Typical Monday. I’m feeling quite sorry for one of the local American Robins this morning. It has been perched for close to an hour on a wire over toward the river, seemingly incapacitated by what I think is either a congenital defect or some sort of fungal attack. Every once in a while it rubs its beak desultorily on the wire, but the growth stays put. I wonder if s/he’s from this year’s broods? I saw it with this a day or two ago as well.
August started with a Louisiana Waterthrush calling from a river rock somewhere, one of the last of this species I’ll detect in 2023. Soon, its look-alike cousin the Northern Waterthrush, which doesn’t breed locally, will replace it.
Cedar Waxwings are everywhere this morning: trills from what I think are fledglings, and the high-pitched ‘tseeee’ calls of the parents. At 6:12, the Great Blue Heron comes through as it did yesterday, but today, it skims low over the water. Yesterday, it flew up and over the trees. I’m curious why it chooses slightly different flight paths from day to day.
It’s not often I get too excited about Mallards, but a pair flying high along the ridge this dawn is noteworthy. Like the Canada Goose the other day, this sighting completes the 52-week record for the species in the hotspot. In case you’re wondering, the reason such common birds are still being filled in 52 years after we arrived here is that we never did much birding along the river. Around 2015, when I set up the Plummer’s Hollow eBird hotspot, I made a point of including the river corridor, and have been filling in records ever since. (From the top-of-the-hill, middle-of-the-woods vantage point, Mallards are rare flyover species.)
As the afflicted robin continues motionless, another one that I can’t see starts up the aerial predator alarm call (‘APAC’?). A Belted Kingfisher rattles its way up the river, out of sight. I get ready. Within seconds, a Cooper’s Hawk threads a path through the confluence trees and dives into some heavy growth along Bald Eagle Creek directly in front of me. This sets a Red-eyed Vireo to harsh scolding for several minutes, as agitated as I’ve ever heard one. A Gray Catbird sounds like its on edge, as well.
The alien robin, in the meantime, has shed its growth. I feel like a fool: I should have known this was some type of snack. It disappears, but a few minutes later, reappears, perched in the leafless branches of a shrubby tree along the creek:
It’s too far away for decent photos, but you get the idea. I tried to grab a video of a most extraordinary sight, without luck. In its beak was a writhing mass of earthworms, making it look like some alien robin out of a sci-fi flick.
I feel a bit foolish. I was starting to feel sorry for the poor robin. Now I think I know what is happening. It’s a parent, I think of the #2 brood, and it was getting ready to vomit the worms into its offspring’s gullets. In the velociraptor excitement, I missed where it did this. Or, perhaps, this is how it prefers to eat earthworms.
First Wave
The smoke is back, but it’s higher and more diffuse. It seems to be cooling the weather, as every morning is quite a bit colder than what was predicted. After what for me was a late night on Monday, I sleep in and stumble out to the balcony around six on Tuesday It’s puffer jacket weather, a clammy 51 degrees and hazy-clear.
At 6:06, a line of five Canada Goose silhouettes moves silently above Bald Eagle Mountain, heading toward the Gap. As the light increases, the amount of tinks, chips, and buzzes is suspiciously large. Cold from the north, early August: hmmm. Better not mess around. It’s not crunch time quite yet, but we’re on the edge of the deluge. I grab my stuff and head for the crossing.
My hunch was correct. What can only be a first wave of fall migrant warblers and other small passerines is feeding in the trees on either side of the tracks. A flock of Blackburnian Warblers, adults and juveniles, all in their fall colors and not shy at all, is plucking insects from branches within a few feet of me; I count seven but there are likely many more. A Cerulean Warbler pops up, and a Yellow-throated Warbler perches briefly in sight before zipping across the tracks. Three Warbling Vireos are mixed in, along with what could be locals or long-distance migrants of some 15 other species, and plenty of permanent residents as well. Downy, Hairy, and even Red-bellied woodpeckers are particularly raucous this morning,.
Several spot-breasted robin fledglings are around, along with Red-eyed Vireos still feeding their own fledglings. Twenty-one more Canada Geese go over. I leave for work just as the birds are really getting amped up. The crossing area is second only to the upper side of First Field during Fall Migration because it is also loaded down with black cherries that look like they’re almost ready. I’ll be out Saturday morning and a good part of Sunday to kick things off. So much more exciting than May!
Later, I drive up to install the new USB adapter so I don’t lose any more NFCs. Now, it’s just a matter of degrees. The colder the nights are this month, the less the katydids will sing.
Back at the apartment, I take a gander at the #2 nest. The robin fledglings have fledged.