Dogwood Knoll
I park at a pull-off above the long stretch at 5:31 AM. Being Sunday, it’s so quiet that the only sounds are the trickle of Plummer’s Hollow Run and a faint Whip-Poor-Will. Overhead, it looks a bit cloudy, and the temperature is right around 60. By the light of the phone I ascend to the steps at Ten Springs Trail, then climb further up to search out a sit spot on the stilt grass-choked knoll.
I don’t have long to wait. The first clucks of Wood Thrushes turn into song by 5:37, to the accompaniment of Eastern Wood-Pewees. A Northern Cardinal and an Eastern Towhee round out the minimalist chorus, which swells to several of each of the four species, then dies down after about 20 minutes. I head south on Greenbriar Trail, waiting for the warblers to wake up.
Black cherries are all along this route, and the birds are concentrated in some areas from the lower levels, where I see them picking off mile-a-minute fruits, to the canopy. The second early Tennessee Warbler of the season is the first interesting find of the day, and this time, I see it as well as hear it. Hooded Warblers are loud, common, and curious, as expected, but American Redstarts seem to have diminished somewhat. The star of the day is the Black-and-white Warbler, with males and females singing at every turn of the trail, in pairs and trios. It is the first of several species to trip the eBird numbers filter today, and I end up with 18.
Some Chestnut-sided Warblers are in the woods here, and they sing a few times. I find a single Canada Warbler as well, and eight Cerulean Warblers, all singing, none seen.
Ruby-throated Hummingbirds continue their trend of high numbers, as do Eastern Wood-Pewees, while other species are basically gone from the woods, from what I can tell (Brown-headed Cowbird, for example), or no longer singing (Scarlet Tanager, Rose-breasted Grosbeak). I finally manage to snap a Pileated Woodpecker sequence:
In a tall, dead tree, the ID of a molting Scarlet Tanager is briefly confounding:
Nearby, a Worm-eating Warbler, far from the understory, snatches something out of the dry flower on a tuliptree magnolia, 30 yards up.
Around 8 AM, as the gnats are starting to making the woods uncomfortable, I arrive at First Field.
Connecticut Corner
The trail around the northern corner of First Field divides a group of catalpa trees where Connecticut Warblers hang out for a few weeks in late September and early October. The catalpas mix with the edge of the black locust fringe and thick goldenrod, providing plenty of vantage-points and hiding spots for birds moving in and out of the vine tangles and black cherries on Sapsucker Ridge. It’s one of the “sweet spots” on the property for fall migrants. I plop down my chair for the fourth time today, and play a few bars of Eastern Screech-Owl.
The crowd goes wild. A profusion of passerines swarms the locusts and catalpa, with House Wrens the stars of the show:
Few birds pose for long, except for juvenile Eastern Towhees, which could easily be confused for House Finches or other species. They tend to sit obligingly on snags. Both adults and juveniles appear to be enjoying the black cherry crop.
Suddenly, something large comes crashing down the side of the largest catalpa, about 50 yards away. Through my binoculars, I spot a monkey-like shape, dark brown with what looks like a prehensile tail. It’s a Fisher, Pekania pennanti, not the closest I’ve seen one here, but the first time this has happened while I’m holding a camera. Miracle of miracles, I manage to get some shots off as it poses for a few seconds, then, grabbing the trunk, scrambles around the front of the tree and disappears.
I’m not sure it ever saw me. Presumably, the throng of birds piqued its curiosity, but they didn’t react to it all, from what I could see. Fishers are primarily predators of porcupines, though I gather they do snack on small birds at times.
For the next few hours, I work the upper fringe of the field before heading back down the road. The Willow/Alder Flycatcher is in the same place it was yesterday, while at a different spot, I find the season’s second Least Flycatcher. By 9:30 AM, the Hollow is silent but for the calls of titmice and chickadees from the canopy.