In search of the Western Wood-peewee

In 1983, after several years of record rainfall, the Great Salt Lake rose. It threatened the city and destroyed the system of dykes at Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge, dykes that corralled the fresh water of the Bear River. In her book Refuge, Terry Tempest Williams chronicled the rise of the Great Salt Lake, and correlated the destruction of the refuge with her mother’s struggle with breast cancer. It was Terry Tempest William’s book that put Bear River on my itinerary. But it was also the birds.

I am a birder—that is I enjoy watching birds, studying their behavior. But my observations are often more than incidental; I’ll go birding, keep a checklist of what I see and work to identify everything I encounter. I keep a life list, a list of bird species I have seen or heard and could identify again. My mother considers herself a bird-watcher, she is less concerned about identification but loves to observe color and behavior, to really sit and watch the birds that surround her. On my trip to Bear River, I met David, a lister. He keeps a year list as well as a life list, does a “big day” each year to see how many birds he can identify in 24 hours in one county. He teaches English and spends his summers wandering the west and fleshing out his year list – checking in with old friends.

I began the day at Bear River with a Yellow-headed Blackbird clicking from his perch on a cattail. The Refuge, I found out, was closed as they paved the autoroute. I was fully aware of the irony of Terry’s book drawing me to a refuge once again closed. The staff was, however, offering guided tours, and I happened to arrive on a day when a tour was available. David and I joined a mother and her 11 year-old son and the two local birders who were leading the tour.

As I waited for the tour, I walked around the half-mile loop outside the visitor’s center. A red fox stalked into the reeds, body frozen. One paw lifted imperceptibly and then he pounced, pounced again, and rooted for his prey. He caught me watching him and bounded into the grasses. A Sora, usually illusive, walked across an opening in the marsh offering me perhaps my first look, though I’d identified them by sound before. A mother Ruddy Duck, blue billed and russet bodied trailed six ducklings.

The van drove out along one of the reconstructed dykes on the south end of the refuge. We stopped for White-Faced Ibis and Wilson’s Phalarope, both life birds. Marsh Wrens worked the reeds and we spied a few of their grass-ball nests. At the first pool of water, Black-necked Stilts, Franklin’s Gulls and Coots, with their red-headed young, probed and dove for food. In the deeper waters, where a channel ran between impoundments, Western, Clark’s and Eared Grebes swam in pairs, preening. A line of White Pelicans edged the horizon. Smaller groups swam toward the shallows herding carp, then circled, trapping the fish and eating as many as their bellies and pouches could hold. On the mud flats, American Avocets, Stilts and Marbled Godwits probed with their long bills.

The van returned to the visitor’s center by noon and David and I tapped our leaders for other local “hotspots” where we could continue our birding. Chris was looking for a Western Wood Peewee to add to his year list. I was just happy to spend the day birding.

We drove up Logan Canyon into the Wasatch-Cache National Forest, winding higher and higher to Tony Glen. The wildflowers, as our leader had promised were at their peak: a profusion of reds, blues yellows and purples. I recognized only a few and could happily have spent the next few hours keying out plants, but that’s another story. Walking around the lake, we added Clark’s Nutcracker, Western Tanager, Red-naped Sapsucker and White-crowned sparrow to our day’s list.

It’s a strange thing encountering a stranger and joining in travel for a short time. We knew only each other’s first names and broadest geographies: I from Massachusetts, he from Wisconsin. And yet, we both shared a passion for birding and for writing. We had read many of the same books. At the end of the day, after stopping twice to look for a Dipper, we shook hands and headed our separate ways. I headed into Mantua (Man-ua) to the reservoir where grebes nested on their mats of floating grass. Along the edge, Western Kingbirds and Lazuli Buntings claimed power lines and willows.

I’ll admit, I tallied my list over dinner: 65 species, 6 life birds. We never did find the Wood-peewee.

photo: http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Western_Wood-Pewee/id