Wednesday’s dawn starts with a Carolina Wren at 6:51 AM. After all the rainy weather the clouds are still coming from the east, but at least there are some hints of sunrise.
At 7:12, a returnee: White-breasted Nuthatch, silently swooping across and down to the creekside woods. A few minutes later, a pair of Cape May Warblers dances over, fighting or playing, making their distinctive flight calls. Around the half hour, 71 Canada Geese stream eastward in a V, barely topping Sapsucker Ridge.
The Kettle
Late Wednesday afternoon I receive a consolation prize. This September, unlike last year at this time, my work schedule has not allowed me to sit on the porch and watch Broad-wing clouds crest over the towers and stream southward across the Gap and down Sapsucker Ridge.
Right before five, taking advantage of the warm, crystal-clear weather, I’m eyes up on the balcony, hoping for the best. As usual, Turkey Vultures are in the lead, hopping off the towers, cruising along the ridgeline, and eventually, starting to spiral up in a kettle out in the Gap. To their left, barely visible, are around 10 Broad-winged Hawks. After a few minutes, an Osprey joins, followed by a Sharp-shinned Hawk and two Bald Eagles. The eagles and some of the others are either locals or have been staying around for awhile, but the Broad-wings are in it for the long haul. The Bald Eagles—an adult and a juvenile that have been out and about every day—eventually soar together overhead and disappear westward.
I next see the Broad-wings, along with various Turkey Vultures, over the point of Sapsucker Ridge, still kettling, but then streaming off southward after a minute or two. This is one of the problems of an incomplete hawk-watch location that lacks a 365-degree view. On some days, particularly during late afternoons, Broad-wing kettles move along the east side of the Bald Eagle-Brush corridor (Nittany Valley/Sinking Valley side). Last year, from the railroad tracks, I watched a large, late-day kettle move across the Gap and then into Plummer’s Hollow; it likely would not have been visible from Tyrone at all.
In the rare blue sky, there is little sense of scale, and I find myself zooming in on numerous ‘hawks,’ only to find out that they are migrating monarch butterflies. At one point, the brilliant setting sun lights up an overflying warbler so well that I can make out its plumage colors: American Redstart.
Back down on earth, a dump truck accelerating up the interstate on-ramp matches the tonality of a Belted Kingfisher rattling over the river below. The first katydids don’t even wait for the sun to set.
Catalpa Dawn
On Thursday, I go back to the Connecticut Corner for a fresh vantage point, and also because I need to grab some gear I forgot on Monday. I don’t think I’ve spent dawn over here since late February when I heard the first Tundra Swans go over.
I park at the barn and wade through the dewy grass, buttoned up against the low forties. The Milky Way is as spectacular as I’ve seen it in a while, with Ursus Major to the north, and Polaris to its left. Venus shine through the denuded branches of the catalpa. The peeping of Swainson’s Thrushes has definitely ebbed; at 6:24, I hear the distinctive down slurs of a small group of Gray-cheeked Thrushes.
[Days later, I find out that there have been a good number of mysterious calls over the last couple of nights, mixed in with the clouds of thrushes, tanagers, grosbeaks, and warblers. I won’t spoil the fun until reviews come back, but it is possible the Plummer’s Hollow 200 could get a bit closer to the goal.]
At 6:25 AM, Wood Thrushes begin to cluck on the ground, then the other early birds: Eastern Towhees, Common Yellowthroats, Song Sparrows, Northern Cardinals, Gray Catbirds, House Wrens. At about a quarter to seven it’s still too dark to make out smaller birds well, but I can see that the catalpa is a pass-through location for a flock on the move. Several Wood Thrush cluck as they stab at some sort of food. Warblers and towhees are also zooming this way and that. A few minutes later, by the time I can see clearly, the tree is empty again.
Blue Jay Parade
Migrant jays fly by, all north to south, in small groups, calling. In the time I’m here I count 153, a new hotspot record, but no doubt far more pass through. I suppose they’re stopping for the mast, and other snacks as well.
At first, warblers are scarce, and Black-throated Greens (28) seem to be the dominant species. Despite the beautiful sunrise, the only excitement for a bit is an American Kestrel heading south along Laurel Ridge.
Nevertheless, I hear enough bird noise up in the trees to justify a quick sit at the corner of the powerline, and just in time. The woods suddenly goes mad, swarming with jays, Cedar Waxwings, woodpeckers, and White-throated Sparrows, with a few Scarlet Tanagers thrown in, mostly on the wild grapes. Then come the warblers, with only one or two of each species, but fair numbers (8) of Magnolia Warblers. Improbably, a curious male Mourning Warbler steals the show. This is the second for the fall, and the all-time late date for the hotspot and the county. It’s in the barberries along the edge of the field, this species’ preferred location. The bird chips several times and hops about out in the open, allowing me to take a better photo than I’ve ever been able to get of the species.
I won’t know until Saturday or after which of the species today I’m seeing for the last time this year, but the steep downward trend in tanagers, not to mention Red-eyed Vireos and Eastern Wood-Pewees, is obvious. Common Yellowthroats are still here in force, though.
On Friday morning I stay on the balcony, but most everything is high and distant. The transient flock of Chimney Swifts appears again, some 80 in all.