We were 20 miles offshore on a whale watch boat. Out of nowhere, a tiny bird approached the stern. It fluttered within three feet of my head, so close that I could tell immediately it was a least sandpiper.
Least sandpipers are the world’s smallest shorebirds, weighing no more than an ounce. Maine’s mudflats are full of them right now. In late summer, they migrate from their breeding grounds in northern Canada as far as South America. They are no strangers to flying over water.
Except this one was.
Twice more, the sandpiper fluttered up to the boat, then veered off. I figured he was in migration and lost at sea, looking for a place to land, so I held up my finger. Instantly, he swooped in and perched on my knuckle.
The sandpiper remained on my finger for several minutes, surrounded by astonished onlookers. He caught his breath while everybody snapped photos, then swooped onto the shoulder of a nearby person.
After another minute, he hopped onto the deck roof and began searching for food. Little spiders would make a convenient substitute for the tiny invertebrates he usually picks out of mud.
The little fellow stayed on the boat for an hour. Finally, rested and nourished, he flew off.
Surprisingly, this is normal. On almost every offshore trip this time of year, at least one migratory bird takes refuge on a boat. Usually, it’s a warbler. This was the first time I’d seen a shorebird do it.
Last fall on this same boat, a common yellowthroat hitched a ride. The small warbler correctly assessed that the people around him were no threat. He settled onto a bench, nearly on people’s laps, and rode the boat all the way back to the dock.
Next weekend, Maine Audubon will make its annual cruise offshore on the Friendship V, chartering the boat from Bar Harbor Whale Watch. Passengers will likely see whales, but this trip will focus on finding birds of the open ocean — pelagic birds.
It’s the yearly highlight on many birders’ calendars.
The open ocean bird trip will host plenty of hardcore birders. There will also be scores of inexperienced birders aboard, eager to experience fascinating wildlife beyond the sight of land. Experts will point out and identify all the species they spot. And you’ll see a tree on the deck.
Yes, a tree.
Maine Audubon usually brings a plastic potted tree on board for its annual cruise, inviting wayward birds to land on it. Sometimes they do. Inevitably, a few songbirds will flash by the boat, considering whether to land.
I’m surprised by how often I see hummingbirds at sea. I shouldn’t be. Ruby-throated hummingbirds migrate to Central America, crossing the Gulf of Mexico. They routinely fly great distances over water.
Most birds are reluctant to fly over water, but some find they have little choice. They follow land southward until they run out of land. Migrants from across Maritime Canada flow through Nova Scotia until they reach the end, whereupon crossing the Gulf of Maine is their only option.
This geographic challenge to migrants is evident on a smaller scale at places like Schoodic Point in Acadia National Park. Songbirds often collect at this spot, reluctant to cross Frenchman Bay until the wind is favorable.
Islands are migration traps. Birds caught over the ocean seek landfall wherever they can find it.
Monhegan is such a migrant trap that the island is a birding destination from now to October. International birding tour companies go there to watch the fallout.
Rare birds land on Monhegan, too. Off-course migrants show up regularly. In fact, eBird lists 317 species that have been seen on the island. That’s a whopping 32 species more than any other location in Maine.
Maine Audubon’s East Point Sanctuary at Biddeford Pool in southern Maine is the runner-up, having recorded 285 species. Although it is not an island, it juts out into Saco Bay far enough to act like one.
Another island — Stratton Island off Old Orchard Beach — holds the third spot, with a list of 279 recorded species.
The big challenge on next weekend’s Maine Audubon trip will be to identify the shearwaters, storm-petrels, phalaropes, jaegers, skuas, fulmars and gannets that flock to the Gulf of Maine in autumn.
But the birds that will test the experts are the tiny songbirds that zip by in confusing fall plumage.
If I’m called upon to identify one of those little birds, my strategy is to pretend I didn’t see it.
