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Posts Tagged ‘red-shouldered hawk’
Saturday, February 13th, 2010
 Nice yard bird. While cooking breakfast, I heard a commotion among my neighbors, the crows. I don’t know if you’d call it wisdom exactly, but given enough time and experience, turns out you can pretty well divine cause-and-effect. The particular and pitch and tenor of the voices of the crows this morning said, to me, “hawk!” I threw on my bathrobe, grabbed my camera, headed for the back door.
 Three seals. I sort of stooped while approaching the double glass door to the deck, thinking I might catch a glimpse of something in the trees. What I saw right away was a wagging branch—the lowest-hanging branch of the maple overhanging the deck. My first thought was, Whoa, why would a crow come so close to the door? I leaned down a bit farther and saw that what had landed in the branch wasn’t a crow, it was a hawk. A thrill. Then within a split second I actually recognized the individual bird: it was the juvenile red-shouldered hawk I’d first seen three days ago a half-mile or so north of me, come to pay a visit.
I shot a few photos through the glass. Then the hawk flew southward, and I stepped outside to see it perched on a dead snag at the far corner of the parking lot. The crows had abandoned the cause, perhaps somehow knowing this young hawk preferred rodents—in fact, I’d also heard the half-hearted alarm calls of a white-breasted nuthatch in the oaks just above this scene—and I watched it sit and twist its head this way, that way, checking for a meal. It didn’t find one and flew low through the trees and over the shed next door. A handsome, serious-looking young bird.
After it flew away, I listened for a minute to a few chickadees chickadee-dee-deeing up the hill.
 Great black-backed gull. The day unfolded into a lovely one, with a hazy sun and warm temperatures. I saw one reading of 43 degrees (F). But because of circumstances beyond my control—well, OK, maybe I had some semblance of control initially—I ended up working at my desk through midday. But by about 2:30, I’d had it. I grabbed my camera and binocs and headed for the breakwater.
The parking lot was packed. The tide was rather low. Right away I spotted a few bunches of harbor seals hauled out on rocks on the island side. A pair of eiders, a couple common loons. The wind was light and came from the northwest. Clouds began to move in. I didn’t even have to wear my gloves Couples strolled hand-in-hand. Young women walked with their dogs. A gaggle of long-tailed ducks hoo-hahed in the sun-splashed water on the harbor side. As I’ve seen its species do, a ring-billed gull flapped up and down the 15-foot wide line of granite blocks—so did a great black-back. I walked fast today. I saw buffleheads and a pair of black ducks in the protected cove near the seals.
After returning from the breakwater, I met up with my friend Kristen for a walk up Beech Hill. The sky had gone mostly overcast by then, though the sun glowed low in the western sky. Not very far up the trail, Kristen spotted a robin. Soon we heard, then saw, five or six of them flitting around in the bare hardwood canopy, silhouetted against the colorless sky.
 High ground (Beech Hill). I took Kristen off-trail where I’d walked the previous two days. It’s a nice hike, with a good long view of the bay. As we started up along a stone wall, I spotted a lone bird in a low tree about a hundred yards ahead of us. My first thought was shrike—and Kristen confirmed it. We watched the bird leave its snag and fly a good two hundred yards to the west, where we spotted it through fieldglasses high in a tree. I wanted a photo, so we started that way. But then it flew again, clear around to the south and then up near where we’d seen it in the first place. I turned and walked back in that direction. It flew again, I changed direction again. Flew again, changed direction.
I finally did get a half-way decent photo. First shrike I’ve seen in several years.
Then home again. A little tired and achy—and grateful for a wonderful day.
Today’s List
American crow
Red-shouldered hawk
White-breasted nuthatch
Black-capped chickadee
Downy woodpecker
Herring gull
Rock pigeon
Ring-billed gull
European starling
Common loon
Common eider
Long-tailed duck
Great black-backed gull
Bufflehead
Black duck
American robin
Northern shrike
 Northern shrike.
Tags: American crow, American robin, black duck, black-capped chickadee, bufflehead, common eider, common loon, downy woodpecker, European starling, great black-backed gull, herring gull, long-tailed duck, northern shrike, red-shouldered hawk, ring-billed gull, rock pigeon, white-breasted nuthatch
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Wednesday, February 10th, 2010
 What a breakwater's for. I got up about the same time as usual, showered as usual, had my usual breakfast. Took a mug of coffee out onto the deck long enough to get a feel for the temperature—somewhere in the 20s (F)—take a couple deep breaths of morning air, and listen for early birds. Lately I’ve heard chickadees, crows, titmice. Today, under an overcast sky, nothing.
Then, it being a weekday, I headed down to my desk to get some work done. Refilled my coffee mug a couple of times.
 Juvenile red-shouldered hawk. In afternoon, I caught sight of the jogger from yesterday and stopped to watch his routine. Sure enough, before he’d veered even a few feet off the shoulder, six or eight crows showed up. A couple perched on the electrical service line, a couple flew low over his head in lazy circles. The man reached into a pocket, paused, sprinkled something on the old snow, then immediately started back for the road. The crows didn’t wait—they all fluttered down, grabbed their shares, and flapped off behind the motel buildings. The jogger didn’t even turn around to watch the birds make off with whatever snack he’d left them. I thought that odd.
But mostly I marveled at how swiftly and efficiently this little scene took place, as if tightly choreographed. Clearly, the crows expected the jogger, and the jogger knew they’d be there. I had to wonder: how long had this been going on right outside my window? Seems I would’ve noticed.
Crows are smart birds. But it everybody appreciates a the small rewards of a comfortable routine.
Take the red-shouldered hawk I first saw yesterday. Turns out the bird had been hanging around the motels up the hill for a couple weeks or more, so said their proprietor. I took a drive up there again today—and right away spotted the bird across Route 1 from where I’d seen it yesterday, perched on a fat utility line, peering down at a snow-free hillside, checking for prey. I thought about how this young hawk had apparently tasted enough success to grow fond of its little patch of ground. Familiar. Why abandon a good thing?
 Long-tailed ducks. Ironically, most birds in these parts are migratory. Which means they’re accustomed to dropping out of the sky at odd hours into unfamiliar landscapes with lurking, secret dangers. Then again, doesn’t “accustomed” suggest “routine”?
On my way back from the post office at about 4 p.m. (about the time I tend to get antsy) I steered down to the breakwater parking lot. It occurred to me that lately I’ve been alternating between the wind-whipped granite and the woods of Beech Hill. Both hikes take about an hour, offer long views and a measure of solitude, and help me ditch my ego for the natural world—albeit in wildly different ecosystems. I like them both. I like switching off. It’s familiar. Comfortable.
Well, maybe not all that comfortable today: with another giant blizzard dumping snow on territories to the south of us, the outside edge of that great pinwheel must’ve been whipping our own rockbound shore—because a stout, steady northeast wind came chugging across the bay. Wasn’t so bad on the way out (except for the realization that it’d be a bitch on the return trip). A common loon was swimming on the protected, harbor side—its fruitful winter hangout—and a ring-billed gull flew up and down the breakwater, as no doubt it’d learned to do. Out at the end, I spied a little flotilla of common eiders riding waves on the weather side as if surfing. Several fast flocks of long-tailed ducks flew out toward the islands.
Turn one way and see the relative calm of a tidal harbor; turn the other and feel the brunt of the angry wind and the frigid, whipping, splattering salt spray.
My face was numb when I stepped off that last granite block. But I didn’t mind. Something about the urgent feel of the evaporative-cooled, 33-degree (F) air, and the steady wind, and the crashing, thumping, thunderous sound of the ocean churning. There’s a thrill out there in weather like that, a heightened sense of being alive.
Today’s List
American crow
Red-shouldered hawk
Herring gull
Mallard
Black duck
Red-breasted merganser
Common loon
Ring-billed gull
Common eider
Long-tailed duck
Great black-backed gull
Tags: American crow, black duck, common eider, common loon, great black-backed gull, herring gull, long-tailed duck, mallard, red-breasted merganser, red-shouldered hawk, ring-billed gull
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Tuesday, February 9th, 2010
 Red-shouldered hawk (juvenile). The first thing I noticed about today was the cloudlessness of the morning sky. Fact is, I did see one small, faint cloud to the south, over the ocean—otherwise, cloudless. The temperature started about 24 degrees (F) but rose rapidly in the sun.
 Juvenile red-shouldered hawk. The day soon turned incredibly busy indoors. But I did take a morning breather on the back deck, where I heard the voices of a titmouse and a few chickadees. Crows made their usual circuits. For the first time, I noticed a a group of about a half dozen crows follow a local jogger as he veered over into the yard of the motel across the road. Apparently he’s been feeding them something. After he jogged off, the crows flapped to the ground where he’d been and each carried something away.
About midday I got a telephone tip about a roadside hawk up the hill from me. I grabbed my camera and hopped in my truck and drove about three-quarters of a mile north. What a gorgeous day—must’ve been 40 degrees (F) out there. And, sure enough, I spotted a slim, comely hawk on an electrical service line at the Island View Inn. Pulled over, emerged with my camera. After I’d managed only a couple distant shots, the hawk took off and soared down into a conifer near the Island View parking lot. I drove down the drive, snapped some photos through my pickup’s window. But the hawk then flew again, over to another conifer on the bay side of the building. Surprisingly, it allowed me to park, get out, and approach to within about ten or twelve feet of it.
It finally flew again—I figured because I’d gotten too near—but then immediately sort of crashed into a rock in a nearby garden, so I thought maybe it’d let me get so close because it was sick or injured. But no. Because right away it hopped up with a mouse or vole in its beak. Then it transferred its prey into its talons. And then it stood there looking at me as if saying, “What?”
 Juvenile red-shouldered hawk with prey. I’d thought at first it was a cooper’s hawk, but come to find out it was the same juvenile red-shouldered that’s been hanging out in the area for a week or more. And comparing my photos to other photos of that bird confirms it: same markings, same eye-gleam, same ratty-edged tail. The only other time I’ve seen a hawk snag a meal was when a red-tail took a chickadee from a feeder next door a couple winters ago. The chickadee sent out notes of alarm as it was being carried away. (“Hawk! Hawk! Hawk”) Today’s rodent kill did not seem nearly so sad.
I might check again on the young raptor tomorrow.
By 4 p.m. or so, I’d had it with desk work. I drove over to the Beech Hill parking lot. What with the warm temps, I figured I wouldn’t need snowshoes—and I was right. Well-packed if somewhat greasy footing, with just a slip or two. I walked quickly up the lower wooded trail, pausing occasionally to listen. Heard no birds, heard no sounds at all except for the breeze and my own breathing and my heartbeat in my ears.
The sun had set behind the hill by the time I emerged in the open area below the summit. Cool. Quiet. Beautiful. Then I heard it: a soft, faint twee—some kind of sparrow, I bet. I heard it four or five times but couldn’t identify the bird. Sounded somewhat like a white-throat, but I imagined it might be a tree sparrow. Whatever it was, it applied a sweet, subtle punctuation mark on a vivid winter day.
(Note: I can’t help but mention the sky tonight—with no clouds in the way, I’ve got a clear view of Orion and Siruis and Mars.)
Today’s List
Black-capped chickadee
Tufted titmouse
American crow
Herring gull
Red-shouldered hawk
 Beech Hill.
Tags: American crow, black-capped chickadee, herring gull, red-shouldered hawk, tufted titmouse
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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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