The lower wooded trail.
Rabbit rabbit. When I first looked out the window, snow had already begun to fall, as foretold. It came down at a pretty good rate, too, and before long a few inches lay over everything. Heavy, wet snow—the kind that muffles all sound. Slow traffic on the road. Plows. No birds at all that I could see or hear. They were hunkering down.
The rate of the snow increased. It really began piling up. (Whoever predicted rain blew that call.) Jack and I stuck around the desk, more or less dozing off, letting the snow fall. In early afternoon, the guy came to plow the parking lot. Soon after, I figured it was time dog and I went out and got wet.
American robin.
We took off for town just about the time the snow let up a bit. The post office was open, but the bank had closed early. We drove around for a while and ended up where we always do—Beech Hill. My pickup was the first to bust into the Rockville Street parking lot. It’d begun to snow again, moderately. I heard no birds, just a rising wind and the sound of wet snow plopping off the trees. Good thing I brought snowshoes.
Starting up the trail, I could hardly believe how much snowfall lay about already. A good nine or ten inches, at least. Heavy going. After the first straight open stretch, we began to encounter small bowed-down trees blocking the trail. Snow had made them heavy, apparently, and (near as I could figure) great glops of it falling from taller trees forced them farther down to the point that their crowns stuck in the fresh snowpile. I sprung a few clear, but others we hiked around. Jack started out ahead of me but soon tired of bounding through the wet slog and ended up behind me, following my tracks.
Crossing the little stream, I heard faint peeps and stopped. I barely caught sight of them—a couple small birds flitting low through the small branches. Kinglets, I’m pretty sure. I heard herring gulls crying away toward the shore or the cow farm or someplace.
Once or twice, I nearly lost the trail. The drooped-over saplings fooled me. But we picked our way through. Heavy going.
April snow.
About half-way up, I spotted a few dark birds moving in a tangle of low brush. Robins. They emerged, sat for a moment in some sumac branches, finally flew away. Navigated a rising curve where the landscape opened a bit to our left, and suddenly a large bird rose from a low pine about fifty feet away. A barred owl. It flapped a couple times, turned back, flew low on silent wings, wheeled in the snowy air, banked hard, and disappeared. I didn’t even have time to try for a photo. In fact, had I lifted my camera, I likely wouldn’t have managed a photo at all—and I surely would’ve missed seeing suchan amazingly memorable (if brief) flight.
Soon after, I saw a couple fox sparrows zip low along the trail and descend into a shady hiding place. We finally reached the junction with the lower trail and turned that way. Coming down was easier—but still a slog. I held visions of a barred owl in my head.
Back at the parking lot, I heard chickadees. We spun out of the lot and up the road, where a solitary junco fluttered away.
The snow let up at evening. And for the first time all day, I heard a house sparrow sing.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4:30 p.m., I hiked the wooded trails.
1. Golden-crowned kinglet
2. Herring gull (voice)
3. American robin
4. Barred owl
5. Fox sparrow
6. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
Elsewhere
7. American crow
8. Dark-eyed junco
9. House finch
Tags: American crow, American robin, barred owl, dark-eyed junco, fox sparrow, golden-crowned kinglet, herring gull, house finch
