Birding Notes

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.

This morning under a fresh, pale blue and white sky, a small bird flew ahead of me, from one tree to another, and its sunny color caught the light. When I found it again in the foliage, it turned out to be a bright orange and black male American Redstart, very pretty, fluttering among the leaves in its butterfly-like way.

This is the first migrating warbler I’ve seen here this fall, though many warblers and other migrants are now being reported by other, more vigilant birders in this area. The migration season is fully underway. For me, it’s a nice start – a small, animated, colorful bird, with a coal-black head, throat and back, white belly, and bright orange patches in the wings, sides and tail. It often fans the tail and spreads its wings, and flutters in a quick, airy way, searching leaves for insects and sometimes catching insects in flight.

Some American Redstarts may spend the summer here for nesting, but in our own neighborhood I usually see them only in spring and fall, when they’re moving. During these seasons, they’re one of our more common warblers – but their populations have declined in much of their range, especially in areas where suburban development has fragmented the second-growth woodlands they need for habitat.

This morning also, a Pileated Woodpecker called its cuk-cuk-cuk–cuk from the woods; a Red-shouldered Hawk cried kee-yer as it soared; an Eastern Wood-pewee repeated its fall puh-WEE; a Northern Flicker called a bright kleer! A Hairy Woodpecker rattled, kingfisher-like and silvery. A Ruby-throated Hummingbird zipped past me and stopped to perch on a branch of a tulip poplar, its green back glittering. One Summer Tanager called pik-a-tuk from a small group of water oaks and persimmon trees.

A Pine Warbler sang near the edge of the woods. A White-eyed Vireo sang in the field, and a Gray Catbird mewed. Chipping Sparrows and American Robins foraged in grassy yards, with Eastern Bluebirds that flashed down from low branches.

And all the usual suspects – lots of Blue Jays, Crows, Mourning Doves, Eastern Towhee, Carolina Chickadee, Tufted Titmouse, Northern Cardinal, Northern Mockingbird, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Downy Woodpecker – and the songs and calls of Carolina Wrens, the most varied and vibrant music at this time of year.

Returning home to Georgia after a long Labor Day weekend visit to the coast, it felt as if we came back to a different place. We left a sunny, very hot dry summer, with temperatures day after day in the mid to upper 90s – and came back to cool, gray, damp weather with highs in the mid 70s. It’s only a preview of fall, I know – the heat will return. But it’s nice.

The change came as the remnants of tropical storm Lee moved up from the Gulf, and here, we only got a little rain, not enough to do much to help the very dry conditions. But the change has been cool enough to open the windows at night – so last night around 3:00 or 4:00 am, for the first time in months, I heard the calls of a Barred Owl somewhere around our back yard, very near by. I think it was a female. She only hooted twice, two good strong hoooo-uhs, and the call seemed to vibrate, almost a purr, that I could feel, as well as hear. Though the call looks so simple when I try to transcribe it into words, it is rich with variations, fluid with low, subtle sounds impossible to capture, like rippling reflections of colors – mesmerizing to hear, to listen to, and imagine what it might be telling. There’s a world of mystery in that one deep, resonant call.

Early in the morning not too many butterflies are out, but later in the day Tiger Swallowtail, Black Swallowtail, Red-spotted Purple, Sleepy Orange, Cloudless Sulphur, and Buckeye may be around, as cicadas and grasshoppers sing. One of my favorite butterflies right now is the brilliant, burning orange Gulf Fritillary, with big silver spots on the under-wings that glitter as it flies.

Ruby-throated Hummingbirds zoom constantly around the feeder, and a Blue-tailed Skink slithers across the deck. A tiny green anole makes its way down a brick wall near the ferns.

This afternoon I found a very pretty small Gray Hairstreak – a tiny butterfly you have to look very closely to see well – with Fiery Skippers in lantana blooms. The skippers aren’t as quite colorful as their name sounds, mostly a dull orange. But the Hairstreak is a small jewel, a delicate, soft-gray color with two orange spots, bordered in dark spots, low on the under-side of the hind wings; a wavy orange band across the wings near the edge, and long thread-like “tails” that probe the air like antennae.

When I first stepped out the door this morning, I startled a Pileated Woodpecker on one of the oaks in the yard. It flew to the edge of the woods, where I could just barely see its dull black back and flaming red crest. It called a string of loud cuk-cuk-cuks and flew a short distance to another tree, still just barely in sight. After watching for a few minutes – and hearing hard thwacks on a dead pine, and another burst of cuk-cuk-cuks – I was pretty sure there were two Pileated Woodpeckers, one closer, the other a little further away.

A short while later in a low, wooded area near one of the creeks, I heard the strong, emphatic peenk of a Hairy Woodpecker, repeated several times, and found it working on the trunk of a broken-off dead pine tree. Handsome and tall-looking with its long, straight bill, erect posture and striking black and white pattern, the Hairy is the most reclusive woodpecker in our woods and seems to prefer the more deeply shaded, quiet areas, so it’s always worth stopping to watch for a while.

Both Red-bellied and Downy Woodpeckers were abundant and active this morning as almost always. For a while during the middle of the summer, Downies seemed to become very quiet and I saw and heard them less often, but lately they’ve been back out and calling again.

The larger Red-bellied Woodpecker – with its bright red cap, pale face and breast, and black and white back – is especially flashy and vocal, rattling or exchanging chuck-chuck calls. Two Red-bellied Woodpeckers this morning briefly confused me, though, when they made low, moaning flicka-flicka calls quite similar to those of a Northern Flicker – but I could see them clearly on a branch. This is not the first time I’ve heard them make this sound, though I have not found any description of its use by Red-bellied Woodpeckers.

A Northern Flicker, meanwhile, called out a loud, ringing kleer! from somewhere among the leaves in the top of a tall tulip poplar.

As August comes to an end, we’re having the longest spell yet of very hot, dry days. No rain at all. The whole summer has been unusually hot, but until early August, we got just enough rain now and then from afternoon thundershowers to keep things green. But now – the oaks, tulip poplars, pecans, dogwoods, pines – all of the trees and vegetation are showing signs of serious stress. And there’s no sign of relief for the next ten days, at least. The forecast is for one day after another in the mid to upper 90s, and little or no chance of rain.

Early mornings can still be nice, though, sometimes almost cool, in the upper 60s, and more bird activity each day, it seems, as early fall migrants begin to come through – and at the same time, even resident birds seem to be a little more active and vocal than three or four weeks ago.

This morning a female Scarlet Tanager flew up from our yard into a small oak and paused for a few moments among the leaves – a medium-size dusky, olive-yellow bird with slightly darker, brownish-yellow wings, and a relatively small, pointed bill.

A Northern Parula sang its buzzy, rising song from a thicket of water oaks and weeds across the street.

Further down the road, an Eastern Wood-pewee whistled its full, sweet summer song from somewhere in the trees behind a neighbor’s house, a languid, clear peeah-wee – WHEEeee-oo. Eastern Bluebirds flew in colorful bursts from grass to trees, and several bluebirds perched in the top bare branches that often stick up from pecan trees – a favorite spot in the early mornings as the sun is rising higher.

Two Pine Warblers sang loose, musical trills, one in a low, wooded area along a creek, the other in the dense pines and oaks that have grown into a small wooded patch at one end of the old field. Blue-gray Gnatcatchers called spee-spee from shrubs and trees in several places. An Eastern Phoebe hunted quietly from low branches in a large yard shaded by pecan trees. Mourning Doves cooed.

A dozen or more Chimney Swifts swirled and chittered high overhead in a soft blue sky with sweeps of white cirrus clouds, and six Black Vultures soared even higher.

Two Gray Catbirds mewed raspy, whining meeeahs from shrubs in the old field, along with one singing White-eyed Vireo. One of the catbirds perched in the top of a tall, ragged pokeweed choked with kudzu, while a Brown Thrasher flew quietly to the branch of a privet bush and nervously looked around, switching its tail. Eastern Towhees called cher-wheee, and Northern Mockingbirds flashed white wing-patches as they foraged in the grass.

Carolina Wrens sang, chattered, trilled, burbled and fussed in wooded or shrubby areas. One young Chipping Sparrow begged and was fed by a parent, and several other Chipping Sparrows fed in the grass with House Finches and bluebirds. A Ruby-throated Hummingbird twittered as it zipped by, not far from my head. And most of the other usual suspects were around – chickadees, titmice, cardinals, blue jays, crows, and one pair of Brown-headed Nuthatches in some pines.

A Red-shouldered Hawk cried kee-yer – soaring very high, barely more than a small, bird-shaped spot in the sky. No Red-tailed Hawks were around this morning – but later in the day I heard the short, insistent cries of one that soars nearby most afternoons, a juvenile, I think.