It’s tempting to take the Sanderling for granted: The tiny, speed-walking shorebirds are fixtures on beaches all over the world, easily recognized by how they run along, forever one step ahead of the waves.
The Sanderling is among the smallest and most energetic of the dozens of species of sandpipers. At just two ounces, it’s about the weight of a golf ball. Photos by Anders Gyllenhaal unless otherwise credited.
For years, this hyperactive sandpiper moved too fast for researchers to even be sure of its migration routes that stretch from the Arctic Circle to South America. Weighing in at just two ounces, Sanderlings were too small to carry the transmitters used to study other birds.
That’s finally changing. New research tools, such as ultra-light transmitters and techniques that analyze where birds have been by the carbon residue in their feathers, are uncovering the Sanderling’s secrets.
The research tells two stories: One is about the miraculous flying prowess of this globe-trotting species. The other is about how those unique abilities aren’t enough to overcome the changing coastal environment that has cut their population of about 300,000 in North America by more than a third since the 1970s.
Both study topics could end up helping other shorebirds as well.
“So many people think of these birds as doing fine, since they’re on every beach from California to the Gulf Coast,’’ said Jess Cosentino, a researcher working on a comprehensive study of Sanderlings in North America. “But the data is showing us they’re in precipitous decline.’’
Hundreds of Sanderling rise above Chaplin Lake on a preliminary flight before their next migration leg. Photo by Jess Cosentino, University of Saskatchewan
We spent a good part of our fall wandering the Atlantic coast, following warblers, raptors and shorebirds on the move. On the National Seashore along North Carolina’s Outer Banks, we found ourselves surrounded by crowds of Sanderlings on the near-empty beaches. The protected stretch of shoreline is one of the primary stopover spots for the birds on their migrations down the Atlantic coast.
Here’s a video that gives you a sense of how Sanderlings work together on the beaches:
A fascinating new book by Jennifer Ackerman, The Bird Way, A New Look at How Birds Talk, Work, Play, Parent and Think, says birds have a rich social life. She says the language of birds can be complicated, emotional, and has its own syntax. This book suggests that birds will even lie at times, implying a level of sophistication far beyond what we always thought.
Birdsongs are primarily about mating and defending territory, but exchanges like this one that seem more like household conversations are part of the repertoire as well. The Cornell Lab’s Handbook of Bird Biology, the bible of bird life, says bird pairs of all kinds are constantly seen singing duets, chatting back and forth and sometimes simply working on their relationships by staying in close touch.
The other day I spotted a Red-tailed Hawk perched on an irrigation rig in a field roughly a quarter-mile away. Suddenly it saw something move on the ground near me and was instantly in the air headed straight in our direction.
All summer long, I’ve encountered juvenile birds unsure of how to behave, hesitant as they explored the world for the first time. There was a juvenile Eastern Bluebird who, like this hawk, hung around like we were best friends. Sometimes the young birds will still be in training with their parents. But eventually they have to head out on their own, and many have long migration trips ahead.
You can usually hear the Ovenbird from a long way off. Its piercing, crystal clear voice cuts through the woods as if singing through a sound system at a Broadway theater.
The Ovenbird is so loud and consistent that researchers have turned to its songs when needing to study bird audio. The most famous findings dates back to 1958. 
Of the 37 species in the Eastern U.S., the male Prothonotary is the only one that glows. His head is a saturated yellow-orange, earning him the nickname “Golden Swamp Warbler.”
By the end of April Mike had logged 54 species, but he’s hoping for 75.
