A crisp 40 heading to 84, and cloudless: time to walk the Gap.
In Search Of
There’s a (for non-birders) obscure little job known as the Yellow-throated Warbler that’s become a bit of a nemesis for the hotspot. As of late April, eBird is showing it is as common on the list my phone app generates for the area, but that’s because it has arrived on breeding grounds on the Little Juniata and its sister streams a few kilometers downstream from here. I have yet to ever hear or see the species in the gallery forests along the river here. Indeed, the hotspot has just four records, all from the second week of May, and I only saw it once, a few years ago (May 8, 1979, in the yard). Perhaps today will be the day.
As usual, in town, American Robins are singing before 4 AM, but at the bridge, one doesn’t start up until the saner hour of 5:39, followed a few minutes later by Song Sparrows and calling White-throated Sparrows. I head down to the area of the pond where there is a nice, though tick-infested, bottomland between the tracks and Highway 453, and as I slog through the early dawn, Carolina Wren, Black-capped Chickadee, Louisiana Waterthrush, Brown-headed Cowbird, and Eastern Phoebe all get going. Now, it’s just a matter of waiting to see if a Yellow-throated Warbler will join in.
The Loudest Corner
Unfortunately, a bit of a commuter rush drowns out most dawn song in the last minutes before six. This is perhaps the most deafening section of the hotspot, exposed as it is to a stretch of highway clogged with trucks decelerating as they reach the narrow part of the Gap and town, or accelerating as they start the straight stretch up and out toward Sinking Valley. In the interstices, though, the spring peepers wrap up their chorus, and an Eastern Towhee ‘drinks its tea.’ A Downy Woodpecker calls, bringing the species total to 11 by the top of the hour.
The first train goes by at 6:03, and I decide to cross to the pond before the rail traffic gets too heavy. As expected, the Mallard pair is puttering about, and muskrats are also quite active. A large, oval mass on the far shore looks like one of the nesting Canada Geese.
As it gets lighter, the rest of the local species vocalize, and Common Grackles whip over from town, mostly in singles and pairs. As I walk slowly back, American Goldfinches, now one of the most active local species, vocalize in myriad variations, including one that sounds a bit like the elusive warbler.
Train after train. I explore the privet jungle above the tracks, but it’s still just White-throated Sparrows and a lone and boisterous Ruby-crowned Kinglet.
Tick Factory
I head down into terra nullius, no Yellow-throated Warbler to be heard anywhere. A Belted Kingfisher speeds silently up the river, only to reappear overhead going the other direction, calling loudly, seemingly chased by a hawk-like figure that I think is just a Mourning Dove that happens to be commuting the same way. The merest brush with a privet sends another unwanted hitchhiker up my leg. Time to get out, before the men of ill repute and other characters who hang around this area show up for their own morning vigils.
Balcony Scraps
By seven, I’m back home, with the temperature now at 38. Mourning Doves are fluttering and gliding about; one does its display flight starting on the tallest poplar and ending at the tallest sycamore. A pair of starlings lands on a pole, and one does a decent rough-winged swallow, then mutters off. The starlings are all business these days, and are the birds I most often see toting nesting material, off to cram it into some nook or cranny on Main Street.
In the PM, it’s heated and hazy, so I move my work to the porch. It doesn’t take long for the raptors to show up: dozens of Broad-winged Hawks kettle over Sapsucker Ridge and then stream north, at one point joined by a Red-shouldered Hawk and several Red-tailed Hawks, while the local Turkey Vultures come and go from the best local thermals. A pair of American Kestrels speed past without stopping.
In the evening, swallows are about in small numbers. A FOY Cliff Swallow (PH200 #115) shows up, as well as a handful of Roughies, a couple Trees, and a single Barn Swallow that alights ever so often on the wire, glancing this way and that. The only two swallows missing are the Purple Martin and the Bank Swallow. The former nests in Sinking Valley, while the latter is quite scarce and difficult to snag for the hotspot, though I think it may nest downriver or out by the quarry somewhere.
The wires are now becoming busy places, and the main way I will be able to observe the activities of several local species up close over the next several months. Today, the start of the show is a gorgeous preening starling, fresh from its bath in the Little Juniata.
After eight, everything dies down quickly, but it’s still a quarter-hour until robin point. The swallows have all departed, but Chimney Swifts are about. They chitter over the rooftops at nearly impossible speeds, joined by arrivals from the valley that tend to come in low right over my head. I count 33 , tripping the eBird numbers filter, and they’re just getting started for the season. Amazing how in just a few days, the swallows (often chased by bumblebees) and swifts have taken over the skies and the starlings, pigeons, and grackles have receded from view (at least in my perception). Insects, as well, are an incredible blessing here, with all manner of mayflies, stoneflies, and other delicate stream species mixing it up with clouds of gnats, mosquitoes, hornets, bumblebees, and so on. Thankfully, none of these are after my own flesh, and only the bumblebees take a real interest in what happens on the balcony.
The last Mallard quacks into town at 8:15, the bats come out, and then the night belongs to the robins. When I go back out at twenty to nine all is silent, so at least they get some sleep; they’ll be up before four, again, as will I.