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Archive for May, 2011
Thursday, May 19th, 2011
 Black-and-white warbler. The wet week continues. Fog this morning, fog all day, water dripping from the trees, mud on the trails.
The weather didn’t discourage the resident house finch, however, whose calls rang out above the rush of Route 1 traffic. Crows went about their business, as usual. I got a quick glimpse of a hummingbird zipping away from the azales out front—whose blossoms, by the way, are beginning to cover the soggy ground beneath them.
 Gray catbird. Took a quick trip to town late in the day. Gulls about, and rock pigeons. A pair of mourning doves flew by.
I stood for a minute in the parking lot of the wooded Beech Hill trail, listening. Heard water dripping. Heard a fog whistle. Heard the distant rush of traffic on Route 1. Heard not a peep from any bird.
But after a while, an ovenbird sang from off in the foggy woodlands. Then I heard the cries of herring gulls coming from farther away. Eventually, the voice of a towhee. And the distinctive chip note of a rose-breasted grosbeak—which then burst into song.
A chickadee up the hill. A flicker in the distance. Also the magical fluting of a hermit thrush. And dog and I surprised a pair of mourning doves near the top of the trail—they disappeared on whistling wings.
At the upper fields: yellowthroats, catbirds, and song sparrows. Interestingly, the yellowthroats were the only warblers I saw or heard on the hill today. Did spot the Beech Nut savannah sparrow flitting around at the summit.
 Blue-headed vireo. Returning, I heard a singing robin. A goldfinch flew over. More gulls. And that was about it—which was disappointing, since I had hoped to break in my new camera. (I only managed one misty shot of a catbird.) Then again, foggy conditions are probably the worst you can encounter when you’re hoping to photograph birds.
But back home, I brought my camera out onto the deck hoping for a look at the nuthatches nesting in the hole in the big oak limb. What I saw instead was a miniature wave of warblers moving through the trees—black-and-white warblers, darting here and there along the trunks and branches. The light was low, but I got a few half-way decent shots. Also noticed a blue-headed vireo among warblers. And a pair of noisy titmice. Sure enough, a nuthatch. And up the misty hillside, a solitary, silent crow.
More rain is forecast for tomorrow. And possibly Saturday. But Sunday could end up a sun-day.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4:45 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. Ovenbird (voice)
2. Herring gull (voice)
3. Eastern towhee
4. Rose-breasted grosbeak (voice)
5. Black-capped chickadee
6. White-throated sparrow
7. Common yellowthroat
8. Northern flicker (voice)
9. Hermit thrush (voice)
10. Mourning dove
11. Song sparrow (voice)
12. Gray catbird
13. Savannah sparrow
14. American robin (voice)
15. American goldfinch (voice)
Elsewhere
16. House finch
17. American crow
18. Ruby-throated hummingbird
19. Rock pigeon
20. Black-and-white warbler
21. White-breasted nuthatch
22. Tufted titmouse
23. Blue-headed vireo
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, black-and-white warbler, black-capped chickadee, blue-headed vireo, common yellowthroat, eastern towhee, gray catbird, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, mourning dove, northern flicker, ovenbird, rock pigeon, rose-breasted grosbeak, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, tufted titmouse, white-breasted nuthatch, white-throated sparrow
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Wednesday, May 18th, 2011
 Northern parula. Today was unlike the last two in one notable way: lower cloud-cover. Still soggy, still drippy. But not much visibility out there, and the foghorns sounded all day.
Still a house finch and a house sparrow in the neighborhood. And crows. A ruby-throat feeding on the purple flowers out front, and a titmouse in the oaks out back. But I never left the building—not until after 5, when Jack and I set out for our daily Beech Hill hike. As we descended the back stairs, I heard the peent! of a woodcock.
 Ferns unfurling. Not a busy parking lot. No birdsong in the still, foggy air. But sounds there were: the rush of traffic off toward the east, the rattle of a gas-powered generator out there somewhere, an ambulance screaming down Route 1. Droplets fell from the trees like rain. Slugs on the trail. I finally heard my first bird while coming around the curve by the brook—a towhee. There’ll always be towhees.
An ovenbird called in the deeper woods. As usual, I heard the cries of herring gulls in the direction of the little cow farm. But no warblers flitted through the canopy that I could see. No birds at all that I could see until we’d already neared the top of the trail, when a male yellowthroat jumped up into view along the trail. Heard the calls of chickadees. Heard the song of a robin.
At the upper fields, the fog lay thick and white. More yellowthroats chipping in the brush. I heard the crazy phrases of a catbird and the distant chimes of a song sparrow. Finally spotted the second bird of the day—a robin, flying through the fog across the field.
 Savannah sparrow. We paused. Caught sight of a catbird. Saw another yellowthroat. Heard a savannah sparrow. Then a nice surprise: a wood thrush singing off in the stand of trees north of the summit. (Wood thrushes must like that area—I’ve heard their songs there at least the past two years.) A flicker cried from somewhere. As we moved slowly along the edge of the field, I heard the chips of what might’ve been yellow-rumps. Then a higher, sweeter chip, and I saw a pair of warblers fluttering toward us through the new leaves of an apple tree. They fluttered madly about, hardly stopping. I got a good look at one—it was the same bird I’d seen the other day down the upper wooded trail, with wing bars and a bright yellow breast. But this time I recognized it as a female northern parula.
Beech Nut loomed in a cloud. Saw the savannah bouncing around the wet grass. Heard more song sparrows.
Coming back down along the field, we walked slowly, and I managed to spot a couple yellow-rumps. The catbird sang still, and a couple juncos. Then, entering the muddy lower trail, I heard the magical voice of a hermit thrush—a song that seemed made for a close, rather eerie day like this one.
 Eastern towhee. I hadn’t expected much today, but my list was growing. Heard the song of a chestnut-sided warbler off in the drippy trees. Then, nearing the vernal pool, I heard a chickadee very near us. As we stopped to look for it, I noticed a few warblers moving low in the understory. The first was a black-and-white, the second was a magnolia. Both were feeding ravenously, neither was calling.
Then I heard the note of a veery and thought—it really was a thrushy kind of day.
Took a peek at the phoebe nest and saw a beak and tail. Then, at the parking lot, I recognized the song of a purple finch coming from across the road. That made twenty-one species up there today. Had you suggested I’d top my total from the last couple days, I’d have likely called you crazy.
Back home, I saw one of the nesting nuthatches sweeping off their dooryard. I heard the song of the resident cardinal. An ovenbird called, and I watched one of the neighborhood crows fly furtively away toward its roost. Up in the greening maple was a little bird—a silent warbler. But what species? As I watched, it slowly approached, finally reaching a branch not six feet above my head. It was a chestnut-sided. A female.
 Trail through the oaks. Out there tonight the trees are dripping. And I still hear foghorns.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5:30 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. Eastern towhee
2. Ovenbird (voice)
3. Herring gull (voice)
4. White-throated sparrow (voice)
5. Black-capped chickadee
6. Common yellowthroat
7. American robin
8. Gray catbird
9. Song sparrow (voice)
10. Savannah sparrow
11. Wood thrush (voice)
12. Northern flicker (voice)
13. Northern parula
14. Yellow-rumped warbler
15. Hermit thrush (voice)
16. Chestnut-sided warbler (voice)
17. Black-and-white warbler
18. Veery (voice)
19. Magnolia warbler
20. Eastern phoebe
21. Purple finch (voice)
Elsewhere
22. House finch
23. House sparrow
24. Ruby-throated hummingbird
25. Tufted titmouse
26. American woodcock
27. Mourning dove
28. Northern cardinal
29. White-breasted nuthatch
Tags: American robin, American woodcock, black-and-white warbler, black-capped chickadee, chestnut-sided warbler, common yellowthroat, eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, gray catbird, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, magnolia warbler, mourning dove, northern cardinal, northern flicker, northern parula, ovenbird, purple finch, ruby-throated hummingbird, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, tufted titmouse, veery, white-breasted nuthatch, white-throated sparrow, wood thrush, yellow-rumped warbler
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Tuesday, May 17th, 2011
 Black-and-white warbler. I felt like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day.
 Ruby-throated hummingbird. Rose early. Cold, overcast morning. House finch and house sparrow out there. Also crows and a phoebe. A hummingbird in the shrubbery. Spent all day at my desk as it rained intermittently. Left to do errands at the end of the day—starlings, gulls, and pigeons in town—then headed to the wooded Beech Hill trail.
Three or four vehicles pulling in and out of the parking lot, just like yesterday. A robin in the sugarbush again, and a few silent warblers flitting about the leafing-out hardwoods at its edge. A yellow warbler in the same tree as yesterday, but these were migrating birds—I watched them move from tree to tree, making their way slowly toward the northwest.
A goldfinch flew over, same place as yesterday.
More warblers again at the little glade part-way up the trail. Yellowthroats lurking. The alarm notes of white-throated sparrows. Foggy again at the upper fields, and again Jack and I stopped there for a while—standing on the little boardwalk, in fact—to watch more silent warblers move through. Yellow-rumps, a black-and-white, a parula. Also a blue-headed vireo. Towhees and catbirds, too.
 Yellow-rumped warbler. Fog again rolled past Beech Nut, and the same solitary savannah sparrow flitted furtively across the grass. A robin sat on the chimney. No kestrels or other hawks. Heard a song sparrow sing.
Coming down the lower trail, I heard no thrush—but I did hear a jay, a crow, ovenbirds, and a chestnut-sided warbler.
No flitting phoebe. However, my species total again reached exactly twenty. (Granted, a different list today, but still.) Once or twice I felt uninfluenced by time. Today and yesterday merged and blurred. Same weather, same time of day, same sounds, most of the same birds even—and in most of the same places.
Weird.
Returning, I saw a mourning dove on a utility line. Back home, a titmouse was calling out back. I didn’t see the resident nuthatches of phoebes, but I’m pretty sure they’re still there. The note of a cardinal in the distance.
 Black-and-white warbler. Everything’s wet tonight. The trees are dripping—exactly as they did twenty-four hours ago.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5 p.m, I hiked the wooded trails.
1. American robin
2. Rose-breasted grosbeak (voice)
3. Yellow warbler
4. Eastern towhee
5. Ovenbird (voice)
6. American goldfinch (voice)
7. Herring gull (voice)
8. Black-capped chickadee
9. White-throated sparrow
10. Common yellowthroat
11. Song sparrow (voice)
12. Gray catbird
13. Yellow-rumped warbler
14. Blue-headed vireo
15. Black-and-white warbler
16. Northern parula
17. Savannah sparrow
18. Blue jay (voice)
19. American crow (voice)
20. Chestnut-sided warbler (voice)
Elsewhere
21. House finch
22. House sparrow
23. Eastern phoebe
24. Ruby-throated hummingbird
25. European starling
26. Rock pigeon
27. Mourning dove
28. Tufted titmouse
29. Northern cardinal
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, black-and-white warbler, black-capped chickadee, blue jay, blue-headed vireo, chestnut-sided warbler, common yellowthroat, eastern towhee, European starling, gray catbird, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, mourning dove, northern cardinal, northern parula, ovenbird, rock pigeon, rose-breasted grosbeak, ruby-throated hummingbird, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, tufted titmouse, white-throated sparrow, yellow warbler, yellow-rumped warbler
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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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