The browns and grays today are relentless. It seems a bit unfair that as we head into the deepest part of winter, it’s 41 degrees: a windy March day without the swelling buds or Eastern Phoebe. For birders, January can be exasperating, but February?
Birders thrive on novelty. February is so novelty-starved they even created a special holiday for us, the Great Backyard Bird Count, to keep spirits up and counters counting (‘cuz data). But I’m getting ahead of the game. It’s only the third week of January.
Repeating Yesterday
I am always intrigued and a little relieved when the dawn drama has substantial elements of repetition from the day before. Unlike people—creatures of habitat locked into largely unvarying quotidian patterns—birds are nothing if not unpredictable. Weather changes; food sources fluctuate in location, size, quality; risks emerge or diminish: all these and I am sure many more factors affect what a given individual or flock does after it gets up every morning.
Today, TR, the tannery raven, croaked twice at 7:19 AM, from pretty much the exact same place as yesterday and almost every day. At 7:29, the Black-capped Chickadee’s dee-dee-dee; at 7:30, House Finch over. Comforting. Otherwise, it’s no shows, occasional species, late risers, and different flight patterns.
Novelty
TR only appeared today flying right and out of sight. Its first activity of the day was for whatever reason in a different direction than most other days when it flies in front me.
The American Robin singing from near Burger King since New Year quieted a few days ago, but otherwise, robins have returned in numbers, and more obvious and vocal in town than I’ve ever seen them. They, and the starlings, are primarily out of sight today, focused on fruit trees on the other side of Pennsylvania Avenue somewhere.
The fruit feast, and perhaps the steady wind, has altered the normally rather predictable inbound commute of the starlings. They fly into Tyrone in rapid, tight flocks today: no singles first, then pairs, pipping, flying in wide circles above the interstate and the river, or settling on the highway lamps.
No ducks, flying or swimming. In all the time I’ve been doing this sit, the local Mallards almost never do the same thing and almost never appear at the same time on successive mornings. During some stretches of time, their morning flight patterns become somewhat predictable, but then they abruptly switch.
Today’s occasional is the adult Bald Eagle. When I do see it this early (7:26), it often repeats today’s pattern: popping out from behind the roof, circling a time or two, then flap-gliding slowly above the river, today rather high, and out toward Sinking Valley. I would suppose that the Bald Eagles who have stuck around—at least two—are guided by knowledge related to fish movements and activity?
Ruddy Gray Sky
No sunrise to see today, but I have faith that it is happening a minute or two earlier than at its nadir last week.
At 7:43, perhaps incidentally, chickadee scolding can be heard in the trees this side of the interstate, and then out bursts a Cooper’s Hawk, straight at me, then up and over the three-story building we inhabit, and into downtown. Heading toward the robin/starling buffet, perhaps, or to perch first on one of the high buildings. From other vantage points, I often see this species early, up on a high roof.
The Downy Woodpecker starts late today, at 7:53, and the first Rock Pigeon flock, of 11, circles and heads the valley at 7:55, way late. Eleven more at 7:56. A silent pair of Canada Geese come from the valley and head north, following the line of the creek.
Despite the helpful wind, the Common Raven pair that often dances above the ridge is nowhere to be seen.