hiking

Brinton Brook Hike, Report 9-2017

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A sign of autumn. © S.G. Hansen

Because I’m continuing my State Parks job through the fall, I had to also skip this month’s Second Saturday, which coincided with the Ramble. So I went to Brinton Brook today since last Monday I went for my spontaneous hawkwatch.

Like the previous two years, this September feels frustratingly sauna-like, as if summer is sinking its fingers into the ground before finally relinquishing its transformation into autumn. This morning, though, was overcast and relatively cool (high 60s) yet somewhat humid.

My hike was oddly quiet in regards to both sight and sound. I observed 18 species – a winter number. A warbler fallout occurred in Westchester and Rockland early last week. No warbler fallouts today. Nope, not for me. Again. Brinton did not witness fall migration altogether today.

The Blue Jays, back from summer vacation, had started to make a lot of noise again. I heard them in small groups throughout the hike, at the parking lot, the pond, the power lines field, and trail’s end. They jayed, bugled, and sounded all sorts of other nameless quirky sounds. All in all, I estimated, a dozen and a half. But where the jays didn’t call, the insects and tree frogs trilled.

As I made my way to the kiosk intersection, I saw ahead of me chipmunks fighting. A male Northern Flicker foraged in the path. A cardinal – later ID’d as female – was chasing another bird, which I presumed to be another cardinal. I crept towards the flicker, which bounced in and out of sight, so as not disturb it. About ten feet away, I put my bins on the bird. Strangely, its silhouette looked un-flicker like. My heart nearly stopped when I saw it was a Brown Thrasher. It quickly dived into the shrubs and hid. I had not seen one since July 2016, the latest eBird record at Brinton.

I pished at the kiosk. A small bird skulked around but did not reveal itself. Behind me, I flushed out the female cardinal and the thrasher.

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Goldenrod plentiful in the meadow. © S.G. Hansen

Pond activity mostly included jays and Downy and Red-bellied Woodpeckers. I also heard a Hairy Woodpecker’s pique! call. I kept my eye out for herons and immediately noticed on the far side a Great Blue, whose blue-gray torso blob stuck out against the swampy, lily-pad laden water.

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Scat from an unknown seen on the trail by the pond. © S.G. Hansen

The power lines whirred over my head. I counted seven Gray Catbirds mewing along the length of the path. Two Carolina Wrens sang and trilled. An American Crow cawed in the distance. A Turkey Vulture soared. A Great Blue Heron flew overhead to the north-east. To my surprise, an Eastern Bluebird intermittently sang. Sadly, I couldn’t get a visual on it.

As for insects, I saw a few Red Admirals. And now that I have an eye for moths, I noticed a number of grass-host moths on the ground before me. I flushed them often as I stepped forward. I tried taking pictures of them, but as soon as I took only one step towards them, they would flutter farther away. Skittish things!

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Unknown species as of yet. © S.G. Hansen

The clouds parted enough for the sun to shine, but the moment of that path blue sky barely lasted a minute.

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It’s always overwhelming to have this below view of the indomitable porcelain berry, a shrub native to East Asia. Unfortunately, birds such as the catbird and robin love eating the berries. © S.G. Hansen

I turned my attention to moths again during my descent from the power lines. Besides additional jays and White-breasted Nuthatches, and my first and only chickadee, this part of the hike was quiet. I flushed the moths from the path – probably litter moths since they rested among the leaf litter. I couldn’t get on these either. They were just as skittish.

About a few minutes away from trail’s end, I saw a small bird skulk in the bushes on the side of the path. At these quick glances, I thought I had a House Wren. I pished. It revealed itself straight away. And no wonder why. A male Common Yellowthroat, with a gorgeous crisp black mask and yellow throat. (This warbler species is guaranteed to respond to pishing.) It flitted about, tail flicking, even after I stopped pishing. I left it alone when I figured it wouldn’t stop checking out the scene anytime soon.

My last additional species came from the Weinstein property: a lone robin softly cuck-ing.

You can view the eBird list here.

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Brinton Brook Hike, Report 8-2017

The day began cool but gradually warmed to slightly uncomfortable, with a little humidity. Several year-round birds sang the parking lot as I readied myself for the hike: Northern Flicker, Blue Jay, Northern Cardinal, Carolina Wren, American Robin, White-breasted Nuthatch, American Crow.

I stood at the kiosk intersection for a bit. An Eastern Wood-pewee cried “pe-weeeeee!” Three Downy Woodpeckers sounded off one-two-three. Two chanting Black-capped Chickadees, singing in different keys, managed to utter one “fee-bee” phrase simultaneously, puncturing the air with brief discord.

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A not-so-inconspicuous nest – right above the path. © S.G. Hansen

At the meadow, I heard an unfamiliar chipping note coming from a bush. I attempted to pish the bird out. Chickadees and a male cardinal gathered nearby and responded with annoyance. A Pileated Woodpecker manically called deep in the trees. I persisted for another half-minute. Finally, an immature male Indigo Bunting popped up to the tree above. His transformation to become an adult was nearly complete. Small brown spots dotted his vibrant blue.

Hardly any goldenrod grew in the meadow. Only one bush. Unfamiliar vegetation – most likely invasive species – had taken hold instead. Not many butterflied fluttered about. Maybe one Great-Spangled Fritillary and a couple Red Admirals.

At the pond, up to maybe a dozen Blue Jays – adults and immatures – called and bugled as they flew around. I didn’t see the Great Blue Heron from last month. The Red-winged Blackbirds had quieted down, save for the half-dozen immatures that flew from lily pad to lily pad. It was difficult to look for anything in the reeds on the other side of the pond since the tree branches blocked much of my view. To live up to the label “birder,” I made believe I could somehow find a bittern. Instead, not disappointingly, I caught the movement of two Eastern Phoebes flycatching and fighting. As I continued walking I heard a wet rustling behind me. A female Wood Duck flew from my side of the pond to the other. She quickly disappeared into the reeds.

My ascent to the powerlines on the blue trail was a little quiet. I heard my third pewee, more titmouse families, and still more blue jays. I startled a male flicker that was foraging on the ground. It was at this point the temperature warmed to that of a typical summer day. And it was at this point that the black flies began to harass me. I hoped they would stop once I’d the powerlines.

And they did. Sunshine forces them to hide in the shadowed woods. Other insect life was in full swing in the field. Countless bees, butterflies, and other bugs whizzed around the flower-filled vegetation, including the many goldenrod bushes. Cicadas – which I’d been hearing since I got out of the car – screamed at their loudest potential from all directions.

The first bird I spotted was a phoebe perched high in a dead tree on the edge of the sanctuary. To the west, towards Bear Mountain, a lone Turkey Vulture soared and two unseen young Red-tailed Hawks begged for food. A few Gray Catbirds meowed. A small bird zipped to a bush way behind me: a Prairie Warbler, black facial markings so faint that I wondered if it were a young one or an adult receding to fall plumage.

Green frogs hung around in the same pools where I’d scared the turtles last month. They dived into the mud at my approach. A couple of them, though, floated like this:

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Green frog. © S.G. Hansen

Ahead, a towhee slurred its call so that it sounded like “twEEEE!” instead of “tow-WEEEE!”. A female Orchard Oriole perched atop a bush, then disappeared shortly. I heard another unfamiliar chipping coming from two different small trees. The chipping, identical in sound, hinted that it belonged to two birds of the same species. I managed to get a glimpse of one of them, a female American Redstart. Since I didn’t get on the other bird, I could only guess as much that it was simply another redstart.

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Close-up of a Carpenter Bee in the wild. © S.G. Hansen

As I rounded the corner to the path that would lead me back into the sanctuary, I saw an orange flash. Baltimore Oriole. I tried coaxing it from the reeds with no luck.

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Goldenrod and Queen Anne’s Lace, the latter of which is not native to this continent. © S.G. Hansen

No sooner than I re-entered the woods the black flies swarmed around my head again. I walked with my hands poised over my ears. I was swatting them every four seconds. The descent was very quiet, save for a jay calling. Disregarding bird presence, the woods actually weren’t at all quiet. Cicadas buzzed and buzzed and buzzed. I realized that there was no reason to remain patient for the birds if there were no birds to observe, so I jogged down the white and red trails to escape the black flies. Magically, I didn’t have to deal with them once I got to the yellow trail.

Now that I was nearing the end (or the beginning), I started hearing more birds. Nothing new except for a perpetual Red-eyed Vireo. I stopped at the patch where the hardy kiwi was eradicated. Behind it, perhaps fifty feet away, mid-canopy, I noticed small bird movement – a different bird. I only got a couple glimpses of it before it vanished, but that was enough for me to ID it as a Canada Warbler. Besides the soft gray back and bright yellow breast, it had the diagnostic apparent white-eye rings and a very faint necklace. I can never get enough of Canada Warblers. Their appearances are always so fleeting.

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I have no clue what this could be but it is very interesting. I spooked some of the insects that were chilling on top of the round things. © S.G. Hansen

I lingered at trail’s end for a while. That jogging got me ahead of time. It turned out that the timing was just right. I happily observed three excellent additional species for the list. A Ruby-throated Hummingbird rocketed in and out of view, green back shimmering brilliantly. A female Scarlet Tanager foraged mid-canopy. A male Black-and-white Warbler crept along the trees’ branches. I also watched a female and an immature male Baltimore Oriole forage, a scruffy looking Carolina Wren climbing a rotted snag, and a pewee flycatch and use the same snag as a perch.

A quick check at the Weinstein pond only yielded a Mourning Dove – the first and only for the hike – on the lawn.

I observed 33 species. I didn’t exactly experience the summer doldrums. Granted, not as many songbirds sang because this isn’t spring migration. Certain birds – besides the Red-eyed Vireo – are still vocal in the morning even during the time of year I thought they would feel like they would no longer have to sing. But I am merely going by one isolated location. Another surprise is the lack of American Goldfinch. I only heard two during my hike. Since they breed in August, I expected to observe a few more than that.

Check out the eBird list!

Brinton Brook Hike, Report 7-2017

I arrived at 8:40AM. The air was humid yet again, although the temperature was relatively cool (mid-70s). Rain had fallen the night before. Steam was rising from the driveway. The earth was damp. A breeze shook water off the trees. I listened to the robins scold, a wood thrush sing, a flicker and a pewee called, and a small group of young titmice buzz.

A Red-spotted Purple butterfly landed on the gravel behind my car. Although I’m less knowledgeable about insects, I’ve learned a few names from Mike over the past couple years. I would keep my eyes on the butterflies, moths, and dragonflies as well as the birds during this hike. As if they knew July 1 had passed, the insects climbed so high in numbers it’s become impossible to turn every angle and not see delicate wings flutter.

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Red-spotted Purple butterfly. © S.G. Hansen

I heard a male Indigo Bunting sing at the kiosk intersection. I tried finding him, but his song bounced around the trees so well that he remained hidden. I pressed along to the field, where another bunting was singing at the top of a tree behind the grasses. I couldn’t figure out which was the parent of the immature bunting I saw last month. I don’t think immatures grow up so fast, although Indigo Buntings can have up to two broods per year, and it maybe that another male found good territory adjacent to the first.

I lingered for a few minutes. A couple of Great Spangled Fritillary butterflies fed on the two flowering milkweed bushes. A few cabbage whites and gypsy moths flickered around aimlessly. While trying to get more looks at this second male bunting, I noticed movement in a nearby, shorter tree. A female Scarlet Tanager (colored dull yellow) and a young Blue-gray Gnatcatcher forage so swiftly that they disappeared further into the trees after only ten seconds.

At the pond, I immediately spotted the Great Blue Heron that my friend Christine (also a Saw Mill River Audubon board of director) saw during the Second Saturday hike a couple days ago. It stood very still at the southwestern corner. Its chest was stripey, indicating it was an immature.

Lily pads almost completely covered the water. Numerous dragonflies whizzed above the water (nameless, as they were too far away and too small for me to see clearly). Red-winged Blackbirds and Common Grackles called from all around. A young Downy Woodpecker – plumage ruffled and imperfect – loudly cried. A pair of Carolina Wrens engaged in spat: one trilled and the other chattered. I flushed a dozen robins as I further ambled along the pond.

As I started hiking up the blue trail to the powerlines, I encountered two different groups of young titmice. A Scarlet Tanager call repeatedly: Chik-burr. A Blue-headed Vireo languidly sang.

A Blue Jay landed on a sapling next to the trail, and then it flew out of sight shortly after. I thought I heard it poorly imitating a Red-tailed Hawk. But when the calling continued and a grey squirrel started scolding, I knew to look for the Real McCoy. (I hear jays imitating Red-tails more often that I hear the Red-tails themselves. Sometimes the jays sound impeccable, but most of the time they sound like Blue Jays imitating Red-tailed Hawks). It was somewhere along the edge of the forest. When I moved a bit off the trail to get a sight of it, the hawk flew away.

At the top of hill, I flushed even more robins. A Field Sparrow and a House Wren sang. I heard a towhee utter Drink your tea repeatedly from the powerlines. The rhythm if this call was different from last month’s towhee. The “Drink your” sounded like eighth notes rather than sixteenth notes.

Just after I ventured out to the powerlines, four immature Red-winged Blackbirds flocked to a bush and called and called, either curious or furious about my presence. Either way, they took off when I continued walking.

I felt slightly hotter now that I was under the sun. Not as bad as last month, but still quite bright. I heard a third Indigo Bunting, two more towhees, a second House Wren, and a mockingbird sing up ahead. Many nameless small butterflies or moths fluttered or zipped around. Bumblees, honeybees, another fritillary, and one Eastern Tiger Swallowtail drank nectar from the milkweed, more widespread here, pictured below.

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Milkweed flowers are one of the more cheery sights of summer. © S.G. Hansen

I unintentionally flushed a female Baltimore Oriole, who was presumably feeding on berries, still sticking out like a sore thumb despite her muted yellow plumage. Shortly after, four immature orioles gathered on single bush. They called sporadically as they were perched. They didn’t seem to understand what to do, as if unsure what to make of me. Like the blackbirds, they, too, stared at me. I had my best look at young Baltimore Orioles yet – a excellent opportunity to unhurriedly note their washed-out orange plumage and their gray and white wings. As soon as I pressed forward, they flew to the trees, where they flitted around in search of food. Two young catbirds took over the bush.

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An osprey flying over may have dropped this partial fish skeleton. © S.G. Hansen

A miniature pond had formed on small section the path from a stream of water trickling down. I had to jump my way across. I gingerly took a step, and then another step. Five young turtles suddenly darted from the grass I nearly stepped on, dived into the water, and buried themselves under the mud. During that split second they jumped, I could see that their shells were dark with orange lines.

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They’re under there somewhere… © S.G. Hansen

I spooked so many robins every few yards the entire length I walked. They tore from out inside the berry-laden vegetation, crying Yeep! or Cuck cuck cuck! I lost count of the gray blurs and started rolling an estimated number, around three dozen. Many were adult age, though a few were speckle-breasted young. I didn’t expect so many robins here. Christine didn’t see so many on Saturday. This is the kind of number I would observe in the winter, the time when robins generally flock in larger numbers. Perhaps the individuals that are already done with breeding are now on the nomadic move.

Now back in the sanctuary, underneath the cool canopy shade, I heard the same Hairy Woodpecker family I saw last month. But after that, my descent on the white and red trails were quiet, with the exception of another young titmouse group. The number of robins sighted dropped drastically, although I did see a few more.

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Have a seat, I guess. Do a big sit. © S.G. Hansen

On the yellow trail once again – the other half of the pond loop – I began hearing the wood thrushes and pewees again. The Scarlet Tanager I heard calling from before was now singing. A group of a half-dozen or so Blue Jays jay-ed boisterously. I thought they were mobbing a raptor, but when I got close, they shut up. They were only talking to one another, apparently. I find it difficult to discern whether jays are talking or mobbing. (Personally, crows are easier.)

Towards trail’s end, I heard a pair Wood Thrushes duel. Down the trail, I saw a Red-trailed Hawk land high in a tree. A grackle and a blackbird moved in to protest its presence. It flew away promptly. I couldn’t tell if this was the same hawk from before, or a different one. I played in safe; I kept my Red-tail count at 1.

I observed 32 species on this hike. I was happy to exceed my goal of 25 and to hear a lot more singing from the migrants than I expected. Wood Thrushes and pewees, yes, but not Indigo Buntings and Scarlet Tanagers. Funny enough, no Red-eyed Vireos!

You can view the eBird list here.

Brinton Brook Hike, Report 6-2017

Because I now work weekends during the summer, I missed the Second Saturday group hike on the 10th. I will have to miss Second Saturday in July and August as well.

I got the chance to hike Brinton Brook by myself this morning. Black and yellow flies began zipping around my ears as soon as I got out of the car. I looked up to the overcast sky, a bright uniform gray. The air was so muggy that it perpetually felt like that second just before rain starts to fall. The robins sounded muted through the thick air.

Now that we have passed into the latter half of June (the summer doldrums for songbirds), I expected to hear a handful songs. Few songbirds sing at this time, save for the ones that have a second or third clutch and still need to establish territory. Most only raise one clutch and take care of their young ones at this time. I did, however, start my hike with a sharp eye and ear for fledglings.

Traveling up the trail to the map intersection, I heard two different chipping notes. One was familiar and the bird immediately seen soon after: Northern Cardinal. He foraged in the bushes next to the path. The other note was unfamiliar. I pished to draw out the source. On the other side of path, an immature male Indigo Bunting popped up and perched on a woody vine. He looked like Sleeping Beauty’s dress at the end of Flora and Merryweather’s fight: his plumage was a messy tye-dye of indigo and brown. For more than a minute, he chipped and chipped, turning to and fro, calling for his parents or expressing his state of alarm. He flew to another vine, continuing to chip, so I walked away.

I could still hear him when I reached the intersection. Not another bird made a peep. Pishing produced nothing. As I continued along the trail towards the field, I heard another chipping note from the myriad of black locusts. It sounded sharper and more metallic. Utilizing echolocation to find a bird more often difficult that easy. After a couple minutes, I saw bird finally move. An adult male Indigo Bunting. He moved closer to me, still chipping. Based on his and the other bunting’s behavior, I presumed he was scolding me for pestering his offspring, so I moved on quickly.

The pond was mostly shallow and covered in lily pads. A few Red-winged Blackbirds sang and called from all around. Walking alongside the pond, I heard more robins, a Red-eyed Vireo, a couple Eastern Wood-Pewees, and a Baltimore Oriole. I couldn’t find any herons, Great Blue or Green, when I scanned the other side. A lone green frog called.

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View of the pond from the eastern side. © S.G. Hansen

At the eastern end of the pond, the path narrowed because the vegetation had closed in on it. I paused a quick moment before crossing. I may not have been hiking the Hudson Highlands – where copperheads are about – but I (alone even with a cell phone) was still mindful about the possibility of a snake shooting towards me on the attack. As soon as I started walking I heard a rustle behind me. I looked back to see a black rat snake on the pond side of the path. It stared at me for a little before slinking into the water.

I had seen black rat snakes here before. The last time I hiked Brinton Brook, I saw three large ones swimming in the pond. Harmless, they are common in New York. They’re more likely to slither away from you when they’re scared rather than go on the attack.

At the blue trail’s beginning, I heard two Wood thrushes duel. The hike up to the power lines, of course, was quite dead, with exception to a small titmouse family.

The clouds were just starting to part away when I arrived the power lines. Minutes later, I saw mostly blue sky. The sun brightly shined. Now I was birding during a true summer day, hot and muggy. I observed a lot of bird activity: two Eastern Towhees, four Prairie Warblers, three Blue-winged Warblers, a couple more Baltimore Orioles, three more Indigo Buntings, two Field Sparrows, two loudly warblering House Wrens, and a Common Yellowthroat. From the woods I heard another Eastern Wood-Pewee and more cardinals. Many of these birds were singing and chattering all at once. The Prairies were flying about, and two of the Blue-winged were fighting. Numerous insects zipping around constantly threw off my focus.

I experienced my first birding sensory overload of the year. It was difficult to decide which single bird to settle on and to discern if it was a bird within a split second. But when the warblers came into view, I reserved my bins for them. I had only Prairies up to this point. It was a relief to finally see them. I also watched an Indigo Bunting sing perched atop of a nearby bush, his blue blazing in the sunlight. I also don’t often see Field Sparrows. It was wonderful to catch a sight of a pair.

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Nessus Sphinx Moth at the power lines field. © S.G. Hansen

I was relieved to re-enter the woods. Even though I now heard the construction of the golf course expansion at its loudest (I was hearing it throughout the hike since I started). The construction didn’t deter the birds from going about their business. I had walked into a miniature bubble of activity. A pair of Brown-headed Cowbirds flew about. Three voluble Hairy Woodpeckers sang, called, and darted from tree to tree. Another two male Baltimore Orioles – one adult, one immature – chattered. I disturbed a pair of Eastern Towhees into hiding. When I pished to coax the female out, the male burst forth and aggressively sang “Drink your tea!!!!”.

I continued. I heard more pewees, Wood Thrushes, titmice, and chickadees. At this point, I stopped keeping track of robins. I had seen a lot thus far – including immatures – and decided to estimate a number in the end. Shortly transitioning from the white to the yellow trail, I saw a Wood Thrush scoot along the forest floor, wary of my presence. Just ahead, in one spot, a Scarlet Tanager and Blue-headed Vireo sang. I tried getting on the vireo but failed. The tanager did fly into view, his red stunningly way more powerful than a cardinal’s. He sang even as carried an insect in his mouth.

Activity quieted down significantly as I further hiked down. Toward the trail’s end, I saw a few more robins, and heard one more pewee and the same Carolina Wren from the beginning. Before hopping back into my car, I stopped by the Weinstein pond, which was still as glass.

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I got within six feet of this tame bunny. © S.G. Hansen

My hike lasted a little less than two hours. I might have been more patient and slow-going were it not for the humidity. Summer is my least favorite season for this reason….That means it’s time to visit the beach for shorebirds! Still, I was pleased to go around Brinton Brook and barely make it in time before the summer doldrums hit. I observed 33 species. Check out the eBird checklist here!

Brinton Brook Hike, Report 4-2017

Reports of First-of-Season birds – including Eastern Phoebe, Pine Warbler, Palm Warbler, Chipping Sparrow – have been popping up. The past couple weeks were rainy and cold, but the weather predicted for the day of the hike looked promising: a clear sunny day, with the temperature rising from 40° in mid-morning to 50° by noon. And the snow from March’s Nor’easter finally melted away. Where there’s good weather, there’s good birds and much bird activity. I’d been looking forward to this month’s hike for the past week or so.

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Early spring flora: skunk cabbages by the pond. © S.G. Hansen

Unsurprisingly, our group count exceeded ten. Besides us regulars Mike, Rudy, Gerry, and me, several SMRA friends from Project Feederwatch joined. This winter season Cornell Lab of Ornithology project ended last Sunday, freeing the volunteers’ weekend mornings. Also joining us today were the Czech father and son duo (who last hiked with us in September), and two friends/former coworkers of mine.

From the time I arrived to when the hike began, I already counted up to 10 species, including a small variety of raptors: a Red-tailed Hawk, an Osprey, and an immature Bald Eagle – all flyovers. A male Brown Cowbird tried impressing a few female cowbirds. Robins foraged on the forest floor and whinnied. The year-round residents made their presence known with constant song.

While helping my friends adjust their binoculars, I missed the small group of Cedar Waxwings that the rest of the group had at trail’s beginning, but I did see the red-tail from before. It wasn’t hard to miss the site of a small massacre:

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Blue Jay leftovers. © S.G. Hansen

Just before we reached the meadow, I spotted two adult male Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers foraging next to the trail. Their red napes and throats stood out like red on a cardinal. They engaged in a quick skirmish. One landed on the tree on which the other was foraging, and the latter was chased off. I was a little surprised – I had never seen them in spring. But they are still on the move. Checking the eBird bar chart, people apparently spot them in Westchester all year round, albeit not so much from mid-spring to early-fall.

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A full pond. The red maple flowers are blooming. © S.G. Hansen

We took a short break at the eastern end of the pond. Two Red-winged Blackbirds conk-la-ree‘d. An Eastern Phoebe flycatched. No ducks or herons. Walking along the pond path, we came across more robins and downy and red-bellied woodpeckers. A flock of goldfinches twittered across the pond. Chipmunks darted away from us.

Someone noticed a male-female pair of Green-winged Teal swimming around the western end! The teals slowly scootered towards the phragmites, presumably to hide. Our group was rather large. Fortunately, most of us got an excellent view of them.

Seeing these small, attractive ducks at Brinton Brook was a first for me. They’ve been sighted at the sanctuary before, the first and only other time on March 2016. Teal aren’t as common in Croton as other wintering ducks, such as the Common Merganser and the Bufflehead.

Just as we were still observing the teals, a Palm Warbler stole their thunder. My First-of-Season! I wasn’t the person to spot it, but as soon as I heard one of us utter “Palm Warbler,” I diverted my attention from the teal to this bird, which was no more than twenty feet from us (I’d seen so many teal at the Montezuma refuge earlier this year anyway). I couldn’t miss out on such an amazing look at my first warbler of the year, especially one with vivid spring plumage. (I don’t count the Yellow-rumped Warbler, which I see more during winter than spring.) The sunlight intensified its yellow face and breast and its richly rufous cap. The Palm foraged on the edge of the pond, sticking close to two robins nearby. It flitted low among the vegetation on land and water, and even ventured onto the path for a bit. Its tail never took a break from bobbing up and down. At one point, the Palm perched higher in a tree and sang a few times. Had I not actually seen it sing, I would have mistaken it for a Chipping Sparrow or a junco. We made sure to tread carefully as we moved along so as not disturb the Palm much. But like the teal, it eventually hid itself from us completely.

When we reached the western end of the pond, we heard a Pileated Woodpecker call once. It called a second time a minute later, as if teasing us. As we admired the close-view of a bright male cardinal, the Pileated revealed itself, landing on a tree nearby. Seconds after, another Pileated landed on the same tree, on the opposite side of the trunk. Both climbed simultaneously, as if they were engaged in a challenge. I tried to discern the color of their mustaches (red for male, black for female) but couldn’t. The first took off, and then the second followed suit, both calling maniacally. They flew out of sight and hearing.

Ed Mertz and I dubbed the portion of the trail that leads to the power lines “the dead zone.” Each time we hike it, we hardly see or hear any birds (Ed, fellow SMRA member, frequents Brinton Brook more often than I and takes wonderful photographs of the birds). Today, however, we counted one robin and – this one caused excitement – a Northern Flicker. The flicker, which was foraging on the ground, flew to a tree, exposing his yellow-tinged wings. Farther up the hill, we encountered two vibrantly blue male Eastern Bluebirds. While one hunted for insects, the other was cooperatively perched on a tree at eye-level for several minutes. I spotted another flicker.

The power lines didn’t have much songbird activity. Another cardinal sang and our third and last flicker called (pew!). We had unintentionally split into two groups. My group, having gone ahead, saw another Red-tailed Hawk flying over the field, and the other group observed an adult Bald Eagle soar over the forest. A Turkey Vulture glided overheard as we re-entered the sanctuary.

Our hike down was quiet save for a few chickadees and titmice consistently calling and buzzing. A second Carolina Wren sang. Blue Jays jay’d. We stopped to look a Red-tailed Hawk perched in a tree. It flew away when we continued, allowing me to note it was an immature – blank breast, lack of red tail, pale tail bands.

Once we reached the last leg of hike (the yellow trail, which loops around the pond), activity increased some. I heard more robins, presumably the same ones from the beginning of the hike. A small flock of goldfinches drank from the stream, twittering incessantly and yet sweetly. One male’s plumage nearly molted to bright yellow. A White-breasted Nuthatch and a Song Sparrow sang. I found one Dark-eyed Junco.

Earlier, Ed and I talked about the fact that we had seen every woodpecker possible except for the Hairy. We kept our ears open and eyes peeled for one since we saw the first flicker. Ed even joked that couldn’t leave the sanctuary until we had one. Barely at trail’s end, we heard a sharp call. We waited to hear it again but got nothing. We didn’t see a bird either. The Hairy’s call sounds very similar to the Downy’s (as do their songs), but the Hairy sounds louder and forceful in comparison. I added Hairy Woodpecker to my list. That call had to have belonged to a Hairy. (We did it, Ed!)

I observed 30 species today. This month’s hike was great all-around: good weather, good birds, good company. I expected another other First-of-Year, the Chipping Sparrow. I was a little disappointed to not observe a Chipper. I thought I would hear its song for sure. It doesn’t beat a Palm Warbler, though.

Check out the eBird checklist here.

Brinton Brook Hike, Report 3-2017

Between last month and this month’s hikes, the temperature practically ping-ponged from 40° to 65° to 40° to 65°. Besides snow drops, a few orange crocuses flowered in my front yard. The daffodils had also started growing, green stems inching upward. And the viburnum next to the front steps was also beginning to bloom magnificently. And then yesterday, Winter dragged Spring backstage – again. About three inches of snow fell. The early spring plants were covered. The viburnum’s blossoms, wilted and darkened, looked pathetic.

The car thermometer on my way to Brinton read 16°. Thankfully, the sun shined. The morning was shaping up to be beautiful in spite of the dry, frigid air. Sunlight meant the birds would be out.

Our group number reached five: myself, Mike, Rudy, Gerry Weinstein, and Alexandra, a birdwatching friend whom I haven’t seen since summer.

I heard about a dead deer in Gerry’s pond earlier in the week, so we went to take a look. The deer had been crossing, misjudged the ice thickness, fell through, and drowned and/or froze to death. Gerry had seen deer tracks on the ice earlier in the winter, but with recent temperatures…. The deer’s corpse attracted turkey vultures, black vultures, and even an immature bald eagle. Only part of the deer was exposed to open air. I got a good look of its bare ribs through my binoculars.

This winter seems to have fallen into a bird activity pattern, shaped like a horseshoe if the data were drawn on a graph. Lots of activity in the beginning, nearly thinned out to nothing at the power lines, and back to much activity at hike’s end. While waiting at the parking lot, I heard more than half of dozen goldfinches tweeting, but couldn’t get my eyes on them. I also heard other usual winter birds: chickadee, titmouse, blue jay, American crow. At the map intersection, we saw nuthatches and a pair of red-bellied woodpeckers.

The pond wasn’t completely frozen. A few black ducks gladly foraged where the water was open. Unexpectedly, we were treated to a show on ice. A mixed flock of more than dozen goldfinches and several bluebirds searched for seeds by the pond’s edge. We watched them a bit before continuing on the trail, which brought us closer to the mixed flock. I stopped at a point in which the birds wouldn’t be too disturbed by our presence. The bluebirds – I counted up to eight – flew further into the woods, but then they soon returned to rejoin the goldfinches.

The lighting was optimal. Everyone with binoculars could clearly see the goldfinches’ finely patterned olive, black, and white plumage and the contrast between the female and male bluebirds’ colors (females look pale compared the vibrant males). At one point, we were distracted by the arrival of a young red-tailed hawk. It perched high in a tree for a couple minutes and then flew out of sight, revealing wing-tip curls.

The goldfinches were as still as kinglets – in that they were not at all still. Those that foraged on the ice didn’t forage for long. Many roller coaster fights erupted among them. They zipped from branch to branch, tree to tree. They incessantly twittered a mess of “per-chick-o-ree”‘s. At some point, a few were right over our heads, demonstrating they were more concerned with their affairs than with us. To add to the goldfinch chaos, downies and red-bellied woodpeckers called. Three Carolina wrens fought one another. A fourth sang from somewhere else around the pond. The auburn orbs tumbled through branches and over fallen trees, trilling and flapping frantically. The bluebirds seemed much more relaxed when not disturbed by their neighbors’ frenzied behavior. It was easier to keep track of them as they foraged on the ice. One particular bluebird perched in tree directly in front of me. She was still for up to a minute. Puffed up to retain, she looked like a plush toy. The sunlight illuminated and further softened blue and orange feathers.

When we continued walking along the pond, we flushed a flock of juncos. I thought I saw a Carolina wren with them, darting to hide under a log, but that flash of a moment I realized it looked browner overall. Winter wren? Too early for house wren. I tried pishing and playback to get it to pop up. Only juncos emerged. I didn’t see the wren again, but I was positive it was a winter wren based on the color and time of year. Since this was a year bird for me, I would have liked to get a much better look. I lingered a bit just in case, but not for long.

Yesterday at dusk, Rudy spotted a great horned owl. We took a detour trail to the power lines in order to find it. Unfortunately, it was long gone. Two titmice wheezed and whistled around that very area.

The power lines were quiet except for a couple chickadees and nuthatches, some white-throated sparrows, and a cardinal singing far away. We counted our third turkey vulture for the morning soaring overhead. I pished only to scare away the white-throats.

When we went back inside the sanctuary property, we saw more chickadees and one more bluebird. Not long after we started our way on the white trail, I noticed a different woodpecker: a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker! I hadn’t seen one since New Year’s Day at Rockwood Hall. And the last time I observed one at Brinton Brook was February 2016. This sapsucker was an immature, nearly adult. Though it was large enough, it didn’t have a red cap (males have both a red cap and a red chin, while females only have a red cap) and any yellow on its body, but the rest of its black and white barred plumage was neatly coming together (the very young sapsuckers look scruffy).

We reached the highest point of the sanctuary. The wind picked up. The sky had become fully overcast at this point, with the sun barely peaking through the fast moving dark gray clouds. We could see and hear the driving range construction at the golf course, which is south-east adjacent to the sanctuary.

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This wasn’t here last month. Have a mound of dirt. ©S.G. Hansen

As stated before, we didn’t encounter much more bird activity until the very end. There, white-throats called and foraged on either side of the trail. The blue jays jay’d. More nuthatches, more chickadees, one more red-bellied woodpecker. I paused to see if there was another species of sparrow hanging with the white-throats. My attention turned to another bird, which I initially thought to be another chickadee. I suspected its flightier-than-usual foraging behavior and put my binoculars on it. Golden-crowned Kinglet! Another excellent winter resident. I last saw one at Montrose Point State Forest during the Great Backyard Bird Count. Either kinglet species is always lovely to find, but I might be more biased towards the Golden-crowned than the Ruby-crowned. The bright orange-yellow crown – lined on either side with a black stripe – strikingly contrasts with the overall olive plumage, and its thin black eyeline adds to it character. They’re also not as flighty as Ruby-crowned Kinglets.

Alexandra and I lagged behind to observe the kinglet until it flitted out of view. It was the last best show for today’s hike.

Have a look at the eBird list: http://ebird.org/ebird/view/checklist/S35104506

Brinton Brook Hike, Report 2-2017

A snowstorm on Thursday brought us twelve inches of snow. I knew I would be in for a tougher hike this month. The temperature wasn’t that cold – just above freezing, no windchill factor. The sky decided to become overcast at the last minute. Unlike the February two years ago, I now had proper footwear and no excuse to skip the hike.

Driving in, I flushed at least three dozen Dark-eyed Juncos foraging for grit on the road. I caught a blue flash from a bright male Eastern Bluebird zooming over my car. When I parked and got out to gather my gear, I heard a number of birds unceasingly sing or call: White-breasted Nuthatch, Blue Jay, Tufted Titmouse, Black-capped Chickadee, and Carolina Wren. Though that doesn’t seem like many species, it’s certainly a huge difference compared to the quiet that had been reigning since fall migration’s end. Winter birds begin singing to claim territory in February. By this time, the amount of daylight has substantially increased since the solstice. The birds have taken their cue. Earlier this week,  in my neighborhood, I heard a House Finch and a Northern Cardinal sing for the first time this year.

Hike leader Mike arrived shortly after I did. There were no other cars parked on the un-plowed lot. The snow cover wasn’t unoutched. Visitors had already stopped by sometime after the storm. As we waited for additional hikers, a Red-tailed Hawk flew over our heads. A flock of seven rowdy Blue Jays landed in a tree above us. Seconds later, they flew away. Gerry Weinstein would be the only other person to join us this month. We three set out.

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Trail’s beginning. © S.G. Hansen

 

We rested a bit at the trail map fork (which I call the warbler corner during the warmer months). The amount of trail from the parking lot to this point wouldn’t be considered a hike, but because of the snow, my heart beat as if I’d just finished jogging a mile. I was sweating. I took off my gloves. People and dogs had already stomped on the snow for us, but I still felt like I hiked on sand.These people even blazed a trail for deer, who left hoof-prints over boot-prints.

Not as much activity here. I continued to hear the same birds from before, plus a House Finch sweetly twittering somewhere east, out of our view. We barely saw a Red-bellied Woodpecker against the backlighting. The parking lot and the map area were apparently the only hotspots in the sanctuary that morning. It wasn’t until the very end, when we nearly completed our loop, that we came across a lot of activity again. At the pond, now frozen, the winter trio (chickadee, titmouse, nuthatch) made some noise and we bothered a male Northern Cardinal, who chipped at us in annoyance by the side of the trail.

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Itty bitty birdie tracks – likely belonging to Dark-eyed Juncos – around Black Birch seed hulls. © S.G. Hansen

Other than the occasional nuthatch, jay, and crow, we trudged through silence. At least, I was trudging. Somehow I became the leader of the single-file line, followed by Gerry and then Mike. I was glad for the fact that the snow was still fluffy and not at all icy. But I’m a short person with short legs. Hiking through six inches of snow is a doozy for me. I may regularly visit the gym, but I only hike once a month, not counting any walking I do when I birdwatch. “You’ve slowed down,” Mike commented as we trekked uphill to the powerlines. I don’t remember what I said in response, but I was looking forward to soon completing the hardest part of the hike.

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A Tulip Tree (its trunk is on the right) has absorbed another tree into itself. © S.G. Hansen

When we neared the top of the hill, we heard a loud, rapid drumming. Based on the intensity, I guessed that the drumming belonged to one of the resident Pileated Woodpeckers. I tried looking for it with my binoculars. The bird drummed a couple more times. I couldn’t find it – too far away from us, hard to pinpoint its location. I was sure we were hearing Pileated. It was very similar to the drumming I heard by the pond last month, when I did eventually find the bird responsible for the drumming.

We decided not to walk the powerlines earlier, but Mike and Gerry wanted to at least venture out for a moment. Mike blazed through the virgin snow as if there weren’t any snow. (He may tell you he’s out of shape, but it’s up to you if you believe him or not.) I didn’t think there would be (m)any birds, but I followed behind somewhat reluctantly. We were treated to a lovely view of snow-coated mountains to the north – namely, Bear Mountain and Anthony’s Nose. A steady, thick steam cloud rose from Indian Point. Winter silence accompanied the scenery.

Mike, puzzled by the lack of bird presence, pointed to certain plants. The birds should be eating this, the birds should be eating that, and that, and that. We’d seen a good amount of berries and seeds for the birds to eat as we hiked, but the foods remained untouched. “Why don’t you pish?” Mike offered.

I don’t remember what I replied, maybe I simply mumbled and trailed off. With this much snow covering the ground – which could also be called “the great flat food-provider” – I imagined the birds wouldn’t want to waste their energy being bothered over nothing. I didn’t pish. I heard was some cawing from crows I couldn’t see and a chickadee’s tinny “feebee.” All I saw were a few juncos by the sanctuary’s edge and a jay or two flying about. While I distractedly looked around, Gerry spotted a woodpecker racing from one side of the field to the other. I was able to get on it with my binoculars mid-flight and noticed a particular mustache. Northern Flicker! Gerry had never seen a flicker before. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get a very good look at it when it perched. We bemoaned the awful lighting.

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Deer bedding. © S.G. Hansen

We didn’t hike our usual route (going the powerlines, then onto the green and white trails, and finally back onto the yellow). Instead, we continued on the blue trail to the yellow trail, which loops the pond. There were no birds to hear or see during our descent from the powerlines, so Gerry, Mike and I began concentrating on animal tracks. Gerry owned a pamphlet on tracks and scat, but he left it in his cottage. Still, guessing which tracks were which by memory alone was part of the entertainment, especially when it came to discerning the difference between dog and coyote. (Coyote’s look more oval-shaped. The footpads are triangular, and the claws aren’t as pronounced as they are in dog tracks. Sometimes, a dragging line trails the prints, indicating a tail, which would definitely belong to a dog.) Of  course, we saw dog tracks on every inch of trail we hiked. We also found a couple coyote tracks, some more deer, and one belonging to an Eastern Cottontail rabbit. Wherever we came across fallen birch seeds, we found small bird tracks.

As soon as we approached trail’s end, we were met with a burst of activity. A large flock of juncos foraged on the hillside (presumably the same flock I flushed from before). I suddenly noticed wings fluttering against a tree trunk near us. I assumed “nuthatch” right away, but then I saw familiar flurry of moth mottled brown: Brown Creeper!! I’m always happy to see a creeper, as it is my ultimate favorite bird and I don’t see them frequently. I miss them during spring and summer. They’re winter birds for Westtchester. Watching a creeper – whether I’m birdwatching or just out-and-about – makes my day, no matter how well my day is going. This one was the fourth creeper I had seen so far this year. Looking back at my past Brinton Brook lists, I apparently noted the last sighting in November 2014. A bit sad…

I maintained my focus on the creeper for as long as it was in my sight. Its small, jerky movements will never lose charm, and neither will the way it flutters from tree to tree. I did stray my binoculars to ID a Hairy Woodpecker. Another species for the list. Always welcomed after so many Downy’s. Mike and Gerry indulged me and waited patiently. Gerry had never seen a creeper before (that made two new species for him this morning) and watched it with interest. He wasn’t able to keep up with it as I did, so he turned his attention to the juncos. When I finally lost the creeper, we walked ahead. The juncos had disappeared. From at that point to the parking lot, I heard the Blue Jays continue their ruckus, the lone House Finch from before sing away, an American Robin “yeep!!” a few times, and another Carolina Wren sing about tea kettles (or cheeseburgers, if you will). I was positive I heard the question mark note of an American Goldfinch.

We completed the hike in 1 hour and 45 minutes. Less than average, even with periodic rests, but still a workout because of the snow. I counted up to 19 species. You can view the eBird list here: http://ebird.org/ebird/view/checklist/S34344128