| Dark Matter and Snow: Haida Gwaii Bird Counts 2021/2022 |
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| Written by Margo Hearne |
| 30 March 2022 |
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What we now know as the Christmas Bird Counts began in 1900 following public outrage over the slaughter of water birds, especially egrets and other waders, for the millinery trade in the 1890’s. Socialites Harriet L. Hemenway and Minna B. Hall started a campaign to end the killing after realizing that more than five million birds, including herons, ibis, terns, grebes, hummingbirds and owls had been slain for fashion. They eventually formed the Massachusetts Audubon Society which became the National Audubon Society. In 1900, Audubon Society member Frank M. Chapman launched the first Christmas Bird Count, an alternative to the traditional Christmas hunt where shooters competed to kill as many birds (and mammals) as possible. The courageous women forced the changes and now there are almost 77,000 birders out there annually as part of the all-volunteer, mid-winter, holiday census.
The sun rose, the moon set, and two gulls drifted over the water. It was biting cold but sunny. A few Double-crested Cormorants appeared; we usually see the more common Pelagics, so it was a good start. A little wren chuckled from deep in the underbrush and we found Song Sparrows, chickadees, and Varied Thrushes before we rode the ferry to K’il Kun Sandspit. Meanwhile, a group of hardy adventurers covered the waterfront in Daajing Giids Queen Charlotte. The White Wagtail from Eurasia someone had spotted earlier in the season was long gone. It was the find of the year; such a rare bird on the Christmas Bird Counts (CBCs) would have brought joy to the hearts of the bird counters, but it was not to be. The earlier Avocet was also absent, but we had to count what was there and not what might have been. It was too choppy on the water for the expected small boat coverage, but the Kwuna still sailed and sea lions, while not birds, were also counted. How nice to see them glide through the water like ear-less wolves. Western Grebe numbers were down from previous years. There were only four hundred and forty of those longnecked swan-like birds, down from the over two thousand seen in previous years. There’s no accounting for birds, they do what they like. If they don’t want to be counted, there’s nothing we can do except count the Red-necked and Horned Grebes which are always a delight, especially the tiny Horned Grebes with their chubby bodies and thin bills. The beach walk was challenging; the cold wind sapped our strength, but four American Pipits and twelve Snow Geese with the Canada Geese made the walk worth it. So did the three hundred and forty-four Black Turnstones and eighteen Sanderlings. Dunlin fly in such tight flocks that it’s like watching an aerial ballet. They weave and turn over the beach, and who tells them when to turn or why? Someone once asked what was so special about birds; the only response was, “Can you fly?” At our favourite feeder, five Golden-crowned Sparrows skipped under the bushes from seed to seed. Brought in by the cold snap that had arrived at the end of November were one hundred and sixy-nine Varied Thrushes, the colourful bird of winter. Total Species: 70
An astonishing number of Ring-necked Ducks startled us as we drove towards Kumdis Bay. We might see five or six on these CBCs but sixty-nine was a surprise. What a start to the day! In spite of the constant drizzle, most fresh water was still frozen except for a patch where the ring-necks fed. Four Green-winged Teal tucked up along the edge and two hardy little Buffleheads dove in the chilly water. While the seeker of songbirds wandered the wooded pathways, we went to the shoreline. Fog, poor visibility. It’s tricky to separate waterfowl silhouettes from one another. Geese are larger, mallards a bit smaller, wigeon smaller still, teal even smaller. Then pintail, longer necked and somewhat daintier. But what were those big things? Out of the fog, four Trumpeter Swans drifted silently across our vision and just as silently disappeared. A mirage? No. We count what’s real; further down the estuary the fog thinned slightly, and we saw twenty-two more swans feeding in the shallows. We rattled off to Juskatla. The month-long snow-freezesnow conditions had created an ice-covered, bumpy, treacherous run. We passed our friend on the way to Marie Lake, a drive he takes almost every day, rain, shine, or blizzard. We determined that if he could make it so could we. At Juskatla Bay we eked out four Barrow’s Goldeneyes and sixty Surfbirds through the gloom, then it was back to town where one White-throated, four Golden-crowned and three White-crowned Sparrows sat visibly on top of a bush. It was a fitting end to a foggy day. Total species: 48 Nee Kun Rose Spit A long surf in a cold wind. The north wind blew with its usual shelterless, chilly snap. A raven fed beside the river and twelve Mew Gulls stood into the wind. Seventy-five Sanderlings, those tiny white shorebirds, fed and sped along the water’s edge, and the foam cast by the breaking waves added to the trick of trying to find them. They were the only shorebird of the day, but we were not the only ones birdwatching. Across the Hiellen River, the Peregrine Falcon perched on a high spruce decided to have lunch. After a swift and unexpected swoop, gone was a little Sanderling as the falcon scattered its feathers to the wind. Seventy-four Sanderlings. The gulls ruffled up a bit but went back to hanging around. It was a little sad; the tiny bird was trying to survive the bitter winter chill, but it’s the way of the wild world.
Other ducks included Surf Scoters (forty-three), Black Scoters (fifteen) and White-winged Scoters (four). Not a great gathering, we have to say, but eleven Long-tailed Ducks, two Buffleheads and two Common Goldeneye were an added attraction. Seventy-five Varied Thrushes, ten Pacific Wrens and one Brown Creeper upped the songbird list. The Winter Wren no longer lives here, it’s now called the Pacific Wren. Same bird, same colour, different name. The Yakan area has a mysterious aspect. The lava rocks are curved and softened by the wind and sea. Some have strange markings and what looked like a bird print embedded in stone. We only caught a glimpse of it before the tide rose and covered it. One Red-breasted Nuthatch called out its tiny song for a moment and then went back to sleep. It was time to go home. Total species: 32 Masset, Gaw Tlagee Old Massett It was Siberian, no doubt about it. The temperature was minus six but felt, with the wind chill, like minus sixty. The easterly wind is always the worst, especially in a blizzard; and we are just not accustomed to almost six weeks of bitter cold during the Christmas Bird Count season. We often do them in a balmy ten degrees.
Dunlin again, in waves of dark matter softened by the falling snow. Along Gaw Kaahlii Masset Inlet beach three Greater Yellowlegs were late lingerers, as was a Cooper’s Hawk (the first ever for the Masset area) and a Brewer’s Blackbird. An unusual Northern Harrier drifted over the saltwater shallows. They usually hunt over the flats when not covered in feet of snow. A Great Black-backed Gull sat among a line of gulls at the Masset Wharf, a first record for the Haida Gwaii count. As rare birds often do, it flew before we could get a photo. Many people saw the Tundra Swan that had appeared in Delkatla Wildlife Sanctuary earlier in the month. It had come out from the frozen ponds where it occasionally winters and fed in the ditch adjacent to the highway; salt water from the Inlet had kept that patch open. The bird’s head and neck were muddy from digging plant roots, but it survived the cold snap and was last seen swimming in the slough when the weather warmed up. Everyone who participated in the count also needed to warm up, and after a hot drink by the fire we thawed out, thankful to have survived. Total species: 73 Tll.aal Tlell The most unexpected birds ever. Who would have imagined that two Sandhill Cranes would spend Christmas in Tll.aal Tlell ? It’s the first ever Haida Gwaii winter record for these magnificent birds. They seemed quite at home and had no intention of going anywhere as they preened, strolled, and mixed with the nearby Canada Geese. And why should they leave? They were warm and fed and had company. It’s that “birds of a feather” thing again. Birds get lonely when alone. Nine Trumpeter Swans also fed near the river as did sixty- five Mallards and one Green-winged Teal. Teal numbers everywhere are low this year; the cold sent them somewhere else. Off Southeast Harbour two thousand and seventy-seven Common Goldeneye, eight Bufflehead and sixty-three Red-breasted Mergansers couldn’t hide from us even as the wind rose, and the sea darkened. Fifteen Common Loons, four Pacific and four Red-throated Loons preferred the calmer waters nearby and, back on land, the stars of the show were fifteen lovely Red-breasted Sapsuckers. We often miss these birds altogether but when a southeast wind came in to take the chill from the land, the birds took advantage of the relative warmth and came out to feed. They might have come from the far north and fetched up in Tll.aal Tlell in hopes of better weather. Total species: 46
The seas were rough, the wind howled, and the decks were so dangerously slippery from the icy conditions that they were closed to passengers throughout the voyage to Prince Rupert. Although the Northern Expedition can easily handle the seas, humans cannot. So, we observed the birds from both the inside port and starboard lounges. It was actually quite comfortable. Normally we remain on deck for the whole six hours and have to be practically carried upright off the ship, but not this time. There were very few passengers and, apart from the occasional slap of a wave against the windows, visibility was okay. The birds didn’t care much for the storm-tossed open Strait any more than we did, so most of them stayed in the lee of Haida Gwaii, a fitting place for wild birds. Here was the only Short-tailed Shearwater for the day. Here also were the tiny Ancient Murrelets; and, just as small, the one and only Parakeet Auklet. The Parakeet is a new bird for the count, a swift alcid related to penguins as all alcids are, including the thirty-four Common Murres and the one Rhinoceros Auklet we saw. Four Pigeon Guillemots were far from their island nesting sites; they rose and fell in the sharp sea where the ship crossed the bar and turned into the Strait. Two Northern Fulmars did their elegant soar over the waves, and a Thick-billed Murre was another rarity. There were a few diving ducks out there, including four hundred and forty Surf Scoters as well as one hundred and ninety-two Long-tailed Ducks. But the trip had been through such a confused, restless, tiring sea that it was a treat to see a parade of forty-two Barrow’s Goldeneye cruise calmly by when we docked safely in Prince Rupert. Thank you as always to the sailors who bring us safely home from the sea. Total species: 29 For more information about the bird counts, have a look at audubon.org/conservation/science/christmas-bird-count. Text and Photos by Margo Hearne.
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Xaana 
Gamadiis Port Clements 
We had some difficulty finding any ducks in the choppy cold sea except for a Red-throated Loon, five Common Loons and six Pacific Loons. But then, as ever, the unexpected. Far offshore a tight group of small diving birds appeared and disappeared in the running sea. It took a while to really pin them down, they were both far away and busy and it took all three of us to finally determine that they were Horned Grebes, two hundred and fifty-one in all. The birds of a feather that flock together.
After ploughing through knee-high snow – the kids on toboggans loved it – we made it to the beach where hundreds of gulls mewed and whimpered as they fed in the wracks of seaweed washed in by the killing winds. Clams and cockles had died in the big freeze, so there was food for all. Shorebirds took advantage of the wealth, including fifty-eight Black-bellied Plovers, those mid-sized birds with black “armpits” and a lonely call. Six hundred and sixty-six Sanderlings was a really high number; the world is an inscrutable place and only the birds know where best to go.
K
