40-Degree Rise
At 6:45 AM on another quiet Sunday, it’s a mere 12 degrees, and the freeze-up continues apace. Cloudy and still.
The Mallards are restless this morning, rushing back and forth between the Gap and the paper mill impoundment, up and down Bald Eagle Creek and the Little Juniata River. Given the number of ice floes bobbing through the narrowing neck of the confluence, I would guess their typical feeding routine is disrupted. I suspect many of the 50-plus that I see are from the population displaced from the frozen pond.
A long train from the east blots out five minutes of the early calls, but I do catch a Northern Cardinal and a Song Sparrow around seven. JR’s honking, of course, cannot be suppressed.
The Rock Pigeons are out in numbers early today. At 7:13, a cloud of around 50 lift off, with an outlier that eventually joins as they head over the toe of the mountain.
A single House Finch over, calling, at 7:16, is the first and only one for 10 minutes—I wonder if it could be HOFI with the predictable schedule from last week?
American Robins are still about. Today’s report consists of a straggling group of five emerging from Brush Mountain and heading over town, joined by another coming in high from Bald Eagle Mountain.
By 7:23, the sun’s already been up for a few minutes, its soft, orange glow the backdrop for the wake-up calls of a White-breasted Nuthatch and Carolina Wren. Thirteen European Starlings swoop in at 7:26 and the nuthatch, which has been ‘yank’-ing continuously at my 11, bounds across the frame, alighting in the cluster of trees to my right.
Fifteen species by 7:30, and it’s nearly over already! A few starlings gather at the tip-top of the tallest sycamore across the river, boisterous despite there being no rays to greet.
The big species of the morning: a Wood Duck drake elevates from somewhere around the confluence; I get stunning looks as it circles a couple of times, toward the Gap and up the Creek, then decides to head up the Juniata, instead. I suppose it could be the same one that was hanging about the pond in late January.
At 7:32, the Downy Woodpecker calls, but I linger until 8 to see what else is about, as bird activity drops back to near zero. The temperature has already risen to 17.
At one point, a House Sparrow tussles with a starling in the air: this is the first aggressive interaction I’ve seen between these species (or, that I can remember, between any species) so far this year.
Rock Pigeons are still lifting off, alone, in pairs, or in groups of two or three: over 100 make the early commute today. I find it fascinating that the sub-population of junkyard pigeons that roosts in brick buildings to my right and eventually will nest under the interstate girders don’t commute directly east through the Gap, but instead, except on the foggiest mornings, always head downtown first to circle around, then depart from there, joining up with others as warranted. Certainly not the most direct route for them.
At 7:54, a Red-tailed Hawk is out and about way north on the interstate flanks of Bald Eagle Mountain, and a few minutes later, JR or another local raven coasts over from the same mountain, then drops out of sight behind the highway. From what I saw the other day, I now know it is most likely walking around and inspecting the exit-ramp field.
18 species this dawn: not too shabby!
Deer Smear
Later, on a shopping trip, I drive around the remains of a white-tail painted onto the I-99 overpass above the junkyard area. It’s a death trap between concrete barriers here, with no way out for deer attempting to cross from Brush Mountain. Good for the corvids, though: a flock of American Crows and Common Ravens is hard at work cleaning things up, between the light traffic.
Waiting for Thermals
The most valuable birding I can do today is another balcony sit in anticipation of rising temperatures. After all, the pond won’t be thawed again for a couple of days, and the woods continue empty. With any luck, I can catch some raptors I’m missing for February.
I am out on the balcony at 1:08 PM, and it’s 44 with a weak sun poking through wispy clouds. No wind yet, though, and I’m banking on a stiff breeze.
From Zero to 57
Eleven minutes go by without a single bird. No flying pigeons, no sounds of starlings, sparrows, or finches, nothing. Not a woodpecker, not a chickadee. Absolutely still. The doldrums.
The drought ends at 1:19 with 15 Rock Pigeons about town. Four minutes later, three Black Vultures are conjured from over the Bald Eagle ridge crest and flap quickly west overhead and out of sight.
On the half hour, a breeze makes itself felt, mixing with the faint smell of manure. Perhaps they are already prepping the brown fields to the east.
February is a slow time, and never slower than the early afternoon. Over the first hour, I record a total of five species. Contrast that with the 15-or-so I get at dawn, sometimes in half that time. I commented to Paola that in the entire month of January, I logged 57 species for the hotspot, after probably more than a hundred hours of effort. That’s the same number I can detect from 6 AM to 7 AM on a single sit in First Field in mid-May. But we’ll make it.
Raptors!
By two, the sun is stronger and the air is warmer, passing 50. An immature Bald Eagle goes over Sapsucker Ridge fast at 2:06, heading east. First record for February! Not just this year, but any year—the month was curiously devoid of this species for the hotspot.
Another first species for February 2023, a Cooper’s Hawk is up and scattering Rock Pigeons in all directions downtown. Raptors expected and delivered!
Now I know there are thermals, as four ravens lift off and circle slowly upward above the toe of Bald Eagle Mountain. Meanwhile, a Red-tailed Hawk hovers on the other side of the towers. It’s just after 2:30. Oddly enough, not a single starling is about town. A pair of ravens start to fly in tight tandem formation, a mile distant. Then an adult Bald Eagle rockets over Sapsucker Ridge, heading east.
Break-Up
The ice jamming the confluence detaches itself and starts to spin, finally joining the last of the jagged, bobbing chunks floating down from upriver, as two fisherkids toss out some lures. First angling I’ve seen this year from what is a very popular spot.
The ravens swoop down, twisting and turning; one alights on a light pole and the other keeps going, possibly to grab some smeared deer for an afternoon snack.
The Red-tailed Hawk that was soaring over Bald Eagle Mountain now takes its time to find and follow the invisible path across the Gap to Sapsucker Ridge, and continues on down the ridge out of sight. It should find another place to hover within a mile or two.
Harrier
At 3, a nice surprise. The silhouette of a Northern Harrier, lanky wings and long tail, crosses over Bald Eagle Mountain by the towers, from valley to valley, or perhaps it is heading to some reclaimed strip mine field up on the Front. Plummer’s Hollow 200 #59, an expected species but one not easy to see in winter from this spot. I expect a lot more during migration periods. In previous years, we used to get a pair or two hunting in First Field in January, but not recently.
Metal Perch
Around 3:30, a raven pair has decided to surveil the towers. They’re quite territorial about the maze of disks, antennas, and girders in the warm months of the year, pushing away hawks, eagles, and Ospreys as circumstances warrant, though avoiding any aggression toward the many vultures that use it. Much to my surprise, they perch: first I’ve seen any bird do this in 2023. Must be really warm in the sun up there.
Rock Pigeons are all over town; I think of them as tempting snacks for an errant Peregrine Falcon, but no such luck today.
The last of the raptor activity happens around 4 while I’m on the phone. I have impressions of a Turkey Vulture tilting close in toward my balcony, then out toward the Gap. The sunlight picks up a rich chestnut on its wings.
Starlings return from wherever at 4:20, but not in numbers.