could have regional New Years Days, I would vote for March 1st here in the Okanagan Valley. January 1stis definitely too much of a midwinter day to even think of new beginnings, and Chinese New Year is usually a little early for that true feeling of rebirth around here. But by the end of February, the snow that fell in January is usually gone for good, the sun is warm on your back, the first wildflowers are blooming and most importantly, the birds are celebrating a new year in all sorts of ways.
Sagebrush buttercups announce springtime in the Okanagan
The first migrants usually show up in late February. Small flocks of pintail rest on meltwater pools in pastures, Western Meadowlarks sing once again from the sagebrush and Say’s Phoebes sally for midges along the banks of the Okanagan River. The phoebes are joined by the first of the swallows—usually Violet-green but sometimes Tree Swallows as well. The resident birds that have toughed it out over winter begin to sing again—a few robins tuning up in the morning, a Song Sparrow singing from a rose thicket.
I realized yesterday that I’d been writing this blog for almost exactly a year now, so I checked back to see what I’d said in my first post. I talked about hearing the first meadowlark on the last day of February and seeing an early Turkey Vulture on March 7. This year things are a bit later, it being a La Niña year. [As I typed the last sentence, Russell tapped on the window to tell me he’d just heard the first meadowlark of the year—I ran out but the late afternoon soundscape was drowned out by a flock of singing robins, a horde of trilling Bohemian Waxwings and a cacophony of excited quail. Tomorrow morning I’ll listen again.]
Early March is also owl time. The Great Horned Owls, admittedly, started hooting full tilt back in January (they’d probably vote for a January 1st New Years, come to think of it) and are all on eggs by now. The commonest owl here, the Northern Saw-whet Owl, is in full voice these long spring nights, the males’ monotonous whistles echoing through the trees. This is also when the local Western Screech-Owl pairs start chatting to each other again.
With this in mind, I led an owling event a couple of nights ago to Gillies Creek, part of the Skaha Bluffs property bought by the Nature Conservancy of Canada, The Land Conservancy of BC and the province of British Columbia. I was worried that we’d be overwhelmed by participants, but a wave of spring flu and a forecast for cold rain or snow showers kept a few folks at home and we had a manageable crowd of about 50 enthusiastic and warmly dressed souls show up at the gate. As darkness fell, a pair of Great Horned Owls started calling back and forth from the south side of the creek, the sexes easily identified by the pitch and length of the calls. Females have higher pitched calls and tend to go on a bit, with 5 to 7 hoots in their calls, while males are lower-pitched and keep the call shorter—usually 4 hoots.
Western Screech-Owl
We hiked up the road a ways before I started to whistle like a screech-owl to see if we could get a response from the local pair. The Great Horneds were still loudly calling though, and perhaps the screech-owls were a little worried about responding. I tried again farther up with no luck, so switched to the monotonous whistle of the saw-whet. A male quickly answered, then flew into the ponderosa right above our heads to call back, then moved off into the birches, meowing in curious defiance. We started back down the hill and I tried one last time for the screech-owls and got a quick response—a short bark followed by the hollow whistles in an accelerating cadence—the “bouncing ball” call. It was the male (again, identified by the low pitch of his calls); he came in for a close look, then flew back to the centre of his territory and was quiet again. We left him in peace and resumed crunching down the icy road to the cars.
Yesterday was such glorious day—sunny, warm and calm—that I couldn’t resist going for a bicycle ride to Vaseux Lake. I felt I’d surely see something new for the year—a killdeer, a phoebe, or maybe a swallow or two. For once, Skaha Lake was like glass as I headed south, the highlight being a pair of Trumpeter Swans feeding close to shore in the morning sun. A little further on, I spotted a pair of Killdeer huddled silently in a field of corn stubble, looking tired after their flight from the south. At Okanagan Falls I was sidelined for a short while with a flat tire, but I fortified myself with coffee, put a new tube in the tire and continued south down the Okanagan River. The dippers were chattering and chasing at the dam, but I couldn’t see any signs of new nest building on the structure, though one of the dippers sat on one of the sluice gates.
There were no goldeneyes at all below the dam, surprising since the flock of Barrow’s Goldeneyes that winter there is one of the most reliable features of birding in the south Okanagan. As I continued south, I quickly found them along with hordes of Mallards and Bufflehead on the smooth water below the next drop structure. All the ducks were feeding in the same way, scooping some obviously abundant but tiny food items from the water surface. It was a big hatch of midges, the adults emerging from their pupae and popping to the surface of the river, where the lucky ones flew off to join throngs of their friends in an early spring mating dance and the unlucky ones became duck food. I reasoned that surely there must be a phoebe around here, or a flock of swallows, to take advantage of this abundance. Even I, though not exactly well adapted to flycatching, was having no trouble scooping up quantities of flies in my teeth. But no phoebes or swallows were to be seen.
In the evening, Russell and I covered my route for the BC-Yukon Nocturnal Owl Survey, listening at 20 points along the White Lake Road. We heard two saw-whets and three Great Horned Owls, as well as a lot of Canada Geese honking overhead. I’m not sure what the geese were doing or where they were going, but they were excited about something. It’s a new year, after all.
Blowin’ in the wind
Doing most of my birding by bicycle has made me a little fitter than I used to be, given me a new appreciation of my local patch, and, above all, has made me more attuned to the weather. A glance at my previous post will give you an example of what happens when you blithely ignore a forecast for nasty weather. In particular, I’m paying close attention to the wind these days.
In the Okanagan Valley, we only get two kinds of wind— south and north. The south wind is the prevailing wind, blowing for days sometimes as the Pacific coast, just over the mountains to the west, is being battered by winter storms. The north wind is less common; in the winter it occurs as Arctic air flows like a huge river through passes in the Rockies and fills the southern valleys of British Columbia.
Yesterday, two things got me out of the office for an extended lunch break. One was a call from my son Russell, telling me that the Snow Goose that has wintered in Summerland, the goose that I’ve looked for twice already, was sitting on the beach at Sunoka Park. The other thing was that for the first time in days it was perfectly calm. I biked up to the north end of the West Bench, made a mental note of the Western Bluebirds in the Russian olives, then barrelled down the Sage Mesa hill to the highway along Okanagan Lake. The calm water made for good viewing conditions—little groups of Horned Grebes far offshore, a male goldeneye diving off a distant point. When I could see Sunoka Park in the distance I immediately noticed a white spot! Stopping, I checked the shore with binoculars—there were actually four or five white spots, all buoys marking the swimming area. No white geese in sight.
I began the usual tour of Trout Creek’s maze of roads, peering into each orchard and vineyard for wayward goose flocks. Finally, as I gave up and started back south, I saw a small flock of Canadas beside the road ahead. I stopped and looked for more in the orchard and there, only 20 metres from me, was a gorgeous adult Snow Goose. I had a celebratory sandwich and coffee, then began the 10-kilometre return trip. To my dismay, a strong south wind suddenly sprang up, filling the lake with whitecaps and cutting my cruising speed from 30 kph to 11 kph.
As I slowly pedalled on, fighting the wind, my thoughts turned to how birds deal with wind, especially during migration. One of my favourite bird stories is the migration strategy used by Blackpoll Warblers (I tell this story in more detail in my book An Enchantment of Birds). These birds spend the winter in northern South America, then migrate north in spring through the eastern United States and spread out across the boreal forests of northern Canada and Alaska. In late summer they migrate south, but use a rather different route. Instead of moving directly south (though the species is a common breeder in the northern half of British Columbia, we never see them in southern British Columbia), they fly east to the Atlantic seaboard, from Newfoundland south to about Delaware. There they feed, fatten up (doubling their weight to 21 grams) and wait for the wind.
An immature Blackpoll Warbler mistnetted in the southwestern Yukon, near the beginning of its epic journey across Canada, then the open Atlantic, to reach wintering grounds in South America
When the right weather system arrives, bringing strong winds from the northwest, they take off over the Atlantic, continuing until they encounter trade winds that blow them southwest to the Antilles and northern South America. The entire 3500-km over-ocean trip takes about 88 hours of nonstop flying, all powered by the wind. If the wind fails en route, the birds descend and look for any dry spot to rest, the lucky ones finding ships or even islands such as Bermuda.
You can see the different seasonal patterns of Blackpoll Warbler sightings on eBird: spring and fall (look at the southeastern states to see the difference).
While most North American songbirds don’t make the adventurous flight that the Blackpoll Warbler does, many do fly across the Gulf of Mexico twice a year—no mean feat in itself. And several shorebirds, notably the Bar-tailed Godwit and Pacific Golden-Plover, fly non-stop over the Pacific on their migrations. The vulnerability of these birds to the vagaries of wind direction and strength can have deadly consequences. Rob Butler analyzedBreeding Bird Survey data for a number of songbird species in North America and found that spring populations tended to be low after autumns that were unusually stormy in the Gulf of Mexico. Climate change models predict that we will experience more frequent and stronger weather events, so unpredictable winds may be yet another difficulty songbird populations will have to face in the coming decades. My tough ride home yesterday seems paltry in comparison.
Silver Anniversary birding
When my wife Margaret suggested that we get away somewhere to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary, I naturally agreed, and then had a wonderful idea (or a cunning plan, as Baldrick would say). Why not spend Sunday night at Spirit Ridge Resort in Osoyoos? That way I could cycle down to Osoyoos the first day, have a wonderful meal and relax in a hot tub, then cycle back on Monday. This would be great for my 2011 non-motorized (NMT) list, which has been languishing lately. I’ve been stuck at 70 species since January 22nd. Margaret thought this was a fine idea–one reason our marriage has been so wonderful for a quarter century is that she is very understanding of my quirky birding plans. We could meet up at Road 22 and do some birding together, then meet up again at the resort. Not only would it add at least a half-dozen high-quality species to my list, it would add 160 kilometres to my biking distance—I could take the rest of February off!
All went well until I looked at the weather forecast on Saturday—they were calling for 10 cm of snow throughout the day. Hmm, I’d have to start early to make sure I got there before things got too mucky. As long as I got to Osoyoos, I could always do the serious birding on Monday—the forecast for Monday was fine. Besides, the weathermen were often wrong, and the snow might come down as rain. It turns out they were wrong—both days were worse than they predicted or than I could have guessed.
I got up at 06:45 and was out the door by 07:15 just as it was getting light. I had planned a little side trip at the start to pick up the Glaucous Gull that had been hanging around the Okanagan Lake beach in Penticton for the last month, the gull that everyone but me had seen. But as I headed down the hill I realized it had already started snowing, and fairly seriously at that. I better just stick to the original plan and get south fast. I got to Skaha Lake and decided to go down the east side. Luckily it was calm and the snow was melting on the roads. I heard a Canyon Wren calling at the first bluff, then a flock of Western Bluebirds farther on. As I climbed up the little hill past McLean Creek the snow began covering the road and I had to come down the other side slowly to avert a nasty fall—usually that run is a glorious full-speed romp around rocky corners high above the lake.
The Vaseux Lake cliffs
By the time I got to Vaseux Lake things were looking more serious. The road surface was a slushy mess and the paved shoulders were more or less pure snow. I phoned Marg and suggested she stop on her way south to meet me at Inkaneep Park–I needed Russell’s bike with the fat tires. I got to Inkaneep—40 km into the trip—at about 09:40 and spent a short while birding the bush there, fantasizing that I’d relocate the Northern Parula seen there in November, but only heard a couple of chickadees and a Song Sparrow. The wet snow was coming down so fast that I took shelter under the park kiosk to keep as dry as possible. Marg soon arrived, I took Russell’s bike off the car and put mine back on, dried my gloves a bit, told Marg I’d see her at Road 22 then pedalled off into the whiteness, going down the Okanagan River trail.
It was a good thing I had fat tires for that section—the snow was about 8 cm deep by now and the skinny tires on the bike I started with would have been useless. I was still hoping to see some decent birds despite the weather, and finally picked up a flock of White-crowned Sparrows just south of Oliver. This is a common species, but I’d somehow missed it while biking this year. At Road 9 I stopped to look at Skip King’s feeders and there were the Eurasian Collared-Doves, huddled in a tree—another new species for my NMT list.
Inkaneep Park–time to switch to fat tires
Up until that time my spirits had been high—I was still thinking of doing some birding at Road 22 with Marg, maybe finding American Tree Sparrows in their favourite rose thicket, maybe a Rough-legged Hawk in the fields, surely the Barred Owl will still be roosting in the woods behind the barns, and chances for one of the two Bewick’s Wrens were pretty good, too. But the track along the river south of Road 9 got very rutted and my pace slowed to a crawl. The snow was so heavy now I could hardly make out the ducks on the river beside me—I’d been hoping to see the Eurasian Wigeon that Marg had spotted there on the Christmas count.
It took me forever to get to Road 18. I stopped at the north end of the South Okanagan Wildlife Management Area to dash into the woods to check The Juniper, a good spot for roosting saw-whet owls. I hopped over the barbed-wire fence, always tricky because it has extra wires and is on the slope of the dike. I slogged through the deep snow—close to 12 cm by now—through the wet brush and found the juniper. Nobody home. I checked the tree cavity nearby—no screech-owl. Disappointed, I hiked back, by now thoroughly wet from the snow and getting cold. I climbed up over the fence, but as I went over the other side the bottom wires slid out and I found myself hanging upside down, my left leg impaled on the stop strand. I tried to pull myself up, but the fence boomeranged again, and I fell to the ground with a loud ripping sound. I got up and realized that the whole crotch had been torn out of my ski pants. Luckily the leather in my biking shorts underneath had saved me from any nasty scratches or worse and meant I wasn’t totally exposed to the world. I got back on the bike and dejectedly pedalled south the last 2 km to Road 22. There was the car, with Marg wondering where the heck I was, ready to send out a search party. I put the bike on the car and we drove directly to the resort.
After a wonderful hot bath and a fabulous meal at Passa Tempo the world seemed a much finer place. And the suite had a dryer as well, so I could deal with all my wet clothes. The snow turned to rain in the evening, so I started to plan the return trip for tomorrow—surely the roads would be clear at least. But alas, the forecast changed again, and next morning brought heavy rain mixed with snow, so we had a relaxing breakfast and drove all the way home. The weather finally cleared in the afternoon, so Russ and I cycled down through the slush to Okanagan Lake and—finally—I saw the elusive Glaucous Gull. So my species total climbs to 71 (I couldn’t count the White-crowns and Collared-Doves for the NMT list, since I’d motored home) and my distance goes up a bit to 374 km for the year. Next time it will be better.
A re-cap of the Christmas Bird Count season
Well, it’s over for another year. The Christmas Bird Count season that is. I did eight counts again this year, and although it was getting a little harder to drag myself out of bed for the last two, I thoroughly enjoyed them all. I met new friends, saw some great new country, and of course watched a lot of birds. Here are short summaries of my adventures on those counts, as well as the total number of species (seen by all, not just my group) on each count.
It started with the Apex-Hedley count on December 15. This is one of the smaller counts in the Okanagan-Similkameen in terms of participants, primarily because there aren’t a lot of driveable roads in the circle and the rest is more or less vertical. As usual I did the Apex-Nickel Plate Road that bisects the circle, returning along the Similkameen River on Highway 3. The ski village at Apex was good to us this year with fabulous views of Pine Grosbeaks. We were a bit concerned about Boreal Chickadee but had a few very cooperative individuals at the Apex trailhead. Also there were a couple of American Three-toed Woodpeckers (we were proud of that total until compiler Eva Durance told us she’d seen 15 on her snowshoe route nearby!). I took a 5-minute break to get a nice subalpine fir Christmas tree from the roadside, then we dropped down the switchbacks to the valley below. Total species on the count: 49.
Laurie Rockwell scans the Similkameen Valley along the Nickel Plate Road
Next on my list was Kelowna on December 18. I met Wilf Akerlund and Tom Kemp at dawn. Tom was newly-arrived from Dallas, but had been doing Christmas Bird Counts all his life. We drove out to Chichester Marsh to start the day. Our orders were to find Marsh Wren and Virginia Rail there; the rail eventually scuttled down a ditch but we couldn’t raise the wren. The highlight there (and of the day for me) was watching an adult Peregrine Falcon chasing pigeons overhead! A stop at the Rutland mall for Mew Gull—no luck, but we did get a good cup of coffee and a California Gull. Then a walk along Mission Creek up the Scenic Canyon; beautiful scenery but almost no birds except for a distant flock of Bohemian Waxwings. We spent the afternoon cruising the roads through the orchards of east Kelowna—a flurry of raptors towards the end of the day raised our spirits—Bald Eagle, Rough-legged Hawk, Cooper’s Hawk and 4 kestrels in quick succession. Then at our last stop at Belgo Pond, a Northern Pygmy-Owl watched silently from a roadside tree—a lifer for Tom. Total species on the count: 98.
The following day was the Penticton count, my home count. And the area I cover in that circle is the West Bench—my boyhood stomping grounds and present neighbourhood. It was calm, so I got up at 0630 and drove up to Max Lake to look for owls. On my second stop a Northern Saw-whet Owl answered my whistles with its meowing contact call and on the way home I spotted a Great Horned Owl perched on the powerline in front of the elementary school. A good start! After breakfast I covered the shoreline below the Bench and for once it was very productive—lots of ducks (including a lone Ruddy Duck in with a big flock of Redheads and a young male Barrow’s Goldeneye—rare on the lake), loons and grebes. Marg and I then drove back to Max Lake to get the forest birds. A Northern Goshawk flew over just as we started our walk, and a Northern Pygmy-Owl called as we came back. We got the nuthatch hattrick (Pygmy, Red-breasted, White-breasted) and it was time to cover the residential areas. I set off on my bicycle, although it was now snowing steadily. I found two Northern Shrikes, but only managed to hear one Western Bluebird flying over instead of seeing the usual little flock at Sage Mesa. Cycling down one of the icy hills my tires went right and I went left, but luckily only bruised my hip and elbow. I’ll have to get fatter tires for next year. Total species on the count: 102.
After the first three, there was a long, welcome break for Christmas itself, the turkey and all the friends and relatives. The next count was Vaseux Lake on December 28. I covered the lake area itself with Jennifer Smith, Greg Byron, Jack Somers, Jim Shaver and Jean Brosseuk. The lake was largely ice-free (a nice bonus, since Vaseux is very shallow and always the first big lake in the valley to freeze) and covered with waterfowl. We spent some time counting the swans (our area had 64 Trumpeters and 7 Tundra), geese, mergansers (165 Common!) and more. Try as we might, though, we couldn’t find a grebe or a loon—I guess they had left when the lake had frozen for a couple of weeks in mid-November. Up at the cliffs we tallied 4 Canyon Wrens, one singing its heart out in the winter sun. The TV crew arrived, so Jim and I did a couple of Global interviews about the count—apparently aired as far away as Vancouver! We spent the afternoon on the undeveloped west side of the lake—beautiful light on the eastern bluffs, and Jennifer found a Marsh Wren—phew! Total species on the count: 91.
Jennifer Smith on the west side of Vaseux Lake–Marsh Wren!
Two days later, we were back at it again. Marg and I drove down to Osoyoos, then up the Anarchist Mountain for the Bridesville count. This is the real plateau count of the mix I do—no low elevation habitats at all. An ideal place to luck into a White-headed Woodpecker (which we’ve never done in the short history of the count). It was sunny, with glorious views of Mount Chopaka and the North Cascades, but windy and bitterly cold. We drove up to the Anarchist Summit, hoping for some raptors in the grasslands, but the only ones we saw were a Northern Pygmy-Owl and a Northern Shrike. A flock of Snow Buntings flew by near the summit and when we turned around for a better look a little covey of Gray Partridge rocketed across the road—first record of this scarce species on the count! We met Chris Bibby at 0920 and spent the rest of the day covering the myriad of roads in the area, walking through the pine forests. The afternoon was uneventful except for a pair of Bald Eagles together in the ranchland, perhaps prospecting for a new nest site, and a Northern Harrier that looked like it was trying to leave Canada as fast as it could (our part of the circle was bounded on the south by the US border). Total species for the count: 41.
The Oliver-Osoyoos count was held on New Year’s Day. The weather was great—clear and calm, but -11C so the lake was freezing over rapidly. Marg and I hiked the oxbows at the north end of the lake, with clear instructions from count compiler Doug Brown to find a Bewick’s Wren or two. The other target in that area is to find roosting owls, so we bushwhacked through a lot of rose thickets (my down jacket was bleeding feathers all over the car by the end of the day). I also carried my ladder with me to check nest-boxes for roosting screech owls. We did find three Great Horned Owls, but didn’t find anything in the boxes this year, and dipped on the Bewick’s Wren as well. A Golden-crowned Sparrow and three Spotted Towhees popped up where the wren was supposed to be—nice birds for an Okanagan count—and an adult Harlan’s Hawk was good to see as well. Total species for the count: 103 (dang, beat Penticton by one species for the second year in a row!).
The next day it was back in the car at 0620 and off in the dark up the Similkameen River to Princeton. Russell and I met the rest of the gang in Billy’s Restaurant, got our instructions from compiler Madelon Schouten and met newcomers Jason and Amanda Lahaie. Clear, calm and cold again; we spent the day walking two logging roads through pine-fir forests. The woodpecker numbers were down by about half in the pine-beetle groves—2 Pileated, 17 Hairy, 6 Downy and no 3-toeds at all. We did get lots of forest birds though—168 Mountain Chickadees, 70 Red-breasted Nuthatches, 20 White-breasted Nuthatches and 50 Pygmy Nuthatches. Russ kicked up a snipe in the usual spring by the airport, but the highlight of the day for me was watching a Bald Eagle eat a raven, closely watched by a Golden Eagle. I imagined the capture—the raven diving on the eagle, the eagle timing the barrel-roll perfectly so that the raven met talons instead of back feathers. We spent the last hour of the day poaching in the townsite itself, surprised to tally 18 Eurasian Collared-Doves, a species unknown in Princeton before this summer. And just as we pulled into Santos’ Pizza place for the count-up, a pygmy-owl flew down the street and right over the car. Total species: 52.
And the last count: Cawston on January 4. This count is downstream along the Similkameen, the circle touching the US border. I met up with old friends Marilyn and Bob Bergen who had just moved to Cawston from the Cariboo and were keen on coming out on the count to explore their new neighbourhood and meet some new friends. We were given the west Cawston area, so spent the morning walking along the river bank and up Keremeos Creek. A steady stream of Steller’s Jays flying into the village from across the river surprised us—the finally tally was 40! Cawston is the epicentre of the collared-dove invasion in BC, so it wasn’t surprising at all to count 28 of them. We saw 2 dippers on the icy riverbank and a goshawk eyeing all those doves. In the afternoon we crossed the bridge at Keremeos and poked around the ranches on the south side of the river—new territory for me, even though I’ve travelled through Keremeos all my life! Total species on the count: 65.
The Christmas Bird Count tradition
The first bird I remember identifying by myself was a Northern Shrike. I’m sure I’d identified other birds before—I heard Western Meadowlarks singing outside my bedroom window every morning—but this was the first time I was out birding with my family and confidently shouted out the name of a bird. I think I remember the event because it was on a Christmas Bird Count. We were trying to find as many species as possible in our area and it was the first shrike of the day. I was six years old, and that was the start of my birding career.
That was also my first Christmas Bird Count, so that makes this year my fiftieth in that holiday tradition. My father had started the Penticton count two years before that, in 1958, but I guess my twin brother and I were considered a little too green at four years old to be anything but a hindrance on an all-day count. I don’t know if it was my initial success with the shrike, but I liked Christmas Bird Counts from the start, which was a good thing because they were as much a part of the holidays in our family as the tree and the turkey. I liked keeping the growing list of species through the day, and I liked the pot-luck dinners after the counts, where each group would give an account of their day and the highlights. Occasionally we’d go up the valley to help the Kelowna club with their new count, or down to Vaseux Lake or Osoyoos to start new counts there. Interestingly, the Christmas Bird Counts in these locations (and elsewhere across the country) were often the catalyst to forming local naturalists clubs that have served the area well over the decades.
Short-eared Owl at the end of a very cold day; Princeton, BC Christmas Bird Count, 22 Dec 2007
The counts were always a lot of fun—hard work in some cold years, but just enough friendly competition to keep things lively. There was keen rivalry between Penticton and Vernon to see which count could get the top species total in the Okanagan Valley, a rivalry that added Kelowna and Oliver-Osoyoos to the mix as those counts matured.
Christmas Bird Counts were started in 1900 by Frank Chapman, one of the first environmentalists in North America. He was concerned about a popular holiday pastime of the day, the Christmas Side Hunt, in which men would form teams, then see how many different birds they could shoot on Christmas Day. The first year saw 25 counts take part from all parts of North America. The Okanagan Valley became involved in 1905 when bird collector and artist Allan Brooks started a count in Okanagan Landing. My father took part in a few local counts in the 1920s and 1930s, but the local tradition lapsed during the Second World War.
Mark Gardiner scans the Similkameen Valley during the Apex-Hedley, BC Christmas Bird Count
By the time I was in university in the early 1970s I began dragging birding friends back from the coast for Christmas, ostensibly to help them celebrate the holidays, but really because I felt we needed more manpower on our counts. My parents welcomed these guests, letting them sleep on the couch or on the floor, my mother quietly doubling the number of sandwiches she made before each count. And that was doubly noble of her, since the Penticton count was often held on her birthday, December 27. By the 1980s I was doing 5 or 6 counts every year—Vancouver and Squamish on the coast, then up to the Okanagan for Penticton, Vaseux Lake and Oliver-Osoyoos.
Northern Pygmy-Owl, Apex-Hedley Christmas Bird Count, 16 December 2008
Now, 50 years after that first count, I find myself doing 8 or 9 counts every year, and I’m happy to say my son is even more enthusiastic about them than I am (he does 10 or 11). There are now a dozen or more counts done in the Okanagan Valley alone, over 380 in Canada, and over 2000 across the Americas. I have somehow become the Canadian coordinator of the count through my work with Bird Studies Canada—a bit of a dream assignment for someone who’s been enjoying them for so long.
As coordinator, one of the commonest questions I get from participants across the country (and there are 12,000 counters in Canada alone) is “What are all these data used for?” They know it’s a lot of fun, and they know it’s interesting to scan back across the years of data for your own local count, but the numbers gathered by all these people over the last century now form one of the biggest databases on the distribution of animals anywhere in the world. Until recently, many bird biologists dismissed Christmas Bird Count data as near useless, having been collected by a bunch of amateurs, many of them under the influence of several rum-and-eggnogs. The protocol of simply having a 24-km diameter circle and a bunch of birders saying “Let’s find as many species of birds in one day in the circle as possible” seemed rather unscientific. Fortunately, most of the team leaders on counts know as much or more about bird identification as university-trained biologists, and the data have proved to be a gold mine for various reasons.
The National Audubon Society, which has organized the count throughout its history, has recently analyzed the data to calculate population trends for many of the birds species on the continent. This analysis has filled a huge gap; before it was done our population trend data for most birds came from the Breeding Bird Survey, which was only suitable for species breeding in the United States and southern Canada. Many northern species weren’t covered adequately or at all; but most of these migrate south in winter to more populated parts of the continent, where they are tallied on Christmas Bird Counts. I’ve used this analysis, and others done specifically on Canadian populations, when assessing species for the Committee on the Status of Endangered Wildlife in Canada. The Rusty Blackbird and the Newfoundland subspecies of the Red Crossbill were designated at risk in Canada largely on the basis of Christmas count data. And just yesterday I was using count data to demonstrate a dramatic population decline in the Western Screech-Owl in British Columbia and an equally dramatic increase in the number of wintering Western Bluebirds in Canada. The National Audubon Society also recently completed an analysis that demonstrated the effects of climate change on bird populations—not surprisingly, the Christmas Bird Count database showed that many had shifted north in the past 40 years.
You can explore the database yourself, through the Results links on the Audubon Society’s Christmas Bird Count page. Or you can download past annual summaries of the counts.
The count season, the 111th in the long history of the Christmas Bird Count, begins again next week on the 14th of December. I’ll be doing the Apex-Hedley count on the following day, counting chickadees and crossbills and looking for a nice subalpine fir Christmas tree at the same time. The tradition continues.
Dick Cannings: Birds and Books 