We think of ourselves as snowbirds.
Each fall, we leave the north behind and head south in our RV, following familiar roads toward warmer days. Along the way, we encounter birds doing much the same thing—only their journeys are often longer, their highways invisible, and their destinations known without maps or GPS.
In an earlier article, I looked at the remarkable phenomenon of bird migration. This time, I want to look more closely at some of the birds I’ve encountered during our own travels south.
Where did they come from? How far have they traveled? And what can their journeys tell us about our own?
The more I learn, the more I realize that these aren’t simply birds we happen to encounter along the way.
They are fellow travelers.
The Sandhill Crane
When you can see—and hear—the migration
There is something about hearing Sandhill Cranes that makes you stop and look up.
I’ve experienced it many times during our travels south but nowhere more memorably than Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge in New Mexico. I’ve attended the Festival of the Cranes held annually in early December and spent many mornings photographing the birds as they gathered in the wetlands.
Before sunrise, the refuge can seem almost still. Then comes the calling. One crane answers another, and soon the air fills with their distinctive rolling calls. As daylight arrives, thousands rise from the water and head into the surrounding fields.
I’ve also photographed cranes at Whitewater Draw near Willcox, Arizona, and in Florida. Each encounter reminds me that these birds are part of the same seasonal movement that brings us south.
Of course, their journey is very different from ours. Some Sandhill Cranes travel thousands of miles between breeding and wintering grounds while others remain in the same region year-round.
But the connection is there.
The seasons tell both of us when it’s time to move.
The Yellow-rumped Warbler
One small bird in a continent of travelers
During our snowbird travels in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas, I’ve photographed Yellow-rumped Warblers. They’re easy to overlook—small, active birds moving through the trees.
But there’s much more to that little bird than meets the eye.
Yellow-rumped Warblers are among the most abundant warblers in North America. Each fall, they sweep south across the continent in remarkable numbers. Some winter in the southern United States while others continue into Mexico and Central America.
Think about that the next time you see one.
The bird in my photograph may be one small traveler but it is part of a movement involving millions of birds crossing the continent.
We snowbirds can relate to that. A single RV heading south doesn’t seem like much but put us all on the road and the annual migration becomes impossible to miss.
Sometimes it takes looking closely at one traveler to appreciate how large the journey really is.
The Indigo Bunting
Finding the way without a map
During our snowbird travels in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas, I photographed an Indigo Bunting. At first glance, it seemed like just another small bird passing through.
But Indigo Buntings have an extraordinary way of finding their way.
They migrate at night, traveling about 1,200 miles between their breeding and wintering grounds. And one of the tools they use is something we rarely think about when finding our own way—the stars.
Scientists discovered this by placing Indigo Buntings under artificial night skies. When the stars were changed, the birds changed their direction.
We snowbirds have it easier. We have highways, road signs, and GPS to guide us south.
The bunting has the night sky.
Somehow, it knows how to read it.
The Whimbrel
The journey we can hardly imagine
During our snowbird travels, I photographed a Whimbrel at Laguna Atascosa National Wildlife Refuge in South Texas. At the time, I was simply pleased to capture the photograph. I didn’t realize the journey that bird may have already made.
Some Whimbrels make a nonstop flight of about 2,500 miles over open ocean between North America and South America. For days, there is nowhere to land, no place to rest. One tracked female named Hope flew more than 50,000 miles over three years between her breeding and wintering grounds.
Suddenly, the bird in my photograph seemed very different.
I had driven our RV to South Texas. The Whimbrel had arrived after a journey that could span an entire ocean.
Sometimes we don’t realize how far a fellow traveler has come until we learn its story.
The Osprey
The journey that keeps repeating
I’ve photographed Ospreys in the Rio Grande Valley of Texas and along Florida’s Gulf Coast. In Florida, I caught one carrying a fish so large it seemed almost too big for the bird to fly with.
It was a great photograph. But the more I learned about Ospreys, the more I realized there was another story behind that moment.
Many Ospreys that breed in the northern United States and Canada migrate south for the winter, some all the way to Central or South America. Others remain along the Gulf Coast and in Florida where fish are available year-round.
One tracked Osprey flew 2,700 miles from Massachusetts to French Guiana in just 13 days. Over a 15- to 20-year lifetime, an Osprey may log more than 160,000 migration miles.
That gives a different meaning to seeing one perched above the Gulf or flying past with a fish in its talons.
For us snowbirds, the trip south is something we repeat every year. For the Osprey, it is part of a lifetime pattern—leave, travel, arrive, and eventually turn north again.
We may travel the same roads each year. The Osprey simply follows a different route.
The Snow Goose
Choosing a winter destination
In late November, I’ve photographed Snow Geese at both Bosque del Apache and Bitter Lake National Wildlife Refuge in New Mexico. At first, it might seem they simply arrived because winter was approaching.
But they didn’t choose these places by accident.
Snow Geese breed in the Arctic and subarctic regions of Canada and Alaska. Each fall, they head south along established migration routes, seeking wetlands, fields, and other places where food and water are available.
At Bosque del Apache and Bitter Lake, those needs come together. Thousands of geese gather there for the winter.
We snowbirds understand something about choosing a winter destination. We look for the things that make a place comfortable and give us reasons to stay.
The Snow Goose has a simpler checklist.
Find food. Find water. Find safety. Stay until it’s time to go.
The Pelicans
Migration doesn’t follow a simple rule
Along the Texas Gulf Coast, I’ve photographed both species of pelicans—the Brown Pelican and the American White Pelican. I naturally thought of them as two versions of the same bird but seeing them in the same general region made me curious about how their lives differ.
But their migration stories are surprisingly different.
American White Pelicans breed primarily inland in the northern part of the continent and migrate south for winter, often to the Gulf Coast. Some populations, including those breeding in Texas, remain year-round.
Brown Pelicans are primarily coastal birds and their movements vary by location. Some Gulf Coast birds move farther south during the coldest months while others remain in the same general area.
It reminded me that migration isn’t simply a matter of going or staying. Even birds that share the same coastline can respond to the seasons in very different ways.
We snowbirds know that, too. Some travel thousands of miles each year. Others move only a few states south. And some never leave home at all.
There is more than one way to be a snowbird.
The Great Blue Heron
Sometimes the traveler stays
I’ve photographed Great Blue Herons in many places along our travels through the South from Texas eastward. They seem almost like permanent fixtures—standing patiently beside a pond, river or marsh, waiting for a fish to come within reach.
But not every Great Blue Heron is a permanent resident.
Northern populations migrate south for the winter while many herons farther south remain year-round. Some birds move only short distances while others travel much farther. In other words, there isn’t one migration pattern for every Great Blue Heron.
That makes the heron an interesting fellow traveler. The one standing quietly in front of me may have traveled hundreds of miles—or it may have spent its entire life nearby.
We snowbirds have our own version of that choice. Some of us make a long journey south every year. Others move only a short distance. And some are perfectly happy staying where they are.
Migration isn’t always about how far you go. Sometimes it’s simply about knowing where you belong.
A sky full of fellow travelers
What migration has taught me
Over these eight birds, I’ve come to see migration differently. It isn’t simply birds moving from one place to another. It is a collection of remarkable journeys—some short, some thousands of miles long, some guided by stars, some crossing oceans, and some barely noticeable at all.
Through our own travels, I’ve realized something else. Every fall, we snowbirds join this great seasonal movement. Our journeys are easier, our routes are mapped, and we have the luxury of turning around whenever we choose.
The birds don’t have those choices. Yet year after year, they leave when the time comes and somehow find their way.
Perhaps that’s why encountering them along our travels feels different now.
We aren’t simply passing through their world. For a little while, we’re fellow travelers.
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Editor’s note
This article was originally published in October 2026. Information reflects what was accurate at the time of writing. Conditions, access, and amenities may change over time, so please verify current details before planning your trip.
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