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Archive for March, 2011
Saturday, March 19th, 2011
 Fox sparrow. Well, it sure cooled off some from yesterday, with temps not much above freezing. But the clear sky gave the yellow sun a clear shot at everything, and that apparently got the birds excited. House finches singing—at least two males, with dueling songs—and the chirrup! of a house sparrow across the road. Crows, of course, and the resident titmouse, undaunted. Herring gulls in the pale blue of the upper air.
 The upper wooded trail. A little wind, but nothing like yesterday’s. Come afternoon, I decided Jack might like a hike along the wooded Beech Hill trails—as I knew I would. We took a quick trip to town first, where gulls and pigeons flew. Leaving by the back way out Old County Road, I saw two northbound turkey vultures soaring low over the trees.
We got to the hill in late afternoon. A spare ridge of old snow lined most of the trail, excepting only where the snow-melt streams flowed. Plenty of mud, and a cool, ripe smell. I appreciated the gurgling runoff for cleaning the mud off my boots, but I worried a little about stepping in some of the fourteen piles of dog poop I counted there last weekend. I.e., I only noticed four or five today.
Saw a chipmunk perched atop a rock; it saw us, too, and skittered down a hole. Then, approaching the sumac grove, I slowed in expectation of robins. Sure enough, I heard their voices up ahead—but also other, strange bird voices. Sweet voices. One, in fact, sounded a lot like a towhee. (Could it be, this early?) The other strange songs seemed sparrow-like, although they were unfamiliar to me. Jack and I walked slowly, sneaking up. Finally I caught sight of the birds, which I recognized (from distant memory) as fox sparrows. I’m not sure I’d ever before heard them sing.
 Kites. There must’ve been eight or ten fox sparrows flitting about in the low scrub, along with a similar number of robins. One was kind enough to pose for a photo. (The robins weren’t so generous.) Also heard chickadees and a hairy woodpecker. And at about the same place as last weekend, Jack and I flushed a partridge and both watched it sail low and far down the wooded hill.
When we emerged into the open field below the summit, I spotted a couple kites in the air up above Beech Nut. As we got nearer, I saw there were three: a mother, father, and son, looked like, each held the string of a high-flying kite. A good day for it. The fields and hills around the hut spread bright and bronze and brimming with potential energy.
We headed back down along the lower trail and its myriad snow-melt streams. Jack stepped daintily around them for the most part, but I slogged fearlessly through. More robins down there, and another hairy woodpecker.
Back home, I got to thinking of how everyone’s been talking about tonight’s “super moon”—the moon going full, that is, while in an orbit taking it very near its planet. Figured I’d see if I could get a photo of it rising over Rockland Harbor. Jack accompanied me. As I sort of expected, Harbor Park was crowded with cars. A number of folks had cameras already set up on tripods. But I might’ve been the first to spy it—the slim arc of orange rising up beyond the treeline of Owls Head. I don’t really have the camera for such a photo shoot, and I brought no tripod, but I managed a couple passable shots of a moon that seemed afire. Sure enough, it looked like a super big one.
 Pileated woodpecker leavings. Just now I stepped out into the moonlight. No clouds that I can find. And the nighttime landscape glows about as brightly as any I’m ever likely to see.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4 p.m, I hiked the wooded trails.
1. American robin
2. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
3. Hairy woodpecker (voice)
4. Fox sparrow
5. Ruffed grouse
6. American crow (voice)
7. Black-capped chickadee
Elsewhere
8. Tufted titmouse
9. House finch
10. Herring gull
11. Rock pigeon
12. Turkey vulture
 "Super moon" rising over Owls Head.
Tags: American crow, American robin, black-capped chickadee, fox sparrow, hairy woodpecker, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, rock pigeon, ruffed grouse, tufted titmouse, turkey vulture
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Friday, March 18th, 2011
 Mount Megunticook. I awoke this morning to the faint, swishy sounds of rain outside. But before very long the clouds moved away and the sun emerged and the damp pavement began to dry. And the wind began to blow.
And blow.
 The open trail. By early afternoon, the day had become bright and warm (nearly 60 degrees (F)). And despite the wind’s crescendo—it whirled leaves around, and sent paper litter flying along Route 1, and ruffled the feathers of the crows—I had a hankering to get back on my bicycle. But desk work on a Friday (i.e., the wish to finish up by the weekend) kept me inside until the sun began to sink. Still, through the day, I heard house finches outside. Heard the titmouse singing. Heard chickadees. A cardinal. And a goldfinch in full-out spring song.
Finally grabbed Jack and headed to Beech Hill.
The wind whipped and pushed and rocked the pickup. On our arrival, we saw two vehicles in the parking lot, whose icy snow had diminished noticeably from yesterday. In fact, water gurgled pretty swiftly across the trailhead through the copse of trees. Before very long, I heard the wind-swept queedle! of a blue jay.
Then I noticed a woman walking ahead of us, sidestepping the great swaths of mud up there. She appeared to be on her cell phone and leaning into the wind. Not until Jack and I got near and she turned around did I recognize her as my friend Liz. Jack was glad to see her, too, and we hiked the rest of the way together, copper-colored fields on either side.
 Spruce. The wind was coming from the northwest, from behind us, pushing us along. We met a woman hiking down. “Be careful, or your dog might blow away,” she said, or words to that effect. Great blue-white stripes of clouds filled the sky and collected in hazy masses along the northeast horizon over Mount Desert Island. Some of the other islands were sunlit, some in shade. We saw a good-sized flock of herring gulls swirling in the moving air out over the shore.
Droplets of water fell from the eaves of Beech Nut in crazy, curving trails, thanks to the wind. I’d guess it was blowing at close to thirty miles an hour. A colorful landscape—the sky above the inland hills and beyond the summit of Mount Megunticook, the coppery-bronze of the blueberry barrens and the vertical white stripes of birches—spread off to the west like an oil painting. The spruce grove seemed particularly green.
We descended into the maw of the wind. At one point, my hat blew off. We met a couple of young fellows coming up. They were wearing T-shirts.
Back at the parking lot, I heard chickadees. Then a white-breasted nuthatch. We watched the little birds for a moment before going our separate ways.
 Beech Nut. En route back home, again, I saw a mourning dove (again) on a utility line.
Tonight, no woodcocks yet, but I thought I heard a solitary spring peeper. The wind has subsided a little bit by now, and the cloud-cover has thickened—but it’s not thick enough to obscure a nearly full moon.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5:30 p.m., I hiked the open trail.
1. Blue jay (voice)
2. Herring gull
3. Black-capped chickadee
4. White-breasted nuthatch
Elsewhere
5. American crow
6. Tufted titmouse
7. Northern cardinal
8. House finch
9. American goldfinch
10. Cedar waxwing
11. Mourning dove
 Northwest distance.
Tags: American crow, black-capped chickadee, blue jay, Cedar waxwing, herring gull, house finch, mourning dove, northern cardinal, tufted titmouse, white-breated nuthatch
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Thursday, March 17th, 2011
 Woolly bear caterpillar. Sunshine splashed between the blinds this morning and flooded the yard and lapped against the warming rock walls. There in the weedy bed beneath the front wall, I saw a couple inches of daffodil sprouts poking through. Out back, singing, were a titmouse and chickadees and a cardinal and—if you consider it “singing”—crows. Across the road, the house sparrows. In the blazing sky, gulls flew. The air stirred with a slight, warm-seeming breeze.
 Beech Nut. By mid-afternoon, I couldn’t stand it anymore and so drove over to pick up my bicycle. On the way back, a big wild turkey ran across Route 1 right in front of the pickup, its waddle flapping like a crazy necktie. Got home, told Jack I’d be right back, and rode to town. Only a five-mile circuit, but ah. Nice. It all came back to me.
Not long after my ride, I pulled on my hiking boots, attached Jack’s leash to his collar, and we jumped in the truck. Just as we were about to pull into the Beech Hill parking lot, I saw what looked like a nuthatch flit across the road. From the parking lot (which had three vehicles in it) I heard the hollering of crows. We hit the trail, and right away I spotted my lens cap in the dirty old snow. I’d lost it in the first or second winter blizzard—early January, I think—but I knew I’d find it eventually. Sweet. Daffodils and a lens cap so far.
We soon passed a lady and her dog. We spoke of the impending emergence of ticks. Oh, well.
Then we met two couples coming down. Everyone offered happy greetings—no doubt buoyed by temperatures still hovering in the low-50s (F) late in the day. About half-way up, I spied a woolly bear caterpillar on the trail. Always something unexpected up there.
 Nearing the summit. In the breeze, I heard the voice of a bird. We stopped. It was a robin’s voice. It came from somewhere down the southern slope.
Only a small patch of snow remained in a shady lee out front of Beech Nut. The moon rose hazily above the bay. Sunlight splattered and sprayed all over the hill.
Descending, I heard the fee-bee! of a chickadee. Then the sweet song of a cardinal. Dueling titmice. And the faint beep-beep-beep of a nuthatch. And as we turned out of the parking lot, a sparrow fluttered across the road. I got a pretty good look at it—good enough to call it a song sparrow. Then, nearing home, I saw two mourning doves perched on a powerline above the road.
Tonight I spent a little time listening for woodcocks, but I didn’t hear one. It won’t be long.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5 p.m., I hiked the open trail.
1. White-breasted nuthatch
2. American crow
3. American robin
4. Black-capped chickadee
5. Blue jay
6. Northern cardinal
7. Tufted titmouse
8. Song sparrow
Elsewhere
9. House finch
10. Herring gull
11. Wild turkey
12. Mourning dove
 View from Beech Nut.
Tags: American crow, American robin, black-capped chickadee, blue jay, herring gull, house finch, mourning dove, northern cardinal, song sparrow, tufted titmouse, white-breasted nuthatch, wild turkey
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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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