We've Reached the Halfway Point
-Sat, Apr 8 2023-
At precisely 5:58 AM, a distant Whip-Poor-Will calls, first of the season and number 100 for the Plummer’s Hollow 200.
Spectrum
It’s a bit early in the year for Whip-Poor-Wills, and, one would think, a bit cold. Apparently, at 28, it’s too cold for that other crepuscular species, the American Woodcock: this is the first morning in some time that they are silent (judging from the NFC recordings).
The moon is getting ready to set over the spruce grove by the time I park and get ready to head up to a favorite sit spot in the frosty field. The Big Dipper twinkles in the west, and it is blessedly silent, but the dull and distant rumbles of a few trucks on the interstate.
The Eastern Phoebe who lives in the garage is none too happy with me when I go in to check on my set-up. Everything’s running OK; I set off and immediately surprise four grazing white-tailed deer, who crash away into the woods. I know these ones from their snorts on my surveillance device.
It’s 5:38 when I set up the chair in an area I can hear field, edge, and woods species in several directions. I don’t hear as well as the antenna, though, which, I find out later, picks up the first Northern Cardinal at 5:42. My first ‘chew-chew-chew’ of this species is at 5:54, immediately followed by the ‘reep’ of an Eastern Towhee. These two go back and forth for a few minutes, then the Whip-Poor-Will calls.
The temperature continues dropping. American Robin and Song Sparrow at 6:05 (away from the bright lights of the city here, robins are not the earliest risers), Dark-eyed Junco 6:06, Field Sparrow 6:09, Carolina Wren 6:15. Then the fun starts: the local Brown Thrasher is at it, doings it diagnostic doubled imitations of all the other birds. This is a particularly easy time and place to detect the thrasher: no mockingbirds live up here, Gray Catbirds aren’t back yet, and there are, blessedly, no European Starlings close by.
By 6:19, the chorus consists of many towhees, Field and Song sparrows, and cardinals, a couple wrens, and the thrasher.
At 6:22, Mourning Doves are cooing, White-breasted Nuthatches are yammering, and both male and female Wild Turkeys are sounding off not far away. Then Tufted Titmouse, White-throated Sparrow, the cluck of a Hermit Thrush, and a Chipping Sparrow, as it gets lighter. I’m up and about now along about 50 yards of trail on the field’s edge, to keep my feet alive, back and forth.
Then at 6:28, a song I’ve been anticipating, a complex, loud, and sweet melody made by the newest spring arrival, a Ruby-crowned Kinglet.
Species keep coming: Fox Sparrows are still about in abnormally high numbers, and Brown-headed Cowbirds, the species everyone loves to hate, seem to be everywhere, cavorting about the tops of the trees in small groups, not wasting a second of their annual courtship dramas.
At 6:45, a Sharp-shinned Hawk flies straight across from the top of Laurel Ridge to Sapsucker Ridge. Perhaps it’s pausing for a snack before continuing north, or maybe we will have some locals this year.
One minute later, those late risers, the woodpeckers, begin to drum and call in quick succession: Pileated; Hairy; Downy; Northern Flicker. The latter, curious as always, flies in close to have a look at me.
By 6:49, I have recorded 30 species. A bit ahead of what I would have logged in Tyrone, naturally. Best of all, a few ethereal snatches of Hermit Thrush song. I know there are plenty about: the antennas picked up over 40 going over on the night of April 4th and 5th; this is their plaintive nocturnal flight call. Later this year, we’ll be talking plenty about the night flights of thrushes: Plummer’s Hollow holds the Pennsylvania records for numbers of Hermit Thrush, Swainson’s Thrush, Gray-cheeked Thrush, and Veery, all from Fall 2022. As for the Hermit, we’ll have it here through May and perhaps June, but though at least one male seems to make a mighty effort, our habitat just doesn’t suffice to support a breeding pair; like the Veery, it’s a common breeder in the higher-elevation forests of the region.
At 6:58 AM, the sun hits, 46 minutes before it strikes my apartment in Tyrone. Thirty-four species from this spot. I continue my customary circuit, and soon hear one of the latest risers, a Blue-headed Vireo, from Laurel Ridge. It’s been around for several days, but this is my personal first record for 2023, as it cannot be heard from my balcony. It will be an easy two weeks for id’ing this species, until the Red-eyed and the rest of the vireos come through and start to play tricks on the brain.
The spruce grove is alive with Golden-crowned Kinglets, which come with a few feet of me, but as usual, they’re too quick and my hands are too cold to get off a good shot. A Tufted Titmouse, however, poses obligingly, all puffed out, a consolation prize.
At the Far Field, in a haze of Dark-eyed Juncos and other sparrows, I’m pleased to see what I take to be the same Hairy Woodpecker still around its winter haunts. I’m also happy to feel the drumming of a Ruffed Grouse, our state bird, still holding on in our deepest thickets, a species still in a precarious condition here after a viral pandemic.
Down in Roseberry Hollow, more twittering, and a second large flock of juncos boils up from the tangles.
Thrash
I angle back to First Field to get a better look at the Brown Thrasher, now sitting obligingly atop a tall tree, unchallenged. On and on and on it goes (for hours). Amazing to think how cryptic this species becomes in late summer, when juveniles are molting and getting ready to depart. These April weeks are by the far the best to observe it, in my experience.
I swing down to the Hollow side of Sapsucker Ridge, warbler central in just a few weeks. For now, though, it’s just more juncos and Fox Sparrows, tons of woodpeckers including a single Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, and a few others. I can’t seem to summon a Pine Warbler, though, one of the early warblers I’m on the lookout for.
True leaf-out isn’t for weeks yet, so a great tactic is to spot species while it’s still easy to do. Tell that to the invasives, though: barberries and privets are well along in their spring.
Back down on the hollow road, I finally manage to catch some decent shots of a Louisiana Waterthrush:
NFC Update
That will do for today’s jaunt; I wrap at 10 and head to Altoona for shopping. As always, I have to play catch-up on the NFCs later, and there have been several intriguing developments.
In addition to Hermit Thrushes, the other species that went over in big numbers the night of April 4 and 5 was the Chipping Sparrow, with close to 50 individuals recorded. Here is one along the tracks:
An early surprise, which eBird flagged as ‘Rare,’ is the year’s first Green Heron. The ‘fly-up-the-creek’ is a ubiquitous and vocal night migrant. [Note: this and other species appear as ‘Unconfirmed’ until seen by an eBird reviewer; eBird has filters set for species based on dates, as well as other parameters such as high numbers.]
The biggest surprise to me has been the Wilson’s Snipe. After its first-ever appearance here on March 30, it was back around 8 PM on April 4th, at the same time as an American Woodcock. Then, on the 6th and the 7th, the microphone picked up what appear to be the Snipe’s song. I can only think that one is hanging about the marshy part of the field, which is far enough from the antenna to account for the lower volume of the most recent recordings. I’ve requested that my brother Dave, who lives cheek by jowl with said marsh, go on a Snipe hunt, but as of time of writing, he has still not assented.
That 5:42 cardinal was the one roosting in the cedar tree next to my house, FWIW
Based on eBird entries, your Whip. was just the second of the year in PA; the first being recorded in the southeast on 4/5.