by Andrew Morrison | Somewhere in the mess of branches above, camouflaged among the distractingly active song sparrows, fox sparrows, white crowned sparrows, and dark-eyed juncos, is one of the rarest birds to ever be seen in Canada: a lone winged comet called a Siberian Accentor.
I had never been aware of the species’ existence until that morning, but the birding world had been going apeshit about the wee, skittish fellow ever since he was first spotted in some bushes next to an isolated Surrey farmhouse a couple of weeks ago. Birders from across North America have come to take a look.
The day before, my old friend Artie from Tofino texted me to say he was coming over to see if he could get a glimpse, and together we joined the hopeful throng with their spotting scopes, long lenses, and binoculars scanning the property. Apparently, the Accentor – a beautifully eyebrowed Asian thrush no bigger than a sparrow – had been seen by someone for a moment just after dawn, but it hadn’t been seen for many hours since. The atmosphere was very tense.
Artie and I had been there for just a few minutes when a surreally calm English-accent dramatically called out from behind a scope, “I have the bird”. What followed bordered on the comical, as the assembled bird nerds flew into a measured panic, squishing eyesockets deep into eyepieces and calling out in desperation for specific directions. “He’s holding still at 9 o’clock in the tree above the white barrel.” Ill-equipped with a 300mm lens, shaky hands, and vast reservoirs of ignorance, I continued to watch the birders instead of the bird.
Within a minute, everyone had sighted the thing, including me (excuse the blurry image), and so began a short period of post-tantric ooohing and aaahing, of waxing rhapsodic about how striking the creature was. “He’s much smaller that I thought he’d be.” “Did you see that eyebrow?!” “What about that buff supercilium!” As the collective orgasm of accomplishment waned, lens caps were put on, scopes were sleeved, and cars were started. “I’ve been here for three days!” one of cried out when he remembered that Artie and I had just arrived.
Lucky us, indeed. If I’m not mistaken, there had only ever been five previous instances where a Siberian Accentor has accidentally made its way into Canada. Here’s a clearer look at it. It breeds on either side of the Ural Mountains in Russia and winters in Southeast Asia. Perhaps this guy mistook the Aleutians for Japan and kept flying until he tired and decided to park it for the winter — over rural Surrey of all places! Whatever the truth of its provenance and journey, I really do hope he gets home ok!