In Alaska, Team Sapsucker Finds 106 Species for Big Day 2025

On May 10, 2025, Team Sapsucker traveled to the spectacular Kenai Peninsula, Alaska, to catch spring migration at one of the Pacific Flyway’s key hotspots. In a first for a Cornell Lab Big Day, this year’s Team Sapsucker included both a traveling team and a Big Sit team that spent the entire day birding from a single location.

Starting just before 2 a.m. and going straight through until midnight, the two teams reported 106 species—an amazing total for early spring in such a northern location. Standouts included three species of godwits in a single flock; a lone Northern Harrier that flew directly over the Big Sit team before sunrise, Aleutian Terns, and a Canada Jay late in the day that earned a round of cheers from the tired travelers.

The scenery was a constant companion. Along the horizon, snow-capped peaks rose 5,000 feet out of Kachemak Bay and Cook Inlet. Dense boreal forest cloaked the land, strewn with scraggly spruce bogs and tiny lakes. Bear tracks traced their way down dirt roads and moose walked through town.

“The light changes all the time,” said Wenfei Tong, a member of the traveling team. “Right now the leaves are all small and greenish-gold and glittering when the sun is shining. Every minute you look out of the car, you want to say wow because it’s so beautiful.”

Birding by Car, by Boat, and by Foot

The traveling team, Natalia Garcia, Wenfei Tong, Taylor Long, and Gerrit Vyn, were still loading up when they heard their first species, a Northern Saw-whet Owl, at 1:58 a.m. They spent the next 22 hours searching by car, by boat, and on foot all across the western Kenai Peninsula.

From three days of scouting they knew they’d have their work cut out to get to 100 species; many migrant songbirds and shorebirds were still on their way north. The next few hours of darkness turned up a few winnowing Wilson’s Snipe and some more Northern Saw-whet Owls, but little else.

Just before dawn they boarded Sandollar, a small ecotour boat, and headed offshore to Gull Island. But the spectacular Tufted Puffins they’d been counting on had yet to return to their nest sites. Instead, amid clouds of Black-legged Kittiwakes they found Black Turnstones and Pelagic Cormorants, plus Marbled Murrelets in the open water. By 6:00 a.m. they were at 23 species.

Luck and a few migrants found them in the boreal forest. A singing Townsend’s Warbler and a Lincoln’s Sparrow had probably just arrived that night, along with boreal-forest stalwarts like Hermit Thrush, both kinglets, and Boreal and Black-capped Chickadees.

For much of the middle of the day they scoured shorelines and open water—picking out a couple of Black Scoters among the Surf and White-winged; combing through hundreds of hybrid “Cook Inlet” gulls in hopes of a pure American Herring; finding a couple of Pectoral and Least Sandpipers among thousands of Dunlin and Western Sandpipers.

And while the day delivered classic Alaska species like Pigeon Guillemot and Varied Thrush, it also surprised with how hard it could be to find some familiar species.

The team had to scratch to get a single Downy Woodpecker, found one group of Canada Geese among many Cackling, and spied a lone Great Blue Heron as it raised its head above the reeds for a moment. During scouting they had marked out a patch of roadside with a reliably singing White-crowned Sparrow, only for it to stay silent on Big Day. (It was also one of the first species the team heard the morning after).

They spent the evening deep in the boreal forest with their day’s list hovering at 99. Every little pond they passed seemed to have courting Red-necked Grebes or Barrow’s Goldeneyes on it—beautiful, but not new.

Around 8:30 they heard the buzzy notes of a Redpoll amid the whine of mosquitoes, and then a Spotted Sandpiper to bring them to 101. They spent the rest of their time until midnight quietly cruising forest roads, stopping every 10 minutes to stare into the darkness and listen. Halfway through, at 10:40, a Great Horned Owl hooted in the distance: #102.

Camaraderie and Perseverance During a 17-Hour Big Sit

While the traveling team was covering more than 100 miles of the Kenai Peninsula, the Big Sit team spent their day birding inside a single 17-foot circle. They chose a sandy rise studded with driftwood on the south side of Homer. It looked out over both the sheltered water of Beluga Slough and the open expanse of Kachemak Bay. Over the next 17 hours they picked out 46 species.

Starting at 4:30 a.m. the team—Holly Grant, Jill Leichter, Noa Livernois, and Xavier Raick—were greeted by a group of 14 Sandhill Cranes. The stately birds were close enough to see their frosty breath in the morning air. Soon after, a male Northern Harrier, or “gray ghost,” whispered overhead in the dim pre-dawn light. A group of dainty Bonaparte’s Gulls made a close fly-by, and gorgeous Horned Grebes bobbed in the water. A lone Whimbrel probed the shoreline, the sand tinged pink by the rising sun. About 150 sea otters floated in the distance with young pups balanced on their chests.

“The first few hours especially were really magical,” Holly Grant said. “Just watching the sun rise over the mountains and to have that early morning calm in the middle of all these giant mountains, with almost nobody out there, and all these birds and otters.”

Big Sits, with their emphasis on birding a single location rather than spending a day dashing from place to place, provide a great way for almost anyone to do a Big Day. With the slower pace, the team got to know their surroundings. They chatted and shared scope views with passersby, including Homer locals, visitors to the Kachemak Bay Shorebird Festival, and even a few Cornell Lab members. The team took turns walking the two blocks back to Homer for bathroom breaks, or to pick up a cardamom knot from the Two Sisters Bakery. For supper, they brought a pizza over to their count circle.

But that’s not to say Big Sits are easy; they can offer as much challenge as any Big Day. Faraway birds are hard to identify, and at a Big Sit there’s no way to get a closer look. The team had to stay vigilant, constantly scanning the same horizon features—open water, the edges of the marsh, the distant treeline—in case a new bird came into view. Nothing seen or heard from outside the count circle qualifies, so even though the team heard a Wilson’s Snipe from their driveway as they headed out for the day, they had to leave it off their list.

And they needed perseverance: the team’s last new bird for the list came just after noon—a group of Lapland Longspurs flitting around the upper beach. The team spent the rest of the day valiantly scanning, holding out hope for a Pacific Loon to appear among the Commons, or for a Steller’s Jay to circle over a building, while the relentless seabreeze blew into their faces for nine hours straight.

At 9:30, in an echo of the morning, a group of 35 Whimbrel flew in through the dusk, as alpenglow turned the distant mountains pink.

Magical Moments

Despite the hardship and sleep deprivation, Big Days always have magical moments in them. At one point, the traveling team found themselves all alone on Homer Spit as some 60 tired godwits—Bar-tailed, Hudsonian, and Marbled—flew in. This single flock contained travelers from as far away as New Zealand (the Bar-tailed), Tierra del Fuego (the Hudsonian), and western Mexico (the Marbled)—all funneling through this one crucial spot on the Kenai Peninsula before reaching the rich tundra of the North Slope.

For the Big Sit team it was the cranes, the harrier appearing out of the mist, and shorebird flocks twisting in the distance during the long afternoon. “When they fly in the sky, they kind of sparkle,” Jill recalled. “They flash between belly and upperwings, and it’s like they glitter in the sky.”

In the morning, as the tide ebbed, a Surfbird dropped in to a newly uncovered rock strewn with seaweed. This specialist of rocky shores had found the only suitable habitat within sight of the Big Sit circle, and proceeded to wow the team with its crisp, slate-gray chevrons and flashes of rufous on the back. It was a lifer for all four team members.

Congratulations to Team Sapsucker on an excellent showing of 106 species, and for their stamina, skill, dedication, and unflagging good humor. Check their combined eBird Trip Report for more details. And we send a special thank-you to all the people who followed Big Day and who supported Team Sapsucker with a donation to help fund the Cornell Lab’s conservation work. We couldn’t do it without you.