Savannah Sparrow.
Early in our morning hike, dog and I encountered a Ruby-crowned Kinglet. The bird flitted just there, not a dozen feet away, in the shade, flitting, flitting. I worked to get a photo, but they move so fast, kinglets do. At last I decided to try for a video at least—and just as I was about to press the video button, the bird paused for a moment in a beam of light.
Yellow-rumped Warbler.
I missed the photo.
At the summit, a finch sang high in a spruce, bathed in morning sunlight, and I raised my camera, delighted at the opportunity… but the bird flew.
I missed the photo.
Soon after, as I concentrated on a Yellow-rumped Warbler hidden by webs of branches I heard a huff-huff-huff that I thought might’ve been Jack panting—because the sun was warm and the air temperature about 50 (F)—but the sound was too loud for panting, and I realized I was listening to wing beats, and I looked up to see a raven flying not 20 feet directly above us, headed away.
I missed the photo.
Down in the bayberry, yellow-rumps were flitting all about. I’ve been hoping for a video of a singing ’rump, but so far no dice—and yet here were many singers. Then one bird, by golly, popped up onto a twig and let fly a song, and just as I started the video going, Jack must’ve moved a little, and the bird flew away.
Ruby-crowned Kinglet.
I missed the video (but did at least grab a photo).
At about this point I decided luck was not on my side, and I would not be getting any good photos or videos. I got to thinking about how easy it is for we humans to fall into a whirlpool of perceived bad luck, a vortex of misfortune, and how our brains lead us to believe that if a thing keeps happening it will continue to. I sought to tell myself it was all in my head, and my reward would come.
Then, rounding a corner, I froze to see a Hermit Thrush in the trail (likewise frozen) about thirty feet away, facing us, illuminated by the sun. Here was the reward. Slowly I raised my camera—and the thrush flew away.
Damn it. I gave up. Let it go.
Later, descending the open trail, I heard a faint familiar sound: the note of a Savannah Sparrow. First of the year. I found it perched not far away, and I managed a bunch of photos. And a video of it scolding us. And soon after that first sparrow, I came upon another, singing softly in a birch tree. I got more photos, more video.
All in all, a highly satisfying day.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 7:45 a.m., I hiked the open trail.
1. American Robin*
2. Red-breasted Nuthatch (v)
3. Black-capped Chickadee** (v)
4. Eastern Towhee
5. Ruby-crowned Kinglet
6. American Crow*
7. Eastern Phoebe*
8. American Goldfinch**
9. Tufted Titmouse (v)
10. Yellow-bellied Sapsucker (drumming)
11. Tree Swallow
12. Song Sparrow*
13. Field Sparrow (v)
14. Yellow-rumped Warbler
15. House Finch
16. Common Raven
17. Herring Gull*
18. Brown-headed Cowbird
19. Hermit Thrush
20. Chipping Sparrow**
21. Blue Jay (v)
22. Northern Cardinal** (v)
23. Savannah Sparrow†
24. White-breasted Nuthatch (v)
Elsewhere
25. Osprey
26. Broad-winged Hawk
v = Voice only
*Also elsewhere
**Voice only elsewhere
†First-of-year bird
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, black-capped chickadee, blue jay, broad-winged hawk, brown-headed cowbird, chipping sparrow, common raven, eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, field sparrow, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, northern cardinal, osprey, red-breasted nuthatch, ruby-crowned kinglet, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, tree swallow, tufted titmouse, white-breasted nuthatch, yellow-bellied sapsucker, yellow-rumped warbler
