The Traveling Birder: Why Wander Wyoming?

By Brian Kluepfel

To paraphrase an old sports joke: I went to a rodeo, and a birding trip broke out. Thus was my three-day adventure in the least crowded state in the lower 48, Wyoming, and its capital, the bustling city of Cheyenne with a population of around 60,000.

Part of a posse of journalists invited to Cheyenne Frontier Days, a 127-year tradition centered on North America’s largest rodeo, I was included in everything there is to do and see in Cheyenne during its busiest week of the year. We had our cowboy hats shaped on a steaming device; we flipped flapjacks for hundreds at the ever-popular free breakfast; we visited a train museum; we ate lots of beef products.

Somewhere in the whirlwind of activity I had the notion to contact the local Audubon chapter—the Cheyenne-High Plains Audubon—and ask if they’d show me around one morning. Shamelessly trading on my travel writing and Birdwatching Magazine creds, I convinced them a Sunday morning trip was worth their while.

Sure enough, Lorie Chesnut was there to pick me up at the hotel at 5:45 am, and we were at the historic Wyoming Hereford Ranch a few miles outside of town just a little while later. Chuck Seniawski was there to meet us, and we were off.

To be fair, our journalistic endeavor (known in olden times as a “press junket”) was not without birds prior to Sunday. Our host Aaron Brown of Visit Cheyenne took us on Friday to Curt Gowdy State Park, named for the esteemed sportscaster and Wyoming native. A lovely hike through hammocks of cheat grass and over granite escarpments afforded us great views, and also quick glimpses at species like the Mountain Bluebird, the Western Meadowlark—a lovely bright yellow-and-black species which is the state bird– and a posse of a dozen Turkey Vultures perched ominously atop fence poles along rural road 20.

Alas, I had no binoculars and missed a few other birding opportunities at Gowdy. But on Sunday, Lorie and Chuck had me covered, lending me an extra set of high-powered eyes.

As we drove into the ranch, a White Pelican soared over the car. I’ve seen few of these in my lifetime; the pelicans which inhabit the Atlantic and Pacific seaboards of the Americas are nearly always Brown Pelicans. This massive white bird was a harbinger of a good morning of birding.

In the fields around the ranch, where legendary Hereford bulls like Prince Domino, sire of thousands, once rambled, Common Nighthawks darted and plunged, nabbing mosquitos resulting from a particularly wet Cheyenne spring/summer.

Walking through the high grass in sneakers ensured my feet would get damp, but this was really not a bother. Birders get used to small discomfort in light of the bigger picture—more birds. As we approached a barn, Lorie pointed out a bird which, although known in the East, I had never seen before—a Red-Headed Woodpecker. I had seen all manner of woodpeckers, flickers, and sapsuckers in New York and even in Latin America, but the first sighting of this beauty and its striking all-red head is something I won’t forget. Chuck suspects we may have seen a pair of red-heads, as the bird(s) flew back and forth rapidly from a feeder to a grouping of pines, likely feeding some fledglings. I gave in to emotion and happily high-fived Lorie.

More colorful treats were in store along Crow Creek—a pink-hued House Finch, bright yellow Goldfinches and Yellow Warblers, a quick look at a stunning Lazuli Bunting, and other sightings of Black-headed and Blue Grosbeaks.

In this somewhat nebulous border land between Eastern and Western species, we saw both the Eastern and Western Kingbird (reminders of Kenn Kaufmann’s influential 1997 book, Kingbird Highway) and Northern Flickers—except out here, flickers have a red edge to the wings and tail feathers (Red-shafted), as opposed to the Eastern version, which are daubed in yellow instead and thus earn the sobriquet “Yellow Hammer” in Alabama (Yellow-shafted; their state bird, coincidentally).

Some birds were familiar to me from the east—robins, four kinds of sparrows, and mourning doves. Yet so much was new and different that I felt especially lucky—blessed, even—to have shared the morning with these generous people. Although I’m not a big lister of anything, adding a few ‘lifers’ (first-time sightings) was a bit of a thrill.

As I drive home tonight, New Orleans legend Sidney Bechet’s “I’m a Little Blackbird, Lookin’ for a Bluebird” plays on WKCR, and the lyrics remind me that, as I did on this little birding excursion in Wyoming, maybe we New York buckaroos and Red-state cowboys can find a little common ground:

I’m a little blackbird looking for a bluebird too

You know little blackbirds get a little lonesome too

And blue

I’ve been all over from east to west

In search of someone to feather my nest

Why don’t I find one the same as you do

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