Birding Notes

Late this morning, two Golden-crowned Kinglets foraged in the pines and oaks around our house, close enough for me to watch them for several minutes. Tiny birds with a round shape and faces vividly striped in black and white, and a yellow-gold crown on the top of the head, they look like little animated ornaments moving through the trees – and make high-pitched, wintery music with their ti-ti-ti calls and chatter.

Because they’re so small and move so quickly and constantly – and because there are years when we don’t see many of them at all – I think of them as somewhat elusive. They breed in forests of spruce and other conifers in more northern parts of North America, and migrate here for the winter, when sometimes we see a good many of them, and other years few. This seems to be a good year for them here, and I’m discovering that they’re not at all shy.

These two moved over the branches, quickly picking up something like tiny insects or spiders from clusters of pine needles or dry brown and green leaves still on the oaks, turning sideways and upside down, and once or twice darting up to capture an insect in the air. The day was fairly warm – sunny, breezy and in the lower 60s – but we’ve had several freezing nights this week, and most of the foliage, except for the pines and other evergreens, is withered and faded. So the Kinglets bring a welcome splash of color.

Late this afternoon I was standing on the front porch when I heard them in the dry, speckled leaves of a water oak overhead. Then I noticed one making its way through the branches of a Savannah holly not more than five feet away from me. It hopped all the way out to the very end of a branch near me and paused there, as if checking me out, turning its head sharply back and forth, then it flitted down and joined a Titmouse and a Chickadee on the rim of a birdbath, which both seemed as surprised as I was to see it.

Even though the Kinglet only paused there for one or two seconds at most, the three birds together made a priceless picture – both the Titmouse and Chickadee, looking huge next to the Kinglet, turned to look at it as if to say, “What do you think you’re doing here?” And though neither of them made a move toward the smaller bird, the Kinglet quickly seemed to think better of it and flew back up to a branch of the oak.

On a wet gray day that looked like a watercolor painting, with the browns, reds and yellows of the foliage blurring in a light rain that continued to fall through the morning, birds around here were very active. Highlights included an abundance of Yellow-rumped Warblers, our first-of-the-season Cedar Waxwings, two Ruby-crowned Kinglets, one with its red crest dramatically fluffed up, two Golden-crowned Kinglets feeding in the low branches of a thicket, at least three dozen Chipping Sparrows, and a solitary, low-flying Cooper’s Hawk.

When I first stepped outside this morning, it almost seemed to be raining Yellow-rumped Warblers, because the small, gray-streaked birds with yellow rumps were everywhere – in the wax myrtles, hollies, oaks, and all the trees and shrubs around the yard. Thick layers of wet brown leaves covered the grass and walkways and spattered the roof and shrubs, making everything look speckled and fragmented, as if the world itself were breaking up into pieces. Raindrops tapped on the leaves still on the trees, and Yellow-rumped Warblers shivered them here and there.

A Phoebe hunted from the bare branches of river birches. Four or five different Carolina Wrens sang, burbled, fussed, and trilled. White-throated Sparrows called tseet! A bright red Cardinal stood out like a Christmas ornament on the dull green of a hedge. A streaked Brown Thrasher made its way toward the top branches of a wax myrtle but stopped while it was still well-screened.

Two Ruby-crowned Kinglets moved, one after the other, through the water oak branches that hang over our front porch, coming very close to where I was standing as they picked insects from the undersides of leaves. A small patch of red was visible on both of their crowns, and as I watched, they began to chatter aggressively, and one of them fluffed up its crest into an agitated spray of ruby-red.

By mid-afternoon, the rain had passed, but the sky remained gray and featureless. As I walked a short way down the street, Chipping Sparrows flew up from the grass like sparks from a fire, shooting off in several different directions and flashing silvery gray, landing in the branches of small trees and bushes. A close-up view of one sitting on the branch of a pine showed a placid-looking sparrow of vivid brown, gray and white coloring – brown-streaked back and bright cinnamon crown – that sat calmly gazing around, showing nothing of the nervous pizzazz of the group’s scattering flight whenever they’re startled up from the ground.

In a spot where there’s a thicket of young trees, grasses and shrubs on one side of the road and a yard on the other, a collection of small birds perched together in the bare limbs of a pecan tree – five Bluebirds, a Downy Woodpecker, two Brown-headed Nuthatches, three Chipping Sparrows, a Phoebe and a pair of House Finches.

While I was looking at this gathering, I heard the calls of Cedar Waxwings – very high, needle-thin whistles of several birds. At first I couldn’t find them, and walked on down the street, but a few minutes later, on my way back, I heard them again and this time they flew overhead – a flock of about 30 Waxwings flying in tight formation together, turning abruptly in one direction and then another, as if constantly changing their minds, then just as abruptly showering down like falling leaves into the top of a water oak where they stayed for several minutes before flying again.

Meanwhile, two Golden-crowned Kinglets foraged in the thickets, both of them coming out fully into the open in a scrawny bare tree for a few seconds. Little gray birds with bright-white wing bars and short tails, they moved so quickly they weren’t easy to see well even though they were very close, turning sideways and upside down, darting from spot to spot and making quick stabs at insects on leaves. White and black stripes bordered their yellow crowns, with a thin, crisp black streak through the eye, and they carried on a string of high-pitched chattering, only once or twice giving a clear, familiar ti-ti-ti call.

Just as I turned around to walk back toward our house, a large bird flew toward me almost at eye level, in the gray light showing only a blurry dark gray coloring and a slender shape, but with shoulders and wings that looked surprisingly muscular – a Cooper’s Hawk. It rose up enough to fly over me and across a yard, and disappeared into the trees beyond with a flash of what appears to be a white rump, which Cooper’s Hawks often show, though none of my field guides note this and it’s hard to find references to it. It was here and gone too quickly to see any details, and the main impression that remained with me was of how strong and sturdy it looked at close range.

The Cedar Waxwings had broken up into two or three smaller groups and flew from tree to tree, not settling anywhere for long, until finally, as I came to the edge of our yard, several of them settled in one of our flame-colored red maples, still dense with leaves. Here I was able to get a very good, close-up look and be reminded of their satiny gray-brown backs, and the thin white line around the black mask over the eyes – and the glossy tip of the tail that looks as if it’s been dipped in yellow wax. Within a minute or two, they tucked themselves deep into the foliage of the maples and disappeared – after that, I would never have known they were there.

Late this morning – another beautiful, sunny, colorful fall day – a Red-tailed Hawk, a Black Vulture and a Turkey Vulture all soared high in a big, deep-blue sky with not a cloud in sight. Both Vultures flew fast, in a way that looked sweeping, sailing and exuberant, as if they loved the speed of the wind, like daredevil skiers. The Black Vulture, its white wing-tips flashing when they caught the sun, and its wings held out flat and steady, flew higher and more aggressively, and soon was little more than a speck in the blue. The Turkey Vulture tilted crazily and flew in wide circles, sliding down the wind in a way that almost looked out of control at times, though I’m sure it was not. The Hawk flew more deliberately, looking more powerful and more in control – a master of the wind, rather than abandoning itself to the wind so freely as the Vultures seem to do.

At one point as I watched, the Red-tailed Hawk circled around and turned into the wind and hung in the air, almost motionless, as if suspended, moving only its wings and tail slightly. Then it turned and sailed away downwind. In a minute or two, it reappeared and did this again, hanging suspended almost directly above me for several seconds. It was impressive to watch, and I almost could not believe the way it seemed to hold itself so still in the sky. Later, I found this passage in Hawks in Flight (1988), by Pete Dunne, David Sibley and Clay Sutton: “Only the Red-tailed and Ferruginous hawks are capable of kiting – holding themselves immobile into the wind on set wings like a kite tugging against a string. Any bird that loses its forward momentum and holds fast over a spot east of Missouri may with virtual certainty be identified as a Red-tailed Hawk.”

This afternoon, under a warm, sunny blue sky with small white clouds, showers of leaves blew down and swirled around in the wind, making the day look and feel even more like Fall. Many were coming from pecan trees and water oaks, and our three river birches are now completely bare – just today they suddenly let go of all the rest of their leaves. Our two sturdy young red maples, though, which always turn later than the other maples on our street, are still thick with dark green leaves fast turning rose-red.

Around 3:00, I took a break from work and looked out through a window to the front yard and there, only inches away, perched in the branches of a Savannah holly, was a Yellow-rumped Warbler. It was the first one I’ve seen this season, a rather drab, grayish, sort of streaked little bird with pale yellow under its wings and a bright yellow rump. If this year is like others, we’ll soon be seeing many of them just about everywhere around the yard and throughout the neighborhood, and their dry check! calls will be a familiar and welcome sound again.

The sunny song of a Carolina Wren just outside our window woke me this morning when the day was barely light, and by 6:45 I was standing on the front porch watching as the trees across the road and up and down the street began to glow orange and gold and red. The foliage here is just about at the peak of fall color, with a chaotic mixture of green, brown, scarlet, rose, wine, coral, copper and yellow and more, speckled and splotched and somehow all blending together into an overall impression of mellow orange.

The sky was perfectly clear gray-blue, the air crisp and cool, and the noise of morning trucks and cars on Highway 441 more than a mile away was very loud, much louder than usual, but for some reason it didn’t seem to spoil the peaceful early morning feeling around the yard and the woods.

A Carolina Wren sang again from the edge of the woods, and White-throated Sparrows called tseet from shrubs and bushes. A Ruby-crowned Kinglet stuttered as it traveled through the low branches. Cardinals peeped. Then I was surprised to hear the exuberant song of a Ruby-crowned Kinglet, a quick, high cascade of whistled notes – I’m not sure I’ve ever heard one sing at this time of year before, though maybe it’s not uncommon. It’s a familiar song we often hear in the spring before they leave for the summer.

Bluebirds called from somewhere down the street, Crows cawed as they flew over, Robins also flew over in small groups and two or three squeaked in the trees nearby. Two Mockingbirds screeched out their harsh morning calls, Goldfinches called potato-chip, and a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker mewed. Then a White-throated Sparrow sang – the most beautiful song of the morning, sweet and plaintive, and so nice to hear again after it’s been gone for several months, a reminder that fall and even winter months don’t necessarily mean the absence of birdsong here.

Two Phoebes called tsup, and another Carolina Wren sang chura-REEEchender-REEEchender-REEchendre-churrrr, one of a wide variety of songs, calls and fussing sounds the wrens liven up the days with.

Three Bluebirds flew over, making soft burbling calls and glowing rose in the sunlight. I think the sun was surely up by now, though I couldn’t see it through the trees, and could only see a flood of red-orange along the eastern horizon. I heard the rattle of a distant Red-bellied Woodpecker, two Phoebes singing back and forth, two more White-throated Sparrows singing, and a Towhee calling To-whee from way down the street.

Chickadees and Titmice arrived in the trees around the feeders around 7:15, fussing and chattering, and two Mourning Doves flew in a nervous flutter to the ground below the feeders. Then I heard the high ti-ti-ti calls of Golden-crowned Kinglets in the leaves of the water oaks overhead, and the cry of a Red-shouldered Hawk in the east, out of sight beyond the line of trees, just before I went inside for breakfast.

October came to a quiet end today with a pleasantly warm, sunny day, a clear blue sky and autumn sunlight filtering through a mixture of green, yellow, orange, and wine-red leaves. Every day there are a few more patchy clusters of orange-brown leaves in the white oaks. The sweet gums have all turned burgundy or dirty gold, the dogwoods dusty red, the water oaks speckled in dull green and brown. The leaves in the pecans are mostly yellowish, thin, curling, and falling. It’s been an abundant year for acorns, especially in the white oaks. All day and night huge, heavy acorns still plonk down noisily onto the deck and the balcony right outside our bedroom windows.

Early this afternoon, crickets and grasshoppers chirped loudly and a few sulphur butterflies drifted through open, sunny spots. Threads of spider silk hung in the air and caught in the leaves of the trees. One Red-bellied Woodpecker and one Downy worked on excavating holes in the dead and dying pines. Some of these trees already are riddled with holes, and today the Downy fussed aggressively at the much larger Red-bellied Woodpecker when it came too close to one it was working on, in what was left of a skinny, skeletal dead trunk of a pine that looked like it was more holes than tree.

Eight Turkey Vultures sailed over, traveling together, from northeast to southwest. A Phoebe hunted from very low branches near the ground on the edge of the woods. Then a Red-tailed Hawk flew over the treetops with three Crows noisily harassing it. The Hawk was silent, wings outstretched, looking perhaps more serene than it felt, circling and climbing as the Crows flapped and cawed and darted and snapped all around it.

About thirty minutes later, the hawk was sitting in a pecan tree by the road as I walked out the front door. The Crows must have given up or lost it. It spread its wings and lifted into the air, and its shadow passed over me as it flew back over the house. I walked out into a clear spot and watched it circle several times, at first quite low, as it gradually climbed higher in the cloudless, deep blue sky. Again, it flew silently, and the way the sunlight filtered through its broad, outstretched wings made it look almost angelic in a powerful way, lit from within by a strength and grace beyond my understanding. Its underside was pale with one low dark band of streaks across the breast, a brown-hooded head, dark shoulders and wing-tips, and muted red-orange tail. The fine details of patterns in its wings and breast were elusive, like subtle gray lines in shifting white sand. It never flapped its wings, but held them out almost flat, tilting the tail and wingtips only, and turning its head from side to side. At one point, while it was still pretty low, it crossed paths with a Turkey Vulture also circling upwards, in the opposite direction. A few minutes later, when it was very high, it screamed, just once.

This afternoon – a sunny day with temperatures barely reaching around 70 – our first two White-throated Sparrows of the season appeared in the front yard. Their familiar tseet calls caught my attention as I was walking down the driveway, and sure enough, I found them in the shadows of the loropetalum and wax myrtles, where their neat white throats identified them quickly.

It’s nice to have them back, but I’m a little worried about whether they and other birds that need good low shrubby habitat will stay around this year. Last spring both we and our neighbors severely pruned a lot of wax myrtles, forsythia and other bushes – they had gotten pretty overgrown and needed a trim, but I had planned to plant many more shrubs this fall and haven’t been able to do it, so I’m now afraid that we won’t have as many ground-loving birds as we usually do in winter. The Hermit Thrush that usually comes for the winter, the Eastern Towhees, and Brown Thrashers, as well as the White-throated Sparrows – I can only hope there are still enough bushes around to provide them the cover and the food sources they need.

Also out front this afternoon were two male House Finches, both a rather subdued red color, visiting the feeders and the bird bath and trying – unsuccessfully – to chase away the Chickadees and Titmice. Golden-crowned Kinglets called as they traveled through the oaks and pecans, and one Turkey Vulture and two Black Vultures soared in a cloudless blue sky.

Early mornings are much quieter now than a few weeks ago. Though nights have gotten a little cooler, crickets still sing, and a few late katydids, and the first bird songs or calls I heard this morning, well before first light – like most days this past week – were the harsh rasp of a Mockingbird, the bright, musical songs of four or five Carolina Wrens, and the sibilant song of a Phoebe.

This morning around 8:30, a small flock of about a dozen Blackbirds flew over. Then a Northern Flicker flew into the top of a tall dead pine, arriving with a hollow Quorrr call. It stayed for only a minute or two, long enough for me to admire its handsome profile, spotted breast and thick black crescent high on the breast, then flew away with another, softer Quorrr.*

Chickadees, Titmice, Downy Woodpeckers and Brown-headed Nuthatches come and go from the feeders all day long, while Cardinals and Mourning Doves usually forage on the ground below, sometimes joined by a Chipping Sparrow or two.

In one part of the woods behind our house several tall pines have turned red-brown and are dead or dying, and while I’m sorry to lose them – and wonder what that will mean for our nuthatches, pine warblers, golden-crowned kinglets and other pine-loving birds – right now they seem to be providing a bonanza for Hairy Woodpeckers, as well as for Red-bellied and Downy Woodpeckers. The calls of all three, and the sounds of them working on the trunks, are among the most characteristic parts of the soundscape outside right now, especially the chucking and rattling of the Red-bellied Woodpeckers and the emphatic peenk! of the Hairys.

This afternoon, I spent a pleasant, but frustrating hour or so watching warblers in the treetops, most of which I never managed to see well enough to identify. There were certainly one Tennessee and one Chestnut-sided Warbler, which may have been what they all were, but most of them moved so quickly through the foliage of the oaks, in and out of sunshine and shadow and often up near the tops of the trees, that I felt as I often do in the fall – reminded of how much I cannot see and do not know. Which is, on the whole, not a bad thing. Sometimes you see them, sometimes you don’t, but it’s a fine thing to know they are there, and even a finer thing that they remain elusive, wild, mysterious, and not easy to pin down and classify. Though it’s still frustrating!

*The species account in Birds of North America describes this call as a “whurdle” and says it is the Flicker’s “least-known and least-heard vocalization. Indeed, the mechanism of its production still needs to be established . . . . Whurdle is a soft sound that has been described as a ‘gurgling almost involuntary chur-r-r-r-r’ (Burns 1900) given on the wing.”

Wiebe, Karen L. and William S. Moore. 2008. Northern Flicker (Colaptes auratus), The Birds of North America Online (A. Poole, Ed). Ithaca: Cornell Lab of Ornitholothology.

They’re back. Thursday evening, October 16, I heard the distinct, high, thin ti-ti-ti calls of Golden-crowned Kinglets, the first winter resident birds to arrive here around our home this season. I heard them again on Friday, a gray and rainy day, but even though I could see them in the treetops now and then, in breaks in the rain, I couldn’t get a good look at even one. Today, again I could hear their calls in the trees all around, and finally was able to see one clearly in the pines – a tiny, quick-moving sliver of energy with bright white wing-bars, a black and white striped face and head, and a golden-yellow crown. At times it sounds as if there are dozens of them in the trees around our house, but that’s probably deceptive, and maybe some of them will be moving on to other locations for the winter, but I hope some will stay near.

Early this morning, when the sky was still cloudy and gray, and everything was soaked from yesterday’s good long rains, I heard a familiar burst of chatter from a Ruby-crowned Kinglet in a line of thick wax myrtles. Then, as I walked up the driveway for the paper, a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker’s mewing call was repeated several times in the woods across the street. Later in the afternoon, a juvenile Sapsucker, with no red showing on either head or throat, flew from trunk to trunk around the edge of the yard.

It seems to me it’s late for the arrival of the Sapsucker, at least, and even for the Kinglets, but I haven’t been able to be out as often or to take my usual walks through the neighborhood for the past few weeks, so what I’m seeing and hearing now are strictly the arrivals of winter residents around our own house and yard. It’s good to see them again. Welcome back!

As I was walking past a window overlooking the birdbath in our front yard this afternoon about 4:00, I saw two Bluebirds down in the water taking a bath. By the time I’d gotten my binoculars, they were gone, of course, but in less than a minute one of them, an unusually bright-colored female, came back and got right back down in the leaf-spotted water for a long, full, energetic dip. She stayed for several minutes, repeatedly fluttering her wings. Four or five other small birds tried to approach, but she discouraged them and wouldn’t give up her place. Although her head and back were a subdued blue-gray, parts of her wings and tail were bright blue, her breast and flanks were rich rusty-orange, and white eye-rings gave her a wide-eyed, fresh and eager look. I was especially happy to see her because Bluebirds have been conspicuously absent from our yard since late August.

After several small birds had tried and failed to join her or take her place, a big Red-bellied Woodpecker flew to the edge of the bath and stayed to take several sips of water, undeterred by her feints at him, then it hopped up and into the water, sending the Bluebird flying away in a splash. The Red-bellied Woodpecker then repeated the same performance, dipping down low in the water, ruffling his feathers and fluttering his wings over and over to soak his feathers all over.

He took his time for a leisurely wash, and it wasn’t until he flew up to a branch to shake off and preen that a Phoebe came and perched on the edge watchfully, for several delicate sips of water. When a Blue Jay swooped down with a noisy flourish for a drink, the Phoebe flew away, but as soon as the Blue Jay was gone, the Phoebe returned for several more sips. Then a squirrel hopped up and curled awkwardly over the edge for a long drink, and when it was gone, two Carolina Chickadees came together to drink, followed by two Brown-headed Nuthatches, which always cling to the trunk of the water oak beside the birdbath first, and then flit down to the edge to dip their bills into the water and tip their heads back to swallow.

Meanwhile, the Chickadees, Brown-headed Nuthatches, Tufted Titmice and a Downy Woodpecker were busy going from one feeder to another, and a pair of Cardinals fed on the ground and visited the other birdbath to drink. A Pine Warbler sang from the edge of the woods, about a half-dozen Chimney Swifts circled overhead, and a Northern Flicker called Kleer!

Happy Hour was about to come to a close when I saw a small bird foraging among the speckled and faded water oak leaves, and it turned out to be a female Bay-breasted Warbler. Several Bay-breasted Warblers have stayed around this week – and I’ve seen a number of other reports of them, so maybe it’s a good year for Bay-breasted Warblers – but all the others I’ve seen so far have been males. This one, with intensely green-yellow head, face and back, a very faint streak through the eye, and a pattern of muted streaks on the back, looked feminine and pretty. Her throat was white, her breast and flanks pale yellow, with soft streaks on the flanks and no hint of the reddish-brown coloring on the males. She had two bright white wing bars, with a white belly, and the typical sturdy Bay-breasted shape and way of moving.

I think I’ve seen more Bay-breasted Warblers this fall than ever before, and have enjoyed several really nice close-up looks at them, and feel as if I’m much more familiar with them now – instead of just catching brief, passing sightings.