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
