Tuesday. It rained last night and now it smells like wet leaves. There’s a breeze with the balcony temperature in the low 50s. Misty moon.
At 6:26 AM, a Northern Cardinal makes a noise, and at the half hour, a Song Sparrow sings, then silence. An inauspicious beginning.
Fourteen minutes pass, and then a Carolina Wren carols from downriver. A single Mallard wings east toward the pond.
As seven approaches, a pair of Bald Eagles are already up on the breeze, circling off to the north, beyond the Bald Eagle Mountain towers. Good sign. Today as every day, the White-breasted Nuthatch describes an arc from its roost over by the bank, and plummets down into the tall poplar at my 10:30. In the confluence, a Great Blue Heron stands frozen, minute after minute.
Just before the hour, the European Starlings begin arriving from west of me somewhere, cheering and buzzing, circling around the interstate and landing on the ramp light posts. Seven Common Ravens have emerged from the trees and are gamboling about the towers, gradually making their way west over town.
At seven on the dot, House Sparrows and House Finches start up. Flock after flock of Rock Pigeons are lifting off from the churches, more than I’ve seen since September. Two more tumbling ravens appear and join their flock, while in the opposite direction, over Brush Mountain, American Crows are commuting to their breakfast of guts or garbage or whatever they’re eating these days.
Right after seven, the first calls of Blue Jays overlap with the excitement of American Robins, a Downy Woodpecker, and Black-capped Chickadees, as small flocks of House Finches cross back and forth in the sky, singing and calling. This all seems rather overwhelming compared to the October doldrums.
Leaf Storm
Over the crest of Laurel Ridge to the east, giant flocks of leaves are drifting upward, with House Finches and starlings zooming this way and that among them. At last, the sun has made it back northward to the middle of the Gap, meaning that, paradoxically, sunlight will strike the balcony much earlier for the next couple of months.
Overhead, five Black Vultures cruise northward—another sign of an unusual day of warmth and wind. Little pockets of warmer air have already wafted past the balcony, as if broken off from somewhere much closer to the sunlight.
By 7:15 AM, birds are crisscrossing the sky in all directions. Robins, as usual, are commuting high, heading off to feast on Plummer’s Hollow’s wild grape gullies, where I’ll probably find them in the hundreds on Saturday. Crows are threading their way through the leaf storm, all about the entrance to the Hollow. A crazy thought occurs to me: what if birds are using the myriad drifting leaves as cover, a sort of camouflage against detection by raptors? It’s that time of year, after all. Or maybe they’re just attracted by the spectacle of it all. Whatever it is, wind or no wind, I’ve not seen this amount of birdlife in the morning skies since March.
Return of the Raptors
At 7:22, an adult Bald Eagle rounds Sapsucker Ridge, following the preferred eagle track a hundred feet or so below the crest, hugging the trees, and makes its way steadily south. Another warm breeze fragment slaps me, as a lone Canada Goose, neck down and extended, flies hesitantly eastward toward the Gap, as if searching.
Now a Red-tailed Hawk is up over Bald Eagle, hovering—this is another one that’s been scarce for many weeks. Six Mallards appear from the area of the pond, where the pair bonding spectacle no doubt continues; they speed around the side of Bald Eagle Mountain and disappear northward.
At twenty to eight, the leaf storm shifts from the Gap to the crest of the mountain by the towers, and the first Golden Eagle pushes its way south, even though the wind is from the southwest. By now, 244 Rock Pigeons have left town. Even the House Sparrows, for whatever reason, are more active today, erupting from the hedges and flying toward the river, then back.
Finally, a dozen Red-winged Blackbirds, another long-absent species, come in from the Gap and head toward the north end of town, where a Cooper’s Hawk is circling.
The dawn ends with 28 species, a dozen more than October’s average, even though far fewer species are now in the area. Part of this is due to the wind and part to the opportunity I’ve had to stay out later this morning, because of Daylight Savings’ Time. I’ll need to see what the rest of the week holds, but combined with yesterday’s spectacle up at the garage, it does seem as if we’re a world away from last week.
Wednesday
Colder today (high 30s), and purple, with no breeze. The crescent moon is high, and Venus is low. At 6:23 AM, I glimpse a Mourning Dove speeding away from town, presumably toward someone’s feeder off on the other side of the Gap. It seems we’ve come full circle on doves, as they’re now following the pattern of last January, roosting in town (a safer location for them?) and then commuting to rural feeders ahead of all the other species.
At 625, a Winter Wren begins to call along the river to the right and a Carolina Wren starts singing downstream at the exact same moment.
The White-breasted Nuthatch arcs up, over, and down at 6:50 today, five minutes before yesterday, but then, there’s more light this morning. As the starlings arrive, an irrepressible House Finch sings on and on over by the bank. The robin commute begins, and soon, all I can hear is the hysteria of starlings and robins over by the interstate somewhere.
Eighteen species today, still a few above where we were throughout late October, but ten less than yesterday. No leaf storms today. The wind, warmth, and leaves seem to have made the difference.
Thursday
Low, threatening clouds coming in fast from the west, and the temperature’s back up in the 40s. The birds rise late today, but the Winter Wren is still here and White-throated Sparrows are making themselves heard by not long after 6:30. Everything else sounds faint and far away, but perhaps it’s just because the squishy tires have raised the level of the background roar.
I’ve taken to pacing and not sitting, and on days like this, it’s always a good idea to look toward the roof line. I’m not disappointed: at 6:51, a Cooper’s Hawk appears from town and heads toward the river, the nearest I’ve seen one of these in months. Seconds later, a second emerges a few yards over me, calling loudly, in alarm or for some other reason. They both fly out of sight. One of the neighborhood red squirrels sets to chattering.
Another first-in-a-while: four Mallards drift downstream, through the confluence and on down the river. Exactly 11 minutes later than yesterday—the lag time caused by lower light today—the nuthatch does its thing.
The heavens open briefly at a quarter past, but just as quickly, they shut. Crows arrive at half past, finally, and the second Bald Eagle of the morning, a juvenile, flaps unafraid over my head, almost close enough to touch. Nineteen species despite the weather.