May Day!
Rain, snow, sleet, hail, graupel…we’re taking a break from the whole ‘spring’ experience this week. Yesterday, the temperature fell as a giant cyclone moved in from the west, and at least through mid-week we will be subjected to multiple rounds of icy gales.
It’s give me a bit of an unwelcome respite to catch up on NFCs. A Lesser Yellowlegs, Veery, and a Swainson’s Thrush all showed up by the very end of April, pushing the Plummer’s Hollow 200 total to 143. As the Chipping Sparrow, Red-breasted Nuthatch, American Bittern, and Hermit Thrush migrations tapered off, the nights—or at least the intervals when it wasn’t pouring—began to fill up with White-throated Sparrows and a smattering of other species: Grasshopper Sparrows in seemingly unusual numbers, and a handful of Ovenbirds and Savannah Sparrows, as well as the thrushes and probably the first Rose-breasted Grosbeaks. Once this weather clears out, the flood of southerners is likely to be overwhelming, from end-of-week onward.
Plummer’s Hollow is holding its own: only three other areas in the state have recorded higher species numbers in 2023 so far: Presque Isle State Park up in Erie (163 spp.), John Heinz National Wildlife Refuge (2 hotspots, 158 and 146 spp.) down by Philly, and Middle Creek Wildlife Management Area over beyond Harrisburg (153 spp.).
Morning Magenta
Back here in good ol’ Tyrone, we are getting a tiny respite from the storms at dawn. By 5:35 AM, it’s 44 degrees, and though more rain is on its way, for now, there are puffy cumuli, a breeze, and even a colorful sunrise (6:12 AM).
American Robins now begin to sing starting before 4 AM, keeping their own company until Song Sparrows join around 5:30, followed by Northern Cardinals. Then, one of the local Blue Jays sounds off from up the creek. Jays were quite cryptic in the winter after a boisterous fall chasing acorns. Now they’re back, getting less wary by the day.
A Mourning Dove, sounding Barred Owl-ish, coos from across the river somewhere as the rest of the early crowd wakes up, and the list already has 10 species by 5:52, with another four by 6 AM.
Some red in the cloud ribs gives a sunrise of magentas, lavenders, and oranges, with enough wind to propel one of the Red-tailed Hawks up in circles around the towers, at 5:55 AM the earliest I have seen a raptor this year. Not to be outdone, a Common Raven, probably my junkyard friend, heads over toward the mountain and steers languidly upslope, commencing a series of circles, climbs, and dives; a bit later, I catch it stooping toward me from on high, back toward town, tumbling.
Despite the activity, everything is pretty quiet, something I’ve notice often happens when bad weather is incoming at dawn. Even the European Starlings, now down to a handful that circulate from poplar to sycamore and sycamore to poplar as they would do in their hundreds back in winter, are all but mute today.
Not the Warbling Vireo, though. It starts, well, warbling, at 6:06 AM, and goes on for at least half an hour non-stop.
An Osprey is back today, circling close over town on lanky wings, glancing left and right, then heads off westward. After a few threatening drops, rain is holding off, and it’s actually clearing up a bit. More raptors, predictably, come east with the breeze: Turkey Vultures, and eventually, four Bald Eagles.
Finally, a new arrival to my corner of the world: ‘sweet, sweet, sweet, I’m so sweet!’ A Yellow Warbler, which had been emitting a series of explosive ‘chips,’ is now singing, having finally picked this bit of riparian forest for its territory. He moves from location to location, signaling space and availability; I can’t imagine he’ll have much trouble attracting a mate again this year. They’ll pair quickly, build a nest, raise young, and then depart well before the main crowd of warblers finishes up and leaves. A nice addition; now all we’re lacking is the Baltimore Orioles.
Harried Crow
Around the half-hour mark, I hear the local Fish Crow call, but a bit off: nasal, but agitated. In it swoops past the balcony, with a Common Grackle in hot pursuit. The crow heads off toward the interstate, while the grackle veers back into one of the thick trees over by the creek. Rock Pigeons lift off, finally, and then a Mourning Dove, all puffed up, does his display flight above the highway. Scant moments later the Fish Crow is back, emitting that same angry call, pursued this time by a House Sparrow; the two vanish behind buildings to my left, toward Pennsylvania Avenue.
House Sparrows are getting louder, bolder, and more aggressive by the day. They’re poking and prodding into every orifice of the town, and have taken a shine to the trees along the river as well. At least they have the good sense to stay out of Plummer’s Hollow’s forests, anyway, something that can’t be said for the starlings and cowbirds.
It is amazing how aggressive Tyrone’s native avifauna have become: robins, as we’ve seen, are not to be messed with, while House Sparrows, grackles, and starlings all hold their own from the predations of corvids. Rock Doves pursue Cooper’s Hawks, and it won’t be long until Chimney Swifts are doing the same. House Finches are no slackers, either: they seem to be mostly at odds with Barn Swallows later in the summer, when the fledglings of both species fight over wire-sitting territory off our balcony.
Ah yes, but there is one more species I’ve neglected to mention, which ounce-for-ounce may be the only one more energetic than the swifts. As I end today’s vigil, I put up the hummingbird feeders, waiting for the most dramatic spring arrival of all.