|
|
 |
|
|
Archive for April, 2011
Thursday, April 21st, 2011
 American crow. Today would’ve been my mom’s 85th birthday. But on her 80th birthday she fell, and she died on 11 May 2006. Missing her today.
Which was a sunny day, to begin with, here on the 44th parallel. A load of birds out and about first thing—crows, house finches, chickadees, a titmouse, a male cardinal, a little downy woodpecker. Also a song sparrow and a brown-headed cowbird. (I know because heard their voices.) One big male crow—I assume it was a male—perched on the highest oak limb around and gave forth for several minutes with one of those familiar caw-caw! caw-caw! calls. Declaring its territory, I guess.
 Northern cardinal. Got busy, and before I knew it clouds had moved over and the wind had picked up. And the temperature was unseasonably low. There went my bike ride.
But Jack and I managed to get out at the end of it all. Nobody at the parking lot at the wooded Beech Hill trail. We took off in a hurry—not least because of the chill in the air.
Branches clattered loudly in the breeze. I neither heard nor saw any birds until about half-way up, when something small and brown flitted silently across the trail. We stopped. Waited. It finally jumped up onto a perch—a phoebe. As I was checking out the phoebe, a few snowflakes began to zip around me. And suddenly a young woman came hiking swiftly up behind us on the trail. She was wearing flip-flops.
Coming into the open fields, I heard a peep! and we stopped again. Another phoebe emerged. A pair of them. Then, at the summit, a fourth phoebe—one of the pair that’ll nest up there, I feel sure—flew swiftly out of one of the spruces and into the porch of Beech Nut. The wind was really whipping up there by then.
 Beech Hill summit. I scanned the hill for hawks but saw only a solitary herring gull flying at a considerable distance off toward the south. Dog and I retraced our steps back down into the woods. After a little while, I heard the calls of a crow. Then, as we started down the first big slope through the trees, a turkey suddenly lifted off from below us and flew high into the crown of a tree out of sight somewhere. Wild turkeys can really fly when they want to.
As we got close to the parking lot, I heard a chickadee. And right after that, the soft beeps of a white-breasted nuthatch.
Back home, the nuthatch pair appeared to have settled into some kind of domestic routine about their little cavity in the oak limb above the back deck. I stood for a long time watching their various courtship displays. I find it especially interesting to watch the one—the male, I assume—appear to sweep the limb above the hole. Back and forth, back and forth. I wonder if it’s some kind of marking behavior. Then back behind me, from across the road, I heard the unremarkable peeps of a house sparrow.
 Western sky. Tonight the stars are out. I’m hoping for a good, warm sunny day tomorrow. (Or at least warmish.)
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5: 15 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. Eastern phoebe
2. Herring gull
3. American crow
4. Wild turkey
5. Black-capped chickadee
6. White-breasted nuthatch
Elsewhere
7. House finch
8. Song sparrow
9. Tufted titmouse
10. Brown-headed cowbird
11. Northern cardinal
12. Downy woodpecker
13. American robin
14. House sparrow
Tags: American crow, American robin, black-capped chickadee, brown-headed cowbird, downy woodpecker, eastern phoebe, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, northern cardinal, song sparrow, tufted titmouse, white-breasted nuthatch, wild turkey
Posted in Lists, Observations | No Comments »
Wednesday, April 20th, 2011
 Yellow-rumped warbler. Before I’d fully awakened I had an awareness of rain. And as I rolled out of bed, it was pelting the window and roof. The day out there spread gray and bare. Before very long it began to hail.
 Pea-sized hail. Or I guess you could call it hail. Pea-sized. More like jumbo sleet—but it was coming down with a riotous sound, bouncing off the back deck, collecting quickly in corners and pockets. Then came a clap of thunder. And much of the rest of the day had precipitation in it. Oh, a little lull during the noon hour, maybe, but by the time Jack and I got up and out, again there came a chilly drizzle.
I’d heard the house finch, despite the rain. And a house sparrow. Crows had been stalking the roadside. And gulls had been sailing around in the white-gray sky. It was all I could do to keep bundled up and focused on the errands at hand—I didn’t see or hear any of the in-town birds.
But as we headed out Route 17 toward the back way to Rockport Village, I did spot a great blue heron flying over with those stately, slow wingbeats of theirs. As passed the little cow farm, many herring gulls and a couple dozen ring-bills sat in the grass, all facing one way (east). We got to the hill at about 4:30. Looked like no one else had bothered to hike the wooded trails today.
Can’t say as I blame ’em. I had on a few layers of clothing, but still the damp chilliness numbed my fingers. The temperature didn’t get out of the 30s (F), I bet. Thus, I hadn’t come with high expectations, bird-wise—but right away I heard a couple of hermit thrushes singing dueling, magical songs. Also another thrush—a robin. And I heard herring gulls (the wind was coming from the direction the gulls were facing, carrying with it the rush of tires on Route 1 and the moan of a fog whistle). But after those first four quick species, I didn’t hear or see another bird until we neared the foggy summit.
 Fog. That’s when there came the sharp chip! of a warbler in the spruce grove. Was it the palm warbler again? The little bird flitted into a limb above us, and I recognized it as a yell0w-rumped warbler—a first-of-year bird. (I sure didn’t expect that. Crazy.) And then I heard a different sounding chip! and saw a flash of yellow. Sure enough also a palm. The two of them chased each other around a bit. Fellow migrants, or something.
As Jack and I began to circle Beech Nut, I saw another bird flit across the lawn to the little “fairy ring” of rocks out front. A sparrow, hiding behind the rose bushes. Then another. A pair of them. Light-coated, but with specks on their breasts. The first of many savannah sparrows to come.
Considering the dismal weather, the two new birds had already made the hike a success.
Also heard a phoebe and a song sparrow up there. And returning down the soggy lower trail, I caught wind of the faint chattering of a chickadee. Ten species for the second straight day.
Back home, the house finch continued to hold forth. Nothing much else, though. Except—as darkness began to fall—I did hear the faint, comforting notes of a nuthatch coming from somewhere near the nesting cavity.
And later, in darkness, the whistling wings of a woodcock.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4:30 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. Hermit thrush (voice)
2. American robin (voice)
3. Herring gull (voice)
4. American crow (voice)
5. Yellow-rumped warbler
6. Eastern phoebe (voice)
7. Palm warbler
8. Savannah sparrow
9. Song sparrow (voice)
10. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
Elsewhere
11. House finch
12. House sparrow
13. Great blue heron
14. Ring-billed gull
15. White-breasted nuthatch
16. American woodcock
Tags: American crow, American robin, American woodcock, black-capped chickadee, eastern phoebe, great blue heron, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, palm warbler, ring-billed gull, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, white-breasted nuthatch, yellow-rumped warbler
Posted in Lists, Observations | No Comments »
Tuesday, April 19th, 2011
 Palm warbler. It was a sunny morning, a cool morning. Crows flapping about. But when I took Jack out, I didn’t hear many birds—the crows, a house finch, a song sparrow singing from the middle distance. Nothing much to write home about.
 Red squirrel. The day progressed slowly and rather purposefully—including a trip to the vet (dog and cat) in late morning—and involved a lot of staring at a computer screen, pulling out Bézier curves. The sun shone, the day warmed. In the back of my mind rose a hankering for a bike ride, but I found myself in the zone and kept pushing the ride back until later in the day. Then came the overcast, things cooled, and I decided to heck with the bike ride. A Beech Hill hike would have to suffice. For now.
Closed up shop a little early, grabbed Jack, got the mail, drove over to the wooded trail. En route, at their little pasture, I pointed out the cows to Jack (being a cattle dog, he appreciates it) and counted a few dozen herring gulls in the grass, along with a couple mallards.
Several minutes into our hike under overcast skies, I had the feeling today would be a repeat of yesterday—i.e., mostly quiet, few birds, the calm before the storm. Finally did hear the cries of some of the herring gulls (no doubt the ones we’d just seen a while before). About half-way up, I heard the thin, three-note calls of a kinglet. Then the voices of chickadees. A slight breeze clattered the upper limbs of the poplars. I noticed a few flying insects and wondered where the birds were.
 Found art. No sign of any kestrel scanning the upper fields. No harrier prowling the still-bronze slope. I did hear a song sparrow, at least. And a robin appeared in the little wooded area before the summit. And I did hear the song of a phoebe.
Ran into my friend Amy at Beech Nut, and just as I was lamenting the dearth of birds, I heard a chip over toward the spruce grove and pointed out the resident phoebe. At least I thought at first it was the phoebe over there flicking its tail. But since when did phoebes have a yellow glow about them? At once I realized I was looking at a palm warbler (another tail-flicker)—first of the year. The warbler flitted about the trunks of the trees, dipping down to the ground occasionally, collecting bugs, posing for photos. Best look I’ve ever had of a palm, in fact.
I suppose by now I should know better than to whine.
Coming back down through the lower woods, I heard what sounded like the chips of another palm warbler (never spotted it) and the percolating flight song of a goldfinch. And then a singing cardinal.
 White-breasted nuthatches. On returning home, while kicking off my clothing at the back door (picked four ticks off my pants legs), I heard the gentle purring sounds of a nuthatch, looked up, and saw a pair of them engaging in a courtship display at the old nesting cavity in the big overhanging oak limb. The same cavity that kept a successful nuthatch nest a few years ago (and an unsuccessful one the following year). It was an interesting display: as one bird poked its face out of the cavity, the other would appear to sweep the limbs, rocking back and forth, “wiping its sword.” After a while, this bird (the male, I presume) appeared with some nest fluff that it handed off to the other at the entrance to the hole. I could’ve stood there watching for a long time but felt a little like a voyeur.
A lot of squirrels out today, too: three red squirrels at Beech Hill, a chipmunk out back, and a gray squirrel carrying a clump of leaves into yet another hole in an oak several trees down from the nuthatches’.
A minute ago, I took Jack out. An overcast night (rain is due) and calm. Suddenly I heard the loud cry of a killdeer from somewhere across the road. Just a single cry—but loud enough to awaken another bird, apparently, because a few faint, high chips came from the trees. All of this to a sweet background chorus of spring peepers.
 Beech Nut. Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4:30 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. Herring gull (voice)
2. Golden-crowned kinglet (voice)
3. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
4. Song sparrow (voice)
5. American robin
6. Eastern phoebe
7. American crow (voice)
8. Palm warbler
9. American goldfinch (voice)
10. Northern cardinal (voice)
Elsewhere
11. House finch
12. Rock pigeon
13. Mourning dove
14. Mallard
15. White-breasted nuthatch
16. Killdeer
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, black-capped chickadee, eastern phoebe, golden-crowned kinglet, herring gull, house finch, killdeer, mallard, mourning dove, northern cardinal, palm warbler, rock pigeon, song sparrow, white-breasted nuthatch
Posted in Lists, Observations | No Comments »
|
|
| |
| Bird Report is a (sometimes intermittent) record of the birds I encounter while hiking, see while driving, or spy outside my window. —Brian Willson |
|
|
