April Songster

Field sparrow singing by Dave Govoni

Field sparrow singing by Dave Govoni (Creative Commons BY-NC-SA)

Sometime in late March or early April, the first male field sparrow (Spizella pusilla) of the season sings his long down-slurring whistle that ends in an accelerating trill. Soon he is joined by other returning males, and our 37-acre First Field rings with their lovely songs. Even in a dawn chorus of residents and migrants—dark-eyed juncos, American tree sparrows, song sparrows, white-throated sparrows, blue-headed vireos, eastern towhees, and black-capped chickadees—the song of field sparrows stands out.

Not only do field sparrows start singing early, but they continue until at least the middle of August, only taking short breaks after pairing up with mates. Once the females begin incubating their eggs, males resume singing probably because such singing indicates their territorial holdings.

Their familiar song is referred to as their “simple song” by ornithologists, but there is nothing simple about it until you hear another quite different song as I did when walking across the field one morning. I was puzzled by it, but finally I spotted a singing field sparrow. He was singing an entirely different song, his “complex” or “dawn” song, which turned out to be the reverse of his “simple” song. It began with a trill of short notes and was followed by down-slurring whistles. Apparently, this is his more aggressive song sung at dawn or when interacting with other males over territorial rights.

field sparrow by Kelly Colgan Azar

Field sparrow by Kelly Colgan Azar (CC BY-ND)

Although field sparrows over-winter in some areas of Pennsylvania, notably the Coastal Plain, Piedmont, and river valleys in the Ridge and Valley, here on our mountain in the west central part of the state, we see our first field sparrow at our feeders in mid-to-late March. His white eye-ring and bright pink bill and legs distinguish this rusty, brown-backed bird from other sparrow species.

Both our First and Far fields host these birds because they have the shrubby, old field habitat field sparrows prefer. According to a long term study (1987 to present) of field sparrow habitat in Lackawanna County by Dr. Michael Carey, field sparrows favor fields that are open but have scattered shrub and wood vegetation, in Carey’s case, honeysuckle, dogwood, Rosa and Viburnum species, and in our case black locust saplings, blackberry, a few autumn olives, and a scattering of multiflora rose and Japanese barberry along its edges.

Furthermore, field sparrows will occupy an unmowed hayfield the first year after it has been mowed and has a cover of grasses and other forbs mainly goldenrod. Over the next ten years, their numbers will increase as shrubs and other small woody vegetation cover 30% of a field and then they will slowly decrease until the field has been unmown for 30 years. At that point, it no longer will suit field sparrows because it will be overgrown with trees and shrubs.

field sparrow nest by Mike Allen

Field sparrow nest by Mike Allen (CC BY-NC-SA)

In summary, Carey found that fields eight to 11 years old after mowing produced the most field sparrow nests. As the fields neared 25 years of age, field sparrow territories were held only for a short time either by a male that failed to attract a mate or by a couple that lost a nest and left in the middle of the season.

Although our First Field has not been mown for more than 20 years, woody vegetation has not taken over because my husband, Bruce, has been hand-pruning the black locust saplings. Thus, it has remained 37 acres of mostly grasses and other forbs, especially goldenrod and asters.

Carey also found that many male field sparrows are homebodies. Even though their field habitat is no longer optimal, older birds that have nested in a particular field return each spring and defend their territory even, in one case, while it was being mown. But their offspring leave their natal home and search for their own optimal breeding area.

The best field sparrow habitat, though, according to Pennsylvania’s Second Breeding Bird Atlas survey, is reclaimed surface mine areas in the Pittsburgh Low Plateau Section, which had the highest number of breeding field sparrows. Altogether, the atlas survey found 210,000 singing males. While that sounds like a lot of field sparrows, their population size has declined 3% a year since Breeding Bird Surveys began in 1966. For that reason, we manage our First Field as field sparrow habitat and look forward to their return each spring.

Field sparrow nestlings - about 4 or 5 days old

Field sparrow nestlings – about 4 or 5 days old by Mike Allen (CC BY-NC-SA)

Ten to 20 days after males arrive, the females, which look like the males, appear. Most likely they are not the same females the males mated with in previous years, but most will remain faithful to one another during the breeding season. They pair within a couple days and begin mating while the female chooses a nest site and builds a nest constructed of grasses and tucked in grass clumps or at the base of shrubs. It takes her five to eight days with the help of her mate who closely accompanies her and occasionally offers her nesting material.

Shortly after the nest is constructed, she lays two to five white or pale green spotted eggs and begins incubating after the last one is laid, although she may delay several days if the weather is cold. Most eggs are laid between May 3 and July 27 in Pennsylvania, but later nestings never have more than two to three eggs. They are also built higher in shrubs or saplings as the season progresses.

It takes 11 to 12 days of incubating before the chicks hatch, usually all on the same day. Born naked and helpless, their eyes open at four days. By seven to eight days of age they can leave their nest but remain in the low vegetation until they are 13 to 14 days old when they can fly short distances, but their parents continue to feed them. At last, they are off on their own when they are 26 to 34 days of age.

Throughout this period, the parents feed them a diet of almost exclusively arthropods. In Pennsylvania Carey reported that of 1,853 food items he examined, 80% were butterfly and moth caterpillars, 10% adult flies and bees, 6% katydids, 3% adult moths, and 1% spiders.

Field sparrow nestlings - 9 days old

Field sparrow nestlings – 9 days old by Mike Allen (CC BY-NC-SA)

Of course, both eggs and nestlings are often eaten by predators, most commonly black rat snakes, but Carey also found instances of eastern garter snake predation. Possible mammalian predators include chipmunks, red and gray foxes, weasels, skunks, mink, raccoons, and opossums. Blue jays, house wrens, and American crows are proven bird predators on field sparrows.

After a loss to predators, a female begins laying eggs in a new nest she has quickly constructed a mere five days later. When the first nest is successful, she begins laying eggs in a new nest six to 20 days after the young fledge. Still, only about 40% of nests fledge young.

Field sparrow fledgling by Seabrooke Leckie

Field sparrow fledgling by Seabrooke Leckie (CC BY-NC-ND)

Once on their own, the immature birds flock together and may select their breeding habitat before their autumn migration. They also begin to expand their food sources from wholly insect to grass and forb seeds which sustain them through the winter months.

In addition, they are learning their hauntingly beautiful songs from those males they hear on their natal grounds. They perfect their songs on their wintering grounds in January and February and modify them the following spring to match those of nearby neighbors. Then, once again, I enjoy a choir of field sparrows sing as I walk the Butterfly Loop in First Field.

The Ides of March

red crossbill in the rain

red crossbill in the rain by Lynette Schimming (Creative Commons BY-NC)

Ah March! It is the month that raises and often dashes my hopes as it swings from winter to spring and back again until I am dizzy from keeping up with the changes.

Every high school student who has been forced to read William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar remembers the prophetic “Beware the Ides of March” spoken to Caesar by a soothsayer. For him it foretold the day of his assassination. For me, the 15th of March may be a bright, sunny day foretelling spring, a blizzard concluding winter, or, most likely, something in between. So it was on March 15, 2013.

Even though it was overcast and 27 degrees, I was happy to take my morning walk after many weeks inside because of a muscle tear. My destination was the Norway spruce grove where I hoped to see the red-breasted nuthatches that had been wintering there since the previous October.

As I approached the lower end of the grove, I paused to watch a small flock of black-capped chickadees fly into a black locust tree at the edge of the trail. From there my eyes were drawn to movement at the top of a Norway spruce which was thick with long, dangling cones.

Through my binoculars I first spotted a red-breasted nuthatch and was glad to see that one was still making use of the grove. With the nuthatch was a dark-eyed junco and—could it be—two male red crossbills and one female extracting seeds from the cones. I stood and watched them as long as my back and neck could stand it. Instead of “warbler neck,” as birders describe their discomfort while observing warblers high in the trees, I developed “crossbill neck” and was pleased to do so knowing that seeing these birds here would probably be a once in a lifetime experience for me.

Of course, I had seen that one female red crossbill in the spruce grove during our Christmas Bird Count on December 15, and I wondered if it was the same female that had brought the two males or if the three had merely encountered the grove during their migration. Or maybe they weren’t migrating. Red crossbills are known to breed wherever they find a mature cone crop, beginning as early as late December or early January. Still, that seemed unlikely and, in fact, according to our county report in Pennsylvania Birds, my red crossbills were the only ones observed here in March.

I scanned the treetops to look for white-winged crossbills but saw no sign of them. The red crossbills were silent and difficult to watch as they were often hidden behind the large cones. Still, I felt amply rewarded for venturing out on that dreary day.

buck eating birdseed

buck eating birdseed by CoolValley (CC BY-NC)

When I returned home, I found Hoover outside below the back steps. My husband, Bruce, had whimsically named this spike buck back in November because of the way he “hoovered” up birdseed. We thought he had been shot during rifle season because he had disappeared over the winter. But there he was back again and keeping the ground-foraging birds away this Project FeederWatch day when I count birds for the Cornell Laboratory of Birds. Since I was more interested in counting birds than feeding Hoover, I chased him away several times, but back he came like a bad penny. Finally, I ran after him, holding my broom high over my head. This caused much merriment among the males in my family, but it also discouraged that young buck for the rest of the day.

Most importantly, his rout encouraged 10 song sparrows to fly down and feed on the seed. They, it seemed, were migrating despite the weather.

In the evening our son Dave called me outside. An American woodcock was performing what the late, great conservationist Aldo Leopold called his “sky dance.” I grabbed my coat and rushed down to the barnyard to join Dave in our annual spring ritual. What better way to celebrate the coming of my favorite season.

Standing in the cold and damp, we could hear the woodcock “peenting” across First Field. Then we heard the twittering of his wings, but we couldn’t see him flying high and diving down in the dusky light. We listened several more times to his calls and twittering wings before giving up for the night.

For me, the Ides of March had been a wonderful day, foretelling spring, but for the woodcock it foretold his possible doom. It snowed that night, and the next day, when our caretaker, Troy Scott, drove up our road, he saw the woodcock standing in the corral area. When he drove back down, the woodcock was standing in the road ditch, drenched and disconsolate. The ground had frozen once again, making it impossible for him to poke into the earth and extract earthworms, his favorite food, or other invertebrates.

woodcock in snow

woodcock in snow by sighmanb (CC BY)

That was the last we saw or heard any woodcock last spring because it snowed off-and-on for well over a week and remained bitterly cold. Even the songbirds stopped migrating.

But some springs are better than others for observing woodcocks on our property. One spring a woodcock called so loudly that I heard him through the walls as I sat in our living room reading in the early evening. I crept out on the front porch and traced his calling to the flat area at the edge of the woods down slope from our house. Finally, he fluttered off toward the First Field.

I walked up First Field Trail past our garage following more “peenting” and had an excellent view of his flight skyward, but he landed far up the field toward the spruce grove. By then it was almost dark and I knew that he would be finished soon and resume in the early dawn light.

The following evening, I had stepped off our veranda to listen and first he called from the springhouse area, then on the trail above the garage, and again concluded far up First Field.

Another spring our son Steve and I watched a performing woodcock on the same trail above the garage, but that time the bird was so engrossed in his display that he kept landing and “peenting” a mere 20 feet from where we stood, giving me the best view ever of a singing woodcock.

Other than singing here in March, we’ve never found evidence of nesting even though our old field, small wetland, and forest edge should be ideal nesting ground. But the females are adept at hiding their nests, and while the polygynous males move on, females choose nesting areas, construct their ground nests, brood, and care for their young.

But at noon, one early August day, Bruce slammed on our car brakes to avoid hitting what appeared to be a young woodcock at the bottom of our mountain road. It continued bobbing its way up the left hand track of the road until it was stopped by a drain spanning the road that it couldn’t cross. That’s when it flew off. According to some researchers, August is the time when broods break up, and young woodcocks go their solitary ways, which is why I thought that the woodcock might be a youngster still learning how to survive on its own.

However, last spring, like Julius Caesar, the Ides of March did not bode well for at least one woodcock. March was a starvation month not only for our resident species, like the spike buck, but also for birds that returned too soon. Only the red crossbills had found sustenance here.

Woodcock at Ninigret National Wildlife Refuge

Woodcock at Ninigret National Wildlife Refuge by Tom Tetzner/USFWS (CC BY)

Ghost Bird

leucistic redtail 1“What is it?” the e-mail asked.

Attached to it were four photos from a trail cam our caretakers, Paula and Troy Scott, had set up behind the spruce grove. The photos showed a large white raptor feeding on top of a carcass the Scotts had secured to lure in wintering golden eagles for an ongoing region-wide study.

Stuck inside most of last winter with a deep muscle tear in my left calf, I eagerly awaited photos of the many wild creatures that visited their three trail cams. But this bird was a real puzzle.

The raptor’s back and head were white except for the tips of a couple black primary wing feathers, a small black patch on top of its head and another on its neck. Its breast, belly, and tail coverts were pure white and so were the feathers on its legs. Then I looked at the tail, which was mostly white with a couple bands of red. The mystery bird was a red-tailed hawk.

Like most people who see a white red-tail, I thought I was seeing a rarity. But according to William S. Clark and Brian K. Wheeler, authors of Hawks of North America, a Peterson Field Guide, “Partial albinos, varying from almost all white birds to some with just a few white feathers, are fairly common and are reported from almost all areas. Most birds are from half white to mostly white.”

Our bird was mostly white and did not have a dark area on its nape as most do. In addition, our bird had dark eyes and an orange beak and talons.

leucistic redtail 2I expected to find more information about white red-tails in my many books on birds, but even The Birds of North Americas definitive account of red-tailed hawks failed to mention this phenomenon.

I was more successful when I Googled “albinism in birds and animals” and “partial albinism in red-tailed hawks.” The former convinced me that terms for white creatures varied, although pure albinism in birds is caused by a genetic mutation that interferes with the production of the melanin or dark pigment that determines the black color of birds’ feathers.

One source declared that partial albinism is now called “leucism” and that the term comes from the Latin “leuk” or Greek “leukos” meaning “white.” But another source, which I found easier to understand, had a chart that differentiated between three types of albinism.

A true albino is white or pink all over with pink eyes and has little or no ability to produce colors. Those are indeed rare among mammals and birds. For instance, Henry Kendall, a master falconer in St. Louis, has reported 600 sightings of oddly-colored red-tails throughout North America in ten years. Of those, only one was a pure white albino with pink eyes.

Those eyes are pink because red blood cells in the retinal blood vessels beneath are not hidden by pigment. For this reason albino birds and animals often go blind since they don’t have pigments in their eyes to protect them from sunlight.

A leucistic creature is white or pink all over, its eyes are usually blue, and it has little ability to produce color. Another source says a leucistic animal is not pure white, its pigmentation is diluted, and its plumage is lighter than usual but not pure white. David Bird, an ornithologist, recently defined leucism as “a partial loss of melanin pigments” in Bird Watcher’s Digest. That simple definition suited me.

leucistic redtail 3A partial albino, also called a partial leucistic by some experts, has small portions or patches of white, its eyes are a normal color, and it has the ability to produce most normal colors. Some sources call this the piebald effect.

By then, I was thoroughly confused. Our bird had more than small patches of white. So too did the red-tails folks reported on Eddie B. Horvath’s blog devoted to white red-tail sightings throughout North America. I scanned the dozens of reports and found several from Pennsylvania. One, from near Quakertown was “absolutely pure white.” Another from Lake Wallenpaupack was “100% white.” A third, on Route 706, 10 miles from Montrose, was “completely white.” Most recently one was sighted at the Flight 93 memorial site on March 12, 2012 and again on August 13, 2012.

Seeing the same bird twice in one area is fairly rare. We and the Scotts saw our bird only on the trail cam once, last Valentine’s Day, and never in the air. Years ago I observed a white woodchuck for several minutes at the Far Field thicket and never again. And once my son, Steve, and I spotted a white deer in our forest as we were driving down our road. It too disappeared.

These white animals lack protective camouflage and are easy for predators to spot. White deer and white bears are also prized by hunters, and one website reported a small white black bear in Pennsylvania was legally killed by a hunter from Spring Mills back in 2006.

But raptors are protected by the National Migratory Bird Act, and when a white red-tail, which had lived in south Texas for several years, was shot and left on a two-lane road, residents were angry and posted a $1000 reward for any information about the perpetrator. A local scientist was quoted as saying that “the average citizen loves white red-tails.”

leucistic redtail 4Writing for the Times Union in Albany, New York several years ago, Richard Guthrie reported the presence of at least six white red-tails with dark eyes in the area. All were females and all were paired with normal-colored red-tail males and were nesting.

Despite all these tales of white red-tails, researchers reported years ago that the most common albino or partial albino wild bird species is the American robin. A whopping 8.22% of all such birds were robins, but other researchers hypothesized that it could be because robins are commonly seen and often live in our yards.

Another reason for the high number of white robins may be because they don’t migrate far. Melanin pigments make feathers that are strong and last longer and the lack of such pigments in albino or partial albinos weaken birds, especially those that migrate long distances.

Lost in the world of white creatures on the Internet, I also learned that New York State has the largest white deer herd in the world. Back in 1941 in Seneca County, 10,600 acres were fenced to enclose the Seneca Army Depot, isolating a small herd of white-tailed deer, some of which had white coats. In the 1950s, although hunting was allowed in the Depot, the commander declared that hunters were forbidden to shoot white deer. Today, even though the army is cleaning up the site and moving out, of the 700 deer inside the fence, 300 are white. There are folks up there hoping to save the herd and they mention a prophesy supposedly made by the Lenape, who said that “It has long been predicted that there would come a time when a white male and female deer would be seen together and that this would be a sign to the people to come together.” I presume they mean that if enough like-minded people come together, the white deer herd will be saved for the many people who are interested in seeing them.

leucistic redtail 5Some Native Americans called white deer “ghost deer,” and I think of our white red-tail as a “ghost bird,” because we only saw it once and only on photographs. Artist and writer Julie Zickefoose was luckier. She spotted a pure albino red-tail during a drive from her rural Ohio home to Columbus on October 11, 2012. She posted several photos of it on her blog and described it as “something searingly beautiful, transformative, a vision, a bolt from the blue,” a description, I think, that those who have seen such birds would agree with.


Game cam photos courtesy of Paula Scott.

Superflight

red-breasted nuthatch

red-breasted nuthatch (photo by Matt MacGillivray, Creative Commons Attribution licence)

It began with red-breasted nuthatches. In early August 2012, one of the largest irruptions of this northern species in living memory started with reports from counties in eastern Pennsylvania. By the end of November unprecedented numbers were recorded in all 67 counties in the state.

In late September the first purple finches arrived in Pennsylvania and 63 counties had them by late November. Common redpolls and pine siskins began appearing in early October, evening grosbeaks by the last week in October, and both white-winged and red crossbills in early November. Even a few hoary redpolls and a couple pine grosbeaks made an appearance.

With so many northern finch species moving south, birders called it a superflight, which happens only once every decade or so when food sources fail in the north, forcing most conifer seed-eating species to fly south for food. I was especially excited that red and white-winged crossbills were in Pennsylvania, because our son, Steve, had had the only sighting of white-winged crossbills on our property eating hemlock seeds here in the winter of 1985 when I was in Peru. And I had never seen red crossbills.

Now that our hemlocks are dying from woolly adelgids, we could only hope to see crossbills in our 38-year-old Norway spruce grove at the top of First Field. By the first of October several red-breasted nuthatches had already arrived there.

white-winged crossbill

white-winged crossbill (OwenMartin12, CC BY-NC)

Then, on November 15, I hiked to the spruce grove. Black-capped chickadees and red-breasted nuthatches foraged in the spruces at the base of the grove. But I heard an unfamiliar bird call and wandered through the grove searching for the source of it. Finally, I gave up, walked out of the grove and glanced back at the spruces one last time. At the top of a spruce two white-winged crossbills perched. They remained long enough for me to admire white wing bars on black wings, rosy pink breasts, heads, and backs, and even the crossed bills of two beautiful males. At last I had seen crossbills on our property.

Previously, in early November, I had had a male and then a female purple finch at our feeder area for more than a week as well as pine siskins for three days and, as it later turned out, they were the only pine siskins and purple finches to visit us during fall and winter. But already I had seen four irruptive species, and it was only mid-November.

Then a bout with Lyme disease, followed by a nasty virus, kept me inside for several weeks. It took time for me to regain my strength, and I was grateful when our Christmas Bird Count arrived on December 15, that Kurt Engstrom and his keen birder son Carl, came once again to help me. They covered the much longer and more difficult section on Sapsucker Ridge and up our road while I walked a mile and a half on Laurel Ridge.

In the spruce grove I searched for red-breasted nuthatches and white-winged crossbills, but the grove was silent. I was tired and sank down on Alan’s Bench to rest. After a short wait, I heard the call of a red-breasted nuthatch.

red crossbills

red crossbills in Long Branch, NJ (John Beetham, CC BY licence)

However, I did not recognize the call of another bird coming from the upper edge of the grove. I turned my head in that direction and spotted what appeared to be a dull-colored bird at the top of a spruce tree, continually calling, looking around, and flicking its forked tail. It had clouded over, making it difficult to distinguish any color on the bird. I kept studying it through my binoculars, and finally noticed that it had a crossed bill. When I pished, in an attempt to bring it closer, it flew away still calling.

I had listened to it for so long that the call was seared in my brain. After studying my bird guides, I was almost certain the bird had been a female red crossbill. Still, when Kurt and Carl returned, I told them what I had seen and heard. Carl didn’t say anything. He just started playing a series of calls on an Audubon Birds app on his iPod.

“That’s it,” I said.

“Number 3 type of red crossbill,” he answered. “Exactly the type of red crossbill that should be here,” he replied.

I was ecstatic. A new species—number 171—for our property and, as it turned out, the only crossbill reported on our Juniata Valley Audubon Society’s Christmas Bird Count. My red-breasted nuthatch was also the only one on our count.

Red crossbills live throughout the northern regions and high mountains in Europe, Asia, North America, and even the Atlas Mountains of North Africa. Here in North America ornithologists have teased out at least ten types of flight calls by red crossbills north of Mexico that some feel may be discrete species and others merely races or subspecies of red crossbills. Type 1, 2, and 10 calls were also heard in Pennsylvania, although type 3 was the most common. The calling of the lone red crossbill I saw may have been an effort to attract other red crossbills to a feeding source, according to some researchers.

Red crossbills prefer to feed on attached cones, using their feet and crossed bills like parrots to pry open the cones. Then they husk the seed coating by pressing a seed against the lateral groove opposite the side of the lower mandible tip with their tongue. Small seeds they swallow whole but crush large seeds in their bills before swallowing them.

white-winged crossbill (Jean-Guy Dallaire, CC BY-NC-ND)

Both white-winged and red crossbills have straight upper mandibles. Only the lower one curves, and while three-quarters of white-winged crossbills’ lower mandibles curve right and the other quarter left, red crossbills’ lower mandibles curve right half the time and left the other half.

Even though both crossbills eat conifer seeds, red crossbills prefer the cones of pines, including white, pitch, scrub, scotch, red, and even table mountain in our area, but they will also eat hemlock, spruce, tamarack, and occasionally the seeds of deciduous trees.

White-winged crossbills prefer the softer cones of hemlock, spruce, and tamarack, but they will also take seeds from pines with stiff cones and occasionally those of deciduous trees. Researchers claim they eat as many as 3,000 seeds a day.

While both species sometimes visit bird feeders, I never saw either one at our feeders. I had plenty of time to observe them because I no sooner had I gained my strength back in early January than I was diagnosed with a deep muscle tear in my left calf which kept me inside for nearly seven weeks. That’s when I began to refer to last winter as the winter of my discontent.

I did see at my feeders the sixth irruptive species—a male common redpoll that appeared on December 21. He or another male and a female showed up on January 3, and on January 6 and the two following days, a flock of more than 30 common redpolls blanketed the ground and feeders. The bright red forehead and black chins of both sexes and the pink breast of the male are the distinguishing features of these mostly brown-streaked birds. I never did see a hoary redpoll among them.

I similarly failed to see an evening grosbeak at our feeders, even though this species made its best showing in over a decade in Pennsylvania appearing in 33 counties.

Although most were gone from the state by mid-December, up to 150 at a time appeared at a feeder in Marienville, Forest County.

common redpolls in flight

common redpolls in flight (Jean-Guy Dallaire, CC BY-NC-ND)

Numbers of both crossbill species also diminished by mid-December. White-winged crossbills went from 43 counties in early November to 35 in the winter and red crossbills from 30 counties in early November to 20 in the winter.

During similar irruptive invasions of red crossbills in Pennsylvania, most appeared in mid-to-late October and left the state by the end of March. Although they remain paired through most of the year and may breed at any time an area suits them, there are very few verified sightings of breeding red crossbills in Pennsylvania.

White-winged crossbills arrive and leave on the same schedule as red crossbills, and there are no records of breeding here. During one of the largest crossbill invasions in Pennsylvania in 1997-98, over 1,000 white-winged crossbills spent the winter in Cook Forest State Park and were often joined by lesser numbers of red crossbills. But we never saw them on our mountain then, probably because our spruce grove was only 24 years old and not producing a good cone crop. So last winter will remain in my memory as our crossbill winter, my first ever in the 41 years I have lived on our central Pennsylvania mountaintop.