A little after 2 PM on Saturday and I’m out to catch a possible raptor. I mostly missed the dawn but weather is better now, anyway. Puffy clouds, some blue sky, 28 degrees and a stiff breeze from the west. It’s still a bit early, but the ‘TCN’ combo (titmouse -chickadee - w.-b. nuthatch) is kicking up a racket out of sight somewhere along the river. This wraps up around 2:30 after the White-breasted Nuthatch flies up and off, north, almost stopping at a favorite tree but then keeps going, following the line of Bald Eagle Creek
I am clocking Rock Pigeon and Common Raven speeds of 6o mph or more. The pigeons are alone, in pairs, or in trios, gaining elevation in broad spirals, then diving steeply, then again, over and over. The raven, I think my acquaintance from the tannery roost, was circling around the telecom towers, and now starts a long, shallow dive south, straight at Brush Mountain’s near crest, Sapsucker Ridge, closing the distance across the Gap in just a few seconds. It then cruises a bit below the tree line, feathers flashing black metal/green. A few minutes later, the local raven pair starts up their own windy-day ballet back over Laurel Ridge.
Arrival
I’ve settled into a mid-afternoon stupor; seems like nothing else is about. Then at 2:50, the unmistakable soft ‘seep’ calls of American Robins. Before I can react, a black cloud rushes overhead, some 60 European Starlings. They’re sucked right into the small trees that line 10th Street to my left—still covered in dried red and orange fruits (these look like crabapples to me; I need to check). I saw starlings frantically gorging on these over Christmas when it was two below, but I wasn’t sure until today if they were going to get around to eating the rest. I shouldn’t have worried.
Oddly enough, the starlings remain silent while the robins, mixed in without a hint of acrimony, are loudly vocal, ‘tut-tut-tut’-ing, snatches of songs, and all the rest of the robin repertoire.
The crowd flies right across my screen, settling into sycamores and black willows along the river. While I’m trying to keep track of what’s happening (it’s been a slooooow week), I notice two Mallards, a duck and a drake, facing my direction, side by side, swimming in the confluence. I constantly check this spot in hopes of seeing something other than a Mallard, but these two have caught my eye, so I’ll see what they’re up to.
The duck watches the drake intently; they are perhaps two feet apart in calm water. The drake dips his bill into the water, quickly, then back out; the duck then dips her bill in the water, imitating the drake. They alternate, around ten times. Then both shake their heads and swim out of sight up Bald Eagle Creek.
I scan the sky: an adult Bald Eagle cruises south over the Gap, high. Wings half-tucked, it continues without hesitating, on down Sapsucker Ridge, out of sight. It’s 2:55.
Rare for the balcony in winter: too much happening at once for me to keep track of!
Starling Wheel
The robins are flitting back and forth from the willow to the fruit trees, getting their fill. They don’t seem too concerned by me. At 3:08, the local Red-tailed Hawk heads north from the area of the towers, out of sight.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch a movement back at my 4 o’clock, where the sun is. The main mass of starlings, some 400, has shown up, and it’s rotating like a wheel. I don’t know how else to describe it. The wheel of starlings rotates twice then disappears behind the building.
Nine robins perch in the willow, facing the sun. Then 26 more show up, mixed in with some starlings. Around 3:17, the main mass of starlings returns, and they spend the next hour and a half splitting into three, four, or five groups and occupying various strategic trees along the river, creek, and interstate, then diving into the small fruit trees along 10th Street. When they’re not eating fruit, they’re facing the sun.
Most of the 35 robins I am able to count keep to robin-only groups, but several are scattered amongst the starlings as well. There is no interaction between the two species that I can see, but no animosity, either. The starlings are making around a dozen types of vocalizations, and these tend to reach a crescendo right before a tree is vacated and through commands and cues known only to starlings, a new tree is occupied or some other mass action occurs.
At one point, around four, the robin and starling cacophony grows so loud that the normally shy Northern Cardinal begins to tick from behind the building that blocks my view of the Little Juniata River upstream of the confluence, then flies into the upper branches of a sycamore against the sun, appearing agitated.
Golden Eagle!
As the sun dives, the bird mass quiets, still vocal, but not at such a fever pitch. At 3:55, an adult Golden Eagle (PH200#53) coasts over high, insistently south, down Sapsucker Ridge as if it were December. Maps on eBird show Golden Eagle sightings in recent days up in northern PA, and they pop up in January all over the northeast, not just in their wintering grounds in the West Virginia mountains and southward. Around here, I believe mid-winter individuals seek out gut piles and carcasses tossed by hunters and government agencies.
The clouds grow more purplish, in anticipation of a cold and clear night, perhaps. I’m hoping, anyway: tomorrow I want to field-test some cold-weather gear that arrived after the only deep-freeze we’ve had.
At 4:23, the last new species of the afternoon calls once: Downy Woodpecker. The tannery raven arrives while the trees are still filled with robins and starlings; they’ve mostly calmed down but the raven sets up a monologue from the 2 o’clock sycamore. It croaks at a high pitch, then a low pitch; listens; croaks again at different pitches; repeats. I had heard this before and thought it was two ravens, but it’s just the one. Inevitably, it’s now ‘TR’ in my notes.
Sprint # 2 (January 8-14) has drawn to a quiet conclusion. Four new species were added to the Plummer’s Hollow 200 this week: a Wood Duck on January 8th (which continued as of yesterday); a flock of 13 Ring-billed Gulls the same day; four Brown-headed Cowbirds the next day; the Golden Eagle today (pending eBird verification). This puts the hotspot, with 53 species for 2023, at a solid 30th spot for the state, a position that shouldn’t change much over the next couple of months.