Jim Gain is one of our finest Valley naturalists. His nature photography, most especially his bird photography, rivals that of top professionals. Jim is also an avid local birder. Below, he recounts two recent adventures with very, very, rare birds, right here in the northern San Joaquin Valley. ed
Some weeks in the Central Valley pass quietly, the familiar rhythm of blackbirds, swallows, and meadowlarks carrying us from one sunrise to the next. And then there are weeks like this one — weeks when the unexpected arrives on swift wings and reminds us that migration is still full of mystery. In the span of just a couple of days, two extraordinary visitors graced our region: a Least Tern, a species far more at home along California’s coast, and a Scarlet Tanager, a jewel from the eastern forests.
Individually, each would have been headline‑worthy. Together, they created a rare and beautiful moment — not just for the birds themselves, but for the community that rallied to see them.
The Least Tern — A Three‑Second Glimpse that Changed Everything
June 18, I was at Lodi’s White Slough Water Treatment Plant with my friend Jim Ross, doing what birders do best: scrutinizing every last tern in a flock of about forty Forster’s Terns. I was hoping for something subtle — maybe an immature Common Tern with a carpal bar, or an adult with a fully red bill. Nothing dramatic. Just the usual careful sorting.
Then it happened.
As I tracked the swirling flock, something tiny shot up from below my field of view — a brief, three‑second blur that zipped upward and vanished. Instantly, before my brain had even caught up, I muttered, “I think there might be a Least Tern in the mix here.
Now, I’m the first to admit I sometimes “think I saw” something unusual only to walk it back later. But this time… this time the size was unmistakable. Too small for anything else.
Jim and I scanned the flock again — and there it was, perched at the edge of the road. A pint‑sized, federally endangered Least Tern. A bird that almost never shows up in the Central Valley, and when it does, it’s usually a one‑day wonder seen by one or two lucky souls.
My adrenaline spiked. I grabbed my phone, opened WhatsApp, and dictated a message that my phone mangled into: “There is a single lease turn at the Lodi water treatment plant right now and with about 30 Forrester’s turns.” (Technology giveth, technology garbleth.)
Jim and I managed some very distant photos — the bird was in no mood to let us approach — but the documentation was enough. Within minutes, birders were on their way. A lifer for San Joaquin County. A bird many had hoped for but never expected.
And just like that, a quiet morning at the sewage ponds became a community event.
The Scarlet Tanager — A Rare Bird Interrupts Pokémon Go
Two days later, I was driving around downtown Modesto with my wife during a Pokémon Go Community Day (Frigibax, for those keeping score). My phone buzzed with a WhatsApp alert from Frances Oliver: “Scarlet Tanager found in Modesto.”
I opened the message. She’d included coordinates. I tapped the map. The bird was less than a mile and a half away.
My wife looked at me and said, “That’s not too far away — let’s go see it.”
Bless this woman.
I always keep a spare pair of binoculars in the car, so I figured: better to go now and risk not having my camera than to waste an hour driving home. We pulled up to the spot, and as soon as I stepped out, I heard an unfamiliar chirp overhead. I played a Scarlet Tanager call on my phone, looked up, and — BOOM — there it was. Perched in the open. Glowing.
I immediately confirmed the sighting on WhatsApp and snapped a terrible iPhone photo just to have proof. Birders from Modesto and Stockton replied instantly: “On my way.”
Only then did I race home for my camera. Pokémon Go would have to wait.
By the time I returned — less than an hour later — a dozen birders had already seen it or were still gathered under the tree, pointing, smiling, high‑fiving. The bird was cooperative, calm, and impossibly beautiful.
This wasn’t just a rarity. It was the first Scarlet Tanager ever recorded in Stanislaus County, and only the fourth for the entire Central Valley.
A once‑in‑a‑lifetime moment, shared by many.
How the News Spread — The Power of WhatsApp and eBird
In another era, these sightings would have been rumors. A phone call here, a whispered tip there. Maybe a handful of people would have seen them.
But today?
WhatsApp lit up like a flare. eBird anchored the sightings in the global record. And within minutes, the community mobilized.
Technology didn’t replace the magic — it amplified it.
The Community that Shows Up
What I love most about these moments is how birders behave when something rare appears.
People stay long after they’ve seen the bird, just to help the next person get on it. Scopes are shared. Directions are shouted. Strangers become teammates. When someone finally sees the bird, the whole group celebrates.
Birding may look solitary from the outside, but at its heart, it’s communal. Every rarity becomes a small festival of goodwill.
What These Moments Mean
A Least Tern at a sewage pond. A Scarlet Tanager above a Modesto sidewalk. Two birds wildly out of place — and yet perfectly timed.
They remind us that migration is still full of mystery. That nature still writes its own surprises. And that the Central Valley birding community is one of the most generous, enthusiastic, and connected groups you’ll ever meet.
The birds brought us together. But the people made the moment unforgettable.