The Boardwalk
For a few weeks each May, the southern shore of Lake Erie becomes one of the best places in North America to stand still.
At the Magee Marsh boardwalk in northern Ohio, warblers move through at eye level, sometimes so close it feels absurd. A male Chestnut-sided Warbler picks through leaves an arm’s length away, completely indifferent to the people gathered beneath it. Somewhere off to the side, a Black-throated Green sings its dry, buzzy song. Someone farther down the boardwalk quietly says, “Blackburnian,” and suddenly everyone turns toward a flame-orange bird glowing in the canopy.
Meanwhile, Palm Warblers flick their tails along the railings and Northern Parulas buzz overhead, half-ignored only because there is too much to look at.
That is a normal morning at Magee.
The boardwalk itself is simple: a long wooden path winding through flooded forest and low swamp woods along the Lake Erie shoreline just east of Toledo. But geography does something unusual here. Migrating songbirds moving north across the lake funnel into these narrow lakeshore woodlots, dropping down to rest and feed after crossing the water overnight. For birders, it creates an experience that feels almost disproportionate to reality. Warblers, birds usually glimpsed high in spring foliage, suddenly forage at eye level in perfect light.
I grew up in southern Ohio and took spring migration for granted for longer than I should have. My backyard regularly filled with transient warblers each May. Mornings felt unpredictable in the best possible way, every new day carrying the possibility of something rare having arrived overnight.
But Magee existed in a different category entirely.
A four-hour drive north could produce twenty warbler species in a day without much difficulty, along with vireos, thrushes, tanagers, orioles, flycatchers, and more. Even now, after years of birding elsewhere, the density still feels slightly unbelievable.
Living in Colorado has only sharpened that appreciation. In much of the West, finding twenty warbler species over the course of a year is an accomplishment. At Magee, that can happen before lunch.
What I’ve come to appreciate just as much, though, are the people. Birding can be solitary almost to a fault, but Magee in spring becomes strangely communal. People from everywhere gather along the same stretch of boardwalk, collectively focused on the woods in front of them. Someone finds a roosting Eastern Whip-poor-will. Another picks out a Blue-winged Warbler singing deep in the brush. Information travels instantly in murmurs up and down the railings.
The crowds can become overwhelming at times, which is why I’ve always preferred early mornings, weekdays, and especially light rain. Rain empties the boardwalk. The birds keep feeding. Warblers continue moving through dripping branches just inches above the railing while the woods go quiet except for birdsong and water falling through leaves.
Those are the moments I think about most.
Earlier this month, I guided a small group around northern Ohio during peak migration. We spent plenty of time at Magee, but also explored the surrounding marshes, forests, and lakeshore parks that make this corner of Ohio so productive in spring. We watched hundreds of Blue Jays migrating overhead along the lakeshore, one of the few songbird migrations visible in daylight. One evening, we stood in a damp field at dusk while an American Woodcock spiraled overhead in its strange, whistling courtship display before returning to the same open patch of ground, where a female had silently stepped out from the surrounding grass.
Five days passed quickly. They always do there.
The real problem with Ohio in May is leaving before migration does.
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Next spring, I’ll return to Magee with another small group of birders. If you’d like to experience spring migration along Lake Erie, details can be found here: Ohio Spring Birding Tour.
