5 December 2025

Archive for April, 2012

Fake science

Tuesday, April 24th, 2012
American crow, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 24 April 2012.

American crow.

On today’s Beech Hill hike with Jack, I couldn’t hear much with the rush of the wind in my ears and the clatter of the wind through the still-mostly-leafless branches. I got to thinking about the wind, as I often do—the sound of it, the power of it, its fickleness. I sometimes wonder if the wind would lose its power, its sound, if there was nothing for it to blow. On some smooth, lifeless planet, without oceans or mountains, would there even be any wind? I suppose our winds are born in the oceans, as the sun warms and evaporates the water, and the resulting upsurge starts molecules in motion, and the moving molecules gather and sweep onto land and across continents and end up sluicing down a hill in coastal Maine and rushing against the ears of a hiking man and ruffling the fur of his dog.

American crow, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 24 April 2012.

American crow, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 24 April 2012.

I can hear the physicists laughing, but I like to make up reasons for things.

Today I also made up a reason why the raven was flying fast in the wind above the trees, headed southeast, calling repeatedly in a high falsetto voice. It’d been fiddling around in the wood and had lost track of some other raven and was hollering, “Wait up!” And the solitary crow on the barrens below the summit was wondering, just before it flew: “What’s that guy looking at? Hm, he’s standing still too long. I’m outta here.”

But I’m not an ornithologist.

Tonight, I happened to see a friend’s post on Facebook noting that the International Space Station was due to fly over any minute, so I stepped back out onto the deck—where a moment before I’d been watching Venus and the new moon—and here it came. Bright, fast, silent, traveling in a straight line toward the southwest. Wow, I thought, is it so bright because sunlight is still angling over the horizon and reflecting on its surface? When, about two-thirds of the way across the sky, it suddenly dimmed and went dark, I figured I might’ve even been right about that one.

American crow, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 24 April 2012.

American crow.

Some stories seem more plausible.

Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5:30 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.

1. Herring gull*
2. Black-capped chickadee*
3. American robin (v)*
4. Common raven
5. Eastern towhee (v)
6. American crow*
7. House finch (v)*

Elsewhere

8. Northern cardinal (v)
9. House finch (v)
10. Rock pigeon
11. Mourning dove
12. Tufted titmouse (v)

v = Voice only
*Also elsewhere

Beech Nut, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 24 April 2012.

Beech Nut.

Cloudburst

Monday, April 23rd, 2012
Runoff (Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 23 April 2012).

Runoff.

Rained today. Took a road trip to town with Jack. On our way back, the sky opened up, and I had to chuckle at one young family dashing down Main Street and ducking into a store. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a downpour that so defined the term “cloudburst”—not since Texas, possibly.

Wet crow, Glen Cove, Rockport, Maine, 23 April 2012.

Wet crow.

But it let up in time for dog and I to grab a quick Beech Hill hike. (Unlike yesterday.) The remnants, though, were clear: a liquid trail, a roaring brook, and the marvel of wind-blown fog.

Again, I expected fewer birds than ended up on my list. In fact, four of the seven were singing: robin, white-throated sparrow, hermit thrush, and towhee (first singing towhees of the year up there). Chickadees and phoebes were relatively quiet—but not the mallard that zipped by overhead, quacking like all get-out.

Love a good rain. Everything’s going green.

Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4:45 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.

1. Eastern towhee (v)
2. Black-capped chickadee*
3. White-throated sparrow (v)
4. American robin (v)*
5. Eastern phoebe
6. Hermit thrush (v)
7. Mallard

Elsewhere

8. Tufted titmouse
9. American crow
10. House finch
11. Mourning dove
12. Herring gull
13. House sparrow
14. Song sparrow
15. Northern cardinal
16. European starling

Bark art, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 23 April 2012.

Bark art.

Everyone knows it’s windy

Sunday, April 22nd, 2012
Rain, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 22 April 2012.

Rain.

Late Sunday night, and the wind is roaring. I can imagine the snippets of conversation as people head to bed: “Sure is windy out.” “Man, it’s blowing.” “Do you hear that wind?” The hardest blow for a good while.

Eastern phoebe, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 22 April 2012.

Eastern phoebe.

The wind didn’t really pick up until evening, but it was breezy all day. And rainy off and on. By the time Jack and I made our way to Beech Hill, though, it was on. Steady rain. Not heavy, but soaking. And the wind rose in the trees, drowning out most other sounds. I frankly didn’t expect much in the way of bird activity.

But right away, I heard chickadees nearby. And when I stopped to watch them, I got a glimpse of a phoebe occupying a low perch. In fact, I spotted a couple phoebes up there today, each staying close to the ground. This got me thinking that if you want to see a phoebe on a rainy day, look low.

About half-way up, I heard the note of a white-throated sparrow—a nice surprise. Nothing up top but rain and wind and water. But coming back down I got near enough a pair of robins to hear their calls of alarm. Spotted them in some trailside trees. And not long after, I heard the calls of alarm of a pair of nuthatches. Spotted them, too.

Then near the end of our hike, I heard the loud cry of a herring gull. And spotted that lone bird flying quickly over the canopy.

The summit trail, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 22 April 2012.

The summit trail.

Then the wind came. It’s really roaring out there.

Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.

1. Black-capped chickadee*
2. Eastern phoebe*
3. American robin*
4. White-throated sparrow (v)
5. White-breasted nuthatch
6. Herring gull*

Elsewhere

7. Tufted titmouse
8. Northern cardinal
9. House finch
10. European starling
11. American goldfinch
12. American crow

v = Voice only
*Also elsewhere

 
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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