Spring migration is perhaps the most anticipated event of the birding year. Though other seasons offer their own charms, little can compare to the unbridled vibrancy and lively activity of late April and early May. Though I harbor a personal preference for the slower pace and richer abundance of southbound migration, I must confess that the madcap intensity of spring’s condensed timeline is tough to top, especially on the heels of a winter that lingers a little longer than expected. Despite the unavoidable conflicts of a packed work schedule and a fairly busy social calendar, spring 2025 still managed to deliver plenty of surprising discoveries and memorable experiences over the course of the gradual buildup to peak season.
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.Â
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 true 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.Â
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.Â
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.Â
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!Â