I nearly mistook a snowy owl atop a Maine mountain for a boulder. It sat a good distance from the trail, hunkered down against the bitter wind of winter. Clouds drifted over the bedrock, blocking the bird from view now and again.
I’d been looking for the owl. If I hadn’t, I would have certainly hiked right past it.
With bright yellow eyes and lovely white plumage, the snowy owl is one of several rare birds that I observed while hiking this winter. It was a season of exciting and special sightings.
Writing about rare birds is a tricky thing. If you give enough information away, you can cause crowds to visit a bird, which easily leads to stressing it out. So, I kept quiet over the winter.
But spring is here, and I can’t hold back any longer. So here it goes.
Along the rocky coast in February, I came across a group of harlequin ducks — a colorful species that I had only seen once before on a boat tour with the specific mission to find them.
Among the most beautiful waterfowl of North America, they sport a distinct pattern of blue, white, black and chestnut, reminiscent of the Italian clown for which they’re named.
Through the birding grapevine, I’d heard that harlequins were sometimes seen at that particular spot in eastern Maine, swimming through the crashing waves. And as luck would have it, there they were. About 20 of them.
Daredevils of the birding world, they brave the surf along remote, rocky shorelines to dive for tiny snails and amphipods. It’s not uncommon for these ducks to break bones from being tossed against the rocks.
I approached them slowly by navigating the granite ledges along the shore, careful not to slip on patches of ice. When they started swimming away from me, I stopped, backed up and took a seat on the rough rock. That was my queue that I was getting too close for comfort.
As a general rule, if a wild animal is reacting to my presence, I back off. I don’t want to disrupt whatever it is doing, whether that’s preening their feathers, surveilling a field for rodents or tending to their offspring.
As a photographer, my goal is to capture wildlife acting as it normally would in its natural habitat. So, selfishly, disturbing them is against my interest as well.
That proved challenging on a recent hike up Bigelow Mountain, where a group of Canada jays showed interest in our trail snacks. As we sat in the snow with granola bars, they perched on tree branches nearby, leaning forward and turning their heads with curiosity.
If I’d offered a morsel, I’ve no doubt they would have taken it from the palm of my hand. They’re known for doing that. But as a rule, I don’t feed wildlife. It can cause all sorts of problems.
Also called gray jays, Canada jays are an uncommon sight for many Mainers. That’s because they live in the north and mountains, in boreal forests. This winter was only my third time seeing them, and they were a lot fluffier and larger than I remembered.
While hiking, I find that the best time to observe birds is while taking a break. It can be challenging to hear or spot much wildlife while moving along a trail, but when I sit to take in a view or have a snack, I often scan the surrounding landscape for birds and other creatures.
Yet the rarest bird I saw this winter wasn’t seen on a hike. It was at a farm, perching on trees and telephone poles as it hunted for rodents. Having traveled from Canada, the northern hawk owl was a special visitor, and its location was a guarded secret.
But word got out anyway. The secret slowly seeped through the birding grapevine, eventually reaching my friend, then me. To observe the bird, we stood beside a road and kept our distance. It was a cold, cloudy day in March. My feet nearly froze into ice blocks before we called it quits and clambered back into our vehicle.
Typically found in the boreal forests of Canada, the northern hawk owl behaves like a hawk by perching atop solitary trees and hunting by daylight. This makes it an easy bird to spot and observe.
The snowy owl is similarly easy to spot. That is when it doesn’t look like a boulder atop a cloud-draped mountain. Like the hawk owl, it’s from the north. But each winter, a number of them fly south to hunt in Maine’s blueberry fields and barren mountaintops.
If you’re lucky like I was this winter, you might spot one of these rare birds while hiking. Or you could run into a number of other fantastic species. Just be sure to pay them respect and share your experiences with care.