Birding Notes

This afternoon a large flock of blackbirds arrived with a great deal of commotion in the trees around our back yard, and in the woods that stretch downhill, beyond the yard. Hundreds of blackbirds perched in the trees and dropped down to forage on the leaf-covered floor of the woods. The flock included Common Grackles, Red-winged Blackbirds and Rusty Blackbirds, at least a thousand birds in all, a very rough, conservative estimate. A good many American Robins were mixed in with them, probably here before the blackbirds flew in.

The flock stayed around for almost an hour. The day was chilly, half-sunny and very windy, so the pines were tossing and the hardwoods creaking in the gusts. Although the blackbirds all were constantly moving from tree to tree and trees to ground, it was still possible to get some beautiful views through a scope set up on our back deck. The best view was of a group of several Rusty Blackbird males foraging together in a sunny spot, where the yellow eyes, buffy eyestripe and rusty stippling on the back and chest showed up unusually well.

In a bed of brown leaves on the ground around a weedy hedge of bushes, trees and vines, several different songbirds foraged – together, but in different ways.

A pair of colorful Eastern Towhees – the male black, brick-red and white; the female brown, orange-red and white – and half a dozen White-throated Sparrows scratched up the leaves with their feet, hopping on two feet at a time to kick the leaves backward, then pecking at what they might find, maybe seeds, berries, insects, or spiders. A big, brassy Brown Thrasher went at it head first, instead, tossing up leaves and soil with its long curved bill.

While the towhees and thrasher stayed very close to the base of the shrubs, where the leaves and the cover were deepest, the White-throated Sparrows ventured further out into the open, hopping, scratching and pecking at the ground, and also watching each other. Several times one sparrow quickly flitted to take over a spot where another was, as if it thought the grass was greener – or the leaf-mulch richer. So the sparrows looked at times as if they were constantly in shifting motion, trading places, each one never quite satisfied with where it was, and trying somewhere else.

Once the thrasher flew aggressively to the spot where the female towhee was scratching – only two or three feet away – and she temporarily flew out of the way, but she didn’t go far, and returned when the thrasher went back to its spot.

A Northern Mockingbird made several short, agitated flights into the group of ground-feeding birds, lunging at one or two of them, maybe warning them away from its territory, which seemed to be around some more open, manicured shrubs a few yards away. The other birds moved out of its way briefly, but mostly seemed to ignore it.

A tiny Ruby-crowned Kinglet flew into a privet shrub in the thicket, and began to flit over its branches, flicking its wings and feeding by gleaning from the branches and leaves.

A young Red-headed Woodpecker continues to be active and usually easy to find around the same wooded yard near a creek where it’s been since early December. Almost every day I’ve walked past there since then, I’ve seen or heard it, regardless of the time of day. It seems to stay very close around this relatively small area.

This afternoon it flew from tree to tree as it usually does, flashing its contrasting white and black colors, and giving its rolling, churry calls frequently. Then it did something I haven’t seen it do before today – though it probably often does, I’m just not there to see it. It flew to a birdbath near the edge of the yard by the road, not far from where I stood, and sat on the rim of the birdbath for several moments, drinking water. It took several sips, each time leaning over to drink, then sitting up and looking around for several seconds before leaning down to drink again.

This is the closest and best view I’ve seen of this striking bird. Its brown head now has begun to turn red, especially on the throat and on the back of the neck. It’s still a long way from the brilliant crimson that will cover the whole head when it’s fully mature, but a deep-red color is beginning to spread. The crown still looks mostly brown, and the white breast still looks dingy and streaked, with black spots or streaks still prominent in the large white wing patches.

A mature Red-headed Woodpecker is a gorgeously colorful bird, with a full crimson head, snow-white body, and ink-black wings with large panels of white. Many decades ago, Red-headed Woodpeckers were common in towns and neighborhoods. I can remember seeing at least a few – maybe 25 or 30 years ago – in residential areas of Athens, Georgia, where I lived. But over the past 50 years, populations of Red-headed Woodpeckers have declined dramatically, and they now are found here only in certain areas, especially along river corridors or in wetlands, and they are far from common. The decline in their populations is thought to have occurred mainly because of habitat loss, especially loss of the nut-bearing trees, large dead trees and snags, and open-forest surroundings they need. So I feel lucky to have one here, at least for the winter.

Red-headed Woodpeckers are generally solitary during the winter months, but there’s still a great deal not known about their migratory patterns and behavior. They are described as a somewhat nomadic species, moving to follow their food sources. The species account in Birds of North America notes, “It is surprising how much basic information about this relatively common and easily identified species remains unknown.”*

* Kimberly G. Smith, James H. Withgott and Paul G. Rodewald. 2000. Red-headed Woodpecker (Melanerpes erythrocephalus), The Birds of North America Online (A. Poole, Ed.) Ithaca: Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

In a different, more wooded area of the neighborhood, not far from a creek, the deep, husky who-cooks-for-you calls of a Barred Owl echoed through the trees – even though it was still mid-afternoon and the sky still clear and bright, sunny blue. The calls were repeated several times, but I could only hear one owl, pretty far in the distance, and not another one answering. Several times recently I’ve also heard one or sometimes two Barred Owls calling around five in the morning. They sound as if they’re somewhere in the oaks around our back yard or the edge of the woods.

On another cold afternoon, the temperature barely above freezing, a blue sky, bright sun and lots of active birds made the day feel warmer than it was. During a walk of an hour and a half, I counted 33 species, including one Red-tailed Hawk; Red-headed, Red-bellied and Downy Woodpecker; Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, Northern Flicker, Eastern Phoebe, Brown-headed Nuthatch, both Golden-crowned and Ruby-crowned Kinglets, Hermit Thrush, Cedar Waxwing, Yellow-rumped Warbler, White-throated Sparrow, Brown Thrasher – and a blackbird flock with Common Grackles and both Red-winged and Rusty Blackbirds. Blackbirds have been scarce here this winter so far – so I was happy to see a flock that seemed fairly large.

Gathered in the branches of several oaks and pecan trees, and spread out in restless, milling crowds across three or four yards, there may have been around 1,000 birds – a very rough guess. The harsh creaking, gurgling, and trilling sounds of their calls were very loud.

The greatest number seemed to be Common Grackles. Big, iridescent black birds with yellow eyes, long tails, long legs and imperious bearing, they vigorously tossed up leaves and mulch with heavy bills and stopped often to raise their heads and look around. They walked around with a swagger. When they moved into pools of sunlight, their plumage glistened and shimmered with bronze and purple colors. I watched as several pulled up long wiggling worms from leaf-covered ground.

Among the Grackles also were a good many Red-winged Blackbirds, smaller, and feeding in less bold and flamboyant ways, heads more often down than up, often seeming to crouch rather than stand. The colors in the wings of most only showed up as narrow strips of red and yellow.

As usual, the flock as a whole was very skittish, moving further away whenever I got close – sometimes with a shiver of wings as a few shifted away – sometimes with a sudden thunder of wings as a large group burst up together and into the trees.

One small group of about a dozen Rusty Blackbirds perched in the limbs of a pecan tree near the edge of the road. All of these were males, black with yellow eyes, a buffy stripe above the eye, thin pointed bills and rusty patterns of color on the back and wings and chest.

A small, solitary light-brown bird that flew across the road in front of me and paused in the mulch around some bushes turned out to be a Hermit Thrush. I only saw it for a brief moment as it stood with round head erect, looking carefully around – a slender, Robin-like bird with a thin bill, held slightly turned up, a brown back, pale breast and dark brown spots on throat and chest, a watchful round eye, and a restless cinnamon tail. Then it skittishly ducked into the bushes and disappeared.

I was reminded again of the hard-to-describe airy, almost insubstantial quality of a Hermit Thrush. I don’t think it’s a particularly frail bird at all, really – or no more frail than most small birds. But it very often looks elusive and vague, not quite fully there, in this place, at this moment. As if it’s halfway vanishing, even as I see it.

On the edge of a rough, roadside slope covered in withered vines, weeds and small trees, three Eastern Phoebes appeared to be hunting, flying up from perches to catch an insect in the air. I watched them for several minutes and wondered what they could possibly be catching on such a chilly day. It was late in the afternoon, and the temperature might have been in the mid 30s at most, after a day mostly below freezing – but I guess it’s possible there might have been some insects in warm shafts of sunlight, and in this particular place, the Phoebes were hunting in a tangle of vegetation on a slope lit by the sun. In this part of the South, it doesn’t take much to bring out at least a few flying insects.

But there’s another possibility. Though the main food of Eastern Phoebes is flying insects, they also eat small fruits and seeds, especially in the winter when insects are hard to find. So I wonder if maybe they were eating some kind of berries or seeds, but instead of perching or walking along a branch to get them, like other kinds of small birds, maybe they hover or flit among the leaves to get seeds or berries or other fruits. I’ve often watched Phoebes hovering under the ledges of our roof, where they hunt for spiders or other bugs in spiders’ webs – so maybe they use the same kind of behavior when feeding on plant-food.

In a very brief search, I didn’t find any information specifically about this question, but the species account in Birds of North America Online notes that Eastern Phoebes very rarely walk or hop. They “rarely even move from limb to limb in vegetation or even pivot on a perch. Movement from one perch to another is accomplished via flight.”*

So I really don’t know if they were catching insects taking advantage of a warm shaft of sunlight – or making quick flights up to the vines and branches around them to pluck off berries or seeds.

* Harmon P. Weeks, Jr. 2011. Eastern Phoebe (Sayornis phoebe), The Birds of North America Online (A. Poole, Ed.) Ithaca: Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

Late this afternoon the sky was clear and blue, not a cloud to be seen, and the sun shined brightly – though the air felt very cold, in the mid 30s, with an icy northwest wind.

Despite the cold, Eastern Bluebirds and Chipping Sparrows seemed to be everywhere, all along the way as I walked through the neighborhood, almost sparkling in their colors and flashing movements. Feeding together in big open yards, along with other small songbirds like Yellow-rumped Warblers and House Finches, they almost disappeared in the faded grass. But as I walked past, they all scattered up in waves, with a startling blue splash of color in the male bluebirds’ wings, and the sharp chips of the Yellow-rumped Warblers, the plaintive little cries of the House Finches and the silvery flash of dozens of Chipping Sparrows all spraying up like sparks.

In wooded areas, I heard the chatter of Chickadees, the day-day fussing of Titmice, and a few Titmice whistling peter-peter. Northern Cardinals peeped. Several Carolina Wrens were singing, trilling and fussing; Red-bellied Woodpeckers chucked and rattled, and Downy Woodpeckers whinnied. A Northern Flicker called a sharp kleer! One Turkey Vulture tilted in the wind.

American Robins also were scattered all through the neighborhood, in yards and in trees. Less flighty than the smaller birds, they mostly stood placidly and watched as I walked past, not greatly disturbed. A few blackbirds restlessly perched in trees and flew short distances in small groups. I heard the calls of both Common Grackles and Red-winged Blackbirds, but none were close enough to see well, and they didn’t seem to be gathered or moving as part of a larger flock.

On a bright, sunny, very cold morning, a Pine Warbler sang – a warm, rich trill that filled the bare, gray, winter-rough branches of the trees in the woods with the music and color of spring.

A pair of Brown-headed Nuthatches chattered as they shared the feeder in our front yard with a Downy Woodpecker and a Carolina Chickadee. Several Chipping Sparrows and two White-throated Sparrows scratched on the ground for seeds below the feeder. Dark-eyed Juncos twittered and foraged under the hedge of wax myrtles. A Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, with crimson throat and crown and a yellow-flushed belly, worked its way up the trunk and over large branches of a pecan tree riddled with sapsucker holes.

A grassy, slope along the roadside that’s lined with evergreen shrubs is often a gathering spot for ground-feeding songbirds like sparrows, towhees, finches, robins and thrashers, as well as bluebirds, phoebes, kinglets, Yellow-rumped Warblers, and sometimes a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. This morning the slope looked deserted, except for a single small bird that flew up from the quiet expanse of grass into a small tree. When I looked at it closely, I saw the warm-yellow breast of a Pine Warbler.

Pine Warblers are among the few wood warbler species that spend winters here, instead of flying further south. True to their name, they are most often found in the pines, but at this time of year especially, they also mix with feeding flocks of other small songbirds in yards, and they may come to a feeder – a small gray and yellow bird with an olive back and head, a sunny-yellow breast, blurry streaks on the sides and two white bars in gray wings. This year, however, I have not seen nearly as many Pine Warblers as in previous years, so this one was a bright and welcome sight. About this time of January, I usually notice Pine Warblers beginning to sing, or to sing more often, and their simple but musical trilled songs sound especially lovely in the drab and creaking winter woods. I haven’t yet heard one sing this year, but it may be that I just haven’t been outside at the right time.