An Elusive Hermit Thrush
Late on a chilly, gray, drizzly morning lots of small birds crept around in a large, soggy grass yard, searching for food. They might have gone unnoticed, moving mostly low to the ground, like wind-rustled brown grass or dry leaves. But a closer look revealed several different kinds and colors among them, the brown-streaked back and bright red-brown cap of Chipping Sparrows; smooth, rounded, slate-gray Dark-eyed Juncos with small pink bills; drab gray-streaked Yellow-rumped Warblers; the startling blue flash of an Eastern Bluebird’s wings; warm yellow Pine Warblers; rouge-red and brown-streaked House Finches; and even a gray-toned Eastern Phoebe. Pine Warblers trilled their songs from nearby trees. Northern Cardinals sang. Carolina Wrens, Carolina Chickadees and Tufted Titmice chattered and sang. A flock of blackbirds that sounded like mostly Red-winged Blackbirds, further up the road, made a constant background clamor of chucking calls and the Red-wings’ rusty, ringing ker-EEEEEE. Several American Robins were widely scattered out in treetops and neighboring yards.
One Robin and one smaller, paler bird were walking around in weedy grass along the edges of the roadside, at the foot of a driveway, and inspecting puddles of rainwater in the road. The smaller bird was a Hermit Thrush – recognizable even from a distance because of its light brown color and erect posture, the way it stands with its head up and bill slightly raised. I stopped to watch because I haven’t often seen a Hermit Thrush this winter.
Beside the sturdy, confident dark gray-black and brick-red Robin, the smaller Hermit Thrush looked almost insubstantial and frail, and its coloring intensified this appearance – compared with the bold, solid colors of the Robin, the Hermit Thrush’s subtle brown tones looked almost ghostly in the gray, misty light, the quiet appearance living up to its name. Its back was olive-brown, the tail dull cinnamon, the eye looked round and watchful, the head held erect with the bill turned up. Dark spots clustered high on the chest and throat.
For a while, the Robin kept chasing the Thrush away from whatever it considered its space, but the Hermit Thrush just scurried a little further away each time, not going far, and continued to peck in the grass and puddles, then raised its head and looked around. When I finally got too close, it flew up into the low branches of a small tree draped in withered vines and stayed there, flicking its wings, and raising and slowly lowering its tail.
Robins are easy to see. There are lots of them, and they’re out in the open, in treetops, in the grass, flying over, vocal and social – fine birds with appealing personality and a beautiful song. But a Hermit Thrush is much less common and not so sociable or vocal. Mostly solitary in the winter here, they often stay hidden in bushes and shrubs or unobtrusively feeding with other species of birds on the ground. Unlike Robins or Blackbirds, they don’t congregate in large flocks, though they do often forage in the same areas with feeding flocks of mixed species – though I’ve also often watched a Hermit Thrush in the winter – around our yard and in other places, too – that seems to follow pretty much its own individual and solitary pattern each day.
While a Hermit Thrush usually doesn’t sing in the winter, it makes a low but rich, expressive chup call, typically heard from a shrubby area or low in the branches of a tree where one has taken refuge. It’s an easy call to recognize once learned, and it’s nice to know they’re around, even when not seen.