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Archive for August, 2012
Saturday, August 4th, 2012
 Eastern towhee. A warm, bright, not very windy day. The relative windlessness, in fact, combined with the slow season, made for a quiet walk in the woods this afternoon for Jack and me. The woods can be a quiet place.
 Cedar waxwing. My ears are attuned to the sounds that birds make, but I heard none as we began our hike through the trees. What I did hear was the dull hum of traffic on Route 1 a couple of miles away. I heard the sound of our footfalls on the dry dirt of the trail. I heard the buzzing of the deer flies circling my head. I heard the faraway trill of a cricket. Slight sounds, quiet sounds.
Maybe a hundred yards in, I first heard the call of a bird—a red-eyed vireo, singing from the canopy far away. I also heard the tiny muffled rap-rap and thump of something falling from high in a tree. Soon after, a waxwing called from somewhere—its thin, high voice trailing away. Deer flies circling still, our footfalls. Occasionally, a larger insect would zip by, its wings making a lower buzz for only a second or two.
The chatter of a goldfinch drifted overhead. In the distance, a towhee called.
Around a curve lined with berry-laden bushes, I heard more waxwings, looked up, and saw a half-dozen of the birds arrayed on the upper branches of a dead tree. Even when they’re near you, waxwings’ voices seem slight and faint. While photographing the waxwings, a young catbird popped up between us, mewing. And I heard the single chuck! of a yellowthroat.
 Wild turkeys. More bird voices began to sound then, most of them on the quiet side: chickadees’, distant crows’, a far-off yellowthroat’s song. Climbing toward the summit, I towee began suddenly to holler at us from a small trailside tree. By far the loudest sound we’d come across. I grabbed some photos.
We were alone at Beech Nut, where I heard the notes of a song sparrow hidden in underbrush near the spruce grove. Off toward shore, I spotted a herring gull in flight. The traffic sounds, while still faint, seemed slightly louder there and came from more than one direction.
Returning, I happened to spy a small group of turkeys at the edge of a field. They didn’t make a sound. Then a pair of trail runners approached from behind us, causing Jack to bark once in surprise. After a quick greeting, they jogged past us down into the woods. Jack’s uncustomary bark now ranked as the loudest sound of our hike.
In the lower woods, more buzzing deer flies, more vireos calling. A small plane engine rose far to the east of us and moved through the sky toward the south and faded away. Then I heard the sweet, high whistle of a wood-pewee. I couldn’t find the pewee, though it was perched just there. Another pewee sang from off down the hill.
Footfalls. Deer flies. Distant crows. And then the beep as I unlocked the truck, and the slams of the doors before we headed home.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5:30 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. Red-eyed vireo (v)
2. Cedar waxwing*
3. American goldfinch*
4. Eastern towhee
5. Gray catbird
6. Common yellowthroat* (v)
7. American crow*
8. Black-capped chickadee* (v)
9. Song sparrow (v)
10. Herring gull*
11. Wild turkey
12. Eastern wood-pewee (v)
Elsewhere
13. Rock pigeon
14. House finch (v)
15. Tufted titmouse (v)
16. Broad-winged hawk (v)
17. House sparrow
18. Mourning dove
19. Northern cardinal (v)
v = Voice only
*Also elsewhere
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, black-capped chickadee, broad-winged hawk, Cedar waxwing, common yellowthroat, eastern towhee, eastern wood-pewee, gray catbird, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, mourning dove, northern cardinal, red-eyed vireo, rock pigeon, song sparrow, tufted titmouse, wild turkey
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Friday, August 3rd, 2012
 Common yellowthroat. So, last night I caught my sandal while climbing the back stairs and pitched forward. I managed to catch myself but, in doing so, pulled a muscle in my upper right arm. This cast something of a pall on my day today.
 Eastern towhee. It kind of hurt to ride my bike, but I rode anyway. A good, fast, sweaty ride under the hot summer sun. Waxwings and goldfinches and crows around.
It also kind of hurt to take photos, but I took a few on my hike with Jack late in the day. We took the wooded trail again (despite my leeriness of deer ticks in their invisible stage), where the birds—perhaps because of the heat—were laying low. We’d walked a few hundred yards, in fact, before I added the first species to today’s list, when we came upon a little gang of chattering black-capped chickadees.
Then I heard waxwings. Then I saw a towhee. Then I heard goldfinches. Then I ate a few high-bush blueberries.
I had to pish! for yellowthroats, but there they were. Finally, at the summit, came the voices of sparrows: singing fields and songs and chipping Savannahs. Then a pair of mourning doves flew over. Perhaps because of the heat, we were the only ones up there.
Returning, I saw a flitting alder flycatcher. Farther down, in the lower woods, I heard the day’s first vireos. Then Jack’s ears perked up, and I knew to scan the woods ahead of us, where—sure enough—a couple of turkeys passed. Heard no hermit thrush today. Came across no catbirds. No hint of robins.
 Viceroy. But I did hear a pewee. And the chip notes of ovenbirds. And, finally, the distant caws of crows.
If only I weren’t so lopsidedly right-handed, because it even kind of hurt to drink a beer. But I drank one anyway.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. Black-capped chickadee
2. Cedar waxwing*
3. Eastern towhee
4. American goldfinch* (v)
5. Common yellowthroat
6. Song sparrow
7. Field sparrow (v)
8. Savannah sparrow (v)
9. Mourning dove*
10. Alder flycatcher
11. Red-eyed vireo
12. Wild turkey
13. Eastern wood-pewee (v)
14. Ovenbird (v)
15. American crow* (v)
Elsewhere
16. Northern cardinal (v)
17. Herring gull
v = Voice only
*Also elsewhere
Tags: alder flycatcher, American crow, American goldfinch, black-capped chickadee, Cedar waxwing, common yellowthroat, eastern towhee, eastern wood-pewee, field sparrow, herring gull, mourning dove, northern cardinal, ovenbird, red-eyed vireo, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, wild turkey
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Thursday, August 2nd, 2012
 Savannah sparrow. Years ago, when I lived in a place near water, I got familiar with the song of a male song sparrow who took up residence in a thicket nearby and was quick to sing each spring. What I mean is: I got familiar with this sparrow’s particular song—its particular combination of trills and chimes. I knew it by heart, and I smiled to hear the same song each spring on the sparrow’s return. Until one year, when the sparrow singing from the nearby thicket delivered its chimes and trills in a completely different pattern. The revelation hit me in the heart. My old familiar sparrow was gone, and some new whippersnapper had taken its place in local the scheme of things.
 Alder flycatcher. A little thing, but somehow momentous to me.
Lately, while hiking the Beech Hill trails with Jack, I’ve been listening to the song of a hermit thrush down in the lower wooded trail. Again, I mean the song of a particular, individual thrush. It has a couple of sweet, distinctive phrases—so sweet and distinctive, in fact, that I’ve written down the notes with the crazy thought of modeling a musical composition after them. (Today, I even recorded them with my camera’s microphone.) I suppose this means I don’t just hear the typical, generic voices of the birds I encounter but their specific quirks and whimsies.
As a young man, I aspired to be a musician, a writer of songs. Although it never happened, I still entertain certain secret dreams. I’ve imagined writing a symphony based on the simple, two-note spring song of the black-capped chickadee—fee-bee! And there’s not much that thrills me more than the distinctive call of the long-tailed duck in winter, an upward-moving series of three notes that essentially describe a major chord.
One long-ago spring I heard the song of a white-throated sparrow—the “Old Sam Peabody-peabody-peabody-peabody” bird—whose voice began in the appropriate range but soon took off into the upper stratosphere of sound. Crazy. And kind of sad, to think the bird would win no mate with such an aberrant song. Still, it was lovely to listen to.
 American red squirrel. And now I’ve grown obsessed with a particular little hermit thrush. I’ve never even seen the bird, but—who knows—maybe I’ll immortalize it someday in a symphony.
(A mostly foggy day today. Highlights: one of my fastest bike rides of the year; while hiking with Jack late in the day, I heard the croak of a raven.)
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. Gray catbird (v)
2. American goldfinch* (v)
3. Black-capped chickadee (v)
4. Red-eyed vireo (v)
5. Eastern towhee (v)
6. Cedar waxwing
7. Common yellowthroat
8. American crow*
9. Alder flycatcher
10. Hermit thrush (v)
11. Song sparrow*
12. Savannah sparrow
13. Black-throated green warbler (v)
14. Common raven (v)
15. Eastern wood-pewee (v)
Elsewhere
16. Herring gull
17. House sparrow
18. Osprey (v)
v = Voice only
*Also elsewhere
Tags: alder flycatcher, American crow, American goldfinch, black-capped chickadee, black-throated green warbler, Cedar waxwing, common raven, common yellowthroat, eastern towhee, eastern wood-pewee, gray catbird, hermit thrush, herring gull, house sparrow, osprey, red-eyed vireo, savannah 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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