If you’re after sparrows, then spitting rain and wind bode well. I don’t make it up to the mountain until close to 7 AM today, but no worries, I’m still up before the sparrows. I park by the barn and attempt to sit above the wetland, in case something rare, like a Marsh Wren or Nelson’s Sparrow, calls. The rain quickly beats me back to the barn overhang.
Today is all about the numbers. Peak towhee, and the state record, was last October 8th, also a soggy day. It will take coverage of the whole field as well as the White-throat-Towhee line from Far Field to Dogwood Knoll.
Despite the wind and rain, Song and Field sparrows start up by seven, but mostly stay put. The White-throats and Eastern Towhees are more distant. As soon as it’s light enough, I begin a meandering slog through goldenrod, as soaked as I’d be in any swamp. Luckily, it’s in the upper fifties.
Sparrows in the Raw
Lincoln’s Sparrow breaks the record again, with 20. I think it’s numbers are down from Thursday, but at least I am able to cover the extent of the species’ preferred habitat today. Swamp Sparrows break the hotspot record, with 13; this time of year they break out of the swamps and can be found throughout the property.
Field Sparrows are appropriately abundant; I count 65, a hotspot and county record, with all but two in First Field, and the others at Far Field. As for White-crowned Sparrow, I see just one. What I don’t see are Vesper, Grasshopper, and Savannah sparrows, though all have been going over at night.
Song Sparrows end up quite abundant (63), but nowhere near as abundant as they become in March.
Peak Towhee
The headache is the towhee/white-throat transect. Eight major congregations are here today, with the largest one in the barberry thickets inside the forest just north of First Field. When I pass through in mid-morning, clouds of White-throats erupt, some 200 in all, and for every five of them, a towhee. Going north, the last congregation is a couple hundred meters shy of Dogwood Knoll. Between Dogwood Knoll and the tracks (Fisher Hollow, Big Tree Hollow, Hanging Hollow), I count zero White-throats and two towhees. At this point I’m OK without, since my brain is ringing with their calls, which follow me into an afternoon nap long after I’ve stopped counting.
The super-abundance of food and excellent cover combine to create conditions for a new Eastern Towhee state record of 152, which breaks last year’s high by over 50, and a county-high 755 White-throated Sparrows. I watch both species gorge on grapes, mile-a-minute, and the last black cherries, as well as lanternflies and other arthropods.
Among all the White-throats, I see and hear a single Fox Sparrow briefly, well ahead of the rest of its species. In a few weeks, I expect we’ll have many dozens in here.
The first Dark-eyed Juncos are also here, somewhere. I hear them but never catch a glimpse. According to Nighthawk, some American Tree Sparrows have gone over as well, but I’ve not looked at the tape to confirm, yet.
Particularly between First Field and Dogwood Knoll, the woods are also saturated with other birds, albeit in smaller numbers. Ruby-crowned Kinglets reach 37 and Golden-crowned Kinglets are not far behind, at 25. Six Brown Creepers are mostly heard, not seen. An astonishing 16 Winter Wrens show up (hotspot/county record), mostly not in their preferred habitat along the stream. They are in the woods as well as the fields; I would swear that every fall migration brings more of them.
In the yard trees, the number of tail-wagging Palm Warblers, accompanied by Yellow-rumped Warblers, are up, and they’re easy to see in the nearly leafless black walnuts. As the morning progresses, the clouds clear out and the wind grows stronger. It’s seemingly a good day for migrant raptors, but all I see other than the resident Sharp-shinned Hawk and some Turkey Vultures is a Red-tailed Hawk doing the Hollywood Eagle scream, which I had thought came from one of the nearly 100 Blue Jays seemingly everywhere I look.
Many leaves are turning, with a new palette of colors to replace the beaten-down and faded goldenrods.
Decline of the Warblers
There are fewer warblers every time I visit, except for the ascending Palm and Yellow-rumps, but Black-throated Blues are still going strong, and they are as tame as ever. A single curious Ovenbird shows up along Bird Count Trail, along with a Tennessee and a Blackpoll that appear to be hunting together. Cape Mays continue to hold on, I spot a single Nashville, and a handful of Common Yellowthroats are still clanking in the field and locusts.
I am astounded to see the Mourning Warbler again today, just a few yards from where I saw it on Thursday. Today, it flies up from goldenrod to a locust draped with mile-a-minute, and I get its field marks before it disappears, once again not to be lured out.
At the entrance to Far Field, an odd squeak from one bird in the goldenrod leaves me mystified, but it doesn’t sit up. I make the circuit, and as I am leaving the field, a Connecticut Warbler flies up from the goldenrod to a low branch, watching me for a few seconds. This is their season; I saw some a while ago and was wondering if they would reappear. As I enter the woods, a second (or third) possible COWA flies up from a hay-scented fern patch in exactly the same motion as the last, but perches out of sight. It could also have been a Hermit Thrush, though, given the habitat.
On my second circuit of First Field, under a brilliant mid-morning, I surprise a second confirmed Connecticut Warbler just north of the powerline. As always, it flies out of goldenrod, squeaking, but this one perches some 25 feet up in a tree, watching me warily. I am able to snap multiple shots before it assumes a new position. After a full three minutes, it flies off. I have to think that today is peak Connecticut (though none at the eponymous corner) with possibly up to five in the hotspot.
Later, walking up the Hollow, I spot a pair of Wood Thrushes that had apparently been drinking in the stream. These will very likely be the last of 2023.