Meeting the American Pipit: An Introduction to Birding

This little brown bird, the American Pipit, was first introduced to me four years ago by the leader of my California Naturalist course, during a birding outing at Merced National Wildlife Refuge.  

Four years ago, I was fairly new to the idea of serious birding.  I have been acquainted with our local California Scrub-Jays, Yellow-billed Magpies, Mourning Doves and Northern Mockingbirds as dear friends since childhood, and could even name them by their songs and calls.  I met Ospreys and Steller's Jays while hiking in the Sierra, Western Gulls and Sanderlings while bare-footing on the coast, and made the acquaintance of White-crowned Sparrows and Ruby-crowned Kinglets in my parents' Central Valley backyard (during winter, of course).  

Later, ill-planned adventures ("dates") with my then-boyfriend (now husband) Eric into wetlands and wildlands of the Valley left me in awe of Sandhill Cranes and Tundra Swans.  College zoology classes introduced me to an even wider array of California avifauna (mostly in the form of "skins," a polite way of saying dead, stuffed birds).

Needless to say, I could put more bird names to feathered faces than the average kid.  (I could even do it in Latin.)  

But it wasn't until I acquired my first good camera, good binoculars, and good field guide (a Sibley's) that the world of birding really opened up. 

And sucked me in.

The sunny winter day I met the American Pipit, our leader also introduced me to a Marsh Wren and a Lincoln's Sparrow, birds I would have easily overlooked.

That was also the day I saw my first Great Horned Owl, first Burrowing Owl, and first Bald Eagle.

It was the first time I'd witnessed the power (and noise) of a flock of Snow Geese, rising in one body from the wetlands, taking to the skies in a mass of black-and-white confetti, glinting in the sun and swirling around us like snow.  I was mesmerized.

It's no wonder, no wonder at all, that I fell immediately, head-over-heals in love with birds and the wonderful pastime known as birding.

Now, let us return to the pipit.  Until that winter day at the Merced NWR, I had never heard of a pipit.  (I knew Pippin, from Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings trilogy, but that was about it.)  To me, it looked like a little nondescript brown sparrow, and I remember thinking, there was no way I would have seen, much less been able to identify, that bird on my own!

Most birders can tell you about their "spark bird," the bird that ignited in them an interest in birds and birding.  I don't know that I would call the humble American Pipit my spark bird, exactly, but it certainly served as kindling, stoking the fire that would grow into a consuming passion. 

To most new birders, pipits resemble sparrows.  As do a host of other smallish earth-colored birds.  But now when I look at a pipit, I don't know how I ever thought that!  Since my first introduction to pipits, my first glimpse into an enchanting world of incredible diversity, I have changed the way I look at little nondescript birds.  Now I see that they are all utterly beautiful in their own uniqueness. 

Aside from the pipit's slender shape and longer, slimmer bills, the major difference between pipits and sparrows is in the way they move.  While all sparrows hop when on the ground, pipits most decidedly walk, strutting along, putting one foot in front of the other.

American Pipits (Anthus rubescens) breed on the Arctic tundra and in alpine meadows above treeline.  In California, pipits can be found nesting high in the Sierra Nevada, although birders are more likely to encounter this species in the winter, when they move down slope into the valleys and plains of the state.  American Pipits are migratory, and spend the cold months spread out across much of the southern United States and Mexico.  Look for them in open habitats, where they are generally conspicuous (despite their coloring) as they stride along with purpose!

Cornell's All About Birds website has this fun fact to relate about American Pipits:

"In an alpine population in the Beartooth Mountains of Wyoming, a snowstorm buried 17 American Pipit nests for 24 hours.  All of the nestlings that were 11 days or older survived, and a few of the younger ones did as well."

It baffles the human mind that something so small and seemingly fragile as a bird can withstand extreme temperatures and the rigors of migration.  Birds of every description really are remarkable creatures!  And the little American Pipit, drab and brown though it may be, is certainly no exception!

Winter is perhaps the ideal time to take up birding in California's Great Central Valley and along the coast.  I encourage you to grab a pair of binoculars and a field guide, and head out to see what you can see!

And if you still need further convincing, take a look at my article on the many joys and benefits of birding!