March 15, 2023

When I left snow-covered Montana a few days ago to visit friends in Seattle, Washington, it was a sudden transition from the depths of late winter into full-fledged spring. Today, the morning sun is making the feathery branches of the western redcedars glow a soft green. It illuminates a dark-eyed junco, trilling exuberantly from the willow at the edge of the lake. All around Seattle, the dandelions are emerging like brilliant spots of sunshine among the grasses. 

In the middle of this bustling city, Green Lake Park is an oasis of water and plants, humming with humans and birds. People walk, jog, and push strollers along the paved trail that circles around this urban lake. American wigeons and Canada geese graze on the lawns. Song sparrows sing from the cattails and the Himalayan blackberries along the water, and golden-crowned kinglets flit along the Douglas-fir branches, gleaning tiny invertebrates.

A few days ago, the ruby-crowned kinglets started their springtime singing here. Now we can hear them all around the park, the lispy introductory notes of their song transforming suddenly into an exuberant, chattering crescendo. 

Connecting with the birds

“It’s been spring for the birds for a while,” says Roniq Bartanen. 

Roniq, a professional bird guide (find out more about her work here), has been watching the birds at Green Lake for years. Today, I’m one of over 20 people who have joined her for the free monthly bird walk she leads here. It’s one of a number of these regular, urban bird walks, coordinated by Birds Connect Seattle. This organization – which envisions “cities where birds and people thrive” – recently changed its name from Seattle Audubon. The new name emphasizes all of the ways that birds connect us to each other, the landscape around us, and the larger world. 

At Green Lake Park, the plants, too, are telling us of connection with the birds. The red-flowering currant (Ribes sanguineum) is in full bloom, its clusters of rich pink flowers contrasting with the unfolding, deeply textured leaves. Roniq says that, in this coastal ecosystem, it’s one of the earliest native plants to flower. In her yard, it’s been blooming for nearly a month already. The Anna’s hummingbirds, which remain around Seattle throughout the winter, often visit these striking pink blooms. Before long, the highly-migratory rufous hummingbirds will join them here as these long-distance travelers return from their winter homes in Mexico.

More signs of spring

Over the course of our bird walk, signs of spring are all around us. And it’s not just the blooms of the dandelions and red-flowering currants. A pair of bushtits are starting to build their sock-like, hanging nest in a western redcedar. A great blue heron standing in the shallows is sporting its long, breeding-season feather plumes. At one point, I see a black-capped chickadee disappearing into the decaying end of a broken birch branch, where it presumably has its nest.

“This is the time of year when the hormones are going, so the birds are moving fast… they’re chasing each other, they’re building nests,” Roniq says.

It’s an exciting time to be walking here, sharing the wonder of the season.

Easily distracted by conversation and by so many birds, I find myself lagging behind most of the group. I’m with a few other birders, walking slowly, when we see an Anna’s hummingbird doing something that surprises me. She’s hovering near a sprawling tangle of Himalayan blackberries along the water’s edge. As we watch, she moves methodically from one blackberry leaf to the next, probing the edges of the undersides with her slender beak. 

The Anna’s hummingbird mystery

Hummingbirds are well-known for feeding on flower nectar… but the blackberries are nowhere near flowering yet. What is she doing?

I already know that, besides drinking nectar, these miniature birds also feed on a variety of insects. Could this one be finding some tiny creatures to eat on the blackberry? We continue to watch with curiosity as she hovers with agility and then zooms forward to probe another blackberry leaf. She’s clearly finding something that’s of interest.

“[She] literally is just going one by one, checking everything,” says fellow birder Ross McLane. 

Ross keeps watching the hummingbird while I pull my camera out and manage to get photos of her behavior. After a few minutes, she zooms off, and I walk over to take a closer look at the blackberry leaves.

The blackberries

Himalayan blackberries (Rubus discolor) first came to Seattle around 1900, after fruit breeder Luther Burbank brought them to California in hopes of starting a new fruit-growing industry. The blackberries – which Burbank dubbed “Himalayan” as a marketing gimmick (they’re actually native to Armenia and Iran) – became wildly successful. They spread extensively into natural areas around Seattle and all along the Pacific Coast, offering their large, tasty fruits to anyone who could pick them. But the success of the blackberries came at a cost. Their fearsomely thorny stems, which can arch higher than my head, have crowded out many of the native plants that once grew here. 

In Green Lake Park, a group called the Green Seattle Partnership is actively managing the Himalayan blackberry, removing patches of it by hand and replanting native species, such as goldenrod and red-flowering currant. 

To learn more about the blackberries and the restoration work, I interviewed Ash Lehto, who works as a Stewardship Coordinator for the nonprofit Forterra and is part of the Green Seattle collaboration.

“Our relationship to blackberry is very complex in the Seattle area,” she told me. 

A complicated plant

On one hand, the blackberry acts like a “bully,” growing so fast and forming such dense thickets that it tends to push out other species. On the other hand, it’s a popular plant for wildlife. It provides cover for rabbits and manages to grow in some of the most inhospitable places in Seattle. And it’s not just rabbits that the blackberry supports.

“Birds really like these plants – they like the flowers and they like the fruits,” Ash told me.

That’s why, whenever the Green Seattle group decides to remove a patch of Himalayan blackberry, they focus on replacing it with native plants that offer similar benefits (and also provide much better habitat for native insects). Among these native plants, Ash mentions that salmonberry (Rubus spectabilis) and thimbleberry (Rubus parviflorus) offer summer fruits for people and wildlife. Snowberry (Symphoricarpos albus) fruits stick around through the winter, offering a later-season food source for the birds. Meanwhile, species like the red-flowering currant offer spring flowers for hummingbirds and bees.

It’s not just about fruits and flowers, though. To feed the birds, insects are essential – and to support them, we need native plants. Ed Dominguez, Lead Naturalist at the Seward Park Audubon Center and another partner with Green Seattle, told me more about restoring bird habitat in Seattle’s urban parks.

“The indigenous plants are the ones the insects select,” Ed reiterated. And, once again, those same insects are critical food for migrating and nesting birds.

Among some of Ed’s favorite native plants for restoration projects are beaked hazelnut (Corylus cornuta), osoberry (Oemleria cerasiformis), salal (Gaultheria shallon), and wild ginger (Asarum caudatum).

Anna’s hummingbird behavior

In Green Lake Park, gradually removing many of the blackberries will benefit plant diversity – and the birds and insects. But in the meanwhile, this hummingbird is showing a lot of interest in the blackberry patch. Why? 

Up close, the Himalayan blackberry leaves are rough, like sandpaper. They’re paler below, with a few curved prickles along the midrib. When I hold one up for a closer look, the sun shines through it, lighting up a fine pattern of reticulated veins. 

Was the hummingbird hunting aphids? I wonder. But when I check the undersides of the leaves, I see neither aphids, nor other insects, nor anything else that catches my attention. The mystery remains.

When I catch up with the main group, I ask Roniq about the hummingbird’s behavior. Has she seen anything like this before?

In addition to the insect-hunting idea, Roniq suggests spiderweb-gathering as another possible explanation. Anna’s hummingbirds commonly use spiderwebs – along with lichens and mosses – to construct their nests, she tells me. And for these year-round Pacific Northwest birds, the nesting season is already in full swing. 

“Anna’s hummingbirds nest earlier than a lot of other birds – they’ve been nesting since February,” Roniq continues.

Early nesters

Indeed, even during my short visit to Seattle, the nesting of the hummingbirds has already become a common theme. A few days before, I found a nest in West Seattle’s Schmitz Park, an urban patch of old-growth forest that has survived a century and a half of logging and house-building. That day, it was the movement that showed me the nest: a tiny whirring flash of green as the Anna’s hummingbird dove from a branch towards the forest floor. As I watched carefully, she levitated towards the canopy once again. Then, suddenly, the movement stopped. And where she stopped was her nest, a tiny cup of mosses and lichens on top of a gently sloping alder branch. 

After Roniq mentions the spiderwebs, I take another look at my photos of that nest. Now that I’m paying attention, I can see the glint of the spider silk this female has woven through the wall of her nest. 

As I’ve started getting to know the plants and creatures of Seattle’s urban spaces, the Anna’s hummingbirds – like the Himalayan blackberries – are proving to be my frequent companions. Over the last half-century, these tiny, iridescent birds have become beloved residents of Seattle’s neighborhoods and gardens. (If you see a hummingbird in the city in mid-winter, before the migratory rufous hummingbirds return in March or April, it’s very likely this species.) But surprisingly, the Anna’s hummingbirds – like the vigorous blackberries that sprawl through Green Lake Park and greet multitudes of motorists along the I-5 – are relative newcomers to the area. 

Adapting to the urban landscape

Anna’s hummingbirds arrived in Seattle in the 1960s. Originally they were birds of California’s coastal region, where they would start nesting when the late-winter rains triggered the blooming of the local currants (Ribes spp.). But with the growth of cities along the West Coast, these four-gram hummingbirds started finding that neighborhoods were an acceptable substitute for the southern California chaparral. Where houses, gardens, and hummingbird feeders had replaced the old-growth forests, Anna’s hummingbirds began to find a home in the urban landscape of the coastal Northwest. Now, just like Himalayan blackberry, Anna’s hummingbirds are a well-established part of Seattle’s urban landscape. 

It’s just half an hour after we notice the Anna’s hummingbird probing the blackberry leaves in Green Lake Park that we find the day’s first hummingbird nest. Once again, it’s the female’s movements that show us the nest, a miniature cup resting on top of the horizontal branch of a white pine. She stays on her nest briefly, then departs again. On the other side of the paved trail from the white pine, 22 birders have their binoculars and cameras raised. Everything else is momentarily forgotten as we gape at the miniature nest, in awe of the magic of spring.

Well-hidden nests

Even to sharp eyes, the nest blends in very well, a tiny cup on the branch of the white pine. 

“I have it now, but it took me forever to find it,” says Rayne Wilder.

Its sides are fluffy with what appears to be cattail down, blended with mosses, lichens, and the telltale glint of spiderwebs. If we hadn’t seen the hummingbird’s movement, we would have walked right past it without noticing.

“It blows my mind that it’s so small,” says Ross McLane. “I can’t imagine there are babies in there.”

Farther down the trail, someone notices another Anna’s hummingbird. This one is still in the middle of the nest-building process, carrying material to the spreading limb of a large Douglas-fir. It’s tempting to keep watching her: nest-building is a fascinating process. But it’s also an especially sensitive time for the birds, and Roniq encourages us all to move along and leave the hummingbird in peace.

“We are in their territory, they’re not in ours,” she reminds us.

Solving the Anna’s hummingbird mystery

It’s been an incredible morning at Green Lake, full of the exuberance of spring. The air around us has been filled with the melodies of the song sparrows and the occasional bubbling trills of a Pacific wren. But the puzzle of the Anna’s hummingbird and the blackberry remains. What was she doing?

I read more about Anna’s hummingbirds in Birds of the World, a wonderful online reference full of painstaking detail about the biology of the birds around us. In terms of insect hunting, it’s somewhat common to see these hummers catching midges in mid-air. They’re also known to visit spiderwebs for insects, robbing the spiders’ catch. And in one California study, researchers noticed that Anna’s hummingbirds often hunted whiteflies (family Aleyrodidae) on blackberry leaves from April through mid-summer.

So was the female we saw catching whiteflies or aphids, gathering spider silk for a nest, or doing something entirely unrelated? In the end, without directly observing what she was gathering, there’s no way to know for sure. 

When I mention the hummingbird to Ed Dominguez, though, he tells me that he has seen similar behaviors. Ed, who has much more experience with Seattle’s birds and blackberries than I do, thinks that she was most likely gathering spider silk – or possibly hunting spiders.

“Spiders are a real delicacy for them,” he tells me.

Ed frequently sees spiders on the Himalayan blackberry leaves. Aphids? Not so much. Come to think of it, that makes sense. Most of the world’s 4000+ aphid species are specialists on particular plants. Around Seattle, then, we’re likely to find these specialist aphids on the native plants that they’ve coevolved with.

Sparks of curiosity

It lasted just a few moments. An everyday mystery: in a tangle of blackberry in the middle of a massive city, an Anna’s hummingbird was behaving in a way I didn’t understand. This spark of curiosity led me towards some delightful and informative conversations with several of Seattle’s excellent naturalists. It led me towards more questions – and, eventually, towards a glimpse of the complicated dance between a non-native blackberry, a sort-of native hummingbird, some unseen spiders, some missing aphids, and the nuances of Seattle’s native plant restoration efforts. The puzzle of the hummingbird on the blackberry leaves was a reminder – like the well-hidden nests along Green Lake’s busy trail – that the world is complicated and wonderful. And by paying attention to the creatures around us, we can connect with that wonder – and with each other.

So next time you find yourself around Anna’s hummingbirds and blackberries, keep your eyes open. Watch for foraging behaviors and check for signs of spider silk and tiny insects. And, if you’d like, let me know what you see.

Further reading

City of Seattle. (n.d.). Green Lake vegetation management guidelines. Retrieved from https://www.seattle.gov/documents/Departments/ParksAndRecreation/PoliciesPlanning/Vegetation%20Management%20Plans/GreenLakeVMP.pdf

Clark, C.J. & Russell, S.M. (2020). Anna’s hummingbird (Calypte anna), version 1.0. In Birds of the World (A.F. Poole, ed.). Ithaca, NY: Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.2173/bow.annhum.01

Dornfield, A. (2016, August 29). The strange, twisted story behind Seattle’s blackberries. National Public Radio. Retrieved from https://www.npr.org/sections/thesalt/2016/08/29/491797791/the-strange-twisted-story-behind-seattles-blackberries

Healy, S. & Calder, W.A. (2020). Rufous hummingbird (Selasphorus rufus), version 1.0. In Birds of the World (A.F. Poole, ed.). Ithaca, NY: Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.2173/bow.rufhum.01

Legg, K. & Pitelka, F.A. (1956). Ecologic overlap of Allen and Anna hummingbirds nesting at Santa Cruz, California. The Condor 58(6):393-405. Retrieved from https://sora.unm.edu/sites/default/files/journals/condor/v058n06/p0393-p0405.pdf

Peccoud, J., Simon, J., von Dohlen, C., Couer d’acier, A., Plantegenest, M., Vanlerberghe-Masutti, F., & Jousselin, E. (2010). Evolutionary history of aphid-plant associations and their role in aphid diversification. Comptes Rendus Biologies 333(6-7):474-487. Retrieved from https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S1631069110001095

The post Spring in Seattle and an Anna’s hummingbird mystery appeared first on Wild With Nature.

15 de marzo de 2023

Cuando dejé Montana, cubierta en nieve, hace unos días para visitar a amigos en Seattle, Washington, fue una repentina transición desde las profundidades del invierno hasta la intensidad de la primavera. Hoy, el sol matutino está haciendo que las ramas plumosas de las tuyas gigantes (Thuja plicata) brillen suavemente con color verde. Ilumina un junco ojos negros (Junco hyemalis), trinando con euforia del sauce al borde del lago. En todas partes de Seattle, los dientes de león (Taraxacum) están emergiendo como manchas brillantes de luz solar entre los pastos.

En medio de esta ciudad animada, el Parque Green Lake es un oasis de agua y plantas, tarareando con humanos y aves. Hay gente andando, corriendo y empujando cochecitos a lo largo del camino pavimentado que rodea este lago urbano. Patos chalcuán (Mareca americana) y gansos canadienses mayores (Branta canadensis) pastan en los céspedes. Gorriones cantores (Melospiza melodia) cantan desde las totoras (Typha) y las zarzas himalayanas (Rubus discolor) cerca de la orilla, y reyezuelos corona amarilla (Regulus satrapa) revolotean entre las ramas de los ayarines (Pseudotsuga menziesii), cazando minúsculos invertebrados.

Hace unos días que los reyezuelos matraquita (Corthylio calendula) empezaron sus cantos primaverales acá. Ahora podemos escucharlos en todos lados del parque, las ceceadas notas iniciales del canto transformándose de repente en un animado crescendo.

Conectando con las aves

“Hace rato que ha sido primavera para las aves,” dice Roniq Bartanen. 

Roniq, una guía profesional a las aves (aprende más sobre su trabajo acá), ha mirado las aves en Green Lake desde hace años. Hoy soy uno entre más de 20 personas que la están acompañando a ella en la excursión mensual gratuita que está guiando acá. Es una de las varias excursiones regulares que coordina el grupo las Aves Conectan Seattle. Esta organización – que visualiza y propone “ciudades donde las aves y la gente florezcan” – recientemente cambió su nombre, que previamente era Seattle Audubon. El nuevo nombre enfatiza todas las maneras en las que las aves nos conectan a otras personas, al paisaje cerca de nosotros y al resto del mundo.

En el Parque Green Lake, las plantas también nos están contando sobre la conexión con las aves. El grosellero rojo (Ribes sanguineum) está en plena floración, los manojos de flores de rosa profunda contrastando con las hojas texturizadas que ya se están desplegando. Roniq dice que, en este ecosistema litoral, el grosellero está entre las más tempranas de las plantas nativas en florecer. En su jardín, el grosellero ya ha estado floreciendo por un mes. Los colibríes cabeza roja (Calypte anna) – los cuales se quedan en Seattle a lo largo del invierno – a menudo visitan estas llamativas flores rosas. En poco tiempo, los altamente migratorios zumbadores canelos (Selasphorus rufus) van a unirse con los colibríes cabeza roja cerca de los groselleros cuando los zumbadores – viajeros de larga distancia – regresen de sus hogares invernales en México.

Más señales de la primavera

Durante nuestra caminata, vemos señales de la primavera en todos lados. No sólo consisten en las flores de los dientes de león o los groselleros rojos. También vemos un par de sastrecillos (Psaltriparus minimus) empezando a construir su nido colgante, que se parece a un calcetín, en una tuya gigante. Una garza morena (Ardea herodias) que vadea en los bajíos muestra las largas plumas ornamentales de la estación reproductiva. En algún momento, veo un carbonero cabecinegro (Poecile atricapillus) desapareciendo en el extremo de una rama en descomposición de abedul, donde parece que tiene su nido.

“Esta es la temporada en la que las hormonas están altas, así que las aves están moviéndose de prisa… uno persigue al otro; construyen sus nidos,” dice Roniq.

Es una temporada emocionante para estar acá, compartiendo el asombro de la estación.

Me encuentro yendo a la zaga tras la mayor parte del grupo, yo fácilmente distraído por conversaciones y tantas aves. Estoy con algunas personas, andando despacio, cuando vemos una colibrí cabeza roja hembra haciendo algo que me sorprende. Ella se cierne en el aire cerca de un enredado parche extendido de zarzas himalayanas cerca del borde del agua. Mientras la miramos, ella se mueve metódicamente de una hoja a la siguiente, sondando los bordes de las partes inferiores con su pico delgado.

El misterio del colibrí cabeza roja

Los colibríes son bien conocidos por alimentarse con néctar de las flores… pero las zarzas aún no están cerca de florecer. Entonces ¿qué hace ella?

Ya sé que, además de libar néctar, estas aves miniaturas también se alimentan de una variedad de insectos. ¿Podría ser que ésta esté encontrando unas criaturas minutas para comer en la zarza? Seguimos mirándola con curiosidad mientras que se cierne ágilmente y entonces avanza para sondar otra hoja de zarza. Es claro que ella está encontrando algo que le interesa.

“[Ella] literalmente está yendo de una hoja a la otra, revisando todo,” dice Ross McLane, uno de mis compañeros de pajarear hoy.

Ross sigue mirando el colibrí mientras saco mi cámara y logro tomar unas fotos de su comportamiento. Después de pocos minutos, ella vuela adelante, y me acerco a las zarzas para examinar las hojas.

Las zarzas

Las zarzas himalayanas (Rubus discolor) originalmente vinieron a Seattle cerca de 1900, después de que Luther Burbank, un cultivador de frutas, las trajo a California. Él esperaba crear una nueva industria cultivando frutas para el mercado de envío. Las zarzas – a las cuales Burbank les dio el apodo “himalayana” como una estrategia de comercialización (realmente son autóctonas a Armenia e Irán) – se volvieron muy exitosas. Se extendieron por áreas naturales a lo largo de la Costa Pacífica e incluso cerca de Seattle, ofreciendo sus sabrosas frutas grandes a todos que quisieran cosecharlas. Pero el éxito de las zarzas también implicó algunas desventajas. Sus tallos terriblemente espinosos, los cuales pueden hacer un arco más alto que mi cabeza, han desbancado muchas de las plantas nativas que una vez crecían acá.

En el Parque Green Lake, un grupo que se llama la Green Seattle Partnership está activamente manejando la zarza himalayana. Remueve la zarza manualmente y replanta especies nativas, tales como la vara de oro (Solidago) y el grosellero rojo.

Para aprender más sobre las zarzas y el trabajo de restauración, entrevisté a Ash Lehto. Ella trabaja como Coordinadora de Gestión para la organización sin fines de lucro Forterra y participa en la colaboración de Green Seattle.

“Nuestra relación con la zarza es muy compleja en la comarca de Seattle,” me dijo.

Una planta complicada

Por una parte, la zarza actúa como un “matón,” creciendo tan rápidamente y formando matorrales tan densos que suele desplazar otras especies. Por otra parte, es una planta popular para la vida silvestre. Provee abrigo para los conejos. Logra crecer en algunos de los lugares menos hospitalarios de Seattle. Y no sólo son los conejos que la zarza mantiene.

“A las aves les gustan mucho estas plantas – las flores y las frutas,” me dijo Ash.

Por eso, cuando el grupo Green Seattle decide remover un parche de la zarza himalayana, se concentra en reemplazarlo con plantas nativas que ofrecen ventajas similares. (Estas plantas nativas también proveen un hábitat mucho mejor para los insectos nativos.) Entre esas plantas nativas, Ash menciona que las frambuesas Rubus spectabilis y Rubus parviflorus ofrecen frutas veraniegas para la gente y la vida silvestre. Las frutas de la perlita (Symphoricarpos albus) permanecen por el invierno, ofreciendo entonces alimento para las aves. Entretanto, especies como el grosellero rojo ofrecen flores primaverales para los colibríes y las abejas.

Sin embargo, la restauración no sólo tiene que ver con las frutas y las flores. Para alimentar las aves, los insectos son esenciales. Y para mantenerlos, necesitamos las plantas nativas. Ed Dominguez, naturalista principal en el Seward Park Audubon Center y otro colaborador de Green Seattle, me contó más sobre cómo restaurar el hábitat para aves en los parques urbanos de Seattle.

“Las plantas indígenas son las que escogen los insectos,” reiteró. Y, otra vez, los insectos son un alimento crucial para las aves migratorias y reproductivas.

Entre sus plantas favoritas para la restauración están la avellana (Corylus cornuta), la Oemleria cerasiformis, la Gaultheria shallon y el jengibre silvestre (Asarum caudatum).

El comportamiento del colibrí cabeza roja

En el Parque Green Lake, remover muchas de las zarzas poco a poco va a beneficiar la diversidad de plantas – y las aves e insectos. Pero mientras tanto, este colibrí está mostrando mucho interés en el parche de zarza. ¿Por qué?

De cerca, las hojas de la zarza himalayana son ásperas, como lija. Las partes inferiores son más pálidas, con unas espinas curvadas ubicadas a lo largo de la vena media. Cuando levanto una hoja para verla más atentamente, el sol brilla por ella, iluminando un patrón intrincado de venas reticuladas.

¿Cazaba el colibrí áfidos? me pregunto. Pero cuando reviso las partes inferiores de las hojas, no veo ni áfidos ni otros insectos ni nada más que llama la atención. El misterio permanece.

Cuando alcanzo al resto del grupo, le pregunto a Roniq sobre el comportamiento del colibrí. ¿Ella ha visto algo así antes?

Además de mi idea de que el colibrí tal vez cazaba insectos, Roniq sugiere que podría ser que recogía telarañas. Los colibríes cabeza roja a menudo usan telarañas – junto con líquenes y musgos – para construir sus nidos, me dice ella. Y para estas aves que viven todo el año en el Pacific Northwest, la estación reproductiva ya está acá.

“Los colibríes cabeza roja anidan más temprano en el año que muchas otras aves – han estado anidando desde febrero,” explica Roniq. 

Anidando temprano en el año

De hecho, incluso durante mi visita corta a Seattle, la anidación de los colibríes ya se ha vuelto un tema común. Hace unos días que hallé un nido en el Parque Schmitz de West Seattle, un parche urbano del bosque antiguo que ha sobrevivido un siglo y medio de tala y edificación. Ese día, fue el movimiento que me mostró el nido. Vi un pequeño destello de verde mientras el colibrí zumbó desde una rama hacia el suelo forestal. Miré atentamente mientras que ella levitó otra vez hacia el dosel. Entonces, de repente, el movimiento se detuvo. Y donde ella se paró estaba su nido, una diminuta taza de musgos y líquenes sobre la rama suavemente inclinada de un aliso.

Hoy, después de que Roniq menciona las telarañas, echo otro vistazo a mis fotos de ese nido. Y ya que estoy mirándolo con atención, puedo ver el reflejo de la seda de araña que esta hembra ha tejido por el muro de su nido.

Mientras he empezado a conocer las plantas y criaturas de los espacios urbanos de Seattle, ha resultado que los colibríes cabeza roja – así como las zarzas himalayanas – me están acompañando frecuentemente. Estas pequeñitas aves iridiscentes se han vuelto residentes queridos de los vecindarios y jardines de Seattle. (Si ves un colibrí en esta ciudad en pleno invierno, antes de que los zumbadores canelos regresen en marzo o abril, es muy probable que sea de esta especie.) Pero sorprendentemente, estos colibríes – como las zarzas vigorosas que se tumban por el Parque Green Lake y que les dan la bienvenida a los conductores a lo largo del I-5 – han llegado más o menos recientemente.

Adaptándose al paisaje urbano

Los colibríes cabeza roja llegaron a Seattle en los años 1960. Originalmente eran aves de la región costera de California, donde solían comenzar a anidar cuando las lluvias al fin del invierno impulsaban la floración de los groselleros locales (Ribes spp.). Pero con el crecimiento de ciudades a lo largo de la Costa Oeste, estos colibríes de cuatro gramos empezaron a descubrir que los vecindarios urbanos eran un sustituto aceptable al chaparral del sur de California. Donde las casas, comederos de colibríes y jardines habían reemplazado los bosques antiguos, los colibríes cabeza roja empezaron a acostumbrarse al paisaje urbano del Noroeste costero. Ahora los colibríes cabeza roja, así como la zarza himalayana, son una parte bien establecida del paisaje urbano de Seattle.

Sólo media hora después de ver el colibrí cabeza roja sondando las hojas de la zarza, hallamos el primer nido de colibrí de este día. Otra vez, son los movimientos de la hembra que nos lo muestran, una taza pequeñita sentada sobre una rama horizontal de un pino blanco. Ella se queda brevemente en el nido y luego se va. Al otro lado del camino pavimentado, hay 22 pajareros con los binoculares y cámaras levantados. Por un momento olvidamos todo lo demás mientras miramos boquiabiertos al nido diminuto. Estamos asombrados por la magia de la primavera.

Nidos bien escondidos

El nido se esconde muy bien – hasta de personas con los ojos agudos – una pequeña taza sobre la rama del pino blanco.

“Lo veo ahora, pero me tomó mucho tiempo hallarlo,” dice Rayne Wilder.

Los lados del nido son peludos con lo que parece ser plumón de totora, mezclado con musgos, líquenes y el destello revelador de las telarañas. Si no hubiéramos visto el movimiento del colibrí, habríamos andado adelante completamente ajenos a la presencia del nido.

“Me asombra que sea tan pequeño,” dice Ross McLane. “No puedo imaginarme que haya bebés adentro.”

Más adelante en la caminata, alguien se da cuenta de otro colibrí cabeza roja. Esta hembra aún está en el proceso de construir su nido, llevando materiales a la rama grande de un ayarín. Es tentador seguir mirándola: la construcción de un nido es un proceso fascinante. Pero también es un tiempo muy sensible para las aves, y Roniq nos anima a seguir adelante y dejarla en paz.

“Estamos en sus territorios, no están en los nuestros,” ella nos recuerda.

Resolviendo el misterio del colibrí cabeza roja

Ha sido una mañana increíble en Green Lake, llena de la euforia de la primavera. El aire ha estado lleno de las melodías de los gorriones cantores y los efervescentes trinos esporádicos de un saltapared cholino del oeste (Troglodytes pacificus). Pero el rompecabezas del colibrí cabeza roja en las zarzas permanece. ¿Qué hacía ella?

Leo más sobre los colibríes cabeza roja en Birds of the World, una maravillosa fuente en línea llena de minuciosos detalles sobre la biología de las aves alrededor de nosotros. En términos de cazar insectos, aprendo que es más o menos común ver estas aves pequeñas atrapando jejenes en pleno vuelo. También son conocidos por visitar telarañas para robar los insectos atrapados allá. Y en un estudio de California, los investigadores notaron que los colibríes cabeza roja cazaban mosquitas blancas (Aleyrodidae) en las hojas de las zarzas desde abril hasta medio verano.

Entonces, ¿la hembra que vimos estaba cazando mosquitas blancas o áfidos, recogiendo telarañas para un nido o haciendo algo completamente diferente? Finalmente, sin observar directamente lo que recogía, no podemos resolver esta pregunta con certeza.

Pero cuando le menciono el colibrí a Ed Dominguez, me dice que ha visto comportamientos parecidos. Ed cree que ella probablemente estaba recogiendo telarañas – o talvez cazando las propias arañas.

“Las arañas son un manjar para ellos,” me dice.

Él a menudo ve arañas bajo las hojas de las zarzas himalayanas. ¿Áfidos? No tanto. Y cuando lo pienso más, eso tiene sentido. La mayoría de las más de 4.000 especies de áfidos en el mundo son especialistas en plantas particulares. Por eso, cerca de Seattle, es más probable que veamos estos áfidos especialistas en las plantas nativas con las que han coevolucionado.

Chispas de curiosidad

Sólo duró unos momentos. Fue un misterio cotidiano: en un matorral de zarza en medio de una ciudad masiva, un colibrí cabeza roja hacía algo que yo no entendí. Esta chispa de curiosidad me llevó a algunas conversaciones encantadoras e informativas con unos de los naturalistas excelentes de Seattle. Me llevó hacia más preguntas – y, al final, hacia un vistazo del baile complejo entre una zarza no nativa, un colibrí casi nativo, algunas arañas inadvertidas, algunos áfidos ausentes y los matices de los esfuerzos para restaurar plantas nativas en Seattle. El rompecabezas del colibrí en las hojas de zarza me recordó – así como los nidos bien escondidos a lo largo del camino concurrido en Green Lake – que el mundo es complicado y maravilloso. Y por darnos cuenta de las criaturas cerca de nosotros, podemos conectarnos con este asombro – y con otra gente.

Entonces, la próxima vez que estés cerca de los colibríes cabeza roja y las zarzas, mantén los ojos abiertos. Está atento a colibríes buscando comida. Revisa en las hojas señales de telarañas o insectos minúsculos. Y, si quieres, dime lo que ves.

Leer más

Ciudad de Seattle. (sin fecha). Green Lake vegetation management guidelines. Recuperado de https://www.seattle.gov/documents/Departments/ParksAndRecreation/PoliciesPlanning/Vegetation%20Management%20Plans/GreenLakeVMP.pdf

Clark, C.J. & Russell, S.M. (2020). Anna’s hummingbird (Calypte anna), version 1.0. En Birds of the World (A.F. Poole, ed.). Ithaca, NY: Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Recuperado de https://doi.org/10.2173/bow.annhum.01

Dornfield, A. (2016, 29 de agosto). The strange, twisted story behind Seattle’s blackberries. National Public Radio. Recuperado de https://www.npr.org/sections/thesalt/2016/08/29/491797791/the-strange-twisted-story-behind-seattles-blackberries

Healy, S. & Calder, W.A. (2020). Rufous hummingbird (Selasphorus rufus), version 1.0. In Birds of the World (A.F. Poole, ed.). Ithaca, NY: Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Recuperado de https://doi.org/10.2173/bow.rufhum.01

Legg, K. & Pitelka, F.A. (1956). Ecologic overlap of Allen and Anna hummingbirds nesting at Santa Cruz, California. The Condor 58(6):393-405. Recuperado de https://sora.unm.edu/sites/default/files/journals/condor/v058n06/p0393-p0405.pdf

Peccoud, J., Simon, J., von Dohlen, C., Couer d’acier, A., Plantegenest, M., Vanlerberghe-Masutti, F., & Jousselin, E. (2010). Evolutionary history of aphid-plant associations and their role in aphid diversification. Comptes Rendus Biologies 333(6-7):474-487. Recuperado de https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S1631069110001095

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December 7, 2022

When it comes to birds around Missoula, Montana, the Fort Missoula Ponds have a reputation. 

“When you fly over Missoula, you can see these really large bodies of water,” says Jim Brown. 

Once the site of a gravel quarry, the ponds have become a magnet for ducks, shorebirds, and many other creatures. 

In the winter, when the ponds are frozen, the bird activity gets much quieter, just as it does anywhere in Montana. Nevertheless, seven of us have shown up on this snowy afternoon for a bird survey, led by Jim Brown of Five Valleys Audubon Society. It’s a chance to see what’s out here in the cold – and to remember all of the creatures that will be returning in the spring.

We’re just getting started when we spot a red-tailed hawk gliding over the snow-covered grasses. It flares its wings and plunges, landing in the snow. A few seconds later, the hawk is airborne again.

“He’s got something!” Cindy Swidler exclaims. Sure enough, we can see a small rodent – perhaps a vole – in the hawk’s beak. The red-tail flaps back to a ponderosa pine, landing in the top to eat its catch.

From Smlk̓͏ʷsšná to Place of the Killers

Just beyond the pine where the red-tail has landed is the hill known in Salish as Smlk̓͏ʷsšná, a billion-year old block of quartzites and argillites rising sharply above the Bitterroot River. More recently, settlers gave the hill its English name, McCauley Butte. Across from us to the east, on the opposite side of the ponds, is Fort Missoula itself. The Fort, established in 1877, is a newcomer on this landscape compared to Smlk̓͏ʷsšná Butte. But it, too, has a name in Salish. The Fort is known as Sx͏ʷplstwé, “Place of the Killers.” It’s a reminder that Missoula rests on Salish land – land that was taken by military force, not given freely.

And between the Place of the Killers and the striking hill known as Smlk̓͏ʷsšná or McCauley Butte, nestled against the Bitterroot River, are the Fort Missoula Ponds. These two large ponds, ringed with sandbar willows (Salix exigua) and black cottonwoods (Populus balsamifera), are more recent additions to the landscape, the aftermath of a gravel-quarrying operation that mined the river rocks from this area. 

The property known as the Fort Missoula Ponds consists of 86 acres, a mixture of open water and reclaimed grassland. In 2020, the City of Missoula took ownership of the site. For now, the area remains surrounded by a fence and closed to the public. In 2023, the City plans to hold a public input process and decide the future management of the site, considering things like wildlife habitat and recreation.

231 bird species

But even before the City acquired the property, it had become well-known among Missoula-area birders that the Fort Missoula Ponds were special. For six years now, birders have been bringing their spotting scopes and observing the wildlife attracted to these ponds, viewing from outside of the fence. Over that time, they’ve reported an astounding 231 bird species here – making this by far the most species-rich site known for birds in all of Missoula County. 

This impressive list is based on observations that local birders have submitted to eBird, a global platform for tracking and sharing bird sightings that is managed by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Many of these observations are supported by photos. Nevertheless, the City of Missoula was looking for a more robust, consistent survey of the birds using the Fort Missoula Ponds. Was this site really as amazing for bird habitat as the eBird data seemed to suggest? 

So in spring of 2022, the City gave volunteers from Five Valleys Audubon Society permission to access the area and conduct a series of formal bird surveys. And so far, Jim Brown tells me, the Five Valleys Audubon surveys have matched very well with the eBird data.

“In a way, for the City’s sake, that substantiated the eBird dataset,” says Jim.

A diversity of ducks

Today, following our most recent period of subzero temperatures, the ponds are thoroughly ice-covered. Any ducks that are sticking around the area have shifted to the nearby Bitterroot River. But as soon as the temperatures warm in the spring and open water reappears here, the waterfowl will be back.

“As soon as these ponds open up, there’ll be stuff in them,” Jim tells me. 

The eBird list for the Fort Missoula Ponds includes a whopping 33 species of ducks, geese, and swans that birders have seen here over the past few years. And among them are some notable rarities, including long-tailed ducks and surf scoters.

“These are unusual, ocean-going ducks,” Jim continues. 

Around Missoula, this is one of just a few places that birders have found these rare sea ducks.

Winter at the Fort Missoula Ponds

A few black-billed magpies fly out of the willows, flashing their black and white wings. A northern flicker bobs past in flashes of orange and brown. We can see a few rock pigeons perching on a power pole to the north.

It’s the quiet season out here, for sure – but there’s still activity around us. Two bald eagles fly past, an adult and an immature. They seem to be having an argument, diving at each other in midair with their talons extended. They sweep northward in their silent dispute, skimming across a panorama of snowy blue mountains.

The ponds froze fast this year.

“It got cold all of a sudden,” says Jean Duncan.

The cold came so fast, in fact, that a western grebe got stuck in the ice, deprived of the long runway of open water that a grebe needs for takeoff. Last week, the Five Valleys Audubon birding team found it trapped in the ice. But then it disappeared – and today, there’s no sign of it. The group speculates that a bald eagle came in and scavenged the unfortunate grebe.

Along the river

Now we’re past the frozen ponds and approaching the Bitterroot River, flowing tranquilly past the cottonwoods that line both banks. The Salish word for the river is Nstetčcx͏ʷétkʷ, which translates as “Red-osier Dogwood Waters.” And indeed, there are many red-osier dogwoods (Cornus sericea) growing among the cottonwoods here, along with wild rose, hawthorns, and more willows.

Cindy Swidler tells me that farther downstream, there’s a great blue heron rookery in the cottonwoods. Heron rookeries are an incredible sight to behold. To me they look prehistoric, these arrays of massive stick nests high in the trees. During the breeding season, it’s easy to find the impressive gray birds standing or sitting on their nests. 

Don’t get too close, though: heron rookeries are sensitive to disturbance from humans. During the spring and summer, too close of an approach can cause the herons to abandon their nests.

The heron rookery isn’t the only special thing about this river corridor.

“It’s a tremendous area for breeding birds,” Cindy says. “Tremendous.”

Based on the eBird data, just a few of the summer birds commonly found at the Fort Missoula Ponds include calliope hummingbirds, spotted sandpipers, and red-naped sapsuckers. There are gray catbirds, warbling vireos, and eastern kingbirds. The grassland supports western meadowlarks, vesper sparrows, Savannah sparrows, and western bluebirds. It’s a bewildering diversity, far too much to list here – much more than the handful of birds we’re finding on this wintry day.

Life among the cottonwoods

Now we’ve stopped to look at a cottonwood where beavers have been gnawing on the trunk. We can tell the chewing is recent, because there are fresh wood chips on top of the snow. An old Bullock’s oriole nest is hanging from a limb – the sign of yet another of those summer birds that Cindy was talking about.

Kristi DuBois points out another cottonwood, the top of this one dead and broken. 

“Nice woodpecker holes up there,” she comments.

Cottonwoods are very important trees for wildlife, hosting not only woodpeckers and many other cavity-nesters, but also western wood-pewees, least flycatchers, red-eyed vireos, and an incredible diversity of insects. 

We continue farther along the cottonwoods, passing a flock of black-capped chickadees hunting for food in the willows. A narrow wildlife path leads us down to the edge of the river. The water slips past smoothly, and here the winter birding starts to get a bit busier. A belted kingfisher chatters in the distance. Then we notice three common mergansers, drifting near a gravel bar. Eventually they climb out of the water onto a small island. The mergansers mostly hunt fish, though they may also catch other aquatic creatures such as crayfish and frogs.

“They seem to make little runs off of that spit and come back to it,” Jim observes.

A mallard hen paddles amiably against the current nearby. Then we spot three common goldeneyes, diving actively near the mergansers.

Managing for wildlife

The river – and the cottonwoods and red-osier dogwoods along it – make the area around the Fort Missoula Ponds extra-special. More than just an isolated block of habitat, this area is part of an important wildlife corridor that follows the river. Upstream is land owned by the University of Montana. Downstream is a minimally-developed parcel which hosts Learning with Meaning, an educational organization. Beyond that, a conservation easement protects much of McCauley Butte itself. And across the river, just a bit farther downstream, is Maclay Flat, a large public natural area managed by the US Forest Service.

The Fort Missoula Ponds provide a key link in this habitat corridor. 

“It’s a great opportunity to restore an old gravel mine into a productive natural area,” Jim says.

Management for wildlife habitat and recreation can be a tricky balance. 

“There are a lot of people, understandably, that want to come enjoy a pond,” Jim says. 

But in the case of a site that’s so important for birds, Jim maintains, finding this balance is critical. Too much human traffic can drive the birds away. That’s especially true during the warmer months, when the ice has melted from the ponds. Too much love from pedestrians isn’t the only worry: off-leash dogs during the warm season would be especially damaging for wildlife.

“A lot of these migrants that come through here are very sensitive to human disturbance. If you don’t manage that, you’re going to lose them,” says Jim.

Migration at the Fort Missoula Ponds

The diversity of spring and fall migrants that use the Fort Missoula Ponds is especially stunning. Several years, hundreds of snow geese have stopped here. Five species of grebes pass through here commonly, and sometimes birders have spotted a less-common sixth species, the Clark’s grebe. The shorebird diversity is impressive: 18 species have turned up here. And when it comes to warblers, migration brings not just common species such as yellow-rumped and Wilson’s warblers, but also occasional, notable rarities like a black-throated gray and a magnolia warbler. 

Jim explains that Five Valleys Audubon Society hopes that the City will be able to develop public trails in some areas here. Wildlife viewing blinds along the trails would allow the community to see this amazing diversity of birds up-close, while minimizing disturbance to the birds. At the same time, for the sake of the wildlife, the Audubon chapter advocates for maintaining some completely undeveloped areas to serve as safe spaces for this incredible diversity of feathered visitors.

A late migrant

We’re getting ready to leave the river corridor when Jillian Leblow spots a flash of movement as a small songbird flies into the top of a willow. It immediately disappears from sight. We wait several minutes, but it’s as if the bird has vanished entirely.

From the split-second glimpse that I got of its flight, I think it was probably a chickadee. Someone else in our group expresses the same opinion. But Jillian is patient. The rest of us have just about given up when she spots it again, very backlit in the top of the willow.

“I think it’s a ruby-crowned kinglet!” she exclaims.

Ruby-crowned kinglets are insect-eaters that typically migrate to the southern U.S. and Mexico for the winter. After weeks of intense cold, it would be truly surprising to find one in Missoula still at this season. Jillian and I race off towards the willow, changing our angle so the sun isn’t shining directly into our eyes. As we approach, I hear a quick, harsh chatter – the call of a ruby-crowned kinglet! The bird flies into a nearby hawthorn and we both get a definitive look at its white wingbars, olive-gray body, and pointy bill for insect-hunting. A ruby-crowned kinglet indeed!

“I always feel like that’s the benefit of waiting,” Jillian says. “Was it a chickadee?”

In this case, it was something far more unusual.

Herons and American tree sparrows

As we walk back towards the cars, two great blue herons flush from the ice of the ponds. Even in their opaque winter stillness, the Fort Missoula Ponds are attracting birds. Are these two herons some of the same individuals that nest in the rookery here in the summer?

We get back to our cars: today’s survey is over. But then I notice that the weedy mound of dirt near our parking area seems to be crawling. Among the scraggly kochia (Kochia scoparia) that covers this mound, a flock of birds are feeding. They’re American tree sparrows, crisp and beautiful in the stark elegance of their plumage. And they’re giving us an excellent look.

Here we are, seven birders, standing awestruck in an unmarked parking lot at the edge of Missoula. The tree sparrows are busy and unafraid, picking seeds from the ground and from the tops of the kochia plants. One comes even closer to us and works on the crested wheatgrass seedheads, flying at them and bending them down to the snow. There, it proceeds to peck away, stocking up on calories for the cold nights ahead.

Biodiversity at the edge of Missoula

This has been a relatively quiet afternoon for birds – the sort of quiet that we can expect during the cold winter season. But even so, it’s clear that the Fort Missoula Ponds are one of Missoula’s special places for wildlife and nature. We’ve gotten to see tree sparrows gathering seeds, a red-tailed hawk hunting voles or mice, and great blue herons flying up from the frozen ponds. We’ve seen a beautiful cottonwood stand with woodpecker nest holes and at least one oriole nest, hints of this place’s summer abundance. And I’ve gotten to make friends with a remarkable group of Five Valleys Audubon Society volunteers – people who care about this place and can see its potential for wildlife and for the community in the years to come.

In the grand sweep of time, the Fort Missoula Ponds are very recent happenings on this landscape. Sandwiched between the ancient hill known as Smlk̓͏ʷsšná and Sx͏ʷplstwé, the Place of the Killers, these ponds are younger even than Fort Missoula.

But even in the relatively short time of their existence, the birds have found them and responded. The Fort Missoula Ponds area has become a biodiversity hotspot at the edge of Missoula. In a time when, all around the world, wildlife habitat is disappearing rapidly, these ponds provide a ray of hope. And with thoughtful management, they will become even more important for wildlife and the community in the years ahead.

For updates on the birds at the Fort Missoula Ponds, or to volunteer with future bird surveys, get in touch with Five Valleys Audubon Society.

Further reading

Lewis, R.S. (1998). Preliminary geologic map of the Montana part of the Missoula West 30’ x 60’ quadrangle. Montana Bureau of Mines and Geology Open-File Report 373, 1 sheet, scale 1:100,000. Retrieved from https://mbmg.mtech.edu/mbmgcat/public/ListCitation.asp?pub_id=11220&

Murdock, Joshua. (2022, 6 Jul). Birders eye prime habitat at Missoula’s Knife River Ponds. The Missoulian. Retrieved from https://missoulian.com/news/local/birders-eye-prime-habitat-at-missoulas-knife-river-ponds/article_df543aec-64c4-5a0b-bcee-61e2bdf8c8a8.html

Séliš-Ql̓ispé Culture Committee. (2019). Nɫʔay, place of the small bull trout. The Missoula area and the Séliš and Ql̓ispé people. Retrieved from https://plateauportal.libraries.wsu.edu/system/files/atoms/file/2019-05-28%20N%C9%AB%CA%94ay%20Missoula%20Valley%20sign.pdf

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October 5, 2022

An orange-crowned warbler and two drab gray yellow-rumped warblers are hunting insects in a chokecherry this morning as its leaves drop softly, one by one, swirling to the moist ground in orange pirouettes. Helena, Montana’s Nature Park is busy with birds this morning, even though in general fall songbird migration is beginning to dwindle. Robins are everywhere, calling energetically as they land in the European mountain-ashes (Sorbus aucuparia) and feed on the bitter orange fruits. A few spotted towhees mew from the chokecherry thickets. A downy woodpecker whinnies occasionally. A large mule deer buck, unafraid here in the safety of the city limits, is thrashing an aspen with his polished antlers.

A slender, medium-sized bird bobs past us on rhythmic wingbeats. A northern flicker, we wonder? No – it’s a Clark’s nutcracker, sleek and gray with narrow white patches in its dark wings. I’m surprised to see this nutcracker – a bird closely associated with our pine forests – in the deciduous habitat of this park. A Clark’s nutcracker in the “wrong” habitat: I love stories like these. Unusual sightings like this remind me to expect the unexpected. Clark’s nutcrackers are birds of pine forests, yes – but like all birds, they move from one patch to the next. Finding a nutcracker at Nature Park is like finding me at Walmart. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. 

“So much stuff will just pass through here for a split second,” comments Sarah Kamis, my birding buddy this morning. She tells me about a time several years ago when she spotted a red crossbill – another seed-feeding specialist of the conifer forest – here in Nature Park. 

Birding in the heart of Helena

For Sarah and many other local birders, Nature Park is a special place for birds. These folks have gotten to know this place well over the course of the seasons – and they’ve turned up some amazing stories. Over the years, they’ve documented 18 species of warblers at Nature Park. This is a phenomenal diversity for anywhere in the Helena area – and particularly notable here, in the heart of the city. 

Today, we seem to be at the tail end of the fall white-crowned sparrow migration. Just a couple of chubby, brown-capped immatures are still hiding in the bushes. It’s another reflection of how dynamic migration is: a week and a half ago, Sarah and I found dozens of white-crowned sparrows here, feeding on seeds along the paved trail that runs through the park. Except for the white-crowned sparrows, that day was rather quiet, a lull between waves of southbound songbirds.

An impromptu gathering

September 24, 2022

But even when the birds are quiet, Nature Park is also a great place for impromptu community birding events. And so it was that, on that quiet morning, Sarah and I ran across our birding friends Sharon Dewart-Hansen and Bob Martinka. The slow morning of birding became a morning of storytelling. 

The conversation immediately turned to the impressive diversity of birds that birders have found here over the years. It all started in 2019, when Sarah spotted a rare black-throated gray warbler here, flitting through the bushes with some chickadees. Black-throated gray warblers typically spend the summers south of us, in dry oak and juniper patches in the Great Basin. But in August 2019, the out-of-place bird stayed around for over two weeks. Many local birders got to see it. And from then on, Nature Park was “on the map” for Helena birders.

Since then, Helena’s birders have gotten to know this park very well. When Sarah found the black-throated gray warbler, the bird list for Nature Park stood at just 85 species. Three years later, with all of the attention from local birders, the list is up to a whopping 147 species. It’s an incredible diversity – especially considering that Nature Park is in the middle of the city, and it lacks the extensive wetland habitats that would otherwise attract many more species of ducks and marsh birds.

Changes through the seasons

This morning, Bob had arrived at the park earlier than the rest of us, so he gave us his morning bird report and then took his leave. Bob’s observations confirmed our hunch – it was a slow day for fall migrants. He had seen a handful of Wilson’s warblers, Lincoln’s sparrows, and ruby-crowned kinglets. And, of course, there were the white-crowned sparrows. But otherwise, most of the migrant songbirds seemed to be elsewhere this morning.

As Sarah, Sharon, and I continued onwards through the quiet morning, they showed me a knothole in an aspen where a house wren had nested several years ago. Now the house wrens no longer nest here – they only stop at Nature Park during spring and fall migration. Why? Sharon wondered if increased numbers of pedestrians in the park have deterred the wrens from nesting.

Here at the end of September, the chokecherry bushes were already bare of fruits. Sharon told us that a horde of robins had come through the park several weeks before and devoured them all. Meanwhile, she pointed out, the magpies had returned to the park. For some reason, the magpies were nearly absent over the summer. But now they were back, perhaps taking advantage of the seeds that people feed the chipmunks.

Warblers, aphids, and crayfish

We passed by the spot along the creek where, in September 2020, Sharon and several other birders spotted two other rare birds: a chestnut-sided warbler and a black-and-white warbler. It’s a thicket of chokecherries and other shrubs along a gully: a patch of shrubs just like many others around Helena. But Sharon’s story reminded us that among these patches of shrubs, there’s often more than meets the eye.

Farther along, we stopped at an overlook where we could see the understory vegetation along the stream, a mixture of dock (Rumex sp.) and burdock (Arctium sp.). In past years, Sharon told us, there was more dock and less burdock here. She would often see various warblers among the glossy leaves, feeding on aphids. More recently, this patch has become much quieter. The dock population has shrunk, the burdock has increased, and the aphids have apparently disappeared. And so, it seems, have the birds.

We continued to where the creek, strewn with bits of trash and debris from the spring floods, crosses under the trail in a culvert. Might there be crayfish in the pool below the culvert?, Sarah wondered. We walked down the hill and checked the boulders around the pool. No crayfish here, it seemed. There are crayfish at the K-Mart Ponds (another local hotspot for birding), though, my companions told me. Sarah has seen them hiding in the water control structure at the outlet, and Sharon has watched red-necked grebes eating them.

Walking through Nature Park

Nature Park is a special place for birds. Every cottonwood, every aspen, and every chokecherry holds stories. Some days, during the height of migration, this place can be spectacular for birds. But even on quieter days, there’s always something to see, something to learn, and innumerable stories to remember. 

So this fall, I invite you to take a walk through Nature Park. Notice the seasons changing, and keep your eyes and ears open for the birds. And if you show up early in the morning, there’s a good chance you’ll find a friendly local birder with a wealth of stories about this place. I’ll see you there.

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