awesome Green-Wood outing

Today was one of those days where the whole world was at our feet and there was so much to choose from in terms of stuff to do. We skipped the Mermaid Parade in favor of a long walk and picnic at Green-Wood Cemetery. The weekends-only Fort Hamilton Parkway entrance is just a short walk from our apartment, and we'd never made it quite that far into the place.

It's wonderful to find an oasis of near-quietude in the middle of a city. We didn't see another person for nearly an hour and a half! Sometimes the humid air carried strains of the ice cream truck song to us, but the traffic noise was mostly too far away. Beautiful!

Like my first trip to Green-Wood, the loudest birdsong around belonged to the northern mockingbird, and since they were abundant and loud, they were quite easy to find. A nice treat to see them in flight, too, because their bright white wing patches flash in midair.

I had some great sightings today. It was also my first time using my camera through my binoculars, so I have some interesting, if slightly blurry, photos.

The first great sighting happened right after our lunch of tuna sandwiches, oranges, and granola bars. We cleaned up and continued down Fir Avenue, until I spotted a mourning dove with its young offspring in the middle of the road. The young was about half the size of the parent, with the feathers looking untested. The adult took time to regurgitate into the juvenile's mouth several times. It seemed strange to me that this behavior happened outside the nest. The young one walked around just fine, but the parent sensed a threat in our presence and attempted to protect her baby by simply standing in front of it. I changed my viewing angle, she changed her position. I could still see the baby, so it seemed like a pretty ineffective action.

Eventually something spooked the adult and it flew away, leaving the baby unattended in the road. I sneaked closer a little at a time to get a good picture and to try to shoo it out of the road. After a minute, it moved into the grass and we continued our walk.

Chrissy is getting better at hanging back quietly when I'm focused on a bird, but also he's good at helping me find birds to watch. He'll say, "What's that?" about something I haven't even spotted, and then it's a learning experience for both of us. He's a great sidekick.

Later, on a headstone, I saw a pair of chipping sparrows with their bright rufous crowns. I don't see those guys very often, and they're one of the few kinds of sparrows I can identify, so that's why I mention it. I also saw some interesting house sparrow behavior, which included the male pushing his folded wings down and hopping away from the female, who then gave chase with her own little hops. Ah, love!

I knew from reading Rob Jett's The City Birder that the red-tailed hawk's nest is closer the the Fort Hamilton Parkway entrance than the front gate way over at 5th Avenue and 25th Street. But I didn't really have any idea where to look, so I was absolutely delighted when the birds made it really easy for me to find them. Chrissy and I were walking Central Road, I think it was, by this point, hearing lots of alarm calls, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a large brown bird with a brilliant red tail fly about 10 feet off the ground through the lower leaves of a large tree. It seemed like it had landed, because I couldn't see it fly out the other side, so I decided to stalk it and see if I could find it. I made my way carefully around the tree where I thought it might be perched, only to see it take wing from the ground, and this time with something white in its talons, and another hawk by its side!

The birds alit to a tree to the right of the path, where the brilliant-tailed one began de-feathering its pigeon. The other hawk had very light feathers on its face and not so red a tail at all, and hung back on a high perch a few feet away while the larger hawk did the dirty work.


It was at this time that two relentlessly brave northern mockingbirds caught up with the big hawk and began their harassing and haranguing routine. You can see the blur of a mockingbird in this photo. The larger hawk flew to a nearby tree to escape, but the mockers followed. The hawk ignored the mockingbirds squawking and darting at and bouncing off its big red tail repeatedly, intently focused on de-feathering the white pigeon. I could see with my binocs that the prey's eyes had already been gouged out. The whole display was very entertaining, and we watched the mockingbirds dive-bomb and bounce off of the hawk's tail for about fifteen minutes, until the hawk took off for higher ground, in this case a tall evergreen whose limbs were crowded with pine branches and needles. The smaller hawk followed, and the mockingbirds gave up. Perhaps they drove it far enough away from their territory or nest to feel safe. This sighting was so satisfying because of its content, participants, and length. Chrissy and I were fascinated to witness what must be pretty common for these birds' lives, but which seems so amazing to us.

After that, the rest of the day had to be fairly tame. I heard a lot of red-bellied woodpeckers, but could never find them. At the Valley Water, which was covered in lily-pads and other green stuff, I spotted a single double-crested cormorant in the water, swimming and diving about, ruler of the roost.

Perched on a lily-pad across the pond, I saw something shining blue, but it was the wrong shape for a kingfisher like the one I saw at that pond last time. I walked around the pond, greeting the family of Canada geese and their young as I passed, to get a closer look at the mysterious bird. It turned out to be a green heron sitting very still. Its featehrs must have caught the light just so, to make them appear blue. It posed for several photographs, and then we were on our way.

As we climbed a small hill toward the koi pond (which turned out to have been drained) at the community mausoleum, I stepped back for a moment because I saw a new bird. I believe my words were, "What the hell is that?" It was a light rufous color, like a hermit thrush's tail, but all over, and it looked very much like a mockingbird in terms of body shape and tail length, but with a long beak. After a minute my brain came up with a name, which turned out to be correct: my first brown thrasher!

On my next outing to the cemetery, I hope to visit the other glacial ponds, and now that I've got a map, that will be easy. I think I am going to like living between Green-Wood Cemetery and Prospect Park, two Important Birding Areas. I'm also looking forward to getting the hang of using my camera and binoculars together.

a weird week: adventure abounds

The word I choose to describe my life this week is 'frenetic'. I reported for jury duty on Tuesday and sat through several hours of waiting, watching other people's voir dire interviews, and breezing through my own. On one hand, my work situation is such that I have to use my sick time for missing work due to my civic obligation, but on the other hand, I am really interested in fulfilling that obligation and learning more about the justice system. Long story shortened: I was selected to be a juror and had to report Wednesday for noon. I did. At 12:30, they told us to go home and come back this morning at 10:00. So I called my employers and tried to arrange for me to work, because I hadn't missed any of my hours that day, but they didn't end up needing me, so hey, free day for me! The best part of that was that since it was them not requiring my services, not me asking for time off, I still get paid for yesterday without using one of my sick days. Well, actually the best part of all of that is that I spent all that newfound time birdwatching in Prospect Park.

I was dressed for court, not for birding or even being outdoors, but I had my binoculars and a thirst for nature. I entered the park at Bartel-Pritchard Square and passed a small farmstand selling fruit, flowers, and vegetables. I walked fully past it. Then the scent of apples in the sunshine took control of my body and drew me back to the stand, where I purchased an apple as big as my face to enjoy as I strolled in the spring air. At that moment I could not imagine a more romantic afternoon.

I didn't head straight for my usual haunts this time around, because I had a feeling I'd have a lot of time. At this point I was still waiting to hear from my employers; I knew they wanted me to come in, just not what time. I found a mulched path that leads into the woods close to the baseball fields and started up that. I quickly encountered a group of three teenage boys who seemed to be at work building a shelter out of found branches. Their handiwork was quite good. After chatting with them for a few minutes, I continued on the path around the fenced-in area that I soon figured out was the Quaker Cemetery I had always wondered about. Since it's closed to the public, a secret part of the park, I thought maybe the bird activity would be higher than in the well-traveled areas. I crept slowly closer to the fence, keeping my eyes alert for movement and my ears trained for new sounds. It was fairly still and quiet. The trees loomed over me, massive and aged. Even if no leaves filled out the canopy, I expect I'd have a hard time seeing birds simply because of the great height of the treetops. In the lush green carpet of the forest floor inside the fence, I spotted a brown rabbit trying not to be spotted. I also saw a bird with a friendly face, but only for a split second. It was a dull bluish-brown on top, with a complete pair of spectacles, a dull white breast and belly, and a yellow wash from its flanks to its behind. That was the extent of activity in that area. I made my way down a narrow hill-path, my dress pants catching the low branches and my too-big dress shoes cramping my toes with each downhill step.

I enjoyed peering through the fence into the mysterious burial ground. It was beautifully landscaped despite its continually locked gates. It made me think of Ben Weatherstaff and The Secret Garden. That's probably one of my favorite stories of all time. At one point, while lingering near the gate, I noticed some airy seedpods floating down from high above. I traced them back to a branch that was backlit against the sky. This whole time the clouds have been puffy and lovely, but now I notice a distinct darkness settling over the park, the kind that means rain, and soon. I struggled a few minutes to find a better place from which to view the bird disturbing all those seedpods. Eventually I found a magic spot that put the bird against a background of leaves and saw, to my delight, a handsome rose-breasted grosbeak in a red cravat! He was very high, and just as my neck was starting to give out, something impossibly bright demanded my attention considerably lower in the trees. I could not believe the beauty of this bird. It had a grey crown with small white crown stripes, a black mask, yellow chin, breast, and belly, and a black necklace across the yellow, with thick, jagged black stripes descending from it. I didn't have a notebook with me this day, because I've been using it to update my Birder's Journal a little before bed each night, and I keep all that stuff right at my bedside. So I made verbal notes and repeated them to myself several times. Though the urge to throw everything down, whip out my field guide, and look it up was nearly overwhelming, I convinced myself just to let it go for now.

The rain began lightly, giving me, with neither jacket nor umbrella nor the ability to just go home (since I was waiting to hear from work, which is one block from the park), a chance to escape into the well-leafed Ravine. I meandered its paths for a long time, avoiding the steady light rain by instead enjoying the living things around me. When the rain stopped for a few minutes, I went out to the Long Meadow paths to get a view of the pools. Nothing exciting there, but I did hear a strong and musical song in the air, and after a few minutes of following the notes, I found the singer. An orange-yellow Baltimore oriole, singing brazenly from an open branch at the top of a young tree. Another oriole responded with its own song, making a sort of conversation. Then the rain picked up again, and I headed back into the Ravine. Several times that afternoon, I heard a harsh chak repeating and tried to follow it back to a bird, only to discover that the composer of that particularly tuneless song was a chipmunk threatened by my approach. At a waterfall in the Ravine, I saw some brown, thrush-like bird with a light but bold eyebrow. Most likely a waterthrush, but it was too short an encounter to notice more details.

The real delight and torment of my day happened in the north of the Midwood. I saw some movement in the leaf litter by the path - fast, continuous movement. For a moment I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was a duckling! If you know me, or maybe you can tell from my writing, you know I feel and have long felt personally connected to ducks more than any other animal. I was so sad that just that morning I had taken my camera from my backpack, thinking they might not let me take it into the courthouse. I did manage to get a shot with my camera-phone but it's not great. The duckling toddled confidently across the path, despite being hounded by a pair of cardinals, and down the hill, up a log and then into a hollow below the log, all by itself. My first thought was that maybe it was a wood duck just leapt from its nest and its mother would be nearby, but I saw no other ducks nor did I know what to listen for in a wood duck call. I could hear the little guy peeping from its not-very-safe hiding place. I called Chrissy to try to get the number of someone who could help me know whether and how to help this duckling all on its own, away from other ducks and water, in the middle of a forest. After leaving a voicemail for Nora Septoff at Animal Care and Control, I went over to the vale of Cashmere to see if any birders were around who I could ask for help. Nothing. I went back to the duckling's hollow, but it was gone. I scanned the ground in several areas nearby, but could not find the little explorer. I only hope it did not end up as food.

By this point the air had cooled down considerably, and I was chilly in my short sleeves. Also I had eaten that huge apple, a small breakfast, and not much more. I had had enough for the day. I went to Barnes and Noble to warm up. While I was walking, I let my mind wander over the warbler file in my brain, and several names came up, but when I heard 'magnolia', I knew immediately that was the bird I had seen with the impossibly yellow breast and thick, black streaks and that I could stop wondering about it. It was a good feeling later, upon checking the guide, to find that I was correct in my gut-feeling identification.

My life birds today were: rose-breasted grosbeak and magnolia warbler. But I will never forget my first encounter with a duckling in the wild!

I didn't get out for long today, because I had to work, but I got out of work around 5:45 and had some time to spare before my dinner date with Chrissy. So I walked a block up to the park, with no real destination in mind. I walked along Prospect Park West toward Litchfield Villa. The waning light was hitting the treetops at the outer edge of the park so perfectly that I had to stick around and see what I could see. Leaning against the stone wall, I aimed my unfocused gaze up at the tallest, brightest tree to gather in any movements. I was in luck! I trained my binoculars on the moving dots and zeroed in on a bird with a black face mask and a bright yellow throat on an olive body - my first common yellowthroat. I saw another one near the dog beach an hour and a half later.

Gray catbirds are everywhere, almost as numerous as robins, it seems. And yet, even knowing I am surrounded by them, I've only heard their signature meowing cry once this season. That cry hearkens me back to my earliest birding days last year when I would hear that call and think it sounded like a baby lost in the woods.

I went down the hill toward the Third Street Playground, and paused to watch five house sparrows enjoy a dust bath in the dirt path. Past the busy Picnic House I went, slower now, listening and looking. Most rustles I heard were squirrels, but a few eastern towhees did their funny leaf-litter dance as well. I saw a man with a huge lens on his camera. He was shooting a white squirrel. I wonder if it was the same white squirrel I saw last year next to a black squirrel. That was a cool contrast. Anyway, we ran into each other a few times in the park, and it turns out his name is Bill, and I don't think he was a birder. He seemed to be looking for nature-y things to photograph. I pointed out to him a robin sitting in its nest cup in a low crook at eye level - a good photo I hope. Later behind the pools we searched for black-and-white warblers together - not that hard a task. Those guys are everywhere lately.

Eventually our adventuring led us in separate directions, and I started looking in earnest for warblers on the path behind the Upper and Lower Pools. On Friday, I had taken one of the kids for a bird walk, just to look with our eyes, and had been ridiculously lucky in seeing new and mysterious birds. I vowed to come back there as soon as I could. And today it was no less interesting. I saw several ovenbirds skulking on the ground and trying to hide behind leaves. I saw a hermit thrush and a palm warbler. And way up the in trees I spotted something black and orange that didn't exactly resemble the Baltimore oriole I saw last weekend. That turned out to be an American redstart.

Satisfied with my short birding adventure, sad about the failing light, and very hungry, I made my way out of the Ravine, back behind the pools and I almost made it out to the Long Meadow when I started chatting with a nice woman birder named Monica. She told me about the recent Kentucky warbler sightings and a little of her own history as a birder. I'm certainly glad to meet so many people while engaged in what can be a fairly solitary undertaking.

My life birds today were common yellowthroat and American redstart. I also saw several birds I couldn't identify on sight or with my notes afterward. I expect that at some point this "take good notes" mantra will set in or take effect, but for now I think I just need a lot of practice.

the value of good note-taking

I had a lot of time to myself while Chrissy got tickets for our Iron Man date and went to his rehearsal, and I spent this time at Central Park. I got off the train at 72nd street, not 81st like always. I didn't realize just how far from my usual haunts I was, but the new scenery was quite pleasant. The weather was a little cooler than I expected - I regretted changing out of my first instinct, a sweater, and into a t-shirt once the sun dipped below the trees. The dampness clung to my bare hands and crept up the sleeves of my jacket, but the birds were numerous and cooperative, so I didn't mind.

I started my jaunt by accidentally discovering Wagner Cove, a secret southerly finger of the Lake. I had seen something yellow darting from shore to nearby shore over the finger of lakewater and mud, and that aroused my interest. I rounded the bushes and found a path leading down to a rustic shelter and the lakeshore.

Here I will pause to interject that my current very specific birding goal is to "take good notes". While I'm on the bird I talk quietly to myself and make a verbal list of the bird's visible attributes, because I know saying words helps me remember them. Then, once the bird has hidden itself from view, I try to write down what I remember, and any details comparing the bird to other standard birds for reference, the bird's location, behavior, and any crude sketches I think will help me if I can't find the right topographical bird word. In this way I force myself to stay on the bird and out of the field guide when in the field. I try to consult my field guide only after I have put away my binoculars and gotten on the train home. Then I try to reconcile my notes and sketches with what I find in the book. Many times, my hard work is rewarded with a clear or easy identification. But much too often, I am left with a list of notes that don't add up to a single bird and an empty feeling of, I don't know, let's call it "unfinished narrative". Because everyone wants to know how something turns out in the end. And this is why I'm trying to slow down, to notice more, and to take good notes.

I stopped to tell you that because I took a lot of notes during this outing and had several gorgeous birds persist in their namelessness - particularly something sandpiperish on the muddied shores of Wagner Cove and that same yellow dart I mentioned earlier.

It was here in the mud and greenery that I met my first swamp sparrows. I made a quick note of a tail-bobbing behavior, but the longer I watched, the more it reminded me of a) the butt waggle I would do as a child to entice a parent to chase and hug me and b) Bugs Bunny in drag, walking with exaggerated rear-end swing. It was not an up-and-down motion, but a wide U-shape, often accompanied by a short pik call.

After a half hour in the Cove, I made my way past a wedding party taking pictures on the grass, across the Bow Bridge, and into the Ramble. I saw some swallows darting and wheeling in the air over the Lake, and searched for telltale signs of their identity. Luckily, the light caught them right, and their dark shiny blue tops and long forked tails gave them away as barn swallows.

The Ramble was buzzing with birdsound and human activity. The joyful drumming of a Beltane maypole celebration barely drowned out the stage combat practice of several adolescents in Elizabethan garb wielding foils. Surrounded by gray catbirds and black-and-white warblers, I went deeper into the forest to escape the human noise. Someone led me to successfully see a chestnut-sided warbler. Its markings reminded me of big chocolate drool-stains. Soon I saw a bit of dusky orange and followed it for a long time through a lot of underbrush. It turned out to be a wood thrush, much brighter and bigger than the hermits I've been seeing, and with more uniform spotting, all the way to the vent.

I wandered the Ramble for a while, starting to feel the chill settle in my bones, when I tracked a song I was hearing to the top of a short tree nearby. This eastern towhee sang his song matter-of-factly, in a call-and-response with another towhee somewhere not far off. I stood and watched for a few minutes, and two birders approached to find out who was making all that noise. I let them in on the secret, and after the bird took off, the three of us stood together looking at birds on the expanse of mud that I'm sure in drier times is a walking path to what I've heard others call the Maintenance Field. We saw several American goldfinches, a bright purple finch, and more swamp sparrows. Soon three other birders joined us - Doug, who I met last weekend, and Paul and his step-daughter Claudia, who might turn out to be a good birding partner for me. The absolute highlight of this day, besides possibly making a new friend, was a group of four indigo buntings chilling out on the fence and peeking out of the grass. Soon our little group disbanded, and on my way back to the Castle I saw a few chipping sparrows.

At the Castle, I peeked over the fence to check on the Canada goose nest, only to find it had been abandoned and perhaps destroyed. One egg remained, and the down which lined the nest last week had all blow away. It reminded me of something I overheard on what was perhaps my first birding adventure in Central Park: it's some park employee's job to destroy the nest each spring to prevent overpopulation. I always hoped that wasn't true, but after seeing that lonely egg, I don't know what to believe.

My life birds today were: barn swallow, chestnut-sided warbler, purple finch, indigo bunting. Also I got the phone number of a newly bird-minded young woman like myself. Hopefully, we'll get together in a few weeks. Many birds I saw never got identified, but it's all too new and exciting to let that get me down. A good day!

'tis the season (for warbler neck)

For a few weeks, Chrissy's got rehearsals on Saturdays from 4-6 p.m., so today I took advantage of this time with my binoculars in the Ramble. The weather was pretty good, just cool enough for a jacket, and the sky was overcast, but not in a rain-threatening way. I started on the mulched path that leads from the Pinetum area down to the restrooms near Turtle Pond. I had seem palm warblers here before, but today the ground was populated largely by pigeons, starlings, and robins. I did get a great view, however, of a brilliant male red-bellied woodpecker fairly low on a tree trunk.

I visited the great egret at Turtle Pond, and while I was scanning the far edge, I saw a bit of tawny-brown fluff in a duck-like shape resting in the hollow of some rocks. I couldn't get a good view from so far away, so I climbed the castle and peered down, only to discover a Canada Goose (boo, that's so regular) on its nest (yay, that's so awesome)! The nest was lined with downy feathers, and a sparrow kept lurking nearby, perhaps hoping to steal some of them for its own nest. Once I saw the goose stand up and reposition itself, and I could see a few big eggs. What a thrill!

The Ramble was alive with birdsound. I walked though pockets of dense singing sound and pockets of quiet leaf-litter sound. The first bird I noticed gave me a hard time. I took a lot of notes, and it obliged me in this endeavor by sticking around a good long time. I thought I was getting a new bird, but when I consulted my field guide on the subway, it turned out to be a female eastern towhee, with a brown head, throat and back rather than the black I had seen before. I felt a little silly, of course, because I flipped through the book twice before I found it. But I also felt good at having done some detective work and making a successful ID. I won't be tricked by that one again!

As I was gathering my things to move to a new area, a small black and white striped bird landed on the tree trunk not seven feet away from me. I watched it climb, or rather, hop, quite actively up the trunk. The amount of movement and activity the bird displayed gave it an air of flightiness, excuse the pun. I enjoyed watching this bird, and I had the gut feeling it was a black-and-white warbler. When I consulted my field guide later, it mentioned a similarity in behavior to that other adored bird of mine, the white-breasted nuthatch, so I knew I had the right bird.

I spent some time craning my neck near what I think is called Azalea Pond in the Ramble, and spotted a Baltimore oriole way up in the leaves. Other birders flocked (boy, the puns are just begging to be used) to this area too, perhaps drawn by the density of birdsound. Several species of birds were fighting over this one patch of tree bark about five feet up the trunk. I wondered what could be so special or delicious about this one patch, and when no birds were on it, I went over to look. It looked regular to my eyes, but something about it certainly attracted the attention of house sparrows, red-winged blackbirds, starlings, and downy woodpeckers. In this area I also had my first yellow-rumped warbler.

My time was almost up, and I was wandering back toward the Castle when I spotted a rock just the right size and angle for reclining to get a good view of the birds in the canopy with less neck strain on my part. It was here that I met Doug, a friendly birder who helped me identify a palm warbler far above us by the tell-tale tail-pump. Apparently not many yellow birds pump their tails.

Overall an excellent day of birding, with three life birds - black and white warbler, yellow-rumped warbler, and Baltimore oriole.