Guest Post by Eric Oliver
It’s a gray, cloudy, drizzly Friday afternoon. Heavy rain just ended a few hours ago so it’s too wet for maintenance duties. I need to restock some items from the local mill, so I go for a ride. With a recent career change I have Fridays off, so I have time to myself to do the things I love, like going on nature hikes to take in all that this wonderful world has to offer. You know, a hike that isn’t about the amount of miles walked or the feet in elevation climbed but more about being aware of the beauty of nature that surrounds us. Botanizing, as Angie Spagnoli calls it. Taking in the sights, the sounds, the smells--not only is it relaxing but it’s also educational and exciting to experience new things.
Today’s stroll is an impromptu stop at Plummer’s Hollow near Tyrone, PA. I have hiked here several times before and the location never ceases to amaze. There is always something new to experience, whether a bird, a tree, or a flower, as small as a red eft hanging on a birch tree or as large as a towering white oak shading my walk and offering countless caterpillars to birds as they rear their young. The property management by the Bonta family, or should I say the lack of human over-management, has allowed this place to truly become a gem of conservation.
It's late in the year for spring ephemerals and a bit early for summer flowers but regardless, time spent here is never wasted. Starting from the parking lot just inside the gate, the walk up is an easy grade. This is good, as I don’t have the best shoes on for hiking. A few hundred feet from my vehicle, I realize I forgot to dab on some of my lemongrass bug repellent. I think about returning to do so, but I decide to press on instead, a decision I soon come to regret. The insects are the annoying rather than the biting kind. They buzz my head and hat, land on my arms, and a few seem to think it’s a good idea to swing into my auditory canal and test my high-pitched hearing capabilities. But hey, I am in their world, and as I was reluctant to back-track for lemongrass, I guess I’ll have to bear with them.
Since this is an impromptu stop, I don’t have my good camera with me, only my cell phone. I think there’s an unwritten law of nature that the chances of one’s seeing something unique or rare is indirectly proportional to the quality of camera one is carrying. We’ll see if this proves true today.
Smooth hydrangea is becoming showy along the road and the banks of the creek. I see some purple-flowering raspberries, a first for me. The Canadian wood-nettle along the road is between waist-high and almost shoulder height in a few places, and the red elderberry looks amazing. Solomon’s seal and false Solomon’s seal are just past their bloom stage. Overhead, I hear several Wood Thrushes singing their distinctive songs, reminding me of a soundbite from the Hunger Games my daughters loved when they were teens. Red-eyed Vireos are bouncing around the tree canopy, emitting “Hey there, what ya doing?” calls.
Other birds are singing, but my ear is still in training. I only recently began to work on getting to know them by call, and it’s been an amazing journey. Aided by the Merlin app (yes, I will admit it) and by other members of the Juniata Valley Audubon Society, I have become increasingly in-tune with a world I was aware of but didn’t really understand intimately. It has almost become an infatuation. I drive down the highway, windows open, and instinctively hear common bird calls. I get distracted during conversation when I hear a Carolina Wren ring out its amazingly loud song. While my focus has always been on trees and learning all I can about them, birds are now a close second. Indeed, as I write this blog, I am sitting by a window getting distracted by a Black-capped Chickadee saying “cheeseburger” and the neighborhood Chimney Swifts “squeaking” as they swarm overhead for their nightly snack.
My wonderful partner (in botanizing and in life) Angie and I have a standing joke when we hear a bird on our walks. She often tests me, asking what it is that I hear. My standard response is “A cardinal?” I learned early on that Northern Cardinals have some 30+ songs in their song book. So, playing the odds, that is my first guess as a joke. Or so at least I think it is funny. Her, not so much.
Back to my Plummer’s Hollow walk. As I approach the first bench along the road, I think about sitting for a while to soak in the forest. I think better of it, though, as I realize that after the downpours earlier today parts of me would be in for a good soaking. After milling about for a spell and swatting at around 350,486 insects (give or take a few), I decide to start working my way back.
Not far into my descent, I pause for the call of a distinctive bird I’ve never heard before. There are two, not far up in the trees along the road: a male and a female, distinguishable by their field marks. They commence with a melodic tone, interspersed with metallic chirping. With each chirp, their heads bob and their tails flail. This is a new one for me.
Both have mouths full of small caterpillars, even as they continue to scold me for trespassing on their territory. A Red-eyed Vireo, alerted to the commotion, starts scolding me, as a Wood Thrush sings from across the stream. There are nests nearby and hungry families to feed, but the mystery birds don’t want to give away their clever hiding spot to this large intruder.
As soon as I open Merlin and start recording, it indicates Louisiana Waterthrush. No way! I have never seen nor heard this species, let alone a male/female pair. Many fellow birders talk about their song and how much they love to hear it. I agree: it is a beautiful song.
If I only had my good camera. I knew it would come back to haunt me. As I try to snap a few “good” pictures with my cellphone camera, the waterthrushes hop about in the branches just above me. They’re so close I can see their mouths full of caterpillars as they continue their metallic chirps, a warning that I am definitely intruding in their space. I decide to take video in lieu of pictures so I can document both their song and their presence. I snap a quick GPS of the location then continue the descent to my vehicle. It’s time to let them return to feeding their undoubtedly hungry, growing brood of nestlings that I am interrupting.
Eric is a Mined Land Restoration and Reforestation Specialist. He can be reached at eric.oliver@greenforestswork.org.
Pardon the Interruption