A quarter ‘til six and the early trio—American Robin, Song Sparrow, and House Sparrow—are already at it. I’ll have it to back up my vigil tomorrow to see when they get started. I’ve already backed up my own alarm to 4 AM in preparation for May Madness; the main problem is getting through the middle work hours of the day. Thankfully, I can summon a 20-minute power nap on demand.
Up on the mountain, without the glare of street lights, they’re getting up a bit later. Well, not the Eastern Phoebe: since it nests in the garage near my recording equipment (photo to follow), I’ve picked it up as early as 4:30 AM, and by 6 AM it is going full-tilt. The Northern Cardinal rises before the Song Sparrow up there, but both don’t start going until a bit after six. Perhaps the most notable difference is the American Woodcock. On warm nights, they court starting at dusk around 8:15, and go into the wee hours. After a few hours of rest, they start back up after 5, and go until after 6.
Talk about going all night: the antenna is in full swing now, and with a good night at the end of March and another this week, we’ve added Savannah Sparrow, Vesper Sparrow, American Bittern, Virginia Rail, and best of all, the first-ever Wilson’s Snipe for the hotspot. These will show up on the eBird year list as soon as I post the checklists, which will put the Plummer’s Hollow 200 at around 96 species.
Raven and Nuthatch
Dawn itself today wasn’t too eventful. The junkyard raven has been making an engaging 4-part croak—’raaaaak, raaaaak, RAAAAK-raaaaak’—-with the third note at a higher pitch. I’ve not seen a pair over by the junkyard since what I took to be a courtship ritual a couple of weeks ago, but I’ve seen this one several times carrying large, white- or yellow-colored objects in its beak from the junkyard out to Bald Eagle Mountain. I’ve also seen the pair on a daily basis cavorting above both mountains and in the Gap. I suspect that there is a nest somewhere out toward the towers.
Another bird that has caught my eye is the White-breasted Nuthatch. Last evening, it came back to the concrete wall and spent several seconds probing. I also see it regularly probing the power poles; it is the only bird I’ve seen do this. Now that I am able to sit outside to work during good portions of the day, I’ve noticed that it tends to fly by every few hours, always in the same direction from up Bald Eagle Creek, sometimes visiting a pole or the concrete wall, then usually spending some time on the red maples along the river. I’ve also heard it make a variety of calls, though I have not seen the pair. According to Birds of the World, nuthatches have been seen building nests as early as April 9 in Pennsylvania.
In the case of this nuthatch, I think it may have some sort of polygonal route around town, because I’ve not seen it fly back the other direction (and it’s quite hard to miss). Given my fixed situation, I have to hope the pair decides to nest somewhere close.
Think Summer
The day heats slowly, and by 10:40 it is 60 degrees, with cumulonimbus beginning to form. In the blinding sunlight, Common Grackles are unusually active, and I catch the season’s first Northern Rough-winged Swallow heading upriver and out of sight. By noon, it’s 70.
In the afternoon, convection storms rumble and the dark louds split rain, but the heavens never open up. Three odd black shapes come flap-gliding from the south, over Sapsucker Ridge, tails flared and necks stretched out: Double-crested Cormorants! April is the best month to see this species, which I yellow-listed for the hotspot because we don’t have much local habitat for it; you pretty much have to catch it flying. We do have a single record from the summer: at the beginning of last September, one floated up in broad circles, in an Anhinga-like flight, directly up from the river near me, down by the bridge; I suspect it had been roosting in nearby tree.
Right around two, the mercury hits 80 and keeps going.
Bats & Robins
The leafless April earth is still recovering from 82 degrees by half past seven. The return to roost is subdued, with the usual flocks of Turkey Vultures and Common Grackles straggling past—grackles in both directions, but mostly east to west—and a smattering of song from the local wrens, sparrows, and cardinals. The Common Merganser pair skims Bald Eagle Mountain, heading back to its sleeping place downriver.
Little Brown Bats and American Robins are flying around at a few minutes to eight. The robins are calling all about town, and some are still plummeting to roosts. The most local one posts up a few feet away, apparently eager for me to get lost.
Our balcony is smack-dab on the bat highway from downtown buildings to the confluence. Tonight is the first night I’ve seen them, and by 8:04, when I go in, 22 have fluttered overhead toward the evening’s feast. Appropriate, I guess: today was a Spring Cleanup for the town, with boy scouts sawing and shouting all over the place.