4:43 AM. Fog in town and robins. The temperature is at 37, but that doesn’t deter the Yellow Warbler, who’s already singing.
5 AM up top. I drop a Mother’s Day gift on the veranda and turn around to head back down the road. Only a few wisps of fog, and as promised, clear skies. Common Nighthawks are calling, and a Song Sparrow, Field Sparrow, and Eastern Phoebe are already singing.
Today, the strategy is to park above the long stretch and hike up Dogwood Knoll, sitting at the spot I detected the hotspot’s one-and-only Yellow-bellied Flycatcher on May 20, 2020.
At 5:07, just as I start up the slope, the first Scarlet Tanager sings and then calls, chip-burr. I can still hear a nighthawk far above, as an Acadian Flycatcher is next in line, followed by Northern Cardinals, one after the other.
Up here, somehow, above the fog, the temperature is in the low fifties. Wood Thrushes start to flute from all around: here’s my post from Sunday that gives you an idea of what it’s like.
Next, Ovenbirds, with a dawn song element I haven’t heard before, starting with a ‘weesy-weesy.’ I take it back, I HAVE heard this before, from the NFCs: Ovenbirds sing off and on all night long, like Field Sparrows, doing bits of mimicry before launching into their own rollicking songs.
More songs before 5:30 from the local tropical nesters: Hooded Warblers, American Redstarts, Indigo Buntings, Great Crested Flycatchers, Cedar Waxwing. The moon is a misty, reddish crescent, I’m hoping due to fog and not to Alberta fire-smoke haze. Through the distant rumble of trains and trucks, I catch some Eastern Wood-Pewee from Laurel Ridge.
Is it lluvia, Paola texts? This early, it’s hard to tell, but I’m assuming plenty of yesterday’s crowd stuck around. Worm-eating Warbler, Veery, 5:30.
After the Tufted Titmouse joins, the main elements of the chorus are complete, though many species are yet to vocalize. By 5:40, the Wood Thrushes have quieted down a bit, or perhaps been drowned out, but the ‘birdy-birdy-birdy’ Northern Cardinals are louder than ever. Also, I’m hearing an unusual number of Great Crested Flycatcher reeps.
At one point, I think I hear the Yellow-bellied Flycatcher, like I did the other day, but it doesn’t seem quite right. Nevertheless, it’s time to go on a bona fide micro-chase. Here’s the habitat:
While there is certainly some barberry present, the dominant understory shrub is native witch hazel. I scour the ravines between Greenbriar and Ten Springs trails, but turn up nothing. A little later, the answer becomes apparent: that weakest of mimics, the Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher, was having its fun. No wonder the ‘chebec’ (probably an imitation of Least Flycatchers) sounded weak and flat. I’ll try again during the week to come: there’s still time. I don’t like to spend much time off-trail this time of year, and here’s why: I just about crash into a Wood Thrush nest. The less disturbance, the better.
Another bird that loves this area is the Magnolia Warbler; some years, this is the only place I see it. It’s a tough call to remember, and a tough bird to photograph in these thickets:
Cruelly, Merlin tells me it hears a White-eyed Vireo, but I’m not having it; I know that song inside and out, from years in deep Delta swamps, and though I have indeed seen a pair of the scarce migrant in trees near here one year, this isn’t it. It’s more likely to turn up down by the river.
But the Tennessee Warblers! It almost seems there’s one in every tall tree; I can't ever remember this many in the spring. Something is definitely up.
As I suspected, a Mourning Warbler is also about. It’s a bit upslope from me, but the song is unmistakable. I would be willing to bet there were at least three in the hotspot yesterday. When they’re here, they tend to be in all their favorite places. I wonder if they are able to navigate in the dark directly to these prime stop-over spots before the final push to their breeding location.
An Orchard Fit for a King
At a certain point, I realize this will be a day for breaking numbers records. They’re really only reflective of the last decade, because our lists (and most people’s lists) didn’t used to include numbers of every species. Nevertheless, it is helpful to build up the data to get an idea of fluctuations in numbers on similar dates, during similar spans of time. What is particularly noticeable today is how evenly spread certain normally restricted species are on the mountain, particularly the Tennessee Warblers and Great Crested Flycatchers. Whatever they’re up to, it’s literally everywhere.
I need a brief rest, so at the barn, I pull out a chair and sit on the barn bank, on the off chance an Orchard Oriole will show up in in the apple tree, a memory of the orchard that once covered First Field. I’m elated, because just as I got in sight of the buildings, an Eastern Kingbird (PH200 #174) perching on a wire flew off to the top of a black walnut we left in the field. Like yesterday’s Red-headed Woodpecker, blink and you’ll miss it. I had notified Dave and Mom to be on the lookout for this species, because it never shows up along the tracks, and our only other chance would have been the NFCs. And then, here it is.
A Baltimore Oriole is singing and calling, but when I focus on what I think is making the noise, it looks more like a female. Then it hits me: first-year male Orchard Oriole (PH200 #175)! I get perfect looks as it sings and calls from a black walnut next to the barn, then it alights on a wire. My search image had been the red-and-black male I usually see, or an occasional female, almost always near the apple tree. I don’t have much experience with this species up here in the US, though it’s quite a familiar bird in Mexico. Like the kingbird, though, I’m sure it will move on to better breeding grounds.
For a bit of karma, I rescue a tiny box turtle that was clambering about on the barn bank, where it could easily be run over:
During the miles and hours to come, as it turns out, I don’t get any more new species for the year, but it doesn’t matter, because I’m too busy trying to estimate species numbers. The warblers aren’t as low down as they were yesterday, so most ID’ing is by ear, except for the Blackburnian and Cerulean warblers in the spruce grove.
And I pretty much never tire of Indigo Buntings, despite the fact that their song isn’t very attractive, and they are abundant enough to be on the verge of what we disrespectfully call ‘trash birds.’
What is definitely NOT a trash bird around here is the Swainson’s Thrush that alights on a branch near the Far Field.
It’s hard to believe how cryptic this passage migrant is during the day here, when you’ve seen dozens or hundreds on the spectrum pass over every hour of the night. Indeed, not just this species, but Veeries and Gray-cheeked Thrushes are no doubt lurking inconspicuously about as well.
Speaking of inconspicuous, the cuckoos are also here, but good look catching a glimpse of one. Yellow-billeds are more common, and I do eventually see two, including one that had been bathing or drinking in the stream. We also have our fair share of Black-billeds, which have been passing over in fair numbers at night. Local breeding residents of both species also fly around, sing, and call much of the night throughout the summer, as the NFCS reveal.
Two species I’m NOT seeing are the Lincoln’s Sparrow and the Purple Martin, though this isn’t cause for alarm, because the main season for Lincoln’s is the southbound migration in the fall, and for the martins, it’s high summer when families from the Sinking Valley martin houses feed over the spruce grove on buggy days (which are pretty much all days.)
Very Hungry Caterpillars
Walking back along the road to the Far Field, I think I may have found the culprit, what I think are tent caterpillars:
On a hunch, I head down Laurel Ridge to see if I can intercept any mixed flocks in the oak forest, and I find one right after the powerline. It’s anchored by the three ubiquitous breeding vireo species (Red-eyed, Yellow-throated, and Blue-headed, the latter on eggs already), but a Yellow-rumped Warbler tells me passage migrants are here as well. I get good looks at a Bay-breasted Warbler, and hear a Blackpoll Warbler, two that will pick up in numbers in a few days. More Tennessees and a Magnolia. And the Scarlet Tanagers—the high species filter is already insufficient as numbers climb past 30, which I’m certain is a serious undercount. Great Crested Flycatchers also exceed the filter, and from what I can tell, they’re all gorging on caterpillars. Not to be rude, but it’s a bit like that $12.99 all-you-can buffet at _______’s American Restaurant. Or, I suppose, a typical day in the life of a tropical rainforest.
I think this caterpillar bonanza idea makes sense. Walking down the Hollow, where at 11:30 AM on a sunny day, bird noise would normally be waning, it’s as if a single, vast warbler flock occupied the canopy. Wilson’s, Canada, Cape May, even a Northern Parula, which for some reason has been really scarce this year, join the local crowd. Seemingly endless numbers of the vireo trio, Rose-breasted Grosbeaks galore, and Scarlet Tanagers without end. You can read the numbers in the linked Wood Thrush post.
In terms of what the caterpillars are munching on, here are some of our fresh and juicy leaves:
Heading back into town is like being space-warped from Costa Rica to, well, Tyrone. It’d hard to believe this is going on out there, and even harder to remember that many, perhaps most, people have never even seen a Scarlet Tanager.
Plummer’s Hollow 200 Prospects
Here’s a trip report on the 103 species recorded in Plummer’s Hollow from Friday through Monday. The total species detected will end up being substantially higher once I have a look at the NFCs. The way things are going, though, that might not be until June.
On Monday morning, I prowl the tracks again. I’ll put more Monday material in a later post (including upcoming Daily House Finch updates), but one bit of great news is a White-eyed Vireo (PH200 #176) I didn’t need Merlin to lie to me about. It was singing near the stream right next to the gate at the entrance to Plummer’s Hollow, bringing back memories of my many years in Mississippi.
So it’s down to 24 species, but it ain’t gonna be easy. Pretty much, flycatchers stand between now and the goal. I’ll break it down (again) in case you want to geek out with me, or offer advice:
Yellow-bellied Flycatcher. If I miss it this week, do I have a shot in the Fall? Do they vocalize? It’s an Empid, so…
Alder and Willow flycatchers. I’m hoping to hear/see them this month, period. I believe, the way things have been going, that I have an excellent chance.
Olive-sided Flycatcher. If I get this one, I will indeed celebrate with three beers. It is, however, time-consuming to scan every. Single. Snag.
Purple Martin / Lincoln’s Sparrow. Givens.
Connecticut Warbler. You had better be under that one catalpa you’re always under, in late September, or else.
Yellow-breasted Chat. This year’s strategy, which is pretty much every year’s (failed) strategy: find it in fall migration. Dave + Merlin on the morning porch might just do the trick.
Blue-winged and Prairie warblers. I’d rather get them this week or next than in the fall, along the tracks. I’m about 95.3% certain they’ll show up.
Golden-winged Warbler. Officially a nemesis bird for Plummer’s Hollow.
Black Tern. How about a repeat of last year? July, NFC.
Dickcissel. Any day now, one will churt across the night sky.
Least Bittern. May, NFC. My prediction.
Common Tern. NFCs, any time would be fine.
Bonaparte’s Gull. Where are you??
Red Crossbill. A migrant, not a winter bird. Last year, one went by in September.
Least Sandpiper, Pectoral Sandpiper, Dunlin, Semipalmated Plover: all are NFC fodder, and regulars in spring and/or fall.
The November Crowd:
Northern Saw-whet Owl. The Hollow.
Evening Grosbeak. NFC microphone should pick one up at dawn.
Pine Siskin. See above if we can hope for a repeat of 2022.
American Black Duck. Please show up and hang out at the pond again this year.
Snow Bunting. NFC. It would be really nice for a repeat of 2021, especially since you avoided us last year.
Lapland Longspur. Let’s try not to sound like pipits, buntings, or larks, please.
Snow Goose. NFC, or sheer luck.
Rough-legged Hawk. Dare I dream?
That’s 29 species: MORE than enough! And think of the many other possibilities out there. To be conservative and not jinx it, I am going to predict that we will pass the 200 mark on November 17th. After that, we’re retiring to Costa Rica.
Of all the exciting stuff you found this weekend, the baby turtle is my favorite because I had half-way convinced myself that our box turtles were too scarce and scattered now to find each other and mate, and that therefore our box turtle population was on a slow road to extirpation. Apparently not! Also may have something to do with coyotes, fishers and bobcats predating on e.g. raccoons and skunks that love to dig up turtle eggs.
"Whatever they're up to, it's literally everywhere." Spotted lanternfly nymphs, perhaps? See https://cals.cornell.edu/new-york-state-integrated-pest-management/outreach-education/whats-bugging-you/spotted-lanternfly/spotted-lanternfly-biology-and-lifecycle#lifecycle