My 2018 Resolutions

First, a review of My 2017 Resolutions (please read first).

1a/1b: I achieved the first part. Because of my Magee Marsh trip, I became more motivated to study warbler songs. I developed a multi-step learning process with several sources that specialize in both sound and sight. I did manage to memorize a few songs I hadn’t before (i.e. manage to do playback inside my head), notably Hooded and Black-and-white. Unfortunately, I couldn’t accomplish much of the second part. The cold, rainy, windy weather at Magee Marsh hampered warbler migration, hence also my chance to put my studying to the test. Then a few days after the trip, I sprained my foot. I was bed-ridden for two weeks – during the exact time-frame of the height of warbler migration. I even missed Saw Mill River Audubon’s annual Doodletown trip. I did see an Ovenbird and had a couple more good looks at Canadas. Another plus: two lifers, a Cape May and a Nashville at Magee Marsh.

2: Weekly visits to a personal local hotspot failed. The corner of the Croton Reservoir that runs along Baptist Church Road in Yorktown has good ducks. I love ducks. I  wondered what I would see and hear during non-winter months. But the road is narrow and windy and full of blind curves. And because there has been more commuter traffic in Westchester in general, there is also a lot of traffic on Baptist Church Road. I got tired of cars often missing me by a hair as I stood on the side of the road. There was no good time of day to go birding there. (DEP owns the land by the water. A routine police car admonished me for literally standing one foot off the road.) I lasted until early April. I realize in hindsight I could have gone to another part of the reservoir, but I really stood by sticking with that one spot on Baptist Church Road. I don’t particularly mind I quit altogether.

3: I got a portable GPS! Late in the year, since it was a holiday present. I’ll definitely put it to use when I drive by myself to my upcoming SMRA trip to the Adirondacks.

4: Not really achieved….not what I had in mind, at least. I did attend board meetings, having been initiated as a Board of Director in April. My state parks job had me working weekends, which, I think, did make it harder for me to connect with events and people. (Silver lining: I managed to learn more about invasive plants and trees because of this job. I even helped to remove some in parts of Fahnestock and the Highlands.) As of this month, I’ve resigned from the board since I’m moving away. So a possibility of undertaking this resolution again is shot.

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Now for my 2018 resolutions. Four/five resolutions are a lot. I simplified things.

1: Keep studying warbler songs.

2: Connect with people at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology in any way I can (I am moving to Ithaca, after all) and with Chemung Valley Audubon, the closest chapter to Ithaca.

3: Purchase a scope. I regard November 20, 2018 as my five-year anniversary of becoming a birder. I’ve withheld acquiring one since I wanted to feel confident that my birding hobby will last for years to come. You see, I have science phases (geology as a child, ecology as a preteen, astronomy as a high school and college student). Unlike these other subjects, I can socialize with so many people who share this amateur ornithological hobby. That’s what makes it different. Here’s hoping. I think five years is a good milestone for acquiring a scope, an expensive but much needed investment. I do love waterfowl watching most.

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The Owls of Ossining

For the first time in four years, I went owling for the Peekskill Christmas Bird Count. On December 16, I left my home at 4 in the morning – too early for even my local Dunkin Donuts – to meet Charlie Roberto and Hillary Siener at Teatown, the latter of whom works as Teatown’s Director of Environmental Stewardship. (You’ve met Charlie in my 2016 Peekskill CBC post. I failed to mention that he is the captain of the Ossining circle. Christine McCluskey couldn’t join us. She moved away recently, so it was just Charlie and me for the rest of the day after owls.)

We launched at 4:30. Our first location was near the visitor’s center. We got out of the car. The tape recorder Charlie used for years finally died on him. Fortunately, Hillary had brought a speaker with her and she connected it to her device. She played Eastern Screech-Owl.

She heard the screech first, then Charlie. Only the woods and the snow reached my ears. After another half-minute of playback, and a couple more minutes waiting, I heard the screech for myself. It was somewhere in front of us to our right. I couldn’t gauge how far away it was, but it might be enough to say that I barely heard its whinny, a phrase of descending notes. My colleagues had far better ears than mine, having more experience.

The screech whinnied and whinnied and whinnied. It merely aimed to re-claim its territory. Hearing the call in the dead of a frigid night, behind so many leafless trees, I couldn’t help but romanticize it. Melancholic, lonesome, otherworldly, spiritual.

Next, we did playback of Barred and Great Horned. No response. Still, the screech whinnied, unperturbed by the “presence” of these larger owls, unyielding to the fact that “they” may eat it.

I heard the screech even as we went back to the car. I wondered how much longer it would keep calling.

Our next stop was less than a mile away from the visitor’s center, at a gravel lot by a couple trails. Hillary and Charlie tried the main three – Screech, Barred, Great Horned – plus a fourth contender, Northern Saw-Whet Owl. We perked up when we started hearing the “Who cooks for you?” phrase repeatedly. But, based on the direction from which the call came, Hillary concluded we were hearing Teatown’s captive Barred, hit by a car some time ago.

Moon barely a sliver, yesterday evening’s fresh snow cover lighted our night vision. Ready yet not ready for birding, I relented to resting my eyes more than once as I listened. I reassured/fooled myself that doing so would sharpen my hearing. Needless to say, I’m not one to fall asleep very easily. I had to utilize my vision in case an owl appeared in the trees around us. Charlie said that a Barred has done so before in this location during a count. He with his flashlight and Hillary with her headlamp slowly waved their lights across the tree branches.

Only the captive Barred called. We retreated to the car to drive somewhere else. For the next few locations, our playback yielded nothing. Get out of the car, play Screech, wait; play Barred, wait; played Great Horned, wait; get in the car, drive. Etc.

The idea of 16°F feels like nothing. Standing still in such a temperature for a few minutes as a breeze gently wafted through did more than chill my extremities. My toes hurt so much that the pain distracted my ability to concentrate. I overestimated insulated winter boots and one pair of wool socks. Forget foot warmers – I wanted to light my toes on fire.

We drove up to Cliffdale Farm. Charlie’s phone died. Hillary’s device was near-drained as well. Charlie hooted Barred, then Great Horned. Silence.

I had the idea to imitate Screech myself. As a joke, why not. Once in a while, an SMRA colleague of mine would whistle the Screech’s calls during her walks if pishing failed and she wanted to the birds to show up for her attendees. I once tried it out myself when I chased a red morph screech at another local park. That warranted no owl but I did get harassed by chickadees and nuthatches.

I whistled the whinny a few times and then a couple tremolos. Silence.

Charlie and Hillary thought I was doing playback on my own phone. I was caught off guard that they were impressed. “You’re doing that at the next spot,” said the former.

We drove to a pond off of Glendale Road. No sooner than did we climb out than Charlie told me start. I whinnied and tremolo’d a bit and paused. It took a few tries shake off my nervousness. After no response I whistled again.

Right away, a faint silhouette fluttered into the trees at eye level. Charlie immediately shined his flashlight. I froze.

“Saw-whet!” Charlie exclaimed.

Lifer! Target bird!

I wanted to keep the Saw-whet around as long as possible for him and Hillary, and thought that continuing to whinny would help. It took great effort to control my giddiness and not laugh, thus faltering my impression. I was beyond delighted that I got up at 3:30 to forsake sleep and warmth to go owling in the cold.

This Saw-whet seemed much larger than the rescue I saw at Sharon Audubon (in general, they are 7-8 inches tall). Hillary’s first impression was Screech. But that oversized head, cutesy face, and general coloring were far too dissimilar. Amazingly, the little one stayed where it perched, studying us, questioning what exactly dared to intrude on its territory. We all positively ID’d the owl as Saw-whet.

The Saw-whet then flitted to an adjacent tree. I wondered if stopping or continuing my whinnying would be better. I settled on continuing. I heard Hillary’s phone clicking away. Charlie rushed to retrieve his camera from the trunk. After roughly ten seconds, Charlie managed to focus. On cue, the Saw-whet flew into a small clump of hemlocks to the other side of the road. We rushed over. I whinnied more, but we saw the Saw-whet no more.

I couldn’t help but jump up and down in circles. After high-fives and Charlie’s camera regrets, we hopped back into the car and resumed owling. (Hillary’s photos came out horribly blurry, unluckily.) We visited a few more places with groves of pine and spruce. My Screech didn’t entice any more owls to respond until the very last location, Hawkes Avenue. A Great Horned hooted away in the distance. The more I whinnied, the more it hooted. When I paused, it paused.

7:00 passed. Night had already well-faded into day. We moved on to diurnal birds.

Brinton Brook Hike, Report 12-2017

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A north-western view from the power lines field. © S.G. Hansen

The forecast predicted the snowfall to begin at 9, when the hike starts. It wasn’t yet snowing when I arrived a few minutes before. The sky, though overcast, brightened the brown forest floor. The past few chilly days and freezing nights finally forced many of the oaks and maples to lose their lingering leaves.

The birds – usual winter flock species – scurried about the canopy for last-minute food before the snow and called in constant communication: titmice, chickadees, white-breasted nuthatches, white-throated sparrows, juncos, a red-bellied woodpecker, a hairy woodpecker, a lone American crow. I thought I saw and heard a kinglet, but the chickadee’s incredibly quick movement tricked me. But as luck had it, the moment I got my binoculars on the chickadee, I spotted a nearby Brown Creeper gradually climbing the trunk. I’d actually heard the creeper’s tinny, high-pitched call.

The time read five past nine. Mike was unusually late. No one else showed. Was the hike was somehow canceled without my knowing? …Or was today even Second Saturday? I took the creeper as a sign of good birding to come. I went ahead.

Halfway to the kiosk intersection, I heard a loud rapping from somewhere within the locust grove. Time to play Find that woodpecker! I expected to spend quite a bit of time hunting for the noise-maker. Not for long this occasion… A Pileated Woodpecker took off and flew towards the parking lot. It maniacally called the entire way, prompting the jays to shout in slight hysterics.

I stood at the intersection to listen for other birds. I heard voices. A look through my bins down the trail revealed they belonged to Mike and another person. When they caught up, Mike explained he was late because he had to deal with work issues. Karen, both a birder and a hiker, would be the only other joining us for the hike. She hikes around Brinton Brook once a week, though she wished she could make it to the Second Saturday hikes more often.

Beyond conversation, I only heard a few white-throats at the meadow. I encountered more – plus a song sparrow – foraging in the cattails at the western end of the pond. When I reached well away from the cattails, the white-throats migrated to the shrubs at the edge of the path, leaving the song sparrow to its own. Juncos twittered in the canopy.

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Brown is beautiful. © S.G. Hansen

A thin layer of ice coated this end of the pond. Mike thought we wouldn’t see ducks. But when we reached sight of the other end, quite a few waterfowl were foraging: Four Green-winged Teal (all males, with lovely auburn and green faces), eight Mallards, and a dozen Canada Geese. Though they segregated themselves in groups of their own species, they all kept close to one another. The ducks moved to the back the closer we approached. The geese didn’t mind us that much, of course.

Meanwhile, nearly a dozen goldfinches fed on the black birch seeds above our heads. A couple whitehatches “yanked” incessantly. A Carolina wren trilled. As I watched the ducks, a kinglet bounced from one reed bunch to another over the pond, barely giving me time to notice that it was Gold-crowned.

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An oriole nest (belonging to either Baltimore or Orchard, both of which breed in Westchester). Orioles weave basket-like nests out of grasses and stitch them together with their bills. Th nests, which hang from tree branches, can have more than 10,000 weaves. © S.G. Hansen

Snow began to fall when we ventured out to the power-lines, starting off as flurries then quickly becoming heavier. One could hear the flake bunches practically hitting the ground and the vegetation. The power-line wires usually buzz, but today they sizzled. Snowfall filled in bird silence. I heard only sparse calls from a few birds: a second flicker, a second song sparrow, and a some more white-throats.

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Praying Mantis egg sack. © S.G. Hansen

Now that snow was falling quite a bit in the woods, the birds in the sanctuary also quieted down. So much so that I heard maybe a couple titmice and white-throats at most until we reached the parking lot again. We even took the longer route again, hiking the new white trail the golf course owners created. We enjoyed walking through the first-of-season snow. Karen took the opportunity to finish talking about her Purple Martin housing problem. She’d just put up the housing – a gift from a friend – this past breeding system. But an adamant flock of House Sparrows kept trying to nest in the gourds, even after she repeatedly climbed to throw away the nesting material (the gourds are fifteen feet above the ground). Eventually, the “little fucks” took revenge by chewing on her fencing and garden plants. She was thinking of donating the martin housing to Croton Point and purchasing a house sparrow trap.

Mike said to watch out for the juncos when we reached the stream near trail’s end. Alas, there were none.

We came back to the same birds I observed before the actual hike. As Mike and Karen talked, I thought I heard a Gold-crowned Kinglet. I kept my ears open for the high-pitched see-see-see call. Instead, I heard a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker’s mewing. It mewed for a good minute. I thought I saw one right after the Pileated sighting. I’d taken note of the facial markings, but the locust branches obscured the sapsucker so much I eventually lost sight of it. I was glad to hear it mew at the end of the hike.

All in all, I observed 22 species. A decent number for this time of year at Brinton Brook with a few good winter birds. Always nice to have a brown creeper – my favorite bird! You can view the eBird list here.

Sadly, this month’s hike is my last Second Saturday. I will be moving away after the New Year, before January’s hike. These three-and-a-half years were filled with fun and educational experiences. Thank you for everything, Mike!

I’m thinking of re-locating my own Second Saturdays to Sapsucker Woods.

Hike on Turkey Mountain

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Western view from the summit of Turkey Mountain. © S.G. Hansen

Saw Mill River Audubon holds an annual hike at Turkey Mountain the day after Thanksgiving. This year is my third. I haven’t yet hiked at any other point in the year, but at around this time, bird activity is nearly nonexistent. You’re in a short, heart-pumping hike but not an entertaining bird excursion. You’re met with infrequent calls from blue jays, titmice, chickadees, and white-breasted nuthatches but not much else. And you’re going to largely hear a lack of bird presence, really (the constant din of leafblowers will inhibit your listening ability). Hike leader Michael Madias – who also leads SMRA’s Second Saturday Brinton Brook hikes – can’t figure why. There seems to be enough food around the mountain (tulip tree seeds for one), and the power lines field provides different habitats. In contrast, Turkey Mountain does lack understory much like every other wood in Westchester thanks to deer overbrowsing. It’s also worth noting that Turkey Mountain is not an eBird hotspot.

In 2015, I observed 9 species and 32 individuals, the most interesting having been Eastern Bluebirds. In 2016, I observed 8 species and 47 individuals – only common year-rounders. I started this year’s hike not expecting much.

Our group was small, but actually twice as big as last year. Rudy from Brinton came along, and Miok and Roger, SMRA Monday morning walk regulars, were hiking Turkey Mountain for the first time. A special visitor also joined us: Chuck,  an Indiana resident, an experienced birder, and a Sycamore Audubon board of director.

To summarize, this year’s observations went beyond my expectations, totaling 15 species and 49 individuals. Depressing in other places but not at Turkey Mountain! We were met with silence for much of the hike but managed to pass through a few winter flocks. I haven’t yet compiled an overall list, though our combined observations added 6 species this year. At the parking lot, a Hairy Woodpecker called. During the ascension, we heard a Common Raven croaking and a Pileated Woodpecker hesitantly calling. Miok also heard a Carolina Wren, which I missed since I’d plowed ahead of the group to keep up with Mike.

We spent at least 20 minutes on the summit (829 ft in elevation) resting and viewing distant sights, including the hazy, mirage-like Manhattan skyline.

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© Mike the Hike Leader

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© Mike the Hike Leader

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Yours truly smiling for the camera. © Mike the Hike Leader

Soon after we started descending, Chuck thought he heard the “mew” call of a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. Perhaps the second of the hike since he thought he heard one on our way up. Playback yielded nothing. Wishful thinking, he noted. A sapsucker certainly would have been noteworthy.

Not long afterward, we saw a small flock of bluebirds low in the trees, diving for whatever food they found on the ground. Not an addition, though bluebirds are always a wonderful sight. The late-morning clear sunshine illuminated the males’ bright blue and orange plumage.

Pinnacle activity occurred towards the end. Several more each of blue jays, red-bellied woodpeckers, and whitehatches, plus the first-of-the-hike downies and a Northern Flicker, made much noise from all around us. Mike got on a large black bird soaring fast high above the canopy, but the rest of us couldn’t see anything but blue sky. “It was probably an eagle, or maybe it was a Turkey Vulture,” he said. “Maybe it was a floater in your eye,” Chuck commented.

Meanwhile, I noticed how silent the woods became. Shortly, as if answering a question, Mike saw a Red-tailed Hawk flying through the trees. It perched in an oak some hundred feet away, streaked white breast blazing bright. Not everyone could see it with so many branches in the way, but when it took off (and for good), the hawk was then seen by all.

We’ll see what Turkey Mountain has in store next Thanksgiving!

Brinton Brook Hike, Report 11-2017

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Tulip Tree leaves. © S.G. Hansen

I took the day off from work to attend the Second Saturday hike! It almost felt strange to be a part of a group going around Brinton Brook, and I certainly missed it. This month’s group consisted of no strangers: hiker leader Mike, regular/caretaker Rudy, Saw Mill River Audubon President Val Lyle and her partner Alan, and Mike and Yuan who are regulars of SMRA’s Monday morning walks. Once again, our hike was dominantly a birding hike.

The temperature late this week took a dive to below freezing, in the mid-20s. With a little wind, we had a nicely brisk hike. Most trees – sugar maple, red maple, tulip, sycamore, sassafras, etc – lost their leaves, which covered the trails in several layers. Only White Oak and American Beech still kept their leaves.

We didn’t encounter much bird activity until the black locust grove at the kiosk. I heard a few House Finches. Some of got on a Red-bellied Woodpecker and one Hairy Woodpecker, though I’m sure I heard at least three Hairies in the vicinity.

The meadow was quiet. Rudy pointed out a tree in which he saw a lot of birds flying around in (possibly eating caterpillars that had just hatched) back during July’s hike. In the middle of his story, we suddenly heard something took off from behind us. All of us turned around in time for us to see a medium-sized bird rushing away to the trees, wings whistling loudly.

American Woodcock! we exclaimed simultaneously. We had a good laugh after being startled. None of us noticed it was only a few feet away from us.

“We almost stepped on it,” said Val. She and I were surprised to see one so late in the year.

“That means the meadow is doing really well,” Mike remarked. SMRA maintains the meadow habitat by mowing it once a year and ensuring a healthy biodiversity through growing native plants, such as goldenrod and butterfly weed.

Much later, when I submitted my list to eBird, I saw that this woodcock is the first sighted at Brinton Brook ever.

We took a brief rest at the western end of the pond, where the donated bench is located. When I was here last month, the pond was mostly wetland. A lot of rain had fallen over the past couple weeks, and the pond was a pond once again. A late Eastern Phoebe flycatched in the trees in front of us. At the other end, we saw a small flock of Mallards. I noticed that two of the ducks looked peculiarly small.

We walked the trail quietly. The ducks moved a bit to distance themselves from us. At a clearer spot with better lighting, we began to make out that this duck flock was more diverse that we first realized. First, we noticed that there was one American Black Duck. Second, I confirmed my guess that the very small ducks were Green-winged teal, last sighted this April during the Second Saturday Hike, overall the third time sighted in the sanctuary.

Third, to my great surprise, I then noticed one duck a little larger than the mallards that had a certain brown head with a certain white face stripe and white neck: Northern Pintail. This male didn’t have the eponymous long tail – it was quite short. That tripped me up. But I would know the head pattern any day. Once again, I observed first bird for Brinton Brook! I couldn’t contain my excitement at the idea of seeing a pintail here. These are rare in Westchester to begin with.

When we arrived at the blue trail’s beginning, Rudy said that he had been hearing a Barred Owl somewhere around the Pond Loop. I asked Val to play some playback on her phone. Everyone started hiking up the blue while Val and I lingered. A few “who cook’s for you” rang through the mostly silent air. After half a minute, I said forget it. Shortly after, all of us heard a Carolina Wren trill closer to Mt. Airy Road, presumably provoked by the owl playback. Carolina Wrens trill out of aggressiveness over territory or warning other birds about predators (avian or feline).

The power lines were mostly quiet as well. In the beginning, I heard a call somewhere from within a the vegetation. I pished. A few American Tree Sparrows and a Field Sparrow popped up. I didn’t see them side by side, so nearly confused the Field for a Tree. Val handily compared the two species with the Sibley’s on her phone. Tree sparrows have a rusty eyeline and bicolored bill, whereas field sparrows lack an eyeline and have a bright pinkish bill. I was apparently incorrect to use the double white wingbars as helpful point of reference.

As we were looking at the sparrows, a mockingbird flew by and second mockingbird called for a few seconds. Farther up the powerlines trail, we heard a bunch a chip calls from the other side of the field: White-throated Sparrows.

We continued on the new white trail that borders the sanctuary property. Truly, it belongs to the neighboring golf course. But since it’s a route that goes to the Croton Arboretum, hikers are allowed to use this trail. The owners of the golf course bought the parcel of land at the north-eastern edge of Brinton Brook last year to build a driving range. SMRA once had the opportunity to purchase it a couple decades ago, but we couldn’t afford it. The construction finished recently. You can see a massive grass hill-wall just beyond the trees. Very fortunately, the owners and SMRA are cooperating to replenish the border with native trees and plants.

Back to the birds. We returned to having a quiet hike, save for a small flock of Dark-eyed Juncos, a couple chickadees, a White-breasted Nuthatch, and a few singing white-throats.

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Mike and others recently planted White Pines and White Spruces where the Hemlock grove used to be so owls can return to the Sanctuary. © S.G. Hansen

Reliably, activity picked up near trail’s end. Larger flocks of juncos and white-throats foraged in the brambly ravine. Our third carolina wren for the hike sang. We counted a fourth hairy woodpecker for the hike. High in the trees foraged a mixed flock: chickadees, a couple Ruby-crowned Kinglets, and a Golden-crowned Kinglet. Two Tufted Titmice fought for a little in the trees on the other side of the trail.

When I got back in the car, the temperature read 35°.

All in all, we observed 26 species. The American Woodcock and Northern Pintail were exciting birds additions to Brinton Brook’s life list. You can view the eBird list here.

Brinton Brook Hike, Report 10-2017

Last Tuesday, I felt like I was baking in the 80° temperature as I hawkwatched on Hook Mountain. This morning, I woke up to see frost on my car, and that the temperature read 37°. I had to wear a parka, gloves, and a hat (yours truly gets cold – as well as warm – easily).

As I got ready in the parking lot, besides the usual common birds, I heard White-throated Sparrows singing and calling around me. These weren’t my First-of-Season (FOS), as I heard a white-throat singing briefly near my bedroom window a few days ago.

When I reached the kiosk intersection, more white-throats were calling. Two Pileated Woodpeckers moved around a tree trunk behind the kiosk. They flew away as I walked closer. I then began observing more than the dozen white-throats: I was blasted with a migration movement. Sunlight poured through the wood, warming the locust grove. I started with 8 species at the parking lot. Including the Pileateds I added 13 on the Old Farm Road trail alone. I witnessed quite a group – an explosion of activity and chatters and calls and whisper songs. Several zippy Ruby-crowned Kinglets. One slightly less zippy Golden-crowned Kinglet  (FOS). Two Blue-headed Vireos. Two Yellow-rumped Warblers. A lone Eastern Phoebe. And a few common birds tacked along (perhaps also migrating, perhaps resident birds that stick with the migrants to find more food): chickadees, titmice, cardinals, downies, a towhee, a white-breasted nuthatch, a robin, and a song sparrow. They flitted all over, from branch to branch, tree to tree, fly-catching, fighting one another. They covered all levels of the canopy, from the shrubs to the near tops of the trees. I had to re-learn how to bring my binoculars up to particular spots because I didn’t have many chances to go birding these past couple weeks. I lost the birds a few times but shortly got the hang of it. I also kept telling myself to stick with just one bird for a little, then move on to another. The hyperactive kinglets, vireos and yellow-rumps made this difficult. Tallying to my best ability also proved difficult. I felt like a beginner again.

More than a half an hour later, the movement seemed to have passed on. I doublebacked to the yellow trail, so I would head towards the pond.

When it comes to birding in the spring and fall, one has to be mindful to distinguish if one is following the same migration pack or encountering additional numbers of the same species observed before. Today tried this ability of mine as well. Just passed the meadow, I observed both species of kinglets and blue-headed vireos again. I took a few minutes to especially watch the vireos; they were much closer, and I always delight in them since they are my favorite vireo species. (I then took another moment to consider what I meant when I wrote down “wb sp” in my notebook earlier. I completely blanked that it meant “warbler species,” which I used as a stand-in before I figured I was looking at Yellow-rumped Warblers. I was prepared for “confusing fall warblers,” but sometimes I simply need to spell out words even when I’m trying to save time writing while out in the field.)

I noticed it got quiet again. I found zero wader-birds or waterfowl at the pond, the water level of which was rather low, but not low enough for the land to become a wetland.

While walking along the pond, I came across ruby-crowned kinglets, blue-headed vireos, and yellow-rumps foraging right above my head. I decided against increasing the numbers – I must have been following the flock. However, I was certain that I did see four yellow-rumps at once. They were drinking at the edge of the pond. A few kinglets joined them, and a vireo was bathing.

I debated completing the full pond loop this time. I ended up turning left on the blue trail as usual. The moment the power lines came into view, I saw a Red-tailed Hawk stoop across the field. Instead of venturing out to the power lines, I continued on the blue, not having done so in countless months. I wondered about other pockets of this morning’s migration movement. For the first time ever, against a backdrop of radio silence, I could hear and recognize the golden-crowned kinglet’s tinny and quiet tsee tsee tsee call – two of them. As they continued calling regularly, I happened to catch sight of a camouflaged blurb rustling among the leaf litter: a Hermit Thrush. (Second FOS) I couldn’t recall the last time I saw one at Brinton. I find these secretive, shy thrushes thrushes hard to come by so I watched it until trees hid it from my view. Not farther down the trail, I heard soft drumming to my left. I expected a Hairy or a red-bellied woodpecker, but it was another winter resident, my third FOS for the morning: an immature male Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, whose yellow and black back looked rather blurred, though his crown and throat were bright red.

Not long after, I reached the yellow trail (the blue all the way loops to another point along the yellow). A Red-shouldered Hawk called somewhere from the northwest. Unsurprisingly, I think, I may have stumbled upon the same migration group of kinglets, vireos, and yellow-rumps from before. Indeed, I was now south of the pond, they may have traveled this bit of distance from when I last saw them about fifteen minutes before (the amount of time I spent on the blue trail). I tried to get on every bird to make sure the numbers checked out, and they were similar. My ticks remained unchanged.

A little further down the trail, when the kinglets and vireo were barely out of ear shot, I began to hear a Winter Wren whisper song, a remnant of the spring song, partial in phrase, very faint in volume. So faint that the wren sounded like it was twenty or thirty feet away. In fact, I didn’t recognize that the song to belong to the winter wren initially. This wren’s musical, non-stop trill-filled song sounds so rich and usually lasts up to six seconds – a mouthful of a song for such a tiny bird. This whisper song lasted only a couple seconds, the trills sounded squished. When I started walking again, I flushed the wren from a large log that rested next to the path. I reflexively brought my hand over my chest. I didn’t move, nor wanted to. To my relief, the wren popped back up. This one was a little less secretive compared to past winter wrens I have observed. Smaller than a House Wren, the Winter Wren’s plumage is brown like a House’s, though several shades darker overall. Its tail is shorter and stubbier, sticking straight up like bangs wet with gel. The wren hopped along the log, occasionally singing its whisper song while delicately pecking for insects. Very slowly, trying not to disturb it again, I grasped at my binoculars and brought them up. I did scare it again and it dropped down. It appeared shortly after, hopping onto another log to forage on. Its beak moved so slightly while it sang, barely opening to let sound out.

The wren dropped down again. Delighted with a fourth FOS, I decided to move on. The second I started walking, I saw the wren fly farther away from the path. I heard its whisper song another couple times before I was finally out of earshot.

Towards the trail’s end, I encountered a few kinglets and a phoebe. I counted the kinglets but kept my phoebe at 1, in case the same phoebe I saw towards the beginning decided to hook up with other birds.

Back at the parking, to my surprise, but I suppose you don’t have to guess: more kinglets and another vireo! This time, I did add numbers to my tally. I wound up with more than a dozen ruby-crowned kinglets and three vireos altogether. A conservative estimate. Even if I did see more than two migrating groups of kinglets and vireos, I’d rather I keep my numbers low so as not to arouse suspicion from eBird.

Speaking of eBird, you can view my list here. A wonderful, fall migration-filled morning!

You may noticed that I didn’t observe any Dark-eyed Juncos. Definitely next month!

Hateful Things About Birdwatching (Continued)

You forget your binoculars.

You never seem to go hawkwatching at the right time.

You sprain your foot just when spring migration fully kicks in.

The bird turns out to be a decoy.

Bothersome insects. Especially: Gnats haunt your face and ears in spite of bug spray.

Walking on a path, you do not notice a bird foraging near the path until you reach within a foot of it, and so it silently flies into the vegetation to hide away from you forever.

Every American Redstart sounds like nothing.

You excitedly observe a lifer raptor. It takes off to stoop a prey, a hateful invasive songbird, but when it returns to its perch, you realize it has in its talons one of your favorite native songbird.

A worthlessly argumentative someone who clearly knows less about birding than you attempts to assert that their ID is correct in spite of your overwhelming evidence that your ID is, in truth, correct.

You are the only birder at your work.

A birder who does not take into consideration the birds’ welfare. Example: A birder who overtaxes playback.

A birder overtaxes playback so you explain why such action is detrimental, yet the birder contentiously defends themselves.

You repeatedly miss warbler fallouts.

You repeatedly miss general migration fallouts.

Crumbs from your snack or drops from your drink fall into the crevices of your binoculars.

After certain novices recognize you for your expertise and obtain your email, they persistently send you absurd ID requests with photos or videos of questionable quality.

An obvious non-birder approaches: “See anything good?”

Alexandra: A novice birder comes up to you and asks what you’re looking at. You take your eyes off the bird to offer directions, and you lose the bird in the meantime.