Local birding report

Over the last two weeks one of the most active places to be before dusk is where the woods meet the upper wetland sections of Pond Cove. The chorus here at sundown included Common Yellowthroats and Yellow Warblers, American Redstarts, Great-crested Flycatchers, Eastern Wood-Peewees and Red-winged Blackbirds. A mother Wood Duck who sensed my presence one evening let out a “oo-eek” to alert her clutch. On a separate occasion, three Glossy Ibis took to the wing flying with neck and feet outstretched towards their nighttime roosting spot on an island somewhere in Casco Bay.

Stepping deeper into the forest, the pulsing call of the Ovenbird intertwines with the ethereal songs of the Hermit and Veery. Our resident canopy dwellers, including the Black-throated Green Warbler, sings its buzzy ringing “trees, trees I love trees” and from the shadows of a primeval White Pine stand emanates the steady trilling song of the Pine Warbler.

Listening for birds can often be easier than actually seeing them. I say this because many only show themselves for a few seconds, yet their voices carry for great distances and can indicate so much about the bird and its surroundings. Our woodland songbirds have a repertoire of songs and calls used to indicate subtle signals, such as whether the bird is looking to impress upon a mate, defend itself on a territory or warn of a nearby predator. Learning a bird’s songs and behaviors is a life-long journey.

One bird in particular whose preference for treetops makes it almost impossible to spot is the tireless Warbling Vireo. Far from flashy, this vireo is gray-olive above and whitish below with some hints of yellow. Fortunately, they are remarkably persistent singers. On June 1 I discovered a Warbling Vireo singing high up in a White Oak Tree in our back yard and on June 5 my son and I listened to this bird’s tender, liquid strains of music as we paddled along the fringes of Great Pond.

Recently I stumbled across a character by the named of Elliot Coues. Born in 1842 in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, Elliot went on to become a Union Army surgeon, Theosophist and Ornithologist. In 1878 while working on his Key to North American Birds, Elliot wrote of the Warbling Vireo, “these urbane birds move in a quiet circle of their own, in slight contact with the less polished members of society” and “we seldom see them, indeed; they are oftener a voice than a visible presence – just a ripple of melody, threading its way through the mazes of verdure, now flowing released on its grateful mission.” And goes on to say “from the grand old halls of the stately oak to the canopied shade weaving elm, and the redolent depths of magnolia – issues all summer long the same exquisite refrain while the singers glide through their hermitage unseen. Who would know these spirituelle musicians better must be quick to catch a glimpse of a very small sober-colored bird whose tints are those of its leafy home, and whose course in the heart of the trees is as devious as the play of the sunbeam itself.” Not to mention, the male Warbling Vireo is a model husband, father and provider. He relieves the female on the nest, feeds her while she is occupied and even sings while taking his turn on the nest.

In contrast to the more flowy song of the Warbling Vireo is the abrupt, jerky and at times taunting “look at me, here I am” notes of the Red-eyed Vireo. This vireo’s song is a broken series of slurred notes, each phrase ending in either an upswing or a down slur, as if the bird asks itself a question, then answers and repeats. Red-eyed Vireo’s can be heard singing in our woodlands all summer long.

Additional notes from the field - On May 22 and June 1 I was briefly fooled by the buzzy American Woodcock-like nasal cry of Common Nighthawks overhead. On one occasion around sunset, I observed five nighthawks feasting on flying insects above the Gull Crest athletic fields. Coincidently woodcocks sounded off in the distance.

Lastly, along the Eastern Trail Pannes of Scarborough Marsh on June 5 I spotted one Saltmarsh Sparrow and three Nelson’s Sparrows. The latter of the two birds is a richly colored sparrow with saffron-yellow eyebrows. Interestingly, the Nelson’s Sparrow has an unusual breeding distribution - both far inland and on the coast. In the interior the bird summers in freshwater marshes on the northern Great Plains. On the Atlantic coast it nests in coastal marshes from Quebec south to Maine.