What to Look For Now—Timely Birding
Winter 2020-2021
Matthew Dodder
SCVAS Executive Director
Element of Surprise
It may not be entirely accurate, but it’s always felt to me that our winter, when the Northern Hemisphere tilts away from the sun, holds more bird surprises than other seasons. It could simply be that with the relative absence of song and hot sun, or the generally quieter woodlands, the uncommon birds that do appear just feel more out of place than the birds of spring or fall— like sudden bright things in an otherwise gray field of drab, these birds stand out and makes us stop breathing for a moment.
One in a Million
Eurasian Wigeon, Tom Grey
Take, for example, the Eurasian Wigeon. A stunningly beautiful Duck. As the name suggests its expected range is in the Old World. Our west coast birds likely arrive from Russia and instead of flying south to Japan and China, they fly to our west coast. This may be mirror-misorientation, but as suggested in the Fall installment of W2L4, that may not be due to anything resembling a mistake. There are enough Eurasian Wigeons in fact (seemingly more every year) that sprinkle themselves among the thousands of American Wigeons in the Central Valley (and even on our local ponds), that their appearance begins to look like a deliberate frontier movement. Finding a male Eurasian Wigeon is now fairly easy if you thoroughly scan through a raft of Americans. The Eurasian Wigeons even sound different than Americans so if your ears are good, listen for their one-syllable whistle, as opposed to the muffled two-syllable laugh of the American. But good luck finding a female... they look a lot like female Americans... hmmm, makes me think we may actually be missing a full half of the Eurasian Wigeons in our area!Might be a good time to study the differences.
Hidden Drama
I remember taking my parents out to the Palo Alto Baylands or the Flood Control Basin in the afternoon every Christmas Day. I’d set up the scope and we’d take turns looking at the groups of Canvasback (my father’s favorite Duck) and we’d search for the one or two Redhead that might be hiding in the raft. In the 1980s it was a challenge to find them, at least it was for us. Now I frequently find larger groups, sometimes in the hundreds at Salt Pond A1 north of Shoreline Lake, along the Bay Trail or in the Sunnyvale Ponds. Have they become more common in the last 40 years, or are we just getting better at finding them? Whatever the reason, I’m always so happy to find them—their brighter red and more rounded head, their darker gray back, paler bill, and startling orange eye. The females are subtle and beautifully difficult to recognize. I take great satisfaction in finding the Redhead among the Canvasbacks and enjoy knowing a little bit about their practice of depositing their eggs in the Canvasback’s nest... The species are cast together in an eternal theater.
You don’t see me
The classic winter surprise is when one strolls along a creek, like at Los Gatos Creek Park, or Vasona Lake, or Charleston Slough. While casually scanning the quiet edges of the water, out of the confusion of flattened grass and leaves, a cryptic, elaborately striped pattern catches your eye and you pause. You notice it is attached to a rather small stationary bird
with a ridiculously long bill. Almost invisible unless you know it’s there, the Wilson’s Snipe then does one of two things: it either remains completely still, pretending it doesn’t exist, or explodes into a zigzagging flight and quickly drops back into the reeds out of view! A remarkable bird one can hardly imagine more beautiful and detailed than when it is seen at close range.
Other wetland species share the Snipe's aversion to being seen–Swamp Sparrow and the nearly mythic Nelson’s Sparrow to name two. Both can be found in our salt marsh habitats. They prefer to stay out of view but they will tolerate your attention for a moment or two. Being observed ispositively anathema to most of our Rails however. They are most successfully found during the King Tides of early winter when the rising water pushes them out of hiding. Ridgway’s Rail is our local specialty, and is most easily seen from the boardwalk at Palo Alto Baylands. A good Rail day in winter will produce Virginia Rail and Sora as well. But it has to be a truly amazing day to see a Black Rail—something I remember crawling on my hands and knees through the mud and rain for a quick eye-to-eye view of in January ’81.
Take that, Blackburnian!
Townsend’s Warbler, Tom Grey
Not every winter surprise is rare though. Townsend’s Warbler is a rather common bird during our Northern California winter. It’s a western specialty and a bird that rivals any eastern Parulid in its beauty. Unlike the Yellow-rumped Warbler, it’s stunning and colorful year-round. It is included here, not because it is rare, but because it often accompanies the throngs of Yellow-rumps that we find as soon as we step outside. Literally, as soon as I open my front door or window I hear the loud “swick!” of a nearby Yellow-rump. It’s the constant soundtrack for winter. If I wait a moment or two more, perhaps a full minute, I’ll eventually hear the higher and softer, almost kissy “tink” of a Townsend’s Warbler. That moment makes me smile with satisfaction because that one additional moment of my attention was rewarded with another one of our winter surprises. Perhaps if I stood in my door a little longer, something else would make itself known...
Red in Beak and Claw
Ferruginous Hawk, Tom Grey
Every season has its particular flavor of Hawk. In spring we have the arrival of Swainson’s Hawks from South America that have come to breed again in Coyote Valley after decades away. Fall has an infusion of Hawks on the move through our area, including the occasional Broad-winged Hawk which flies south to winter in the tropics. And in winter we have Ferruginous Hawk. A magnificent, large Buteo that arrives from the short grasslands of southern Canada and our prairie states. It’s long, pale wings and oxidized coloration give it an almost ghost-like appearance as it circles with the more common Red-tailed Hawks. If one happens to perch on a post, or even on the ground, the predicable reaction is astonishment at how white it looks. Closer examination reveals fabulous rusty details that weave and wrap across its back. Of course, there’s a dark morph too—entirely chocolate except for the white flight feathers. It’s a looker alright! Search the valley, the rolling grassy hills, and the great big sky for this stupendous winter bird.
The Sapsuckers are only here in the cooler months. They first arrived in early October and will remain through the winter. I find them fascinating because they never look quite like the field guides. A full discussion of their identification deserves a separate article, but I will say this: when you see those white stripes on the wing, the ones that parallel the back of the perched bird, pay attention. We get three species in this area, and it seems with each year we get just a little better at separating them—as well as a little more confused. Make note of the color of the throat, the auricular, the nape. Better yet, take a photo because unfortunately, unless you are looking at a textbook example of a male, they are not always easy to separate. Hybrids are common too, just to make things more interesting.
During winter, there are so many possible surprises, as well as many predictable encounters. Spend these dwindling daylight hours searching for either the rare-and-surprising, or the familiar and I-was-hoping-to-see-you-agains. I expect you’ll be home in time for dinner... since the sun goes down at five.
Top photos L to R: Red-breasted Sapsucker, Wilson's Snipe, Ridgway's Rail, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Nelson's Sparrow Tom Grey