Last weekend I took full advantage of the good weather by stealing time from my day to go birding. I was not sorry that I had done so.

I traveled to the public boat landing on Pushaw Lake in Glenburn. I’m not sure what I expected to see, but waterfowl were high on my list of probable sightings – maybe mergansers or perhaps some goldeneye ducks. I was busy scanning the surface of the lake as I walked across the short grassy area that sloped down to the water. I wasn’t paying particular attention to my immediate surroundings, so I was startled when a small group of birds suddenly flushed from the ground several feet in front of me.

Although I only glimpsed the birds as they sped away from me, their plumage color and patterns told me they were snow buntings. I was ecstatic; I hadn’t seen snow buntings in years, not since I first moved to Maine.

The birds didn’t go far, alighting on the edge of the water and continuing what I had so rudely interrupted – gathering food. There were four of them moving through the short grass, gleaning small seeds and probably some insects from the vegetation.

They were quite wary, constantly looking around for danger while they foraged. Every so often, one bird would scuttle down to sip water at the lake’s edge, an action I found very endearing.

I had to keep my distance if I wanted to observe their behavior and get photographs. If I attempted to circle around them, they moved ahead of me, alert and ready to take flight again. If I remained standing still, they relaxed somewhat but continued to move away. I decided to sit down and slowly inch toward them every few minutes, a tactic that worked. I was able to get close enough to have excellent views.

These large finch-like birds are beautifully marked. During the breeding season, the males are a stunning white all over, except on their wings, backs, and tails, which are mostly black. During the winter their plumage changes to a mottled gray-brown on their backs, with warm sienna markings on their heads, faces, and chests; females retain this dress year-round.

Snow buntings have a fascinating life history. In early April, males arrive first on breeding grounds in the high Arctic. At this time there is still significant snow cover and temperatures still below freezing. Although this may seem a costly error, their early arrival helps the males acquire the best nest sites, which are situated in rocky crevasses and burrows.

Most other Arctic songbirds nest on open ground, leaving them very vulnerable to predation. Nesting in rock cavities gives snow buntings an edge. However, the coldness and harshness of this type of nest site requires some adaptation: females build a well-insulated nest and remain on it almost constantly, being fed by their mates throughout the incubation period.

Another trait that intrigued me has to do with their plumage. Unlike most other birds, which undergo molting to change from breeding plumage into winter plumage and back again, male snow buntings only molt once a year, at the end of the breeding season. At this time they acquire their winter dress. Come spring, they lose it by actually rubbing their feathers on snowy or icy surfaces, abrading the colored feather tips away until they are once again starkly black and white.

I spent a pleasant morning watching the buntings. Whenever something spooked them, they’d take off flying in a characteristic rolling, bounding pattern. The white wing and tail patches, plus their white undersides, brought to mind an image of swirling snow, as if to herald the onset of the real thing.

NEWS bird columnist Chris Corio can be reached at bdnsports@bangordailynews.net