President's Day
*Thanks to an attentive reader - I meant ‘Common Grackle’ where I had put ‘Great-tailed Grackle’ below. It was on my mind from the Teozanatl piece of the other day.*
Another somber Monday, loud and uneventful to start off. The sun is rising now at 7:01 AM, so I have to be out by 6:30 to catch the beginning.
Today, 30 and overcast, it commences with an American Robin, shouting its dawn alarm call. I’ve noticed that the location of these first calls—in a tree between the VFW and the river—is not where it roosts. I’ve caught this particular robin flying fast past my balcony in the murky light, prior to start of calling. I would assume that it is not interested in drawing predator attention to its sleep spot.
By 7, I’m at 14 species, with a reduced version of the dawn chorus from up in First Field: a Song Sparrow or two and a couple of lackadaisical Carolina Wrens. Now, two robins are calling at each other; later they’ll take to singing, then a disturbed trilling that they do, and various other calls in the repertoire. On most days, though not today, individuals post up to the tree tops, facing east, sometimes for up to an hour.
At 7:09, a Ring-bill Gull flies over heading east, for the third time in a week, scanning the landscape intently. It disappears through the Gap after a few weak circles. Very hard to photograph.
Over 100 Common Grackles swirl through four minutes later, one disappearing behind the tallest sycamore. We’ll see if it might be my friend from last week.
A massive explosion from the east scatters the starlings: blasting at the limestone and dolomite quarry through the Gap. Some 50 more grackles go through the Gap, this time with around ten Red-winged Blackbirds. A Great Blue Heron steers its bulk from downriver and veers north around Bald Eagle Mountain, obligingly providing me a first-ever record for the third week of February.
At 7:23, I glance over and see a male Common Grackle on the tallest top of the tallest sycamore, flanked by starlings. It’s not vocalizing, but the starlings are deep into their mimic chorus. I swear they are doing Dark-eyed Junco trilling.
After a couple minutes the flock, with the grackle at the head, departs from the tree; the grackle swings back around and disappears upriver, while the starlings swirl a bit and then return to their tree.
Eagles Young and Old
Just past the hour, an adult Bald Eagle coasts Bald Eagle Mountain southward and then continues on down Sapsucker Ridge. Two minutes later, a juvenile heads into the Gap coming low from the northwest, crossing paths with a lone Canada Goose.
Seven minutes later, scanning the sycamore, I notice a large lump beyond, in a tree on the steepest part of Sapsucker Ridge above the tracks. The juvenile Bald Eagle has settled in and is scanning the terrain intently, at one point rearing its body up and then twisting around to look behind. Whether it can see me or nor I don’t know, but I often catch it staring intently in my direction.
The rising sun is fighting with a slowly moving cloud bank in the east, and I’m hoping the eagle will catch some stronger rays for my camera before I have to go in at eight. At two minutes before, the eagle is lit up; I check back at 8:04 and it’s still there; by 8:22, it’s gone.
More on Iggles
I should explain: the proliferation of ‘Bald Eagle’ toponyms around here is not due directly to the prevalence of our national symbol (which, by the way, was an extreme rarity when I was growing up around here). Instead, it refers to ‘Bald Eagle’s Nest,’ a residence area for Woapalanne, a Lenape leader of the mid-1700s. This location is currently known as Milesburg, at the next water gap along the mountain going northeast, some 30 miles away. Thus, the ridge bears his name, as does a creek that flows north to join the Susquehanna River. Confusingly, another Bald Eagle Creek rises a few miles north of Tyrone and flows southwest to join the Little Juniata at my feet. Historically, this was known as ‘Little Bald Eagle Creek’ or the north branch of the Little Juniata River. This much smaller stream gave its name to the village of Bald Eagle, Bald Eagle Avenue in Tyrone, and who knows what else.
Oh yes, and the whole stretch from here to the Susquehanna is known as Bald Eagle Valley.
The storied Tyrone Area High School football team, winner of state championships, is named for the Golden Eagle, however. Back in the 1980s, I remember a stuffed juvenile Bald Eagle, perhaps an ancestor of today’s star, in a display case in the hallway: as often happens, it was passed off as a Golden.
Enough excitement for one day. My brother Dave points out that the eagle perch - first I’ve seen from my balcony - is a fitting sighting for a holiday recognizing presidents. In that patriotic vein, here is the VFW:
Afternoon Sit Patterns
I’ve not commented much on what has been happening in the late afternoons. Not long past 4:30, the Turkey Vultures start returning to their roost, along with a few Black Vultures. They mostly come from the east, over the mountains or through the Gap.
They sometimes fly fast, sometimes slow, flapping, gliding; at times they take detours and kettle right overhead, or over one of the ridges. There are a few dozen at the roost by now, I would guess. More than any other species, their passage helps to wind down the day.
This afternoon, fittingly, I get an excellent look at a juvenile Bald Eagle overhead, perhaps the same from this morning.
American Robins, peaking at well above 100, now no longer return in a single flock after 5:30. Meanwhile, House Finches sing until close to 6, while Rock Pigeons and starlings, as always, are active and flying about in pairs and groups until dusk.