Birding Notes

Early on a cold, sunny morning in mid December, a Hermit Thrush perched in a small, bare tree near the North Oconee River and called a rich, low chup. My good birding friend Marianne and I watched it for several seconds, a light-brown, Robin-like bird with dark-spotted breast and a cinnamon tail that it repeatedly raised and slowly lowered as it watched us with a wide round eye. A second Hermit Thrush called chup from another tree nearby.

It was Christmas Bird Count day for the Oconee Rivers Audubon Society in Athens, Georgia – and for me, the gift of a beautiful day outside, watching birds, a break in the middle of the rush and pressure of a busy holiday season. Marianne and I have been doing the count together for several years, often along with two or three other birding friends, but this year it was just the two of us covering our traditional, assigned section of the area, and we had a great day. Not a spectacular number of species in the end, and none that were unusual or unexpected – but just a Grand Day Out, with a few memorable sightings – and at least one interesting mystery.

The day was mostly overcast, with high gray clouds, some breaks of sun, and no real threat of rain. It was cold when we began before sunrise, listening for early birds from the deck of Marianne’s home near the river as the sky flooded briefly in rose and gold. Marianne had been up earlier to listen for owls – with no luck. But as the sunrise color faded and the light gradually grew, we heard Carolina Chickadee, Northern Cardinal, Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Golden-crowned Kinglet, Eastern Phoebe, Eastern Towhee, Brown Thrasher, Downy Woodpecker, American Robin, Cedar Waxwings, American Goldfinch, White-throated Sparrow, the trill of a Pine Warbler, and the sweet mews of two very vocal Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers.

The point of the Christmas Bird Count is to count every bird one finds – as well as possible – so after a quick break for hot tea and muffins, we headed out with clipboard, map, checklist and binoculars, and we birded all day, until the last light of twilight.

For the first half of the morning, and again in early afternoon, we stayed near the river, checking out several different, mostly wooded spots, and adding Pileated, Red-bellied, Hairy and more Downy Woodpeckers, Northern Flicker, Brown-headed Nuthatch, White-breasted Nuthatch, many more White-throated Sparrows, Tufted Titmice, Carolina Chickadees and Downy Woodpeckers; Yellow-rumped Warblers, Carolina Wren, Eastern Phoebe, Eastern Bluebird, Northern Cardinal and Eastern Towhee, Northern Mockingbird, Dark-eyed Junco, and Cedar Waxwings, and the yank-yank calls of one Red-breasted Nuthatch.

Once we heard the cries of a Red-shouldered Hawk – and this turned out to be the only Red-shouldered Hawk all day, a little surprising, but on the whole, it just wasn’t a day for hawks, it seemed – we saw no other raptors, except for one Red-tailed Hawk late in the afternoon.

Even vultures seemed hard to find. We only saw one or two Turkey Vultures soaring – until mid afternoon, when we stumbled on a large and impressive gathering of vultures, maybe a roost area, in what seemed a very unlikely place, a small subdivision with few trees and small yards. But in the few, bare-limbed trees perched the black, hunched forms of scores of Turkey Vultures and Black Vultures. Overhead, many more circled, and as we settled in for a while and watched, hundreds of Turkey Vultures and Black Vultures sailed in from all around. It was a somewhat eerie feeling to watch as so many huge, black, funereal birds floated in over and all around us, and silently gathered.

After several gray, chilly, rainy days, today was clear, sunny, and cool – though not cold. As usual in this busy holiday season, it was late in the day before I got outside for a walk, near sunset, and birds seemed scarce and quiet.

Then I began hearing Robins, Grackles and other Blackbirds, and came up over a hill and found a large flock of birds spread across the grass beneath pecan trees in several yards. Among them were a few Common Grackles, American Robins and European Starlings, but by far most of the birds were Rusty Blackbirds. There were many more birds in this flock than in the one I saw about a month ago, at least 300 Rusty Blackbirds, a conservative estimate.

Many of the Rusty Blackbirds were eating pecans – probably most of them were – and all were very active, moving around a lot, so the scene was lively and felt like a party, with a festive, busy and slightly frenzied mood. I watched several Rusty Blackbirds carrying what appeared to be whole pecans in their bills, running with them across the grass to escape competing birds. This has been a good year for pecans here, so there are plenty on the ground in many yards. Maybe the abundance was a cause for a kind of celebration – or at least an enthusiastic gathering.

The month of December has begun with several warm, sunny days. In the evenings, crickets chirp, and now and then I’ve even heard the raspy song of a katydid at twilight – that’s how unseasonably warm it’s been.

Today the weather turned a little cooler, in the 60s late this afternoon, with a clear blue sky and high cirrus clouds. Birds seemed mostly quiet when I first went outside, but as I was walking down a hill, a small flash of silvery gray flew past me like a missile, straight onto the trunk of a pine near the side of the road – a White-breasted Nuthatch. A small, short-tailed bird with blue-gray back, black cap, snow-white cheeks and a smudge of orange under the tail, it immediately began to move in a spiral up the pine, probing under slabs of bark with its long, slightly upturned bill.

I watched for three or four minutes as it spiraled around the tree, mostly moving upward, but sometimes turning sideways or upside down to examine a particular spot. As it moved and worked, it repeated a low, nasal, intimate, one-syllable call – answered by a second White-breasted Nuthatch making the same kind of call, from somewhere among the trees in a yard across the road.

During the past year, White-breasted Nuthatches have become more common in our neighborhood than they used to be. For several months now, I’ve heard their calls often, but it’s still unusual to see one here – though they’re the most common nuthatch in other areas. So it was fun to find one so close and easy to watch.

Except for the nuthatch, birds seemed quiet and widely scattered – no feeding flocks of blackbirds or smaller birds like sparrows and finches in the grass, maybe because it was late in the day. A small flock of Cedar Waxwings flew over. A few Yellow-rumped Warblers flitted from tree to tree, scattering check calls. Chipping Sparrows burst up from the roadside or a grassy yard here and there. One Yellow-bellied Sapsucker worked quietly on the trunk of a pecan tree. Some Dark-eyed Juncos flushed up from the ground with purring, jingling calls of alarm. Eastern Bluebirds sat quietly in the tops of bare trees, facing the lowering sun. Red-bellied Woodpeckers chucked and a Downy Woodpecker whinnied, two Mourning Doves flew past on whistling wings. Carolina Chickadees, Tufted Titmice, one Ruby-crowned Kinglet and a couple of Brown-headed Nuthatches chattered in the woods, an Eastern Phoebe called tsup, and two or three Carolina Wrens sang and trilled.

As I came back down our street toward home, I heard again the deep, foggy hoots of a Great Horned Owl. Tonight I could only hear one. Since first noticing their calls in late November, we’ve heard them hooting several times, usually before and after sunset, always in the same general area, somewhere in the woods not far from our house, it seems. They sometimes sound very close, but it’s hard to tell.

The last day of November was cool and half-cloudy, with a soft, milky light, high clouds and patches of blue sky here and there. It was the end of the day before I could get outside for a walk, so it ended up being a sunset walk. As I walked along the old field, with loud traffic noise coming from the highway hidden on the other side of it, the sun slipped down behind a layer of dark-gray clouds, rimming them in gold, while higher clouds scattered all over the sky turned pale, rose-pink.

At this time of year, light and colors fade fast at the end of the day, and by the time I got back home, it was deep twilight, the sky crowded in dark gray clouds, with a band of pale orange on the horizon in the west. As I walked down our driveway, from somewhere in the darkness of the woods in back of the house came the deep, resonant hoots of an owl – but not the Barred Owl we usually hear. These were the hoots of a Great Horned Howl – a distinct, repeated pattern of hoo-h’hooo; hooo-hooo, so low and expressive I felt the hoots as much as heard them. Then I realized there were two owls calling – one call followed by an answering call that sometimes overlapped the first. This was repeated several times. I stood and listened, watching the woods in the direction from which the calls came, the black silhouettes of bare-limbed trees melting into the last dim light of the sky, but I never saw any movement, or sign of a large bird.

I think this is only the second time I’ve ever heard a Great Horned Owl here. Barred Owls have been common since we arrived twelve years ago, though we hear them less and less often now.

Hearing the deep, foggy hoots of Great Horned Owls from some hidden place in the dark woods, in a gray November twilight, felt like the perfect end to the month.

White frost covered the grass early this morning, under a clear blue sky, but by mid morning the sun felt warm, and many small birds were active. Yellow-rumped Warblers seemed to be everywhere; also Carolina Wren, Carolina Chickadee, Tufted Titmouse, Downy Woodpecker, Dark-eyed Junco, Field Sparrow, Eastern Bluebird, Eastern Phoebe, Brown-headed Nuthatch, Ruby-crowned Kinglet, and Eastern Towhee, as well as American Crow, Blue Jay, Red-bellied Woodpecker and Northern Flicker. One Yellow-bellied Sapsucker mewed.

A Sharp-shinned Hawk was circling again, already fairly high and climbing, very close to the same area where I saw one yesterday. The view of it today was clear and sunlit – showing the ruddy chest, the narrow, banded, very long tail; the short broad wings and the relatively small head. It flapped and glided and soared until it was no more than a tiny speck in the blue – beautiful to watch.

As I passed under a ragged, bare pecan tree near the roadside, a sound like a sheet flapping in the wind came from above me, as three huge black shapes spread their wings and flew from low branches in the tree – Turkey Vultures that I hadn’t even noticed until they moved. A little further on, beside the old field, two Black Vultures came sailing in, one behind the other, to sit on top of a utility pole that’s a favorite perch for them. One sat right on top of the pole, the other close beside it on the wire.

The highlight of the morning was one of the largest flocks of Rusty Blackbirds I’ve ever seen here. Around the middle of the neighborhood, in an area with lots of pecan trees in the yards, at least 60 blackbirds – a conservative estimate – perched in bare-limbed trees and spread out feeding in the grass, and most, if not all, appeared to be Rusty Blackbirds. I didn’t see any other blackbirds among them, though I could have missed some. The males actually looked rusty on the back and nape of the neck. Often I have trouble seeing this and have to rely on other characteristics – medium-sized blackbirds, smaller than Grackles, with thin bills and pale yellow eyes. The females looked handsome in their winter plumage of warm, tawny brown and taupe, with a buffy eyebrow and dark patch over the pale eye.

They made quiet clucking sounds – to me they sound much quieter, less raspy and harsh, than most other blackbirds. The low, frequent calls of this flock as they foraged made a peaceful, pleasant sound. The large mixed flock of blackbirds that visits the neighborhood almost daily is much noisier, mostly Common Grackles, but also Red-winged Blackbirds, Rusty Blackbirds and European Starlings.

For some reason the Rusty Blackbird flock seemed less nervous and flighty than the mixed flock usually is. I was able to walk fairly close and watch them for several minutes before they began to fly away, a few at a time. It’s one of the best times I’ve ever spent watching and studying Rusty Blackbirds. Very nice!

Several minutes later, around the entrance to our subdivision, the grass and shrubs and trees rustled with the activity of songbirds, a feeding flock of several different species – Chipping Sparrows, Dark-eyed Juncos, Yellow-rumped Warblers, Eastern Bluebirds, Downy Woodpecker. A Red-bellied Woodpecker rattled. A Yellow-bellied Sapsucker mewed from back in the trees somewhere. The impossibly high, thin seets of Cedar Waxwings pierced the air from where they sat, almost invisible at first, fairly low in some pines.

Two Northern Mockingbirds fed with the much smaller birds in the grass. Eastern Towhees scratched up leaves below the bushes. Northern Cardinals pecked at the ground in the shadows. Tufted Titmice and Carolina Chickadees chattered in the trees. A soot-gray Eastern Phoebe quietly hunted, swooping down from a perch and back up like a shadow.

Some chup-chup calls sounded like a Hermit Thrush, except that the calls were doubled – the familiar chup repeated twice, again and again. Then sure enough, a Hermit Thrush flew up from the ground near a hedge and into a small tree, where I could see it fairly well, with its round and watchful eye and dark-spotted breast, quickly raising and slowly lowering the tail, and continuing to call.

A Ruby-crowned Kinglet moved through holly bushes, stuttering its dry jidit-jidit-jidit. At least two or three Golden-crowned Kinglets called from much further up in the trees. Tiny gray birds, flickering through the branches, never still, they were hard to see, but I managed to get one good, clear look at the black and white striped face and head, and yellow crown of one – probably the best view I’ve had of a Golden-crowned Kinglet so far this fall.

From a tangled patch of pines, water oaks and privet at the corner of our street this morning, a Sharp-shinned Hawk burst suddenly out like a flash of light. The morning was sunny and cool, and the hawk seemed to shine, unusually close and clear against a deep blue sky. With short, broad wings outspread at first, it sailed up and then began to flap and glide, circle and climb. Its tail was long, narrow and square-tipped, with a narrow white band at the tip; its overall shape – and the way it flew – were compact and neat.

It soared up swiftly, and soon moved out of sight toward the northeast, so vividly there and quickly gone, it seemed almost to leave an image lingering in the air.

The sky late today was very dark and gray, after a day of off and on drizzling rain. It was about the time of sunset, but no hint of sunset color could be seen. I walked through a fine mist of chilly fog.

At the crest of a wooded hill, a bird the shape of a robin but not nearly as dark or as large ran quickly across a patch of wet brown leaves beside a driveway. In the misty light it looked like a pale brown wraith in the shape of a bird. It stopped and looked around, head held high – and I knew it had to be a Hermit Thrush. I wished for binoculars but hadn’t carried them with me, and in the dim light they might not have helped anyway. I stood still, and the thrush stood still for a few moments. Then it flew up into a very small, bare tree, and perched there, quickly raising and slowly lowering the tail, and flicking its wings. From there, it flew to another small tree, staying in the wooded area along the driveway. It was quiet – I wished for a familiar call of chup, but still it was a delight to see, maybe a particular delight because of the dark gray, fading light and the fog. Seeing a Hermit Thrush for the first time this season in this setting held a special charm.

A short walk further down the hill, in scrubby trees on the edge of another yard, I heard the tsup call of an Eastern Phoebe – and then quite distinctly, the chup of a Hermit Thrush. It seemed to me that this must be a second thrush, though it’s possible it was the same one that had flown down the hill. It was far enough away so that it’s more likely to have been a different one, but I don’t know for sure.

As the sun went down, completely hidden behind the clouds, a faint glow of red and orange spread up across the western sky. Northern Cardinals peeped in the old field along the highway, already gathering darkness, Eastern Towhees called, a White-throated Sparrow raised a plaintive whistled song. Small groups of European Starlings had begun to gather in bare-limbed chinaberry trees in the field, and more were flying in. They arrived in small, dark, silhouetted flocks that settled briefly in a tree, then immediately flew up again and into another tree. Each new small group that arrived sent up another wave of Starlings to coalesce in sinuous, shape-shifting images that flowed, moving smoothly together as one, then shattering into pieces and dropping into the trees. Their graceful flight, in constant, fluid motion, was mesmerizing to watch, perhaps the nicest thing about Starlings.

This fall season I’ve seen more European Starlings in our neighborhood than ever before, and while that doesn’t seem a particularly good thing, and in general Starlings are noisy, aggressive and not very appealing birds – when they fly together like this, they become something beautiful.

On a barely cool, cloudy, gray afternoon, with brown leaves thick on the ground and some still in the trees, the neighborhood seemed unusually quiet, even for this time of year. A few small birds were foraging in the faded grass of yards – Chipping Sparrows, Yellow-rumped Warblers, House Finch, an Eastern Bluebird here and there. In the trees, I heard a Red-bellied Woodpecker, Downy Woodpecker, White-breasted Nuthatch, Brown-headed Nuthatch, Carolina Wren, and a few Carolina Chickadees and Tufted Titmice, but not as many as usual.

A Northern Flicker hitched its way backwards down the trunk of an oak, quiet except for the scratching sound of its claws on the bark. A little further on, one solitary blackbird sat in the top of a bare-limbed pecan tree, calling churk over and over. Each time it called, it flicked its tail. Though my view in the gray light wasn’t good, I could see the shape of a medium-size blackbird with a slender bill, pale yellow eyes and a faint rusty color on the nape and back – a Rusty Blackbird. It appeared to be completely alone, no other blackbirds around that I could see or hear – though there may have been many not far away. A fairly large flock of Common Grackles, Rusty Blackbirds and Red-winged Blackbirds is frequently around.

On other occasions, I have noticed the flicking of a Rusty Blackbird’s tail as it calls. This is not often mentioned or highlighted in field guides, but in the species account for Rusty Blackbird in Birds of North America Online I found this note: “Call notes are accompanied by rapid down and up flicking of the tail.”*

I don’t know that this is a dependable identification tip for a Rusty Blackbird – other birds do this, too. But it was interesting to me, to confirm that it is a characteristic behavior.

* Michael L. Avery. 1995. Rusty Blackbird (Euphagus carolinus), The Birds of North America Online (A. Poole, Ed.) Ithaca: Cornell Lab of Ornithology.