When you compare the birds of a manicured lawn with those that inhabit a grove of chokecherries, the difference is stark. The lawn might support a few starlings and robins. Perhaps, late in spring migration, a handful of desperate Swainson’s thrushes might stop by. The chokecherries, on the other hand, support an intricate community of life, from two-tailed swallowtail butterflies to dozens of species of songbirds. When the fruits ripen in late summer to a deep, juicy black, they attract cedar waxwings, Townsend’s solitaires, western tanagers, American robins, and house finches. Meanwhile, throughout the growing season, the foliage supports a diversity of insects – and the birds that eat them. Flitting among the leaves, you can find Wilson’s warblers, ruby-crowned kinglets, yellow-rumped warblers, and warbling vireos. 

When we consider the diversity of life around us, it’s easy to see a lot of bad news these days. We’ve lost 2.9 billion breeding birds in North America over the last 50 years. Scientists have reported steep declines of once-common insects. But by making a few simple decisions about what we plant in our gardens, we can be part of reversing these trends. In our yards, parks, and neighborhoods, we can provide homes for the birds, bees, and caterpillars. But doing this isn’t just about avoiding extinctions – it’s also a lot of fun.

This article is focused on plants for bird-friendly gardens in the western half of Montana, USA. If you live elsewhere, the specific plants will be different, but the general recommendations will be the same.

Getting started: habitat for birds

Every species of bird is unique in its life story. The habitats it uses, the foods it eats, where it nests, whether it migrates – all of this varies. Nevertheless, all birds need food, shelter, water, and safety from predators. Plants provide excellent food and shelter – especially particular species of plants that are native to the local landscape. But before we get into the specifics of these plants, let’s consider water and predators. 

Some birds, such as American kestrels, can get most or all of the moisture they need from their food. Otherwise, birds need to drink water. Including a source of water in your garden, such as a regularly cleaned bird bath or a backyard wetland, can attract birds to drink or bathe.

Watch out for predators

What about predators in our yards? Outdoor cats are incredibly deadly for neighborhood songbirds. In the United States alone, cats kill well over a billion birds a year. This number is so large that it’s almost unimaginable. But there are a lot of outdoor cats in the United States: around 50 million pets, in addition to as many as 100 million feral cats. Managing outdoor cats, especially feral ones, can be a contentious topic. But keeping your own cats indoors is a relatively easy step to take. By doing so, you’ll help ensure that your bird-friendly garden doesn’t become a death trap for songbirds.

Windows may not be predators, but they’re another deadly neighborhood hazard for songbirds. In the United States, they’re estimated to kill over 350 million birds a year. An article by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology gives an overview of this issue and discusses several solutions. Of these, Acopian Bird Savers are probably one of the most elegant. This is an unobtrusive, low-tech design that consists of vertical rows of cords, spaced four inches apart, that hang from the outside of the window. You can make your own out of parachute cord or bamboo, or you can order them online.

Including different habitat features

Broadly speaking, all birds are associated with one or more of three general habitats: forest, prairie, or wetland. What habitats make up the larger landscape surrounding you? The answer to this question will shape the possibilities for your bird-friendly garden.

Is your home in the middle of a Douglas-fir forest, or is it in a valley-bottom subdivision? Clark’s nutcrackers probably won’t visit your garden unless you have patches of conifers close to you. Similarly, you probably won’t attract marsh wrens or Wilson’s snipes to your yard unless you live very close to a wetland. Meanwhile, many prairie birds need relatively large patches of grasses and herbs. So unless this describes the area around your house, you probably won’t have grasshopper sparrows or western meadowlarks in your yard. Many birds of thickets and forest edges, on the other hand, will readily use yards during migration or the breeding season. And, of course, there are a variety of birds that use more than one of these habitats.

In general, in order to make your yard more inviting for birds, it’s worth considering components of all three habitats: forest, prairie, and wetland. A small water feature probably won’t attract Wilson’s snipes – but, once again, a bit of water in the yard will allow birds to drink and bathe. A prairie patch the size of a front yard is unlikely to bring in grasshopper sparrows, but it will offer important seeds and insects for thicket-edge birds such as chipping sparrows. And patches of native shrubs or trees, such as chokecherries, provide food and cover for a wide diversity of migrating and nesting songbirds.

Why native plants?

You’ve probably noticed that I keep mentioning native plants for birds. Why does this matter? you might be wondering. Perhaps you’ve noticed that robins and Bohemian waxwings often eat the fruits of Russian-olive (Elaeagnus angustifolia), a frequently-planted invasive that escapes from cultivation to compete with the cottonwoods and willows along our waterways. Or you might have noticed a house finch or pileated woodpecker pecking at an apple, another non-native fruit. 

Yes, there are non-native plants that certain birds will use. But, all things considered, native plants are far superior for our birds. Why? It comes down to food – and, specifically, insects. Doug Tallamy, a researcher who has spent decades studying birds and insects, writes that 96% of North American land birds rely heavily on insects during the breeding season. Soft, juicy caterpillars are especially important. And whereas native plants have coevolved with native insects, non-native plants are comparative deserts for insect diversity.

A non-native plant like Russian-olive may still provide fruits that feed a few species. But in comparison with a chokecherry or another native plant, it’s much less useful for most of our birds. If you want to attract an abundance of birds to your yard, then native plants are the way to go.

Okay, which plants should I plant for the birds? you’re probably asking. Here are some recommendations for western Montana, organized by the foods they provide.

Native plants for insects

What sorts of native plants provide our birds with the most insects? In order to give region-specific recommendations, Doug Tallamy and Kimberley Shropshire teamed up with the National Wildlife Federation to create an interactive website, searchable by zip code. For each zip code, this tool predicts the number of caterpillar species that different native plants will support. And in North America, it turns out, wherever you are, just a handful of native plants support most of the caterpillars.

Around Helena, Montana, willows are at the top of the list. These shrubs host up to 309 species of caterpillars – juicy protein packets to feed our nesting birds. Many of our native willows grow in wetlands, but Scouler’s willow (Salix scouleriana) and sandbar willow (Salix exigua) are common species that often grow in somewhat drier areas.

Cottonwoods and aspens are also high on the list, hosting up to 245 butterflies and moths. Among the cottonwoods are black cottonwood (Populus balsamifera) and plains cottonwood (Populus deltoides) – but keep in mind that these trees are notorious for dropping branches. Meanwhile, quaking aspen (Populus tremuloides) forms thickets from underground rhizomes. For these reasons, cottonwoods and aspens are best-suited for larger yards. 

Chokecherry (Prunus virginiana) and American plum (Prunus americana) are thicket-forming shrubs that are excellent for bird habitat. (They support up to 227 species of caterpillars – and check out this article for an exploration of other miniature insects that live on chokecherries.) However, if you live in an area with a high risk of bear conflicts, keep in mind that chokecherries and plums can attract bears when the fruits get ripe in the fall.

Birches, alders, and pines

Our native birches host 211 species of caterpillars. Water birch (Betula occidentalis) is a small tree that often grows along streams; paper birch (Betula papyrifera) gets much larger. And birches do more than just provide lots of insects. Their trunks (like those of cottonwoods and aspens) also make popular homes for cavity-nesting birds like black-capped chickadees and house wrens. (If you don’t want to wait for your trees to grow, the Cornell Lab of Ornithology also provides thorough instructions for nest box construction.) The related thinleaf alder (Alnus incana) is a large shrub or small tree that hosts 196 species of butterflies and moths.

Among the conifers, pines (Pinus spp.) are important for caterpillars, supporting up to 188 species. Around Helena, ponderosa pine (Pinus ponderosa) and limber pine (Pinus flexilis) are good options. However, keep in mind that they grow to be rather large trees. Also, depending on your surroundings, you might not want to plant them near your house due to fire risk.

Goldenrods, strawberries, and more

What about herbaceous plants? For caterpillars, goldenrod is at the top of the list, hosting 65 species. Common goldenrods in Montana include giant goldenrod (Solidago gigantea), Canada goldenrod (Solidago canadensis), and Missouri goldenrod (Solidago missouriensis). These plants are commonly blamed for late-summer allergies, but this is a myth: the culprits are typically ragweeds (Ambrosia spp.), which bloom around the same time.

Other herbs that support substantial numbers of butterflies and moths are native strawberries and sunflowers. Wild strawberries (Fragaria virginiana and Fragaria vesca) are low-growing; they may not compete well with taller, more vigorous plants. Sunflowers, on the other hand, are both tall and vigorous. In Montana, common sunflower (Helianthus annuus) is an abundant annual that often grows along roadsides. We also have two common perennial species, Nuttall’s sunflower (Helianthus nuttallii) and Maximilian sunflower (Helianthus maximiliani). 

Lupines and sagebrushes are also worthy of mention, supporting up to 40 and 35 species of caterpillars, respectively. Silvery lupine (Lupinus argenteus) and silky lupine (Lupinus sericeus) are a couple of Montana’s common lupines. Sagebrushes are very diverse in Montana and include shrubs such as big sagebrush (Artemisia tridentata) and silver sagebrush (Artemisia cana) as well as herbs such as fringed sage (Artemisia frigida) and white sagebrush (Artemisia ludoviciana). 

Native plants for fruits

I’ve already mentioned chokecherry for the diversity of insects that it hosts. In addition to the insects, this shrub is also a phenomenal fall fruit resource for cedar waxwings, American robins, and many other birds. And besides chokecherry, there’s a wide selection of other native fruits that attract birds, from July onwards through the winter. Many of these plants also host a notable diversity of caterpillars (though they support fewer species of caterpillars than the shrubs and trees I’ve already mentioned).

Red-osier dogwood (Cornus sericea) offers clusters of small white fruits from mid-summer through fall. Gray catbirds and white-crowned sparrows are among the birds that feed on them. This medium-sized shrub also has brilliant red fall foliage.

The native currants – such as golden currant (Ribes aureum) and bristly gooseberry (Ribes setosum) – are some of the earliest fruits to ripen in the summer. They provide a tasty snack for birds and people alike. Serviceberry (Amelanchier alnifolia) is another popular summer fruit for cedar waxwings, western tanagers, and thrushes. 

Elderberry, snowberry, and more

Blue elderberry (Sambucus cerulea) ripens in the fall, as does western mountain-ash (Sorbus scopulina). The snowberries – common snowberry (Symphoricarpos albus) and western snowberry (Symphoricarpos occidentalis) – also ripen in the fall, but their fruits stick around through the winter. So do the wild roses, such as Woods’ rose (Rosa woodsii) and Nootka rose (Rosa nutkana). Silver buffaloberry (Shepherdia argentea) is a great fall fruit that sometimes remains through mid-winter. Note that this is a large, thorny bush, though, and separate male and female plants are needed for pollination.

Rocky Mountain juniper (Juniperus scopulorum) is a tall shrub that provides winter “berries” (actually fleshy cones) for Bohemian waxwings, Townsend’s solitaires, and American robins. Keep in mind that juniper, like silver buffaloberry, has separate male and female plants, so you’ll need both in your general area for pollination to occur. Juniper is also highly flammable – so it’s probably not a good idea to plant it in areas with high fire risk. Montana also has two lower-growing juniper species that provide options for smaller spaces: horizontal juniper (Juniperus horizontalis) and common juniper (Juniperus communis).

Native plants for seeds

Many birds – such as American goldfinches, American tree sparrows, and pine siskins – commonly feed on seeds. In the case of sparrows, it’s often hard to see exactly what they’re eating, since they feed on the ground. Nevertheless, a few seed-bearing plants are especially noteworthy for the birds they attract. Montana’s native sunflowers – the annual common sunflower and the perennial Nuttall’s and Maximilian sunflowers – reliably attract goldfinches and pine siskins when their seeds ripen in the fall. Our pines, such as ponderosa and limber pine, feed nomadic groups of conifer-seed specialists such as red crossbills and Clark’s nutcrackers. Thinleaf alder, water birch, and paper birch provide winter seeds that often attract common redpolls and pine siskins. And many other native plants, from asters to grasses, also produce seeds that various finches and sparrows may use.

Native plants for nectar

What about hummingbirds? These tiny, beloved hoverers often catch tiny insects – so providing habitat for insects is important to them, too. In addition, they’re well-known for their nectar-feeding habits. A variety of native plants with long, tubular flowers are popular hummingbird plants. These include orange honeysuckle (Lonicera ciliosa), yellow columbine (Aquilegia flavescens), scarlet gilia (Ipomopsis aggregata), beebalm (Monarda fistulosa), and the penstemons. Among western Montana’s common penstemons are Alberta beardtongue (Penstemon albertinus), fuzzy-tongue penstemon (Penstemon eriantherus), and small-flower beardtongue (Penstemon procerus). In addition, some of the plants I’ve already mentioned for insects or fruits – such as golden currant – are popular nectar sources for hummingbirds.

Obtaining plants

Where can you find these plants? Some local nurseries, such as GardenWerks in Helena, carry a limited selection of native plants. In addition, I was able to find three retail nurseries in western and central Montana that offer a wide selection of natives: 

• Blake Nursery, Big Timber, MT: https://www.blakenursery.com/
• Center for Native Plants, Whitefish, MT: https://centerfornativeplants.com/
• Pipilo Native Plants, Charlo, MT: https://www.pipilonatives.com/

(A fourth nursery, Southwest Montana Native Landscapes, has unfortunately closed, though it still shows up on a Google search.)

To find out more, I contacted these nurseries and asked them which plants they stock, of those I list in this article. Find their responses here.

In addition to these retail nurseries, there are a few other commercial sources of native plants in western Montana. For larger projects, the Montana Conservation Seedling Nursery and Great Bear Native Plants accept wholesale orders. And if you want to start your own plants, Native Ideals sells locally grown seeds for a variety of Montana species.

Note that certain nurseries that don’t specialize in native plants may “stretch” the concept of “native” to include species that aren’t from Montana. For example, Penstemon strictus is sometimes sold as a native plant, but it grows in the wild in the southern Rocky Mountains and doesn’t reach Montana. When in doubt, look a plant up on the Montana Natural Heritage Program’s Montana Field Guide to learn about its status in the state, or check out the Biota of North America Program’s county-level range maps. These maps are organized by genus and show the distribution, by county, of all wild and naturalized plants in the United States.

The bird-friendly garden

Is this a comprehensive list of all of the plants that are important for bird-friendly gardening in Montana? No! I’ve neglected to mention native maples (Acer spp.), raspberries (Rubus spp.), hawthorns (Crataegus spp.), and many others.

When it comes to growing habitat for birds, there are always more plants you can add. But even if you do nothing more than add a patch of chokecherries and a handful of goldenrods to your yard, where previously there was just lawn, you’ll have made a good start. As the chokecherries leaf out in the spring, wait for the yellow-rumped warblers to appear, hunting insects. When the fruits ripen in the fall, look for the flocks of cedar waxwings and robins. And if you have the space in your yard to include all of the plants I’ve mentioned here, along with a water source… in a few years, your yard will be a paradise for birds.

This story was produced with support from the Gold Country Master Gardener Association.

Further reading

Acopian Bird Savers: prevent birds from flying into windows. Retrieved from https://www.birdsavers.com/

American Bird Conservancy. (2013, January 29). Outdoor cats: single greatest source of human-caused mortality for birds and mammals, says new study. Retrieved from https://abcbirds.org/news/outdoor-cats-single-greatest-source-of-human-caused-mortality-for-birds-and-mammals-says-new-study/

Biota of North America Program. (2014). BONAP’s North American Plant Atlas (NAPA). Retrieved from http://bonap.net/NAPA/Genus/Traditional/County

Center for Native Plants. (n.d.) Our most bird friendly species. Retrieved from https://centerfornativeplants.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/cnp_plantselection_birds-1.pdf

Cornell Lab of Ornithology. (2016, December 5). FAQ: Outdoor cats and their effects on birds. Retrieved from https://www.allaboutbirds.org/news/faq-outdoor-cats-and-their-effects-on-birds/

Cornell Lab of Ornithology. (2023). All about birdhouses. Retrieved from https://nestwatch.org/learn/all-about-birdhouses/

Cornell Lab of Ornithology. (2023, February 24). Why birds hit windows – and how you can help prevent it. Retrieved from https://www.allaboutbirds.org/news/why-birds-hit-windows-and-how-you-can-help-prevent-it/

Friends of the Mississippi River. (2022). Goldenrod or ragweed: which causes allergies and which benefits pollinators? Retrieved from https://fmr.org/updates/conservation/goldenrod-or-ragweed-which-causes-allergies-and-which-benefits-pollinators

Loss, S.R., Will, T., Loss, S.S., & Marra, P.P. (2014). Bird-building collisions in the United States: estimates of annual mortality and species vulnerability. The Condor 116(1):8-23. Retrieved from https://bioone.org/journals/the-condor/volume-116/issue-1/CONDOR-13-090.1/Birdbuilding-collisions-in-the-United-States–Estimates-of-annual/10.1650/CONDOR-13-090.1.full

Montana Natural Heritage Program. (n.d.). Montana Field Guide. Montana State Library. Retrieved from https://fieldguide.mt.gov/default.aspx

Narango, D.L., Tallamy, D.W., & Shropshire, K.J. (2020). Few keystone plant genera support the majority of Lepidoptera species. Nature Communications 11:5751. Retrieved from https://www.researchgate.net/publication/345818119_Few_keystone_plant_genera_support_the_majority_of_Lepidoptera_species

National Wildlife Federation. (2023). Native plants (by zip code). Retrieved from https://www.nwf.org/NativePlantFinder/Plants

Rosenberg, K.V., Dokter, A.M., Blancher, P.J., Sauer, J.R., Smith, A.C., Smith, P.A., … Marra, P.P. (2019). Decline of the North American avifauna. Science 366:120-124. Retrieved from https://www.birds.cornell.edu/home/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/DECLINE-OF-NORTH-AMERICAN-AVIFAUNA-SCIENCE-2019.pdf

Sánchez-Bayo, F. & Wyckhuys, K.A.G. (2019). Worldwide decline of the entomofauna: a review of its drivers. Biological Conservation 232: 8-27. Retrieved from https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0006320718313636

Smallwood, J.A. & Bird, D.M. (2020). American kestrel (Falco sparverius), version 1.0. In Birds of the World (A.F. Poole & F.B. Gill, editors). Ithaca, NY: Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Retrieved from https://birdsoftheworld.org/bow/species/amekes/cur/introduction

Tallamy, D.W. (2019). Nature’s best hope: a new approach to conservation that starts in your yard. Portland, OR: Timber Press.

The post How to grow a bird-friendly garden in western Montana appeared first on Wild With Nature.

Cuando comparas las aves de un césped cortado con las que viven en un parche de capulines (Prunus virginiana), la diferencia es fuerte. Tal vez el césped mantendría a unos estorninos pintos (Sturnus vulgaris) y mirlos primavera (Turdus migratorius). Es posible que, al final de la migración primaveral, unos desesperados zorzales de anteojos (Catharus ustulatus) pudieran pasar por ahí.

Los capulines, por otro lado, mantienen una intrincada comunidad de vida, desde la mariposa cometa xochiquetzal (Papilio multicaudata) hasta docenas de especies de aves. Cuando las frutas maduran a ser jugosas y de color negro profundo al final del verano, atraen chinitos (Bombycilla cedrorum), clarines norteños (Myadestes townsendii), pirangas capucha roja (Piranga ludoviciana), mirlos primavera y pinzones mexicanos (Haemorhous mexicanus). Por otra parte, a través de la estación de crecimiento, las hojas mantienen diversos insectos – y las aves que los comen. Puedes ver chipes corona negra (Cardellina pusilla) revoloteando por las hojas, así como reyezuelos matraquita (Regulus calendula), chipes rabadilla amarilla (Setophaga coronata) y vireos gorjeadores (Vireo gilvus).

Cuando consideramos la diversidad de la vida cerca de nosotros, es fácil ver varias malas noticias en esa época. Durante los últimos 50 años, hemos perdido 2,9 mil millones de aves reproductoras en Norteamérica. A la vez, científicos en varias partes del mundo han reportado declives rápidos de insectos que solían ser comunes. Sin embargo, al tomar algunas simples decisiones sobre lo que vamos a cultivar en nuestros jardines, podemos contribuir en revertir estas tendencias. En nuestros jardines, parques y vecindarios, podemos proveer hogares para las aves, las abejas y las orugas. Y hacerlo no sólo tiene que ver con evitar extinciones – también es algo muy divertido.

Este artículo se enfoca en las plantas que podemos cultivar para las aves en la mitad occidental de Montana, EE.UU. Si vives en otra región, las plantas específicas serán diferentes, pero las recomendaciones generales serán las mismas.

Empezando: el hábitat para las aves

Cada especie de ave tiene su propia historia de vida. Los hábitats que usa, dónde anida, si emigra o no – todo esto varía. Sin embargo, todas las aves necesitan comida, abrigo, agua y seguridad contra los depredadores. Las plantas – en concreto, especies particulares de plantas nativas al paisaje local – ofrecen buena comida y abrigo. Pero antes de que pongamos atención a los detalles de estas plantas, consideremos el agua y los depredadores.

Algunas aves, como los cernícalos americanos (Falco sparverius), pueden conseguir en su comida más o menos toda la humedad que necesitan. El resto de las aves tienen que beber agua. Si incluyes una provisión de agua en tu jardín, tal como un baño de aves que limpias regularmente o un humedal pequeño, puedes atraer las aves a beber o bañarse.

Ten cuidado con los depredadores

¿Qué hay de los depredadores en nuestros jardines? Los gatos domésticos al aire libre pueden ser increíblemente letales para las aves cantoras en los vecindarios. Sólo en los Estados Unidos, los gatos domésticos matan a más de mil millones de aves cada año. Este número es tan grande que es casi inimaginable. No obstante, hay muchos gatos domésticos al aire libre en los Estados Unidos: cerca de 50 millones como mascotas, además de hasta 100 millones de gatos ferales. Manejar estos gatos, especialmente los ferales, puede ser un asunto de disputa. Pero mantener tus propios gatos dentro de la casa es un paso relativamente fácil. Haciendo esto, vas a hacer que tu jardín no sea una trampa letal para las aves cantoras.

Las ventanas no son depredadores, pero son otro letal peligro para las aves cantoras en el vecindario. En los Estados Unidos, se estima que matan más de 350 millones de aves cada año. Un artículo por el Cornell Lab of Ornithology resume este tema y presenta algunas soluciones. De estas, probablemente los Salvapájaros Acopianos son una de las más elegantes. Este discreto diseño de baja tecnología consiste en hileras verticales de cuerdas, separadas por cuatro pulgadas, que cuelgan del exterior de una ventana. Puedes construirlos por ti mismo usando cualquier cuerda o bambú, o puedes comprarlos en línea.

Incluyendo características de hábitats diferentes

Hablando en general, todas las aves están asociadas con uno o más de tres grandes hábitats: el bosque, la pradera o el humedal. ¿Cuáles de estos hábitats forman el paisaje cerca de ti? La respuesta a esta pregunta va a influir en las posibilidades para tu jardín para las aves.

¿Vives en el medio de un bosque del ayarín (Pseudotsuga menziesii), o en una zona residencial en el valle? Los cascanueces americanos (Nucifraga columbiana) probablemente no vayan a visitar tu jardín a menos que tengas parches de coníferos cerca de ti. Igualmente, es probable que no vayas a atraer ni saltaparedes pantaneros (Cistothorus palustris) ni agachonas norteamericanas (Gallinago delicata) a menos que vivas cerca de un humedal.

Por otra parte, la mayoría de las aves que viven en las praderas necesitan relativamente amplios espacios abiertos con gramíneas y hierbas. Por eso, a menos que esto describa el área cerca de tu casa, es probable que no tendrás gorriones chapulín (Ammodramus savannarum) ni praderos del oeste (Sturnella neglecta) en tu jardín. Mientras tanto, varias aves de matorrales o de los bordes de los bosques sí usarán jardines durante la migración o la estación reproductiva. Y, por supuesto, hay varias especies que usan más de uno de estos hábitats.

Generalmente, para hacer que tu jardín invite más a las aves, vale considerar componentes de estos tres hábitats: el bosque, la pradera y el humedal. Es poco probable que un estanque pequeño atraerá las agachonas norteamericanas – pero, otra vez, el agua hará que las aves puedan beber y bañarse. Tampoco es probable que un pequeño parche de pradera mantendrá a gorriones chapulín, pero ofrecerá importantes semillas e insectos a las aves del borde del matorral, tales como los gorriones cejas blancas (Spizella passerina). Y los parches de nativos árboles y arbustos, como los capulines, van a proveer comida y abrigo para diversas aves migratorias y reproductivas.

¿Por qué las plantas nativas?

Probablemente te hayas dado cuenta de que sigo mencionando las plantas nativas para las aves. ¿Por qué eso sería importante? podrías preguntarte. Tal vez hayas notado que los mirlos primavera y los ampelis europeos (Bombycilla garrulus) suelen comer las frutas del árbol del paraíso (Elaeagnus angustifolia), una planta invasora frecuentemente cultivada que a menudo escapa del cultivo para competir contra los álamos y sauces nativos en nuestras riberas. O quizás hayas observado un pinzón mexicano (Haemorhous mexicanus) o un picamaderos norteamericano (Dryocopus pileatus) picoteando una manzana – otra fruta no nativa.

Sí, claro que hay plantas no nativas que algunas aves usarán. Pero en conjunto, las plantas nativas son bastante superiores para nuestras aves. ¿Por qué? Tiene que ver con la comida – y específicamente, los insectos. Doug Tallamy, un investigador que ha pasado décadas estudiando las aves y los insectos, escribe que el 96% de las aves terrestres norteamericanas depende muchísimo de los insectos durante la estación reproductiva. Las orugas blandas y jugosas son especialmente importantes. Y mientras que las plantas nativas han coevolucionado con los insectos nativos, en comparación las plantas no nativas son un desierto para la diversidad de insectos.

Puede ser que una planta no nativa como el árbol del paraíso siga proveyendo frutas que alimenten algunas especies. Pero comparado con un capulín u otra planta nativa, es mucho menos útil para la mayoría de nuestras aves. Si quieres atraer una abundancia de aves a tu jardín, las plantas nativas te ayudarán mucho.

Dale, ¿cuáles especies debo plantar para las aves? podrías estar preguntando. Acá están algunas recomendaciones para el occidente de Montana, organizadas según los tipos de alimento que proveen.

Plantas nativas para los insectos

¿Cuáles plantas nativas les proveen la mayor cantidad de insectos a nuestras aves? Para hacer recomendaciones para regiones diferentes, Doug Tallamy y Kimberley Shropshire colaboraron con el National Wildlife Federation para crear un sitio web interactivo que se puede buscar por el código postal. Por cada código postal, esta herramienta predice cuántas especies de orugas cada planta nativa mantendrá. Y resulta que, en cualquier región de Norteamérica en la que estés, solamente unas especies de plantas nativas mantienen la mayoría de las orugas.

Cerca de Helena, Montana, los sauces (Salix spp.) encabezan la lista. Estos arbustos acogen hasta 309 especies de orugas – jugosos sacos de proteína para alimentar nuestras aves reproductivas. Muchos de nuestros sauces nativos crecen en humedales, pero Salix scouleriana y Salix exigua son especies comunes que suelen crecer en áreas más secas.

Los álamos (Populus spp.) también son muy importantes para las orugas, manteniendo hasta 245 especies. Entre ellos están las especies Populus balsamifera y Populus deltoides – pero fíjate en que estos árboles son reconocidos por caersele las ramas. Otra opción es el álamo temblón (Populus tremuloides), pero esta especie forma matorrales por sus rizomas subterráneos. Por estas razones, los álamos son más apropiados en espacios grandes.

El capulín (Prunus virginiana) y la ciruela americana (Prunus americana) forman matorrales y son arbustos excelentes para el hábitat de las aves. (Albergan hasta 227 especies de orugas – y ve este artículo por una exploración de los otros minúsculos insectos que viven en los capulines). Sin embargo, si vives en un área con alto riesgo de conflictos con los osos, fíjate en que los capulines y las ciruelas pueden atraer osos cuando las frutas maduran en el otoño.

Abedules, alisos y pinos

Nuestros abedules nativos (Betula spp.) mantienen 211 especies de orugas. La Betula occidentalis es un árbol pequeño que suele crecer al lado de los arroyos; la Betula papyrifera es un árbol mucho más grande. Y los abedules hacen mucho más que sólo proveer un montón de insectos. Sus troncos (como los de los álamos) son sitios populares para los nidos de las aves que anidan en cavidades, tales como los carboneros cabecinegros (Poecile atricapillus) o los saltaparedes comunes (Troglodytes aedon). (Si no quieres esperar hasta que tus árboles crezcan, el Cornell Lab of Ornithology también provee instrucciones detalladas de montaje para las cajas nido). Además de los abedules, el aliso gris (Alnus incana), una especie pariente, es un arbusto grande o un árbol pequeño que mantiene 196 especies de orugas.

Entre los coníferos, los pinos (Pinus spp.) son importantes para las orugas, alojando hasta 188 especies. Cerca de Helena, la Pinus ponderosa y la Pinus flexilis son opciones buenas. Sin embargo, recuerda que crecen para ser árboles bastante grandes. También, dependiendo de tus alrededores, podría ser que no quieras plantarlos cerca de tu casa por el riesgo de incendios.

Varas de oro, fresas y más

Y ¿qué tal las plantas herbáceas? Para las orugas, la vara de oro (Solidago spp.) encabeza la lista, albergando 65 especies. Varas de oro comunes en Montana incluyen Solidago gigantea, Solidago canadensis y Solidago missouriensis. A menudo se culpan estas plantas por alergias al fin del verano, pero esto es un mito: típicamente los culpables son las plantas del género Ambrosia, que florecen a la misma vez.

Otras hierbas que mantienen números grandes de mariposas y polillas incluyen las nativas fresas y girasoles. Las fresas (Fragaria virginiana y Fragaria vesca) se mantienen bajas; puede ser que no compitan bien con plantas más altas y vigorosas. Los girasoles, al otro lado, son tanto altos como vigorosos. En Montana, el girasol común (Helianthus annuus) es una abundante planta anual que suele crecer al lado de las carreteras. También tenemos dos especies perennes comunes, Helianthus nuttallii y Helianthus maximiliani.

También cabe mencionar los lupinos y las artemisas, que respectivamente alojan 40 y 35 especies de orugas. Algunos de los lupinos comunes en Montana son Lupinus argenteus y Lupinus sericeus. Las artemisas son muy diversas en Montana e incluyen tanto arbustos, entre ellos la Artemisia tridentata o la Artemisia cana, como hierbas, por ejemplo la Artemisia frigida o la Artemisia ludoviciana.

Plantas nativas para proveer frutas

Ya he mencionado que el capulín mantiene una diversidad de insectos. Además de los insectos, este arbusto también provee frutas. En el otoño, el capulín es un recurso fenomenal para los chinitos, los mirlos primavera y muchas otras aves. Y además del capulín, hay una amplia variedad de otras frutas nativas que atraen las aves, desde julio hasta el invierno. Muchas de estas plantas también albergan una diversidad notable de orugas (aunque apoyan menos especies de orugas que los árboles y arbustos que ya he mencionado).

La Cornus sericea ofrece manojos de pequeñas frutas blancas desde medio verano hasta el otoño. Los maulladores grises (Dumetella caroliniensis) y los gorriones corona blanca (Zonotrichia leucophrys) están entre las aves que las comen. Este arbusto de media altura también tiene un llamativo follaje otoñal de rojo oscuro.

Las grosellas nativas – tales como el Ribes aureum o el Ribes setosum – son algunas de las frutas más tempranas al madurar en el verano. Ofrecen una merienda sabrosa, tanto para las aves como para gente. El guillomo (Amelanchier alnifolia) es otra querida fruta veraniega para los chinitos, las pirangas capucha roja y los zorzales.

Saúcos, perlitas y más

Las frutas del saúco azul (Sambucus cerulea) maduran en el otoño, así como las del serbal (Sorbus scopulina). Las bayas de las perlitas – Symphoricarpos albus y Symphoricarpos occidentalis – también maduran en el otoño, pero siguen siendo disponible a través del invierno. Esto es el caso también por los rosales, tales como Rosa woodsii y Rosa nutkana. El arbusto Shepherdia argentea es otra buena especie cuyas frutas a veces permanecen hasta medio invierno. Sin embargo, nota que este arbusto es grande y espinoso, y se necesita distintas hembras y machos para polinizarlo.

El enebro Juniperus scopulorum es un arbusto de gran altura que provee “bayas” invernales (las cuales realmente son piñas carnosas) para los ampelis europeos, los clarines norteños y los mirlos primavera. Fíjate en que el enebro, así como la Shepherdia argentea, tiene distintas hembras y machos: vas a necesitar los dos en tu área general para que la polinización ocurra. Además, el enebro es altamente inflamable – así que probablemente sería una mala idea plantarlo en áreas con alto riesgo de incendios. Montana también tiene dos enebros de más baja altura, el Juniperus horizontalis y el Juniperus communis, que proveen opciones para espacios más pequeños.

Plantas nativas para proveer semillas

Varias aves – como los jilgueritos canarios (Spinus tristis), los jilgueritos pineros (Spinus pinus), los chingolos arbóreos (Spizelloides arborea) y otros gorriones – a menudo se alimentan de semillas. En el caso de los gorriones, generalmente es difícil ver exactamente lo que comen, dado que suelen alimentarse en el suelo. No obstante, algunas plantas son especialmente notables por las aves que sus semillas atraen.

Los girasoles en Montana – el anual Helianthus annuus y los perennes Helianthus nuttallii y Helianthus maximiliani – atraen de forma fiable los jilgueritos canario y pinero cuando sus semillas maduran en el otoño. Nuestros pinos, como la Pinus ponderosa o la Pinus flexilis, mantienen grupos errantes de aves que se especializan en las semillas coníferas, incluso el picotuerto rojo (Loxia curvirostra) y el cascanueces americano. El aliso gris y los abedules proveen semillas invernales que suelen alimentar los pardillos norteños (Acanthis flammea) y los jilgueritos pineros. Y varias otras plantas nativas, desde las asteráceas hasta las gramíneas, también producen semillas que varios pinzones y gorriones pueden usar.

Plantas nativas para proveer néctar

¿Qué tal los colibrís? Estas minúsculas y queridas aves suelen cazar insectos diminutos. Por eso, plantar el hábitat para los insectos les importa a los colibrís también. Además, son bien conocidos por su predilección por alimentarse con néctar. Varias plantas nativas con flores largas y cilíndricas son populares con los colibrís. Entre ellas están la Lonicera ciliosa, la Aquilegia flavescens, la Ipomopsis aggregata, la Monarda fistulosa y las campanitas (Penstemon spp.). Las campanitas comunes del occidente de Montana incluyen el Penstemon albertinus, el Penstemon eriantherus y el Penstemon procerus. Además, algunas de las plantas que ya he mencionado por los insectos o las frutas – como la grosella Ribes aureum – son fuentes populares de néctar para los colibrís. 

Cómo obtener plantas

¿Dónde puedes encontrar estas plantas? Algunos viveros locales, como GardenWerks en Helena, tienen una variedad limitada de plantas nativas. Además, logré hallar tres viveros minoristas en la parte occidental o central de Montana que ofrecen una amplia variedad de plantas nativas:

• Blake Nursery, Big Timber, MT: https://www.blakenursery.com/
• Center for Native Plants, Whitefish, MT: https://centerfornativeplants.com/
• Pipilo Native Plants, Charlo, MT: https://www.pipilonatives.com/

(Un cuarto vivero, Southwest Montana Native Landscapes, lamentablemente ha cerrado, aunque todavía parece en una búsqueda de Google.)

Para aprender más, me puse en contacto con estos viveros y les pregunté cuáles plantas tienen, de las que he mencionado en este artículo. Encuentra sus respuestas aquí.

Además de estos viveros minoristas, hay unas fuentes comerciales adicionales para plantas nativas en el occidente de Montana. Para proyectos grandes, el Montana Conservation Seedling Nursery y Great Bear Native Plants aceptan pedidos mayoristas. Y si quieres germinar tus propias semillas, Native Ideals vende semillas localmente cultivadas por una variedad de especies nativas a Montana.

Fíjate en que algunos viveros que no se especializan en plantas nativas a veces “extenden” el concepto de “nativo” para incluir especies que no son realmente nativas a Montana. Por ejemplo, a veces se vende Penstemon strictus como una planta nativa, pero esta especie existe en estado salvaje sólo en el sur de las Montañas Rocosas y no llega a Montana. Si hay alguna duda sobre una especie, búscala en el Montana Field Guide del Montana Natural Heritage Program para aprender más sobre su situación en el estado, o revisa los mapas al nivel del condado presentados por el Biota of North America Program. Estos mapas se organizan por el género de planta y muestran la extensión, al nivel del condado, en la que reside cada planta salvaje o naturalizada en los Estados Unidos.

El jardín para las aves

¿Es esto una lista completa de todas las plantas que serían importantes para cultivar un jardín para las aves en Montana? ¡Claro que no! No he mencionado los arces nativos (Acer spp.), ni las frambuesas (Rubus spp.), ni los espinos (Crataegus spp.) ni muchos otros.

Si queremos cultivar un buen hábitat para las aves, siempre habrá más plantas que podemos añadir. Pero aun si no hicieras nada más que plantar un parche de capulines y unas varas de oro donde antes sólo había un césped cortado, habrás empezado bien. Mientras los capulines abran sus hojas en la primavera, espera hasta que los chipes rabadilla amarilla aparezcan, cazando insectos. Cuando las frutas maduren en el otoño, busca las bandadas de chinitos y mirlos primavera. Y si tienes espacio en tu jardín para incluir todas las plantas que he mencionado acá… en pocos años, tu jardín será un paraíso para las aves.

Esta historia fue producida con apoyo de la Gold Country Master Gardener Association.

Leer más

Acopian Bird Savers: prevent birds from flying into windows. Recuperado de https://www.birdsavers.com/

American Bird Conservancy. (2013, el 29 de enero). Outdoor cats: single greatest source of human-caused mortality for birds and mammals, says new study. Recuperado de https://abcbirds.org/news/outdoor-cats-single-greatest-source-of-human-caused-mortality-for-birds-and-mammals-says-new-study/

Biota of North America Program. (2014). BONAP’s North American Plant Atlas (NAPA). Recuperado de http://bonap.net/NAPA/Genus/Traditional/County

Center for Native Plants. (sin fecha). Our most bird friendly species. Recuperado de https://centerfornativeplants.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/04/cnp_plantselection_birds-1.pdf

Cornell Lab of Ornithology. (2016, el 5 de diciembre). FAQ: Outdoor cats and their effects on birds. Recuperado de https://www.allaboutbirds.org/news/faq-outdoor-cats-and-their-effects-on-birds/

Cornell Lab of Ornithology. (2023). All about birdhouses. Recuperado de https://nestwatch.org/learn/all-about-birdhouses/

Cornell Lab of Ornithology. (2023, el 24 de febrero). Why birds hits windows – and how you can help prevent it. Recuperado de https://www.allaboutbirds.org/news/why-birds-hit-windows-and-how-you-can-help-prevent-it/

Friends of the Mississippi River. (2022). Goldenrod or ragweed: which causes allergies and which benefits pollinators? Recuperado de https://fmr.org/updates/conservation/goldenrod-or-ragweed-which-causes-allergies-and-which-benefits-pollinators

Loss, S.R., Will, T., Loss, S.S., & Marra, P.P. (2014). Bird-building collisions in the United States: estimates of annual mortality and species vulnerability. The Condor 116(1):8-23. Recuperado de https://bioone.org/journals/the-condor/volume-116/issue-1/CONDOR-13-090.1/Birdbuilding-collisions-in-the-United-States–Estimates-of-annual/10.1650/CONDOR-13-090.1.full

Montana Natural Heritage Program. (sin fecha). Montana Field Guide. Montana State Library. Recuperado de https://fieldguide.mt.gov/default.aspx

Narango, D.L., Tallamy, D.W., & Shropshire, K.J. (2020). Few keystone plant genera support the majority of Lepidoptera species. Nature Communications 11:5751. Recuperado de https://www.researchgate.net/publication/345818119_Few_keystone_plant_genera_support_the_majority_of_Lepidoptera_species

National Wildlife Federation. (2023). Native plants (by zip code). Recuperado de https://www.nwf.org/NativePlantFinder/Plants

Rosenberg, K.V., Dokter, A.M., Blancher, P.J., Sauer, J.R., Smith, A.C., Smith, P.A., … Marra, P.P. (2019). Decline of the North American avifauna. Science 366:120-124. Recuperado de https://www.birds.cornell.edu/home/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/DECLINE-OF-NORTH-AMERICAN-AVIFAUNA-SCIENCE-2019.pdf

Sánchez-Bayo, F. & Wyckhuys, K.A.G. (2019). Worldwide decline of the entomofauna: a review of its drivers. Biological Conservation 232: 8-27. Recuperado de https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0006320718313636

Smallwood, J.A. & Bird, D.M. (2020). American kestrel (Falco sparverius), versión 1.0. En Birds of the World (A.F. Poole & F.B. Gill, editores). Ithaca, NY: Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Recuperado de https://birdsoftheworld.org/bow/species/amekes/cur/introduction

Tallamy, D.W. (2019). Nature’s best hope: a new approach to conservation that starts in your yard. Portland, OR: Timber Press.

The post Cómo cultivar un jardín para las aves en el occidente de Montana appeared first on Wild With Nature.

December 17, 2022

The snowy parking lot along the LaValle Creek Road is framed by frosty branches and a gray blanket of fog this morning. I glimpse a Townsend’s solitaire as it flushes from the hawthorns, flashing the pale stripe in its gray wings. The solitaire flutters over the grassland of the hillside, then disappears back into the hawthorns of the draw. On the other side of the road, the trees of the dry forest rise up next to us, ponderosa pines and Douglas-firs. Occasionally we can hear the yank of a red-breasted nuthatch from the conifers. Farther from the road, aspen groves mix with the conifers along the creek. A lone raven perches in a ponderosa pine beyond them.

The mix of habitats in the LaValle Creek drainage is impressive – and we’re trying to cover the area thoroughly today, censusing birds as part of the Missoula Christmas Bird Count (CBC). I’m with Steve Flood, who has led the LaValle Creek segment of the CBC for four years now. 

“You can essentially walk from sagebrush and bunchgrass, and in about a mile up here you’ll see grand firs,” Steve says.

Grand firs (Abies grandis) are moisture-loving conifers. You won’t find them around Helena, where the low-elevation forest is too dry for much except ponderosa pine and Douglas-fir. So in the LaValle Creek area, to be able to go from sagebrush to grand fir in such a short distance means that we’ve got a lot of habitat diversity. And hopefully, that will translate to a lot of birds today.

Moving up LaValle Creek

Steve and I are covering the upper portion of the LaValle Creek area. A team of three more birders – Andy Boyce, Adam Mitchell, and William Blake – are covering the lower half of LaValle Creek, where the habitat consists of open pastures and mature cottonwood forest along the stream. Originally, a single group tried to cover both areas – but splitting it in half gives us time to be more thorough.

“Now each group can do it much more leisurely, not feel like they’re having to hurry,” Steve says.

In spite of the nice-looking habitats we’re walking past – mature ponderosas and Douglas-firs, dense hawthorn thickets, smooth-barked aspen groves – the morning is off to a quiet start. Even the chickadees are muted in the fog, only making their sip contact calls. Since they aren’t giving their distinctive chickadee-dee-dee calls, we’re forced to listen and look extra-hard to try to distinguish black-capped chickadees from mountain chickadees.

The birds are quiet enough that we have time to ponder mammals as we ascend farther into the forest. We spot the tracks of weasels, snowshoe hares, a red squirrel, and a miniature bounding trail that is probably a deer mouse. The trail of a red fox merges with our own path for a time. And we know there are other creatures around, too.

“Every year we do this, there’s usually a pretty good herd of elk running around this basin somewhere,” Steve says.

A woodpecker near the ridge

Above us to the northwest is the ridge that marks the edge of the LaValle Creek watershed. This area is all privately owned, and the landowners have graciously given us access to count birds here for the CBC. We start following a sloping trail up the mountain through Douglas-fir forest with an understory of mallow ninebark (Physocarpus malvaceus). The tracks in the snow tell us that a weasel and a snowshoe hare have passed this way recently.

A red squirrel starts scolding us from high in the canopy. And then we start to hear a different sound from ahead of us. It’s a resounding, sporadic tapping, far too loud to be a nuthatch. A woodpecker is foraging. And from the sounds of it, it’s a large one.

“That’s really heavy hammering,” Steve says. “I think it’s a pileated.”

But foraging sounds can be trickier to identify than songs and calls. Is it really a pileated woodpecker? We locate the ponderosa pine snag where the woodpecker is hammering. But of course, it’s foraging on the far side of the tree, completely hidden by the trunk.

It’s so loud. It must be a pileated woodpecker, we think. Still, I start making a wide circle downhill, trying to see the far side of the snag without disturbing the woodpecker. The tapping falls silent. Then it starts up again. Finally, I see a head and a powerful beak attacking the edge of the snag. But this bird is way smaller than I was expecting, and its belly is white. It’s not a pileated.

Smaller than expected

“You aren’t going to believe this,” I tell Steve as I rejoin him farther up the slope and show him my photos. “It’s a hairy woodpecker!”

Steve’s expression shows just as much surprise as I felt when I saw the bird. We had both been almost sure it was a pileated. How can a bird as small as a hairy woodpecker make such a large noise?

“That’s a particularly resonant piece of wood!” Steve says.

We can see sun and blue sky by the time we reach the ridgeline. The valley is still filled with fog, but we’ve climbed above the clouds. The forest around us is open, with large Douglas-firs and ponderosas. It’s the sort of forest that might, possibly, support flammulated owls in the summer. One of these years, Steve hopes to return and check during the warm season for these rare, sensitive, moth-eating owls.

But in December, any flammulated owls are long-gone. In their place, we’re hearing the occasional kip-kip of a few red crossbills, drawn here by the conifer seeds.

“I had about a hundred crossbills up here last year,” Steve tells me.

Looking for owls, finding nuthatches

We’re following a fence line along the crest of the ridge now. Along the fence is a row of young, bushy Douglas-firs. Steve is peering into the firs with the razor-sharp intensity of a birder searching for northern saw-whet owls. Seeing him inspires me to do the same. But in spite of our best efforts, we don’t see any of these tiny, rodent-eating owls today. If we did, though, this is where we’d expect them.

“Whenever I find them, it’s a dense, limby patch next to an opening,” Steve says.

Past the Douglas-fir thicket, we notice a few recent elk tracks along the ridge. We can see the LaValle Creek valley unfolding below us. Steep, knapweed-covered hillsides blend into dense hawthorn thickets along the draws. Soon, we’ll be heading back down there. If we’re lucky, we may find a long-eared owl, a ruffed grouse, or some American tree sparrows among the hawthorns.

But we aren’t quite done counting birds on the ridge itself yet. We hear the hoarse calls of a single Clark’s nutcracker in the distance. Like the red crossbills, it’s probably finding conifer seeds.

Then a series of piping calls erupt from a massive ponderosa pine near us. Pygmy nuthatches! And they aren’t alone. A female downy woodpecker is tapping on a branch among the bright yellow wolf lichens (Letharia vulpina). She flies to the main trunk and continues feeding. Several white-breasted nuthatches are active here, too, almost twice the size of their pygmy nuthatch cousins. And not to be left out, three red-breasted nuthatches are flitting from branches to the main trunk and back again. These aren’t our first nuthatches of the day, but it’s exciting to see all three of Montana’s nuthatch species in a single tree.

What we see and what we don’t

We begin descending the knapweed-covered hillside, heading for the hawthorns. A few years ago, Steve found a flock of gray partridges on this hillside, but today the ranks of knapweed are still and birdless.

As always when birding, we’re paying close attention to the habitats we’re moving through. We’re noticing patterns and thinking about trends. It’s not just about what we are seeing today, but also what we aren’t. 

“No flickers yet,” I comment.

“Yeah, that’s kind of bizarre, actually,” Steve replies.

He looks back up the hill, scanning the tops of the Douglas-firs for a perching red-tailed hawk. That’s another common bird that we haven’t seen yet today. And although we’ve played tag with flocks of mountain chickadees, black-capped chickadees, and nuthatches through the forest, we haven’t seen or heard a single golden-crowned kinglet today. It’s quite a contrast from the spruce-cottonwood forest of the Swan Valley, where two days ago golden-crowned kinglets were one of the commonest birds.

The hawthorns of LaValle Creek

We split up as we get to the hawthorns, one of us taking each side of the thicket. If one of us flushes a long-eared owl, hopefully the other one will see it. But the first thickets we check are silent. Except for an occasional black-billed magpie, the birds are absent.

It’s only when we’re checking our final hawthorn draw, approaching the parking area, that we start to find some more birds. All of a sudden, it seems like the chickadees are everywhere. There are 15 or 20 of them, all black-caps, darting out of the shrubs and landing in the spotted knapweed (Centaurea stoebe). It’s a familiar pattern of activity: it appears that the chickadees are hunting Urophora gall flies again. I stop to watch them more closely. They’re actually picking individual knapweed seedheads, breaking each one off at the stem. Then they return to the hawthorns to hammer at their catch, presumably extracting some juicy gall flies.

The chickadees aren’t alone here. We spot a few dark-eyed juncos twittering nearby. Steve sees them making forays into the knapweed, too. Are the juncos also eating gall fly larvae?

A subtle brown movement among the hawthorns alerts me to the presence of a ruffed grouse. I get a good look at its sweeping crest before the grouse fades back into the thicket, a brown shadow among the tangled branches.

A few American goldfinches perch briefly in the tops of the bushes, taking off with a cascade of musical perchicoree calls.

Snow buntings and other surprises

As we meander back towards the parking area, a few American tree sparrows call out their presence. We tally a few more chickadees and nuthatches, but nothing more unusual turns up. 

As we drive down the road, we stop to compare notes with Andy, Adam, and William. What have they found among the cottonwoods and farm fields below us?

The lower LaValle Creek team has had a good day. Like us, they weren’t able to find any long-eared owls or northern saw-whet owls. But they found a prairie falcon perched along the hillside, a flock of snow buntings and horned larks among the cows of a feedlot, and several great horned owls close to the creek.

By the time we’re done birding for the day, it’s mid-afternoon. We haven’t managed to count every single bird in the LaValle Creek area – but between our two teams, we’ve done our best. The Missoula CBC isn’t over yet, though. From LaValle Creek to Kelly Island to McCauley Butte and beyond, teams of birders have been in the field today, combing Missoula for winter birds. What remains now is to tally up the results.

Comparing notes

Some groups just send their lists to Larry Weeks, the count compiler. Others of us show up at his house in the evening for the CBC potluck. To me, this is one of the best parts of the day. It’s a chance to hear about the surprises everyone has found, consider how this year stacks up against others, and enjoy the company of other bird lovers.

At the potluck I see Don Jones, an excellent birder and wildlife photographer from Troy, Montana, who I last saw  seven or eight years ago on the Troy Christmas Bird Count. He’s taking part in five CBCs across western Montana this week. Today, his group birded the area around McCauley Butte. One of their most surprising sightings was a blocky-headed raptor that appeared to be a Cooper’s hawk – an uncommon sighting during the winter. A much-smaller sharp-shinned hawk was dive-bombing it.

As the evening progresses, more surprises trickle in. Jim Brown reports finding a short-eared owl. One group found a marsh wren at Council Grove. Common redpolls, those arctic finches that can be abundant in some winters, were sparse today. But the group that checked Kelly Island found 12 of them there.

Winter finches appear to be down this year. No one tonight reports seeing Cassin’s finches, pine siskins, or pine grosbeaks. And between all of our groups, we’ve found just a few dozen red crossbills.

Conifer cones and other conundrums

Why? Don Jones reports that northern Canada is heavily loaded with cones right now, and the Finch Research Network confirms that the bumper cone crop is widespread in that area. The Canadian spruces look brown under the weight of their seeds. Don says that the trees there are loaded with white-winged crossbills. So is the scarcity of finches here related to better food supplies to the north? It seems very possible.

Larry Weeks is still waiting on a few more bird lists before he’ll be able to finalize the CBC results. But soon, we should know how this year’s CBC compares to almost 50 years of these counts in Missoula.

How are our birds doing? Are there less of them around than there were ten years ago? It turns out that questions like these are difficult to answer well. Bird populations don’t just trend smoothly up or down – they typically fluctuate from year to year, sometimes wildly.

Is it the cold and snowy winter we’re experiencing? Is it the availability of conifer cones or other food sources? How much has the day’s weather changed our counts? How many birds have we missed because we haven’t looked in the right places or listened closely enough?

Decades of Christmas Bird Counts

In short, counting birds is complicated. But since 1976, teams of experienced birders have been going out once a winter to conduct the Missoula CBC. It’s one of our best sources of data on our winter bird populations. And it’s especially important for the northern birds like American tree sparrows and common redpolls, which spend the summers in remote, hard-to-access areas. So how are our birds doing? Christmas Bird Counts like this one, conducted year after year for decades, will help us answer this question.

And in the meanwhile, we’ve gotten to spend a day with all three of our winter nuthatches. We’ve climbed above the foggy LaValle Creek valley and watched a hairy woodpecker sound impossibly large. We’ve gotten to see chickadees harvesting knapweed seedheads, and wondered whether dark-eyed juncos are doing the same. And we’ve gotten to be part of something much larger: a continent-wide search, involving thousands of volunteers, to check up on the health of our mid-winter birds. Whatever the answer, it’s fun to be part of this.

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December 15, 2022

The Swan River slips gently under the snowy bridge where the Cold Creek Road crosses it. A pileated woodpecker flies past, its heavy kakking calls echoing into the distance over the snow-shrouded cottonwoods and Engelmann spruces along the river. In the cottonwoods, we can hear a mixed flock of black-capped chickadees and golden-crowned kinglets, calling busily as they forage. One of the chickadees gives its fee-bee song briefly. It’s a reminder, here in the depths of winter, that spring is coming. By March, the chickadees will be singing much more, staking out their breeding territories.

This morning I’m near Condon, Montana, counting birds with Mary Shaw, an avid wildlife watcher and a board member for the nonprofit Swan Valley Connections. We’re one of a handful of teams conducting the Upper Swan Valley Christmas Bird Count (CBC) today. Like CBCs all over the Americas (primarily North America), the goal is simple: count all the birds we can find in one day within a fixed 15-mile diameter circle. Between December 14 and January 5 each winter, about 2600 CBCs take place across the United States, Canada, and Latin America. 

The first CBCs took place in 1900, and the number of them has been growing ever since. They’re fun community events, but they’re also one of our best sources of long-term data on the populations of North American overwintering birds. Based on CBC data, we can see patterns over the last 50 years – and sometimes farther back -such as the relative stability of overwintering American robin populations, the steady decline in western meadowlarks wintering in the United States, and the northward shift of pine grosbeaks as the climate changes.

A river runs through it

Between the trees, the snow is a few feet deep here in this mostly forested valley. Among the conifers, we can expect to find flocks of chickadees, kinglets, and nuthatches: the usual forest birds. Otherwise, we’re expecting the birds to be clustered in just a few areas today. Here along the river, where the open water provides opportunities for food and shelter, we’re hoping to find some ducks and perhaps an American dipper. The highway can be another surprisingly-attractive spot for winter birds. Roadkills can bring in bald eagles, dozens of ravens, and sometimes golden eagles.

But so far, the river hasn’t been as active as we were hoping. We can see some whitish-yellow branches in the stream, neatly stripped of their bark by the local beavers. But as far as we can see in either direction, neither ducks nor American dippers are visible on the water.

We debate about whether to hike farther along the river. Swan Valley Connections has loaned us snowshoes to navigate the deep snow. And there’s a good chance we might find some mergansers or other ducks somewhere along here.

“Well, I love hiking,” Mary says.

It’s decided.

Birding by snowshoe

We wade through the snow, stumbling occasionally over fallen spruce logs. We stop several times to scan the river, but the water remains birdless. Soon we begin to wander deeper into the forest, attracted by the soft sip calls of a few chickadees.

It’s another flock of black-capped chickadees, at least five of them making these soft contact calls as they glean acrobatically among the spruce needles. In the winter, chickadees hunt for spiders, insect eggs, and larvae. They also feed on fruits, seeds of goldenrods and conifers, and sometimes the fat of animal carcasses. 

By 9:40, we’ve meandered back towards the Swan River. Still no ducks. Mary and I decide to split up. She’ll follow our snowshoe trail through the trees, back toward the bridge. Meanwhile, I’ll bushwhack along the edge of the river, hoping to find some more birds. We’ll meet at the car in just over half an hour.

I make my way along the riverbank, passing a spruce hanging out over the water. Suddenly, I’m surrounded by birds. It’s another mixed winter flock. Golden-crowned kinglets, black-capped chickadees, and mountain chickadees are moving through the spruces. The sips and dees of the black-capped chickadees mix with the softer twitters and whispers of the golden-crowned kinglets. Occasionally a mountain chickadee gives its raspy, sore-throated call.

Chickadee identification

Black-capped and mountain chickadees are our two most common species of chickadees in Montana. In the wetter forests towards Idaho, it’s also possible to find the gorgeous chestnut-backed chickadees. But according to Eli Estey, the leader of this CBC, chestnut-backed chickadees are very rare here in the Swan Valley. 

Black-capped and mountain chickadees are easy to tell apart. Mountain chickadees give notably raspier calls, sounding as if a black-capped chickadee has a very sore throat. These birds also have a white line running through their black cap, just above the eye. The top of a black-capped chickadee’s head, on the other hand, is all-black. Black-capped chickadees give the familiar chickadee-dee-dee call, without the raspiness of the mountain chickadees.

The mixed flock fades away as unexpectedly as it came. Flocks like this are a common winter sight in the conifer forest. But that doesn’t make them any less magical.

Mary and I arrive back at the bridge at almost the same time. We still haven’t seen any ducks. But now, a belted kingfisher is perching in a cottonwood over the water, scanning for fish! The extra time along the river has been worthwhile.

Willows, ponderosa pines, and nuthatches

Our first stop of the day is done. Now we drive across the highway and walk a stretch of a snowy road through an extensive complex of beaver wetlands near Condon Creek. The wetlands are almost entirely frozen. 

A light breeze is picking up now, brushing past the willow thickets and cattail stands. It’s entirely quiet except for the occasional croak of a distant raven and the construction noises from a house along the road. I’m almost positive there must be some song sparrows hiding in these willows. But as we walk along, the quiet prevails. These common, hardy sparrows aren’t showing themselves today.

Soft gray clouds hang low over the valley as we stop near Condon Creek itself. We don’t see any song sparrows here, either, though a trickle of open water gurgles under the bridge. But right along the road, we hear a nasal yank call. We spot two red-breasted nuthatches, twittering softly as they inch down a small ponderosa pine trunk. They’re just feet away from us, so close that I can see one of them removing seeds from the bark of the pine. 

What are these seeds doing here, anyhow? How did they make their way from the cones overhead to the bark of this trunk? It turns out that, like their cousins the pygmy nuthatches, red-breasted nuthatches are well-known for caching food items. Some researchers suspect that these birds focus on caching food early in the day, retrieving many of these hidden food items later in the afternoon to build up fat for the cold winter nights.

Back to the river

So far today, we’ve seen or heard 13 species of birds. It’s a remarkable contrast from the summer landscape. In June, we’d be hearing dozens and dozens of species in these trees and around these wetlands. But in spite of the quiet, there’s still something lovely about being out in the winter forest. And the sparse birds only serve to make each encounter more special and to highlight the special places where we find them.

“I just want to keep doing this all day!” Mary tells me. “Even though there aren’t very many birds, this is fun.”

But by now it’s 10:45, and we’ve agreed to meet back up with the other birders at noon to compare notes. We decide we still have time to drive a few miles north to the Salmon Prairie bridge, where we’ll be able to check another stretch of the Swan River.

There aren’t ducks here, either. But an adult bald eagle is perching in a cottonwood. I can hear another mixed flock of songbirds moving through the western larches behind us. There are a few mountain chickadees, some more golden-crowned kinglets, and a couple of red-breasted nuthatches. Then a hairy woodpecker flies past, giving its sharp peek! call.

As we’re driving back toward the highway, Mary spots a lone wild turkey walking methodically across a pasture. She tells me that she sees them commonly in this area.

A dipper in the current

We have just a few minutes remaining before we need to head back to Condon for our noon meeting. On our way, we decide to check the Cold Creek Road bridge one more time. It turns out to be an excellent idea.

The belted kingfisher we saw here before is gone. But in its place, a compact gray bird is bobbing rhythmically at the icy edge of the river. It’s an American dipper! The dipper plunges elegantly from the ice into an eddy. It swims low in the water, like a muskrat, a purposeful gray bird leaving a gently spreading wake.

The dipper flies across the river in front us, giving its tough, wiry call inches above the ripples. It lands on the snowy bank, bobbing once again, then leaps back into flight. This time, it lands in the main current and rides the river downstream, spinning in circles like a phalarope. And, playful though it seems to be, this dipper’s movements have purpose, too. As it drifts down the current, I watch it snap up what appears to be a caddisfly larva.

Comparing notes

We meet up back at the Swan Valley Connections interpretive center in Condon. We’re joined by Amber Langley, who birded an area near Loon Lake and Hemlock Point by cross-country ski this morning, and CBC compiler Eli Estey, who covered some areas south of us near Falls Creek Road. Compared to CBCs that take place in more populous areas, which can sometimes involve a hundred or more participants, this one is a tiny affair. It’s just the four of us covering what we can of the count circle, plus several observers who are counting the birds around their homes today. 

Like us, Amber and Eli have had quiet mornings. The most common birds have been ravens, chickadees, and golden-crowned kinglets – the familiar standbys of winter in the conifer forest. We discuss the birds we haven’t seen today. None of us have seen the winter finches – red crossbills and pine siskins – that we might hope to find in this forested valley. These finches are notoriously mobile, following good crops of conifer seeds from region to region. Nor have we found any common redpolls, northern finches that feed on birch and alder seeds during the winter. Why?

From the Swan Valley to the boreal forest

In the case of the crossbills and pine siskins, at least, there seems to be a straightforward explanation. According to the Finch Research Network, there is a bumper crop of spruce cones north of us this year. Spruces in northern British Columbia and the Northwest Territories are loaded with cones. Presumably, they’re also loaded with winter finches. Meanwhile, in the Swan Valley, the finches are sparse or absent.

This year-to-year variability in winter finches serves to highlight the importance of CBCs like this one. Changes in bird populations are often much more complicated than just simple declines or increases. And to study changes in creatures that can move thousands of miles, it takes an effort like this, something that is geographically extensive and long-lasting.

It’s been a typical winter day in the conifer forest of the Swan Valley: a deep, snowy quiet punctuated by the sudden appearances of mixed-species flocks of chickadees and kinglets. A belted kingfisher, a bald eagle, and an American dipper have reminded us of the bird diversity that the river hosts, even in the middle of winter. The absence of winter finches here has connected us to observations of heavy spruce cone crops 1500 miles away. We’ve waded through deep snow, seen red-breasted nuthatches retrieving seeds, and made some new friends. And we’ve added a few more observations to over a century of data on how North America’s wintering birds are faring. 

Additional reading

Ghalambor, C.K. & T.E. Martin (2020). Red-breasted nuthatch (Sitta canadensis). In Birds of the World Online (P.G. Rodewald & F.B. Gill, editors). Ithaca, NY: Cornell Lab of Ornithology. https://birdsoftheworld.org/

Grubb, T.C., Jr., & T.A. Waite. (1987). Caching by red-breasted nuthatches. Wilson Bulletin 99(4):696-699. Retrieved from https://sora.unm.edu/sites/default/files/journals/wilson/v099n04/p0696-p0699.pdf

Hoar, T. (2022). Winter finch forecast 2022-2023. Finch Research Network. Retrieved from https://finchnetwork.org/winter-finch-forecast-2022-2023

The post Winter chickadees and nuthatches on the Upper Swan Valley CBC appeared first on Wild With Nature.

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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November 20, 2022

It’s -3°F this morning at the Bitterroot Valley’s Lee Metcalf National Wildlife Refuge. Frost coats the tan cattail stems in thick, furry layers. Most of the extensive wetlands here are in their winter dormancy, the bounty of life hiding under an opaque, white layer of ice. But the small patches of open water that remain, maintained by the warmth of groundwater, are teeming with ducks.

“The ponds are normally not frozen over in mid-November,” says Elena Ulev, the naturalist who is leading us this morning. We’re on another of the Montana Natural History Center’s field outings today. This is the Natural History Center’s birding club, which meets twice a month at various “birdy” spots around Missoula. With these bitter temperatures, today’s group is small. We’re all bundled up against the cold. Along with Elena and me are Sue and Tim Furey, a pair of patient and curious observers with a propensity for spotting hard-to-see birds and interesting tracks. And in spite of the severe weather, there’s a lot for us to see at Lee Metcalf this morning.

Waterfowl and more

An icy mist is rising from the small patch of open water immediately west of the visitor’s center, and it’s alive with waterfowl. A group of green-winged teal are busily dabbling in the shallows, noticeably tiny next to the mallards and northern pintails that are accompanying them. Farther out, a few American coots are swimming in the deeper water. A female common goldeneye and two ring-necked ducks are diving for food.

Tim spots a smaller bird right in front of us, one we had overlooked in our enthusiasm for the ducks. It’s roosting on the ice, head tucked, so still that it seems to be frozen. We walk to the side so that we can see more than just its well-camouflaged back. It’s a killdeer, withstanding the cold without boots, gloves, or handwarmers. Soon it starts to forage, wading through the shallows among patches of ice and picking small invertebrates out of the waters of the spring.

The frozen marshes stretch out for half a mile in front of us, the cattails brittle and silent. But as we continue north along the Kenai Nature Trail, another patch of unfrozen water appears ahead of us. It’s a meandering channel, bordered on each side by marsh. This spot, too, is teeming with waterfowl. The Canada geese burst into honking music as soon as they see us. The northern pintails and green-winged teals seem less concerned, continuing to dabble butts-up in the water. And among the ducks and geese are three massive white birds, their necks long and their heads tinged faint orange. Swans!

Swan identification

We set up the spotting scope and debate species identification: are they tundra swans or trumpeter swans? Their bills are long and straight, the black keratin reaching their eye in a relatively thick band. They lack the dash of yellow near their eye that, when it’s present, is a dead giveaway for the migrant tundra swans that pass through Montana in the fall, en route from the arctic to wetlands along the North American coast. 

We’re pretty sure that these ones are trumpeter swans, those massive, 23-pound birds that nest in Montana and will also, sometimes, stay around for the winter. But it’s only later, when another small group of swans begins their low-pitched, trumpeting honks, that we really feel solid in the identification.

Sue spots a female northern harrier slipping past low over the cattails, hunting for voles or perhaps green-winged teals. 

“They have an owl-like face for listening,” Elena comments.

Chickadees and knapweed gall flies

Now that we’re past the open water, our walk lulls into relative silence. We pass by chokecherry thickets and mature cottonwoods that are undoubtedly full of birds in the spring and summer. But right now they’re resting, quiet except for a lone black-capped chickadee. The chickadee darts out from the shrubs, landing in the spotted knapweed (Centaurea stoebe) nearby. It taps expertly at a knapweed seedhead, then returns to the safety of the chokecherries to hammer at its food. What is this chickadee doing? 

Based on research done by Chris Templeton at the University of Montana, it seems likely that this chickadee is foraging for gall fly larvae. A few species of gall flies in the genus Urophora have been introduced to western North America as biocontrol insects on spotted knapweed. The gall fly larvae overwinter in knapweed seedheads, substantially reducing seed production. At the same time, they provide a juicy, protein-rich snack for chickadees, deer mice, and other animals trying to survive the cold season.

Birds in the cold

Three trumpeter swans are still standing on the frozen pond, apparently nonchalant about the frigid morning.

“They’re just taking a nap on the ice,” Elena says. “Humans are so delicate in a way.”

Indeed, it’s hard to believe that all of these birds can tolerate the Montana winter. It’s a daunting challenge for us humans, one to be met with wool, puffy layers, and insulated boots.

I notice a slim bird perching in the distant aspens at the edge of the marsh, hundreds of yards away. Could it be a northern shrike? We set up Elena’s spotting scope and strain our eyes, waiting for it to turn its head. Sure enough, we can barely see its thin black mask and raptorial, hooked bill. A recent arrival from the north, there’s a good chance this shrike will stay in Montana until the spring, hunting voles and songbirds.

A northern flicker is perching quietly in a cottonwood, soaking up the morning sun. Otherwise, the morning remains quiet, the landscape frozen in wintry rest.

Hunters at Lee Metcalf

But as we walk back past the chokecherries, approaching the open water, things start to get busy. We see two red-tailed hawks at the same time, flapping across the marsh. And each is carrying prey! One hawk continues north, angling away from us, a deer mouse or a meadow vole clasped in its talons. We can see the second red-tail as it flies directly away from us, crossing the marsh towards the cottonwoods in the distance. And what’s in its claws? This prey is much bulkier, and we can almost see a wing trailing from it. The red-tail is loaded down, struggling to maintain altitude with its heavy catch. It manages to carry its prey across the marsh and land low in one of the cottonwoods. What has it caught? It seems to be a bird, the size of a small duck. Could it be a green-winged teal?

We set up the scope once again, but the shimmering heat waves make a positive identification impossible. Still, it seems likely that the hawk has caught a teal.

A refuge for wildlife

The excitement isn’t over yet. We can hear the tip calls of two American tree sparrows nearby. Then we see them, flitting through the chokecherries. They pause briefly and we get to admire their crisp white wingbars and chestnut caps. Then they’re gone, moving onwards in their quest for winter seeds.

An immature bald eagle flaps heavily south over the frozen wetlands. Then I spot a flash of wings out of the corner of my eye. It’s another bald eagle, an adult, flaring as it lands in a nearby cottonwood. Its white head and tail gleam in the sun as it scans the crowd of ducks in the water downhill from it. The ducks rustle nervously but stay put. Is the eagle, like the red-tailed hawk, contemplating a duck for lunch?

Even on this bitterly cold morning, it’s clear that these marshes and thickets are feeding ducks, sheltering sparrows, and attracting predators as well. Lee Metcalf is truly a refuge for wildlife – and a great place to spend the morning in the company of fellow naturalists, getting to know our feathered winter neighbors.

Winter is here. And frigid though it may be, a morning walk in the cold is still very worthwhile. From green-winged teals to the hawks carrying them away, there’s no telling what you might see.

The post Ducks, raptors, and more at Lee Metcalf NWR appeared first on Wild With Nature.

November 17, 2022

It’s a cold, sunny morning in the parking lot of Missoula’s Greenough Park. There are eight of us gathered here, carrying binoculars or magnifying glasses. We’re here for the Montana Natural History Center’s monthly naturalist saunter. Our goals for the morning are simple: be curious, observe, and get to know some of the stories of this place.

It snowed lightly last night. Now the thermometer at the airport reads 23°F, but it’s probably colder here, in the narrow valley of Rattlesnake Creek. 

I was in a hurry this morning, and now I’m mentally kicking myself for arriving so unprepared. I ran out of time to put my boots on. Instead I’m wearing a pair of worn-out hiking shoes and just two light coats. The only camera I have with me is my phone. My gloves are lightweight and slightly damp from the day before. But if a song sparrow can survive a whole winter out here with nothing but its feathers, I can probably be out here underprepared for an hour or two.

Naturalist Ser Anderson is leading this morning’s saunter. It’s is an opportunity for us all to get to know the winter landscape better. Whenever we’re out in nature, we all bring different perspectives and notice different things. 

“It makes this a really valuable experience to gather together,” Ser says.

Dippers and chickadees

It doesn’t take long to see this in action. By the time we’ve been walking for a minute, we’re already learning from each other about the creatures of this urban park. We stop at the footbridge over Rattlesnake Creek, where Ser has seen a pair of American dippers nesting for several years. Ser scans upstream and down, looking for a well-camouflaged, stream-dwelling gray bird with a buzzy call. But the dippers seem to be in another section of the stream today. Ser tells us that they see dippers here year-round. If Rattlesnake Creek freezes during a cold spell, these cold-hardy stream-dwellers will move downstream to the Clark Fork River. Otherwise, they seem to prefer foraging in the smaller streams, such as Rattlesnake Creek. 

Nate Johnson notices a narrow line of tracks across a snow-covered island in the creek. Could these be dipper tracks? It’s a thin trail through the snow, and the prints seem to alternate with each other. The trail is much too narrow for a mink or a muskrat, and the pattern doesn’t look right for a deer mouse or a vole. We can’t be sure, but an American dipper seems like a good guess.

While we’ve been scanning the creek for the elusive dippers, a mixed flock of black-capped chickadees and pygmy nuthatches has been keeping us company, flitting around the trunk of a large cottonwood near the creek. It’s another mixed-species winter flock, something we can expect to see frequently through the rest of the winter. Besides chickadees, nuthatches, kinglets, and woodpeckers, Ser mentions that they sometimes see jays joining these mixed-species groups.

Birds and plants in the cold

The wind is blowing plumes of snow off of the crest of Mount Jumbo above us. In spite of the sun, it’s cold. My toes are starting to complain. The rest of my body is asking me why I didn’t put another coat on this morning. I’m nowhere near the slippery slope towards hypothermia yet, but the morning would have been much more comfortable if I had planned ahead a bit more.

The cheerful calls of the chickadees seem to mock my discomfort. If they’re cold, they aren’t telling me. And even more amazing are the dippers. They plunge and swim through the ice-cold waters of the stream throughout the winter. For the dippers, this penguin plunge is their buffet: caddisflies, mayflies, other aquatic invertebrates, and perhaps even small fish are their year-round foods.

We stop to look at a patch of common snowberries (Symphoricarpos albus) growing next to a young grove of Norway maples (Acer platanoides). This unusual mixture is part of what makes Greenough Park interesting, Ser tells us. 

“It’s a fascinating combination of native species and non-native species,” they say.

Native plants like snowberry, yarrow, and cottonwood mix with garden escapes like Norway maple and European mountain-ash (Sorbus aucuparia). It’s a reflection of how much we’ve changed the landscape, colonizing it with houses, European plants, and pavement. But it also shows us how resilient native plants can be. A half-wild park like Greenough can be a refuge for biodiversity. It’s not pristine – but compared to a lawn or a parking lot, there’s a lot of habitat here.

Snowberries and hawthorns in Greenough Park

Fruits still hang from the snowberries in luminous white clusters. What eats snowberry fruits?

“Not much until they’re desperate,” Ser tells us. They’ve seen pine grosbeaks eating these fruits in January, when there’s not much else to eat. Indeed, this seems to be one of the biggest advantages of snowberry fruits. They may be mealy and mildly toxic to humans – and apparently they’re not especially tasty to birds – but they stay around throughout the cold season. Unlike the fall fruits, like elderberries and chokecherries, snowberries are still here when the cold gets bitter and any calories are important, whether they’re especially tasty or not.

Fall and winter fruits continue to accompany us on our meander through Greenough Park. We stop to look at a snow-capped nest in a hawthorn (Crataegus sp.). It’s conspicuous now that the leaves have died back. A bulky cup woven of grasses, it’s perched high in the hawthorn, close to the main stem. It’s the size of a large orange, almost directly over the busy pedestrian trail. Winter nest identification is a difficult skill, and no one in our group is very experienced with it. But based on the size, construction, and location, we suspect that this nest belonged to a pair of American robins.

The hawthorns in the park seem to have lost their fruits already. Did the birds eat them this fall, or was this just a bad year for hawthorn fruit set? Ser reminds us that, besides fruits, hawthorns offer a variety of other advantages to wildlife. Black-billed magpies commonly build their bulky stick nests among these thorny branches, where they’re well-protected from predators. And northern shrikes may impale their prey – mostly mice and voles – on the thorns.

Red-osier dogwoods and Rocky Mountain maples

Just a few yards from the hawthorn, we take a look at a red-osier dogwood (Cornus sericea), its deep red branches standing out against the snow. Its small, bitter white fruits are gone already. But earlier in the fall, Ser often sees pileated woodpeckers eating them. It’s a comical sight. The bulky, red and black woodpeckers can’t perch upright on the slender dogwood branches, so they tip upside down as they snatch the juicy fruits. And the pileated woodpeckers aren’t alone. Around Helena, I’ve seen white-crowned sparrows, American robins, and black-capped chickadees stocking up on red-osier dogwood fruits during fall migration.

But that season is past now. Half a foot of snow covers the ground, and the dogwood branches are bare. But even in the winter, we can learn to recognize these bushes by the personalities of their branches and buds. Ser points out that the winter red-osier dogwoods can resemble another of our native shrubs, Rocky Mountain maple (Acer glabrum). Both have branches that depart from the stem in opposite pairs, and both can have beautiful, reddish twigs.

So how can we tell these two apart? The buds provide one secret. Red-osier dogwood buds are elongate. Ser describes them like a pair of tiny prayer hands. Rocky Mountain maple buds, on the other hand, are rounder and fatter, protected by more bud scales.

Getting to know the bedrock

We slow down again as we pass by an exposed rock outcrop, jutting out towards the trail. Marilyn and Don Cook admire the rocks and marvel at how they came to be here. 

“My mind stops functioning past a few thousand years,” Ser says. It’s a similar experience for me: the immensity of geologic time is impossible for me to truly comprehend. But even though none of us are geologists, and our understanding is limited, it’s worthwhile to take a look at this outcrop. We notice that the rocks are arranged in rusty orange strata that dip towards the south. 

Later, I look at a geologic map and learn that this outcrop belongs to the Snowslip Formation, a layer of sediments laid down over a thousand million years ago. Tipping rock layers like these are a common sight in the Rocky Mountains. Originally, these rocks were deposited in level layers, the sediments carried off of the eroding mountains. But over time, immense and slow pressures tipped them, angling them southwards, as regional forces faulted and folded the bedrock up into new mountains.

But even without the geologic map – and without the ability to imagine a billion years – we can tell that these rocks are offering a unique habitat for creatures in the present. The south and east faces of this outcrop are bare rock, baked every day by the sun and scoured by rain and gravity. But where the rocks extend northwards in an overhang, where the water drips slowly and the sun doesn’t shine, a miniature garden of mosses and lichens are growing. In the early spring, perhaps the American dippers will venture here, gathering these mosses to build their sheltered nests under the footbridges that cross the creek.

Greenough Park’s waxwings

A soft, high-pitched chorus in the cottonwoods draws our attention away from the rock face. It’s a flock of cedar waxwings, their pale yellow bellies glowing in the morning sun. Ser spots a couple of Bohemian waxwings with them. Once in a while, we can hear the musical trills of the Bohemian waxwings mixing with the softer lisps of the cedars. It’s a different sort of mixed-species winter flock than the chickadees and the nuthatches: these birds are focused on fruits.

Cedar waxwings nest here in the summer, and some of them remain around Missoula through the cold season. They group up in the winter and shift their diet, from mostly insects to almost entirely fruits. The Bohemian waxwings, the larger, grayer cousins of the cedar waxwings, are strictly winter visitors to Montana. They nest in the boreal forest, moving south as the weather gets cold. Like the cedars, now they’re very focused on fruits.

So what are the waxwings doing in the top of this cottonwood, perching among its bare, fruitless branches? We notice a pattern of movement: a few at a time, the waxwings are gliding down from the cottonwood into the undergrowth. At the same time, others are flying back up to this conspicuous perch. Sure enough, as they land again, we can see that the waxwings are carrying bright orange fruits in their beaks. They’re feeding on the European mountain-ashes – one of those garden escapes that is common in Greenough Park. And if the waxwings are any judge, it seems that the mountain-ash fruits are tastier than the snowberries. Presumably, this flock is digesting their meal high up in the cottonwood so that they can watch for sharp-shinned hawks, merlins, and other predators. 

Elderberries and nightshades

Fruits and birds continue to accompany us as we wander through the park. We stop to look at the elderberries (Sambucus cerulea). The transition from fall to winter happened so fast this year that we can still find clusters of their powdery-blue fruits, drooping in the cold. Normally, the birds clean up the elderberries before winter arrives.

We pay attention to the hollow, pithy elderberry stems. They break off easily, giving these shrubs a rather disheveled appearance. But though they may not look very tidy, the elderberry stems are important. While many of our native bees nest in the ground, an important assortment spend most of their lives in twigs just like these. For example, bees in the genus Ceratina may overwinter in elderberry stems, hidden from sight, waiting quietly for spring to arrive.

We can still hear the waxwings trilling and lisping as they feed on the nearby mountain-ash fruits. A black-capped chickadee flits past us, probing busily for insects and spiders among the shriveled brown alder leaves that still hang from the branches. A song sparrow gives its chimp call from the thicket near us.

A slender, woody vine droops with shiny clusters of juicy red fruits near the trail. What is this? It’s bittersweet nightshade (Solanum dulcamara), a relative of tomatoes. Native to Europe and parts of Asia and northern Africa, it’s mildly toxic to humans. From what we’re seeing today, the birds don’t seem very interested in it, either. But as we’ve already seen, the birds’ interest in different fruits can change greatly through the season. Near Helena, I’ve seen white-crowned sparrows eating nightshade berries in the fall. And Ser thinks they remember seeing song sparrows eating these fruits, as well.

Hints of mammals

Snowberries, mountain-ashes, red-osier dogwoods, nightshades – could there possibly be more types of fruit in Greenough Park? Then we pass by a small apple tree hanging over the trail. Yes, that’s right – a domestic apple in this semi-wild park. How did it get here? Did a bird plant it? A bear? A person? 

In any case, no fruits are left on it now. Some branches are broken out of the top, and we can see a series of deep scratches gouged in the smooth bark. 

We debate who the culprit might be. Could it be a raccoon? But we agree that the accumulation of signs – fruits gone, branches broken, and heavy claw marks – seems to point towards a bear.

The claw marks in the tree are another sign that far more is happening in this park than we’re likely to see in one morning. In fact, it’s likely that each day we’re here will bring us different stories.

Alysha Goheen lives near Greenough Park and comes here almost daily. Recently, she tells us, she was excited to see a pair of raccoons traveling along Rattlesnake Creek during the daylight. She’s seen raccoons here before – including, on one memorable night, a female with eight kits – but to see them during the day is something unusual.

“It’s really nice to be able to come out here daily throughout the season,” Alysha tells me.

Learning the stories of Greenough park

Today, we’ve seen neither raccoons nor their tracks. It seems that they’ve stayed denned up since last night’s fresh snowfall. Alysha’s story of the raccoon is yet another illustration of the benefits of a naturalist saunter like this. All of us have developed a more thorough connection with this park today because of each other’s perspectives and stories. From Alysha, we’ve learned of the neighborhood raccoons and their habits. Ser has brought us the stories of the American dippers and a thorough appreciation for the park’s diversity of fruiting shrubs and the creatures they support. Marilyn and Don have reminded us to wonder at the unfathomable, billion-year-old stories of the rocks we stand on. And Nate has shown us what may well be dipper tracks along the stream.

Even on a cold, wintry morning, the stories we can find when we saunter outside are endless. Next time, I’ll make sure to dress a bit more warmly. But although my fingers and toes are slightly stiff, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this morning. Today I’ve gotten to connect a little bit more with the place where I’m living. I’ve made some new friends and gotten to see their passion and curiosity as, together, we celebrate the beginning of winter in Missoula. Next month, I hope to be back. What stories will we encounter in December? Maybe I’ll see you there.

Further reading

Lonn, J.D., McDonald, C., Sears, J.W., & Smith, L.N. (2010). Geologic map of the Missoula East 30′ x 60′ quadrangle, western Montana. Montana Bureau of Mines and Geology Open-File Report 593, 2 sheets, scale 1:100,000. Retrieved from https://mbmg.mtech.edu/mbmgcat/public/ListCitation.asp?pub_id=31350&

The post Finding winter fruits, birds, and more in Greenough Park appeared first on Wild With Nature.

Note: I updated this story slightly in May 2024, and completely redid the accompanying podcast. In part, this was inspired by Lynda Saul, one of my wonderful podcast listeners who has been generously funding me to gradually translate many of my earlier stories to Spanish, including this one. In part I wanted to make this update because the quality of my podcast has improved dramatically in the last year. I’m really happy with my recent narrations and especially with all of the recordings of nature sounds that I’ve been incorporating, and I was inspired to update this podcast’s English version, too. And finally, I got excited to revisit this story because Kelly Island and its surroundings remain among my favorite natural areas near Missoula—the city where my mom lives—and my love for this place connects with so many of my recent and future stories.

This winter’s portraits of migratory songbirds and voices of place along the Huatulco River in southwestern Oaxaca, Mexico brings in a comparison with a river 2300 miles away. Then there’s last fall’s portrait of the ecosystem along Nebraska’s Niobrara River. There’s also this May’s story, which takes place just a few miles away from Kelly Island on the wings of a starling, exploring urban wildlife and weedy species among Missoula’s streets and houses. And keep your eyes open for additional stories in the works from the extensive wild area in and around Kelly Island: nesting pileated woodpeckers, my personal relationship with dogbane (Apocynum cannabinum)… and perhaps even some adventures with beavers. Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this story of the beauty of fall at Kelly Island, along the Clark Fork River.

Finding nature near Missoula: walking through fall at Kelly Island

November 2, 2022

It’s a quiet day along the Clark Fork River at Missoula’s Kelly Island Fishing Access Site. Deep blue-gray squalls carry short-lived snow flurries across the Missoula valley. The cottonwoods glow deep yellow against the clouds and rustle insistently in the wind.

I must look a little bit absurd this afternoon. The occasional bowhunters who pass me barely try to disguise their skeptical glances. I’m wearing waders, a raincoat, and more items of wool and fleece than I care to count. And on top of all of that is my birding gear: binoculars, camera, and a sound-recording setup with shotgun microphone and headset. My plan for the afternoon started out as a simple autumn walk—but it has quickly become an adventure in (attempting to) record bird sounds.

The only problem is that the birds today are few and far between. The sounds I might record are either fleeting or unappealing. A leaf blower emits a piercing whine from a house near the trailhead. Occasionally I can hear a northern flicker calling in the distance. A common raven flies over, croaking. A second raven slips past.

I’m trudging through the river-rounded cobbles of a side channel of the Clark Fork River. A fly fisherman casts into the pool below me.

Winter imminent

Last night the weather turned sharply towards winter. Yesterday was sunny and in the 60s. Today, a 38°F breeze pushes clouds over the golden cottonwoods. Snow has dusted the mountains where the western larches (Larix occidentalis) have turned a deep yellow.

It’s quite a change from the last time I was here, in August. Fall songbird migration is over. The western tanagers, gray catbirds, and Wilson’s warblers have passed through already. With winter approaching, bird activity is becoming more sporadic. And it’s late afternoon—almost the worst time of day for birds to be very visible. I feel clumsy and absurd with all of my sound-recording gear. Why am I doing this today?

But birds or no birds, it’s a beautiful afternoon to walk and notice the changing of the seasons. I continue onwards, wading the side channel just below the gentle arc of a well-maintained beaver dam.

Some of the cottonwoods are nearly bare already. The birds remain quiet. Underneath the trees, the invasive smooth brome (Bromus inermis) that dominates much of the island is glowing pale green, gold, and umber.

In spite of the smooth brome, the vegetation on this island is a rather diverse mix. Along a moist-soiled overflow channel where the deer have walked recently, I pass a sepia patch of tall dogbane (Apocynum cannabinum). This elegant native plant is covered with delicate white flowers in the summer. In another direction, a few ponderosa pines (Pinus ponderosa) mix with the cottonwoods. The understory is rusty-green with Rocky Mountain junipers (Juniperus scopulorum). 

Kelly Island from a hawk’s view

I’ve been stumbling around Kelly Island in my waders for over an hour now, and I still haven’t heard a single bird I can record. But that’s okay, because there’s always something to learn out here. Even when a field day doesn’t go as planned, it’s never a waste.

A red-tailed hawk circles over the island against the blue-purple clouds. Its rusty tail tells me it’s an adult. The hawk taunts my camera and microphone, remaining silent and rapidly fading eastward on the sighing wind. 

But this hawk carries one of today’s stories with it. From the eyes of a red-tail (or from the computer assistance of a LiDAR map), you can see that this entire island is a layered braid. It’s crisscrossed with old river channels, meandering back and forth, stacked one atop the next. Here, near the confluence of the Bitterroot and Clark Fork Rivers, every aspect of this place has been shaped by water. The patterns of smooth brome and dogbane, cottonwood and pine; the birds that appear here throughout the year; the white-tailed deer that flushed from their grassy beds moments ago—all of it is a tapestry woven by water.

Late fall in Missoula

I first arrived in Missoula two days ago, and I’ll be writing from here through the end of the year. And already, the force of water is informing my time here. Yesterday I joined the Watershed Education Network in a survey of the Rattlesnake Creek Dam site: a look at the power and changeability of water. Over the next two months, I’ll also be getting out in the field with birders and naturalists, celebrating the changing seasons. And, most likely, I’ll be making some more trips out to Kelly Island. 

An owl and two chickadees

The sun is sliding behind the cloud bank that looms over the western mountains. Finally, I start to hear some birds. A few pygmy nuthatches twitter from the ponderosas, too fleetingly to record them. A hairy woodpecker calls emphatically, just one time. Then a great horned owl flushes from the cottonwood above me, sailing silently to a nearby pine.

The flight of the owl unleashes a series of timid sip calls from two black-capped chickadees. They remain still for several minutes, hunkered down in a common barberry (Berberis vulgaris) that’s turning orange and scarlet. The chickadees, at least, I’m able to record. I capture their sip calls and watch as they begin to forage again, cautiously. It wasn’t totally foolish to carry all of this equipment with me, after all.

A walk in nature is always a foray into the unknown. Some afternoons, like this one, the birds are quiet. But whether we find what we’re hoping to find, or not, there are always stories waiting for us. Today, it’s been the last orange fall leaves against a stormy sky. It’s been the braided patterns of water and vegetation as seen from a red-tailed hawk’s vantage. And it’s been the chickadees that I lugged my microphone out here to record.

So get outside—and let me know about the stories you find! I’ll see you out there.

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Nota: Actualicé esta historia en mayo de 2024, cuando también la traduje al español con el apoyo generoso de mi oyente Lynda Saul. Yo estaba emocionado por volver a considerar esta historia porque este lugar, Kelly Island, sigue siendo una de mis áreas naturales favoritas cerca de Missoula, Montana, EU—la ciudad donde vive mi mamá—y las historias que salen de esta tierra se conectan con tantas otras historias recientes que he publicado y tantas historias futuras que voy a publicar. Los retratos de las aves migratorias y de las voces de la naturaleza por el Río Huatulco en el suroeste de Oaxaca, México dan unas comparaciones con la naturaleza por un río 3800 kilómetros lejos de aquí. Kelly Island también se conecta con el podcast que produje el otoño pasado sobre el Río Niobrara en el estado de Nebraska, EU, con su diversidad de plantas y animales ribereños.

Además tenemos la historia que justo publiqué este mayo que explora los temas de la vida silvestre urbana y las especies resistentes entre las calles y las casas de Missoula. Esa historia tiene lugar sólo unos kilómetros lejos de Kelly Island. Además tengo unas historias adicionales en progreso sobre la gran área natural de la que Kelly Island forma parte. Habrá historias sobre un par de picamaderos norteamericanos (Dryocopus pileatus) y su nido; mi relación personal con la planta que se llama el cáñamo americano (Apocynum cannabinum)… Y a lo mejor, unas aventuras con una población local de castores (Castor canadensis). Mientras tanto, espero que disfrutes este retrato de la belleza del otoño por Kelly Island y el Río Clark Fork—y espero que te haga pensar en qué tan importantes y mágicos son los ecosistemas al borde de los ríos, en todas partes del mundo.

Encontrando la naturaleza en Missoula: el otoño por Kelly Island

2 de noviembre de 2022

Es un día sin mucha actividad de animales al lado del Río Clark Fork por el Kelly Island Fishing Access Site cerca de Missoula, Montana, Estados Unidos. Chubascos de gris y azul oscuro llevan ráfagas pasajeras de nieve sobre el valle de Missoula. Los álamos (Populus balsamifera) brillan amarillos contra las nubes y susurran con insistencia en el viento.

Me veo un poco absurdo esta tarde. De vez en cuando me cruzo con un cazador con su arco; ellos apenas tratan de ocultar sus miradas perplejas. Llevo botas de pescador, un impermeable y más chamarras de lana y de forro polar que quiero contar. Encima de todo eso tengo mi equipo de pajarero: binoculares, cámara y mi equipo de grabación, que incluye audífonos y un micrófono direccional. Mi plan para esta tarde empezó siendo una simple caminata otoñal—pero rápidamente se ha convertido en una aventura en (tratar de) grabar los sonidos de las aves.

El único problema es que hoy las aves son escasas. Los sonidos ambientales que yo pudiera grabar o son fugaces o son poco atractivos. Un soplador de hojas emite un chirrido penetrante desde un domicilio en las afueras de la ciudad. De vez en cuando escucho un carpintero de pechera común (Colaptes auratus) llamar muy en la distancia. Un cuervo común (Corvus corax) vuela sobre mí, graznando brevemente. Un segundo cuervo común lo sigue, deslizándose a través del cielo.

Estoy caminando sobre las rocas, redondeadas por el agua, de un brazo secundario del Río Clark Fork. Un pescador lanza su mosca artificial sobre un remanso aguas abajo de mí.

El invierno inminente

Anoche el clima giró abruptamente hacia el invierno. Ayer estaba soleado y a casi 20°C. Hoy una brisa de 3° empuja nubes sobre los álamos dorados. La nieve ha espolvoreado las montañas donde los alerces (Larix occidentalis) se han puesto amarillos.

Es un gran cambio en comparación con la última vez que estuve aquí, en agosto. Ya la migración otoñal de las aves ha llegado a su final. Las pirangas capucha roja (Piranga ludoviciana), los maulladores grises (Dumetella carolinensis) y los chipes corona negra (Cardellina pusilla) han pasado hacia el sur. Mientras el invierno se acerque cada vez más, la actividad de las aves que se quedan está volviéndose más esporádica. También es tarde por la tarde hoy—casi la hora menos favorable del día para encontrar mucha actividad de aves. Ando torpemente y me veo absurdo con todo el equipo que llevo. ¿Por qué chingados estoy haciendo esto hoy?

Sin embargo, es una tarde hermosa—con aves o sin aves—para caminar y ponerle atención al cambio de las estaciones. Sigo adelante, cruzando este brazo del río justo debajo de la curva ligera de una presa de castores bien mantenida.

La vegetación de Kelly Island

Algunos de los álamos ya han perdido casi todas sus hojas. No escucho nada de las aves. Por debajo de los árboles, el bromo suave (Bromus inermis), una gramínea invasora que domina una gran parte de la isla, está luciendo con matices de dorado, verde pálido y ocre oscuro.

A pesar del bromo suave, la vegetación de esta isla comprende una mezcla bastante diversa. Al lado de un brazo seco del río que se llena con agua durante las inundaciones, donde los venados han caminado recientemente, paso un parche sepia del cáñamo americano (Apocynum cannabinum). Esta elegante planta nativa se cubre de flores blancas delicadas durante el verano. Por otras áreas de la isla, los pinos ponderosa (Pinus ponderosa) se mezclan con los álamos. El sotobosque está verde herrumbroso con el follaje de los enebros (Juniperus scopulorum). 

Kelly Island desde la perspectiva de una aguililla

Ya he estado caminando por Kelly Island en mis botas de pescador por más de una hora, y aún no he escuchado ni una sola ave que pueda grabar. Pero está bien, porque siempre hay algo aquí por aprender—incluso cuando un día en la naturaleza no sigue el plan.

Una aguililla cola roja (Buteo jamaicensis) está dando vueltas sobre la isla, una silueta contra las nubes de azul morado. Su cola roja oxidada me indica que es un adulto. La aguililla se burla de mi cámara y de mi micrófono. Se queda silenciosa mientras el viento la lleva rápidamente al este.

Pero esta aguililla lleva consigo una de las historias de hoy. Desde la perspectiva de una aguililla cola roja (o con la ayuda digitalizada de un mapa de LIDAR), puedes ver que esta isla entera está compuesta de una trenza de capas geológicas. Está entrecruzada por los ancianos brazos del río cuyos trazos serpentean por todas partes, uno encima del otro. Aquí, cerca de la confluencia de los Ríos Clark Fork y Bitterroot, cada aspecto de esta tierra ha sido moldeado por el agua. Los patrones de bromo suave y cáñamo americano, de álamo y pino; las aves que visitan este lugar en las diversas temporadas del año; los venados cola blanca (Odocoileus virginianus) que justo acaban de huir de sus lechos entre las gramíneas—todo es un tapiz tejido por el agua.

Los finales del otoño en Missoula

Hace dos días que llegué a Missoula, y voy a estar escribiendo desde aquí por lo que queda de 2022. Y ya en tan pocos días, la fuerza del agua en este valle ha empezado a enseñarme. Ayer me reuní con la Watershed Education Network, una organización que se enfoca en cuidar y estudiar las cuencas, para hacer observaciones del sitio donde había estado la presa recientemente removida que bloqueaba el arroyo Rattlesnake Creek: una exploración del poder y variabilidad del agua. En los dos meses que vienen, voy a estar pasando tiempo en el campo con pajareros y naturalistas, celebrando el cambio de las estaciones. Y muy probablemente voy a volver a visitar a Kelly Island.

Un búho y dos carboneros

Ahora el sol se está deslizando hacia el banco de nubes que está amenazando las montañas al oeste. Finalmente comienzo a escuchar algunas aves. Unos bajopalos enanos (Sitta pygmaea) gorjean desde los pinos ponderosas, demasiado brevemente para grabarlos. Un carpintero albinegro mayor (Dryobates villosus) llama energéticamente una sola vez. Es entonces que un búho cornudo (Bubo virginianus) se echa a volar desde un álamo encima de mí, planeando sigilosamente hacia un pino cercano.

El vuelo del búho desata una serie de llamadas tímidas—sip—de dos carboneros cabecinegros (Poecile atricapillus). Se quedan inmóviles por varios minutos, escondidos en el follaje de un agracejo cuyas hojas ya están anaranjadas y escarlatas. Los carboneros, por lo menos, los puedo grabar. Capturo sus llamadas sip y observo mientras empiezan a forrajear otra vez, con mucha precaución. Después de todo, no era completamente ridículo llevar todo este equipo conmigo.

Una caminata en la naturaleza siempre es una incursión en lo desconocido. Algunas tardes, como ésta, las aves no están muy activas. Pero si encontramos lo que estábamos anticipando o no, siempre hay historias que están esperando a que nos enteremos de ellas. Hoy, han sido las últimas hojas anaranjadas del otoño contra un cielo tormentoso. Han sido los patrones entrelazados de agua y vegetación desde la perspectiva de una aguililla cola roja. Y han sido los carboneros por los que llevé mi micrófono aquí.

Así que sal en la naturaleza—y ¡cuéntame de las historias que encuentres! Tal vez te veo ahí.

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June 2, 2022

Birds see the world differently than we do. We see in red, green, and blue – but birds see a fourth “primary color.” Thanks to an additional photoreceptor in their eyes, they can see UV or near-UV light. Maybe that’s why a chickadee can make a living hunting insects on chokecherries.  

Insects on the menu

I see birds feeding in chokecherries all the time. Picture a chickadee flitting from twig to twig, actively probing the leaves. Obviously it’s finding something to eat – but what, exactly? I know this type of foraging behavior means insect-hunting, but I’ve never looked closely enough to find the insects themselves. 

It’s not just chickadees that hunt here. Throughout spring migration, chokecherries are magnets for Wilson’s warblers, American redstarts, western tanagers, yellow-rumped warblers – the list goes on. Why? All of these birds feed heavily on insects and other invertebrates – and chokecherries support a lot of them. 

According to the National Wildlife Federation, around Helena, Montana “a lot” means 227 species of caterpillars. And that’s just butterfly and moth larvae! Chokecherries must host other insects, too, but I have no idea how many species.

A closer look

What’s out there in the chokecherries that a songbird could eat? Today I’m going to pretend I’m a chickadee and try to find out. I’m at East Helena’s Kennedy Park, a beautiful natural area along Prickly Pear Creek with an abundance of chokecherries and cottonwoods. What invertebrates are these chokecherries supporting? 

I’ll start with a careful search of the foliage. I’m especially looking for caterpillars, but any invertebrate I can see on the chokecherries is fair game. Right now it’s 10:32 a.m., 57°F, and partly sunny. Ready, go!

A tan pinhead of a spider rappels from a chokecherry flower, then winches itself back up.

A lone ant crawls along a leaf. 

A few of the leaves have holes in them: something has been feeding here. I even find some partially completed holes. Something has almost cut these neat circles out of a leaf but left them in place, hanging by a margin. They’re like miniature chokecherry-leaf lids. I have no idea what has left this sign. Do you? If so, please leave a comment!

Ants seem common here – by now I’ve spotted five of them. If I were a bird, I’d be having a very crunchy breakfast this morning. Lots of exoskeleton with a dash of formic acid: so far this menu doesn’t seem very exciting.

On the underside of a discolored leaf is a small aphid colony. Yum, juicy! But I notice the aphids have a fuzzy whitish coating on their abdomens. Maybe not so yummy? I carefully remove one from the leaf and pop it in my mouth. The flavor is unremarkable, maybe slightly peppery. But then I notice a strange sensation… The aphid gives my tongue a chalky, dry feeling. Not such a nice snack, after all.

Harder than it looks

By now I’ve been searching for 15 minutes. I’ve found seven ants and 10 aphids, none especially appetizing. If I were a bird, at this rate I’d die of starvation before too many days passed. Although a sharp-shinned hawk might catch me first. And to think that baby birds learn to efficiently hunt insects in a matter of weeks!

I notice a few tiny flies, at least three different species. If I were a chickadee, could I catch them? Maybe. But although I’m pretending to be a bird, I’m still just a mostly-hairless mammal with bad reflexes. The flies fly away.

I find a suspiciously rolled-up, warty-looking leaf. Is there a juicy caterpillar inside? No, but I find five green aphids and a pugnacious ant that crawls onto my hand. After my last aphid experience, I don’t try eating these ones.

I spot a medium-sized, bristly black fly resting on a chokecherry leaf. I manage a photo from two chickadee-lengths away. The fly takes off. I wonder if chickadees can sense disappointment. Do they ever feel like breakfast is a sure thing, only to have it fly away? Just imagine sitting down to a lovely plate of eggs and toast only to have it leap out the window.

Aha! Here’s a group of three leaves that are conspicuously stuck together. I carefully pry them apart. Inside are five tiny, black-headed caterpillars in a silk nest. Finally, my first palatable chickadee food this morning! Since I am only an imaginary chickadee, I don’t eat them. Instead, I try to replace the leaves the way I found them, the caterpillars tucked inside.

The chokecherries here have just recently begun to bloom. The day is warming up and I spot a few honeybees over my head, methodically going from one flower to the next. I suspect they might be too flighty for a chickadee to catch. Kingbirds, though, are well-known for hunting bees and wasps, and I wouldn’t be entirely surprised to see a chickadee pull it off. If aphids taste chalky, I wonder, how do honeybees taste? Just kidding! Birds may be able to feed on stinging insects, but I think I’ll pass.

Starvation imminent

Now I’m an hour in on my chickadee simulation. Lunchtime is approaching, and I’m getting hungry. It’s good I brought lunch with me – the insects I’ve found wouldn’t fill up a chickadee, let alone me! Insect hunting has been way harder than I expected. If I ever get reincarnated as a bird, I wouldn’t bet on my survival. Of the 227 caterpillars these chokecherries may support, this morning I’ve found just a single beakful of one species. Besides that, there have been a variety of nimble, wary flies, some chalky-tasting aphids, and some fierce and crunchy ants. (I didn’t actually eat an ant today, though I have in the past. Ants are okay. Better than aphids, with an interesting sour note.)

So far, today’s insect hunt has been underwhelming. To be fair, the birds haven’t been very enthusiastic about the chokecherries this morning, either. It seems that peak spring migration has passed – or maybe we’re just in a lull. Three days ago, Carmen Winslow and Pat Grantham counted 22 western tanagers here, but today there are only a few. In the chokecherries so far, I’ve just seen one black-capped chickadee and one yellow warbler actively foraging. But are the insects actually scarce here today, too? Or is it just that the bulk of the spring migrants have moved on, leaving a few stragglers along with the summer breeding birds?

A different tactic

Clearly my inferior vision isn’t providing any answers. So now I’m going to upgrade my tools. Instead of using my eyes to search, I’m going to sweep the chokecherry foliage with my insect net. I’ll use an aspirator to suck what I catch into a vial, then put the vial in an ice-filled cooler. Once the chilled insects stop moving around, I’ll be able to take photos and get a close look at them. After a while, they’ll warm up again and fly off.

I spend just under an hour sweeping chokecherry foliage with the net, then transfer the insects to ice. While I’m waiting for them to cool, I get a tarp from my car. I try setting it up under the chokecherries and then shaking the canopy. Will I find caterpillars that I might have missed by sweeping? 

My brief tarp experiment proves mediocre. I do find several new spiders, and an inchworm [the larva of a moth in the family Geometridae]. Otherwise, the tarp gets me nothing.

By now the vials of insects I caught sweeping have chilled enough. It’s time to see what we have and then let them go. I had intended to sort these into apparent species and get a tally of each, but that proves to be more than I can keep up with. Insects are waking up and scrambling away, and I’m just rushing to get photos of as many as I can. 

Most of these insects are tiny; it seems I was looking too large before. It would be easy to overlook these little creatures in a visual search – but maybe an experienced chickadee would notice them.

The diversity that I’m seeing now is exciting. There are tiny, bright green wasps that would be invisible against a chokecherry leaf. Medium black wasps. An orange wasp. I see several types of bees. There’s an orange weevil with a magnificent snout. A compact black beetle. With my macro lens I see tiny, intricately patterned flies. In just this small sample, there are dozens of species.

Enough for lunch?

So much complexity in one chokecherry patch! But although there’s lots of diversity, the biomass of these insects is very low. Is this why I am seeing so few birds feeding here today? 

I end this foray with more new questions than I answered. Is such low insect biomass “normal” for this patch at this time of year? I found just two species of caterpillars today – where are the other 225? Are the insects so sparse because the migrant birds have eaten them all?

How often do birds land in a promising patch of shrubs and find these sparse-insect conditions? Do they have a fast way of finding productive patches? 

A logical next step might be to sweep these chokecherries on a day when they are overflowing with foraging birds. When dozens of warblers and tanagers are feeding here, we might expect to find much more insect biomass. But would we, in fact, or are birds just that much better at insect hunting than I am? Would we find greater diversity, too? 

I hope to revisit these questions next spring, on a day when the migrant birds are out here in force. In the meanwhile, do you have a chokecherry patch where you spend time? Are you seeing any caterpillars on your chokecherries this spring? 

I’d love to hear your observations and thoughts! If you have something to add, please leave a comment below.

Further Reading

Heinrich, Bernd & Collins, Scott. (1983). Caterpillar leaf damage, and the game of hide-and-seek with birds. Ecology 64(3):592-602. https://www.researchgate.net/publication/271684947_Caterpillar_Leaf_Damage_and_the_Game_of_Hide-and-Seek_with_Birds

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