This day dawned warm (mid- to upper-30s (F)) and mostly overcast. My morning hike brought not many species, but pretty good numbers.
Birds were hopping back at home, though: I had as many species within ear- and eyeshot of my door. Sparrows, robin, chickadee (a species I did not have up the mountain trails)—and, last bird of the day, an American Kestrel, perched on a street light post overlooking the highway, with the city view behind him.
Thanks, kestrel.
Grandeur Peak Area List Beginning at 9:05 a.m. (MST), I hiked several hundred feet up a mountain.
8. Song Sparrow (v) 9. House Sparrow (v 10. American Robin 11. Eurasian Collared-dove 12. European Starling 13. Black-capped Chickadee 14. American Kestrel
Mammals
Rock Squirrel Red Squirrel
(v) Voice only *Also elsewhere **Voice only elsewhere
I can’t adequately describe the uplifting sensation of knowing the source of a very slight sound. I imagine it’s what levitation must feel like.
This morning while dog and I were ascending the steep, slippery trail in leafy Coyote Canyon, I heard the sound. So faint, but it made me stop stock still. A long warbling whistle, the pitch rising and falling abruptly, barely audible. But it made me suck in a little gasp. Because I knew at once what I hearing.
I knew at once because I’d heard it before, not that long ago, not far from that very section of trail: the “whisper” of a Townsend’s Solitaire.
I say “whisper,” but the song was clear—just exceedingly soft and delicate. You’d almost thing the bird that made the sound was perched at least a hundred feet away. But from experience, I knew better.
So right away I scanned the tops of nearby trees in the direction of the sound, and within a second or two I spied its source of it, a singing solitaire.
I’ve heard the same song at high volume volume, last spring a couple thousand feet up the mountainside: two male solitaires, each apparently working to outsing the other. And a sweet rollicking, beautiful song it was.
Today’s was like a ghost of that spring song, and I couldn’t help (again) but wonder why. Was the bird whispering to a nearby mate? Warming of the presence of a dog and human? Was the solitaire simply singing to itself, as I sometimes whistle a little tune quietly without even thinking?
I’ll likely never know the reason, but the magical thing to me is simply knowing where to look when I hear that sound.
Grandeur Peak Area List Beginning at 9 a.m. (MST), I hiked several hundred feet up a mountain.
This winter’s been warm here so far. That’s what I gather at least—it being only my second winter in Salt Lake City—and I know from observation that we’ve seen very little snow and maybe only one or two overnights with lows in the teens (F).
This morning’s temperature had hit the mid-20s when dog and I started up the trail. A cloudless sky for the second straight day. Mostly the usual bird suspects (the funnest being a pair of Juniper Titmice). On our return, when the sun topped the ridge, the temperature rose to the point that my scarf made my neck to warm—and got up into the 40s by mid-afternoon.
However, this historic Inauguration Day, our brand new President took the first steps toward treating anthropogenic climate change seriously again. Which is good news for our survival on this tilted planet of ours.
Grandeur Peak Area List Beginning at 9 a.m. (MST), I hiked several hundred feet up a mountain.
1. Woodhouse’s Scrub-jay 2. House Finch* (v) 3. Black-billed Magpie* 4. Dark-eyed Junco 5. Rock Pigeon* 6. Black-capped Chickadee (v) 7. Spotted Towhee 8. Pine Siskin (v) 9. Juniper Titmouse 10. European Starling*
