Fall Birding on St. Paul Island - Part Four.
The story so far: I was a participant in an ABA tour of St.
Paul Island in the Pribilof Islands from 18-26 September, 2012. Part Four
concludes my account of the tour.
21 September 2013, continued.
We were introduced to the Crab Pots which sounded like a great name
for a local bar band, but were actually crab traps made of metal framing, wire
and rope. The traps were stacked high like very tall book cases in semi-orderly
rows on flat ground close to the Salt Lagoon near town. The grass grew long
around the main stacks and today, under the direction of Maestro Gavin Bieber,
Mark Faries and Chris Hitt volunteered to walk up and down the rows to flush
out birds while the rest of us waited around the outside like eager bird dogs. This
afternoon produced familiarity with the routine but no birds.
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| The crab traps. |
Gavin took us to the Antone Putchkie Patch where our chorus
line repeatedly flushed a terrified late Yellow Warbler into hiding in
the sedges at Mark’s feet.
Dance fever abated, we returned to the Grey-streaked Flycatcher
rock pit on Polovina where the flycatcher didn’t appear. Full marks to the
guides for persistence of effort though.
And our last stop of the evening (we thought) was Tim’s Pond
where Doug, Chris Hitt, and Corrine had a walking race around its margin and
flushed another Common Snipe, four Sharp-tailed Sandpipers and a couple of
Green-winged Teals.
Back at the New King Eider we were taking off our togs and
beginning to settle for a short session of socializing before sleep when Scott appeared like
a drill sergeant on a mission to surprise raw recruits, stomping down the hotel
hallway yelling, “Everybody up. Everybody out. Rosefinch! Rosefinch! Really
rare! Rosefinch! Get on the bus!”
And that’s how we ended up marching in lines across rolling
terrain east of town. We hiked up and down old stabilized sand dunes covered
with short tundra-like vegetation which made the area resemble a golf course.
We saw the sun go down and night rise from the Bering Sea, with a breeze
bringing the the barking of fur seals intermittently to our cold ears. We
scrutinized everything that flew or hopped in front of us down hill and dale
and back up. During the New King Eider Hotel roust, some of us had managed to
put on appropriate clothing, some of us had managed to grab only a sweater,
Mark had only flipflops on his feet, Doreene had wet hair from her interrupted
shower… but we were all smiling at the chance of finding a small songbird that
Doug and Scott had glimpsed an hour earlier, a small Asian songbird… and even
though we didn’t find the bird, you know it was a fine way to end a day in
which we had already seen a very special eagle.
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| It was not unusual to spot a pair of Orcas off any of the fur seal beaches. |
22 September 2013
The pace and scope of discovery was slowing, of course, as we
had seen the puffins, the fulmars, the shearwaters and other seabirds, the
eagle, an Asian stray, and a couple of Alaskan specialties already. Now was the
time to slow down and get a better sense of the island. At least that was how
some of us felt. The guides seemed locked into their rarity search methodology
and a few of the hard core listers stifled their impatience waiting for the
guides’ strategy to pay off as it had with the discovery of Middendorff’s
Grasshopper Warbler and other strays so far this late summer and autumn. I don’t want to create opposing camps where none existed. Let’s be honest. I think everyone was a lister. However,
for some who had never been to one or more of the Alaskan islands before each
day had new meaning, new sights, new sounds, and between rare birds we needed time to
take in the novelty of just being on St. Paul Island. Today we had a near
perfect day for it – calm mostly, with sunny periods and high thin smears of
cloud. No rain fell until just before dark.
We started at East Landing where an adult Thayer’s Gull standing
on the boat launch was new to our island list. The Salt Lagoon near town held
Rock Sandpipers, Ruddy Turnstones and some Western Sandpipers, also new to the
list. A Peregrine over the cliffs toward the Reef Rookery was only our second
of the tour. From the Crab Pots
twenty Rosy Finches peered at us from around the traps and a small flock of
Hoary Redpolls was flushed out. On the nearby Salt Lagoon a fair bit of
excitement prevailed among the birders, especially those who had never neen to
any of the islands of Alaska
before when two tattlers appeared along the very minimal shore. Gavin went to
work, not truly happy to have to opt out of Scott and Doug’s efforts to find
Asian passerines. After telling us that the only good way to distinguish
Gray-tailed Tattlers from your basic prosaic Wandering Tattler was by voice
Gavin hiked across some shore to flush the first tattler toward us. As it
vocalized softly, Gavin identified it as a Gray-tailed, my first for North America.
A second Gray-tail appeared nearby.
By mid-morning conditions were deemed right to resume the
search for the Rosefinch. We lined out as instructed and walked across the
tundra. A few minutes into our tromp we were ordered to stop. About 70 metres
in front of us, perched on a tall stalk was our bird, a female Common
Rosefinch, looking much like a House Finch (it belongs to the same genus)
without the streaks on the underparts. OK, visually nowhere near the same class
of exciting life bird as the White-tailed Eagle.
After lunch we finally re-located the Pavolina Grey-streaked
Flycatcher and I was able finally to get a good look at it through a scope. Thanks,
Gavin, Scott and Doug, for your repeated efforts to pin down this active, shy
little bird.
We started toward Northeast Point when a message came
through to Gavin that Scott had briefly encountered an unidentified finch in
the big pit on Pavolina Hill and needed help to re-locate it. So back to
Pavolina we returned and while waiting for Doug to scout the slopes above the
pit we were treated to another sighting of the White-tailed Eagle, this one
prolonged and highly satisfying. The eagle soared in circles low over us in
brilliant sunlight for a couple of minutes. Wow!
Scott’s mystery finch never showed, so after watching Doug
thoroughly search the slope above us, we clambered back into the bus and drove
once again toward Northeast Point.
The routine was always the same at Northeast Point. Check
Hutchinson’s Hill and its notch above the seal colony, silently and
individually pay our respects to the U.S. Navy sailor, James Heath, Gunner’s
Mate, First Class, who lay in his lonely grave so far from home, walk back
toward the bus, line out according to Gavin or Scott’s instructions and walk
through the big putchkie patches on either side of the road, check Webster’s
Beach and the little bay, climb the little hill to Webster House, and either
walk around Webster Lake or hang out at Webster House watching the buntings,
longspur and rosy finches forage around the pile of wooden pallets.
On the way back to town I glanced east over the ocean
between St. Paul and a small island and simultaneously two Orcas broke the
surface with their tall dorsal fins, a fitting end to the afternoon.
Three other birders were on St. Paul at the same time that
we were. They were Paul Sykes, Larry Peavler, and a young fellow who was
identified to me as Tennessee Mike. They drove around in a little white
Japanese import that according to Larry was corroding so fast in St. Paul’s
salty sea air that the rust could be seen devouring the car’s panels. Paul is a
well known birder and birding guide, a retired biologist who once worked to conserve
Snail Kite among other species. His ABA life list is one of the longest known to exist. He
has visited the islands of Alaska in spring and fall dozens of times as has his
buddy, Larry Peavler who also had an enormous list. Tennessee Mike was a fair
bit younger than Paul and Larry but somehow I didn’t even catch Mike’s last
name.
Paul, Larry and Mike had seen an Eye-browed Thrush, an
American Robin-like bird that’s paler, slimmer, and most importantly not North
American. It’s a casual northeast Asian migrant through the Pribilofs, and a
desireable addition to anyone’s list. They had seen the bird in St. Paul’s
quarry, a location that we were soon to grow familiar with but never used to.
The thing about the St. Paul quarry is that it looks so
other worldish that it resembles a movie location for an episode of, say, Lord
of the Rings. Its boulders and the dark spaces between seem the home of spirits
aware that strangers were trespassing.
“Good place for an ambush,” Doug said as he stood atop a
pale boulder on one side of the narrow canyon and peered down at us looking up
at him from the stony path that wound its way through the quarry. Gavin had us walking quietly up a sort
of mini-Valley of the Shadow, part of the quarry that hadn’t been used for
years. After digging out and piling up boulders 10 to 20 feet high on either
side, the quarry workers had left the place to Mother Nature who had tried to
heal the scars with moss, and other low growing plants, giving the place an air
of frozen tumult and mystery. The place was spooky, with moss growing over the
rocks concealing gaps into which a hiker might easily slip his foot and break
an ankle.
“Do NOT climb on the rocks. I DO NOT want anyone hurt!’
Gavin was speaking to us as if we were a pack of attention-deficit six year
olds, an entirely appropriate tone to use with listers. A little blue Arctic
Fox spied upon us from the ridge to the right. Likely in its short, hard life
it had never seen such a large group of humans invade its territory, and in
that opportunistic way of scavengers the fox needed to know if we were leaving
anything edible behind. Gray-crowned Rosy Finches watching us from the tops of
the rocks and suddenly burst into short flights ahead of us. Among them were
individual Snow Buntings and Lapland Longspurs. Halfway up the defile the
Eyebrowed Thrush materialized out of nowhere, flew around some boulders and
perched very briefly, only long enough for two birders besides Gavin to see it.
When some birders in a tour see a bird while others miss it,
the tone can turn ugly. Lifer-inequality becomes the source of trouble, with a
capital T. There can be tension, murmurings,
discontent, even among our well behaved group. After losing the thrush in the
boulders, we still hoped that we could re-locate it. Doug, our permanent
flanker, found the bird again but up high almost on the ridge. Certainly WE
couldn’t see it though we could see Doug looking at something, something WE
wanted to look at too. The damned bird wouldn’t allow itself to be herded into
view, and eventually it shook Doug off its trail. We came back to the haunted quarry
on twice on 23 September, and again on 24 September and 25 September but never
re-located the thrush.
At Southwest Point
a huge Steller’s Sea Lion had come ashore, though mostly it was hidden
behind a reef. Even so, his big square head made him easy to differentiate from
the pointed-faced fur seals.
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| Steller's Sea Lion - named for the German naturalist who accompanied the Russians during their voyage of discovery of the Pribilofs. |
After lunch we switched the bus for two vans and proceeded
to Northwest Point and Marunich, the former site of a Walrus colony. Here we
hiked along the top of a short cliff backing a narrow boulder beach. Offshore a
raft of 60 King Eiders swam closely packed. Other birds included a
Yellow-billed Loon way out and very hard to see, a Red-necked Grebe, a
White-winged Scoter, and a Wandering Tattler which flew down the beach calling
loudly. Watching us were Harbour Seals bobbing just beyond the surf. Among the
Glaucous-winged Gulls was what I identified as a first-year American Herring
Gull. A Red-throated Pipit flew up in front of the guides but I missed it.
After supper our destination was Northeast Point as usual.
The routine, described elsewhere, was wonderfully shattered when a tiny bird
leapt up from the putchkie in front of our chorus line and after a few metres
of fluttery flight dove back into the vegetation. Someone – Scott maybe –
uttered the sweetest words I had heard for days, “Old World warbler! Let’s get
on it!”
Old World warbler in a putchkie patch. Electrifying reality,
especially since I had NO Old World warblers of any species on my ABA list.
The situation was complicated by a couple of factors. First
and most basic was that I was standing on the road with four others birders
who, like me, had been … well … rather slow to join either of the lines of
putchkie marchers. In fact, we had stayed on the road and since the road was a
good metre lower than the vicinity of the warbler we delinquents were in danger
of being punished for our reluctance to join the chorus lines in the first
place. The warbler was not visible from our location. Second, even when Scott
and Doug somehow got us to shut up and move VERY SLOWLY into a place where we
had a chance of seeing the warbler, whatever it was, there were no landmarks
which is pretty typical of a good, thick putchkie patch. No saplings, no mini
snags, not even distinct tussocks of grass broke up the monotonous mess of knee
high vegetation. In the middle of a good stand of putchkie there’s nothing but
putchkie and sedges. Most putchkies are shaped pretty much like all their
brothers and sisters. You can try saying something like, “See that really tall
putchkie? OK, about 4 metres to the right there’s a small spider web. Two
metres in front of that there’s a putchkie that looks a bit like a Christmas
tree. The bird is in THAT PUTCHKIE, but you can’t see him right now.”
QUESTION: How long is a metre?
QUESTION: Do you mean the tallest putchkie, or just one of
the tall ones?
QUESTION: You said a little spider web. Is the spider little
or is the web little?
QUESTION: What kind of Christmas tree. We always get a
Douglas-fir. Its branch ends sweep up a little. Do you mean like that?
Eventually most people got onto the right general area, and
the warbler, which was gleaning the putchkie stalks and branches fairly
energetically, gave himself away by his movements. Finally everyone was “on”
the bird and I could hear Robeck, Laura and Doug occasionally firing off some
digital frames. Whichever species our warbler was, he was going to be well
documented.
As the thrill of the chase was replaced by the anticipation
of identification, Scott tentatively labeled our bird an Arctic Warbler, a casual
migrant to St. Paul and as I am sure my readers are aware a regular breeding
species in parts of Alaska and the Yukon. For me, however, it was still my
first New World Old World warbler.
There was for me a great deal of satisfaction knowing that
none of us got any closer than 10 metres to our Arctic Warbler. Except for the
initial flushing, the bird was totally undisturbed by 20 very quiet people
staring at him from respectful distances. Finally we agreed to leave him to the peace and quiet of his
putchkie patch. It was a good way to end the day.
24 September - Wind and rain all day. We tried a sea watch
at Zoltoi Reef. Huddling in the lee of a big piece of volcanic rock, those
closest to the rock stayed out of the wind more or less, but those of us in the
outer ring had little or no shelter. A Sabine’s Gull was new for the day, the
first of two or three today.
The quarry was our next stop. Spooky place. No thrush. An
Arctic Fox glanced at me as I slogged past in my rainwear as if to say. “You guys,
again. Suckers for punishment, aren’t you?”
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| Arctic Fox - several other tour members have photos just like this one of a fox that was feeding on the dead Gray Whale at Southwest Point. |
We tried another seawatch, this one from beside the bus at
the end of the road near Southwest Point.
Then once again we tried Zoltoi Reef. As the first birders
approached the boulder a Least Auklet was spotted flying just above the surf.
If I could have gotten my binoculars on it, I could have had a decent view of
the little bird, but my tripod and scope tangled in the chin strap of my rain
hat and even though I tore the strap apart trying to get the tripod off my
shoulders, the auklet was gone by the time I stood hatless, soaked and cursing.
An Arctic/Pacific Loon flew by. Big bird. Doug snapped a
couple of images which revealed that the loon was probably a Pacific. Drat.
Northeast Point for the afternoon. I stopped taking notes, a
sure sign that I was getting discouraged. However on the jolting bus ride
back over the dunes in the late afternoon, I did score a good look at my first American
Pipit of the japonicus race, a small striped bird standing by a puddle on the
edge of the rain soaked road. It’s quite a distinctive bird and one in the
bank pending its split from American Pipit and elevation to full species status in the future.
After supper at the Zoltoi Reef seawatch an all dark
Parasitic Jaeger powered in from the east and I was the first to call it. I
realized it was the only bird I called for the whole trip. That how sharp eyed our guides and the other participants on the tour were.
The wind and the rain had not let up and I was snuggled into
my coat back in the bus and was talking to a few other less than stalwart souls when I
noticed a large fur seal coming down the sandy road immediately toward the
front of the bus. This seal was getting far too close and clearly not happy
with our presence. Laura and Ro stood just outside the door to take some
shoots, but I suggested they get back in because fur seals can give severe
bites. I honked the bus horn and the seal turned around as if to head back down
the beach to the sea, but like a little kid he stopped and peaked over his
shoulder as if to see if we were taking him seriously or not. He was still
drawn towards the bus though but afraid of the horn perhaps for now he lay
prone in the middle of the road with his front flippers straight out as if
about to be frisked, frozen in a posture of frustration, neither willing to
advance nor wanting to retreat.
My second bout of honking brought Scott to the bus. He
glanced at the fur seal and sized up the situation immediately. “We’re blocking
his way to the colony,” Scott said as he slide behind the wheel and eased the
bus backwards a few meters, clearing a way across the sand for the seal. The
fur seal got up from the centre of the road, humped by our front passenger
fender and gave us a look like “Was that too much to ask for?” and continued
down the sandy slope to join the 600 other fur seals in his colony.
25 September – Early during my final morning on the island
the guides told us the Pen Air was unable to supply us with a flight off the
island today.
My, oh my. I had led a sheltered life. I had never had to
deal with a cancelled flight before. What did I have to do? For many of my
fellow tour participants such an event was commonplace. Pen Air did not have a
sterling reputation for service you could always count on. Never forget to get
trip insurance because you’ll need it for the extra costs incurred when you
book new flights, hotels and connections.
As a result of the sudden change, change not being a close
friend of mine, I was in a bit of a fog most of my last day on St. Paul.
However, we now had extra time for a trip to a fur seal colony. Standing in the
wooden view shelter Gavin took questions and informed those of us who were
interested about the fascinating life history of the Northern Fur Seal. I
listened as I took dozens of pictures of silvery two-month old pups and their
mothers.
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| That's the spot! Molting can be an itchy business. Northern Fur Seal pup at the Reef Rookery. |
When we arrived
back at the airport/hotel where several of us needed to use the computer or the
telephones, a Gray-streaked Flycatcher suddenly appeared on the south side of
the building, perhaps seeking shelter from the wind. Most of us got good looks
at this vagrant before entering the hotel.
The afternoon was taken up with another visit to Southwest
point where a pair of Aleutian Cackling Geese warily watched us from the tundra
and a Yellow-billed Loon flew past the rocky shore. Our one and only visit to the
Bone Dump was enlivened by the opportunity for some of us to slide down the
slick grass of a hillside.
Antone Putchkie Patch was empty of vagrants. But Antone Pond
held several Brant, our first and final.
Our final walk up the valley in the quarry produced only the
usual Rosy Finches, Snow Buntings and Lapland Longspurs, but no Eye-browed
Thrush.
Our last visit to Northeast Point produced nothing new. After paying my last respects to James
Heath, a very grave fellow, I wondered back toward the bus and realized that I was
leaving something behind on St. Paul. It was the right hand of my favourite
pair of leather gloves. It had stayed with me through 7 days of rain, wind, and cold,
being taken off and shoved into a pocket time after time, only to go missing
during my last hours in the field. Somewhere between Hutchinson Hill and the
Arctic Warbler putchkie patch lies my glove, the soft leather hardening and
slowly decomposing even now.
26 September – I woke even earlier than usual and wrote a
silly note about putchkie and posted it on the bulletin board in the empty,
still silent hotel hallway. About
two thirds of our tour were staying for another week. I was among only six who
were beginning their journeys home today.
Like a typical airport almost
everywhere, the St. Paul airport insisted we who were soon to depart had to be
ready to get on the plane even though it was still hours from landing on the
island. In the fusty overheated waiting area which also served as the lobby of
the airport, I relaxed, enjoying an early morning drowsiness and dreamed of a
time when I would return to St. Paul Island. It would have to be in the spring
or the early summer. I wanted to see the Least Auklet and his relatives in
their breeding plumage. Yes, and I wanted to hear the bellowing of the fur seal
beachmasters as they fought to keep their harems together. And I wanted to hear
the sweet singing of longspurs and Snow Buntings, and the wind blowing over the
putchkie which would be perhaps greener and more tender in the spring. And I needed
to find that glove...
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| Putchkie |
ERRATA: Many apologies to Mike and Corrine SCHALL of Bath, PA. I butchered their surname in Part 3.
If you have COMMENTS please send them to
chris.siddle@gmail.com
Be sure to check out Laura Keene’s photos at
http://flickr.com/gp/keeneone/c6jbV1/
