Birding Notes

January ended with a Pine Warbler’s song.

Always one of the first signs of spring here, Pine Warblers usually start to sing in mid or even early January, and their lyrical trills are welcome, colorful music in the darkest days of winter. This year they seemed to wait a little later, maybe because the month has been particularly cold, with an unusual heavy snow in the early part that stayed for more than a week, and the rest often rainy, gray and chill. Or maybe it’s been my own dark and somber mood and not the weather. I really don’t know for sure. But I first heard one sing early in the morning on January 28, and – as usual – they’ve been singing every day since then, often in the pines just outside my office windows. Enough to lift the lowest winter spirits.

One morning in late January the breezy, rising zhreeeee! calls of Pine Siskins filled the trees in a wooded area of mixed evergreens and bare-limbed oaks and pecans. Among my favorite winter sounds, the Siskins’ calls blended together with the mewing of American Goldfinches, almost sounding like the voices of the trees themselves, swaying in a light, chilly northwest wind. The Siskins were difficult to see – small, grayish-brown streaked birds with a slender shape and small pointed bill, and a subtle touch of yellow in the wings – and their call, too, is like streaks, or several strings played at once, almost harsh in quality, but strangely and hauntingly musical, especially when several are calling together.

This was the first time I had heard or seen Pine Siskins in our neighborhood this winter, though they may have been around and I just hadn’t been out often enough to find them. They stayed around through the end of January, at least. We haven’t put up a finch feeder this year, so they haven’t been conspicuous around our house. These were in another part of the neighborhood, though not far away, and there seemed to be a good many in the trees, but the sun was directly behind them, so I could not see them well enough to count or even see detail – they were just dozens of gray little birds in the trees making this intriguing winter music, and I stood for several minutes, just listening.

The same day when I heard the Pine Siskins – January 27 – was a beautiful, sunny day. Chilly, with a light northwest wind, and a big, open, light blue sky, graced with high, sweeping white clouds – and lots of active birds. The Siskins were among several highlights of a long, late-morning walk, which also included a Field Sparrow, Brown Creeper, two Hermit Thrushes, two Brown-headed Nuthatches, and a colorful flock of several Pine Warblers feeding on crushed pecans in the road.

The front yard seemed quiet when I first stepped out the front door – only the whistle of Mourning Dove wings, the chickadee-dee-dee of a Carolina Chickadee, and a Brown Thrasher that flushed up and out of the bushes beside me and flew to the wax myrtles, where it walked around in the open, tall, handsome, bright. A Yellow-rumped Warbler flew from one of the feeders with a sharp, annoyed check! A Carolina Wren trilled, and a Downy Woodpecker rattled. A bright red male Northern Cardinal sat quietly on a branch near the feeders. Crows cawed and Blue Jays called in the distance.

Along the road, three Turkey Vultures floated just over the treetops and sailed up and away, and Eastern Bluebirds, House Finches, Tufted Titmice and Carolina Wrens sang. A Red-bellied Woodpecker rattled and chucked. Chipping Sparrows flew up like sparks from the grass and into the trees. An Eastern Phoebe called tsup repeatedly, and flew low across the road in front of me, moving from branch to branch. American Robins were scattered over yards and in trees just about everywhere – not in big flocks, but scattered out, foraging and squeaking as they flew or interacted with others.

A small flock of Red-winged Blackbirds flew over, and the high, thin calls of another small flock of Cedar Waxwings drifted down as they settled in several small, bare-limbed trees, their lemon-yellow breasts glowing in the sunlight. Two Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers mewed, and tapped steadily on the trunks of pecan trees.

It was in an area of privet bushes and other shrubs that the Field Sparrow unexpectedly appeared. It was foraging in grass below the shrubs with White-throated Sparrows and Eastern Towhees. It flew up and onto a branch – a small, roundish sparrow with a sturdy pink bill, and a gray and rufous-striped head and patterned face, a plain breast and pinkish legs. I almost didn’t believe my eyes, because I haven’t seen or heard a Field Sparrow here for a long time – not all last spring or summer, I think – and I’ve missed them, especially the bright, bouncing song that used to be so common. But there it was, quiet, but distinctive. It sat for only a few minutes before flying into other bushes and out of sight.

Brown Thrashers made their smacking calls from several places in the thickets. A couple of quiet Mockingbirds lurked in bushes.

On my way back toward home, two Northern Flickers flew up from a grassy yard into a tree as I got close, flashing white rump patches, and I heard the chatter of one Ruby-crowned Kinglet from some shrubs, the only one I heard all morning.

As I came to the top of a hill, in a stretch lined with pecan trees arching overhead on both sides of the road, dozens of small birds were foraging along the roadside and out in the road – feeding there on crushed pecans. A surprising number of these small birds were colorful yellow Pine Warblers. I counted at least twelve. This is the first year I can ever remember seeing so many of them at once – though maybe I’ve just overlooked them in the past, because species accounts mention that in the winter Pine Warblers from further north join resident Pine Warblers here in the south and sometimes move together in flocks of 100 or more. I have not seen such large flocks, but this winter have seen two or three dozen almost daily, usually foraging in grassy yards and along the roadside like this with Yellow-rumped Warblers, Eastern Bluebirds, Chipping Sparrows and House Finches. Though they join the other small birds, the Pine Warblers seem to stay more or less together.

Unlike the Bluebirds – whose flashy color always seems to catch the eye, especially on sunny days – the yellow of the Pine Warblers somehow doesn’t seem obvious, so when I take a closer look through binoculars at what appears to be a bunch of grayish little birds, the sudden burst of sunshine-yellow often comes as a nice surprise.

Further up the road, two Hermit Thrushes called chrup over and over again from a thicket of small trees and bushes near the roadside. One perched out in the open on a branch in a cedar, a beautiful view of its spotted breast and wide-eyed face.

As I turned into our driveway, a Mockingbird and a male Bluebird seemed to tangle briefly in a sharp buzzing exchange – each flying to a different tree – and I wondered what that was about. Several Dark-eyed Juncos flushed up from foraging on the ground, into the trees, and two Brown-headed Nuthatches shared one of the feeders with Chipping sparrows. As I was watching the Nuthatches, behind them on the trunk of a pine appeared one of the best surprises of the morning – a Brown Creeper. It crept quickly almost straight up the trunk, staying in view for several seconds, then finally spiraled around and out of sight, and I lost it, probably flown to a nearby tree.

Snow began to fall Sunday night, and by Monday morning, our northeast Georgia landscape was covered in at least six or seven inches of snow, maybe more. A steady mist of icy-snow continued to fall for several hours.

In the snow, cold and wind Monday morning, we set a tray of birdseed outside on a table on the deck and within minutes, dozens of Chipping Sparrows, White-throated Sparrows, several Dark-eyed Juncos, a pair of Northern Cardinals, a few American Goldfinch, Carolina Chickadees, Tufted Titmice, and a pair of House Finches had arrived, and the tray stayed busy with birds all day. A Pine Warbler, several Yellow-rumped Warblers and a Carolina Wren came now and then.

One of the most interesting visitors was a female Purple Finch, the first Purple Finch I’ve seen here this year. Tall and sturdy, with bold brown and white coloring and a slightly pointed crown, she looked regal and larger than life, with a big, cone-shaped bill. A pattern of dark brown and white stripes marked her face, with short brown streaks down her breast and sides.

Beside her, the two House Finches – a rosy-red male and mousy, gray-streaked female that always seem to be together – looked gentle and diminutive, though there’s not supposed to be much difference in their size. I guess it’s all in the bearing, the attitude, maybe, or the erect posture, head held high, and behavior. The Purple Finch came several times to the feeder during the day, and whenever she was there, she seemed to dominate most of the other birds.

When she was not around, the Chipping Sparrows and White-throated Sparrows dominated. Chipping Sparrows would sit in the tray in one spot and eat and eat, sometimes trying to chase other birds away, but without much luck. White-throated Sparrows moved around and scratched at the seeds as they would if they were foraging on the ground, sending seeds flying down – which was fine with the Juncos and Cardinals, which stayed mostly on the deck below the table. Chickadees and Titmice flew back and forth, grabbing a seed or two, and flying away with it to a nearby branch.

In the front yard, I scattered extra seed on the ground around the shrubs, in addition to the two feeders, and several White-throated Sparrows, Dark-eyed Juncos and a couple of colorful Eastern Towhees found it within minutes.

Pine Warbler, Brown-headed Nuthatch, Downy Woodpecker, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Carolina Wren and American Goldfinch joined the Chickadees, Titmice and Chipping Sparrows on the feeders out front. At times a Northern Mockingbird tried to monopolize one of the feeders, but it didn’t work. Mourning Doves fed on seeds that dropped to the ground.

Late in the afternoon, on a walk through the neighborhood, we heard three Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers mewing in the snow-cushioned quiet; a small flock of Cedar Waxwings flew over, barely visible in the still-blurry gray sky; two pretty brown female Rusty Blackbirds perched in a bare-limbed pecan tree; four warm-yellow Pine Warblers foraged with White-throated Sparrows, Eastern Towhees and Chipping Sparrows in and around a thicket of privet bushes; one Ruby-crowned Kinglet flashed a tuft of scarlet in its crown; a Northern Flicker called kleer; and one Red-shouldered Hawk lurked low in the trees, flying from one as we came too close, but settling again in another nearby

Later in the afternoon, while working in my office, I heard a White-throated Sparrow’s sweet song just outside the window, and the chips, tseets and chatter of several little birds coming to the seeds in the tray on the deck.

Then a familiar chrup, repeated, sounded close – and when I looked out the window, saw a Hermit Thrush standing on top of several inches of frozen snow piled up on the deck rail. It stood there for four or five minutes. It flicked its wings, raised the cinnamon tail and said chrup over and over again, and turned around in one spot very gradually, making a complete circle a couple of times, as if just checking out the world all around. It looked watchful, as always, but not at all agitated. Its spindly feet splayed out on the snow. Its plumage a warm, muted brown. I have not seen it come to the feeder on the deck, but maybe it was attracted by all the other bird activity. A White-throated Sparrow flew up and perched briefly beside it, neither bird seemed to mind the other. Then the sparrow flew away, and a few seconds later, the Hermit Thrush flew into the woods.

Late last Friday morning – a deeply gray, cloudy, cold and windy day – against a background of bare-limbed trees, brown grass and shivering gray-green shrubs, the nasal, burry ahnk-ahnk calls of a pair of White-breasted Nuthatches came as a surprise. We don’t often hear or see them here in our neighborhood, though they seem to come by more often during the winter months. It didn’t take long to find them – little spots of blue-gray and white creeping over and around the forked trunks and limbs of pecan trees scattered around a neighbor’s large, grassy yard.

Small birds with a crisp silver-gray back, black cap, snow-white cheeks and face, and stubby tail – and a white breast that I could not see well from where I stood, they stayed in constant motion, moving quickly and close over the limbs and trunks, probing the bark and lichen with long thin bills, pausing now and then to crane their necks up and look around, and calling to each other frequently.

In the pearl-gray light and brisk wind, they looked like winter birds – all gray and white and black – though in truth they’re year-round residents here. But since they’re not common in our own neighborhood, it always seems special to me to see them.

They were a good reminder of how much I’ve missed over the past few weeks, as the holiday season and other things have left little time for birding and less for writing. But there have been a few other highlights during this time, at least brief glimpses of what’s going on in the world outside houses, restaurants and shopping malls – a Brown Creeper in the edge of our woods on the last day of 2010; a Fox Sparrow and a Sharp-Shinned Hawk on the edge of the old field on December 30; and a pair of Pileated Woodpeckers around our house on Christmas day.

2010 came to an end with a brief warm spell and a softly-clouded, sometimes sunny, quiet day, the sky a gentle blue with high white clouds and several turkey vultures drifting low over the treetops.

We took advantage of the warm weather (in the low 60s) to eat lunch outside on the deck. A Carolina Wren, Northern Flicker, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Downy Woodpecker, Eastern Phoebe and Eastern Towhee were around in the yard and the woods. One Black Vulture sailed over very high. The balmy air and soft blue sky felt relaxing, perfect for lying back and watching the clouds drift by, so when I began to hear some high, vaguely sibilant calls, at first I didn’t fully pay attention and sort of thought some Golden-crowned Kinglets had come around, as they often do. Then it suddenly occurred to me that I wasn’t hearing kinglets, and what it might be – and to my great surprise, there it was – an exquisite little Brown Creeper on the trunk of one of the oaks on the edge of the woods. A tiny bird with a dark back of mottled brown, black and white, an intricate pattern of sharp, clean colors that blended in with the bark of the trees, a white breast, and a long, thin, curved bill that it used to probe the bark.

Brown Creepers are not considered uncommon, but they are so quiet, small and inconspicuous they are not often seen, and in our neighborhood they seem to be less common than a few years ago, as more wooded land has been converted to homes and other suburban development.

It crept up and around one trunk, moving insect-like, close to the bark, upward in a spiral, then flew abruptly to another trunk, and another, staying in view for maybe four or five minutes, moving quickly – and best of all, calling again and again. The call is a high, thin tseeeee, an almost whispered sizzle, one long syllable at a time, but frequently repeated. It’s a distinctive and enticing call, fairylike and delightful – but very easily overlooked.

That was the best part of it for me – to recognize the call, and have a chance to hear it several times. It still makes me smile to think of it. A nice gift to end the year.

On a cool, softly-overcast day, the sun often breaking through high, many-layered clouds, a sparrow flew out of some weedy thickets in a field across the road in front of me as I walked – and perched near the top of a small bare tree along the roadside.

I expected to see a White-throated Sparrow or maybe a Song Sparrow – but instead discovered a large, plump bird with a proud head and striking red-brown coloring, with contrasting dove-gray patterns on the head and face, red-brown wings, and white breast heavily spotted and streaked with red-brown. A Fox Sparrow.

I hadn’t seen a Fox Sparrow in several years, but its vivid coloring and shape and behavior are familiar. It was like seeing an old friend because I used to see them often in the winter, when we lived in a different place in Oconee County. This is the first time I’ve seen a Fox Sparrow here in this neighborhood. It stayed perched quietly in the little tree for maybe two or three minutes, giving me a good long look before it flew again, back across the road and out of sight in the shrubs of the field.

Just as I turned around and started to walk away, a compact, sleek gray hawk with a long tail flew suddenly out of the trees behind me like a phantom and swooped low across the road, skimming the top of the weeds and shrubs, then flying up and a little higher and away toward the trees on the other side of the highway, in a crisp and distinctive flap-flap-flap – glide pattern of flight – a Sharp-shinned Hawk.