Common yellowthroat.
May 2011 will live in infamy (for a couple years, at least) for its ceaseless overcast. More than half-way through the month, you can count the sunny days on one hand, and the forecast through the weekend is for more rain. But I don’t much mind. There’s something close and intimate about a cloudy, drippy, foggy day. Although I must say they’re not great for photographs.
Jack and ferns.
One day a month, I’m particularly desk-bound. This was that day. Began early and, looking out occasionally at the intermittent drizzle, got it done. At about 4, I grabbed Jack and we set off to do a few errands. House finch and house sparrow and crow around my place; a surprise appearance by a hummingbird visiting my purple-blooming rhododendrons (or azaleas or whatever they are) not twenty feet from busy Route 1; starlings, gulls, and pigeons in town. Pulling into a parking lot near the post office, I got a good look at a rock pigeon floating over the business block. Pigeons have this thing they do, fluttering high, then sailing slowly down, wings lifted in an acute V shape that’s unique among the birds I know. They make an interesting profile when floating slowly down like that. They sort of resemble an origami bird.
The rain had stopped when we parked at the wooded Beech Hill trailhead. Very damp and drippy still, with a bit of wind and a fog gathering. Oddly, within a minute or two, four other vehicles also pulled into the lot, and yet three of them turned around and left right away. A woman hiker emerged from the fourth. I suggested she continue on up ahead because Jack and I would surely be dilly-dallying.
And dilly-dally we did. I didn’t expect much, bird-wise. And I didn’t hear a peep—until we’d reached the edge of the sugarbush, when I heard the faint notes of a nuthatch. We stopped so I could look for it and, by golly, I spotted it, too. And then I spotted several other little birds in the canopy nearby: silent warblers moving through. Saw a yellow warbler, a parula, a chestnut sided. Suddenly a pair of robins flew up into the trees. And a hairy woodpecker swooped into the picture. Then I heard the call of an ovenbird. And the song of a goldfinch flying over. Eight species within the span of a minute or two—most of them silent.
Foggy field.
(I haven’t heard why that is—why migrating songbirds tend to vocalize in the morning and grow silent later in the day (and/or in unsettled weather)—and have read nothing on the subject. I can only draw on my experience. And experience suggests that perhaps as the day lengthens they’re concentrating on food and shelter. They rise early and declare their existence, then at day’s end seem content to stock up in anticipation of the next fresh, joyous morning. Certainly bright mornings are the most musical times, is all I can safely say.)
Ascending the upper trail, I heard towhees and (from some distance) herring gulls. At a little open area, a yellowthroat flitted up into plain view. Then a chestnut-sided warbler appeared only a few feet away but hidden by a twig. Other warblers were darting about here, too, but I only got a good look at one through binoculars. At least I think it was a warbler—I couldn’t ID the bird. It was fairly plain, with an olive-colored back and wingbars, but had a brilliantly yell0w breast. A female magnolia? Some kind of vireo? I wish I’d managed a photo.
As we continued up, white-throated sparrows dashed furtively out of our way. Heard little gangs of chickadees.
Fog cloaked the upper fields. No kestrel or crow or other bird perched in the trees up there. A couple more yellowthroats and towhees. We met the hiker coming back down and stayed to chat a bit—during which time I saw a catbird fly by and heard the voices of a turkey and a raven.
Fern.
At the misty summit, I caught sight of a little sparrow on the grass near Beech Nut—a solitary savannah—and heard the voices of crows.
Returning down the lower trail, I heard the song of a hermit thrush. And that was all I heard or saw until we neared the parking lot again, when a phoebe zipped suddenly past.
This soggy evening, out back, I heard the subtle voices of the resident nuthatches and the full, forthright song of a cardinal.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 5:45 p.m, I hiked the wooded trails.
1. White-breasted nuthatch
2. Yellow warbler
3. Northern parula
4. Chestnut-sided warbler
5. American robin
6. Hairy woodpecker
7. Ovenbird (voice)
8. American goldfinch (voice)
9. Eastern towhee
10. Herring gull (voice)
11. Common yellowthroat
12. Black-capped chickadee (voice)
13. White-throated sparrow
14. Gray catbird
15. Wild turkey (voice)
16. Common raven (voice)
17. Savannah sparrow
18. American crow (voice)
19. Hermit thrush (voice)
20. Eastern phoebe
Elsewhere
21. House finch
22. House sparrow
23. Ruby-throated hummingbird
24. European starling
25. Rock pigeon
26. Northern cardinal
Tags: American crow, American goldfinch, American robin, black-capped chickadee, chestnut-sided warbler, common raven, common yellowthroat, eastern phoebe, eastern towhee, European starling, gray catbird, hairy woodpecker, hermit thrush, herring gull, house finch, house sparrow, northern cardinal, northern parula, ovenbird, rock pigeon, savannah sparrow, white-breasted nuthatch, white-throated sparrow, wild turkey, yellow warbler
