Birding Notes

Soon after sunrise on the Winter Solstice, in the late days of December, I stepped out onto our deck. The morning was clear and chilly, about 31 degrees by our porch thermometer. A light frost touched the grass and leaves here and there. The pale parchment leaves on a young beech tree at the edge of the woods glowed softly in the shadow of grim bare-limbed oaks and gray-green pines. 

The first sound I heard was the high, hissing trill of a Brown Creeper, a bird that has become very uncommon here in our neighborhood. It was a fine way to begin this Solstice day, and if I were inclined to believe in omens for the coming year, the Brown Creeper would be a good one.

A Brown Creeper is a tiny brown and white bird that – true to its name – creeps up the trunk of a tree, pausing to pry up the bark with its long, thin, down-curved bill, searching for its prey, mostly insects and spiders. Its short legs and long tail keep it so close to the trunk that it looks insect-like as it moves in a jerky upward spiral. The mottled brown and white plumage on its upper side camouflages it so well it can be hard to spot. Its underside is white. It will move in this spiral direction up the trunk of one tree for a long way, until at some point it flies off and directly down to the base of a nearby tree and begins to scuttle up again.

Its high, quiet call is not easily noticed, but in the cold, still air of a winter morning, it rings in a shimmering way, often compared to the sound of a thin chain dropping into a pile. And its call was the only sign I could find of the elusive little Creeper today, though I searched the trunks of all the trees and watched for several minutes. 

In winter, Brown Creepers often travel in loose feeding flocks with other small birds, so it wasn’t a surprise to also hear the high, thin ti-ti-ti calls of a Golden-crowned Kinglet, the delicate rattle of a Downy Woodpecker, and the chatter of Tufted Titmice and Carolina Chickadees. A Northern Cardinal peeped, an Eastern Phoebe called repeated tsups, American Crows cawed in the distance, and a Carolina Wren sang a brilliant song.

By late afternoon, when I found the time to get out for a walk, high gray clouds had rolled in and thickened, creating a very gray early evening, moody and somber in feel. The air felt cool and almost completely still. And at first, very quiet.

Then a Hairy Woodpecker’s bright, emphatic rattle came from somewhere in trees right around our cul de sac. As I walked on down the road, I began to hear the peeps of Northern Cardinals, the songs and trills of Carolina Wrens, the chatter of Carolina Chickadees. Birds were – as usual in the past many weeks – few and far between, and much more often heard than seen. A Ruby-crowned Kinglet stuttered its jidit-jidit from a hidden spot in some tall, dense shrubs. A Red-bellied Woodpecker chuck-chucked, a Northern Flicker called a bright Kleer!

In one stretch of the road lined with young live oaks, I could hear the tseets of White-throated Sparrows on the ground below them, and caught glimpses of two plump, streaked birds as they dived for cover under shrubs. Yellow-rumped Warblers flitted from tree to tree, scattering check calls. A White-breasted Nuthatch’s nasal ank-ank and the trumpeted traveling call of a Pileated Woodpecker both came from a distance. Two small, swift flocks of birds flew over that might have been blackbirds, or not, quickly out of sight. A Hermit Thrush murmured its liquid churp from a low branch in a bare maple tree too far back from the road to see well.

The sun went down with little flourish, leaving a sky thick with high, sooty clouds and only a faint tinge of orange. As I walked back home, I listened to the peeps of Northern Cardinals and the clink calls of White-throated Sparrows. Light faded fast. A White-throated Sparrow’s sweet, clear, whistled song spiraled up from some low, screened spot not too far away. 

In a large lantana bush this morning a delicate blue-gray dragonfly rested among the orange blossoms and green leaves, as Tiger Swallowtail and Black Swallowtail butterflies fluttered gently near it, visiting the blooms. Two Buckeye butterflies, four Silver-spotted Skippers, and a few small Fiery Skippers were visiting the flowers too, on an already hot, humid day. Huge white clouds with dark gray bottoms billowed and drifted in a sky that somehow still was mostly blue and sunny.

The dragonfly’s slender, graceful shape, and cool, powdery, blue-gray color might have escaped attention, but its wings whirred in a fairy-like way when it moved even slightly. When sitting still, it held its four transparent wings out straight to the sides. The wings were intricately veined, with the front edges trimmed in fine, distinctive black markings. 

I’m pretty sure it was a Bar-winged Skimmer, Libellula axilena. I looked it up after I got back home, and learned that this dragonfly is found throughout Georgia and much of the Southeast, but is considered uncommon, not often seen. It prefers forested areas with ponds or other still, shallow water, or slow-moving wooded streams. Although this location was in a suburban neighborhood, there are woods and creeks and a pond, surrounding us and not far away.

The morning also held two especially nice, surprising birds. A Red-eyed Vireo sang somewhere in the treetops behind a neighbor’s house, too far from the road to see. And a Northern Flicker announced its presence with several good, loud calls of kleer! This is the first time I’ve found a Flicker here since sometime last spring. Although they do sometimes spend the summer in this part of Georgia, they usually spend only the fall and winter months here in our neighborhood, and this is a little earlier than usual to find one. It may be just passing through or visiting. And it may be another sign of increasing bird activity and movement as the fall season comes closer. 

Early this morning I stepped out into a steamy, wet, very warm day. Our summer heat has returned. Low filmy clouds still hung over the dripping trees and kept the light gray. But the sharp, clear chik-brrr calls of a Scarlet Tanager immediately brightened the day, the first time I’ve heard a Scarlet Tanager in a few weeks. Its calls were very clear and close, but it stayed deeply hidden in the foliage, somewhere in trees on the edge of the yard, so I was never able to catch sight of it. Still – just nice to know it’s here and to listen as it moved through the trees.  

Several other birds were much more active this morning than they’ve recently been. Two Great Crested Flycatchers called whreeps back and forth. An Acadian Flycatcher sang its crisp tee-chip from not far away in the woods. Carolina Wrens trilled and burbled and fussed. A White-breasted Nuthatch called. Carolina Chickadees and Tufted Titmice kept up a running comment in low,

brief, chipping notes, kind of a background sound. Northern Cardinals peeped. Crickets chirped. Brown-headed Nuthatches chattered their squeaky-dees in the pines. An American Crow stopped by for a few minutes, cawing very loudly right overhead, but then flew away.

Ruby-throated Hummingbirds came frequently to the feeder, twittering fiercely when they encountered each other, which was often. Once I saw three in the air together, intersecting, then zipping off in different directions. 

Then a Red-eyed Vireo began to sing. It wasn’t especially close, maybe somewhere around a neighbor’s yard, and it sounded a little muffled in the foggy distance – but it sang its repeated refrain over and over again for several minutes and was very nice to hear! Like the Scarlet Tanager, I have not heard or seen a Red-eyed Vireo in several weeks. So maybe the predominant quiet of summer is beginning to come to an end, as birds begin to disperse and prepare for fall migration.

After a while, many of the birds fell quiet or drifted further away, leaving a soft, wet morning, still punctuated now and then by the Acadian Flycatcher’s tee-chip, and the twitter of hummingbirds. 

The gentle, blurry coos of a Mourning Dove emerged from the clouds and the fog. 

What a gentle, lovely, surprising morning! Amazingly cool for early August, and the back yard trees were full of bird calls and songs, seeming more active than usual recently. A Great Crested Flycatcher called whreep and stayed around for several minutes. A Yellow-billed Cuckoo gave several hollow, knocking ka-ka-ka calls. Tufted Titmice and Carolina Wrens and Carolina Chickadees sang, and Northern Cardinals peeped. An American Goldfinch scattered its flyover notes. Crickets and other insects chirped. And the pik-a-tuk calls of a Summer Tanager laced through the trees. The nasal onk-onk-onk-onk of a White-breasted Nuthatch tracked its progress through the woods as it came closer and closer. A Downy Woodpecker whinnied. A Red-bellied Woodpecker rattled. 

Ruby-throated Hummingbirds came frequently to the feeder, often dueling and chasing. I watched one visiting the red blossoms on a hanging geranium plant. I don’t think it found much nectar there, but it was pretty to watch.

Then I was very happy to hear the sharp little check-mark call of an Acadian Flycatcher, which I’ve not heard for a few days – maybe because of very heavy rain for much of that time. 

After a long stretch of extreme heat in July, early August brought us several days of rain and cloudy days and much cooler temperatures. The rain was welcome – but at times torrential, falling steadily and heavy for hours. Now this morning, the temperature is only 69 degrees. There are still a lot of clouds, but soft sunlight is beginning to break through. Carolina Wrens burble and trill and sing. 

And then – maybe happiest of all – a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher called its wispy spee-spee! And another Blue-gray Gnatcatcher responded with its own spee calls, the first time I’ve heard them in trees around our yard in quite a while. 

Early this morning the trees all around our yard dripped with rainwater from a good heavy rain that came with thunderstorms late last night. The air itself felt wet and heavy and warm. Against the background of rainwater dripping from leaves, and crickets and other insects chirping and clicking, I heard the sharp little check-mark call of an Acadian Flycatcher, my first bird of the morning. Because I had not heard its call for the past two or three days, I was especially happy to hear it, even though it sounded pretty far away, down in the woods. It has been such a sweet, constant summer companion, heard calling almost every day for many weeks now, so I’m glad to know it’s still around. 

The sky was still deeply clouded with big leftover storm clouds, though no more likelihood of rain, and the day was still forecast to be very hot again. But the good drenching rain was welcome, and a few other birds seemed a little more lively and crisp this morning. 

Ruby-throated Hummingbirds came to the feeder, male, female and maybe juvenile, twittering and sipping, and snapping and humming now and then in quick encounters. The Eastern Bluebird pair made frequent trips to and from the nest box on the edge of the yard, feeding nestlings that we think have recently hatched. A Summer Tanager sang for a few minutes from trees on the east side of the yard. And a Brown-headed Nuthatch occasionally gave a squeaky-dee call. Carolina Wrens sang and trilled and fussed and burbled. A Carolina Chickadee sang, and others chattered their chickadee-dee-deecalls, with Tufted Titmice also chattering and singing. 

Later in the day, birds were mostly quiet, but I found more butterflies than on any day so far this year. Almost all were in our own or neighbors’ lantana blooms. One neighbor has several large bushes of orange lantana, and these seem especially popular. 

In one orange lantana bush, two brilliant orange Gulf Fritillaries, one large, graceful Black Swallowtail, and three Tiger Swallowtails all visited the blooms. In a small patch of yellow lantana beside it, there were a very few small Fiery Skippers, but also a Hummingbird Moth – a small amber and black moth with a long abdomen, a fan-shaped dark tail, and clear wings that whir like hummingbird wings as the moth hovers over a blossom. This one was a particular species of Hummingbird Moth known as a Snowberry Clearwing. At first glance, it looks more like a bumblebee than a moth – but its body is longer, with a very different shape and behavior. Although its transparent wings whir in a blur, its movement is not fluttery or flighty, but more deliberate. It glides methodically from flower to flower, staying for a long while, going carefully over this one field of blooms.

In our own yellow lantana patch, two big, floaty Tiger Swallowtails, one Gulf Fritillary and a pretty Painted Lady butterfly were visiting. The Painted Lady was the first I’ve seen this summer, and it stayed for several minutes, time to try to soak in and admire its complex colors and patterns – a bright kaleidoscope of orange, black and white on the upper side of the wings, and then, when it folds the wings up, the underside of the hind wings shows a more lacy, delicate pattern of pale brown and fawn and white, and a row of four small, dark eyespots along the edge of the hindwing. Painted Ladies are the most widespread of all butterfly species, occurring almost worldwide, and they are known especially for spectacular long-distance migrations. In North America, they migrate southward in the fall and northward in the winter, following several different paths and sometimes taking several generations along the way. So in watching this one small creature here, I wonder where it might have been, where it might have traveled. While they are abundant and widespread, they are said to be more common west of the Mississippi, which may be one reason I have not seen them often here. All butterflies and moths have been very scarce so far this summer here – but it’s encouraging to see a few more as the months go on. The pure magic and beauty of a butterfly is now so endangered – any butterfly – all butterflies – that it is heartbreaking to think future generations might know them only as memories or tales from the past, like fairies and elves. 

On yet another very hot and humid summer morning, cicadas were singing so loudly it was a little hard to hear much of anything else, and at first it seemed there were no birds around but a few Blue Jays. Then the small, intimate chatter of Tufted Titmice and Carolina Chickadees began to emerge from the background, and the peeps of a Northern Cardinal. An Eastern Bluebird warbled a blurry song. A Carolina Wren began to sing, too, more boldly and loudly. A White-breasted Nuthatch called a long string of nasal notes as it moved through the trees. 

A Summer Tanager began to sing, at first from down in the woods, then gradually the refrain came closer and closer, a rich, lilting song. A Brown-headed Nuthatch chattered its squeaky-dee as it moved through the pines.

But then – I caught a glimpse of what I first thought was a Downy Woodpecker on the trunk of a nearby oak. When I took a closer look, a very long bill and a sharply defined head with something of an angular, rather arrogant look made me think again – it was a Hairy Woodpecker. For several minutes I watched as it explored the tree, in and out of the cover of leaves, up the trunk, out a branch here, and another there, and back down the trunk. It worked quietly, and I wished for just one good emphatic call – but no. But several times I caught some very nice views. A Hairy Woodpecker’s black and white colors and patterns are very similar to those of a Downy Woodpecker, but it’s larger; its shape is more slender and its posture more erect, with a proud, cleanly defined head and neat black-and-white striped face. The long, sharp bill was parted much of this time, except when it worked directly on the tree. I wondered if it was panting from the heat. 

Downy Woodpeckers are very common around our yard and neighborhood, but we don’t see or hear a Hairy Woodpecker nearly as often – so this was especially nice. And it was really fun for me to spot it and watch for several minutes. For the past several weeks I’ve been listening to birds more often than watching, while I recovered from shoulder surgery. I’ve only recently begun to use binoculars again. So this was especially nice in that way too – bird watching again! 

Early this afternoon a hawk swooped suddenly from around the corner of the house to a low branch on an oak not far from one of our windows where we had a scope set up. We’d been watching a bluebird pair come and go from a nest box on the edge of the yard, and just happened to see the hawk as it arrived on the branch, shaded by the big green leaves of the oak but sitting on a dead, bare branch in clear view. We were able to watch it at unusually close range for several minutes. 

It was a juvenile Red-shouldered Hawk bringing something clutched in its talons. It held the prey with its talons against the branch and after only a very short pause, began to tear up pieces and eat. It was something too small to identify, maybe a small rodent or chipmunk. I watched it eat it completely, leaning down and tearing up each bite. When it was finished, the hawk searched the branch for leftover pieces for a few moments. Then it stayed for a few minutes more, at first facing away from the window where we watched, then turning around and facing toward us, so it was a rare chance to see and study its beautiful dark-brown streaks on the breast, where the patterns look like streams of falling leaves. Its back was brown, flecked with white. Long yellow legs. And a long tail with muted brown and grayish bands. 

Because it was a juvenile, it did not yet have the vivid red-orange and deep brown coloring of an adult Red-shouldered Hawk, or the striking black and white tail. But seen closely, its more subdued coloring and patterns have their own, more quiet beauty. 

After a while, it raised its tail and squirted out a poop – then leaned forward and flew away, into the trees of the woods and out of sight. 

When I opened a window this morning, the first thing I heard was the bright Whreep! of a Great Crested Flycatcher. A very fine bird to begin this midsummer day. It continued to call for several more minutes, Whreep calls followed by a burst of shorter whistles tumbled together in a bubbly way, and then a lower, more burry Breet!

A Tufted Titmouse and a Northern Cardinal also sang, and a White-breasted Nuthatch trailed a long string of short nasal calls. An Acadian Flycatcher called a short, crisp tee-whit, tee-whit.

The warm night had been filled with the raucous songs of katydids, and bright with very clear and strong moonlight, now several days past the full moon, but still lovely moon-white light that turned the woods into a black and white filigree of patterns from the trees. 

With morning, the katydids faded away and the songs of cicadas soon became loud all around. A Carolina Wren sang from our deck rail, a golden, sunny-bright song, and was answered by another and another and another Carolina Wren. American Crows cawed as they flew overhead. And a Summer Tanager sang its lilting refrain from somewhere among a dense tangle of trees on the east side of the yard. A Downy Woodpecker whinnied. An Eastern Bluebird mumbled a low, blurry song, and then a brilliant male bluebird flew across the yard and sat on a nearby very low branch of a white oak tree. A female bluebird, meanwhile, sat with her head coming out of a nest box a few yards away. They seem to be starting another nest, despite the extreme summer heat. 

But the Great Crested Flycatcher may be the perfect bird of the day for this midpoint of the summer. It’s a large, handsome bird with a big, crested head, a lemon-yellow belly, and a long, expressive cinnamon-colored tail, and wings with touches of cinnamon. Its flashy behavior and colors make it a joy to watch. It often may sit in clear view in the top of a tree and almost seem to pose there, showing off its regal appearance. And then it moves with a flourish to hunt from high branches, capturing flying insects in the air, or swooping down to catch beetles, grasshoppers, crickets and spiders and other prey from the surface of leaves or even from the ground.  

Great Crested Flycatchers are considered common in all of the eastern part of the U.S. in the summer. They seem to prefer patchy woodlands and second-growth forests, and especially edges of woodlands with a mix of fields or clearings – like the habitat around our neighborhood here. They are not so often found in denser forests, but do need dead or dying trees for nesting cavities. 

This morning, under a gentle blue and white summer sky, the sunlight shimmered through gaps in the oaks and pines around our back yard, and all the trees and bushes dripped with rainwater left by a good heavy thunderstorm that came through overnight. Small branches, twigs and leaves littered the ground and the deck and the roof. The rain was welcome, bringing a little bit of a break to a string of very hot July days. And now the world felt warm and wet and looked very, very green. Cicadas already sang loudly.

From somewhere down in the woods that stretch beyond the yard, maybe along the creek, came the morning song of a Wood Thrush. A cool, fluted melody that drifted through the dripping trees. An Acadian Flycatcher called its sharp, neat notes – a touch of clarity against a somewhat blurry background.

A Carolina Wren sat on our deck rail and belted out a loud and brilliant song, and other wrens nearby answered with trills. A Tufted Titmouse sang peter-peter, and a Carolina Chickadee fee-bee, fee-bay. Other birds sounded further away than the wrens – the distant, hollow cawping calls of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo; the ringing rattle of a Hairy Woodpecker; the hoarse, insistent refrain of a Scarlet Tanager.

A Mourning Dove began to coo from trees right on the edge of the yard, full, soft coos, like a calming, comforting touch. A House Finch whistled a pretty tune. An Eastern Bluebird warbled a blurry, sweet song, and flew across the grass in a heart-stopping flash of blue.