Hermit thrush.
The spring air this morning felt twenty or thirty degrees (F) cooler than at midday yesterday. Not nearly as much wind—but still too chilly for me even to contemplate a bike ride. Turns out it didn’t much matter, as I had pressing work to attend to that kept me anchored to my desk all day. Didn’t even make it to the post offices. Didn’t leave the office at all.
Northern harrier.
Except for accompanying Jack on his routine outings, of course. House finch out there, chickadees, house sparrows, the neighborhood crows, gulls in the sky. Heard the drumming of a woodpecker on a dead oak snag, but I wouldn’t dare to ID it from its drumming.
When dog and I finally did jump in the pickup, at nearly 6 p.m., the sun hung low in the west and the waxing moon had already risen high above the bay. The Rockville Street parking lot was empty. My hooded sweatshirt was sufficient, thanks to the stillness. Thanks also to the stillness, I could hear distant Beech Hill sounds—including cawing crows, crying gulls, and the abbreviated song of a hermit thrush. I wondered if it was the same FOY thrush I saw yesterday. As we neared the sound, it stopped. Replacing it was the song of another thrush: a robin.
Looked for the hermit thrush where we’d seen it yesterday (yes, Jack had noticed it, too), but saw no bird. Chickadees in the woods, as usual. And I discovered I’d misspoken yesterday—still a few dinner-plate-sized snow patches lay about this evening in the shaded upper trail.
Popple.
I hadn’t planned to hike all the way to Beech Nut, but as we emerged into the open fields, I caught sight of a harrier disappearing over the summit, so we continued on. Nowhere near the wind there was yesterday but every bit as cold. As we reached the hut, I looked down over the sunny western barrens and, sure enough, saw the harrier hunting low over the brown hillside. A male. It took a couple sweeps back and forth before sailing out of view.
Scanned the eaves of Beech Nut for yesterday’s phoebe before turning back, but saw nothing. Did spot a song sparrow scratching around in a little thicket near the spruce grove.
A few chickadees calling to each other as we descended, and three crows sitting quietly in the same tree the kestrel occupied yesterday.
I decided we’d return again via the upper trail—and as we neared the hermit thrush spot, I heard a faint clucking sound, so we stopped. It sounded far away, so I was astonished to look over and see a thrush sitting on a branch not thirty feet away, watching us. Same bird? I snapped a few photos and tried to move nearer. The bird then flitted down onto the trail ahead of us and began hopping away along it. Occasionally, it’d hop up onto a little stone and look back at us. Finally, it flew back up into some trees, flicking its tail. Hermit thrushes are impressively secretive in my experience, and I’ve never gotten so close to this species in high season.
Hermit thrush.
Nearing the parking lot, I heard the distant coos of a mourning dove.
Back home, chickadees were fluttering quietly in the trees out back. I saw a couple silent crows getting ready to bed down. And I heard the sharp chip! of a cardinal.
Tonight, the song of the peepers seems somewhat muffled, and the moon shines brightly down on this cold spring night.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 6 p.m., I hiked the upper wooded trail.
1. American crow
2. Hermit thrush
3. American robin (voice)
4. Herring gull (voice)
5. Black-capped chickadee
6. Northern harrier
7. Song sparrow
8. Mourning dove (voice)
Elsewhere
9. House finch
10. House sparrow
11. Northern cardinal
Spring trees.
Tags: American crow, American robin, black-capped chickadee, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, mourning dove, northern cardinal, northern harrier, song sparrow
