Birding Notes

Late this afternoon, between 5:00 and 6:00, as I walked past the small pond on Summit Drive, I saw two spots of white out in the water that might be ducks, but I hadn’t brought my binoculars because it was cloudy and getting late, so I thought it was too dark to see much – and of course, any time I don’t take binoculars, I’m certain to run into something interesting. I walked off the road, toward the pond, and as I got closer I could see a bat circling over it. A Great Blue Heron emerged from the brush on the western edge and flew up in slow, ponderous motion. By then I could see for sure that the two white spots were ducks, and that there was also a third duck of a duller color. I kept walking toward the pond, and not surprisingly, they flew – with a whistle of wings and a flash of white marked by partial black bands. They were Hooded Mergansers, which I’ve seen on the pond once before, a year or two ago, two males and one female.

Hooded Mergansers are fairly common ducks here during the winter months, but the showy looks of the males are far from common – with big fan-shaped crests that, when raised, show a snowy white patch surrounded in black, and give them an impressive, large-headed appearance. The bill is long and very thin, the back is black, the sides a dull orange or rufous color, and two black stripes mark the edges of a white breast.

Altogether, it’s a colorful and unusual-looking duck that lends an exotic touch to a plain little pond on a gray winter day.

A flock of more than 200 Blackbirds has been spending a lot of time in our neighborhood, often somewhere around the small pond near the entrance to the subdivision. You wouldn’t think it would be hard to get a good look at a few of so many birds out in the open! But I’ve spent a lot of frustrating time trying to see them well, and I still don’t feel confident in identifying a Rusty or a Brewer’s Blackbird quickly. But I’m working on it.

In the winter months, Blackbirds often travel together in mixed flocks that include both common resident species and less-common species – like Rusty or Brewer’s Blackbirds, which spend their breeding seasons further north or west. A few of the birds in our flock are Common Grackles – easy enough to identify with their long tails and heavy bills. A few are Red-winged Blackbirds, whose red shoulder-patches (on the males) make them also easy to spot.

The rest seem to be mostly, if not all, Rusty Blackbirds, and these are the ones I’m still trying to learn to recognize more confidently. They’re smaller than Grackles, with shorter tails and thin, pointed bills, and rust-red highlights in their winter plumage, which give them their name, but are not always easy to see. If there are any Brewer’s Blackbirds among the flock, I haven’t identified them yet for sure. Usually I see them all while walking, when I’m not carrying a scope.

This afternoon, I found three Rusty Blackbird males feeding together on the faded grass of a lawn, well apart from the rest of the flock, and got my first chance this season to study them closely. These three looked mostly black, with yellow eyes, and a stippling of rusty-bronze across their upper backs, necks and heads. They held themselves erect, head high, when walking around, and even when leaning down to forage, kept a certain fine posture.

In the flock itself, the female Rusty Blackbirds are easier to pick out than the males, because of their tawny color and distinctive facial patterns, with a dark line or patch through the eye, and a pale buff band above it. But even they can be frustrating in a flock of mixed species that’s milling around in constant motion. The markings are rarely exactly the way they look in the field guides, and there seem to be infinite variations, so after several minutes, sometimes they all just turn into a blur of “blackbirds” and I walk on. But it’s fun to have them around and have a chance to try again tomorrow.

This afternoon on a walk through the neighborhood, I stopped to watch a large flock of 150 or more Blackbirds spread out across several grassy lawns. A few were Common Grackles and Red-winged Blackbirds, but most seemed to be Rusty Blackbirds. It was hard to get close to them, and hard to see them well because the light was gray and every time I moved a little closer, the closest Blackbirds flew up and moved a little further away.

Suddenly almost all of the birds flew up in a thundering Whoosh! into the bare limbs of the pecan trees scattered over the lawns, as a Cooper’s Hawk, wings and tail outspread, swooped down into the flock only a few yards away from me. It all happened fast, and the Cooper’s Hawk was unsuccessful. It flew to a high branch of another tree, near a house, where I had a nice view of its reddish breast and long, rounded, banded tail.

This morning – icy cold and clear, with a deep blue sky – a Hermit Thrush welcomed us home from more than two weeks of holiday travel. It flew across the front yard and perched in a low branch of a bare water oak, and sat there, quickly lifting its cinnamon-colored tail and slowly lowering it, again and again, and looking around with round, dark, watchful eyes. It’s the first Hermit Thrush I’ve seen or heard around our house this season.

A Hermit Thrush is a quiet bird shaped something like a Robin, but smaller, with a gray-brown back, reddish tail and boldly dark-spotted breast. While it’s here in the winter months, it spends most of its time on the ground, under bushes or around the edge of the woods, and usually when I see one it’s foraging alone – not among other birds in a flock. We seldom get to hear its fabled song – widely praised as one of the loveliest of woodland birdsongs – which it sings on its breeding grounds in northern and western hardwood forests. So for me, it always has something like the allure of a celebrity in hiding while it’s here. Its quiet, solitary behavior serves as a screen, allowing it to move around mostly unnoticed, calling out only a soft chup-chup! now and then. But when it thinks no one is looking, it hops out into the open and runs from spot to spot with nervous, suppressed energy, looking around as if it’s watching for something – not so much for danger, but for something it’s expecting. It looks like a bird with an interesting story to tell.

Meanwhile, the water in our two bird baths was frozen solid, so I added a little more on top and put out fresh feed in both feeders, and the yard was pretty busy with activity all day. In addition to the usual Chickadees, Titmice, Downy Woodpeckers, Carolina Wrens and Cardinals, several White-throated Sparrows and Juncos fed around the bushes and on the ground. Yellow-rumped Warblers rustled in the wax myrtles. A Mockingbird came to a feeder now and then, looking big and clumsy and scattering all the small birds away, but it never stayed long. A small flock of Cedar Waxwings passed through, filling the treetops with a spray of high, thin calls. Eastern Towhees called and fed under the bushes, out of sight. A Pileated Woodpecker flew low across the yard and disappeared into the trees to the east. Two Brown-headed Nuthatches squeaked and came to a feeder briefly, but mostly stayed up in the tops of the pines.

Two White-breasted Nuthatches came closer and stayed around for a long time, creeping up, down and around the branches of several pecan trees. They chattered softly to each other almost constantly in low, nasal tones. There was no sign or sound of a Red-breasted Nuthatch at all.

This fall we’ve been experiencing the rare pleasure of having three different species of Nuthatches around our yard daily. All three – Brown-headed, Red-breasted and White-breasted Nuthatch – visit the feeders and forage in the nearby trees, and their calls add spice, and often a comical touch, to the dry sounds of the late-autumn woods. Each of the three is a variation on the theme of Nuthatch – a small, short-tailed, long-billed family of birds that creep over tree-trunks or branches, often moving downward head first, feeding on insects.

It’s been a great opportunity, especially, to observe the Red-breasted and White-breasted Nuthatches, neither of which we’ve ever had around for more than brief visits before now. I’m having fun listening to their calls and trying to learn them well. While the Red-breasted Nuthatch’s most common call is the “tin-horn toot” of ank-ank-ank, the White-breasted’s call is deeper, slightly hoarse, and more like cronk, cronk. Both make much softer nasal calls while they’re foraging, a very gentle eenh, frequently repeated as they creep up and down and over branches.

The more familiar squeaky-dee chatter of our year-round resident Brown-headed Nuthatches is probably heard less often than the other two right now, though they still come around at some time every day. When they do, they seem to dominate the other two species, as well as I can tell, and while they’re at the feeders, the others seem to stay out of the way. But in general, all three of the Nuthatch species are pretty bold and even aggressive. I’ve seen a Red-breasted Nuthatch chase a Chickadee away from a feeder several times – though larger birds like the Titmice aren’t so easily intimidated. On the other hand, I’ve often seen Brown-headed Nuthatches sharing a feeder with Chickadees, Titmice, a Downy Woodpecker and other birds – maybe because they live here together all year long.

Red-breasted Nuthatches – with ruddy red breasts, bluish backs and bright white and black stripes over and through the eye – first showed up here in early October, and since then, at least two have been visiting the feeders regularly, pretty much all day, every day. They also come to the birdbaths, and are less shy when I’m around than most of the other birds. One of them will often come for a drink when I’m sitting only a few feet away, as if it’s just too busy to be bothered by my presence.

When I took down a feeder one morning recently to refill it, one Red-breasted Nuthatch waited in a branch just over my head and as soon as I walked away, it came immediately back to the tray. One sometimes will stay on the hanging block feeder for a long time, mostly hanging upside down and feeding from the bottom of it, snaking its head up to look around frequently. On the tube feeder, they more often grab a bite and fly away with it toward the back yard, where there are several pines, or fly up to one particular stub of a branch to work on whatever seed or nut they have taken.

So I’m having a good time watching them all. I like the small, feisty Red-breasted Nuthatch for its intensity and apparently unwavering focus on food gathering; for the way it’s not shy and will come so close to me; and for its funny ank-ank-ank calls that carry like echoes of another time through the pines and the bare gray branches of the woods.

When the Brown-headed Nuthatches arrive, chattering back and forth to each other, they brighten up the whole yard, sounding cheerful and seeming to bring sociability and activity with them. Though I know that’s only my interpretation, it always sounds like a party when they’re around.

The White-breasted Nuthatch – my favorite right now – I admire for its beauty and grace, for the elegant lines of the black head and nape against the snow-white of the throat and breast; for the sleek arch of its neck as it looks up, and for the artful way it moves over a branch as it forages, as if the movement itself were a pleasure.

Late this morning, a very fine Cooper’s Hawk perched in the top bare branches of a tall pecan tree in a neighbor’s yard. At first, it looked like just a big buffy part of a branch, but when I looked with binoculars, the branch turned into a Hawk with a rather flat, neatly-shaped gray head turned in profile. Its body looked deceptively big, with gray shoulders and wings, and a broad reddish-streaked breast that was muted in color, almost pale. The feathers of the lower belly were fluffed out, maybe by a breeze, and snowy white.

I couldn’t see its tail, which was hidden by a tangle of branches, but then it flew, maybe because I had disturbed it. It flapped deeply several times, then soared on outspread wings, showing off the long, slender, slightly rounded tail, tipped in white. It gained altitude quickly, but instead of continuing to climb, after only a minute it suddenly plummeted down toward a clump of trees a little further up the street.

I wasn’t able to find it again, but I’m happy to know that we may have a Cooper’s Hawk in the neighborhood for the winter, since this is the second time I’ve seen one recently. Although they’re here year-round, I don’t see them often in any season. I think it’s only by luck when I see one – even when it’s sitting in a bare-limbed tree out in full view, it blends with the background amazingly well.

The species account in Birds of North America* describes a Cooper’s Hawk as “a secretive, inconspicuous species,” and as “a quintessential woodland hawk. With short, powerful, rounded wings and a relatively long tail that ensures maneuverability in dense cover, it is well adapted for quick pursuit of forest birds and mammals.” They apparently adapt well to suburban settings, as long as enough woodlands or forested areas remain a part of the landscape.

*Rosenfield, R.N., and J. Bielefeldt. 2006. Cooper’s Hawk (Accipiter cooperii), The Birds of North America Online (A. Poole, Ed.) Ithaca: Cornell Lab of Ornithology.

For a few minutes this morning, the front yard was quiet. Not a bird to be seen or heard anywhere near. The air was cold. The bare branches of the pecans and water oaks made gray patterns against a blue sky, with big rafts of gleaming white clouds drifting from west to east. Sharp, chilly breezes shook and rattled the dark-red, dry leaves on the white oaks, and each breeze sent a few more of them tumbling down. One silent Black Vulture flew low over the tops of the trees at the edge of the woods across the street.

Then all at once, there seemed to be birds everywhere. Several Chickadees and two Red-breasted Nuthatches flew to the feeders and up into the branches above them. A pair of Cardinals peeped in the low branches. A Mockingbird came to one of the birdbaths for a drink. A Towhee called, and a Carolina Wren trilled cheer-cheer-cheer.

About a dozen Dark-eyed Juncos flew in and settled in the grass only a few feet away from me and began to hunt around in the grass at the edge of the sidewalk. (We saw our first Junco of the season here over the weekend.) Two Yellow-rumped Warblers flew from a branch down to the Savannah holly. Three or four White-throated Sparrows began to kick up leaves beside the porch.

One tiny Ruby-crowned Kinglet flew into the Savannah holly tree whose branches are the usual stopping point for one of the birdbaths, made its way down the limbs of the holly, paused and looked my way for a few seconds, then moved into the large tea olive bush right beside me. I could hear the rustling as it moved through the thick dark-green leaves of the bush until it emerged on the edge nearest me, close enough so that I could have reached out and touched it. It looked directly at me, turning its head and seeming to be checking me out. Meanwhile, I sat as still as I could, delighted at the close view. I could see its greenish-gray head, bright white eye-ring, and neat white bars on each wing. No sign of its ruby crest – but the main thing that impressed me was simply how very, very small it was. Then it flew to a low limb of a pecan, where it turned to look back at me one more time and make a bold, gossipy comment before it moved on.

Late this afternoon – a cool, sunny, windy day – three Eurasian Collared-Doves perched in the bare limbs of a pecan tree in a yard in our neighborhood. It’s the first time I’ve seen them here.

I was walking along the road and had stopped to look at four Blackbirds perched in the top of a tree in the distance. Although they were too far away for me to see well, I thought they were Rusty Blackbirds, two males and two females, and I was trying to see them well enough to be sure. As I moved my binoculars from one of them to another, one of the Doves come into sight, much closer to me and lower. When I brought it into focus, it was immediately clear that it was not a Mourning Dove, which is what I had expected.

Instead, I saw a large very pale, chalky-gray Dove with a slender neck and a dark, neat half-collar, like a crescent around the back of its neck, edged with white. Two similar Doves perched on branches near it.

Eurasian Collared-Doves belong to a non-native species that began showing up in Georgia in the 1990s, after first being introduced to the New World in the Bahamas in the 1970s. They quickly spread in the southern part of the state, and are now apparently spreading throughout the Piedmont and other parts of Georgia. It’s not clear what effect, if any, they might have on native populations, such as our common Mourning Dove.

These three were perched near a flock of a dozen or more Mourning Doves, and when the Mourning Doves flew up in a flurry of whistling wings, the Eurasian Collared-Doves flew with them. It’s possible that they’ve been around for some time now and I just haven’t noticed them, assuming that any dove I see is a Mourning Dove – another instance of my assuming and not being observant enough of what’s really there. On the other hand, their appearance is different enough that I think they would stand out in any crowd of Doves, and I’m sure I haven’t yet heard their Hoo-HOO-hoo calls – but will be listening for them now.

I don’t know whether their presence here is good or bad or neither, but it’s interesting.

The last day of November was sunny, bright, and chilly – and a good day for Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers. Maybe they’re just easier to see now that most of the leaves on the trees are gone – though even now it’s not always that easy. Seeing one is like seeing a part of a tree come to life in the shape of a bird. The barred patterns on their wings, back and tail, in several subtle shades of black, white, gray and buff, blend in well with the muted colors of the season, and I always associate them with the fall and winter since that’s when we have them here. But in the right light, the black-and-white striping on the face, the crimson throat and head of a male, and even the warm yellow of the belly shine like brilliant accents against a winter background. And often they’ll give away their presence with a nasal, mewing call, or with their steady tapping on a trunk.

This afternoon I heard a funny call that I didn’t recognize – something like djeer-djeer-djeer-djeer, sort of a fast, rolling call – and it turned out to be a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker that was flying from one tree to another and calling as it flew. When it got to the second tree, it gave its more familiar mewing neeah before it started tapping on the trunk, and another Sapsucker nearby seemed to answer with the djeer-djeer call.

Of course, Sapsuckers (like most birds) have many more vocalizations than the ones most of us are familiar with, and this one was new for me. After looking it up in several sources, I think it was probably the call The Sibley Guide to Birds describes as one sometimes given in flight.

Wow! This afternoon about 4:30, I stepped out my front door, and for the first time ever, here around our house, saw a White-breasted Nuthatch. It was working its way along a large branch of a pecan tree, only a few feet away from me. As it moved, it repeatedly made a soft, low, nasal call.

Although I’m still very much enjoying watching the Red-breasted Nuthatches that have become regulars around our yard and feeders this fall, and always love the lively personalities of our year-round Brown-headed Nuthatches, this White-breasted Nuthatch is by far the most striking of the three in appearance. It looked regal – noticeably larger than the others, with a somewhat more upright and graceful posture, not so hunched down, and clean, crisp coloring – a pure, almost gleaming white breast contrasted sharply with glossy black cap and half-collar, and slate-gray back and wings. Its black eyes looked bright and keen against a white face, and its long dark bill turned up just slightly on the end.

One reason I could see it so well is that almost all of the leaves have fallen now from the pecan trees, and most from the oaks, leaving many bare branches open to view. I stood for several minutes watching as it worked its way up the branch, pausing to examine spots, to peck at the bark, and sometimes to turn head-downward for a minute or two. When it neared the end of the branch, it flew to another pecan tree nearby, and began the same pattern.

I think it may have been around for a while. Several days ago, I heard a nuthatch calling, and the sound was lower and more guttural than the Red-breasted Nuthatch’s usual ank-ank. I wasn’t sure then, but now I think what I heard may have been a White-breasted Nuthatch, and now I’ll be listening more carefully for both and hoping to see this one again.

It seems like this fall might be remembered as the Year of the Nuthatches.