Birding Notes

“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.

Like much of the rest of the country, we are in the middle of a stretch of very cold winter weather, with lows in the mid teens and highs only in the 30s. Today was clear and windy, with a pale blue sky and bright but colorless sunlight.

Maybe because of the wind, there seemed little activity even around the feeders in our front yard. Both bird baths remained frozen in solid blocks all day. I poured pitchers of warmer water over them to make a little water available at least for a while, but all day never saw much bird activity – though I admit I didn’t spend much time outside.

Late in the afternoon, the day still clear and blustery, getting even colder, the most noticeable thing when I stepped out the front door was the quiet – no insect sounds, no birds. Only the sound of the wind in the trees, though that was quite a bit of sound in itself. I walked for several minutes along the road before hearing or seeing even the first bird – not even the call of a Blue Jay or Crow, not even a Vulture or a Red-tailed Hawk in the big empty sky.

In one spot, along a stretch of road lined with cedars and lots of shrubs along the edges of grassy yards, however, dozens of little birds were active – Eastern Bluebirds, White-throated Sparrows, Yellow-rumped Warblers, Chipping Sparrows, Dark-eyed Juncos, an Eastern Phoebe and a pair of Cardinals all flitted from tree to shrub to grass, and feeding among them on the ground was one warm, deep-yellow Pine Warbler, the first I’ve seen in several weeks. A nice surprise.

In the same area were Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Downy Woodpecker and a Northern Flicker that flew out across several open yards, flashing the broad “yellow-shafted” undersides of its wings in the sunlight, then perching in a treetop where the black bib on its breast and red crescent on its nape glowed.

A little further up the road, a flock of at least 60 Common Grackles perched noisily in the treetops. I stopped to watch them for a while, but could find no other Blackbird species among them, even when they flew, streaming low over me. They all seemed to be Grackles. This is the largest flock of Blackbirds I’ve seen so far this winter and is still considerably smaller than the numbers we usually have seen.

Dark-eyed Juncos today seemed to be almost everywhere – maybe the bird of the day. They’re often called “snowbirds,” and snow is in our forecast for later this week – a rare occurrence for us, if it comes. Juncos are common winter residents here but I haven’t seen too many this year until now. Small, familiar soot-gray birds with round heads, pink bills, white belly and white outer edges on the tail. I think they are making calls I would describe as high “little-bell-ringing” trills, but so far I haven’t found this call described clearly, so I’m not completely sure, but am trying to listen for them more closely and try to learn them. In our yard early in the afternoon, I watched for a few minutes as four emerged cautiously from the bushes and made their way across some open space to the area under the feeders – darting back to a shrub now and then, nervous in the wind.

The first day of 2010 began with a cloudy sky gradually breaking up to allow a bright sun to shine through, a strong wind that shook the branches and few dry brown leaves of the white oaks outside our bedroom windows, and the song of a Carolina Wren from somewhere along the edge of the woods in our back yard. Half a dozen Black Vultures blew by, soaring, circling against the clouds, flying high and fast.

As the day went on, the cold, blustery wind swept away all trace of clouds, leaving a clear, pale blue sky. A few birds were active around the feeders and bird baths in the front yard – the usual suspects – Titmice, Chickadees, Mourning Doves, Cardinals, and a pair of Downy Woodpeckers – but it was the musical, defiantly colorful songs and trills of Carolina Wrens, strong even against the wind, that captured the spirit of the day.

On a late afternoon walk through the neighborhood, I saw and heard amazingly few birds, maybe because of the wind, and only counted a total of 12 species, with many of our most common birds not seen or heard. The most interesting sightings were several Cedar Waxwings, whose high thin calls sparkled in the air as they flew over, and about four or five Common Grackles also calling as they flew over.

The last day of 2009 was dark and cloudy, cold, damp and drizzly, with off and on rain. Late in the afternoon a dense fog had gathered as I went out for a walk in the last light (such as it was) of the year. Sunset was supposed to be around 5:40, I think, but there was no hint of color to be seen, in the sky or all around – all was gray, cold, murky fog, with the black shapes of bare trees, evergreens and shrubs.

Earlier in the day birds had been fairly active in the yard, but by this late, there were few to be seen or heard – not even a single Red-bellied Woodpecker or Tufted Titmouse or Crow. Mourning Doves perched silently in bare-limbed trees. A Chickadee chattered here and there, a Carolina Wren fussed, a Downy Woodpecker called pink! One quiet Eastern Bluebird sat in the top of a bare pecan. The tseet calls of White-throated Sparrows and chatter of Ruby-crowned Kinglets came from beneath a few bushes. Yellow-rumped Warblers called sharp cheks as they flew from tree to tree. A good many Robins were scattered here and there, mostly in the trees, calling and even one or two singing pieces of songs. Eastern Towhees called from the thickets of the old field.

But mostly as I walked I noticed the tsup calls of several Eastern Phoebes coming through the fog from different spots along the way. I only saw one, as it flew into a small tree and sat on a bare branch pumping its tail up and down, but the short tsup call has become very familiar. It’s a quick, quiet call, but more complex, with more character and shading than a chip or a peep or a chek or a tseep. It’s been a good year for Phoebes here, and the past several weeks they have been among the most active and vocal of birds around the neighborhood, maybe because our resident birds have been joined by migrants from further north coming in for the winter.

A small gray flycatcher with a dark, soot-gray head, no facial markings, a faint yellow or gray-white breast, and a consistent habit of wagging its tail up and down quickly as it perches, an Eastern Phoebe is a year-round resident here, apparently finding enough insects even through the winter to live on, supplemented with spiders, other invertebrates and fruits, especially in very cold weather. Phoebes always have been among my favorite birds to have around – last spring a pair built a nest in the curve of a gutter high over our garage and successfully raised three big, strong-looking young.

So as the year comes to an end, it seems fitting enough that a Phoebe, calling somewhere out of sight in the fog, marks its last fading light.

Birds have seemed rather quiet in the neighborhood, with not as many different species and fewer numbers this December than in recent years. As always, I’m not sure this is an accurate observation because it could be that I’ve just been too busy or preoccupied – but even though other obligations have kept me from posting blogs through most of the month, I have been outside at some point for an hour or more most days, and keeping a journal.

On a good walk through the neighborhood in late December, most days I could count on finding around 20-25 species, and the total number of species for the month – not all seen on one day – has been 36. Highlights have included a Sharp-shinned Hawk that flew low overhead one cold cloudy day, its neat, compact shape perfectly held right above me; a Cooper’s Hawk seen two or three times in a certain stretch along Summit Drive, perched in low branches and sailing low over the grass; the mews of Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers, and their visits to the pecan trees in our front yard; the little-bell-like calls of Dark-eyed Juncos foraging below shrubs and below the feeders; the quick scattering of Chipping Sparrows flying up from brown grass along the roadsides; the chatter of Ruby-crowned Kinglets in bushes and low branches; the occasional high ti-ti-ti of Golden-crowned Kinglets in the higher branches of pines and hardwoods; the cuck-cuck-cuck calls of a Pileated Woodpecker in a particular section of woods; one sighting of a quiet Hermit Thrush in early December; many Black Vultures soaring, usually three or four together; a pair of Red-tailed Hawks soaring together and calling on a blue-sky, sunny cold day; the squeaking calls and bold behavior of Brown-headed Nuthatches that visit the feeders daily; the high, thin calls of small flocks of Cedar Waxwings; and the to-WHEE calls and activity of Eastern Towhees, bright splotches of black, red, brown and white scratching in dry brown leaves below bushes.

Conspicuously missing from my list are Red-shouldered Hawk and Pine Warbler – both of which I’m sure are around, but I have not seen or heard them since late fall – and Barred Owl, heard seldom lately. I’ve not yet seen a Pine Siskin, Red-breasted Nuthatch or White-breasted Nuthatch this winter, and no Brown Creeper or Winter Wren in several years now – but keep watching.

Maybe the most significant missing birds are the fairly good-size flocks of Blackbirds we usually see here in winter. So far this season I’ve only seen one lone Red-winged Blackbird, a very few Common Grackles and no certain Rusty Blackbirds, though there have been a few flying over that I wasn’t sure about. I’m still watching and hoping for the flocks to come along.

*Complete list of species seen or heard in Summit Grove, December 2009: Black Vulture, Turkey Vulture, Sharp-shinned Hawk, Cooper’s Hawk, Red-tailed Hawk, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, Downy Woodpecker, Hairy Woodpecker, Pileated Woodpecker, Eastern Phoebe, Blue Jay, American Crow, Carolina Chickadee, Tufted Titmouse, Brown-headed Nuthatch, Carolina Wren, Golden-crowned Kinglet, Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Eastern Bluebird, Hermit Thrush, American Robin, Northern Mockingbird, Brown Thrasher, Cedar Waxwing, Eastern Towhee, Chipping Sparrow, Song Sparrow, White-throated Sparrow, Northern Cardinal, Red-winged Blackbird, Common Grackle, House Finch, American Goldfinch.

Near noon on a cold, damp, cloudy day, a Hermit Thrush perched high among the bare top branches of a pecan tree. A small, dark, quiet shape against a dismal gray sky, it flicked its wings, flipped up its tail and lowered it slowly, over and over, each time calling a soft, soft chup.

I didn’t expect to see a Hermit Thrush so high and almost walked by without taking a second look at the bird on the branch. More often they’re under the bushes and shrubs or along the edges of the woods. In the blurry gray light, its coloring and markings were barely visible – darkly spotted upper breast, brownish back and wings and faded cinnamon tail, and I could only imagine the white eye-ring that gives it a wide-eyed and trusting look. But the shape, with head held high, and the tail and the call were distinct, and it stayed on the branch long enough for me to get a closer and closer look.

Its presence there – a little anonymous spot in a muffled expanse of grayness was a reminder – again – of how much I often miss. What I see and hear depends so much on how open my own mind is to the world around me, not locked inside myself. On this day, though persistent thoughts kept drawing me back in, I cleared them away now and then – and was lucky enough to see the Hermit Thrush and hear its gentle call.

While here in the South for the winter months, Hermit Thrushes are not as shy as their name implies, and it’s usually not hard to find one, taking no more than the trouble to stop and listen for the chup or watch in likely places. They’re fun to watch and seem to have regular habits, each day following a similar pattern of foraging around an area. Usually we have one in the bushes around our house, though I haven’t heard or seen one here so far this season, maybe discouraged by the neighborhood cats that too often hang around. A little bit like a Robin, a Hermit Thrush hops or scurries from favorite spot to spot, making its rounds – from shrub to stepping stone to potted plant to deck rail to the branch of a bush – stopping and looking around, and scurrying again, searching for insects and fruit.

A female and a male Red-bellied Woodpecker are continuing to excavate what I assume is a roost hole in a tall dead pine. Both yesterday and today, one of the two were at work in the same spot each time I went outside to look for them. They work so quietly that if I didn’t know where to look I wouldn’t know they were there – unusual for a bird I usually think of as very vocal and certainly not shy or secretive. Yesterday I again saw the female leave when the male arrived, giving a low, brief rattle in flight as he approached, and he immediately began to work just as she had.

Though I can’t see it, the hole must be getting larger and deeper. When the woodpeckers lean over to work on it now, they almost disappear from my view, leaving only the end of a bobbing tail visible on the pine trunk from my location on our back deck. But they still come back repeatedly to a vertical position on the trunk in full profile, and I’ve watched through the scope again as they lean in, come up with a big bill-full of wood fiber and toss it away, doing this several times in a row, then pausing, and leaning over several times just to dig or peck.