By the Sound of It

What looks like frustration but sounds like satisfaction? Bird-watchers know the answer is a flycatcher.

Willow flycatcher at the Billy Frank Jr.
Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge.

Many types of flycatchers look maddeningly indistinguishable from each other. Generally, they appear very plain with many of the species lacking clear, visual identifiers. Using sight alone, about all people can be sure of is that they saw some sort of flycatcher. (The birds do have a distinct profile with a large head and a common habit of perching near the tops of trees, flying out to catch insects, and returning to their perch to repeat the hunt.) But was it a willow flycatcher, a Pacific-slope flycatcher, or maybe a western wood-pewee? Even with photographic evidence, a birder can spend hours trying and failing to decide.

I speak from experience about the vexing nature of identifying flycatchers by sight. Until the last couple of years, the difficulty in doing so nearly beat me into submission. The longer the identification process takes, the more upsetting it becomes until it reaches the dejecting feeling of failure: There's a bird right in front of you, waiting to be added to your list, but you just can't make a certain determination, so the opportunity is lost. After several failures like that, you kind of don't want to bother with flycatchers anymore.

Then, there's the peace, joy, and empowerment of identifying flycatchers by sound. Learning their songs and calls is really the only way to deal with flycatchers, and once you've done that, you might as well be the smartest, most powerful person in the world because that's how it feels. I've gone from staring at photographs in exasperation to walking along and making an identification without even turning my head to see the bird that made the sound. By itself, the contrast in processes and outcomes is enough to put a smile on my face, but the knowledge of the birds' sounds carries something more powerful: the confidence of connecting to and understanding the surrounding environment. It's like knowing some great secret of life, a secret those confounding flycatchers have kept all this time.

Trying to identify flycatchers by sight is an aggravating process that makes you feel like you can't do anything, but learning to identify them by sound gives you a feeling of nirvana and omnipotence.

Soaring to New Heights

My 139th and final species for 2018,
the golden-crowned sparrow.

From an Anna's hummingbird on January 1 to a golden-crowned sparrow on December 27, 2018 took flight and became a record-shattering year of bird-watching for me.

Starting with the Anna's hummingbird bright and early on the first day, the year wasted no time earning its wings. By the end of the first day, I had 18 species sighted, and before February began, I had 37.

I flew past my previous best of 120, set in 2017, on August 7 and kept going. A final trip to the Billy Frank Jr. Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge on December 27 gave me 12 new species to end the year, putting me at a total of 139. The last of these birds, the golden-crowned sparrow, presented itself at the end of the day just before I reached the refuge parking lot. It seemed like a good punctuation mark for a great year.

The year featured 14 species I had never previously seen. These included the lesser scaup, the blue-winged teal, the field sparrow, the Lincoln's sparrow, the white-throated sparrow, the lark sparrow, the Harris's sparrow, the wood thrush, the hooded merganser, the ring-necked duck, the northern shoveler, the northern pintail, and the greater yellowlegs. One particularly spectacular life-list addition was the sandhill crane, which I blogged about seeing here.

Besides the new personal best and the life-list additions, I had another major highlight. During 11 days (May 4-14), I saw 43 species. That's almost four species per day and nearly one-third of my total for the whole year. It was such an exciting time. I just kept racking up the identifications, and when the run was over, I knew it would be a special year. At that point, I already had 107 species on my list, that new record close at hand.

Last year, my bird-watching reached new heights, and it's up, up, and away for 2019.

A Whole New Light

Now, you don't see it; now, you do.

Our physical environment heavily influences what things we see and how we see them. My experiences at the Billy Frank Jr. Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge demonstrate this fact well.

The most recent of my trips to the refuge possessed a much different character than the previous two (the second of which I blogged about two years ago). Back on my first trip in 1994, rain dominated experience, and in 2015, a thick fog enclosed the refuge. As a result, my family and I had limited visibility both times, drawing our focus to things close at hand. When my mom and I returned four days ago, clear skies, sun, and miles of scenery treated us to many new sights and experiences.

Out in the open, in the context of the Nisqually Valley and the extended Puget Sound, the refuge and the recent work to restore it took on even greater significance. It truly represented the meeting place of mountain and marine ecosystems--the destination of the Nisqually River, which begins at Mount Rainier. In that light, the work to remove the dykes that had dominated and reshaped the estuary for a century meant so much more. Seeing the sun shine on the larger natural processes working freely once again at the refuge proved quite satisfying.

Besides highlighting the larger importance of the refuge, the clear day revealed sights and things I've never seen before. For the first time, I saw the Tacoma Narrows Bridge from that vantage point. I also documented my first sighting of a peregrine falcon--a bird I was drawn to as a child and waited years to see in the wild.

American wigeon at the Billy Frank Jr.
Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge.

The final revelation offered by the sunny day at the refuge involved ducks. As an amateur bird-watcher, I have experienced difficulty committing ducks to memory. For some reason, other than mallards and wood ducks, they all seem to slip into one general image in my mind. I think one reason for this difficulty is that unlike songbirds, I am not around ducks all the time. However, because of the open scenery and the many ducks at the refuge last week, I was able to identify and become familiar with four species, including the American wigeon, the green-winged teal, the common goldeneye, and the bufflehead. I can say that they are more than just ducks to me now. I can see them for the individual species they are.

When the light changes, even familiar places give us more to see.

At Play in the Mud

Going back rarely takes us forward except at the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge in Washington state.

I first went to the refuge in 1994. A lot has happened there since then, but one thing that hadn't happened until recently was my return. Seeing the product of the recent restoration work at the refuge made the wait worth it though.

In 2009, work began to remove a dike that had kept Puget Sound away from the land for more than 100 years. When the restoration was announced, I became excited. The dike had turned the area from an estuary to farmland. Its removal invited the sound back to continue the natural processes that had been blocked for so long.

Because the refuge is visible from Interstate 5, the sound's progress over the last five years continued to interest me. Whenever I drove by, I would sneak a look at the expanding mud flats. The sight of them (or the high tide over them) always made me smile. All that estuary mud represented a return to a time before human intervention and a return of nature.

Two weeks ago, I decided it was time I returned as well. My mom and I visited the refuge and spent several hours walking the trails. We saw bald eagles, great blue herons, a seal, and, because of the low tide, lots and lots of mud. It was awesome. Through the teamwork of people and nature, the refuge had seen an amazing transformation from what it had been on my first trip there. This was no stick-in-the-mud story; it was progress toward a better relationship between the human managers of the land and the refuge itself.

One of the signs along the walking path talked about all that was going on in the estuary's mud, including the lives of creatures that call it home. I'd say that's just the beginning of the story.

Sound of Summer

Summer isn't my favorite season, but it does open up many chances to experience nature and attend environment-related events.

If you're a western Washington native or will be visiting the Puget Sound region this summer, you might want to check out the happenings at the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge, which borders the sound.

This summer, lots of events are taking place at the refuge. There is a summer lecture series that runs through August 24 and a catalog of weekend nature programs through September 24. The topics for the lectures and programs vary greatly and include birding, photography, grizzly bears, and earthquakes. Events are free, but the refuge has an entrance fee of $3 per four adults. Such fees are important to keeping parks and refuges going, and their importance has only grown with cuts in tax revenue and funding.

For additional information about the refuge's operations, go to the United States Fish and Wildlife Service's site.

If you attend one of the summer events, don't forget to get a few looks at Puget Sound while you're there and be sure to also check in on the work that has recently been done at the refuge. In 2009, dikes surrounding much of the area were removed to allow the natural estuary to reclaim what had been lost when the land was converted for farming in the late 19th century. For more information on the project to restore the Nisqually Delta, click here.