At first, I was convinced birding peaked with the spring migration. Like many, I pictured birders rising before dawn, binoculars in hand, chasing after the vibrant warblers flitting through trees – a frantic race to identify each avian jewel passing through. The sheer excitement of seasoned birders spotting the first yellow warbler of the season solidified my view: birding was a spring fling, a passion ignited between March and June. Fall migration, though interesting, seemed a quieter encore. By October, I imagined packing away my binoculars until spring’s grand return, seeking a new hobby for the interim.
Bright yellow warbler perched on a branch, singing during spring migration
But birding, I soon discovered, is a year-round adventure. My birding group only takes July “off,” a collective exhale after the spring migration frenzy. By mid-August, the itch returns, though fall birding presents a different kind of challenge, especially for beginners. Post-breeding season, the dazzling warblers trade their vibrant breeding plumage for more subdued autumnal shades – a palette of brownish-greenish-grey that demands a sharper eye.
Eastern screech owl with mottled brown and white plumage, a master of camouflage in winter woods
Yet, as November arrived, my birding companions showed no signs of hibernation. Instead, the focus shifted. Winter unveiled a new cast of characters: owls emerged from the shadows, gulls gathered in impressive numbers, and waterfowl graced the icy waters. Adding to the allure were the occasional Arctic visitors, blown off course to our southwestern Ontario locale – unexpected treasures for dedicated winter birders.
There’s an undeniable thrill in embracing the elements. Meeting my group in the pre-dawn darkness at 7:30 am, as temperatures dipped below freezing, felt less like moderation and more like a badge of honor. We ventured out with a plan, yet understood the true reward lay in the unexpected discoveries, accepting frozen toes and numb faces as part of the experience.
Extreme weather, within reason, even enhances the birding experience. During the torrential downpours preceding Hurricane Sandy, the lure of cave swallows drew me to Fifty Point Conservation Area without hesitation. It only seemed an ordinary outing until I returned home, hours later, chilled to the bone, to learn of 60 km/hour winds. My husband, a non-birder sage, predicted my efforts would yield nothing but Canada geese, and he was right. Yet, the day remained etched in my memory, a testament to winter birding’s adventurous spirit.
Diverse group of waterfowl including hooded merganser, scaup, mallard ducks, and a majestic trumpeter swan swimming together in winter
While winter birding often involves battling thwarted expectations and uncooperative weather, the unexpected joys are what truly captivate. A recent gull spectacle in Niagara transformed into a real-life game of Where’s Waldo. Amidst thousands of herring gulls, I strained to identify and lock eyes with a lone Iceland gull, subtly paler to my untrained gaze. Just as gull fatigue threatened to overwhelm me, the breathtaking sight of Niagara Falls in the soft mid-winter light, devoid of summer crowds, stopped me in my tracks.
Winter birding offers a series of equally stunning surprises. Ducks in their full winter finery boast phenomenal “hairdos,” like the striking hooded merganser. Hardy finches appear in a spectrum of reddish hues. Intrepid woodpeckers persist against the cold. And, when bird sightings are scarce, a quick detour to a local winery provides a welcome warm-up and spirit replenishment. Winter birding, it turns out, is less about hibernation and more about embracing the subtle, often hidden, wonders of the season – a constant, rewarding game of “Where’s Waldo” in the natural world.
