At 22, it’s colder than it’s been, and I’m hopeful for a rebound in species numbers after recent lows of 12. The sky is almost clear, but there’s an ominous cloud of vapor emanating from the north and slinking into the Gap and the hollows.
I’ve often attributed these vapor streams to some combination of releases from the paper mill and available atmospheric dust particles, but I’m still unsure. Whatever the case, the sun, which shows promise early on, gets blotted out before it has a chance.
The Dark-eyed Junco pips at 7:07, starting things off. The American Robin is distant today, so I can only hear it singing when there are holes in interstate rumble. I think it must be somewhere over by the Burger King.
With no warning, the silent tannery raven flaps south above the highway, and out of sight, at 7:17. A few minutes later, some desultory raven honking from the direction it disappeared, and then some croaking.
Mexican Finches
A single House Finch is up and about at 7:24, and a pair of Rock Pigeons spiral out of town at 7:29 AM. The sky behind me is clear around the waning gibbous moon, but the air is not, and there’s no breeze. A faint smell of something chemical. In front, I’m not sure what to call the creeping vapor: mist? fog? cloud? It is slowly wrapping Sapsucker Ridge, and the view of Sinking Valley is gone. Bald Eagle Mountain is getting the same treatment.
At 7:37, a single American Crow commutes high overhead, heading east, silent.
Yesterday, I mentioned the down-tick in commuting House Finches. Today, something happens I have not seen in awhile. Eleven in a tight and excited-sounding flock, flying away to the south. A few second later, another flock of 11. This is what they were doing last Fall, group after group leaving a nearby roost tree along Bald Eagle Creek, then visiting food sources along the Little J upstream, and up on Brush Mountain. In those days, the eBird editor for Blair County had to keep resetting the filter to account for my high dawn numbers of House Finches, which finally topped out at 332 on September 21st. A county high, but nowhere near the 3,000 seen in one place in 1981 that was a Pennsylvania record (to be fair, numbers crashed from mycoplasmosis after 1994).
Downy Marks the End
The Downy Woodpecker ‘peeks’ from a tree behind a nearby apartment building at my 11 that blocks the view of Bald Eagle Creek. I suspect this is the same individual that called some 600 times the other afternoon while the Cooper’s Hawk sat nearby, and hushed when it flew. I wonder if the unusually lengthy call sequence was a warning, harassment, or unrelated? Maybe I had it backwards. Did I tell you about a sighting I had the following day, of the Cooper’s Hawk being chased by a small bird? I’m almost certain it was this same woodpecker. Now, last year I saw its giant cousin the Pileated Woodpecker dive and literally take a stab at a perched Cooper’s Hawk as it was flapping over town, but I would deeply impressed if the diminutive Downy were brave enough to do the same.
The Downy is active today: I eventually see it in the tallest sycamore at my 10, right at the top, as starlings gather in anticipation of rays that never hit. Then, a few minutes later, what is probably another Downy trills down from a tree off to my right, by the drive-through bank.
By 7:54, it’s getting hopeless. A Common Raven comes from behind, close overhead, then veers south along the interstate. The tannery raven or another. No sunrise as the mist encloses the mountains, and though it hasn’t made it into town, the once-blue sky is gone, replaced by thick and heavily clouds from the west. Starlings take over.
Ducks Hold Steady
After work, there’s just enough time/light left to ‘whoop’ over to the hidden pond and check on my waterfowl. You never know when something interesting is going to slip into the Mallard crowd. Also, I need to keep tabs on the pack ice conditions that could push the winter flock out.
No need to worry: a good part of the far end is still ice-free, thanks to busy muskrats. Only 22 Mallards, and they seem to be almost entirely paired up; I’ve heard (and seen! the horror!) the way this species goes about its mating ritual, but for now, things appear to be pretty calm. The American Wigeon is off a bit on its own, as usual, but the male Wood Duck is mixed right in, holding its own in what I can only assume is a pretty tough crowd. I’ll hopefully get you a pic soon.
The river is low again, flood-free, but no heron or kingfisher. Way above, a few more Mallard pairs zoom back from town and look like they’re dropping into the pond.