Happy Birthday Project FeederWatch

It’s mid-November and once again I‘m engaged in Project FeederWatch, keeping a record of the number and species of birds visiting my back porch feeder area. As a veteran of this citizen science project started by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, both they and I are celebrating our 30th year engaged in this unique program.

A male northern cardinal (Photo by Torindkfit in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

A male northern cardinal (Photo by Torindkfit in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

The rewards have been enormous. Not only have I seen as many as 22 bird species at the feeders during the cold, snowy winter of 2014-15, but I have also observed interactions between small mammals and birds fighting for seeds on the ground. Although last winter, which was unusually warm, was not an exciting year for my feeder-watching, other wildlife observations while feeder watching added to my enjoyment.

This morning, for instance, shortly after 7:00, while glancing out at the feeder birds on the two tube feeders hanging from our back porch, I spot an eight-point buck walking to the edge of the woods and making or, more likely, freshening a scrape, pulling down a branch repeatedly with his mouth to leave his scent and then pawing the ground beneath.

Three does foraging at the edge of the woods (Photo by Dave Bonta)

Three does foraging at the edge of the woods (Photo by Dave Bonta)

Only a few yards from the buck, I see one, two, and finally three does foraging at the border between the woods and the flat area. I think I might see chasing and breeding, but he seems to sense that they are not yet in estrus.

When eight mourning doves feeding on the ground below the back porch steps suddenly take fright and fly, probably because they can see me standing at the kitchen door window staring out at the deer, the buck flees too. The does, though, continue eating placidly with no visible reaction to the buck’s retreat.

An American tree sparrow

An American tree sparrow (Photo by D. Gordon E. Robertson in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

Week after week last winter I entered the same bird numbers and species, sometimes seeing as few as 11 species during my weekly, two-day count. But field work often consists of persistence with now and then a breakthrough. Mine came last February 16, when I recorded 18 American tree sparrows on the feeders and ground below, followed on March 3 by 21 tree sparrows. In previous winters my number of these sparrows hovered in the low single digits, and I couldn’t account for so many of these birds.

When the annual Project FeederWatch (PFW) report for the top 25 bird species from 6,498 sites in the northeast was issued, the American tree sparrow was 24th on the list, reported at 36% of sites, and the average flock size was three! All my other feeder birds—black-capped chickadee, dark-eyed junco, mourning dove, blue jay, northern cardinal, American goldfinch, downy and red-bellied woodpeckers, white-breasted nuthatch, tufted titmouse, song and white-throated sparrows and Carolina wren were much higher on the list.

A dark-eyed junco

A dark-eyed junco (Photo by CheepShot in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

Chickadee was first at 97% of sites, but that included both Carolina and black-capped chickadees, so dark-eyed junco, second on the list at 94% of sites, continued to be the most common feeder species. The flock size for juncos averaged four, but I’ve counted between 60 and 80 most years.

When I report those numbers, they are flagged during my online reporting as a result of a “smart filter” system the Cornell Lab has developed to root out mistaken observations. Species not usually seen in the area or high counts of a species are questioned. An error message pops up, and I am asked to confirm my number. Then when I do, my report is forwarded for review by PFW staff and regional biologists. Had I reported a rare bird, they would have required more validation, including a description of the site and bird and a photograph, if possible.

Because PFW data is being used by more and more researchers, they had to develop a reporting system that would increase both researchers’ and participants’ confidence in the resulting data. They tested their new “smart filter” system during the three winter seasons of November 2007-April 2010, flagging 50,104 PFW submissions out of a total of 3,924,088 or 1.3%, and reviewers approved 97.7% because a rare species had been confirmed in that region or, in my case, because large flocks of a species occasionally occur here. As researchers concluded in a paper about validating PFW reports, “Our methods ensure that unexpected reports are subjected to expert scrutiny, resulting in a more accurate and reliable data set regardless of the user.”

A pine siskin

A pine siskin (Photo by Hvbirder in Wikimedia, Creative Commons license)

In contrast to last winter’s mild temperatures, the winter of 2014-15, which began late, was the coldest in decades. It was also a pine siskin invasion year. As they poured south from their boreal home grounds, we saw our first ones on November 9, 2014 when three dozen visited our feeder area. They must have headed farther south because our next siskin visitation happened on January 6, 2015. After that, it was every bird for itself and the mammals also, since pine siskins may be small, but they are feisty.

For example, on February 2, a cold, windy day, a sea of birds covered the ground when I threw out more birdseed in mid-afternoon. The siskins fought off all comers. Two on the large tube feeder fought with house finches and won. They scared off chickadees, tufted titmice, and each other as well as American goldfinches. The blizzard of birds, including siskins, continued through February and into a freezing March, with the siskins paying their last visit on March 30.

A black-capped chickadee

A black-capped chickadee (Photo by fishhawk on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

According to a paper about boreal bird irruption, pine siskin irruptions may happen every other year but also may occur in consecutive years or at longer intervals. Using more than two million PFW pine siskin observations from 1989-2012, researchers studied the patterns of pine siskin irruptions from their Canadian boreal homes where they eat conifer seeds to the high elevation Adirondack and Appalachian Mountains.

They concluded that a wet spring in the boreal region leads to a small seed crop, but a dry spring in the Appalachian region leads to a large seed crop. If the winter air temperature is also unusually cold in the boreal region, which even stresses these cold-adapted birds, they will irrupt south where the seed crop is plentiful. “This study,” they write, “is the first…to reveal how climate variability drives irruptions of North America boreal seed-eating birds.”

Tufted titmouse

Tufted titmouse (Photo by Cindy Sue Causey on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Using PFW data to track changes in winter bird communities has been useful in studying climate change in our backyards according to Karine Prince and Benjamin Zuckerberg. They maintain that since the 1970s, North America’s climate has been changing especially during the winter season with less and shorter snow cover and more variable and heavy precipitation.

Choosing 38 bird species that winter in eastern North America, they tested the influence of changes in winter minimum temperatures over 22 years and found that the winter bird communities became increasingly dominated by warm-adapted species such as mourning doves, Carolina wrens, red-bellied woodpeckers, eastern bluebirds and dark-eyed juncos, which moved northward about 4.2 miles a year.

Pine warbler

Pine warbler (Photo by Andy Reago & Chrissy McClarren on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

Last winter PFW also received several reports of pine warblers as far north as Nova Scotia and growing numbers of hermit thrushes at northeastern feeders visiting two to four percent of sites.

The latest addition to PFW studies is a plea for us to report bird interactions at feeders. They began this project late last season and received 1,994 observations from 200 feeder watchers. Most were of one bird displacing another, 37 of one bird catching and eating another, and 23 of one bird mobbing another. Usually larger birds displaced smaller ones but sometimes smaller birds turned the tables with house finches displacing cardinals and downy woodpeckers displacing mourning doves.

A house finch

A house finch (Photo by Lee Coursey on Flickr, Creative Commons license)

I see many interactions a year, especially the winter of 2014-15. Some are harmonious such as the early January morning when a cottontail rabbit, a gray squirrel and juncos, white-throats, a tree sparrow, two song sparrows and a cardinal pair fed together on the porch and steps. Later they were joined by house finches, and goldfinches. Chickadees, titmice, and white-breasted nuthatches appeared and competed with goldfinches and house finches on the hanging feeders. Mourning doves flew in and out, as many as ten at a time, and a red-bellied woodpecker made several hurried appearances.

But our peaceable kingdom dissolved during a snowstorm two weeks later when four squirrels, the rabbit and 13 mourning doves pushed the small birds from the covered porch floor where I had spread birdseed. Then the birds that only eat from the feeders arrived—nine goldfinches, a couple chickadees and three house finches but goldfinches even displaced the house finches. A pair of cardinals sidled in and scared off as did a female red-bellied woodpecker.

Thus, instead of merely counting and recording my feeder birds I can contribute my observations of such interactions to PFW and help them learn more about what drives the interactions of feeder birds.

Happy 30th birthday Project FeederWatch, and may we celebrate many more birthdays together! A two-minute YouTube video provides an effective introduction to Project Feederwatch.

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.

Putting Up the Feeders

cardinal pair in a snowstorm

cardinal pair below the feeders in a snowstorm

The day after I cleared the trails of branches brought down by Hurricane Sandy, I hung my birdfeeders up for the first time since the previous April. Because bears live on our mountain, I never tempt them with birdseed, having learned years ago that they will go to great lengths to make a meal of them and, in the process, tear feeders apart.

Even so, I bring them in every night until mid-December and again in March and early April.

I only put the feeders out as early as November because I am a veteran Project FeederWatch participant, having signed on for this citizen science project, developed by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, the first year it was offered. Last fall was its and my 26th season, and it began on November 10.

Anyone can join this continent-wide effort by paying a small fee and either sending in paper copies of their count or doing it online at the Lab’s website. If the former, feeder watchers count birds at and near their feeders two consecutive days every two weeks. If the latter, as I do, I can count birds two consecutive days every week. Since I have a reasonably small and simple set-up, mostly I glance out my back kitchen door window and keep a tally card nearby.

The idea is to count the maximum number of each species that I see at one time during my count days. Folks with larger and more elaborate feeding areas containing numerous feeders, sources of water and plantings can report all the species attracted to their much larger count site.

In addition to reporting the birds I see, the report asks for when and how long I counted, the depth of snow and/or ice, the kind and length of time of any precipitation, and the low and high temperatures of the days. Once a season I also fill out a detailed description of my count site including the habitat within a half mile, elevation, the kinds of food I supply for the birds, and the plantings and water sources within 100 feet of my feeders.

Usually I give the birds a week before the start of the season to re-discover the large and small tube feeders that hang from our back porch. Last November third it was cold, overcast, and windy, and as soon as my feeders went up and I spread more birdseed below the back steps, the dark-eyed juncos, back from the north, flew in. They were quickly followed by full-time residents—white-breasted nuthatches, tufted titmice, and a red-bellied woodpecker. Next, song sparrows and American goldfinches, a few of which are full-time residents, appeared and so did the first white-throated sparrow of the season, also down from the north.

pine siskin and house finch

pine siskin and house finch

The seventh species to appear was a house finch. Here on our mountain they continue to be late fall and early winter visitors and are often gone by February. Project FeederWatch asks that participants note the presence or absence of eye disease in this species and in goldfinches. I’ve never seen this bacterial infection in the latter but sometimes in the former and I wonder if that is why their numbers peak and crash so soon. Years ago, when this western species, accidentally introduced to the East back in 1940, finally arrived on our mountain, they even nested here. But then their numbers crashed when they developed eye disease, and they never nested here again.

The house finch was followed by a black-capped chickadee and a male and female northern cardinal—two more permanent residents.

And then—glory be—25 pine siskins. Could this boreal bird species be the vanguard of an influx of rare northern birds? Every November a few pine siskins and common redpolls are reported by feeder watchers in Pennsylvania and hopes are raised that this will be the winter for a huge irruption of seed-eating birds from Canada. Reports of a widespread failure in seed-crop production, especially of spruces and birches, had already reached bird listservs so I was delighted to welcome the pine siskins.

The eleventh species of the day was one of our Carolina wrens, now successfully wintering as our climate warms and raising families here in the spring and summer.

A migrating swamp sparrow was the twelfth and last species that day. Never before had so many species appeared the first day I put out the feeders.

swamp sparrow

swamp sparrow below the feeders

The following day a fox sparrow appeared. This lovely, large sparrow always visits us on it way north in the summer and south in the winter. Because of its size—seven inches—it could easily dominate the smaller birds as it scratches towhee-like at the seeds below the back steps, but usually this rusty-tailed sparrow is off by itself, completely ignoring the juncos, song sparrows, and other ground-feeding birds.

Number 14 the next day was the gorgeous male purple finch, his head, breast and rump a rosy-red more brilliant and wide-spread than his close relative the house finch. But unlike the house finch, the purple finch belongs in eastern North America.

The female purple finch, like the house finch, is a study in brown and white, but she is chunkier and has a face patched with dark brown and a white stripe behind her eye.

“Don’t you see,” I frequently say to my husband, Bruce, when I try to point out the difference between the two species. But he doesn’t see what seems so obvious to me.

Then number 15, the American tree sparrow, another northern-breeding species, appears, and Bruce throws up his hands, muttering something about lbjs, better known as “little brown jobs” among birders in the know who can distinguish the many similar-appearing sparrow species and other difficult to identify birds such as the often different colored females. Unlike the seed-eating boreal species, tree sparrows are regulars at my feeders every winter. With its rusty-red head and black dot on its white breast it’s an easy sparrow for me to identify.

common redpoll

common redpoll at the feeder, January 2008

Numbers continued to increase day by day and the sixteenth species, on November sixth, was a sharp-shinned hawk. On that day it didn’t catch a meal because all the birds heeded the chickadee’s warning call and fled.

On the seventh a blue jay and a mourning dove joined the feeder birds while the male purple finch continued to hang around. Already, I was anticipating an excellent FeederWatch count.

But the weather warmed up, and it was a true Indian summer day. The second day was too. As a consequence, both the numbers and species were low—two white-breasted nuthatches, five American goldfinches, three tufted titmice, two black-capped chickadees, 12 house finches (one with eye disease), two red-bellied woodpeckers, three dark-eyed juncos, one song sparrow, one cardinal, and one purple finch. At least I had gotten a purple finch, but on the eleventh it was a male and the twelfth a female, yet, according to the rules, I could only count one purple finch. The same was true for the northern cardinals.

The thinking is that since the male and female of most feeder bird species look similar and are counted as a group, those that are sexually dimorphic, such as the cardinals and purple finches, must be treated the same way. Hence, even though I knew that two cardinals and two purple finches came to my feeders, I could only report one unless both sexes appeared together which, in this case, they did not.

sharp-shinned hawk at feeder

Sharp-shinned hawk at the feeder

The weather continued mild throughout the month and into mid-December, much to my disgust as a feeder watcher and the disgust of our deer hunters. I never did see another pine siskin, and my feeder counts remained low except for the juncos that increased to 20 by the end of the month. The sharpie also returned on that last November count, but once again it didn’t score.

The sharpie waited until the day before Christmas. Our Newfoundland daughter-in-law Pam called us to the bow window and pointed out the sharpie eating a female cardinal on the ground below. She took some photos of it in action that even showcased its orange eyes outlined in black.

Having gotten a meal, it was back the last day of December sitting on an ash tree branch close to the bow window in mid-afternoon for over half an hour. It wasn’t even disturbed by Bruce attaching his camera to the front of our spotting scope and taking frame-filling photos with his “digiscope” on the second day of a FeederWatch.

Such are the rewards of keeping a close watch on the birds that visit our feeders throughout the winter months. In addition, the records we send into Project FeederWatch, along with feeder watchers all over the continent, enable ornithologists to better understand the distribution of wintering birds and to track emerging diseases, such as the eye disease, and other problems birds may face.


All photos taken at Marcia’s birdfeeders. The first four are by Dave; the last is by Bruce, taken through his “digiscope” set-up.

In Praise of January

snowshoes

Snowshoes

In early January I listen to dire predictions from the local weather reporter.

“Dangerous cold,” he says.  “If you must go out, dress warmly.  But try to stay indoors and keep warm.”

No wonder most Americans are afraid to venture outside during the depths of winter.  Yet it’s a glorious time to be abroad.  The cold has killed even the heartiest biting insects.  Wind often wipes the air clean, giving me the clearest views of the year from atop First Field. Snow cover emphasizes the convoluted geology of the Allegheny Front, a stark contrast to the long ridges and valleys of our mountain and of those I can see to the east and south. Snow devils whirl below over the field. Walking back through the spruce grove, its green boughs festooned with fresh snow, is like walking through a Christmas card.

On calmer days, the thermometer drops to the lowest levels of the year.  Once, back in 1991, it reached 19 degrees below zero.  Lately, it rarely goes below zero, but when it does, I cheer.

“Drop lower,” I beg, because researchers say that the colder the temperature in north-facing hollows, the more likely hemlock woolly adelgids will die.  Maybe our hemlocks will hang on longer.  Maybe some will survive.

On those days, under cerulean skies, I catch my breath as I walk up the hollow road.  The stream flows silently beneath sculpted ice.  Blue shadows lie long over the snow. Occasional winter wrens twinkle from beneath fallen logs spanning the stream.  Those tiny mites, like the even tinier golden-crowned kinglets, seem unfazed by the cold.

January moonrise

Moonrise over the guest house, 1/29/10

White defines the landscape.  On some overcast days I have a surfeit of white — white sun, white sky, white valley, white forest, white field.  But the white nights, when the moon shines, casting its unearthly glow over the snow landscape, are the loveliest nights of the year.  I stand in our darkened house and gaze at the sight, remembering nights in my youth when I strapped on my snowshoes and walked up First Field, accompanied by the hooting of great horned owls.

As I do every night, I fling open my window before I go to bed, kneel on the floor beside it, and listen.  Sometimes I hear the great horned owls, male and female, calling back and forth, or the quavering ululations of an eastern screech owl.  If I am very lucky, I hear the distant howling of coyotes, but usually the white nights are silent.

At daybreak, though, I am awakened by the chattering of birds flying into the feeders.  In January, the greatest numbers and species of birds mob our three bird feeders hanging from the back porch and the seed-strewn steps and ground below.  If it is snowing, I can sweep the porch, spread seed there, and provide shelter for the ground feeders as well as for the feeder birds.

Last January, in the midst of snow and cold, 32 mourning doves swarmed over the back porch.  Two pairs of cardinals, the males resplendent against the snow fall, vied for feeder room. Dozens of juncos, five tree sparrows, five white-throated sparrows, several black-capped chickadees and tufted titmice, a pair of white-breasted nuthatches, a downy and a red-bellied woodpecker, a couple house finches, seven American goldfinches — the gang was all there, including 10 gray squirrels. But there were no winter boreal species.  Later in the month, though, a single pine siskin accompanied a couple goldfinches at the feeders.

Pine Siskin by Putneypics, on Flickr

Pine Siskin by Putneypics, on Flickr (Creative Commons BY-NC)

Every January we wait for boreal species, and most winters we are disappointed. But there have been Januarys when 60 siskins at a time are not unusual.  Occasionally, a red-breasted nuthatch appears.  However, I am more likely to see them in the hollow with brown creepers and golden-crowned kinglets, neither species of which ever comes to our feeders.

Common redpolls, if they are irrupting (ornithological-speak for “moving down from the north”), always arrive in January.  Usually they irrupt the same year pine siskins do.  But in January of 2009, we had dozens of siskins at the feeders and not one redpoll.  The previous winter, on the second of January, I found a mixed flock of siskins and redpolls feeding on black birch cones high in a tree that rocked in gale force winds on top of Sapsucker Ridge.  I prepared to receive them at the feeders, but no siskins and only four common redpolls visited the feeders off and on throughout the rest of the winter.

According to the Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology, the winter of 2008-2009 was the “Winter of the Siskins.” In much of North America, Project Feeder Watchers, such as I, recorded the largest irruption of siskins since 1987, when the Project first began.  Later, 46 recovered bird bands from the 31,004 siskins banded in 2008-2009, showed that siskins that had irrupted to the southern United States had come from populations due north, but those from the northeast, including one banded in central Pennsylvania, had come from the west. The Pennsylvania bird, for instance, banded in April 2009, turned up in western Washington state in June 2010.  A New York bird was recovered in British Columbia.  So those siskins I watched that winter had traveled across the continent.

black bear track in snow

Sometimes bears do leave the den in January. (This is from 1/6/2006.)

The snows and storms of January often provide ideal tracking conditions.  Last winter I was tempted to rename the Sapsucker Ridge Trail the Poop and Tracks Trail.  Most days I followed coyote, porcupine, fox, and deer tracks as they wound along the ridgetop.  But in mid-January, beside the trail, I noticed a foot-and-a-half-long, rectangular-shaped hole dug through the snow to the dirt below, where scat had been deposited and tracks beside it that were those of a bobcat. Apparently, sometimes bobcats don’t cover their scat if they’re near their den.

Even though several of our hunters have seen bobcats on our property over the years, I have yet to get a good look at one myself.  Those tracks and scat were almost as good as a sighting.  I followed the tracks for more than a mile along the ridgetop before I lost them.  A few days later, our caretakers captured a couple excellent photos of a bobcat on their trail cams.

On another day, I found six different places where a coyote had defecated and then urinated in a pattern that resembled the lines a child might draw around the sun.  Several ruffed grouse tracks were etched over the landscape as if it was a giant cross stitch tablecloth.  A hole in the snow with ruffed grouse scat beside it had been where a grouse had spent a snowy night.

I tracked a porcupine to its tree den, a pile of pellets at its base.  Turkeys also used the ridgetop trail as well as the Far Field Road.  Tracks of red-backed voles and mice near the vernal ponds looked as if they had partied the previous night.  On the Steiner/Scott Trail I found rabbit, grouse, and fisher tracks.  In fact, the wild creatures seem to prefer using our trails instead of striking out on their own.  Sometimes deer, foxes, and coyotes, stepped directly on to my frozen tracks.

porcupine in a snowstorm

Porcupine along the road to the Far Field

Then comes that long-awaited pause in winter — the January thaw.  In the wet snow, raccoon and opossum tracks appear.  The snow softens and melts in the warmth.  By mid-afternoon it is 64 degrees, and I’m out on the veranda in shirt sleeves drinking my afternoon tea.  Cedar waxwings call in the distance while a flock of 50 robins stream past overhead.  The shadows of winter move across the field in the low light, burnishing the field grasses.  A male northern harrier dips and skims over the field.

The warmth encourages the gray squirrels to begin courting.  I watch and listen as they chase and scold. House finches sing and pair off.  Black-capped chickadees “fee-bee” and tufted titmice “peter, peter.”  Cardinals “cheer, cheer, cheer.”  Eastern bluebirds inspect their nest box.

Pileated woodpeckers drum over in Margaret’s Woods.  One drums at a high pitch, the other at a medium.  Then a third pileated lands on a Sapsucker Ridge power pole and after appearing to listen to both drummers, adds a much lower, less reverberating drum roll to the syncopating birds.

A yellow-bellied sapsucker tends her sap wells on a deeply-ridged hickory tree.  I can even see a drop of sap on her bill.

Our little granddaughter, Elanor, wants to play outside, and so my husband, Bruce, son Steve, and I head down the road to her favorite place—the stream at the forks and beyond. But first Steve points out a swamp sparrow sitting on a cattail in front of the springhouse.

Then, while Steve and Elanor play by the roadside, Bruce and I stop to talk to one of our hunter friends — Tim Tyler — as he drives up to collect his tree stands because another hunting season has ended. As we talk, I face First Field through the woods and spot a female northern harrier quartering low over the field. She moves back and forth and finally disappears in the grasses.  I keep watching as we talk, and after ten minutes or so she rises from the grasses without any noticeable prey in her talons, flies low for a few seconds, then slowly rises higher and higher and heads over Laurel Ridge toward Sinking Valley.

Elanor spends a happy hour or more “fishing” in the stream, sitting on a log and holding a stick over the water, dipping it down occasionally as if she has a fish on the hook.  Or she plays boats by sending leaves and sticks downstream.  Bruce, who she calls “Pocky,” aids and abets her even when she makes “bubbles” by beating her fishing stick in the water, while Steve and I keep our distance.  Steve points out a winter stonefly climbing a sapling beside the stream.

Both grandfather and granddaughter are splattered with mud and water as the shadows lengthen.  At 4:00 p.m. we hurry home to the warmth of cocoa and tea, accompanied by the last of the Christmas cookies, and Elanor exchanges her muddy clothes for clean, dry ones.

The next day winter returns.  Snow and ice, wind and cold.  But despite the weeks of remaining winter, the light is lengthening and we’ve seen and heard the first stirrings of spring.

 

Ephemeral pond after the thaw, 2010

Ephemeral pond after the thaw, 2010

All photos by Dave Bonta except where indicated.