Birding Notes

Early this morning as I walked up the driveway to get the paper, I heard a Scarlet Tanager singing in the big Red Oak tree just up the street at the corner. The sun was already up and shining on the tree. I searched for the singer, without much hope, because Scarlet Tanagers are well known for singing from perches hidden deep in the leaves. But there it was – a tiny sunlit flame of fierce red against a cloud of new-green leaves. It was too far away to see the contrasting jet-black wings.

I heard the first song of a Scarlet Tanager about a week ago, April 19, down in our woods near the confluence of the two creeks, so I think that’s about when they returned. A couple of days later, Monday, April 21, around 7:30 in the evening, I heard its familiar chick-brrrr calls in the woods around the back yard. Since then, at least one or two have been singing and calling every day.

Around 11:30 this morning, I walked along the road by the Old Field just outside our neighborhood. I stopped to listen for a few minutes to a White-eyed Vireo singing from the tangled undergrowth around the trees, chik! a-peri-oo chik!

The sun was warm, and my thoughts sort of drifted off, absent-mindedly noticing that the coral-colored wild sorrel is just beginning to come out along the edges of the field, and watching a small dusty-orange butterfly skimming the grass and weeds. So as I walked past a small overgrown patch of land on the other side of the road from the field – with a prominent For Sale sign on the edge of it – at first I didn’t pay any attention to some funny hoarse and rolling calls coming from low in the bushes – a kind of cronk – chet-chet-chet-chet-chet – creeek – chet-chet-chet-chet-chet – churr – interspersed with other sounds. I was just listening to it, kind of amused, when I suddenly stopped and realized what it was – a Yellow-breasted Chat.

It wasn’t hard to find, singing from the dense branches on the lowest part of a large bush, almost on the ground. The ripe, golden-yellow throat and breast blazed through the tangle of limbs like a small sun, and the white spectacles around its eyes looked bright. His throat swelled like a balloon when he sang cronk! and his long tail quivered as he sang chet-chet-chet-chet-chet.

I don’t know why the song of a Yellow-breasted Chat is so easy to overlook. It’s not musical, but it’s quite unusual. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t sound like one bird singing, but more as if there were four or five different birds making odd calls in the shrubs. The species account in Birds of North America* suggests that its “skulking, secretive nature” is the main reason it’s seldom seen, together with the fact that its habitat is brushy, dense, and often “impenetrable and unattractive.”

The kind of habitat a Yellow-breasted Chat prefers is overgrown, shrubby places like this, where a tree canopy has not yet developed. This kind of habitat naturally doesn’t last for many years, so in the best of times Yellow-breasted Chats must be adapted to finding new homes as their old areas grow into woodlands. Today, as more and more vacant land gets developed, they might have an increasingly difficult time finding the habitat they need – though at this point they’re not considered endangered or threatened in most of their range in North America.

I think the pleasure of seeing and hearing a Yellow-breasted Chat is another good reason to appreciate weedy “old fields” and vacant patches of land, and a reminder that even the most abused piece of land is alive, and may provide a haven for interesting and even beautiful wildlife species.

*Eckerle, Kevin P. and Charles F. Thompson. 2001. Yellow-breasted Chat (Icteria virens), The Birds of North America Online (A. Poole, Ed.). Ithaca: Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

It was a picture-perfect Spring morning. Cool, sunny and bright, with intensely green leaves and intensely blue sky. The leaves on our tall White Oaks are still very small and pale green tinged with salmon, not fully open, and the Red Maples also seem slow to leaf out, even though they started early. But almost all the other trees are green and full, and the woods look greener every day, dusted with the lingering white spray of dogwoods here and there. Tulip Poplars are in bloom with big orange and cream blossoms.

Lots of Yellow-rumped Warblers, a White-throated Sparrow, and a Black and White Warbler, Summer Tanager, Scarlet Tanager, Red-eyed Vireo and Louisiana Waterthrush all were singing, along with the spee! of a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, the mew of Goldfinches, the chatter of a Ruby-crowned Kinglet, and the spring-time churrr of a Red-bellied Woodpecker – the most musical sound a woodpecker makes, I think. One female Ruby-throated Hummingbird made regular visits to the feeder.

Two Red-shouldered Hawks soared in the clear, cloudless sky, and called kee-yer! back and forth. I watched them for a while – just watching them and listening to their cries was enough to lift the spirit – and heard them calling off and on all morning.

A fairly good-sized bird flew into the branches of a pine tree and perched there – and when I looked through binoculars, I saw sunlight glowing on the sleek, lemon-yellow belly of a Great Crested Flycatcher. It sat, tall and handsome, partially screened in green needles, flying off several times to catch an insect, and returning to the same perch. Although it’s fairly common in the woods here in the summer, there’s nothing ordinary-looking about a Great Crested Flycatcher. With its ash-gray throat and darker gray head rising into a crest, the long, heavy bill and long cinnamon-colored tail, it looks regal and moves with a flashy, dramatic flair. Although it’s often overlooked, maybe because it hunts from leafy perches, a Great Crested Flycatcher is very vocal, and its calls are showy – though rather hoarse and deep. I’ve been hearing its rolling whreep and burrrrt-burrrrt-burrrrt for several days now, but this was the first time I’d seen one this season.

Yesterday I took down our finch feeder on the back deck and replaced it with a hummingbird feeder. There are many Goldfinches still around, and a few of them seemed puzzled when they came to the spot where their feeder had been. One of them decided that at least the moat in the middle was a good place to find a drink.

The finch feeder on our back deck has stayed busy lately. Last Monday, Clate got a brief video of Goldfinches with a small FLIP video camera.

Finch Video

In another video clip not included here – because the feeder was just swinging empty for several minutes – there’s a Hooded Warbler clearly singing in the background. I was out of town that day, so wouldn’t even have known it had been here.

Late yesterday morning, I heard the song of a Prairie Warbler from a shrubby, weedy patch of small pines and tall grass on a corner in our neighborhood. It was the first time I’ve heard one this season. Then today, another Prairie Warbler sang just across the street from our house, in the grass, shrubs and small pines that cover the one remaining vacant lot in our cul de sac. I could hear it whenever I stepped outside, all day long – a thin, buzzy zee-zee-zee-zee-zee-zee, with notes going up the scale.

I didn’t see either one, but was happy to hear them and to know they’re around – small yellow birds with olive-yellow heads, bright yellow breasts and faces, dark streaks along the sides, and dark streaks through and under their eyes. Their backs are subtly touched with reddish-orange streaks. They’re fun to watch, and are known for often bobbing their tails.

It’s impossible to capture in words the delicate, nuanced quality of a Prairie Warbler’s song. The first time I heard it, I thought it sounded like a buzzy, miniature pipe going up a scale. It has a light, airy, but elusive quality that – like so many birdsongs – perfectly reflects the habitat it prefers, which isn’t exactly prairies at all, but “early successional” habitat – the weeds, shrubs, and small trees that grow up in an old field or cleared area. Once the trees have grown large enough to create woods – or when the land is developed – the prairie warblers no longer nest there.

We have a lot of areas like that here in the South, where so much of our land has been abused, though many these old fields are being developed now, and there are fewer and fewer of them. For the first few years when we lived in this neighborhood, I used to see Prairie Warblers regularly, especially in an undeveloped area just outside our subdivision. Unfortunately, the ones I’m hearing now are probably just passing through, because most of the areas where they used to nest have been developed or cleared out during the past few years, leaving only small patches here and there of the weedy, shrubby habitat they need.

Prairie Warblers are listed on the National Audubon Society’s WatchList as a species of concern because their populations are declining throughout most of their range in North America, probably because of habitat loss due to development, and to the natural succession of shrubby habitat to forest.

This morning the song of a Black and White Warbler began the day, a crisp, clean weesa-weesa-weesa-weesa from a treetop. Around ten in the morning, when I went outside for a few minutes, the weather was cloudy, cool and drizzly, but many birds were active, including a Brown Thrasher loudly belting out its song from the tops of trees around the front yard, Blue-gray Gnatcatchers calling speee-speee, and Chipping Sparrows singing, and feeding in the grass, trees, and shrubs, while at the same time a Pine Warbler sang from just inside the woods. The sweet, plaintive songs of White-throated Sparrows echoed through the damp gray air. A bright male Bluebird perched on a low branch near the bluebird house.

A female Yellow-bellied Sapsucker flew into one of our pecan trees and sat quietly for a few minutes on one of the larger branches, just looking around. She was so well camouflaged with her black, gray-brown, and white barring on the back that I might not have noticed her, especially in the gray light, but she also wore a vivid red crown, pure white throat, thick white bar on the wing, and elegant white and black stripes that framed her face. Her breast barely showed a dull, pale gold.

When she began to move, she backed quickly down the trunk, then made her way up it, going around and around, poking into sap holes, one after another. A juvenile Sapsucker flew into the tree, and she immediately chased it away and returned to her work.

This same kind of interaction occurred between two Sapsuckers yesterday afternoon – probably the same two. I had been happy to see them, because I’d just been wondering if any were still around, or if they’d all left us for the season. The female Sapsucker was in the tree first, and when the juvenile flew in, it hopped up the trunk and approached the female. At first she fussed at it stridently, and lunged at it with her wings partially spread. The juvenile backed off, and retreated to a lower branch on the same tree, where it sat still for a few minutes, sort of hunched and looking around. Then it tried approaching the female again. She lunged at it again, and the juvenile flew to another tree.

In only a few minutes, the young Sapsucker came back again to nearly the same spot, and gradually made its way up toward where the female was poking into sap holes. This time, with her neck and sharp bill stretched out, she lunged fiercely, fussing loudly and flaring her red crest. The juvenile backed away, but did not leave the tree.

I assume the female Sapsucker was defending “her” sap holes in the pecan tree, but I’m curious about why the juvenile repeatedly approached her, as if trying to provoke a reaction of some kind. Its behavior didn’t look challenging – it didn’t seem to be trying to chase her away. But again and again it moved close to her, and again and again she flew at it. Finally, after a while, when the female was no longer around, I saw the young Sapsucker poking into sap holes on the lower part of the tree.

In deep fog early this morning, many birds were singing, including White-throated Sparrow, Louisiana Waterthrush, Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Pine Warbler, Chipping Sparrow, Phoebe, Titmouse, Cardinal, Goldfinch, Chickadee, Carolina Wren, Brown Thrasher, and Eastern Towhee. Also heard were the calls of Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Red-bellied Woodpecker, Downy Woodpecker, Red-shouldered Hawk, and Crows.

And I was especially surprised to hear the call of a White-breasted Nuthatch from nearby in the misty woods – though it never came into the yard. I wonder if this will be the last time we hear it this season.

It’s notable that I have not yet seen or heard a Blue-headed Vireo, Palm Warbler, Parula Warbler, or Yellow-throated Vireo, and have only heard the song of one Black and White Warbler and one White-eyed Vireo. I’ve been gone a lot, and not outside as much as usual, so maybe I’m just missing them, but I wonder. In previous years these have always been among the earliest migrants to return or pass through.

Today began at first light with the call of a Barred Owl, heard through our open windows. It’s the first time we’ve heard one since late last fall.

Neotropical migrants are gradually returning. Today I heard the chik-perioo-chik! of a White-eyed Vireo in a privet thicket near the entrance to our subdivision.

Two Louisiana Waterthrushes continue to sing near the creek – one up the creek toward the west, the other down the creek toward the east – and there’s been lots of bird activity and birdsong all day from all the usual suspects. It was cool and slightly overcast this morning, but became half-sunny and warmer as the day went on. As I worked in my office with the windows open, I could hear the exuberant songs of Ruby-crowned Kinglets, as well as the songs of Pine Warblers, Phoebes and Goldfinches. Chipping Sparrows seem to be everywhere right now, on the feeders, in the grass, and in the trees. They sing the characteristic long, monotone trill, but also sing shorter, lighter songs that sound less business-like, especially when there are several of them around at once, and I’m fascinated right now with the variety in their singing and spend far too much time listening to them.

A pair of Bluebirds seems to be building a nest in our bluebird house – finally! I had begun to wonder if all the activity from the new house under construction across the street had discouraged them. But both today and yesterday the pair have been making regular trips in and out of the house, and the brilliant blue male sits in the branches around it and sings. Once I saw him singing as he flew – all the way into the birdhouse entrance. He also likes to perch on our mailbox – which is perpetually covered in evidence of its general popularity with the yard birds.

Around 6:30 this evening, a Pileated Woodpecker announced its arrival with a loud, trumpeted call. We haven’t seen or heard them often lately, so I walked outside and found it working on a fallen pine trunk near the edge of the woods, where it stayed for more than half an hour. The sky was cloudy, and the air very humid and warm, but with a slight cool breeze. The Pileated made loud thwacks as it worked on the log. As I stood watching, a Louisiana Waterthrush sang, a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher called spee! overhead, and a half-dozen White-throated Sparrows foraged in dry leaves near me. The Pileated Woodpecker used its whole head and snake-like neck as it pounded, twisting it this way and that, and stopping frequently to look around. Because of the way it moved, the white stripes on its neck looked like zig-zags of lightning at times. Its back and tail spread in a broad, dull expanse of black. The full red crest shimmered, even in the cloudy gray light. It hopped along the log, or onto the ground or to another spot, or spread its wings, flashing white, as it half-hopped, half-flew to a low spot on the trunk of a standing dead pine.

So the day began with the call of one old friend and ended with a visit from another.

Today a Purple Finch came to our back deck and to the pine trees nearby. He looked like a glowing cherry-red smudge among the green needles of the pines, in late morning light. His whole head and face were deeply, darkly red, as if they had been stained with juice, and the stain spread also down his back. The crown of his head rose up in a rounded peak, and he held himself erect and tall on the branch.

And he sang. That was a bonus! I don’t know finch songs well at all, and seldom see or hear a Purple Finch, and would not have recognized it if I hadn’t seen him singing. It sounded generally “finch-like,” but was lower in pitch and more mellow, more rounded in tone than a House Finch, I think.

Unfortunately, he didn’t stay long. He flew deeper into the woods, and I did not see him again the rest of the day, nor did I see a female, though I looked for them around the edges of the yard several times.