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6 September 2010
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Rockport, Maine, USA
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Posts Tagged ‘house finch’
Sunday, July 25th, 2010
 Field sparrow. Two straight rainy weekend mornings. But this one cleared up in a hurry—by a little past 9 the sun was beating down between tall piles of clouds, so dog and I headed strait to the hill.
 Common yellowthroat. Bright sunlight, wet woods. Coming up the trail, when a bit of a breeze hit, it seemed almost like rainfall on a sunny day—such a smattering of water droplets pelting down through the understory. More birds calling this morning than yesterday afternoon, but not outlandishly more. In fact, I’d listed only one or two more than yesterday by the time we’d reached the summit.
Always helps to have a bright day, though, photograph-wise. Got a nice shot of a yellowthroat. And savannah sparrows were again flitting all about the open trails—in stark contrast to yesterday—and occasionally stopped to pose. But most remarkable was the field sparrow that decided to accost us coming back up from the Beech Hill Road parking lot, as we passed through the thick young poplar groves there. Its sharp chip, chip alerted me. Not an overly familiar note. So I stopped and soon had a very near view of the bird—so near, in fact, that I couldn’t get a focus with my long lens. Finally it moved far enough away for me to snap a couple pictures. I’d never been that close to a field sparrow before.
 Savannah sparrow. Coming back up over the hill, I spotted a swallow rising and dipping and fluttering out over the fields toward the bay. But I couldn’t get an ID. Tree or barn, most likely, judging by prior sightings.
Diving back into the woods, I heard a hermit thrush again, but again no pewee.
Still, all five sparrows made appearances today (though, ironically, I was most worried that I’d detected no evidence of field sparrows for more than half our hike). On the other hand, kind of oddly, not a single veery. Perhaps its that fledgling time of year for the rusty-brown thrush of Beech Hill.
* * *
Later in the day I bicycled around the county for a while. The trip brought me by Aldermere Farm, which nearly always sports a good-sized flock of Canada geese—and today was no exception. (I heard a blackbird there, as well.)
 Field sparrow. Beech Hill List
Beginning at 9:45 a.m., I walked all trails.
1. American crow
2. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
3. Red-eyed vireo (voice + shadow)
4. Cedar waxwing
5. Chestnut-sided warbler
6. Eastern towhee
7. Gray catbird
8. American robin (voice)
9. Common yellowthroat
10. American goldfinch (voice)
11. Alder flycatcher (voice)
12. Northern flicker (voice)
13. Song sparrow
14. Herring gull
15. Eastern phoebe
16. Savannah sparrow
17. Yellow warbler (voice)
18. Chipping sparrow (voice)
19. White-throated sparrow (voice)
20. Field sparrow
21. Blue jay (voice)
22. Unknown swallow
23. Hermit thrush (voice)
24. Black-throated green warbler (voice)
25. Hairy woodpecker (voice)
Elsewhere
26. Northern cardinal
27. House sparrow
28. Rock pigeon
29. Canada goose
30. Red-winged blackbird
31. House finch
 Mist-cloaked islands.
Tags: alder flycatcher, American crow, American robin, black-capped chickadee, black-throated green warbler, blue jay, Canada goose, Cedar waxwing, chestnut-sided warbler, chipping sparrow, common yellowthroat, Eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, field sparrow, gray catbird, hairy woodpecker, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, Northern cardinal, northern flicker, red-eyed vireo, red-winged blackbird, rock pigeon, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, swallow, white-throated sparrow, yellow warbler
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Monday, July 19th, 2010
 Beech Nut. It wasn’t all that hot when Jack and I pulled into the parking lot this early morning. And the deer flies weren’t quite as bad as usual. And right away, I heard—very near—the voice of a black-throated green warbler coming from the trees just overhead. Differences. Pleasant surprises.
 Cedar waxwing. Cicadas were singing, though—their languorous, summery song. And berries are ripening: raspberries on their stickerbushes coming up the wooded trail, and blueberries all over the place at the summit. (Blackberries, too, are everywhere along the trails, but they lag a bit behind.) And mushrooms. All kinds of mushrooms. Their numbers and variety seem much broader this season.
But for the second straight day, no ovenbirds.
And I thought for a little while that I’d be listing only four sparrows: plenty of savannahs still, and song sparrows, and the voices of field and chipping. But I didn’t hear a white-throated until well into our return trip.
But, like the lush abundance of greenery on the hill, the numbers of birds themselves are at a yearly high. The number of savannahs must be two or three times what they began with, considering all the young birds fluttering around the open trail. Song sparrows, too, show many active young. And flickers. And waxwings. And phoebes up at Beech Nut.
 American robin, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 19 July 2010. Towhees are acting secretive and protective. I know they have hatchlings about. And catbirds, like yellowthroats, are sounding swift alarms.
At the bird-rich Beech Hill parking area, the far point in our hike, just a few paces from the lot itself, we flushed a woodcock. That was unexpected. And nearing the end of our hike, we came upon a large flock of turkeys. Again: didn’t see that coming.
But perhaps the oddest thing: at a busy stretch near Beech Hill Road, I spotted a small bird hopping about in the trail bark. We stopped only about fifteen feet away. The bird didn’t fly. I got a couple photos. It was a female black-throated green, hunting spiders or something.
Later in the day, back at the office, I happened to look up just as a sharp-shinned hawk sailed lazily by above busy Route 1. Just another small but pleasant surprise.
 Savannah sparrow. Beech Hill List
Beginning at 6:45 a.m., I walked all trails.
1. Black-throated green warbler
2. Red-eyed vireo (voice)
3. Chestnut-sided warbler (voice)
4. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
5. Common yellowthroat
6. American crow
7. Gray catbird
8. Eastern towhee
9. Veery (voice)
10. American robin
11. American goldfinch (voice)
12. Cedar waxwing
13. Alder flycatcher
14. Eastern phoebe
15. Song sparrow
16. Herring gull
17. Hairy woodpecker (voice)
18. White-breasted nuthatch (voice)
19. Mourning dove
20. Savannah sparrow
21. Field sparrow (voice)
22. Hermit thrush (voice)
23. Yellow warbler (voice)
24. Chipping sparrow (voice)
25. Tufted titmouse (voice)
26. Northern flicker (voice)
27. American woodcock
28. White-throated sparrow (voice)
29. Eastern wood-pewee (voice)
30. Wild turkey
Elsewhere
31. Northern cardinal
32. Herring gull
33. Sharp-shinned hawk
34. House sparrow
35. House finch
 Black-throated green warbler.
Tags: alder flycatcher, American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, American woodcock, black-capped chickadee, black-throated green warbler, Cedar waxwing, chestnut-sided warbler, chipping sparrow, common yellowthroat, Eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, eastern wood-pewee, field sparrow, gray catbird, hairy woodpecker, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, mourning dove, Northern cardinal, northern flicker, red-eyed vireo, savannah sparrow, sharp-shinned hawk, song sparrow, tufted titmouse, veery, white-breasted nuthatch, white-throated sparrow, wild turkey, yellow warbler
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Friday, July 16th, 2010
 Cedar waxwings. It seemed cool enough, first thing. Overcast and lightly foggy, with a bit of movement in the air. Dog and I headed out hopefully, as usual, to our rendezvous with a familiar wooded hillside.
Deer flies were still swarming, as they’d been for maybe a week. We set off at a brisk pace, as we typically do.
 American robin. After a couple hundred paces, despite the apparent coolness, I was sweating, and Jack was panting, and the hum of the swarming deer flies ascended with us. Only twice has a deer fly bitten me up there—oddly, both times on my back—but I decided to try an experiment. As I walked I whipped my right arm back over my head, palm facing rearward, and whack! I must’ve hit four or five flies. So I tweaked the experiment a little by putting a hand-grab at the end. Sure enough, I managed to grab probably twenty deer flies during our time on the wooded trails. Then I’d give a little squeeze and toss ‘em down.
Heck, I didn’t have many birds to distract me. The usual woodland species were calling from along the trail, but few made a visual appearance. The dimness of the day prevented decent photography anyway—though I did get a couple interesting silhouettes. Noteworthy was a good-sized family of flickers at the summit, dipping in and out of the spruce grove up there. Several other species have roving families about this time of year, too: chickadee, savannah sparrow, waxwing, jay. In fact, a particularly noisy scene occurred on the other side of the hill, at the parking lot below the open trail, where a whole family of blue jays flitted about in a grove of trees, running through their outlandish vocal repertoire. In fact, one of the jays sat for a while and pointedly scolded me for eavesdropping on their loud-but-inscrutable domestic activities.
Six warblers, five sparrows, three thrushes, three flycatchers—the flycatchers seemingly emerging from a mid-year silence. Ovenbirds are growing quieter, meantime. The first I heard was a solitary bird singing on our return trip down the lower wooded trail.
We’ve reached a sort of doldrums. More humidity, more deer flies. But subtle change is afoot if you know what to look for.
(Later: driving along Rockville Street near the Beech Hill parking lot, I happened upon a broad-winged hawk rising, its striped tail fanned, after having apparently just caught a mouse or vole.)
 Blue jay. Beech Hill List
Beginning at 7:15 a.m., I walked all trails.
1. Red-eyed vireo (voice)
2. Eastern towhee
3. American crow
4. Chestnut-sided warbler (voice)
5. American goldfinch (voice)
6. Gray catbird (voice)
7. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
8. Veery
9. Common yellowthroat
10. Northern flicker
11. Cedar waxwing
12. Alder flycatcher (voice)
13. Song sparrow
14. Black-and-white warbler (voice)
15. Eastern phoebe
16. Savannah sparrow
17. Field sparrow (voice)
18. Mourning dove
19. Yellow warbler (voice)
20. White-throated sparrow (voice)
21. Chipping sparrow (voice)
22. Blue jay
23. Purple finch (voice)
24. Northern cardinal (voice)
25. American robin
26. Hermit thrush (voice)
27. Hairy woodpecker (voice)
28. Ovenbird (voice)
29. Eastern wood-pewee (voice)
30. Black-throated green warbler (voice)
31. White-breasted nuthatch (voice)
Elsewhere
32. Herring gull
33. House finch
34. Broad-winged hawk
 American crow.
Tags: alder flycatcher, American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, black-and-white warbler, black-capped chickadee, black-throated green warbler, blue jay, Cedar waxwing, chestnut-sided warbler, chipping sparrow, Eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, eastern wood-pewee, field sparrow, gray catbird, hairy woodpecker, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, mourning dove, Northern cardinal, northern flicker, ovenbird, purple finch, red-eyed vireo, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, tufted titmouse, veery, white-breasted nuthatch, white-throated sparrow, yellow warbler
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Tuesday, June 29th, 2010
 Common yellowthroat (female). First glance out the window comfirmed it: thick fog. The muffled moans of the fog whistles hung in the cool, humid air as dog and I headed for Beech Hill.
It promised to be a quiet hike, bird-wise. Or so I thought. First I heard the ever-vocal red-eyed vireo, and then the ovenbird, commonplace. And that was all for a good hundred yards—coincidentally, about as far as you could see in the fog. But coming up the drippy upper wooded trail, I began to hear the other resident species: towhee, catbird, chestnut-sided warbler, yellowthroat, waxwing. A rose-breasted grosbeak’s squeak-toy alarm note sounded from the canopy. A robin’s tut-tut-tut came from somewhere in the dim soft light amid the trees.
 Trail head. Then through the understory came the eerie, human-like cry of a raven. A young bird, I’m guessing. A single note. Plaintive. Loud. Like a falsetto wail in the middle distance, All else was quiet but for the echoing song of a solitary chestnut-sided warbler and the sound of droplets falling from tree leaves. I felt a crazy sort of déja vù—as if I’d stepped into a fairy tale first told a thousand years ago. Jack and I stopped and listened. The raven called. And called. And called again.
By the time we reached the summit, my jeans were soaked from the knee down, and I’d counted only fourteen bird species, including the raven. Only a female yellowthroat came near enough to photograph. As we approached Beech Nut, it near-about seemed invisible in the fog.
 Common yellowthroat (female). But then came the voices of tree swallow, alder flycatcher, savannah sparrow, black-and-white warbler (that odd, late-season call), and wood thrush. Mourning dove and phoebe at the summit. And coming down the open trail, a number of other songs and calls. Oddly, I didn’t hear a crow until late in our hike. But perhaps my most interesting sighting was a northern flicker.
A couple days ago my bird-identification skills were challenged when an expert birding friend pointed out I’d misidentified a purple finch as a house finch. I took it hard. But today, I recaptured my confidence with the flicker ID. I’d first detected it at the end of the upper trail on our ascent. I didn’t see it—I simply heard wingbeats, barely whistling, but coming in two flurries, with a pause between. Given the wooded locale, the slight whistle, and the suggestion of undulating flight, at once I figured it for a flicker. But I didn’t see it. I couldn’t count it.
 Gray catbird. On coming back over the hill and into the junction of the upper and lower wooded trails, we startled a bird in the path itself, which fluttered away, flying swift and low. All I could tell was that it was mostly brown and seemed to be a medium-sized perching bird. Right away I thought of the flicker. So we walked slowly and quietly several yards along the upper trail—and, sure enough, before we’d gone twenty or thirty feet, a bird took off from the ground, in undulating flight, flashing a white rump.
“Flicker,” I said to myself. “Thirty-one.”
Then we returned to the junction and took the lower trail, as is our routine. Heard the familiar vireo that hangs around up there, and a distant black-throated green warbler. And about half-way down, as we approached the big oak grove, again, the raven. Like a falsetto human cry. Spooky. Timeless. The sort of memorable sound that’s put plenty of people in a state of awe over the millennia. Both Jack and I stopped and our ears perked up. Then we also heard the croak of an adult raven. And the pair of them must have detected us, because all I saw was a flurry of big black wings in the canopy, and then the raven calls faded in volume as the birds moved away in a northeasterly direction.
 Savannah sparrow. Nearing the parking lot, we heard the voices of blue jays—at least one parent, at least one fledgling. Smaller birds were chipping all over the place in an effort to drive them away.
On our way home, I spotted a hawk on a power line and stopped my truck and grabbed my camera and stepped out for a photo. The hawk had flown. Back at Glen Cove some time later, I heard the distinctive trill of a pine warbler coming from up the hill. In early afternoon, I heard a gang of crows cawing at a hawk or owl or other predator up where the pine warbler had been. And during my afternoon bicycle ride, I watched a red-winged blackbird chase a pair of crows.
Finally, in lingering gray daylight, I heard the call of a titmouse: peer, peer, peer!
 Black-and-white warbler. Beech Hill List
Beginning at 7:15 a.m., I walked all trails.
1. Red-eyed vireo (voice)
2. Ovenbird (voice)
3. Chestnut-sided warbler
4. Cedar waxwing
5. Common yellowthroat
6. Rose-breasted grosbeak
7. American robin
8. American redstart (voice)
9. Black-capped chickadee
10. Veery
11. Common raven (voice)
12. Eastern towhee
13. Gray catbird
14. American goldfinch
15. Tree swallow
16. Alder flycatcher (voice)
17. Savannah sparrow
18. Black-and-white warbler
19. Mourning dove
20. Eastern phoebe
21. Field sparrow (voice)
22. Wood thrush (voice)
23. Song sparrow
24. Yellow warbler (voice)
25. Nashville warbler (voice)
26. Hermit thrush (voice)
27. White-throated sparrow (voice)
28. Chipping sparrow (voice)
29. White-breasted nuthatch (voice)
30. American crow (voice)
31. Northern flicker
32. Black-throated green warbler (voice)
33. Blue jay
Elsewhere
34. House sparrow (voice)
35. Unidentified buteo
36. Pine warbler (voice)
37. Herring gull
38. House finch (voice)
29. Red-winged blackbird (voice)
39. Tufted titmouse (voice)
 Fog.
Tags: alder flycatcher, American crow, American goldfinch, American redstart, American robin, black-and-white warbler, black-capped chickadee, black-throated green warbler, blue jay, Cedar waxwing, chestnut-sided warbler, chipping sparrow, common raven, common yellowthroat, Eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, field sparrow, gray catbird, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, mourning dove, Nashville warbler, northern flicker, ovenbird, pine warbler, red-eyed vireo, rose-breasted grosbeak, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, tree swallow, tufted titmouse, veery, white-breasted nuthatch, white-throated sparrow, wood thrush, yellow warbler
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Tuesday, June 22nd, 2010
 Savannah sparrow. Fisherman, football coaches, and photographers all know the one that got away. As an amateur nature-picture-taker whose subject often flit around nervously, I’m used to this repeated sense of loss. This morning, walking around Beech Hill, there were several such instances: the chestnut-sided warbler that teed up perfectly, only to take wing as I was focusing; the white-breasted nuthatch hunting for food directly in front of me that simply wouldn’t sit still; the tiny mushroom nestled in a bed of green moss and lit by a filtered ray of sunlight… Well, I suppose I could’ve stopped and snapped that last photo, but Chuck and Greta had come up behind Jack and me on the trail, and I felt the press of urgency. Sure enough, on our return trip, the little mushroom was hidden in shade.
 Chestnut-sided warbler. Still, I can see that mushroom in its kelly green field just as vividly as if I had a photo. I can recall the exact endearing posture of the chestnut-sided—which, by the way, was singing. And I can even get to chuckling a bit to think of the nuthatch hanging upside down on the limbs of that conifer at the summit (the same one the red-breasted was poking around in yesterday, by the way).
It sometimes seems to me that the most valuable treasure we in the human species have is our memories. They’re how we learn. They’re tied up in our dreams. Familiar things and faces and feelings give us warmth and love; unfamiliar adventures thrill us with the promise of new memories. You might say our gift of recall is what makes us human in the first place. And I can only hope mine lasts right up until I inhale my last breath.
I swear I can still see that little mushroom in its sunbeam.
 Song sparrow. Otherwise, I saw a lot of birds again today—and heard even more. Most notable perhaps was the voice of a raven, first in a week or two. All five sparrows again. Many yellowthroats chipping from the understory.
The weather, meantime, was lovely. Not as hot as the past couple days, nor as humid. Somewhere in the 70s (F), I’d guess, with a slight breeze off the water. While out cycling this afternoon, with gulls and crows overhead, I felt sort of like I was flying.
This evening I attended a poetry presentation at which my friend Kristen read. She had her iPad with her—we share this ironic love of things both natural and technological—and on it were aerial photos she’d taken today of Beech Hill, which she showed me before the reading. I could’ve looked at them for a lot longer.
P.S. Tonight I saw my first fireflies of the year. Love me some fireflies.
 Savannah sparrow. Beech Hill List
Beginning at 7:30 a.m., I walked all trails.
1. Chestnut-sided warbler
2. Common yellowthroat
3. Ovenbird
4. Red-eyed vireo
5. Cedar waxwing
6. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
7. American robin
8. Rose-breasted grosbeak (voice)
9. Veery
10. Eastern towhee
11. Gray catbird
12. American redstart (voice)
13. Black-and-white warbler (voice)
14. Alder flycatcher (voice)
15. Yellow warbler (voice)
16. Common raven (voice)
17. Song sparrow
18. Eastern phoebe
19. Mourning dove
20. Savannah sparrow
21. Field sparrow (voice)
22. Tufted titmouse (voice)
23. Chipping sparrow (voice)
24. White-throated sparrow
25. Hairy woodpecker (voice)
26. Hermit thrush (voice)
27. American goldfinch
28. American crow (voice)
29. House finch (voice)
30. Nashville warbler (voice)
31. Tree swallow
32. White-breasted nuthatch
33. Wild turkey (voice)
34. Black-throated green warbler (voice)
Elsewhere
35. House sparrow
36. Herring gull
 Beech Hill strawberry.
Tags: alder flycatcher, American crow, American goldfinch, American redstart, American robin, black-and-white warbler, black-capped chickadee, black-throated green warbler, Cedar waxwing, chestnut-sided warbler, chipping sparrow, common raven, common yellowthroat, Eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, field sparrow, gray catbird, hairy woodpecker, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, mourning dove, Nashville warbler, ovenbird, red-eyed vireo, rose-breasted grosbeak, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, tree swallow, tufted titmouse, veery, white-breasted nuthatch, white-throated sparrow, wild turkey, yellow warbler
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| Bird Report is an intermittent record of what's outside my window in Rockport, Maine, USA (44°08'N latitude, 69°06'W longitude), and vicinity. —Brian Willson |
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