“What was up with the purple sandpipers?” asked Brent Bomkamp, compiler of the 101st Audubon Montauk Christmas Bird Count.
“They were in a salt marsh, by themselves,” explained Angus Wilson, co-compiler. Usually found at the end of a rock jetty, or on exposed rocks at low tide, the sandpipers were acting out of character.
The purple sandpiper was one of 125 species tallied in the Montauk count on Dec. 19.
Birdwatchers fall into many categories, which often intersect. One main group, the number-oriented, also known as “listers,” are attracted to the Montauk count, with its data-driven compilation event. These are birders who may get excited when a species, say the gray catbird, has a high count, as it did this year with 117 recorded in the Montauk circle.
For the uninitiated, Audubon maintains “count circles” in each of the 50 states. The circles are uniform in size, with 15-mile radiuses. The center of the Montauk circle is just west of Rocky Point, which juts into Fort Pond Bay. This placement allows it to incorporate the relatively undisturbed Gardiner’s Island. The westernmost portion of the circle contains a slice of Accabonac Harbor; the easternmost extends to the tip of Camp Hero State Park.
The circle is then broken into sectors. In the case of the Montauk count, there are six sectors: Accabonac, Napeague, Lake West, Point North, Point South, and Gardiner’s Island.
I spent my day as I do on every Montauk count, at Camp Hero. I love Camp Hero. The hulking radar tower reminds me of my Uncle Tony, who, after World War II, wired it. Walking the battery trails, I imagine car-size ammunition jolting out of them and into the Atlantic. Now, they’re among the quietest spots you can find on Long Island. Their incredibly heavy concrete overhangs are wonderful shelters for birds. In 2019, just a week before the count, I found a couple of very late (meaning they should have already migrated) blue-gray gnatcatchers on the Battery 112 trail.
In December in Camp Hero you can usually expect to find all five species of our local woodpeckers (a fun thing to attempt with your kids), thanks to the many old trees, along with hundreds of American robins. This year I counted over 150 robins.
I’m not the only one who feels something special about Montauk. “Nowhere else on Long Island has such a unique combination of habitats,” said Mr. Bomkamp over email. “There’s oak woodlands, ocean cliffs, pine forest, grassland, and beaches. And the birds that are regular in these habitats are very uncommon elsewhere on Long Island, like yellow-breasted chat and rough-legged hawk. Montauk is really the only place you have a good chance of seeing them. Not to mention the fact that, almost every year, some incredible rare species is found on the count.”
The birds are great, but so are the people. Some birders “have been participating for nearly half the count’s . . . history.” They’ve returned to their same territory within the circle and counted birds for over 50 years. “It’s an inspiring event to be a part of,” said Mr. Bomkamp.
Doug Futuyma, head of the Point North sector, noted the count’s “tremendously great fellowship” during the compilation over Zoom.
Quite a number of birds registered high counts this year.
Thirty-seven bald eagles were tallied. “That’s unbelievable for Long Island, which is very cool,” said Mr. Bomkamp. Out on Gardiner’s “I could see six at once,” said Mr. Wilson.
Gardiner’s Island is closed to the public. Boats are prohibited from landing there. But a small team of birders is allowed on the island each year as invited guests of the owners. It’s a great benefit for the count to be able to have a small team check in on its ponds, generally undisturbed shoreline, and rough grass habitat that no longer exists on the mainland.
Other highs included 30 yellow-bellied sapsuckers, 96 red-bellied woodpeckers, 8 common ravens, 324 Carolina wrens (profiled in “On the Wing” two weeks ago), the aforementioned gray catbirds at 117, 62 fox sparrows, 1,164 white-throated sparrows, and 12 great-horned owls. Orange-crowned warblers tied their prior high count at four birds.
There were also birds with uncommonly low tallies. “The sea duck totals were remarkable, with several longtime participants noting that scoter and eider numbers off Montauk Point were the lowest they’ve seen,” said Mr. Bomkamp. Only 39 common eiders were counted. The high number for this species on the count previously was 11,869. “They probably are wintering north due to the milder weather,” surmised Mr. Bomkamp.
Participants counted only 20 razorbills, a “shockingly low” total for a bird that lives exclusively on the water. One longtime participant said, “I’ve done this count since the ‘70s and I’ve never seen anything like that. Even at midnight there have been more ducks.”
When a bird is not seen on a count, especially one that you’d expect to see, it’s called a “miss.” We had a few this year. My favorite local gull, the Bonaparte’s, was missed. Back when I surfed through the winter in Montauk I could always count on a small group just off the Ditch Plain jetty. Other birds expected but not seen were killdeer, peregrine falcons (“Oh, that’s tough. That’s surprising,” said Mr. Bomkamp) common grackles, and lesser scaups.
Rare birds are always a highlight of the Montauk count. This year’s best was a Western kingbird found by Mike McBrien just off Fernwood Drive. Also of note was a black-headed gull.
I often find the descriptions of unexpected birds during the compilation entertaining. There’s something about them that always draws me in. The American woodcock that was “twittering predawn on the road up to the walking dunes,” the common merganser that was “flying east along the coast of Gardiner’s Bay,” or the single great egret that “flew in off the ocean at 9:03 a.m.” I wonder about these solitary, unexpected birds.
They’re always evocative of the place and day. If I close my eyes I can see those birds, imagine the way the ocean, swishing around Montauk Point, must have smelled, and the raw bite of the light rain on a 40-degree day as they entered the birder’s field of view. There’s a camaraderie that links bird sightings. “I saw that, too,” you may think. “I too, was surprised by that bird.”
The count makes me nostalgic. Perhaps because I can easily remember myself 20 years ago, not yet a father, staring out at exposed sea rocks off the Point, searching for a purple sandpiper I desperately hoped to see, but never did. Maybe it’s some hope that I’ll be here in 40 years, perhaps with a daughter or two, maybe a grandchild, trying not to break my hip as I make my way around Camp Hero, hoping to find my spark bird, the tufted titmouse, harassing me from a low branch.
I hope we haven’t lost another 3 billion birds by then, the way we have in the last 40 years. I hope, in 2061, the tufted titmouse isn’t considered rare. And I hope the radar tower will still be there, triggering a memory of Uncle Tony.
