Birding Notes

Despite a crisp, sunny fall morning, with a clear cerulean sky, very few birds were active in our neighborhood. Even most of the usual suspects seemed rather quiet, except for the Crows and Blue Jays. If there were migrant songbirds passing through, they were well concealed in the trees and shrubs and thickets, which is where I found just one, a pretty gray and yellow bird – a Magnolia Warbler.

I had stopped beside a densely tangled area of privet and trees along the road that’s a favorite with many different kinds of birds. At first the leafy vegetation all looked quiet and still. Then a small movement rustled in a large dogwood with lots of red berries.

After I watched for a few minutes, following the rustling leaves, a smooth, round gray head with a thin white ring around the eye emerged from the leafy cover for just a few seconds – then disappeared again. As it continued to move, foraging for insects in the tree, I saw a flash of bright yellow throat and breast, two narrow white wing bars, and a clear view of bright white under the tail.

For several seconds, all I could see was the under side of the tail itself – clean white with a very dark (it looked black) tip. Finally, the quiet little bird moved into a more open patch where I could see it all, and put the pieces together – an immature Magnolia Warbler. Like many warblers in the fall, its plumage was a more subdued, less flashy version of its full, very colorful and more easily recognized breeding plumage.

That often makes watching warblers in the fall confusing, but it also can make finding one feel like discovering a little unexpected jewel in a hidden spot.

Wow.

A loud squeak – exactly like the sound of a sneaker squeaking on a floor – caught my attention late this afternoon just as I had started to walk up our driveway. Following the squeaking calls, I found not one, but three Rose-breasted Grosbeaks in a white oak tree.

The first one I saw was a first-winter male, I think – a lightly streaked tawny-orange breast, black crown with white and dark-gray stripes on the face, and two indistinct white wingbars.

Then I saw the mature male – spectacular! I’m not sure I’ve ever seen an illustration or photo that captures the full impact of these birds. For some reason I’m always a little surprised that a Rose-breasted Grosbeak is such a big bird, strong, broad-chested and solid in appearance, not at all chunky and round, as they often appear in pictures. But it’s the colors, of course, that are always so breathtaking – large black head and big conical beak, black back with prominent white wing bars, and very white belly; and the deep-rose pattern on the breast that bleeds down like a wounded heart.

Then I saw a third Grosbeak, a female, with boldly-striped brown and white face and streaked breast.

I stood below them watching as they moved around and gave the squeaking call several times. They appeared to be foraging in the oaks, maybe for caterpillars. Their main diet in migration is said to be berries, but they also eat a lot of insects.

Just about that time a truck came down our driveway and the Grosbeaks all flew. I heard the squeaking call coming from not too far away, but was unable to locate them again.

Late on a warm, sunny, beautiful fall morning – blue sky covered loosely with a quilt of soft white clouds – a Yellow-billed Cuckoo was quietly feeding in the leafy shadows of one of many trees in a dense thicket of privet, vines, and other shrubs and weeds. I had stopped to check out the area because it’s often a good spot for birds. A large dogwood tree on the edge of the thicket is full of red berries. The Cuckoo was further back among the leaves of an elm, and at first I could only see a part of its distinctive velvet-brown head and back, and creamy white throat. But as I watched, it gradually moved enough into the open to see a full view, even the subtle, pale-rufous color in the folded wings, the down-curved bill, yellow on the lower part, and the long tail, with big, dramatic white spots on the dark under side.

On the other side of the thicket, in shrubs near the ground, a Swainson’s Thrush emerged just long enough to see its olive-brown back and head, buffy face, pale eye-ring and spotted chest.

These two were the only migrant birds I found this morning, but other birds seemed much more active than in a while, so that the neighborhood felt more lively, with an energy in the air. A Pine Warbler sang.

Still later in the afternoon, our back yard at home felt warm, drowsy and mostly quiet. Two Ruby-throated Hummingbirds zipped to and from the feeder, one chasing the other. An Eastern Phoebe hunted quietly. The chucks of a Red-bellied Woodpecker and day-day fussing of a Tufted Titmouse came from the woods, and an Eastern Bluebird sang in a neighbor’s yard. Cicadas, grasshoppers and other insects whined, chirped and buzzed. The distant cries of a soaring Red-shouldered Hawk could barely be heard.

In the low branches of a white oak at the edge of the woods, a female Black-and-white Warbler crept over the branches, a small, slender bird striped all over in a fine, varied black and white pattern, especially bold on the back and head, more muted on the under side. She caught a very long, wiggling, gray-green caterpillar and for several seconds, more than a minute, struggled to subdue it and eat it – and finally did. After a short pause, she flew to another oak nearby, where again she quietly, methodically crept over the trunk and large branches, searching the bark and leaves.

Much later in the morning, near noon, in a scrubby area of grass, weeds and wildflowers, three very different birds foraged together near the ground – a Chipping Sparrow, a female Blue Grosbeak, and a Swainson’s Thrush. They were interesting to watch, in part, because they were feeding close together, but were all so different in appearance and behavior – one small, unpretentious and focused; one flashy, animated and richly-colored; one quiet, watchful and cautious, with an air of dignity.

The Chipping Sparrow fed on the ground, eating seeds. Although its coloring was crisp and pretty, with bright red-brown cap, clean gray breast, and a black line through its eye, it kept its head mostly down, and its behavior seemed designed to avoid attention, so that it blended in with the background and might have gone unnoticed.

The female Blue Grosbeak, on the other hand, clung to the stems of tall weeds, flashing a long tail flamboyantly. Her several shades of brown and tan became a copper-brown on her head, where the feathers fluffed up in a crest.

The Swainson’s Thrush fed on the ground among the weeds, but unlike the sparrow kept its olive-gray head more up than down, with buffy spectacles giving it a wide-eyed look. With olive-gray back and wings, and dark but blurry spots on the chest, the thrush had a cool and shadowy look, even out in the noonday sun.

Highlights from a walk in the State Botanical Garden in Athens this morning included the sunny song of a Yellow-throated Vireo; the brilliant crimson, white and black of a Red-headed Woodpecker; a glimpse of a Chestnut-sided Warbler among leaves; and a Chipping Sparrow, a female Blue Grosbeak, and a Swainson’s Thrush feeding together in a patch of weeds.

The day was very warm and bright with a clear blue sky and hardly a cloud. The trees and shrubs almost all are still deep, dark green, with hints of crusty brown and yellow.

The Yellow-throated Vireo was singing in a tall pine near the parking lot when I first arrived. I stood for several minutes below, listening to its song and hoping to see the bird, but couldn’t find it until it suddenly left the top of the pine and flew away to trees in the distance – where it continued to sing. After I heard Yellow-throated Vireos singing several more times during the morning, without ever seeing one, it became the bird of the day for me.

The colorful but elusive vireo – with yellow throat and breast, yellow-green head and back, yellow spectacles, clean white belly, and two white wingbars – all of which I could see only in my imagination – seems a good parting image as this summer of few birds nears an end.

Better luck came when I was watching three Eastern Bluebirds in a sweet gum tree when a gorgeous Red-headed Woodpecker flew into the top of the tree. Its ink-black back, broad patches of white in the wings, and blood-red head were brilliant as it clung to the trunk in clear view for two or three minutes, before flying again.

A little further on, a rustle in the lower leaves of an oak on the edge of the woods drew attention to a small warbler with two yellowish wingbars, a green back, and gray face with a white eye-ring – a first-fall female Chestnut-sided Warbler. It moved in a quick, light way through the leaves, searching for insects. This was the only warbler I found during the morning, except for Pine Warblers, which trilled their musical songs from the woods. But I also heard the sharp chick-brrrr calls of a Scarlet Tanager and the song of a Red-eyed Vireo, and though this was fewer migrants than I had hoped for, it was a beautiful morning, with lots of other bird activity, and a good way to enjoy one of the last days of summer.

Early September afternoons feel warm, green and golden, lulled by the buzz and hum of insects. Very few birds sing. A Northern Flicker calls sharply, kleer! An Eastern Phoebe calls tsup and swoops from branch to branch, pausing low in the shade, with soft-yellow breast and dark-gray head. It pumps its tail impatiently and looks around, not staying long before flying off to catch another insect and perching again in a different place.

An Eastern Wood-Pewee calls a dreamy wheee-ooo from a higher perch on a dead, bare branch, flies up to catch an insect and returns, again and again, to the same spot to hunt.

Three scrappy persimmon trees stand on one corner of a neighbor’s yard, growing closely intertwined with four water oaks. The trunks of one persimmon and one water oak seem melded together at the bottom, and then grow up into separate trunks. The persimmon trees now are loaded with fruits, and the water oaks with small acorns. Further down the road a tall, lanky, craggy old apple tree holds a good crop of ripening apples. Squirrels already have begun to harvest pecans and acorns, and a few are dropping early to the ground.

A scattering of crusty brown and yellow leaves have begun to show here and there, though most of the trees all around are still a dark, dense, deep summer green. This afternoon in a low spot near a creek, a golden shower of leaves, lit by a shaft of sunlight, swirled gently down in a breeze.

Red-bellied Woodpeckers call chuck-chuck-chuck and rattle. Downy Woodpeckers whinny more delicate rattles and pink calls. The traveling kuk-kuk-kuk of a Pileated Woodpecker moves through the woods. A Carolina Wren trills, another burbles. A Northern Cardinal peeps. A Mockingbird flashes its white wing-patches as it flies into a bush and calls a harsh djeeerk. An Eastern Towhee whistles a rich chur-wheeee.

The big, finely woven webs of orb-web spiders have begun to appear in many places. There’s one fat, reddish, fierce-looking spider that spins a very large circular web across part of our deck each day and hangs in its center until one of us walks into it. It’s placed so that it hangs between the deck umbrella and the side of the house, so the early morning light shines through it when it’s still new and fresh, and we can admire its intricate pattern. Then later, the big web becomes less visible and we get busy and forget, and end up with a face and hair full of sticky not-so-pretty spidery silk, and the spider scurries to collect what’s left of its grand creation, to spin another day.

Very early one recent morning, in the gray light of dawn, a Barred Owl near our back yard hooted a series of deep, haunting who-cooks-for-you, who-cooks-for-you-aawl.

Red-shouldered Hawks have continued to be especially vocal and active the past two or three weeks. Lately their kee-yer calls can often be heard around a low, wooded area bordered by a creek. I’ve watched as many as three together, calling vigorously and moving from tree to tree. Often one or two are soaring.

This morning – a sunny, hot and humid day – a Red-shouldered Hawk flew from a pecan tree in a large, grassy yard shaded by many trees that the hawks especially seem to like. Several times I’ve seen one there, quietly watching the ground from a perch in a low branch. This time it flew across the road well ahead of me and into the woods.

Then I heard the cries of a second Red-shouldered Hawk coming from the opposite direction, and found it sitting in a bare branch in the top of a large oak near the crest of the tallest hill around. It sat facing in my direction, broad red breast glowing in the sun, head turned in profile, surrounded by at least five noisy and agitated Blue Jays. Some of the Blue Jays perched in branches fairly close to the hawk, others flew around and toward the hawk, and all cried harsh jay-jay-jays, but didn’t seem to get close enough to strike it. The hawk looked placid, though it called a strong, full kee-yer from time to time, with long pauses in between. As the Blue Jays flapped and screeched, it turned its head deliberately, one way and then the other, watching the jays, but it didn’t fly. After watching for several minutes, I walked on, leaving the hawk and the jays still there.

After an unusually gray and rainy summer, the end of August has brought several days of very warm, sunny, beautiful weather, a gift, with cool mornings, soft blue and white skies and light breezes.

Because summer birds have seemed so quiet and scarce this year, some I would usually see or hear almost every day now are less frequent and seem more special each time I find them. This morning, a Red-eyed Vireo sang its clear, quick, repeated series of phrases, in the trees around one corner, not far from the woods.

A Yellow-throated Vireo sang its similar, but more burry, mellow song in an area of crowded crape myrtles and tall shrubs. Though distinct, it was singing rather softly. Then it surprised me by coming out into the edge of the branches as it foraged, and showing its bright yellow throat and breast, yellow-green head, very white wing bars, white belly, and yellow spectacles around the eye.

A small round whirring form zipped past me, twittering as it went, and hovered over a big mound of orange and yellow lantana – a Ruby-throated Hummingbird. This is one species whose numbers seem to be about normal this summer. At least three or four now visit our feeder on the back deck almost constantly all day every day, and several of our neighbors also report watching hummingbirds at their feeders. Every once in a while, like today, one will pass me in other parts of the neighborhood, twittering as it zips by in a speedy blur, like a very tiny Road Runner cartoon.

Along a mostly quiet, wooded stretch of road, cicadas sang, a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher called spee, and a pair of Brown-headed Nuthatches chattered as they moved through some pines. The sudden, loud kee-yer calls of a Red-shouldered Hawk nearby were startling, and abruptly, a hawk flew out of the trees on one side of the road and glided on open wings across an open space and into more trees. It flew low across the grass and up as it came to the woods, showing a breathtaking view of the upper side of its checkered wings, and black and white banded tail. The warm deep-red shoulders glowed.

It disappeared into the trees, and was immediately followed by a second Red-shouldered Hawk gliding low along the same path, showing just a glimpse of its ruddy-red breast as well as the back, head and tail. One or maybe both cried kee-yer loudly several times more, after they were out of sight.

To see Red-shouldered Hawks like this, so close, and in such clear light and colorful detail feels dramatic and stunning. Their presence fills the moment in every way with life – and then, they are gone. Though not far. Much of the time they blend quietly into the trees, and sit unseen, like spirits of the woods.

A little further up the road, two small, delicate brown butterflies fluttered low over a mixture of grass and short weeds along the edge of the woods. They paused to rest in the grass, sometimes with wings spread, and sometimes with wings held up, then fluttered up again but did not fly away or fly far, staying around this small spot for several minutes at least.  They were Little Wood Satyrs – moth-brown butterflies, small but not tiny, with wings patterned in soft, intricate shades and scalloped lines of brown, tan, and taupe, and several large dark eye-spots ringed in yellow around the edges of the wings.

Often found in open grassy areas in or near woodlands, they’re common and widespread in the eastern U.S., but uncommonly lovely, with a gentle, understated charm. They are known for basking on tree leaves or leaf litter in early morning and late afternoon with wings open, and for their slow, bouncing flight, usually close to the ground, though they also fly up into trees.