Birding Notes

Yesterday morning and this morning – both days hot, humid and sunny again – I was lucky enough to get brief but very clear views of a young Broad-winged Hawk.

The one I saw yesterday was a good example of how these birds blend into the woods, how surely they belong, screened by green leaves and sunlight. Standing beneath the trees, green light all around me, I heard a single clear, whistled call from somewhere very close, but it took several minutes of looking before I finally saw it – and then wondered how I could have missed it – a dark solid block of a big stocky bird, perched on a relatively low limb of an oak in full view and not far away, but if it hadn’t called, I wouldn’t have seen it. It looked like a shadow.

As soon as I lifted binoculars, it flew a little deeper into the trees, but not far, and I could still see it well enough, and from there, it called again.

This morning again, the hawks were quiet at first. I waited for several minutes and was about to give up when I heard the high whistled call from a scrubby stand of young pines and oaks on the edge of a yard, and a juvenile Broad-winged Hawk flew to a branch of a pine tree in full, open view from where I stood – as beautiful as if it had been posing. It sat directly facing me, now and then turning its head in profile.

Its breast was creamy white, boldly streaked with dark brown; its back chocolate brown, speckled with white; the tail showed narrow bands of light and dark sooty brown. The tip of the tail appeared almost white.

One of my favorite spots in our neighborhood is a rambling, tangled thicket of pines, privet and other trees, shrubs and vines that grows on the edge of a yard and along the road. I almost always stop by here on a walk, because it’s a good place to find many different kinds of birds. A kind of small, unmowed oasis, it’s surrounded on three sides by a large grassy yard shaded by many pecan trees – an area where Red-shouldered Hawks sometimes sit on low limbs to hunt – and on the other side, the thicket’s just across the road from a heavily wooded area with a creek, so woodland birds like warblers and vireos sometimes wander in. A couple of mornings ago, fairly early, while the road was still in shade, two does and four fawns came tumbling out of the thicket and ran in almost single file across the road in front of me, into the deeper woods.

This morning a female Cardinal flew into a tall old apple tree that stands just on the edge of the thicket, and I noticed that it’s as loaded with big apples as the peach tree in the field is with its fruit. And in the apple tree (though not interested in the apples, I think) was a female Summer Tanager. A tawny brown with rose-orange in her wings and tail, she was holding a caterpillar in her thick bill. She seemed to notice me when I stopped, and slipped behind some leaves where she was less easy to see, to subdue and eat the caterpillar.

Meanwhile, a little further up the road, two Broad-winged Hawks were out this morning, but hard to see. They were perched in treetops close to the road, but well screened by foliage. I only found them because several Crows were harassing them loudly, and now and then one of the hawks would whistle. Finally one hawk flew across the road and over the trees toward the south, and three or four minutes later another flew in the other direction, back toward the woods. The Crows kept cawing for a few minutes, then flew away, too.

In our yard, a female Eastern Bluebird is making trips in and out of the bluebird house. It has surprised me because it seems very late for nesting and very hot – but there she is. She sits in tree limbs in between trips, panting. I try to keep all the bird baths full of fresh water, so maybe that helps a little. The creek’s not far away, but the bluebirds are frequent visitors to the bird baths.

Today has been very hot again, mid or maybe upper 90s, with a burning blue sky and big white cumulous clouds forming by mid afternoon. The loud, rasping whine of cicadas is almost constant, rising and falling all day, gradually replaced by the chattering songs of katydids at night, a sound I love and find strangely relaxing. Surely this long hot spell must break at some point soon, but it just keeps coming, day after day. At least we’ve been lucky here to get plenty of rain, too, with late afternoon thunder showers and storms now and then. That’s a saving grace.

Yesterday shortly after noon, I was standing at the kitchen sink, looking out the window while I washed something, when a Ruby-throated Hummingbird flew to the deck rail just outside the window. It was another very hot day, and the deck rail there is in full, bright sun. I often see a hummingbird going past, visiting the red blooms on the geranium plants, or going back and forth to the feeder in the shade.

This hummingbird sprawled out there on the wooden rail, wings outstretched, feathers fluffed up, and head tilted at an angle, with its long bill pointed slightly upward and parted. Its back looked faintly blue, rather than green, but I’m sure that was a trick of the light and the way its feathers were fluffed.

It sat like this, barely moving, for three or four minutes or more, long enough for me to get binoculars and take a closer look through the window, and because it looked as if it were panting and its head seemed to be listing to one side, I thought maybe it was injured, so I started out the door to the deck – and it immediately sprang up and zipped into the branches of the oak that hang over the other half of the deck and the bird baths and hummingbird feeder. Apparently it was fine.

Today around the same time, and in the same blistering hot weather, the same thing happened again, with the little hummingbird sprawled and fluffed out on the deck rail, head tilted, bill raised and parted, and this time I decided it must be doing this on purpose – taking a sunbath.

Two Orchard Oriole females were foraging in the field again this morning, easy to see because of the bright round olive-yellow head and yellow throat and breast, and because they are so active and often in the tops of small trees or shrubs. They really are fun to watch, diving in and out of the weeds and thickets, looking more brownish as they fly, because their wings are tan-brown with narrow white wing-bars, popping up bright yellow in the middle of drab withered weeds, stretching the neck up to look around, and always the two staying together like close friends.

Today they were mostly moving around in an area of shrubs I can’t identify, but nearby stood an old, vine-draped peach tree, surrounded by tall rough weeds, but still looking sturdy – and loaded with big round peaches. I think it’s left over from an orchard that used to be here more than two decades ago, when much of this land was a pecan grove and farm.

Several persimmon trees nearby also are full of fruit. Brown Thrashers sat in the shrubs, looking sedentary and almost sullen next to the lively Orchard Orioles. Mourning Doves perched on the wires, several Mockingbirds flew around flashing white wing patches, and one Red-tailed Hawk sat on top of a utility pole overlooking the highway, as usual. A Blue Grosbeak sang from the woods across the highway. Eastern Towhees and one White-eyed Vireo sang in the field, the most tireless of singers, I think. An Eastern Phoebe perched near the top of a tall sweet gum in the most densely wooded part of the field, shaking out its wings, spreading its tail and preening, as if it had just taken a morning bath somewhere near.

About the middle of last week, I began noticing a call I couldn’t quite place from a deeply-wooded area along one of the roads where I walk. High and strong, it sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite figure it out, a whistled sort of EEE-uurr. On Saturday morning when I was passing this spot I heard the call again and this time it seemed to be closer, so I stopped and scanned the trees – and saw the unmistakable shape of a good-size hawk flying low through the trees from one spot to another, with a pale breast and banded tail. Of course! A Broad-winged Hawk.

This is the first time I’ve found a Broad-winged Hawk in our woods, and after checking on them for several days now, I think it’s possible and even likely that a pair nested here this summer, in this area where there are lots of hardwood trees on a hill that slopes down to a creek. Since I’ve been gone for long periods of time – and because Broad-winged Hawks are known for being secretive during nesting season – I could easily have missed them until now. A better birder would have known the call immediately, but all I can say is that I wasn’t expecting it and haven’t heard it for a long time – not very good excuses. Yet another lesson in being more alert, instead of hearing and seeing only what I expect.

Although they are widespread throughout eastern North America, Broad-winged Hawks are relatively uncommon during nesting season here, so it’s especially interesting to find them.

A Broad-winged Hawk is similar in shape and appearance to the Red-shouldered Hawks that we’re used to seeing around our neighborhood, but it’s somewhat smaller and more compact, with dramatic wide dark and white bands in the tail of a mature hawk. Both are woodland raptors, nesting and hunting in forests.

While Red-shouldered Hawks are year-round residents here, Broad-winged Hawks are migratory, and are especially well known for their spectacular migration flights, when thousands of birds may gather to make the trip to winter grounds in Central and South America.

Since Saturday, the hawks have been calling every morning when I walk past this same area, and I’ve seen them briefly several times, both perched and making short flights. There are at least two, and I think three. They call repeatedly to each other, back and forth – a high, strong, insistent whistle that doesn’t sound like a hawk, but more like a smaller bird. Each one I’ve seen has been a juvenile, with a pale breast streaked with dark brown, chocolate brown back, lightly speckled with white, and a tail with narrow bands of light and dark.

Shortly before 10:00 this morning, the day was already steamy with heat and humidity. But up in a hazy blue sky two Mississippi Kites appeared, like apparitions at first. They were flying fairly low, gradually circling and gaining altitude, when I first saw them as I was walking through the subdivision next to our own. While the Red-tailed Hawks and Vultures soar on big wide wings, the Mississippi Kites look as if they cut through the air. Their shapes are thin and sharp and precise like a blade.

These two were juveniles, with visible patterns, not the smooth gray of adults. They circled several times, gradually climbing higher until they were soaring high and flew against the sun, and I lost them.

About 20 minutes later, heading back home and on a different road, I saw a Mississippi Kite soaring to the north. I stopped to watch it, and then saw another and another – at least six Kites circling and climbing. These were not as close as the first two, but their shapes were distinct. They gradually drifted away to the northeast.

Then a few minutes later, as I was almost home, one more Mississippi Kite appeared, this one closer but soaring high. It circled around only once, then sailed fast toward the east and out of sight.

Around 3:00 this afternoon, with huge cumulous clouds looming and thunder rumbling to the south, but the sun still shining in a mostly blue sky, I was standing on the front porch when two young Carolina Wrens flew, fussing loudly, into a big tea olive bush beside me, then down to the ground, up into a Savannah holly, and finally, one of them flew into a planter right beside me, less than two feet away, and hunted around among the lantana and other flowering plants there – and came up with a long, fat, pale, wriggling caterpillar. It carried the caterpillar back into the tea olive bush, where I could still see it, subdued it without too much trouble, swallowed it.

It’s nice to have them helping keep insects out of the plants, but I was mostly impressed with how very tiny they seemed. They looked thin and frail, though energetic and feisty enough and there certainly should be plenty of insects around for them to eat right now. I’ve seen many Carolina Wrens up close, and while they are quite small, they usually look plump and sturdy – but these were scrawny. These two also looked drab and grayish-brown, while Carolina Wrens are usually a warm, rich brown and buff color.

In fact, they looked so scrawny and drab that I have begun to wonder if they were Carolina Wrens at all. They weren’t House Wrens, because there definitely was a distinct supercilium – a prominent pale stripe over the eye. But the only other possibility seems to be a Bewick’s Wren, a species that would be wildly unlikely here, and although I did notice how long and skinny the tail looked, and it did seem to be cocked to one side in an unusual way – I’m pretty sure it had no white edges. So of course they must have been juvenile Carolina Wrens.

But once again – certainly not for the first time – I am left kicking myself for being less observant than I might have been, and for assuming. Because Carolina Wrens are what I usually see and hear around the house, I assumed that’s what they were – and that’s what I saw. I’m not a good enough birder to recognize an unfamiliar species immediately – I have to look closely and check field guides, and a lot of times even then I’m not sure of what I’ve seen. In this case they almost certainly were Carolina Wrens and I’m just making something out of nothing – but I wish I’d paid attention to my own questions at the time, taken a closer look and noted the field marks more carefully. I’d like to say it’s a lesson learned, but probably not. I’ll watch for them again, just in case.

This morning around 9:30, a Red-tailed Hawk flew into a scrawny white oak on the edge of the woods around our back yard. I saw it through my office windows while I was on the phone. It wasn’t a conversation I could end easily, so I tried to watch the hawk and listen and say something now and then, all at the same time – though I never have been good at doing two things at once.

In the oak, a large, messy clump of brown leaves has accumulated in a crotch where the trunk splits into a three-way fork. The hawk perched on a branch beside this clump of leaves. It was alone, not accompanied by any harassing crows or mockingbirds. After a minute or two of looking around, it turned toward the tree and began to lean over and put its head down into the clump of leaves. It leaned over and back up several times, and I’m not sure, but I think it was drinking. The leaves in the crotch of the oak may have formed a depression that catches water.

Later in the afternoon, temperatures outside in the mid or upper 90s again, I was aimlessly looking out a window, just taking a break from work and walking around, and saw what I thought was a large butterfly of a strikingly pale color pass by like a flash of sunlight and stop on a leaf of a Savannah holly only a few inches away. It was a Luna Moth, filmy-green and exquisite, like a breath of cool air with wings.

It hung from a holly leaf with wings outspread, very large and so pale it looked more white than green, with feathery brown antennae, red feet, white furry body and wings that trailed down into long tails. A rusty wine-red line ran all along the top edge of the wings. Their surface looked as soft as rabbit fur, with subtle, feathery patterns, marked with four delicately drawn eyespots.

Its red legs grasped either side of the holly leaf, near the tip of a branch and completely exposed to the sun. Now and then the legs scrambled furiously, as if having trouble holding on to the slippery surface. Several minutes later, I went back and it was still there, but it had moved to a different position, with its legs now wrapped around a twig and looking more comfortable and secure, though it was still getting more sun than I would have thought it would want, and I wondered why it would stay there instead of choosing a spot deeper in the shade of a tree.

An hour and a half later, it was still there in almost the same spot, about half in shade and half in sun. And I noticed then how tattered and worn it looked. A big chunk was gone from the tip of one wing, and the trailing tail of the other had also been torn. It hung very still, shifting like a leaf in a breeze.

When I stepped outside this morning at 10:00, it was already very warm and humid, but for some reason did not seem unpleasant. The flowers in pots and planters on our front porch were wet with big drops of water, maybe left over from yesterday’s heavy rain, or maybe from morning dew. Cicadas sang, and as I stood there for a couple of minutes, I could not hear a single bird at all through their loud, rasping whine. Several dragonflies zipped low over the grass in open areas. A bright fresh-green anole scurried across brown mulch below the oaks. One Chipping Sparrow flew down to forage in the grass along the edge of the driveway.

No Scarlet Tanager sang this morning – at least, I didn’t hear one at this time or earlier. The last time I heard its song for sure was almost a week ago, though over the weekend I did hear the chik-brrr calls in the woods nearby.

Four Tiger Swallowtails, a Black Swallowtail, and lots of Silver-spotted Skippers fluttered in a butterfly bush and in the yellow blooms of lantana. A Red-spotted Purple floated around the wax myrtles. Grasshoppers snapped and flew. Wasps buzzed. Yellowjackets prowled around the base of the bird bath and around the roots of trees and in bushes. I think of August as the month of insects, and this year they should be especially abundant, with all the wet, hot weather. Lots of pretty little white mushrooms have popped up all over the green grass in our yard.

Along the way as I walked, I began to hear a few birds . . .  the trill of a Carolina Wren, a Bluebird’s blurry song, Titmouse, Chickadee, Crow, Cardinal, the rattle of a Red-bellied Woodpecker. The sky was hazy blue with distant high white clouds, but the sun felt good, and there were pleasant light breezes. One Turkey Vulture soared low and one Black Vulture high.

In the old field were more butterflies – Sleepy Orange, delicate yellow Sulphurs, and others I didn’t see well enough to name, orange and yellow and brown. A young Red-tailed Hawk perched on a pole and screamed. A White-eyed Vireo and Eastern Towhee sang, Mourning Doves cooed from the wires, a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher called spee, and I heard a Summer Tanager’s pik-a-tuk call from the dense stand of pines and other trees toward the south end of the field. There was no sign of Blue Grosbeaks this morning, not even their calls from the thickets and weeds. But I was surprised to see two Orchard Orioles again – whether the same two or not I couldn’t say for sure, though it seems likely. Today they were much lower in the privet shrubs, and harder to see, only poking a greenish-yellow head up now and then, mostly staying hidden.

On my way back toward home, the distant speck of a soaring bird steadily drifted closer and turned out to be a Mississippi Kite. It soared directly over, a sleek dark-gray raptor with long slender wings, it circled back three or four times, and finally sailed off fast toward the southeast.