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May 4^th. 2012.  I know my hearing is not what it used to be; much diminished I’m sure.  Whatever the measurable state of my auditory acuity it’s perhaps ironic that my census work at the bird observatory depends to a great extent on my ability to identify birds by sound.  I probably only ever see 30% of the species I record, the rest is just identification by call or song. Background noises like crunching footsteps, road traffic or people-chatter can make hearing and distinguishing bird sound anywhere from difficult to impossible.

All of this is to set the stage for explaining how, on a morning full of birds and song, a cacophony of birdsound actually makes it harder to complete the census – there’s just too much distraction and too much to process

It’s early May and the wave of new migrants fills the air with bird songs and calls.  Baltimore Orioles’ full-bodied whistles are one of the loudest and most invasive distractions. Rose-breasted Grosbeaks, American Robins, Cardinals and Tufted Titmouses (I may need help with the plural form) were all singing boldly. Filling in the gaps were Blue-gray Gnatcatchers, Yellow Warblers and Mourning Doves; each has a way of filling the air without you really noticing right away.  There was more, including a couple of Scarlet Tanagers (heard not seen) Common Yellowthroat (ditto) and Warbling Vireos.  I watched an Osprey carry off a large writhing fish, labouring to gain height and then when fully free of the distractions of the land it shook itself dry, in much the same way I imagine a flying dog would.

But the best, most welcome call of the day was a single Great-crested Flycatcher calling from a grove of Sugar Maples. This bird is a patriarch of the woods.  The mere fact that it spends its winters in Central and north-west South America doesn’t (in its opinion) diminish its claim to the land when it returns to breed.  Great-crested Flycatchers nest in tree cavities in wet woodlands, preferring an open area with decrepit trees and lots of insects.  It holds its fiefdom with its bold “WHEEEEP…crrrr”. Pete Dunne says “… Often perches high on dead branches just beneath the canopy, where it admonishes the universe with a rich, loud, rolling cacophony.”

This photograph, taken a couple of years ago, shows a Great-crested Flycatcher shortly after being banded and full of righteous and indignant protest.  Note the crown.

May 2 2012.  Sometimes it’s hard to separate the Bird of the Day from the Event of the Day.  The Event is unquestionably the surge of neo-tropical spring migrants, the ones we’ve been anticipating for so long, the ones that have filled the overnight radar screens with blue shapes.

Today at the bird observatory the list of exciting, newly arriving, brightly coloured, eye-popping birds was long.  There were: Yellow-rumped, Cape May, Palm, Black & White, Yellow, Chestnut-sided and Blue-winged Warblers; Baltimore Orioles, Rusty Blackbirds, Chimney Swifts, Gray Catbirds, House Wrens and Warbling Vireos too. Birds that on other days would be minor sensations like: Bald Eagle, White-throated Sparrow and Caspian Terns went almost unnoticed. And the party’s only just begun.

I spent ages trying to get a decent photo of a Palm Warbler as it worked its way through the bottom of a grape tangle, then another one came zooming in and the two of them either squared off or flirted.

A Black-throated Green Warbler was nearby picking insects from the outer tips and flowers of a Sugar Maple and singing it’s signature ‘Zee-zee-zee-zee-ZOO-zee” song.

They were among what seemed like the world’s population of Yellow-rumped Warblers who were making their way north and staying to the river for a while; again I tried for a good photograph, but they just won’t stay still.

Exciting and challenging as these showstoppers may be, I got my shot of adrenaline from hearing the first Warbling Vireo of the year.  Warbling Vireos will never win a Best-Dressed competition; they’re basically a drab greenish-olive bird of the treetops.  But they’re my Bird of the Day because they evoke a family holiday of about 30 years ago at a cottage on the shore of Lake Erie.

It was hot and humid and the setting was one of ice cream, hot dogs, swimming and sun-tan lotion.  Over the days I became aware of a background throw-away song coming from high in the fragrant Cottonwoods.  It followed us wherever we went, it was Warbling Vireos keeping watch over their territories.  The song is hard to describe, it’s a ramble of flat toned notes that, although a little musical, dwindles to nothing much.  Pete Dunne in his wonderful book describes the general tone and cadence as “..like a happy drunk making a conversational point at a party.” And the party’s only just begun.

April 30 2012. Yesterday I wrote about the approaching masses of birds that can be detected by radar on the National Weather Service website. This morning as it was getting light I checked the site and saw a large blue blob of life forms amassed over the south shore of, and extending out into, Lake Erie.  I was pretty sure that indicated a large influx of birds would be on this side of the lake too.

I spent the morning at the bird observatory and did my usual census rounds; sure enough newly arrived bird life was everywhere.  I now suspect that most of that blue mass was Yellow-rumped Warblers for I counted 28 on census.  There’s more though, a few Black-throated Green Warblers and Western Palm Warblers were mingled with them.   I was pleased to hear a couple of Yellow Warblers and an Eastern Towhee and had long looks at a Black and White warbler, a Pine Warbler and several Blue-gray Gnatcatchers.

Along the river three Caspian Terns, an Osprey and a Belted Kingfisher were all searching for fish, while the river surface was threaded with skimming Tree, Barn, Bank and Northern Rough-winged Swallows.

I was able to examine two Western Palm Warblers up close and there’s an air of simple nonchalance about them that I find engaging.  They’re colourful, but not gaudy; in spring they sport a rich chestnut cap, which coordinates nicely with the bright yellow throat and under-tail, and the rural, streaky earth tones overall. They’re unconcerned by people watching them and they bob their tails like a pipit as they pick at the ground.  Palm Warblers seem to prefer open areas with shrubs and scrub, more like where you’d expect to find sparrows.

There are two races of Palm Warbler, our Western Palm, which generally migrates later in the spring (April/May) and moves west of the Appalachian Mountains, and the  eastern Yellow Palm Warbler which heads north in late March and early April. The Yellow Palm Warbler is also, as its name suggests, a lot yellower in colour. Local bird specialists say we get the western version and I see no reason to disagree; all the clues fit. Whichever race, I like the Palm Warbler enough to have inwardly cheered when I saw them; a sign that they must be my bird of the day.

Footnote.  This is a little off topic but important nevertheless. I will be one of a team of keen birders taking part in the Baillie Birdathon sometime during the week of May 12.  It’s a fundraiser and I’m looking for sponsors. My goal is $500 and proceeds go to Bird Studies Canada and Ruthven Park Bird Observatory. One regular reader has already made a generous donation; yours would be appreciated too.  More on this and how to help at the Baillie Birdathon site or the Ruthven site.

As the year unfolds bringing a tidal wave of incoming migrant birds and filling up the cast of summer birdlife, it becomes harder to single out any one species as best of the day.  This morning I left home early while there was still a touch of frost.  I thought I’d check a favourite marsh to see if I could find Sora or Virginia Rail.  The marsh is large and it’s bisected by a fairly busy road, so while it’s easy to scan the marsh for bird life, road noise can be really annoying. This morning road noise was nothing compared to the clamour of Canada Geese but despite them I heard Sora, Virginia Rail and American Bittern quite distinctly .  Any of those three would be a bird of the day, but somehow it would have been better to catch a glimpse of at least one of them.  Swamp Sparrows, Wood Ducks, Mallards and Red-winged Blackbirds completed the marshland cacophony.

Later I visited another favourite site, a mixture of marsh, dry upland fields and cedar swamp.  As I locked the car the first bird I heard was a Yellow Warbler, singing its signature “Sweet sweet sweet shredded wheat” , not a rarity by any standard, more of a ‘They’re-back’ bird, like the Red-winged Blackbirds of March.  In a week or so they’ll be commonplace, but today’s was my first Yellow Warbler of the year and so welcome that it was my Bird of the Day; despite the earlier formidable competition.

The surge of late April and early May spring migrants landing on the shores of North America is massive; so massive that the flocks are detected quite clearly on radar.  Take a look at this site any time after dark in late April of early May, scroll to the area of South Texas, Louisiana, and central eastern USA, and you’ll often see large blue donut-shaped masses; usually they’re migrating birds.  Erratically shaped multi-coloured masses are usually storm systems. Here’s a sample from this evening

April 28 2012.  It was grasslands birds that I set out to see before the rest of the household was awake; I wanted to see if Upland Sandpipers had returned to a couple of spots I knew.  They had; although they were hard to find at first.  Later on when they’ve established territories they’re often easier to see standing atop a fence post or utility pole keeping watch.  They are not particularly spectacular birds to look at; in fact as sandpipers go they’re a little gawky.  But there’s something about the way they conduct themselves that makes them so endearing.  Not all sandpipers are birds of shores and wetlands and the Upland Sandpiper is one of these exceptions, they like dryish grasslands where they walk around with their compact beady-eyed heads bobbing just above the vegetation tops.  They have a bubbling widdy-wit widdy-wit call, heard as they fly overhead and an incredible wolf whistle of a song:  “ToowlLEEEt –WhEEEELluuw”  that it uses to proclaim its place on Earth; and then to top it off when it alights it briefly raises it wings, tip to tip, like a victorious marathon man.

The Upland Sandpipers were the best of the morning, and of the day, but in those few hours in the field there was much more that caught my attention. A Wilson’s Snipe was staking his claim by flying a high and looping display flight like a roller coaster, and with every slide downwards his wings made the weird winnowing sound, an ethereal rapid hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo.  I could hear him clearly but it was only by scanning with my binoculars that I could see him.  No doubt his beloved was watching enthralled and adoringly from the wet ground below.  An Eastern Meadowlark sang from the tip of a scrubby hawthorn, his chest an astonishingly bright yellow with a black V-neck medallion. Savannah Sparrows were calling from grass stalks and a liquid trilling song had me baffled for a while until I spotted a vividly yellow-throated Horned Larkstumbling through grass clumps. Horned Larks either stay with us all year or are very early to return in mid winter when they like to mix in with Snow Buntings and Lapland Longspur flocks.

Then when the other spring showstoppers arrive the Horned Larks apparently fade into the background to start nesting on sparse wind-blown and snow-streaked  fields.  Today’s was a reminder that they’re still with us and are raising young too. (This picture was taken in January; note the seemingly astonished look on the Snow Bunting. Click on the picture for full sized version.)