Written on 2/24/2024
During the first two days of a three day weekend, I accomplished something that I never have throughout a lifetime of birding. In a 24 hour period, I saw every single species of goose that is a possibility in the state of Utah.1 One of those species is pretty much guaranteed if you are anywhere near water; two were planned, and I traveled to see them; and the remaining two came as surprises.
It started on Thursday morning. A friend had told me that Knight Ideal pond was ice free, and there were some ducks out there if I was willing to park my car at the locked gate and hike in. I always enjoy a bird walk, and the sunny, mid-40 degree days that we are having in Price, Utah, are readying me for spring. I planned on seeing some American Wigeon, Ring-necked Ducks, and other common waterfowl that I already had on my year list, but had not yet seen in Carbon County. Those were the species that my friend had reported there a few days beforehand.
Knight Ideal pond is locked up in the winter months, and re-opens around May. I was glad that this idea was gifted to me, because I was the only car parked at the gate, and had the area all to myself. I applied sunscreen and took off my jacket, opting to bird in a long-sleeved shirt and vest. I walked the 1/4 mile road in, and when I neared the pond, I saw a flock of around 25 Canada Geese. There is so little water in Carbon County that any geese are rare outside of Scofield, our single mountain reservoir. I glassed the rest of the pond, and did not see any other waterfowl, so I began to look through the decent-sized flock of geese.
I was hoping to find a Cackling Goose mixed in. Cacklers are nearly identical to Canadas in plumage, but they are much smaller, with a stubbier bill. I saw a smaller goose, but not quite petite enough to be what I was searching for. It was within the range of Canada Geese, which can vary in size. I put my binoculars on it, and saw a thin squiggly line of white along the bird’s flank. The bill was pinkish orange, which stood out from all the black bills of the Canada Geese, and it had white feathering on the front of its face. In a county where we do not get many geese at all, I was looking at a rare Greater White-fronted Goose on a pond that is just a bit bigger than an Olympic swimming pool.
I took a few distant photographs. I stepped forward to get a better picture, and the flock got spooked and took off. They circled above the pond, letting out annoyed honks, and dripping water from their undercarriages. When they saw that I was waiting for them to land, they flew to the north instead. I sent a text message to the friend that told me about the open water. He would come and look for the goose later, but they had not returned.
When I arrived home later Thursday afternoon, I looked around online, but could find no evidence that anyone had ever reported a Greater White-fronted Goose in Carbon County.
On Friday, I had plans to drive to Gunnison Bend Reservoir outside of Delta, Utah. Every year, Snow Geese migrate through the state on their way north, and this spot is one of their favorite waypoints along the route. They congregate on this lake in the thousands. They are so reliable there, that the town of Delta holds a festival about it every year in late February. The event was this weekend, and it would be an easy opportunity to see Snow Geese, and Ross’s Geese that mix in with them.
I made the two and a half hour drive to the reservoir, which is located on the opposite side of the state of Utah. I was following directions from the map app on my phone, which led me to a gated picnic area and marina on the west side of the lake. All the geese were tightly packed in on the east side. The surface of the water looked like it was covered in a layer of puffy summer clouds. I drove around, trying to find somewhere that was open for viewing, where they were holding the actual festival, but I was just getting lost in side streets that cut straight lines through farm fields.
I kept taking roads that led away from the reservoir. Finally I just decided to go back to the gate, and hike in. I would need a closer spot to set up my scope and try and pick out Ross’s Geese from the flock, and I had driven too far to be satisfied with a bad look. A Ross’s differs from a Snow Goose in the same way a Cackling Goose differs from a Canada: they are smaller, with stubbier bills.
I met an older couple at the gate, and they were similarly lost. We decided to trespass together. While the gate was closed to automobile traffic, there was no signage that prohibited walking in. They provided me with this justification, and I went along with it.
From the western shore of the lake, the flock of white geese was still too far away to scope. I looked at a group of Canada Geese that was closer to me, and picked out a Cackling Goose almost instantly. I had not planned on seeing one this weekend, and they are slightly rare, so this was my second surprise goose in as many days. I got left behind when I was looking at birds that were not the main attraction.
The couple was walking along the shoreline to try and get closer to the flock of Snow Geese. I hoisted my scope over my shoulder and ran after them. They disappeared in a thicket of willow along the shore, and as I was trying to follow, I ran into a seven-foot-tall chain link fence. I called out to them and they said they had found a path through. The man met me at the fence and told me to pass my optics over to him, that he would hold everything while I bushwhacked to the other side. He pointed out the route they had taken.
I started to part the thick willows, which were catching on my jacket and jeans. I hadn’t passed my binoculars to the man, so I put my hands around them for protection. A particularly sharp branch tore open my left hand pinky knuckle, and blood started to bead along the jagged tear. The acrid smell of willow bark stung my nose, but I could see an opening where the couple was standing, waiting for me. The man told me it was clear once I got up there.
I rejoined them, and got my camera and scope back. We were met with a “no trespassing” sign at the edge of a farm field, but the couple confidently walked past it. I took a few steps inside the private property and set up my scope. I wanted to look real fast and get out of there since this kind of behavior gives birders a bad name. Doing it quickly doesn’t make it any better, and I am not blameless, I was just already there.
It didn’t take me long to find a Ross’s Goose, and then I took a moment to look at the surrounding sea of Snow Geese. Once I identified both and added them to my year list via the eBird app, I thanked the couple for their help and got out of there. This was not one of my proudest birding moments.
When I returned to the willows, I had no one to help me out with my optics. I zipped the case around my scope so I could avoid a scratched lens, and hung my binoculars and camera on the top of the chain link. I forced my way back through, and returned to the fence to grab my gear that is too valuable to carry with me as I bushwhacked through vegetation that is sharp enough to tear flesh. I felt better about being within the park boundary, where at least I would not get shot at for trespassing.
Feeling more confident inside the confines of public lands, I stood on the western shore of the reservoir and just listened for a moment. Thousands of white geese honking in unison, filling the air with a joy that arrives once a year in late winter. Snow Geese get to Gunnison Bend as the snow recedes from the surrounding farmland. They are one of the earliest migrants in spring migration, and mark the beginning of one of the most beautiful spectacles that takes place on earth.
When I returned to my car, I looked at the clock. It was just over 24 hours after I had seen the Greater White-fronted Goose at Knight Ideal pond. I thought of the Cackling Goose and the Ross’s Goose, and realized that I had seen all five of the possible species of Utah geese in less than two full days of birding.
No matter how long I have been watching, there is always room for something new. The surprises are what keep me going back out. If I am willing to spend the time watching birds, the birds will repay that dedication by adding a sense of amazement to my life.
One could argue that six species of goose can be seen in the state, since there are four records of the typically ocean-dwelling Brant. It is likely I will never see a Brant in Utah in my lifetime, so I purposely left it out.
Awesome sightings and great birding. Hope to see a Greater White-fronted Goose someday.
Awe and wonder, it makes life worth living!!