Birding Notes

At least two Scarlet Tanagers sing in the woods around the neighborhood. One makes the rounds of the trees across the street from our house and down into the woods around a creek there. I can see him best when he sings from a large red oak at the corner, though it’s amazing how well such a brilliantly colorful bird can blend in with the leaves. He rarely, if ever, sings from the very top of a tree, but usually just below the top, a small drop of blazing red with ink-black wings among the green leaves.

His song is flat and almost harsh, six or seven phrases flung out assertively, similar to the song of a Robin or a Summer Tanager, but without the Robin’s more musical, thrush-like, cheerful quality, and unlike the lilting hoarse phrases of a Summer Tanager.

A second Scarlet Tanager sings in the woods around a different part of the neighborhood. He’s almost always singing when I walk by in the morning, and often I find him among the leaves of a certain tall tulip poplar, just below the top.

After many days of hot May sunshine and plenty of rain toward the end of the month, the old field that runs along a dead-end road between our subdivision and highway 441 is a lush mess of grasses, kudzu, privet, blackberry and honeysuckle vines, wild grape, purple thistle, rough wild roses, pokeweed, chinaberry trees and dozens of other weeds and weedy trees, and a dense and spreading small woodland of pines, sweet gums and oaks. Bird songs there, especially early in the morning, have to compete with the highway’s busy, loud traffic.

This year for the first time in a decade, there’s no Blue Grosbeak singing in the field. I saw a male there once in the spring, but apparently it didn’t stay.

But there is an Indigo Bunting that chants from a perch on kudzu-covered bushes in the middle of the field, and two or three White-eyed Vireos, Eastern Towhees, Mockingbirds, Brown Thrashers and Cardinals in abundance, Blue-gray Gnatcatcher – and Brown-headed Cowbird. A pair of Red-tailed Hawks can be seen around here almost every morning, often perched on utility poles overlooking the highway, sometimes sharing a pole, and soaring later in the day.

And for the first time in three or four years, there’s a Yellow-breasted Chat in the field. That’s a happy surprise. Several times I’ve thought I heard its harsh chet-chet-chet-chet calls, but couldn’t find it for sure, and I just thought it was wishful thinking on my part. But two days ago, Saturday morning, I heard the call, this time repeated again and again as the bird moved quickly from bush to bush, and finally I saw a quick flash of deep gold-yellow as it flew. I haven’t gotten a good close look yet, but its call is familiar and distinct. I don’t know if it’s nesting in the field or if it’s there every day, or maybe it’s nesting in woods nearby and just visiting the field now and then.

In the band of woods that encircles our neighborhood, running along two creeks that converge, the songs or calls of Yellow-billed Cuckoo, Acadian Flycatcher, Wood Thrush, Louisiana Waterthrush, Northern Parula and Black-and-white Warbler also can be heard. There seem to be at least four Acadian Flycatchers widely spaced out along the creeks, calling sharp WHEET-sits and at least two Louisiana Waterthrush, two or three Northern Parula, one Black-and-white Warbler and two Wood Thrush. One of the Wood Thrush sings in the deepest part of the woods along a creek, and the other sings from a very unlikely area somewhere beyond the trash-littered remains of an old oak grove across the dead-end road from the field and behind another subdivision. It seems unusually open and rather dry habitat for a Wood Thrush. But there it is, morning after morning, sending up ethereal fluted music to float through the battered trees, barely audible against the noise of traffic.

In our own back yard, there seem to be babies everywhere – Bluebirds, Chipping Sparrows, Titmice, Chickadees, Robins, Brown Thrashers – all begging to be fed. A Bluebird pair seems already to be starting on a second nest. There’s the song of a Red-eyed Vireo and the songs and pik-a-tuk calls of a pair of Summer Tanagers, the WHEET-sit calls of Acadian Flycatcher from the creek, the squeaky-dee chatter of Brown-headed Nuthatches in the pines, the rattles and whirrs of Red-bellied and Downy Woodpeckers, and sometimes the racheting call of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo or the traveling cuk-cuk-cuk of a Pileated Woodpecker. At least two Ruby-throated Hummingbirds, a male and female, are regular and frequent visitors to the feeder hanging from the deck.

Three times recently I’ve seen a Cooper’s Hawk around the edge of the woods beyond our back yard. Once it tried to catch a small bird in the white oaks next to the house and failed, then swooped to a perch on a pine stub where it sat for several minutes in full view, where I could see the ruddy-streaked breast and long banded tail and proud profile.

We don’t see or even hear Red-shouldered Hawks as often as we used to, so I don’t think there’s a pair nesting nearby in the neighborhood this season. But fairly often I do hear their kee-yer calls from somewhere in the woods to the east, so at least there are some not too far away.

About six o’clock yesterday evening, we were sitting on the back deck, having a drink and listening to the pik-a-tuk calls of a pair of Summer Tanagers in the trees around the edge of the woods, enjoying a brief spell of cooler weather. The female Tanager paused on the branch of a pine, a deep, mellow yellow all over, an elusive color, saffron with dusky green shadows. All the trees were tossing and bending in a strong wind, and a pale blue sky overhead, traced with white cirrus clouds, looked deceptively calm. A pair of Great Crested Flycatchers whreeped and chortled and hunted from the branches close around us.

Like a shooting star, a falcon-like bird streaked high across the eastern sky, flashing dark and light, then turned and dove or stooped breathtakingly fast toward the ground, pulled up, and disappeared from sight for a few seconds. Then it returned, lower and slower, and sailed directly over us as we stood up looking for it – a dark, sleek bird with long slender wings, a wedge-shaped tail and a round white head. A Mississippi Kite. It circled over us, gaining altitude in the gusty wind again, and slid out of sight to the west.

It seemed very early in the season to see a Mississippi Kite here, and sometimes we don’t see them at all, so this was a lucky sighting. We just happened to be out at the right time, and happened to be looking up in the right direction.

Mississippi Kites are falcon-like raptors known for their graceful, often acrobatic flight. In some areas of the central plains they are fairly common, sometimes nesting in colonies. They also nest in the southeastern coastal plain. Here we’re lucky to see a few each summer. They capture insect prey in flight, and sometimes small birds.

Late this morning, as I was walking up a sunny hill wishing I had gotten out earlier because it was already uncomfortably hot and humid, the dry, close full call of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo came from a stand of water oaks just ahead of me – cuk-cuk-cuk-cuk-cawp-cawp-cawp-cawp. Welcome back! One of the most exotic and tropical sounds of our woods in summer.

The cuckoo was hidden somewhere deep inside the dense leaves of the oaks, dark green against an intensely blue sky. I stood beneath the trees for several minutes, trying to catch a glimpse of the long black and white-spotted tail, hoping it would call again – but no. Either it had flown without my seeing it, or it was staying hidden. Still, it was a bright spot in the day.

Several minutes later and much further up the road, along the old field, I heard a repeated, loud metallic chink! from the scrubby grove of large oaks that still survives near the dead-end of the road, just across from where the weeds have recently been mowed all around two billboards, to make sure they can be seen from the highway below.

A Blue Grosbeak flew from a thicket up to a branch on one of the oaks, where I had a beautiful view of its deep indigo-blue plumage, rusty-orange wing bars, and big silver beak. Switching his tail back and forth, he called out several more chinks! before flying away to a shrubby area beyond the end of the road.

The arrival of just two birds – colorful and striking though they are – returning from the tropics to the woods and fields around our neighborhood, seems a rather small thing against the backdrop of the devastating oil spill in the Gulf, and so much else that’s going on in the world. But it also seems perhaps even more important to note these things. Each bird that returns strikes me as one small piece of evidence, one more reason to do what we can to value and protect the natural world. A vivid reminder and example of how much we have to lose.

April came to an end with a string of beautiful sunny days that began cool and bright, and warmed into the 70s or 80s, with a deep blue sky and lots of birdsong and bird activity, including several neotropical migrants returning to our woods, so it’s sounding more and more like spring and summer. On April 29, I heard an Acadian Flycatcher, Summer Tanager and Wood Thrush for the first time this season – though I haven’t been observant enough to know exactly when they returned, this was the first day I found them here around our yard and neighborhood.

The familiar WHEET-sit call of an Acadian Flycatcher came from somewhere down along the creek early in the morning and continued all that day. A Wood Thrush sang – flute-like and ethereal – from the low, tangled woods along a creek not close to our house, but I could hear its song as I walked past twice during the day, and it seems a gift to have one even this close.

I’d been hearing a Summer Tanager’s song for several days, but pretty far in the distance. This late April morning while I was sitting on the deck, two birds came flying over me low, and settled in the branches of a white oak not far away. One of them sat out in clear view, framed by new green leaves, like a perfect picture – a Summer Tanager male, warm-red all over, with its long, thick bill. A few minutes later the pik-a-tuk calls of the tanagers began to travel through the trees, and a male began to sing.

By the end of April a Red-eyed Vireo sang each morning steadily in the woods beyond our back yard. Great Crested Flycatchers and their throaty whreep calls seemed to be everywhere – I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so many! One morning two hunted from perches in trees all around the edge of the yard, and one even came to sit for a few minutes on a shepherd’s crook on the edge of our deck where a geranium plants hangs – only a few feet away from me, showing off its lemon-yellow belly, large crested gray head and long cinnamon tail. Now and then the glistening song of a Louisiana Waterthrush comes up from the creek, and there’s the spee-spee of Blue-gray Gnatcatcher calls – I wish I could say I hear their songs, but I have not learned them yet, though I know they must be singing. Chimney Swifts sweep overhead, twittering.

Along with the new arrivals, year-round residents all were singing – especially Eastern Phoebe, American Robin, Carolina Wren, Northern Cardinal, Pine Warbler and Chipping Sparrow. And we could still hear some of the last songs of winter residents like Ruby-crowned Kinglets, White-throated Sparrows, and Yellow-rumped Warblers.

All winter long Yellow-rumped Warblers are so common here that I plead guilty to almost ignoring them most of the time. Little gray-brown birds with yellow rumps, they fill the trees with check! calls and seem to be just about everywhere.

One morning toward the end of April, though, a male in fresh spring plumage sang as he foraged among the leaves and branches of an oak – suddenly gorgeous, the drab gray-brown of his winter plumage transformed into vivid black, yellow and white – ink-blue-gray waistcoat, black streaks on the sides, black mask outlined in white, gray head with a yellow crown, dark gray stripes on charcoal-gray back, two white wing bars, rich yellow on the sides and rump and – most striking of all – a snow-white throat, identifying him as the sub-species now called Myrtle Warbler, the old name I learned for them years ago, and like so much better.

Myrtle Warblers, found mostly in the eastern U.S. and Canada, and Audubon Warblers, found more in the west used to be considered separate species but now are grouped together into one species and called Yellow-rumped. I’m sure it was a reasonable decision to combine them – but a sadly unimaginative and unfortunate choice for a new name. In fact, it seems to me that “yellow-rumped warbler” reflects the drab winter appearance of these birds and our own rather dismissive attitude toward them – and does little justice to their more alluring and colorful spring and summer lives.

Late in the morning on a cool, brightly sunny, windy day almost two weeks ago – Sunday, April 18 – two Blue-headed Vireos sang in the fresh green leaves of young oaks and tulip poplars on the edge of the woods in our neighborhood. With smooth blue-gray head, brilliant white spectacles around the eyes, crisp white wing bars, white breast, and a very faint wash of lemon-yellow on the sides, the vireos looked sleek and elegant among the wind-tossed, new-green leaves, and sang cool, graceful songs that reflected both their plumage and the bright spring day. Staying a fair distance apart, but in the same general area of trees, not too high, they sang back and forth, and I was able to watch and listen for several minutes.

I had found time for a walk that morning, but the rest of the day and the following week and more became so busy that I’m only now posting this very late account – but seeing the Blue-headed Vireos and hearing their songs is still vivid in my mind. It’s an image and a memory that stayed with me, like a small oasis of peace and beauty.

I heard their songs first – repeated series of clear phrases, similar to a Red-eyed Vireo’s song, but slower, sweeter and with different individual phrases that are smoother and more lyrical. In the Sibley Guide to Birds, the song is described as see you, cheerio, be-seein-u, so-long, seeya, high and sweet, with slurred notes. The songs of Blue-headed and Red-eyed Vireos are so similar, though, that I wasn’t sure until I saw one, and watched it for several minutes as it moved through the foliage, gleaning insects or other prey, singing as it went.

Usually Blue-headed Vireos are among the earliest neotropical migrants to pass through here in early spring, but this year they have seemed quite a bit later. These are the only ones I’ve seen this season, and I’ve seen fewer reports of them overall. So it was especially nice to find them.

Earlier on the same Sunday morning, our first Ruby-throated Hummingbird of the season came to the feeder. I think they’ve been in the area for much longer – it’s really late for us to see the first one – but just not coming to our yard, or maybe we haven’t been watching at the right times. Anyway – it was a female, and we were happy to see her.

It was a very windy day, tons of catkins blowing down from the oaks and pecans, with Northern Parula, Black-and-white Warbler, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Pine Warbler, Phoebe and a Ruby-crowned Kinglet singing around the back yard, a very distant Red-eyed Vireo singing and Blue-gray Gnatcatchers calling spee-spee. Mockingbirds and Brown Thrashers sang throughout the neighborhood, with Chipping Sparrows, Cardinals, Carolina Wrens and Bluebirds, and Brown-headed Nuthatches gave squeaky calls as they moved through the pines.

A Belted Kingfisher rattled as it flew over, flashing silver against the blue sky, and a Great Blue Heron also flew over, flapping ponderously. Both are not uncommon here, but we don’t see them every day.

Two Red-shouldered Hawks soared, calling kee-yer, so clearly lit by the bright sunlight the details of their warm, rich brown plumage were uncommonly clear, red shoulders glowing, and light pouring through the dark and light bands in their tails.

Late this morning, a White-eyed Vireo sat on a branch in a small tree in an overgrown area of weeds, grass and shrubs and sang a somewhat unusual song. Instead of its familiar chik-a-perioo-chik, this one was singing:

Chik! Meew-chicoree-chik-chik-rasp-Chik!

The mew was very distinct, a good imitation of a Gray Catbird, but it wasn’t random. It was incorporated into a pattern that the vireo repeated several times while I watched. Each time the chik at the beginning and end of the song were both emphatic, and the two chik-chiks in the middle quick and close together. The rasp was a short, ringing buzz.

This might have been what’s described as a White-eyed Vireo’s rambling song. But it didn’t really sound like a Gray Catbird, except for the mew, and it wasn’t a long or rambling song with several imitations, but just this repeated and quite distinct pattern.

It was fun to have a good close-up look at the vireo in the little tree – the yellow spectacles, black streak from eye to bill, the white throat and breast and very faint tinge of yellow on the flanks, and two white wing bars. Not quite close enough to see the white of its eyes. It stayed in view for several minutes, singing, before flying away.

Earlier in the morning, a different White-eyed Vireo sang in the oaks in our back yard (about a mile away from the other) – the first time we’ve had one so close this season – and it also was singing a similar song that began and ended with a chik! and included a catbird-like mew. Later in the afternoon the same vireo (I think), switched to singing its more familiar chik-a-perioo-chik.