Week 4 (Jan 22-28, 2024): Across 63 Degrees --
--wild weather, an apex predator makes a kill, new waterfowl, and a new species--
Highlights
Waterfowl on the move on Saturday brought an all-time high number of such species for a day to the hotspot, with eight.
Tundra Swans, Northern Pintail, Wood Ducks, Yellow-rumped Warbler, and a Great Blue Heron brings the January total to 63 species, six ahead of last year’s total for the month.
The pintail and the yellow-rump were first-ever January hotspot records.
A visiting Peregrine Falcon demonstrated its prowess as an apex predator.
A Black-bellied Plover from the night of Oct. 28, 2023 became the hotspot’s 224th species overall, and #204 for 2023’s Plummer’s Hollow 200 Big Year.
Log
Jan. 22 (Mon). AM: 14 spp. (balcony, 45 min)
Jan 23 (Tues). AM: 19 spp. (1-mi., 1-hr hike)
Jan 24 (Wed). AM: 13 spp. (balcony, 50 min)
Jan 25 (Thurs). AM: 9 spp. (0.5-mi., 45-min hike)
Jan 26 (Fri.). AM: 10 spp. (1-mi., 1-hr hike). PM: 13 spp. (balcony, 1.5 hrs)
Jan 27 (Sat). AM: 22 spp. (balcony, 1 hr). PM: 23 spp. (2-mi, 2-hr hike)
On Monday night, under a clear sky, the temperature dropped to 5 degrees Fahrenheit by 4 AM and kept falling. By the time I hit the balcony at 6:45 AM, it’s at 1 degree. Steam from the paper mill stays low, as it does in very cold weather, drifting horizontally across to coat strips of Bald Eagle Mountain in hoarfrost.
Zero is reached at 7:30. The extreme cold doesn’t deter the hardy winter bird species, though they’re low in numbers and short on sounds. At 7:35 AM, a loud pair of Downy Woodpeckers flies into the willows, the first possible indication I’ve seen this year of pair bonding, though it seems a bit early for that.
At 8 AM, with the sun already peeking through, the mercury shows -1 F, the first below-zero temperature we’ve seen in a few years. But unlike the birds, we are well aware that it’s all uphill from here; by the end of the week, it could hit the 60s.
The Hunger
The warm-up is well underway on Tuesday, with temperatures hovering around freezing. It’s still quite a frozen, slushy trek to glimpse the river and pond today, but it’s nice to hear two separate Winter Wrens—despite the week of deep freeze, they haven’t abandoned the area along the cliffs.
With the pond almost entirely frozen, a group of skittish Mallards is on the Little Juniata, taking off as soon as they see me. Later, around 7:40 AM, a small group that includes the tiny Green-winged Teal speeds by, circling the pond once but then heading on toward the valley.
At one point, I notice coyote tracks angling down from the farm that borders the pond, and crossing the tracks. At some point over the last few days, it made its way to the deer carcass and ripped the body completely open, dragging viscera and bones this way and that in a ferocity beyond what even the ravens have been able to achieve. The overall aspect of the carcass is approaching the quality of a set piece in a zombie movie.
Return of the Great Blue
As the slush pack continues to melt, a few surprises are in store on the balcony on Wednesday morning. The American Robin flocks appear to have left town: only one shows up. Around 7:20, the unmistakable reep of an Eastern Towhee sounds from up Bald Eagle Creek somewhere. This fits with my idea that some of the less-hardy species that winter in very small numbers these days (their main winter ranges are the southeastern US) have to move around locally in January to find enough resources to survive. Towhees are hard enough to detect from the balcony during the height of migration or in breeding season, but in January? Unheard of, until now.
At 7:35, the first Great Blue Heron of 2024 appears, flying slowly and deliberately out of the Gap and north along Bald Eagle Mt. at 7:35. The last one I saw in the hotspot was December 31. Great Blues are so scarce in January here that, after 53 years, one has still never been detected the second week of the month. This one may mark an early northward migrant but is most likely a local mover.
On Thursday, it’s in the upper 30s with rain and fog. Along the tracks, a Winter Wren sings its full song. Meltwater is coursing into the pond from two directions, and four muskrats are lined up along the edge of the ice. The Mallards are finally back, a dozen of them.
On Friday morning, Paola and I go back to the pond, this time only needing to navigate an inch of slush. At one point, a Downy Woodpecker hurtles down off Sapsucker Ridge, nearly colliding with us as it alights on small tree a few feet away. It hatches around the back side, peeking now and again at us. After a couple minutes of this, it finally emerges into view and heads up the tree in plain sight.
The river is still rising, and with snow still to melt and rain to come on Sunday, no end to the rise is in sight.
Life at the Apex
At 2 PM, the temperature is as warm as it’s likely to get this side of March, so I head out for a rare afternoon balcony sit. The updrafts have kicked up, so I expect a full slate of raptors, and I’m not disappointed.
First to appear are two Red-tailed Hawks; I had glimpsed them around noon as well, first soaring and circling, then heading back and forth, north and south along I-99 where they seem to find the bulk of their prey.
Next are the Bald Eagles, coming in high over town, heading west.
But the main action is happening above I-99 and the slope of Bald Eagle Mountain up toward the towers. A Peregrine Falcon is circling not far above the towers, occasionally landing on them for a couple of minutes. It’s a mile away, but the zoom lens is able to capture a few fieldmarks.
Every 15 or 20 minutes, the falcon hurtles down the mountainside toward the interstate, not more than a few dozen feet above the trees, but I keep losing sight of it behind buildings. At another point, as it is circling, a tiny, toy-sized falcon arrives from the north on crooked wings, and begins to circle loosely with the Peregrine. Having none of this, the peregrine proceeds to harass the American Kestrel, which attempts to flee south along the ridge. Both birds plunge and climb, the peregrine smashing into the kestrel several times at speeds that seem to approach 100 miles an hour, sending the kestrel plunging until it regains its balance and is able to escape the larger falcon’s territory.
A bit later, another tower denizen, and normally lord of the roost in these parts, a Common Raven, attempts to circle a few times above the ridge. The peregrine wastes no time in colliding with it head-on and chasing it, too, out of the feeding grounds.
During this entire period of about an hour, Rock Pigeons return in a single large group from the east—whether they all survived, I can’t tell—but starlings are completely absent, and other birds barely take to the skies.
Work beckons, so I don’t get to see whether the peregrine tangles with anything else, but I did notice that it didn’t appear together in the sky with any Bald Eagle or Red-tailed Hawk.
An Extraordinary Saturday Morning
I’m trying to finish up some work by 7 AM today, but I’m lured to the balcony by loud shouting at 6:53. It’s cloudy and in the upper 40s, and a robin is yelling in the dark from the confluence somewhere. Two European Starlings go over, quickly, exclaiming: what’s that about? I’ve never seen them out and about this early. Then, right at 7, a Song Sparrow starts to sing, the first time I’ve heard one here this year.
Some dozen small ducks go right over my head, low, in disarray, from Bald Eagle Creek to the river somewhere, and they include six Wood Ducks, more than I can recall ever detecting in January before.
There’s an uncharacteristic amount of bird noise this morning, as if it’s March. A Tufted Titmouse and then a Black-capped Chickadee sings, and the local Northern Cardinal ticks incessantly.
At 7:16 AM, way too early, a flock of some 25 Rock Pigeons circles tight and low over the rooftops. It starts to head south but turns around, and as it moves out toward the interstate, hundreds of feet lower than the commuter flocks usually go, I can make out two starlings flying with it. This is highly unusual behavior, I think, and just as I’m wondering whether our favorite falcon has something to do with this, the peregrine hurtles down at a blinding speed and grabs a pigeon from the midst, scattered feathers in all directions. The flock vanishes, and the peregrine clutches it prey and flies slowly (for a falcon) north toward Bald Eagle Mt., alighting somewhere on a distant tree for its breakfast.
By the half hour, robins, House Finches, and starlings seem to be losing their minds, calling, singing, and flying in all directions. Merlin tells me that one robin is a Winter Wren and hears a waxwing in a starling call, but even without the phantom species, today’s numbers are quite a bit higher than the average. Four male Common Mergansers appear, rapid as always, high up over Sapsucker and heading west. It’s been a couple weeks.
The peak of activity passes, and by 7:46 it’s settling down. Only three pigeons have dared to cross after the fatal flight, though one would presume the falcon isn’t going to need to eat again for awhile.
At 10 until 8, five more mergansers go over, same path, same speed, but one appears to be a female. This is a bit unusual: I suppose they’re moving off the rivers now as the floodwaters rise. Then five Canada Geese come calling out of the Gap and head north, followed seconds later by 11 more that flap confusingly over town, evidently looking for somewhere to land. More victims of the weather, I suppose, as during colder weather they almost never appear overhead.
The morning is complete with the chips of a Yellow-rumped Warbler from the confluence. It, too, may have been displaced from a regular wintering spot upriver or downriver, or up Bald Eagle Creek somewhere, as none have ever wintered in the hotspot itself.
With all these waterfowl about, I head off in the afternoon to scan for vultures, gulls, and other missing January species that might also be in the air. Near the pond, more confused Canada Geese appear overhead—perhaps wanting to get into the pond, but spooked by me—and as I’m glassing, them, six white shapes become visible many hundreds of feet higher, high enough to be invisible to the naked eye, and far enough that, if they’re vocalizing, I can’t hear them. These are January’s first Tundra Swans, perhaps heading from the Atlantic back to the Great Lakes with the warm-up.
Yesterday’s inch of slush is completely gone, and the air smells as fragrant as it can in January. Nearer to the carcass that’s not the case; in fact, for the first, time, I see flies buzzing around it. The pond itself still has a mass of slushy ice in the middle, but small groups of Mallards are everywhere, and among them are both the American Wigeon and the Green-winged Teal. Trailing along with the Mallards is another duck with a longer, pointy tail and lighter plumage: the hotspot’s first on-the-ground Northern Pintail and second-ever sighting (the first was a male many years ago; this one’s a female)! I watch her long enough to get the ID, then go for the camera, then lose her again. I stalk the ducks from above for several minutes, but cannot locate her among the Mallards. Just when I think I hallucinated her from a female Mallard, she explodes into the air and circles overhead, diagnostic tail clearly visible, then goes off toward Sinking Valley, where I suspect she has a regular wintering spot.
As promised, Sunday is a deluge. It doesn’t lighten until around noon, and it’s a struggle to get even a couple species for the day to keep my multi-year checklist streak going. The river is still rising, and it’s at least a foot higher at the bridge than it was on Friday. Not in the danger zone yet for the nearly 90-year-old Plummers’ Hollow Bridge, thank goodness, and with all the snow gone, the crest should come tonight and waters should drop as we go back to a more normal winter next week.