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Posts Tagged ‘red-shouldered hawk’
Sunday, April 17th, 2011
 Northern harrier. We’re closing in on that time of year that a birder considers golden—at least at this latitude. The last half of April trembles like the calm before a storm, as occasional migrants arrive in little ripples (e.g., yesterday’s pine warbler), yet the tsunamis of May are yet a couple weeks away. This morning, though, the weather didn’t appear cooperative: last night’s high wind and rain persisted, as the upper edge of the big, sharp front that spawned tornadoes down south moved through. A howling, roaring wind, in fact (though not absolutely pouring rain). I was grateful that the storm’s bulk had mostly passed by the time I took Jack out for his morning pee.
 American kestrel. Didn’t expect many birds to make an appearance so soon after such a big blow, but a few did: house finch, crow, song sparrow—and a solitary flier that at first I took for a cormorant until it got nearer and I realized, from its light coloration, it must have been a loon.
Took care of some chores inside while the day brightened, the sun emerged, and innocuous high white clouds moved over. The temperature warmed to 60 (F), at least, and the runoff from the rain dried quickly. By late-afternoon, we couldn’t wait any longer. The drive to Beech Hill was swift, and before we knew it, dog and I were striding up the wooded trail.
Right away, I heard a phoebe calling (the first of many on the hill). And a crow. And gulls from shoreward. And a solitary song sparrow, with its chatters and chimes. About half-way up, I heard the cries of a flicker—then I wingbeats, and looked up, and I saw one of the handsome bronze woodpeckers perched on a leafless snag in the middle distance. Heard the voices of lovesick chickadees, as well.
Jack and I stopped near the top of the trail to listen to what I thought might be a bird scratching about, when a sudden commotion behind us made us turn just in time to see a shoeshow hare skedaddle through the trees and off across a secluded glen. The rabbits fur was a light bronze, almost yellowish. Only the second hare I’ve seen up there (the other being a white winter rabbit a year or so ago). Soon after, we ran into a couple and their dog. I told them about the snowshoe hare.
 Pussy willow. Coming into the upper fields, I scanned for the kestrel, didn’t see it right away, but then spotted it in the upper reaches of a tree a bit farther off along the hedgerow. A male. Climbing the last ascent, I heard more song sparrows and a couple robins. And one of the pair of phoebes that will nest in the eaves of Beech Nut flitted away at our approach, just as it had done a couple days ago.
I’d been looking for the harrier but hadn’t seen a sign of it—that is, until we started down the open trail, when it appeared (as it often seems to do) low above the field from behind a crest in the hill. A little wind was blowing from the west, and the hawk turned and faced the wind and hung there for a few beats before dipping down to earth. I couldn’t tell if it caught anything, but I managed to grab a couple photos before it sailed away down the western slope. A short time later I spotted it soaring off toward the road, circling, and zipping quickly back east down along the southern slope.
Nearing the road, I heard the strident notes of a nuthatch-in-love, the fluting of a titmouse, and the screams of a jay. Also a cardinal singing. As we reached the parking lot, two vehicles pulled in in quick succession—Jay and Amy again, in separate cars—and I heard the high, thin notes of a kinglet from the little grove of conifers there. The robin sat high in a tree laying vociferous claim to its territory.
Back up and over, I could hardly keep my eyes off the spectacular sky. No more sign of the harrier (or much of anything else)—but what a sky. We didn’t linger, headed straight back into the woods and down the lower trail.
Encountered quite a few downed branches from last night’s blow, and one small felled tree obstructing the trail. I moved it away as completely as I could. Heard crows, another phoebe, gulls. Then, just as we entered the big oak grove, I heard the strident calls of some bird. Sounded like a hawk. We stopped so I could listen. Repeated, loud, clear calls with a little yodel at the end. I looked in the direction of the sound but saw nothing—and then suddenly it flew. I got a distant look at it. A hawk for sure, a ruddy-breasted one. It traveled maybe a hundred feet away to perch on a limb of another tree, where I heard its continuing cries. Tried for another look but got only a flash of wings as it took off again and flapped away to the northeast, calling the whole way. As we moved through the oaks I could heard its calls continue, growing distant.
 Beech Nut. Not being an expert at hawk calls, I thought it might’ve been an accipiter—I’ve seen both coopers and sharp-shins up there—but when I got back home and dialed up the Cornell Lab’s website to take a listen, I got confirmation. What I’d heard was a red-shouldered hawk. First of the year, and first ever that I’ve seen on Beech Hill.
As evening fell, I heard the chips of the resident cardinal out back. Remnant clouds were flowing under the rising new moon.
(Just a minute ago I stepped out again to see a cloudless, moonlit sky.)
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4 p.m., I hiked all trails.
1. Eastern phoebe
2. American crow (voice)
3. Herring gull (voice)
4. Song sparrow
5. Northern flicker
6. Black-capped chickadee
7. American kestrel
8. American robin
9. Nothern harrier
10. White-breasted nuthatch (voice)
11. Tufted titmouse (voice)
12. Blue jay (voice)
13. Golden-crowned kinglet (voice)
14. Red-shouldered hawk
Elsewhere
15. House finch
16. House sparrow
17. Common loon
18. Northern cardinal
 Full moon.
Tags: American crow, American kestrel, American robin, black-capped chickadee, blue jay, common loon, eastern phoebe, golden-crowned kinglet, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, northern cardinal, northern flicker, northern harrier, red-shouldered hawk, song sparrow, tufted titmouse, white-breasted nuthatch
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Friday, July 23rd, 2010
 Ruby-throated hummingbird (male). If you absolutely sure about something, chances are you’re wrong. But if there’s a ghost of doubt—well, you can pretty much count on it.
Yesterday I bragged about how I could give you the exact GPS coordinates and time of day where you’d hear the song of a hermit thrush and an eastern wood-pewee. “Ear candy,” I called it. Well, this day, those coordinates, that time—I only heard the pewee. In fact, I didn’t hear (or see) a hermit thrush all day.
 Common yellowthroat. Yesterday I also began wondering if my listing an ovenbird two days ago was hasty. I imagined, yesterday, that the ovenbird I was sure I heard the day before was in fact a common yellowthroat singing an alternate song. Well, this day, I heard the oddly abbreviated song of an ovenbird—in a completely different area, mind you—and it was definitely an ovenbird. So now I’m pretty sure I was right in the first place.
Life is crazy like that.
Anyway. What a morning. Cool. Sunny. A slight breeze. The kind of morning you imagine you might awaken to in, say, Heaven.
But not a lot of birds early on. The usual yellowthroat, vireo, towhee, catbird, chestnut-sided warbler. The usual chickadee and goldfinch. The usual robin, veery, waxwing. But also a flicker. And an alder flycatcher. I didn’t actually see any of these species until Jack and I had nearly reached the summit, when I caught sight of: yellowthroat, towhee, robin, goldfinch, waxwing.
 Savannah sparrow Matter of fact, waxwings were demonstrating really interesting behavior this morning. Many, many waxwings were flying above the open fields. They were seemingly rising up and hovering a little, perhaps nabbing flying insects, or perhaps it was some obscure display. I don’t know if they were adult birds, this year’s birds, or both. But there were maybe two or three dozen of them, rising, hovering, veering back down—and not in groups, rather solitary. This was some curious solitary behavior.
For a little while I thought I might only list four sparrows, but the chippy finally called as dog and I were returning. Very vocal blue jays. The distinctive squeak-toy chip of a rose-breasted grosbeak. A surprising black-throated green warbler down by Beech Hill Road.
At one point on the open trail, some tiny birds flitted up into one of the birches at the trail’s edge. A pair of yellowthroats. No singing, just flitting.
No brown thrasher today.
 Gray catbird. But reaching the summit again on our return trip, I noticed a hawk flying low on the far side of Beech Nut. I didn’t know whether to grab my binoculars or my camera—but I grabbed the camera. Snapped off a couple quick shots, then sought to ID the bird with my fieldgasses. Too far away. But something about the look of this raptor, and the way it was flying, made me think it might be a falcon. And if it was a falcon, it would have to be a peregrin. Because it was that size.
Later, I looked at the two blurry photos and decided it was a lone adult red-shouldered hawk. It had a longish tail. It flapped then glided. It had a ruddy belly. I’m gonna say red-shouldered—though I really didn’t get a good enough look to be certain.
And soon after I happened to look up into the leafless branches of a small dead tree and, to my utter surprise, see a ruby-throated hummingbird. A male. I got some pictures. Then when we began moving again, it flew. And so did a second hummer that’d been hidden by some greenery. It was a pair.
No hermit thrush coming down the lower wooded trail. That kind of threw off my sense of reality—but there you go. In fact, it was silent enough down there that I started to wonder if something was up. Hawks about? Humans in hiding? A moose? I did hear the pewee, though, and later another nuthatch, and another black-throated green, and vireos. I’d counted up to twenty-nine species. For some reason, I’d prefer not to end on a prime number, but oh, well.
Then, nearing the parking lot, I saw Jack looking up and looked that way also: an American crow, silent and solo, flapping low through the trees.
I was not certain I would see a crow.
Note: en route to Beech Hill this morning about 7 a.m., I saw three great blue herons flapping slowly ahead of us above the road, headed west. This evening about 6:30 p.m., headed up Powerhouse Hill not far away, I happened to see two great blue herons flying back eastward, off toward their island rookeries. Of course, I have no idea if these were two of the same birds—but it was certainly memorable.
 American robin. Beech Hill List
Beginning at 7 a.m., I walked all trails.
1. Common yellowthroat
2. Red-eyed vireo (voice)
3. Chestnut-sided warbler (voice)
4. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
5. American goldfinch (voice)
6. American robin
7. Gray catbird
8. Eastern towhee
9. Northern flicker
10. Cedar waxwing
11. Ovenbird (voice)
12. Veery (voice)
13. Alder flycatcher
14. Song sparrow
15. Field sparrow
16. Eastern phoebe
17. Savannah sparrow
18. Yellow warbler
19. White-throated sparrow (voice)
20. Chipping sparrow (voice)
21. Blue jay (voice)
22. Rose-breasted grosbeak (voice)
23. Black-throated green warbler (voice)
24. White-breasted nuthatch (voice)
25. Red-shouldered hawk (possibly, or maybe a harrier or red-tail)
26. Mourning dove
27. Ruby-throated hummingbird
28. Black-billed cuckoo (voice)
29. Eastern wood-pewee (voice)
30. American crow
Elsewhere
31. Great blue heron
32. Herring gull
33. Laughing gull
34. Red-winged blackbird
 Bay sail, from Beech Hill.
Tags: alder flycatcher, American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, black-billed cuckoo, black-capped chickadee, black-throated green warbler, blue jay, Cedar waxwing, chestnut-sided warbler, chipping sparrow, common yellowthroat, eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, eastern wood-pewee, field sparrow, gray catbird, great blue heron, herring gull, laughing gull, mourning dove, northern flicker, ovenbird, red-eyed vireo, red-shouldered hawk, red-winged blackbird, rose-breasted grosbeak, ruby-throated hummingbird, savannah sparrow, song sparrow, veery, white-breasted nuthatch, white-throated sparrow, yellow warbler
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Tuesday, February 16th, 2010
 Beech Nut First thing this morning—a day, by the way, when we’re promised the possibility of snow—I heard again the voice of the cardinal I heard yesterday. At least I thought it was the cardinal. A cardinal has nested near my bedroom window for each of the last few years, and I’ve seen and heard it chipping now for weeks. But it occurred to me that today’s song was short. Just four or five whistling notes—not eight or nine or twelve. Still, it wasn’t until I stepped out with my camera to try for a photo that I realized it wasn’t a cardinal at all. It was a tufted titmouse. I realized this while scanning for the redbird; as soon as I did, I spotted the titmouse.
(Of course this has me wondering if my ID yesterday was bogus. Highly embarrassing, to a self-professed “bird-listener,” if so!)
 Young red-shouldered hawk. Along with the titmouse I heard the voices sounds of chickadees (and possibly even waxwings, though I couldn’t completely confirm) foraging around in my side yard. Then an antic group of gray squirrels kind of put a damper on things for the birds.
In mid-morning, I had a visit from a friend with an amazing young dog named Blue. As we were chatting, I heard an outburst from a group of crows in the area of the parking lot. “Hawk,” says I. And a quick glance confirmed it: the juvenile red-shouldered was back, perching in a low limb of a red oak, seemingly oblivious to the barking, hollering crows. My friend saw it, too. “It’s really tame,” says I, and to prove it I walked out to snap some photos. Frankly, the crows—while noisy—didn’t seem overly alarmed. It was almost as if they were just going through the motions.
Not a frigid day. For most of it, the temperature hovered above freezing. For me, a day of serious paperwork. Tedious, annoying, necessary. I finally got out of the office about 4 p.m.
In town I saw the usual species, other than rock pigeons (for some reason). Then I headed on up to Beech Hill. En route, I watched about six or eight black ducks glide down into Clam Cove.
 Three crows and a red-shouldered hawk. Two cars in the Beech Hill parking lot. More clearing work had happened on the sugar bush near the trailhead. The trail—still snowy, but soft. A quick walk up, thinking I might see a shrike or snowshoe hare. Of course I saw neither—nor even any bird or mammal. But the air was fresh, and the sky above was big and wide and richly colored.
Heading down, I thought of owls. They were around, even if I didn’t see one.
At 10 p.m. tonight, still no snow—though three to five inches worth is forecast. It’s been a couple weeks or more since we’ve had so much as an inch. Meanwhile, Washington, D.C., has had three feet. I know folks who around here who are craving snow, dying for it. I’d just like again to use my snowshoes.
Today’s List
Tufted titmouse
Black-capped chickadee
American crow
Red-shouldered hawk
Herring gull
Ring-billed gull
European starling
Black duck
 Pink sky, Beech Hill.
Tags: American crow, black duck, black-capped chickadee, European starling, herring gull, red-shouldered hawk, ring-billed gull, 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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