Greetings Tweeters-;



On Sunday, May 6, tardy as usual (at least in regard to eBird's global big
day), I set out to do a big day of my own, all on bike or foot, with no
assistance from internal combustion*, the hope being to best my previous
personal record for this type of big day (101 species in Colorado in 2016-;a
lot of fun down-mountain riding on that one) and perhaps set a Washington
state record (I have yet to hear of anyone else attempting this at such a
foolish scale here, so perhaps I can claim the first iteration of the
record preemptively).



The trickiest part of the endeavor was finding a route. Initially I dreamt
of starting in Teanaway and Cle Elum and coming over the Iron Horse Trail
to end at Puget Sound, but that would have been 100+ miles, much of it on
gravel and/or snow, over a pass. I had to leave myself some time to stop
and bird, at least occasionally, right? So I looked elsewhere and had a
really hard time calibrating potential routes. Eventually I said, okay,
simplify it, where can I see foothills forest birds, lingering winter
saltwater birds, shorebirds, and a solid mix of others in a tight
geographic package? The Olympic Peninsula stood out-;maybe, ultimately, for
the simple reason that I love it.



Like an unchoreographed dance, the route evolved over time. Here's the
itinerary: dawn halfway up Hurricane Ridge Road (the top being too far),
Port Angeles waterfront, Olympic Discovery Trail, Dungeness NWR, Three
Crabs, Railroad Bridge Park (in Sequim), Discovery Bay, Anderson Lake State
Park, Port Townsend, ferry to Whidbey Island*, sunset at Crockett Lake-;and
lots of mini stops along the way. Ambitious, you say? My quads would agree,
even four days later.



I sorted the species I might see into four categories: "Certain," "Likely,"
"Hopefully?" and "Dream Big," and made a hit list for each stop along the
way. (One of the challenges of birding by bike is you can't detour for
single species-;even two miles off the path will add over half an hour, and
you don't have many half an hours in a twenty-four-hour day). Doing
back-of-the-envelope math, I was disappointed to see that if I found 100%
of the "Certains," 80% of the "Likelies," 35% of the "Hopefullies," and 0%
of the "Dream Bigs," I would end with 95 species. Hrrm.



Following a promising bit of scouting on Saturday afternoon, I went for it
on Sunday. The morning dawned gloriously orange and soupy over Puget Sound
as my dad and I walked uphill on Hurricane Ridge Road, a transcendent
vision through the trees. I needed more lowly visions, however (read:
birds), and the birding to that point felt mediocre at best. (Side note: My
effort would have been impossible without my dad, who gave me a lift to the
start point and away from the end point, and joined along with my mom at
several hotspots along the way.*) We were nearly ready to about-face when a
singing Townsend Warbler appeared, followed closely by a Hairy Woodpecker,
followed soon after by the distant booming of a Sooty Grouse. Those were
the kinds of birds I needed. Near the car a single Hermit Thrush sang.



I strapped everything I would need for the day-;scope, tripod, food, water,
diabetes supplies, bike repair gear, an earth-tone sweatshirt in case my
fluorescent cycling shirt proved too freaky for birds-;on my bike and headed
downhill fast-;but not so fast I couldn't ID a Northern Flicker when it
spooked from the side of the road, the only flicker of the day. It was
tough to leave the foothills with bummers of misses like Brown Creeper,
Olive-sided Flycatcher, Hammond's Flycatcher, Band-tailed Pigeon, and
MacGillivray's Warbler, but I had stapled myself to a tight schedule.



Near the national park visitors center I paused to investigate a
hummingbird and was slowly rewarded with layer after layer of wonderful
birdnoises: "Bud-a-deet!" (Western Tanager), "Chi-CA-go!" (California
Quail), "Potato chip!" (American Goldfinch). One of the beauties of birding
by bike is that your bird radar can constantly work to find pockets of
passerine activity, and it's a lot easier to screech to a quick stop than
in a car.



Bombed through Port Angeles, sweeping up various invasive species, quickly
scoped the calm water inside Ediz Hook, and headed east along the splendid
waterfront Olympic Discovery Trail. After going eye-to-eye with a Bald
Eagle perched on the riprap fifty feet away, I paused to find a Spotted
Sandpiper and Black-bellied Plover consorting on the shoreline. Nearby were
fourteen Harlequin Ducks. Singing Orange-crowned Warbler, Black-headed
Grosbeak, and Warbling Vireos added to the success rate. I had slated this
stretch as rapid pass-through terrain (like flyover country) on my way to a
date with the wildlife refuge, as the tides weren't exactly ideal, so it
was simultaneously encouraging and stressful to find so many birds.



The path bent into the woods and I found myself stopping several more
times. Alongside a homestead lovely with flowering fruit trees, rustlings
in overhanging trees proved to be butterbutts and kinglets and a nuthatch,
not too exciting but enough to lead to the subsequent discovery of
Golden-crowned Sparrows, a Red-breasted Sapsucker, an invigorating make-up
Olive-sided Flycatcher, and seventeen other species in less than ten
minutes.



I burst into agricultural land and, without fully stopping, tallied my
first "Dream Big" bird of the day, an American Kestrel on a telephone pole.
The way it sat there, it seemed to add me to its own big day list with
disdain. No American Coot at Kitchen-Dick Ponds. When I rounded the corner
into Dungeness Recreation Area, a Northern Harrier greeted me. At my
parents' campsite I ate my first of three sandwiches for the day and set
off on foot.



In the end, thankfully, Dungeness National Wildlife Refuge rewarded my
effort. Let's put it that way. For a while there it felt like a Sisyphean
spit. Scoping from a bluff-top overlook provided distant views of Common
Loon, Marbled Murrelet, Red-necked Grebe, and a number of…took me a while
to confirm…Long-tailed Ducks! ("Dream Big" species number two.) When I gave
up scoping a Northern Rough-winged Swallow went past calling, the only of
the five swallow species I had yet to see, saving me from having to pick
through swallows for the rest of the day.



Down on the spit proper I undertook a forced march of two-plus miles to the
"Brant Point," the location from which I could confidently identify Brant
in the heat-shimmering distance of the bay. Along the way I picked up
Pacific Loon and a group of seven lanky-looking Whimbrel, but they failed
to prevent anxiety from mounting. I couldn't find Horned Grebe or Caspian
Tern, both of which were seen in numbers the day before. A key scouting
success had been a Western Grebe hanging out with White-winged Scoters, and
I couldn't find them either. When I reached the Brant Point, the distant
ameboid Brant were significantly reduced in number. Here were a few
White-winged Scoters, but no Western Grebe. Worried that the day's initial
hot pace was on the verge of turning into needless sunburn, I turned around
and tried to hustle, more than an hour behind schedule. I would have to
scheme a way to make up the time.



Three small shorebirds materialized to banish the doldrums. Semipalmated
Plovers! A breeding-plumaged Horned Grebe popped up close to shore. Then,
on a final scan of the bay, which I almost forgot to do in my rush, I found
the Western Grebe all by its lonesome. All right. Third "Dream Big" of the
day. It would be the last. Onward.



After another sandwich I skipped two stops on the way to Three Crabs and
arrived full of hope, for scouting had been good. Man, things sure can
change. Not necessarily for the worse or the better-;it was just different
from the day before. Now the tide was way out. There were shorebirds, yes,
but lots of heat shimmer to make 'em tricky. Bay haze. Purple Martins.
Photographers wanting to talk. Super-close Dunlin and Western Sandpipers.
Telling a woman, "No, I haven't seen the baby Killdeer." A Greater
Yellowlegs. Lots of wigeon, but no trace of the male Eurasian Wigeon here
yesterday. Nor the Marbled Godwit. But hey, far out, Sanderlings for
consolation. A good selection of ducks, including a single Northern
Pintail. Over in the weedy ponds, Least Sandpipers alongside baby Killdeer,
which one photographer described as looking like the end of a Q-tip.



I had to go on. I had to get to the Port Townsend ferry, and I wanted a
shot at Kah Tai Lagoon before it left. It was past three, and I had a lot
of riding ahead of me. I knew I should cut out Railroad Bridge Park since
I'd seen the easy ones I hoped to see there, yet the thought of Common
Mergansers inexplicably pushed me into a detour to include the bridge.
Along the way I picked up a spanking Black-throated Gray Warbler.



The bridge was hot, crowded, merganserless, and host to the only two
Red-tailed Hawks I saw all day. Out past Sequim, in a park where an elder
brass band was playing the theme from *Rocky* in the background, a Turkey
Vulture went serendipitously past; again, it was the only one all day.
Timing like that can't be planned.



Which brings me to the three-hour ride to Port Townsend. Had I not found a
drake Cinnamon Teal on a farm pond and a cluster of Mew Gulls in Discovery
Bay to keep my spirits up, I might have listened to a body that was
beginning to float the idea of calling a tow truck for a lift to the
wrecking yard. Already I would have to cut Anderson Lake. Would I really
find enough species in Port Townsend and beyond to make the long haul worth
it? Instead of answering the question I focused on the birds I had to find
to avoid embarrassing misses: mostly Black-capped Chickadee and Brown
Creeper. Shoulderless Highway 20 wound uphill far longer than seemed
necessary, but I plugged away doggedly and finally found myself on a
downhill dirt path toward town, where a Brown Creeper called right over my
shoulder. Phew.



At Kah Tai Lagoon I had enough time to scan and quickly gather all of my
targets except Pied-billed Grebe. Ruddy Duck, Lesser Scaup, Hooded
Merganser; tick, tick, tick. In the eleventh hour, on the way to the ferry
dock, confirmation on two Black-capped Chickadees. Phew, again.



*** As for the asterisks. Now, ever since I had admitted during planning
that Point No Point was too far and too redundant, I had had this day
routed to end with the ferry ride to Whidbey Island and Crockett Lake at
sunset, yet there had always been a twinge of guilt about using the
ferry-assist on a cycling big day. The twinge became a full-on whinge when
the ferry pulled away from a cartoonish and oblivious group of Brandt's
Cormorants on the dock pilings, and I determined not to count anything
after that for my big day-;a decision ultimately made easier by the fact
that I saw only one new species from the ferry, two Common Murres among a
hundred Rhinoceros Auklets, and nothing new on the island.



In my mind, the spirit of the big day by bike is to use human power only:
bike and foot and perhaps kayak. Thus far, however, no rules have been
codified into standards, as they have for conventional ABA big days, so
until a common set of standards is agreed upon it's a
make-your-own-adventure kind of game. For example, should big days by bike
be closed loop, starting and ending at the same point, or can they be open
loop like mine? Can a sag-wagon carry gear for the cycling birders (mine
did not). Already there have been many impressive efforts at this kind of
big day, also called a big green day, across the country, and I anticipate
increased competition and clarity on standards soon.



Nevertheless, the ferry ride was rewarding, as beyond a wide zone littered
with Rhinoceros Auklets my fellow passengers alerted me to a whale. Thanks
to the captain for coming onto the intercom with a deadpan identification:
"That was a Minke Whale." The first I've ever seen. Crockett Lake may have
been windy, but in the orange-gray sunset and clouds looming over the
Olympics, it was gorgeous.



I'm glad I ended the day in the way I did. But if I were to do it again, I
would skip the ferry and use the two hours to look for a few misses around
Port Townsend.



At this point you're wondering my species total. So was I, but first I had
to take the last ferry back to Port Townsend, hop in my dad's car, drive an
hour back to our campsite, eat, and take a slobberknocker of a camp shower.
Then, putting pen to my crumpled and sweat-smeared hit list, I numbered the
species found until I reached…106!



I'm thrilled with this result, well over the projection and a new personal
record by five. A lot of birds appeared when I needed them, and they kept
coming all day. The route totalled about 80 miles of cycling and 6 miles of
walking. My find rate for each category was as follows: "Certain" 100%,
"Likely" 89%, "Hopefully?" 51%, and "Dream Big" 10%. Pretty darn good.
You're probably eager to hear about my embarrassing misses too, and I'm not
too proud to share them: Downy Woodpecker, Pileated Woodpecker, accipiters,
Common Merganser, Purple Finch, MacGillivray's Warbler, many others. Osprey
and Wood Duck were casualties of my inability to stop at Anderson Lake, for
example.



I'm left wondering, still, about how to optimize a big day by bike route in
Washington. I fully intend to try again in some other part of the state
next year-;getting east to west would be the golden ticket. Maybe if the day
began at 4 pm, involved biking across the pass at night, and ended at 4 pm
the next day. Hmmm… Wherever I end up, I welcome competition, and, oh,
perhaps collaboration as well. Let's put Washington on the map for birding
by bike.



What an excellent day. Here's to future challenges and big days.

Chris Rurik

Seattle / Alaska



P.S. The day after my big day, a leisurely Monday at Dungeness, I stepped
into the woods to take care of some business, and by the time I had
finished I had heard both Band-tailed Pigeon and Downy Woodpecker, both of
which I missed on the big day.

--
*Chris Rurik*
Writer / Naturalist / Historian
Co-founder of GARO <http://www.garostation.com>
(253) 225-7104
chrisrurik at gmail.com
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