At dawn on Thursday, it looks and smells a bit like rain and damp vegetation, though it’s just 35 degrees, and still clear but for a cloudbank blocking the sunrise. Days of damp ahead, says the forecast; today, we should get to enjoy a bit of warmth.
Thanks for All the Fish?
The birds are slow today, and the Osprey is gone. This happens every spring: just when you think it’s here to stay, it disappears. No worries; a pair ranging from some nest will be up on the towers by high summer, and in the fall, I’ve had them so close, they’re practically eating out of my hand (well, ripping apart fish on the nearest power pole, anyway.)
I’m not sure if the Yellow-throated Warbler will be staying, either. Right at the time it tends to sing, a bit after six, a long and clangy train drags itself by, blocking out about five minutes.
A bit later, a female House Finch is tugging at sycamore blooms. This time of year I can’t tell if the plant, or some invertebrate on the plant, is the meal.
Just when I’m thinking it’s still too cold for swifts, a pair rockets overhead. The Warbling Vireo begins to sing, but it is still in hiding, at least from me. A House Sparrow chases a Mourning Dove right past my face; wonder what that’s about?
A Downy Woodpecker lands on the newest electric pole: first time I have ever seen it do that.
Some Calculations (Feel Free To Skip This Part)
At precisely 9:27 AM, when I step out to the lot to say goodbye to Paola, I catch the unmistakable, boring tones of a Red-eyed Vireo. Vireo number four out of six possible (Philly and White-eyed to go), and Plummer’s Hollow 200 #136+2. More or less. Let me explain. On the Plummer’s Hollow eBird master list for 2023, it currently stands as entry number 136, but that will change as I add in some chronologically prior NFCs: right now it’s looking like a Swainson’s Thrush and a Baltimore Oriole were picked up on previous nights. (And a tantalizing Indigo Bunting/Blue Grosbeak toss-up that probably can’t be narrowed to species). If you’re keeping track, it is worthwhile to remember that the Pennsylvania hotspots ranking number is typically less than the hotspot list number on eBird, at least until a couple days go by with no new species, and that is unlikely to happen until the end of May. In addition, species requiring confirmation, particularly NFCs, take longer to appear on both public lists.
All this will settle down by the beginning of June when spring migration is mostly through, and it will become crystal-clear just how many species will still be needed to break 200; then it will be a matter of:
snagging key species in real time that can pretty much only be gotten in the Fall, such as the Connecticut Warbler in September;
detecting southbound migrants missed in the spring (hopefully, this won’t be necessary!);
getting lucky with NFCs (like last year’s Black Tern in July or a previous year’s Snow Bunting in November);
scouring the woods and skies for unpredictable rarities such as winter finches, Rough-legged Hawks, and so forth.
As a last resort, I will set aside time to install software that can scroll through the diurnal recordings (the NFC recorders runs 24/7) to try to get hits on missed species. This could actually be quite productive.
As a final, final resort, with the list at 199 confirmed, Paola and I will be owling in the New Year :)
Woodpecker Love
(For the clicks, I call it ‘lust’ on Facebook.) On Thursday evening, Paola and I are relaxing on the balcony, sipping wine and enjoying our five-year wedding anniversary. It’s getting close to seven, and a pair of Downy Woodpeckers—no doubt one is the same individual I have been seeing since last year—is stepping the courtship up a notch. Calling volubly, they chase each other from tree to tree and back, all along the bottom end of Bald Eagle Creek and up the Little Juniata River, mostly in our field of view. As Paola goes to get the long lens, I happen to catch them fluttering in the air, doing a bit of that ‘butterfly flight’ among the sycamore branches, but it’s a fleeting effort. They mostly alight on limbs and trunks and the female flattens a bit as the male watches. I’m not in condition to write detailed notes, but I do manage to snap some photos when they spend a few seconds on the power pole. The action then moves off, out of sight.
Lazy Bird Friday
This dawn I need to see if anything new has shown up in the Gap. I arrive at 5:40 AM and plunk down on the ultralight foldable chair, which promptly sinks down into the dirt and tosses me unceremoniously on the ground. A train goes by, but thankfully, it’s a short one. At 5:42, a Northern Cardinal, always first on the boards down here, chu-chu-chu-chu’s loudly behind me. As I write this, I realize how appropriate that sounds.
It’s a cloudy, breezy 54, the mildest morning we’ve had in a while, and the first one with any wind to speak of. The Louisiana Waterthrushes don’t mind: they’re singing and calling all around, to the left, to the right, behind, across the tracks, up and down, then along the stream and off to the river. I’m not really sure how their territories work here, but it’s even more boisterous than in the Hollow, where another half-dozen pairs have staked out their areas.
Twelve species by the hour, and then a coal train goes by (I call all trains of this type ‘John’). This one takes around five minutes, and after that, the east wind really begins to take shape. Gaggles of Common Grackles are struggling to get through the Gap, while White-throated Sparrows, stopping over in migration, are all around, calling, singing, and flying. Something huge crashes around in our privet jungle, and eventually snorts: a White-tailed Deer, I think frustrated by my presence, as it probably wants to cross the tracks to get to terra nullius.
At around 6:30 AM, I’ve already seen a couple Broad-winged Hawks, probably newly-arrived locals, and a couple Red-tailed Hawks. The second Bald Eagle of the day, an adult, comes through fast, and some Turkey Vultures as well. Then, up against Bald Eagle Mountain, a large raptor, flapping quickly, going east: second Peregrine Falcon of the year! I think it’s also our latest spring record. It’s still too dark and gloomy to snap even a poor-quality photo, though.
Down at the Plummer’s Hollow Bridge, where I leave the car, a Black-and-white Warbler that resides on the steepest part of Bald Eagle Mountain just above the highway is already singing.