6:30 PM. Balcony, tequila, and this:
Smoky haze a distant memory, the sky has now filled up with drama: a thunderstorm that never happens, not even a drop of rain.
Updrafts
Earlier, a pair of Red-tailed Hawks soared and dove together near the towers, and a bit more distant, another hovered on the hunt. In the late afternoon, a Common Raven perched high on the taller comms tower.
This evening, it’s still breezy and in the mid-sixties. A pair of Mallards—male and female together, for the first time in ages—go over fast and low. As I settle in, a cloud of black shapes emerges suddenly along the Bald Eagle Mountain ridgeline, and in seconds, Turkey Vultures are everywhere across the sky. A mass of them is out in the Gap, probably the ones I’ve been seeing for the last few days, but others are arrayed all along the line of the mountain, as far north as I can see, and also south along Sapsucker Ridge.
Multiple lines of them form, filaments gradually floating westward over town. Mixed in are three Black Vultures, probably the same trio I have been seeing on nearly a daily basis.
At last, after what? A week? The three House Finch nestlings have found their voices and are learning to beg their mother, who just popped into the nest with more food.
Something large whooshes right past the balcony: a raven, possibly my old friend from the junkyard, coming from that direction and heading downtown, not making a sound. A few minutes later, I see another, with something large in its beak, issuing from the same direction, flapping off toward Bald Eagle Mountain.
Black Mass
At 7:04, a flock of 16 American Crows is the next squadron to emerge from behind the mountain. Mixed into the flock are two ravens, and as the crows head north, gaining altitude on the updrafts, the ravens climb steeply and corkscrew-dive among them, as if playing, twisting and turning, touching wings, but the crows don’t appear to pay them any mind.
Firecrackers and a loudspeaker; revving engines, country music: antique cars are on show downtown, a few blocks away. Gleeful kiddies come and go with their elders and for awhile, 10th Street comes alive. Slouching fisherpeople, bait and other paraphernalia hanging, head past the VFW out of sight, seeking good spots along the Little J. Later, we see some of them in their rubber boots, stalking the guano islands of the confluence.
The Baltimore Orioles that nest close by along the river appear every ten or fifteen minutes near the top of a maple and then, singing or calling, head north together somewhere, toward the houses by the interstate. Perhaps they have found a fruit feeder. I never see them return, but before I know it, they repeat the trip.
At 7:24, a Carolina Wren teakettles loud and close from the nearest sycamore to my right. It hasn’t sung this fiercely in months. A few minutes later, with the flick of a switch, the wall of trees along Bald Eagle Creek in front of me lights up with a ray of sunlight from the otherwise rather sullen dusk, but it only lasts a minute or so. An eastbound train whistles—the first one so far.
Suddenly, at 7:35, Turkey Vultures start popping up behind me over the high roof, the largest flock I’ve seen together in quite some time. Around 80 in all—twice as many as I saw earlier, and presumably including some from the roost west of town, they wheel close together near the point of Sapsucker Ridge for several minutes before finally dispersing in several directions. This is one of the most spectacular Turkey Vulture congregations I have seen here, and with their numbers growing every day, I wonder if some have moved in from elsewhere for some reason. Perhaps, like the vagrant Canada Geese that were here last week (but appear to be gone now), they comprise some sort of molt-migrant flock or another type of post-breeding phenomenon.
Paola and I hang out for a while longer, ruminating on the limits of interspecies communication among birds. Eventually, it seems that Fern and her partner—Paola suggests we call him ‘Fernando’—are becoming quite agitated and anxious to feed their ravenous offspring, and are not shy about letting us know, so we take the hint. Enough excitement for one night.