A case of the Mondays
gloom, fog, and unexpected guests
[Plummer’s Hollow 200 checklist here.]
6:58 AM, but I’m too late to hear the American Robin wind-up. He’s already singing lustily, and doesn’t cease but for a minute or two over the next hour. Comforting, as if it were March out here. Certainly seems like it at 46 degrees.
Time Equals Light
Otherwise, silence. From the birds, anyway: a wall of sound has returned with a commuter Monday, the noise of revving engines and rattling semis exacerbated by the squishy drone of wet tires on pavement. Except for the robin, this is shaping up to be one of those eerily inactive days, a stark reminder we are months from any sort of a rain-or-shine, hormone-soaked dawn chorus.
Fog, growing thicker. Humidity at 93%. Numbers will be down today, but nevertheless, sometimes strange things happen when the Gap is choked in. I sit immersed in a perfumed cloud of steam from the laundromat downstairs, not a pleasant sensation. Ten minutes go by, but possible ticks and tweets are nothing but drips of meltwater off roofs.
Finally, at 7:12 AM, the Dark-eyed Junco and then the Northern Cardinal run through their wake-up tick series, both invisible. As the rest of the first half-hour winds down with nothing else stirring, I am reminded, once again, that time = light. The bright days lull me with the clocklike predictability of their morning call sequences, a minute or two earlier every day. Nevertheless, the birds are responding to the amount of light, so today when it stays dark and gloomy, not a creature is stirring when yesterday it was nearly peak dawn already.
Hawk and Raven
A dramatic break in the boredom! A harsh, gull-like screech three times from the big river sycamore (picked up faintly here), and a large shape explodes from its perch and darts into the air. More screeches as the Cooper’s Hawk flies around a bit above the interstate, then heads off downriver. Unless it was already on the move, this nearby roost was distinct from yesterday’s sleeping spot. Perhaps related to this activity, the Common Raven who roosts in the old brick tannery behind the sycamore began to call at the same time the Cooper’s started up; not the plaintive cry of yesterday, but the regular old croak. I would love to know why one call and not the other, a day apart.
It soars into view from right to left, then downriver as well.
Despite this noisy interlude, the species tally is only at five by 7:35, when normally it would be close to 15. Time = light. Then the Carolina Wren calls close, and around 60 starlings zoom into town from the valley. A few minutes later, the Rock Pigeon commute kicks off late with a spiral of 45.
Icterids!!!
My first WTF moment of 2023 as a large, oval flock of…something…begins to resolve itself out of the gloom to the south. Silent but for a few clucks, it becomes a tight mass of 350 Common Grackles, a species we’ve never recorded in January (or February) for the hotspot. The warm and the wet has brought them back from valleys to the south and east, I suppose. As grackles do, these wheel a bit and then the whole flock, without losing its shape, heads out to the fields of Sinking Valley. A lone starling that briefly joined up with them heads back to town, circling repeatedly over my head, calling with what I would like to think is the same bewilderment I’m feeling.
At 7:51, the swollen Little Juniata spits out our wintering Great Blue Heron, which looks like it’s struggling to find a foothold. Fishing must still be good, though: nice to see it stuck around for the New Year.
The grackle parade continues, as a smaller flock goes by, this time with some Red-winged Blackbirds mixed in, also new for January. The last flock is at 8 AM; all told, around 50 blackbirds and almost 500 grackles this morning. My exclamations reach Paola’s ears, and the text comes: “Omg fuera de control Again.”
I wait to wrap until 8:15 just to make sure the Icterids are done. The morning was as notable for what didn’t stir compared to what did. No ducks in sight, and low numbers of the common stuff. Eighteen species; three are new for the Big Year.
Today’s Great Blue Heron, Common Grackle, and Red-winged Blackbird have put the Plummer’s Hollow 200 at 38 species. Once again we added species I didn’t have on my January hopefuls list.
The fog and gloom look set to continue for the week, so perhaps some more Icterid species will show up. New waterfowl might, as well: tomorrow, I’ll head over to the hidden pond at some point to see what’s going on. By Thursday, the Hollow road will be a cinch to drive, so I’ll get up there for a morning sit before the weather pattern changes for the colder. I think the hotspot will have its first 50 species by the time Sunday is done.
Great, useful work, Mark!
It's so helpful when a skilled observer adopts a particular place, and reports on it on a regular basis. Keep up the excellent work. I look forward to following you.