Late winter can be a challenging time for birding, as well as life in general, for that matter. Some of the new year’s novelty has begun to wear off, and the weather often reaches its bleakest depths during this season. For many, the temptation to stay safe indoors while waiting for the arrival of warmer, livelier days at the onset of spring is nigh irresistible. Nevertheless, there are plenty of treasures to be found for those who are willing to brave the dreary conditions, including some of our region’s most exceptional visitors and remarkable residents. I have personally long harbored a bit of a soft spot for February, and this year I was especially determined to make the most of the shortest month by spending as much time as possible exploring the outdoors.
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.Â
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!