Birds of the Whitewater Preserve: Sora By Steve Myers
Sora captured in their wetlands habitat | Photo by Steve Myers
You’ll probably hear it before you ever see it — a sharp, laughing whinny echoing through the cattails at Whitewater Preserve. Then, maybe, a flicker of movement: a plump, slate-gray bird darting between reeds, quick as a secret. This is the Sora (Porzana carolina), one of the marsh’s most elusive residents. Most of the time it stays hidden, but every so often, one steps into the open — yellow bill flashing, eyes bright, as if daring you to catch a glimpse before it vanishes again.
For a bird that rarely leaves the cover of cattails, the Sora lives a life of astonishing distance. The Sora breeds across much of Canada: from British Columbia to the Atlantic Coast, and south throughout the northern United States into New Mexico and northern Arizona. In California, its breeding range extends as far south as the Central Valley and east of the Sierra Nevada to Inyo County.
These tiny travelers undertake impressive seasonal migrations. Their wintering range stretches the Pacific Coast from southern Oregon south to southern Baja California, continuing into Mexico, the Caribbean, and the Neotropics as far south as Peru. In southern California, the Sora is fairly common during winter, particularly at lower elevations. By early October they have arrived at southern California wintering sites.
Within their breeding range, Soras They build compact nests — just six inches across — woven from cattails and sedges, anchored in shallow water. The male gathers the material; the female shapes it into a tidy bowl that floats amid the reeds. Nearby, the pair often constructs “dummy nests,” perhaps for resting or to confuse predators — one of those unsolved little mysteries that make the species so intriguing.
Each clutch holds about ten to twelve eggs, and both parents take turns incubating. Within a week or so, the eggs hatch into small, black, downy chicks — tiny shadows that wobble from the nest within days, exploring their watery world. By three or four weeks, they’re already taking short flights, ready to join the migrations that define their species.
Wintering Soras thrive in freshwater, brackish, and even salty wetlands, and have adapted well to human-altered landscapes — canals, rice fields, ditches, and wet pastures all provide shelter and food. You’re more likely to hear their whinnying call or two-note ker-weee than to see one, but occasionally, a bold Sora breaks the pattern — like the one recently spotted strolling the stream that feeds the wading pond, unconcerned with the astonished onlookers nearby.
Soras sustain themselves on a varied diet of mostly aquatic plant seeds — such as smartweeds, duckweeds, and grasses — but they also eat snails and arthropods, including dragonflies, damselflies, beetles, and others. Nestlings are mainly fed invertebrates.
Though Soras spend most of their time concealed within dense marsh vegetation, lucky observers may catch a glimpse of their stocky build, short, bright yellow bill, and black face. Soras are unmistakable once seen. Virginia Rails (Rallus limicola) also inhabit the Preserve’s marshes, but their long, slender bills and even more secretive habits set them apart.
Catching sight of a Sora requires patience and a careful ear. One of the best ways to improve your chances to catch a sighting is to join Whitewater Preserve’s regular bird walks. Held on the second and fourth Tuesday of each month, each bird walk is led by naturalists that unlock the world of hidden movements, quiet calls, and seasonal rhythms.