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Archive for February, 2010
Thursday, February 11th, 2010
 Sunset at Beech Hill. Sometimes when the night wind sucks at the windows and rumbles the eaves, I think about the gigantic red oak leaning directly over the corner of the house where my bed is. But then I roll over and go to sleep. I mean, I can think of worse ways to die than get flattened by a 25-ton tree trunk.
 American crow. The northwest wind was still blowing hard this morning when I first stepped out onto the back deck. It didn’t seem to bother the gray squirrels that dashed along the branches of the gigantic red oak or the chickadees I heard chattering merrily up the hill. The temperature made its way above freezing fairly early, slowly diminishing the crusty piles of snow.
In early afternoon, I happened to see a couple crows flying quick and low above the motel parking lot across the road. Right away I looked for the jogging man—and there he was. Same routine as the past two days: veer off into the corner parking lot, sprinkle pieces of something (bread?), turn and continue down the road. Today there seemed a few more crows, and a pair of herring gulls appeared, as well. Funny how word gets around. In fact, the man is not so much a jogger as a fancy walker—he often extends his arms out to either side and twists and turns like a soaring bird. Maybe there’s some kind of affinity going on.
A quick pass through the haunts of the red-shouldered hawk revealed no sign of the young raptor.
 European starlings. Since much of the day ended up a scramble, it was with no small degree of relief that, at about half past four, I pulled into the parking lot at the head of the wooded Beech Hill trail. A bit later than usual, but so was sunset. I came upon a friend and his dog—a nice surprise—but we diverged at the fork in the trail. I took the high way. The temperature remained in the upper-30s (F), and the air tasted fresh and clean. About half-way up, the luminous western sky lured me off-trail and up a little meadow where in summer I’ve seen yellow warblers, alder flycatchers, and orioles. A lovely divergence, a deviation from my routine. Sometimes that’s where the magic is.
Up the open hillside in the direction of the setting sun. As it dipped behind the hill, I got some photos of the indescribable sky. And at the summit, where I met the trail again, I heard—then saw—one, two, three ruffed grouse take off into the trees in a northerly direction. Winter partridges, three.
About half-way back along the lower trail, I heard the single tweet of a brown creeper. [This winter for the first time I’ve learned to distinguish the sound from a kinglet’s note.] Through the naked trees, the color of the far western sky had dimmed to an impossibly dark brick-colored, purple-colored rose.
When I arrived back at the parking lot, the hardwoods in gloaming seemed the perfect realm of owls. I neither saw nor heard one, though.
Today’s List
Black-capped chickadee
American crow
Herring gull
Ring-billed gull
Rock pigeon
European starling
Ruffed grouse
Brown creeper
Tags: American crow, black-capped chickadee, brown creeper, European starling, herring gull, ring-billed gull, rock pigeon, ruffed grouse
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Wednesday, February 10th, 2010
 What a breakwater's for. I got up about the same time as usual, showered as usual, had my usual breakfast. Took a mug of coffee out onto the deck long enough to get a feel for the temperature—somewhere in the 20s (F)—take a couple deep breaths of morning air, and listen for early birds. Lately I’ve heard chickadees, crows, titmice. Today, under an overcast sky, nothing.
Then, it being a weekday, I headed down to my desk to get some work done. Refilled my coffee mug a couple of times.
 Juvenile red-shouldered hawk. In afternoon, I caught sight of the jogger from yesterday and stopped to watch his routine. Sure enough, before he’d veered even a few feet off the shoulder, six or eight crows showed up. A couple perched on the electrical service line, a couple flew low over his head in lazy circles. The man reached into a pocket, paused, sprinkled something on the old snow, then immediately started back for the road. The crows didn’t wait—they all fluttered down, grabbed their shares, and flapped off behind the motel buildings. The jogger didn’t even turn around to watch the birds make off with whatever snack he’d left them. I thought that odd.
But mostly I marveled at how swiftly and efficiently this little scene took place, as if tightly choreographed. Clearly, the crows expected the jogger, and the jogger knew they’d be there. I had to wonder: how long had this been going on right outside my window? Seems I would’ve noticed.
Crows are smart birds. But it everybody appreciates a the small rewards of a comfortable routine.
Take the red-shouldered hawk I first saw yesterday. Turns out the bird had been hanging around the motels up the hill for a couple weeks or more, so said their proprietor. I took a drive up there again today—and right away spotted the bird across Route 1 from where I’d seen it yesterday, perched on a fat utility line, peering down at a snow-free hillside, checking for prey. I thought about how this young hawk had apparently tasted enough success to grow fond of its little patch of ground. Familiar. Why abandon a good thing?
 Long-tailed ducks. Ironically, most birds in these parts are migratory. Which means they’re accustomed to dropping out of the sky at odd hours into unfamiliar landscapes with lurking, secret dangers. Then again, doesn’t “accustomed” suggest “routine”?
On my way back from the post office at about 4 p.m. (about the time I tend to get antsy) I steered down to the breakwater parking lot. It occurred to me that lately I’ve been alternating between the wind-whipped granite and the woods of Beech Hill. Both hikes take about an hour, offer long views and a measure of solitude, and help me ditch my ego for the natural world—albeit in wildly different ecosystems. I like them both. I like switching off. It’s familiar. Comfortable.
Well, maybe not all that comfortable today: with another giant blizzard dumping snow on territories to the south of us, the outside edge of that great pinwheel must’ve been whipping our own rockbound shore—because a stout, steady northeast wind came chugging across the bay. Wasn’t so bad on the way out (except for the realization that it’d be a bitch on the return trip). A common loon was swimming on the protected, harbor side—its fruitful winter hangout—and a ring-billed gull flew up and down the breakwater, as no doubt it’d learned to do. Out at the end, I spied a little flotilla of common eiders riding waves on the weather side as if surfing. Several fast flocks of long-tailed ducks flew out toward the islands.
Turn one way and see the relative calm of a tidal harbor; turn the other and feel the brunt of the angry wind and the frigid, whipping, splattering salt spray.
My face was numb when I stepped off that last granite block. But I didn’t mind. Something about the urgent feel of the evaporative-cooled, 33-degree (F) air, and the steady wind, and the crashing, thumping, thunderous sound of the ocean churning. There’s a thrill out there in weather like that, a heightened sense of being alive.
Today’s List
American crow
Red-shouldered hawk
Herring gull
Mallard
Black duck
Red-breasted merganser
Common loon
Ring-billed gull
Common eider
Long-tailed duck
Great black-backed gull
Tags: American crow, black duck, common eider, common loon, great black-backed gull, herring gull, long-tailed duck, mallard, red-breasted merganser, red-shouldered hawk, ring-billed gull
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Tuesday, February 9th, 2010
 Red-shouldered hawk (juvenile). The first thing I noticed about today was the cloudlessness of the morning sky. Fact is, I did see one small, faint cloud to the south, over the ocean—otherwise, cloudless. The temperature started about 24 degrees (F) but rose rapidly in the sun.
 Juvenile red-shouldered hawk. The day soon turned incredibly busy indoors. But I did take a morning breather on the back deck, where I heard the voices of a titmouse and a few chickadees. Crows made their usual circuits. For the first time, I noticed a a group of about a half dozen crows follow a local jogger as he veered over into the yard of the motel across the road. Apparently he’s been feeding them something. After he jogged off, the crows flapped to the ground where he’d been and each carried something away.
About midday I got a telephone tip about a roadside hawk up the hill from me. I grabbed my camera and hopped in my truck and drove about three-quarters of a mile north. What a gorgeous day—must’ve been 40 degrees (F) out there. And, sure enough, I spotted a slim, comely hawk on an electrical service line at the Island View Inn. Pulled over, emerged with my camera. After I’d managed only a couple distant shots, the hawk took off and soared down into a conifer near the Island View parking lot. I drove down the drive, snapped some photos through my pickup’s window. But the hawk then flew again, over to another conifer on the bay side of the building. Surprisingly, it allowed me to park, get out, and approach to within about ten or twelve feet of it.
It finally flew again—I figured because I’d gotten too near—but then immediately sort of crashed into a rock in a nearby garden, so I thought maybe it’d let me get so close because it was sick or injured. But no. Because right away it hopped up with a mouse or vole in its beak. Then it transferred its prey into its talons. And then it stood there looking at me as if saying, “What?”
 Juvenile red-shouldered hawk with prey. I’d thought at first it was a cooper’s hawk, but come to find out it was the same juvenile red-shouldered that’s been hanging out in the area for a week or more. And comparing my photos to other photos of that bird confirms it: same markings, same eye-gleam, same ratty-edged tail. The only other time I’ve seen a hawk snag a meal was when a red-tail took a chickadee from a feeder next door a couple winters ago. The chickadee sent out notes of alarm as it was being carried away. (“Hawk! Hawk! Hawk”) Today’s rodent kill did not seem nearly so sad.
I might check again on the young raptor tomorrow.
By 4 p.m. or so, I’d had it with desk work. I drove over to the Beech Hill parking lot. What with the warm temps, I figured I wouldn’t need snowshoes—and I was right. Well-packed if somewhat greasy footing, with just a slip or two. I walked quickly up the lower wooded trail, pausing occasionally to listen. Heard no birds, heard no sounds at all except for the breeze and my own breathing and my heartbeat in my ears.
The sun had set behind the hill by the time I emerged in the open area below the summit. Cool. Quiet. Beautiful. Then I heard it: a soft, faint twee—some kind of sparrow, I bet. I heard it four or five times but couldn’t identify the bird. Sounded somewhat like a white-throat, but I imagined it might be a tree sparrow. Whatever it was, it applied a sweet, subtle punctuation mark on a vivid winter day.
(Note: I can’t help but mention the sky tonight—with no clouds in the way, I’ve got a clear view of Orion and Siruis and Mars.)
Today’s List
Black-capped chickadee
Tufted titmouse
American crow
Herring gull
Red-shouldered hawk
 Beech Hill.
Tags: American crow, black-capped chickadee, herring gull, red-shouldered hawk, tufted titmouse
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| Bird Report is a (sometimes intermittent) record of the birds I encounter while hiking, see while driving, or spy outside my window. —Brian Willson |
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