Yard Lifer

As seeing birds has become more of a challenge, I am grateful for sustained looks at the commoner birds that visit the yard and feeders. For some winter finches this is an irruption year, and I’ve been watching eBird light up with reports of a “nemesis bird” for me, the Pine Siskin. Particularly as American Goldfinches started to visit in greater and greater numbers, I kept wondering if a lone siskin might make an appearance, especially hearing of the big flocks others in the state have had coming to their backyards.

I’ve been talking about the irruption for a month and Pine Siskins much longer than that–in fact, it had become a running joke in our home: “Look, Dad, a Pine Siskin!” It’s hard to believe over more than three decades of birding the Northeast that I haven’t seen one, but then again, such is the nature of the nemesis. I even went so far as to make, at my wife’s request, a reference poster/cheat sheet remixing images of Pine Siskins, American Goldfinches, and Evening Grosbeaks from Sibley.

For the better part of eight months I’ve been working from home, riding out the Coronavirus pandemic. Most days I try to escape the basement office, if only for a half hour, for lunch with the family. As I finished my lunch Friday, both wife and child excitedly pointed at the closest feeder and simultaneously exclaimed, “Pine Siskin!” This time they weren’t joking.

NEMESIS NO MORE

Pine Siskin

Over these past few days we’ve had as many as three at a time on the feeder, where the little pugilists are surprisingly aggressive and hold their own, fighting off much bigger birds such as House Finches.

I am so grateful: to finally see this nemesis bird; to see it in my own backyard, literally a few feet away; to see it with my family; and to see it because of my family.

The End of Spring (warbler) Migration

It was a terribly sparse and spotty spring for warblering, thanks to quarantine measures such as the closing of numerous hotspots (parks and cemeteries–ironic that many cemeteries are hotspots, perhaps indicative of the sheer numbers of the damned in this part of the country) and my own reticence to get into the car to go anywhere, also fed by the pandemic.

As a result, I missed any reported fallout; all my warblers this spring were hard-won, mostly singles, just 14 species in total. No Magnolia, Black-throated Green, or Blackpoll, let alone Prairie, Blackburnian, Tennessee, Blue-winged, Bay-breasted, Cape May, etc.,.. Maybe it is my choice of habitat to frequent, but I did see some of the other, more common transients, as well as a Wilson’s and a Canada.

And a Mourning Warbler. On May 17 I was drawn to a skulker in a bramble thicket, expecting yet another Common Yellowthroat. Instead a surprise: a burst of song , and a richly colored yellow, charcoal, and greenish bird popped out, granting me crushing views at maybe ten or fifteen feet. I watched in hushed appreciation at this bird, a lifer for me. And later that afternoon I was able to relocate it with my eight-year-old.

The bird was still there early the next morning, singing, and I saw it just long enough to get a very blurry picture (thanks, PD!) before it flew off. Then it was gone for good. I was profoundly grateful. In these crazy times, you have to appreciate any glimmer of hope, no matter how skulking and fleeting, that presents itself.

I’m not winning any prizes with this terrible, awful picture of the wonderful, obliging Mourning Warbler. Note the black bib margin contrasting with a slaty grey head, and the otherwise yellow undersides. The blur is is a product of tremors, low light, and rapid heartbeat. I have since bought a new camera with optical image stabilization. (More on that soon.)