If you’re not a birdwatcher, the concept of an “enemy bird” might sound strange. But there are some species that, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t find. For my friend and I, we both had an enemy bird in common—the Red Crossbill. Despite reported sightings all over Seattle and Western Washington, we’d never been lucky enough to so much as hear one. While planning our trips, the Red Crossbill became a species we would chase nearly every time.
January 24th was no different. My friend found a park in Snohomish County with reliably consistent reports of them, along with some of his other target species. I put “Red crossbill” on my calendar for 8am and off we went.
Both unfamiliar with the park trails, we picked a direction and started wandering. It was a cold, sunny day, with frost on the ground and our breaths visible in the air. Chestnut-backed Chickadees and Golden-crowned Kinglets filled the tree canopy, flocking with the occasional creeper or Pacific Wren. No matter where we went or how hard we looked, we couldn’t find a crossbill, and our only Hutton’s Vireo took off into the undergrowth before we could get a good look. A couple other birdwatchers asked us if we found anything good or if “we’d seen the owl,” but we were so preoccupied by the lack of crossbills we barely paid them any mind.
Cold and annoyed, we were on our way back to the car when yet another birdwatcher stopped us and asked about an owl. Just like the others, him and his wife were carrying an impressive-sized camera and tripod. We told him we had no idea what he was talking about, and were about to keep walking, when he said they’d driven 3 hours from Vancouver after talk of a Great Gray in this park. They urged us to join them in looking, showing us the coordinates on his phone. All of the cold and exhaustion evaporated from my body as we followed them down the trail and away from the parking lot.
Great Gray Owls are massive birds: one of the world’s largest species of owl. Rare and endangered, citizen science reporting apps like eBird and iNaturalist don’t display their exact location or include them on any rarity alerts, for fear of people harassing them. It was pure luck that my friend and I were in the right place at the right time and happened to meet someone willing to guide us. The four of us hurried down the trail, making small talk and sharing birding stories, visibly excited at the thought of finding an owl.
With only 0.2 miles to the alleged owl location, we heard unfamiliar chirping. My friend and I locked eyes, instantly recognizing the crossbill. Rather than stay behind to investigate, we mutually and silently agreed to keep following our new friends.
It wasn’t long before we came across a large crowd of photographers set up across the trail. Thousands of dollars worth of cameras were pointed at a massive gray blob buried in the trees. The owl was facing away from us, at about eye level. Some friendly birders whispered welcomes and pointed my friend and I to the best viewpoint, recounting every movement the owl had made this morning. Apparently it flew across the trail earlier. The Canadian couple greeted all the other birders by name—I guess they were all part of a large photography group chat.
It was at this point I remembered I was supposed to meet someone for lunch in an hour, and I was both a mile from the trailhead and over an hour north of Seattle. I quickly texted her an apology and asked to meet a little later, though I didn’t regret my decision.
The group of us marveled at the owl, with everyone gasping and whispering whenever it would turn its head. After 20 minutes of staring, the owl never turned fully around, and I finally had to pry us both away. While we could both easily watch it all day, my friend and I had things to do. We were thrilled as we walked back to the car, marveling at the fact we nearly missed it. On the way back, we stopped at the same place we heard the crossbills earlier, but they were long gone. A small price to pay for a Great Gray Owl.
We drove back to Seattle happily, despite our crossbill failure, and I was only an hour late to lunch.
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