Our trip to Canada began with a tense border crossing. The amicable young man who took our passports asked, "What brings you to Ontario?" We said, “We are here to go birdwatching.” He asked us where we were going, and we described our destinations. Then, he asked, "How long will you be staying?" "Two weeks," we replied. The young man looked up from the computer screen, turned, and said, "What! You're going birdwatching for two weeks? Can you roll down your windows?"
We went into damage control mode and told him that Point Pelee is a world-famous birding location, and people from all over the world go there to see birds. He seemed skeptical of our motives. Then the conversation switched to him telling us that he was not too happy with birds because every day when he got home from work, a red bird attacked his driver-side mirror and pooped all over his car. After sharing that, he handed us our passports, wished us a good day, and we were off on our Canadian adventure.
We joined thousands of birdwatchers who visited Point Pelee in May. Many of them were eager to see the very tip of the peninsula, hoping to be surrounded by large numbers of birds. Migratory birds and birdwatchers descend on the tip in waves. Depending on the weather, these waves can be subtle or spectacular. Birding at the tip of Point Pelee increases your odds of catching a spectacular wave.
These waves - or “fallouts” - are well-known phenomena at migration hotspots. In 1952, William Gunn described an epic wave of birds at Point Pelee.
On Friday, May 9, relatively few birds were present on the point. Then came the grandfather of all waves. In 15 years of visiting the point in May, I have witnessed many waves and participated in some of the "great days "when birds abound. But never a day like this … to begin with, the wave had all the variety in the way of species that one could ask for. The combined list of some 30 observers surpasses 150 species … The really spectacular thing about the wave, however, was the number of birds involved. So many birds were crowded into the terminal portion of that relatively small point of land that an adequate description is rendered most difficult … I have a picture of driving along the road near the end of the point, watching an unending stream with sparrows and thrushes rising up from each side of the road and settling back again a little farther from the road margin. The general pattern of this action was strikingly like that bow wave of a fast-moving ship. Then there were the warblers, which seemed to occupy every tree and bush … [It] had to be seen to be believed. Birds swarmed in the tree canopy and undergrowth, while scores of others rose up in successive waves practically from underfoot as one walked slowly along… The total number of birds present at the point was considered too astronomical to estimate.
Stories like this gave us high expectations, and when we were moving into our new lodging near Point Pelee, we met a birding couple from Ontario who described their experience birding on the tip. They told us the main parking lot by the nature center near the tip of the peninsula had been full by 6:15 a.m. the previous day, adding to our already heightened sense of anticipation.
The next morning, we arrived at the parking lot at 6 a.m. and pulled into one of the few remaining spaces. We followed the line of birdwatchers over to the nature center, where the trolley that takes people south to the tip was rapidly filling up. We looked at the trail maps and decided to walk the trails to get a sense of the habitat and the birds. The woods were quiet. The trail formed a big loop, and just as we started to turn back, we saw a small "seasonal footpath "sign and a narrow trail that continued south toward the tip. We took this trail, and as we walked, the woods became more narrow and the sound of wind and waves more prominent.
We eventually emerged into a small field filled with shrubs, where we could see the lake on either side. A few birdwatchers were milling about. It was easy to imagine how this small area could be a magnet for birds. However, the birds were sparse. A Yellow Warbler was busy building a nest in a patch of Red-osier Dogwood. As we scanned the shrubs and grapevines nearby, we noticed a furry animal looking back at us. We moved closer and realized it was a young Opossum. He was impossibly cute, looking like a character out of a Disney cartoon.
We continued down the trail toward the tip of the peninsula. As we passed the pavilion where the trolley dropped off birdwatchers, I noticed Barn Swallows everywhere. I saw them perched in trees at eye level and walked over to get a closer look. When I got within 10 feet, I started taking pictures. I kept slowly inching closer until I got within 4 feet. The swallows continued singing and preening. These birds were clearly habituated to people. They must think all people stop what they are doing to adore them. It was amazing to see relaxed swallows up close. Their sleek bodies are shaped by the wind. They are at home in the sky, but they come down in our midst to nest for a brief period.
Some of the swallows' bills were covered in mud from nest building. I noticed that they kept their bills closed while singing until they started making clicking notes. At that point, they opened their bills wide and projected the sound. Those rapid clicks contained important information.
Mercy had to drag me away. We eventually walked out to the very tip of the peninsula. We did not encounter a great wave of birds, but there was still plenty to see. The tip itself was a beautiful, gracefully curving, narrow sandbar. Gulls, terns, and shorebirds rested on the skinny sliver of land.
We headed back to the nature center to eat lunch provided by volunteers from a local bird organization. The best part was the birdseed cookie!
Later that afternoon, we found a beautiful trail that traversed a black oak sand savanna between the lake and the woods. The evening light lit up the tree canopy, and it did not take long to find a Red-eyed Vireo foraging at eye level. As I approached him, I got the sense that he was either preoccupied with foraging or would simply tolerate my presence. He paused and looked at me when I got within ten yards. He twisted his head around, took a good look, and then continued foraging.
When we returned to the parking lot, we noticed a large flock of Turkey Vultures circling over a tall Hackberry. They slowly descended and started landing in the tree. Another birding couple approached us, and we started chatting. They were from Ontario and knew the park well. They told us a small group of locals would gather on top of the observation tower across the road to observe birds over the marsh at dusk. We decided to join them.
The view from the top of the observation tower was beautiful. A large marsh stretched out in three directions before merging with Lake Erie. Our newfound friends introduced us to two young birders scanning the marsh with a spotting scope. I could tell by their gear that they were serious birders, and we quickly learned that Kiah had seen more birds in one year in Ontario than any other birder - 359 species! His companion Alessandra was also a serious birder. They had just finished hiking all 15 miles of trails in the park and saw 115 species, including 1,000 Yellow Warblers and 5,000 Red-winged Blackbirds that they had counted with manual clickers.
Our conversation quickly fell into a rhythm in which bird identification was the highest priority. It went something like this:
Kiah: "We had a great day (Ruddy Turnstones coming in off the lake) in the park. We started at the north end (Common Nighthawk overhead) and made our way south."
By this point in our trip, Mercy and I had fallen into a similar pattern, and it was reassuring to know that we were not the only people who interjected bird names and locations mid-sentence into our conversations.
We learned that Kiah and Alessandra were bird guides who had just started their own business called GyrKite Tours. They liked birds so much that they resembled birds. Their binos, spotting scope, and fingernails were all painted and decorated with beautiful stickers. After talking to Kiah for a few minutes, I realized that he had the demeanor of a bird constantly scanning the sky and surroundings.
Kiah embodied the grace of the Black Terns that cruised over the marsh. He was a human radar - so attuned to birds that he could pick them out at what seemed like impossible distances. He even heard an American Bittern calling in the marsh at dusk, which we could not detect among all the other bird calls. I know three other people like Kiah. They all seem capable of manifesting birds wherever they go.
The next day, we walked a trail that traversed forested wetlands. As we approached the first boardwalk, we saw a sign telling us not to linger for more than five minutes due to the endangered Prothonotary Warblers nesting nearby.
We stopped at the wetlands and noticed a bright yellow bird foraging near the ground. Just as I got the impression that she was not one of the abundant Yellow Warblers, she flew out into the open ten yards away. It was a female Prothonotary Warbler! She foraged and preened for a few minutes. Then the male flew in, and they chased each other around the wetland. The bright yellow birds turned into blurry yellow streaks.
When they came to rest, the male perched on the boardwalk 6 feet from me. As he came into focus in my camera, he appeared as a blazing ball of light. I had to adjust my camera settings to under-expose the image to capture detail in his brilliant yellow feathers.
As we continued down the trail toward the nature center, we encountered more birders. This is when we noticed how helpful everyone was. People kept telling us what they saw and what others had reported. It was a very collegial and helpful atmosphere on the boardwalk. Historical accounts of birding in this area recount similar experiences. Gerry Bennett describes birding here in the 1980s.
"On a May weekend, there may well be a few thousand birders at Point Pelee. This certainly never spoiled our fun. In fact, to be in the company of a few hundred or thousand birdwatchers is our idea of the ultimate and Pleasant social surroundings.… Making new birding friends, meeting former ones, being a part of the scene, and hearing and acting upon the endless bits of news that keep passing up and down the point on an invisible and instantaneous grapevine are all pieces of the fascinating birding mosaic that makes each day a pleasant experience."
We could certainly relate to each day being a pleasant experience. One birdwatcher told us to look out for a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher nest up ahead on the left side of the trail. On our way to the gnatcatcher, we encountered a large group of birders on a guided bird walk. I heard the tour guide describe Prothonotary Warblers to the group as we weaved through the crowd. A few seconds later, I sensed the energy level in the group pick up. I looked back and saw raised cameras and binoculars, and I followed their gaze to a male Prothonotary Warbler perched on a bare branch in the open 10 yards away.
People were smiling and speaking in the urgent, hushed tone common among birders. I felt reassured being surrounded by so many birdwatchers. Even though we did not encounter a big wave of birds, we were having an amazing time.
Given the unpredictable nature of bird migration, a sensible approach to Point Pelee may be to adopt the motto, “Come for the birds, stay for the people.” The real gift of Point Pelee is not birds so much as the melding of birds and people. You can feel love and excitement emanating from people. The birds draw it out of us, and it flows between people. This love animates us and opens us up to different ways of being and different ways of seeing. The intelligence of birds is a gateway to a wider conception of consciousness. When you are with the birds, their boundary-spanning abilities rub off on us, softening our rigid hierarchies while bringing new possibilities into focus. Imagine all the people watching birds around the world. Collectively, we are a powerful force. We are humanity seeking connection with nature. We are wildness reborn in relationship with heavenly birds.
In the ink of the night, I saw you bleed,
Through the thunder I could hear you scream,
Solid to the air I breathe,
Open-eyed and fast asleep.
Falling softly as the rain,
No footsteps ringing in your ears.
Ragged down, worn to the skin
Warrior raging, have no fear.
Secure yourself to heaven.
Hold on tight, the night has come
Fasten up your earthly burdens,
You have just begun.
Kneeling down with broken prayers,
Hearts and bones from days of youth,
Restless with an angel's wing,
I dig a grave to bury you.
No feet to fall,
You need no ground,
Allowed to glide right through the sun,
Released from circles guarded tight,
Now we all are chosen ones.
Secure yourself to heaven.
Hold on tight, the night has come
Fasten up your earthly burdens,
You have just begun.
Indigo Girls
This is the first time I’ve heard an account of a birding location visited by throngs of people that made me want to go there! Usually the idea of crowds is not appealing to me. But this sounds quite lovely. That black tern is amazing, I’ve never seen one so close. I didn’t know prothonotary warblers were endangered. Makes me feel even more fortunate to have two nesting pairs (that I know of) in our little park.
Magical visions of many labeled clickers hanging from birding vests of Kiah and Alessandra, click, click. Stickers, Kiahs spirit as one in them. The world could learn so much from birders and a renewal of strength and compassion in life. So much here I soaked in with excitement and admiration. Outstanding!