January 28: Hawks

To keep myself amused on long drives, I sometimes keep a tally of all the Red-tailed Hawks I see perched along the roadside, watching for prey. 

Measuring the miles—

from Kittery to Camden

a seven-hawk drive. 

January 10: Red-tail in the 'hood

We wish the young hawk

perched over our mouse-filled shed

would stick around.

 

(Photo taken through screened window)

 

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December 30: Intruder

I can't see it
but I know where the hawk's perched
by following the crows.

November 22: Driving home from Vermont

Several hawks in trees,
road-killed deer off 89--
this world's dangerous.

March 21: Dead Red-tail

Boys call it an owl.

Dead hawk's talons are curled tight

as if against cold.

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June 5: Red-tail on high

Red-tailed hawk--

from up there, rain-wet squirrels

must look like ants.

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February 15: Birding before the storm

Hours before snow falls,

restless owls leave their perches,

hawk catches a vole.

January 26: Roadside hawks

With the hard crusty snow making it a challenge for birds of prey to hunt for rodents, more hawks and owls are visible perched in trees along road edges, watching for birds and rodents to emerge on the open edges. As I drove to Portland yesterday to join the tar sands oil pipeline protest, I counted two perched red-tails and one in flight being harassed by crows. On the way back north later that afternoon, I first saw two red-tails together in one tree, then a Bald Eagle flew over the road behind a flock of ducks, and then two more perched red-tails.

 

Fields of frozen snow.

As I speed past, hungry hawks

eye the roadside.

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October 20: Coots

Yesterday my birder friend Don Reimer reported seeing coots on Chickawaukie Lake in Rockland. This in itself is nothing unusual. Each fall a raft of coots, slate-grey waterbirds that are often mistaken for ducks, visits the lake until it ices over, usually hanging around into December. Part of the lake is in our Christmas Bird Count area, and most years we're out there counting coots the last Saturday before Christmas. One year we even came across a red-tailed hawk eating a coot near the public beach area of the lake. A coot is a good meal for a bird of prey, though apparently not very tasty to humans. (We debated whether or not to count that coot in our day's tally, and decided that since it had been alive earlier in the day, it was countable.)

So coots are regulars on the lake this time of year. What was remarkable about Don's report yesterday was the number of coots he observed: 615! I think the most I've ever seen at one time was 50 - 60 birds, 100 at most. I had to see this for myself. So on the way to a meeting in Rockland I stopped by the public beach parking lot. Offshore, I could see a dark mass on the water, a dense island of coots. A smaller bird could have walked across their backs. Without binoculars I had no way to really count them for myself, which would've been a challenge anyway because they were really packed together. Taking a moment to survey the scene, their behavior began to make sense to me. Perched in a nearby tree, looking right at the coot pack, was a big adult bald eagle. The coots were huddled up for security--a straggler would be fair game for the eagle.

Raft of coots afloat
till hungry hawks come, or ice
fills their wayside lake.

January 15: Shadows on the Snow

As I sat at my desk writing this morning, my attention was diverted by something small darting back and forth outside the window. It took me awhile to figure out what it was, because it was moving fast, and, it turns out, wasn't truly tangible. I was seeing shadows on the snow of a nuthatch moving quickly and with agility among the boughs of a tree hanging over the back yard.

As I watched more intentionally, more shadows flickered across the snow. A flock of bright-throated goldfinches passed through, then a handful of chickadees flew back and forth from the bird feeder on the other side of the house. A chickadee landed right in front of me on the porch rail outside my office window and then flew up to grab something off the gutter--some frozen insect carcass, perhaps? A pair of blue jays made their presence known. Then a downy woodpecker flew in to explore a tree trunk. A small flock of starlings, a species I've never seen in our yard before, cast large shadows as they perched for a moment in our big maple tree. All this activity happened in the space of about half an hour. As the sunlight has raised the air temperature, the birds have clearly been making the most of their daylight time.

Not long after, I even had the privilege of watching a pair of crows chase a red-tailed hawk through the air space above my yard. Imagine how much I'd have missed if I'd never bothered to look up when those shadows first caught my eye.

Shadows on the snow:
a moment's activity,
a flurry of birds.

April 3: Ice Cream and Frogs

We were in the Freeport area today, so we checked out the hawk watch for a few hours at Bradbury Mountain State Park in Pownal. On the short hike up, brown creepers, juncos, and phoebes sang. From the summit we--along with about ten other birders--watched kestrels zip past overhead, red tails shining in the sun. Sharp-shinned hawks flapped and glided in circles around us. In the distance, red-tailed hawks, an eagle, ospreys, turkey vultures, and a goshawk were picked out one by one by the official observers (and eventually us), each bird recognized by its silhouette and flight pattern. A pileated woodpecker called in the forest below us. Tree swallows darted past, the first I'd seen this year. A golden-crowned kinglet hopped in the branches of a nearby tree, crown flared. It was the kind of birding experience that gets my heart racing, and I had all intentions of writing a poem about it. However, as exciting as it was to see those raptors soaring by on their primeval quest to get north, and to see and/or hear other first-of-year birds, different signs of spring gave me today's "haiku moment."

First cone at Round Top:
two scoops with jimmies. Later,
first peeper chorus!

Friend and fellow poet Carl Little has a great spring poem called "Zones of Peeper," about driving around this time of year with the car window cracked open, passing through literal zones of frog song as you go past each vernal pool or wetland. For a moment, the sound pours over you, your heart thrills to it, and then it's gone. We only passed through one zone this evening, but the first one of the season is always the most exciting. Especially if you do so while finishing off an excellent almond joy and Indian pudding ice cream cone.

March 21: Air Space

My friend Brian and I stopped by Weskeag Marsh this afternoon to see what birds might have arrived. When we first got there, a big flock of crows seemed to be chasing something. They weren't making too much of a ruckus, so they must have successfully driven off whatever they'd ganged up against. Among the mallards, black ducks, and many little green-winged teals, we picked out a great blue heron. Several vociferous killdeer made their presence known throughout the marsh. Another great blue heron flew in. A song sparrow chipped from the bushes. The sun brightened, making it difficult to look westward out over the pannes.

Then Brian spotted an adult bald eagle soaring in over the trees. We hoped it would flush the ducks, so we could get a good count on the waterfowl lurking unseen at the back of the marsh. But instead of hunting, the eagle simply perched on a pine bough. I thought the crows, who were still loitering like a bunch of delinquents, might decide to mob the bird, but apparently they couldn't be bothered. So we kind of forgot about the eagle until a few minutes later we noticed two red-tailed hawks aggressively chasing it away. They followed the eagle as it soared higher and higher above the trees, diving on the larger bird quite closely at times. Fellow birder Don Reimer, who visits the marsh almost daily, wondered aloud if this was the same pair of red-tails that had nested near the marsh last year. By the way they were acting, I'd say so. They flanked that eagle like two fighter jets, escorting it out of their air space.

Driving away about ten minutes later, we saw one of the hawks perched above a nearby field. When I pulled over so Brian could try to photograph it, it took flight over the pannes, its red tail shining in the afternoon sun.

Red tails a warning,
two hawks escort an eagle
out of their air space.

February 13: Mob Scene

As soon as I stepped out the door for my run this morning, I heard them: the yelling mob. Raising my eyes to the curve of Mount Battie--the profile of which seems to echo the arc of the earth's horizon--I saw them: a scattered pattern of darting crows. Just as I was thinking to myself, The red-tailed hawk must be up there, a red-tailed hawk soared up out of the swirl of black forms. As I watched, feeling a smug satisfaction at having so quickly figured out what was going on, another red-tail separated itself from the flock. I hadn't known there were two! For a moment I could see both hawks circling the squalling horde of crows, and then they all dipped behind the rim of the mountain.

I could still hear the crows as I began my run. My rather labored outing was punctuated by birds: cardinal's pip, chickadees, several singing house finches making it seem like spring, downy woodpecker, flock of doves, a herring gull carrying a chunk of bread, black duck flushed on the river, goldfinches, beeping chorus of nuthatches. As I warmed up from the exertion and sun, I allowed myself to feel really excited about spring for the first time and to imagine how I'll soon be hearing more and more birds on my run.

But I was also thinking about the hawks. A pair of hawks. I've been seeing a hawk regularly along the river from my office up the street. But I hadn't realized there was a pair. Two hawks wouldn't be hanging out together unless they were a couple. (I just remembered that Valentine's Day, tomorrow, is the traditional day when birds find their mates, according to Chaucer's Parlement of Foules. The red-tails apparently got a jump start on ritual.) A pair of hawks in the vicinity of Mount Battie has some interesting implications for other resident raptors--including the pair of peregrine falcons that have nested  on Mount Megunticook for the past three years. They should be back in early spring, by April. And I think they'll have something to say about having red-tails as neighbors. Red-tailed hawks might be bigger, bulkier birds, but I'd bet on that avian torpedo, the peregrine, against just about any other raptor out there. So things could get interesting in the 'hood come spring. And the ever-vigilant crows will have even more to get worked up about.

Two hawks mobbed by crows--
the things one has to endure
as a mated pair.

February 4: Soaring Hawk

Tired and a little stressed, I walked into the office this morning huddled against both the cold and the day ahead. Fortunately, I looked up before heading inside. There, in the perfect blue sky above sparkling, snow-powdered Mount Battie, soared a red-tailed hawk. Broad wings spread wide, red tail shining in the morning light, the hawk cut several broad circles in the air before sailing out of sight behind the mountain. Yesterday's all-day storm would have forced it to lay low; today it was free to fly (and hunt). I realize I'm projecting my own feelings onto the bird, but its flight seemed to contain a certain measure of delight as it lifted in the wind.

My guess would be that this is the same red-tail I've observed along the river this winter, the one that keeps agitating the local crows. Today I embraced the sight of it as that of a familiar friend, my spirits momentarily lifted.

Wind-driven red-tail,
thank you for lifting my mood
on your wide-spread wings.

January 14: The Little Things

Some ordinary days end up being special because a lot of little things add up to creating one big positive vibe for the day. Like today. When I got up this morning and looked out the window, I noticed the river was steaming. Although I knew the steam simply meant that the churning froth of dark water was actually less cold than the frigid air, I couldn't help but think that if I ran outside and jumped into the river, I'd experience the same glorious warmth of that hot spring we used to hike to deep in an old growth forest in Oregon. Skinny-dipping is fun, but skinny-dipping in naturally hot water amid giant Douglas firs as snow falls around you is an unparalleled experience.

As I drove to work, I noticed that some of the ledges on Mount Battie sport giant icicles that look like the jagged teeth of the Abominable Snowman on "Rudolph." The mountain baring its icy teeth--I like that image as the face of this often inhospitable winter world.

Then, when I was walking into my office, I heard the two-note love song of a chickadee Romeo. Despite the fact that my car thermometer read 11 degrees, he had courting on his mind. Who can't help but smile at that? Silly bird. He went on and on. In my head I crafted a new version of Cole Porter's song, now called Too Darn Cold: "It's too darn cold, it's too darn cold... When the thermometer goes way down and the shivering's getting real old, think romance, in ski pants? No..." (Sorry, Cole.)

Later at work I watched the red-tailed hawk once more winging its way up the river. And later still, a rosy glow of sunset splashed the sky and river ice with pink. Nothing extraordinary. No epiphanies or magic moments. But a day with a good spirit.

Chickadee love songs
as mountain bares icy teeth--
crazy winter world.

January 5: Red-tailed Hawk

I woke up cranky this morning for no real reason. Just one of those mornings when I couldn't fully wake up. An early meeting didn't lift my spirits much, though my co-workers were as entertaining as ever. And later, I was sitting in my director's office discussing budget items for our next fiscal year--also not helping my mood--when suddenly a hawk flew past. A red-tail, dark chest and wing markings and red tail all fully visible, splashes of color in the grey and white landscape. The big bird flapped down the river to land in a bare oak across the water from the office. With binoculars we each enjoyed brief but perfect views of this beautiful raptor as it paused on its journey. And when it lifted off to soar back upriver, my mood rose with it.

Hawk visitation:
red-tail cruising the river.
My spirits take wing.

Added bonus: red-tailed hawk became species #10 on my list of first birds seen in 2010.

December 30: White

I think of the color white now not because of snow or the almost full moon, but because in the past few days, Maine birders have posted on the Maine Birding List-serv photos of two different white birds. These birds are leucistic, not albino. Put simply, leucism is caused by developmentally defective pigment cells, while albinism is caused by a genetic lack of melanin. The main visible differences are that a leucistic animal doesn't have the albino's red eyes and may not be pure white. I've seen a song sparrow with a white face and a crow with some white tail feathers, for instance. But these photos depicted birds that were, if not as pure white as driven snow, almost entirely white.

The first bird is a junco that has been coming to a feeder in Freedom for most of December. Normally, a junco is an overall slate-grey bird with a white belly. This junco, photographed on a very snowy feeder against snow-covered bushes, is strikingly white, with only a thin dark edge to its wings, dark eyes, and a junco's typical pink legs and bill. This beautiful bird looks as if it's been crafted from the surrounding drifts and brought to life--Frosty the Snowbird. I wonder if it's aware how well it blends in with the snow, if it has learned how to make itself invisible.

This morning a birder in southern Maine posted a photo of a leucistic red-tailed hawk that has apparently been regularly seen in Eliot for the past four years in the neighborhood of the Marshwood Middle School. The photographer has seen the bird with his non-white mate. (With most hawks, the females are larger, hence the assumption that the smaller, white bird is male. Apparently his freakish color didn't render him unattractive to at least one other of his kind.)  The photo shows a white hawk flying against a background of bare trees. Except for his dark eye and bill, the hawk truly looks like a ghost bird, or the surreal visitation of some forest angel.

Two unusual white birds during these snowy days of winter, two pale muses:

White bird in winter--
blank as the snow-covered field
and as beautiful.