By Rachel Hudson
I can sense it.
Even though I don’t know exactly what it is, I do know it’s always been there. Every year, at certain times of year, I find my very soul stirring for… something. That something changes as the year marches on. Over time, I have learned that some part of what compels me is based on past experience. After a spring trip to Europe nearly 15 years ago, for many spring seasons afterward, I had a powerful wanderlust that would hit me seemingly from nowhere, when Europe was farthest from my mind. In more recent years, when winter weaves in, my body only wants to be where the migratory waterfowl are. In late spring and early summer, all I can think about are the beautiful deserts and sagebrush steppe of the east side of the mountains. And so, I am driven to go to these places, year after year, giving in to the urges that sometimes hit me like a crashing wave; I must go here and adventure!
And fall… oh, when fall comes… that something becomes more than a place. It becomes a thrill that never leaves, a restlessness that wakes me up hourly at night, a powerful desire that overwhelms my other senses and focuses my mind. This overwhelming urge is akin to what many birds feel at this time of year, as well; the urge to migrate. The term for this is a German word, Zugunruhe, meaning: “migratory restlessness.” Captive migratory birds may flutter incessantly in one direction in their cage, trying to fulfill that urge; wild birds who have spent all summer raising young and eating plentifully begin to fitfully dance about, yearning to leave soon; they start to gather and call to one another, preparing to leave their established territories. Something compels them, as well.
Fall is my favorite season of the year, for a number of reasons. I adore the colors, I love the temperatures, the weather is perfect to me, the bugs are going away, tourist-y areas are settling down, and… fall migration begins. The Zugunruhe that the birds feel seems to resonate in my own soul, as I, too, succumb to the restless urges that tell me, GO! And so, I go…
The urges most often compel me to head to the coast or anywhere saltwater meets land. Summer’s end through fall is host to the spectacular migration of my favorite kinds of birds: shorebirds. They mass in flocks of thousands at times, all mixed together, running and flying and searching for food, or resting and preening and giving that cute sleepy head-wiggle that they do when they close their eyes and settle in for a nap. Shorebirding is a thrill like no other for me, a sport that I cannot lose in, for just the act of watching a shorebird, any shorebird, is enough to fill my heart and soul with joy for days afterward. I fall head over heels for their odd, hunched bodies, their tiny heads, their long bills, their twiggy legs and feet, their variety of colors and sizes, their adorable calls. I could watch them run or preen or even sleep all day if I had the chance to. They are fluffy, charismatic, twitchy, inspiring, charming. My body almost screams at me to go and watch these little bundles of happiness in the fall, and I find it impossible to pay no mind to that which compels me. The joy I feel when shorebirding is unparalleled in all my other birding experiences throughout each year.
Spending time with migrating shorebirds brings another important aspect of fall migration to light: locally rare birds. Some birders don’t really mind either way when it comes to seeing rare birds; if they see one, great; if not, that’s fine, too. Some birders try to chase as many reports of rare birds as they can, for they, too, are compelled by something to do so. Some birders want to see as many species as they can in any given area, so finding something rare would benefit their count tremendously. I, myself, am not much of an “area lister” (despite what my eBird account suggests); I mostly just love birds and want to get a chance to spend quality time with as many different species as I can, photographing them and admiring their behavior. But I also love what many of us will recall pretending to do as children: searching for treasure.
Anyone who has watched birds for an extended length of time can tell you of the thrill they had when they saw “something new.” After years of nothing but mixed sparrow flocks in someone’s backyard, for example, the day they see something like a Gray-crowned Rosy-Finch in with those sparrows will be unforgettable. These birds are a rare and special “treasure,” something you hold dear in your heart and fervently hope to see in person someday. Some of us may actively seek out our treasure; we set sail with an “X” on our maps, marking our destination, yet instead of shovels, we bring cameras and binocs, scopes and field guides. The treasure we hope to find has feathers and wings, and a will of its own… and in fall, its Zugunruhe may have compelled it to move in a slightly different direction than the rest of its kind.
Anything can happen in fall migration. First-time migrants can get separated from their families, and end up following a flock of “something similar” down the wrong coastline or wrong side of the mountains. Storms can blow seasoned birds off course, and they make the best of their new situation, still following their urge to head south, but this time into uncharted territories. Many other situations occur, most of which we will never fully comprehend, but sometimes rare treasures of birds appear in fall flocks. And I always find myself compelled to try and find them. Shorebird flocks are easiest (and most fun) for me to search through; no warbler neck here, and no trees to obscure my view. I will never forget seeing so many species from all over the world come through our shores, nor the experiences that led to those encounters, and all the people who have helped me along the way. The phenomenal Lesser Sand-Plover in Ocean Shores, my first Long-billed Curlew at Nisqually, the shock of Sharp-tailed Sandpipers at Oyhut, the wonder of a pair of Buff-breasted Sandpipers strutting past me at Griffiths-Priday… Oh, the excitement and thrill of the heart when that treasure is found! The relief, the joy, the wonder, the heart-stopping, breath-catching explosion of emotion!
Inland, the same thing often happens with warbler and sparrow flocks; as they make their seasonal journeys, sometimes these flocks will pick up strays from other lands. It is always, always worth checking every mixed flock of these birds in fall, as you never know what treasures it may hold. Just the other day, I found my very first Chipping Sparrow in Chehalis (they have been documented here before, but only rarely), mixed in with a flock of Savannah Sparrows. I was so taken aback by the little juvenile bird that I wasn’t confident in what it was at first, only that it was different. Since when do I ever get to see first-year Chipping Sparrows so close to home? I was over the moon when my pictures confirmed its identity. And so many more incredible sparrows and warblers have I seen over the years in the fall… my first Harris’s Sparrow in Tacoma, a Clay-colored Sparrow in Puyallup, and a Virginia’s Warbler and Magnolia Warbler farther afield in Portland and south of Newport, Oregon, respectively.
The season of fall, and the awe-inspiring migration that accompanies it, delights my heart to no end. My passion for everything fun out in our beautiful natural world is more than ignited; it has become an uncontrollable blaze, overcoming almost everything else in my soul. The urge to see “something new,” to see “something happy,” to see “something exciting…” all of that compels me to go each fall, to stalk the warblers, to sit with the shorebirds, to watch and listen at every opportunity I have until migration ends. Following fall’s passing, the waterfowl will most assuredly make their way into my thoughts, as they do each winter, compelling me to go once more. As with the birds, my own Zugunruhe changes with the seasons, and I cannot ignore that which compels me.
