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Archive for April, 2011
Wednesday, April 27th, 2011
 Yellow-rumped warbler (male). An overcast morning. Cool. First bird I heard was a tufted titmouse, singing its alluring three-note call.
Saw crows flapping around, and a solitary herring gull. The house finch was sounding off. When I took Jack out, I spotted a pair of silent phoebes. Then I got busy all morning. Then had a long (albeit routine) dentist appointment in afternoon. Finally, far into the day, I took my dog to town—more gulls, a pair of grackles (FOY species), an osprey flying low over Route 1. Then it was off to the wooded Beech Hill trail.
 Yellow-rumped warbler (female). By that time, a patch of light rain had moved through. The woods were foggy and drippy. I heard a robin singing out in the fog somewhere. And the cries of herring gulls, as (seemingly) always.
Towhees calling up the hill—not singing, just sending out their solitary wheep! note in the fog. Also chickadees somewhere. And a crow. And a far-off flicker. Not much chance of seeing any birds in such weather conditions, I figured.
I was wrong.
First I heard a single, hard chip! In my head I tried to come up with a description of the brief, staccato sound. Rather woody, almost like a twig being snapped. I recognized it as a warbler and thought perhaps it came from a yell0w-rump. Then I saw its source flit over the trail. A large-ish warbler, looked like. That would match a “rump.”
Soon I heard a couple more chips and a couple more birds flitted past. Then a few more. Before I knew it, we were surrounded by—sure enough—yellow-rumped warblers. Something of a minor fallout, in fact. Perhaps they’d been blown in with the weather from offshore and were descending onto the nearest high point of land, who knows? But there they were, dancing around in the low, leafless trees.
Suddenly a grouse exploded from the hillside. Didn’t seem to bother the warblers, though.
 Yellow-rumped warbler (male). As dog and I reached the upper fields, we found ourselves still surrounded by a multitude of chips coming from little bluish birds with yellow sides and yellow butts and tiny yellow stripes on their heads. Those would be the males—but there were also duller birds with faded yellow markings. It’s easy to tell male from female yell0w-rump at this time of year.
Then one of the males sang. A sweet jumbling series of notes.
Then another.
A song sparrow called from somewhere in the foggy field. We stopped at the edge of the open landscape and just watched the wave of warblers move along around us. (Or at least I did—not sure what Jack thought of us just standing there, but he’s a patient dog.)
Coming up the little wooded stretch to the summit, more rumps bounded about, chipping. I got a few grainy photos.
At the foggy summit, I spotted a phoebe. I also heard the hoarse quay! note of a hermit thrush. And by the time we’d begun descending again, the thrush was singing its miraculous song—a perfect song for a foggy April day on a wooded hillside in Maine.
A few more rumps moved through. We slogged down across the muddy lower track and, at the same spot as yesterday, another grouse erupted in flight. Just before we reached the vernal pool, I heard the telltale tsee! of a white-throated sparrow. The last species of the day.
 Eastern phoebe. Still drippy tonight. I haven’t checked the weather report. I wonder what tomorrow will bring?
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5:45 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. American robin (voice)
2. Herring gull (voice)
3. Eastern towhee (voice)
4. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
5. American crow (voice)
6. Northern flicker (voice)
7. Yellow-rumped warbler
8. Ruffed grouse
9. Song sparrow
10. Eastern phoebe
11. Hermit thrush (voice)
12. White-throated sparrow (voice)
Elsewhere
13. Tufted titmouse
14. House finch
15. Common grackle
16. Osprey
17. Mourning dove
18. Northern cardinal
Tags: American crow, American robin, black-capped chickadee, common grackle, eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, mourning dove, northern cardinal, northern flicker, osprey, ruffed grouse, song sparrow, tufted titmouse, white-throated sparrow, yellow-rumped warbler
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Tuesday, April 26th, 2011
 Pearls. I awoke at a good time for an early Beech Hill hike, but then I heard the steady rain out the window by the head of my bed. So I rolled over and went back to sleep. An hour or so later, I awoke again—just in time to grab a quick breakfast before work.
 Ferns unfurling. Rain all morning. I sat at my desk doing arcane type design–related tasks (you don’t want to know). A few crows in the rain. A titmouse calling. The house finch, as usual. The day had grown long-in-the-tooth before dog and I finally got out in it. By then the rain had turned to mist, and the fog whistles were moaning.
Quick trip to town (herring gulls, rock pigeons), then out Route 17 to the foggy hill.
Not much hopping up there. Took a good five minutes before I sensed any evidence of any bird—some faint peeps from chickadees. A little while later, I heard the caw of a crow. Then the cries of a herring gull off in the humid air. Then, as we reached the top of the upper wooded trail, I heard the song of a hermit thrush. It sang and sang, its jumble of otherworldly notes echoing in the fog. Suddenly, Jack and I both heard the sharp cries of a bird above us—a kestrel’s loud keely-keely-keely!—and I caught sight of it above the treetops. It wheeled around and perched for a moment just at the edge of what I could see.
As we made our way through the final wooded patch before the summit, my mind had begun to wander—work, stories, plans—so when the ruffed grouse burst loudly from the trees only a few years away from us, I liked to had a heart attack. They’re really fast, partridges are, when they’re in a hurry.
 Red squirrel. At the summit, I had my eye out for the resident phoebes but didn’t see it around Beech Nut. I did, however, heard the call of a towhee from down the trail we’d just ascended. We rounded the Beech Nut, and then I noticed a small furtive bird flit up and around the hut. A phoebe. Suddenly, a song sparrow began to sing from down the eastern hillside.
We descended down the muddy lower trail without seeing or hearing any other bird. But a red squirrel did suddenly pop out from a stone wall. Jack froze, I froze, the squirrel froze. It was kind of a funny standoff.
My mind got wandering again toward the bottom of the trail, and another flushed grouse startled me out of it again. No mallards at the vernal pool. But then, back at the parking lot, I heard a singing robin.
Later, I watched the nesting nuthatches for a bit out on the back deck. And heard the chips of a cardinal.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5:15 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
2. American crow (voice)
3. Herring gull (voice)
4. Hermit thrush
5. American kestrel
6. Ruffed grouse
7. Eastern towhee (voice)
8. Eastern phoebe
9. Song sparrow (voice)
10. American robin (voice)
Elsewhere
11. House finch
12. Tufted titmouse
13. Rock pigeon
14. White-breasted nuthatch
15. Northern cardinal
Tags: American crow, American kestrel, American robin, black-capped chickadee, eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, northern cardinal, rock pigeon, ruffed grouse, song sparrow, tufted titmouse, white-breasted nuthatch
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Monday, April 25th, 2011
 Savannah sparrow. Opened my eyes. Sun against the blinds. Six-thirty a.m. Drug myself out of bed. Dressed quickly. Stuck a mug of coffee in the microwave. Grabbed Jack. Headed up to Beech Hill.
Before we’d taken two steps, I heard the phoebe singing in the sugarbush. I suspect a pair will be nesting under the kiosk at the trailhead, as in the past. Also heard the magical song of a hermit thrush, and the lesser (but still lovely) song of a robin. The caws of distant crows. And the rapid beep-beep-beep! of a nuthatch.
 Song sparrow. Chickadees called also as we snaked up the first curve. Heard towhees singing. Then, at the junction of the upper and lower trails, I decided to hang a right for a change—temporarily—to check the vernal pool. Sure enough, a mallard was sitting down there for the second straight day. In fact, there were two of them. Both males.
Herring gulls cried in the distance. A goldfinch in flight: “perk chicory!” Then I heard a chuck! chuck! and looked up to see about a half-dozen blackbirds flying over. Couldn’t say for sure what they were, but I suspect redwings. (Would’ve been first-of-year birds, if so.)
Rounding a turn, I happened to see an odd buffy shape attached to a dead snag, and we stopped. It was a flicker, frozen there, watching us. Snapped off a couple bad photos.
Heard a hairy woodpecker out there somewhere, and the voice of a song sparrow toward the upper fields. Emerging into those fields, as I’ve done lately, I scanned for kestrels but saw none. I did, however, hear the voices of tree swallows. Once we emerged at the summit, I found them—two pair of ’em—veering around one of the bird boxes down the eastern slope. A little private battle for the nest.
 Northern cardinal. Heard savannah sparrows—then saw a couple. One sat singing not far from the trail. I’ve found you can get pretty close to a savannah sparrow. (Less close to a song sparrow. They seem more skittish.) Coming down the open trail, I heard jays screaming. Then I saw them, three of them. They perched for a minute in the small solitary oak—the one frequented by the barred owl last winter—along with a solitary robin. Suddenly a kestrel soared by. Then another. They were headed over to the eastern hillside.
Down toward the road, I heard a purple finch, a robin, a titmouse, and a couple of field sparrows. (Dueling field sparrows again.) And from somewhere a cardinal sang. Also a mourning dove.
It was quite a birdy morning.
In fact, the cardinal made twenty-two species—one more than yesterday. And ascending the open trail again, I heard the call of a pileated woodpecker. And later, coming down the lower wooded trail, I heard the gobbles of wild turkeys.
Back home, while still checking for ticks, I heard the resident cardinal singing close by. Looked out, and it was perched on a near limb. Managed a few photos of the male—then saw the female off behind it. (Female cardinals are the most beautiful, I think.) I probably need not even mention the resident house finch. A vocal fellow.
 Penobscot Bay. Rode my bike in afternoon. The day had clouded over by then and a little wind had kicked up, but the air felt sweet and mild. Starlings and pigeons in town. Not much else to report. Gulls.
As the daylight dwindled, I stood out on the deck watching the nesting nuthatches and heard the crazy honks of a goose. A solo Canada goose. Flying off toward Clam Cove, announcing itself to the world.
The forecast rain finally arrived come early evening. Not a lot of rain, though. Rather nice, actually.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 6:45 a.m., I hiked all trails.
1. Eastern phoebe
2. Hermit thrush (voice)
3. American robin
4. American crow
5. White-breasted nuthatch
5. Black-capped chickadee
7. Eastern towhee
8. Mallard
9. Herring gull (voice)
10. American goldfinch (voice)
11. Blackbird (sp.?)
12. Northern flicker
13. Hairy woodpecker (voice)
14. Song sparrow
15. Tree swallow
16. Savannah sparrow
17. Blue jay
18. American kestrel
19. Field sparrow (voice)
20. Purple finch (voice)
21. Tufted titmouse
22. Northern cardinal (voice)
23. Mourning dove (voice)
24. Pileated woodpecker (voice)
25. Wild turkey (voice)
Elsewhere
26. House finch
27. European starling
28. Rock pigeon
29. Canada goose
 Blooming tree.
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American kestrel, American robin, black-capped chickadee, blackbird, blue jay, Canada goose, eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, European starling, field sparrow, hairy woodpecker, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, mallard, mourning dove, northern cardinal, northern flicker, pileated woodpecker, purple finch, rock pigeon, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, tree swallow, 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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