| The Magazine of the CALIFORNIA ACADEMY OF SCIENCES |
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HERE AT THE ACADEMY Extreme Birding
I’ve seen many examples of extreme birding; heck, I’ve committed such acts myself. I’m attempting to see all of the world’s roughly 10,000 species of birds, even though the hundreds of extremely rare and near-inaccessible species make the quest impossible. Phoebe Snetsinger, the record-holder in this quest with over 8,400 species on her list, died on her third bird tour of Madagascar. She had defied and defeated malignant melanoma, probably in part because of her passion to see birds, only to succumb to that ubiquitous killer the automobile accident. Other birders who ventured into bird-rich Colombia were kidnapped by guerrillas, suffered severe injuries, and caught life-threatening diseases prior to their release. But there are other kinds of extreme birding. Some involve shorter time frames or direct competition among birders. Others are driven by the desire to be “the first.” A few of us have set ourselves the challenging but attainable goal of seeing all of the bird families of the world. There are slightly over 200, depending on whose taxonomy one chooses. Two Europeans with too much time and money recently decided to be the first to do this in one year. Eleven months later they thought they had succeeded—then in December, they learned that North American bird authorities had split the olive warbler into its own family, prompting a desperate flight to Mexico to see that bird before the year ended. Sometimes extreme birding requires extreme weather.
For decades, East Coast birders have eagerly awaited hurricanes to see
what tropical seabirds their winds would bring. But in the wake of hurricanes
the coastal beaches and inlets are often inaccessible at the very times
they should be searched for storm-wrecked seabirds. Or misguided law enforcement
personnel who don’t understand the importance of documenting the
rare birds will prevent access to the devastated areas. One of the most venerable forms of extreme birding is
the Big Day. A small team of birders tries to see or hear as many bird
species as possible in one 24-hour period. Many states and counties have
traditional competitions, with numerous teams competing annually on a
given day, such as New Jersey’s “World Series of Birding,”
the granddaddy of all such contests in North America. Nowadays, Big Days
are usually non-profit fundraisers called Birdathons, with donors pledging
money for each species tallied. For the past eleven years Monterey County
birders have organized a Birdathon one day each spring to raise money
for the Ventana Wilderness Society’s Big Sur Ornithology Lab. Two years ago, the American Birding Association (ABA)
introduced an “America’s Birdiest City” competition.
The winner is the city which amasses the highest number of bird species
sighted in a 24-hour period, using the aggregate lists from as many birders
as that city could muster. The winner was San Diego, with New York City
running a surprising second. Then the ABA added an “America’s Birdiest
County” category. Previously, teams had found as many as 208 species
in Monterey County, the most for any single-county Big Day in North America.
“Mr. Monterey Birds,” Don Roberson, organized
nearly all the Monterey County birders to make a run for the new championship. The natural diversity of the region, together with years
of dedicated birding have raised the list of wild birds seen in Monterey
County to 486. It now ranks third among North American counties behind
San Diego and Los Angeles, both of which extend all the way from the Pacific
Ocean to the deserts and include many more birders than Monterey. We thought
we had a chance to be number one, but it would take exceptional organization
and “game day” performance to win the prize. With so many good birders covering the whole county,
there was no reason to assign the most common species. Rather, the strategy
was to determine the unusual birds in each area and direct birders to
target those species, plus search for other rarities. Roberson divided
the county into 16 different territories, with a short list of target
birds for each area to minimize the chance of a bird being missed. There were no formal qualifications to participate.
Some group leaders accepted all volunteers into their team, thus opening
the competition to the general public, but every leader was a respected
birder with local expertise. I chose to bird alone. My area was the southern Big
Sur coast and some adjacent mountains and canyons. I had covered this
little-known area for Monterey County’s breeding bird atlas project
a few years earlier, and I had access to the University of California’s
Big Creek Reserve. One quirk of the rules for America’s Birdiest
County is that the 24-hour period does not have to begin and end at midnight.
After careful strategizing, Don began our Day at 4:00 pm on Friday May
2. This would give us two afternoons on which to “seawatch”—scope
for seabirds blown near shore by the afternoon winds. The ABA rules prohibit
birdwatching from boats, thus removing one of the county’s best
birding habitats from the competition. I did not have to wait long for my answer. Driving down
Highway One in the rain, I saw fog obscuring the mountains and the offshore
waters. Worse was the wind, a swirling, gusty southeast gale that whipped
the ocean to white foam and swept the waters clear of seabirds. Land birds
were likewise hiding and silent. Each bird tallied was a minor triumph.
Working up and down Big Creek Reserve I did manage to see an American
dipper near its nest, six mountain quail, and a hermit thrush. The wind,
rain, and fog made owling hopeless, so instead I huddled in a sleeping
bag all night as the rain drummed on my car’s roof and gusts rocked
it on its springs. On Saturday morning there were a few lulls in the rain
but the gale had merely shifted to the southwest. A brief respite allowed
me to see eight rufous-crowned sparrows, but the coast ridge proved nearly
unbirdable. Even worse, the only access road to half of my territory had
become slick mud impassable even by a four wheel drive. After noon I gave up. Driving north out of my territory
quickly took me out from under the edge of the storm. At Andrew Molera
State Park I found sunshine, birders, and birds! I joined their efforts,
then phoned in my results to Rita Carratello at headquarters, where they
were taking field reports and reassigning birders according to which species
had yet to be found. My thrush and sparrow were the first reported. Most
other parties were reporting good results, so there was hope after all. After dinner, our spirits soared as the countdown revealed
one bonus bird after another. All the seabirds that had been seen on the
day’s whalewatching boats—and thus could not be counted—had
also been spotted from shore because of the strong afternoon winds. Although
the mountains had proved nearly unbirdable, the storm had pushed many
of the montane birds to lower elevations. Other teams had seen all of
my birds except the rufous-crowned sparrow—not a rare bird, though
its habitat is very localized. Every team had added at least one such
“exclusive” bird to the aggregate list. Our grand total was 248 species, making Monterey County
officially America’s Birdiest County! The runners up were Los Angeles with 239 species and
San Diego with 227. A year later, Los Angeles and San Diego were out for
revenge. Almost everything was the same in 2004 except the weather and
the rules. The event organizer decided that although each individual birder
would be restricted to 24 hours, each county could spread its birding
over 48 hours. However, most of us learned of this change too late to
alter our schedules, so we generally adhered to the same 24 hours: beginning
and ending at 4 p.m., with a few teams running later. We anticipated a serious challenge from Cameron County,
the southernmost county in Texas, which hosted the national ABA convention
on their chosen weekend and thus had hundreds of extra birders on hand.
They also witnessed the greatest arrival of migrating landbirds in their
history. Our other main rivals were Los Angeles and San Diego, whose organizer
had instituted the rule change and prohibited boats. The weather was gorgeous. After some patches of low
cloud burned off, it was fair and mild with light winds. How would our
count in good weather compare to what it had been in terrible weather?
Mine was vastly better and I saw more birds in the first two hours than
in all 24 hours the previous year. My primary target birds fell into place
nicely: mountain quail, purple martin, American dipper, canyon wren, rufous-crowned
sparrow, white-throated swift, but I still wanted something more. Twenty miles down the South Coast Ridge Road I heard
what I was listening for. I braked to a stop and savored the sweet sliding
trill of the black-chinned sparrow—a “bonus” bird. I
called in my sightings to a delighted Carratello, but she told me, “We
need seabirds.” The wind was too light to blow them toward shore.
I spent the rest of my time seawatching. I saw none of the needed seabirds,
but I did count six species of cetaceans, including two fin whales, two
groups of Risso’s dolphins, and hundreds of common dolphins swimming
alongside northern right whale dolphins. Luckily, the winds strengthened toward evening and a
team birding the next shift, from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m., saw almost all the
missing seabirds. Again, I contributed only one bird to the overall list—the
canyon wren, as even the black-chinned sparrow was found by another birder.
We totaled 248 species, exactly matching our winning score under very
different conditions in 2003. Would it be enough to retain our title of
America’s Birdiest County? We went home happy. When the final numbers were totaled both Cameron and
Los Angeles counties fell short. But San Diego County emerged as our nemesis.
With different teams covering their whole county throughout the expanded
48-hour period, they topped 266 species. Impressive! But we still raised
over $6,000 for the Big Sur Ornithology Lab, which the Monterey Peninsula
Audubon Society matched, and had a great time doing it. We still remember
that we were America’s first Birdiest County, and we can be a “good
runner up” by congratulating San Diego County. Until next year,
that is. Stephen F. Bailey, former Director of the Pacific Grove Museum of Natural History, recently retired in order to see the “second half” of the world’s birds and to lead birding and nature tours. |
