I reach the Plummer’s Hollow railroad crossing around 5:47 AM, just in time to catch an orangey moon over Laurel Ridge. The temperature is 46 degrees, a bit lower than it’s been, and Gray Catbirds have taken ownership of the dawn. They crackle and meow up and down the tracks in both directions and sides, interspersed with annoyingly accurate imitations or orioles, thrushes, and flycatchers.
Call It the Moon
The sunrise is supposedly at 6:01, but despite the seemingly clear sky, rays of sun never strike the ridgetops. Between 6 and 6:30, the bird song drops off, and so does the number of new species that should be going off. As I’m poking about terra nullius, my soaked feet start to freeze, and my hands go back in the pockets. I check the temperature: it’s dropped to 38.
I saw this odd rapid temperature drop in May a couple of years ago down here, with similar effects on the birds. The stillborn dawn chorus turned silent, and the temperature plummeted from the 50s to the upper 30s within minutes. That time, I was caught out without a coat. I think it has something to do with both air and pressure differences between the two valleys, and elevation differences between the river and the mountaintops on both sides. (I’ve also seen the opposite happen: rapid temperature rises that seem to be caused by an influx of warm air from one valley or the other.)
Whatever it is, the birds respond by hushing and going to shelter. They’re still quite sluggish by the time I head back to the balcony.
Haze has descended on the morning; from who knows where? It’s not fog, but I’m not sure it’s smog, either. The sunrise over Bald Eagle Mountain looks like something out of July.
Later in the day, two more species show up. Mom hears an Acadian Flycatcher (PH200 #164) at the Forks of the Hollow road, and a couple Canada Warblers (PH200 #163) have been popping up on the night spectrum since May 8th.
In the evening, during an antenna run, I am lured by warbler noise to a quick walk up the field, and I catch 49 species vocalizing or flying about before dark. I’ll recall with fondness how easy it was to detect species this time of year, when the largely (but not completely) silent fall migration takes places in a few months.
Heading down the Hollow, I flush numerous small birds off the road: Chipping Sparrows nearer to the field, then Ovenbirds, Louisiana Waterthrushes, Wood Thrushes, and others I can’t make out. I’m not sure if they were planning to roost for the night or are (more likely) are taking advantage of some food source, but I’ve seen this gravel road-sitting behavior in many places before.
Down at the Long Stretch, a straight bit of road under hemlocks in the deep hollow, I catch an unmistakable sound and stop the car. 8:16 PM. An explosive ‘pit-SA!’ goes off a few feet away: Acadian Flycatcher. In a few days, there will be dozens down here. Scarlet Tanager, Wood Thrush, Blackburnian Warbler, Louisiana Waterthrush: the hollow winds down and I’m back to town.
The Robin/Catbird Point
Last night, I stayed out on the balcony to see what the last species are these days in town. Is there still a robin point? The last time I did this on a clear and warm night, the robins took over after about 8:15 PM, and only a handful of species were still active after 8. But the wind-down is stretching ever longer.
At 8:03 PM, the local pair of Northern Rough-winged Swallows comes to perch on a near wire below me. They glance at each other and at me, male and female separated by less than two feet. Farther off, the local Barn Swallow pair does the same thing, male and female spaced a similar distance, but they’re facing the red apartment building across the lot. Eventually, the roughies take off for more feeding, and one Barn dives out of sight toward the creek, upon which the other starts up an extensive monologue.
Behind me, at the quarter hour, some Chimney Swifts decelerate and then fold wings and drop into one of the nearest chimneys. They’re doing this all over town right now, even as more are arriving every minute from the Gap. I don’t make much of an effort to count them here; that’s easier to do from the Plummer’s Hollow crossing at this hour.
At 8:21, the last Common Grackle, calling, flies off from the tallest sycamore toward town. Gray Catbirds—there are now two within earshot—are revving up for a final blast, while the Yellow Warbler hasn’t stopped its repertoire in over an hour. Warbling Vireo and Baltimore Oriole sing for the last time, then a faint Song Sparrow, and by the half hour, it’s finally getting quiet. Except for robins and catbirds.
But even in the rapidly gathering gloom, birds are still detectable. The last roughie gurgles somewhere at 8:33, a pair of Chimney Swifts rockets past, and a single Turkey Vulture flaps back rapidly from over Sapsucker Ridge, heading west to roost. Finally, at 8:36, it’s only catbirds and robins. A long, loud train rumbles through, so I leave those two to finish it up on their own.
Weather reporter mentioned wildfires as source of haze. I noticed the same look early Wed. am.
I heard a strange bird this evening. When I turned Merlin on the ap immediately and repeatedly said that it was a "hooded warbler". Is the hooded warbler sighted often in this area? Haven't heard you mention it this spring.