Across the lonely beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I,
And fast I gather, bit by bit,
The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry.
The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I.
—Celia Thaxter
Once winter arrives and the summer crowds diminish, one can find oneself alone on the beach except for the company of the shorebirds. This is the season when the birds reclaim the seashore in wonderful profusion, from nineteenth century Maine poet Celia Thaxter’s lone sandpiper to flocks of tiny sanderlings and crowds of plovers, whimbrels and godwits. In fact, there are often so many different types and sizes of shorebirds foraging together in the winter that a trip to the beach can feel like a day at Jurassic Park.
The common English names of many shorebirds sound whimsical and odd. Many of the birds that bear those names were featured in medieval bestiaries and sometimes on the medieval dinner menu.
The name godwit could easily refer to this bird’s distinctive cry, but it is believed to derive from the old English phrase “god wicht,” or “good wight,” which means a “good creature,” in the sense of being good to eat. The hapless godwit was once a popular British dish. In 1682, Sir Thomas Browne, the English polymath, philosopher, and author, wrote that the godwit was, “accounted the daintiest dish in England.”
The local species is the marbled godwit, a large shorebird with a distinctively long, pink and black bill that turns up slightly. Godwits are protected by migratory bird legislation, and are no longer at risk for ending up in the soup—or the sous vide—but this bird and many other shorebirds face challenges. It is currently a watch-listed species, because its breeding habitat—shortgrass prairie—is rapidly disappearing.
The whimbrel and its larger cousin the curlew also had the misfortune to land on the medieval European dinner menu. It is recorded that at a feast in 1387, King Richard Ii of England served 144 whimbrels (known at the time as “brewes”) and 120 curlews (together with 12 cranes and an unspecified number of other “wild fowle,” in the amount of simply “ynogh”—enough).
The name “whimbrel” dates to sixteenth century England, and is said to come from whimper—an onomatopoeic word for the sound the whimbrel makes. The kind that winters on local beaches is the same species consumed by King Richard. This bird is a little smaller than the godwit, and its long bill curves downward. The first part of its scientific name, Numenius phaeopus, refers to its bill as being shaped like the crescent moon, “numenius”.
The local species of curlew is the aptly named long-billed curlew. It looks a lot like the whimbrel, but it is much larger and has an even longer, curved bill.
The curlew’s common name comes from Middle English by way of the old French “courlieu,” a word that applies both to running to and fro, and to the courtiers who did the running in Medieval royal courts.
Whimbrels and curlews spend the winter hunting for crabs and other invertebrates on the shore and among the tidepools. Those impressive bills enable them to poke and pry into the crevices in rocks as well as into the sand.
Whimbrels are masters at catching—and eating—crabs. Curlews are equally well adapted to catching crabs, shrimps, worms and other aquatic invertebrates. They also hunt for grasshoppers and other insects on land.
Curlews spend the winter months on the California coast and in Mexico. In spring they head north to the grasslands of the Great Plains. Habitat loss from prairie being converted to agricultural land, and from wetlands being drained and developed have taken a major toll on this species. It remains uncommon, but the population appears to be relatively stable, at least for now.
Whimbrels are long-distance travelers. A female whimbrel, named “Hope” by researchers, was equipped with a transmitter in 2009 in Virginia. She logged more than 50,000 miles during a three year period, traveling between her winter habitat in the Virgin Islands and her breeding grounds in Western Canada.
Whimbrels have been documented making nonstop flights of more than 2500 miles over the open ocean.
Our beaches are the destination for many of these birds, a safe winter refuge far from the snow and ice.
Whimbrels, curlews, and godwits, belong to the Scolopacidae family, which also encompasses sandpipers, snipes, tattlers, sanderlings, turnstones, yellowlegs, and phalaropes, all of whom might be spotted during a winter walk on the beach, or at a local bird hotspot like the Malibu Lagoon or the Ballona Wetlands.
Almost all of these birds feed on small invertebrates that they harvest from the wet sand or mud. Many shorebirds have evolved running skills and specialized bills to help them efficiently hunt for their specific food sources. On the local coast, sand crabs are a popular menu item for many species of shorebirds.
Birds like the tiny sanderling wait for a wave to retreat, then rush out to the edge of the water to snatch up sand crabs while they are at the surface of the sand feeding.
Sanderlings breed thousands of miles away in the high Arctic tundra. They winter along temperate beaches worldwide, including the Southern California coast, where they are a constant presence on local beaches—lively company for solitary beach walkers.
The willet, Tringa semipalmata inornata, is a larger relative of the sanderlings. It has a longer beak that enables it to probe into the sand. This robust gray shorebird gets its name from its piping cry of “will-will-willet.” Willets often forage in the company of sanderlings. They have a varied diet, hunting for crabs, worms, and small fish at the beach, dining on insects and even vegetation in their summer breeding habitat in the American and Canadian prairies. That sharp bill is extremely sensitive, helping the willet nose out prey. In flight, the willet displays white bars on its wings. Willets spend three seasons on local beaches, arriving as early as July, and staying through the winter. It’s hard to imagine the beach without this fearless sandpiper running ahead of one, or calling out in the dusk.
All of these species go by the generic name “sandpipers,” but we also have a member of the family that is officially named a sandpiper. The spotted sandpiper, Actitis macularius, is another winter resident. This species spends most of its life at ponds, lakes, rivers and streams throughout northern North America, migrating to the Southern coasts and Mexico for the winter months. The spotted sandpiper is roughly the same size as the sanderling, but it has yellow legs, an orangish beak and only its breast is white. The spots that give this species their common name are only visible during breeding season. This species is unusual, because the males raise the young, while the females, who may have several mates and nests, protect their territory.
There is another family of “sandpipers” who don’t belong to the family Scolopacidae: the plovers. The plover gets its name from the French word for rain, because these small shore birds were thought to be harbingers of storms. This is a widely distributed family of birds that includes killdeer and lapwings, but it’s a small club. There are only 69 species in the family Charadriidae.
Several species of plover spend their winters on the local coast. The black-bellied plover, Pluvialis squatarola, is almost always present on local beaches during winter and early spring, but only adults have black bellies, and only in the spring, during mating season. The gray-bellied plover would be a more accurate name for this species when they are in town during the winter months. Like the sanderlings, black -bellied plovers travel all the way from its breeding grounds in the Arctic tundra to spend their winters on the local coast. The black-bellied plover’s beautiful big dark eyes give it excellent vision and help it to track down tasty invertebrates. This bird often forages in the company of sanderlings and willets.
The Western snowy plover, Anarhynchus nivosus nivosus, is the smallest local plover. This charismatic little bird is a federally listed threatened species that is teetering on the brink of extinction, due to habitat loss and climate change. Most Western snowy plovers breed in California’s Central Valley and along the shores of the Great Salt Lake in Utah, migrating to the coasts of California and Mexico for the winter, but there is a small resident population that lives here year-round. These snowy plovers nest on the beach in depressions in the sand, and that’s a big problem, because the snowy plover’s nesting season coincides with the start of peak beach season for humans.
Snowy plovers have a hard time coexisting with beach crowds, and especially with off-leash dogs. Their nests are exposed and extremely fragile. Depending on protective coloring to avoid being seen may help protect against natural predators, but it puts this species at risk from unobservant humans. The practice of “grooming the beach” to remove seaweed and make a more inviting environment for humans is devastating for this little bird, which uses kelp for shelter and hunts for invertebrates among the beach wrack.
It is estimated that there may be as few as 2,000 Western snowy plovers left in the world, many of them can be found right here, at locations like the Malibu Lagoon and Zuma Beach. All of the birds featured here are winter residents that can be seen on almost any of the wilder beaches in Los Angeles County right now. They forage together and gather in large, apparently congenial groups on the sand to preen their feathers, and nap, and enjoy the sun.
In early spring, most of these species take flight, heading north to the prairies and grasslands of Canada, or the far northern Arctic tundra, to mate and raise their young. When spring is over they return, drawn south again. Many of these birds are extraordinarily long lived. They will make their journey of hundreds or even thousands of miles many times in the course of their lives.
Although we may take their presence for granted, each bird has a story. Each one is embarked on a grand adventure, long distance travelers who share their sojourn with us every winter.
