The spring migration of birds is peaking. Here’s how to watch
May 1, 2026
6 min read
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The spring migration of birds is peaking. Here’s how to watch
The migration of birds from their southern wintering grounds to their breeding grounds in the north is in full swing
By Kate Wong edited by Clara Moskowitz
Prothonotary Warbler.
Teresa Kopec/Getty Images
It’s happening! Spring migration is peaking as birds race from their southern wintering grounds to their breeding grounds in the north. And although it’s always a good time to watch birds, now is the very best time for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere. We’re welcoming back the birds that nest where we live and hoping to catch sight of the ones that are touching down only briefly to rest and refuel before they head to points farther north. This is the moment bird-watchers have been waiting for—the wondrous window when hundreds of millions of birds may stream across the sky in a single night en route to claim a territory, find a mate, build a nest and reproduce.
In the northeastern U.S., where I roost, the migrants have been trickling in for a couple of months. The Tree Swallows arrived in March and are now building their nests with grasses and pine needles from the surrounding fields. The Blue-gray Gnatcatchers followed in April. They’ve been flitting among the treetops and are so tiny and fast that often I identify them not by their physical traits but by their distinctive call, a wheezy utterance from the world’s smallest kazoo. If I hear a call or song I don’t recognize, I may consult the Merlin bird app, which has a sound identification feature that’s like Shazam for bird vocalizations, and see if it can match the sound to one in its database. Merlin isn’t perfect, though—it’s best to confirm the app’s suggestions with your own eyes and ears if you can.
Recently at a local beach, I watched two American Oystercatchers pick their way along the pebbled shore to nab tiny limpets with their long orange bills. One of the birds had bands on its legs, indicating that it had been captured and assigned an identification number for the North American Bird Banding Program. Data on sightings of banded birds allow scientists to track changes in bird populations, behaviors and environments. I reported the oystercatcher on the program’s website when I got home from my walk, and two days later I received a certificate of appreciation noting that my bird was banded in a neighboring town in the spring of 2025 and had hatched in 2024 or earlier. I wonder where it will turn up next.
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I’m a night owl at heart. But now that migration is ramping up, I’m turning in early—right after I check the bird migration forecast to see what tomorrow might bring—and rising with the sun to make the most of the early mornings, when birds are busiest. My alarm clock is nature’s own: the American Robin singing outside my bedroom window at daybreak.
My species checklists, which I record in the online database eBird, are growing longer each day. Earlier this week, I encountered my first Rose-breasted Grosbeaks and Orchard Orioles of the season—newly arrived from Central America and northern South America—singing as they foraged for buds and caterpillars in the blossoming apple trees. And just yesterday, while commuting to work through the Battery, a park at the southern tip of Manhattan, I spied my first Worm-eating Warbler of the year way up in an oak tree, where it was hunting for insects among the pale new leaves. The sight took me by surprise because this species tends to hang out in the understory of dense forests, often on steep slopes. But it was a reminder of a cardinal rule of birding: anything can happen during migration. (To the cyclist I accidentally backed into while intently observing an Ovenbird at the edge of the bike path: I’m sorry. Thank you for being kind in the face of my birds-on-the-brain obliviousness.)
In addition to welcoming familiar faces as migration progresses, I’m hoping to add some new species to my life list. I’ve been searching the forested lakes and streams in my area for a Prothonotary Warbler, a splendid saffron-headed songbird with obsidian eyes and wings of smoke. We only get a handful each spring, mostly so-called overshoot migrants that end up farther north than their breeding grounds. This species has eluded me for the six years I’ve been bird-watching, so I suppose that makes it what bird nerds call a nemesis bird. But tonight 147 million birds are predicted to take wing over North America. Some of them will be Prothonotary Warblers. Maybe one will drop