Seth Kellogg: Connecticut River sandbar attracts hungry, migrating - and rare - shorebirds

The little red-necked phalarope inhabits the open ocean, but in summer and fall young birds are occasionally found on inland waters. (Submitted photo)
Seth Kellogg By Seth Kellogg The Republican
on September 01, 2013 at 5:48 AM

The long river meanders southward through the center of New England, and long-winged birds follow its course, seeking the sea. There, the river empties itself into the sound, while the birds fly on and on to distant southern shores. To reach their destination, the birds need more than long wings. They need to eat.

Even as the tide recedes daily away from beaches and coves, the river offers food, but only in the summer when the rains fail and the water level slowly falls. The flyers are not much attracted to the shoreline, shaded by the trees that also hide predators. They look for safety and food on a wide open sandbar.

Such a place lies two miles south of Springfield, on a long, straight stretch of the Connecticut River. A large wooded island slows the spring floods, allowing sand to filter down and form shallows. In summer the shallows are exposed, and a sandbar appears, an enormous sandbar. It is a saving sight for tired wings and empty bellies.

A heavy rain slowed the lowering of the water on the river this summer, but a dry August eventually brought the sandbar to the surface. North winds blew as well, the kind that long-winged birds also love, for tailwinds speed their journey. They flew past, they circled back, they called to each other, and they came to land.

These birds were sandpipers, mostly small birds, measuring barely 6 inches. The smallest, and by far the most numerous, is the aptly named least sandpiper. With them was the semipalmated sandpiper, larger by an inch and bearing a name so silly that it is barely worth the telling why.

The sandpipers fly in closely-packed flocks of 20 or 50 birds that twist and turn in the sunlight, flashing dark and white so as to brighten the sullen air. Suddenly, they are down, and just as suddenly, they are picking at the sand beneath their feet. With their sensitive bills they probe for tiny creatures feeding on the fresh algae, a dinner fit for a tired flyer.

Birders are able to approach these birds closely as they feed, but only after they brave the deep muck and shallow water that separates the sandbar from the mainland shore. Then there is a long, slow march across the dry, barren parts of the bar, until you arrive at the rich feeding areas. We were eager and up to the task, for we had heard about two very rare birds present here, and wanted to find them.

We were surrounded by dozens of the smallest sandpipers, but with them were a few other members of this large clan of birds, known together as “shorebirds.” I wrote recently about a special place for seeing shorebirds on Cape Cod, an island named South Beach, and this sandbar is a smaller, backyard version of that wonderful place.

The sandpipers are generally active, but there is a more sedate clan of sandbar-walker called the plovers. Two from this group were present here, our breeding shorebird, the killdeer, and the uncommon migrant with the odd name, the semipalmated plover.

We did not have to search hard to find the large and noisy tattler clan that rushed about in the deeper waters on long legs. These were six lesser yellowlegs that pranced wildly as they probed their thin bills into the water.

With them was a very similar, but slightly smaller bird, almost as lively, but with a longer bill that was curved downward. It was one of those two rare birds we sought, one that is exceedingly rare away from the coast, a stilt sandpiper. I keep careful records, so was able to verify that the only other time I had seen this bird on the river was on this same sandbar in the early days of August 1987.

Finally, the second rare shorebird came into view, a very small bird sneaking quietly down one side of the bar. It was the red-necked phalarope, an oceanic shorebird with a justly exotic-sounding name. We were breathless as we watched the little bird twirl and dance on the water’s surface. It was indeed a sight rarely seen on the long river.

Seth Kellogg can be contacted at

The Allen Bird Club website can be found at