An early and fierce fire season in eastern Canada is sending a pall of smoke south; it feels like summer in Tegucigalpa. Eyes burn, throat sore, and even the pigeons seem listless. What’s worse is that it doesn’t rain when it’s supposed to rain, which is only good for the Common Grackles and House Sparrows creating guano islands on the emergent archipelago down at the confluence, where they fish for aquatic prey.
The molt-migrant Canada Goose flock still roams the area. On Monday morning, 21 geese descend noisily on Tyrone, undecided whether they want to land on the Little Juniata, Bald Eagle Creek, or the Burger King parking lot. On Tuesday evening around 7:48 PM, 36 geese emerge from the valley beyond Bald Eagle Mountain in nice formation, and head north, out of sight.
Fern and family are doing just fine, as safe as possible from predators. She always flushes when I go onto the porch, but often perches close by, emitting querulous calls. What lurks below is of little concern.
Tuesday Evening
During the day on Tuesday, the haze builds and the wind as well. Local fire danger is now elevated, adding to the drama. As the updrafts from a thunderstorm that never develops become more intense, Common Ravens, Red-tailed Hawks, Turkey Vultures, and Black Vultures dot the sky, circling and diving. They seem as little affected by the smoke as the Chimney Swifts, which wheel about in all corners of the heavens. I am reminded of the scores of species in Australia that fly directly into the thick of bush fire smoke plumes, hawking for insects.
Nevertheless, it ain’t great for people out here, and after last night’s balcony experience that left me dizzy and hoarse (not improved by breathing in laundromat fragrances), I’m seriously considering hiding from the sky tonight. But by six, miracle of miracles, a dry high has pushed away all the smoke, and it’s clear almost down to the horizon, with a continuing breeze pushing plenty of birds into the air.
Black Vultures are back after about a month of scarcity and occasional sightings. A pair as well as a single are hanging about the towers, and later, the single bird loops repeatedly above Bald Eagle Mountain, circling with its legs hanging, looking like it is going to land, but it never does.
Some subtle changes in the local avifauna have been taking place. An American Redstart now sings in the morning, while a Carolina Wren has returned to the confluence and sings at odd intervals throughout the day. A Gray Catbird is less shy, often flying up to the wires to sing, but fleeing from people, unlike the nearly tame Northern Rough-winged Swallows and House Finches.
A Mourning Dove pair is a bit more skittish, but likes to putter about the parking lot and peck among the stones. Pecking for pebbles?
At 6:54 this evening, a long-lost species reappears. Uncharacteristically silent, a Belted Kingfisher zooms out from the confluence through the foliage hole, up across the parking lot, and over the rooftops to my right. The last time I saw one anywhere along the river was on May 3.
Not to be outdone, a pair of Great Blue Herons wing slowly and deliberately out through the Gap, heading east, around 7:45. The last time I saw one was May 18, and before that, May 3.
A pair of Ruby-throated Hummingbirds buzz about, feed, vocalize, and land on the wires. A lone Cliff Swallow shows high above the creek, who knows from what colony.
It might be my imagination, but the clear and windy conditions seem to have galvanized the birds after last nights’ listlessness. The Downy Woodpecker, which I never heard yesterday, is down-trilling repeatedly this evening.
And the grackles! Grackleville is alive with families, including this rapidly growing youngster:
Starlings are more evident than they have been since winter. Families are now flocking again, and also diving in and out of Grackleville. A family of three needy young and a parent hangs out on nearby wire for a minute or two:
An American Robin sits and preens its belly, while a female House Sparrow pauses to perch on the yellow chain separating the parking lots. House Sparrows are abundant in this corner of town now, but robins are getting a bit more scarce—or at least, they no longer quarrel constantly over their territory lines here.
The 8:30 lull happens right on schedule, followed by a final blast of song: Yellow Warbler until 8:51, House Finch until 8:48. Grackles creak and squawk until about 8:50, some perching on the dead ash snag; then they disappear. Cedar Waxwings, in groups of three and six, follow suit.
A pair of Turkey Vultures, the last of the day, finally leaves off circling over Sapsucker Ridge and heads west around 8:49, but suddenly turns around and goes back to the ridge, circling, diving, and touching wings for almost ten more minutes. Finally, just two minutes shy of nine, they head resolutely west again and disappear over the rooftop. A pair of Mallard drakes, coming from the north, skims the Bald Eagle Mt ridgeline into the Gap and out of sight.
At nine, as usual, only robins, catbirds, and swifts are left. At Plummer’s Hollow Crossing, Wood Thrushes no doubt are still clucking, while up along the edges of First Field, Eastern Phoebes and Eastern Towhees go until around 9:15, while Eastern Wood-Pewees sound from the deep woods until later than that.
The Migration Continues…
On Wednesday morning, the smoke has returned. I run up to the mountain to grab the last nights’ recording. Unsurprisingly, a few Swainson’s Thrush ‘peeps’ show up on the spectrum, some close overhead. They have been recorded as late as 15 June in western PA, but this morning’s birds are the latest record for the hotspot. Later, I’ll scroll fully through the last few days to see what else might still be coming through.