Plain Mountain Finches in Sleet and Snow

“Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.”

― John Ruskin

What are the ideal conditions to go birding? In most cases, around dawn or dusk on days with clear skies that let the sun’s balmy light warm the earth. In these ideal conditions, one would typically see most of the bird diversity in an area come out to feed. Amid extreme conditions like scorching heat or freezing cold, birds typically take shelter to avoid undue exhaustion. However, there are always exceptions to the rule. One of my most memorable birding sessions was an afternoon spent looking for birds in rain, sleet, and snow around Munsiyari. For nearly two hours, we watched as 15 species of birds dealt with the harsh weather in two distinct ways. Small groups of some species like accentors, rock buntings, and rosefinches all found shelter from the falling ice drops in a wooded area a few hundred metres from us. Two species of birds, however, were determined to brave the weather for a good meal. The first was a flock of 500-1,000 plain mountain finches (Leucosticte nemoricola) sitting on leafless trees out in the open and regularly taking off in spectacular formations to a grassy area to feed on seeds and grain. The other, a Himalayan buzzard (Buteo refectus), perched on a low tree, seemed to be watching the finches and perhaps waiting for an opportunity to strike. 

Hidden behind a low stone wall, our birding group of three had some difficulty making sense of what we could see on the trees in the distance. Through icy cold winds and frozen droplets of rain, the branches of the large brown trees appeared to be filled generously with seedpods. Only when the dried seedpods took off from the tree and flew in incredible patterns did we realise we were looking at a flock of birds. As the flock returned from their patterned flight, the tree filled with at least 500 plain mountain finches. Their colours and patterns resemble house sparrows — bodies in inconspicuous shades of brown and black, with distinctly rufous-coloured heads. They are slenderer than the sparrow and have strong pointy beaks that look well-suited for foraging on the ground for seeds, grain, and occasionally, small invertebrates like spiders and insects. The plain mountain finch is about 14-15 cm and weighs about 25 grams (roughly the same as an AA battery). The wonderful little acrobats are found in the Himalayan region (Tibet, Nepal, and India) and temperate grasslands of Russia, Mongolia, Kazakhstan, China, and Afghanistan.

The finches kept taking off from the trees and landing in a field behind us, searching for grain and insects. They flew in tightly packed formations, much like the popular murmuration of starlings. In flight, the flock looked like dark liquid suspended mid-air in ephemeral shapes. The fluid shapes would move over the field and descend to the ground in a dramatic downward swoop. After a few seconds of feeding, the flock would return to their perches on the tree. Aside from dazzling birders like me, flying in large numbers in unpredictable patterns allows the small birds to confuse potential predators.

Birds of prey typically lock onto one individual bird and move purposefully towards it. When the finches fly in constantly changing patterns, raptors like buzzards, kestrels, and eagles find it harder to single out one individual and target it for a strike.

As we watched the finches fly in and out of the field, we spotted another bird in the field. It was a Himalayan buzzard perched on a small, dry tree. Unperturbed by the falling snow, it watched the flock; perhaps it was waiting for an opportunity to strike. Himalayan buzzards are known to hunt in open fields and cultivated slopes like the one we were on. To us, this buzzard looked determined, in its element, and invested in watching the finches. Though our fingers were frozen and cameras soaked, we stayed on, hoping to watch a stand-off between the finches and the buzzard. Soon, a painful shower of sleet began. Amid the falling ice pellets, the finches moved to branches on shorter trees (5-10 feet off the ground) to minimise their flying distance to the foraging area. They continued their fancy aerial manoeuvres with each foray. Then, the buzzard took off from its vantage point and flew into a wooded area. Perhaps the harshness of the sleet had driven it to seek shelter, or maybe it had other reasons to give up, at least temporarily, its tracking of the agile finches.

As the sleet continued and the temperature dipped below freezing, the finches huddled together on branches to stay warm. Once the icy rain stopped and with no visible threat from a buzzard, the finches resumed their flight to the ground — this time in a markedly straightforward way. Flying down from their perch straight to the ground, they fed for a few minutes (instead of the previous rushed feeding sessions that had only lasted a few seconds) before returning to their roost. While some birds on the ground continued to feast, others stayed on the tree, preening their feathers. To me, it appeared that the reason for their previous collective aerial acrobatics was the looming threat of a predator keen on finding food amidst the storm.

My afternoon in Munsiyari in the company of a dazzling flock of finches and an enigmatic Himalayan buzzard will be one of the most awe-inspiring birding moments I have experienced. If you go out on a nature walk in the rain or on a cloudy day, remember that there are only different kinds of good weather.