Week 18 (Apr 29-May 5 2024)
Biggest week in 30 years?
Highlights
New for Plummer’s Hollow (#226): Willet (NFC, Tues. 1:25 AM)
New for Plummer’s Hollow (#227): Clay-colored Sparrow (Raiders of the Lost Lark-Blair Wichity-Wichity-Wichity Project/Matthew Schenk, Sat. AM)
Plummer’s Hollow now at #46 in species numbers overall for PA hotspots
First-of-year (FOY) on NFCs: Cape May Warbler and Willet (Tues.); Canada Warbler (Thurs.); Gray-cheeked Thrush and Least Sandpiper (Fri.)
Balcony FOY: Orchard Oriole (Thurs.)
FOY along the tracks: Yellow Warbler (Wed.)
Mountaintop FOYs: Tennessee Warbler (Mon.); Chestnut-sided Warbler, Magnolia Warbler, Yellow-breasted Chat, Yellow-billed Cuckoo (Tues.); Blackpoll Warbler, Northern Parula, Acadian Flycatcher, Least Flycatcher (Wed.); Bay-breasted Warbler (Fri.); Kentucky Warbler (Sat.); Wilson’s Warbler, Orange-crowned Warbler, and Eastern Wood-Pewee (Sun.)
23 FOYs = 170 species so for 2024
155 species from January to April vs. 143 spp. during the same stretch last year
11 new species all-time for April (175 total for April across all years)
Yellow-breasted Chat: singing male on territory present for seven days straight; last seen June 27, 1996, when Kentucky Warblers and Golden-winged Warblers also bred.
Kentucky Warbler: last detected on mountaintop, when they bred, in 2019
Clay-colored Sparrow and Willet are both Blair County firsts
Log
Apr 29 (Mon). AM: 62 spp. (1.5-mi. hike, 2 hrs. 20 min.); PM: 54 spp. (1-mi. hike, 1 hr.)
Apr 30 (Tues). AM: 67 spp. (1-mi. hike, 1 hr. 20. mins.)
May 1 (Wed). AM: 70 spp. (3-mi. hike, 1 hr. 45 mins.)
May 2 (Thurs). AM: 59 spp. (1-mi. hike, 2 hrs.)
May 3 (Fri). AM: 76 spp. (2-mi. hike, 2 hrs. 45 min.)
May 4 (Sat). AM: 57 spp. (2.7-mi. hike, 2hrs. 40 min.)
May 5 (Sun). AM: 71 spp. (4.5-mi. hike, 3 hrs. 30 mins.); PM: 51 spp. (0.25-mi. hike, 1 hr.)
From 1972 to 1996, the Yellow-breasted Chat was a regular breeder in the dense thickets along the powerline right-of-way. It was last recorded in Mom’s nature journal on June 27, 1996. Earlier that month, it had been noted along with a Golden-winged Warbler on a nest and the distraction displays of a pair of Kentucky Warblers, the latter in the deep woods and the former along the field’s edge. Breeding Golden-wings dwindled to nothing over the next decades, with only the occasional record during migration, while Kentucky Warblers continued to breed occasionally. Chats, however, were never recorded again, not in migration and not in breeding season.
Shorebirds at the Pond?!
Monday’s dawn is redolent with flowers and summer green, already warm with heavy bugs. Leaf out is happening at a frantic pace. Last night the first nocturnal flight call happened just 30 minutes after the last whip-poor-will song: a Wood Thrush, one of myriad still streaming into, through, and over our forests. Ovenbirds then appeared—chips crossing the sky, and a night song from the ground, even more often than the philandering Field Sparrow and the growing commentaries of cuckoos. The season’s first Swainson’s Thrush went over at 10:30 PM, and then Black-throated Blue Warblers—numbers up this year—and Chipping Sparrows (legion) took over.
This dawn is just a stroll along the tracks, but it turns up 62 species in almost two-and-a-half hours. Certainly a highlight is a tiny group of shorebirds—one Solitary Sandpiper and two Spotted Sandpipers—on the mudflat at the pond. I’ll need to start checking this spot for other species in the coming days, particularly around times of unsettled weather.
Toward the end of the walk, one of the few noticeable diurnal passerine migrations is on full display. Sixty Blue Jays, strung out in lines, cross the Gap from Brush to Bald, heading northeastward. Whenever I see migrant waves of jays, they seem to be following the ridge, as if they were raptors, rather than seeking the compass bearing north, which would have them crossing from the mountain to the Allegheny Front.
After dinner, I go up to retrieve NFC recordings, and take a quick loop around the field. The uptick in bird noise since the weekend is noticeable, and almost immediately I hear the syncopated, staccato trill of a Tennessee Warbler from the tall oak woods near the old dump, one of this transient species’ favorite hang-out spots. Mom is vindicated—she picked one up here on Merlin yesterday but was unable to hear or see it.
Over by the barn, I watch one and then two more Purple Martins emerge from over the top of Sapsucker Ridge, going west to roost in Sinking Valley. They tarry for a few minutes, looping about the field, hawking bugs. As they do every year, a pair of Northern Rough-winged Swallows flies about the barn and driveway excitedly, gurgling as they investigate potential nesting places. A bit later, one of the Cooper’s Hawks nesting over by Eric’s place flies back home, calling, up over the shed.
Willet(s)!
Very early Tuesday morning, the first Cape May Warbler flies over. Then, at 1:25 AM, a series of keers and wees approaches, I would guess from the south, resolving into a few, clear keer-wees, the unmistakable call of the county’s first Willet, directly overheard. Later, I heard that Willets were seen elsewhere in the mountainous part of the state, as is often the case when a rare shorebird movement is picked up as an NFC.
After dropping Paola at the hospital, in the hour remaining before work, I rush up to the mountain to see, or at least hear, what else the night has dropped on us. Intent on the spruce grove, I’m walking rapidly along the neck of First Field when not-thrasher, not-catbird vocalizations enter my consciousness. It’s one I’ve been listening to on tape for years, and scanning the NFCs for in vain; one of only two notable misses from last year’s Plummer’s Hollow 200. Zheers, rasps, chuks, chuckles—after 28 years, the chat has returned. And he doesn’t stop. From deep in the blackberry thicket, as towhees explode excitedly from all around as I walk by, he continues, resolutely, never seeming to say the same thing twice. The question now is whether this determination (and it goes on, all day and all night, for the next ten days) will yield results.
The bug clouds have returned to the spruces, and the first Magnolia Warbler and Chestnut-side Warbler sing among dozens of other species, but I don’t have time to look for them today. The first diurnal Yellow-billed Cuckoo sings; later, I see that it came in overnight, though Black-billeds still had the edge in numbers (this will soon switch). They’re here for the spongy moth bonanza, Mom says.
In town, the catbird is back to the banks of Bald Eagle Creek by the confluence, but again today, and closing out April, the Yellow Warbler is still absent, even though it has already turned up elsewhere in richer habitat.
April ends with 155 species for the year, 12 more than 2023.
May Day
Wednesday’s morning hike yields the first 70-species list of the year, a combination of birds up on the mountain, along the tracks, and, while I’m changing out of field gear at the end, from the balcony. Things are quite frenetic this week with the impending visit of my Australian colleague Bob Gosford (we’re returning the favor in the Northern Territory next month—stay tuned for firehawks!) as well as of a crack birder team for the Shaver’s Creek Birding Cup. In the meantime, between a crunch of work hours, I’m trying to rapidly diminish the list of FOYs for the year, cognizant of the fact that almost everything is running a week early.
At last the Yellow Warbler sings from the back side of Redstart Swamp, a weak effort nearly lost among the head-spinning variety of goldfinch, redstart, and phoebe vocalizations. He’s still not a regular on the balcony side of the hotspot, though. I wonder if numbers are down this year?
The first Acadian Flycatcher arrived in the Hollow overnight, narrowly missing an April detection. Blackburnian Warblers are already back in full force, singing every bit of the way up the road. A Least Flycatcher chebecs from high up in Hanging Hollow. On top, the newbies are Blackpoll Warbler and Northern Parula. The tropics are back.
The Conversation Continues
On Thursday, I give a quick tour to Matt Schenk out of Potter County, a scout for the Raiders of the Lost Lark 3-man birding team who will spend Friday night at the barn as part of their 24-hour tour-de-force of Blair County. Every year, Matt and two others pick an eligible county to bird as part of the County Cup sub-competition of what is arguably Pennsylvania’s premier birding competition. This year, I’ve been suggesting various tips that might help them win the category, or maybe even the overall event.
Matt meets me at the gate at 6 AM, and informs me that the sub-name (I think that’s the term) for this year’s effort is the “Blair Wichity-Wichity-Wichity Project.” This seems an appropriate tag, given the impressively dank and gloomy nature of the Hollow, spilling into a field filled to the brim with Common Yellowthroats.
The hotspot performs as expected for the tour, with an explosion of warblers and everything else audible from the sweet spot at the neck. The chat is still here, while a new and exciting find is a Red-headed Woodpecker working one of the dead tops of a tall black locust in the yard, its call harsher than the raucous yells of Red-bellieds. Driving back down the road, we pause for an Ovenbird with nesting material in its beak.
Later in the morning, the first Orchard Oriole sings from the confluence. Overnight, the first Canada Warbler calls in flight.
Friday
The last nice day in awhile starts at 5 AM at the neck. The chat has been going all night, and the early chorus—cardinals, Field Sparrows, Scarlet Tanagers—is already ramping up. In the semi-darkness, small birds zoom here and there from roosts to perches, describing jagged zigzag patterns. I wonder why they don’t fly straight: avoidance of predators? grabbing bugs?
The whip-poor-will is the 10th species, at 5:33 AM. Minutes later, a yellowthroat flies to the top of a nearby locust to sing its heart out. As usual, the chorus becomes rather overwhelming, and the most I can jot down are species milestones—20 by 5:46, 30 by 5:54, 40 by 6:05, 50 by 6:25, 60 by 7 AM, and 70 by 7:49 AM, ending up back in town with 76 species. Nothing is missing that should be here by now, and the single FOY is a Bay-breasted Warbler. As with most of the species, I don’t linger long to try to spot it in the thickening foliage—I’ll have plenty of time to watch them all among the crowd of black cherry and bug buffet attendees in the Fall.
A New Sparrow
I’m at the Plummer’s Hollow crossing well before 6 AM. A pickup truck is parked along the tracks—Matt and company arrived sometime during the wee hours and decided to hike up the Hollow, it seems. Confirmation comes a bit later; he texts me to let me know they heard a Least Sandpiper overhead last night, and a Veery, but not much else. Later, I check the recordings, which reveal Leasts as well as the year’s first Gray-cheeked Thrush calling in tandem with a Swainson’s Thrush.
At 7:08 AM: “Singing Clay-colored Sparrow in the walnut grove near the barn & houses.” I resist the temptation to drive up and disturb things, hoping it might stick around until tomorrow. This is a species I would never have detected, as I’m not familiar with its weak, buzzy song. I’ve searched among the very similar Chipping Sparrows in the fall, but without luck. Matt later tells me that he knows the species from its breeding location in reclaimed strip mines of Clarion County to the northwest of here, and suggests this one might have been blown east last night in the foul weather.
An hour later, as his group is dodging Cerulean Warblers on Sapsucker Ridge, he texts a final time to let me know that they found a Kentucky Warbler exactly in the area where I suggested one might turn up (the confluence of Greenbriar and Bird Count trails, where one to two pairs nested in 2019). They head off to bird the rest of the county as the weather worsens (again, and unfailingly, every weekend). the next I hear from him, in the late evening, he tells me they tallied 136 species overall, enough to win the Cup. If I recall correctly, Plummer’s Hollow yielded the only Kentucky Warbler (and I presume Clay-colored Sparrow), though chats were detected in other places.
Lost in all this excitement is the forlorn Barn Swallow, still single, whiling away the hours chattering and flitting about, hawking bugs, and chasing off a Chipping Sparrow from the wire a few yards from the balcony. I have to wonder whether the territory here is too marginal for self-respecting mates, or whether this putative male just doesn’t have what it takes.
One Kentucky, Two Kentucky
At 5:30 AM on Sunday, I’m deep in the fog along Greenbriar, waiting for the warbler hour. The breeding species start up in quick succession—redstart, Hooded, Black-and-white, Black-throated Green, Cerulean, Black-throated Blue, Ovenbird, Northern Parula—interspersed with transients such as a Tennessee and a Nashville. In the area of thickest native spicebush and witch hazel, favored by Yellow-bellied Flycatchers and Ruffed Grouse, among other rarities, a Kentucky Warbler chips repeatedly and then sings. Moments later, another sings from less than 100 feet away. I move quickly on down the trail to leave them alone, in hopes a pair will breed after five years’ absence.
Later, it becomes evident that a warbler fallout of sorts has occurred, with a swarm of them in the treetops near the houses. I spend a fair while in the yard, in hopes of hearing the Clay-colored Sparrow (no luck), and I also can’t turn up the White-crowned Sparrow that came in with the seeding dandelions a few days ago. However, the Red-headed Woodpecker is still here, and later in the day, while Bob is interviewing my mom, I am able to snap some half-decent photos of it feeding on something high in the locusts.
Far off in the woods, an Eastern Wood-Pewee sings, the last of the resident breeding species to arrive. It’s five days ahead of last year’s return date. On the nocturnal spectrum, the first one—perhaps the same one—sang hours before dawn.
Transient warbler numbers are high for the spring, but I’m running out of FOYs. A Wilson’s Warbler sings from the upper edge of the field, a song I don’t hear very much around here, and a species better seen, like the rest of the transients, in the fall. I get a quick look at a May scarcity (and rare in any season), an Orange-crowned Warbler foraging in an elm and then heading out into shrubs in the field.
Twenty-two warbler species turn up during the morning, about as high as we can expect here in the Hollow. This includes a Yellow Warbler, surprisingly still absent from the confluence.
No Longer Alone
At long last, the Barn Swallow has attracted a mate. I notice this by Sunday afternoon, so it has happened at some point in the last 24 hours. Now, pairs of every species from last year, except the Yellow Warbler, but including Baltimore Orioles, Chipping Sparrows, Warbling Vireos, and Gray Catbirds (not to mention the numerous grackles of Grackleville, and several other year-round residents) have paired up and are nesting within earshot of the balcony. Cedar Waxwings are back in numbers and also buzzing about as well, though they won’t nest for quite a while yet.
Around mid-afternoon, Bob and I go up to visit Mom. He comments in awe at the overwhelmingly loud and varied chorus that serves as background music for her podcast interview, punctuated by the distracted chips of Eastern Phoebes nesting directly above their heads on top of a veranda column, as they have done every year (I think) for at least the last fifty.
While they chat, I drag myself around the field again, and am rewarded by a richly plumaged American Kestrel visiting from the valley. It has seized something in its talons and takes it to the top of an electric pole to eviscerate. In the background, the chat goes on, and on, and on.
