Finally Feels Like Summer

-Fri to Sun, Jun 23/25 2023-

I’m starting to lose track of time. Days of rain and storms have brought bugs and humidity and a bit of summer heat, with only subtle changes in the avifauna.

Fern laid her fifth and last egg on Friday and seems to sit on the nest most of the time now. We expect brood three to hatch before the end of the month.

At the end of a frenetically busy week, I allot 27 minutes to sit on the balcony on Friday evening. But it’s not enough to see anything interesting except more rain.

Saturday Morning: Side Hollows

One of my last breeding bird forays this season is up into the three most inaccessible hollows in the hotspot. Holding streams only during the heaviest rains, they are shallow and steep indentations perpendicular to Plummer’s Hollow. They mark fractures in Juniata Sandstone associated with the Tyrone-Mount Union Lineament, a major structural geological feature of this part of the world. The lineament marks the line of an ancient, deep crack in the Earth’s crust, a mile or more below the surface, below the folded Appalachians, in Precambrian basement rock. The TMU crack is believed to be what allowed a river to find weaknesses in the westernmost ridge and cut through the mountain, creating the Tyrone Gap (one-time Logan’s Narrows), as well as our ‘strike hollow’ that eroded shale layers in Juniata Sandstone. Zones of weakness along the many fractures and fracture traces near the TMU were what led to catastrophic slides when the Tyrone Bypass was built late sixties/early seventies (as predicted by geologists at the time).

The steep Juniata scree just under the crest of Sapsucker Ridge long harbored some pretty impressive second-growth woods that started growing after the originally logging of the early 1800s. Basswoods, tulip-trees, cucumber trees, maples, oaks, hickories, and many more, often over a hundred feet tall. By the 1970s, the landowner at the time, once rich but become quite broke, needed some quick cash, so he sent loggers with their dozers and skidders up the ridge from what is now the gate area. (In those days, we only owned a strip along the road and stream itself that we used to access the original farm at the top my folks had bought in ‘71.) My parents entered into a legal struggle that brought in the Tyrone-Mountain Lineament and its dangerous fields of fractures, which could generate landslides such as the ones already seen on the other side of the ridge. Vulnerable little children (we boys) walked to school up the Hollow road, with skidders roaring above; one day, a large log was found, as I remember it, in or near the stream, having rolled down the mountain from the logging happening above. Courtroom drama.

The long and the short of it was that the first logger pulled out and the project lagged. The second logger, a few years later, was more tenacious, and the landowner, more irate. Nevertheless, through a series of maneuvers, the second logging project was finally blocked and we managed to acquire the land, but not before most of the big trees were taken off of Hollow-side slopes, leaving light gaps that filled up with wild grapevines and then an ever-worsening series of invasives: hay-scented fern, privet, barberry, jetbead, ailanthus, mile-a-minute, stilt grass. But a few groves of large trees were left, with impressive structure for breeding birds. To this day, other than my brother Dave and I, only the most intrepid hunters make it up there. The old roads are overgrown, but there is blazed foot-trail access to the three side hollows—what I call Hanging Hollow, Big Tree Hollow, and Fisher Hollow.

This morning, I park at the Big Pulloff and head straight up the side of the ridge to access a sit spot. It’s in the high sixties with high humidity, so I’m pretty much drenched after the 20 minutes it takes me to make it up. The spot is along a 1980s logging road not more than 50 yards shy of the knife-edge in a jungly spot I call Hanging Hollow, and it has some of the tamest Hooded Warblers I’ve seen in the hotspot. I watch one chipping but not singing, flying from branch to branch nearby: probably a juvenile, excited about my presence in the semi-darkness of 5:30 AM. In addition to invasives, there are quite a number of large old witch hazels up here, which seem to be a preferred shrub of this species.

I hear both a Great Horned Owl and a Barred Owl, but nothing new at this spot, so I move on out of the hay-scented ferns after the soggy hour it takes to caffeinate.

The road peters out in a giant tangle, so I follow the green blazes along the slope, gentler here in Big Tree Hollow than in Hanging Hollow. As the air warms and drips, it begins to seem like one of those ‘true jungle experiences’ from an old Amazon tourist pamphlet, replete with a (tiny) selection of rainforest birds: more Hooded Warbler families, numerous Cerulean Warblers up-close, enough Scarlet Tanagers and Rose-breasted Grosbeaks to trigger the eBird ‘high species count’ alert/filter, and Worm-eating Warblers on all sides. Most species are singing or calling, or both—or silent, or begging, if they’re youngsters.

Far overhead, two Cedar Waxwings, calling softly in their high-pitched voices, are flying back and forth from a red oak to a tulip-tree magnolia, either building or feeding. After some scrutiny, I realize they are ripping fibers off oak branches, or perhaps extracting some creeper plant I can’t discern, and toting them off to a nest site that looks like it’s ensconced in some wild grapes. One of our last nesters!

Farther on there is a flattish spot with several dead trees favored by Great Crested Flycatchers, who are chasing each other, perhaps in new courtship, as I assume they have already fledged their first brood. Something has ripped apart what looks like a small Allegheny mound ant (Formica exsectoides) nests in a field of ferns. This part of the world once had veritable ant cities of huge mounds (as in several feet high and many feet in circumference), and I wonder how many and what types of birds such cities would have attracted.

Finally, I reach the gentler terrain of Dogwood Knoll and do a quick circuit along Greenbriar and Ten Springs trails. A mud nest in grass built right on the trail looks half-complete, but no bird is about. I don’t have time to wait and see what might show up, but with the mud ‘exoskeleton’ (perhaps grass or other fibers will be added to the interior?) it doesn’t fit the description of an Ovenbird or Worm-eating Warbler. Plus, it is hardly camouflaged.

The best catch of the morning is a warbler buzz with a chip at the end: second location for Northern Parula this year!

Bear corn and ghost plants: photosynthesis be damned!

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Back at the apartment, I find out what all the Barn Swallow excitement and early rising has been about these last couple of days: nestlings are now fledglings. Not awkward these ones, they seem to be already comfortable flying about in the air over the river.

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In Search of Swallows

Here’s a swallow recap:

-Barn Swallows nest on on various structures along the north side of the hotspot with easy access to the river.

-Northern Rough-winged Swallows nest in natural holes in the banks of the Little Juniata and Bald Eagle Creek and perhaps inside fissures and joints in old retaining walls and similar structures.

-Tree Swallows aren’t nesting in the hotspot this year, but they are quite close by in wetlands on both sides of the Gap, so they show up nearly every day.

-Purple Martins are provided nesting boxes in Sinking Valley and show up every day on top of the mountain, but only rarely on the Tyrone side of the Gap.

-Bank Swallows don’t nest near here and only show up in migration and occasionally in the middle of summer when they forage farther from their breeding areas.

-Cliff Swallows have some colonies in the area, but in the hotspot they tend to nest in small numbers under bridges.

This Sunday morning, the idea is to sit on the balcony first, then, if the weather holds, head out to find any Cliff Swallow nests that might be visible. It’s also another chance to assess others species’ progress in their breeding cycles.

Bats to Swifts

More summer weather on this Sunday dawn: a humid 63 with threatening clouds at 5 AM. The early crowd—American Robins, Northern Cardinal, Song Sparrow—are not yet drowned out by Gray Catbirds, and by 5:09 AM a House Finch is already singing. By a quarter past, there is a rare minute without a single vehicle, and the Barn Swallows are up and about in it.

Today, the birds are slow to awaken and the dozens of bats, darting over the streams, town, and ridges, late to sleep. The last bats are still diving into chimneys as Chimney Swifts take over after 5:30 AM; poor bugs never catch a break!

It’s suspiciously devoid of birdsong this morning, even as several species hit the air. Rain coming? Though the Baltimore Orioles and Yellow Warblers are quiet and perhaps gone, the Warbling Vireo is still here, starting its song at 5:37, followed quickly by a new local resident, an American Redstart that has appeared in the last couple of days and seems to be staking out a new territory around the confluence.

At 5:39, the last bat, a big one, dives down into town, and a gentle rain begins. This doesn’t phase the catbirds (nothing does, apparently), but the corvids, all four species, are staying quiet. In the parking lot, two spot-breasted, juvenile robins are fighting. They hang out a lot together, so is this some sort of play?

By 6 AM, Grackleville is bubbling with European Starlings and Common Grackles, and flocks are coming and going in all directions. Occasionally, a young grackle will strike off on its own to look for food, pecking at meaningless things like the bolts on power poles, but mostly, they hang out next to adults and beg, particularly in the dead ash tree.

Northern Rough-winged Swallows show up overhead and take to chasing each other, perhaps an activity related to feeding of recently-fledged young. The feeding of both the common swallows will be a lot easier to follow when I have time to watch them sit on the wires, beg, and make clumsy bug-catching forays.

Around a half past six I head toward the Plummer’s Hollow Bridge, but on a whim I stop at the park-and-ride to see if I can spot the putative Cliff Swallow nest under the interstate. Unfortunately, it is too far away from this angle, but I do make a few minor discoveries anyway. The barren ground under the overpass is quite popular for families of Song Sparrows as well House Sparrows, robins, starlings, and other species. I spot a trail heading from the lot to the river, and discover a nice and unpolluted access point I was unaware of that gives me an unfettered view of a part of the river that is otherwise quite difficult to see.

Privet Hell

I can’t find the Orchard Oriole today, but the Baltimore Orioles are quite active, in groups, with little song. For the first time this June, I hear a Common Yellowthroat singing from Yellow Warbler Swamp; this species is abundant in First Field but rarely appears in breeding season elsewhere in the hotspot. As for the Yellow Warbler, I do eventually hear one, so they are around, but acting quite cryptic.

I can’t put it off any longer: time to plunge into the privet-infested ‘swamp’ that separates the elevated tracks from the river, to get to what I have long treated as the traditional northeast corner of the hotspot, the bridge over Highway 453 and a long-time swallow haven.

At least there are no ticks this time of year. Thanks only to deer trails am I able to get through the morasses of pits, fallen trees, and privet that don’t constitute a natural bottomland swamp as much as an archaeological site, the remains of 19th-century Tyrone Forge constructions. One doesn’t walk in this stuff; one fights against it. But again, at least it’s privet and not something thorny like barberry or multiflora rose. And it’s a place where spectacular male Rose-breasted Grosbeaks, unused to human presence, are always nearly tame.

I reach the riverbank just upstream of the modern bridge. Underneath, I can see at least a dozen Barn Swallow nests, well-spaced, and an Eastern Phoebe nest as well. A juvenile phoebe is hanging out on top of a concrete bridge pillar, and swallows, I presume from these nests, are all about. The young have fledged, so even when I ‘pish’ a few times, the swallows barely react. And then, there it is: a single Cliff Swallow nest with its side-angle mud spout. They’re not a human-shy bird; you can watch them up close on the walls of mini-malls in Altoona. It’s just the nature of the hotspot that makes this species so hard to find.

After a few minutes, I spot four Cliff Swallows flying about above the bridge and river, what I would suspect are the parents and a couple of recently-fledged young from this nest. Mission accomplished!

What the Hell Is Wrong with People?

Back at Plummer’s Hollow Bridge, I find the answer to a question a few readers have asked me: whatever happened to the missing shopping cart?

And a drywall scrap placed prominently at the entrance to a maze of trails made by the local clandestine woodcutter family. Secret symbols? You tell me.