Birding Notes

In the old field this morning, a Prairie Warbler sang. I was very happy to hear its wheezy, buzzy, rising zoo-zoo-zoo-zoo-zoo-zoo-ZEE, which seemed right at home among the dense, weedy thickets in the field, especially on a warm, sunny day with pollen and dandelion fluff drifting everywhere, yellow and orange butterflies, four Black Vultures and three Turkey Vultures soaring among small white clouds, and a White-eyed Vireo, Eastern Towhee, Blue-gray Gnatcatcher and other birds also singing nearby. I could hope that the Prairie Warbler will stay around, but think it’s probably just passing through. They used to stay in this area for the summer, when it was less developed and less busy with traffic, but for the past few years have not. So I stayed for several minutes just to listen while it’s here.

This morning for the first time this season, I heard the throaty, rolling whreep-whreep of a Great Crested Flycatcher – returned from its winter home somewhere further south, maybe Florida, Mexico or Central America. It’s nice to know they’re back. A large, proud-looking flycatcher with lemon-yellow belly, long cinnamon tail, and big gray-crested head, the Great Crested Flycatcher is one of the most characteristic birds around our neighborhood. Its burry calls are a defining part of the spring and summer sounds of the woods here, reflecting the combination of leaves, vines and sunshine in the woodland edges where it’s usually found.

Meanwhile, Yellow-throated Vireo, Red-eyed Vireo, Northern Parula and Black-and-white Warbler continue to sing in the woods nearby, sometimes coming up into the trees around the house. Blue-gray Gnatcatchers call spee! One White-eyed Vireo sings among the weeds of the old field.

The squeaking calls of Brown-headed Nuthatches are heard fairly often, but I was surprised early this afternoon to hear the repeated yank-yank-yank calls of one, or maybe two, White-breasted Nuthatch that stayed in the vicinity for at least an hour.

Cedar Waxwings seem to have moved on further north – I haven’t seen them in several days now. But Ruby-crowned Kinglets, Yellow-rumped Warblers and White-throated Sparrows are still here, and singing – the Ruby-crowned Kinglets sing a quick, lively little tune from thickets and low trees; the Yellow-rumped Warblers a loose, musical trill that sounds like sparkles or bangles scattered all through the new-green leaves; and the whistled, bittersweet song of White-throated Sparrows drifts up from brushy, shrubby areas, especially at twilight.

Eastern Phoebe, Northern Cardinal, Carolina Wren, Northern Mockingbird, Brown Thrasher, Carolina Chickadee, Tufted Titmouse, Chipping Sparrow, Pine Warbler and Eastern Towhee all fill the air with song from early morning until late in the day. Downy and Red-bellied Woodpeckers are less noticeable than in the quiet winter months, but still around and active, and this morning a Pileated Woodpecker gave its cuk-cuk-cuk call from somewhere along the floor of the woods nearby.

Eastern Bluebirds are nesting in a nest box in our neighbor’s yard, while a pair of Carolina Chickadees seem to have moved into the bluebird box in our yard.

This morning at first light, I was awakened by the surprising song of a Louisiana Waterthrush in the oaks right outside our bedroom windows – three brightly whistled notes followed by a tumble of warbled chirps. A plump, lively warbler with brown back and crown, white stripe over the eye, white breast streaked with brown, and a song that sounds to me like the anthem of spring – a Louisiana Waterthrush has been here since mid March but usually stays pretty close to the creek and its banks, wagging its tail, walking and hopping over rocks and logs and poking into crevices.

Last weekend I took a walk along the creek, and heard a waterthrush downstream giving its loud spick! call repeatedly. Finally it came flying low and fast up along the creek and past me, still calling sharply. It seems unusual for one to come so far up the wooded hill to sing as it did this morning – but a very nice way to start the day.

Also over the weekend, on Sunday, our first Red-eyed Vireo of the season sang in the woods, not close, but very clearly. It has stayed around and continues to sing today.

The woods are coming to life not only with a profusion of lush new-green leaves and lacy white dogwood blooms, but also with the colors and songs of warblers, vireos, tanagers and other returning neotropical migrant songbirds. At this time of April, almost every day can bring something new.

A small, glowing-yellow Prothonotary Warbler, singing in the mucky bottomland near the North Oconee River, among a tangle of under-story shrubs and the frail white shimmer of silverbell blooms, was the highlight of a Saturday morning walk for me. The walk in the Whitehall Forest was sponsored by the Oconee Rivers Audubon Society, and the weather could not have been nicer – cool, sunny and bright, warming up as we walked through a variety of habitats, from bottomland forest with tall old trees, to open meadow-like power cuts, pine woods, upland hardwood forest, and scrubby early-succession fields.

From a spot at first hidden among the low shrubs and vines, the song of the Prothonotary Warbler rang out loud and clear – tsweet-tsweet-tsweet-tsweet-tsweet-tsweet-tsweet. After we searched for several minutes it was finally spotted, and cooperated, as if resigned to come out and give us a look in order to get rid of us. It hopped up onto a low branch and posed there, looking the part of its older name, the Golden Swamp Warbler, with its blue-gray wings, greenish back and brilliant deep-yellow, round head and breast glowing in a shaft of sunlight among the shady shrubs. As we watched, it tilted its head back, parted the long, pointed bill, and sang.

A signature bird of shrubby bottomland forests near rivers, creeks and beaver ponds in the South, Prothonotary Warblers have become less common here over the past two or three decades, mainly because of loss of the kind of habitat they need.

We also heard the songs of Yellow-throated, Red-eyed and White-eyed Vireos, Northern Parula, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Pine Warbler, Black-and-white Warbler, Louisiana Waterthrush, Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Ruby-crowned Kinglet, and – one of my favorites – the piping, rising zoo-zoo-zoo-zoo-zoo-ZEEE of a Prairie Warbler; and the calls of White-breasted and Brown-headed Nuthatch.

We watched a Palm Warbler, with reddish-chestnut cap and yellow throat and breast, streaked red-brown on the sides, wag its tail on the low branch of a tree; and a vivid Yellow-throated Warbler – black and white and gray and lemon-gold – gathering nest materials from a clump of brownish debris suspended in the trees. At one point, a Sharp-shinned Hawk flew directly over, fairly low, giving us a perfect view of its compact shape, square-tipped tail and distinctive flap-flap-flap-glide pattern of flight. An Osprey soared over high, also giving everyone a glorious view of its long slender wings, and its white and dark patterns stretched out against a deep blue sky.

All in all, with a total of 49 species and clear views of a Yellow-throated Vireo, Louisiana Waterthrush and several other songbirds, it was a great morning of birding in a beautiful location. Thanks to trip leader Ed Maiorello and the Oconee Rivers Audubon Society!

Wow. A brilliantly colorful Yellow-throated Warbler just spent several minutes in a water oak tree in our front yard. It looked magical. The sun had just come out after a thunder shower and briefly heavy rain, the clouds had passed quickly, leaving deep blue sky and new-green leaves wet and dripping, and a chilly wind was blowing – and there, among the leaves and catkins of the oak moved a sleek, slender, little gray bird with a long thin bill, and stunning black and white markings, and a bright yellow throat that blazed in the sunlight. It crept over the branches of the oak, probing into the bark and crevices and among the leaves and catkins.

Its head and back looked dark bluish-gray, its face was marked with a broad white stripe above the eye, and black around the eye and down the cheek, and a striking white patch on the side of the neck. Its belly was white, with dark streaks on the sides – and the yellow throat shined.

It looked as if it had gathered the gray clouds, wind and rain, with the clearing sky and glistening sun of the past few minutes together, and reshaped them into the form of a bird.

The highlights of a cool, showery April morning here included our first-of-the-season White-eyed Vireo, the continuing songs of a Yellow-throated Vireo, Northern Parula and Black-and-white Warbler, the somewhat unusual tink-tink-tink song or call of an Eastern Towhee, a flock of at least 86 Cedar Waxwings, and an Eastern Phoebe singing and giving its chatter-call from the spot on a gutter pipe over our garage where Phoebes nested successfully last year.

Early in the morning, in soft sunlight before the clouds moved in, the Parula’s rising buzz and the Yellow-throated Vireo’s throaty but clear, four-phrase musical notes stood out among the confusion of birdsong all around – the loose, shimmering trills of Yellow-rumped Warblers, the squeaky-wheel song of a Black-and-white Warbler, and the rapid, jubilant bursts of song from Ruby-crowned Kinglets. Carolina Wrens, Cardinals, Mockingbirds, Brown Thrasher, Pine Warbler, Chipping Sparrows, Phoebes, Titmice, Chickadees and one cheery Robin sang, a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher called spee-spee, and woodpeckers drummed. A Mourning Dove cooed. Chimney Swifts chittered, passing overhead. The Louisiana Waterthrush was missing this morning, or maybe I was just out at the wrong times.

A Pileated Woodpecker gave its cuk-cuk-cuk call from down in the woods, and a Red-shouldered Hawk cried kee-yer from behind the screen of trees to the east.

The old field up near Highway 441 was a tangle of sound, as well as a tangle of new green, weedy growth. No Black-and-white Warbler there this morning – but Mockingbirds, Brown Thrasher, Eastern Towhee, Cardinal and Carolina Chickadee all were singing, and Blue Jays called. Among the various birdsong, plus the noise of traffic from the nearby highway, I could just barely hear the percussive chick-a-peri-oo-chick of a White-eyed Vireo – finally! They seem to be a little later than usual arriving here this year – this is still only the first one I’ve heard around our neighborhood, though they’ve been reported other places nearby.

I also heard the possible call of a Yellow-breasted Chat in the field – but the familiar, harsh chet-chet-chet-chet-chet might have come from a Mockingbird, I can’t be sure. A Yellow-breasted Chat often used to stay for the summer in or near the field, but the past year or two I’ve only found them passing through, here for a day or two at most.

Eastern Towhees are singing drink-your-tea all through the neighborhood, and in the old field, one was singing a version of its song or call that includes an emphatic tink-tink-tink! at the end. I have not been able to find any other descriptions of this song but have heard it in previous springs – it begins with a garbled trill and ends with three very crisp, distinct notes all on the same pitch.

In three pecan trees with tiny new leaves, but still pretty bare-looking, several dozen Cedar Waxwings perched and called their high, hissing tseeees – I counted 86 waxwings, and there probably were more. They mostly were just sitting, not eating, clustered tightly in three main groups with others scattered around them, the wind ruffling the feathers in their crests. I kept finding more and more, the longer I looked.

One White-throated Sparrow whistled its sweet, plaintive song, and others fed quietly under shrubs – while at least two foraged in the tops of water oaks among new green leaves and catkins. Two Turkey Vultures soared below the gathering clouds, and one Black Vulture hunched on top of a utility pole, looking as if it was hoping for more promising weather.

By noon, a light rain was falling, and by late afternoon, a harder, more serious rain – very welcome after many days of unseasonably hot, dry, sunny weather.

Today was another in a stretch of unseasonably warm spring days, sunny, hazy with pollen, with temperatures in the upper 80s or 90 by afternoon. But the mornings are cool and pretty and bright with birdsong, with green leaves now opening on just about all the trees, even the white oaks, and dogwoods blooming like lacy clouds all through the woods. It’s the time of year when almost every day brings something new – with summer birds arriving, winter birds leaving and migrants passing through. It would be hard to stay inside at all if it weren’t already getting so hot by midday.

A Louisiana Waterthrush continues to sing along the creek in the woods behind our house, and a Northern Parula sings from the edge of the woods nearby. Black-and-white Warblers and Blue-gray Gnatcatchers arrived some time last week – I heard and saw the first ones on Friday, April 2 – and today a Black-and-White Warbler has been singing from trees all around the back yard – a squeaky, high, unmusical but pleasant song. Blue-gray Gnatcatchers have seemed uncharacteristically elusive so far, but I do hear their spee-spee calls here and there.

Chimney Swifts also arrived some time late last week, and yesterday morning for the first time I saw three as they chittered and swept overhead.

Yesterday morning I also heard the song of a Yellow-throated Vireo for the first time this spring – a burry, rich, four-phrase song, musical and expressive. It may have arrived over the weekend, when we were not here. So far it hasn’t come close enough to see, staying hidden in the woods.

There’s also the rusty jingle and creak of too many Brown-headed Cowbirds around. I heard several just today, in different spots in the neighborhood.

Meanwhile, our winter birds are drifting away, though it’s hard to tell for sure when they’ve gone. I haven’t seen or heard a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, Dark-eyed Junco or Hermit Thrush since late March. But White-throated sparrows, Yellow-rumped Warblers and Ruby-crowned Kinglets still are here – all singing – and lots of Cedar Waxwings.

The day began with the buzzy, summery song of a Northern Parula around the edges of the woods. The morning was cool, sunny, colorful and full of birdsong, and the Parula’s rising zzzzzzzhhhh-ip! that trips over and falls at the end was the highlight. It even came to a low branch right over my head to sing for a few minutes – a charming little wood warbler with blue-gray head, yellow throat and breast, and a mottled dark-coral band across its chest. Of all the returning neotropical migrants, the Northern Parula seems to me the one that sings most alluringly of the tropics and of warm air and sun and forest-filtered light, of rippling creeks and dense green leaves. It almost seems to bring spring with it. During breeding season it’s at home in forests with streams or wetlands throughout much of the eastern U.S. and into Canada, and it doesn’t winter as far south as many other migrants – still, it always makes me think of the low country, live oaks and tropical breezes, and it does prefer bottomland forests, using Spanish moss or beard moss for its nest.

Meanwhile, two Louisiana Waterthrush continue to sing along the creek, especially early in the mornings. The wheezy songs of Blue-gray Gnatcatchers and Black-and-white Warblers are still rumors in the trees for me – I hear them but haven’t yet seen one. Ruby-crowned Kinglets sing their elaborate, neat little songs, White-throated Sparrows whistle plaintive, heart-breaking come-a-way-with-me, on the brink of leaving for the north. And all the year-round residents seem to be singing. An Eastern Phoebe, Carolina Wren and Northern Cardinal usually are among the earliest around our yard, then Tufted Titmouse, Carolina Chickadee, Pine Warbler, American Goldfinch, Northern Mockingbird, Brown Thrasher, Eastern Bluebird, Eastern Towhee, American Robin, House Finch. Woodpeckers drum and rattle. Mourning Doves coo. A small flock of Cedar Waxwings sprays high, thin calls from hidden spots in a stand of pines.

Chipping Sparrows sing a delicate string of chipper-chipper-chipper-chipper that I think is one of the prettiest songs, when heard close by, though so often they’re described as mechanical and dry – at this time of year they can sing with an airy, musical touch.

Early this afternoon in sunny, unseasonably warm weather, a Brown Creeper appeared in the trees around our back yard and edge of the woods. I first saw it as it flew to the trunk of a white oak beside our deck, and watched as it crept quickly, straight up the trunk, then around it halfway and up further. Apparently finding nothing of interest in the bark of the oak, it flew to the trunk of a pine and again crept straight up, then to another pine, and from there it flew deeper into the woods and out of sight.

A small, slender bird with blurry-streaked brown and white back, a rather long, dull-brown tail, creamy white underneath, and a thin, down-curved bill, its shape is sleek, but its coloring looked like a crumpled brown leaf, a leftover piece of the winter scene, tossing from tree to tree, attaching itself like an insect and blending in with the bark, and moving insect-like on short, hidden legs. The edges of its wings looked very dark, almost black and white. It was quiet, not singing or calling.

It’s the first Brown Creeper I’ve seen here in two or three years, though I’ve watched and listened for them all winter long – so it’s funny now to see one in early spring, probably passing through on its way north. Secretive birds by nature, in recent years creepers have become even harder to find around here, so it came as an unexpected and delightful surprise, a last glimpse of winter.

And it’s not an April-fool – it was real.

Our last day on Kiawah was rainy all day, except for a short break of about an hour just before noon, when I headed out to the beach. It was beautiful. A low, stormy gray sky, gray-green water, and only three or four other people as far as I could see. Not many birds, either, but a few. Brown Pelicans, a Cormorant, Ring-billed Gulls, Herring Gulls and one Laughing Gull flew over. Forster’s Terns still flew and hovered over the edge of the waves. Dolphins swam just offshore, dark arcs that rose and disappeared.

A Black-bellied Plover foraged around tidal pools, with a solitary Ruddy Turnstone that stayed right with it, though a few feet away. When the Plover flew, the Turnstone flew, and settled near it again. Six Piping Plovers skittered over the sand nearby. Two of them were coming into breeding plumage, with a thin, broken black band around the neck.

And one Red Knot fed on the edge of the surf for a long time. It took me a while to figure out what it was, because it was alone and not in a flock. Watching it long enough to get a very good look, fairly close, I could even see a pale cinnamon color emerging on the speckled breast, though it was still mostly gray all over. It fed by probing fast and steadily in the sand as it moved, intent on its work. At a different spot along the beach, two more Red Knots flew in and fed along the edge of the waves in much the same way. Maybe there was a larger flock nearby.

The rain began to fall harder, and by late afternoon and evening had become a deluge that lasted all night.