Birding Notes

“The parula warbler has a simple, but to my ears a very distinctive, song,” wrote Arthur C. Bent, in Life Histories of North American Wood Warblers.* “In 1900 I recorded the song in my notes as ‘pree-e-e-e-e-e-e, yip, a somewhat prolonged trill like a pine warbler’s, but fainter and more insect-like, ending abruptly in the short yip with a decided emphasis.’ I have always been able to recognize it by the explosive ending, which I never heard from any other wood warbler.”

For the past four weeks, since the middle of April, a Northern Parula – a small wood warbler that most often nests in wooded wetland areas – has been singing in the woods and even in the trees close around our house almost every day. Tiny, very quick, and constantly moving, a Parula can be difficult to see – at least for me. It usually stays well hidden, deep in dense foliage, and lately I’ve spent a lot of time staring into the green leaves of the oaks, with its distinct, beckoning song trilling right in front of me and all around me, like a tease – and I can’t see a thing. It’s like some kind of mischievous wood sprite – here, but invisible.

But once I’ve seen the female, and twice I’ve managed to spot the male.

Late on a Sunday afternoon two weeks ago – a cloudy, rainy afternoon, with watercolor-green April showers – I heard the song of a Parula in the oaks and pecans around one side of our house. After about ten minutes or so of watching and listening and following the song, I finally spotted him, perched on a small stub of a branch on a large pecan tree that was thick with dripping leaves and wet, dangling clusters of green flowers. He was preening, and at first looked all fluffed out and gray. Then he turned my way and I could see the sunny yellow throat and breast, and the smudge of dark coral in a band across the breast. He looked very small, and everything he did seemed to happen in fast-forward motion. He fanned his tail feathers, preened his breast, turned his head over a shoulder to comb the feathers there – and several times paused to lift his head up and sing. Then abruptly, he flew.

Late this afternoon, I saw him again in the same tree. Again, the weather was cloudy and wet, after a night and a day of rain. He hopped and flitted along the branches, stopping frequently to sing. I was further away this time and could barely make out the markings, but could see his diminutive shape very well, and could see as he stopped and lifted his head each time to sing the elusive but clear and crisp – pree-e-e-e-e-e-e, yip!

*Arthur C. Bent, Life Histories of North American Wood Warblers, 1953, page 144.

Today I read an Oconee Rivers Audubon email posting that noted the near absence of three or four bird species this spring at the State Botanical Garden in Athens – which has been identified by the National Audubon Society as an Important Bird Area.

Among the species of concern are Wood Thrush, which has been heard much less frequently than the last two years; Yellow-billed Cuckoo, only seen once this year; Red-headed Woodpeckers, not seen for some time now; and Swainson’s Warbler, which spent summers in the Botanical Garden through 2006, but was only seen a couple of times last year, and this year has not appeared at all. The beautiful songs of the Wood Thrush and the Swainson’s Warbler, the bold red, white and black of the Red-headed Woodpecker, and the exotic elegance of the Yellow-billed Cuckoo are all unique and integral parts of a southern woodland – and their absence is sad beyond words, especially if it continues.

Here in our neighborhood we also have not yet heard the song of a Wood Thrush or the call of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo this spring. Perhaps even more surprising here is the absence of Yellow-throated Vireos. Just last year, they were among our most regular singers all summer long – but this spring I have only heard the song of a Yellow-throated Vireo once or twice, and only in the distance, none close.

The bird of the day this morning was a brilliant male American Redstart that spent some time in the low branches around our front yard and even took one quick dip into the bird bath. His coal-black head and body were marked with orange wing-bars, flanks and tail-band, which he showed off by flaring his tail, and a white belly. He stayed in clear view and fairly close to me for several minutes, not at all shy, but never still for long, constantly moving.

I don’t know why, but he made me think of a cartoon bird – maybe because he was so boldly marked and colorful, and so animated, and because he gave me such a great close-up view.

It was another warm, breezy day, half-cloudy, half-sunny, with lots of bird song and activity. Both Bluebird parents made frequent trips in and out of the birdhouse. I think our pair has been a little later in nesting than others in the area.

After being out of town for a week, I was welcomed home this morning by the deep Whreep! of a Great-crested Flycatcher hidden somewhere among the big green leaves of the white oaks beside the back deck, and the back yard looked and sounded almost like early summer. An Acadian Flycatcher called pit-SEET, pit-SEET from down near the creek. A Red-eyed Vireo sang in the woods, and a Red-shouldered Hawk called as it flew back and forth along the treeline to the east. A Parula Warbler continues to sing frequently all around the edges of the woods and even in the trees and shrubs around the house, and I’m beginning to hope the pair might stay to nest.

The weather was warm, sunny and windy. Green anoles scurried along the deck rails, stopping to pump up and down and inflate their pink throats, Tiger Swallowtails laced through the treetops, and wasps and big, droning carpenter bees buzzed around. Among the other birds singing were Black and White Warbler, Pine Warbler, Phoebe, Chipping Sparrow, Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Scarlet Tanager, Summer Tanager (way down in the woods, not close), Titmice, and Carolina Wrens – I think a pair has built a nest somewhere in the clutter under the deck – and baby Cardinals peeped furiously, begging to be fed. Chimney Swifts chattered as they passed overhead now and then.

A female Blue Grosbeak (the first one I’ve seen this season) and a Mockingbird took turns taking full-body dips in the bird bath, and a little later a pair of House Finches came for a drink and then went on to sit on the feeder for a while. They almost always come and go together, seeming to be the most domestic of songbirds.

Our White-throated Sparrows, Yellow-rumped Warblers and Ruby-crowned Kinglets seem to have left for their summer homes while we were gone. I didn’t see or hear any sign of them today, though it’s possible a few could still be around. The greatest flush of migrants probably has passed through or arrived by now, though we haven’t yet heard or seen a Wood Thrush or a Yellow-billed Cuckoo, so I’m hoping there are still some to come. But for the most part, the rush of spring seems to be slowing into the more settled pace of early summer.

Early this morning, I heard a familiar bird song – please-please-pleased to MEET-cha. Sure enough, when I went out onto the back deck, there were at least two Chestnut-sided Warblers singing in the lower branches of the white oaks – along with Blackpoll, Black-and-White, Parula, Yellow-rumped and Pine Warblers, and a Red-eyed Vireo. The trees jangled like a soft tambourine with song, and the singers flitted in and out of sight among the new-green leaves dripping with rainwater.

The two Chestnut-sided Warblers looked vivid in crisp, saturated colors. The chestnut streaks on either side gleamed dark, almost wine-red, especially against the white of the breast. With a prominent gold crown, white cheeks, black moustache stripes, a black stripe through the eye, and two white wing bars, a Chestnut-sided Warbler is one of the most colorful of all the wood warblers, both to see and to hear. Its song isn’t loud, but it’s quick and expressive, and easy to learn.

Several Blackpoll Warblers – more subtle in both coloring and song – flitted in and out of sight among the leaves. In their spring plumage, each male is a study in black, white and gray, with coal-black cap, white throat, black moustache stripes, and white cheeks that look like broad white crescents, two white wing bars, and black streaks on the sides and back. I could not hear their very high tsit-tsit-tsit-tsit-tsit song, but maybe it was just hard to pick out among all the others.

I did hear the song of one Black-throated Blue Warbler from down in some thickets on the edge of a neighbor’s yard, a buzzy, metallic zoo-zoo-zoo-ZREE – and wished I could have seen it, but did not. The Chestnut-sided, Blackpoll, and Black-throated Blue Warblers all are just passing through, on their way further north, and the Yellow-rumped Warblers, which have been with us all winter, will soon be moving north, too.

Late this morning, under a restless, clearing sky, a Red-shouldered Hawk flew low through the trees near the edge of our woods and perched on a grape vine that hung between two trees. The new green leaves all around drooped and dripped with with rainwater from heavy showers overnight, but the sun came out enough to trace the floor of the woods with light and shadows.

A Blue-gray Gnatcatcher called spee! and a Summer Tanager pik-a-tuk. A Scarlet Tanager, Red-eyed Vireo, Black and White Warbler, Louisiana Waterthrush and Acadian Flycatcher sang. Chimney Swifts twittered overhead.

The Red-shouldered Hawk sat facing in my direction, in perfect view, for several minutes, looking down toward the ground for most of the time, turning its head far from one side to another, and it was so close I could see the details in its plumage like fine lines and shades in a painting. Its head was dark with fine streaks, and a dark hood down the nape of the neck. Under its chin was pale. The curved beak was dark on the tip. I could even see the reddish shoulders glowing against the brown of its wings, and three white bars across the wings, as well as other white markings. Its breast looked tawny-red, flecked with rufous, while its belly was barred in a darker shade of robin-red. Usually the breast of a Red-shouldered Hawk looks deeper red than the belly, so maybe this was a trick of the light, or maybe because some of the plumage was wet. It appeared relatively small, so it may have been a male.

After a while, a Cardinal approached close to the Hawk, peeping loudly. Another small bird, maybe a Titmouse, also came close, but the Hawk seemed to pay no attention to them, keeping its attention focused on the ground. Then it began to look up – and abruptly called a loud KEE-yer! KEE-yer! and spread its wings, flying through the trees toward the east and then into the open and up, continuing to call, and being answered by another Red Shouldered Hawk. I could hear their calls for several minutes after it had flown out of sight.

Red-shouldered Hawks are woodland birds, and we’re lucky to have them here in the woods around our neighborhood. We see them often – many times flying low among and through the trees with amazing skill – but not so often at such close range and in such a perfect leafy setting as this, where the many complex nuances in its markings showed up unusually well.

For the past several days, maybe two weeks or so – the height of the migration season here – I’ve been feeling frustrated because it’s seemed that many of the migrants I usually hear around our house have not come close. I’ve heard them and caught glimpses of some – but they’ve mostly been down in the woods or in the distance. I haven’t yet seen a Summer Tanager, for instance, though they arrived a couple of weeks ago and they’ve been singing and calling in the woods every day. The same thing was true of Red-eyed Vireos – I could hear them in the woods, but not around the yard.

This morning a Red-eyed Vireo singing very clearly in the trees on the edge of our yard felt like a gift. It was a mostly cloudy, warm, humid morning, with rain in the forecast, but with sun still breaking through now and then – an April showers kind of day. The sky in the west was a dark, bruised blue. One female Ruby-throated Hummingbird sat on the feeder as I stepped out onto the back deck, and a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher called spee-spee in the oaks.

The Red-eyed Vireo’s song was its classic Here am I, where are you? Over here, up in the tree . . . sung over and over. At first it was too well hidden in the new foliage of the treetops to see, but I watched, and finally saw it flit from one cluster of leaves to another, where I could see the thick green leaves of the water oak tremble as it moved, and then finally, it came out into the open – a sleek, slender bird with a brownish-olive back, and cream-white breast and belly, and a sharp white stripe over the eye. It moved steadily through the leaves, gleaning insects, and singing as it moved.

In the background as I watched it, a Parula Warbler and an Acadian Flycatcher sang, and a Great-crested Fycatcher called whreeep and brrrrrt. A Scarlet Tanager sang from way down in the woods.

I guess I’ve just been impatient, as usual.

About 10:00 this morning – a warm, sunny, breezy day, and very green all around – a female Northern Parula Warbler flew to a low branch of a water oak tree just at the edge of our back yard, and perched there in the open. She looked almost like a kinglet with her short tail and quick, darting movements – but then I saw her yellow throat and breast, blue-gray head and wings, two noticeably short, bright wing bars – and the indistinct white crescents around her eyes. She sat directly facing in my direction and immediately began to preen vigorously, raking the feathers on her breast and wings. After only three or four minutes of preening, she abruptly flew.

For several days now, since late last week, the buzzy trill of a Parula Warbler – whispery notes that rise up the scale and then quickly trip down at the end – has been lacing through the low branches of the woods, often frustrating close, but the singer has stayed invisible. It’s continuing to sing today, but now after seeing the female, I’m content just to listen and enjoy the male’s song.

Early this morning as I walked up the driveway to get the paper, I heard a Scarlet Tanager singing in the big Red Oak tree just up the street at the corner. The sun was already up and shining on the tree. I searched for the singer, without much hope, because Scarlet Tanagers are well known for singing from perches hidden deep in the leaves. But there it was – a tiny sunlit flame of fierce red against a cloud of new-green leaves. It was too far away to see the contrasting jet-black wings.

I heard the first song of a Scarlet Tanager about a week ago, April 19, down in our woods near the confluence of the two creeks, so I think that’s about when they returned. A couple of days later, Monday, April 21, around 7:30 in the evening, I heard its familiar chick-brrrr calls in the woods around the back yard. Since then, at least one or two have been singing and calling every day.

Around 11:30 this morning, I walked along the road by the Old Field just outside our neighborhood. I stopped to listen for a few minutes to a White-eyed Vireo singing from the tangled undergrowth around the trees, chik! a-peri-oo chik!

The sun was warm, and my thoughts sort of drifted off, absent-mindedly noticing that the coral-colored wild sorrel is just beginning to come out along the edges of the field, and watching a small dusty-orange butterfly skimming the grass and weeds. So as I walked past a small overgrown patch of land on the other side of the road from the field – with a prominent For Sale sign on the edge of it – at first I didn’t pay any attention to some funny hoarse and rolling calls coming from low in the bushes – a kind of cronk – chet-chet-chet-chet-chet – creeek – chet-chet-chet-chet-chet – churr – interspersed with other sounds. I was just listening to it, kind of amused, when I suddenly stopped and realized what it was – a Yellow-breasted Chat.

It wasn’t hard to find, singing from the dense branches on the lowest part of a large bush, almost on the ground. The ripe, golden-yellow throat and breast blazed through the tangle of limbs like a small sun, and the white spectacles around its eyes looked bright. His throat swelled like a balloon when he sang cronk! and his long tail quivered as he sang chet-chet-chet-chet-chet.

I don’t know why the song of a Yellow-breasted Chat is so easy to overlook. It’s not musical, but it’s quite unusual. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t sound like one bird singing, but more as if there were four or five different birds making odd calls in the shrubs. The species account in Birds of North America* suggests that its “skulking, secretive nature” is the main reason it’s seldom seen, together with the fact that its habitat is brushy, dense, and often “impenetrable and unattractive.”

The kind of habitat a Yellow-breasted Chat prefers is overgrown, shrubby places like this, where a tree canopy has not yet developed. This kind of habitat naturally doesn’t last for many years, so in the best of times Yellow-breasted Chats must be adapted to finding new homes as their old areas grow into woodlands. Today, as more and more vacant land gets developed, they might have an increasingly difficult time finding the habitat they need – though at this point they’re not considered endangered or threatened in most of their range in North America.

I think the pleasure of seeing and hearing a Yellow-breasted Chat is another good reason to appreciate weedy “old fields” and vacant patches of land, and a reminder that even the most abused piece of land is alive, and may provide a haven for interesting and even beautiful wildlife species.

*Eckerle, Kevin P. and Charles F. Thompson. 2001. Yellow-breasted Chat (Icteria virens), The Birds of North America Online (A. Poole, Ed.). Ithaca: Cornell Lab of Ornithology.