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Archive for April, 2011
Tuesday, April 12th, 2011
 Oak shadows. A sunny morning. Warmed up early. Breezes descended, circled, eddied. House finches were calling, and song sparrows, and a hairy woodpecker, and a cardinal. Crows here and there. But I remained distracted about my dog’s uncharacteristic gimpiness. Worried he might’ve hurt his back somehow.
 Beech Hill summit. By midday, the temperature had risen to at least 60 degrees (F), and I knew I must have a bicycle ride. But first, I had to figure out what was wrong with Jack. Called the vet. They could take us in a half hour. We did a couple quick errands—spotted gulls, rock pigeons, a pair of mallards flying over—and ended up at PenBay Veterinary Associates. Dr. Kate checked Jack over and pronounced him in fine shape. Good eyes, good ears, good teeth, strong muscles. No back problem at all that she could detect. Then his blood test came back, and he’d tested positive for anaplasmosis, a deer tick–borne disease (like Lyme). Which was good news, considering: it explained his symptoms and could be knocked out with a regimen of antibiotics. (Same antibiotic that knocked out my Lyme disease last year, in fact.) Ticks are everywhere on Beech Hill. Deer and dog. It’s just the price you pay.
Anyway, what a relief.
Worked a little more, then let Jack nap and headed out on a bike ride. Wore a short-sleeved jersey, and that was plenty. What a gorgeous day.
On my return, I took a quick trip to Beech Hill (also Jackless, which is strange). Rolled my window down. En route, on South Street, I thought I heard some kind of mechanical problem in my pickup—that is, until I realized I was listening to the sound of spring peepers in an alder swamp along the roadside.
 Soggy trail. I hiked the wooded trails. The hill was calm and quiet but for the thrilling calls of wood frogs around the vernal pool. Hardly any snow—just a few small patches in the very shadiest spots—or birds. I did hear crows. And I heard the alarm note (then saw the flight of) a solitary robin. Heard herring gulls. Another robin toward the summit, singing. No fox sparrows again. The early migrants have flown.
A couple people were walking a dog at the summit. No harriers that I could see. I turned back down toward the lower trail and stopped to listen to a rustling sound I thought I heard. Then ended up just listening. I heard the sighs of the wind, the faint squeaks of swaying branches, the distant barking of a dog—and the song of a song sparrow coming from the open fields behind me. Then the voice of a goldfinch.
But descending through the woods neither heard nor saw a single bird. Early plant life rising through last fall’s leaves. The long afternoon shadows of the big oak trunks. The sound of a carpenter hammering off somewhere. It occurs to me that people who speak loudly in the woods just don’t understand its magic. They might as well be laughing and shouting in church.
Nearing the vernal pool (where I knew there’d at least be frogs) I heard my first birds on the lower trail: a distant cardinal singing, and then a few faint, high notes in triplicate. Kinglets, I felt sure, but I couldn’t see them. Within eyesight of the little froggy pond, I heard chickadees singing—and more faint, high notes. But this time I saw the birds, sure enough a pair of golden-crowned kinglets, flitting quickly about as they tend to do. One hopped up onto a sunny twig, perfectly teed up for a photo, and I raised my camera, and I focused, and my battery went dead. Just another fish story.
 Golden-crowned kinglet. Tonight, from the deck, I heard a dove cooing. And the chip of something off up the hill. Sounded like a phoebe’s note—and I finally spotted the distant bird, flicking its distant tail.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5 p.m, I hiked the open trail.
1. American crow (voice)
2. American robin
3. Herring gull (voice)
4. Song sparrow (voice)
5. American goldfinch (voice)
6. Northern cardinal (voice)
7. Golden-crowned kinglet
8. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
Elsewhere
9. House finch
10. Hairy woodpecker
11. House sparrow
12. Rock pigeon
13. Mallard
14. White-breasted nuthatch
15. Mourning dove
16. Eastern phoebe
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, black-capped chickadee, eastern phoebe, golden-crowned kinglet, hairy woodpecker, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, mallard, mourning dove, northern cardinal, song sparrow, white-breasted nuthatch
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Monday, April 11th, 2011
 Still life. A drizzly morning. I noticed my dog had begun acting kind of lame—perhaps from our long hike yesterday morning—which got me distracted. Other stuff got me even more distracted, but I managed to hear a house finch singing in the rain. And saw crows flapping past the window. And, from somewhere, caught the flutey rattle of a pileated woodpecker.
 Beech Nut. As the morning progressed, I heard occasional thunder, but the rain didn’t increase much here. And by midday, it’d let up altogether. By mid-afternoon, the roads were dry.
Took Jack with me in the pickup while I did a few errands, but I didn’t want to aggravate his gimpiness and so took him back home and hiked Beech Hill alone (for only the second time since I’ve known him). The air was warm enough that I could’ve worn a T-shirt instead of the hooded sweatshirt I did wear. Gray and foggy and drippy, but with a stout, gusty, southerly wind.
The woods were quiet. Not until I crossed the little footbridge did I see or hear a bird of any species—a herring gull crying from off in the gray sky—but I noticed the snow had dwindled to nearly nothing. In fact, I had to take only a dozen steps on trail-snow during the whole ascent (near the top). By the time I’d reached the upper field, I’d counted only four species (including chickadee, robin, crow). But at the edge of the field, I caught sight of a small bird flitting amid the brown undergrowth: a silent song sparrow.
 Striptease. Beech Nut stood like a secret behind a moving veil of fog. The trees clattered and rushed in the warm wind. Slogging back down the lower trail, I heard only a couple chickadees, a gull, and a crow.
While driving home I saw a mourning dove fly over. And shortly after, from the back deck, I spotted a phoebe—chipping softly—diving for earthbound insects. It’d perch on a low branch then swoop down then dart back up again. (Not many flies yet, but plenty of food nonetheless.) I also heard the chips of the neighborhood cardinal.
And come twilight, I stepped out into the astonishingly warm air to the big background sound of a chorus of spring peepers. And the sweet miraculous tittering of a woodcock’s flight song overhead. And two fog whistles moaning from out across the harbor. Such luscious music. Spring.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. Herring gull (voice)
2. American robin (voice)
3. Black-capped chickadee
4. American crow (voice)
5. Song sparrow
Elsewhere
6. House finch
7. Pileated woodpecker
8. Mourning dove
9. House sparrow
10. Eastern phoebe
11. Northern cardinal
12. American woodcock
 Eastern phoebe.
Tags: American crow, American robin, American woodcock, black-capped chickadee, eastern phoebe, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, mourning dove, northern cardinal, pileated woodpecker, song sparrow
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Sunday, April 10th, 2011
 Northern flicker. A calmish, warmish morning with a hazy sun. I kind of slept in, but before rolling out of bed I heard robins, finches, and a cardinal singing. Decided Jack and I should take our hike early for a change—considering we’ll be doing that a lot in the coming months. Within 15 minutes of rising, I was letting dog jump into my pickup.
 Brown-headed cowbird. And then I heard a cowbird. Looked up to see a pair of them in the upper branches of a maple overlooking the parking lot. I have mixed feelings about cowbirds—it’s a parasitic species that rolls eggs out of other birds nests and deposits its own there, letting a (say) a tiny wood warbler feed its huge plaintive young instead. Seems crass and lazy. But I figure Nature has her reasons.
As I watched the cowbirds, a great blue heron flew over in the sky beyond them, headed from its island roost to some inland waterway.
Arrived at the wooded Beech Hill trailhead to find an empty car in the parking lot. Right away I heard crows shouting at each other and a goldfinch blathering on about something. We started briskly off. Heard chickadees, a distant flicker, robins calling from the trees, a song sparrow. Rounding the curve before the little footbridge, I heard gulls from away the eastern distance and nuthatches calling from the nearer trees. Also a singing cardinal. Seemed like it might be a birdy morning.
Still a little snow about in the shadows, but not much. About half-way along the upper trail, we surprised a pair of flickers, which darted away into some trees. (One stuck around long enough for a photo.) Then we crept quietly through the brushy fox sparrow area—but saw none, heard none. Perhaps they’ve finally moved along. Plenty of resident song sparrows, though. And I heard the voices of a couple of pileated woodpeckers rattling off in the forest somewhere.
 Northern harrier. Emerging into the upper fields, I stood to snap a photo of Beech Nut on the summit and noticed a harrier up there. It was winging away from us when I spotted it—but then it veered and dipped down and landed near the open trail. And quickly took wing again. I couldn’t tell if it had anything in its talons.
Met a couple women and a (leashed) dog at the summit. I suggested they go ahead on down, because we were liable to dilly-dally. Which we did. It’s hard not to stop to soak it up—such a warming, bare but energy-filled spring landscape, just weeks (days?) away from greening, with birdsong everywhere. Song sparrows, titmice, robins, goldfinches, crows—and a phoebe calling from down toward the road.
As we arrived on the other side of the hill, down at the Beech Hill Road parking lot, the air was full of the music (if you want to call it that) of nuthatches. Those crazy little birds nesting on their minds. A pair of mourning doves exploded from the trail in front of us. Heard the voices of jays.
 American goldfinch. With my toe I tapped the log at the edge of the parking lot, as always, and we started back. Phoebe, goldfinches, titmice. (In fact, this morning must be defined by titmice—many, many of them singing dueling spring songs all over the hill.) As we rounded the final curve before the summit, I saw a pair of crows flapping up into the little spruce grove, where they perched on some upper branches. And then I caught sight of the harrier—or some other harrier—sailing lazily up the eastern slope. The crows had their eye on him. The hawk turned and sailed away to the northeast. The crows cawed, then followed. I looked out over the hazy bay and saw a big bird in flight off that way. Through binoculars, I recognized it as a juvenile eagle.
Coming over the summit, as the crows flew noisily away, I saw a hawk circling high above—the harrier? It seemed to have a bright white rump, but its wings looked more accipiter-like. (I’m not great with hawks in flight.) The hawk circled and soared, never flapping, migrating away to the northwest.
The muddy lower wooded trail echoed with the resounding songs of titmice. (A few chickadees, too.) Heard a solitary peeper at the vernal pool. The morning had warmed such that I’d gone damp beneath my sweatshirt and Jack kept trying to lap up mudwater. We scooted back home to drink, shower, have breakfast.
 Beech Nut. The rest of my day I spent doing my tax return. (Enough about that.) And tonight, I heard three woodcocks calling, flying, displaying.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 8:30 a.m., I hiked all trails.
1. American crow
2. American goldfinch
3. Black-capped chickadee
4. Northern flicker
5. American robin (voice)
6. Song sparrow
7. Herring gull (voice)
8. White-breasted nuthatch (voice)
9. Tufted titmouse (voice)
10. Northern cardinal (voice)
11. Pileated woodpecker (voice)
12. Northern harrier
13. Eastern phoebe
14. Blue jay (voice)
15. Mourning dove
16. Bald eagle
Elsewhere
17. House finch
18. Brown-headed cowbird
19. Great blue heron
20. American woodcock
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, American woodcock, bald eagle, black-capped chickadee, blue jay, brown-headed cowbird, eastern phoebe, great blue heron, herring gull, house finch, mourning dove, northern cardinal, northern flicker, northern harrier, pileated woodpecker, song sparrow, tufted titmouse, white-breasted nuthatch
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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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