Eastern bluebird.
I like weekend days for the fact that I can take my time on the hill, hike all trails, follow my nose—and Jack’s. Plus, I’ve missed the wooded trails. I love the wooded trails—I know them by heart. I can close my eyes and see every step, every curve, every rise, nearly every tree. I can recall the place where I saw the yellow-billed cuckoo, or the glade where the scarlet tanager sang, or the haunts of black-throated blue and Blackburnian warblers, or the trailside red-eyed vireo nest, or that high-bush blueberry where hummingbirds like to dine. I can picture every curve for a mile or more. I have a lot of memories up there.
Trail to Beech Nut.
Today the trail was deliciously muddy. In fact, the mud prompted a lady with a dog in front of us to turn around—she and her dog seemed nice, but I can’t say I was sorry. Heard crows and chickadees on the way up. Looked for fox sparrows where they were hanging around in March a year ago. Recalled the juvenile porcupine that waddled up the trail in front of us last year.
At the summit, on the porch of Beech Nut, a family with four boys was having a picnic lunch. We stopped to chat for a minute when the father said, “Are you Brian Willson?” That was a surprise—but it seems we have Facebook friends in common, and he’d seen a recent bluebird photo of mine. “You might well see some up here today,” I said, or something like that. The sky was near-’bout cloudless, and the air held a lovely, sweet chill. Dog and I headed down the open trail, where sure enough I spotted a few bluebirds. I love their clear, throaty voices when they take wing and flutter away to occupy some other low perch above some other barren.
Met some hikers coming up and mentioned the bluebirds. “Mountain or eastern?” the young man asked. “Eastern,” I said. “I’ve never seen a mountain bluebird up here.” “I’m from out west,” he explained. Then we ran into a couple fellow birders near the parking lot. Again I mentioned the bluebirds, which provoked a little excitement.
Penobscot Bay.
Heard a titmouse singing. Heard the voice of a nuthatch. Ascending again, the sun splashed the coppery, leafless landscape and caused me to squint. Didn’t see more bluebirds—until we reached the summit again and caught up with the birders, who had spotted some down the eastern slope.
We returned via the lower wooded trail, as is our custom. Heard a herring gull crying from somewhere toward the water. Moved some winter deadfall off the trail. Slogged straight through mud and runoff, loving every minute of it. (I’m grateful for my waterproof hiking boots.) I couldn’t help anticipating what will come in the next week or two or three: fox sparrows, ruby-crowned kinglets, a woodland hawk or two, the first few yellow-rumped warblers.
Tonight is a beautiful one. I wonder how long I could stand out in the bracing air and simply breathe and breathe.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 11:45 a.m., I hiked all trails.
1. American crow (voice)
2. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
3. Eastern bluebird
4. Tufted titmouse (voice)
5. White-breasted nuthatch (voice)
6. Herring gull (voice)
Elsewhere
7. House finch
8. Northern cardinal
9. Mallard
American crow.
Tags: American crow, black-capped chickadee, herring gull, house finch, mallard, northern cardinal, tufted titmouse
