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Archive for April, 2011
Monday, April 18th, 2011
 Bald eagle. As birdy as yesterday was, today turned out quite the opposite. Still, auspiciously, during my first stroll out with Jack, when I happened to remember to bring my camera, and as crows flapped and cawed about my place, a solitary adult bald eagle sailed gracefully overhead in the semi-blue sky. I say “semi-blue,” because there was some blue, and some sun, but also some clouds and a chilly wind. Temperature in the low-40s (F), if that.
 Staghorn sumac. Aside from the crows, I heard a house finch calling. And that was about it—until a few minutes later, when (from inside) I heard the strident notes of a pileated woodpecker coming from the hill out back. And I thought, “How lucky am I to live in a place frequented by bald eagles and pileated woodpeckers?”
Today, here in Maine, was Patriot’s Day (observed). Therefore, I didn’t venture to my desk downstairs but worked up here at my kitchen table. Worked there all day, in fact—as the sun faded in and out and the wind whipped around outside—and didn’t manage to tear myself free until late. Jack, who had been napping most of the time, was eager to get going. And so we did. Quick trip to town, then out Route 17 to Beech Hill.
Didn’t see much during our drive—some herring gulls, a mourning dove on a utility line. No ducks or other birds at Chickawaukie Lake, whose surface the wind had roughened, whipping up little whitecaps that looked like ducks. I like that drive because you can get a good look at Beech Nut perched in the distance atop the hill.
 Cloud. We parked, started along the wooded trail at a brisk pace. The wind rushed in my ears and clattered bare tree branches together. Heard no birds, saw no birds until about half-way up, when I caught the faint cries of herring gulls—not coming from their usual direction, but from directly overhead. I spotted three or four of them, in fact, flying way above us. Nearing the summit, I heard the chattering of black-capped chickadees. Looked for the kestrel in the open field, but it wasn’t there. Scanned the hill for harriers: nothing. As we circled Beech Nut, I kept my eye out for the phoebe. No luck.
We’d hiked more than half-way back down along the lower trail before I sensed any trace of another species—when the voice of a phoebe came floating down from the wooded slope to our right. Then I heard a distant crow. Then a nearer, singing robin.
And that was that. Until we’d returned home, and I stepped out on the deck and heard a song sparrow trilling off behind the neighbor’s place. A few crows were still calling, too. Nothing else that I could see or hear—until the sun set, that is, when spring peepers began to sing.
Tonight is overcast. You can just barely sort of see the faint glow of the recently full moon.
 Lost-and-found. Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5:15 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. Herring gull
2. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
3. Eastern phoebe (voice)
4. American crow (voice)
5. American robin (voice)
Elsewhere
6. House finch
7. Bald eagle
8. Pileated woodpecker
9. Mourning dove
10. Song sparrow
Tags: American crow, American robin, bald eagle, black-capped chickadee, eastern phoebe, herring gull, house finch, mourning dove, pileated woodpecker, song sparrow
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Sunday, April 17th, 2011
 Northern harrier. We’re closing in on that time of year that a birder considers golden—at least at this latitude. The last half of April trembles like the calm before a storm, as occasional migrants arrive in little ripples (e.g., yesterday’s pine warbler), yet the tsunamis of May are yet a couple weeks away. This morning, though, the weather didn’t appear cooperative: last night’s high wind and rain persisted, as the upper edge of the big, sharp front that spawned tornadoes down south moved through. A howling, roaring wind, in fact (though not absolutely pouring rain). I was grateful that the storm’s bulk had mostly passed by the time I took Jack out for his morning pee.
 American kestrel. Didn’t expect many birds to make an appearance so soon after such a big blow, but a few did: house finch, crow, song sparrow—and a solitary flier that at first I took for a cormorant until it got nearer and I realized, from its light coloration, it must have been a loon.
Took care of some chores inside while the day brightened, the sun emerged, and innocuous high white clouds moved over. The temperature warmed to 60 (F), at least, and the runoff from the rain dried quickly. By late-afternoon, we couldn’t wait any longer. The drive to Beech Hill was swift, and before we knew it, dog and I were striding up the wooded trail.
Right away, I heard a phoebe calling (the first of many on the hill). And a crow. And gulls from shoreward. And a solitary song sparrow, with its chatters and chimes. About half-way up, I heard the cries of a flicker—then I wingbeats, and looked up, and I saw one of the handsome bronze woodpeckers perched on a leafless snag in the middle distance. Heard the voices of lovesick chickadees, as well.
Jack and I stopped near the top of the trail to listen to what I thought might be a bird scratching about, when a sudden commotion behind us made us turn just in time to see a shoeshow hare skedaddle through the trees and off across a secluded glen. The rabbits fur was a light bronze, almost yellowish. Only the second hare I’ve seen up there (the other being a white winter rabbit a year or so ago). Soon after, we ran into a couple and their dog. I told them about the snowshoe hare.
 Pussy willow. Coming into the upper fields, I scanned for the kestrel, didn’t see it right away, but then spotted it in the upper reaches of a tree a bit farther off along the hedgerow. A male. Climbing the last ascent, I heard more song sparrows and a couple robins. And one of the pair of phoebes that will nest in the eaves of Beech Nut flitted away at our approach, just as it had done a couple days ago.
I’d been looking for the harrier but hadn’t seen a sign of it—that is, until we started down the open trail, when it appeared (as it often seems to do) low above the field from behind a crest in the hill. A little wind was blowing from the west, and the hawk turned and faced the wind and hung there for a few beats before dipping down to earth. I couldn’t tell if it caught anything, but I managed to grab a couple photos before it sailed away down the western slope. A short time later I spotted it soaring off toward the road, circling, and zipping quickly back east down along the southern slope.
Nearing the road, I heard the strident notes of a nuthatch-in-love, the fluting of a titmouse, and the screams of a jay. Also a cardinal singing. As we reached the parking lot, two vehicles pulled in in quick succession—Jay and Amy again, in separate cars—and I heard the high, thin notes of a kinglet from the little grove of conifers there. The robin sat high in a tree laying vociferous claim to its territory.
Back up and over, I could hardly keep my eyes off the spectacular sky. No more sign of the harrier (or much of anything else)—but what a sky. We didn’t linger, headed straight back into the woods and down the lower trail.
Encountered quite a few downed branches from last night’s blow, and one small felled tree obstructing the trail. I moved it away as completely as I could. Heard crows, another phoebe, gulls. Then, just as we entered the big oak grove, I heard the strident calls of some bird. Sounded like a hawk. We stopped so I could listen. Repeated, loud, clear calls with a little yodel at the end. I looked in the direction of the sound but saw nothing—and then suddenly it flew. I got a distant look at it. A hawk for sure, a ruddy-breasted one. It traveled maybe a hundred feet away to perch on a limb of another tree, where I heard its continuing cries. Tried for another look but got only a flash of wings as it took off again and flapped away to the northeast, calling the whole way. As we moved through the oaks I could heard its calls continue, growing distant.
 Beech Nut. Not being an expert at hawk calls, I thought it might’ve been an accipiter—I’ve seen both coopers and sharp-shins up there—but when I got back home and dialed up the Cornell Lab’s website to take a listen, I got confirmation. What I’d heard was a red-shouldered hawk. First of the year, and first ever that I’ve seen on Beech Hill.
As evening fell, I heard the chips of the resident cardinal out back. Remnant clouds were flowing under the rising new moon.
(Just a minute ago I stepped out again to see a cloudless, moonlit sky.)
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4 p.m., I hiked all trails.
1. Eastern phoebe
2. American crow (voice)
3. Herring gull (voice)
4. Song sparrow
5. Northern flicker
6. Black-capped chickadee
7. American kestrel
8. American robin
9. Nothern harrier
10. White-breasted nuthatch (voice)
11. Tufted titmouse (voice)
12. Blue jay (voice)
13. Golden-crowned kinglet (voice)
14. Red-shouldered hawk
Elsewhere
15. House finch
16. House sparrow
17. Common loon
18. Northern cardinal
 Full moon.
Tags: American crow, American kestrel, American robin, black-capped chickadee, blue jay, common loon, eastern phoebe, golden-crowned kinglet, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, northern cardinal, northern flicker, northern harrier, red-shouldered hawk, song sparrow, tufted titmouse, white-breasted nuthatch
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Saturday, April 16th, 2011
 Northern harrier. Breezy was the morning. Sunny to begin with, but hazy clouds soon moved over. On my first trip out with Jack, I counted eight bird species: house finch, song sparrow, northern cardinal, house sparrow, black-capped chickadee, herring gull, hairy woodpecker, crow. Took care of a few inside chores then headed to town.
 Osprey. A few starlings fluttering about, a few pigeons. Gulls, of course. We hit the post offices and the supermarket before heading out Route 17 toward Beech Hill. Passing the Chickawaukie Lake swim beach, I noticed a large bird flapping low over the pond and quickly turned in. I thought it might’ve been an immature eagle but soon saw it was an osprey, circling very close to shore. I grabbed my camera, jumped out, and snapped a bunch of photos—although the hazy backlight didn’t help with details. The bird circled, hovered, circled again, hovered again, then finally flapped off toward the east.
The wind was blowing pretty good when we pulled into the Rockville Street parking lot. Overhead, a hazy sky that let a little intermittent sun through. Before long I heard herring gulls in the breeze. Along the sumac grove, I saw what looked like a scattering of feathers on the trail, but looking closer I recognized small clumps of fur. An owl got a vole, or something. Not much more to report until we reached the upper fields, when I glanced over at the kestrel tree—and there it was, perched where I’d seen it before. I raised my camera and, as if it knew, the kestrel lifted off and veered away. About that time I heard the voice of a song sparrow.
Coming up the last wooded stretch, I heard a chickadee’s spring fee-bee! Then I saw the little bird. Got a good look at its puffed up throat and tiny parted beak as it sang. Nothing much happening at Beech Nut, so we began walking swiftly down the open trail.
 Pussy willow. Suddenly, nearing the road, coming from one of the trailside birches, I heard a sharp, quick chip! We stopped. There in the birch sat a little yellow bird. I trained my binoculars on it: a pine warbler—first warbler of the year. When I then lifted my camera, it flew away. (And I usually lift my camera first, too.) A moment later, I heard a more mellifluous chirp! and spotted a phoebe sitting on a small twig in the middle of the lower blueberry field. I watched it wag its tail a couple times, dip down to grab a ground bug, then flit back up again. The sprigs it sat on were only a foot tall, tops. It kept up like this, making its way along the field.
Along the road, I heard a robin singing off in the breeze.
Returning, we were facing what had risen to become a strong, cold wind. Around the final curve before the summit I caught sight of a harrier to our left, sailing low into the wind. It caught sight of us, too, apparently, because it wheeled around and out of sight. But I wanted a photo. So we retraced our steps a couple hundred yards down—and I saw it again well to the north, heading back east. So we turned again, faced the wind again, rounded the curve again—and there it was again, very near. So near, in fact, that I couldn’t focus on the hawk, as it was gliding low enough to be shielded by some near brush. It emerged just long enough for a couple quick shots. Not long after, I watched it soaring low over the distant eastern field.
 Eastern phoebe. Not far into the woods, a hermit thrush zipped silently onto a low branch about forty feet away, mostly obscured by nearer twigs and branches. As we crossed the boardwalk, I heard a goldfinch fly over and, from somewhere, the caw of a crow.
Neither heard nor saw any other birds on the lower wooded trail—that is, other than the voices of herring gulls.
Tonight, the wind is whipping viciously through the oaks out back. I hear a line of strong storms has been sweeping the Eastern Seaboard. We’re advised to expect a hard rain.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 12:30 p.m., I hiked all trails.
1. Herring gull (voice)
2. Song sparrow (voice)
3. American kestrel
4. Black-capped chickadee
5. Pine warbler
6. Eastern phoebe
7. American robin (voice)
8. Northern harrier
9. Hermit thrush
10. American goldfinch (voice)
11. American crow
Elsewhere
12. House finch
13. Northern cardinal
14. House sparrow
15. Hairy woodpecker
16. European starling
17. Rock pigeon
18. Osprey
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American kestrel, American robin, black-capped chickadee, eastern phoebe, European starling, hairy woodpecker, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, northern cardinal, northern harrier, osprey, pine warbler, rock pigeon, song sparrow
Posted in Lists, Observations | No Comments »
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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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