Local birding report

The dry, warm weather during the second and third week of September accompanied many southbound migrants quietly slipping through our landscapes by day and overhead by night. On September 19, Cornell’s BirdCast Migration Dashboard reported more than seven hundred thousand nocturnal birds leveraging southwest winds along the Atlantic Flyway as they passed into and through Cumberland County. On several nights when forecasted conditions were favorable for lower altitude travel, brief nocturnal flight calls from warblers, vireos, thrushes, sparrows and shorebirds sounded as if they were right above the treetops.

On September 14, while passing through Gull Crest at twilight, I came across a Common Nighthawk foraging on the wing above the giant compost piles. When I briefly shined my flashlight into the darkening sky, the bird darted through the beam, its white wing patches flashing like signals as it banked this way and then that, full of sudden shifts in speed and direction. Henry David Thoreau wrote vividly about the Common Nighthawk, capturing both its earthly stillness and aerial grace. His observations remain among the most grounded early accounts of the species. In his 1853 journal, he described a nesting nighthawk that flushed “like a winged toad,” its granite colored eggs laid directly on the bare ground. He marveled at the bird’s ability to sit unmoving through storms, “as if it were a rock or a part of the earth itself,” yet transform in flight into “one of the most aerial, supple, and graceful of creatures.”

The following day, September 15, along the pond section of Robinson Woods II, I stood still and watched a Peregrine Falcon perched atop the tip of an old dead pine. I could only imagine the view from that snag, high above the canopy. Meanwhile, a robin sized Solitary Sandpiper foraged along the muddy bank below. The peregrine watched the sandpiper intently for some time but never pursued it. The sandpiper’s nonbreeding plumage, its breast washed with brown, seemed to provide better camouflage along the shoreline. True to its namesake, this solitary medium sized shorebird kept to itself.

On September 17, the song of Pine Warblers carried through the wooded sections of Gull Crest, Runaway Farm and Robinson Woods. Pine Warblers are unusual among warblers because they sing all year long. Listen closely and you’ll hear a less hurried version of their spring song—more wandering in cadence, less driven and emphatic. It could be a slightly different northern dialect passing through Cape Elizabeth, or perhaps a young bird practicing its imperfect song. Either way, it is a treat to hear in the forests.

Additionally, I encountered a secretive Eastern Towhee hidden within the tangled cover of CELT’s Viking II property. Its metallic “chewink” call was an unmistakable giveaway. The Eastern Towhee is among those birds whose call note remains remarkably consistent throughout the seasons. Though I found myself yearning for the rich, emphatic song of spring, hearing that familiar call in autumn makes me appreciate the species all the more. In a season of change, its steadfast voice felt like a small point of continuity.

On September 18, twenty two goldfinches crowded the tube feeder, many of which have shed their bright yellow summer feathers, others in varying stages of molting into a more drab olive brown coat—a seasonal adaptation for camouflage, energy conservation and survival. Four first year bluebirds bathed in the birdbath, and a giant formation of Double crested Cormorants flew overhead.

Lastly, on September 21, a handsome male Rose breasted Grosbeak made a brief appearance at our feeders, as did a male and female Pine Warbler that also stuck around for a while. That afternoon, a Philadelphia Vireo appeared in the withering crabapple tree behind our house. Far less widespread and less abundant in Maine, the Philadelphia Vireo can usually be distinguished from the Red eyed Vireo by its yellow washed underparts and the distinct line above the eye that contrasts with its darker gray “helmet.” While the Red eyed Vireo breeds in Cape, the Philadelphia Vireo breeds in more northwesterly sections of Maine and beyond. Interestingly, this is the fifth year in a row I have spotted a Philadelphia Vireo in September—and in my yard. The bird gets its name from the city in which the first scientific specimen of this species was collected. Philadelphia was at the center of America’s scientific community in the early 1800s, and much of the study of birds originated in Pennsylvania.