Spring Springs
April 19th, 2010
A wonderful morning in the southern corridor today. (I think I'll call it by its old name, "The Uplands"--less of a mouthful.) Four "welcome back"s to returning spring migrants, and more interesting things besides. Its so nice to have buds opening now. I was getting tired of all my bokehs coming out blue or gray!
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This Blue Jay was gathering nest material at the edge of the woods.
"Welcome back" number one is for Brown Thrashers. One of the first things I heard when I walked into the meadow was their familiar doubled-phrase song. There were at least two singing males on territory. This is the best and frequently only time to see Brown Thrashers--when they're not singing, they're usually skulking in the bushes unnoticed.
Number two, this bashful Savannah Sparrow.
He didn't really want to be seen, but you can only hide so well when the leaves on the bush are just budding.
Numbers three and four have a story behind them.
At Gaspe, there was this bird song I heard. I heard it practically everywhere we went--anywhere with deep woods. I heard it in the mountains, on Bonaventure Island, at Forillon Park. It was a long, loud, ringing, exuberant song that seemed to echo through the treetops. It was a song that went on and on and on, three or even more trills connected by passages of chirpy up-and-down notes.
I tried and tried and never once managed to spot the bird. I went home and looked up bird songs left and right--any that seemed even remotely likely, Pine Grosbeak, both Crossbills, Fox Sparrow--nothing matched. Mostly, I looked up medium and large-size songbirds, not little ones. It never occurred to me that a little bird might make a sound like that.
Then I spent a weekend at a friend's cottage. And I heard the same song. And I went home and researched and still couldn't figure it out.
This morning, I heard that song again.
Well, you better believe I wasn't going to let that opportunity pass me by. For at least the next hour I searched for that bird. I bushwacked my way into the thick, wet woods across the train tracks, where the song was coming from--in the process, soaking my shoes right through to the skin. (Note to self: next time, wear hiking boots.) Whenever he stopped singing, I turned my attention elsewhere--for instance, to the pair of Hermit Thrushes, new arrival #3, who were in those same woods.
But I always had one dedicated ear listening for my mystery bird. Finally, I came to a spot in the woods and he sang and it was practically earsplitting, he was so close. I looked up. A tiny little bird came into view on top of a dead tree.
"Oh, no way," I thought. "Give me a break. The song merely led me to the little bird, the way it led me to those thrushes. It could not possibly be coming from the little bird."
The little bird was a Winter Wren. And yes, he WAS the producer of that song! I...had no idea. Most of the other wrens have reedy little gurgling songs and I just assumed Winter Wren followed suit.
Says AllAboutBirds: "Per unit weight, the Winter Wren delivers its song with 10 times more power than a crowing rooster."
Isn't it wonderful that after years of this hobby, there can still be surprises?
April 19th, 2010
A wonderful morning in the southern corridor today. (I think I'll call it by its old name, "The Uplands"--less of a mouthful.) Four "welcome back"s to returning spring migrants, and more interesting things besides. Its so nice to have buds opening now. I was getting tired of all my bokehs coming out blue or gray!
1680x1050 wallpaper
This Blue Jay was gathering nest material at the edge of the woods.
"Welcome back" number one is for Brown Thrashers. One of the first things I heard when I walked into the meadow was their familiar doubled-phrase song. There were at least two singing males on territory. This is the best and frequently only time to see Brown Thrashers--when they're not singing, they're usually skulking in the bushes unnoticed.
Number two, this bashful Savannah Sparrow.
He didn't really want to be seen, but you can only hide so well when the leaves on the bush are just budding.
Numbers three and four have a story behind them.
At Gaspe, there was this bird song I heard. I heard it practically everywhere we went--anywhere with deep woods. I heard it in the mountains, on Bonaventure Island, at Forillon Park. It was a long, loud, ringing, exuberant song that seemed to echo through the treetops. It was a song that went on and on and on, three or even more trills connected by passages of chirpy up-and-down notes.
I tried and tried and never once managed to spot the bird. I went home and looked up bird songs left and right--any that seemed even remotely likely, Pine Grosbeak, both Crossbills, Fox Sparrow--nothing matched. Mostly, I looked up medium and large-size songbirds, not little ones. It never occurred to me that a little bird might make a sound like that.
Then I spent a weekend at a friend's cottage. And I heard the same song. And I went home and researched and still couldn't figure it out.
This morning, I heard that song again.
Well, you better believe I wasn't going to let that opportunity pass me by. For at least the next hour I searched for that bird. I bushwacked my way into the thick, wet woods across the train tracks, where the song was coming from--in the process, soaking my shoes right through to the skin. (Note to self: next time, wear hiking boots.) Whenever he stopped singing, I turned my attention elsewhere--for instance, to the pair of Hermit Thrushes, new arrival #3, who were in those same woods.
But I always had one dedicated ear listening for my mystery bird. Finally, I came to a spot in the woods and he sang and it was practically earsplitting, he was so close. I looked up. A tiny little bird came into view on top of a dead tree.
"Oh, no way," I thought. "Give me a break. The song merely led me to the little bird, the way it led me to those thrushes. It could not possibly be coming from the little bird."
The little bird was a Winter Wren. And yes, he WAS the producer of that song! I...had no idea. Most of the other wrens have reedy little gurgling songs and I just assumed Winter Wren followed suit.
Says AllAboutBirds: "Per unit weight, the Winter Wren delivers its song with 10 times more power than a crowing rooster."
Isn't it wonderful that after years of this hobby, there can still be surprises?
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