7 November 2026

Indirectness

Friday, August 13th, 2010
Gray catbird, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 13 August 2010.

Gray catbird.

I got to thinking this morning—this bright, still, chilly morning, with temperatures about 55 degrees (F)—that much of the kind of birding I do involves indirectness. Or indirection. Misdirection. Some damn thing.

Black-and-white warbler, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 13 August 2010.

Black-and-white warbler.

What I mean is, as is the case with many (most?) birders, in the field I open my senses so entirely as to let in any clue. The clue might be a flitting shadow in angular morning sunlight. I might hear a rustle in the undergrowth, or that sound that feathered wings make when beating a retreat through the dewy air. The clue might be wild caws from a murder of crows (sure sign of hawk or owl). Or the eerie silence of a landscape usually full of birdsong (another sign). I’ve identified flickers on the scant evidence of a few wingbeats. Woodcocks, ditto.

Like today on the summit, when I heard a single, solitary, sweet, five note call, and I thought, “redstart.” Never mind that I hadn’t heard a redstart sing for a month or more. Never mind that I haven’t even seen one in weeks. Never mind that I’ve never seen one in the spruces at the summit. That was the immediate thought that came to mind.

Of course, right away I had second thoughts. I second-guessed. I was jumping to conclusions, I told myself. Don’t be silly, I told myself.

Moments later, An orange-sided redstart flitted into view directly in front of me.

Coming down through the little winding trail that leads to the Beech Hill Road parking lot, I heard some chip notes and asked Jack to wait. Right away, a tiny bird flitted up onto a twig not a dozen feet distant. My camera, of course, had gone to sleep, and I couldn’t wake it up in time to get a photo. But anyway this little bird was very nervous and active, so there would’ve been no guarantees. But I got a great look: greenish gray, wing bars, eye-ring, and tiny. Smaller than a warbler.

By golly, it was a ruby-crowned kinglet.

Ruby-throated hummingbird (female), Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 13 August 2010.

Ruby-throated hummingbird (female).

Ironically, this was only a few yards away from where I last saw a ruby-crown on Beech Hill—maybe three years ago when birding with my friend Kristen and some others (can’t remember exactly the occasion). That time, the bird was in full song. This one simply delivered a chip-chip-chip at me and my dog.

Speaking of irony, that’s sort of what I’m talking about. Indirectness. Sarcastic humor and thought-provoking banter and social camaraderie and inter-galactic planetary research—lots of stuff depends on our ability to observe things from a step or two away. It’s kind of like an inside joke. You get to know something well enough, and the tiniest clue, the wink of a shared experience, some subtlety indirectly witnessed can enrich the kind of  wild, miraculous adventure that is a simple morning hike up Beech Hill.

Cedar waxwing courtship display, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 13 August 2010.

Cedar waxwing courtship display.

Beech Hill List
Beginning at 6:45 a.m., I hiked all trails.

1. Red-eyed vireo (voice)
2. American goldfinch
3. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
4. Cedar waxwing
5. American crow (voice)
6. Hermit thrush (voice)
7. American robin (voice)
8. Gray catbird
9. Hairy woodpecker
10. Eastern towhee
11. Common yellowthroat
12. White-throated sparrow
13. White-breasted nuthatch
14. Mourning dove
15. Ruby-throated hummingbird
16. Song sparrow
17. Northern flicker (voice)
18. Eastern phoebe
19. Double-crested cormorant (overflight)
20. American redstart
21. Black-and-white warbler
22. Red-breasted nuthatch
23. Savannah sparrow
24. Blue jay (voice)
25. Yellow warbler (voice)
26. Eastern wood-pewee (voice)
27. Ruby-crowned kinglet
28. Alder flycatcher
29. Tree swallow
30. Downy woodpecker

Elsewhere

31. Northern cardinal
32. Herring gull
33. Great blue heron

Upper wooded trail, Beech Hill, Rockport, Maine, 13 August 2010.

Upper wooded trail.

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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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