Birding Notes

Today began very dark, gray and cold, but by nine o’clock, the sun was almost breaking through a pale sky covered with high, thin, rumpled clouds. I had planned to spend a full morning working inside, but on my way up the driveway to the mailbox with some bills, heard a loud wik-wik-wik-wik and when I looked toward the edge of the woods saw two Pileated Woodpeckers that had just arrived on the lowest part of the trunk of a large living pine.

They were both males, with full, bright red crests and thin red moustache stripes. They clung to opposite sides of the trunk – which was big enough around so that one could be out of sight behind it at times – and both hitched up a short way, then hitched back down, making their way around the trunk in a circular fashion, with one seeming to follow the other, sometimes getting pretty close, but usually keeping a fair distance between them.

Now and then they both stopped to peck at the bark in a desultory way, but they didn’t seem to be foraging seriously. They never went further up the tree than about six or seven feet from the ground. A couple of times, one hopped off the lowest part of the tree onto the ground and pecked at a branch for a moment, then it hopped back onto the trunk. A few minutes later, the other worked its way down and around, and did the same thing in the same area of the ground.

They continued this behavior for at least half an hour, and after watching for a while, it seemed to me that one looked slightly sturdier or heavier, and also a little less bright in coloring, and this one seemed to be the more aggressive of the two. For most of the time after the calls when they first arrived, they were silent – except for the scratching sounds of their claws on the bark and the occasional knocking of bill against bark – but now and then, one stretched out its neck and bill toward the other in an aggressive way, and called a loud wik-wik-wik. This usually was not answered by the second male.

Several times one spread its wings, exposing the big white patches, and sometimes the other one would respond to this by spreading its own wings and they both flapped a few times in a flurry of flashing white and black – then they settled back onto the trunk of the pine and continued hitching up, down and around. It seemed clear that they were having a territorial confrontation – but if so, it was conducted in an almost formalized way, almost a kind of dance, with aggressive moves and a lot of posturing, but no seriously threatening action of one toward the other.*

About 10 minutes after I started watching them, a third Pileated Woodpecker flew in, calling the same sort of wik-wik call. This one was a female. At first she flew directly toward the two males, and there was a brief flurry of wing flapping from all three, then the female settled low on the trunk of another tree a few feet away from the one the two males were in, and she began to knock at the bark and flick off large slabs. I’m not sure how long she stayed – maybe five or ten minutes. She disappeared quietly at some point, flying without giving a call, while I was watching the males.

Finally, when it seemed as if the encounter could go on like this indefinitely, all of a sudden one of the two males gave a sharp wik-wik-wik call that might have been an alarm – or not – and flew swiftly toward the woods that lead down to the creek. The second one stayed on the trunk for maybe 15 seconds, then flew off in the same direction, and I could hear their calls continuing. As the second one flew, I saw a Red-tailed Hawk glide low across the street, just over the treetops in a different part of the woods. It did not seem to be heading in this direction at all, and I’m not sure it was the reason for their abrupt departure, but it may have been.

*The species account of Pileated Woodpeckers in The Birds of North America Online notes that a territory is defended by a Pileated Woodpecker pair all year. “Both members of a pair may chase off an intruder; more commonly, intruder and pair member of same sex as intruder will interact while the other member watches.”

The acccount also says that “Wing Spreading display is frequent in conflict between birds of same sex or members of pair; wings are raised and spread showing white patch . . . Birds may interact by posturing at one another on trunk; this typically involves posturing while circling trunk and periodically alternating direction.”

Bull, Evelyn L. and Jerome A. Jackson. 1995. Pileated Woodpecker (Dryocopus pileatus), The Birds of North America Online (A. Poole, Ed.). Ithaca: Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

At this time of year I often try to convince myself that there’s really no need to get up so early. It’s cold out there, and so warm under the blankets and comforter, especially on a weekend morning with the sky growing light and slowly, lazily turning orange. Surely there’ll be birds enough a little later, too.

But this morning was a reminder that only the earliest hour of the day condenses so much bird activity into one brief, lively period. Missing that first light of day is like missing the first crucial part of a novel or a movie – the key action or event upon which the rest of the whole story depends.

This morning’s special highlights were the songs of two Pine Warblers, the truculent behavior of Brown-headed Nuthatches, and an unusually colorful call from a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker.

When I stepped out the door at 7:30 (already a little late), I heard the song of a Pine Warbler, the squeaking of Brown-headed Nuthatches, the tseet calls of White-throated Sparrows, the stutter of a Ruby-crowned Kinglet, and the warble of a Bluebird – much more activity than there would be at any other hour of the day. It was cold, but not freezing, and the air was calm. The sky was loosely covered in gray clouds that turned pink as the sun rose higher.

A female House Finch sat alone on one of the feeders, until a Brown-headed Nuthatch came along and chased her away. The same Nuthatch also chased away a female Cardinal and even a Downy Woodpecker, and briefly seemed determined to claim the feeders for its own private use – but none of the other birds stayed away long and it soon gave up the effort.

Three Tufted Titmice searched through the peeling bark of our river birches. Chickadees chattered and one or two sang FEE-bee, FEE-bay. Two female Bluebirds perched in the bare limbs of a pecan, and after a few minutes one chased the other away. A Brown Thrasher foraged under wax myrtles, and a Ruby-crowned Kinglet searched the branches of the same bushes.

The mew of a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker nearby sounded so different from its usual rather thin, whining mee-ah that I wasn’t sure what it was until I saw it. This was a mew, but more musical and mellow, with a sweet, clear, liquid quality that seemed more open and echoing than the Sapsucker’s common cry. It was a male, with red crown, red throat, white stripes on the face and wing, and dirty yellow breast, working low on the trunk of a pecan tree already riddled with sapsucker holes. The black, white, gray and buff patterns of its plumage blended in with the rough bark of the tree. It gradually moved down the trunk, pecking and stopping to probe into the holes with its bill; then made its way back up in a different section of the trunk, still in view.

Two Pine Warblers sang, one from trees in the front yard, and the other from the edge of the woods. They sang over and over, back and forth, their trills making background music for all the other sounds. Two Phoebes, a Carolina Wren, a Red-bellied Woodpecker, Hairy Woodpecker, Goldfinches, House Finches, Blue Jays and a Mockingbird also called, and a small flock of Red-winged Blackbirds flew over, making soft churk calls. A single Dark-eyed Junco and two Mourning Doves searched for seeds among the leaves under the feeders. A White-throated Sparrow made furtive scratching sounds in the dry leaves under some bushes and then – startled by something – suddenly flew out and away in a thudding of wings, straight into a bank of bushes on the other side of the yard.

Several Crows cawed a short way down the street for several minutes, and finally a Red-tailed Hawk glided on outstretched wings out of some tree-tops with Crows in pursuit.

A Pine Warbler has been singing all around the house, on the edge of the woods, all day today. Its rich, loose, musical trill is a welcome contrast to the stark gray quiet of the bare-limbed trees, like a winter-blooming flower drifting from shadow to shadow.

And Goldfinches, finally! Our two finch feeders have been hanging off the back deck for almost a month now, full of finch-food but empty of birds. Until today, we had only seen two Goldfinches – and that may have been the same one visiting twice. This morning, I looked out the kitchen window into bright sunlight, and saw one Goldfinch clinging to the sock feeder and three perched on the tube feeder, all in grayish winter plumage with black wings, white wing bars, and a pale wash of lemon-yellow around the face and neck. All four stayed for a long time, just sitting and eating.

We’ve never had great numbers of Goldfinches, but last year at least a dozen or two visited the feeders regularly for several weeks. So I’m hoping this is the beginning of a little more activity there – maybe including some other species like Pine Siskins, which seem to be everywhere this year – except here. I haven’t seen a single one so far, though I keep watching.

This morning – cold, clear and sunny – two American Crows came to one of our birdbaths as they often do around mid morning, and found the water frozen into a solid sheet. At first, they perched on the side of the birdbath and pecked at the hard surface, then drank by turning their heads to the side to sip water from the surface where it may have begun to melt, or maybe seeped up from the cracks they made. They both picked up small twigs and leaves that had fallen onto the ice and tossed them away.

Then one of them hopped onto the ice and took a couple of slippery steps, but kept its balance on big scaly dark feet and claws, and pecked harder at the surface until it seemed to break through a small spot and took another sip. When it flew to the ground, the second Crow stepped onto the ice and also slipped and slid for a moment, just walking around a bit, in one direction, then in the other, as if to see what it was like, then it pecked at a spot on the ice, and drank.

Even though I see dozens of Crows around here every day, I don’t stop often enough to watch them. The sunlight was shining directly on them, making their black plumage gleam, and at close range, their size, powerful build, and large, heavy bills were impressive. Their backs looked stippled with patterns of charcoal. Even in just the few minutes I watched them, each showed an individual and interesting personality, though they flew away too soon for me to learn more – leaving behind the broken surface of the ice where water was probably more easily available for smaller birds.

The first few days of 2009 have been mostly gray, gloomy days, sometimes cool, mostly unseasonably warm. The most notable thing about bird activity around our house and yard has been how little activity there is, and how few birds. There seem to be few in number, and fewer different species than in years past.

Late this afternoon, in an interval between periods of rain, the clouds broke and let the sun shine through for an hour or more, creating a glorious end of day. About five o’clock a strong wind was blowing away a dark bank of gray clouds to the east, and blowing in more clouds from the southwest, and between them lay a stretch of open, silver-blue sky scattered with hundreds of small smoky-gray and salmon-colored clouds. High in the east hung a blurry white gibbous moon. On the western horizon, thin, flowing layers of red-gold surrounded the setting sun.

I saw few birds along the way, maybe because I was lost in thought and not paying much attention. A flock of Cedar Waxwings flew by, flashing in a burst of light and diving into some trees, almost like fireworks falling out in streamers. I passed the check calls of Yellow-rumped Warblers, the rattle of a Red-bellied Woodpecker, the kleer! of a Northern Flicker, the chatter of a Ruby-crowned Kinglet, and in one spot, the high ti-ti-ti calls of Golden-crowned Kinglets – which I stopped and tried to spot, but could not. A Pileated Woodpecker bugled its traveling call and flew just over the tops of the trees toward the area around a small pond.

In one big, picturesque grassy yard with pecan trees spread all over it, dozens of little birds were feeding – mostly House Finches. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so many House Finches together at once, several males as well as females, and along with them a few Bluebirds, Chipping Sparrows and Juncos. From a distance, it looked as if the grass itself was alive and erupting here and there in the shape of little birds. I walked as close as possible – thinking I saw what might have been a Purple Finch among them, a taller finch of a deeper, more purplish-red, it seemed, but probably not. And when I got too close, they all flew up and scattered into the trees and shrubs.

On the way back home, after the sun had gone down, a Cooper’s Hawk flew across the road in front of me and perched, with its back toward me, among a tangle of bare branches in a stand of oaks and pecans. It was almost silhouetted against a milky-gray part of the sky with no clouds and no color, but I could see it fairly well, its head turning from side to side, the long tail, the gray back, and the tufts of white showing from underneath, on either side of the gray rump. It was a beautiful image of how much there is to see that we – especially I – so often miss. I would never have seen it there if I hadn’t seen it fly.

The Cooper’s Hawk stayed in this perch for several minutes, then flew back toward me and to my right, across the street low, and up and into the big dense magnolia tree where I’ve seen it take refuge before at this time of day.

Back at home, I stayed outside walking around for several minutes, watching as the clouds lost their colors and turned into tufts of ash-gray all over the sky, and the first pinprick of a sparkling star appeared. A bat made a big sweeping circuit over our grass and up and down the street. Crickets sang, some big moth-like insects fluttered in a small swarm, and I think there were spring peepers singing down near the creek.

This morning the new year dawned cold and clear, with a quiet orange sky in the east – and the song of a Carolina Wren. Bright, energetic and musical, the song sounded an optimistic note that might be taken as a good omen for the year ahead, despite the grim news all around, or at least as a good example of persistence and tenacity. It was answered by the song of a second Carolina Wren, and followed by a series of pugnacious trills and fussing.

I was too lazy to get up and look out the window, but could imagine them hopping from place to place around the deck or in the nearby branches and stopping to look around aggressively – little brown birds with upturned tails, slim curved bills, a white stripe over the eye, and warm cinnamon-buff breasts, their cheerful songs and wide variety of calls, trills and burbling have been among the most colorful and animated parts of the winter landscape lately. Their songs are not the only music in the trees and shrubs at this time of year, but sometimes it seems that way. It’s not unusual to hear five or six Carolina Wrens singing or calling from different places around the yard, often when everything else around seems quiet and almost empty.

Today was another gray, cloudy, drizzly day, and I didn’t have much time to be outside, but just by chance saw four hawks in the neighborhood – two Red-tailed Hawks, one Red-shouldered, and one Cooper’s Hawk.

The Red-tailed Hawks were in the woods behind our house, which seems a little unusual, but I’ve seen them like this several times in the past few weeks, low among the trees, rather than perched in the open or soaring. This morning, I first saw one when I stepped out onto the back deck around nine o’clock. It came flying through the trees not far away and settled on the branch of an oak about midway up, a big, hulking, shadowy shape that was impossible to miss when moving, but blended into the misty gray and white background as soon as it was still. In only a minute or two a second Red-tailed Hawk flew across the edge of the woods in the open, showing its dull red tail. The first one took flight, too, and both of them flew around the side of the house and out of sight, with a couple of Crows in pursuit.

A little later in the morning, as we were in the car on our way out, we passed a slim gray Cooper’s Hawk perched in the big red oak at the corner of our cul de sac, in the same vicinity where we’ve often seen it recently.

And then as we drove on, in a stretch of road lined with pecan and cedar trees, a Red-shouldered Hawk suddenly flew low across the road in front of the car, flashing its rufous breast, banded tail and the black and white patterns on its wings – so much more vividly colored than the rather pale and dull-colored Red-tails, though they’re equally handsome and impressive in different ways.

On a gray, foggy, damp, dreary morning, a flock of Cedar Waxwings filled the branches of an old persimmon tree near the road. There were at least two or three dozen Waxwings, coming and going from other trees nearby and perched in the branches eating the fruit. Along with their high, thin calls, there was the sound of soft thuds as persimmon fruits fell from the tree onto the grass. The Waxwings ate by tearing bites from the fruit, and many of the fruits fell as they did, but I didn’t see any birds eating on the ground. There seemed to be plenty of other fruits still clinging to the tree. The Cedar Waxwings were so absorbed in eating, I stood almost right under them for several minutes, watching, and admiring the satin-brown breasts, crested heads, black masks outlined in white, wax-yellow tip of their gray tails, and the white markings on their folded wings in back.

The bleak weather made the day and the surroundings feel muted or muffled, and not even the bright, cheery song of a Carolina Wren was enough to dispel the mood. When I first stepped outside, the world seemed quiet and almost empty of life, with the bare limbs of hardwoods and the skeletons of dead pines forming the background all around, drenched brown leaves thick on the ground, broken branches fallen here and there, and the shrubs a drooping, drab gray-green.

Gradually, sounds and movement emerged here and there. Several Chickadees and Titmice arrived to chatter around the feeders in the front yard, and I heard the calls of White-throated Sparrow, Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Eastern Phoebe, and Red-bellied Woodpecker, and the repeated, sharp calls and tapping of a Hairy Woodpecker working in the dead pines on the edge of the woods out back.

In the thickets at the corner of two streets in our neighborhood, a Downy Woodpecker and a few Chipping Sparrows and Juncos foraged, and Yellow-rumped Warblers flitted in and out of the two tall Leyland Cypress trees there. A Northern Flicker called a loud Kleer! Crows passed over in groups of four or five or six. A Yellow-breasted Sapsucker mewed somewhere way in the distance.

The best surprise of the day was a Pine Warbler singing in the bleak gray woods across the street from our house.

Today was another cloudy, gray day – damp, barely cool, and generally gloomy. Around mid-morning, several small birds foraged in the front yard around the feeders and bushes, the usual suspects – White-throated Sparrows, Brown-headed Nuthatches, Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Titmice, Chickadees, and four Carolina Wrens singing nearby in the woods. One Eastern Towhee foraged in the mulch under the wax myrtles, and I was unreasonably happy to see it – bright black, white and rust-red in the shadow of the shrubs – because, as common as they used to be, we haven’t had Towhees around much at all recently, and I’ve missed them.

Much later this afternoon – still gray and cloudy, not long before sundown – few birds were active when I went out for a short walk, except for small flocks of Cedar Waxwings perched in bare branches, or calling as they flew over. A Yellow-bellied Sapsucker mewed from somewhere in the woods, and a lone Yellow-rumped Warbler called chek! as it flew from tree to tree.

But not far down the street, a Cooper’s Hawk perched silently in the bare limbs of a pecan tree, facing directly toward me in perfect view, showing its soft, red-barred breast and the gray of its dark head, which turned from side to side, and the long, rounded tail with rather wide bands of dark and light gray. From the front view, its shoulders formed smooth gray rounds against the reddish-orange breast.

After four or five minutes, it spread its wings and flew downward, gliding with wings outspread very low over the pale brown grass of two yards, its smoke-gray back and wings like the shadow of a bird – then it swooped up and into the dark-green depths of a tall, dense magnolia tree. This is the same tree where I’ve seen a Cooper’s Hawk disappear about this time of day and this time of year in

Late yesterday afternoon, under gray skies layered with rumpled clouds, I saw a large, indistinct shape near the top of a bare-limbed pecan tree several yards away from where I was walking. Through binoculars, a vividly colored Red-shouldered Hawk came into view, its breast a blur of sunset-red, its wings ink-black and patterned with white, looking especially bright against the murky background of milky-gray sky and tangled limbs. It sat still, not moving much, just turning its head now and then, but sort of hunched down or its shoulders drawn up, so that it looked more round in shape than usual.

In the same bare tree, apparently no more than a couple of feet away from the hawk – though the distance was hard to judge – was one small Downy Woodpecker that called pink! repeatedly, and hopped up and down and from place to place in the limbs and branches around the hawk in a somewhat aimless fashion. It pecked at a branch now and then, but not with any real focus, not as if it were foraging seriously, and mostly just kept moving around, often pausing and standing with its head held sharply up – and all the time staying very close to the hawk, which seemed to ignore it.

The little woodpecker – looking insect-like beside the big sturdy hawk – did not dive at the hawk or harass it, though sometimes it came closer to it, and sometimes further away, turning its back. It continued to call constantly and sharply, in what seemed to be an agitated way – but it did not fly away or try to hide.

A small flock of Cedar Waxwings flew over, making high, thin, sharp calls. A Ruby-crowned Kinglet stuttered somewhere in a row of cedars. A White-throated Sparrow sang. Several loose-knit groups of blackbirds streamed across the sky behind the hawk, heading southeast, as they always do at this time of day.

After ten minutes or more of watching, I had taken my binoculars down for a moment to rest, when I saw the hawk lean over and stretch out, and I put them back up just as it spread its wings and flew. It came toward me and over, with its legs hanging down, and something held in its talons. It flew through the cedars beyond me and into the low, bare limbs of another tree where it perched again, but where I could no longer see it well.

I don’t know if it’s likely, but I wondered if maybe the Red-shouldered Hawk had caught another Downy Woodpecker and been holding it all this time. Could the one that stayed beside it in the tree have been a mate, distressed? This is purely speculation on my part. There may have been another, entirely different explanation for the scene. Red-shouldered Hawks are known to take some small birds, but small mammals like chipmunks are more commonly their prey, while Sharp-shinned and Cooper’s Hawks are known to be predators of Downies. But Red-shouldered Hawks are woodland raptors, known for their ability to maneuver with amazing skill through the trees, and we have lots of Downy Woodpeckers in this wooded neighborhood, so it doesn’t seem too farfetched. I’ll never know for sure. But it was interesting.