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Dawn Chorus: A quest for late wintering birds in western Washington [1]
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Date: 2025-03-30
Birders in western Washington have a tradition of prowling around the Skagit Valley in winter, searching for Snow Geese. It’s not just about seeing large numbers of white birds with black wings who’ve flown far from their breeding grounds on Wrangel Island, near Siberia. It’s an obsession, really, about an annual spectacle. The Skagit Valley is flat and broad, a vast stage where drama unfolds in the open when a Bald Eagle or other predator comes close, and the geese suddenly erupt in a feather cloud. One might say their numbers swell and ebb like tides, except the figurative beach keeps moving, from saltwater marsh to agricultural field. So, even after checking eBird reports, finding Snow Geese can be a long shot. During that hunt, though, several other species may appear.
Mr. WordsandBirds and I have driven north from our home in Seattle on and off over decades to see them. We made two attempts in February, both full-day trips when days were still short and forecasts for good weather were changeable. Would we find higher numbers than the mere dozens we saw last year (and those on the third trip)? Would we top the number of Trumpeter Swans we’d seen at once in our home county (33, a record for us)? Northern Harriers and Short-eared Owls graced us with their hunting prowess last year. Would they again? And which other species would show up?
We began our search on Feb. 20th in southwest Skagit County at Fir Island Farm Reserve, which encompasses more than 200 acres of restored intertidal estuary and managed agricultural land. wdfw.wa.gov/...No hunting is allowed there. That was important, because this year the season was extended through March 8th; typically, it’s over by the end of January. The day was dark and windy, despite the forecast of fair weather. Following the short trail along the dike, we saw mostly Green-winged Teal and Northern Pintails feeding, as well as a few Bald Eagles. Cold and somewhat disappointed back at the parking lot, we heard the calls of a few Trumpeter Swans. Scanning for them, we saw, farther off, a couple dozen Snow Geese in a field. When a Bald Eagle made a pass, they erupted into the sky and flew north, and we jumped into our car and followed. We got lucky and found a large number of them feasting in a field behind someone’s house. Photographing them from the car was impossible, so I slowly got out and walked across the street. Fortunately, that didn’t spook them. We counted about 600.
Half a dozen Northern Pintail ducks joined the geese. They all wisely avoided the field across the street, which a sign proclaimed as property of a hunting club. Get in the mud.
The next area we checked out was Wiley Slough. It was our first visit since the dikes were raised and widened last fall to prevent flooding of neighboring lands. It’s now a wide gravel path with a 15-foot buffer for flood control free of trees and shrubs. I realize it was necessary work, but that left nothing to stop the wind from hammering us, and we found the scenery bleak. A few other birders we met agreed. We saw 19 species there, but no standouts except for six Northern Harriers, which were faster than I was with the camera. About three-quarters of our way along the second trail, we found eight spent shotgun shells, which dampened our enthusiasm for continuing. We turned back. birdsofwinter.org/...
A lone Bald Eagle surveys changes at Wiley Slough Preserve, a tidal marsh on Fir Island. The area is used extensively by waterbirds, shorebirds, raptors and passerines. The primary vegetation is cattails and sedge. Somewhere, a Red-winged Blackbird must be singing.
On our way home, we checked out Leque Island Reserve, where the Stillaguamish River spills into Port Susan Bay near Stanwood, Snohomish County. wdfw.wa.gov/…
The light was poor — it was near dusk — but I liked the patterns the Green-winged Teal tracks made in the sand:
Green-winged Teal forage amid their tracks at Leque Island Reserve. There were about 300 of them. Closer
And we saw these nine shorebirds, who called to each other whenever they took a break from drilling the sand as if they were oil rigs.
Merlin ID’d the calls to be from Long-billed Dowitchers. I hope so, because that would be a new bird for the year. Corrections welcome.
Here are some of its fellow shorebirds, working in the waning light.
On Feb. 28th, we began our search farther north, at Samish Flats, formerly the estuary for the Samish River. Our first stop was at what’s called “West 90.” birdweb.org/… We didn’t see much there, except for these lovely Northern Pintails . . .
Northern Pintail pair. We see them occasionally in Seattle, but up north they’re easy to find.
… but on the road east, suddenly there they were! Hundreds upon hundreds of Snow Geese honking and coming in for a landing.
Snow Geese in the Samish Flats look up to see who's coming to visit.
Compare this scene to these flyovers, who were all we saw last year:
Snow Geese fly over Samish Flats, Feb. 23, 2024.
The geese soon had company:
Trumpeter Swans fly in layers, showing their strength and grace. Overall we saw 300! Our population will migrate to Alaska and/or Canada to breed. Wings aloft.
Snow Geese grub for rhizomes, tubers and roots. They take also advantage of waste grain in farmers’ fields and graze on tender new shoots of aquatic and agricultural plants, damaging habitat. The global population is estimated at between 14 million and 16 million, “a number that may be environmentally unsustainable.” (Birds of the World)
We continued east to “East 90” (the Samish River Unit, but no one calls it that), where last year we’d seen Short-eared Owls. We decided against parking along the ditch where the long line of paparazzi were set up, as usual, with tripods and long, heavy lenses — it’s dangerous right next to traffic. Instead, we drove to a dedicated parking area, where a birder told us the owls hadn’t been seen that day, or recently. We walked back toward the viewing area anyway, where I had a treat: my first Gray Ghost. He was most obliging.
A male Northern Harrier flies over a field at East 90, Samish Flats. A few females hunted from a field across the road, so he had this area to himself.
On our way back south, we tried Padilla Bay. The water was fairly empty, but the picnic table was the perfect place to have a bite.
One bonus from those trips was a stunning pageant orchestrated by Dunlin. If you don’t live on either coast, you may see this shorebird only in migration, Here, it’s a winter bird, notable for its sheer abundance. Huge flocks participate in murmurations, particularly at dusk, which is when Mr. WordsandBirds and I saw them. Why do they murmurate? Confusing and discouraging predators with unpredictable mass motion is one hypothesis, but there are others, such as communication and to keep warm.
“Each bird in a murmurating flock keeps tabs on its seven closest neighbors and ignores all else. Considering all these little groups of seven touch on other individuals and groups of seven, twists and turns quickly spread. And from that, a whole murmuration moves. Though it looks coordinated on a large scale, the individual birds are concerned with only three aspects of their flight and the flight of those around them” — that is, moving toward, away from or in line with a fellow bird.— How Stuff Works
We first saw Dunlin late on the afternoon of the 28th, shifting like a gyroscope in the air at Fir Island Farm Reserve Wildlife Area Unit. They were so far away, it was impossible to be certain who they were without blowing up a photo.
Later, at Leque Island, near Stanwood in Snohomish County, we saw far greater numbers — the flock in the intro photo and in those that follow. A dike has been removed there, and the tidal marsh is being restored to benefit salmon and species that rely on tidal-marsh habitat. I’d like to return in daylight and walk the trail to see what’s been accomplished, as well as who’s been enjoying the results. More info at: www.wta.org/…
The flock of Dunlin in the intro photo soon changed direction, which they did again and again.
Whirling like a swarm of bees, the Dunlin resisted settling for the night. Birds who dipped toward the water soon were swept upward with their fellows. As darkness fell, we left them to figure it out and began the long drive home.
The Pacific Coast population of these sandpipers numbers about half a million birds, who’ll soon migrate to Alaska and far northern Canada to breed. I was disturbed to learn that they’ve declined by more than 30% since 2006. The reasons aren’t known, “but losses of wintering habitat could be involved.” (All About Birds)
Score, this winter vs. 2024: Snow Geese and Trumpeter Swans, big plus; Dunlin, about the same; Northern Harriers, plus; Short-eared Owls, zero.
🐦⬛ 🐦⬛ 🐦⬛
Other winter birds from trips closer to home:
Common Loon, Puget Sound from Edmonds. This was my first sighting of one in many years.
Black Scoter, Puget Sound from Edmonds, also the first I’d seen in years. Black Scoters on the Pacific coast will migrate to northern Alaska to breed. We used to see nearly equal numbers of the three species — Surf, White-winged and Black — but for years it’s been nearly all Surf Scoters.
With Snow Geese, it’s the pageantry of the flocks that’s gripping. With Black Brant Geese, I enjoy watching the individuals and how they interact with each other. Sporting those gorgeous white necklaces laid against their brown-black necks, they exude elegance no matter what they’re doing.
Black Brant Geese eat eelgrass in Puget Sound, near Brackett’s Landing, Edmonds. I admire their beauty and calm manner. They’ll migrate to the high Arctic to breed. “No other geese nest as far north as the Brant, and few migrate as far.” — Audubon.
News flash: On the day I took this photo, March 25, we noticed that two of the Black Brants in the flock of more than 100 wore leg bands. Friend and former Bucketeer Jeff Grant, who was with us, photographed and reported the bands, and just received results from the first. It’s a male, banded near Chevak, Alaska, on 7/18/2021, when he was too young to fly. What that youngster has accomplished!
Local birds score: Common Loon, Pacific Loon and Black Scoter were new this year vs. last. I saw fewer Barrow’s Goldeneyes this year compared to last year. Last year, I saw Rhinoceros Auklets, sometimes four at a time; as well as Common Murres and Marbled Murrelets, though seldom. I saw none of those this year, and not for lack of trying.
A Marsh Wren sings from a cattail over a small stream in Seattle on March 26th.
🐦⬛ 🐦⬛ 🐦⬛
Now this Marsh Wren is singing the new season into being. Please share your observations of wintering birds, or whoever you’re seeing now that spring is here.
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