Birding Notes

After an all-day drenching hard, cold rain yesterday, ending in a blustery wind that rattled the branches and wind chimes all night, we awoke to a magical sunrise. The eastern sky was layered in heavy, dark gray clouds with breaks of light. A window of pale light just above the horizon widened and became soft orange, then brighter and deeper orange, red-orange that spread through the clouds like streams. When a shimmering red-gold sun slipped up over the horizon, the sunlight lit the sky and trees as if in a bubble of delicate, clear, rose-yellow light. The air was calm. The gray clouds looked blue. The brown leaves on the oaks hung still. Raindrops glittered with color on the branches. It felt like being inside a sparkling glass globe.

Then the sun slipped further up and the dense, coal-dark bank of clouds closed in again. The magic light disappeared in a breath. The day became heavy, dull and gray again and the wind began to blow. It all had lasted only moments.

Goldfinches mewed from the feeders on the deck below. A Red-bellied Woodpecker called quuuuurrrrr. A little brown Carolina Wren flew to the rail of the balcony outside our windows, tail cocked up high and head pumping up and down assertively, and sang, loud, energetic and bold.

On a cold, gray, rainy day, all the usual small birds were pretty active around the front yard feeders – Chickadees, Titmice, a pair of House Finches, Downy Woodpecker, Brown-headed Nuthatches, Mockingbird, Red-bellied Woodpecker. One Yellow-rumped Warbler made several visits to one of the feeders, which is a little unusual. Cardinals, Dark-eyed Juncos, White-throated Sparrows and Mourning Doves fed on the ground.

One strange thing happened. I was inside, stopping to look out a large window on the second floor, and saw a gray squirrel at the base of a tree-trunk jumping around in a strange way, sort of like a cat playing with a mouse, but more clumsily. Suddenly a small bird streaked out, flying away from the squirrel and the squirrel ran after it. Both disappeared from view, and when I went downstairs to see if I could find them, I could not. I did not see what kind of bird it was, but when it flew, it looked like it got away.

It all happened very fast and was over quickly, but it certainly looked as if the squirrel was either trying to catch a bird or they were squabbling over something. After doing a very little research, I learned that squirrels are known to eat small birds sometimes – something I had never known. We have a lot of squirrels here, way too many – in part because we live in an old pecan grove and also have a lot of oaks. So far we’ve managed to prevent them from getting to the bird feeders (except for a new peanut-butter feeder out back – they’ve just figured that one out), but there are always several squirrels around. They’re a nuisance in many ways and I’m sure they compete with birds on the ground for fallen nuts, seeds and fruit from the feeders. But I assume eating birds is not something they do regularly.

This afternoon – cool, partly cloudy, partly sunny and blue-sky – hundreds of American Robins were scattered throughout our neighborhood, as if they had fallen out of the sky like drifting leaves. There was not one large concentrated flock, but many red-breasted, chirping, chucking, cheeping birds foraging in almost every yard, others in treetops and along the roadsides. In some places there were clusters of Robins in the trees making squeaky calls – and a few were singing.

“A species that was once considered abundant is rapidly disappearing before our eyes.” (eBird)*

Feeding in the grass with some of the Robins were a relatively small flock of Red-winged Blackbirds, and among them, I’m fairly sure there were some Rusty Blackbirds, but I couldn’t ever get close enough to be certain. As I approached, the flock always flushed up and flew a little further away or into the trees. There were several birds with bright yellow eyes that did not seem to be Grackles, so I think they must have been Rusties – and when they flew, they flew together and made rather soft chuck calls, not the harsher calls of a Grackle, and seemed to have the shape of Rusty Blackbirds – well, if I were a more confident observer I would have no doubt. But I just don’t trust myself. So I’m hoping they might be around again tomorrow and maybe I can get a better look. The past few winters a fairly good number of Rusty Blackbirds have been regular visitors here, but this is the first time I’ve seen them this season.

At this time of year, male Rusty Blackbirds are black with rusty speckling, or feathered edges, and striking pale yellow eyes. The rusty speckling, however, is sometimes not easy to see, especially at a distance. They often flock with Grackles or Red-winged Blackbirds, but are smaller than Grackles, with thin bills and long, club-shaped tails – but not as long as the Grackles’ tails. The females are particularly attractive in winter plumage, in muted shades of brown, from rust and cinnamon to grayish-fawn, with a dark streak through the eye and a tawny stripe over the eye.

Right now we’re in the middle of the 2010 Rusty Blackbird Blitz – a two-week period January 30 through February 15, when birdwatchers are encouraged to report observations of Rusty Blackbirds to help compile information about their population numbers and status.

Populations of Rusty Blackbirds have declined dramatically in the past few decades, falling by more than 90 percent. “A species that was once considered to be abundant is rapidly disappearing before our eyes,” says the eBird website. “Your observations can help save this species by arming scientists with critical information about its ecology.”

* For more information about Rusty Blackbirds and how to participate in the Blitz, see the eBird website.

On a cold, gray, dreary, foggy, lightly icy day – like much of the last two weeks in January – four Eastern Towhees rustled in leaf litter on the ground in a tangled thicket of privet and other weedy faded shrubs and vines. Two were males, with dark red eyes and boldly patterned in black, red-orange and white; two females with the same overall pattern, but instead of black, a rich velvet-brown. Now and then one called cher-WINK. They kicked up the litter vigorously, searching for seeds, fruits, insects, spiders and larvae. They don’t much look like sparrows, but are – big, plump, brightly colored sparrows with colorful songs and calls to match. Robust, lively and earthy, they looked warm in the middle of a cold, gray day, glowing like the colors of a welcome fire against the withered background of the deepest part of winter.

The area of thickets where I saw them has become a favorite stopping place for me these last couple of weeks – on the rare occasions when I’ve been home long enough to get outside for a walk. It’s a vacant lot just outside our subdivision, happily neglected, overgrown with weeds and vines and grass, with a large red, white and blue “commercial property for sale” sign planted right in the middle of it. It’s not particularly attractive even when the foliage is green, and right now it looks especially bedraggled – but a lot of birds seem to like it.

White-throated Sparrows and Song Sparrows join Towhees in feeding on the ground, often coming out to the roadside nearby to forage in the grass, and sometimes they sing. Brown Thrashers lurk deep in the tangles giving smack calls loudly. There’s often the chatter of a Ruby-crowned Kinglet as it flits quickly, weaving through the bushes, the fussing of a Carolina Wren, the chatter of a Chickadee, or an Eastern Phoebe quietly stopping by to perch on a branch, wagging its tail. Usually there are at least a few Robins in the trees overhead, and the high, thin calls of a small flock of Cedar Waxwings.

Though Eastern Towhees are quite common in eastern North America, and a familiar bird around many yards, many details of its natural history remain poorly known, according to the species account in Birds of North America. “Because the bird spends much of its time near or on the ground in dense habitats and scrubby growth . . . it is usually difficult to study . . . and deserves much additional study.”*

* Jon S. Greenlaw. 1996. Eastern Towhee (Pipilo erythrophthalmus), The Birds of North America Online (A. Poole, Ed.) Ithaca: Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

For the last two weeks of January, I was away from home much of the time, so my impressions of bird activity during these days are fragmentary. But whenever I could, I went out for at least one walk during the day, and my general impression has been that this winter we have fewer species of birds and smaller numbers here than in previous winters – except for some of our most common birds, like Chickadees, Titmice, Red-bellied Woodpeckers, Mourning Doves, Cardinals and Blue Jays. All of these seem to be doing fine.

Most days I’ve seen Turkey Vultures and Black Vultures soaring, and at least one Red-tailed Hawk, sometimes soaring, but often perched in the trees or flying low along the edge of the woods. So far this winter, however, I have not seen or heard a Red-shouldered Hawk, and this is unusual. Until now, Red-shouldered Hawks have almost always been around, and in previous winters there were many days when I encountered one or two hunting from low perches in trees near the woods.

I have still seen a Cooper’s Hawk several times along a certain stretch of road that runs between yards with a combination of open space and woods.

Most days I run across at least one Yellow-bellied Sapsucker or hear its mewing call, but they are not nearly as common in the neighborhood’s many pecans and other trees as they have been in previous winters. So far we’ve seen very few Goldfinches, no Pine Siskins, and no sign of the large Blackbird flocks of previous winters.

But – to end the month on a less-gloomy note, there’s a handsome pair of Northern Flickers that usually can be found foraging in one large grassy yard with Eastern Bluebirds, Chipping Sparrows, White-throated Sparrows, Dark-eyed Juncos and other small birds. The check calls of Yellow-rumped Warblers can be heard just about everywhere, and one or two small sparkling flocks of Cedar Waxwings are usually around.

A pair of feisty Brown-headed Nuthatches are regular visitors to the feeders in our front yard, along with a pair of Downy Woodpeckers, and a few tiny, exquisite Golden-crowned Kinglets can usually be found in the pines. Carolina Wrens sing glorious songs – too often I overlook them – and also visit the feeders often. Large numbers of Robins are scattered throughout the neighborhood, spread out across yards, perched in treetops, and at end of day, glowing red in the setting sun as they fly over in small groups toward the west.

A Pine Warbler continues to trill its spring-like song outside my office window early in the morning and all around the house, all day, even in the coldest, grayest, dreariest weather.

“The calendar may tell me that the toughest days of winter are yet to come, but I know in my heart that on December 21 it is already spring. I have heard it in the air. I have heard it in the lusty singing of nuthatches and titmice and chickadees. The woodpeckers are drumming, female jays and crows rattling. In the grand cycle through the seasons, these birds know what time it is.” (Donald Kroodsma, Birdsong by the Seasons)*

It wasn’t on the winter solstice, but near the end of the first week in January when I heard the first Pine Warbler sing – a rich, musical trill like a breath of spring air on a very cold, icy, clear mid-winter morning. That was several days ago, and since then they’ve been singing every day. As I work in my office, one sings just outside my window, and I’ve also heard their songs in other parts of the neighborhood. A pair has been coming to the feeders in our front yard, a splash of warm yellow among the more somber-colored Juncos, White-throated Sparrows, Chickadees, Titmice, Downy Woodpeckers, Brown-headed Nuthatches and Chipping Sparrows.

This morning – still cold enough for ice in the bird baths, but sunny and warming up fast, with a bright blue sky – several other birds were also singing, reminding me of Kroodsma’s words and of his chapter, “The Winter Solstice Is the First Day of Spring.” Two Carolina Wrens sang back and forth, matching each other’s songs and switching from one to another, a Tufted Titmouse sang peter-peter-peter, a Carolina Chickadee fee-bee, fee-bay, an Eastern Towhee drink-your-tea, an Eastern Bluebird warbled and a House Finch whistled its cheery song. A Red-bellied Woodpecker gave its spring-like quurrr call over and over. Northern Cardinals also began to sing in the first week of January, but this morning they were quiet, at least while I was listening.

Later in the morning two Brown-headed Cowbirds sat in the top branches of a bare tree along the edge of the road, giving a surprisingly nice sort of dry, feathery, trilled call together as they flew. I’ve been watching and hoping for Blackbirds, but the Cowbirds weren’t exactly what I had in mind. There’s still no sign of larger flocks with Red-winged and Rusty Blackbirds that we’ve had in previous winters. The big open grassy yards where they used to spread out every day seem empty this year, and very quiet.

Two Red-tailed Hawks perched together on the top of a utility pole in a power cut, facing each other and looking content to sit together and soak up some sun. After a few minutes one dropped down from the pole and spread its wings, gliding out and circling up with ease and calling as it got higher, as if urging the other to come along.

Two Golden-crowned Kinglets called ti-ti-ti from some pines, and one came down low enough to see for several minutes, showing a bright gold-orange crown. Some years there are more Golden-crowned Kinglets here than others, and this year there seem to be fewer, so it feels like a good day when I can catch a glimpse of one or hear their calls.

Brown Thrashers seemed to be more active than they have been for a while. Several in the old field were exchanging loud smack calls, and while I was walking past the field three came out into the tops of bushes to call and look around. I don’t know if I just happened to come by at a time when they were out, or if they, too, are beginning to feel like spring.

*Donald Kroodsma, Birdsong by the Seasons, A Year of Listening to Birds 2009, page 275.

Late this afternoon the weather was cool and sunny, with a clear blue sky and high wind-swept white cirrus clouds, with temperature in the 50s, much warmer than the past 10 days or so, almost balmy.

The most surprising sighting of the day was a Killdeer – the first time I’ve ever seen one in our neighborhood. It was foraging in short, dry grass near the driveway of a home and I watched it for several minutes, just walking around. But I wasn’t the first one to see it. A couple of days ago, a neighbor had stopped me to ask about a bird he had seen and could not identify – he described it well, as a good-size bird that flew and landed in a distinctive way, mostly brown, with a long dark bill and a white ring around its neck. I couldn’t figure it out at the time since I’d never seen one here, but after I got home, decided from his description that it must have been a Killdeer – and sure enough, today I saw it not far from his house.

The Killdeer is an upland plover that’s fairly common on farmland and open grassy fields. We often see them – and hear their loud, peeping calls – in parks and ball fields. I’ve even found their eggs, in a shallow gravel nest, laid right on the edge of a walking trail in one park. But to see one here in our neighborhood is new. It’s a handsome bird, with rather long legs, white markings on the face, brown back, white throat and belly, and what looks like a white ring around its neck is created by black bands around the upper breast.

Thanks to my neighbor for a very interesting sighting!

Today I began keeping a New Year’s Resolution to post at least one report a week this year to eBird.

eBird is an online checklist program maintained by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and the Audubon Society. Its purpose is to collect information on bird distribution and numbers. Currently observations are collected throughout North and South America, Antarctica and New Zealand, with plans eventually to expand data collection worldwide.

Participants also can use eBird to maintain personal birding records, and the website includes a number of internet tools – interactive maps, graphs, bar charts, summaries – that may be of interest.

For myself, the main reason I want to participate is to do what I can to help develop a better understanding of birds and their distribution and status, especially so that we might learn better how to help and protect them. I’ve submitted checklists sporadically over the past couple of years – but this year hope to contribute regularly. At the end of a year or two, I’ll be interested to look back and see what changes, if any, are reflected in the species and numbers of birds in my own neighborhood and other places where I bird regularly.

Birders of all levels are encouraged to participate, and it’s easy to do. You fill out a simple form on the eBird website with information on when, where and how you went birding on a particular day, and complete a checklist of all the birds seen and heard during the outing. You can also provide and track more detailed information – but the checklist is the basic tool.

The biggest drawback for me in using eBird has been that I don’t usually count birds – I like just to be out walking, watching and enjoying, and don’t want the pressure of counting to spoil that. But I’ve decided to give it a try, in the belief that the trouble it takes may be well worth the results. I should add that you don’t have to include the numbers of birds seen when you submit a checklist – but counts are definitely encouraged.

For more information, see eBird.org

Two highlights of a nice long walk through the neighborhood late yesterday morning – the source of my first 2010 eBird report – came in my own front yard just as I started out – a Hermit Thrush perched among the dense green leaves of a lauropetulum bush, and two Pine Warblers, one visiting a feeder and the other singing from nearby. The weather was clear and cold, but clouds were moving in as I walked, and by the time I got home again, quilted clouds covered almost all the sky. Snow and sleet were in the forecast for late in the day.

The Hermit Thrush appeared at first as a pale blob shining among the dark leaves, and when I lifted the binoculars I expected to see a Mockingbird. Instead, there was a cream-white, spotted breast (though the spots looked more like streaks than spots, maybe because of the way it was fluffed up in the cold), and the alert-looking brownish-gray head and face, thin white eye-ring, and slender bill of a Hermit Thrush. Its crown was more brown and its face more gray. Its back and tail were hidden in the shrub, and I watched it for several minutes, hoping it would emerge or fly down to the grass, but it just sat there for a long time, head raised high with the bill pointing slightly up, looking around, and then suddenly flew low across the ground and into some bushes on the edge of the woods, and that was the last I saw of it. I looked for it off and on all day but never saw it again – or heard its soft chup.

The Pine Warblers stayed around later in the day, and seem to have become regular visitors to the feeders.

Toward the end of my walk, around noon, a small hawk, either a Cooper’s Hawk or a Sharp-shinned, flew into a tree in a neighbor’s front yard. I could see its silhouette pretty clearly as it perched for several seconds – long tail, rather flat head, hooked bill – it was certainly an Accipiter, but I couldn’t see it well enough to be sure which it was, even when it flew, dropping down low, gliding swiftly over the ground and up into another stand of trees where it disappeared from view. Either way – Cooper’s Hawk or Sharp-shinned – it’s always special to see one. The Cooper’s Hawk seems to be more common here, but I have seen a Sharp-shinned at least once earlier this winter.

In all, I counted 30 species (reported to eBird with numbers for each): Turkey Vulture, Accipiter species, Mourning Dove, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, Downy Woodpecker, Hairy Woodpecker, Northern Flicker, Pileated Woodpecker, Eastern Phoebe, Blue Jay, American Crow, Carolina Chickadee, Tufted Titmouse, Brown-headed Nuthatch, Carolina Wren, Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Hermit Thrush, American Robin, Northern Mockingbird, Cedar Waxwing, Pine Warbler, Eastern Towhee, Chipping Sparrow, White-throated Sparrow, Dark-eyed Junco, Northern Cardinal, Common Grackle, House Finch, American Goldfinch.

Conspicuously missing: No Eastern Bluebird, Black Vulture, Golden-crowned Kinglet or Song Sparrow.

It’s also interesting that several birds were singing – including the Pine Warbler, Carolina Wren, Tufted Titmouse, Carolina Chickadee, White-throated Sparrow and Northern Cardinal.