Big Day (Bird Race)

04 June 1993

by Mark R. Dalton

Big Day Statistics:

• 125 species
• 0000 to 2400 hours
• 160+ miles by car, 2.5 by foot, 539 by commercial airline.
• Visiting: Anchorage and Nome.

This year spring had been early in both locations, and we'd collectively spent virtually zero time afield in Anchorage to locate the more uncommon species. As well, airfares to Nome were sky-high again, but Alaska Airlines still had its key non-stop flight to Nome which was critical to our endeavour. So, despite the potential disadvantages, we decided to try again.

Before leaving on our Big Day, we each secretly note the total number of species we think we'll see, and seal it into an envelope. Last year, we blew away the previous state record of 108 by seeing 119 species. This year we each predicted only 114 species, recognition that we knew that last year we had a lot of luck.

As midnight approached on a clear June 3, we set forth on our bicycles onto the Anchorage Hillside trail system. Our diary commences.

• Midnight. Both Swainson's and Hermit Thrushes calling. Our reported Brown Creeper nest, if it even exists, is quiet. Our taped Great Horned Owl call doesn't elicit any response. We thought we had this guy down pat. Finally he flies in and proceeds to hoot up a storm. Happiness is an owl in the bag early. We leave the Hillside at 0054.
• Arrive at Crow Creek Road in Girdwood at 0130 with scant hope of hearing a Boreal Owl. for several years it was a sure thing here, but we've not heard one the last three years. We strain to pick up its faint call above the sound of running water in the ditches. There it is - we got it! Two owls, and it's only 0157.
• With time to burn until sunrise we drive to Portage, narrowly missing a porcupine on Crow Creek Road. Across Turnagain Arm we witness a magical sight: a spectacular full moon, low on the horizon, illuminates the world, glistening on the Arm's wet silt, and shimmering on the waves. The moon "rises" and "sets" behind several mountains as we drive. Jupiter with its moons is clearly visible. There is a lunar eclipse scheduled for approximately 0315, but we are deep in Portage Valley by then, and the moon is hidden by the mountains.
• Portage Valley is dim, filled with low mists over the river and ponds. But it fairly explodes with song. In less than an hour we log 10 species by call alone. The giant icebergs grounded in Portage Lake loom out against the spectacular background.
• Portage Ponds yield 4 species, but no Ring-necked Ducks, always a regular for us here, and the first of several regulars we don't see in Anchorage.
• No hummingbird at the Portage Cafe, but we do nail a harrier and two other species. It's a bit early yet for the hummingbird, we head up the road to 20-mile. The viewing platform there turns up 10 species, including Trumpeter Swan, Common Merganser, and very welcome Surfbirds.
• A four-minute dash back to the Portage Cafe catches the Rufous Hummingbird at 0448 (last year it was 0450). Clearly this guy punches a time clock.
• We spot an Osprey on the tidal flats on the way to Girdwood.
• Major coup - a Stellar's Jay on the edge of the road into Girdwood.
• Cliff Swallows as usual on the house on the way to Don McKay's feeder. We should probably pay this fellow to always leave at least one nest on his house.
• McKay's feeder produces seven (count 'em, seven) species, including a Gray Jay, Chestnut-backed Chickadee, and Hairy Woodpecker. Mark also sees a hummingbird. Maybe we don't have to go all the way to Portage Cafe in the future for a hummingbird.
• Glacier Creek Bridge yields not only our trusty Dipper, but an apparently nesting Violet-Green Swallow.
• Girdwood Ponds produce 4 species, including an uncommon Solitary Sandpiper. Mike spies a duck hidden in the marsh and carefully watches its movements, instinctively knowing its a rare one. "Come on, move just a little farther." Rats! Disappeared again. Mark calls: "No,...wait, I see him. Almost into that small opening. There! It's a GADWALL". There's no justice. Mike stalks the hidden duck and Mark sees it. Mike keeps trying, to no avail. It's time to leave. Then, just as the van pulls away, Mike glances at the west end of the ponds, and there are the four Gadwall Mark saw, as big as life, dabbling in the sunlight.
• Two important species on the road back into Anchorage: a Rough-legged Hawk in a dead tree at Girdwood, and a Sharp-shinned Hawk chasing swallows at Beluga Point.
• Potter Creek produces four species, one of which is the elusive kingfisher we've missed the last two years. Only Mark sees it. If we're not right next to each other it's easy to miss a bird, and we have to have 95% overlap in species sighted to establish a record. Ten minutes later the kingfisher flies right over Mike's head. All right!
• Potter Marsh is a treasure trove - 11 species, including a Red-winged Blackbird, Western Wood-Pewee, and a Wilson's Warbler. The backside of the marsh is such a beautiful place to bird that we hate to leave, but it's 0804 and our schedule demands we head for the Hillside trails again.
• The trails are slow. No Brown Creeper, but we do catch a Boreal Chickadee, and Mark hears a Blackpoll Warbler. In the burn area we spy the unmistakable silhouette of a Northern Shrike on a dead limb at a substantial distance. As we congratulate ourselves on the shrike find, a Three-toed Woodpecker flies through our field of view and lands on a dead snag. Talk about luck...
• Now to the west side of the Anchorage Bowl. Jewell Lake does not produce our much needed Common Loon, but we do get Bank Swallows in the Sand lake gravel pits. Mark spots a Downy Woodpecker at Sportsman's Point, but Mike is driving and can't see it. He decides that as the driver he'd do better if there were more road-killed birds to spot, and Mark requests that a sun roof be installed in the van to allow for vertical birding opportunities.
• The Coastal Trail and Westchester Lagoon yield seven species, including a sanderling, and an all-important Least Sandpiper. The latter means we don't have to spend time mucking around in the wetlands near the airport looking for a nest, with a very limited chance of success.
• Lake Hood has few birds compared to previous years. We still get three species, including an important Canvasback. The usual hordes of swallows are absent, but with a Bank Swallow already in the bag, we don't have to do our customary head-spinning pirouettes to pick one out of the 8000 other swallows.
• Arriving at the terminal moments before our flight leaves, John Wolfe has again provided tremendous support and has checked in both us and our baggage. He hands us our tickets, we toss him the van keys, and an understanding flight attendant unlocks the door so we can climb aboard just before pushback.
• We leave Anchorage feeling a bit down. While we've seen several species we'd not expected, we've missed many regulars. Where were the Ring-necked Duck, Common Loon, Common Redpoll, Brown Creeper, Horned Grebe, Redhead, and a second species of Goldeneye? Our count shows 83 species. We had 80 last year, but we're pretty sure Nome won't produce as many birds this year.
• Having seen Trumpeter Swans at 20-mile River we don't have to strain to see one on an isolated lake as we climb out over the lower Susitna Valley. Mike skips lunch and sleeps all the way to Nome. Mark opts for food. We arrive at 1325 to a beautiful day.
• In 40 minutes we're loaded into our rented pickup and on our way. First stop is the Nome jetty. No White Wagtail. At the Nome Ponds more bad news. They appear dried up. Only three species - last year we saw eight.
• Anvil Mountain produces five species, the same as last year. The major problem is to keep on track. It's so lovely atop the mountain, with the whole world stretched out below on a fantastically clear day. The soft tundra begs us to lie down and just watch, but it's 1542, and we have to keep moving.
• The mouth of the Nome River comes through big time -- 11 species, including a Pacific Golden-Plover, and Baird's and Pectoral Sandpipers. The highlight for Mark is a Black Guillemot, a lifer. Mike does not see it because his highlight is figuring out how to get the pickup back onto the road without sinking up to the axles in sand. His planning is periodically interrupted by Marks' shouts of delight from the distant beach.
• The road east from Nome to Council produces a Whimbrel and three more species, before we reach Cape Nome. Unlike last year, ice is virtually absent from Norton Sound, and therefore doesn't keep the birds close to shore. Against hope that we can repeat our Peregrine find of last year at Cape Nome, we hear the characteristic high-pitched cry of a Peregrine over the cape. It's 1817.
• At Safety Bridge the huge mass of spinning, writhing shorebirds we say last year, which produced a Rufous-necked Stint, is nowhere to be seen. Just a deserted shallow pond. This entire area east of Cape Nome produced 13 species last year -- this year we see only five. A big blow to our spirits.
• Driving fast back west to Nome is pleasant this year as traffic is light (it's a Friday instead of a Saturday),a nd a cross wind keeps the dust off the road. At Cape Nome we find a Yellow Wagtail. All right! It's now 1957 hours.
• West of Nome on the road to Teller, the Penny River Bridge produces a Tree Sparrow, and also an Arctic Warbler, after considerable sleuthing.
• Lesser Golden-Plovers, which were incredibly common between miles 15 and 20 on the Teller Road last year, are totally absent this time around. The numerous Short-eared Owls are also gone. At mile 20.5 we searching vain for the Bluethroat we found last year. Mike manages to step through some aufeis and plunges one leg up to his knee in a creek. Talk about a wake-up call -- such hardship.
• We head slowly back to Nome. It's 2320. Wait a minute. On that mound. It's a Short-eared Owl. What a lovely bird. Such dignity. At 2333 we see a Wandering Tattler. Now there is a great find.
• At 2359, just as we reach mile 11, the vista south to the coast opens up, with Nome to the south-east in the distance. "Let's take a last glass for a Tundra Swan" says Mark. Within seconds he says, "There's one". Sure enough, in the vast panorama that stretches before us to the coast and south to the horizon, a lone swan flies eastward. search as we might all the ponds in view, there are no others. In our sleepy stupor we watch silently as this great bird winged its way through the Arctic twilight to some unknown destination. We probably watch for only 10 minutes. It seems like 30 - but we don't care if it's 300.

We finished the day believing chances were not good that we'd broken our 1992 state record of 119, because we'd missed several species we should have seen in Anchorage, and we'd seen many fewer birds east of Cape Nome. Mark's count came to 119, a tie, but something seemed strange. While we'd missed many Anchorage regulars, we had seen several species we'd not expected. The 83 species Anchorage count felt low. On slowly recounting each species in his field notes, Mark realised he's misread a hastily written "6" in the number "26" as a "0", or as number "20". Thus, when he numbered the next species sighted, it was logged as number "21", instead of "27". So, we'd actually seen an additional 6 species in Anchorage, and had again raised our record.