At 5 AM on Saturday, Fern is sitting alert on her nest. I’ll check on her later.
It’s been days of heat, scraping 90, but dry-ish, until now. A few drops fell on us up in State College last night, but literally like 9.3 drops. I didn’t sit out at all; my total contribution to citizen science yesterday was a flock of 16 Canada Geese over the apartment at 8:24 AM. It’s been weeks since we’ve seen a goose flock—could the young be up in the air so quickly?
North End Notes
With roadwork happening later today, I have decided against going to the mountain, so I’m doing a ramble along the tracks instead. Before 5:30, over by the pond, the American Redstarts are dizzyingly loud, both males and females, to such a degree that it is difficult to hear other species well. But around 20 ‘til six they finally calm down, and by the hour there are already close to 40 species on the books. Merlin is doing OK today, getting the vireos correct—Yellow-throated, Blue-headed, Red-eyed, and Warbling all nest within a couple hundred feet of the pond—though as the Chimney Swifts go over, it thinks it hears a Tennessee Warbler.
Swallow pairs are out early today, and in the northeast corner of the hotspot, that means not just Northern Rough-winged and Barn but Tree as well; higher up, I spot a pair of Purple Martins from one of their houses not far away.
After 6 AM, the Baltimore Orioles begin to sing, females as well as males. Pairs are active all along the tracks, spending time close to the river where I presume they hang their nests, but often crossing the tracks to the lower edges of Sapsucker Ridge.
From out of Yellow Warbler Swamp, where Brown-headed Cowbirds, Cedar Waxwings, Song Sparrows, Baltimore Orioles, Gray Catbirds, the eponymous warbler, and three vireo species are the loudest singers as it approaches 6:30 AM, a new song: Orchard Oriole! I recorded this species here a few years ago in summer, the only place in the hotspot it could potentially nest. But for all my straining, I never manage to see it.
Treefall Gap
Back at the gate, the Rose-breasted Grosbeaks have woken up. This is their main area of concentration in the hotspot, with at least a dozen breeding pairs on either side of the tracks along a stretch of a few hundred meters.
I can’t resist the temptation to walk up the road a bit and add a few deep woods species, such as Acadian Flycatchers. A male is defending territory loudly in the lowest trees over the road and stream, at the very entrance to the Hollow, throwing back his head to utter explosive ‘pizzas!’ as a Common Grackle and an American Robin perch on logs and peck at food they seem to have hauled out of the water.
A pair of Worm-eating Warblers has claimed the territory on the right across from signboard, on the Sapsucker Ridge side. I wander up as far as the first bend, where some hemlocks harbor Blackburnian Warblers, and pull out my camp chair for a brief sit before the traffic starts. It’s a great place to see birds in the summer, as a downburst ripped down enough trees last year, and I think in prior years as well, that a nice opening was created stretching quite a ways upslope through along a shallow, steep side hollow.
A pair of Black-capped Chickadees, never shy, are in the vicinity, as well as several Scarlet Tanagers; a Louisiana Waterthrush sounds from the stream below. After a minute or two, a Blackburnian Warbler sings, and then a Hairy Woodpecker, a species I rarely see this time of year, appears in plain view at the edge of the gap, some hundred yards up. I catch the movement of a small bird too far away to identify clearly through the binoculars, but whatever it is, it’s got the kind of nest a Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher would build. I take the best photo I can with the zoom lens, a shaky arm, and low light conditions; I’ll come back tomorrow to see whom the tail belongs to.
Molt-Migrants
Back down at the gate, I’m thrilled to see and hear the most musical of all the Baltimore Orioles still singing his greatest hit. By the bridge, a pleasant chap parks his car and rushes out with a bucket. As he fumbles with his gear, something drops down and splashes into the river through the porous bridge. He panics—his keys! His wife is going to have a fit, he exclaims. But it was something else, all is good, and he happily sets up his gear halfway along the bridge. He’s a magnet fisher from who knows where, not from these parts. As I drive by, I give him a few tips about the local wildlife and how to avoid them, and he mentions he will try to remove the pink shopping cart. We’ll see how that goes.
As you probably guessed by the not-so-subtle hint above, Fern is a mother today, again. Dad and the kid are also hanging about. The babies, ugly as sin, are closely attended, so I try not to spend too much time bothering them as I change the hummer syrup.
And then, 66 Canada Geese show up over the rooftops of Tyrone. Earlier this morning, there was an uncharacteristically loud flock of around 20 low over the river beyond the pond, so I think this is the full group of them. They’re all quite large, which leaves me baffled. In consulting Birds of the World, I discover that non-breeding adults form flocks this time of year and move north, often toward large water bodies, in search of food. I would guess this could be such a flock, as the rest of the geese in the local area are quite rarely seen now, I presume because they have their goslings to raise.
Around 9, I cruise around a few likely locations in Tyrone, but no Common Nighthawks are in evidence. I guess the one/s I heard on Thursday evening were late migrants.