by Dave Dister
May 2010
Long after my years of college instruction, a single phrase remains etched in my brain: “Chance favors the prepared.” It is a simple concept: one’s chance of recognizing something unusual is directly related to one’s knowledge about it. Your chance of finding a Black-throated Blue Warbler each spring is slim if you do not recognize the male’s distinctive song. Knowing the song and having “good ears” probably increases the odds of finding this bird in suitable habitat from one percent to twenty percent (i.e., twenty times more likely), because this species is uncommon as a migrant and breeder in Michigan and adjacent states.
Birding can be as innocuous or engaging as one desires, and it has been my passion for more than forty years. But wanting to find that rare bird, and achieving success, depends on more than enthusiasm and wishful thinking. One has to strategize on the optimal habitat, season of the year, time of day, and weather conditions, plus have a good knowledge of plumage and vocalizations. Lastly, pure luck—or “chance”—is the final factor in encountering truly rare species.
On November 7, 2009, Bob Morman and I were conducting a shoreline bird count at Big Sable Point in Ludington State Park (Mason County). The object of this count, conducted at many sites along Lake Michigan’s eastern shoreline, is to record all species of birds seen migrating along the shoreline and well offshore for two hours beginning at sunrise.
I was scanning the lake for waterfowl and gulls with my spotting scope when Bob mentioned that there was a gull-like bird to the north of us along the beachfront and that it might be a phalarope. I took his comment with a grain of salt and slowly turned my scope to the north.
I quickly got a fix on the bird at low power and then zoomed in at 60×. It took about 2.8 seconds before I determined it to be a phalarope—a Red Phalarope. Its drab gray-and-white winter plumage lacks the dark back stripes typical of the Red-necked Phalarope, and the bird’s bold white wing stripe is absent in Wilson’s Phalarope. I had only seen a Red Phalarope once before, in 1988 in southeastern Indiana.
The Red Phalarope breeds in the high Arctic tundra and winters at sea in the Atlantic Ocean, but much remains unknown about the species. Once I realized the significance of this bird, I grabbed my camera and ran to the grassy bluff on the shore near the bird, which was spinning in circles on the water—a key feeding behavior of all phalaropes. I crept through the beach grasses and, while holding my breath, began taking photos between grass stems.
The bird took off from the water, hovered briefly, and then headed north with the aid of a stiff tailwind. When I reviewed my photos, I was ecstatic to find a few that were fairly sharp and would easily corroborate this extremely rare bird—generally reported only once or twice annually in Michigan.
Time is of the essence when it comes to rare birds, which generally do not linger, especially when harassed by birders that get much too close for comfort. As with many rare birds that I have yet to see—or have seen only once—I routinely check various bird guides with illustrations and photos to stay sharp on key aspects of plumage. I was prepared, and chance gave me the opportunity to document an extraordinary shorebird.