Year of the Ross's Gull: 2018 in Review

While not the rarest bird I saw in 2018, the trio of Ross's Gulls (Rhodostethia rosea) present for several weeks in June in Utqiagvik was an undeniable highlight of my year.

Ultimately, seeing lots of birds in the United States in the Information-Age is not very difficult. More than ever, the limiting factors appear to be time and (maybe more importantly) money. The information age has proved to be a double-edged sword. It allows anyone to have access to an abundance of information instantly. It has also acted to shrink the world we live in, allowing nearly instantaneous communication with other birders over vast distances. While I certainly enjoy the social aspect birding can afford, and I am happy to have made friends from all over the world, this heightened connectivity means that it is harder to avoid birders. The social aspect of birding is not the dominant motivation for my pursuit of bird study, and as often as not, I like to be alone when I'm birding. I am happy to make new friends, and there are times that I appreciate the company of other birders, but my focus is on the birds, not people. While most of my closest friends are birders, I have realized that many of the situations and people that have driven me the craziest this year (and in general) were also birding-related.

It is safe to say that most listers have benefited from cameras and the internet, I certainly have. It isn't a stretch to posit that more vagrants are found, documented, and shared publicly than before the late twentieth century. Photos allow more objective independent review (usually), though I think it is folly to believe that a photo will always replace the importance of a written description. Lighting changes, behavior isn't always captured in a still frame, vocalizations would need to be recorded. Photography is certainly important, but it seems that generally the effort to craft a written description is declining. I have noticed this trend particularly with respect to those twitching vagrants, often with a simple "continuing" providing the only written documentation. While sometimes this is just a placeholder until the traveling birder gets home and can upload photos and/or write a more complete description, just as often this phrase constitutes the entirety of the description. If I've made the effort to chase a bird, I feel I owe it to myself (and perhaps the bird) to make that extra bit of effort to describe the thing. Birders are a diverse and interesting lot, and there is probably an equally diverse suite of reasons people enjoy birding. There are some who want an excuse to travel. Others prefer the competitive aspect of listing. Some may be scientists that wish to learn more about the natural world. There is no "right" way to enjoy birds. All the same, I do wish there were more Harold Axtells in the contemporary world of birding. Perhaps they are out there, I just have yet to find them.

A list can represent a lot to the curator, but represents very little to the beholder. It holds a numerical value, but it has no true worth to anyone but the person who created it. I believe my lists (and I keep many) are representative of the effort I have spent studying species field marks, vocalizations, occurrence, habitat preferences, and my time actually in the field. The places I have travelled. My familiarity with not only the birds themselves, but the places where they occur. Species (including our own) cannot live in a vacuum. While it is possible to compare the value of one person's list to another's, it is impossible to compare the worth of two people's lists as they are incongruous. I can never fully realize the extraneous circumstances that have shaped another person's list, just as they may never fully understand mine.

I mention this because I want to make it clear that this summary was not created with competitive intent for anyone but myself in mind. Some people saw more species than I did in 2018, and others saw fewer. Some went to a greater number of places, some a lesser. Ultimately that doesn't really matter because every birder sees what they see (as juvenile as that statement may sound). Perhaps they misidentified the bird, perhaps they didn't. The point here is to share some of the stories I accumulated over the course of 2018. I enjoy observing and trying to understand birds in their environment. Appreciating the incalculable time and evolutionary pressures that have resulted in the forms and functions we see in modern Aves today. Comparing one of my years to another is one of my favorite things because come January first you never really know where the next 365 days will take you. You may have a general idea, but as the calendar unfolds plans can change, challenges will surface, common species may prove elusive, and vagrants always appear somewhere. Such is the adventure of birding.

At the outset of 2018 I had never expected to see my life Cape May Warbler (Setophaga tigrina) in Colorado in late November, but such is the serendipity of birding

Pueblo City Park, Pueblo County, Colorado

Nov. 20, 2018

In 2018 I managed to see birds in 9 different states and 2 countries (US and Mexico), though I did not officially leave US soil this year. I saw 563 species over the course of the year, 50 of which were new for me bringing my life/US lists to 681 and 654 respectively. 2018 was my last full year of school at New Mexico State University, and I am excited about the prospects of starting a career and exploring more of the world. In May I returned to Utqiagvik (Barrow), Alaska for a third (and final) field season working for Dr. Richard Lanctot (USFWS) and studying shorebird breeding demography. While I am certainly ready to see what other adventures (and birds) the Last Frontier has to offer, the end of this year's field season was bittersweet. I have very much enjoyed working in Barrow, both the birds, the location, and the camaraderie of my fellow crew members while braving difficulties associated with working at a high-arctic field site. This year produced the most outlandish vagrants (out of my three years), and even though the weather was the roughest yet, it was well worth it.

I had set several unofficial goals for myself this year (as I am apt to do). I won't recount all of them, but here are a few of my major ones organized by geographical region.

UNITED STATES (whole)
Break my personal best year total for species (504 from 2017)- 2018 total: 563
     I hadn't explicitly set this goal for myself, but I secretly knew I'd want to improve upon my best total. My over arching goal was to fill in more holes in my life list, and this strategy led me to see a lot of new birds, places and people. By the end of April (when I spent a weekend on the Upper Texas Coast) I was a solid 30-40 species ahead of my pace from 2017 and I figured if I kept the momentum I'd be able to surpass my previous best. I managed to break last year's total in early August while on a boat tour of Kenai Fjords National Park near Seward, AK. I don't know what the bird was that broke my record but I believe it was a Sooty Shearwater (Ardenna grisea).

ALASKA 

• Surpass 1000 complete eBird checklists submitted for North Slope Borough (all time)- total: 1116 

     Is it ridiculous? Kinda. Is it a clear demonstration of my competitive side? Certainly. Do I care? Not really. Complete checklists are the bread-and-butter of eBird, and so I try to break lists down by location as much as I can. By doing this, I can now tell you that demography Plot 8 had the highest species diversity over the three years I was in Barrow and Plot 1 had the lowest. This level of detail is lost if I had lumped all my effort into a single day list. I spend a lot of time in the field (don't we all?) and I feel its only fair that my checklist total reflects this. It takes a lot of time transcribing my lists from my notebook into eBird, but its worth it and the extra effort often helps to self-proof the data.

• Reach 125 species in North Slope Borough (all time)- total: 123. 

     While Barrow is one of the best places on the North Slope for vagrants (this may be an artifact of coverage as much it is geography), it is much different than other parts of the Borough. This limits the number of species one can expect to find (it is the high-arctic) if all of one's North Slope experience is confined to Barrow. While I didn't quite reach my goal, I'm happy with what I did see (I had a job to do in Barrow after all, and it wasn't to go birding all day). There were a few bitter misses (Curlew Sandpiper (Calidris ferruginea) still stings), but I made a lot of friends and caught up with a respectable number of interesting birds. Plus, the birds I could expect to see on any given day included Steller's (Polysticta stelleri) and Spectacled (Somateria fischeri) Eiders, so I can't complain.

The last new North Slope species I saw in Utqiagvik (#123), and by far the rarest bird I saw anywhere in 2018 was this [Siberian] Common Chiffchaff (Phylloscopus collybita tristis) found by my fellow USFWS shorebird crew member and friend Ben Lagasse. It took us a solid 3 days to figure out what it was (mostly because of its battered appearance and habit of keeping its tail cocked like a wren). It was incredibly exciting to see this bird which was a first mainland North American record. I can't think of a better way to end my time in Utqiagvik, thanks to Ben we certainly ended the season on a high note!

Utqiagvik- Nunavak Road Gravel Pit, North Slope, Alaska

Jul. 17, 2018

• Do a lot of Seawatching in Barrow- total cumulative hrs: 148

     Having never lived near the ocean for an extended time I took full advantage of my time in Barrow (and the camp's Swarovski spotting scopes). I spent many a cold 'night' (24 hours of light makes it hard to call it that) standing around with numb fingers and toes, but I can't say I regret it. There are too many highlights for a complete list, but Polar Bears (Ursus maritimus), Belugas (Delphinapterus leucas), Short-tailed Shearwater (Ardenna tenuirostris), Fork-tailed Storm-Petrel (Oceanodroma furcata), and various Alcids are all worth a mention. I also met a colorful cast of locals I happened to meet while staring at the Arctic Ocean. The CIA/Doomsday Conspiracy Theorist (2016), the friendly Beluga Guy (2017 & 2018), and the AR-15 Dude (2018), were all memorable standouts. My time spent scanning the Arctic Ocean surrounding Barrow certainly helped to cement my interest and fondness for marine birds, and helped to shape my desire to work more with this fascinating group of birds.

Northern Fulmars (Fulmarus glacialis) occurred sparingly in July of 2016 and 2017 while I was in Utqiagvik, AK but multiple rafts of hundred(s) of birds appeared in mid to late July of 2018 (likely related to the large die-off further south in the Bering and Chukchi Seas). While it was sad to see so many undoubtedly hungry fulmars, the chance to study this species from shore at close range was interesting (as was investigating the stomachs of deceased birds that had washed up- all of which were empty)

Utqiagvik, North Slope, Alaska

July 27, 2018

CALIFORNIA

• See an Albatross- they're even cooler than I expected

     While I could have accomplished this goal anywhere on the western seaboard (or with great luck on the eastern), I decided to do a pelagic out of Half Moon Bay in order to try for Black-footed Albatross (Phoebastria nigripes) and Buller's Shearwater (Ardenna bulleri) over Labor Day weekend. I had always been somewhat interested in tubenoses since I started birding, but living in land-locked New Mexico made it difficult to really appreciate the group. That changed when I began seawatching in Barrow and went on my first pelagic in San Diego last year. I quickly decided that seabirds were the taxa for me. That said, I felt that before I applied for a bona fide seabird job I needed to see an Albatross. I know its a weird stipulation, but it was worth it. The choppy seas on this particular outing made for an invigorating 10 hours and seeing Albatross in their element, with wind whipping and heaving seas made the experience feel even more genuine.

NEW MEXICO

• Reach 450 state birds before leaving the Land of Enchantment- total 445

Fortunately for me there is still some time to complete this goal. I have very much enjoyed birding in New Mexico. It is where I started out, made friends, and honed my identification skills. Birding New Mexico can't be described as anything but rewarding (or maybe frustrating). The sparse birder-to-area ratio means you could be the only person birding in a county on a particular day, but it also means a likely substantial number of vagrants slip through the cracks. Its a challenge, adventure, and quest all wrapped into one and it forces every motivated state lister to be an active participant, more so than I have noticed for some other more populated states. Chasing will only get you so far, and self-discovered rarities are a crucial component of any New Mexico list. I am proud to have started my birding "career" in New Mexico and look forward to continuing to explore this diverse state.

This Tropical Kingbird (Tyrannus melancholicus) in Carlsbad was NM State bird #441. Note the structure of the bill (longer and thinner) compared to the Couch's below (yes, angle of head is different, but I believe the comparison is still valid).

Lake Carlsbad, Eddy County, New Mexico

Sep. 7, 2018

Never expecting to see both unexpected yellow-bellied Kingbird species in the same year, I was delighted when this Couch's Kingbird (Tyrannus couchii) vocalized vociferously at the Bosque Del Apache NWR Visitor's Center, clinching the ID and becoming my 443rd NM species. Note the markedly stouter appearance to the bill compared to the Tropical above.

Bosque Del Apache NWR- Visitor's Center, Socorro County, New Mexico

Oct. 12, 2018

• Make it into the unofficial "New Mexico County Century Club"

By the end of January 1, 2018 I had seen 102 species in San Juan county, making for 31 New Mexico counties with 100+ species recorded. This left just Guadalupe (96) and Catron (78) with fewer than 100 species. I did a day trip along the Pecos River (south of Santa Rosa) in May before leaving for Alaska which allowed me to break 100 in Guadalupe county (121), and I spent a weekend in Catron county (115) in August which rounded out my 100 species for every one of New Mexico's 33 counties. I find county listing an interesting exercise as it encourages one to study and analyze the perceived habitat requirements of various species and apply this to the habitat present in a given county. Most of New Mexico's counties are rather large (compared to other states) and there are relatively few. Most encompass a fair elevational gradient and contain at least some reliable water bodies. Ultimately, New Mexico county listing requires strategic timing and effort in a wide variety of habitats and I find this type of exploration most rewarding. It also encourages coverage of counties that are seldom visited, and if it were not for this desire to cover different counties, Nancy Hetrick, Christopher Rustay, and I would not have stumbled upon New Mexico's first record Orange-billed Nightingale-Thrush (Catharus aurantiirostris) in Nutria Canyon, McKinley County back in 2015. While that is certainly an extreme example, county listing can be more motivation to get you out into new and exciting places.

• Break 300 County Birds in Dona Ana County before graduating from NMSU- total: 300

For the most part I have enjoyed birding in Dona Ana County, though the largest reliable body of water in the county (Burn Lake) became defunct well before I arrived, making many formerly reliable waterbirds very difficult to find. This severely handicapped my list, as did my absence from the county during the summer months (though I'd much rather be in the Arctic than Las Cruces during the summer). I think if I had spent time in the Organ Mountains in the summer I would have been able to add several interesting species. While there are a several birders in the Las Cruces area, it still feels like a fairly under-birded county. In recent years the West Mesa Grasslands (part of the Organ Mountains-Desert Peaks National Monument) have received inconsistent coverage, as have higher elevations of the Organ Mountains (e.g. Aguirre Springs). Even so, the southerly position, wide elevational gradient, and inclusion of the Rio Grande has made it an exciting county to explore.

Only a second record for Dona Ana County, this Magnolia Warbler (Setophaga magnolia) was a one-day-wonder in the yard of Marcy Scott and Jimmy Zabriskie who were kind enough to notify me of its presence. Only the second individual of this species I'd seen in New Mexico, it was an unexpected and colorful addition to my DAC list this fall. 

Radium Springs, Dona Ana County, New Mexico

Oct. 15, 2018

Keeping with a "theme" of unexpected eastern vagrants added to my Dona Ana County list this year was a male Ruby-throated Hummingbird (Archilochus colubris) that spent several days at a feeder on the east side of Las Cruces. Many thanks to Tim Lawton for allowing me to visit his yard to see this bird.

Las Cruces, Dona Ana County, New Mexico

Sep. 14, 2018

Number 300 came in the form of an immature Harris's Sparrow (Zonotrichia querula) I managed to track down on December 31st (after trying and failing to locate it on the 30th).

Dona Ana County 300: Harris's Sparrow (Zonotrichia querula) not a great photo, but a it felt nice to hit my goal nevertheless

Dec. 31, 2018

TEXAS

• Break 400 state birds- total: 443

The Lone Star state is a pretty cool place, and there's a lot I enjoy about travelling in Texas. The speed limits are swift, the drivers (while fast) are often courteous. There are Armadillos, Alligators, and lots of birds. Living near El Paso has made Texas listing a little easier, as I have easy access to many species that are geographically unique among the panoply of Texas avifauna. Conveniently, many of the "eastern" birds I needed for my Texas state list were also potential life birds for me, which made the effort to find them more about building my life list than just state listing. I used this logic to justify several multi-day trips to Texas this year, including a visit to the Upper Texas Coast in late April to witness the passage of neotropical migrants across the Gulf of Mexico. The parade of colorful passerines was veritable eye-candy, and the antics of a flock of Buff-breasted Sandpipers (Calidris subruficollis) near Anahuac NWR was captivating. As luck would have it, I would visit the Lone Star State on 4 separate multi-day trips in 2018, visiting the LRGV three times, stopping in the Edward's Plateau three times, the Upper Texas Coast twice, and the Piney Woods of Eastern Texas once. I also made half a dozen day trips in western Texas, mostly in El Paso and Hudspeth counties.

My 2018 birding in Texas began much as my 2017 Texas birding had ended, searching for a Snowy Owl (Bubo scandiacus). This time however, I was much more successful after John Groves and I relocated this female/immature bird that had been hanging around a megachurch in Odessa (because of course it was). 

Odessa, Ector County, Texas

Jan. 28, 2018 

Not a great photo, but this Swainson's Warbler (Limnothlypis swainsonii) was my 400th Texas state bird and one of the species I had most wanted to add to my life list during my trip to the Upper Texas Coast in late April

Sabine Woods, Jefferson County, Texas

Apr. 28, 2018

Closing Thoughts
I know many people who christen a year based on the first bird they see. By that metric my 2018 would have been the year of the American Crow (Corvus brachyrhynchos). I have nothing against Crows, but after encountering 563 species across North America this year the one species with which I had the most memorable experience was the Ross's Gull. I was lucky to see the two (and later three) Ross's several times during their June tenure at the end of Fresh Water Lake road in Utqiagvik, Alaska. I was able to share the experience with several birders (and on some occasions I had the gulls to myself). The last time I watched them was the most intimate, as I was alone at midnight, with a dark cloud from moving in on 25 mph arctic winds from the north. A blazing "sunset" to my west threw a soft warm glow on one of the birds as it picked at large black worms from puddles near my feet. I watched this Ross's Gull for nearly two hours as it fed and called several times, even taking flight to chase the pair. I'll never forget the way these birds sashayed around as if they knew they were the show-stealers, occasionally squabbling with a Sabine's Gull (Xema sabini). At any other time watching a Sabine's under these conditions would be enough to make my night, but not so with Rosea le' petite (as one visiting birder called them, I may have butchered the spelling) in attendance.

By the time I finally forced myself to leave it was 2am and I had lost feeling in my toes. My nose stung painfully. My fingers were difficult to flex, stiff as they were with cold. The sky was a brooding dull cobalt, as dark as it ever gets in Utqiagvik during the summer. The skies threw snow fitfully and this weak attempt at precipitation was buffeted by the bitter stinging winds. I don't know if or when I'll see another Ross's Gull, but this was by far one of my favorite birding experiences of all time. There is something about seeing a species such as this in the environment for which it evolved that feels "right." I found myself wondering how the pressures of an Arctic existence could have possibly produced such an organism. Why had it needed the bright vermillion legs? The thin black necklace? the pointed tail? The rose-colored blush? How might these marks convey the fitness of a particular individual? If the modern Larid phylogeny is to be believed, how did the most recent common ancestor of Sabine's and Ross's Gulls so quickly diverge to occupy niches within an Arctic that has only occurred in its present form for a relatively short period of time?
My questions were met only with the howl of an Arctic wind and the occasional thin rattled call from the Ross's Gull at my feet. Perhaps that's all the answer I can hope for.

I couldn't help but imagine James Clark Ross, standing on a wooden ship in the Arctic Ocean with a similarly bitter arctic wind while near the Melville Peninsula of Nunavut, Canada in 1823. Seeing a peculiar looking gull flying naively near the ship, he collects it. I'd like to think the polar explorer was just as enraptured by this "Cuneate-tailed" gull when he saw it as I was nearly two centuries later.

I don't know where 2019 will take me, but you can bet that dawn on January 1st will find me looking at a bird somewhere.
I hope 2019 finds you birding somewhere too!
Cheers and Happy Birding!

Watching this Ross's Gull pick at worms in a puddle virtually at my feet was beyond surreal and I was afraid to breathe for fear it might fly away. Fortunately it was content to pick at invertebrates despite a consistent 20 mph wind blast of Arctic wind coming from the north. By the time I left this site at midnight I was unable to feel my fingers or toes, making for an uncomfortable ATV ride home. I'm not sure when I'll have another chance to witness one of these denizens of the Arctic in their natural habitat, making it all worth it. 

Utqiagvik- Freshwater Lake Road, North Slope, Alaska

Jun