An avalanche of snow having cancelled the previous week’s scheduled trip, six of us had schedules permitting another attempt at January birding. At our frequent destination, the Erie lakeshore, weather that had turned mild had melted or blown far from shore the ice we’d hoped would concentrate waterbirds. Because more cold weather is almost assured in the weeks to come, we decided to leave the gulls and ducks till then, and instead look nearby for some of the birds that usually attract only a fraction of our attention in winter.
We slept in half an hour later than usual, arriving at the Sportsmen’s Center at Killdeer Plains WA in time to watch a grudging dawn emerge. It was misty, and the still-intact snow cover was melting quickly after two days above freezing. No hunters were abroad, and we had a few minutes of big natural silence—the stuff we all miss so much without acknowledging it—before a couple pairs of randy great horned owls began dueting, one on either side of us. No short-eared owls were heard or seen, and we wondered if these two phenomena might be connected; the more ferocious owls have eliminated some wintering flocks of short-ears in other places nearby. Growing light and big lenses enabled us to pick out other raptors perched nearby—red-tails, kestrels, harriers (but, like other groups at Killdeer recently, we saw no rough-legs here)—and we picked up dawn songs from other birds, including a starling rehearsing excellent imitations of a dozen other species from a nearby tree.
We moved slowly on to the next objective, seeing more common raptors, birds at the roadside gleaning grit, being especially alert for shrikes. Windless, the day was perfect for them, but we struck out I learned later another group had later found one along the road we traveled, but way out at scope distance). We stopped at the famed cedar tree, and found two long-eared owls, furious and glaring at our invasion of their sanctuary, and next passed along to Lawrence Woods SNP, our alternative site for short-ears.
LWSNP was new to most of us, and the hundreds of acres of gorgeous short-ear habitat that surrounds the woods was inviting, and endured some intense scanning from us all. Another observer had found short-ears, harriers, and a rough-leg here a few days earlier—in the afternoon—but we managed only a pair of harriers, despite gloomy light that we thought might persuade owls to hunt all day. We took the boardwalk through this impressive forest tract—one of Ohio’s best wildflower spots, but not in January we can tell you—employing our rudimentary tracking skills at all the animal prints in the snow, and seeing mostly woodpeckers. The pileateds had done some serious peeling on trunks of dead trees, and we were surprised to find a small wetland in the middle, complete with great blue heron, where pollywogs were already emerging into little pools in the ice.
Realizing our trip list was awfully skimpy, we stopped to pass a while at some well-stocked feeders, fearful of returning for the first time ever without having tallied northern cardinal and house sparrow. Another target, a varied thrush coming to another feeder not far away, was next. But when we called the homeowner told us the bird had not been seen for over a day; she came up short of promising to let everyone know when and if it returned, too. But we had to sympathize with her and her husband entertaining gangs of growingly grumpy birders with dirty boots camped out in their living room (you couldn’t see the feeder from outside) for hours at a time, probably continuously over the previous days. As it happens, all our Ohio lists had this species, so we didn’t press to see if we could stop by on the odd chance…
On the way home, yours truly—for the second time that day, I am compelled to admit—led us astray. The first time, in Hardin County, just cost us a few miles of driving through some interesting Amish farm county and past some malodorous hog platforms. Usually we strain our eyes looking for manure applications in the snow, because they attract seedeating field birds like buntings, longspurs, etc., but here there were areas so vast areas there was more manure than anything else. Anyway, we wanted to take a look at some promising planned Marion County parks in the vicinity of Big Island WA, which has always had some access and hunter-interference disadvantages, but the gate was closed and we ended up in the industrial end (I hope there is another sort of end) of Marion, blindly following misleading highway signs for a way—any way—out into the welcoming countryside. Once out, we stopped for still one more unavailing scan for short-ears at BIWA, then headed home with the remaining daylight. Next time we hope for the kind of weather that will be bad for gulls, but good for us.
I was, given the overall satisfied feeling we all shared, surprised to find how short our day list was. But we found some new spots, and learned a lot as always. Our monster mega-list of 35 species follows, could be worse considering we had zero ducks and zero gulls on a January trip:
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Canada goose
Great blue heron
Northern harrier
Cooper’s hawk
Red-tailed hawk
Rough-legged hawk
American kestrel
Rock pigeon
Mourning dove
Great horned owl
Long-eared owl
Red-bellied woodpecker
Downy woodpecker
Hairy woodpecker
Northern flicker
Pileated woodpecker
Blue jay
American crow
Horned lark
Carolina chickadee
Black-capped chickadee
Tufted titmouse
White-breasted nuthatch
Eastern bluebird
American robin (one)
Northern mockingbird
European starling
American tree sparrow
Song sparrow
White-throated sparrow
Dark-eyed junco
Northern cardinal
House finch
American goldfinch
House sparrow
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