Mallard 16
Greater Scaup 28 (2 at Thomas Basin, 26 at Coachlace)
Bufflehead 1 F
Hooded Merganser 2
Common Merganser 16 (near 140 between Gates 25 & 26)
Ruddy Duck 1 (Coachlace)
Common Loon 4 (2 from Gate 25, 2 South Bay)
Double-crested Cormorant 19 (6 Gate 25, 13 South Bay)
Great Blue Heron 1
Ring-billed Gull 23
Mourning Dove 1
Belted Kingfisher 1
Downy Woodpecker 1
Blue Jay
American Crow
Black-capped Chickadee
Red-breasted Nuthatch 1
White-breasted Nuthatch 1
European Starling
Yellow-rumped Warbler 3
Song Sparrow 2

Canada Goose 240
Wood Duck 1 drake
American Black Duck 4
Mallard 220
Northern Pintail 1 or 2
Scaup Species 2
Ruddy Duck 15
Great Blue Heron 3
Osprey 1
Northern Harrier 1
Sharp-shinned Hawk 2
Red-tailed Hawk 2
Ring-billed Gull 300
Herring Gull 2
Rock Pigeon
Mourning Dove
Red-bellied Woodpecker 1
Downy Woodpecker 3
Northern Flicker 3
Eastern Phoebe 1
Blue Jay
American Crow
Common Raven
Black-capped Chickadee
Tufted Titmouse
White-breasted Nuthatch
Ruby-crowned Kinglet 4
Eastern Bluebird 8
American Robin 100
Gray Catbird 1
European Starling
American Pipit 14
Yellow-rumped Warbler 3
Chipping Sparrow 6
Savannah Sparrow 12
Song Sparrow 40
Swamp Sparrow 10
White-throated Sparrow 28
Dark-eyed Junco 8
Northern Cardinal 3
Red-winged Blackbird 15
Common Grackle 3
Brown-headed Cowbird 20
House Finch
American Goldfinch 25

American Black Duck     7
American Crow   87
American Goldfinch      14
American Pipit  6
American Redstart       1
American Robin  65
American Wigeon 2
Bald Eagle      1
Belted Kingfisher       3
Black-and-white Warbler 1
Black-capped Chickadee  6
Black-throated Green Warbler    2
Blue Jay        16
Blue-headed Vireo       1
Bobolink        3
Brown Creeper   1
Canada Goose    17
Carolina Wren   1
Cedar Waxwing   54
Chipping Sparrow        26
Common Grackle  41
Common Merganser        8
Common Raven    2
Common Yellowthroat     1
Cooper's Hawk   1
Dark-eyed Junco 21
Dickcissel      3
Double-crested Cormorant        5
Downy Woodpecker        4
Eastern Bluebird        2
Eastern Phoebe  1
Eastern Towhee  3
European Starling       97
Field Sparrow   1
Golden-crowned Kinglet  5
Gray Catbird    3
Great Blue Heron        4
Green Heron     2
Hairy Woodpecker        3
Hermit Thrush   1
House Finch     1
House Wren      1
Indigo Bunting  1
Killdeer        1
Lincoln's Sparrow       2
Mallard 13
Mourning Dove   22
Northern Cardinal       3
Northern Flicker        4
Northern Harrier        1
Northern Mockingbird    1
Northern Pintail        1
Osprey  1
Palm Warbler    1
Peregrine Falcon        1
Pileated Woodpecker     1
Pine Warbler    11
Prairie Warbler 1
Purple Finch    1
Red-bellied Woodpecker  2
Red-breasted Nuthatch   5
Red-eyed Vireo  1
Red-tailed Hawk 2
Red-winged Blackbird    78
Rock Pigeon     34
Ruby-crowned Kinglet    4
Ruffed Grouse   4
Savannah Sparrow        20
Sharp-shinned Hawk      2
Song Sparrow    28
Swamp Sparrow   39
Tree Swallow    2
Tufted Titmouse 3
Turkey Vulture  7
Veery   1
Vesper Sparrow  1
White-breasted Nuthatch 3
White-crowned Sparrow   2
White-throated Sparrow  18
Wild Turkey     7
Wood Duck       8
Yellow-bellied Sapsucker        1
Yellow-rumped Warbler   23
Tree Sparrow    3

Accumulated drizzle drips rhythmically from a poncho
draped over my tripod and scope onto my mud-spattered
boot, the insistent light thump of droplets dispelling
the light fog of my fitful slumber.  Snorting awake, I
realize my right leg has become peculiarly devoid of
sensation, and I roll to the left, raising my head
slowly, peering over the edge of the stone wall into
the tangle covering the roadside beyond.  As a waxen
rising sun attempts to illuminate a landscape still
drained of color, I center myself in a low crouch and
stand cautiously, positioning myself against the
outline of a Hickory sapling cloaked with Bittersweet.
 Delighted that its tent-like shape disrupts my
outline and that of the squat mound of accumulated
gear in front of me, I retrieve binoculars from its
midst and examine the landscape.  Detecting nothing, I
reposition a battered folding chair on the level
terrain below the wall, uncovering my tripod and
lowering it to gaze into the weedy recesses of the
nearby abandoned pasture.  Rain hat scrunched atop my
head, I pan along the tops of the weeds, locking onto
the morning’s first roving band of Song Sparrows. 
They enliven the labyrinthine tangle of branches with
their boldly striped shapes, antiphonal three-part
vocalizations pulsing steadily from the underbrush. 
The tails of the more energetic birds bob excitedly,
the flock pushing towards me as it investigates the
choice feeding opportunities provided by the plentiful
weeds.  Seven birds gaily festoon a stalk of Canada
Goldenrod, succeeding in weighing down the prodigious
plant in whimsical fashion.  The group arrives
unexpectedly at ground level and disembarks smartly,
perplexity soon dissipating.  Enterprising birds
arrange themselves in the shrubbery upon advantageous
perches, bright eyes eagerly taking in the terrain.

As the Song Sparrows fill the air with their incessant
chatter, a patch of pewter-gray feathers distances
itself from their number.  Fluttering a short
distance, it alights at the edge of a misshapen tire
track, a pink bill enthusiastically testing the
waters.  A complete avian profile takes form, hopping
along the puddle’s steepest edge.  Soon vanishing
within its depths, its vigorous bathing sends a
torrent of crystalline droplets into the surrounding
vegetation.  Continually pelted by the beads of water,
a lush carpet of Common Plantain jiggles and quivers,
its leaves soon gleaming in the sun.  A notched tail
bursts into view at the boundary of the puddle
directly opposite me.  Twitching strangely to and fro
for some moments, it dips out of sight.  I advance
cautiously, not wishing to send its owner aloft.  As I
take a seat well back from the shallow pool’s right
edge and raise binoculars, abrasive chatter hammers my
ears.  An anxious blob of brown feathers darts from
the confines of the fallen branches directly behind
the gleaming water, fixing the disembodied tail in its
gaze.  Exiting the shadows of the brush pile entirely,
it darts to the pockmarked rim of the puddle, its
contours bristling in agitation.  Uttering a series of
rough notes that crackle over the landscape, it hops
animatedly along the irregular mud bank.  Now squarely
situated within my binoculars, the resolute House Wren
presses the unidentified tail into the air.  Bounding
away into the protective confines of the underbrush,
the mysterious shape wheels to study the doughty bird
at greater length.  Alternating dark brown and beige
head stripes complement the smooth gray breast seen
earlier, now lustrous in the morning sun.  Scapulars
and tail coverts flecked with white, an immature
White-crowned Sparrow fixes the scrappy wren with a
brief stare and returns to the weeds.

The distant marsh begins to stir, and the clamor of
early morning bird song grows more enticing.  I
consolidate gear, eagerly setting out along the
haphazard edge of tall marsh grass, hiking steadily as
waves of Red-winged Blackbirds and Common Grackles
course overhead.  Noisily setting down in earnest,
they arrange themselves upon a multitude of sunlit
branches, their gnarled gray shapes quickly festooned
with a brilliant array of flashing scarlet epaulets
and gleaming purple bodies.  I reach a break in the
head-high grass and erect a scope, examining an
engrossing distant patchwork of muddy recesses cloaked
with luxuriant Tussock Sedge.  As I scan the largest
of these, a flock of Mallards emerges, helping to part
the rising mists as they paddle into open water from
the safety of their nocturnal roost.  As my eyes reach
the end of their orderly procession, a sudden spasm of
white arrests my gaze.  I swivel my scope to the
opening from which the ducks appeared, detecting
nothing.  I scrutinize the thicker stalks of sedge,
pausing at a peculiarly stout yellow specimen. 
Twisting abruptly upward, its sudden movement is out
of sync with its windblown neighbors.  Grasses part
further as the wind intensifies, revealing a cluster
of fallen branches behind the thick vegetation.  A
wiry black stick comes into view in the immediate
foreground, and I am momentarily baffled as it rises
magically out of the mud.  Immaculate folded white
wingtips thrust to the right of the billowing grass as
the slender dark stalk compresses.  An elegant ivory
neck unfolds, tipped with the streamlined yellow shape
that piqued my curiosity.  It transforms into a
tapered bill as alabaster–white wings unfold, pulling
a pair of glistening black legs aloft.  Neck
outstretched in its eagerness to become airborne, the
Great Egret adroitly veers into a potent gust,
climbing rapidly upon stationary wings.  Stately
profile glowing in the sun, it rapidly gains altitude
as deep wing beats carry it towards the horizon.  Its
elongated outline flushes pink, a slender arrow
piercing the heart of the rising sun.

Pools of bright sunlight saturate the landscape, and I
drink in the sudden burst of detail, poring over the
crisp outlines of birch, maple and oak saplings on a
distant hillside.  A tiny flock of Black-capped
Chickadees fills tree branches rapidly reaching the
zenith of autumn color, and is soon joined by an
inquisitive band of Blue Jays.  Curiosity aroused by
their bright, energetic shapes, I glass a more
substantial expanse of trees, pondering what other
species are contained within the woodland’s depths.  I
am soon rewarded with a glimpse of the boldly striped
spiraling shape of a Black-and-white Warbler poking
and prodding the crevices of a mature Shagbark
Hickory.  Satiated, the warbler departs, appearing
eager to explore similar contiguous habitat. 
Following its example, I pluck a tattered map from a
chest pocket, single out a choice locale, and head
off, plodding slowly through the tall grass.

Stray snatches of song fall to earth, and I glance up
at an opportune moment, discerning a flock of Savannah
Sparrows descending sharply into the branches of a
weather-beaten Scotch Pine, pausing only momentarily
before scattering into the vast expanse of Joe
Pye-Weed bordering a nearby gurgling streambed.  A
gleaming brown eye returns my gaze as I canvas its
length.  Tall grass stirs.  A lively PREET!!! sails
over the underbrush.  Svelte black and brown feathers
catapult to the top of the weeds.  Having investigated
my noisy intrusion, an Eastern Towhee plummets to the
base of the vegetation, vigorously clearing a path for
itself with several yanks of its strong legs, leaf
litter scattering in its wake.  I walk parallel to the
energetic bird for some minutes, and we arrive at the
roadway simultaneously.  Its determined scratching
soon reaches a peak, and the well-groomed songster
exits the tangle with a flourish, a plump cricket
bulging in its beak.  Reaching the car, I also decide
to have my morning meal and delve into my pack for the
necessary provisions, making quick work of the last of
my supplies.  I pull onto the highway, the towhee
displaying a passing interest in my automobile,
fluttering to the top of a reflecting marker and
peering at me as I leave.  

Turkey Vultures trace lazy circles over the tops of
doughy clouds progressing on an easterly course. 
Sweeping gradually over the trees in leisurely
fashion, they drop over the scruffy tops of hemlock
and fir, arcing into the shallow valley a scant two
miles from the tiny parking lot in which I am
situated.  Sun dances through the dense conifers
bordering the wide manicured path leading away from
the sanctuary entrance, and the dew-drenched trail
glows invitingly as I work my way uphill along its
length.  A hyperactive patch of tan, yellow and black
leaps to the top of the underbrush, uttering a husky
ZECK!  A tiny head darts into view and flushes silver,
soon followed by tawny flanks mated to pinkish legs. 
Now in full sunlight, the Common Yellowthroat leaps to
a higher perch, standing its ground as I approach. 
Its brilliant throat achieves a faint iridescence,
displaying a nearly marigold hue before melting away
amongst the trunks of young birches some fifty yards
away.  The penetrating, relentless call of a Northern
Flicker fills the landscape, and I glimpse its bold
profile jutting out from the tip of an ash branch.  I
work my way slowly along the cracks and fissures of
bark surface behind the stout woodpecker, eyes
alighting upon blue and green feathers darting
furtively behind a patch of leaves.  The striking
colors quickly disappear, replaced by pale yellow legs
and a white belly dangling from a slender twig.  A
hazy eye ring sways back and forth and quickly rolls
upward, a complete avian profile swinging smartly into
view.  A soft charcoal head peers intently into the
overhanging leaves, shiny black eyes eagerly seeking
out unsuspecting insects.  White underparts washed
with gray take flight.  A pale, slender bill plucks a
pair of diaphanous wings from the glowing multitude
swarming in the damp still air.  The Parula Warbler
lands on a robust branch, gulps its meal, and darts
away into a blazing sun.

I blink, and redirect my gaze towards the surrounding
forest understory.  A peculiar pot-bellied thrush
alights, bullying its way into a cluster of poplars
and dislodging a disgruntled Gray Catbird and an
agitated American Redstart.  It darts into the
shadows, and I reverse direction to improve my view,
circling to the rear of the young deciduous trees.  I
hop methodically over stray puddles, leery of
splashing footfalls causing the bird to flee
prematurely.  I arrive at a level stretch of ground
across from the heaviest concentration of saplings. 
My flimsy lawn chair silently sinks into the
moss-covered earth as I position myself with the sun
nearly overhead.  Having eliminated my profile’s most
unsettling shadows, I allow my eyes to delve into the
recesses of the pale tree trunks still adorned with
minute, faintly shimmering tributaries of nocturnal
dew.  A squat, spear-like white plant with a notched
gray tip appears at the base of a poplar trunk.  I
study its elegant coloration, allowing my eyes to
stray over the adjacent terrain in search of others. 
Finding none, my gaze returns to its starting point to
find the somber, pointy plant replaced by a slender
pink twig.  Delicate yellow feather tufts briefly glow
against the carpet of moss and disappear.  I move my
binoculars away from my eyes, and glimpse a pudgy
shape fluttering to a halt in a jagged patch of
shadow.  My eyes fall upon another specimen of the
subdued plant, and I drink in its details.  In a
twinkling, it collapses, replaced by the even folds of
nut-brown wings.  A portly yellow belly emerges,
followed by a piercing black eye suspended within a
vivid white oval.  The base of a pale bill accentuates
the contours of a thick neck and tubby breast.  The
Connecticut Warbler continues to feed, head bobbing
and thick gray and white tail snapping upwards as it
makes its way over the plush moss, periodically
stabbing its beak into its emerald folds. It quickly
swallows a meal, throat savagely expanding and
contracting.  It turns towards me, uttering a piercing
CHEEK! and fixing me with a penetrating stare before
bolting over the nearby streambed.  I brush
accumulated mud from my knees, rising slowly from the
tight crouch required to peer into the dense
vegetation of the forest floor.  Thoroughly humbled by
the ability of the hefty warbler to evade detection, I
place my field guide in my pack, excited by the
possibilities of using my blind to investigate similar
habitat elsewhere.  

Brittle leaves descend, rattling against the emerging
skeletons of denuded branches, scudding along the
cracked pavement in fitful bursts before coming to a
halt at the edge of the thick weeds bordering the
road.  Gentle twittering percolates through the matted
grass.  Small feisty dark shapes hop nimbly along the
sandy shoulder.  Soon I am in the midst of autumn’s
first significant concentration of Dark-eyed Juncos,
foraging vigorously among the frost heaves and
potholes of the ragged asphalt.  Having depleted the
readily extracted weed seeds, they fan out into an
open field, peppering the lower branches of the White
Pine and White Oak saplings dotting the overgrown
pasture.  Nearby apple trees are filled with a restive
contingent of inquisitive Black-capped Chickadees,
musically whistling Tufted Titmice, and the radiant
blur of the caps of Golden and Ruby-crowned Kinglets. 
Cedar Waxwings devour abundant crabapple fruit with
abandon.  A family of Eastern Bluebirds looks on with
detachment from a gigantic Sugar Maple, murmuring
contentedly among themselves.

My attention drifts towards the greatest concentration
of kinglets, halting at a particularly substantial
individual making its way through the shadowy branches
of a gaunt apple tree.  I study the bird intently for
several minutes, wondering if my sense of proportion
has gone utterly awry.  Continued scrutiny reveals a
broken white eye ring and a jet-black pencil point of
a bill that appears identical to those of its
companions.  Two Ruby-crowned Kinglets obligingly dip
into view, quickly closing ranks with the larger bird,
a leviathan by comparison.  Sharp differences in
overall coloration appear as the sun sweeps through
the branches.  The kinglets’ white wing bars and light
gray bellies contrast sharply with the moss-green
color scheme of the bulky stranger, whose more
leisurely feeding style is easily distinguished from
that of its frenzied companions.  The unidentified
bird assumes a more sedate perch, primping its
feathers before becoming stationary.  A thin dark
brown line appears at the outer edge of a folded wing.
 As if attempting an introduction, one of the
Ruby-crowned Kinglets lands inches from the olive-hued
bird, sizing it up and uttering a diagnostic DEED-IT!
before returning to the varied ranks of the restless
mixed flock.  I train a scope upon lackluster
feathers, picking out faint gray stripes upon an
otherwise featureless breast and abdomen.  White
undertail coverts flash into view as the bird pivots
to take in the landscape behind it.  Unimpressed, it
returns to its original position, an abbreviated eye
stripe betraying the faintest hint of yellow.  The
Orange-crowned Warbler flits into the underbrush,
following the last remnants of the feeding flock down
the slope into the trees on the south side of the
road.  

Raspy, conversational notes drop from the interior of
a plump maple.  Enveloped in the merciless corona of
the sun, a thick silhouette appears amidst the agile
darting shapes of feeding Black-throated Green
Warblers.  I step behind the tree’s massive split
trunk.  Snow-white wing bars and buttercup-yellow
flanks materialize out of the hazy glare and snap
smartly into view.  Deep black eyes consumed with a
sudden curiosity study me intently.  Having determined
that I will do harm, their gaze is promptly redirected
towards the swirling mass of nearby insects.  A
brilliant white eye ring gleams expectantly at full
attention.  Gaze intensifying into a withering stare
and locking upon the choicest of the winged morsels, a
Blue-headed Vireo mounts a spirited and successful
feeding foray, its tar-black bill soon closing upon
prey with grim precision.  I pick my way up a steep,
moss-covered slope, pausing mid-way along its height
to sift through a blotchy cloud of noisy icterids
proceeding on a westerly course directly overhead.  My
ears sift through their pleasant din, seizing upon
erratic multipart whistles as the swarming birds dip
closer to the earth.  The austere upper reaches of a
dying White Oak thin the flock’s ranks, pockets of
birds snarling in its branches.  Thick, gleaming
mandibles part, and a cluster of Brown-headed Cowbirds
sounds off, peals of liquid chatter drifting through
the air, a chaotic aural complement to the bursts of
colorful autumn leaves tossed fitfully on the wind.  A
lithe belly displaying a patchwork of black, gray, and
brown skims the treetops, and the garrulous chatter of
the hordes of Red-winged Blackbirds, Common Grackles
and Starlings surges to a crescendo.  Landing at the
tip of a hickory, a well-groomed raptor settles more
comfortably on its perch, appearing mildly surprised
that its arrival has caused such a commotion.  The
immaculate American Kestrel calmly presides over the
departure of the enormous mixed flock, swiveling its
head to take in the clamor of frantic wings audibly
stirring the air above it.  The last of the agitated
specks recede over the tree line, and silence returns.
 

I descend into the shade of the roadway, my boots
sinking noiselessly into the moist earth filling the
curves of the hillside.  Relieved to be on level
ground once more, I continue hiking east, stopping
occasionally to glass the boundaries of the overgrown
fields on either side of the road.

JECK!

The piercing call note repeats, and I freeze.
Convinced it is originating from a point above and
behind me, I turn slowly, scrutinizing the barer
branches of a huge oak, the most likely source of the
strangely percussive sound.  Several sets of white
wing bars dance among the leaves, and I excitedly scan
their ranks, delighted to encounter another
substantial concentration of birds offering easy
viewing.  The birds utter a continual stream of flat,
emphatic JECK! call notes, their buffy throats soon
ablaze in the sun.  Nondescript gray bellies inch
along the branches, abruptly vanishing as they spring
into the air to pursue the growing numbers of insects.
 A pair of corn-colored legs secures a perch amidst
one of the few clusters of green leaves remaining on
the most prominent of the oak’s branches.  Brightening
considerably in improving light, they propel an ochre
breast and dingy gray belly into the air.  I step back
some twenty yards, taking in the flock in its
entirety.  Surprised to find it comprised completely
of one species, I continue to soak in subtle
variations of tan and green, my eyes lingering over
prim scapulars streaked with black.  I shift my gaze
to the left, glimpsing a thin bill opening wide and
issuing a series of familiar, penetrating high notes
that gradually rise and fall.  Tiny throat feathers
become pulsing pinpricks of light as the bird’s upper
body swells in the sun with a supreme effort, its
throat and chest quaking as each note sails into the
surrounding canopy.  Taken aback at hearing such
vigorous song from a Blackpoll Warbler at this time of
year, I am disappointed to see it fly away, quickly
catching up with its comrades and continuing to feed. 



American Crow        48
American Goldfinch        26
American Kestrel        2
American Pipit        4
American Redstart        2
American Robin        98
Bald Eagle        3
Bay-breasted Warbler        1
Belted Kingfisher        3
Black-and-White Warbler        5
Blackburnian Warbler         1
Black-capped Chickadee        13
Blackpoll Warbler        22
Black-throated Blue Warbler        2
Black-throated Green Warbler        16
Blue Jay        24
Blue-headed Vireo        3
Bobolink        15
Broad-winged Hawk        18
Brown Creeper        4
Brown-headed Cowbird        8
Canada Goose        79
Cape May Warbler         1
Carolina Wren        2
Cedar Waxwing        38
Chipping Sparrow        11
Common Grackle        147
Common Raven        2
Common Yellowthroat        4
Connecticut Warbler        1
Cooper's Hawk         1
Dark-eyed Junco        24
Double-crested Cormorant        14
Downy Woodpecker        3
Eastern Bluebird        5
Eastern Phoebe        5
Eastern Screech Owl        1
Eastern Towhee        3
Eastern Wood Peewee        1
European Starling        236
Golden-crowned Kinglet        10
Gray Catbird        11
Great Blue Heron        2
Great Egret        1
Hairy Woodpecker        1
Hermit Thrush        2
Horned Grebe        1
House Finch        1
House Wren        4
Indigo Bunting        2
Killdeer        7
Lincoln's Sparrow        1
Magnolia Warbler         1
Mallard        21
Merlin        1
Mourning Dove        16
Northern Cardinal        2
Northern Flicker        4
Northern Harrier        1
Northern Mockingbird        1
Orange-crowned Warbler        1
Osprey        1
Ovenbird        3
Palm Warbler        1
Parula Warbler        1
Pied-billed Grebe        1
Pileated Woodpecker        2
Pine Warbler         7
Prairie Warbler        1
Purple Finch        1
Red-bellied Woodpecker        4
Red-breasted Nuthatch        5
Red-eyed Vireo        7
Red-tailed Hawk        1
Red-winged Blackbird        212
Ring-billed Gull        1
Rose-breasted Grosbeak        1
Ruby-crowned Kinglet        9
Ruby-throated Hummingbird        1
Savannah Sparrow        15
Scarlet Tanager        1
Sharp-shinned Hawk        1
Song Sparrow        15
Swamp Sparrow        7
Tufted Titmouse        13
Turkey Vulture        6
Veery        1
White-breasted Nuthatch        8
White-crowned Sparrow (imm.)        1
White-throated Sparrow        6
Wild Turkey        14
Winter Wren        1
Wood Duck        7
Yellow-bellied Sapsucker        1
Yellow-rumped Warbler        22

Curved evergreen boughs emerge through the mist.  As
erratic rain droplets spatter against my optics, a
warm yellow dot drops into view, its crisp outlines
slowly blurring and streaking.  The drizzle
intensifies, and the perky figure dissolves completely
in a gauzy smear.  The only sign of life in the
fog-cloaked landscape, it utters a wiry call note and
disappears with a flicker of olive-hued wings.  I
negotiate the slope at the southern tip of the bridge
traversing the streambed that has held my interest,
pursuing the tiny silhouette into its new hiding place
within the crevices of a Hemlock branch overhanging
the foaming waters.  A glimmer of crimson appears,
smoldering against the inky blackness filling the
underside of the bridge.  The Golden-crowned Kinglet
examines the contours of an eddy on the opposite side
of the stream, utterly absorbed by the tiny insects
darting fifteen feet away from the tip of its bill. 
After some moments of intensive study, it dashes into
their midst, scattering the small swarm, alighting on
the far bank with one of their number clenched between
its mandibles, glowing red crest plainly visible.  

Clear whistles play upon the breeze, bright clusters
of triplets floating down from the gray gloom.  Four
squat bodies undulate over the coniferous canopy,
surveying the vast array of available perches in a
leisurely fashion.  At last singling out the upper
reaches of a declining Sugar Maple, they land in an
orderly cluster, preening smart black wing feathers to
gleaming perfection in the intermittent bursts of
sunshine struggling through the unsettled atmosphere. 
Cold water clutches at my extremities, my unconscious
movement of legs and feet having shifted me into
deeper water.  Shuffling awkwardly towards the crest
of the streambed, I clamber through the slick weedy
tangle at the edge of the roadway and amble south,
waterlogged boots and socks squishing merrily against
the unforgiving asphalt.  I return to the car, taking
advantage of its secluded location to change into dry
trousers and footwear.  Emerging into daylight from
the dark parking lot, I hike north once again, probing
the interiors of the huge Hemlocks with binoculars. 
As brash Blue Jays sprint out of the depths of the
forest, a human shape appears on the north side of the
road.  A familiar face comes into view, grinning with
anticipation.  Having found no other birders at our
predetermined rendezvous point, we resign ourselves to
being the only participants in the morning’s scheduled
birding trip.  We pause briefly to establish an
itinerary and are soon underway.  We work our way
through a clearing surrounded by thick White Pine, the
insistent calling of Red-breasted Nuthatches meeting
our ears as the landscape’s details present themselves
in full daylight.  Dew glistening on our boot tops, we
dislodge a wriggling tan and black shape from the
drenched grass.  A Pickerel Frog bounds away from us
as we stoop to gain a better view.  The conversational
cadence of the burry notes falling from the deciduous
canopy overhead reveals a Blue-headed Vireo.  Ungainly
juvenile American Robins peer from the shrubbery,
studying us with bottomless black eyes as we make our
way towards a massive bridge abutting a vast swamp
brimming with Tussock Sedge and ablaze with Orange
Jewelweed.  The distinctive call notes of a Common
Yellowthroat absorb us, and we are quickly rewarded
with superb views of two specimens.  As they disappear
into the vegetation, we witness the arrival of Downy
and Hairy Woodpeckers.  Both species call vigorously
for several minutes, and two zebra-striped shapes of
vastly differing size swoop into view, alighting upon
separate snags some thirty feet apart directly in
front of us.  Welcoming the opportunity to compare and
contrast the two species, we study each at length
until the two birds bolt away into clearing skies. 
Glancing downwards as we traipse into darkened
woodlands, a luxuriant carpet of Partridge Berry
stretches up the hill before us, its scarlet drupes
lighting our way.  We clamber determinedly up the
steep gradient, and my companion comes to a halt, keen
eyes having discerned furtive movement amidst the
chaotic tumble of ferns and boulders.  A sprightly
ball of feathers dashes to the top of a rocky
outcropping.  A short, tentative jumble of notes
twinkles gaily, filling the vast slope and echoing
around us.  We eagerly seek out its source, eyes
locking onto the bright flesh-colored base of the bill
of a juvenile Winter Wren.  Delighted to have such
fine views of a notoriously elusive species, we follow
its haphazard movements until it melts into the tangle
surrounding a gargantuan glacial erratic.  Marveling
at its size, our eyes wander into the leafy forest
canopy surrounding its upper edge.  We glass the
contours of a shattered deciduous tree trunk, a white
belly and black throat dropping noiselessly into
bright sunlight, black bill locked around a struggling
moth.  Blessed with a more accommodating view, we
study the bird’s coloration at length, determining it
to be a juvenile Black-throated Green Warbler. 
Continuing our climb, Black-capped Chickadees and
Tufted Titmice call steadily, enticing us further
towards the top of the hill.  Stopping suddenly, my
fellow birder jabs a finger downwards towards the
trail in front of me.  An orange “S” shaped outline
flecked with searing red dots bordered with black
glows against the dark soil.  I pause to examine a Red
Eft thoroughly before stepping gingerly around it.  

Arriving at a spacious three-way intersection, we are
drawn to the steady pulse of nearby rushing water.  A
whistled call rises and falls, and we hike along the
overgrown borders of a streambed dotted with hummocks
of dry gravel.  The thin call repeats, and we add
Eastern Wood Pewee to the morning’s total.  I call my
companion’s attention to the location where an
Olive-sided Flycatcher was seen in late May, and we
wade through a riot of Orange Jewelweed to the water’s
edge.  Elegant beige shapes drop out of the heavens,
peppering the branches of an enormous dead pine.  Eyed
through binoculars, they prove to be a compact flock
of Cedar Waxwings.  As activity stirs in a pine to the
right of the waxwings, the call of a Common Flicker
slices through the clouds.  A smudge of yellow and
green morphs into a Pine Warbler, and our views of the
bird improve as it slowly advances to the end of a
bare branch.  A nondescript patch of brown at the tip
of a large snag proves to be an unobtrusive Eastern
Phoebe calmly studying the landscape.  We return to
the trail, stopping to admire a lush stand of Royal
Fern.  Clomping our way back to level ground, we
arrive at a second bridge situated high above the
serpentine dimensions of an oxbow in the river below. 
After a picturesque and restorative respite, we embark
upon the trip’s return leg.  After an uneventful
interval, feathers stir in the recesses of a nearby
pine grove.  Sustained observation reveals Cedar
Waxwings and Pine Warblers feeding in a substantial
mixed flock.  Standing stock still, we study their
darting shapes, relishing first-rate views until the
group gradually disbands, thinning until the glen is
completely silent.

We move on, halting within a dozen paces as a stray
snatch of song catches my companion’s ear.  A blotch
of brown and white proves to be a Brown Creeper that
promptly disappears from view.  Our patience is
rewarded after some minutes.  The bird swivels into
sight against a tree trunk, feeding determinedly
before taking flight, quickly engulfed by the leaves
on the opposite side of the trail.  Plush pine needles
muffle our footfalls as we plod uphill once more.  I
come to a complete stop, suddenly aware of only one
pair of boots stirring the forest litter stretching
behind us.  I turn to see my friend peering over a
steep slope covered with fallen branches.  Tip-toeing
to his vantage point, I ask what is holding his
attention.  Shadows stir.  Streaming sunbeams
illuminate a heap of dead branches directly before
him, and he points at a Hermit Thrush hopping through
the detritus into the open.  Its tawny shape scurries
towards the protective folds of the felled timber.  I
savor a momentary glimpse of the bird, one only
marginally better than that enjoyed by my companion. 
Satisfied that it has moved on, we continue our trek.
Serenaded by Red-breasted Nuthatches, we stroll
through the open glade we passed through at the
beginning of our hike.  Black-capped Chickadees call
periodically from the Hemlock stands as we approach
the parking lot.  Concluding a conversation focusing
upon the enduring quality and diversity of the habitat
we have explored, we exchange goodbyes, rummaging
through our cluttered car interiors as our minds and
bodies are drawn slowly back to a weekend morning’s
more quotidian activities.  


American Goldfinch        4
American Robin        14
Black-and-white Warbler        3
Black-capped Chickadee        6
Black-throated Green Warbler        1
Blue Jay        11
Blue-headed Vireo        1
Brown Creeper        1
Cedar Waxwing        25
Common Flicker        1
Common Yellowthroat        2
Downy Woodpecker        2
Eastern Phoebe        3
Eastern Wood Pewee        1
Golden-crowned Kinglet        1
Gray Catbird        3
Hairy Woodpecker        1
Hermit Thrush        1
Pine Warbler        21
Red-breasted Nuthatch        5
Tufted Titmouse        5
Winter Wren        1


Plants:

Jack-in-the-Pulpit
Partridge Berry
Royal Fern

Amphibians:

Pickerel Frog
Red Eft

Mammals:

Red Squirrel

Impenetrable fog combined with driving rain pouring
from billowing gray clouds proved insurmountable
barriers to the observation of Common Nighthawks at
the Quabbin Aqueduct Airshaft immediately north of the
intersection of Taylor Hill and Brook Roads in
Hardwick on August 27, 2006.   Any birds that were
present remained invisible to this observer. 

These meteorological conditions, however, were  no
obstacle to the twilight feeding activities of a 
surprising number of robust, enterprising passerines. 
 A hardy flock of Rough-winged and Barn Swallows,
utterly unfazed by the severely inclement weather, fed
voraciously with their usual degree of agility and
tenacity.   A trio of doughty Mallards bullied their
way through the relentless downpour, executing a
perfect landing upon the surface of Aqueduct Pond with
a whir of eerily glittering purple speculae.  They
serenely paddled by an equally detached Great Blue
Heron, shrewdly ensconced in the leeward side of a
vast expanse of Tussock Sedge.  A cluster of American
Robins lined the inner branches of an enormous White
Pine directly across from my observation point atop
the mine tailings, calmly preening and murmuring
amongst themselves.

A temporary cessation of the deluge proved sufficient
motivation for a Common Flicker to take to the air,
its white uppertail coverts achieving an incandescent
glow as its stout body undulated through the gloom.  
An insouciant House Wren sprang to the top of a
cluster of Common Juniper six feet from my pack, took
the measure of  my activities, and retreated within
the conifer's   sheltered base, from which it babbled
gaily for some fifteen minutes.   Concluding its
serenade, it plunged downslope into a pocket of birch
saplings at the base of the tailings. Eyes fixed upon
Aqueduct Pond, its surface now frothing from the
onslaught of rain drops, I glimpsed a stalwart pair of
Belted Kingfishers curving along its western border,
chattering noisily as they surveyed the churning
shallows beneath them.  One of the birds turned
abruptly, gamely hovering over the water, while its
mate alighted upon a fallen branch jutting out from
the pond's surface.  Meeting with no success, it
quickly joined its companion, seeking out a perch
immediately above it, partially sheltered from the
elements by a luxuriant Willow sapling.    

The downpour intensified.  Driving rain and dense fog
enveloped the horizon, and I made one last sweep of
the landscape with my binoculars.  Detecting nothing,
I abandoned hopes of viewing any Common Nighthawks
within the established observation time frame and
directed my attention to the steep northern slope of
the airshaft tailings directly behind me.  Throughout
the course of the evening, occasional call notes and
the unmistakable patter of songbirds flitting about
within the protective folds of vegetation met my ears,
but probing the murky atmosphere for Nighthawks had
proved more engaging.  Deciding that it was impossible
to become more bedraggled than I presently was, I
plunged into the foliage.  To my surprise, the
interior of the thick shrubbery provided welcome
relief from the constant rain.  I compressed my frame
still further by fitting myself with kneepads and
peering out into the soupy open air.   

A tiny voice mocked my efforts.

HEY-SWEETIE!

With this refrain sounding a great deal more like
YOU'RE-SOGGY, I slowly peaked over my left shoulder,
gaze returned  by that of an inquisitive band of
Black-capped Chickadees and Tufted Titmice. Fluttering
wings danced upon my ear drums as the group moved in
for a closer look at the hulking onlooker.   Having
exhausted patience as well as dry clothes, I was quite
content to savor the most intimate birding of the
evening.  Motionless,  I rediscovered forgotten field
marks.  The delicate whiskers at the base of the bills
of the titmice and the delicate brown lining the
flanks of both species acquired new interest.    As 
the wind gathered strength and pelted me with fresh
run-off from the leaves above, the tiny band moved
off, seeking out drier confines within the juniper
below.   After wringing out sleeve cuffs and donning a
headlamp, I  sidestepped down to the gurgling
airshaft.  On level ground once more,  I dashed back
to my car's creature comforts, stunned by the silence
of its interior.

American Robin 15
Mallard 3
Rough-winged Swallow 11
Barn Swallow 8
Cedar Waxwing 5
Belted Kingfisher 2
Hairy Woodpecker 1
Mourning Dove 1
Eastern Kingbird 2
Gray Catbird 1
Downy Woodpecker 1
Black-capped Chickadee 5
Tufted Titmouse 3
Common Flicker 1
Great Blue Heron 1
House Wren 1

I rearrange tree limbs in mid stride, unleashing a
volley of droplets. I sidestep down the slippery
hillside, hiking staff stabbing frantically into the
soft ground as I struggle to maintain my balance upon
hazardous footing. A monstrous glacial erratic looms
into view.  Extending my arm, I arrest my startling,
unwanted surge of acceleration, my hand making contact
with the unyielding behemoth with a mercifully gentle
thump.  I catch my breath, leaning against the granite
leviathan.  Finding the sloping upper half of the
boulder a convenient place to deposit my pack beyond
the clammy recesses of the soggy underbrush, I extract
binoculars and probe the distant branches bordering
the farm field below.  

Swaying branches part.  Piercing yellow eyes return my
gaze.  A prominent curved bill at the tip of a
disheveled blob of brown feathers twitches
erratically.  As it utters a steady stream of raspy
CHECK! notes, the ragged fledgling struggles to retain
its perch upon the bobbing branch. The clumsy
youngster's attempts to flap its wings occur at
ill-timed intervals, its movements expanding its
bodily dimensions  at moments when the capricious wind
strengthens.  Buffeted by the repeated stiffening of
the air current, its resolve and expertise slowly
increase. Fitfully arranging itself with its head
projecting into the airflow, it streamlines its
profile, firmly anchoring itself at last. As the
turbulence subsides, the ungainly young bird acquires
an ennobling composure, preening the glossy chestnut
streaks adorning its breast and stretching onto its
flanks and belly.  Grooming complete, its expectant
eyes dart eagerly over its surroundings.  The gangly
juvenile bird quickly assumes a fully erect posture,
its attention held by movement in the leaves over its
head.  A brick-red adult Brown Thrasher drops out of
the foliage, expertly situating itself above its
offspring and nimbly stuffing a green caterpillar into
its yawning chasm of a mouth. Satiated, the young bird
settles more comfortably on its perch, silently
contemplating the lush grass beneath it.  Eyes fixed
upon something of interest below, its head freezes,
body taut with anticipation.  With a well-executed
shove of its robust legs, it springs off of the
branch, adroitly descending into a dewy tangle and
quickly emerging with a plump Red-legged Locust
clenched in its decurved bill, mustard colored thorax
and crimson hind legs disappearing in a single
swallow.    Perhaps buoyed by its success, the lanky
youngster tests its wings once more, its energetic
flapping lifting it aloft, sending it on a course
along the stone wall, glowing eyes peering intently at
its myriad cracks and fissures.   Landing between two
grapefruit-sized stones, it pecks eagerly at the space
between them.   The upper half of its body disappears,
bobbing in and out of the cramped crevice.  Emerging
with a gleaming Field Cricket, it flails its
molasses-colored body against a nearby stone.  The
pudgy insect vanishes in a twinkling, the thrasher's
surprisingly capacious throat closing around its spiky
legs. 

Second meal concluded, the juvenile thrasher plunges
into the lush grass surrounding the base of the wall. 
It continues to forage, jaunty cinnamon tail flashing
above the dewy tips of the grass blades.  I crane my
neck upwards, sunbeams dancing crazily through the
canopy.  Leaves jostle.  A silvery, needle-tipped bill
points downward.  A stuttering, burry rattle fills the
air.  A soft elongated smear of tangerine feathers
rapidly descends through the dripping branches.  I
flinch, anticipating a near collision.  Wings flutter
and close.  Hardy black feet and legs secure
themselves around a slender branch.  Sporting a rakish
black mask and a crown mottled with black, orange, and
brown, the feathered onlooker appears intrigued by the
thrasher’s activities.  It utters a piercing whistle,
advancing slowly along the branch’s length as it peers
into the vegetation below.  The grass parts and
closes, the thrasher continuing its aggressive search
for prey.  Absorbed, the newly arrived spectator darts
into full view, an off-white wingbar and squash
colored underparts easily seen as it lands upon an
exposed perch. Comfortably settled, it begins to sing,
haphazard whistles filling the air.  Concluding what
appears to be an unproductive period of feeding, the
Brown Thrasher leaps out of the tangle, flapping up a
shallow slope, dipping out of sight into a bank of
Blackberry bushes.  The newcomer stops singing.  It
watches the departing thrasher disappear into the
distance, and after a brief interval, pipes up once
more.  Eyeing a more enticing perch above it, the
juvenile Baltimore Oriole sprints upwards in a flurry
of black and orange wings.  I step forward cautiously,
welcoming the chance to improve my view of the bird
upon its more elevated new perch.  Surveying the
pasture beyond, it continues to sing.  Finding the
woodland border more appealing, it is airborne once
again, gliding into the top of a Black Oak, remaining
only momentarily before falling back into the more
heavily forested portion of the woodland abutting the
wall. 

Glassing the expanse beyond the wall shimmering in the
afternoon sun, my eyes are drawn to three beleaguered
apple trees dotted with prodigious Tent Caterpillar
Moth nests. Hopping over a dip in the wall free of
barbed wire, I advance steadily through profuse stands
of Canada Goldenrod and stately Queen Anne’s Lace. 
Sudden movement holds my interest.  Two startled blobs
of feathers flit away from me as I negotiate the
shallow slope.  I come to a stop, focusing upon the
Honeysuckle into which they have retreated.  One of
the birds lands at its top while the other dashes into
its interior.  As sunlight plays through the stray
gaps in the ample shrub, an anonymous dot of yellow
and green nervously jumps from branch to branch at my
cautious approach.  My boots crunch through a stray
fallen sapling. The sudden noise sends it scurrying
into view to investigate the noisy intrusion.  Now
perched in the open, its inquisitive, bright-eyed
stare is all that saves it from presenting an utterly
lackluster appearance.  I study its featureless upper
body, waiting for it to shift position to allow for
additional field marks to present themselves. 
Accommodating my desires, it presents a full profile
as it turns away from me to study an insect.  I
glimpse an afterthought of white streaking above its
legs.  The evenness of its predominantly yellow color
scheme coupled with patches of faded lime green
adorning its scapulars narrows the list of possible
species.  I examine its short, pallid tail, stopping
at the wan blotches of yellow at its edge.  Having
tired of scrutinizing me, it scurries away, yellow
tail patches fully exposed as it takes flight, ducking
into the dark tangle of a nearby Multiflora Rose bush.
 Happy to have had an opportunity to become
reacquainted with the salient features of an immature
female Yellow Warbler, I continue hiking towards the
cottony caterpillar nests.  My thoughts abruptly
return to the second of the shapes I saw moments ago,
swallowed whole by the mammoth Honeysuckle.  I
postpone investigation of the apple trees and retrace
my steps.  A swelling breeze carries the shrub’s
delightful scent down the slope while I plod towards
its opposite side.  Pleased to have the sun at my
back, I yank down my broad-brimmed hat over my neck
and squint through binoculars, poring over the myriad
hiding places contained within it.  

SZIP.

I turn my head, attempting to determine the direction
from which the faint call note is originating. 
Silence follows, and my curiosity intensifies.  I
squat against the shallow slope, peering at the shady
gap between the Honeysuckle and the ground.  The wind
subsides and minutes pass.

PLINK!

A flush of red spreads over six inches of earth
beneath the lowest of the blossoms.  A brilliant male
Northern Cardinal appears, smoldering scarlet bill
surrounded by a coal-black mask repeatedly opening and
closing as it sounds a series of alarm notes. 
Concerned and befuddled at the presence of an ungainly
observer studying it from such an unlikely vantage
point, it hops towards me, eyes darting over my frame.
 Its protests diminish in volume and frequency until
it is silent, satisfied that I will do no harm.  It
jumps into the midst of the Honeysuckle blossoms,
briefly investigating them before departing, landing
in the midsection of a nearby Hickory sapling. 
Realizing I have been distracted from my primary
intention, I return my gaze to the foliage directly
before me, a grapefruit-sized gap in the leaves
immediately falling into my field of view.  Perhaps
drawn into the open by the Cardinal’s insistent
warning, a gray head materializes within it. The weak
note that drew my attention moments ago repeats,
traveling easily through the still air.  I bring the
somber dot into better focus, its uniform gray tone
accented by a pocket of white at its center.  A white
throat and a warm yellow breast streaked with black at
its edges follow.  A tail twitches, fleshing out the
bird’s contours.  Another call note drops from a tiny
bill.  The juvenile Prairie Warbler sprints to a young
shoot of Multiflora Rose, underestimating the force of
its impact upon the slender vegetation, pitching and
rolling as it clings to the swaying stalk.  Stationary
at last, its eager eyes quickly scan the air for
insects.  Finding none, it exits the scene, bounding
over the thorny jungle and disappearing into a stand
of young Birches.  

Returning to the path my boots have worn in the matted
grass, I plot the best approach to the apple trees. 
Eager to discover what flora and fauna they harbor, I
pick my way slowly through the most daunting stands of
Multiflora Rose and Barberry, stepping slowly through
them to avoid flushing birds.  After some minutes of
careful hiking, underbrush no longer clutches at my
feet, calves, and ankles.  Puzzled, I take in my
surroundings.  I am relieved at the sudden
sure-footedness found within the clearing I have
entered, and I unfold a portable seat close to a Black
Cherry, pleased to survey the terrain in the comfort
of its shade.  I train a spotting scope on a distant
Willow, unable to resist probing the hiding places
within its generous interior.  A vivid speck appears
in a flurry of wings.  A male Indigo Bunting flits
into bright sun, enlivening the dull green leafy bough
with its riveting sapphire profile before returning to
the tree’s cooler recesses.  The sun continues its
relentless climb, its potent afternoon heat stinging
the backs of my hands.  I rise to go, pondering what
birds are exploiting the abundant nearby caterpillars.
 I approach the highest of the nests, astonished at
the number of quivering denizens inhabiting its
interior.  I retreat hastily, less than enthusiastic
at the prospect of one of the wriggling caterpillars
dropping down inside my collar.  Withdrawing to a safe
distance, I set up a scope, focusing it upon the most
exposed nest.  I alternate my gaze between its dense
surface and the distant aerobatics of abundant Tree
and Barn Swallows.  Frequent glassing of the nests for
nearly half an hour reveals no avian activity.  The
allure of the swallows increases as they scissor to
and fro against high thin cirrus clouds...

KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KA-KOWWWP…KOWWWP…KOWWWP…KOWWWP…

Startled, I wheel around, struggling to get a bearing
on the explosive, guttural sounds.  I bring binoculars
to bear upon the caterpillars, taking in all of the
nests and the surrounding foliage.  A crisp black “V”
filled with white juts out from a slender branch.  A
narrow strip of interlocking white ovals and black
diamonds protrudes from a cluster of whip-thin young
branches.  A satin-smooth white belly and throat
complement the impressive tail.  A placid brown eye
ringed with yellow returns my stare.  Flapping to a
perch situated directly above a grotesque chestnut
brown horde of teeming caterpillars, the Yellow-billed
Cuckoo quickly decimates their ranks.  Adroitly
jumping from one vantage point to the next, it gulps
one brightly striped body after another with
remarkable speed.  It denudes nearly a third of the
nest’s readily accessible surface area in a scant five
minutes, leaving the upper portion of the nest as
clean and smooth as a new handkerchief.  

KOWP!

Rufous feathers flash.  A second bird lands on a
smaller nest to the left of the first, plucking
squirming brown bodies from the translucent nest fiber
with equal aplomb.  It commences feeding by snatching
caterpillars foolish enough to crawl away against bare
bark.  Quickly working its way to the upper edge of
the nest, seven finger-like bodies promptly vanish. 
Having depleted its border, it adopts the strategy of
the first bird, head twitching as it scans the nest’s
periphery for perches from which it can crane its neck
and bill down to savage the caterpillars’ ranks. 
Identical results are achieved.  I step back several
yards and study the outlines of both nests.  Tapered
furry shapes, aware they are under siege, slowly
writhe and twist their way into the center of each. 
Appetites satisfied, the birds ignore the smallest of
the three nests, content to assume secluded nearby
perches, languid brown eyes occasionally peering down
at me as I shift position, advancing towards them with
measured footsteps.  I savor the streamlined contours
of each, their elongated profiles drooping over
gnarled apple branches with an easy grace.  

I hike out of the grove, wading into soggy waist high
grass.  The air soon glitters with the wings of
countless dragonflies scattering at my approach.  From
its perch atop a young Willow, an Eastern Phoebe
surveys the scene with wide-eyed wonder, quickly
surrounded by their shimmering forms.  I am also
engrossed by the tumult, and I decide to sit quietly
and wait for the commotion to subside.  Gleaming,
translucent wings soon affix themselves to the tip of
every nearby weed stalk, and I pan my scope along
their expanse.  Pausing only momentarily, a cluster of
hyperactive Common Green Darners is soon airborne,
resuming their ceaseless search for prey.  A troupe of
equally peripatetic Wandering Gliders follows,
slender, golden bodies tipped with ruby eyes detaching
in quick succession from stalks of Canada Goldenrod
and Boneset.  Marvels of maneuverability, the two
species mount continual sorties over the moist dip in
the landscape.  Eyes returning to the weed tops, I
study the stationary species before me.  The dazzling
white thoraxes of Common Whitetails soon hold my
attention.  My eyes move upwards, tracing their bold
black outer wing patches.  I sweep the scope steadily
to the left, stopping short at a robust weed stalk
draped with unfamiliar narrow black and yellow
blossoms.  Vivid yellow triangles separated by flecks
of black are bordered by tiny horizontal yellow
streaks.  A network of amber veins anchors the base of
delicate wings.  Bulging brown eyes acquire a metallic
sheen in the bright sun.  I move my seat to the left,
my shadow falling upon the tight cluster of insects. 
One of them springs aloft upon chattering wings at the
unexpected motion, brilliant outline hovering in the
light.  Soon joined by the two remaining Calico
Pennant dragonflies, the trio makes a rapid exit,
scattering as I stand to view them in my binoculars. 
They zig-zag away over the vegetation.  Arriving at a
safe distance from the sudden disturbance, they trace
tight circles above a pocket of Meadowsweet, alighting
amidst the fuzzy stamens adorning the coral pink
blossoms with flickering glassy wings.  A flock of
Barn and Rough-winged Swallows also find the area a
productive feeding ground, twisting and diving after
the tiny insects that also hold the dragonflies’
interest.  

I glance up as the hot afternoon sun approaches the
horizon.  Fierce, concentrated heat forces me to
squint, temporarily breaking my concentration.  I
readjust my hat to shield my scope’s eyepiece from the
distracting glare.  I am suddenly aware of the length
of my absorption with the present assortment of birds
and insects.  As the sun begins its descent, its last
rays stream over the landscape, illuminating its
features with a last burst of rich detail.  Coupled
with the clear conditions that have prevailed
throughout the day, the sunlight briefly brings the
distant eastern sky and horizon into razor-sharp
focus.  I scope the tree line, locking onto a flock of
Mourning Doves whirring through one of the remaining
patches of pure blue.  As the distant whistling of
their wings reaches my ears, I notice plumage details
often unseen in the field.  The upper surfaces of
their tails flash into view as the flock veers towards
the meadow below.  Now showcased in their full
splendor under the simmering pink orb of the setting
sun, I glimpse their warm beige centers, neatly
inverted arrowheads bordered with polished gray,
dramatic black and radiant white. 

I direct my gaze higher in anticipation of observing
other birds standing out in stark relief against the
sky.  My eyes seize upon a disembodied boomerang
shaped profile ascending with supreme ease and
unearthly speed, briefly assuming a raffish
representation of the numeral “3” before vanishing
from view.  I continue to move my binoculars along the
eerie shape’s trajectory, gambling it will reappear
along my line of sight.  An unmistakable vermiculated
belly comes into view, and my nerves quake with
excitement.  I blink.  The leading edges of long,
limber underwings take shape, peppered with spots and
mated to trailing edges accented with black barring. 
The suave figure of an adult Peregrine Falcon sizes up
the Mourning Doves below.  As if drawn by an
electromagnet, the streamlined raptor stoops out of
the sun’s glare.  Utterly invisible to the fawn
colored specks, it closes with jaw-dropping speed,
striking the lower edge of the flock.  Panicked doves
peel away in every direction.  Having removed the
slowest flying of the doves from the air with surgical
precision, it spirals smoothly downward, landing on
the elbow of a massive Willow branch.  Sensing human
eyes upon it, the falcon glances up briefly while
mantling its prey, svelte head accented with bold
sideburns pumping up and down, then tilting cagily
from side to side.  Having established its dominion,
it fastidiously removes clumps of feathers from the
dove’s breast.  Dining with gusto, its head bobs
eagerly in and out of its chest cavity.  In an effort
to leave the falcon undisturbed, I slowly collapse my
tripod, laboriously muffling the sharp snap of meshing
segments with gloved hands.  Wrapping the gleaming
legs in an olive green poncho, I exit quietly.  

ZINK! EEEERK! OIK! CHEK!

Puzzled by the hail of grating notes pelting my ears,
I come to a full stop.  The falcon’s hunting
activities have not gone unnoticed, and I reap the
dividend of parsing a massive flock of birds streaming
overhead.  My head pans along the length of a steady
surge of icterids fleeing the agile raptor, making
their way to a nearby nocturnal roost.  I study a
rising tide of crisp, square, gently undulating tails
and crimson epaulets.  A sizable flock of Red-winged
Blackbirds trickles through, followed by a gaggle of
American Robins in total disarray, their alarm notes
slicing through the air as their forms fragment and
tumble into the safety of distant trees.  The ebony
silhouettes of Common Grackles broom up the laggard
Robins and blackbirds, uttering harsh cries of BACK!
BACK! BACK! as they are swallowed whole by the molten
orange edge of the waning sun.  

Twilight approaches.  I squish my way out of the damp
tangle, slowly working my way back to the road under
an enormous full moon rising rapidly into a rich
purple sky.  I clamber into the car and plot a course
towards a tract of particularly choice, open terrain
offering drier footing.  I steal furtive glances at a
favorite field guide while idling at an empty
intersection, hoping the dry roadbed I am approaching
will yield a fresh crop of mammalian tracks.  I
extinguish headlights, gliding to a halt alongside
pancake flat loam and gravel glowing invitingly in the
moonlight.  I exit the car and walk slowly along the
roadway, a rejuvenating breeze the only sound in a
landscape otherwise enveloped in silence.  A series of
tiny cone-shaped depressions lend a pockmarked
appearance to the tawny sand, and I stoop to examine
them.  Further study of the perfectly symmetrical
dimples reveals the diligent handiwork of Antlions.  I
amble along their course, pausing at an exceptionally
compact network sporting a squat compressed triangle
at its base, its upper border neatly outlined by four
small dots.  I don a headlamp, and the engrossing
anomaly’s details snap into view.  I step back,
realizing I have completely misidentified its
features.  A distinctly mammalian set of tracks
stretches away from me, and I walk rapidly along their
length.  They halt abruptly, stopping three feet short
of a low stone wall.  I peer over its top, detecting
an elongated depression within the weedy tangle.  I
brace my arms, springing over the wall and into the
vegetation beyond.  Stirring its depths with the tip
of a hiking staff brings a faint, musky scent to my
nostrils.  I plod cautiously down the embankment. 
Securing my footing, I remove my headlamp, holding it
at nearly arms length over my head, directing its pale
beam downwards upon the distant matted grass.  Minutes
slip away.  My discreet probing of the underbrush
produces nothing, and I return to higher ground,
disappointed to have missed a Red Fox by scant
moments.  I pause to glass the natural amphitheater I
am situated within, marveling at the amount of detail
visible under the glowing full moon.  The glittering
spectacle of the evening summer sky comes into sharper
view, and I am soon mesmerized by the searing white
dot of Polaris.  Fixing it over my left shoulder, I
traipse back to the car, wondering whether the
stealthy fox holds me in its gaze as I leave.  


American Crow        23
American Goldfinch        17
American Redstart        2
American Robin        78
Bald Eagle        1
Baltimore Oriole        3
Bank Swallow        4
Barn Swallow        11
Belted Kingfisher        3
Black-and-white Warbler        2
Black-capped Chickadee        5
Black-throated Blue Warbler        4
Black-throated Green Warbler        9
Blue Jay        14
Blue-gray Gnatcatcher        1
Blue-headed Vireo        2
Bobolink        8
Broad-winged Hawk        1
Brown Creeper        1
Canada Goose        13
Canada Warbler        1
Carolina Wren        1
Cedar Waxwing        15
Chestnut-sided Warbler        4
Chimney Swift        7
Chipping Sparrow        4
Common Grackle        26
Common Raven        1
Common Yellowthroat        3
Cooper's Hawk        1
Double-crested Cormorant        16
Downy Woodpecker        1
Eastern Bluebird        1
Eastern Kingbird        5
Eastern Phoebe        5
Eastern Towhee        2
Eastern Wood Peewee        1
European Starling        33
Field Sparrow        1
Golden-crowned Kinglet        5
Gray Catbird        7
Great Blue Heron        6
Green Heron        1
Hairy Woodpecker        2
Hermit Thrush        1
House Finch        1
House Wren        2
Indigo Bunting        1
Killdeer        4
Mallard        7
Mockingbird        2
Mourning Dove        11
Northern Cardinal        3
Northern Flicker        2
Olive-sided Flycatcher        1
Ovenbird        4
Peregrine Falcon        1
Pine Warbler        6
Prairie Warbler        1
Purple Finch        1
Red-breasted Nuthatch        5
Red-eyed Vireo        1
Red-shouldered Hawk        1
Red-tailed Hawk        2
Red-winged Blackbird        62
Ring-billed Gull        1
Rock Pigeon        82
Rose-breasted Grosbeak        2
Rough-winged Swallow        8
Ruby-throated Hummingbird        1
Ruffed Grouse        5
Scarlet Tanager        1
Solitary Sandpiper        1
Song Sparrow        5
Swamp Sparrow        7
Tree Swallow        21
Tufted Titmouse        4
Turkey Vulture        8
Veery        5
White-breasted Nuthatch        6
White-throated Sparrow        11
Wild Turkey        5
Wood Duck        9
Wood Thrush        4
Yellow Warbler        7
Yellow-billed Cuckoo        2
Yellow-rumped Warbler        8
Yellow-throated Vireo        1


PLANTS:
Blue Vervain
Boneset
Meadowsweet
Rough-fruited Cinquefoil
Whorled Loosestrife

INSECTS:
Antlion
Field Cricket
Pennsylvania Firefly
Phantom Crane Fly
Red-legged Locust
True Katydid
Ultronia Underwing Moth

LEPIDOPTERA:
Black Swallowtail
Clouded Sulphur
Eastern Comma
Mourning Cloak
Pearl Crescent
Spring Azure
Viceroy

ODONATES:
Calico Pennant
Common Whitetail
Wandering Glider
Widow Skimmer

My arms freeze, gaze stopping at clusters of taut
curls.  Convinced I am viewing sleeping bats, my
initial swell of excitement quickly abates.  At first
appearing solid black, the rising sun brings about a
slow transformation of the puzzling shapes from
emerald to lime to radiant yellow.  Having exercised
great caution to avoid an unpleasant fall, my headlamp
now illuminates a stone wall abutting a well-kept back
yard.  I suddenly realize I am eye to eye with a
fulsome shrub.  Laughing out loud at my utterly
inaccurate assessment of the terrain and its denizens,
I am soon distracted by a crackle surging through the
moist air.

I turn to survey the horizon more easily.  Warm and
cold air masses spar overhead, the ground beneath my
feet shuddering briefly as a sudden spasm of
reverberating thunder crashes to earth, lightning
lashing the air.  Shifting colors course through the
turbulent atmosphere, an engrossing amalgamation of
soft orange fusing with smoky gray and molten silver.
Accumulated water trickles off of surrounding leaves.
Irregular bursts of drops patter against the soggy
earth.  Small tributaries of water flow over my rubber
boots, glossy in the growing light.  As the stifling
humidity dissipates, my lungs experience the
revitalizing relief that accompanies a dramatic
reduction in the effort required to breathe.

My third tour of the network of trails in this compact
parcel of land has proved rewarding.  An endearing
blob of spiky polka-dotted feathers nestled against
the trunk of a slender maple sapling metamorphosizes
into a sleeping Ovenbird.  Leaping from a shadowy
tangle, a spry Catbird quickly repositions itself in
the midsection of a nearby Hickory, tail jauntily
cocked over its head, warily eyeing me before
fluttering to the far end of the trail to investigate
fallen timber.  The irrepressible rise and fall of the
song of a garrulous House Wren banishes the dreariness
from the landscape.  I squint at sunlight reflecting
off the pages of my field guide, eyes having grown
unaccustomed to the glare created by a sun
unobstructed by clouds.  Jettisoning my pack, I remove
my headlamp and hurriedly stash it within an
overcrowded pocket.  I alternately mop my brow, nibble
on a scone, and sip hot tea.  Replenished, I splash
cold water from a canteen upon my handkerchief, wring
it out thoroughly, and stow the remainder of my food
and drink.

Rising to continue my trek, I enter a clearing, forced
to squat unexpectedly to avoid colliding with a
frenziedly undulating shape. A smear of smooth gray
and vivid black and white stripes vanishes behind the
trunk of an oak.  Upon regaining my balance, I
cautiously advance, pressing slowly towards the side
of the trail where the tree is situated, now drenched
in full sunlight.  Claws scrape upon bark.  A
measured, ascending GUK-GUK-GUK fills the air, soon
followed by an equally deliberate three–syllable call
of descending pitch.  Continuing for some minutes as
the bird hammers determinedly upon the oak trunk, its
vocalizations assume an almost conversational tone.
Amidst a flurry of falling wood chips, a suave
silhouette comes into view, a huge wriggling grub at
the tip of its sturdy bill.  Its base is flushed with
a delicate pink resembling that of an uncooked shrimp.
  As it reveals an abdomen saturated with an identical
hue, I wince as the diligent Red-bellied Woodpecker
flails its catch against the trunk.  Dispatched, it
disappears in a single swallow.  Pleased to have
glimpsed this species’ infrequently seen yet defining
field mark, I stroll further along the trail.  Sudden
movement halts my progress.  A tawny speck fidgets,
its size, shape, and coloration changing with
extraordinary speed.  As my eyes lock on to a hazy eye
stripe, it dissolves, replaced by a uniformly brown
back and a tail barred with black.  The intrepid House
Wren streaks towards me upon audibly flickering wings,
prating me with its unmistakable rattle.  Occupying
three different perches in as many seconds in a
Barberry tangle, I sense its agitation stems from a
strong desire to ward off any and all intruders
venturing into its nesting territory.  I reverse
direction, unwilling to subject it to undue
aggravation.

Arriving at an intersection, I decide to meander along
a craggy, rough-hewn trail.  Rocks and thick grass
glimmer in the growing sunlight as I press towards the
top of a hill.  The orb of the sun hovers just below
its crest, illuminating windblown tufts of abundant
dandelion seed with a silvery glow.  The air is soon
filled with the diaphanous, milky tufts of plant
fiber, propelled by a breeze brimming with the heady,
intoxicating fragrance of the season’s first Wisteria
blossoms.  Tranquility evaporates as several bursts of
panic-stricken cries shatter the dawn stillness,
conveying acute trauma and genuine terror.  I scarcely
have time to deduce that they are avian in origin when
a bold patch of light and shadow separates from the
forest floor.  It acquires stark striping and a
sculpted belly, twisting and turning, closing fast
upon a blotch of yam–colored feathers.  Talons reach
their mark, traumatized squeals filling the air.  A
dexterous beak rends flesh.  Tufts of gray feathers
are snatched by the wind, joining the clusters of
Dandelion seed as the Cooper’s Hawk systematically
butchers the American Robin, gulping neat chunks of
burgundy meat. Allowing the svelte raptor to dine
uninterrupted, I return to my entrance point,
attention redirected towards the subject of my earlier
puzzlement.  Now markedly more open, the bush’s waxy,
dark green leaves are an understated compliment to its
searing magenta blossoms.  This robust rhododendron is
an especially attractive specimen.  I part the
branches to gauge the health of the shrub’s interior,
and am immediately upbraided by an irate Wood Thrush,
bolting from a superbly concealed perch and skittering
to a halt at the top of a plump Boxwood.  The
unmistakable WHIP-WHIP-WHIP of its alarm note rebounds
off the building adjacent to the dooryard, resounding
along the trail.  Glancing towards the sky as I return
to the car, an unbroken stream of American Robins
courses overhead on intermittently flapping wings,
undoubtedly replenishing the larder of the alert,
keen-eyed accipiter I observed moments ago.  I fling
binoculars and a road map upon an empty car seat, wipe
the last of the nocturnal dew dripping from my
eyeglasses, and depart.

I ponder how to diversify the morning’s trip list
while contemplating a growing expanse of blue sky.
Bordered by the last of the fragmented gray clouds
boiling off towards the edges of the horizon, it
steadily fills with darting shapes as they recede.
Fast approaching my next stopping point, I am eager to
establish their identity.  I coast to a stop in a
neighborhood filled with superbly landscaped homes,
and take the opportunity to canvas the upper reaches
of the majestic shade trees on either side of the
street.  I delight in having decided to investigate
this stretch of highway, as much activity peppers the
dew-drenched tresses of the leaves above.  A Carolina
Wren’s boisterous song fills my ears as I scrutinize
the foliage, the symmetrical drape of the saturated
branches revealing an animated troupe of Yellow-rumped
Warblers.  Having investigated the dank leaves to
their satisfaction, they venture out onto the
adjoining power lines, quickly making use of such a
convenient perch to spring into the air, busily
gulping abundant newly-hatched insects.  Nine birds
situate themselves along one generous expanse of wire,
their haphazard feeding forays comically disrupting
their neat array.  Taking advantage of the time of day
and the complete absence of vehicular and pedestrian
traffic, I erect a scope, scanning the entirety of the
sidewalk stretching ahead of me for a full quarter
mile.  Agitated wings become still, assuming a
debonair profile.  A Black-and-white Warbler seizes
upon the superb feeding to be had, immersing itself in
a compact, seething kettle of insects.  Accustomed to
viewing this species exploring the undersides of bumpy
branches, I enjoy watching it defy gravity in a
different manner, bill adroitly clamping shut upon
successive unfortunate insects.  The opposite side of
the thoroughfare produces additional specimens, and I
obtain more fine views by slowly advancing along the
sidewalk, discreetly repositioning my optics at
several choice vantage points.

I arrive at a sloping open field, and my interest in
the acrobatic figures I glimpsed earlier quickly
returns.  A statuesque Great Blue Heron stalking
furtively along the edge of a placid pond hastily
collapses its sinuous neck as one of them executes a
dramatic plunge, gobbling an especially desirable
insect that has strayed too close to the gargantuan
bird’s head.  It cautiously raises itself, uttering a
guttural KWONK! stemming from some combination of
surprise, wonder and irritation.  Equally startled,
the supremely agile Barn Swallow rapidly veers away
from the pond’s surface, its sleek purple and black
wings glinting in the sun.  As it executes a
breathtaking, nearly vertical climb, the lustrous
white stripes bordering the upper reaches of its
delicate inverted V-shaped tail emerge in stark
relief.  As it rejoins the orbit of the swirling
shapes overhead, seemingly buoyed aloft by its
mellifluous chatter, I observe that many of its
companions exhibit far more subdued coloration and a
more nonchalant flight style.  I zero in on a
comparatively relaxed pocket of birds, their upper
parts appearing as shadowy smudges against a cloudless
sky.  Abbreviated, notched tails come into view.  They
communicate amongst themselves with variations of a
peculiarly grating call, a marked contrast to the
frenetic, unruly babble of the Barn Swallow.

GRRRT…GRRRT…GRRRT…GRRRT…GRRRT…

The loose gaggle of swallows dips closer to the earth,
and my eyes lock onto muted brown upperparts.  A bird
turns away sharply, a dingy gray and white belly
clearly visible.  I continue to watch the admixture of
Barn and Rough-winged Swallows until the flock
disbands, encouraging me to move out of the glare of
the late morning sun and into the shaded recesses of
the meadow’s northern border.  Seemingly kept aloft by
its spirited liquid song, a stout shape with a glowing
buffy patch at the nape of its neck carves an
effortless ellipse in the morning sky upon stationary
wings.  I close my eyes, dumbfounded at the depth and
breadth of the unfolding soundscape.  Pulsing warbles
and textured whistles elide effortlessly into one
another.  I open my eyes as the singer nears the
earth.   Gracefully curving downward, its vivid white
scapulars assume the appearance of watchful eyes
holding me in their gaze.  Uttering a sharp TINK, it
plummets into a pocket of lush grass billowing in the
wind.  The boisterous song repeats, emanating from a
different point in the landscape.  Glancing upward as
I step backward from my scope, additional shapes
appear, wings flapping in short bursts.  Two of the
birds display pale underparts with delicate brown
streaks.  Treated to views of what appear to be
monstrous sparrows, I welcome their decision to alight
upon another rippling wave of grass closer to me,
tawny plumage rapidly disheveled by the bracing gusts.
  Their mates soon follow, the yellow and olive faces
of the more demurely colored birds peering at me.  The
small flock nimbly flutters and hops about, exchanging
perches in animated fashion.  Continual movement
allows for fine views of white rumps and triangular
uppertail coverts.  The Bobolinks tire of fighting a
rising air current that appears to be on the verge of
forcing them aloft, despite their intention of
remaining atop the surrounding ocean of grass.  As
they scatter down the hillside, an oscillating patch
of black, brown, and gray hovers at the meadow’s
eastern border.  I bring binoculars to bear upon it,
distinguishing a streamlined russet tail with a
delicately rounded inky black tip swerving away from
me.  Agitated Song Sparrows scattering in its wake, it
veers into bright sunshine, the undersides of its
wings revealing a complex striping resembling the
finely furrowed surface of a Damascus steel carving
knife.  A staccato KILLY-KILLY-KILLY-KILLY-KILLY-KILLY
floats over the grassland, the piercing call matching
the rapid wingbeats propelling an agile raptor through
several passes over the terrain.  Suspended above the
hillside once more, keen eyes fixed upon unsuspecting
prey, it plunges into the verdant slope below,
emerging with a squirming grasshopper in its talons.
Alighting upon a dead branch adjoining the pond, it
calmly dissects its prey, interspersing delicate
nibbles with alert glances at the landscape.  Upon
concluding its meal, the American Kestrel takes to the
air, rowing briskly towards the horizon upon lithe,
supple wings over the still waters of the pond, its
ovular dimensions now glowing under the sun with a
flawless sheen resembling mercury.  As the elegant
raptor’s silhouette recedes, my eyes dwell upon the
hordes of insects dancing across the pond’s surface.
I opt to investigate the potential riches held by
another captivating water feature, and set out for
this new destination.

I exchange my wool socks and leather boots for those
made of neoprene, my lower back welcoming the relief
provided by lightweight footwear.  Plodding
methodically through the delicate chill of the muddy
riverbank, the mild cramping in my feet is soon
alleviated by the cool, soothing embrace of the
river’s waters.  Rivulets of perspiration retreat
haphazardly across my forehead and scalp as the
powerful current assists in generating a refreshing
breeze.  I pause, anchor my feet more firmly against
the flow, and scan the sky.  I peer through branches
creating a latticework of refined corkscrews and
spirals curving gently into one another, resembling
fingers curled into a contemplative posture.
Marveling at the rich texture of the myriad twists and
coils, my eyes’ progress along the dimensions of one
particular cluster is cut short.  A dark, agitated
smudge bends and winds upward against sparkling blue
sky, soon plunging out of view.  A feathered shape
possessing the symmetrical taper of a pine cone lands,
positioning itself with its back and tail facing me,
highlighted by bright, cottony blotches of white.
Delicately fluffing its feathers, it rotates its head,
bill opening and throat slowly pumping.  A stuttered
song, barely audible above the persistent slosh of
water whirling against my legs, forces me to cup my
hands around my ears in order to divine its
subtleties.

BIP-BIP-BIP.

Its head swings forward, wings settling into one
another.  The dazzling white spots disappear, and I
examine uniformly dark feathers.  Darting into the air
once more, the bird mounts a successful feeding foray,
alighting upon its perch facing towards me.  A thick,
glowing white stripe stretching from the base of the
bill to the belly appears.  Dramatically slicing the
bird’s breast in two, it creates an arresting profile.
  A solid black eye gleams from within moss-green
feathers.  The wind stirring the trees abates, and a
plucky YEP! SEE–HEEER soars over the waters.  Climbing
aloft once more, the Olive-sided Flycatcher flutters
further upstream, ducking into a pocket of branches,
bobbing crazily as it lands upon the slenderest of
them.

I make my way towards a sandy wash directly below the
riverbank, striding towards a large flat rock.  I seat
myself upon it, wringing the excess water from my
trouser cuffs.  The remaining moisture within the
fabric warms rapidly upon contact with the hot
surface, trickling down my ankles and washing the
excess dirt from the heels of my spongy boots.  I
wrest two squat nylon-covered pillows from my pack,
wedging them underneath me to postpone the inevitable
onset of cramps induced by the unyielding granite.
Upon repositioning myself, I make the most of having
the sun at my back, peering intently into the lofty
recesses of the spruce boughs on the opposite bank.
My field of view overflows with a muddle of black,
blue and white.  An unruly band of Blue Jays peppers
the jagged emerald boughs with their husky shapes.
Several birds land only briefly, their curiosity soon
piqued by what could lie across the foaming curve of
the river.  A volley of raucous cries sweeps over my
head like a hail of arrows as the flock scatters.
Their clamorous departure dislodges a tiny dot of
gray, white and ochre streaked with black from the
midsection of a spruce.  It flits to the edge of the
water, neatly dodging the marauding Jays, snapping
smartly back into the confines of the branches with
the alacrity of a yo-yo.  A vertical maize-colored
stripe blossoms against a tree trunk.

TSEET!

I pull my feet towards me at the sound of the
unfamiliar call, folding them upon the rock.  A soft
white wing bar inches along an exposed branch,
followed by a compact head and thin bill keenly
investigating lush clusters of needles.   The bough’s
delicate curve dips precipitously and I reposition my
binoculars, glimpsing a blotch of chocolate brown.
Dew-soaked wings whir energetically.  A complete,
distinctly avian profile appears, unobstructed by
green limbs.  As the bird assumes an attentive, fully
upright posture, the vocalization uttered moments ago
repeats.  I notice it lacks the characteristic gradual
fade of the song of the Blackpoll Warbler, the first
probable species I consider as I lay the foundation
required for successful identification.  I decide to
remain in the secluded eddy, hoping that the bird
continues to sing.  I remove a compact seat from my
pack.  I extend its legs and wedge them into the
depths of the dense sediment surrounding my feet,
easily assuming a comfortable viewing position.

TSEET! TSEET! TSEET! TSEET!

Field marks rapidly accumulate and coalesce.  A bold
black eyeline mates to the brown facial patch viewed
earlier.  Unmistakable green scapulars streaked with
black come into view.  A tiny bill fluffs and preens
yellowish neck feathers.  The bird launches into song
once more, and I find myself staring at a Cape May
Warbler.  Gratified to have been able to study at
length a species I rarely encounter, I rise to go,
happy to restore circulation to my lower extremities.


Clambering over the top of the embankment, my skin
relishes the accumulated moisture that splashes from
glistening green leaves.  I tramp through a pocket of
second-growth woodland, quickly finding myself
straddling a clear line of demarcation between two
distinct habitats.  I slow my stride, treading
carefully into a substantial tract of mature deciduous
trees.  My caution does little to conceal my presence.
  One of my feet lands squarely upon a withered branch,
the accompanying loud crack flushing an indignant Gray
Catbird from the heavy underbrush.  Directing an
agitated, emphatic MEW! in my direction, it fixes me
with an unbroken stare.  A superb specimen, I take
pleasure in glassing its pristine gray plumage.  As it
eyes me steadily, I become aware of erratic movement
behind its bold charcoal cap.  A black dot surrounded
by soft yellow twitches, shifting its position below
the alert Catbird.  Engrossed, I move forward,
awkwardly stooping to gain a better view.  Completely
removing itself from any imminent danger, the wary
Catbird flees the scene, its distress call rattling
through the bushes.  Calm returns.  I seat myself and
canvas the greenery for activity.  The terrain is soon
filled with a deep silence.  Detecting no other
birdlife, I take the opportunity to immerse myself in
a botanical field guide.

ZICK!

Startled, I return the volume to my pack.  The sharp
call note repeats, in closer proximity to me than I
had imagined.  Ears locking onto the sharp
exclamation, I stand slowly, taking a rough measure of
general direction and distance.  A slapdash sequence
of notes tumbles wildly through the air, coming to an
abrupt halt.  I narrow my focus, peering into the
interior of an ample shrub.  Dark feathers dip.  A
tuft of banana yellow anchored by a pale slender leg
hops away from the border of a luxuriant carpet of
moss.  An irregular smudge of black leaps upward with
the force of a cork expelled from a wine bottle.  My
eyes soon distinguish more symmetry within the dark
coloration than they initially observed.  Paint
spatter becomes brushstroke.  Uniform gray upperparts
appear in profile.  Absorbed in foraging, the Canada
Warbler has situated itself in front of me, oblivious
to my presence.  Clouds break behind me, the sun
streaming into the dank vegetation surrounding its
crisp blue and yellow outline. I am permitted a
momentary glimpse of its impressive ebony necklace
before it flits away, becoming completely enveloped in
shadow.

I collapse my seat, wiping mud and grime from the
legs.  I return to the river, drawn to a fine view of
the horizon and a rejuvenating breeze.  Canvassing the
huge expanse of sky is a welcome change from studying
the intricate, dimly lit patchwork of clearings and
tangles found in the somber woods.  A compact kettle
of Turkey Vultures hugs the contours of a growing
thermal.  Giant wings flex effortlessly, expertly
adjusting to the fickle air currents generated by a
sultry wind.  Rising rapidly, the group assumes a
funnel–shaped outline against enormous clouds.  As
they smoothly disperse in a poised procession towards
the western horizon, my eyes are quickly drawn to a
significantly smaller raptor at the periphery of the
dissolving cluster of vultures.  It flutters its wings
intermittently, as if attempting to keep pace with the
disappearing goliaths, its tenacious motions a marked
contrast to the fluid, solemn wing beats of the
mammoth scavengers.  Briefly stymied by a sudden
headwind, the bird sweeps its wings forward,
momentarily anchoring itself in open sky.  As the
unruly wind intensifies, faster wing beats soon
follow.  When it abates, the bird is underway once
more.  Crisp narrow tail bands become visible,
followed by a russet chest and wing linings.  As a
boldly contrasting plumage pattern continues to
emerge, my eyes are soon glued to my scope.  The bases
of the outer primaries display an unearthly glow, as
if an incandescent bulb were affixed to the underside
of each wing.  The raptor enters a shallow stoop,
quickly leveling off at a more advantageous altitude
upon distinctly tapered wings.  Upper body now clearly
visible, the Red-shouldered Hawk skims the tree line
for several hundred yards, the burnished brown patches
bordering its mottled back an eye-catching complement
to the conspicuous black and white striping of its
wings and tail.  Its head swivels from side to side,
eyes visibly locking onto unseen quarry below.
Compressing its wings closer to its body, its refined
silhouette drops out of view, disappearing into a
gentle curve of river bottom far ahead of me.

Yearning for more level topography free of capricious
currents, I exit the riverbed.  Seated upon its banks,
I empty the sand and silt from my battered neoprene
boots.  Feet quickly encased in bone-dry supportive
footwear, I am spry once more, leaping over stubborn
rocks and soft earth without fear of grievous injury.
Situated upon firm trail, I rapidly close in on my
starting point.  My feet touch asphalt, and I pause at
the midsection of a bridge adjacent to the parking
area, admiring the gigantic ferns and Skunk Cabbage
surrounding a far gentler stretch of the Swift River
than the one that has been the subject of this
morning’s explorations.  Eyes falling upon the jagged
contours of dead trees, I decide to investigate the
borders of a vastly more negotiable water feature, one
that will add several cavity-nesting species to the
day’s checklist.

As my car creeps along weather-beaten blacktop, I am
astonished at the profusion of Common Polypody and
Spinulose Wood Fern blanketing huge swaths of the
hillside stretching away from the east side of the
roadway.  Upon reaching the access gate, I carefully
situate the car.  Backtracking to the magnificent
ferns, I wander among them, two-foot fronds soaking my
trousers.  I run my finger along one of the coarse
stalks, savoring its cool texture as Veery
vocalizations cascade from the forest interior.
Concerted listening indicates the greatest
concentration of song is originating from the
undergrowth directly opposite me.  I retrace my steps
carefully, eager to preserve the integrity of the
stately ferns.

Reaching the road, I halt briefly, glassing its length
for movement.  A stubby shape draws my attention.
Utterly nondescript, it feeds steadily, broad gray
neck rippling with motion.  Rich beige fur striped
with black inches its way along the moist roadside.
The shape adroitly sidesteps, pressing against the
irregular contours of a gargantuan tire track,
progressing slowly along the length of the misshapen
hummock.  As it becomes even more engrossed by its
irregular dimensions, my interest also increases.  At
a loss as to what could foster such intense curiosity,
I crouch behind a rotted stump, remaining behind the
anonymous blob as it continues to creep forward along
the coffee-colored mud.  A chisel-like bill
materializes, tentatively prodding the grassy border
of its dank depths.  Perceptions realign.  I find
myself surveying a crooked line of rotted fallen
timber, the dimensions of what appeared to a massive
tire track now revealing themselves to be a decayed
log, readily split apart by the Common Flicker’s
vigorous hammering.  Black Carpenter Ants attempt to
flee, but to no avail.  Expertly expelling its
amazingly long tongue, the woodpecker effortlessly
spears them upon its harpoon-like tip.  Mild revulsion
gives way to fascination, and I am astonished at the
rapidity with which it plunders the crevices of the
log, now soft as pudding after years of decomposition.
  After some minutes, I stand slowly, completely
unsuccessful in my attempt to remain inconspicuous.
My shadow strays across the black recesses it is
presently exploring.  The flicker’s head jerks fully
upright, its body leaping aloft, undulating across the
clearing some fifty feet ahead, searing white
uppertail coverts coasting gaily through open air.

I tread carefully across well-worn masonry, pausing at
the open water stretching towards the island.  A
Common Yellowthroat announces itself from a nearby
thicket.  The outburst of song triggers my
recollection.  I slow my pace, making a conscious
effort to avoid passing through the area too quickly,
an error of years past.  I take a seat at the lowest
point of the bridge, facing a promising bank of
shrubbery.  A dark dot appears on a branch above the
glimmering waters.  An Eastern Wood Pewee comes into
view, wing bars standing out smartly, the melancholy
dip of the latter half of its diagnostic call
traveling easily over the water.  I erect my scope,
panning along the western shore of the compact,
well-proportioned beaver pond.  My eyes fall upon
Painted Turtles, motionless in the hot sun, a study in
gaudy repose.  Wind rushes through feathers.
Bottle-green heads and yellow bills tear overhead, a
pair of perfectly plumaged Mallards traveling rapidly
southeast.  Hoping to intercept them, I rise quickly,
delighted to have remembered that a rich network of
extensive ponds lies a scant half-mile ahead.  I
examine the patch of distant clouds into which the
ducks have vanished, chiding myself for having
neglected the choice expanse of clear sky adjacent to
them.

With more latitude in my timetable than I had
realized, I briefly postpone my quest for waterfowl.
I remove a foam rubber drop cloth from my pack,
situating it against a tree trunk to provide seating
free of biting ants and rough bark.  Comfortably
bracing myself, I take in the immense stretch of sky,
nostrils savoring the pungent scent of mud simmering
beneath a relentless sun.  A flight of Cedar Waxwings
stipples the surface of the cloudless horizon with a
pleasant tumult of shapes.  As they swirl and tumble
away, they present the startling illusion of being on
a collision course with two dark distant specks.  As
the Waxwings streak past, my field of view truncates
immediately as I bring my binoculars to bear upon
them.  I zero in upon the closer of the two slivers of
black.  Clearly a raptor, its appearance has coincided
with the peak of the days’ thermal activity.  My neck
has been unconsciously straining as the predator
effortlessly covers an enormous distance against a
cloudless sky, propelled by the potent air currents.

Completely absorbed, I realize I have underestimated
both its rate of travel and its utter mastery of the
turbulent airstream.  I slowly lose my balance,
shifting awkwardly against the tree trunk.  Righting
myself, I make a mad dash for my scope and tripod.
Land and sky blur as my fingers fumble clumsily,
making the adjustments necessary to gain the best view
of my subject.  Clarity restored, my hands are soon at
ease upon the controls, eyes delving into detail.  I
glimpse shock-white tail feathers, a chestnut upper
body, and a chiseled head tipped with a bill as yellow
as spoiled milk.  The blinding white and pewter gray
bulges of clouds appear.  Against this mercifully
distinct background, an adult Bald Eagle rides the
upwelling of volatile air.  The bird’s husky frame
quickly straddles a funnel-shaped smudge of gray
wedged between two clouds.  As it glides between the
puffy twin leviathans, I switch instruments.
Squinting through binoculars, I make the most of the
view, assisted in no small measure by the variegated
background.  Now easily discernible, it travels
towards an identically proportioned companion.  As the
two birds assume a graceful yet distant orbit, I
reluctantly collapse and stow my makeshift seat and
don my pack.

I ascend slowly through cool shadows, negotiating a
sharp right turn.  Making my way cautiously along the
dirt road, a familiar stone wall appears on my right.
The air thickens, and I detect the unmistakable aroma
of dank vegetation.  Batting away stray mosquitoes, I
deposit my optics before me and take a seat, a wan sun
struggling through morning gloom.  As a tripod leg
pops into place, a stray male Wood Duck whinnies
overhead, a glittering arrow cleaving the muggy air in
two.  I attempt to mute my preparations, pausing
briefly to scan the tea-colored waters before me.
Endearingly pudgy shapes shuffle to and fro upon
glistening mud.  Delighted not to have disrupted their
morning feeding, I peruse their ranks.  Sweat trickles
from my temples.  Eyes smarting, I pull away from the
scope, craning my neck backward, welcoming a cleansing
sprinkle of raindrops upon my face.  The precipitation
intensifies, loudening dramatically.  As it escalates
to a roar, I hurriedly stretch a poncho over my scope
and tripod, laughing at my efforts to remain dry.
Parka zipper shrieking as I tug it frantically towards
my nose, I wince as it pinches a nostril.  Chuckling
in awe at the strength of the cloudburst, the din at
last subsides.  Silence unfolds, the landscape exuding
a sparkling freshness.  I peel back myriad layers of
cheap fabric, developing a renewed appreciation for
hardy, watertight optics.  Unflustered, the ducks
begin to primp contentedly, and I resume viewing.
Common Green Darner and Eastern Forktail dragonflies
ply the air, mirror-bright wings flashing in the sun.


I carefully remove my parka and wring out the hood.
Welcoming the bracing air, I seize the opportunity to
stretch my frame and lay the exterior of the garment
against the ground.  Positioning myself upon it with
legs elevated, I clench my muscles.  Feet beneath me,
I slowly raise myself, pivoting away from the ducks to
examine the grassy expanse behind them.  Appearing
suspended by lively chatter, a tuft of spiky blue
feathers flies over the marsh.  The Belted Kingfisher
shifts methodically from right to left and back again,
expertly canvassing the shallows beneath it.  It lands
on a rotted sapling, the impact of its arrival sending
its perch rocking back and forth.  An explosive din of
flashing feathers fills the air.  Snow-white wings
flash against the sky, curving sharply away from the
water.  Yellow and green bills angle upward.  A flock
of five Black Ducks, two males, two females and a lone
juvenile, beat out a varied semaphore along the
horizon.  Neatly banking down into a new, distant
feeding ground, their arrival stirs blocky contours.
A thick neck suddenly elongates, tousled brown
feathers bristling.  Short sturdy green wings are
pressed into action.  Assisted by huge splayed feet,
they lift a gray belly, spear-shaped bill, and bronzed
upper body into the air.

SKEERP!

Dexterous primaries coax the bird to a higher altitude
as it continues to call.  Sunlight illuminating its
dark afterthought of a tail, the Green Heron lands
upon a gigantic snag, surveys its surroundings, and
promptly compacts itself into a ball.  Its bill
resembles a stray nail jutting out from a fencepost
splattered with white paint as its breast, streaked
with white, glows in the sun.  I carefully scan the
branches surrounding the heron’s perch.  Finding
nothing, I examine the thick grass surrounding the
tree containing it.  An erratic wind becomes more
vigorous, parting its prodigious folds and revealing
movement in its depths.  Spindly legs grapple
spasmodically with bucking stems.  An intrepid band of
Song Sparrows challenges the gusts.  Briefly buffeted
about, they settle into a pocket of Staghorn Sumac.
The flock slowly dissolves, fanning out over a stone
wall, atomizing still further as individual birds
break away to feed independently.  Isolated snatches
of song drift from the vegetation, dwindling as the
birds recede into the underbrush.  As my ears and eyes
are gradually engulfed in silence, a similar
concentration of grassland pockmarked with swamp leaps
to mind as a worthy subject of exploration, and I
hurriedly collapse my tripod, hiking back to the trail
as quickly as the waterlogged ground allows.

I back the car into the shade, removing a cursory map
from beneath the armrest.  I wade through waist–high
grass, arriving at a nearly impenetrable pocket of
young willows, pressing myself against them.  Scope
deployed, I lie in wait, positioning my scope to allow
me the best view of an open field filled with a
variety of saplings and shrubbery.  As a stream
gurgles vigorously in the background, a familiar song
carries over the landscape.  Swinging the scope along
the broccoli-shaped willow trees produces a blazing
speck of blue, and I marvel at my good fortune.  I
turn my optics sharply to the right, keeping pace with
an Indigo Bunting.  It lands upon an accommodating
perch, and I enjoy the full effect of the sun
enhancing the iridescence of its plumage, flushing
from black to purple to azure to silver and back again
as it casually shifts from one branch to another.
Stationary at last, it begins to sing.  I increase
magnification, jaw dropping as its brilliant feathers
completely fill my field of view, lower mandible
twinkling from silver to white to gray.  Turning its
head to study the landscape better, it is soon in full
cry.  Reacquainting myself with its song, I discern a
peculiar, wheezy two-syllable undertone.   Bewildered,
I drop a nylon poncho over my scope, go back to the
car, retrieve a parabolic microphone, and return to my
observation point.  Amazed and thankful the bunting
has not moved, I don headphones, quickly pinpointing
its song.  Some moments pass, and I conclude two
distinct species are singing.  Using binoculars, I
spot a pert pale shape, utterly pedestrian in
appearance in comparison to the electrifying bunting,
dipping below and to its right.  A pallid eye ring and
a pale bill far longer and thinner than that of the
bunting appear.  A gray tail quivers.

FITZ-BEW!

In my zeal, I fumble for headphones, arranging them
awkwardly upon my head.  Twisting them into a better
position, I easily distinguish the emphatic two-note
call of a Willow Flycatcher.  Both birds fill my scope
only briefly.  The bunting bounds away, plummeting
behind an adjacent willow.  The flycatcher leaps into
the air, beautifully showcasing its chalky wing
linings.  Bill closing around an insect, it melts into
the underbrush.

I squish slowly towards the concentration of trees,
enticed by the potential rewards provided by entering
the interior of the grove of young willows.  Arriving
at their periphery, I walk the edges of jagged
shadows.  Sun now concealed behind their upper
branches, my eyes gradually adjust as a muggy wind
presses back their narrow tapered leaves, frosted
grayish green undersides flashing in the sun.  As
vegetation continues to part, a leaf–sized patch of
black faintly tinted with yellow shifts to my left.
Light intensifies, spreading around the trunk of the
largest willow.  A twig twists up, over, and upon
itself.  Rapt, I focus upon the sporadic contortions.
Lengthy dimensions gain definition, and I determine
that the movement is avian.  A tail executes a
clockwise sweep.  I stride slowly towards it, an
unremarkable belly and flanks jumping to a lower
branch.  Bereft of striping on the rectrices and
lacking wing bars, the bird’s overall plumage pattern
resembles a battered tennis ball.  A flattened head
and neck display a nearly featureless lemon-lime
color, the two tones blending easily into one another.
  A pinpoint of brighter yellow expands behind the
bird’s head.  A second individual appears, a smudge of
crisp black adorning its crown.  A wispy song
commences, scarcely achieving momentum before
stumbling to a halt.  Lively wings test the air.
Polished waters part.  A female Wilson’s Warbler
bathes contentedly at the edge of the bubbling stream,
performing its ablutions while serenaded by its
adoring consort.

The lull of high noon weighs heavily upon the
landscape, and I carefully retrace my steps to the
roadway.  My footfalls churn steadily through tepid
water, stirring a small cloud of whining, voracious
mosquitoes from the murky depths.  Tucking netting
around my face, neck, and shoulders, I am quickly set
upon by Common Whitetail dragonflies.  Strafing the
top of the marsh grass upon crackling wings, they
lunge at the ready provender, towering cumulus clouds
behind them announcing the arrival of another savage
squall...


Alder Flycatcher    1
American Crow    13
American Goldfinch    22
American Kestrel    1
American Robin    54
Bald Eagle    2
Baltimore Oriole    3
Barn Swallow    3
Barred Owl    1
Belted Kingfisher    1
Black Duck    5
Black-and-white Warbler    8
Black-capped Chickadee    5
Blackpoll Warbler    3
Black-throated Blue Warbler     4
Black-throated Green Warbler     7
Blue Jay    15
Blue-gray Gnatcatcher    3
Blue-headed Vireo    7
Blue-winged Warbler    4
Bobolink    5
Broad-winged Hawk    1
Brown Creeper    4
Brown Thrasher    1
Brown-headed Cowbird    11
Canada Goose    5
Canada Warbler    1
Cape May Warbler    1
Carolina Wren    3
Cedar Waxwing    18
Chestnut-sided Warbler     8
Chipping Sparrow    18
Common Grackle    38
Common Yellowthroat     5
Cooper's Hawk    1
Double-crested Cormorant    15
Downy Woodpecker    3
Eastern Kingbird     5
Eastern Meadowlark    1
Eastern Phoebe    7
Eastern Towhee    4
European Starling    85
Field Sparrow    2
Gray Catbird    3
Great Blue Heron    3
Great Crested Flycatcher    2
Great Horned Owl    1
Green Heron    1
Hairy Woodpecker    2
Hermit Thrush    3
House Finch    6
House Wren    2
Indigo Bunting    3
Killdeer    2
Least Flycatcher    8
Louisiana Waterthrush    1
Magnolia Warbler    1
Mallard    7
Merlin    1
Mourning Dove    12
Nashville Warbler    3
Northern Cardinal    4
Northern Flicker    2
Northern Rough-winged Swallow     7
Northern Waterthrush    1
Olive-sided Flycatcher    1
Ovenbird    6
Parula Warbler     1
Pileated Woodpecker    1
Pine Warbler     8
Prairie Warbler    3
Purple Finch    2
Red-bellied Woodpecker    2
Red-breasted Nuthatch    4
Red-shouldered Hawk    1
Red-tailed Hawk    3
Red-winged Blackbird    19
Ring-necked Pheasant    1
Rock Pigeon    37
Rose-breasted Grosbeak    3
Rough-winged Swallow    16
Ruby-crowned Kinglet     1
Ruby-throated Hummingbird    1
Ruffed Grouse    2
Savannah Sparrow    1
Scarlet Tanager    2
Sharp-shinned Hawk    1
Song Sparrow    8
Spotted Sandpiper    1
Swainson’s Thrush    1
Swamp Sparrow    3
Tree Swallow    48
Tufted Titmouse    6
Turkey Vulture    7
Warbling Vireo    5
White-breasted Nuthatch    4
White-throated Sparrow    2
Willow Flycatcher    1
Wilson's Warbler    1
Wood Duck    4
Wood Thrush    5
Yellow Warbler    6
Yellow-bellied Sapsucker    1
Yellow-rumped Warbler    11


Odonates:

Common Baskettail
Common Green Darner
Common Whitetail
Eastern Forktail
Halloween Pennant
Northern Bluet
WIDOW SKIMMER

A continuous stream of bracing air whistling through a
partially open bedroom window fills my nostrils,
nudging me out of my shallow slumber and firmly into
the waking world.  Sunlight pouring through the glass
panes sets the insides of my eyelids aglow with a soft
pink.  Eyes snapping open, I awaken completely to a
transformed landscape.  All manner of vegetation,
battered by the incessant rains of the past four days,
shows a striking new vigor.  Simultaneously stunned
and revitalized by the sweeping change in conditions,
I am extremely eager to get into the field and
determine if the activity level of migrating birds
matches my own…

Driving along Prouty Road, the vast northern horizon
is a broad expanse of rich blue sky brimming with
shock-white cumulus clouds.  I turn sharply left onto
Brook Road, crunching along its uneven gravel.
Lowered windows reveal singing Veerys, Northern
Cardinals, and a rambunctious band of Blue Jays.
Coming to a halt at a gravel turnaround, I exit the
car, quickly situating myself at the border of an open
field.  The mild murmur of subdued conversation
shatters my temporary self-absorption.  Trip
participants assemble, and we trade the latest
sighting information.

Soon underway, the three of us revel in the
breathtakingly clear, cool conditions.  A Common Loon
high overhead offers only a fleeting glimpse, enough
to arrest our progress.  Our sensory appetites
whetted, we seize upon furtive movement in the
Honeysuckle abutting the bridge.  Determined probing
reveals a sprightly Common Yellowthroat, offering
exemplary views of its striking black mask bordered
with gray.  Ears attracted by continuous singing, we
briefly change direction, investigating the weedy
tangle abutting the waterway coursing along the border
of a groomed open field.  Soon chalking up Song
Sparrow, we return to the roadway, a series of
erratic, liquid whistles giving us pause.  Necks
craning upward, our eyes fix upon a squat beige shape,
its massive pale bill filled with nesting material.
Its outline soon fixed in our optics, we acquire fine
views of a female Rose-breasted Grosbeak.  The initial
vocalization that drew our attention repeats.  Our
heads swiveling, a plump black and white shape
appears, a male Rose-breasted Grosbeak that soon
closes ranks with the female.  Racing over our heads
to the west side of Brook Road, they disappear into
the upper reaches of impenetrable foliage, immersed in
domestic chores.  A Blue-winged Warbler sings strongly
and adroitly eludes visual detection.  The pulsing
see-saw of Black-and-white Warbler song is a steady
accompaniment to our measured footfalls.  One stunning
specimen, as nattily attired as a dignitary from a
long-forgotten Second World War newsreel, flits into
view, eagerly clinging to the fissured surface of a
prodigious maple.  A pair of Veerys scampers away at
our approach, pushing steadily up the steep adjacent
gradient, evergreen boughs shuddering and producing a
shower of water droplets as they continually shift
perches.  The telltale CHIP-BANG of a Scarlet Tanager
presses the group against the road’s shoulder.  A
crimson speck briefly emerges, scurrying out of view.
  A female provides more prolonged viewing, its smooth
yellow and green flanks accentuated by gleaming
coal-black wings.

Persistent chatter overhead draws our gaze to a
substantial patch of open blue sky.  Soft green maple
leaves flutter gaily against it in a stiffening
breeze.  A bright white underbelly outlined with a
bold black “V” twitches from branch to branch.  Joined
by an equally nimble companion, two Black-throated
Green Warblers engage in territorial squabbling.
Their hostilities concluded, we pause to examine a
superlative specimen of Jack-in-the-Pulpit.  A
cacophony of Ovenbirds noticeably blunts the sonic
impact of the THRUM-THRUM-THRUM-THRUM of a nearby
Ruffed Grouse. A Wood Thrush stutters a series of
powerful alarm notes.  Frantic binocular scanning
finds the bird perched upon a branch so slender it
appear suspended in mid-air.  Hopping into better
view, it launches into full-blown song, bold
polka-dotted breast heaving with effort.  Masterfully
camouflaged, its profile dips in and out of wavering
sunlight.  Cautiously creeping forward, we approach to
within twelve feet of the bird before it takes flight,
no doubt relinquishing a prime perch within such
incomparable habitat with great reluctance.  The
tranquil cadence of a vocalization above returns our
attention to the canopy.  A pale eyebrow mated to a
gray crown weaves maddeningly in and out of the opaque
foliage, causing much readjustment of binoculars.
Olive upperparts twitch into view, our efforts
handsomely repaid with unobstructed views of a
Red-eyed Vireo.

Arriving at a tightly packed stand of Hemlock, the
distant strains of a Blackburnian Warbler anchor us to
the spot.  As the warbler’s thin song drifts
completely beyond the realm of detection, we delight
in the luminous white symmetry of a patch of False
Solomon’s Seal.  The ringing twinkle of a wild tumble
of notes echoes through the surrounding woods, and we
are pulled inexorably back to the world of birds.  The
extended song repeats, erratically streaming out from
an old building foundation to our right.  On
tenterhooks, we wait for the Winter Wren to shift
position once more and provide us with a satisfying
view.  We abort our futile efforts, opting instead to
sift through the plates of a wildflower guide, quickly
ascertaining that we are indeed staring at a cluster
of both Wood and Rue Anemones.  Serenaded by a band of
Yellow-rumped Warblers, we discern a small pocket of
Wild Grape climbing steadily up the trunk of a
Hickory.  At the intersection with Taylor Hill Road,
Chipping Sparrows feed and chase one another upon the
level gravel as the piercing opening notes of a
Louisiana Waterthrush’s song rise above the roaring
torrent of Moose Brook.  A female American Redstart
darts through the delicate leaves of the saplings
surrounding the foaming waters.  Crossing the road, we
encounter Fringed Polygala as the patter of Tufted
Titmouse call notes intensifies.  Clambering over a
stone wall, we pick our way to the edge of the massive
beaver pond immediately east of the beginning of the
DCR trail, the furious snapping CHE-BEK of several
Least Flycatchers seeming to match the cadence of our
feet across the twigs strewn across the flattened leaf
litter.  The upper branches of trees on the trail’s
west side produce a highly vocal Magnolia Warbler,
remaining unseen.

Boots squishing into the muck at the pond’s edge, we
identify the ebullient cackling
KEK-KEK-KEK-KEK-KEK-KEK-KEK of a Northern Flicker.
Scrutinizing the abundant snags fails to produce a
sighting.  Extended peering through the foliage yields
a lively flock of Tree Swallows, climbing, diving, and
occasionally alighting upon the branches of distant
snags.  A ceaseless tumble of haphazard notes spilling
from the center of a gargantuan oak proves to be a
Warbling Vireo.  A splendid Painted Turtle emerges
upon nearby rocks as a single Rough-winged and several
Barn Swallows appear.  A soaring dot transforms itself
into a Broad-winged Hawk.  Closing rapidly, it neatly
traces the southern tip of the pond before
disappearing into the tree line along Taylor Hill
Road.  Traipsing to the northern extremity of the
road, we scale the prodigious mine tailings.  Reaching
the summit, we are rejuvenated by a cooling breeze as
we shuck packs and assume makeshift seats, zeroing in
on nimble Chimney Swifts.  The neon orange silhouette
of a Baltimore Oriole courses over the pond’s expanse,
allowing superlative in-flight views.  Eagerly
scanning the eastern horizon from our elevated vantage
point soon proves productive.  As one pair of resident
Red-tailed Hawks floats over the southeast horizon
upon intensifying thermals, another spirals up from
the nearby canopy.  Plumage variation in the four
specimens proves engrossing, varying from the
immaculate to the slightly unkempt.  Yellow Warblers
enthusiastically explore the abundant shrubbery lining
Moose Brook below.  As conditions become increasingly
windy and overcast, we descend, accompanied by the
exclamations of an Eastern Towhee and the supple
WEE-SEE WEE-SEE WEE-SEE WEE-SEE WEE-SEE of a
Black-and-white Warbler.

We cross the intersection once more, our travels
uneventful until we arrive at a clearing surrounding a
decrepit shack on the west side of Brook Road.  A
languid, two-syllable buzz betrays the presence of a
Black-throated Blue Warbler.  The bird, appearing to
respond almost telepathically to our desire for a
better view, dances to the edge of a cluster of
Hemlock branches.  We pause by a soggy slope brimming
with fallen timber, frustratingly devoid of birds.
Returning to our starting point, a pair of extremely
vocal Eastern Kingbirds entertains us as we admire
prolific stands of Marsh Marigold.  The stilted,
irregular tapping of a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker and
the explosive call of a Pileated Woodpecker bolster
our sagging spirits.  The premature clunking of car
doors quickly suppressed, we listen with renewed
interest.  As the silence of mid afternoon settles
over the landscape, we reluctantly disperse.


American Goldfinch    6
American Redstart    2
American Robin    17
Baltimore Oriole    4
Barn Swallow    6
Black-and-white Warbler    9
Blackburnian Warbler    1
Black-capped Chickadee    2
Black-throated Blue Warbler    1
Black-throated Green Warbler    6
Blue Jay    9
Blue-headed Vireo    1
Blue-winged Warbler    2
Broad-winged Hawk    1
Brown Creeper    1
Brown-headed Cowbird    5
Canada Goose    2
Chimney Swift    3
Chipping Sparrow    4
Common Grackle    22
Common Loon    1
Common Yellowthroat    6
Downy Woodpecker    3
Eastern Kingbird    2
Eastern Phoebe    4
Eastern Towhee    8
Gray Catbird    2
Great Crested Flycatcher    1
Hairy Woodpecker    2
House Wren    1
Least Flycatcher    7
Louisiana Waterthrush    2
Magnolia Warbler    1
Mourning Dove    2
Northern Cardinal    4
Northern Flicker    2
Ovenbird    8
Pileated Woodpecker    1
Red-bellied Woodpecker    1
Red-eyed Vireo    2
Red-winged Blackbird    5
Rose-breasted Grosbeak    3
Rough-winged Swallow    2
Ruffed Grouse    2
Scarlet Tanager    4
Song Sparrow    2
Tree Swallow    11
Tufted Titmouse    5
Veery    7
Warbling Vireo    1
White-breasted Nuthatch    2
Winter Wren    1
Wood Thrush    3
Yellow Warbler    5
Yellow-bellied Sapsucker    1
Yellow-rumped Warbler    6


Leader:
Chris Ellison

Participants:

Donna Schilling
Dave Grant

Botanica:

Bluets
Daisy Fleabane
Fringed Polygala
Hawthorne
Jack-In-The Pulpit
Marsh Marigold
Purple Trillium
Rattlesnake Plantain
Rue Anemone
Solomon Seal
Starflower
Wild Geranium
Wild Grapevine
Wood Anemone

Vertebrates:
Painted Turtle

Amphibians:

Spring Peeper
Wood Frog

 
As the first swell of daylight envelopes the 
landscape, I quickly extinguish the car’s headlights. 
Large numbers of startled birds scatter explosively 
from the edges of the highway. I slow my pace, roll 
down windows, and allow my ears to sift through a 
rising tide of bird song. Easing into the secluded 
parking lot, a delicious jumble of flute-like thrush 
madrigals, electric warbler buzzes, effervescent 
sparrow trills, sedate vireo intonations, and brusque 
woodpecker hammerings fills my ears. Leaves suffused 
with the warm, soft green of newly formed vegetation 
soften the outlines of tree branches swaying against a 
pastel blue sky checkered with cirrocumulus clouds. 
The forest’s upper canopy is quickly dotted with the 
animated shapes of birds energetically sprinting 
about, immersed in the first throes of morning 
feeding. I bring binoculars to bear upon what appears 
to be a crisp, diamond-shaped leaf. A tiny bill 
sprouts from a corner, splits, rears back, and bursts 
into song. Warm brown flanks and black upperparts 
reveal the morning’s first Chestnut-sided Warbler. 
Glassing the surrounding trees produces even greater 
numbers of this species. They advance steadily out of 
the underbrush and into overhanging branches, and are 
soon nimbly thinning the ranks of unsuspecting 
insects. The most energetic birds seek out prime 
nesting territory and alight on prominent perches, the 
air vibrating with their clamorous singing. A Common 
Yellowthroat’s earnest 
WITCHITY-WITCHITY-WITCHITY-WITCHITY fills the air. 
The center of a dense shrub parts, and its jaunty 
black mask outlined with white dances to its top. The 
bird’s complete outline emerges, only to be swallowed 
whole by the blur of motion created by rapidly 
arriving cars. Accompanied by Tree Swallows 
chattering overhead and the unrelenting whistled notes 
of a Northern Cardinal, I finalize the morning’s trip 
roster and we set out in earnest. 
 
Proceeding along the battered asphalt of Petersham 
Road, the group gradually comes to a halt and 
investigates the persistent singing emanating from the 
dense stands of Red Pine. Yellow-rumped Warblers come 
into view, rich slaty-blue upperparts accented with 
yellow gaily ornamenting the pine boughs. A compact 
flock of Brown-headed Cowbirds briefly fills the 
austere dead branches of a gaunt pine, allowing us 
especially fine views of the females’ tobacco-colored 
wings. The penetrating, low–frequency stutter of a 
drumming Ruffed Grouse and the sibilant call of a 
Brown Creeper receive our attention. Pausing at a 
substantial clearing, our ears are riveted by what 
appears to an enthusiastic Warbling Vireo. Scoping 
the treetops, we detect a Purple Finch, crisply 
outlined against clear blue sky, and determine it is 
the source of the vocalization that drew our interest. 
 While investigating the newly cleared perimeter of an 
old apple orchard on the north side of the road, the 
wildly erratic calls of Winter Wrens prove engrossing. 
 Despite our dogged pursuit of an especially vocal 
individual along the periphery of an impenetrable 
tangle of Bittersweet, our efforts to flush the bird 
into view prove unsuccessful. 
 
Our determined hiking brings us into closer proximity 
to the mixed woodlands stretching north of our 
departure point from Petersham Road. The emphatic 
call of a Great Crested Flycatcher proves worthwhile 
compensation. We return to the roadway, and are 
delighted to discover the nest of an Eastern Phoebe 
above the doorway of a compact outbuilding. A bobbing 
chestnut tale atop a nearby Barberry quickly divulges 
the architect’s whereabouts. Underway once more, we 
investigate an unfamiliar vocalization. Benefiting 
from its unremitting repetition, we discern a pattern 
of rapidly acquired momentum and a sudden ending. A 
clean white eye-ring appears on a branch above us, 
followed by a gray head and back. Flitting 
continually upward, a patch of white appears between 
the bird’s legs. Immaculate yellow saturating its 
belly and flanks, an exceptionally obliging Nashville 
Warbler comes into full view. Entertained and 
enlightened, the group resumes hiking, accompanied by 
the persistent whine of Red-breasted Nuthatches. 
 
Greeted by the stentorian croaking of a Northern Raven 
upon reaching Dana Common, we swing northwest onto 
Skinner Hill Road. The group instinctively splits in 
two, the eyes of each unit soon fixed upon the 
luxuriant undergrowth on either side of the road. A 
ventriloquil, prolonged two-part buzz proves most 
absorbing, and we engage in a spirited probing of the 
low nearby shrubbery. Our gaze proves misplaced. A 
demure gray shape sporting a striking black eye line 
and gleaming white wing bars appears in the upper 
reaches of a Bittersweet tangle. The disembodied 
outline quickly assumes solid form, a Blue-winged 
Warbler relishing the growing numbers of Black Flies. 
Bolting overhead and landing in the top of an Ash, it 
pauses briefly, creating a striking profile against a 
backdrop of rapidly graying clouds. 
 
Eyes now riveted upon the surrounding vegetation that 
produced the Blue-winged Warbler, we peer into its 
depths. A furtive movement holds our attention. A 
seven-syllable song fills the air, its repetitive 
patter resembling a stone skipping across open water. 
An electric yellow sprite flits to the end of a supple 
branch, rich brown breast stripes achieving a lustrous 
sheen in the bright sun. Clinging tenaciously to its 
precarious perch, a Yellow Warbler peers at us 
intently. Shifting position to gain a better view of 
our group, it finds surer footing three feet above the 
road, again launching into an extended song. 
Departing, it arcs over the highest shrubs in the 
direction of steadily calling Least Flycatchers. 
Poring over the barer branches of trees abutting the 
road soon yields fine views of this species. As one 
particularly accommodating specimen flutters to and 
fro before us, a dark, fan shaped tail springs from 
the edge of a branch. A tiny shape, uniformly black 
above with arresting orange accents on its wings and 
tail, utters half a dozen sandpapery syllables, their 
pitch tilting sharply upwards as its song concludes. 
Displaying all the agility of a miniature gymnast, an 
American Redstart executes successive pirouettes while 
hungrily gulping insects. Singing ever more boldly, 
the group concludes he is aggressively seeking a mate 
and if successful, will soon stake out nesting 
territory. 
 
Closing in on Graves Landing, the ringing call of a 
Pileated Woodpecker shatters the stillness. We arrive 
at the reservoir’s edge, finding it mirror smooth. 
Low squat shapes materialize towards Leveau Island, 
and we are treated to extended calling from a pair of 
Common Loons. Moments pass, and three additional 
birds appear. A flawlessly plumaged adult approaches 
within thirty yards of the shore. Seen through a 
telescope, this individual provided viewing of this 
species simply unparalleled in this birder’s thirty 
years of observing, a high-magnification eyepiece 
yielding better than “in-the-hand” views! Still 
reveling in our good fortune, we direct our attention 
skyward, a distant speck advancing steadily towards 
us. Rapidly taking on more substantial dimensions, 
its flat profile at first presents the appearance of 
an eagle. Quickly discerning bold white and chestnut 
facial markings and comparatively slender wings, the 
group enjoys splendid views of an Osprey, the bird 
wheeling inquisitively over our heads before receding 
from view on a southwesterly course. While scanning 
the distant shoreline of Leveau Island, massive wings 
flap ponderously, and a beefy silhouette takes to the 
air. Effortlessly gliding northeast, it vanishes into 
the branches of a White Pine at the water’s edge. 
Patient study reveals the unmistakable outline of a 
juvenile Bald Eagle. Pleasantly wearied, participants 
disperse. Having obtained satisfactory views of the 
huge raptor, the trip’s remaining participants 
gradually succumb to an onslaught of Black Flies and 
begin the slow trudge to the highway, skin welcoming 
the first stray drops of the anticipated afternoon 
rain. 
 
I duck under a canopy of hemlock branches and savor 
the relief provided by a fresh layer of fleece and a 
lightweight rain jacket. Comfort restored, I continue 
my solitary slog through an unbroken drizzle. 
Arriving at the top of Dead Man’s Curve, I am 
delighted to detect bird song at this time of day and 
under adverse conditions. As Least Flycatchers call 
ceaselessly, I carefully scan nearby upper branches 
and discover a striking specimen. Training a 
telescope upon it reveals a perfect eye-ring and 
smooth gray upperparts tinged with green. Glancing 
downward, it studies me briefly before flying away. I 
decide to leave the roadway and wait out the mild 
shower, encouraged by the easily obtained view of the 
diminutive flycatcher. I establish an observation 
point in close proximity to former logging areas on 
each side of Skinner Hill Road. Blotches of sun 
haphazardly illuminate the dank forest canopy. As I 
conceal myself further, a bedraggled American Robin 
announces its presence, fluffing its feathers 
indignantly before leaping skyward into rapidly 
parting clouds. Unimpeded sunlight coalesces into a 
potent silver beam, reaching the tip of a squat, 
distant pine. A riveting, climbing buzz reaches my 
ears. Intrigued, I shift position, doing my best to 
remain out of sight as I plod down the shallow slope. 
It repeats, the song’s effervescent trajectory at last 
fully reaching my ears. Scoping the terrain produces 
a yellowish dot at the top of the now sun-drenched 
pine. Its face and breast dotted with black, I soon 
recognize the Prairie Warbler at the tree’s tip. As 
lighting improves, the bird gently pumps its tail, 
perhaps optimistic that the present dreary weather 
interval is nearing its end. Sunlight intensifies. 
The warbler shrugs spasmodically, its dampened plumage 
flushing silver as the gleaming orb of the sun passes 
overhead. Brightening conditions having supplied 
sufficient inducement to investigate feeding and 
nesting opportunities elsewhere, it streaks into the 
depths of a distant stand of young birches. Yearning 
to step out from underneath my makeshift shelter of 
dripping branches, I hike towards the road. 
 
Soft mists part, the luminous, umbrella shaped upper 
canopies of massive oaks standing out in stark relief 
against menacing dark clouds. I scan their glistening 
catkin-laden branches, glimpsing a blotch of yellow 
infused with soft orange sharply bordered with black. 
Pale wingbars flash. I run uphill, hurriedly bracing 
my back against a nearby tree trunk, steadying my 
scope in hopes of penetrating the depths of the newly 
formed foliage. My initial tremors of excitement 
dissipating, I canvas gleaming jagged teardrop-shaped 
leaves as tantalizing movement dances out of view. A 
sizzling ZEEEEEEEEEEE-URP pours out of the oak’s 
recesses. Wind parts branches, a haphazard eye-ring 
bouncing into sight. A pert bill, black above and 
beige below, widens into full-throated song. Having 
announced its presence, a feathered shape drops down, 
securing better footing on a stout branch below it. 
Allowing me to examine its bluish back tinged with 
green, the Parula Warbler turns to face me. Tipping 
its head downwards and fixing me with a quizzical 
stare, its black lores briefly assume a startling 
resemblance to bleary human eyes conveying acute 
fatigue. Our brief encounter ends in blurred 
wingbeats, the energetic bird departing for more 
enticing venues in which to stake out territory and 
continue to feed. 
 
Eyes slowly readjusting to the shade of the soggy 
roadside, I slow my pace, reluctant to frighten any 
birdlife away from the restorative feeding and bathing 
to be found amongst the burgeoning dandelions and 
monstrous, elliptical puddles. A patch of bleached 
white stands out from the pockets of bedraggled black 
and brown leaves. I blink as it gently zig-zags 
through a mottled patchwork of light and shade 
emerging under an afternoon sun now free of the 
morning’s roiling clouds. Hesitant to attribute its 
origin to capricious light filtering through the 
bountiful canopy, I concentrate upon the edge of the 
puddle it is gingerly approaching. Its edge soon 
quakes with ripples. Taut toes emerge, supporting 
lithe legs. As if having been sired by the leaves 
themselves, the full outline of a Veery appears. The 
thrush is soon splashing vigorously, delighting in its 
ablutions. Its primping and arrangement of its 
feathers imparts smoothness to the bird’s plumage 
approaching that of the finest sandalwood. Raising 
itself upon its legs and craning its neck upwards, it 
takes in its surroundings. Uttering an especially 
emphatic VEEEE-UR call note, it bolts to the end of 
the roadway stretching ahead of me, attempting to 
drive off a competing bird. The two opponents quickly 
engage, becoming a ball of angry tumult. The dueling 
pair’s lightening-fast thrusts, feints, and dodges 
flash white and brown as they careen through stands of 
birch saplings, a torrent of abrasive exclamations 
filling the air. Emerging at last upon sunlit trail, 
one of the birds disengages, disappearing into blue 
sky. Having repulsed the interloper, the victor 
quickly regains its composure. Appearing unfazed by 
the preceding hostilities, it calmly alights upon an 
exposed, elevated perch provided by a robust young 
maple. The thrush’s elegantly modulated refrains of 
VEEEEEE-UR VEEEEEE-UR VEEEEEE-UR VEEEEEE-UR VEEEEEE-UR 
VEEEEEE-UR soon cascade effortlessly downwards, my 
ears embraced by the resonant, flute-like notes. I 
depart, allowing the extraordinary songster to 
establish further control over his hard-won dominion. 
 
I leave the trail, treading up a challenging slope 
some distance from the battlefield of the brawling 
thrushes, pausing in the immense sprawl of shade 
created by an impressive maple. Against a backdrop of 
racing cirrus clouds, its mammoth gnarled branches 
thrust upward from the steep gradient as if hell bent 
upon securing a grip upon the heavens. A rasping, 
five-part call arouses my interest. Appearing to 
emanate from the tree’s upper story, I study the 
craggy dimensions of several spiraling branches. Neck 
soon cramped and with temples throbbing, I shift 
position to the rear of the maple. I focus upon a 
gigantic black gall swelling out from the elbow of the 
most substantial branch, the unwavering call’s creator 
continuing to elude me. Having narrowed the search 
area, I deploy my scope, carefully alternating from 
one likely point of origin to another. A dot of 
fungus proves of engrossing, bright white against the 
lower quarter of the gall. It twitches slightly, 
startling me. As I redouble my efforts, a patch of 
charcoal leaps forward. Chalk white transitions 
evenly into metallic blue. 
 
ZEEEE-ZURRR ZEEEE-ZURRR ZEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!! 
 
A Black-throated Blue Warbler blossoms from the 
outermost curve of the gall. Astonished at my 
inability to visually distinguish such an impassioned 
singer at nearly point-blank range, I am grateful that 
the dapper minstrel has put itself on better display. 
Feet throbbing, I position myself on firmer footing, 
slowly forging a path downhill. Attempting to garner 
one last satisfying glimpse of the warbler, I turn to 
glass the tree once again. Positioning itself with 
its more subdued colors facing outwards, it has 
vanished once more, its strident song the only 
evidence of its presence. 
 
American Crow 18 
American Goldfinch 14 
American Redstart 1 
American Robin 16 
Bald Eagle 1 
Baltimore Oriole 5 
Black-and-white Warbler 5 
Blackburnian Warbler* 1 
Black-capped Chickadee 21 
Black-throated Blue Warbler* 1 
Black-throated Green Warbler 18 
Blue Jay 21 
Blue-winged Warbler 3 
Brown Creeper 4 
Brown-headed Cowbird 13 
Canada Goose 7 
Carolina Wren 1 
Chestnut-sided Warbler 16 
Chipping Sparrow 27 
Common Grackle 8 
Common Loon 5 
Common Yellowthroat 3 
Downy Woodpecker 4 
Eastern Kingbird* 1 
Eastern Phoebe 5 
Eastern Towhee 6 
Field Sparrow 3 
Gray Catbird 1 
Great-crested Flycatcher 4 
Hairy Woodpecker 2 
Least Flycatcher 15 
Mallard 4 
Mourning Dove 5 
Nashville Warbler 1 
Northern Cardinal 3 
Northern Flicker* 4 
Northern Raven 2 
Osprey 1 
Ovenbird 9 
Parula Warbler 1 
Pileated Woodpecker 2 
Pine Warbler 9 
Prairie Warbler* 1 
Purple Finch 1 
Red-bellied Woodpecker* 1 
Red-breasted Nuthatch 5 
Red-winged Blackbird 7 
Rose-breasted Grosbeak 3 
Ruby-crowned Kinglet 1 
Ruffed Grouse 4 
Scarlet Tanager 1 
Song Sparrow* 1 
Tree Swallow 16 
Tufted Titmouse 6 
Veery* 1 
Warbling Vireo* 2 
White-breasted Nuthatch 3 
Wild Turkey 5 
Winter Wren 6 
Wood Duck 1 
Wood Thrush 3 
Yellow Warbler 4 
Yellow-bellied Sapsucker 4 
Yellow-rumped Warbler 33 
 
* - Indicates species detected on the trip’s return 
leg between the intersection of Whitney Hill and 
Skinner Hill Roads and the Gate 40 parking lot 
adjacent to Route 32A in Petersham. 
 
Leader: Chris Ellison 
 
Participants: 
 
Nicole DeGray 
Andrew Ward 
Jeff Smith 
Heather McQueen 
Chris Gentes 

I pause to tuck a tattered scarf further into my coat,
and am suddenly aware of my distorted silhouette in
the rear windshield of my car.  The rekindled vigor of
the first rays of the sun drives home the subtle but
significant shift in the seasons that has begun, and I
am struck by how unconsciously I have been impelled
forward by the steadily lengthening daylight.  I
realize the fluid, quickening pulse of my morning’s
activities is built upon American Robins bickering
from within the mucky tangle beyond a nearby stone
wall and Northern Cardinals whistling steadily from
the hedgerows, confidently staking out territories.  A
sense of purpose and resolve permeates a landscape
wriggling free of winter’s steely embrace.

A grating squeal seems to hasten the sun’s upward
climb.  Glancing at the tree line, a shimmering purple
tail juts into the wind at a rakish angle. 
Dandelion-yellow eyes accentuated by pupils as black
as obsidian peer impudently down at me.  The bird
swings smartly in the opposite direction.  A
streamlined bill opens and utters an earsplitting
metallic screech that pierces through the steady drone
of the wind.  Kindred, equally dissonant replies
shriek in the distance.  Rising choruses of staccato
squawks pulse through the countryside like a sudden
burst of static electricity.  A steady current of
glinting shapes courses over the horizon, tree
branches appearing to snatch stray black shapes.  I
now realize I am witnessing the unveiling of the
stark, ephemeral divide between winter and spring as
the boiling mass of Common Grackles puts down in
earnest, populating every available branch and shrub. 
As a hesitant sun gathers strength, I question my
initial assessment of the flock before me as being
completely homogenous.  Studying the steady ebb and
flow of movement, I make out a small pocket of birds
at the far left of the flock sporting a more compact
shape and decidedly conical bills.  One obligingly
throws back its head, uttering a slippery
CHEEDLY-WEEEENK!  A silvery head flushes a burnt
umber.  Vying for the choicest of the ever-shifting
variety of available perches, the male Brown-headed
Cowbirds vault upwards, their sudden temerity
displacing the Common Grackles from the highest
branches of the ash.  They pause to survey their
surroundings, springing nimbly from one adjacent tree
to the next, working their way to the rear of the
flock where they quickly vanish into its depths.  A
vibrato BURR-EEEEE rises above the flock’s collective
din, setting off a chain reaction of identical,
energetic responses.  Scarlet epaulets flashing in
solidarity, the scattered Red-winged Blackbirds take
to the air, expertly knit themselves into an
integrated flock and streak towards the lush, distant
Broad-leaved Cattails.  Their gaily-colored forms
drift over my head towards the horizon, and I bring my
scope to bear to keep them in view.  Their flight
levels off as they twist and arc away, my eyes and
instrument naturally dipping to the waterline.

A delicate bobbing motion stirs at the corner of an
adjacent secluded eddy, parting the tranquil waters. 
A sharp slash of glowing white darts forward, followed
by a pert, uniformly chestnut tail.  Minute
bluish-gray speckles accentuate the lustrous sheen of
brown flanks mottled with white.  A tapered white
smear bordered with black at its upper edge flutters
briefly.  Swerving to shore, a pudgy white belly
plunks down on the smooth face of an exposed rock. 
The white dot is swiftly consumed by a flurry of
shaken brown feathers.  A solid black eye softly
shuts.  The outline of a female Wood Duck in repose
blends seamlessly into the dark mud of the marsh’s
edge.  I pan the scope away from her, hoping
additional treasures will appear further along its
length, tantalizingly riddled with countless recesses
and inlets.  I examine a frenzied splashing at the tip
of a particularly promising bulge of shoreline. 
Glassing its pockmarked surface reveals nothing, and
my gaze continues towards open water.  Without
warning, flickering wings fill my view, stirring the
waters into a shimmering cauldron of kaleidoscopic
colors.  Stillness returns.  

T-EEER-WEE-EEEEK.  

Pleasantly startled, I tip the scope upwards.  A
magnificent drake Wood Duck glides into view, head and
neck craning forward at each repetition of its
plaintive call, its flamboyant plumage completely at
odds with its thin, tremulous cries.  Companions inch
into view, and the shallow pool is soon ablaze with
color.  I flinch as one of them appears to be
swallowed whole by a rectangular block of shadow. 
Mammoth wings fold.  Grotesque dark legs and feet
touch down.  A supple and muscular neck propels a
lengthy bill forward.  Daffodil-yellow eyes glint in
the sun, alighting upon the equally vivid Wood Ducks. 
Curiosity satisfied, the Great Blue Heron strides
deliberately away, stopping at a considerable distance
from the ducks.  Gradually compressing its substantial
neck into its chest, the heron’s massive contours
dissolve, presenting only a squat mauve breast as it
settles contentedly into the furthest corner of the
pool.  Stray tufts of black and white feathers jut out
from the bold accent stripe adorning its neck, dancing
crazily in the wind.  It is rare that I glimpse the
furry softness of these feathers, a sharp contrast to
the bird’s typically sleek, crisp profile. 

Immersed in this infrequently seen detail, my eye
snaps to full attention upon detecting a blurry splash
at the limits of my optics.  Glowing white bellies
straddled by charcoal-tipped wings agitate the water’s
surface into a fine froth as they put down.  Petite,
buoyant shapes disperse over the waves, eagerly eyeing
their new surroundings.  A shifting sun partially
illuminates an elastic patch of mahogany, silver and
emerald dipping and bobbing lower in the sky, rapidly
closing in on the marsh’s western border.  Cottony
pockets of bubbling foam dot the purplish water. 
Feathers materialize as commotion dissipates, slowly
intermingling with those of the first group.  My eyes
dance between dramatic dark eye lines and hindquarters
with startling beige centers.  The wind obligingly
sweeps their vocalizations towards me, and a wispy
QUIK-QUIK-QUIK-QUIK strikes my ears.  Rearing out of
the water, one of the birds reveals a chalk-white
throat.  My hand, creeping towards the field guide
wedged into a nearby pocket, darts back up to adjust
my scope.  As the female Green-winged Teal leaps into
crisp focus, it slowly turns away and swims towards
the nucleus of the flock, swallowed by the metallic
sheen of her male counterparts’ dazzling plumage.  My
eyes invigorated by such a surfeit of sparkling color
on a late winter day, they soon hunger for more,
settling upon a narrow fleck of cherry red hovering
above the water.  Isolated strangely in space, it
undulates gently in rhythm with the waves, dimensions
slowly shrinking, at last reducing itself to a mere
pinpoint of glistening, gleaming crimson.  In a
twinkling, it is gone.  My attempts to reacquire it
are unsuccessful.  The air is filled with the
penetrating, vibrating pops of continuously thawing
ice, and I draw solace from studying the wild
geometric shapes of monstrous chunks drifting into a
significant expanse of open water.  With an unexpected
slackening of the wind, I savor the quickening pulse
of the marsh.  Standing waist-deep in this ample
brook, its lifeblood, I am entranced by a ceaseless,
musical trickling of water.  An emboldened sun
outlines the patterns of the surface current against a
bottom of variegated earth tones.  Its soft curves
trail away in stately contours etched by the force of
the flow.  Realizing my opportunity to rediscover the
mysterious patch of color may vanish like the bits of
flotsam merrily coursing by, my interest shifts to the
horizon once more.  A cluster of ice fragments slowly
assumes a remarkable degree of uniformity.  Sloping
sides dotted with shining water droplets display
haphazard red accents.  Jagged edges soften, morphing
into rumpled trapezoids followed by a sudden, violent
splintering of squat white curves.  The polished water
surface dances with an outburst of flapping wings and
erected necks.  A linen-crisp procession of Common
Mergansers traces the outlines of the vast, newly
formed open water.  As their hoarse courtship croaks
cross its expanse and greet my ears, I glimpse demure
cinnamon heads trailing behind several of the jauntier
drakes.  Circumspect, pearl gray females rhythmically
raise and lower themselves in the glittering current,
the flock’s dimensions narrowing as it pushes away. 
They vanish, single-file, into rapidly moving water,
pulled towards a horizon where warm air dances over
newly exposed ground.  

The opportunity to place the rising sun behind me
proves irresistible.  Hunch-backed, I scurry towards
the border between earth and water.  I am delighted at
my rapid progress, aided in no small measure by the
anvil-hard ice beneath the marsh grass compacted by
winter snow.  Relishing the opportunity to observe
from a vantage point completely inaccessible during
the warmer months, I erect a makeshift blind to
minimize my presence.  As aluminum grommets flap
crazily in the wind, a two-tiered, pinging note rises
above their rattling din.  I secure the fabric, study
the sky, and detect nothing.  The sound returns. 
Examining the lower border of a haggard cloud, I
glimpse tiny, pointed wings erratically scissoring the
air.  As if drawn by an unseen magnet, it closes
distance rapidly.  A masked face mated to a thin bill
hurtles earthward.  A tan wedge dipped in black
streaks past, skittering to a halt atop a distant
earthen mound.  Repeated exclamations of
LOOK-HEEER-LOOK-HEEER-LOOK-HEEER ringing in my ears as
I glass the field, I lock onto a pair of bustling,
taupe-colored legs.  An inquisitive, bulbous eye peers
at me in the scope, then sharply darts away,
expectantly surveying the terrain’s gentle, rolling
slopes.  Perhaps dismayed at finding no others of its
kind, the sprightly Killdeer dashes over the gaunt
corn rows, adroitly arcing aloft and receding into a
skyline dotted with battered silos and the craggy
peaks of sprawling outbuildings.  

My eyes travel over smooth contours of aubergine and
gray.  The shapes of branches materialize, bristling
in the breeze.  My eyes arrive at a rocky shoreline,
admiring wide bands of polished stones of varied
colors.  The surroundings appear utterly barren, with
the exception of a mammoth chunk of driftwood jutting
out of the fine gravel at the water’s edge, mottled in
stark brown and white.  Without warning, a flurry of
yellow appears at its base, and soon ceases.   A
robust, quivering blob leaps into view, regains its
composure, and is still once more.  Jagged feather
tips twitch.  An animated, brawny head ending in a
monstrous beak wrests chunks of flesh from a bloated
carcass, eagerly gobbling them down.  Perhaps feeling
my gaze falling upon it, the bird’s head jolts upward
from its gory feast, bobbing warily from side to side.
 Glowering yellow eyes appear to meet my own, even at
this tremendous distance.  Having allayed its fears,
the Bald Eagle resumes dining.  I examine the sunlit
expanse of shoreline in hopes of discovering others. 
Unsuccessful, my attention is drawn to a cluster of
flowers patterned in arresting shades of black and
yellow, their peculiar triangular blossoms ending in
delicate, inky points.  Completely engrossed, I
rummage through my daypack and extract a threadbare
wildflower guide.  I glance through the scope again,
only to find they have disappeared.  Befuddled, I pan
the scope slowly in either direction in an attempt to
reacquire them.  A banana-yellow speck springs from
the gritty soil.  Confident that the brilliant dot
isn’t an apparition, I make use of a basketball-sized
boulder as a concrete reference point as my gaze
returns to the pages of my guide.  Unable to find an
exact match based upon coloration or season, I squint
at the shore once again.  The boulder remains, but my
desired subject does not!  I probe determinedly every
inch of featureless gravel.  Motion and sound fill the
scene.  Black tails crisply outlined in white dance
over the landscape, an unmistakable three-part song
chiming in unison with fluttering wing beats.  The
flock of Horned Larks sprints through a shallow
depression, touching briefly upon the larger rocks. 
Folding end over end like some stray piece of gossamer
fabric taken by the breeze, the birds disperse,
disappearing over the squat island’s southern tip. 
Their departure arouses my curiosity in that portion
of the compass, and hastens my own.  

I part the underbrush, and erect a makeshift seat.  A
pool gleams in the sunlight, blurry outlines of
overhead branches flickering upon its surface.  I
cautiously shift position, raising the stool to gain a
better view of the torrent of sparrows milling through
the lush hedgerows. Scattering at the approach of a
lumbering tractor, I am subjected to a barrage of
black, gray, and brown heads streaking inches over my
head.  Quiet returns.  White-throated Sparrows carol
contentedly, alternately sparring for prominent
perches and foraging in the leaf litter.  Song
Sparrows reveal themselves and join the chorus,
polka-dotting a nearby Multiflora Rose’s exposed
branches.  A stout, thickset passerine darts into
view, dwarfing its companions.  My surprise induces
complete motionlessness.  A nutmeg colored tail
twitches.  A hint of gray surrounds what appears to be
a solid black eye.  A light colored breast dappled
with dark spots tips downward, the bird deploying both
feet as it tosses detritus into the air with abandon. 
I mutter a mild oath as the drone of farm equipment
returns.  A minute beige patch appears upon the bird’s
forehead as it wheels in the direction of the oncoming
noise.  Escalating into a roar, the din forces it to
flee.  At first landing in the highest reaches of a
bittersweet tangle, it executes a flawless dive. 
Displaying median and greater wing coverts smartly
striped with beige, it expertly arcs upwards, landing
upon a crumbling stone wall.  Fluttering in
indignation at being flushed from a prime feeding
area, it appears keenly interested in the enormous
tractor as it coasts by.  Nimbly hopping from stone to
stone in the direction of the machine, the area from
its upper back to its rump displays alternating gray
and russet banding.  My reaction is a mixture of
pleasure and regret.  Confident I am viewing a Fox
Sparrow, I quickly dismiss my first impression of the
bird as the spring’s first Hermit Thrush.  

Yearning to sharpen further my skills at identifying
birds in flight, I streak north once again. My now
wind-burned face welcomes the stillness of the brushy
tangle.  I carefully sidestep down the steep
embankment, cautiously erect a tripod, and begin
systematically canvassing the skies.  The atmosphere
exudes the delicate, complex scent of a rapidly
greening earth.  A breeze brushes over the newly
opened water, bringing with it the distant fragrance
of invigorated, freshly saturated soil.  Three
arrowheads of waterfowl rocket through the air towards
me.  Glittering blue speculae bordered with white
flutter in perfect unison.  Black rumps and upper tail
coverts pull abreast of chalk-white faces.  Slowing
their pace, the birds’ attention seems drawn to the
sumptuous feeding area approaching them.  Purple
patches of whirling ripples skate fitfully over the
pond’s surface.  Approaching with masterful control,
four drakes alight with necks eagerly outstretched. 
Twenty-eight companions quickly follow, frothing the
water’s surface into a riot of waves.  As I peer into
their tumultuous ranks, eagerly searching for
dissimilar shapes amidst the chaos, a steady staccato
tone rises above the extended gurgle occasioned by the
Mallards’ arrival.  It evolves into an unearthly
whistle, fades, and stops.  

A loud nearby splash announces itself.  Having been
too absorbed by the flock’s disarray to accurately
gauge its direction, I return to the scope, dismayed. 
I pan to the most likely point of origin of the sudden
noise, and study several pairs of upended, bright
yellow feet, a distinct contrast to those of the
mallards, a riveting orange.  A blurred green head
emerges from the water.  A stout black beak opens,
emitting a buzzing WH-EER!!!  A dazzling sheen plunges
out of sight.  A shiny chocolate head, a gleaming
yellow iris with an ebony pupil at its center, splits
the foaming water.  A bold white dot surrounded by
green appears beside it.  A male Common Goldeneye
rears out of the water, its pristine white breast
sparkling in the sun.  Distancing themselves from
their unruly companions, he and his mate paddle
intently into less disturbed water, soon joining three
additional birds.  Displaying the species’ penchant
for exhaustively exploring deeper, more tranquil
waters, they dive and breach at remarkably regular
intervals.

A familiar patchy chatter fills my ears.  I divert my
attention from waterfowl and raise my eyes from the
scope, a lopsided flock of passerines approaching over
the horizon.  Settling into the upper branches of the
massive shade trees surrounding the pond, masses of
lengthy tails twitch to and fro, forming neat clusters
of angular feathers.  The gradual accretion of birds
fills the gaunt outlines of a huge hickory,
superimposing the pointed, sharp symmetry of a pagoda
upon its spacious interior.  Smooth black plumage
flashes magenta, bronze, and emerald.  Admiring the
flock’s triangular dimensions, my eyes halt at a
lusterless shade of black.  A modest, pointed beak
twitches, and I glimpse a square tail dramatically
smaller than the lengthy, more rounded one displayed
by the Common Grackles situated directly above. 
Panning upward, identical birds appear.  Stepping away
from the scope and glassing the flock with binoculars
now reveals a substantial size difference between the
two groups of birds comprising the flock.  The smaller
Rusty Blackbirds shift downwards in groups of two and
three, examining the surface of the pond.  Quickly
gauging it as being too deep for productive feeding,
they disband, dissipating with strong, level flight in
an unbroken stream, fading into a leaden sky. 
Thankful for having brought an extra field guide, I
stand, stretch, and wonder whether others will appear,
a nearby Eastern Phoebe issuing a taunt of
MAY-be-MAY-be-MAY-be…


American Black Duck        17
American Crow        25
American Goldfinch        5
American Robin        22
American Tree Sparrow        6
Bald Eagle        1
Barred Owl        1
Black-capped Chickadee        12
Blue Jay        22
Brown Creeper        1
Brown-headed Cowbird        19
Canada Geese        39
Carolina Wren        1
Common Goldeneye        5
Common Merganser        23
Common Raven        1
Dark-eyed Junco        8
Downy Woodpecker        3
Eastern Bluebird        4
Eastern Phoebe        1
European Starling        228
Fox Sparrow        2
Golden-crowned Kinglet        7
Great Blue Heron        2
Great Horned Owl        1
Green-winged Teal        6
Hairy Woodpecker        2
Herring Gull        5
Hooded Merganser        18
Horned Lark        16
House Finch        2
House Sparrow        28
Killdeer        3
Mallard        32
Mourning Dove        15
Northern Cardinal        5
Northern Flicker        3
Northern Mockingbird        1
Northern Pintail        3
Pileated Woodpecker        1
Pine Siskin        1
Red-bellied Woodpecker        2
Red-breasted Nuthatch        2
Red-tailed Hawk        1
Ring-billed Gull        14
Ring-necked Duck        11
Ruffed Grouse        1
Rusty Blackbird        13
Sharp-shinned Hawk        1
Song Sparrow        5
Swamp Sparrow        3
Tufted Titmouse        8
Turkey Vulture        8
White-breasted Nuthatch        7
White-throated Sparrow        9
Wild Turkey        11
Winter Wren        1
Wood Duck        7

Abnormally balmy temperatures accompanied by buffeting
wind and rain dip sharply, giving way to a dry,
relentless cold.  As I negotiate the tempestuous
weather, evidence of the unruly wind'Rs capriciousness
litters the roadway, jagged branches and soggy bark
fragments unevenly strewn along its length.  I pause
only momentarily, despairing of gleaning any bird song
from the roaring air mass that envelops me as I exit
the car.

Returning to the rendezvous point for the excursion I
will lead, the first wan rays of the sun struggle
through tumultuous clouds, a frenzied mass of glowing
white and baleful gray.  A pleasant rush of warm air
soothes my face as hands are shaken through a car
window.  Participants assembled, the strident cawing
of a lone American Crow announces our departure.  The
initial trudge to the Quabbin'Rs shoreline is briefly
enlivened by a snatch of song from a Black-capped
Chickadee.  Arriving at the water'Rs edge, scanning the
far shore reveals a bright white dot atop a burly
pine.  Binoculars are quickly brought to bear upon it,
revealing an immaculate adult Bald Eagle unperturbed
by the fierce wind.  Confirming that the reservoir'Rs
choppy surface is devoid of waterfowl, the eagle
receives our full attention.  Another eagle snaps into
view along the same stretch of distant shoreline. The
group busily pivots the scope from one striking
specimen to the other.  Plumbing the depths of the far
shore'Rs tree line reveals a mammoth nest, evidence of
the eagles'R past breeding efforts.  I make out a
brawny shape chugging steadily through the distant
haze, sweeping abruptly upwards to alight upon a
haggard birch nearly out of optical range.  Each of us
takes the measure of the bird, and we conclude yet
another Bald Eagle has appeared.  Angular, streamlined
silhouettes flapping lazily by transform themselves
into Ring-billed Gulls, their sleek contours
contrasting with the blocky outlines of the raptors.
A disembodied pair of jet-black wings suddenly sprouts
a uniformly white body and stout, lengthy bill.  The
Great Black-backed Gull descends, peers briefly into
the water's surface, and vanishes into the clouds.
What appears to be a discarded lobster buoy transforms
itself into a loafing Herring Gull, completely at ease
upon the windswept ice.

Eyes watering in the intense cold, we pause to marvel
at the sheets of snowflakes billowing across the vast
expanse of water.  A prodigious shape gamely knifes
its way high overhead through a challenging wind.  An
eagle with plumage straddling the narrow divide
between late adolescence and full adulthood soars over
the water, its undersides revealing faint white
streaks.  Deftly avoiding being manhandled by the icy
gusts, it tips sharply downward, revealing a uniformly
chocolate upper body.  Continued monitoring of the
eagles present allows us to view two mature specimens
moving steadily toward one another.  Both individuals
eventually perch upon the same branch, inviting
attempts to sex the birds.  Unable to discern a
clear-cut size difference, we continue south.  Our
progress is briefly halted by a taunting snatch of
song from a single Black-capped Chickadee.  We resume
our travels, eyes glued to the dark woods on either
side of us.  We catch a fleeting glimpse of a Northern
Cardinal, its shape vanishing into a cluster of pine
boughs.  Wiry bird song pierces the air.  Five human
heads swivel in unison, ears and eyes locked upon the
amorphous wall of underbrush to our left.  Thick,
downy snowflakes surround us in an ethereal quiet,
Golden-crowned Kinglets dancing gaily amongst a matted
tangle of grapevine.  Heartened to have added some
colorful passerines to the morning'Rs tally, we reverse
our direction, savoring a last glimpse of the eagles
before heading our separate ways.

American Crow   1
Bald Eagle (five adults, one juvenile)  6
Black-capped Chickadee  2
Golden-crowned Kinglet  5
Great Black-backed Gull 1
Northern Cardinal       1
Ring-billed Gull        3

 
 Stopping at the edge of a level patch of icy ground, I 
reluctantly yank up the thick earflaps of my winter 
hat. Wincing at the onrush of the arctic air, I 
grimly place earphones atop my naked head. The legs 
of my portable seat snap crisply into place as I 
situate myself at the edge of the wide, flat meadow. 
Surrounded by an omnipresent silence beneath the even 
glow of a full moon, my eyes take in the inky outlines 
of the shadows created by the contrast of tree 
branches against stark white snow. I probe further 
into the darkness with my binoculars, following 
massive tree trunks upwards, mammoth gray pillars 
buttressing the flawless purple cathedral dome of the 
winter night sky. I systematically pivot the parabola 
around the perimeter of the meadow. The rueful 
barking of disconsolate dogs is punctuated by the mild 
thunk of trash barrels being deposited in driveways. 
The tinkling of glasses being removed from dishwashers 
accompanies receding and approaching traffic. The 
dissonance of the waking world subsides, muffled by 
the deepening twilight. As the unwavering moonlight 
strengthens, the landscape flushes silver. I detect 
my senses being steered into the spacious quiet of the 
nocturnal world by the steadily advancing darkness. 
Ears eager to alight upon the slightest natural sound 
as the commotion of the mechanized world dwindles, I 
down some scalding herbal tea. 
 
HOOT! 
 
I flinch, failing to recover quickly enough to arrest 
my fall off of the stout stool. Now prostrate, I 
swivel my microphone towards the unmistakable sound of 
a Great Horned Owl, my skull reverberating with the 
force of the amplified vocalization. With surprise 
fading and composure rapidly returning, I ratchet down 
the microphone’s volume control. A steady series of 
abbreviated hoots greets my ears, growing steadily 
more intense, climaxing with another potent 
 
HOOT! 
 
>From my awkward position wedged against frozen terrain 
unyielding as concrete, I’m loathe to shift position 
for fear of losing a proper bearing upon the owl’s 
last sounds. I am as taut and noiseless as the deep 
lavender sky, its stars twinkling gaily. Frigid wind 
gouges my cheek. My arm cramps savagely from the 
strain of holding the parabola aloft. The air 
saturated with silence once more, I tentatively rise, 
joints reluctantly snapping back into place. The wind 
subsides, and I scan the area for other sounds. 
 
My optimism waning and nearly gone after two hours of 
concerted listening, scuffling, panting, and muted 
yelps drift into my headphones. A series of piercing, 
high-pitched barks stabs my ears, accentuating the 
austerity of the winter landscape. I pause, yearning 
to detect them again. I feel my body’s core 
temperature dipping, limbs clamoring for the movement 
required to generate much-needed body heat. Compacted 
snow amplifies my footsteps, reverberating through the 
vicious sting of the night air. Pulling my hood more 
closely around my numbed face, I return to the scat 
once more, discerning a faint glimmer of congealed fur 
and hair at its center. Focusing my headlamp upon the 
tracks at the edge of the roadway, my adrenaline 
surges at the sight of the oversized foreprints 
embedded in the edge of the snow bank. Trailing into 
the ample overgrown pasture beyond, they are mated to 
noticeably smaller tracks created by taut, sculpted 
hindquarters. I glass the underbrush, surveying a sea 
of gaunt gray shrubs waving in the wind. Movement 
arrests my eyes. A substantial tail tipped with black 
momentarily protrudes from a shrub against the 
hillside, folding neatly into the black recess of the 
shrub’s base as I approach. 
 
Chuckling, I inhale deeply and cup my hands around my 
mouth, responding with the best imitation I can 
muster. The animals reply with captivating vigor, 
filling the air with their energetic howls. We engage 
in a spirited call and response, spacious curves of 
sound occasionally intersecting, our ululations 
merging into sonorous peaks of matched pitch. 
 
The bone-softening warmth of clean, freshly warmed 
socks surrounds my feet. Indulging in a luxuriant 
stretch, I rise, the sun’s rays buoying my frame 
upwards as I pull them on. I allow the steam from the 
nearby coffee pot to remove the last bits of frost 
from my stubble. Now clothed and fed, my tent flaps 
aglow with morning light, my eyes are drawn to the 
more animated world beyond. 
 
SEEER-WEE. 
 
The soft insistent sound repeats, my eyes tracing the 
outlines of the nearest bare branches. Unrewarded, I 
dart out into the open, glimpsing several silhouettes 
flapping and gliding over the treetops, plunging into 
the brushy field beyond. My attempts to capture them 
in the scope prove futile as they vanish into the 
tangle. As their muted chatter continues, I use the 
hefty girth of an ash as a sun shield, allowing me to 
glass the ample shrubs at the perimeter of the field 
within easiest reach of my instrument. Deep red 
clusters of sumac berries snap into view, anchored to 
gray branches projecting into a tranquil sky. Five 
denim-blue and cinnamon shapes have neatly arranged 
themselves in an ample sumac, a motley family flock of 
Eastern Bluebirds sporting a full spectrum of 
plumages. Systematically flitting from one branch to 
another, they quickly eat their fill of the berries, 
their activity creating subtle pairings of blue and 
red as they traverse the length of the sumac grove. 
American Robins descend upon the riches the bluebirds 
have discovered, calmly settling upon available 
branches. The sheltered glen pulses with a steady hum 
of contented feeding. The bluebirds take to the air, 
their more delicate wing beats separating them from 
the steadier, more robust flapping of their thrush 
brethren. Forming a swirling cloud, the flock crosses 
the sky, the azure flecks of the bluebirds at its 
center. 
 
I hike west, the sun rising rapidly, its welcome 
warmth banishing the stiffness from my joints. My 
shadow flows across the snow, creeping over the 
boundary of a stone wall. A startled 
T-ZEEEEEDLE-IT!!! drifts through the hedgerows. 
Animated brown dots percolate to the tops of the 
multiflora rose, russet caps glinting in the growing 
light. Comporting themselves with their puffy forms 
facing into the sun, eleven sets of perfectly groomed 
wing coverts blush orange as the sun clears the 
treetops. The American Tree Sparrows begin feeding 
within a glittering framework of brilliant glazed ice. 
 Gleaming stray patches of it adorn the irregular 
contours of the stone wall beneath them. Dense 
clusters of frozen water droplets fill the surrounding 
shrubbery. Systematically dropping to the ground and 
returning to their perches while singing, the birds 
are transformed into a musical chart given feathered 
form. Satiated, the flock gradually disbands, merry 
triplets of song resounding over the hilly swath of 
abandoned pasture. I follow them to the road’s edge, 
where they take wing in earnest, diminutive shapes 
stippling the bold patches of blue sky emerging from 
the leaden horizon. 
 
Whistled, wheezy notes interject themselves into the 
mixture of song flowing around me, combining briefly 
with the fading sparkle of the Tree Sparrows’ 
utterances. Their burry warble coasts along the tree 
line, a nonchalant 
HEEEAR-MECHEE-CHEE-CHEECHEE-CHEE-CHEE. My eyes meet 
the contours of each of the prominent terrain features 
in the area as each jagged hodgepodge of notes 
registers in my ears. Scanning in vain for several 
minutes, the taut clusters of birch branches filling 
the scope haphazardly part, revealing several sets of 
drooping wings and notched tails spiraling upwards 
along the length of the largest among their number. 
The smooth light gray feathers filling the gaps 
between their dark brown counterparts contract, heads 
shivering erratically in the cold. A light-colored 
beak abruptly stands out at a right angle to a 
glistening dark cherry cap. Richly colored crowns 
mated to point, conical bills eagerly pivot around, 
investigating their surroundings more keenly. The 
flock of Common Redpolls disperses, descending to the 
snow-speckled pockets of weeds below. Searing pink 
breasts tracing elliptical patterns upon the ground, 
the Redpolls appear to bow and curtsy demurely to one 
another as they feed. I approach the expanse of 
ground that is the focus of their attention, their 
stocky shapes fluttering nimbly ahead of me. I slow 
my pace, and then abruptly pause. Scattering at last, 
their cottony undersides dip and bob into an adjoining 
hedgerow that proves to be of little interest. 
Airborne once more, they surge over the nearby power 
lines, appearing to be held aloft by their chaotic 
chatter. I straddle their feeding area, scarcely a 
yard across. Richly laden with the delicate patterns 
imprinted by their tiny feet, the snow acquires the 
appearance of the finest embroidered cloth. 
 
I glass the even expanse of snow along the edge of the 
roadway, my thoughts suddenly suffused with the glow 
of rediscovery. I upbraid myself for having abstained 
from a stimulating immersion in the world of mammalian 
sign and tracks. I tap each of my heels against the 
hard ground to remove the most stubborn snow from my 
boots, and clamber to the top of a nearby rock to 
better examine my surroundings. I notice a sharp 
break in the icy boundary of a gigantic puddle 
directly ahead. Providence seems to have rewarded my 
newly rekindled interest in the activities of other 
vertebrates. Squinting through binoculars, the snow 
adjacent to the gash in the ice reveals an erratic 
pattern of paw prints. Eagerly dismounting the rock, 
I return to the roadway and walk to the puddle’s edge. 
 Slab-footed, well-defined hindprints arranged with 
claws pointed towards the water are mated to a 
smattering of diminutive foreprints. The weighing of 
available evidence suggests I’m viewing the feeding 
activities of a Common Raccoon. The puddle’s steep 
edge provides a superb location for the animal to wash 
its prey prior to consumption. I admire the 
intrepidity the animal has displayed in emerging from 
the comforts of a secluded, secure den to satiate its 
hunger. 
 
Exercising caution as I stand, I return my field guide 
to my pack and continue north, studying the trees for 
any movement occasioned by my approach. I negotiate a 
gradual curve in the trail, relieved to find myself on 
surer footing and level ground. I pause and pore over 
the stands of Red Pine. A bold zigzag pattern at the 
base of one sickly tree captures my attention. I 
cross a stone wall to examine it more closely, finding 
pudgy hindprints with barely detectable toes scattered 
amongst a substantial quantity of bark. Clearly 
removed by formidable claws, I pause to sift through 
the prodigious quantity of debris for clues indicating 
what mammal is responsible. Tracing a widening circle 
away from the wreckage, I spy an irregular mound of 
gravel. Finding no exposed roadbed or dirt path 
nearby, I am temporarily puzzled by its appearance in 
this patch of virgin snow. Placing my back to the 
sun, I realize my oversight. Examining the snow once 
again, I discover an additional set of tracks. Squat, 
blocky hindprints are complemented by tiny, comically 
ding-toed foreprints. The haphazardly sized gravel 
pile is in fact newly deposited mammalian scat. 
Encouraged to have stumbled across the feeding 
activities of a Common Porcupine, I exit the scene, 
loathe to have my unfamiliar presence disrupt its 
feeding unnecessarily. 
 
Jogging up the shallow hillside, I pause upon reaching 
the expanse of snow over the wall. Remaining 
motionless as I allow the mild thumping of my pulse to 
recede from my temples, I become aware of a different 
rhythm competing for my attention. Reinvigorated, I 
am suddenly aware of heavy, intermittent tapping 
originating from a thick stand of pines further along 
the roadway. My ears detect the unmistakable sound of 
detritus cascading onto hard-packed snow. A giant 
silhouette wheels into view. I quickly drop to my 
knees to reduce the size of my shadow, my eyes 
discerning two powerful claws swiveling to the 
opposite side of the gaunt pine. Variable, chaotic 
patter continues, jagged bark fragments clattering to 
the ground. A dagger-shaped bill, flashing silver in 
the sun, opens and emits an explosive staccato call, 
forcing the hair at the base of my neck to full 
attention. Yellowish irises and black pupils gaze 
intently at me. Bold crimson crest and cranberry 
mustache gleaming, the male Pileated Woodpecker 
effortlessly thrusts itself away from the tree trunk, 
bounding into the seclusion of a distant pine grove 
surrounded by a profusion of fallen timber, its 
nightmarishly spiky phalanx of upturned branches 
discouraging the investigation of its interior. I 
survey the broad ribbon of indigo sky before me, 
filled with the dramatic brushstrokes of gauzy 
cirrocumulus clouds. Unable to discern any stray 
raptors darting across them, I begin the return leg of 
my hike. Settling into a steady gait, my abrupt shift 
of direction and perspective rekindles my interest in 
any activity overhead, and I scrutinize the tops of 
distant trees for any activity as I progress steadily 
over the trail. Without warning, a pocket of blue is 
peppered with streaked shapes. They hurtle towards 
the treetops, blundering into the upper third of a 
robust Eastern White Pine. Argumentative chatter 
fills the air. Focusing the scope upon the cluster of 
swaying branches containing them reveals neatly folded 
wings smartly striped with yellow. Needle-sharp bills 
eagerly preen streaked underparts. 
 
NERT-NERT-NERT-NERT-NERT-NERT-NERT!!!! 
 
The impertinent nasal call repeats. The flock of 
brown shapes disperses along the height of the pine, 
expressing curiosity in this sudden outburst. 
Immaculate slate blue feathers mechanically inch into 
view against the pine’s trunk, each forward movement 
accompanied by a demure sip!” note. A stark white 
throat and coal-black cap present themselves. The 
White-breasted Nuthatch flits to a dead branch, 
enthusiastically prodding its craggy surface. 
Satisfied that it poses no threat, order and calm 
spread through the siskin ranks. They contentedly 
feed and groom themselves, oblivious as the nuthatch 
narrowly skirts around them, broadening its foraging 
efforts. Succumbing to the influence of my subjects’ 
behavior, I remove my pack and extract a thermos. The 
welcome aroma of minestrone soup widens my cold 
nostrils. Concentration restored upon ingestion, I 
alternately plot a new course upon my crumpled map and 
gaze through my scope, scouring the treetops for 
activity. Unrewarded, I complete my route 
calculations and soon become happily preoccupied with 
securing creature comforts, much like the birds around 
me. 
 
American Black Duck 3 
American Crow 54 
American Goldfinch 17 
American Robin 23 
American Tree Sparrow 28 
Bald Eagle 2 
Barred Owl 1 
Black-capped Chickadee 17 
Blue Jay 22 
Brown Creeper 2 
Carolina Wren 1 
Common Goldeneye 1 
Common Merganser 2 
Common Raven 2 
Common Redpoll 9 
COYOTE 7 
Dark-eyed Junco 13 
Downy Woodpecker 2 
Eastern Bluebird 5 
European Starling 27 
Golden-crowned Kinglet 6 
Great Horned Owl 1 
Hairy Woodpecker 2 
Herring Gull 1 
Hooded Merganser 4 
House Finch 3 
House Sparrow 38 
Mallard 2 
Mourning Dove 7 
Northern Cardinal 5 
Northern Flicker 4 
Northern Mockingbird 1 
Northern Saw-whet Owl 1 
Pileated Woodpecker 1 
Pine Siskin 11 
Red-bellied Woodpecker 1 
Red-breasted Nuthatch 3 
Red-tailed Hawk 2 
Ring-billed Gull 5 
Ruffed Grouse 2 
Sharp-shinned Hawk 1 
Song Sparrow 3 
Swamp Sparrow 5 
Tufted Titmouse 5 
White-breasted Nuthatch 7 
White-throated Sparrow 8 
Wild Turkey 14 
Winter Wren 1