Pairing Up
By 6:16 AM, an American Robin is already calling. It’s no use trying to get up before the robin—next month, one will be singing somewhere by 3 AM, if not before. Hopefully, it will not be from somewhere on this building.
The day starts clear and calm at 28 and there’s already a train parked, sleeping, idling its engines, covering up the early raven. Nearby, a Song Sparrow begins at 6:17.
The local Canada Geese today are out by 6:26 but they’ve broken into small groups and pairs. They’re doubtless setting up territories in all the defensible bits of ponds.
Already by 6:34 a House Finch appears. I love how it sings and calls as it flies over; it seems to me that most other songbirds around here wait until they’re perched to sing. Meanwhile, one of at least four local Bald Eagles, what appears to be a juvenile, flies low over downtown going north.
The train roar builds and dies, builds and dies. Finally, the tannery raven honks over top of it, from the same direction.
Speaking of pairs, the European Starlings are increasingly hanging out in twos as well. While they’re still part of a larger group that comes into town before seven and leaves after five, there is far more pairing up than I saw even a week ago.
Northward Geese
Around seven, 37 Canada Geese emerge from the south, very high over Sapsucker Ridge, heading straight north in a V, unwavering. I’ve already logged 13 locals in 5 groups; these, however, are long-distance migrants, the first good flock of them I’ve seen this year. Their numbers will build over the next weeks, and some days’ counts can reach into the thousands. On March 5, 1983, Mom logged 2,420 over the course of a Saturday, along with 440 Tundra Swans. The Canada Goose number was the highest number of any species ever recorded on one day in the hotspot since we’ve kept records (1971).
According to Birds of the World, there are over five million Canada Geese in the world in total. (A species much harder for us to see here, the Snow Goose, numbers as many as 15 million.)
At 7:05, the train finally starts moving east but at a glacial pace. 20 minutes later, it still has not finished; engines in the middle, as are typical now, allow hundreds of cars.
The Downy Woodpecker doesn’t usually ‘peek’ in the morning now, but whinnies instead, I would guess related to early thoughts about breeding. And the robins, aggressive as always: one lands in the 3 PM sycamore and commence its beautiful song, only to be promptly attacked and driven off by another.
Wicked East Wind
In the late PM, I’m out on the porch sheltering from the storm, 39 degrees with driving, frigid, occasionally icy rain. Though the cyclone is wheeling up from the southwest, the wind is coming from the east, pushing roiling clouds. Quite an unusual occurrence, particularly in February.
I want to see what flies in this weather. Over 51 minutes, starting at 4:46, just six species pass the test:
Rock Pigeons, of course, but just a handful. They can handle both the wind and the rain, but I suppose they prefer not to.
House Finch. One individual attempts to get airborne and head east, perhaps to roost, but is driven back and decides to ride the wind west instead.
Starlings. Just a single pair is able to navigate a comparatively calm period before heavier rain returns.
Common Mergansers. No surprise there.
Common Grackles. A flock of grackles return from the Gap over town on the wind, seemingly unperturbed.
American Robins. I am consistently amazed at how robins can fly in pretty much any weather, even violent snow squalls; they steer through this storm with aplomb, dropping like missiles into their roost sites, one by one, out of the small flocks that pass over town. Their toughness is no doubt one reason for the fact that there are around 380 million robins across their exclusively North American range. Not quite as many as people (480 million), but still quite impressive.