A week of Indian summer with scarce chances to be outside as robins, finches, waterfowl, and winter sparrows arrive and increase in numbers to make up for the tropical departures.
A work hiccup allows an hour to get to the pond in the late afternoon on Tuesday. This is a window soon to close, with daylight savings close at hand. At 5 PM, it’s sunny with a warm wind along the tracks, and a blessed lack of trains.
A Hairy Woodpecker calls from up on the steepest part of Laurel Ridge, and a few American Goldfinches are on the move along the river. An adult Bald Eagle wings out of the valley toward town.
The Mallards have moved toward the far part of the pond. To catch them unawares, I have to cross back over to the river, walk further, then recross so I am almost on top of them before they see me. This group, around 30, are not as skittish as they’ve been in the past.
A much smaller duck is swimming among them.
Green-winged Teal! After all these years, this is the first time I’ve seen one on the water, up close, in the hotspot.
A train rumbles in and I move to fringing vegetation, spooking the ducks, but they only fly down toward the mountain, and don’t leave the pond. Must be good pickins’.
Improbably, a local photographer with a giant lens shows up, looking for owls. This is the first time I’ve ever seen anyone else at the pond. I point out the Hollow, go over the rules, and exchange information.
I’m looking for owls myself: specifically, evidence of Northern Saw-Whet Owls in the night. It would be nice to start November at 199.
On Wednesday, I’m a shut-in. At one point, a Common Raven tries to lure me from my laptop, but not until 6:26 PM do I make it to the balcony. Another sunny afternoon has fled, and by this time, the last of the commuters have dived to their roosts. A single Northern Cardinal ticks over in the confluence before calling it a day.
Stir-Crazy
Thursday’s 5 AM cold coffee is inspiring enough to rouse me into a madcap dash for the pond and then the garage, with the aim of being at work by eight.
By 7 AM, I’m nearly to the pond, and the temperature is already close to 50, with a warmish breeze. On the hour, a small, plump bird whizzes by a few feet above the tracks. Judging by the flight calls, I’d say it was a Song Sparrow heading to its first performance venue or feeding spot. Minute later, the songs begin.
I’m at the duck end of the pond well before it’s light enough to see well, but I can already make out the splashing of dark Mallard shapes as they grunt and quack. Muskrats are also about. A Carolina Wren starts up from the far side, and as it gets lighter, I can see more Mallards dropping into the pond. Finally, around 7:15, it’s bright enough to ID species: the Green-winged Teal is still here. I need to find the appropriate prayer or summons for a Redhead, American Black Duck, or scaup…
Up top, the dawn is in full swing, but I have very little time to listen. While the call files are transferring, I become aware of numerous Yellow-rumped Warblers moving from the field to the black walnuts; they should be at their height right about now. Two American Goldfinches have joined an eight-piece Cedar Waxwing flock over the field, and later, on the recordings, I hear the Pine Siskins that had gone by minutes before I arrived.
Back in town, boots off at the balcony, I hear a robin singing in the confluence. It seems that every day the robins are getting bolder and more vocal—it’s been weeks, even months, since I’ve heard the full song.