Local birding report

As the lazy, hazy days of birding settle over Cape, moments of wonder remain – often found by chance, just by being present in a field or garden where the day unfolds.

The last two weeks in my backyard have brimmed with activity—boisterous Tufted Titmouse fledglings, a second brood of Eastern Bluebirds, and young Baltimore Orioles and Rose-breasted Grosbeaks joining the mix.

The Grosbeaks feel like rare treasures, and I’m grateful to host them. Long-distance migrants, these three will likely linger in Cape for another month before journeying to Central and northern South America.

Most days in late June and early July, I heard their short, sharp chink calls echoing through the nearby woods—eerily reminiscent of a sneaker squeaking on a gymnasium floor. Often the entire Grosbeak family visits the feeders together. The male often arrives just after the two females, perching sentinel-like on a nearby pole until the two females are settled in. On the morning of July 7, I glanced through the bathroom window to find a male and female Grosbeak perched side by side on a branch, quietly resting together. Perhaps it was their first moment alone since raising their fledgling!

A few additional notes from the yard and field: On June 30, deep within one of the upland sections of Gull Crest, the dusk-dappled understory came briefly alive. A squat, crested form with a broad tail crossed the trail ahead of me—its shape and movement unmistakable: a Ruffed Grouse. Moments later, a second grouse burst from cover and vanished into the trees. The stillness that settled over the scene was soon broken by the crisp chick-burr call of a Scarlet Tanager, echoing through the leaf-laced silence.

And on a steamy early July afternoon within a particularly enchanting stand of old forest in Robinson Woods I, only one birdsong pierced the stillness—the persistent, uplifting warble of a Blue-headed Vireo. Its song rang loud and true, resonating through the leafy hush as if to say it alone was enough.

Henry David Thoreau once wrote of the Blue-headed Vireo, “Upon the lofty elm tree sprays, the vireo rings the changes sweet, during the trivial summer days, striving to lift our thoughts above the street.” And in that moment, far from any street, the little singer seemed to do just that.

On July 3, I spotted a large, dark-backed flycatcher sallying out over the pond in Robinson Woods III, catching insects high above the water. Slightly smaller than a Robin but larger than an Eastern Phoebe, the Eastern Kingbird favors breeding sites where overgrown meadows meet forest edges and ponds. Kingbirds conceal a hidden crown of red, orange, or yellow feathers—flashed only in defense against predators.

Later that same day along Charles E. Jordan Road at dusk, I heard the unmistakable hissing of two young Great Horned Owls accompanied by the hoot of an adult. And within just a half an hour, the woods along this stretch of road came alive with the voices of five different thrushes—Eastern Bluebird, Veery, Hermit Thrush, Wood Thrush and American Robin.

And on July 7 within the Rachael Carson National Wildlife Refuge along Sawyer Road I observed a territorial Willet driving a Kingbird from its metal pole perch.

I also was able to view three different types of Swallows - Barn, Tree and Northern-rough Winged. As for identification of the latter three, Tree Swallows are a good default for comparison with other swallows. Both adult and juvenile Tree Swallows have clean white throats, while the Northern-rough Winged’s throat and breast are visibly dingy brown. I had forgotten how adult female Tree Swallows are often brownish above with limited hints of blue and first year birds are especially brown (not blue).

Bank and Northern Rough Winged Swallows are similar in size and can be tricky to differentiate between however the Bank Swallow’s slightly forked tail is often visible as is a brown band along its chest. Unfortunately, Bank Swallow populations in southern Maine have declined more than any other aerial insectivore and are currently estimated to be at less than 1% of its 1966 population.

One additional notable was a Saltmarsh Sparrow that popped into view while I was watching the swallows and Least Terns dip and dive, its orangish eyebrow and ‘stash’ were aglow.