Friday, payday. First of the month, beginning of the season. The birds don’t know: they’re in full swing.
It got cold last night, into the upper 40s, which the katydids did not find to their liking. As expected, the spectrum was full of Veeries. They transit Brush Mountain at odd hours after 10 PM, making downward peeps and other nocturnal flight calls. Rarely single, they seem to travel in small groups and even larger flocks. Smaller groups of Swainson’s Thrushes also go over, and both species are interspersed with Rose-breasted Grosbeaks. At the upper registers, it’s all warblers.
My part starts around 5:30 AM when I surprise an opossum on the Hollow road.
Back at the neck, the first, unidentifiable chirp on the ground is at 5:44 AM, then the first NFCs: Swainson’s Thrush, then Veery. A few minutes later, a couple more, and that’s all I can hear. Later, when I check the antenna, it’s picking up many more I couldn’t discern.
Also before six, a nearby Whip-poor-will triggers a Wood Thrush, which clucks loudly, startling another thrush into clucking. They both quiet down, ten minutes ahead of when they’re supposed to start.
As the dawn chorus commence in earnest after 6, a nearby Rose-breasted Grosbeak sings one of its myriad variants, nice to hear from a soon-departed loved one. Down by the garage, another song I’ve not heard in a while, Eastern Phoebe, starts up.
As usual, the nearest House Wren starts its day by scolding the largest nearby threat, me. Warblers are already on the move, but it’s too dark to make them out yet, except for the fragment of a “teacher” emitted by an Ovenbird.
After the lull, the woodpeckers go at it, and once again today, a Mourning Warbler calls from the same spot it’s been hanging out in recently. An Indigo Bunting sings a few times, another one I’ve not heard much of recently. Then at 6:40, it’s dead silent; I imagine the birds positioning themselves for the feast to come. I don’t have long to wait: 12 Cedar Waxwings break the silence, crossing from cherry to cherry over the field, accompanied by a raucous Hairy Woodpecker.
Just after the now-daily European Starling commute over distant ridges, I hear a Brown Thrasher, and then a Least Flycatcher. A Cooper’s Hawk flaps across the field in front of me. Time to circulate.
Penultimate Warbler
Warbler noise at dawn was considerable; now it’s just a matter of intercepting a flock. As usual, Cape Mays are the dominant species. A particular black cherry to the north of the powerline cut is invaded by warblers, vireos, and about six Ruby-throated Hummingbirds, the latter dancing around each other, perching, and attacking all comers. Warblers of a variety of species fly about like butterflies, confusing me as monarchs, dragonflies, lanternflies, and other invertebrates are also about in numbers. At a certain point, the single tree is crawling, or as we warblerers like to call it, “dripping” with around a dozen species, from Black-throated Greens to Hoodeds, Magnolias to Tennessees.
Behind me, among the goldenrods and young black locusts, against the first brilliant rays of the sun, a warbler cloud is rising.
This first-of-year phenomenon becomes more common in late September and October. Warblers of certain species apparently bed down for the night (or after they arrive from a night flight) in the goldenrod, as if they were all Common Yellowthroats or sparrows. Perhaps it’s for warmth on such cold nights. I abandon camera, chair, and backpack and head down the trail to get as close as I can to the flock, which is moving quickly through the upper flower stalks and lower locust branches, and mixing with others descending from the trees. Blue-winged Warbler. Prairie Warbler. Nashville Warbler. Others: plenty of the more common ones.
And then I hear it: Golden-winged Warbler (PH200 #192). Song number three on the Merlin list, not the vocalization I was expecting. The briefest of glimpses as it pops up out of the goldenrod for a moment. In truth, I had pretty much given up on this species, and today was about the last time I have a chance to detect it. I kick myself for not doing my sit here instead of over at the neck, as this particular flock is gone within a few minutes. Indeed, after this episode, the warblers all head up into the trees and I’m left with three Least Flycatchers as a consolation prize.
Nineteen warbler species for the morning, and 33 for the year. The missing species, Connecticut Warbler, will be here in a few weeks.
The scarcest species have been the Orange-crowned Warbler, which I photographed along the tracks in April, this Golden-winged, and the Kentucky, which I heard once in May down by the tracks. Northern Waterthrush I have only picked up (several times) so far on the antenna, though it will be relatively easy to find along the river this month. Wilson’s Warbler I have also picked up on the antenna, and seen once; I expect to see it a few more times this fall.
Eight To Go
As of today, 201 species have been detected in the Plummer’s Hollow Nature Reserve in the last 365 days. Nine that would be new for 2023 were recorded after this date last year: Lincoln’s Sparrow, Connecticut Warbler, Red Crossbill, American Black Duck, Bonaparte’s Gull, Northern Saw-whet Owl, Dickcissel, Evening Grosbeak, and Pine Siskin. I’m not sanguine about the Dickcissel, and other than the first two, which are pretty much guaranteed, the rest will be a toss-up. (I do have a fairly large and growing pile of night mysteries, but I’m saving those; if I get really desperate, I plan to play Merlin against some May diurnal recordings to see if an Olive-side Flycatcher or a Yellow-breasted Chat pops out.)