I have long wondered about the lives and travels of bohemian waxwings before they flock to Anchorage in late fall and early winter, and again after they leave our city, a gradual departure that, in my experience, is usually completed in February or early March.
Even the most knowledgeable local birders I’ve queried have considered the movements of these widely roaming “gypsy birds” (thus the bohemian tag) to be something of a mystery, beyond what we know of their time in Alaska’s urban center.
For those unfamiliar with these birds, I should note that bohemian waxwings fly clear of our city for most of the year. I don’t recall ever seeing one in or around Anchorage during our warmer months.
It’s only when they begin wandering the Southcentral landscape in search of food during the leaner months of October, November, and December that these nomads turn their attention to Anchorage. Thousands of waxwings are drawn here by the abundant fruits that grow on the many “ornamental” trees scattered throughout town, and they generally remain until most of those fruits—primarily berries, cherries, and crab apples—are eaten.
Based on maps that I’ve studied in birding guidebooks and online, the normal range of bohemian waxwings (not to be confused with their more widespread cousins, cedar waxwings, which only rarely make their way to Alaska) extends throughout much of the western Lower 48 states and Canadian provinces and into Alaska, as far north as our state’s Interior region, a place of expansive forests.
During the spring and summer, waxwings are scattered widely through the northern portions of their range, namely western Canada and Alaska, while busy with mating rituals and then raising their young. Apparently, they prefer to nest in open forests, often along the edges of bogs or meadows, and that’s where they spend those warmer months. The rest of the year, they tend to form flocks and lead a more nomadic life.
All that said, I have been unable to learn much, if anything, about their nomadic ways in Southcentral Alaska beyond our city. Until this year.
In late September, I got a very brief glimpse of a bohemian flock in Denali State Park along the lower flanks of Curry Ridge, about a 2½- to 3-hour drive north of Anchorage. I was hiking there with my girlfriend and our two dogs when Jan spotted several birds in the tops of some birch trees, a few hundred feet from us.
They were far enough away—and so out of context—that initially I imagined the birds to be pine grosbeaks.
Only when I grabbed my binoculars and took a closer look did I recognize the birds to be bohemian waxwings, their crested head feathers the initial primary clue to their identity. (Again, for those who may not know them, I’ll add here that bohemian waxwings are among the handsomest of birds to inhabit our continent’s northern regions. Slightly smaller than robins, their bodies are mostly covered by a gray suit of silky feathers, tinted russet around the crested head. Their feathered finery is further decorated by a tail brightly edged in yellow, a black eye mask, and white-striped wings that bear the small red “wax” bars that give the birds their name.)
A few of the waxwings were making short forays from the trees and quickly returning to their perches, a behavior common to flycatchers when hunting insects. Because I’d never had a chance to observe them feeding except in winter, I hadn’t realized that waxwings, too, commonly use this strategy to catch insects.
Scanning the trees more closely, I began to see more and more of the birds, at least a few dozen. Then they lifted off, flying close enough that we could hear their softly trilling voices, always pleasing to my ears and sensibilities. Those trills, along with their numbers—I estimated at least 50 birds—and synchronized flight pattern, were further proof we’d encountered a flock of waxwings weeks earlier than I’d ever seen a comparably-sized flock in Anchorage.
Except for that one chance sighting—an encounter that lasted only a few minutes—we never would have guessed that at least one substantial flock of bohemians was roaming that forested landscape. We saw no other signs of waxwings during our four-night stay in the area.
While revealing new information about the lives of bohemian waxwings, that short-lived sighting raised plenty more questions. For instance, were other flocks moving through the woodlands of Denali State Park in late September? Would the birds we watched be among those to descend upon Anchorage later in the year? When did that flock form, and where? Yes, lots of questions, on and on.
A few days after we’d returned home, I got another surprise: while hiking through Kincaid Park with Denali on Oct. 4, I thought I heard the distinctive trill of a waxwing.
I thought I might be imagining the sound, because it seemed way too early for waxwings to be in town. Nevertheless, I scanned the nearby woods and spotted three bohemians perched near the top of a large, bare cottonwood tree. Moments later they flew away with rapid wing beats, another telltale clue.
It’s the earliest I’ve ever seen waxwings in Anchorage, at least that I can recall, another first. More than two weeks would pass before I’d see any others, about a half-dozen of them flying near Kincaid’s Bluff Trail.
In the weeks since then, I’ve seen only three other groups in Anchorage, none with more than a few dozen waxwings. That too, is something of a surprise because by now, they’ve usually begun to form larger groups consisting of hundreds or even thousands of birds.
It could be that the waxwings are late, or simply gathering in other parts of town than where I live or go on walks. Last year I saw few waxwings until January. And not until late February did I witness the largest flocks I’ve ever seen. While paused at a stoplight on my way to Kincaid, I saw wave after wave of waxwings, each formed by hundreds of birds. I figured I must have seen 2,000 to 3,000 bohemians in all; absolutely astonishing.
It’s clear that waxwings present surprises of many different kinds, only one of the reasons they’ve become a favorite of mine, along with their soothing trills, their handsome appearance, their breathtaking synchronized flights, the mystery they present, and last but hardly least, this: in their beautiful and bountiful presence, these nomadic birds help to brighten the local landscape during Alaska’s darkest, harshest season, a wondrous gift for the holiday season.
Anchorage nature writer and wildlife/wildlands advocate Bill Sherwonit is a widely published essayist and the author of more than a dozen books, including “Animal Stories: Encounters with Alaska’s Wildlife ” and “Living with Wildness: An Alaskan Odyssey.” Readers wishing to send comments or questions directly to Bill may do so at akgriz@hotmail.com.
