Return of the Shorebirds: The Name Game Continues

Joe Meche is vice president of the North Cascades Audubon Society and is in his 10th year as editor of the chapter newsletter. Joe is also a member of the board of directors of the Washington Brant Foundation. He has been photographing birds and landscapes for more than 30 years and has been watching birds for more than 50 years.

Perhaps you overheard a coffee shop conversation recently with the participants thoroughly engaged in a serious discussion about stints and knots. They really grabbed your attention when they started relating stories about redshanks and tattlers. Even though you might have been tempted to call the boys from Homeland Security, it’s good that you didn’t. You just happened to be sitting next to a couple of emotional birders discussing the influx of shorebirds on local beaches. Those of us who are already fans of shorebirds might have joined in the conversation.

If the dramatic weather shift in late September caught you off guard and your memory can reach all the way back to spring, you might recall how exciting it was to see all the northbound shorebirds in migration in April and May. Keep in mind that while we’ve been going about our business and the busy days of summer have slipped by, shorebirds have taken part in the annual exodus to their northern breeding grounds and had busy summers of their own, i.e., courting, nest building and raising their young. Since late July, adult birds and the young of the year have been migrating to their respective winter ranges.

For the most part, the southbound birds are lacking their colorful breeding plumage and slowly acquiring their winter attire. Nonetheless, large flocks of shorebirds still epitomize one of the more spectacular components of the avian world. They appeal to us in a number of ways, not the least of which are their active dispositions and spectacular synchronized flights. Few sights in nature can compare to a thousand or more dunlin or western sandpipers lifting and flying as one to elude a ravenous peregrine falcon.

As reliable as the changing fall colors, the local birding hotlines and list serves have been very busy these past few weeks with reports of the migrants on the move. This reactive surge of human activity reminds me that shorebirds still have a remarkable amount of appeal among the bird-watching communities. With every large movement of shorebirds, most birdwatchers are alert for the occasional stray or rarity that just happens to be passing through, well out of its normal range. Perhaps another contributing factor to all the excitement is that summer is behind us and avian activity is noticeably on the rise.

Recent sightings reported from Boundary Bay included a rare bristle-thighed curlew and an uncommon Hudsonian godwit. As the reports come ringing in and the electronic mailbox is filled with sightings, I find that I still derive a lot of enjoyment by just reading off the names of the birds. If you’ve spent enough time with your nose in bird books, you have only to read or hear the name and you can see the bird. Bird names and their origins have always held a significant amount of interest for me. Aside from the occasional changes wrought by the American Ornithologists’ Union, the names of most birds and groups of birds seem to be well structured — sparrows are sparrows and warblers are warblers.

Following this simple thread and delving into the greater family of shorebirds, many of the smaller species are known simply as sandpipers. Sandpipers are easy enough to break down in the name game. Of course, the habitat they frequent and their calls are keys to the origin of this generic name. The sandpiper part of their names is preceded either by the name of the person they’re named after or by some physical or behavioral characteristic or field mark that distinguishes one species from the other. According to the names bestowed upon them, some are solitary while others are spotted. Some are green and some are purple.

A few of the smaller shorebirds that seem like they could be sandpipers pose a bit of a problem with field identification for newcomers. Mixed in with flocks of western sandpipers, you might find knots, dunlin, sanderlings, stints and plovers. The plovers are the stop-and-go birds that you see on the beaches and grassy fields and most have plover as part of their names. But keep in mind that the most common member of the plover family is the killdeer — so named for its call. What’s in a name?

The magical name game continues with the larger shorebirds like curlews, godwits, avocets and whimbrels. And what about phalaropes? Where did these names originate? The origins of some shorebirds’ names are hazy at best, and the godwits present a fine example of this. Some speculated that the literal translation of godwit meant “good eating.” Nineteenth century ornithologist Elliot Coues thought that this was far too easy to be true.

I enjoy thinking of flocks of shorebirds out in the weather, prowling the beaches and mudflats and living up to their names, catching oysters and turning stones. And then there are the dowitchers, doing their own impressions of sewing machines as they probe the soft mud for invertebrates. The shorebirds are fascinating creatures, to say the least.

In one of my favorite photos, you can see a flock of sandpiper-like birds resting on a barnacle-encrusted rock. Only one is truly a sandpiper — a rock sandpiper. The others could be sandpipers, but they are ruddy and black turnstones, and surfbirds. Nearby and just outside the camera range were wandering tattlers and dunlin. It’s always interesting to observe the interaction between different species in close proximity to each other, sharing the invertebrate buffet or just resting.

If you’d like to see a few shorebirds, you can probably figure out where they might be. If you can’t imagine where to go, just make your way up to Blaine’s Marine Park. Set up at one of the shelters that allows a good view of the flats and just wait for the high tide to push the shorebirds to you. After scoping that area, follow the road around Drayton Harbor to the Semiahmoo Spit. The potential for good winter “shorebirding” is very high in this area through the spring migration. Dunlin flocks can number in the thousands in mid-winter.

If the weather keeps you indoors and you’d like to learn more about the origin of bird names, a personal favorite that I recommend as part of everyone’s birding library is Ernest A. Choate’s “Dictionary of American Bird Names.” This small volume always provides a quick fix when it comes to solving a few of these mysteries. Choate was one of the founders of the World Wildlife Fund and his passions in life included birds and words.

Following this loose thread of bird names and field-identification challenges, a recent discussion developed an interesting wrinkle when the sides were drawn over the true identity of one particular bird. After the consensus determined what the bird probably was, one writer pointed out that it’s always interesting to see how humans need to have names for everything. My own thought is that the birds are probably not aware of or care about what they’re called. And it should also be pointed out that they have no respect for our field guides and range maps!

The shorebirds have returned, so get out there and have a look. §