I only picked up a handful of additional species from my home on January 1st, but the list definitely favored quality over quantity with highlights such as Common Raven, Peregrine Falcon, and Red-tailed Hawk. With my return from parental leave slated for the 8th, I was determined to make the most of my remaining time off from work. Accordingly, most of the first week of 2026 saw me spending quality time with my wife and son, but I did manage to arrange a few outings to search for wildlife around Long Island. On the 2nd, while my parents babysat Brennan, Jacqi and I partook in a pleasant stroll along the shore at Jones Beach, where we encountered rafts of Harlequin Ducks, Razorbills, Common Loons, and all three scoter species. A solo venture on the 3rd allowed me to connect with continuing local rarities like Bullock’s Oriole in East Islip and Tundra Bean-Goose in Locust Valley, as well as a few local goodies like Boat-tailed Grackle, Northern Gannet, and Black-crowned Night Heron.

The 4th offered a brief respite from this winter’s prolonged bitter cold, so Dad and I took Brennan for a quick jaunt around the lake at Hendrickson Park. Though the youngest Healy boy slept soundly through the entire outing, we managed to pick up a few year list additions, such as Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, Brown Creeper, and Green-winged Teal. The last major expedition of my paternity leave period was a solo venture out on the Island on the 5th. I was especially delighted to enjoy a peaceful encounter with a handsome Snowy Owl on the beachfront at daybreak. Additional prizes included Belted Kingfisher and Canvasback, leaving me just a handful of species from closing out the January 100 less than a week into the new year!

After such a strong start to my year listing efforts, my progress predictably ground to a halt once I resumed my usual scheduled work in the classroom on January 8th. At least my students seemed reasonably happy to have me back in the building! Although spending such long periods of time away from my family required a bit of an adjustment, I gradually found myself settling back into the groove of my established routine. My next opportunity for a proper birding foray came on the 11th, with a lovely family expedition to Jamaica Bay. Jacqi was thrilled to finally add American Barn Owl and Snow Goose to her life list, while Brennan once again spent the entire walk snoozing contentedly. A solo trip to Jones Beach on January 19th finally delivered my 100th species for 2026 with a sighting of a pair of Savannah Sparrows. I also noted my first Snow Buntings of the year and enjoyed an extended photo shoot with a cooperative flock of Horned Larks and their Lapland Longspur companion. Horned Lark was recently revealed as the American Birding Association’s 2026 Bird of the Year, so the chance to savor a close encounter with these charming songbirds felt especially apropos.

My first visit to Randall’s Island this year coincided with the onset a particularly brutal cold snap. With the prolonged freezing conditions this season, there were a number of reports of ducks and geese making interesting moves throughout the region after fleeing from their usual freshwater haunts, providing my friends and I with a reasonable degree of hope that braving the cold could prove fruitful. Adam and I documented more than a dozen different species of waterfowl during our search efforts at our patch, highlighted by a handsome drake Northern Pintail and a pair of American Wigeon. Additional notable sightings from this preliminary survey including a lively flock of Tufted Titmice and a trio over Field Sparrows.

The month of January closed out with the most highly anticipated event of the season, the Northport Winter Bird Count. Inspired by the longstanding tradition of the nationwide Christmas Bird Counts, my friends Taylor and Brent have hosted this late winter stock take for the better part of a decade now. I am always happy for an excuse to get out and do some proper, exploratory birding at this time of year, and my assigned territory for this Count features a diverse array of perennially productive habitats. This year I was joined by Max and both of the Ryans, who drove out from NYC to meet me just after sunrise. With deep snow carpeting the ground and most bodies of freshwater fully iced over, it quickly became apparent that avian activity throughout the Count circle was highly concentrated wherever accessible food sources and patches of open water could be found. In such areas, however, the birds were surprisingly lively and conspicuous! The final cumulative total, tallied during an uproariously entertaining compilation dinner with our friends, reached 94 species, and my team’s efforts resulted in a handful of saves: Winter Wren, Brown Thrasher, Wood Duck, Red-shouldered Hawk, and Redhead. I am always grateful for the opportunity to share good birds with good people, and the Northport Birding Club can always be counted on to deliver on that front!

February somehow wound up being even busier than January, but I still managed to pick up a number of high-quality species for my year list during my weeklong winter break. A full Randall’s Island circuit with Dmitriy, Adam, Efua, and Ryan allowed me to connect with Great Cormorant and Common Merganser, and we also stumbled upon a marvelously accommodating flock of Cedar Waxwings feasting on juniper berries along the shores of the Harlem River. It was nice to have so many of my friends all together at our beloved patch for a change, especially since I know that a planned move will be taking me further away from this corner of the City in the months to come. I intend to savor as much Randall’s time as I possibly can while I still live so close to this remarkable little hotspot!

My long overdue first sightings of Black and Turkey Vultures for 2026 were documented during a trip up to Connecticut to visit Jacqi’s family. I closed out the week with some targeted county birding to close out a few conspicuous holes in my localized lists, finally tracking down a Red-necked Grebe for Nassau and a Wilson’s Snipe for Queens. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the wintering flock of Rusty Blackbirds at Oakland Lake had swelled to an impressive total of 60 plus birds, the largest uniform group of this precipitously declining species that I have ever encountered. I also took the opportunity to check in on a local Great Horned Owl nest, wishing the incubating female good luck with the oncoming blizzard bearing down on the region. The heavy snowfall wound up extending my vacation by an extra day, though unsurprisingly the number of birds observed through my apartment window during the storm was quite low.

Kicking off the month of March with a bang, news of a spectacular Trumpeter Swan discovered hanging out along the Williamsburg waterfront with a resident Mute Swan offered an irresistible excuse to make a jaunt down to Brooklyn with my family. This massive, majestic waterfowl is an incredibly rare sight in downstate New York, with this observation representing perhaps the first chaseable record for the entire City! I am always thrilled to cross paths with one of these amazing conservation icons, and I suspected that this individual’s shockingly accommodating behavior would present a fantastic occasion to line up Brennan’s first-ever encounter with a bird in the wild. Given the notably harsh weather conditions this winter and the inherent limits of a newborn’s visual capabilities, my son had not gotten the chance to lay eyes on any wildlife during the first three months of his life. His rapidly developing curiosity about his surroundings and fondness for high-contrast colors, however, meant that this enormous, cooperative, all-white animal would make for a suitably attainable objective to focus on. Sure enough, when I gently lifted him up to peer over the railing, he instantly locked onto the strikingly conspicuous creature floating just a few feet from our vantage point on the pier. What a magnificent introduction to the natural world! While I cannot say for certain whether my son will ever count this sighting on any lists he may someday keep, I am confident that my own memory of this shared experience will last a lifetime.

The initial months of 2026 have already been a roller coaster of surprises, some better and some worse. With the first tentative hints of spring gradually starting to appear around the region, I am eager to see what the coming weeks have in store. I can only hope that the end of the winter season will usher in some fresh new positive experiences for me and my family, and for all of my devoted readers, for that matter!

2026: The First Act by Tim Healy. Original content from the folks at Nemesis Bird - fast paced birding.

Honorable Mention: Common Raven

Ravens have long been in contention for the title of my favorite species on Planet Earth, and it seems that their claim to the crown grows ever stronger with each passing year. 2025 was no exception, featuring a number of unforgettable encounters with these clever, charismatic corvids. Whether I was traveling far from home or hanging around my own neighborhood here in NYC, ravens were there to provide consistent entertainment. Apart from the arrival of our own “little raven,” the most memorable sighting of the year involved an enterprising individual that I observed warming scraps of frozen roadkill on the power lines outside my apartment on a cold December morning: a remarkable case of apparent tool use that showcases the ingenuity and adaptability that this species is so famous for. These birds never fail to find new ways to surprise me, even after a lifetime of admiring their antics!

#10: Cory’s Shearwater

Experiencing a familiar bird in an entirely new setting that completely recontextualizes our understanding of the species is one of birding’s great joys. 2025 introduced me to a whole new side of the Cory’s Shearwater, a bird I know well from years of boat trips and seawatches. For starters, the recent split between this species and Scopoli’s Shearwater incentivized more intentional scrutiny of individuals in this complex during my pelagic birding efforts. On my summer trip to the Azores, the core breeding hub for Cory’s Shearwaters, I encountered impressive foraging flocks and regularly observed birds headed inland towards their nest sites after dark. Hearing their strange, wailing cries as their ghostly silhouettes circled my hotel balcony was a singularly bizarre new experience, one that has greatly increased my appreciation for these wandering wave chasers!

#9: Cassin’s Sparrow

This December, New York documented its second record of Cassin’s Sparrow, a full quarter of a century after the first. This unassuming gray-brown bird typically inhabits arid grasslands from Nebraska to Tamaulipas, taking to the skies to deliver its bittersweet song on the wing during the height of monsoon season. At the time of the sparrow’s discovery, Jacqi and I were deep in the trenches of new parenthood, several weeks earlier than we had originally anticipated. The arrival of this unexpected vagrant provided us with the much-needed nudge for our first tentative steps away from the apartment, facilitated by an assist from my ever-supportive family. I was grateful for an excuse to make the trek out to Montauk, and the sparrow itself proved to be staggeringly cooperative, foraging in the open mere feet from assembled observers. What a welcome back into the outside world!

#8: Taiga Bean-Goose

I always appreciate a good wild goose chase! 2025 offered a delicious buffet of goosey goodness, including my first Ross’s Goose in over half a decade, multiple encounters with Pink-footed and Greater White-fronted Geese, and spectacular skeins of migrating Brant. The true stars of the show were the bean-geese, a pair of confusingly similar vagrants from Eurasia that I had never seen prior to this year. 2025 wound up being bookended by beans, starting with a Taiga Bean-Goose that overwintered in the capital region and closing with a Tundra Bean-Goose that settled on Long Island. The former individual represented a number of exciting firsts: first state record, first for the eastern United States, and my first lifer of 2025! My January trip to search for this wayward waterfowl with Brendan and Brent made for an especially memorable kickoff to the year’s birding adventures.

#7: Cave Swallow

My Astoria apartment list has been my pride and joy for more than 3 whole years now. I have borne witness to countless incredible sights from my elevated perch atop the roof, and 2025 saw me finally reaching my long-term goal of logging 150 species at this site! Recent highlights include a storm-driven flock of White-rumped Sandpipers, a flyby Lesser Black-backed Gull, and the milestone marker bird itself: a migrating Greater White-fronted Goose that was also seen from Adam’s apartment in Manhattan! The year’s biggest surprise for my yard list, however, was a flyby Cave Swallow that I spied during a pre-work vigil on a brisk November morning. This Southwestern species has a remarkably predictable pattern of vagrancy to the Northeast in late fall, but I still never imagined that my pipe dream of picking one up from home would actually come to pass! You never know what you might see when you keep your eyes to the skies!

#6: Azores Chaffinch

As the schoolyear came to a close at the end of June, I accompanied my in-laws on a lovely little vacation to the Azores. We spent over a week exploring the islands of São Miguel, Terceira, Faial, and Pico, partaking in various adventurous activities along the way. While the diversity of resident wildlife out in the middle of the Atlantic is unsurprisingly a bit limited, we still documented a number of fascinating critters, including day-flying Azores Noctules and family groups of Sperm Whales. The archipelago is home to a small handful of endemic birds, with the Azores Chaffinch being the most abundant and conspicuous of the bunch. These colorful, charming songbirds proved to be a quintessential component of the Azores experience, and we encountered them in good numbers on each of the islands we visited. Their friendly antics and vibrant songs certainly left a lasting impression on all members of our family.

#5: Fork-tailed Flycatcher

In the birding community, there are some birds that have a particular mythology associated with them. The Fork-tailed Flycatcher is an iconic poster child for the phenomenon of vagrancy, a long-distance migrant from the Neotropics that could conceivably turn up just about anywhere in the United States and Canada. The species also has a reputation for being frustratingly ephemeral, seldom lingering long when it appears in our neck of the woods. I had failed to connect with this flashy flycatcher on multiple occasions here in New York, so the news that a young Fork-tail had been discovered at Randall’s Island was equal parts thrilling and stressful. Incredibly, the bird wound up sticking around for the better part of a week, delighting countless chasers as it gracefully fluttered among the overgrown grasses of the defunct driving range. This majestic vagrant undoubtedly made for a fantastic finale to the May migration season!

#4: Common Cuckoo

For my money, cuckoos are consistently one of the most fascinating cohorts of birds in the world. The ranks of this cosmopolitan family are packed with fantastically bizarre creatures, and the Common Cuckoo is no exception. This celebrated avian icon, which lent its onomatopoeic name to the rest of its kin, has only been recorded on the East Coast a handful of times in history. When I twitched a young bird up in Rhode Island back in November 2020, I described it as a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. Imagine my shock when the opportunity came around a second time, in my home state, no less! This October, a vagrant cuckoo was discovered by an observant golfer in Riverhead, and I was unsurprisingly unable to resist the thrill of the chase. I made the drive out with Brendan and Ryan, enjoying a spectacular sunrise stakeout with this magnificent megararity. I doubt there were any caterpillars left in the farm fields when the cuckoo was through with them!

#3: California Condor

As a lifelong nature nerd who grew up during the era when the California Condor recovery project was just starting to take off, I have harbored a fascination with this critically endangered species since I was a small child. This interest reached obsessive levels during my family road trip to the Southwest in summer 2005, but for much of my life my field experiences with condors were limited to a few fleeting glimpses or distant views. That all changed in April of this year, when my family embarked on an extended tour of Arizona and Utah to celebrate Andrew and Cali’s wedding. A visit to Navajo Bridge finally furnished me with a breathtaking close encounter of the condor kind, featuring a now-famous youngster by the name of Milagra. Even within the broader context of the dedicated effort that saved these prehistoric giants from the brink of extinction, the incredible saga of this individual bird is an inspiring testament to the value of wildlife conservation. Long may the condors fly free!

#2: Azores Bullfinch

This endearing little finch, known to Azoreans as the Priolo, represents a sensational conservation success story. The Azores Bullfinch is a truly exclusive endemic, found only on the island of São Miguel, and even there being restricted to the mountain valleys and native laurisilva forest of the island’s eastern end. The bird was very nearly lost due to habitat destruction, and indeed it was believed extinct for several decades in the early 20th century, before it was even fully recognized as its own distinct species! An intensive preservation project aimed at restoring laurel forests rescued the bullfinches in the nick of time, and in recent years they have been delisted from critically endangered to merely vulnerable. Jacqi and I joined a morning expedition with local expert Gerby to seek an audience with these pudgy passerines, and we enjoyed prolonged close views of several pairs as they foraged along the shoulder of a mountain road. I am beyond grateful that our summer visit to this Atlantic archipelago afforded us the opportunity to meet its most iconic resident species!

#1: Arctic Warbler 

I have been fortunate over the course of my birding career to cross paths with an impressive lineup of astonishing rarities in my home state, but the subtle little songbird that visited Randall’s Island on a fateful September morning may well be the most unexpected, far-flung vagrant that I have observed in New York to date. Getting to be a part of such a monumental discovery at my own beloved patch with a fantastic crew of friends was an honor and a privilege of the highest order. When I saw that distinctively patterned face pop out of the foliage and heard Ryan’s legendary, profanity-punctuated callout of a genus name that had never before been documented in this corner of the world, it made for an instant core memory! What followed was a thrilling, all-hands-on-deck community documentation effort, with hundreds of observers descending on the scene to help collect photos and audio in the hopes of resolving the specifics of this notoriously fraught identification challenge. We are incredibly fortunate that this lost leaf warbler was cooperative enough for us to satisfactorily confirm its identity, representing a first not only for the state but for the entire eastern portion of the continent! Dmitriy loves to claim that “the best Randall’s bird is yet to happen,” but I doubt anyone would be too upset if this little guy proved to be the definitive peak of the Island’s power! The view looks pretty sweet from up here!

In retrospect, 2025 certainly followed the established trend of recent years by delivering a suite of unforgettable birding experiences alongside a number of major changes in my personal life. The only thing I know for certain about 2026 is that it will undoubtedly bring its own share of exciting developments and unexpected surprises. The beauty of birding is that it remains a constant no matter where life leads, which is a welcome comfort as I embark on the thrilling new adventure of fatherhood. Who knows: perhaps some of next year’s Top 10 birds will involve species shared with my son, highlights from trips with my loved ones, or yard birds encountered at a brand-new address! I am eager to see what lies ahead in the coming 12 months, and I wish all of my family, friends, and dearest gentle readers a sensationally successful 2026! Happy holidays to all!

2025 Top 10 Birds by Tim Healy. Original content from the folks at Nemesis Bird - fast paced birding.

Although our fair Island would have been hard-pressed to surpass the spectacular vagrant Phylloscopus that turned our world upside-down, there were still plenty of other goodies to be enjoyed at our beloved patch over the course of the season. I picked up a handful of new species for my 2025 year list, including American Golden-Plover, Red-headed Woodpecker, and Vesper Sparrow, and I also enjoyed encounters with other regionally uncommon migrants like Philadelphia Vireo, Snow Bunting, and Eastern Bluebird on recent outings. On the non-avian front, a few of us got to watch a pair of seals fishing the waters of the East River during one of our latest visits! Photo review confirmed that while one of these individuals was the more expected Harbor Seal, the other was a Gray Seal, rarely seen away from the immediate ocean coast. Even smaller scale treats, like a close and confiding cohort of fresh baby Brant or a skittish American Woodcock lurking in the leaf litter, never fail to bring a smile to my face. Patch birding is genuinely one of my favorite pastimes, and it never ceases to amaze me that such an unassuming little scrap of habitat can produce so many remarkable rarities. The world of birds is full of surprises!

Even though the start of the schoolyear typically leaves me with less free time than I might like, New York City’s well-established migrant trap potential periodically provides me with opportunities for brief birding detours on my commute home. This fall has been quite fruitful in this regard, highlighted by such incongruous sights as a Virginia Rail creeping around in a planting plot outside a fast food restaurant or a Connecticut Warbler boldly strutting about at the feet of passing pedestrians. A transient Barred Owl that spent a few days roosting in Central Park was another noteworthy guest that necessitated a post-work jaunt to Manhattan. We even hosted a shockingly accommodating Yellow-breasted Chat at the same exact plaza where I enjoyed my career best views of the species a few short years ago, a strange and surprising repeat performance for this famously furtive critter. The regular recurrence of scarce, secretive birds in these public park settings showcases just how invaluable even the tiniest green spaces can be, while also underscoring the inherent dangers that the City poses to migratory wildlife. Migration is a grueling ordeal under the best of circumstances, and there is no doubt that our urban environment presents an especially challenging obstacle course for the birds that pass through our region. One can only hope that these wayward wanderers manage to build their strength up and successfully escape the gauntlet of reflective buildings and disorienting lights that stand between them and more suitable wintering habitat. 

Whenever I did find myself with a wide enough window for a foray further afield on the weekends, I prioritized outings to the nearby coast in the hopes of picking up some overdue year birds. A September trip to Jamaica Bay furnished me with my long-overdue first Eared Grebe for Queens, and I also enjoyed a stellar photoshoot with an uncharacteristically cooperative Baird’s Sandpiper on the beach at Point Lookout. I did a bit of stormbirding during an October nor’easter, securing Parasitic Jaeger for my 2025 list during a seawatch at Robert Moses State Park. I even made a few trips to southern Brooklyn, a corner of the City that I only rarely have the opportunity to bird. Two visits to Plumb Beach secured my Nelson’s Sparrow fix for the fall and furnished me with an Ash-throated Flycatcher, and I also made the trek out to Floyd Bennett Field to seek out a Western Cattle-Egret that had been hanging around the overgrown runways. Regarding the latter species, I must confess that my already established fondness for cattle-egrets has increased considerably in the wake of my honeymoon in Kenya last year. There is something undeniably special about seeing this ecologically fascinating bird, which I last observed in the company of herds of elephants, right here in New York!

Autumn is widely thought of as peak rarity season in the birding community, and this year has seen an impressive parade of spectacular vagrants popping up all across the continent. New York State, in particular, has been on a dramatic hot streak ever since the little lost leaf warbler graced our shores, with several magnificent megas jockeying for position on the podium of top finds for 2025. Perhaps the most exciting bird of the bunch was a juvenile Common Cuckoo that turned up out in Riverhead in late October, only the fourth time that this Eurasian species has ever been sighted in the Lower 48! An observant non-birder happened to notice the unusual bird while playing a round of golf, resulting in a circuitous but astonishingly efficient game of telephone that saw the news reaching the birding community within hours of the initial sighting. Given my intense admiration for all things cuckoo, I was quick to make chase, setting out for eastern Long Island with Brendan and Ryan in the wee hours of the morning. To the collective relief of the assembled horde, the cuckoo appeared on the scene shortly after sunrise. It subsequently spent much of the weekend actively prowling the farm fields, laying waste to countless caterpillars and perching up prominently on fenceposts. While many New York birders had speculated about the possibility of this iconic species one day finding its way to our home state, it was still an unbelievable shock to see these long shot dreams finally come true. I definitely did not expect to get reacquainted with this remarkable bird on this side of the Atlantic so soon after my first encounter in Rhode Island back in 2020, but I was absolutely thrilled to upgrade that experience into a twice-in-a-lifetime occurrence!

Word of the cuckoo sighting unexpectedly managed to break into the mainstream media, an honor typically reserved for avian superstars like flamingos and eagles. A number of my friends, coworkers, and extended family reached out to me unprompted to ask about the rare bird that was mentioned on their local news station or their favorite sports podcast. While the amusingly serendipitous nature of the discovery certainly helped to grab the public’s attention, the scale at which this story made headlines was nevertheless impressive. I attribute the widespread fascination with this record to the deeply ingrained cultural significance of this species. Most folks are at least passingly aware of cuckoos as a concept, though they may not realize that they actually exist outside of clocks, and thus many people who have never seen the birds in life still understand that they are bizarre and unusual animals. With its wild-eyed expression, odd proportions, and surprisingly substantial heft, the Common Cuckoo in particular is an innately striking creature. In a truly stacked line-up of recent rarity reports, this transatlantic traveler undoubtedly stands out as one of the most memorable events of the season.

The month of October closed out with an especially timely vagrant: a handsome male Varied Thrush that set up shop on the outskirts of Prospect Park. NYC birders were treated to singularly spectacular views of the bird’s Halloween-appropriate orange and black plumage as it foraged along the fringes of footpaths and lawns, a welcome departure from the frequently tricky viewing opportunities that these furtive forest-dwellers usually present. With such a stunningly cooperative bird on offer, I was unable to resist the draw of an extended diversion to Brooklyn on my way home from work. My best chance for a chase arrived on the same day as our school’s Halloween festivities, which saw me dropping by the stakeout site still sporting some faint red stains from the fake blood of my own costume. The thrush, thankfully, did not seem the least bit bothered by my somewhat frightful appearance!

The rarity train kept on rolling into November, kicking off The Weird Month with a a report of an unusual goose tooling around the northern shore of Nassau County. First responders following up on the alert quickly confirmed the community’s suspicions that the bird in question was a Tundra Bean-Goose, only the third documented record of the species for New York State and the long-awaited first for Long Island! I managed to slip away for my own wild goose chase in between my remote professional development meetings on the first Tuesday of the month, adding to an impressive roster of Election Day observations that includes vagrants such as Corn Crake, Calliope Hummingbird, and Bullock’s Oriole. One of the many benefits to voting by mail is that it frees up a bit of extra time for birding! I initially connected with the bird at Beaver Lake, where I was able to enjoy close-up views as it paddled about alongside its carrier flock of Canada Geese. This presented a great opportunity to study the maddeningly subtle structural differences that separate this species from Taiga Bean-Goose, including the shorter neck, rounder crown, and more prominent “grin patch” on a stouter, deeper-based bill. Adding both of the bean-geese to my life list via observations of vagrants in my home state was certainly one of the bigger surprises of 2025; I did not expect to receive so thorough an education in sorting out these two taxa this year! Upon wrapping up my afternoon obligations, I received word that the goose had relocated to a pond at a nearby country club, so I stopped by to savor a few extra minutes with my latest lifer before turning my car back towards home. 

While I have clearly made the most of the weekends and scattered days off throughout the autumn months, a considerable portion of my birding time during the schoolyear is limited to morning and afternoon skywatches on the roof of my apartment building. Jacqi and I have known for a while now that our current lease at this address will probably be our last, with our lives fast outgrowing the one-bedroom unit where we have lived for the past 3.5 years. As excited as I am to begin a new chapter next spring, I still want to put up as strong a showing as possible during the remainder of my time here in Astoria. This apartment is the first residence where I have logged over 100 species, and I have had my sights set on the milestone of 150 ever since I cracked into the triple digits. A remarkably productive summer season delivered an impressive grab bag of seemingly unlikely additions, including White-rumped Sandpiper, Lesser Black-backed Gull, and Orchard Oriole, which left me well-positioned to achieve my goal even earlier than expected. No longer content to reach my established objective by the time we move out, I was now intent on seeing my 150th roof bird before the end of 2025. Yard listing is a game that we play with ourselves anyway, right? Might as well up the stakes to keep things interesting!

The first act of fall migration ushered in a number of major migratory movements that I was fortunate enough to observe from my apartment, but most of these flights were composed of species that I had already documented in past seasons. I did manage to pick up a single new roof bird during the month of September, recording the distinctive flight calls of a Gray-cheeked Thrush floating down from the dusky skies overhead before dawn. In October, my compulsive habit of checking the tiny sliver of water visible from just one corner of the rooftop finally paid off when the local pair of Mute Swans briefly floated into view. November, true to form, delivered a one-two punch of epic proportions with a pair of exceptional vagrants. The first, often predicted but never truly expected, was a lone flyby Cave Swallow, part of a major regional incursion that saw hundreds of these Southwestern specialties displaced to the lakeshores and ocean coasts of the Northeast. Comparably shocking, at least in a vismig context over New York City, was a Greater White-fronted Goose that I spied winging its way south with a skein of Canada Geese. While the smaller size and more compact structure of this bird clearly stood out from its burlier brethren, the harsh backlighting in my subpar doc shots meant that its specific field marks were not immediately clear upon initial back-of-camera review. Fortunately, the same flock was independently picked up by Adam as it passed his vantage point in Manhattan, and his superior photos helped us to quickly nail down the identification with certainty. What a thrill to finally secure my 150th roof bird via an unexpected regional rarity, and so much the better that I got to share the experience with a good friend! At this point, I just want to see how far I can push my tally before we eventually move out. I still have the entirety of the winter and a whole spring migration season yet to come, after all. Having arguably peaked as an apartment lister at this point, I am honestly kind of looking forward to trying my hand at maintaining a proper yard list in the not-too-distant future! 

As autumn slowly winds down and winter’s chill gradually sets in, I find myself standing on the precipice of several major life changes. With the recent arrival of our firstborn child, Jacqi and I will undoubtedly be spending a lot of time close to home in the coming months, and we will presumably begin searching in earnest for new lodgings before too long. In all honesty, I am very much looking forward to a slower-paced season after all of the thrilling adventures this fall produced. My memories of far-flung vagrants and lively morning flights will keep me plenty warm while we are all bundled up indoors together, and I am confident that whenever I do find the opportunity to venture out there will be exciting birds to be seen. That is the true beauty of this thing we do. Wherever we are, whatever may be going on in our lives, there is always something awesome happening in the natural world. This most recent autumn was a fantastic reminder of that enduring truth.

A Particularly Awesome Autumn by Tim Healy. Original content from the folks at Nemesis Bird - fast paced birding.

Following our well-worn route around the Island, we quickly began to accumulate a respectable list of noteworthy species. The onomatopoeic calls of an American Pipit drew our attention to an individual circling above the ballfields, and we also picked out a northbound Blue Grosbeak in active morning flight. An early Great Cormorant was spotted atop the Lawrence Point Ledge channel marker, reclaiming its favored perch for the season, and we noted several large flocks of Blue Jays winging through the skies overhead. We passed through Freshwater Wetland with relative haste, hurried along by aggressive mosquitos and unusually low numbers of birds, and we continued making our way south towards the productive sunlit edges and planted plots of the Urban Farm area. Upon reaching the Cottage Garden, we were delighted to find a lively mixed flock of passerines flitting to and fro in the ornamental trees. The four of us posted up in the middle of the action and set about the business of documenting the diverse array of species present. 

While I was scanning the foliage with my binoculars, dutifully sifting through Tennessee, Black-throated Green, and Chestnut-sided Warblers, a new bird suddenly entered my field of view. For the briefest of moments, it was completely unobscured in perfect light just a short distance away from me. Its plumage was a modest ensemble of olive-brown, gray, and off-white, but the facial features immediately caught my attention. The bird sported a conspicuous, yellow-tinged supercilium, with a bold, dark transocular stripe underlining and emphasizing its pale brows. To the untrained eye, this creature might appear to be wholly unremarkable, a cute but overall rather drab little songbird. To my own moderately more trained eyes, it was instantly recognizable as something truly extraordinary: a Phylloscopus warbler. The 80 some odd species in this Old World genus are notorious for their confounding similarity, with multiple cohorts of barely discernible variants that put our American Empidonax flycatchers to shame. None of them, however, are supposed to be anywhere near Randall’s Island, NYC. I was not sure exactly which bird I was looking at, but I was dead certain that it belonged no closer to its current location than a few thousand miles away.

As I stared slack-jawed at the stupefying sight that lay before me, struggling to produce mouth noises that would convey the magnitude of what I was seeing to my friends, I heard similar sounds of wordless disbelief coming from Ryan, who stood immediately to my left. Evidently, he had been intently scrutinizing the bird’s rear end and persistently flicking wings for several critical seconds before its boldly patterned face had popped into view, and thus astutely suspected that something was amiss prior to the penny drop moment of the full reveal. As a result, my buddy was already a few paces ahead of me on processing this monumental discovery and preparing to put his amazement into carefully crafted words. 

“THAT’S A FUCKING PHYLLOSCOPUS!!” A truly legendary callout. The excited exclamation pierced through the surrounding chorus of diverse chip notes from the little magic mixed flock, a sonic experience that I will never forget. With my incredulous initial impressions validated in spectacular fashion by my friend’s decisive declaration, I finally managed to choke out a response to reassure Ryan that he wasn’t alone in his madness. “THAT’S WHAT I’M LOOKING AT!!” A short distance to our right, I heard Adam’s rightfully concerned clarifying question: “What does that mean?!” As quickly as it had appeared, the bird hopped again and instantly vanished amidst the leaves. Chaos ensued. 

Overwhelming emotions surged through my addled brain, chief among them a desperate need to pin the bird down and secure concrete proof of its existence. Photographic documentation of an unexpected rarity can make the difference between The Big One and The One That Got Away, and my friends and I were all too aware that nailing this one down to species would require more evidence than a written description or even some grainy doc shots. It was time to call in the cavalry. We began the process of getting the word out to the wider birding community, starting with panicked phone calls to trusted experts and close friends and then sharing a general announcement on the New York State Discord. The four of us fanned out to survey the area, watching and listening carefully for any sign of the missing warbler. After about half an hour of stressed-out searching, Adam and I picked up on a quiet, unfamiliar trill emanating from the upper branches of a nearby London Plane tree. Refocusing our attention on the canopy, we spotted a small, drab form fluttering about in pursuit of insects. We had found the bird!

Our original, tentative supposition regarding the bird’s identity was Yellow-browed Warbler, one of the very few Phylloscopus with any kind of precedent for records from the eastern half of North America, and we had provisionally reported it as a candidate for this species. This preliminary hypothesis was based on our fleeting first impressions of the warbler in addition to the perceived probability of occurrence for each of the other potential vagrants. Given that the sum total of my personal experience with this genus was limited to a few observations of Common Chiffchaff from Spain in February 2018 and countless imprecise memories of field guide illustrations and online media depicting the various other species, I was poorly equipped to opine meaningfully on the specific designation of the bird in spite of how readily I recognized its genus-level identity. The initial set of photos we obtained were rather ambiguous in terms of structure and plumage, though, and we began to wonder whether this individual could actually represent a different, even rarer vagrant. The first round of knowledgeable responses when we shared these images with the community seemed to be leaning in a different direction as well. It was clear that we needed to collect as much media as possible.

Reinforcements started to arrive, with the first responders appearing on the scene just under an hour after the initial discovery of the bird. Brent briefly refound the warbler in the same general area, but it soon made a longer flight down and away from the grove it had been favoring. The next hour and a half of search time was a particularly suspenseful affair, with a burgeoning crowd of twitchers alternately expanding and contracting as birders spread out to cover more ground, hurriedly converged to investigate possible sightings, and gradually dispersed again after each false alarm. At long last, Jeanne spotted the bird back by the Cottage Garden, in the same exact spot where we first clapped eyes on it. The horde descended, with over 100 eager observers jockeying for position to catch a glimpse of the little celebrity.

The warbler darted across the street towards the Urban Farm, delivering a strong, buzzy call as it swooped low over my head. We had heard this vocalization several times over the course of the morning, but I was nevertheless somewhat surprised to learn that it was indeed produced by our mystery Phylloscopus. In an instant, the field of potential candidates for the identification was narrowed considerably. The guest of honor continued showing beautifully for several minutes as it bounced its way through the low trees fringing the fence line, finally allowing us to critically study its field marks from a variety of different angles. The long, downward-curving supercilium, the lack of obvious white edges on the tertials, the thin but well-defined wingbars, and the relatively sturdy build of the bird all pointed strongly towards a certain set of species, and the rich, rough quality of its vocalizations sounded most consistent with a particular bird within that complex: the Arctic Warbler. This species is the sole representative of its family known to regularly breed in North America, albeit on the far-flung frontiers of the Alaskan tundra. Despite its established foothold in this hemisphere, Arctic Warbler is virtually unheard of south of the Yukon, with just two accepted records from California in the mid-90s and a 2021 occurrence in Baja California. A long-staying individual in Bermuda in 2014 foreshadowed the potential for longer-range vagrancy, but there had never been any confirmed sightings for the eastern portion of the continent. It was looking increasingly likely that our bird could be the first!

Following this fruitful midday observation, the warbler made itself scarce once again and vanished for the rest of the afternoon. My friends and I elected to continue our loop around the Island in search of additional surprises, prying ourselves away from the stakeout site and bidding a fond farewell to our assembled colleagues. We stopped for a celebratory meal at the nearby Fiesta food truck along the way, procuring essential supplies that would provide much-needed fuel for the back half of our outing. While our close encounter of the Phylloscopus kind was destined to be the high-water mark of the day, we still managed to pick up a few more notable birds before completing our survey. A surprise Dickcissel at the grassy knoll by the tennis center was a welcome addition to our tally, and we also enjoyed sightings of the resident Common Raven pair and some roosting Yellow-crowned and Black-crowned Night Herons. After nearly 11 hours of nonstop birding, we finally closed our checklist at a cumulative total of 87 species, our highest-ever single day count for our patch! It was a deeply satisfying thrill to beat our personal best record, all thanks to the remarkable little vagrant that kept us out in the field much longer than we originally anticipated!

Sunday morning saw a redoubled effort to track down the lost warbler, with many birders who struck out the previous evening eager to take another crack at it. While I myself was busy with unavoidable prior obligations, I kept close tabs on the regular updates from my friends in the field. For the first several hours of daylight, the situation seemed bleak, but eventually Jay rediscovered the bird downslope from the Urban Farm area along the fringes of the White Garden. As if actively endeavoring to assuage any lingering concerns about the nature of its identity, the little Phylloscopus was vocalizing more or less constantly as it foraged in the treetops. Armed with his trusty parabolic microphone, Jay was able to record crisp, definitive audio of both the buzzy call notes and the whispered, trilling subsong that we had briefly heard the previous day. Voice is the key determining factor for separating Arctic Warbler from Kamchatka Leaf and Japanese Leaf Warblers, two former conspecifics that were elevated to full species status via a three-way split in 2014. While both of these confusion candidates likely have even lower odds of finding their way to New York than their more widespread cousin does, it is nevertheless imperative to consider all possibilities when assessing such a megararity. Fortunately, the excellent recordings obtained over the course of the weekend clearly illustrated that the bird’s song and calls were both wholly consistent with those of Arctic Warbler. It was a great relief to the local birding community that this exciting visitor proved to be so cooperatively chatty!

Having entertained countless birders from all across New York City and beyond, our friendly neighborhood Phylloscopus went missing yet again early in the afternoon on Sunday. Subsequent search efforts throughout the beginning of the work week failed to produce any definitive observations, suggesting that the warbler may well have continued on with the favorable northerly winds that blew through the region overnight. In the wake of this fantastic experience, I busied myself with the task of compiling all of the available evidence to finalize the case file for this incredible first state record. My written submission for the New York State Avian Records Committee, on which I am proud to serve, is one of the most thorough and comprehensive reports I have ever produced. The lengthy comments on our shared eBird checklist recount the circumstances of the shocking discovery, including my own contemporaneous notes from the immediate aftermath of the bird’s appearance and Ryan’s detailed description of the field marks that led him so swiftly to that frantic first callout. Then, of course, there was the matter of this very blog post to tend to, to immortalize the narrative of that fateful day while it was still fresh in my mind. In truth, I have basically been writing nonstop since I left the stakeout site, and I still have yet to fully process all of my feelings about this magical encounter with an unassuming little bird from the Far North. Suffice to say, this unforgettable escapade undoubtedly joins the ranks of my best birding memories of all time!

Perhaps my favorite aspect of this entire saga is that so many people were able to get in on the excitement. While I certainly enjoy my private moments in nature and the exciting personal achievements that sometimes come with them, I consider birding to be a social, community-driven affair at its core. High-profile rarities that are shared with a plurality of people invariably rank among the most memorable sightings each year, and I was especially honored to be a part of the initial discovery of this singularly significant vagrant alongside my close friends. We Randall’s Regulars, as we have come to be known, have devotedly covered our beloved joint patch at all seasons for several years now. Our efforts have helped to put this perennially productive hotspot back on the collective radar of the community, bringing an end to a frightfully long period when it languished without much attention from local birders. It had become a bit of a running gag in certain circles, however, that all of the best birds found on the Island, including such highlights as Short-billed Gull, Smith’s Longspur, Black-chinned Hummingbird, and Fork-tailed Flycatcher, had been initially detected by other visiting birders rather than any of our core crew. While we take a great deal of pride in the steady stream of low-grade regional rarities that our regular survey efforts have produced, there is an undeniable satisfaction to be had in finally landing such a mind-blowing megararity by ourselves! After spending all of Saturday out in the field together, Ryan, Dmitriy, Adam, and I reunited in Manhattan to raise our glasses for a toast to the little lost bird that had turned our regularly scheduled birding circuit on its head. I certainly never expected to be drinking in celebration of a Phylloscopus warbler in my home state, but that level of unpredictability is precisely what makes birding so compelling!

Dmitriy is particularly fond of invoking the optimistic maxim that “the best Randall’s bird is yet to happen.” Throughout our tenure as patch birders on the Island, this bold claim has been repeatedly proven to be true even as the room for improvement steadily shrinks above the peak of each new record. For the time being, at least, we are more than content to bask in the glow of this phenomenal Phylloscopus sighting. It would take a pretty impressive vagrant to unseat this small but mighty king, but we will be sure to keep a weather eye out for whatever surprises may come our way next. The Randall’s Regulars are always watching, and the fall rarity season is only just getting started!

Phylloscopusomenon – Arctic Warbler at Randall’s Island by Tim Healy. Original content from the folks at Nemesis Bird - fast paced birding.

With my 10th schoolyear as a full-time teacher quickly drawing to a close, I was eager to finally get my summer break started. We departed slightly later than originally planned for our overnight flight across the Atlantic, but the minor delay was quickly forgotten once we landed on the island of São Miguel. Our first guide, Rafael, picked us up at the airport and gave us an introductory tour on the way to our lodgings in Furnas. Once we settled in at the hotel, I swiftly set about the business of surveying my new surroundings. As expected for such a remote assemblage of rather small islands, the overall diversity of terrestrial wildlife on the Azores is relatively low compared to mainland ecosystems. Critter watching in this archipelago is definitely a matter of quality over quantity, as I soon discovered during my preliminary stakeout on my hotel balcony. One of the first birds I met was the handsome Azores Chaffinch, an endemic species that was only recently split from its continental cousins. These friendly finches proved to be one of the most abundant and widespread birds across all of the islands we visited, and their cheerful songs and charming behavior quickly won our hearts. This initial outing also produced my first sightings of Island Canary, the progenitor of the perennially popular cagebird. Though not quite as range-restricted as the chaffinches, these Macaronesian endemics can only be found in the Azores, Madeira, and the archipelago that originally gave them their name. I had scarcely left my hotel room and I was already two for three on the expected local specialty birds. The trip was off to a solid start!

After lunch, the rest of the family joined me for a walk through the impressive botanical gardens neighboring our hotel. As we wandered amidst the colorful blooms and towering trees, I was delighted by the opportunity to reacquaint myself with a number of familiar feathered faces. Iconic species like European Robin, Eurasian Blackbird, and Gray Wagtail, which I had last seen during my February 2018 trip to Spain, proved to be common residents of the parks and gardens in the Azores. One of the more surprising observations of the afternoon, however, came when my brother-in-law James and his girlfriend Francesca beckoned me over to a hollowed-out tree alongside the trail. Even from a few paces away, I could hear persistent chittering noises emanating from the shadows within the cavity. As I drew closer, I discovered that my family had happened upon a colony of Azores Noctules, the only endemic terrestrial mammal in the archipelago! These lovable little bats have a noteworthy penchant for regularly foraging during daylight hours, a unique behavior made possible by the absence of regularly occurring aerial predators in the region. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the tree hollow was in fact a nursery roost, with several naked pups clambering about on the trunk as their mothers watched on from above. Unexpectedly stumbling into a close encounter with this globally rare species during a casual stroll on my very first day in the Azores served to highlight the inherent magic of these isolated islands.

The next morning, we set out with Rafael to explore the western reaches of São Miguel. We began our day with a drizzly, misty hike at Lagoa do Fogo, a flooded caldera near the center point of the island. In addition to nesting colonies of Yellow-legged Gulls of the distinctive Azorean subspecies, I also picked up my overdue lifer Goldcrests twittering in the treetops along the trail. From there we proceeded to Sete Cidades, where a gradual improvement in weather conditions allowed us to enjoy multiple magnificent vistas showcasing the contrasting blue and green hues of the twin lagoons bordering the town. Our time on the road between sites passed quickly thanks to a steady stream of stories and jokes from Rafael. The long drive also featured a number of sightings of soaring Common Buzzards, the species that, according to legend, may have given the Azores their name. The story goes that the first Portuguese visitors to these islands took notice of the abundant raptors, but applied the wrong moniker to the archipelago after mistaking the birds for goshawks. Considering that a similar case of mistaken identity is responsible for us Americans referring to our Red-tails as hawks rather than buzzards, this potential origin myth seems plausible to me. In any case, the pastoral scenery of São Miguel certainly left a lasting impression. With much of the countryside dominated by agricultural plots and introduced flora, this volcanic island felt superficially similar in many ways to Hawaii, albeit with a distinctly European flavor. 

The natural history of the Azores, sadly, mirrors that of so many other island ecosystems around the world. In the wake of human colonization, modifications to the landscape resulted in a dramatic reduction, and in some cases outright loss, of the unique varieties of plants and animals that originally inhabited the archipelago. The native vegetation of the Azores is known as Macaronesian laurisilva, a type of evergreen cloud forest rich with laurels, junipers, and shrubs that grow as tall as trees. Initially found across the islands from sea level to the highest peaks, this distinctive habitat was intentionally cleared by the first settlers and subjected to intense competition from introduced plants. The indigenous woodlands were once home to several species of rails and a nearly flightless scops-owl, all of which went extinct shortly after the arrival of mankind. Today, the most famous bird within the diminished cast of surviving endemics is the Azores Bullfinch. Known to locals as the Priolo, this pleasingly plump songbird is found exclusively on the island of São Miguel, and even there only among the high eastern valleys that still hold tracts of intact laurisilva. In addition to the pressures of habitat destruction, this species also faced targeted persecution during the early 20th century, when it was viewed as a potential pest by the orange orchard business. Indeed, the bullfinch was believed lost for more than three decades prior to its official rediscovery in 1967. Intensive management efforts spearheaded by dedicated Azoreans managed to rescue the species from the brink of oblivion, eventually resulting in its downlisting from critically endangered to vulnerable. Despite the continuing risks associated with its small range and specialized habitat requirements, the Azores Bullfinch is now lauded as a conservation success story. I was eager to try my hand at searching for this iconic island endemic, especially since I knew that this might well be my only opportunity to do so!

If you want to see birds in the Azores, your best bet is to team up with esteemed local guide Gerby Michielsen. Given our limited window of time on São Miguel, my mother-in-law Laura took great pains to ensure that we would have a chance to seek out the bullfinch before we departed for our next destination. With just a few hours to spare before our flight to Terceira, Jacqi and I set out with Gerby to try our luck on the slopes of Pico de Vara. The early start, necessitated by our strict itinerary, ended up working out in our favor. Azores Bullfinches are typically most active in the morning hours, briefly descending from their laurisilva strongholds to forage along the roadsides at slightly lower elevations. With decades of experience under his belt, our seasoned host knew exactly where to begin our search. As soon as we stepped out of the van, I heard an unmistakable series of plaintive whistles ringing out across the valley. A few moments later, I spied an adorable gray and black finch fluttering down out of the trees a short distance away. We had the remarkable fortune to encounter multiple pairs of Priolos at close range, watching with awe as they bounced along the road together, calling softly while munching on flowers and seedheads. One extraordinary individual showed strikingly dilute pigmentation, with patchier, paler plumage and pastel pink feet. I had feared that our quest for these endearing endemics might take up much of our morning, so I was especially delighted to achieve such exceptional views right out of the gate!

Given our early victory with our primary objective, we decided to make full use of our unanticipated flex time by seeking out some bonus critters. I asked Gerby whether he knew of any reliable spots to look for Italian Crested Newts, an introduced species that represented one of the few herpetological lifers available to me on this trip. He happily obliged, ferrying us to the farm fields of Lagoa Seca just outside Furnas. We found a number of young newts slithering through the lingering patches of wet mud at this seasonal lagoon, as well as a number of Iberian Green Frogs, but the biggest surprise at this location turned out to be an unexpectedly familiar bird. As we approached the edge of a small pool, I was stunned by the sight of a dark-headed duck with brilliant yellow eyes staring back at me from the dense vegetation. We quickly realized that we were looking at a Ring-necked Duck, a North American species which is one of the more regular transatlantic visitors sought by visiting European birders. This individual was apparently a continuing bird, but according to Gerby it had last been reliably reported several months prior, so its ongoing presence was a bit of a shock. Moving on to Lagoa das Furnas, we wound up scoring a hat trick of vagrant waterbirds when I spotted a Pied-billed Grebe from across the lake and Gerby picked up an American Wigeon foraging along the shoreline near the parking lot. These, too, were known overwinterers that had gone missing for some time, but my guide was nevertheless quite amused that I had self-found two “Yanks” after traveling so far from home. With our departure time fast approaching and a wildly successful morning of birding under our belts, we finally started making our way back to the hotel. We thanked Gerby profusely for his expertise, guidance, and good humor, rejoining our family in Furnas just in time for checkout.

After one last drive with Rafael, we arrived at the Ponta Delgada airport with plenty of time to prepare for our interisland flight. The journey to Terceira took less than an hour, and once we secured our luggage we were introduced to our new guide, Tiago. Our lodgings for this leg of the trip were located in the scenic town of Angra do Heroísmo, and I quickly discovered that the grounds of our waterfront hotel presented some fantastic wildlife watching opportunities. Madeira Lizards, a species that colonized the Azores by hitching a ride on trade ships, could be readily seen scurrying around the gardens and rock walls near the pool, and I frequently spied Azores Noctules flitting about the property. After the sun set, I was thrilled to hear a chorus of bizarre howls and bleats floating down from the dark skies overhead. Eventually a few individuals passed closely enough for me to pick out the long-winged silhouettes of Cory’s Shearwaters gliding through the gloom. This species is the most abundant breeding seabird in the archipelago, with roughly three quarters of the entire global population nesting on the islands of the Azores. Even though I have come to know these oceanic wanderers quite well over the course of many years of pelagic expeditions, it is always a treat to experience a familiar species in an unfamiliar context. Listening to the haunting cries of shearwaters off my hotel balcony certainly qualified as an exciting new experience!

For our first full day on Terceira, Tiago led us an a whirlwind tour of all that the island had to offer. We kicked off the adventure by taking in the spectacular views of town from atop Monte Brasil, surrounded by the jubilant songs of countless chaffinches and canaries. Continuing northwards through the interior of the island, our guide made regular stops to share fun facts about local history, culture, and ecology at various points along the road. A brief pause for a photo op with some cooperative cattle even delivered an unexpected bird sighting when a pair of Common Snipe flushed from the grass and rocketed past our vehicle. Constant vigilance always pays off in the world of birding!

Taking note of the expansive farm fields similar to those of São Miguel, I asked Tiago about the state of remaining native habitat in this region. He proudly replied that Terceira was home to some of the best tracts of intact laurisilva in the entire archipelago, with a greater percentage of its overall landmass dedicated to native forest than any of the other islands. A quick detour brought us to the outskirts of one such patch of protected woodland, where I was able to study the signature endemic plants of the Azores up close. The broad-leafed Azores Laurel is the dominant, eponymous species in these groves of laurisilva, but I was perhaps most impressed by the towering stands of Azorean Heather, a tree-sized relative of the familiar shrubs found along the barrier beaches back home in New York. Fruiting plants included Faya Bayberry, Azores Blueberry, and Azorean Laurustinus, and we also encountered several gnarled specimens of Azores Junipers during our travels. Given that the swift success of our bullfinch quest on São Miguel had prevented me from fully exploring this unique ecosystem, this impromptu botany class presented a welcome redemption opportunity. Seeing this vanishingly scarce habitat with my own eyes helped to contextualize the complex natural history of the Azores and its wildlife, underscoring the need for ongoing conservation efforts to preserve those species that are still holding on. 

Midday found us in the town of Biscoitos, where we devoted some time to lounging shoreside amongst the jagged lava rocks of the outer coast. Exploring the craggy coves and tide pools proved surprisingly fruitful, producing a grab bag of notable fish including Ornate Wrasse, Rock-pool Blenny, and Thicklip Gray Mullet. We closed out our day with a bit of guided spelunking at Gruta do Natal, an impressive subterranean lava tube. Both the seaside pools and the extensive underground cave networks are results of the archipelago’s volcanic origins, highlighting the turbulent geological history that brought the Azores into existence several million years ago.

Our second and final day on Terceira saw us spending the morning birding with yet another local tour guide, Rui. Our route for this outing took us up the eastern coast of the island towards Praia da Vitória, one of the most celebrated migratory stopover sites in the Azores. Although our visit landed in the brief lull between northbound and southbound migration, we still managed to track down a number of noteworthy local breeders. Highlights included a small group of Roseate Terns nesting among their Common cousins on the rocky headlands, a handful of Kentish Plovers patrolling the sandy shoreline, and several surprisingly conspicuous Common Quails singing loudly from the overgrown pastures adjacent to a beach boardwalk. After a somewhat delayed lunch break, we raced back to our hotel to make our shuttle to the airport with Tiago. We said our farewells to the good people of Terceira, boarding the plane for a quick jump over to Faial to kick off the final leg of our vacation.

We arrived at the Faial airport rather late in the afternoon, connecting with Leandro for transportation to the port town of Horta, where our hotel was located. This picturesque harbor would serve as the base of operations for some of our most ambitious day trips, and like all of our lodgings on this vacation it turned out to be surprisingly productive for local wildlife. The biggest surprise at this site came while we were walking back from dinner late that first night, when I picked out a shrill screech repeatedly emanating from the trees up the hillside. Thanks to some hopeful preparatory homework in advance of our visit, I quickly recognized these nocturnal noises as the begging cries of a fledgling Long-eared Owl. The entire family was able to enjoy this unexpected auditory experience, and even though I was unable to secure a visual on the owlet I did briefly hear one of its parents hooting close by. In the Azores, Long-ears serve as the night shift counterparts of the local Common Buzzards, the only other resident species of raptor regularly found in the archipelago. I know from experience that owl encounters are never a guarantee, so I was particularly pleased to add this species to our trip list.

Our first expedition from Faial was a trip across the water to the island of Pico, home to the highest peak in all the Azores. The brief ferry crossing featured repeated close observations of Cory’s Shearwaters, including some impressive congregations of birds rafting together on the sea’s surface. Leandro enthusiastically guided us on a thorough circuit around the island, with points of interest ranging from bizarre rock formations to high elevation lakes to botanical gardens. We were also able to partake in an unscheduled wine tasting at one of the local vineyards, sipping a selection of vintages while watching the animated antics of Azores Noctules and Madeira Lizards. After spending much of the day shrouded in dense clouds, the high crest of Ponta do Pico finally emerged from hiding in the late afternoon. Our evening trip back over to Faial produced yet another surprise lifer in the form of a Smooth Hammerhead slicing through the waves just outside the harbor. Anticipation levels were running high as we settled down for bed that night. I knew that we only had one more full day of adventures to enjoy in the Azores, and the next morning held the promise of perhaps the greatest spectacle of our entire trip.

We headed down to the docks bright and early the next day to meet with the crew of Azores Experiences, one of the premiere whale watch outfits in the port of Horta. After meeting with Marta, the onboard naturalist, and Pedro, the skipper, we were treated to a detailed presentation on the marine life of the Azores. Over two dozen species of cetaceans have been documented in the waters surrounding these islands, ranging from the colossal Blue Whale to the diminutive Pygmy Sperm Whale. Even considering the incredibly good fortune that I have been lucky enough to enjoy throughout my years of whale watching experience, I knew that there were several tantalizing lifer possibilities on the table for this voyage. The most likely potential new species, and indeed the primary impetus for booking a cruise offshore, was the mighty Sperm Whale. These majestic marine mammals are considered an Azorean specialty, with pods of females and calves congregating in nearshore waters throughout the year. For as long as I have lived, I have dreamed of one day meeting Sperm Whales in the wild. This is a mythical creature of stunning superlatives: the largest toothed predator alive today and the owner of the planet’s largest brain, capable of producing a louder sound than any other animal while using echolocation to hunt squid in the shadows of the midnight zone. This species is perfectly adapted for deep dives, and this pelagic lifestyle makes them difficult to see in many parts of the world despite their cosmopolitan distribution. The absence of shallow shelf waters surrounding the Azores means that suitable foraging habitat can be found remarkably close to shore, making this archipelago one of the best places on Earth for reliable Sperm Whale viewing opportunities. The whale watching teams on these islands also employ a secret weapon that further increases their odds of success: a network of expert spotters stationed in specialized watchtowers called vigias. As Marta and Pedro were wrapping up their introductory narration, they received a report from the field confirming the presence of a group of whales off the northeastern coast of the island. The game was afoot!

With the safety briefing behind us, we eagerly boarded a rigid-hull inflatable boat and set out for the high seas. Within an hour of shoving off from the docks, I finally found myself face to face with the legendary leviathans themselves. We encountered more than half a dozen individual Sperm Whales over the course of the morning, including a small family tending to a young calf. Plunging to depths of more than half a mile beneath the surface and staying underwater for nearly an hour is a grueling physical challenge for even these champion divers, requiring the whales to spend a significant amount of time recharging on the surface in between hunts. Thanks to a singular, left-skewed blowhole, the spout of a Sperm Whale is strikingly distinctive from a great distance, which allowed us to easily keep tabs on multiple groups as we bobbed along on the waves. The team also deployed a homemade hydrophone, allowing us to tune into the distant symphony of clicks produced by these incredible predators as they prowled through the darkness far below our boat. Pedro was unfailingly committed to the established guidelines for ethical whale watching, constantly maneuvering the vessel to stay out of the direct path of the whales and providing them with plenty of personal space. Even so, these curious creatures were seemingly unable to resist coming over to check us out. The sound of a loud blow just off our stern caught us all off-guard, and we wheeled around to see a huge Sperm Whale swimming right past the back of the boat, a remarkable experience that we could not have set up even if we wanted to. Unexpected close encounters with wildlife are always best when they happen on the animal’s terms!

While the Sperm Whales were obviously the top-billed attraction of our whale watching expedition, they were hardly the only wildlife to be seen in the waters off Faial. We repeatedly cross paths with multiple large pods of friendly Atlantic Spotted Dolphins that came in to do a bit of bow-riding and cavorting around our vessel, often with flocks of Cory’s Shearwaters in close attendance. The seamless blue surface of the sea was occasionally broken up by the balloon-like form of a Portuguese Man-O’-War bobbing on the swells, and we were also surprised by a lone flyingfish that erupted from the water at close range, skimming across the waves alongside our boat at top speed for an impressively long distance. All too soon, it was time to start making our way back to port, but we were positively thrilled with the results of our brief offshore jaunt. Even after a lifetime of hype and high expectations building up to this encounter, my first experience with Sperm Whales still managed to leave me awestruck. The ocean is full of so many wonders, and I consider myself incredibly fortunate whenever I get the chance to spend some time in the realm of sea beasties.

Inspired by the illustrations on our beloved print of the Wild World map, I was determined to see as many of the plants and animals chosen to represent the Azores as I possibly could. Apart from the Yellowmouth Barracuda, a popular sport fish that we only saw on our dinner table, and the Azores Forget-me-not, a wildflower found only on the westernmost islands of Corvo and Flores, we had done remarkably well with the species bordering the archipelago on this piece of art by Anton Thomas. With Azores Bullfinch, Sperm Whale, Common Buzzard, Roseate Tern, and Azorean Heather already marked down on our trip list, there was only one more organism that we could still feasibly encounter before heading home: the Azores Bellflower. The sole representative of a unique endemic genus, this beautiful bloom inhabits ocean-facing cliffs and sea stacks throughout the chain of islands. To close out our time on Faial, Jacqi and I decided to take a leisurely stroll along the shore to a spot where the endangered plants were known to occur in the hopes of checking off our last remaining Azores icon. After some careful searching, we eventually located a small colony of bellflowers growing among some nautical debris atop a coastal cliff. Though none of the specimens we found were in bloom, their curious leaf structure made for a rather striking impression all the same. As much as I adore birding, I always appreciate the opportunity to refine my skills as a more generalized naturalist, and successfully tracking down a rare plant is a rewarding achievement in its own right.

When the sun finally set on our last day in the Azores, we begrudgingly made our way back to the hotel to prepare for a long flight across the Atlantic. I could not resist lingering on the balcony before turning in for the night, listening to the keening cries of the hungry young Long-eared Owl and watching squadrons of Cory’s Shearwaters wheeling overhead in the soft ambient light of the harbor. This peculiar pairing of species, both regular in North America but practically unheard of combination with one another, seemed to me a fitting send off for this remarkable wonderland in the middle of the ocean. The next morning saw us returning briefly to São Miguel before catching our international plane back home. A surprise last-minute upgrade to first class certainly helped to soothe the pain of departure at the end of an awesome adventure, but it was nevertheless something of a bittersweet affair. I looked back the islands through my window for as long as I could, watching as their volcanic peaks gradually disappeared into the vast expanse of blue behind us.

In the end, our trip was a wild success, providing countless unforgettable experiences with the wildlife, people, and landscapes of the Azores. With a quartet of new life birds, a bucket list marine mammal, an endemic bat, a handful of introduced herps, some stray fish, and a rich variety of unique plants on our trip list, I clearly managed to make the most of my limited time in this amazing Atlantic archipelago. I am especially grateful that I had the opportunity to explore this remarkable region with my family, and I am confident that the memories we made together on this trip will last a lifetime. No longer will my experience with the Azores be restricted to passing mentions in documentary films or birding rarity reports, for now I have walked their shores with my own feet and witnessed their treasures with my own eyes. From this day forward, these incredible islands, and all of their wonderful inhabitants, will always be a part of my life.

Azores Adventures by Tim Healy. Original content from the folks at Nemesis Bird - fast paced birding.

The first few weeks after the vernal equinox tend to be a bit of a slow burn in terms of avian activity in our region, but this year the excitement kicked off with the discovery of a shocking, yet strangely familiar, rare bird. In the final days of March, the NYC birding community experienced a curious sensation of collective déjà vu when Anthony Ciancimino reported a sighting of an unusual Progne martin at the New Creek Watershed on Staten Island. It has long been assumed that members of this genus are somewhat regular but cryptic vagrants to the United States, with most occurrences going unnoticed amidst the flocks of their abundant Purple Martin cousins. Even if birders do manage to detect a putative megararity, determining the specific identity of the bird can be a nigh insurmountable challenge. One of the very few cases of a satisfactorily resolved identification for a vagrant Progne was the famous Gray-breasted Martin found in Brooklyn in April 2021, an incredible first state record made possible by the wealth of documentation amassed for the stunningly cooperative swallow. New York birders had referred to the Prospect Park sighting as a once in a lifetime experience, and we certainly never expected to find ourselves puzzling over this identification challenge again just a few years later and a few miles away. Even more surprisingly, the Staten Island bird proved to be comparably accommodating, and over the course of several days it gradually became clear that its plumage, structure, and vocalizations once again appeared consistent with the Central American populations of Gray-breasted Martin. The opportunity to observe this species in my home state for the second time was too ridiculous to pass up, so I blocked off some time for a trip across the Verrazano Bridge. The martin cooperated beautifully, and the sunny afternoon skies at New Creek Watershed made for a delightful stakeout setting to celebrate the official arrival of spring. 

The first week of April saw an influx of early migrants, highlighted by the annual invasion of American Woodcocks on the streets of the City. As usual, Bryant Park was a hub of activity for the wayward woodland waders, but this year also featured a surprise guest star in the form of a stray Virginia Rail. While I was impressed by the uncharacteristically close and prolonged views available in this rather open setting, I did have some concerns about how the bird would fare so far from its preferred marshy hideaways. The rail was rather lively and active when I first dropped by to visit, subsequent days brought reports that it seemed to be flagging noticeably, likely due to the insidious effects of a collision with a building. Fortunately, help was swift to arrive in the form of volunteers from the Wild Bird Fund, NYC’s premier wildlife rehab center. After a brief stay at this exceptional care facility, the rail made a full recovery and was promptly released back into the wild in more suitable habitat. Migration is a challenging ordeal under the best of circumstances, and the countless anthropogenic obstacles of the urban environment undoubtedly prove too much for many birds that pass through our region. While I am especially grateful for the folks who dedicate their time to helping to those in need, it is crucial that we all take our own, personal steps towards making the City safer for wildlife. Every little bit counts!

I spent a solid chunk of April away from home, exploring the deserts and canyons of the Southwest with my family during an extended spring break adventure. By the time I made it back to the City, it almost felt as though I had time-traveled through most of the gradual buildup to peak migration! My birding efforts were suddenly turning up favored classics that I associate with the opening act of migratory prime time, including Chimney Swifts, Black-and-white Warblers, and Baltimore Orioles. I also managed to connect with a handful of species that I had missed out on in recent years, with my increasingly frequent trips to Central Park delivering a roosting Eastern Whip-poor-will and a handsome Kentucky Warbler. If anything, it seemed like the initial pulse of major movement arrived a little early this spring, with the last week of April featuring the kind of diversity and numbers I typically expect at the beginning of May. I was all too eager to see what the rest of the season had in store after such a promising start.

Considering how quickly the migratory peak comes and goes, I always try to keep my schedule as open as possible during the month of May. For a full-time worker, there are precious few opportunities to get out and immerse oneself in the spectacle of avian activity before it all comes to a close. If I had my druthers, I would spend essentially all of my free time birding during migration. That being said, there are certain obligations that are worth making exceptions for, with weddings being chief among them. May 2025 featured back-to-back wedding weekends to kick off the month, and both celebrations were positively delightful. Although these nuptial ceremonies did require me to step away from my preferred NYC stomping grounds for a bit, the true beauty of birding is that you can partake wherever you are in the world. A trip to southern New Jersey for the union of our friends Maggie and Allie left me well-positioned for a brief foray to one of the most renowned birder hotspots on the entire East Coast: Cape May. With my buddy Harry by my side, I made the drive down to the southernmost tip of the Garden State to see what migrants I could track down. The difference in latitude and habitat afforded me the occasion to connect with several species that are scarcer and more localized in my neck of the woods, including White-eyed Vireos, Carolina Chickadees, and Worm-eating Warblers. A pair of Blue Grosbeaks at Higbee Beach was a welcome sight, but the true highlight of this outing was a gorgeous male Prothonotary Warbler singing persistently at Belleplain State Forest. I may not get to make the trip down to Cape May as often as I would like, but I always appreciate the chance to revisit the familiar settings of this pleasant peninsula.

On our way back home to New York, Jacqi and I made a brief detour to the Ocean City Welcome Center, another celebrated, if seemingly unlikely, birding destination. Throughout the spring and summer, the vegetated marsh islands adjacent to this site host a bustling rookery, providing incredible views of nesting waterbirds right alongside the causeway. My wife was thoroughly impressed with this up-close-and-personal experience, marveling at the sight of Snowy and Great Egrets, Tricolored and Little Blue Herons, and Yellow-crowned and Black-crowned Night Herons all busying themselves with nest construction and incubation duties. The stars of the show, however, were the vast congregations of White Ibis. This southeastern specialty was considered a rather rare visitor to New Jersey as recently as a decade ago, and the state’s first few breeding pairs were only documented at this site in the summer of 2020. Now, they are perhaps the most abundant bird in the entire colony, with high counts at the end of the nesting season cresting 1,000 individuals. The natural world is constantly in flux, and the speed with which species can adapt to regional shifts in conditions never ceases to amaze me. Given current trends, it feels like it may be only a matter of time before New York finally documents its first breeding records of White Ibis.

With peak migration looming large on the imminent horizon, my friends and I initially struggled to set a date for our established Central Park Big Day tradition. Despite a few struggles with schedule incompatibility and unfavorable weather, we eventually settled on a day that worked for all of us. The forecast seemed promising: an approaching warm front sandwiched between extended periods of wet, chilly conditions, with sustained overnight southwesterlies leading into a light predawn drizzle that would likely ground any passing migrants. Dmitriy, Adam, Efua and I all convened on the slopes of the Great Hill just before sunrise, eager to see whether the hoped-for major arrival event would materialize. From the moment the lights came on, it was immediately clear that our gamble had paid off. Waves of birds descended from the skies and swept across the Park, with the dawn chorus steadily increasing in both volume and diversity of voices. The vibrant blooms of the aptly named Magic Tulip Tree drew in passing Rose-breasted Grosbeaks, Cedar Waxwings, and Ruby-throated Hummingbirds who paused to forage among the blossoms. Warblers abounded, including impressive numbers of Cape May Warblers that chased all intruders out of their chosen corners of the canopy with characteristic ferocity. In the first hour of daylight, we documented a whopping 50 species before we even started walking away from our initial sunrise stakeout spot! The peak of migratory activity had finally arrived, and the timing of our Big Day could not have been better!

When we finally set out to explore the rest of the Park, our good luck continued to hold. Noteworthy observations included an early Mourning Warbler skulking through the undergrowth at the Children’s Glade, and late Louisiana Waterthrush strutting around the edges of the Pool, and a heard-only Yellow-billed Cuckoo clacking away in the treetops near the Tennis Center. As the weather warmed throughout the day, we encountered several swarms of termites emerging from their nests en masse. Birders know that these impromptu insect congregations are veritable bird buffets, and we were treated to spectacular close views of hungry migrants whenever we stumbled upon a hatchout. The top highlight of our day was a dazzling adult male Blue Grosbeak that we discovered along the woodchip path west of the Great Lawn, gorging himself on juicy termites without a care in the world for the awestruck crowd of admirers that gathered a few feet away. We also enjoyed a quiet moment with a pair of radiant Scarlet Tanagers who came down to ground level near the Upper Lobe to feast on the abundance of winged morsels. At the end of an action-packed, exhausting day, we closed out our checklist with surprise sunset sightings of passing Broad-winged Hawk and Merlin back at the Great Hill. Our final tally reached a respectable 99 species, with an additional observation of a tricky intergrade warbler showing a mostly Blue-winged phenotype making for an even 100 unique avian taxa. My friends and I were beyond thrilled with the fruits of our labor, and I am grateful that we were able to make time for this beloved seasonal tradition once again!

As expected during this busy time of year, a great deal of my birding effort this spring was limited to rooftop skywatches. I had the good fortune to add several new species to my prized roof list over the course of May, starting with a calling flyover Spotted Sandpiper detected during a dawn vigil early in the month. On the 3-year anniversary of the date that Jacqi and I signed the lease for this property, a particularly productive morning stakeout netted me an impressive total of 4 new apartment birds: a Least Flycatcher singing in the street trees, a Swainson’s Thrush moving through the gardens below, a northbound Purple Martin, and a flyby Yellow-crowned Night Heron. Additional sightings of note included scarce repeat customers like Common Nighthawk and Ruby-throated Hummingbird, and I especially appreciated the reliable company of nearby nesting neighbors like American Kestrel, Common Raven, and Chimney Swift. Perhaps the single greatest spectacle of the season was an incredible regionwide movement of Brant one evening towards the end of May, when I witnessed several thousand birds passing over my building during the last hour of daylight. Watching innumerable skeins of these charming geese winging their way north towards their Arctic breeding grounds was something of a bittersweet experience, a dramatic reminder of the impending final act of migration. As fleeting as the spring season may be, it will never fail to fill me with wonder that such marvels can be observed from the comfort of my own home. 

In the back half of May, I focused on cleaning up as many missing migrants as possible. Repeated trips to Central Park and Randall’s Island allowed me to connect with a wide variety of species, including uncommon visitors like Olive-sided Flycatcher, Cliff Swallow, and the subtly superlative Bicknell’s Thrush. I made a point to savor the delicious bounty of Neotropical migrants occupying the City’s greenspaces, knowing that any given observation of each warbler could well be my last sighting of the species for several months. Even though I fully expect to encounter many of these birds again in the fall, there is little that can compare to the joy of observing these lively woodland sprites in all their breeding season finery. Small wonder that May consistently ranks among the top favorite months of just about every birder in our corner of the continent!

May rarely passes by without delivering a major megararity to our region, and 2025 was no exception. For as long as we have treated Randall’s Island as our primary patch, my friends and I have eyed the defunct driving range as a promising landing site for a wayward vagrant. One of our most fantastical predictions was finally borne out when we received an intriguing report of a peculiar kingbird with elongated tail feathers sighted by Karen Becker one drizzly afternoon. Our buddy Brendan was quick to follow up, confirming our anxious suspicions that the bird in question was indeed a young Fork-tailed Flycatcher, a long-anticipated first for New York County! This striking species is one of the most iconic vagrants in North America, with a long history of records scattered across the continent representing migratory individuals from South America that either overshot their destination or reversed their intended trajectory. This springtime occurrence of a molting juvenile was wholly consistent with an inexperienced first-time migrant that missed its intended wintering grounds in the tropics by a few thousand miles. I was thrilled by the news that one of my most wanted state birds had touched down at my own beloved patch, quickly making chase at the soonest available opportunity. Out-of-range Fork-tailed Flycatchers are infamous for their unpredictable, transient nature, typically disappearing within hours or even minutes of their initial discovery. To my surprise and delight, this individual wound up hanging around the driving range for 5 whole days, a nigh unprecedented tenure for such a notoriously ephemeral species. I had the good fortune to visit the remarkable rarity not once, but twice, watching with awe as it hovered effortlessly above the grass stems with its Eastern Kingbird cousins. The sight of dozens of astonished observers congregating at this most unlikely location to catch a glimpse of this flashy flycatcher is a scene I will not soon forget. As a proud patch birder, it warms my heart to see more and more locals adopting Randall’s Island as part of their regular birding itinerary, especially since they keep finding so many incredible birds for us all to enjoy!

With the end of May drawing ever closer, I found my thoughts drifting away from the City parks and towards the outer coasts of Long Island. As numbers of warblers, thrushes, and flycatchers gradually dwindle, beach-nesting seabirds and migrating shorebirds begin steadily increasing in both abundance and diversity. I elected to take advantage of the extra time off for Memorial Day weekend by making a trip out east to get a taste of the seaside action. An early morning visit to Mecox Inlet saw me adding an adorable Red Phalarope to my Suffolk County list, only my second-ever observation of this pelagic sandpiper from land in New York State. Additional highlights included breeding pairs of Piping Plovers and Least Terns as well as stray White-rumped Sandpiper and Stilt Sandpiper mixed in with the flocks of Sanderling and Dunlin passing through the area. It was a lovely treat to start my day along along the shore, and I look forward to doing so more regularly as the weather continues to warm heading into the summer. 

My track drifted slightly inland as I made my way west towards the City. On a whim, I paused at a few sites in the Calverton area, picking up territorial Grasshopper Sparrows and a singing Summer Tanager for my 2025 year list. A rather late Hooded Warbler was a particularly pleasant surprise, and an overdue addition to my Suffolk list. Overall, the birding on this springy morning was exceedingly enjoyable, showcasing the characteristic blend of end-stage migration and early breeding activity that exemplifies the late May period. My primary quarry for this outing, however, was not a bird at all. Instead, I was devoting my limited time and energy on this holiday weekend to an uncertain quest in search of a very special insect. 

One of this spring’s most sensational natural phenomena is the long-awaited emergence Brood XIV, a widespread cohort of periodical cicadas. In contrast with the more familiar annual cicadas, species in the genus Magicicada synchronize their lengthy development so the entire population matures at the same time, surfacing all at once to shed, mate, and lay eggs as a unified swarm. This particular batch of bugs has been cooking for the past 17 years, and I was hoping to get in on the action during the brief window of opportunity. Given the near total absence of reports during the last big periodical cicada event, there had been some concerned speculation within the local naturalist community as to whether Long Island still hosted any substantial surviving populations. Fortunately, the arrival of warmer weather ushered in a fresh crop of reports, confirming that these impressive insects are still hanging on in our region. Rather than chase down someone else’s backyard sightings, I chose to conduct some reconnaissance of my own, scoping out favorable wooded habitats within the established zone of occurrence. As I approached the end of my trail loop at Brookhaven State Park, I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of a dry, brownish husk in the center of the path: an exuvia, the discarded exoskeleton of a cicada nymph. A thorough search of the surrounding area quickly turned up a handful of additional shed skins, followed by more than 20 fresh adult Pharaoh Cicadas resting on a nearby fence. Their orange-and-black bodies and blood-red eyes added up to a rather striking aspect, and the otherworldly trills of distant individuals who had just started their initial tune-ups certainly made a memorable impression. Bugs may not be quite as cool as birds, but they undoubtedly offer a unique appeal all their own. I can only hope that this year’s periodical cicada emergence will form a successful foundation for the next generation’s performance in 2042!

With June fast approaching, the inevitable seasonal shift from spring to summer is close at hand. Northbound migration is drawing to a conclusion, nesting season is finally hitting its stride, and the end of the school year is now little more than a few weeks away. The excitement of the spring peak always feels like it ends so quickly, but I certainly cannot complain about the quality and quantity of natural goodness that I managed to pack into the past few weeks. As difficult as it can be to say goodbye to the month of May, it is nevertheless something of a relief to know that the most hectic time of the birding calendar year is now behind me. If my past experiences are any indication, though, I have a sneaking suspicion that the coming months have plenty of surprising adventures of their own in store! 

A Most Spectacular Season: Spring 2025 Highlights by Tim Healy. Original content from the folks at Nemesis Bird - fast paced birding.

During the first few days of the trip, for obvious reasons, birding was not my primary focus. Although my priorities lay squarely with my best man duties, there were still a number of interesting critters to be found as we prepared for the main event. So far from my typical East Coast haunts, even the common city birds in the heart of Phoenix were noteworthy additions to my 2025 year list, including White-winged Dove, Anna’s Hummingbird, Verdin, and the ubiquitous Great-tailed Grackle. The wedding venue, located in Apache Junction, was home to countless iconic denizens of the desert. Adorable coveys of Gambel’s Quail roamed all over the grounds, prompting excited shouts from the wedding party whenever they scrambled past. A pair of Harris’s Hawks was frequently seen patrolling the area, circling up conspicuously during the exchanging of the vows. I spotted a handsome male Phainopepla flycatching from prominent perches during cocktail hour, and sunset ushered in a flight of Lesser Nighthawks and my lifer Canyon Bats as darkness settled over the land. We naturalists are multitaskers by default: always watching, no matter what else we may be busy with!

The day after the ceremony, we all loaded our effects into our respective vehicles and set out for the north. We stopped for the evening in Sedona, marveling at the striking sandstone outcrops that have made the town famous around the world. The whole team convened for a hike at the Cathedral Rock Trail the following morning. With all of my siblings and their significant others, a number of my friends, and the parents of both the bride and the groom, our full contingent numbered 16 strong. We all had our own unique schedules of sidequests and bonus activities planned for the coming week, so it was an extra special treat to get everyone together for a shared experience. The trek up to the overlook featured reunions with birds like Juniper Titmouse, Woodhouse’s Scrub-Jay, and Bushtit, and we were greeted at the summit by the chattering screams of White-throated Swifts rocketing past the stony cliffs in formation flight. Several of us spied Coyotes slinking along the roadsides during our time in Sedona, and I discovered a small-scale surprise in the form of a band of Honeypot Ants marching across the trail. There is always a fascinating abundance of life to observe in the rugged lands of the Southwest, to say nothing of the incredible scenery!

Our northward journey continued, winding through riparian corridors, pinyon-juniper forests, and sagebrush flats as we made our way towards the Grand Canyon. This leg of the voyage produced my one and only avian lifer of the trip: a dusty blue Pinyon Jay perched up prominently on a pine snag along the roadside. I was delighted to finally connect with this charismatic corvid, which I had somehow missed on all my previous visits to its rather expansive range. My encounters with this bird wound up being restricted to fleeting glimpses and a few heard-only vocalizations, but it was nevertheless something of a relief to check the species off my life list at long last. There were plenty of other critters to be found as we approached the famous national park, including sizable herds of Elk. We encountered a number of these impressive ungulates grazing right along the shoulders of the park’s roadways, and one particularly bold cow was observed drinking from the puddles near the bottle filling stations. Rock Squirrels and Cliff Chipmunks scurried about near the trailheads and visitor centers looking for fallen scraps of food, and we also stumbled upon a pair of Plateau Fence Lizards sunning themselves on the rocks by the parking lot.

Our group reassembled at Mather Point, a spectacular overlook surveying the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. I have had the remarkable good fortune to visit this geological wonder of the world on multiple occasions, but I always come away feeling just as awestruck and inspired as I did the first time, some 20 years ago. As I drank in the majesty of the setting, I began dutifully scanning the surrounding skies and rocky ledges. Within minutes, I picked out a trio of birds soaring far to the east. Despite the vast distance, their massive size and steady, powerful flight were readily apparent. As they turned slow loops over the canyon, I was able to discern telltale white patches on their wings and prominent primary feathers splayed like the fingers of a giant hand. Having been obsessed with the species since early childhood, when I first learned the dramatic tale of the California Condor’s near extinction and ongoing gradual recovery, these magnificent scavengers were unmistakable to me even as mere specks on the horizon. A smile spread across my face as I alerted my family and friends, passing binoculars around the crowd so everyone could get a quick look before the birds disappeared from view. This faraway sighting was in keeping with my previous condor encounters, which were either similarly distant or unsatisfactorily brief, but I was still delighted to reunite with this most iconic of endangered species after so many years. 

With the party preparing to split up once again, I mentioned that anyone seeking an improved condor experience would do well to check out Navajo Bridge, where groups of the giant vultures are known to regularly congregate. As I settled in for the night in Williams with my wife, the newlyweds, and both sets of parents, we received a report from my sisters’ car that they had taken my advice on their way to Page, documenting a cohort of cooperative condors coming in to roost for the evening. My already lofty anticipation levels skyrocketed to near unsustainable heights, but I knew we still had a full day of adventures planned for the Grand Canyon before it was our turn to visit the bridge.

After partaking in a hearty breakfast, we returned to the park for an afternoon hike. Starting out from the South Kaibab Trailhead, we descended into the canyon itself, pausing for a late lunch at the aptly named Ooh Aah Point. A charming Rock Wren bounced around the boulders and crevices near our prominent perch, while Common Ravens and Red-tailed Hawks wheeled among the clouds overhead. We knew we lacked the time and provisions for the complete descent to the banks of the Colorado River, and it was hard enough work hiking in and out to our selected vista in the Arizona heat. Nevertheless, it was a truly wonderful experience to look up at the walls of the South Rim rather than looking down from them. Despite the hot, sunny conditions, there were plenty of noteworthy birds to be found around the national park and our lodgings in Williams, including Mountain Chickadee, Say’s Phoebe, and Lesser Goldfinch.

With sunset fast approaching, we made our way towards Yaki Point, one of the most highly recommended spots for watching the lights go out over the Grand Canyon. The park shuttle service dropped us off at the overlook just in time, and we cozied up on the ledge for a relaxing vigil as the sun sunk ever closer to the horizon. The shadows grew longer and the colors shifted spectacularly as the light continued to fade, and we enjoyed close views of a steady procession of Turkey Vultures cruising along the rim as they headed off to their nightly roosts. Once the sun finally disappeared, we caught the next bus back to the parking area and slowly made our way through the dark back towards Williams for the night. Our time in Grand Canyon National Park had come to a close, capped off with a fittingly fantastic finale, but the fun was only just getting started!

The next morning, we started out on the long drive north towards Utah. Conveniently, we had a stop planned more or less at the halfway point along the route from Williams to Hurricane. The road to Navajo Bridge took us through some starkly impressive landscapes, and there were stretches of the journey where I saw no wildlife of any kind for half an hour or more! When we finally spotted the rich red rocks of the Vermilion Cliffs rising like a wall on the distant horizon, I knew that our destination was within reach. We pulled up to the site just before midday, and I eagerly stepped out into desert heat with binoculars and camera in hand. The parallel pedestrian and roadway bridges offered a commanding vantage point, with the vivid waters of the Colorado River flowing through the gorge below. The melodious song of a Canyon Wren echoed across the stony cliffs while Violet-green Swallows danced among the clouds overhead. As I explored the area, I unexpectedly stumbled into a familiar face when I crossed paths with New York birder Ernst Mutchnick and his tour group. Jacqi is always amused by the frequency with which I encounter folks who know me, no matter how far from home we may wander! Our primary objective of an up-close condor encounter, however, was not so easily attained. The big birds were conspicuously absent during my first pass of the surroundings, resulting in some minor consternation within my search party. A brief sighting of two individuals thermaling in the distance did little to assuage these anxieties; I was reluctant to settle for yet another glimpse from a mile away at a site so famous for its amazing viewing opportunities! 

After several minutes of trudging back and forth across the span of the bridge, I heard Dad call my name. I whipped around to find the blue skies shadowed by the hulking frame of a truly enormous bird. Its mighty wings, each tipped with slotted, finger-like feathers, formed an imposing spread far wider across than the height of the tallest human. This dramatic size comparison was made readily obvious by the condor’s low altitude flight trajectory, heading straight at me and rapidly descending towards eye level. I gazed on in wonder as this titan of the air sailed past me at close range, dipping below the guardrail and swooping in for a landing on a rocky outcrop just below the main bridge. My scattered family members assembled to savor the remarkable scene, watching the condor as it preened and sunbathed with its wings fully unfurled. I took note of the prominent field-readable tags marked with the number 21, which identified this bird as a particularly famous immature female, even within the broader context of the celebrated saga that made her species into a conservation icon.

The incredible tale began with a bold rescue mission during the throes of a catastrophic avian influenza outbreak in early 2023. Following the untimely death of female condor 316, biologists at the Vermilion Cliffs discovered that her mate, 680, had been endeavoring to solo incubate their egg for several weeks. This devoted effort was a potential threat to the father’s own health, and the recovery team made a command decision to remove the egg so he would be free to feed and care for himself. With the surprise reveal that the developing embryo was still viable, arrangements were made to transport the precious cargo to Liberty Wildlife rehab center in Phoenix. When she finally hatched, gently assisted by surgical pliers, the chick was named Milagra in recognition of her miracle baby status. The young condor was subsequently transported to the Peregrine Fund facility in Boise, a cornerstone institution for the captive breeding program that narrowly saved the species from the brink of extinction. After spending more than a year under the doting care of her foster parents and the tutelage of a mentor flock, Milagra was released back into the wild in fall 2024, not far from the nest cave where she was meant to have entered this world. To see this extraordinary bird thriving in her element, soaring masterfully above the cliffs of her canyon home after so harrowing a start to her life, was nothing short of awe-inspiring. This species is a relic from the time of mammoths and giant ground sloths, a living piece of natural history that came dangerously close to disappearing forever. Thanks to the tireless efforts of dedicated researchers, rangers, and rehabbers, I have personally never lived in a world without free-flying California Condors. I hope with all my heart that I never do.

When Milagra finally launched into the air and soared out of sight up the canyon, we took it as our cue to get back on the road. It took us several hours more to reach our next destination, with travel time compounded by a long line of vehicles waiting for access at the eastern gate of Zion National Park. The long drive was instantly justified, however, by the stunning view that greeted us when we finally emerged from the entrance tunnel. My first and only previous visit to Zion was during my family’s Southwest road trip during the summer of 2005. I was delighted to see that the arresting beauty of its rugged landscapes lived up to the high expectations of my fond childhood memories.

We regrouped with the Page detachment of our crew on the trails by the visitor center, spending a few minutes swapping stories as we strolled the shores of the Virgin River. My sister Brigid called out to me from a few paces ahead that she had spotted a loon, a claim that I must confess caught me quite off-guard. Sure enough, a handsome adult Common Loon in dazzling breeding plumage was floating down the stream just a stone’s throw away. I was more than a little shocked to see this familiar bird in this unfamiliar context, especially at such close range. Loons are perfectly adapted for life on the expansive waters of large lakes and ocean coasts, and for this individual to find itself on such a shallow, narrow stretch of river along the valley floor must have taken a rather substantial navigational error during its northbound migration. Despite its unorthodox choice of a stopover site, the bird appeared to be alert and healthy, surveying its surroundings intently and snorkeling for prey as it gradually drifted with the current. I could only hope that its journey downstream would eventually deliver it to deeper, wider waters with more suitable foraging and takeoff opportunities. In any case, I was grateful for this unique opportunity to enjoy a productive photo shoot with this widely beloved species, one of my personal favorites and the 2025 ABA Bird of the Year, in such an unexpected setting. The natural world is always full of surprises!

The whole squad gathered together for a tasty dinner and some refreshing drinks at the Zion Brew Pub right outside the park’s southern entrance, socializing and strategizing as the evening skies grew steadily duskier. Our temporary abode for this leg of the trip was on the western outskirts of Hurricane, set against some dry, brushy hillsides. The following morning delivered my 200th year bird of 2025, a charming Black-throated Sparrow that I spotted bouncing around the backyard while I readied my gear for the day’s adventures. Our primary object in Zion was settling a score that had been left unresolved for 20 long years: reaching the summit of the world-renowned rock formation known as Angel’s Landing. In the summer of 2005, my family’s first attempt to conquer this infamously challenging hike had been thwarted by a sudden thunderstorm that chased us off the final stretch of trail. No one wants to be stuck holding metal chains more than 1,400 feet above the valley floor when lightning bolts start flying! This time, I was determined to reach the top with my siblings and friends. Despite some initial uncertainty in the forecast, the weather held out just long enough for us to successfully tackle the climb. I especially appreciated the gentle encouragement of my fearless wife during some of the dodgier clifftop scrambles, but the panoramic view from the peak was absolutely worth the effort it took to get there!

Although my optics stayed safely stashed away in my overloaded backpack for the most arduous portion of the hike, I did make a point to watch for wildlife on my way up and down the Angel’s Landing trail. I kept a weather eye out for the resident Spotted Owls of Refrigerator Canyon and the nearby nesting California Condor pair that frequents the area, but both sets of rare raptors remained hidden during our visit. Instead, I was pleased to pick out several Painted Redstarts flitting through the branches in a shady ravine, and our return to the trailhead was accompanied by a delightful soundtrack of trilling Broad-tailed Hummingbirds, buzzy Black-throated Gray Warblers, and chipping Black Phoebes. Wild Turkeys stalked the shoulders of the roadsides, including a beefy tom displaying in the middle of the parking lot at the Zion Lodge. With wind speeds increasing and signs of rain on the horizon, the crew beat a hasty retreat back to our lodgings, where we shared a bountiful feast and no shortage of drinks, toasting our victory as we rode out the storm together.

The final family outing of our Southwest spring break was a trek up the Narrows, a picturesque river canyon that goes toe to toe with Angel’s Landing as Zion’s most popular trail. With our 2005 visit to this park coinciding with the heat of summer, we faced the long march accordingly: shoeless and in shorts. Given the chillier spring temperatures this time around, which had further cooled perceptibly in the wake of the previous night’s bad weather, we elected to rent proper gear in the form of chest waders, water shoes, and walking sticks. While our limited timetable meant that we were unable to hike the full length of the 12-mile track, we still thoroughly enjoyed our expedition up the Virgin River. The scenic vistas along the way were simply incredible, and we were accompanied nearly the entire time by the ever endearing American Dippers. Pairs of the adorable aquatic songbirds were busily patrolling their chosen territories, with some individuals actively constructing mossy nests beneath overhanging ledges and others gathering mouthfuls of critters to provision their hungry chicks. I also picked up an unexpected herpetological lifer in the form of an Arizona Toad that we found hopping along the entry trail. Once we finally made it back to dry land, we withdrew to Hurricane for one last night of festivities together. The trip had been a roaring success from start to finish, all thanks to my awesome brother and my exceptional new sister-in-law! Jacqi and I got an early start the next morning, setting out across the desert towards Las Vegas to board our flight back to New York. Going home is never easy after such an amazing vacation, but I am beyond grateful for all the wonderful memories forged with my family and friends over the course of this journey.

This most recent visit to the Southwest, even beyond the unforgettably magical experience of my brother’s wedding, left me feeling rather reflective and inspired. I consider it a genuine privilege to have visited the vast majority of American national parks over the course of my lifetime. Our federal lands are uniquely special places, where some of the continent’s most magnificent creatures still roam free through some of our most spectacular landscapes. At a time when so much of the cultural discourse surrounding environmentalism is plagued by cynical skepticism, it is more important than ever to take a stand on behalf of conservation efforts, be they local or international. Responsible, science-based management of parklands and wild spaces is critical to the maintenance of a healthy ecosystem, and the perennial popularity of short-sighted, extractive land use practices enacted in service of the almighty dollar threatens to upset the delicate balance of the world around us. The National Park System has been widely referred to as “America’s best idea,” and I, for one, would be hard-pressed to find the hyperbole in that claim. We are fortunate to inhabit a planet still replete with natural wonders. They are worth seeking out, they are worth studying, and they are certainly worth protecting.

Canyons and Condors: a Southwest Interlude by Tim Healy. Original content from the folks at Nemesis Bird - fast paced birding.

Initial signs of the approaching seasonal shift first started to appear fairly early in the month, even on the busy streets of New York City. Resident passerines like Northern Cardinals and Northern Mockingbirds began tuning up with renewed enthusiasm, declaring their territories with vigorous bouts of song. My birding surveys at Randall’s Island revealed similar increasing liveliness in our overwintering birds, including the Field and Chipping Sparrows that spent the season with the Dark-eyed Junco flock at the defunct driving range and the Northern House Wren and Orange-crowned Warbler who lingered at Little Hell Gate Saltmarsh with a band of Black-capped Chickadees. One of the principal harbingers of spring in our region is the ever endearing American Woodcock, and indeed my friends and I turned up a trio of these lovable weirdos during our first proper March outing at our patch. Woodcocks are quick to retreat when freezing temperatures lock their favored earthworms away beneath the frost line, but they are conversely among the first species to return north each year at the onset of the thaw. In spite of the brisk, breezy conditions that morning, the strange shorebirds bobbing along through the undergrowth were an unambiguous indicator that warmer weather was on its way.

The frequency of my rooftop skywatching efforts picked up in earnest this month, but for the most part my observations were limited to small flocks of Canada Geese, American Robins, and other common birds, occasionally supplemented by stray flyovers of species like Wood Duck, Rusty Blackbird, and Black Vulture. On days when fickle fate failed to deliver any meaningful migration activity, I was especially grateful for the company of my most reliable avian neighbors. Our local pair of American Kestrels has been hard at work preparing for a new nesting season, canoodling more or less constantly and following one another around as they patrol the neighborhood. I was particularly delighted to observe the male caching surplus food away for later, stowing a decapitated mouse in the seams of a deck chair atop the building across the street. The resident Common Ravens have also been more active and conspicuous in recent weeks, with one of the burly black birds even joining me on the roof for a spell to avoid the irksome attentions of an agitated American Crow. While I confess to getting a bit antsy while I wait for spring migration to hit its stride, I am nevertheless grateful for the consistent, dependable presence of my beloved local birds. The day that I fail to crack a smile at the goofy, lovesick Mourning Dove singing a few feet away from me is the day that I hang up my binoculars.

As winter’s grip on the land slowly starts to loosen, many birds begin shuffling around a bit, making short-distance repositioning trips as they gear up for the long-haul flights to their nesting grounds. A rather blustery guided walk with the New York State Young Birders Club at Jones Beach was highlighted by a newly arrived flock of Tree Swallows, and we also encountered some Horned Larks performing song flights over the dunes. A flyover American Pipit at Randall’s Island and a pair of Canvasbacks at West Harlem Piers Park also fell into this category of restless early wanderers that had presumably wintered relatively close by. This time of year is a bit underrated as a productive window for detecting rarities that have recently vacated hidden haunts, and I would not be surprised if the next few weeks have some unexpected discoveries in store for birders who get out there and search.

The official vernal equinox landed on the 20th this year, but March 22nd was the first day that felt, to me, like spring had finally arrived. The skies were blue and the sun was shining brightly, producing a vibrant circumzenithal arc in the wispy clouds overhead. Adam and I savored the warm winds that blew across the fields of Randall’s Island that morning, and it quickly became apparent that these sudden southerlies had ushered in a number of new arrivals. Our first Eastern Phoebe of the year was seen flycatching from the trees along the roadside, and we also picked out a trio of American Oystercatchers making circuits around the Brother Islands. Perhaps the biggest surprise of the morning was an adult Black-headed Gull, decked out in handsome breeding plumage, that we spotted flying upriver early in the morning. At the end of a long, cold winter, however, there is only one bird that I trust as the unquestionable herald of the advent of spring. Sure enough, during our second check of the northeastern shoreline, I finally clapped eyes on the familiar, crook-winged silhouette of a distant Osprey circling its way northwards. The return of these perennially popular raptors to the waterways of coastal New York unfailingly coincides with the palpable shift in seasons each year, and I was genuinely thrilled to welcome these long-time favorites home with my first observation of the species in 2025. At long last, spring is here!

The most productive and memorable outing of the month brought me to the outskirts of Queens with my friends Ryan and Max. My Brooklyn-based buddies had both expressed interest in searching for salamanders this spring, and I was all too happy to share my recently rekindled passion for these charming denizens of the forest floor. An overnight dip in temperatures resulted in a chillier morning than we might have liked, but we set out undeterred all the same, gently flipping promising looking logs as we trudged through the woods. We eventually stumbled upon a patch of forest that, for reasons unclear to our surface-dweller sensibilities, hosted an impressively dense concentration of Eastern Red-backed Salamanders. Focusing our efforts on this productive plot, we quickly struck gold when Max uncovered not one, but two Spotted Salamanders and a bonus Red-back under a single piece of wood. The remarkable migration of these strikingly patterned amphibians typically takes place during the first warm rains of late winter, but the comparatively dry conditions this year appear to have stalled the salamanders’ pilgrimage to their vernal pool breeding grounds. Although the water level of these temporary wetlands was still a bit low, it was clear that the local wildlife were starting to prepare for peak season. In addition to the salamanders staging nearby, we also observed a pair of prospecting Wood Ducks and heard the song of a lone Wood Frog ringing through the crisp morning air. Of course, the promise of adding Spotties to Ryan and Max’s life lists was the original impetus for this quest, and I was relieved that our targeted foray into this hidden world eventually ended in success. The awestruck reactions that inevitably accompany an introduction to these secretive, spectacular creatures are always a privilege to behold.

The next stop on our tour of the City’s little-known natural marvels was an unassuming tract of woodland located a mere stone’s throw from a busy expressway. This time it was Ryan’s turn to lead the way, guiding us down a sloping trail to the base of a truly massive Tulip Tree. Standing more than 130 feet tall, the Alley Pond Giant is believed to be the largest and oldest living organism in NYC today. It is estimated that this mighty tree has stood watch over this corner of Queens for over 350 years, presumably taking root not too long after Dutch settlers first arrived on these shores. As we gazed up in wonder at the gnarled limbs of the magnificent plant, we pondered how many species of birds must have landed amidst its branches over the centuries. It well may be that the Giant even served as a perch for now extinct species like Passenger Pigeons or Carolina Parakeets once upon a time. It is incredible to consider how much the landscape has changed during the lifespan of this tree, which could persist for several centuries more if it remains adequately protected. Perhaps if we take our stewardship of our local green spaces seriously, some of the young saplings currently growing up throughout NYC will be able to boast similarly impressive tenures someday. 

We closed out our delightful nature walk with a bit of fully focused birding. Highlights from the last leg of our expedition included a Great Horned Owl and its nestling peering out of their tree hollow nest, a flock of Rusty Blackbirds picking their way through a woodland wetland, and an adorable Pied-billed Grebe that let loose with a burst of manic, whooping song, an unexpected audio lifer for all three of us. We took a few moments to revel in the sight of an Osprey turning graceful circles high overhead, triumphantly announcing its return from the tropics with piercing, whistled chirps. My friends and I celebrated our successful expedition with a hearty lunch, returning to our respective homes satisfied with the haul of early spring treasures we had managed to collect.

Between the woodcocks, the salamanders, and the Ospreys, I have now completed most of my expected naturalist objectives for the month of March. At this point, the next chapter of spring is right around the corner, and I can already feel the increased activity levels in the natural world around us. While early April may not be all too different from the end of March, the final stretch of the month is when migration finally kicks into overdrive. The coming weeks are certain to host their share of welcome reunions and unexpected surprises both. I fully intend to make the most of this exciting new phase of the spring season, whatever it may have in store.

The Slow Start of Spring by Tim Healy. Original content from the folks at Nemesis Bird - fast paced birding.

Historically celebrated in the last half of January, the 2025 Northport Winter Bird Count happened to land on the first day of February, providing me with a chance to start the month strong right out of the gate. This illustrious event has firmly established itself as my favorite tradition of the late winter season. Despite some incipient signs of oncoming illness, I dragged myself out of bed well ahead of dawn, determined not to miss out on the fun. This year, I was delighted to share my big day route with Brooklyn birding buddies Ryan and Max for the first time. The three of us thoroughly enjoyed our survey efforts, as well as the tasty food we procured from a local Haitian deli, and despite some blustery weather we managed to turn up a few notable finds during our exploration of the waterways and woodlands in our territory. The biggest surprise, on a hyperlocal scale, was a Pied-billed Grebe that Max spotted paddling around Huntington Harbor, presumably pushed from more typical wintering habitat by recent freezes. The fruits of our labors included a handful of additional year birds like Purple Finch, American Wigeon, and Eastern Towhee, and a brief poaching foray to Centerport after we finished our assignments furnished me with a pair of Greater White-fronted Geese.

Rather than risk sharing my developing disease at an indoor social gathering, I reluctantly passed on joining the ever-entertaining evening compilation dinner. As founders of the Count, Brent and Taylor went above and beyond the call of duty to help mitigate my FOMO, patching me in via video call so I could still participate in the festivities virtually. The cumulative total for the day reached a respectable 99 species, with our team contributing a small handful of saves. Max’s wayward grebe was judged unanimously as Best Bird of the Count, which earned him the grand prize of a “bar-noculars” flask. Events like this one serve as fantastic reminders that birding is often at its best when we participate collaboratively in the effort. I will always be immeasurably grateful for the birding community and the friendships I have forged within this ragtag band of lovable weirdos.

My sickness turned out to be a mercifully mild case of the flu, which necessitated staying home for a while once symptoms properly took hold. By the last day of my brief quarantine, I was feeling well enough to get out and about in the fresh air for a bit. An afternoon driving circuit around the eastern reaches of Long Island proved to be remarkably productive, allowing me to catch up with an impressive grab bag of lingering rarities that were spending the winter in our area. The first and most noteworthy vagrant of this expedition was a handsome Northern Lapwing, which had been documented at a number of sites around the fields and inlets of the Hamptons for the preceding few weeks. I finally caught up to the wandering shorebird at a farm in Water Mill, where I was thrilled to enjoy close views as it picked for worms in a roadside pasture. As a child, I often gazed in wonder at the illustration of this glossy green, wispy crested plover in my dad’s old copy of the Peterson field guide. If younger me could know that I would eventually see this spectacular European visitor on more than one occasion in my home state, he would probably be pretty proud of how my birding career turned out! I subsequently managed to connect with a lone Lark Sparrow at a local farmstand a short distance away, and a trip to Eastport Lake delivered a Pink-footed Goose tucked in among the dense flocks of more common waterfowl. By the time February rolls around, birders hoping to seek out unusual overwinterers are well aware that the seasonal clock is ticking, so I was especially relieved that I found the time to track down these rare birds before they skipped town.

One of the major perks of the late winter season is the opportunity to partake in regular ski trips with Jacqi and my in-laws. These weekend excursions to the frozen north are seldom birdy, but the past few outings have produced a few exciting surprises along the road between Vermont and New York City to complement the expected fun of hitting the slopes. The weekend of the Super Bowl was bookended by a pair of superb owls, featuring a ghostly gray Eastern Screech-Owl fluttering through our headlights on the drive up and a silhouetted sunset Great Horned Owl during the home stretch of our return trip. A week later, on the heels of a delightful Stratton getaway with Brent and Ashley, we were treated to a surprise low flyover by a stunning dark morph Rough-legged Hawk within moments of crossing back over the border into the Empire State. One never knows what might be seen during these long journeys through farm fields and forests, so it is well-worth keeping a weather eye out!

The annual winter break is one of the most consistent bright spots of my month each February. In years past, I have made good use of the week off from work, either by organizing extended vacations to faraway lands or by simply exploring the surrounding region. February 2025, however, brought a degree of uncertainty that kept my plans up in the air until the last possible minute. A grand jury duty summons, charmingly scheduled for Valentine’s Day, threatened to potentially upend my personal calendar for a month or more. Fortunately, after spending all of Friday waiting around at the Queens County courthouse, I was informed that I was one of the lucky few who was being dismissed from service. This confirmation of freedom allowed me to proceed with my tentative designs for a trip upstate, and I was all too happy to set those schemes into motion.

Up until now, I had not yet had the pleasure of visiting Lewis County, the least birded county in all of New York State according to eBird data. When word got out that an immature Black-headed Grosbeak had been visiting a feeder in Constableville since late November, I found myself with a perfect excuse to visit this remote, rural region for the first time. The long drive upstate was a bit of a challenge at times, featuring periodic squalls of lake effect snow. With several feet of loose powder already on the ground in more open areas, the stiff winds were capable of producing temporary whiteout conditions even when the skies were completely clear. I finally reached the stakeout site, a quiet residential street situated at the interface between extensive agricultural fields and a densely wooded state forest, around midmorning. My wait for the guest of honor wound up lasting a little longer than expected, and I twice had to move my car to permit the passage of a snowplow. Fortunately, there were other birds of note to keep me occupied during my vigil, including a small flock of Evening Grosbeaks and good numbers of American Tree Sparrows. The biggest surprise of the morning was an adult American Goshawk that I observed blasting through the trees, my first sighting of this enigmatic raptor in a full decade. Eventually, the Black-headed Grosbeak put in a brief appearance at the feeding station, spending a few moments noshing on seeds before fluttering off to its sheltered hiding place once again. With my newest state list addition secured, I turned my vehicle east towards the mountains, heading off in search of more adventures.

Having already traveled so far to reach the distant upstate, it was difficult to pass up on the opportunity to add on a detour to one of my favorite regions of New York State. After several hours of driving on winding woodland roads, I finally arrived in the heart of the Adirondack Park. I can never stay away from this magnificent mountain range for very long, and I figured it was high time to get my first fix of northwoods magic for 2025. I tried to fit in a bit of birding before sunset, but avian activity was understandably suppressed by the windy, overcast conditions in the late afternoon. Nightfall found me checking in at the esteemed Hotel Saranac, where I partook in some delicious poutine, a hearty burger, and a couple of my favorite local beers before retiring for the evening. 

Bright and early the next day, I set out to see what boreal birds and beasties I could track down. I arrived at Bloomingdale Bog just after sunrise, finding much more agreeable conditions than those I had encountered the previous day. The wind had died down to a gentle whisper, and the cloudless blue skies contrasted stunningly with the soft blanket of white coating the landscape. Common Ravens croaked overhead while Black-capped Chickadees and Red-breasted Nuthatches chattered in the trees, and the snow along the trail revealed evidence of recently passing mammals, including an unmistakable set of Snowshoe Hare tracks. Despite the bitingly cold temperatures, I was thriving in this winter wonderland. Regular trips to the taiga work wonders for the soul of the urban naturalist!

As I drove west on Route 30 towards Tupper Lake, I was surprised to see a large, quadrupedal slab of fur standing out on the snow-covered ice at Lake Clear Outlet just south of the road. The burly, brown beast was looking back over its shoulder towards the shoreline, where I may have glimpsed a second animal lurking at the edge of the forest. My first, unfiltered thought, somewhat absurdly, was how strange it was for a cow to be spotted at this location. As the gears in my brain slowly caught up with what my eyes had observed, I realized that the creature was awfully massive for a deer, and rather dark in coloration, and apparently slightly hunchbacked. When the penny finally dropped, I hastily sought a safe turnaround point, but by the time I doubled back to the scene the only evidence of my observation was a set of trackways in the snow. After years of searching, I had finally been graced with a Bigfoot-tier sighting of a Moose in New York! Though I have encountered many dozens of these impressive ungulates over the course of my travels in the western and northern reaches of the continent, years of exploration in my home state had produced nothing more than multiple instances of sign at various sites throughout the Adirondacks, including some near misses with obviously fresh footprints. With only a few hundred Moose believed to inhabit the wilder reaches of the Park, finding one of these majestic mammals is mostly a matter of luck. I was thrilled to finally add this icon of the northwoods to my personal home state list, albeit with an unexpected, fleeting view that undoubtedly left me wanting more. The Dacks can always be counted on to deliver the goods, even during the briefest of visits!

Predictably, the liveliest stop on my whirlwind Adirondack circuit proved to be the roadside feeders at Sabattis Bog. Within minutes of pulling up at the edge of the frozen wetland, I heard a familiar chorus of soft whistles and murmuring chatters emanating from the surrounding spruce forest. I smiled as I watched a band of Canada Jays emerge from the woods, floating between the trees with smooth, sailing glides. These endearingly brazen corvids have long held a prestigious position among the ranks of my favorite creatures on Planet Earth. How could they not? Beyond their adorable features and fascinating behavioral adaptations, which captured my heart from the moment I first encountered the species in my childhood, these birds played a significant role in shaping the trajectory of my life. Nearly half a decade ago, during my first proper overnight trip away from the City with Jacqi, it was this very same flock that helped me win over the woman I would one day marry. Canada Jays are the best wingmen I ever could have asked for, and I treasure every opportunity I get to spend some quality time in their presence. The resident birds were especially rambunctious during this visit, chasing one another around as they squabbled over bits of seed and suet. A nearby American Red Squirrel seemed content to watch the animated action from afar, waiting with uncharacteristic patience for its own turn at the buffet table.

While the jays are an expected sight at the bog year-round, I was pleasantly surprised to see impressive numbers of both White-winged and Red Crossbills flitting about the area. These irruptive finches are variably abundant from season to season, and some years they can be quite difficult to find. I watched the bent-beaked birds descend from their treetop perches to pick for grit on the snowy roads right at my feet, snatching up morsels of sand and salt to aid the digestion of the pinecone seeds they so favor. As I listened to the symphony of chips and chitters swirling around me, I quickly picked up on some unfamiliar vocalizations in the mix. Throughout their extensive range, different populations of Red Crossbills can be distinguished by their unique flight calls, and finch aficionados are well-practiced in recording every crossbill they encounter to verify its call type. My travels have allowed me to document a decent array of these discrete subgroups over the years, but the splashy, clipped call notes ringing through the crisp air over the bog were clearly distinct from the squeaky voices of the locally expected Northeastern Type 12 birds. Reviewing my audio samples later with more knowledgeable friends, I was able to confirm that these individuals represented the Type 4 population, which typically associates with Douglas Fir in the western reaches of the continent. While not a lifer in the traditional sense, I was nevertheless quite chuffed to add a new call type to my personal running tally.

I checked a few additional spots over the course of the morning, including an impromptu pause at Newcomb Overlook Park to admire the snowy crests of the High Peaks. With my abbreviated timetable, I unsurprisingly missed out on the full sweep of resident boreal specialties, but I was plenty satisfied with the passel of prizes that I did manage to secure. It was a welcome comfort to be back in the Adirondacks for a spell, however briefly, especially when this marvelous quest came so close to falling through due to scheduling uncertainty! I only hope that I will be able fit in another visit to this magical corner of the state in the near future. It is never too soon to start scheduling the next Adirondack adventure!

The road home to the City delivered a handful of noteworthy roadside sightings, highlighted by Pileated Woodpecker, Black Vulture, and Red-shouldered Hawk. I went out birding on Long Island a few more times before the end of February break, with new year list additions including a pair of Great Egrets, a flock of Rusty Blackbirds, and my first Tundra Swan since 2018. Perhaps the most unexpected observation from these outings was a lone Sika Deer at Southaven County Park, a member of a little-known introduced population that inhabits the wet woodlands around the Carmans River. When Sunday evening finally rolled around, with a week of regularly scheduled workdays once again looming ahead of me, I was feeling especially grateful for all the time I had been fortunate enough to spend out in nature. I always appreciate the opportunity for some rest and relaxation in the great outdoors, and it certainly beats being stuck with jury duty!

In the final days of February, I started to take notice of some subtle but unmistakable signals of spring’s gradual approach. Our local pair of American Kestrels, which typically hang around Astoria all through the year but range a bit more widely in winter, have begun visiting their preferred perches on the scaffolding across the street more consistently once again. Jacqi also made a comment about the increased volume and frequency of Mourning Dove songs waking her up in the morning, and I subsequently shared a close encounter with a crooning male up on the rooftop of our apartment building. Despite the chilly winds and overcast skies, my feathered neighbors have clearly begun the initial preparations for yet another nesting season. Though the true peak of vernal excitement is still a ways out, there is some comfort in knowing that brighter days and warmer temperatures lie ahead in the not too distant future. In any event, I personally feel quite content with the suite of experiences that winter ’24-’25 had to offer. I look forward to seeing what surprises await in the months to come!

Finding the Fun in February by Tim Healy. Original content from the folks at Nemesis Bird - fast paced birding.

Every year list has to start somewhere. Like so many birders, I have a hint of superstition about me when it comes to the auspices of the first bird of the year. The final days of 2024 saw Jacqi and I staying in South Philadelphia with friends, so I knew I would have to work for it if I wanted to secure something more glamorous than a pigeon or a starling for the inaugural bird of 2025. In my experience, however, our urban-adapted invasive species tend to be late risers relative to many native birds. Putting this anecdotal observation to the test, I headed up to the roof of our temporary domicile well ahead of sunrise on New Year’s Day. My reward was a Northern Cardinal, chipping emphatically from the sparsely vegetated alleyways up the block, the second time in recent years that I have kicked off my year listing efforts with this charismatic city slicker. I picked up a handful of additional birds as we made our way home to New York, including Common Raven, both Black and Turkey Vultures, and Bald Eagle. I closed out January 1st the same way I started it, this time atop my own apartment building back in Astoria, watching our local Peregrine Falcon take potshots at passing Red-tailed and Cooper’s Hawks. By nightfall, the 2025 year list stood at 22 species: not a bad start for a day without any dedicated birding outings!

The next few days saw me, and my students, easing back into the daily grind of regularly scheduled classwork. My commutes to and from the school building saw me connecting with species like Merlin and American Kestrel, and I even found time for an afternoon foray into Central Park in search of waterfowl and woodland birds. In additional to expected winter residents like Black-capped Chickadee, Bufflehead, and American Coot, I also successfully tracked down a handful of more unusual visitors, including a flotilla of Common Mergansers at the Reservoir and a lone Snow Goose grazing on the Great Lawn at dusk. I headed into the first weekend of 2025 just shy of the halfway point for the January 100 challenge, eager to make the most of the full docket of birding plans that I had lined up for the next few days.

My first major obligation on the calendar in 2025 was technically one of the last assignments of 2024. It had been several years since I last participated in the Southern Nassau Christmas Bird Count, which is traditionally one of the last Counts to be held each season. Even though I was once again out of town for much of the holiday period, this year’s big day falling even later than usual permitted me to rejoin the fun once again. My assigned beat covered a significant swath of the northern shoreline of Jones Beach State Park, including the saltmarsh channels off Field 10 and the brushy fringes of the Bay Parkway. Highlights of my search effort included a surprise sighting of an American Bittern, a late-lingering Laughing Gull, and a remarkable trio of Black-headed Gulls, contributing to a high count of 5 distinct individuals seen by the Jones Beach team. All of these birds wound up being saves for the Count, which documented an impressive collective total of 134 species despite some challenging windy conditions. I also logged my first-of-year encounter with Common Loons, the American Birding Association’s spectacular selection for the 2025 Bird of the Year, and some light poaching after I finished covering my territory afforded me the opportunity to check off additional favorites like Harlequin Duck, Razorbill, and the ever endearing Yellow-breasted Chat. Jacqi met me at the end of the day to join in the festivities of the compilation dinner, which absolutely lived up to established expectations as an entertaining evening in the company of good friends.

January 5th is celebrated as National Bird Day, and this year I chose to commemorate this little-known holiday by following up on some rarity reports around the City with my buddy Ryan Mandelbaum. Our morning began with an ill-advised search for a White-winged Dove that had been spotted the previous afternoon in Staten Island, with our predictable dip being the traditional result for chases focused on this notoriously elusive vagrant. Nevertheless, we still picked up a handful of welcome year birds during our stakeout, including Orange-crowned Warbler, American Tree Sparrow, and Killdeer. Our luck took a turn for the better when we arrived in the Rockaways, where we successfully tracked down a long-staying Painted Bunting, feasting on seedheads in the grassy lots along the boardwalk with its Clay-colored and Field Sparrow companions. We closed out our circuit with a visit to Shirley Chisholm State Park, where we spotted Eastern Meadowlark, Belted Kingfisher, and the most surprising non-avian critter of the day: a Virginia Opossum. After a whirlwind day exploring the coastal boroughs, we returned to our respective homes to settle in for the evening, with only a handful of species remaining before I reached the triple digits on my 2025 year list.

The first full work week of January proved to be a bit of a slow stretch, with no new year birds added to my tally. As I guided my classes through the process of planning their end-of-unit projects, I kept a close eye on the bird alert channels. The top story in the New York State birding community during the earliest days of 2025 was a developing saga surrounding an unidentified goose that had been first sighted by Karen Randall at the Saratoga Lake boat launch on December 31st. The initial report pegged the bird as a potential Greater White-fronted Goose, but speculation began to fly after grainy photos superficially resembling a Pink-footed Goose were uploaded to the checklist, especially when combined with field notes stating that its legs were actually bright orange. Gradually improving documentation over the course of several sporadic encounters revealed that the goose was, as suspected, a bean-goose, with Taiga Bean-Goose eventually emerging as the apparent specific identification. Although this complicated complex is infamously challenging for both birders and taxonomists to separate, all field marks pointed to this individual being the same individual Taiga that had been sighted in Quebec in late 2024, itself representing perhaps only the second record of the nominate subspecies ever recorded in North America. Most curiously, this pending first New York record happened to surface at the exact same spot where the state’s first Tundra Bean-Goose was seen back in 2021. While the appropriate phylogenetic treatment of these birds is still up for debate, there was no denying the significance of this particular record. I felt myself taken by the sudden, persistent urge for a wild goose chase.

I coordinated my plans for a trip to the Capital Region with Brendan and Brent, resolving to depart from the City in the wee hours of Saturday morning. We encountered a bit more snow than we originally expected, both in terms of duration and intensity, but we still made excellent time with Brendan’s steady hand at the helm. When we arrived at the roost site along the Hudson River where the goose had last been seen, however, it was nowhere to be found. As subflocks of Canada Geese gradually dispersed from the scene, so to did the assembled birders, fanning out to check the surrounding agricultural plots and patches of unfrozen water for congregations of waterfowl. The search effort was coordinated via Discord, with all chasers chipping in to help track down our hoped-for quarry. After several hours of fruitless scanning, an alert came through that the bean-goose had finally been refound. Dozens of cars converged on the impromptu stakeout site in Bacon Hill, where the wayward bird was lazily grazing alongside its carrier flock in a fallow farm field. Surrounded by a multitude of familiar faces, with a light fall of snowflakes dancing around us, we reveled in the convivial atmosphere of a successful twitch! In addition to my first proper lifer of 2025, noteworthy prizes from our expedition included Snow Bunting, Wild Turkey and Pileated Woodpecker. Perhaps one of the most fascinating birds of the day was a bizarrely adorable hybrid Ross’s x Cackling Goose, not “countable” in the traditional sense but nevertheless an exciting and unique taxon that I had never encountered before. All in all, I was grateful for the excuse to spend some time gallivanting around upstate in search of a rare bird, especially given that I was fortunate enough to share the experience with good friends!

The morning of January 12th saw me up and at it bright and early once again, seeking to secure my 100th species for the 2025 year list. I achieved my goal within a few minutes of my arrival at Jones Beach, marking the milestone with a small group of Lapland Longspurs winging their way over the dunes. I spent the rest of the morning patrolling the South Shore of Long Island, racking up additional year birds like Winter Wren, Greater Yellowlegs, and Eastern Screech-Owl. A brief observation of a curious Harbor Seal was a pleasant treat, and I was especially delighted to spend some quality time with a confiding Snowy Owl roosting along the beachfront. After several consecutive winters with notably poor showings by these majestic Arctic raptors, I was swiftly approaching the 2 year anniversary of my last encounter with one of my lifelong favorite animals. Fortunately, this season has at long last delivered a sizable irruptive influx, with reports flooding in from traditional haunts and unexpected stopover sites all across the Northeast. I was able to save my decade-plus streak for annual Snowy sightings just before the final curtain call of 2024 thanks to a timely tip from my pal Taylor, and it was a welcome relief to cross paths with this magnificent species again so early in 2025! 

The back half of January has been fairly quiet on the birding front, with new year list pickups limited to stray odds and ends encountered incidentally, like a Gray Catbird scrounging for scraps in Bryant Park and a Brown Creeper observed on the ski slopes at Stratton Mountain. There may yet be a few more surprises to be found before the month is through, but I would argue that the kickoff of 2025 has already exceeded expectations as far as birding is concerned. There is no way of knowing what exactly the rest of the year has in store, and the next 11 months will undoubtedly feature their own mixed bag of sorrows and successes, just as every preceding year has. Whatever comes next, I can assure you that I will be birding all the way, scanning the skies and sharing stories with loved ones. Cheers to a new year, dear reader! May your 2025 be filled with positive growth, victorious achievements, and unforgettable memories!

2025: First Impressions by Tim Healy. Original content from the folks at Nemesis Bird - fast paced birding.