The first marbled murrelet nest found on Haida Gwaii in more than 30 years wasn't discovered on a cliff or a rocky shore. It was hiding high in the moss-covered branches of an ancient forest, the only one of its kind ever confirmed on the island besides one found decades ago. To find it, researchers had to cross two very different worlds. Days earlier they were bobbing in an open skiff through the swells of Dixon Entrance; soon they were scrambling through dense salal in the dark, weaving between the towering western red cedars of northern Haida Gwaii. One strange little bird connects both.
About the size of a robin, the marbled murrelet seems almost ordinary at first glance. Look closer and you realize everything about it is built to disappear. During breeding season its feathers become a rich forest palette of chocolate brown, cinnamon, buff and black — the marbled pattern that gives the species its name. In winter, that same bird transforms into crisp black-and-white plumage suited to a life on the open ocean.
Like almost no other seabird, murrelets don't nest on cliffs or rocky islands. Each spring they leave the ocean behind and fly inland — sometimes more than 80 kilometers, or 50 miles — to ancient forests, where each lays a single egg on a broad, moss-covered branch high in the canopy. Their flights are timed for the dim light of dawn and dusk so they can fly undetected, their "keer" calls filling the early morning air. Later they commute daily from land to sea, carrying fish into the forest to feed their single chick.
The discovery matters because the marbled murrelet is in trouble — listed as threatened under Canada's Species at Risk Act. Over the past century, the loss of old-growth forests across British Columbia has dramatically reduced nesting habitat, while changing ocean conditions have hurt the small forage fish the birds depend on. The species faces pressure in both the marine and terrestrial environments, making these land-sea connections one of the biggest questions in murrelet conservation.
The search began on the ocean. In darkness, researchers set out in a small inflatable boat, using spotlights to find birds resting on the water. They captured them with long-handled dip nets, attached lightweight GPS tags to their back feathers with waterproof tape, and watched each morning as the birds' movements unfolded. Most locations were at sea, revealing where murrelets forage, rest and travel. But when a bird flew inland, the focus shifted. Researchers searched for trees with large, moss-covered branches and open flight paths — the nesting spots these birds prefer.
The work is part of a partnership between the Council of the Haida Nation and Environment and Climate Change Canada, combining GPS tracking, diet analysis, environmental DNA and nest searches. After marking their most promising trees, the team would return before dawn and wait for the silent moment when an adult bird slipped away toward the ocean, giving away a location that had stayed hidden for more than three decades. That long-awaited moment finally came — and with it, new hope for a threatened seabird and for the ancient forests it calls home.