Eighteen degrees with a stiff breeze: eleven when you consider the wind chill factor. Despite the January-like weather, one American Robin is calling by 6:15 AM this quietish Sunday. A Song Sparrow starts up on schedule by 6:45, and before seven, a Carolina Wren, a Northern Cardinal, and the junkyard raven all make themselves heard. A White-breasted Nuthatch yammers in the distance, then the silence returns, but for the robin, by 7:04.
Puffy, fast-moving clouds on a wind from the west and the promise of a glorious dawn, but the birdlife awakens in fits and starts, calls and songs dying away quickly as light flurries come and go. I’m not time-limited this morning, so I’ll be able to wait until the vultures come.
The Icterids seem undaunted today. A flock of some 20 Brown-headed Cowbirds heads over toward the Gap, various small groups of Red-winged Blackbirds go the same direction, and Common Grackles fly high and low, north, south, east, and west, with some local pairs seeming to lead the few dozen European Starlings in swooping flights back and forth across town. Neither grackles nor starlings seem overly fazed by the brutal weather, though not much else stays up in the air long.
A White-breasted Nuthatch is the only species calling like it’s Spring; the Eastern Phoebe, by comparison, tries a few week ‘fee-bees’ and falls silent; ditto the Tufted Titmouse.
Surprisingly, no Common Mergansers emerge from the Gap today, but I am treated to four Wood Ducks—two males and two females—that arise from somewhere close by and circle excitedly around the confluence for a few seconds, close to my balcony, then head upstream above the river. I have not seen more than the single drake this winter, so these may very well be part of the Spring migrant wave.
Back during the height of winter, dawns like this would bring ravens and raptors quickly, soaring over the ridges, but today, not even the ravens seem enamored of the weather. No falcons, no hawks, not even the local Cooper’s: just a magnificent adult Bald Eagle soars effortlessly across the gale, from behind Bald Eagle Mountain, down toward the river, then out through the Gap.
At 7:50 it is utterly, eerily quiet; this silence continues until broken by a distant Northern Flicker call on the hour. Impending snow flurries seem to be the culprit, though very few flakes actually fall. Robins, starlings, and a few others make a bit of noise when it lightens a bit, then the quiet returns by 8:12. In the thick of the swirling clouds and bitter wind, a Ring-billed Gull drifts lazily over town.
Late but not forgotten, a Downy Woodpecker finally shows up at 8:18, and as bright sunlight hits, the birds begin to come back to life. The last to show itself is a Turkey Vulture, followed by 20 more, the whole of the local roost, or at least those that opt to head east over the mountains at the end of dawn.
At the conclusion of today’s lengthy 116-minute balcony sit pace, the list stands at a respectable 26 species, one of the year’s longest. During one of the promised Spring mornings next week, it may finally reach 30.