Phoebe Moon
Desert conditions today. At 5:51 AM, as the Eastern Phoebe joins the pre-6 AM club, it’s 63 and calm, with the night breezes dying down. By 7:30, though, the temperature has sunk to 57 just before the sun strikes Tyrone. Then it ascends gradually to top out at around 86 by mid-afternoon. Clouds are never a consideration. The Little Juniata River is dropping rapidly and the woods are dry as a bone. Leaf-out is happening at astounding speed, a considerable risk to trees if we have a killer frost later this spring.
The phoebe, right here at the confluence, ‘fee-bees’ on and on. By 6:30, 14 species have already vocalized and a few have appeared, including a 6:22 Turkey Vulture soon followed by more, doing a repeat of yesterday over the ridgetops.
Around 6:41, the notes of a Tufted Titmouse are interrupted by clattering bottles. I’ve been hearing this for quite some time, and today I finally identify the source: last night’s empties going into the dumpster behind the VFW. A new sound id for the local cacophony, and not even the least musical.
By a quarter ‘til, only Northern Cardinals and European Starlings are singing. Others come and go—American Robin, House Finch, and Song Sparrow in particular—but they’re quite sporadic. The loudest chorus is now before 6:15.
Another change is the end of the treetop congregations. A week ago, starlings and Common Grackles were gathering by the dozens on the tops of the poplar at my 11 and the tallest sycamore at my 1. Now, it’s mostly pairs coming and going in the local trees. Flocks of starlings and grackles still go over, but they’re no longer perching nearby in numbers. The starlings have it made, though: the flowering fruit trees (pears?) all along the avenues are well on their way to providing January sustenance.
After 30 minutes of vultures, the sky empties out by 6:50, until a flock of 22 Canada Geese come noisily out of the Gap and splits, one part going southwest and the other part northwest. With a distant Belted Kingfisher rattle the species total reaches 30 by seven.
At last I hear the staccato rattle of a Chipping Sparrow, quite the cryptic bird here near my balcony. A few more morning arrivals to go: one of the three most local Black Vultures shows up and circles the towers for several minutes. Then, a Northern Rough-winged Swallow (what an unfortunately clunky name!) takes a break from hunting the river and circles the parking lot, calling. So far it’s just the one, but this is the first time I’ve seen some potential interest. A pair should nest nearby pretty soon.
By a quarter past, the dawn has largely come and gone and it’s the full light of day. A local night shift employee, as every day, slouches home to his apartment building, staring at his phone, as always. Seconds later, the mother and her daughter run, as always, toward the school bus that turns around in the VFW. Months ago these events happened as the first chickadees were waking up, then they happened in the dark, but nowadays most birds have already settled into their morning feeds, quiet and out of sight.
An unexpected ‘reep’ from an Eastern Towhee close at hand is the last species today, at 32. So near to downtown noise and pavements, these aren’t the choicest towhee territories, though I think eventually a pair takes up residence somewhere up Bald Eagle Creek within earshot.
Afternoon
After one, I bear the suffocating heat of the porch for 45 minutes to see if any birds are around. It’s actually pretty active, but I’m not sanguine about seeing any migrating raptors, and I don’t. They’ll be coming through on the weekend, when this heatwave will end in storms. One addition to the balcony count for 2023 is a Ruby-crowned Kinglet, detectable by its insistent call notes from some invisible location along the river.
Spruce Grove Bonanza
Meanwhile, Dave is hiking in the heat up on the mountain. He informs me that he’s hearing a Red-breasted Nuthatch (PH200 #103) and Golden-crowned Kinglet in the spruce grove, where there are clouds of mosquitoes. I mention that he should listen for Pine Warbler just as Merlin is telling him that one is nearby. I’m think it could be Chipping Sparrow, which is common in the grove, but when he sends me the recording later. Sure enough, it’s a PIWA (PH200 #104). I think I've been looking in the wrong place for this species in the spring, but it makes sense: they were quite common in the spruces during fall migration.
As for the Red-breasted Nuthatch, here’s to hoping several pairs will show up this year and (presumably) nest in the spruce grove.
Evening
After 6:30, a Fish Crow is on top of the electric post closest to the river, and Rock Pigeons are lined up on the roof of a nearby apartment building.
For the first time this year, more species appear at dusk than at dawn. By 8 PM, 33 are on my list. The Fish Crow, and the Common Merganser pair, were both missed in the morning. Today, as usual, I’m interested in what happens at the bitter end, before the ‘robin point,’ which is the moment I give up trying to outlast the robins. These days, they tend to quiet down early. Then, when everything else, including me, is retiring, they start singing, calling, and flying about.
That moment doesn’t happen until 8:15. As light lasts longer, more and more species are still around after 8 PM. Tonight, the Song Sparrow makes it until 8:11 and the Northern Cardinal until 8:06. A final pair of Canada Geese go over, the Belted Kingfisher rattles, and the junkyard raven leaves its roost and flaps off to the east.
A Conspiracy Theory (of Ravens)
Odd behavior for the junkyard raven. About an hour earlier, I watched the unusually high number of 27 Common Ravens appear over by the tower and kettle for a little bit before moving north. A few Turkey Vultures and American Crows were flying around nearby, but the ravens were doing their own thing. Several had missing flight feathers, and I would imagine it’s the same group I watched come through the Gap at dawn on Tuesday, one of which attacked a Bald Eagle.
I had thought that the junkyard raven might have joined this group, as I haven’t heard it at dawn recently; it tends to show up later in the day over the ridge. But at 7:49 tonight, it returned to its piles of scrap and perched on the roof closest to the interstate overpass. It croaked and flew about for awhile, then, as I noted above, it departed not long after eight.
This flock of raven vagrants (the internet tells me it is a ‘conspiracy’): where are they from? What are they up to? Perhaps they are juveniles. Birds of the World notes that the reasons for this species’ congregations and movements are not well understood. Locally, today’s 27 breaks the Blair County record of 22 set on Tuesday. (Across Pennsylvania, higher numbers have been recorded at hawk watches along ridges such as Tussey Mountain, with numbers close to 300 and flocks up to 130.)
I don’t have a theory about this conspiracy yet, but I will. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.
Bernd Heinrich "Ravens in Winter" suggests Ravens in groups are likely young birds. Possibly bunched together to improve chances for food in competition with dominate pairs of territorial adults. (Strength in numbers).