Birding Notes

During the past couple of weeks, several of our other winter resident birds also have made an appearance, though so far they seem to be unusually few in number. The high, precise ti-ti-ti calls of Golden-crowned Kinglets move through the tops of the pines, while the jidit-jidit chatter of Ruby-crowned Kinglets animates the lower branches of trees and shrubs here and there. Yellow-rumped Warblers have returned, drab, grayish-brown streaked birds that flash yellow colors as they fly from spot to spot, with check calls.

This morning a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker with mottled brown, black and white plumage and pale red smudges of color on throat and crown – a young male, I think – worked on the trunk of an oak. A Northern Flicker flew from another tree out into a burst of sunlight as the clouds began to break up, flashing its white rump, and stopping on the trunk of a pecan tree, where the patterns of its plumage glowed – black band across a spotted breast, brown face, red crescent on a gray nape, and barred brown back.

In one small dogwood tree at least seven Eastern Bluebirds fluttered around, and one pair of House Finches, all apparently feeding on red berries, making the tree look as if the leaves had wings. An Eastern Phoebe with a pretty, pale-yellow belly perched on a fence rail, and several other Eastern Phoebes were active, as they have been lately, often singing or calling tsup, tsup.

Along a wooded stretch of road, I heard the persistent, nasal ahnk-ahnk calls of a White-breasted Nuthatch, and even though the gray light made it difficult to see details very well, I found the very small bird with short stubby tail near the top of a dead pine still full of brown needles and cones. The sleek black head, snow-white face, throat and breast, long thin bill, and head craned upward as it headed down the trunk in its classic pose – all made it clearly familiar. White-breasted Nuthatches used to be very uncommon here, but in the past year or so they have become more frequent visitors, especially in the area where I saw and heard this one this morning.

Only a minute or two after this one flew further down the road, into a large yard with many widely-spaced pecan trees, a couple of Brown-headed Nuthatches came along through the same pines, squeaking their toy-like calls – and suddenly there was a burst of activity as a number of small birds began to fly back and forth between water oaks on both sides of the road. Because of the murky light, I wasn’t able to see many of them well, but among them were Carolina Chickadees and Tufted Titmice (the usual ringleaders), Downy Woodpecker, Red-bellied Woodpecker, one or two American Robins, Yellow-rumped Warblers, and at least one Pine Warbler.

On a cool, sunny, breezy morning in mid-October, I was standing on the back deck when a Cooper’s Hawk swept low over the grass and up into an oak not far inside the woods, where I had a beautiful view of it through the leaves. It was a juvenile, a mottled dark brown on the back, with fine, charcoal-dark streaks on the breast, long, narrow, banded tail, white on the tip, and a dark head and slightly paler brown face, with hooked bill and gleaming eyes. Cat-like, it sat very still and watchful, with slow, stealthy movements, leaning over and stretching out, then easing back up, and turning its head. After several minutes, it flew again, not far, but I lost it among the trees.

Our long spell of hot, dry weather finally came to an end early this week with a cloudy, cooler day and rain that began slowly. About 4:30 the next morning I awoke to the beautiful, welcome sound of heavy, steady, hard rain. It fell for hours, and continued to rain all the next day, slacking up now and then to only a drizzle for a while, then becoming heavy again. It’s the kind of rain we should get in the fall – a familiar rain, feeling tropical, dark and moody.

Although the heavy rain had passed through by Wednesday morning, the day began with deeply clouded and gray skies, and a misty rain still falling. It was almost ten before the mist faded away, leaving the air damp and warm, the ground saturated, trees dripping.

The same dogwood full of red berries, on the edge of a thicket by the roadside, was again attracting several small birds. Most of them were even more difficult to see in the gray, blurry light, but after a few minutes, a flash of black and white wings was the first sign of a brilliantly colored male Rose-breasted Grosbeak that emerged just long enough for me to get a good look, before he slipped back into the foliage – a big, sturdy songbird with black back, head and face, a large conical bill, white markings in the wings, white belly, and a splotch of deep rose-red on the upper breast.

At almost the same time, another Rose-breasted Grosbeak flew into a sweet gum tree close beside the dogwood and perched in full view for a longer time – showing a completely different look. This Rose-breasted Grosbeak was a study in brown, with a face boldly striped in brown and white, white cheeks, and finer, more tawny brown-streaked breast. Its back was darker brown and streaked, with a dull brown tail. While not so flamboyantly colored and eye-catching as the first, this one had a more subtle, varied beauty, in colors made for an autumn day. At first I thought it was a female, but later realized the tawny breast and finer streaks were those of a first-year male. Interesting, and another reminder that what appears to be obvious often is not.

A female Scarlet Tanager emerged from the dogwood leaves, softly colored in muted shades of yellow and yellow-green. And there was also a thrush of some kind – it appeared to have no eye ring and a plain gray-brown back, and dark spots very high on the breast and a pale belly. I did not ever get a clear enough look to be sure, but because of the very plain gray face, think it was probably a Gray-cheeked Thrush, and can only wish I had seen it better.

September came to an end with weather that continued hot and very dry. The Autumn Equinox came and went, and day after day seemed the same – sunny, hot, dry – and very quiet. The trees and all vegetation looked parched and stressed, and – while not related to the weather, as far as I know – very few migrant birds showed up here in our neighborhood. Compared to this time of year for the past 10 years since we’ve lived here, this is very unusual. While migrating warblers, vireos, tanagers, flycatchers and other species have been reported all around this part of the state, here – there have seemed to be few and on most days none.

It’s always hard to say how much my observations accurately reflect what’s going on in the natural world – and how much they reflect my own moods and preoccupations. But I do think the number and variety of migrant species have been uncommonly fewer here in September and early October.

Two or three Eastern Wood-pewees continued to stay around for most of September, calling their sweet puh-weee, and one morning I watched one hunting from the upper branches of a small tree – a small, neat gray bird with peaked dark gray head, two white wing bars, and orange on the lower part of its sharply pointed bill. It sat erect, with tail held still, looked around with head held high, left the branch in quick, efficient, short flights to catch insects, and returned to the same spot several times.

It was not until October 7 – after we returned from a short trip and the weather had turned slightly cooler but still was dry – that I found the first small gathering of migrants, and the first of our winter resident species.

The day began about 4:30 am, when a loud, boisterous, yipping pack of coyotes passed by, not far away. Then, well before dawn, came the broken phrases of a Northern Mockingbird’s song, from just outside the open windows.

It was another sunny day, but still cool and crisp by mid-morning, so the sun felt warm, a cloudless deep-blue sky, zero-percent chance of rain.

Two small birds flew into a large dogwood tree full of red berries, on the edge of a thicket, and disappeared in the foliage. I could see the rustling of leaves – but the birds were pretty well hidden. After a few minutes, though, in a slightly open spot I could see the shape of an olive-brown thrush with a spotted breast. It raised and lowered a cinnamon tail, and then its face came into view, with a white ring around the eye – the first Hermit Thrush of the season here. It seemed very much in character to see it like this, quietly screened and framed among the leaves.

In the same dogwood, a minute later, I saw a flash of yellow, and a bright male Scarlet Tanager emerged out into the open, deep yellow all over, with black wings, and a bright red berry held in its bill.

Another, smaller bird also came out to the edge of a branch – a small, plain, olive-gray bird with a white eyestripe and rather short, squarish tail – a Tennessee Warbler. It’s not exactly the first migrant warbler of the season here, but it’s one of the first, and there have been so few it felt rare and I was delighted to see it, and watched it flit around the leaves. It seemed to be gleaning insects, but may also have been eating dogwood berries.

A few minutes later, in woods on a hillside, I heard the calls of two Downy Woodpeckers and saw a third woodpecker fly to the trunk of a tree – and when I looked through binoculars saw not another Downy, but our first-of-the-season Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. And it was a beautiful one! Vivid plumage with white and back striped face, crimson crown and throat, barred back, and sulfur tinge on the belly. It did not call, but worked quietly on the trunk of a slender hardwood, where I watched it for several minutes. Maybe because they’re one of the most characteristic winter birds in our neighborhood, where they seem to like the many old pecan trees, the arrival of the first Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers always seems to mark the real beginning of the fall season for me.

Further down the road, several fluted, clear, mellow, rich whistles came from a bird hidden somewhere in the dense green foliage near the top of a tall old pecan tree. I’m not sure, but think it was the voice of a Baltimore Oriole. I stood beneath the tree, listening for several minutes as it called, slow, short calls with long pauses in between, not a full song, but phrases, and I tried to find the singer, but couldn’t ever see it.

It’s hard to see how a bird so brilliantly colored as the flaming orange and black Baltimore Oriole could hide itself, even in thick leaves. I thought surely I should be able to catch a glimpse of orange – if that’s what it was. But I couldn’t. So I’ll never know for sure. The alluring, musical voice sounded so familiar and so distinctive – almost as colorful as the bird’s plumage – but I don’t know this one well enough to be certain without seeing it. So it’s another of those small but very common frustrations of birding – the glimpses, the broken phrases, the ones you don’t quite see.

A few sleepy orange and sulphur butterflies fluttered over a very parched and struggling field of weeds. Goldenrod bloomed yellow on the tops of withered brown and black stems, and tall red-top grasses and a few foxtails waved along the roadside, but the whole field mostly looked tired and bedraggled and dry. A few white, purple and pink morning glories tumbled over a ditch very rough with weeds, and among them twisted a vine of tiny red-orange morning glories. A Mockingbird sat on a wire, and a couple of Brown Thrashers called out sharp tchacks.

I was a little surprised to see a flash of slate gray in a privet bush – and first one, then two Gray Catbirds came out on the edge of the branches, close enough to see the neat black caps and the orange under the twitching tails.

Two Red-tailed Hawks circled and soared overhead, screaming their hoarse cries in a very deep-blue sunny, cloudless sky.

Although many migrating songbirds are being reported as they move through this part of Georgia, neotropical migrants so far have been few and far between here in our neighborhood, noticeably fewer than in previous years. This was also true in the spring – so I’m afraid it may be the result of more development and habitat loss – but I’m not really sure. We do still have many wooded areas and creeks and a variety of habitats that might attract migrants. Maybe it’s only my own failure to find them.

This morning – another sunny day with a big, clear, deep-blue September sky – few birds seemed to be around. But in one spot, where sunlight was falling on pecan trees in a large, grassy yard, there was a small flurry of activity, including a few migrating songbirds.

A female Scarlet Tanager – yellow-green with shadow-dark wings – searched the leaves for insects. A Summer Tanager called pik-a-tuk from somewhere hidden among the foliage. A Black-and-white Warbler crept silently over the trunks and larger branches. A Red-eyed Vireo – sleek, creamy white breast, gray back and elegant white stripe over the eye – also searched the leaves for insects. A small bird with a gray head, bright yellow belly, a throat that appeared pale, and two prominent wing-bars emerged from the leaves to sit for a few moments on a branch – a Magnolia Warbler, high enough up in the treetop to show the white and dark-tipped tail from below. Another bird I’m not so sure of – larger, with distinct touches of cinnamon in the edges of the wings and edges of a rather long tail – I think it was a Great Crested Flycatcher, but did not see it well.

Two Brown-headed Nuthatches chattered as they fed in the same trees, and an Eastern Phoebe hunted quietly from low branches, and when it paused to sit and bob its tail, it showed pale, lemon-yellow on the breast, its fall color. A Pine Warbler trilled its song from the woods across the street.

A bit further up the road, several Eastern Bluebirds perched in treetops – in one pecan tree with bare branches sticking up at the top, six bluebirds perched together, all facing the morning sun and preening. One Eastern Wood-pewee called puh-weee.

Northern Mockingbirds were singing this morning in at least three different places, for the first time in a while. A Belted Kingfisher flew over, rattling. A Northern Flicker called a loud kleer! And a Red-shouldered Hawk cried kee-yer from somewhere beyond the trees. A White-eyed Vireo continues to sing, and a Gray Catbird calls a raspy mew in the old field – which looks very bedraggled, withered and dry.

After several cool, fall-like days last week, our weather is warming up again – and still very, very dry. No rain at all, to speak of, since late July, I think. And none in sight. Today the forecast is for low 90s again. The trees and all the vegetation are showing signs of stress from lack of rain, and I can’t help but think that songbirds and other birds must be having a hard time in the hot, dry weather, too.

Early one evening last week, a cool, sunny day with the sun low in the west, and clouds turning pale pink in the east, a slender bird with long, bent wings appeared among small white clouds overhead, very high, barely more than a sliver, a Common Nighthawk. Its back and wings were dark, the belly white, and a white bar crossed each wing. It soared and circled, passing in and out of sight for only a few minutes before disappearing.

Many nighthawks have been reported recently as they gather in flocks and begin migration, but this is the only one I’ve been lucky enough to see.

Just after sunset last night, the western sky was flushed with warm-orange and gray clouds, two or three bats circled overhead, and in the east, a big orange full moon had risen, glowing through a screen of trees.

A deep, spectral, hooted call echoed from somewhere toward the southwest. HOO-hoo-HOO-oo; hooo-hooo. This rhythmic pattern of three low, softly booming hoots, followed by two slightly longer hoots was repeated several times, with pauses of several seconds between calls. The hoots sounded very low, deep and muffled – but there was no mistaking the call. A Great Horned Owl.

This is the first Great Horned Owl we have ever heard here in our neighborhood, during the 11 years we’ve been here, and it’s the first one I’ve heard for many years. When we lived in a different part of northeast Georgia several years ago, we used to hear them fairly often, and occasionally caught a twilight glimpse of the huge, shadowy owl in flight – and we never heard a Barred Owl. Here, it’s just the opposite. We have Barred Owls, and until now, never a Great Horned.

While Barred Owls prefer deeply-wooded habitat, Great Horned Owls are found in a variety of habitats – forested areas, but also more open woodlands with a mixture of fields and meadows. The habits of both may be adapting and changing as forested habitat is fragmented and lost – both may be found in suburban areas like wooded neighborhoods and parks, as well as in wilder, undeveloped places.

It will be interesting to see if this one was just passing through – a temporary visit – or if we hear more.