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Archive for August, 2011
Monday, August 22nd, 2011
 Savannah sparrow. Today’s bike ride was crazy. Because of the wind. First I headed south, and I got buffeted and thought, whoa, at least heading back north will be easier than this. But later, on the way north, I found myself pumping into a strong headwind. Crazy. Before long I realized the wind was coming from the west. Approximately. Occasionally it’d turn a bit south, occasionally a bit north. So in fact, I had a few stretches of fast cycling both ways.
 Savannah sparrow. Again, the wind. I suppose it might foreshadow a change in the seasons.
Here at the 44th parallel, this time of year is perhaps the most unsettled. You’ll have a typical summer day in August—and yet you’ll notice a small cluster of red leaves on some random maple. You’ll be taking a sweaty hike up a hill, and suddenly a nip of breeze will bring a tiny, foreboding chill. Or you’ll notice birds behaving a little more nervously than they do during the deep dog days.
Today was one of those days. A sunny one, not too warm, with (ahem) a buffeting wind. Crickets provided background music. As Jack and I headed to our late-afternoon Beech Hill hike, a catbird flitted across the road at the parking lot. Within a few minutes I’d listed waxwings and goldfinches—same birds, but seemingly slightly more vocal. And about half-way up, suddenly, a savannah sparrow popped up near the trail and chipped at us for long minutes, allowing me several photos. Has the photoperiod declined enough that they’re beginning to think of migration?
Saw a herring gull soaring out toward the bay. Clear up there, a few clouds in the south. Ate a couple dozen blackberries from our secret patch. Near the wooded trail, I heard the hammering of a woodpecker. Looked for it, never did see it. But judging by the loudness of the hammering, and it’s slowness, and my experiencing watching them excavate tree trunks, I’m gonna call it a pileated.
 Savannah sparrow. During our return descent, a song burst into a flurry of chips in a brushy spot. I caught sight of it (and, apparently, a couple youngsters), though it kept mostly hidden.
Tonight is chilly. Stars up there. Fall is still a month away—but I sense it coming.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5:30 p.m., I hiked the open trail.
1. Gray catbird
2. Cedar waxwing
3. American goldfinch
4. American crow
5. Savannah sparrow
6. Herring gull
7. Common yellowthroat (voice)
8. Pileated woodpecker (hammering)
9. Song sparrow
Elsewhere
10. House sparrow
11. Great black-backed gull
12. Mourning dove
13. Black-capped chickadee
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, black-capped chickadee, Cedar waxwing, common yellowthroat, gray catbird, herring gull, mourning dove, pileated woodpecker, reat black-backed gull, savannah sparrow, song sparrow
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Sunday, August 21st, 2011
 Purple finch. Today had a hazy cast to it. I heard house finches out there, and the notes of a cardinal. I saw mostly cloudy skies—but the sun poked through a time or two. The temperature reached about 80 degrees (F), I bet, and I might’ve had a nice bike ride, but I was writing and got into the groove. However, I yanked myself out of the groove in late afternoon to take Jack to Beech Hill.
 Garden cart. The sky had gone completely cloudy by then, and a lively wind had risen. You could feel it in the air—the promise of some kind of storm. Could yesterday’s bluster have foretold this promise? Can you detect signs of coming weather? Or are modern forecasts simply projections based on the eyes of satellites? Why do hurricanes form in tropical oceans? Some combination of season and warm fronts and ocean currents, sure—but why do those things happen? Can it all be traced back to the tilt of the planet? Without its tilt, without our seasons, would life have sprung forth on earth in the first place?
These are a few of the crazy questions I found flitting about in my head on our invigorating ascent up the unsettled hill.
Also, of course, the birds. Right away I heard chickadees, waxwings, and goldfinches. I thought I might’ve seen warblers hanging around with the chickadees, but I couldn’t be sure. I did hear crows—and watched several do a sort of crazy aerial dance just at treetop-level down the southern slope. I wonder what that was all about? Something to do with the promise of some kind of storm?
Heard a towhee and a catbird amid the tangles over where the blackberries grow. Ate a couple dozen blackberries, a half-dozen blueberries. Wondered why the catbirds are so quiet these days, and the blueberries so ripe. So many possible reasons.
 Birch. In fact (I thought during our return hike), when tracing back the reasons for things, wouldn’t you always end up at the very beginning? I.e., why did the universe form in the first place? It’s fun to observe and calculate and declare with certainty the “why” of things. But really, seems to me, it’s just so much speculation.
We met a few humans and dogs on the trail, among them a runner coming up the hill. Getting out in the air before the the approach of dusk and weather. Nearing the parking lot again, while looking for chickadees, I happened to spot a quiet bird perched high in a hardwood. Looked like a purple finch, to me, but I couldn’t say for sure until it suddenly dipped down and landed in a bush not far away. A finch, all right. A comely female.
It took a couple hours, but as darkness fell I saw lightning in the southern sky, and soon after I heard thunder. And soon after that, it rained for a spell. Not a huge storm, but a refreshing one. Now, in its wet wake, I hear crickets chirping out there as if nothing had happened. Or are they chirping so brightly exactly because of the rain? Why are they chirping, exactly? Just now? Tonight?
Know what? I’m not sure I even want to know.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4:30 p.m., I hiked the open trail.
1. Black-capped chickadee
2. Cedar waxwing (voice)
3. American goldfinch (voice)
4. American crow
5. Eastern towhee (voice)
6. Gray catbird (voice)
7. Song sparrow
8. Purple finch
Elsewhere
9. House sparrow
10. Northern cardinal
11. Herring gull
12. Mourning dove
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, black-capped chickadee, Cedar waxwing, eastern towhee, gray catbird, herring gull, house sparrow, mourning dove, northern cardinal, purple finch, song sparrow
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Saturday, August 20th, 2011
 Beech Nut. I’m not a sailor, but I’m always aware of the wind. I like the feel of a cool breeze on a hot day—or even a warm breeze. I pay attention to the sway of the trees and the stampede of fall leaves across the dooryard. I marvel at the power of a spring gale. I like to lean into a strong wind, like to try to gauge its direction. And all my life I’ve dreamed of tornadoes (no doubt because the first movie I attended in a theater, at about age five, was The Wizard of Oz). I think it has something to do with the way the wind confirms that I’m alive, still able to sense the passage time. The Quick vs the Dead—or something like that.
 Schooner and the Owls Head Light. This morning was a hot one, until the wind picked up. Kind of a blustery, directionless wind that rushed through the screens and into my upstairs rooms as I worked on a font at the kitchen table. Took a break from bike riding today—after having passed 1,000 miles for the year yesterday—but at day’s end I grabbed leash and dog and drove over to Beech Hill.
As we began our hike, I wondered for a moment where the wind had gone, but the sheltered parking area stood in a wedge of misleading calm, because as soon as we began climbing the open trail, the moving air descended. I noticed few clouds in the sky—until we got high enough for me to see some nice-looking cumulus rising away to the north. And plenty of clouds clung low to the bay islands. The hardwoods rustled, the grass rippled, the waxwings bounded overhead.
But a combination of season, weather, and time of day kept most birds away today. I did hear the chatter of goldfinches (naturally), the caws of crows (ditto), the cries of a distant junco, and the single note of a trailside song sparrow. And I ate a score of blackberries. Sails dotted the hazy bay.
 Cloud. Then, coming back over the hill, I happened to spot a bird soaring up over the crest of the hill, expertly navigating the breeze. A falcon. A female kestrel. A nice surprise. It veered directly toward us, in fact, but I couldn’t focus my long lens in time. Then it sailed over us and down the southeast slope, where it commenced to dive-bomb a crow down there. The crow gave out a wind-whipped, guttural croak as the kestrel harassed it with a purpose. Did the falcon have a nest nearby? Had it for some reason just decided to run off all perceived enemies? Who knows—but it was nice to see a kestrel for a change.
And somehow especially nice today to experience the feel, the sound, of the wind.
Come cool nightfall, the air grew calmer. And just now, all seems particularly still. But the planet will spin, the sun will rise, and the wind will howl again.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5:15 p.m., I hiked the open trail.
1. Cedar waxwing
2. American goldfinch (voice)
3. Eastern towhee (voice)
4. Song sparrow (voice)
5. American crow
6. American kestrel
Elsewhere
7. House sparrow
8. Herring gull
9. Northern cardinal
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American kestrel, Cedar waxwing, eastern towhee, herring gull, house sparrow, 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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