Never has the difference between valley and ridge been so pronounced as this morning. To shake off the blues, I leave fog-enshrouded Tyrone and drive up to First Field for a couple hours. It’s nice to see stars again.
Unbeknownst to me, at 6 AM, 26 minutes before I get out of the car, the season’s first Pine Siskin flew over, Plummer’s Hollow 200 #196. I suspect it won’t be the last, if the Winter Finch forecast was on the mark.
Even in the dark, I can tell that the warbler-sparrow transition has happened in my absence. Down in the fog, the daily White-throated Sparrow calls were a hint at what has been happening up here. As I walk through the field, sparrows and Eastern Towhees scatter left and right, calling in alarm; a White-throat had even been roosting on the trail at my sit spot in the neck. Overhead, a greatly diminished chorus of Swainson’s and Gray-cheeked thrushes can still be heard.
More than white-throats are about. Not long after the half hour, a Chipping Sparrow and then a Field Sparrow go over, locals flying from one part of the hotspot to another. The sparrow chorus swells, with “Oh, sweet Canada!” from all angles and corners of the goldenrod and woods edges, along with some Song Sparrow and Field Sparrow tunes thrown in. Here and there, a Winter Wren.
At ten ‘til 7, a flock of 12 ducks lifts up out of Laurel Ridge, somehow, and zooms down into the trees near the houses. Or so it seems; perhaps it’s a trick of perspective. Seconds later, half of them whiz overhead toward Grazierville, emitting Wood Duck calls.
A pair of young Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers shows up. Suddenly, they’re the tamest woodpecker. Their plumage seems to camouflage well against the tree-bark lichens and the fall colors beginning to pop.
Seethe
By seven o’clock, the landscape is seething with sparrows, anchored by the three principal white-throat vocalizations. I move to the powerline corner, and out pop Lincoln’s and Swamp sparrows from the crowd of dozens of White-throats. A White-crowned Sparrow calls, and then a Rose-breasted Grosbeak. I watch one of the Swamps doing a near-perfect rendition of a House Wren.
The fog begins to creep up from the lowest corner of the field. The black cherries are almost gone, but there’s still an abundance of other food. Something has brought a single Eastern Bluebird back to the yard, I’m happy to hear. This species, like the blackbirds and Mourning Doves, disappears almost completely from the hotspot this time of year.
The Lincoln’s Sparrows are still here in surprising numbers. I count 18 just in the part of the field I cover this morning (hotspot and county high count); there may be twice as many out there today. And to think I was worried we would get one at all, after dipping on it in the spring.
A Chimney Swift chitters over: the last of 2023, I would guess. A Sharp-shinned Hawk is up and hunting, and an Eastern Screech-Owl is calling from not far away.
The topology of sparrow abundance is taking shape now. From this point until well into next year, White-throat congregations take up residence every couple hundred yards along a transect on the leeward side of Sapsucker Ridge, deep in the tangles, from the south end of the hotspot at Far Field all the way to Dogwood Knoll. Mixed in with them will be an ever-diminishing number of towhees, Song Sparrows, and other species. During the day, the flocks appear to move little, as they are concentrated in the areas with the best cover and food resources. Given the sheer volume of activity out there today, I figure Saturday will be peak, and I’ll have time to come back and get an overall count.
In the time I have this morning, I can only cover the field edge over to the Connecticut Corner, then loop back across the field to the buildings. But even in this short distance, surprises await. The first is in a thick patch of privet boiling with sparrows. Some warblers are hopping about in the privet branches as well: Black-throated Blues, Black-throated Greens, a Tennessee, a couple Nashvilles, a few more Cape Mays for the year, a pair of Yellow-rumpeds. Ruby-crowned Kinglets are also in the mix, close to the ground, while Golden-crowneds are up in the trees. I spot some warbler-like yellow that doesn’t quite fit, and an odd warbler pops out onto a stem in plain view, but moves out of sight before I can get a photo. Color pattern, broken eye ring: Mourning Warbler female with shades of MacGillivray’s, its Western equivalent. I try every trick in the book to lure it back out, but unlike the rest of the crowd, it doesn’t take the bait.
Phoebe Bonanza
I have time for one last sit, so I once again watch the denuded field-corner catalpa. By this time, after 8 AM, the sun is starting to make some headway, and I become aware of tail-pumping flycatchers calling and singing from various perches in the locusts and catalpas. I can hear more down by the barn. A day for Eastern Phoebes, it turns out, with 20 just what I have time to detect, a hotspot and county record. There are probably twice as many across Plummer’s Hollow today.
One last surprise comes to check me out. Expecting a third Blue-headed Vireo for the day (Red-eyeds seems to finally be gone for the year), instead, I watch the hotspot’s first-ever fall White-eyed Vireo check me out from a few feet above my head, in a black locust. Apparently satisfied, it flees back to the safety of the deep woods. The season’s first Brown Creeper then shows up, working the trunk of the catalpa.
Just before nine, I plunge back down into the voiceless fog, which, for the last day, sits on the town for most of the morning.