The big blow, which started during the night of October 17th, was over; the violent SE winds, which at one point hit 60 knots, had subsided to 10-13 knots; and the 4-5 metre swell was flattening out. We were headed N in a big open stretch of the Gulf of St. Lawrence – if you put a dot in the middle of the ocean bordered by the east end of Anticosti Island, the west coast of Newfoundland and the north shore of Quebec….there we’d be. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed an UNPA (Unidentified Passerine) fly to the ship from the west and circle around to the back of it. When I took a break from the bridge I went to see if I could find it. Maybe it had taken a look and kept going….

I came upon it on the stern deck hopping around looking for something to eat amidst a number of heavy wire mesh bins holding equipment – a Blackpoll Warbler. Sadly, insects were few and far between after the big blow. Undaunted it kept searching. I returned to the bridge and never saw it again. Maybe it succumbed to starvation and hypothermia hidden away in the ships’ gear; maybe, finding no food, it kept going; and if it did, maybe it made it to land….or maybe it didn’t.

I’m not sure what paper(s) I got this from but I’ve read that around 80% of small songbirds don’t make it to their first birthday. 80%! I used to think that was terribly high. But, when you give it some thought, maybe it’s a miracle that it’s not higher. Take this little warbler. Let’s assume that it was a young one, hatched this past Summer in the boreal forest 200 km to the north (could have been more, could have been less). First of all, it would have to survive 12 or so days as an egg without a predator noticing its parents building a nest and then sitting on the eggs. Then it would have to survive another 12 or so days as a nestling, rapidly growing feathers to the point it could effectively thermoregulate and based on its parents ability to find the food necessary for this growth and deliver it furtively enough that the nest wasn’t detected. And then, upon leaving the nest, it would spend a week or so moving with the parents, being fed but also learning how to forage until the parents cut them loose to pursue their own destiny – complete moult of all feathers and then migration. At this point the young bird would also moult – but not completely, mostly body feathers and some wing coverts. And it would begin to move around the natal area (and beyond) – “disperse” – familiarizing itself with the area so that it would recognize “home” and identify some future possible nesting sites when it returned. And it would have to do all this while feeding itself and recognizing and avoiding predators. (At the dispersal stage, young birds are often clumsy fliers and an easy target for avian predators.)

So….lots of early hurdles but let’s assume that the bird makes it. Now the big challenge begins: it gets the urge for going, to make that epic flight from the boreal forest to the southern Maritimes/New England and then, flying NONSTOP across the Atlantic to South America. For this particular bird the first significant hurdle would be the crossing of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. For this bird to be where it was when I came upon it a number of explanations might be proferred: it started it’s crossing from the N shore the previous might, before the storm, and got blown backwards; it was making the crossing across Cabot Strait (between Newfoundland and Cape Breton) and got blown back to the NW. In both of these scenarios the bird found itself out over open water, running out of fuel, and the ship was an “island” that it sought refuge on. Another alternative was that it headed out when the storm started to abate – so a late morning take-off – landed on the ship for some respite and then took off again. This last option is a bit of a stretch if you consider that most songbirds fly at night. But it was getting late in the year and maybe the urge to go overcame the need to fly at night. Remember, I had seen a variety of songbirds a few days before heading across Chaleur Bay and I’ve seen warbler diurnal migration across the St. Lawrence in May at Tadoussac – diurnal migration in songbirds may be more common than we think.

Just for the heck of it, let’s imagine that this particular Blackpoll took off after a brief respite on the ship and carried on to the N shore of Nova Scotia. At this point it would have to find places to shelter and, especially, to feed, to recoup the significant energy it took to make the crossing in adverse conditions and to prepare for the flights to come. It would also have to be on the look-out for predators – accipiters move with migrating songbirds to take advantage of this flying buffet heading south.

Now the bird would have to make its way S to a place it could fatten quickly possibly changing the majority of its diet to berries (dogwood berries are particularly attractive as they have a relatively high lipid content). This would entail flights totalling several hundred more kilometers to get to the “jumping off place”. Here, after putting on a lot of fat, in many cases doubling its weight in about 2 weeks, the bird is ready and waiting for the “right” weather system, one that will provide assistance to lift its considerable bulk off the ground and push it SE until it meets up with the NE trade winds which will blow it over to South America – if the trade winds stopped for some reason the birds would simply keep flying SE until they ran out of fuel somewhere far out over the ocean.

I doubt very much that birds “feel” joy but after 80+ hours in the air over a hostile watery environment you might infer a feeling of, at least, relief…..It’s been a struggle but the bird has made it to its Winter home where it will have to find its way: identify food sources and recuperate, avoid predators, and simply get by until the urge for going in the Spring starts up.
Now, think of all those steps. There are so many things that could go wrong and impact the journey: predators along some parts of the route; contrary winds/weather systems – more so now with climate change variables; a poor growing season resulting in a lack of food for fattening; urban/suburban development limiting feeding and sheltering areas in the north; habitat loss limiting available territories in the wintering areas. And this is just half of the yearly cycle for this species.

Is it any wonder that 80% don’t make it back?

Over the past nine years I’ve spent over a year at sea, counting seabirds in the Atlantic and Arctic Oceans from the bridge of large Canadian Coast Guard vessels. There is a clearly defined protocol that is followed: I focus on the birds on one side of the ship (usually the port side) and try to place them in terms of distance from the ship within a moving 300 square meter area. The area is moving because….the ship is. Ideally each bird (or birds) is identified; counted; sorted as to whether it is sitting on the water or flying; and then placed in a distance category relative to the ship: 0-50 m, 50-100 m, 100-200m, 200-300 m, and >300 m. Birds on the opposite side of the vessel may be noted and recorded but they don’t figure into the calculation of bird density; i.e., number of birds per square kilometer which this methodology strives to achieve. Birds are counted in 5-minute “batches” or “watches” which are continuously renewed as the count progresses.

The recording of each record is done using Dragon – voice recognition software – which populates a database as you speak. To make things easier, instead of writing out the long form of a bird’s name, only the 4-letter alpha code is entered. Those familiar with banding will recognize this right away as we use the same method for recording the birds we band. Disregarding exceptions (and there are many!), it works like this: you take the first 2 letters of the first name and the first 2 letters of the second name and, presto!, you have the alpha code. So….let’s practice: Song Sparrow? SOng SParrow = SOSP. Northern Gannet? NOrthern GAnnet = NOGA. Simple right? In most instances this works but you have to learn the outliers separately: e.g., Black-throated Green Warbler is BTNW so you don’t confuse it with Black-throated Gray Warbler, which, of course, is BTYW. Simple…right?

So let me get back to the gist of this post. Usually I don’t see many landbirds when I’m out on the ocean unless I’m travelling during migration periods (my last two blogs were about this). Now, when a landbird goes by you don’t have a lot of time to make a discrimination; the bird is moving at speed and the ship is moving at speed (as well as up and down and sideways at times) and if they’re moving in opposite directions then they’re moving at great speed. Further, you can’t wait for the bird to land in a convenient tree or bush so you can sneak up and make an ID. Unless that bird lands on the ship, on the forward deck, you’re going to have a hard time. Because the other reason is that….you’re not really looking for them. Your concentration is on the sea out in front and to the side, usually at quite a distance. And then suddenly this little feathered blob whips into your peripheral vision moving at speed and by the time you can get your binocs positioned and refocused it’s gone. And, although you’d dearly like to make an identification, you hope that it doesn’t land on the ship or, if it does, it doesn’t settle in. Too many never leave it alive – it’s a death trap the longer they stay. There’s little to no food and eventually they simply run out of energy and die of hypothermia.

So how do you account for these travellers in the database? If you can’t make an ID they are recorded simply as UNPAs – Unidentified Passerine. I had a few of these today – and I think they had happy endings! We were steaming from the west end of the Strait of Belle Isle (separating Newfoundland from Quebec/Labrador) to the north side of Anticosti Island across a big empty stretch of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I notice a little group of 5 songbirds winging their way WSW parallel to the ship, which was headed the same way. Only these birds were moving faster than we were and by the time I got my binocs in position all I got was the tail ends – they were sparrow/myrtle warbler size…..UNPAs as I couldn’t be sure.

So, what about that happy ending? First of all, they did NOT land on the ship. They kept going and I watched them through my binoculars until they disappeared in the distance. But there was a lot of water in front of us at this point: about 100 nautical miles to the east end of Anticosti. A nautical mile is about 1.85 kilometers so they had about 185 kilometers to go. The ship was travelling 13.5 knots or nautical miles per hour. The birds easily passed us so let’s say they were going at least 18 knots. Using the conversion above, that works out to 33 kilometers per hour. At that rate they should be able to get there in about 5.6 hours, which is pretty comfortable for these birds if they’re carrying energy in the form of fat. But they had something else going for them: shortly after they passed me the wind began to pick up blowing from the ENE directly toward Anticosti Island. Within 2 hours it went from 4 knots to 17 knots (7 kilometers per hour to 33 kilometers per hour). This assisting wind would likely have cut the travel time by about half!

So, unless a jaeger or a peregrine falcon came along, it’s quite conceivable that these UNPAs spent most of the day foraging on Anticosti Island, resting and building up fat for the next leg – the jump to the mainland.

[For possible predators I used jaegers and peregrine falcons as examples because I have seen them take small birds well out at sea. Jaegers I have witnessed catch Snow Buntings on their passage from Greenland to Baffin Island across the Davis Strait and a Peregrine I’ve seen take a phalarope 90 miles off the coast of northern Labrador – and begin plucking it as it flew.]

Rick Ludkin

Morning of the 17th we were finishing up at the last research station in Cabot Strait, sitting off Cape Ray at the SW end of Newfoundland. There were some interesting birds about: Surf Scoters, male Harlequin Ducks(!), the first Leach’s Storm-petrel of the trip, and the first Dovekies – these amazing little alcids nest in huge numbers in Greenland (there’s only 1 small colony on the eastern side of Baffin Island) but spend the Winter in the frigid waters of the NW Atlantic around Newfoundland/Labrador. Of course, Northern Gannets, which are themselves amazing, were soaring by but by now were so commonplace that they were just another data point.

We headed out going W under threatening skies and a freshening SE wind (around 10 knots); seas were “flat” with waves less than a meter. As we got further offshore, the wind began to pick up, passing through 15 knots and moving toward 20. At this point I began to see a few small birds fly into the area of the ship. Some appeared to land. The first two birds that I saw from the bridge hopping around on the bow deck were a Common Yellowthroat and a Swamp Sparrow. Strange, I thought, that these two species, which utilize a similar habitat, should be found together at the same time in such a strange hostile place – 22 nautical miles from the nearest land in a building oppositional wind. I wondered if they had even travelled in close proximity from the same area….

As the wind began to grow, more birds flew in; some stayed – I could see them on the deck – while others seemed to be taking a look but after a couple of circuits around the ship I didn’t see them again. Here’s a list: Common Yellowthroat, Swamp Sparrow, 2 American Robins, 1 Palm Warbler, 2 Myrtle Warblers, 1 Golden-crowned Kinglet, 1 Purple Finch, 1 Dark-eyed Junco, and here’s the kicker – a Sharp-shinned Hawk(!), more than 22 nautical miles from shore. All but the robins, kinglet and hawk I saw land and begin searching for food on the ship. The last I saw of the Sharpie it was heading SW where, if it was lucky, it might have made the Magdalene Islands. Of the robins and kinglet I have no idea.

I was going to go looking for them this morning….but….a huge storm blew up in the middle of the night bringing 50-60 KNOT winds (1 knot = 1.8 kilometer) and 6 METER waves and rain. As heavy spray from the ship pounding into waves was coating the wheelhouse windows I decided I would put this search off until more benign conditions prevailed. This wind would have stopped the migration and any birds caught out in it (like, possibly, the birds around the ship) I fear would have succumbed unless they simply said to hell with it and allowed themselves to get blown back to the north shore of the Gulf.

Postscript: I didn’t find any birds from yesterday, either dead or alive, but I did find a Blackpoll Warbler hopping about the stern deck. I had seen it fly in from the west. It was very bedraggled and looked worn out. I was amazed that it was even alive after experiencing that storm.

Savannah Sparrow on Boat

Dark-eyed Junco on boat

Song Sparrow on boat

White-throated Sparrow on boat

We had spent the night of October 12th working our way into Chaleur Bay on the CCGS Hudson, stopping at preset locations to drop instruments into the water to measure temperature, oxygen level, salinity at various levels from the bottom up and, in some spots, to drop a net to capture plankton.

The morning of October 13th we were working our way back out, running east. Chaleur Bay is a large inlet of the Gulf of St. Lawrence that separates NE New Brunswick from Quebec’s Gaspe Peninsula; it runs east to west. At its widest point it is about 15-17 nautical miles wide. When we started, shortly after sunrise the skies were clouded (from the showers the night before) and, although mild, there was a light wind blowing from the SE.

My role on the Hudson is to count seabirds following a very specific protocol which would allow, eventually, for the determination of a density figure – X number of birds (bird species) per square kilometer. I must say that on this particular morning it wasn’t very exciting as the Bay seemed pretty well empty of seabirds. My thinking is that many of them have made the move to their wintering quarters out in the open waters of the Atlantic – the Gulf freezes during the Winter so not much reason to tarry. It seems that Northern Gannets, though, are making a go of it as they have been common all along the route….and juveniles are just starting to show up, having recently fledged and are learning what it takes to survive. Plunge diving from great heights might look like fun but its an essential skill that, if not learned, will determine a gannet’s future.

As we proceeded East, out to the open Gulf, I began to notice passerines flying to the ship. Some seemed to go around and keep going; others went around a couple of times, even landed on the deck, and then kept going; and some landed and just began to look for sustenance. This happened more and more as the day went on – and the wind picked up from the SE and showers moved in. As the weather worsened more birds seemed to be landing and staying…..searching for any food they could find, and any insects were quickly gone so soon there was nothing left.

I was surprised that some decided to stay with the ship as the southern shore was only 4 nautical miles away at this point. I guess I was even more surprised that they were flying at all. Passerines usually migrate at night but here was a prime example of diurnal migration. I wondered where this set of birds had started the night before and why they hadn’t put down at daybreak. Did the southern shore look “doable” so they just kept going when morning broke? Did they sense that poor weather was coming so they wanted to get as far as possible? And when the conditions changed against them why did some stay while others continued on? Had they run out of energy fighting the increasing wind and the ship was a last resort? Lots of questions….but not a lot of answers I’m afraid.

So…what to do with a flock of stranded birds on the ship….and no bird seed. I got some multi-grain bread from the kitchen and broke it up into very small pieces (and poured out the leftover grains from the bread bag). I created 2 “feeding stations”: one at the stern and one at the bow, both in areas sheltered from the wind. It didn’t take a bedraggled White-throated Sparrow long to find this windfall and as soon as the other birds saw one of their fellows feeding they were right in there. I had to replenish the feed 3 times on the first day as they seemed ravenous. I was able to monitor the bow group easily from my window on the bridge. At any one time there were 19-22 birds using it.
On the 14th the conditions were much the same and the feeding station (I went with just the bow station now as I could easily monitor it) was heavily used. At one point I made a quick count: 9 White-throated Sparrows, 9 Dark-eyed Juncos, 2 White-winged Crossbills, 1 Pine Siskin, and 1 Song Sparrow all feeding at the same time…then flying off to hide in the ship’s nooks and crannies while other birds took their places.

In the afternoon the conditions got better and I saw evidence of birds flying from the ship even though land was considerably farther. I also saw migrating flocks of White-winged Crossbills fly to the ship, around it and then keep going but in “strange” directions: one group of 50+ headed SE into the diminishing wind while another group of 40+ went NW!?

By the 15th the feeding group was cut in at least half. A quick count revealed 4 juncos, 4 White-throated Sparrows, and 1 Pine Siskin. And by the morning of the 16th, in Pictou harbour, there were only 2 juncos and they flew the half kilometer to the mainland as soon as it got light.

Here’s a list of the birds I encountered (* indicates a species that stayed on the vessel for awhile rather than just checking it over and then continuing):
Myrtle Warbler* (1 later found dead)
Black-throated Blue Warbler
Common Yellowthroat*
Dark-eyed Junco*
Fox Sparrow
Song Sparrow*
White-throated Sparrow*
Swamp Sparrow*
Savannah Sparrow *(later found dead)
Purple Finch*
Pine Siskin*
White-winged Crossbill*
Hermit Thrush
Swainson’s Thrush
Golden-crowned Kinglet
Ruby-crowned Kinglet
Horned Lark
American Pipit

Feeding Station on boat

Common Yellowthroat on boat

Swamp Sparrow caught in wheelhouse

White-winged Crossbills