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October 31 2013. Wytheville Va. Interstate highway birding from the passenger’s, or worse the driver’s, seat is not rewarding. With a limited field of view, momentary glimpses at best and much of the worst of urbanization in the way, you’ll see European Starlings, Rock Pigeons and Ring-billed Gulls if you’re lucky. I exaggerate just a little for as town gives way to country there’s the occasional Red-tailed Hawk or American Crow too. It was with some excitement then that I spotted an undertaking of vultures soaring over the town of Wytheville, Virginia as we wove our way through the knot of asphalt that trisects that town, around lunchtime today. I was even more moved by the realization this wheeling bunch included a couple of Black Vultures too.
It’s quite possible that the Black Vulture is one of the least appreciated, under-exalted birds in the Americas. Perhaps it’s because they’re so common, even ubiquitous, over much of their range, a range which extends over almost all of South America, through Central America and up through the U.S.A., more or less until you get to Canada where it is almost unknown. I can’t say that I’m overly impressed by Black Vultures’ manners, not since I happened upon a noisy mob of them scrambling and squabbling over the contents of a large, greasy garbage bin behind a Savannah Ga. restaurant; it’s not their fault that so much in the way of ready food scraps was at hand, nor I suppose, that they haven’t adopted Anglo-Saxon social standards, but it kind of offended me to come across their unseemly brawl. But that’s not to say that the sight of a Black Vulture or two soaring overhead isn’t eye-catching or pleasing.
I’m very familiar with the sight of Turkey Vultures, not that I’m a particular fan of theirs, just well acquainted. And, I might say, there’s nothing I’ve seen of Turkey Vultures that deeply offends my Euro sense of propriety, even though their choice of food is a touch off-putting. In flight the Turkey Vulture is hard to mistake, its profile, if I may call it that, is nicely proportioned with a wing-to-body ratio that makes sense, it holds its wings in a shallow V and rocks from side to side as it sails by; you’ll rarely see a wing-flap although when one comes it’s leisurely, deep and deliberate. The Black Vulture by contrast, while every bit as adept in the air, presents a somewhat less elegant sight mostly on account of the lack of a rational wing to body ratio, the Black Vulture is all wings, like a dark floating plank.
Still, it’s been a while since I’d seen a Black Vulture and the surprise and the break from the general monotony of interstate biding drew a gasp of well, pleasure.
A footnote. Heading south from Ontario passing through New York, Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Virginia and North Carolina, it has been instructive watching the ebb and flow of the advance of autumnal leaf-drop. Along the south shore of Lake Erie, where the waters moderate extremes of temperatures, there was lots of colour and relatively little loss of foliage. Passing through Pennsylvania and WestVirginia the trees are largely bare except in sheltered valleys; but then it’s pretty high above sea level and that would make a difference. We’re now in the northern reaches of Georgia where most leaves still hold fast, although nearly everything has turned colour, and such colours! Exotic hues of carmine, crimson and chrome yellow flaming on trees such as Persimmon, Sourwood and Black Gum, shades unlike the fiery curtains of our northern Maple and Ash woodlands.

25 October 2013.  Cayuga ON.  Today was almost certainly my last day at the banding lab this year.  I have other obligations getting in the way and the lab ceases 2013 operations on November 7^th.  What a day it was!  I arrived as it was getting light and left in the late afternoon; we hardly stopped for a moment there was so much bird activity in the mist nets, in the banding lab and, more than anything, in the air.

Colossal flocks of European Starlings (collective noun, ‘murmuration’); endless streams of Common Grackles (just when we thought there were maybe 2,000, the stream kept on, and on, flowing); and flock after flock of Cedar Waxwings (collective noun, ‘museum’ !!).

The day turned up a couple of new firsts for me: first American Tree Sparrow of the winter and first Fox Sparrow of the fall.  Both could be bird of the day almost any day.  But then there were the Cedar Waxwings that descended to the mist nets, filling them several times over; we banded 190 of them.  It helps not to be too particular about bird poop when you’re handling waxwings, they seem to gorge on purple grapes just before flying into the nets, then expelling most of the juice onto your hands as you band them.

I think I saw the last two Yellow-rumped Warblers.  They seemed happy enough even though the vast majority of their migrating fellows left a few days ago.

For a while as I did the census I watched a murmuration of starlings socially congregated in the  oak and maple treetops and then, seemingly without warning or cue, they took of in a streaming barrel roll, surging across the forest, circling and settling again.  Perhaps it was the appearance of a Red-tailed Hawk circling overhead that set them off.  For this flock I jotted down a count of 2,000.

Bird of the Day though was the Hermit Thrush.  They were passing though in numbers today and as I banded one I commented how it’s one of my favourites.  A gentle bird painted in warm browns with a subtly spotted breast, dark brown on white, its rump, tail and primary wing feathers a warm rufous brown, and a pale eye ring that give them a doe-like expression.  They’re passively undemonstrative when caught in a mist net; they never give you any trouble.  I’ve tried many times to get a picture of one in the field but they always seem to softly step aside and let me pass. I usually only catch a glimpse of the vanishing bird and if I’m lucky enough to find it through my binoculars, as often as not, it’s sitting quietly, looking over its shoulder at me. This photo of one that’s just been banded is the best I’m likely to get for a while.

23 October 2013.  Carrolls Bay Hamilton ON.  I went to the same place as yesterday looking for a continuation of the hawk flight.  Really there was almost nothing, maybe I’ve missed the best of it, maybe it’s yet to come; I’ll keep on trying. In any event it was a worthwhile spot mostly for the drama of the sky, the clarity of the air and a couple of tumbling flights of Turkey Vultures.

Against a sky painted in angry swaths of grey and blacks set off against the purest blues and starkest white, I caught sight of the first swirl of dark shapes; Turkey Vultures I was sure of it.  I kept my binoculars focused on them as they came closer. It was hard to count them and I made several attempts.  Strung out over a kilometer or so, separated in height and at the same time rising and tumbling in the buffeting winds they were like an ever rolling tangle of black Vs.  In the end I was pretty confident of my count of twenty.

Here’s a couple of photos (visible if you’re on the website, not if you’re reading this as an email), one of the view from lookout site, the other of some of those distant Turkey Vultures, so dramatic against the troubled October sky.

22 October 2013.  Carrolls Bay Hamilton ON. Between obligations of a volunteer nature, I made an unplanned and spontaneous stop at a lookout, which in past years was celebrated as a great place to watch the fall hawk migration.  I don’t think its any less good now than it was back then; it’s just that it’s just become forgotten.  What makes it so great is that it’s a bit of a funnel for migrating birds. Located along the north shore of Lake Ontario on the west side of a smallish inlet, you can stand on one side with a commanding view over the inlet and watch the other side for approaching hawks and eagles.

I happened to be driving not far from this lookout, aware that many southbound Turkey Vultures were sailing through when a large apparently all-black bird with enormous plank-like wings wheeled low over and behind my moving car, I knew then that I had to set aside all the other stuff I was doing and pay more attention.  I hung a quick U-turn, parked in a hurry, grabbed binoculars and hurried to the lookout; making myself comfortable, I scanned the opposite horizon.

Soon I spotted an adult Bald Eagle soaring around the inlet.  Was this the large apparently all-black bird I’d seen?  Maybe, or what if I’d seen a Golden Eagle? – I’ll never know!  In any event the bird I was now watching was magnificent in its own right. Then, as if to compete, a late migrating Osprey circled the other way around and eventually landed somewhere on the opposite shore.  Sharp-shinned Hawks, a Coopers Hawk and some Red-tailed Hawks appeared over the distant treetops, grew closer and eventually sailed overhead.  It was getting good but I have to say not quite the blockbuster cascade of migrants that I’d anticipated. 

My Wow! moment came just before I left when I saw the Bald Eagle again, it rose from the far side of the inlet this time carrying a large fish.  I’ll admit that at first I thought it was the Osprey (well the light was funny – or something like that), but it was dangling the fish rather casually, not gripping it in the tidy, two-handed, head forward, style that an Osprey would use; that struck me as odd.  But as it turned and I could see it better I realized my mistake.  It flew around for a long time dangling the fish, seemingly disinterested in settling down for a lakeside meal; fresh cold fish – yum!  Then some minutes later the Osprey circled back into my field of view such that I could see both birds at once. Clearly the Bald Eagle was dangling the fish in a taunting ‘Who’s-catching-the-best-fish-today-then’ show.  I left them to it, satisfied with this impromptu hawk watching half-hour, satisfied that I hadn’t missed too much.

And by the way a Coopers Hawk is a pretty darn good sighting too, even if not quite bird of the day.

21 October 2013.  Cayuga ON.  The mad dash south continues.  At the bird observatory, aerial swirls of Cedar Waxwings, tumbling hordes of Red-winged Blackbirds and chattering swarms of European Starlings were joined by anxious drifts of Rusty Blackbirds today.  Three of us, sharp-eyed all, did the daily census and stood in awe of a busy flock of Red-winged Blackbirds feasting in the now seedy expanses of goldenrod.  At an unseen prompt they rose, en masse, clucking in agreement and swept up into a nearby stand of Scots Pine to carry on their banter. Between us we agreed on a count of 300, but really had no idea – there was just loads of them.

As we came to a colourful band of Sugar Maple and White Oak forest, a small group of blackbirds fled at the sight of us.  Eric exclaimed “Rusty Blackbird!” and then explained a little later that they’re one of his favourite birds although he wasn’t quite sure why.  I sympathize because I put Warbling Vireos at the very pinnacle of my birding delights, and it’s not on account of their feathered splendour. Actually I think it’s because of their quintessential song of high summer.  Eric ventured that the Rusty Blackbird is a gorgeous bird up close, particularly the male whose rustyness is really an iridescent gold.  Well we never did get close, they are quite skittish and maintained a very healthy distance between them and us and, try as I might, I could not get a decent photograph of one.  This photo of Rusty Blackbirds was taken last spring when I came upon a group in the upper levels of some swamp-bound trees.

Eric’s comments of appreciation reinforced my feeling and reaction that Rusty Blackbirds were Bird of the Day.