Male Spoon-billed Sandpiper incubating its nest

From here on out, each time I see a Spoon-billed Sandpiper, I wonder if it will be my last. Most of the adults who failed to breed have departed and the few that remain are quietly leading hungry, growing chicks through a landscape under constant aerial surveillance by predatory gulls, jaegers and ravens. One male whose territory was closest to the village and was especially confiding has departed. He was the first spoonbill I filmed and the first known to arrive on June 3. We sat together that day in cold pelting rain and I filmed him several more times in the weeks that followed. I regret not having gone to see him one last time before he left.

In early July the only remaining nest known to us was due to hatch. The weather was not ideal – almost constant 30-40 mph winds – but over the course of several days I was able to capture the first intimate footage and sounds of Spoon-billed Sandpipers at their nest. The footage includes adults incubating and brooding the young, the young spoonbills emerging from the nest, and their first stumbling attempts at capturing prey. I also recorded several interesting vocalizations including a rousing series of calls given by the pair during an incubation exchange (males sit on the nest during the day and females at night) and a quick jrrrrt call that is used by the adults to freeze their well camouflaged chicks in their tracks so they avoid detection by predators. It was difficult to watch the young depart the nest for the last time. Their tiny bodies look so vulnerable in what is a seemingly unforgiving landscape – it is a wonder that any of them survive.

A few days after filming the nest I went to an area we searched many times for Spoon-billed Sandpiper nests but had failed to find any. I was hoping to film an Emporer Goose nest there but it too had hatched and the family departed. Amazingly, an adult spoonbill popped out of the tundra delivering the jrrrrt calls used to warn chicks of danger I had just observed. I stood back and after some time four puff-ball chicks on spindly legs emerged from various spots and began making their way over the lichens and willows to the adult. They were no more than a day off the nest. It was somehow refreshing to know that at least one nest had existed and hatched unbeknownst to us.

Spoon-billed Sandpiper chick concealed on the tundra.

My time in Chukotka is winding down and this will likely be my last blog post (of what have been few I know!). Next week I’ll begin the long journey back to the states – first, three rugged days overland by Vezdekhod (imagine a home-made armoured personnel carrier) during which we’ll do the first ornithological surveys of several remote mountain valleys. Then a boat ride from the town of Beringovsky to Anadyr through waters rich with Beluga whales and seabirds. And finally the long flights through Moscow and New York to Seattle. Capturing part of the life of the Spoon-billed Sandpiper has been a success and its been a great adventure but I am definitely looking forward to being back home!

Last night the winds were relatively calm and the sun was shining for the first time in at least a week.   The tundra, which was brown when we arrived, has now greened up. Sedges, grasses and the leaves of small willows and other plants have emerged from the crusty carpet of mosses and lichens.  In most places the ground is covered with the small dancing heads of a variety of arctic wildflowers.

I hiked up into the rolling moraine hills where the last snow is still clinging to life in the draws and on the hillsides where winter winds left the largest deposits.  Along the edges of these snowfields is often where you’ll find a Spoon-billed Sandpiper, or a pair, quietly feeding on invertebrates and small seeds which they pick up with their spatulate bill.   The spoonbill’s odd bill appears to be used in the same way as any other small sandpiper on the breeding grounds and is surely adapted for foraging strategies it uses elsewhere or somewhere in its evolutionary past.

The last few weeks had been rather quiet in the moraine hills.  The pairs that were to be formed were formed and the rhythmically repeated calls of displaying males gave way to the quiet and secretive periods of egg laying and incubation.  In total, six nests were found by the team in the vicinity of the hills, and another two were found further up the coast.  The first nest found was lost, along with the female who laid it, to an unknown predator.  Seeing a Spoon-billed Sandpiper lying dead on the tundra, especially a female whose value is greatest, was a sobering event. It was a reminder of how vulnerable a small population like this is.  At this point even a random natural event, like a lingering flock of northward migrating jaegers due to weather conditions, could push the population over the brink.  Whether it was a jaeger, a gull, a weasel, or even a dog from town couldn’t be determined and didn’t really matter.  For the Spoon-billed Sandpiper, whose aging adults are not being replaced by younger individuals (they are not surviving on the wintering grounds), every one that is lost amounts to the population sliding further toward extinction.

I went to the hills hoping for one last chance to film some courtship behavior.  Because the captive breeding team has removed the spoonbill’s eggs from the nests there, some individuals have began to sing and display again – an attempt to start the process over and try for a second clutch.  It looks like most of the females who lost their clutches have departed and will not renest but in the area where I was heading at least one displaying male and one receptive female had been seen the day before.

When I reached the area I located the female standing motionless on the tundra beside a snowfield – its beak was tucked neatly into its russet and black scapulars.  I saw the male too – a beautiful russet headed bird that was intently foraging but always aware of potential predators – freezing momentarily and head cocking skyward whenever a gull would pass in flight.  The two were clearly bonded.  The male keeping a tight watch on the female and the female following the male in her own unhurried way.

So far, filming Spoon-billed Sandpipers has been more difficult than I anticipated.  Skittish, sparsely distributed birds, challenging weather and lighting conditions, and a number of other factors have all contributed to far more filming failures than successes.  This evening however, was one of those that makes up for all of the long hours, frustrations and hardships you endure on a trip like this.  With calm winds, gentle evening light, and a confiding pair, the conditions were ideal.

I spent several hours watching and filming the pair as they worked their way around the edge of the snow field and up a small knoll.  As they neared the top another male began giving display vocalizations in flight and landed close by.  The male I had been watching quickly took a position atop a tussock and began delivering calls at a constant rate.  It stood tall with its head craning forward and its spooned lower mandible vibrating wildly with each trilled burst.  The intruder responded but not with the vigor of the paired male and the females behavior showed she was well committed to her selection.  She walked close to her male and with wings raised, tail cocked and a burst of calls he ran toward her in a bid to copulate.  She avoided his advances this time but remained close. Perhaps her body was not yet willing to expend the energy necessary to produce a second clutch.  Or maybe this particular moment was not to her liking.

As this was going on another bird appeared.  A pale frosted male that I recognized.  He had been mated to the female that was killed and had held a territory only a few hundred meters away over the next hill.  He entered the scene and gave a few spirited series of advertising vocalizations before quickly departing.   For him the breeding year is over.  The only female available had made her selection and there were no others to be had.  I could only hope that things will improve for this species on the wintering grounds and that perhaps next year or the year after that a young female will make its way north and he too will have the chance to try again.

As Skylarks and pipts sang overhead and the pair drifted off among the tussocks I took a moment to remind myself just how rare these birds are and to savor what I had just seen.  When you are in a place where a species can be readily found with enough effort it is easy to loose sight of the fact that you are in one of the only places on earth where that can be done.  I had just spent an intimate couple of hours in the middle of nowhere Chukotka, with 4 of the remaining 400 or so Spoon-billed Sandpipers on earth.  I felt very lucky for the experience and to have been put into a position to bring a piece of it back to share with all of you.

A female Spoon-billed Sandpiper pauses while foraging among arctic sedges

A typical gray day over the moraine hills. A male Long-tailed Duck sits on the pond. Somewhere nearby is a female incubating eggs.

A male Lesser Sand Plover sits on a nest surrounded by dryas flowers.

A shy Arctic Loon.

Showing the first HD footage of a displaying male Spoon-billed Sandpiper to a very interested community group.

After seeing the state of life in Anadyr and being warned by the Russian security services people who interrogated us (a story that will have to wait until later) that we were traveling to a lawless region full of criminals we were all anxious about what lie ahead at our final destination, Meynypil’gyno. For almost two weeks we waited in a cramped little room for both the weather to cooperate for flying and for the pilots to actually feel like flying. Finally, we lifted off in a big, old, orange helicopter and flew across an inspired snowy mountain range to this small fishing village on the edge of the sea.

On our final approach we saw organized rows of small houses below that looked quite inhabitable. Gone were the fears of being housed in one of the squalid shacks that we saw in Anadyr. And as we exited the helicopter we saw smiling people greeting one another and they warmly welcomed us. Alas, all is well! We have spartan but reasonable accommodations, safe storage for our equipment, dreadfully slow Internet (but we have it!), and a lovely hostess who is providing us with great home cooked Russian meals. Knowing we will have good food and some communication with home for the next two plus months has been a welcome relief.

The village of Meynypil’gyno has a population of about 500 and sits on a long gravel spit that parallels the Bering Sea. Just inland is an area of rolling moraine hills interspersed with small tundra ponds. Beyond that is a range of rigid, unexplored mountains. Snow is still deep in many areas and the main water bodies are still frozen but things are thawing quickly. Everyday the drifts are shrinking and prospects for venturing farther afield are presented. The weather is cold and windy as is to be expected for most of our stay.

Bird migration is in full swing and is especially exciting along the coast. When the winds are right there is constant passage of birds: Common and Steller’s Eiders, Harlequin Ducks, scoters, Long-tailed Ducks, Brant, 4 species of loons, assorted alcids, Black-legged Kittiwakes and regular flocks of 50 or more Pomarine Jaegers. Shorebirds are moving too but their migration doesn’t seem to have peaked yet. Species have included Ringed Plover, Lesser Sand Plover, Red Knot, Ruff, Wood Sandpiper, Dunlin, Red-necked Stint, and others. The beach is also remarkable in that Gray Whales swim within 20 feet of the gravel shore. Many are feeding and just passing by but others are using the coarse gravel to rub their bodies free of barnacles and other skin irritants. I stood knee deep in the surf and watched a group of three whales, within 15 feet at times, rolling, splashing and spy hopping along shore. It is tempting to dive into the frigid waters with them if only for a moment.

We have made several trips inland, hiking through the moraine hills and getting familiar with the territories of nesting Spoon-billed Sandpipers from previous seasons. Some birds are already singing there when the wind subsides. The songs of Skylark, Red-throated Pipit and Northern Wheatear have been the most conspicuous. It is my first time listening closely to the song of a Skylark. Their ability to mimic the sounds of the arctic avifauna are unmatched. I listened as one bird gave perfect vocalizations of Pacific Golden-Plover, Temminck’s Stint, Dunlin, Wood Sandpiper, Dusky Thrush and many others. We are anxiously awaiting the day that the first Spoon-billed Sandpiper arrives and its voice is heard among the others in the rolling hills. It should happen in the first few days of June.

UPDATE: Its June 3rd and a low pressure system is parked over the Bering Sea. High winds and rain have hampered our ability to detect any arrivals and may delay the arrival of the Spoon-billed Sandpipers. Hoping for a break in the weather soon!

Location of the village on the spit

Meynypil'gyno

Meynypil'gyno

Thawing tundra

White Wagtails were are among the first passerines to arrive.

After travelling through 18 time zones I am now in Anadyr, Chukotka in the far north east of Russia.   I have traveled around most of the northern hemisphere and am now back to a 6 hour time difference from my home in Seattle.  I am finally emerging from the fog my head drifted into as nights turned to days and then back again.

Across the Bering Sea from here are places familiar to me in Alaska – it is hard to imagine that friendly faces, warm homes and western comforts are only an hours flight away (if a flight were possible).  Though the plants underfoot, many of the birds arriving, and the colors of this thawing arctic landscape are familiar, the people and the living conditions here make me feel like I have arrived on another planet.  It is fitting that the long way around was the only way to go.

Getting my gear through Russian customs has been an excruciating process that is still not over – I have bags locked away in a room in the airport and crucial paperwork still to be processed.   I have spent many hours now both here and in Moscow as officials have scrutinized every line and subjugated my belongings to an archaic bureaucratic system that defies reason.  Shepherding my six large heavy bags this far has been exhausting both mentally and physically.

In Moscow I rendezvoused with other members of this expedition in one of the thousands of crumbling apartment flats that virtually every Muscovite calls home.   After some furious last minute packing by members of the Russian contingent (everything here seems to happen at the last minute) we weaved our way down busy highways to the chaotic drop off point at one of Moscow’s airports.   Somehow we managed to get all of the members of the expedition and thousands of pounds of gear on carts and through the sea of unaccommodating, stone faced people.  It is rare to see a smile or even receive an acknowledgement from a stranger and interactions with officials and workers, whether a security guard at the airport or a lowly clerk behind bullet proof glass at the hotel, always seem to be contentious.

Our arrival in Anadyr was uneventful and it was a relief to have made it this far.  Most of my bags were locked up at the airport and we dragged the rest of the expedition gear across the airport parking lot and up four flights of stairs in the airport hotel.   Our crew, currently consisting of three Englishmen, a German and three Russians, is now holed up in this dirty, decaying building (probably the finest in the area) amidst a landscape of human rubble.  Saying that the areas of human habitation look like a war zone doesn’t capture the squalor and decay to be seen.   In contrast, the women here dress as if they are in Moscow or London and walk through crumbling settlements in stiletto heels donning fashionable purses.  I have spent a good deal of time just looking at life here in disbelief.  It is cold, depressing, filthy, and feels post-apocalyptic.

Villagers in Anadyr

Anadyr, Chukotka

Out on the tundra the birds are slowly starting to arrive.  The largest number of migrants we have seen in the few days since being here have come from the America’s – small flocks of Western Sandpipers and large groups of Sandhill Cranes and Long-billed Dowitchers. Some Asian birds are starting to trickle in as well – Bean Geese, Skylarks and White Wagtail.  Each day of the next week will bring new additions.

Anadyr is our last stop on our way to the village of Meinypilgyno – and one of the rarest birds on earth – the Spoon-billed Sandpiper.   That is why we have all made our way here and what we all are looking forward to.  I have been sent here by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology to collect the first high definition video footage of the Spoon-billed Sandpiper ever made on the breeding grounds, as well as still images and high quality audio recordings.

The Spoon-billed Sandpiper is likely the most critically endangered bird species in the world. If not the rarest, it is surely the most vulnerable.   It breeds on remote coastal tundra in Chukotka and migrates to the south through key staging sites in Kamchatka, Korea and Japan.  It winters across South China, Vietnam, Thailand, Myanmar and Bangladesh.  The global population of Spoon-billed Sandpipers is estimated to be less than 200 breeding pairs and is declining at a rate of approximately one quarter of the adult population per year.  Unless the rate of decline is stemmed the Spoon-billed Sandpiper will become extinct in a decade.

Thus far, determining the most important factors behind its population decline has been difficult.  For migratory species that travel large distances and rely on multiple locations throughout the year it can be very difficult to determine the causes of decline and their relative importance.  Birds can be impacted by changes on the breeding and wintering grounds and at key locations they use to rest and feed during migration.  The two main factors currently thought to be at the root of the Spoon-billed Sandpipers precipitous decline are habitat loss around key migration sites in the Yellow Sea region where tidal estuaries are being walled off and turned into land and subsistence hunting pressure at wintering sites.   The loss of habitat due to land reclamation is also responsible for large and continuing declines in several other shorebirds species of the East Asian – Australasian Flyway.

The Spoon-billed Sandpipers remaining breeding locations are widely scattered and none were known to hold more than a few individuals in 2010 with the exception of one final core breeding area near the remote village of Meinypilgyno where at least 12 pairs bred last year.  We plan to arrive in the village just before the males arrive to begin their courtship flights and nesting.

Soviet grave site near a coal mine. Almost everything in the graveyard is made of steel. There were even steel flowers. Most of the dead were in their early twenties.

Female Rock Ptarmigan molting from its white winter plumage in the browns and grays of summer.

Here’s a short video I shot in Louisiana at Audubon’s Rainey reserve this past December. I found a huge flock of Black-necked Silts there and watched as a Northern Harrier tried to pick one off.

Here’s a slideshow of a Dall Sheep gallery I just uploaded. A few of the images are from a brief stop at Denali National Park this past fall. The other are newly scanned slides from several trips to Denali and the Brook’s Range some years ago. I still love the rich look of some of these images that were shot on film. Can you tell which ones they are?

Dall Sheep

Snow Goose Migration is in full swing in many places across North America. There is nothing quite like the experience of being among tens of thousands of these birds as they erupt into noisy flight. A couple of years ago I spent several days documenting the spectacle near Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge in New York. The Snow Geese I photographed were on their way from wintering grounds along the Mid-Atlantic seaboard to breeding grounds in the Canadian High Arctic.

A few magazine covers to share this month. The cover of Living Bird magazine shows a female Sooty Grouse I photographed on Mt. Rainier last winter. One of my photos also appears on the back cover, a calling Herring Gull. You can receive Living Bird by joining The Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

The cover of the scientific journal Conservation Biology shows hibernating Little Brown Myotis (bats) in Vermont’s Aeolus Cave. At the time, this location was the site of one of the largest bat mortality events caused by white-nose syndrome, the devastating disease that is wiping out bats in the eastern U.S. My multimedia piece on white-nose syndrome and more images from Aeolus Cave can be found on my website.

The Arctic National Wildlife Refuge is located in one of the least protected and most important habitat types for birds in all of Alaska – the Arctic Coastal Plain. Birds converge on the region and its abundant wetlands annually to rear young in the relatively safe, food rich environment. They come from wintering areas that span the globe.

The state of Alaska has a wealth of protected public lands in the boreal forests and mountainous regions to the south of the Arctic Coastal Plain. Unfortunately, perhaps due to its lack of impressive geologic features or traditional wilderness appeal, less than 2% of the coastal plain is permanently protected. The oil and gas industry has continually applied pressure to access the refuge and other important wildlife areas for energy development. I can say from first hand experience in the region that this would have devastating effects on the wildlife, the character of this pristine landscape and the native people living there. Energy development is already widespread on the coastal plain and there is room for new growth. But we must protect important areas in this critical habitat type.

Please support the permanent protection of the Arctic National Wildlife refuge and other special areas such as Teshekpuk Lake.

I recently made a brief appearance on a Birdnote radio program celebrating the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. Click here to hear the radio program.

Flock of molting Brant (Branta bernicla). During this vulnerable period in their life-cycle, they are unable to fly. Teshekpuk Lake Special Area, Alaska. July.

Adult Yellow-billed Loon (Gavia adamsii) in breeding plumage preening on a tundra pond. Arctic Coastal Plain, Alaska. June.

I had a great moment this evening while traveling along the Alabama coast. I came across an oil boom covered in birds as the light was fading. The boom was acting as a funnel and trapping fish as the tide was heading out. The birds, Brown Pelicans, Snowy Egrets and Black-crowned Night Herons, stood waiting. And Black Skimmers were working the waters just off the boom in flight. It was a nice end to another emotionally draining day.

Brown Pelicans and Snowy Egrets fishing from an oil boom

Brown Pelicans and Black Skimmer catching fish corralled by an oil boom.