“Eurasian hobby.”

Let me repeat that bird’s name again, only this time shouting it — “EURASIAN HOBBY!”

This was the bird that started the movement … the movement of the people … the people being birders. Moving toward Neah Bay, toward the “candy store.” The movement of people that facilitated the Patagonia Picnic Table Effect happening one more time in one more locale.

By the day following the discovery of this falcon, word had spread via cellphones, landlines and most currently, the Internet through ListServs, eBird, Rare Bird Alerts and other means of info sharing.

And by the following day we knew that there were two other “good birds” out there, both Code 4 birds: tropical kingbird and orchard oriole.

The kingbirds were wandering around in the village. There were at least five. And the oriole was coming to a hummingbird feeder on Bayview overlooking the bay itself. You could almost touch the oriole if you wanted to.

And so they came. The masses to see the falcon and also to see … “WHAT? An egret? A cattle egret! WHERE?” But it wasn’t found by a birder, this white heron-like bird with black legs was found online at the Neah Bay Chamber of Commerce site. A photo of a white bird standing in green grass was posted there — and someone asked the question:

Where? And it was located. And documented. And the masses found and photographed and ticked this bird to their ticklists.

‘The effect’

By the middle of the week there were birders here and there out there, everywhere … and “the effect” was in full swing.

A rough-legged hawk was found hunting the Wa’atch Valley, a bird not seen out there in years.

Another clay-colored sparrow was found in the village.

A tail-pumping dingy-colored warbler named Nashville was seen on the outskirts of town … and a second was found down by the restaurant at the east end of the village. How rare of a bird? Rare enough. And two of them.

Just to show that this phenomenon wasn’t just affecting Neah Bay, back east in Clallam Bay a rose-breasted grosbeak was found in cohorts with another tropical kingbird.

A northern shrike was seen. A glaucous gull flew overhead. A gray-headed orange-crowned warbler was located. Eared grebes were seen out on the bay. So was a ruddy duck — both uncommon at best.

Then a western meadowlark put in an appearance in the area of Hobuck Beach; not rare, but not expected.

In the village, at the far western corner, there’s a creek that runs down into the bay: Village Creek, an appropriate name. Here at this trickle of freshwater, gulls congregate for all kinds of reasons: bathing, drinking, roosting, cavorting. Any birder who birds Neah Bay always stops there to check out the gulls one more time before heading east and the drive home.

And that’s what Tom M. did on his way out of town. He stopped to check out the gulls. There were gulls. And there were several sparrows. But one was different. One was so different that it was truly worthy of a dance. Small, orangish, blackish bird with a smidgen of whiteness tossed about its winter plumage. A finch whose homeground is Eurasia. It’s name: BRAMBLING!! And it is indeed worthy of two exclamation points. It was there on the beach, slowly and methodically working dried mustard plants for seeds.

Tom M. smiled. And another bird was added to the growing list of feathered wonders found.

Ohhh, almost forgot – the gulls? Thayer’s, glaucous-winged, glaucous, California, herring, Heermann’s, Olympic, mew, ring-billed, western, black-legged kittiwake and a common tern.

Moving on

By late week the weather was holding fair, the winds were calm. There were still a few rain squalls, but there were blue skies, also. The hobby was still present, the egret was still present, the brambling was still present and so were the people. But there were more of them.

By Saturday the village had become a migrant trap for birders. Where you were to be if you were anyone with a bent on chasing rare birds. By Saturday groups were perched at the corner where the orchard oriole was hanging out. Now, however, there was another “good bird” with it – a Bullock’s oriole.

And there were hordes searching the transfer station for the egret.

But the masses were staked out along Makah Passage, the dirt road through the Wa’atch Valley. They were staked out there because the Eurasian hobby was putting on a show. For the falcon, its behavior was normal: flights to grab a prey item from the ground, flights to pluck a dragonfly from the air, flights back to a perch to feed, preening and just sitting looking around.

The show for the masses consisted of looking through binocs, scopes, cameras and just staring as the falcon did what it did. I keep using the term masses. But today this was a mass. A mass of unprecedented proportions for the county. There were more than 65 vehicles parked along this stretch of dirt road. I quit counting at 165 birders. I quit taking down from what state they were from when I tallied 25.

I also know there were birders there from at least six other countries. And the optics … the value of optics there on that road that day? There was maybe a half-million dollars all focused on, pointed at, clicking on one small falcon perched in a spruce tree 60 meters south of the road. That was the show that was.

But there was another show that was about to happen — a showing of a bird in just the opposite manner as the falcon. And this happened six days later in a driving rainstorm, in the village, in a bramble patch, in a backyard.

Finding the treasure

Wandering the village, searching for anything different, one of the five who found the hobby happened onto a patch of blackberries and heard a chip-note from a warbler coming from it. A chip-note! Warblers do that. They make chip-notes that are diagnostic to their species. It’s a way to ID them when you can’t see them.

But there was something just not natural about this warbler’s chip-notes in that locale. They shouldn’t be here. In fact, this warbler never really leaves its haunts in the arid Southwest where it prefers deserts, not blackberry brambles of the wet Northwest.

And then he saw it … although he already knew what it was. I don’t know if Brad W. did a dance or not. I don’t know if he stood there in total disbelief or not. But I do know that this bird is the first sighting of its species in Washington, and therefore Clallam. It’s a drab, grayish bird with a big black eye looking out from its light gray face. A Lucy’s warbler.

I won’t raise my voice here in naming this bird yet, because this birder turned around and scored again a little while later when he heard up in alders — moving along with a flock of chickadees — another bird so unbelievable that the combination of the LUCY’S WARBLER and this BLUE GRAY GNATCATCHER should have roused the bells of St. Adagio into full ringing clamor.

The gnatcatcher is like the Lucy’s: drabish gray. But unlike the Lucy’s, it’s not a skulker. It’s flamboyant. Lofty in its movements and voice, it talks in harsh notes. Not little chip-notes.

But the bells were silent. Two others claimed the warbler and many claimed the gnatcatcher over the next few days.

The calm

As I close this tale, sitting here writing as the rain falls outside my window, Neah Bay has gone quiet. The masses have left. The two birders out there who live there are quiet. One has gone back to school, the other back to chasing whales. The orchard oriole is still coming to the hummer feeder.

And the rare ones? Gone! The candy store’s doors have swung shut, but the latch didn’t click. It’s ajar a bit … waiting, just waiting.

Oh, did I forget to mention the Harris’ sparrow that was found just a little east of the MiniMart woods just after the …

Reach Denny AFMJ Van Horn at dennyvanhorn@gmail.com.