Tag Archives: Bird

Region is home for several species of hawks

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Tom Koerner/USFWS • An adult Cooper’s hawk, such as this individual, is a crow-sized woodland raptor that breeds throughout much of the United States, southern Canada and northern Mexico.

Barbara Lake, a resident in Hampton, emailed me recently to share a sighting of a large hawk in her yard.

“This hawk was in our yard today and flew up to a tree when I opened the door,” she wrote. “(Its) back and the back of the head are black and the rest appears to be white. He didn’t cooperate by turning around.”

Barbara enclosed some photos with her email. I’ve known Barbara for about 20 years. We first met when she invited me to her home to view some nesting bluebirds on a television screen. She had placed nest cams in some of her bluebird nesting boxes, capturing real-time footage of the nesting activity of these songbirds.

I’ve enjoyed some observations of the region’s larger raptors, including red-tailed hawks and red-shouldered hawks, as winter has settled in for the long haul. I’ve also spotted a few American kestrels.

Based on the raptor’s relatively long tail in the photos provided by Barbara, I hazarded a guess that her visiting raptor was a Cooper’s hawk.

Anyone who travels along the region’s Interstate Highway System has probably noticed hawks perched in trees or on utility lines adjacent to the roadway. The section of Interstate 26 that runs between Unicoi and Johnson City is often a productive area for keeping alert for raptors. The raptor I have most often observed along this stretch of road is the red-tailed hawk, although I have also observed Cooper’s hawk, sharp-shinned hawk and American kestrel. In the time of spring and fall migration, it’s also possible to observe broad-winged hawks.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • Raptors, like this red-tailed hawk, are  plentiful oin the region.

The red-tailed hawk is named for its prominent red tail. However, only adults show the characteristic red tail. The affinity red-tailed hawks demonstrate for roadsides is a double-edged sword. Viewing a large hawk from your car is an easy way to watch birds. For inexperienced or careless raptors, however, roadside living is often rife with the chance for a collision with a car or truck. The red-tailed hawk, which prefers open countryside, is attracted to the margins of roads and highways because these locations also attract their favorite prey, which includes rodents like rats, squirrels and mice and other small mammals such as rabbits.

Human behavior contributes to some of the problems that hawks encounter in the zone that brings them too close for comfort to motorized vehicles. When people toss trash from a car, the scent of the litter will lure curious and hungry rodents. In turn, hunting hawks are brought to the edges of roads in search of their preferred prey, increasing the likelihood of colliding with automobiles.

The Cooper’s hawk is a large accipiter hawk. A smaller relative, the sharp-shinned hawk, is also found in the region. The accipiter hawks are graceful and aerodynamic, designed to pursue prey through woodlands. Buteo hawks, such as the red-tailed hawk and red-shouldered hawk, are more of an ambush predator and not designed for the agile maneuvers that the accipiters can use to capture prey.

Some of the buteo species have adapted to life on islands, including the Galapagos hawk and the Hawaiian hawk. Some of these hawks have quite descriptive names, including the white-throated hawk, gray-lined hawk, zone-tailed hawk and short-tailed hawk. Outside the United States, raptors in the buteo genus are often known as “buzzards.” When the first European colonists came to the New World, they applied the term buzzard to types of native vultures as well as the large raptors like Swainson’s hawk and broad-winged hawk that reminded them of the ones back in Europe.

USFWS • An immature Cooper’s hawk perches on a branch in a tree located in the Klamath Basin National Wildlife Refuge Complex.

Accipiter hawks are also widespread. Accipiter is a genus of birds of prey in the family Accipitridae. With 49 recognized species, it is the most diverse genus in its family. Most species are called goshawks or sparrowhawks, although almost all New World species (excepting the Northern goshawk) are simply known as hawks.

Most accipiter hawks, including Cooper’s and sharp-shinned, prey mostly on other birds. The website All About Birds notes that small songbirds are usually safe around a Cooper’s hawk. Medium-sized birds, however, are not. Studies list European starlings, mourning doves and rock pigeons as common prey. Other birds that are often targeted by Cooper’s hawk include American robins, blue jay, Northern flicker, quail, grouse and pheasants. Cooper’s hawks sometimes rob nests and also eat chipmunks, rabbits, mice, squirrels and bats. According to All About Birds, mammals are more common in diets of Cooper’s hawks in the western United States.

Some of the more descriptively named accipiter hawks include crested goshawk, grey-bellied hawk, spot-tailed sparrowhawk, plain-brested hawk and little sparrowhawk.

All too often, our large hawks don’t receive the love they deserve from the public. They may even run afoul of misinformed individuals who may regard all predatory birds as “bad.” The reality is that all hawks are valuable components of a healthy, working ecosystem, with each species filling a certain niche.

•••

To share a sighting, ask a question or make a comment, email me at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com.

 

Couple achieves birding milestone with help of red-breasted nuthatch

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Photo from Pixabay • The red-breasted nuthatch is more common some winters but can be absent in others.

Two good friends and fellow members of the Elizabethton Bird Club, Brookie and Jean Potter, achieved a personal birding milestone at the end of January.

Both Brookie and Jean managed to see 100 birds in the first month of 2024 in the five-county area. Brookie had already accomplished this feat many years ago, but Jean had never been able to do it — until now.

“We did it today on the last day of the month,” she shared in an email.

Brookie ended the month with 101 species of birds, and Jean reached 100.

Their final bird of the month was the red-breasted nuthatch. They had to put in some effort to find the species, finally traveling to Carver’s Gap on the state line between North Carolina and Tennessee on Roan Mountain.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • A red-breasted nuthatch seeks a morsel from seeds and peanuts at a feeder.

“We kept waiting for this bird to come to our feeder, but when it didn’t come, we had to go to Carver’s Gap, which had snow, fog and a temperature of 29 degrees,” she said.

According to Jean, they located two of these little nuthatches close to the parking area.

“The things we do to find birds,” Jean remarked.

If they can find another 100 or more species of birds in the remaining 11 months of 2024, the couple will be eligible for the Howard P. Langridge Award. The Elizabethton Bird Club presents this award to any member who manages to see 200 or more species in a single year in the five-county area.

The award commemorates the contributions of the late Langridge to birding in the region. In 2000, Langridge broke the record for most species seen in a single year in Northeast Tennessee. The record was later broken again by Rick Knight.

In our region, the stubby red-breasted nuthatch is another member of a family that often finds its way to our yards. Smaller than the related white-breasted nuthatch and, as far as I can tell, complacent in the company of chickadees and titmice, the red-breasted nuthatch is always a welcome visitor.

This little feeder visitors has a telltale “yank yank” call that it produces when excited that sounds very much like a little tin horn. The red-breasted nuthatch, perhaps because it spends so much of the year in more remote areas, can also be amazingly tame when it pays a winter visit.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • A red-breasted nuthatch clings to the mesh of a feeding tube to get at the peanuts contained within.

Both red-breasted and white-breasted nuthatches can be attracted to feeders by offering peanuts, sunflower seeds and suet. They are also cavity- nesting birds but are more reluctant about accepting a nesting box as a place to rear young. They will gladly accept an old woodpecker hole or other natural cavity in a tree.

The website All About Birds notes that red-breasted nuthatches are common, and their populations have increased throughout most of their range between 1966 and 2019, according to the North American Breeding Bird Survey.

The website also points out that Partners in Flight estimates a global breeding population of 20 million and rates the species a 6 out of 20 on the Continental Concern Score, indicating a species of low conservation concern.

While the red-breasted nuthatch is a small bird, some members of its family aren’t so petite. On the other end of the size scale is the appropriately named giant nuthatch, which reaches a length of almost 8 inches. The giant nuthatch ranges through China, Thailand and Burma and is bigger than a downy woodpecker, another of our more common visitors at backyard feeders in our region.

Worldwide, there are about 25 species of nuthatches, some of which have surprisingly descriptive names for birds that spend most of their lives creeping in obscurity along the trunks and branches of trees. Some of the more creative common names for these little birds include beautiful nuthatch, velvet-fronted nuthatch, sulphur-billed nuthatch, chestnut-bellied nuthatch, snowy-browed nuthatch and chestnut-vented nuthatch.

These birds are named “nuthatch” for the habit of some species to wedge a large seed in a crack and hack at it with their strong bills.

In some winters, red-breasted nuthatches can be quite common in the region. That’s not been the case this winter, as shown by the difficulty Brookie and Jean had in locating this bird.

•••

For those interested, there’s a great chance to get outdoors and look for red-breasted nuthatches and other birds. The annual Great Backyard Bird Count will be held Friday, Feb. 16, through Monday, Feb. 19.

It’s easy to take part in this global survey of bird populations all around the planet.

The first step is to choose a location for looking.

A favorite park, walking trail or your own backyard will work.

Next, actively watch for birds for 15 minutes or more, at least once over the four days from Feb. 16-19.

You will need to identify all the birds you see or hear within your planned time/location and use the best tool for sharing your bird sightings.

For a beginning bird admirer and those who are new to bird identification, try using the Merlin Bird ID app to pinpoint what birds you are seeing or hearing.

If you have participated in previous GBBCs before and want to record numbers of birds, try the eBird Mobile app or enter your bird list on the eBird website using a desktop/laptop computer.

If you already contribute to Merlin or eBird, continue what you are doing. All entries over the 4-day period count towards GBBC.

For more information on the GBBC, visit www.birdcount.org.

•••

To share a sighting, ask a question or make a comment, email me at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com.

Column, which is turning 28 years old, began with a profile on juncos

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Photo by simardfrancois from Pixabay • The dark-eyed junco is a winter visitor at many bird feeders in the region, but this bird also nests every summer on some high elevation mountains in the region.

I wrote my first bird column on Sunday, Nov. 5, 1995, which means this weekly column is marking its 28th anniversary this week.

This column has appeared in a total of six different newspapers, which I regard as a personal achievement, as well as an accomplishment for our feathered friends. It’s on their behalf that I pen these weekly efforts to promote conservation and good will toward all birds. I have also posted the column as a weekly blog posting since February 2014 at http://www.ourfinefeatheredfriends.com.

I’ve played detective, helping people identify everything from “rain crows,” or cuckoos, to Muscovy ducks, chukars and double-crested cormorants. I’ve observed unusual birds, including white pelicans, brants and roseate spoonbills, in Northeast Tennessee, Southwest Virginia and Western North Carolina and spotlighted them in these columns.

While I’ve had some vision challenges this past year, I still take delight in the kaleidoscopic parade of colorful warblers that pass through the region each spring and fall as well as the fast-paced duel of ruby-throated hummingbirds and the occasional rufous hummingbirds straying through the region.

At my home, I also provide sunflower seed and other supplemental food for the resident birds like Carolina chickadees, white-breasted nuthatches, song sparrows and downy woodpeckers.

Even as I tweak my anniversary column for “Feathered Friends,” parts of the region just experienced the first heavy frost. This prognostication of approaching winter weather is a perfect time to dust off this week’s column, which is a revision of the first bird column I ever wrote. This column focused on a common visitor to yards and feeders during the winter months. In fact, dark-eyed juncos should be returning to the region any day. Here, with some revisions I have made through the years, is that first column.

Photo by Ken Thomas • A dark-eyed junco perches on some bare branches on a winter’s day.

•••

Of all the birds associated with winter weather, few are as symbolic as the dark-eyed junco, or “snow bird.” The junco occurs in several geographic variations.

John V. Dennis, author of “A Complete Guide to Bird Feeding,” captures the essence of the junco in the following description: “Driving winds and swirling snow do not daunt this plucky bird. The coldest winter days see the junco as lively as ever and with a joie de vivre that bolsters our sagging spirits.” The dark-eyed junco’s scientific name, hyemalis, is New Latin for “wintry,” an apt description of this bird.

Most people look forward to the spring return of some of our brilliant birds — warblers, tanagers and orioles — and I must admit that I also enjoy the arrival of these birds. The junco, in comparison to some of these species, is not in the same league. Nevertheless, the junco is handsome in its slate gray and white plumage, giving rise to the old saying “dark skies above, snow below.”

Just as neotropical migrants make long distance journeys twice a year, the junco is also a migrating species. But in Appalachia, the junco is a special type of migrant. Most people think of birds as “going south for the winter.” In a basic sense this is true. But some juncos do not undertake a long horizontal (the scientific term) migration from north to south. Instead, these birds merely move from high elevations, such as the spruce fir peaks, to the lower elevations. This type of migration is known as vertical migration. Other juncos, such as those that spend their breeding season in northern locales, do make a southern migration and, at times, even mix with the vertical migrants.

During the summer months, a visit to higher elevations mountaintops is almost guaranteed to produce sightings of dark-eyed juncos. Juncos may nest as many as three times in a season. A female junco usually lays three to six eggs for each nest, which she constructs without any assistance from her mate.

Juncos are usually in residence around my home by early November. Once they make themselves at home I can expect to play host to them until at least late April or early May of the following year. So, for at least six months, the snow bird is one of the most common and delightful feeder visitors a bird enthusiast could want.

Juncos flock to feeders where they are rather mild-mannered — except among themselves. There are definite pecking orders in a junco flock, and females are usually on the lower tiers of the hierarchy. Females can sometimes be distinguished from males because of their paler gray or even brown upper plumage.

Since juncos are primarily ground feeders they tend to shun hanging feeders. But one winter I observed a junco that had mastered perching on a hanging “pine cone” feeder to enjoy a suet and peanut butter mixture.

Dark-eyed juncos often are content to glean the scraps other birds knock to the ground. Juncos are widespread. They visit feeders across North America. The junco is the most common species of bird to visit feeding stations. They will sample a variety of fare, but prefer such seeds as millet, cracked corn or black oil sunflower.

The juncos are a small branch of the sparrow clan. Some of the other juncos include the endangered Guadalupe junco, yellow-eyed junco, Baird’s junco and volcano junco. The last one on the list is endemic to the Talamancan montane forests of Costa Rica and western Panama. Baird’s junco is named for Spencer Fullerton Baird, an American ornithologist and naturalist.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • A dark-eyed junco visits a hanging feeder.

Baird served as secretary for the Smithsonian Institution from 1878 until his death in 1887. He greatly expanded the natural history collections of the Smithsonian from 6,000 specimens in 1850 to over two million by the time of his death.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this introduction to juncos. There’s something about winter that makes a junco’s dark and light garb an appropriate and even striking choice, particularly against a backdrop of newly fallen snow.

Of course, the real entertainment from juncos come from their frequent visits to our backyard feeders. When these birds flock to a feeder and began a furious period of eating, I don’t even have to glance skyward or tune in the television weather forecast. I know what they know. Bad weather is on the way!

••••

I’ve not seen the first junco of the season, but I did observe a close relative (white-throated sparrow) on the morning of Oct. 24 at my home.

If you’d like to share your first sighting this season of dark-eyed juncos, email me at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com. As always, the column is also a line of communication with fellow bird enthusiasts. I’ve enjoyed sharing stories about birds with countless readers over the past 28 years. I can also be reached on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ahoodedwarbler.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • Dark-eyed junco nests on high mountain slopes during the summer month. This dark-eyed junco was photographed at Carver’s Gap on Roan Mountain during the summer nesting season.

Spring signs less clear than in seasons past

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Photo by Bryan Stevens * A male mallard lounges by the edge of a fish pond in a previous spring season.

Signs of spring are, as the old saying goes, popping up all over. Daffodils and crocuses unfurling their blooms, a pair of mallards paying a visit to my fish pond and the blue skies overhead on sunny days have signaled the transition toward spring as surely as the turning of the calendar page to March.

Some of these familiar sights have been hazy for me during this season of transition. In early February I lost vision in my right eye. After visits to various medical experts, an MRI, blood tests and other procedures, I got a diagnosis of optic papillitis, a form of optic neuritis. In simpler terms, I suffered a stroke of the eye that aggravated and inflamed the optic nerve.

The good news, as I see it, tests have not found any evidence of underlying conditions like cancer or a brain tumor. The bad news, also as I see it, is that recovery is not guaranteed and can take time. The process is usually measured in weeks and months, not days.

It’s been unsettling, to describe it mildly. Reading requires the assistance of a magnifying glass. Too much time focused on a bright screen brings discomfort.

I’m carrying on with birding as best I can. Binoculars, as birders know, are made for use by two eyes. I have feeders to lure the birds in close, but my favorite cardinals, chickadees and wrens are a bit blurry.

I’ve always tried to stay optimistic. I’m hopeful that by the time the ruby-throated hummingbirds return for a sip of sugar water at my feeders in April, my sight will be good enough to enjoy the beauty of their green and white plumage and the brilliant red throat if the visiting hummer is a male.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • Male ruby-throated hummingbird show the namesake red throat. The feathers on a male’s throat are iridescent, which means they can change when seen from different angles. In poor light, the ruby-red throat can look almost black.

If spring’s too soon, I’ll push the goal farther along in the 2023 calendar and hope to be ready to identify the annual fall parade of warblers.

As I wait, nothing’s stopping me from enjoying the sounds of spring. On rainy days, the chorus of spring peepers produce their amphibious cacophany at dusk and throughout the night. Many of the birds are also singing their hearts out. Eastern phoebes, tufted titmice, Carolina chickadees and Northern cardinals all make their presence with their loud, persistent songs.

On Monday, Feb. 20, I watched as the fuzzy shapes of two dozen red-winged blackbirds dropped down into the cattails in the marshy area near the fish pond. It’s not February for me until I’ve seen a migrating flock of blackbirds benefitting from an overnight stay in the cattails.

Photo by Bryan Stevens * A mallard drake looks vibrant with his green, glossy head.

On Sunday, Feb. 26, a mallard pair visited the fish pond. They were the first mallards that I’ve observed at my fish pond for many years. In full disclosure, my mom spotted them and informed me of their arrival. Mallards are big enough that I saw the male of the pair easily enough. His green head and chestnut breast stood out from the brown cattails and other vegetation bordering the pond. The female mallard blended nicely with the background and evaded my gaze. Regardless, I was thrilled to welcome mallards back to the pond. They only lingered for a single day, but they have me hoping that other ducks, such as blue-winged teal or wood ducks, will make similar visits as the season progresses.

On March 1, I saw my first spring butterfly. The seasonal first was a spring azure, a tiny, delicate butterfly. The sighting reminded me that nature will provide plenty of incentive to work on regaining my full vision. I still have more butterflies, as well as dragonflies, damselflies, moths and June bugs to look forward to seeing as we progress through spring and summer.

I’ve always believed that nature is a restorative force. Now I am going to test that theory in my goal to have my vision back at or near normal capacity by the time I hear the buzzy whir of hummingbird wings in April.

In the meantime, there will still be plenty of time to focus on our myriad feathered friends. I have someone who has been great at taking down my dictated words for my weekly column.

As always, make a comment, share an observation or ask a question by emailing me at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com.

 

 

 

It all began with a dark-eyed junco

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Photo by Jack Bumer from Pixabay • For many people, the dark-eyed junco is a winter bird, not arriving until the first frost or snowfall of the season. These songbirds typically remain until late spring when they disperse to their nesting grounds.

I wrote my first bird column on Sunday, Nov. 5, 1995, which means this weekly column is marking its 26th anniversary this week.

This column has appeared over the last three decades in a total of six different newspapers, which I regard as a personal achievement, as well as an accomplishment for our feathered friends. It’s on their behalf that I pen these weekly efforts to promote conservation and good will toward all birds. I have also posted the column as a weekly blog posting since February  2014 at www.ourfinefeatheredfriends.com.

I’ve played detective, helping people identify everything from “rain crows,” or cuckoos, to Muscovy ducks, chukars and double-crested cormorants. I’ve observed unusual birds, including white pelicans, brants and roseate spoonbills, in Northeast Tennessee, Southwest Virginia and Western North Carolina and spotlighted them in these columns. I still take delight in the kaleidoscopic parade of colorful warblers that pass through the region each spring and fall as well as the fast-paced duel of ruby-throated hummingbirds and the occasional rufous hummingbirds straying through the region.

At my home, I also provide sunflower seed and other supplemental food for the resident birds like Carolina chickadees, white-breasted nuthatches, song sparrows and downy woodpeckers.

Even as I tweak my anniversary column for “Feathered Friends,” parts of the region just experienced the first heavy frost. This prognostication of approaching winter weather is a perfect time to dust off this week’s column, which is a revision of the first bird column I ever wrote. This column focused on a common visitor to yards and feeders during the winter months. In fact, dark-eyed juncos should bereturning to the region any day. Here, with some revisions I have made through the years, is that first column.

•••

Of all the birds associated with winter weather, few are as symbolic as the dark-eyed junco, or “snow bird.” The junco occurs in several geographic variations.

John V. Dennis, author of “A Complete Guide to Bird Feeding,” captures the essence of the junco in the following description: “Driving winds and swirling snow do not daunt this plucky bird. The coldest winter days see the junco as lively as ever and with a joie de vivre that bolsters our sagging spirits.” The dark-eyed junco’s scientific name, hyemalis, is New Latin for “wintry,” an apt description of this bird.

Most people look forward to the spring return of some of our brilliant birds — warblers, tanagers and orioles — and I must admit that I also enjoy the arrival of these birds. The junco, in comparison to some of these species, is not in the same league. Nevertheless, the junco is handsome in its slate gray and white plumage, giving rise to the old saying “dark skies above, snow below.”

Just as neotropical migrants make long distance journeys twice a year, the junco is also a migrating species. But in Appalachia, the junco is a special type of migrant. Most people think of birds as “going south for the winter.” In a basic sense this is true. But some juncos do not undertake a long horizontal (the scientific term) migration from north to south. Instead, these birds merely move from high elevations, such as the spruce fir peaks, to the lower elevations. This type of migration is known as vertical migration. Other juncos, such as those that spend their breeding season in northern locales, do make a southern migration and, at times, even mix with the vertical migrants.

During the summer months, a visit to higher elevations mountaintops is almost guaranteed to produce sightings of dark-eyed juncos. Juncos may nest as many as three times in a season. A female junco usually lays three to six eggs for each nest, which she constructs without any assistance from her mate.

Juncos are usually in residence around my home by early November. Once they make themselves at home I can expect to play host to them until at least late April or early May of the following year. So, for at least six months, the snow bird is one of the most common and delightful feeder visitors a bird enthusiast could want.

Juncos flock to feeders where they are rather mild-mannered — except among themselves. There are definite pecking orders in a junco flock, and females are usually on the lower tiers of the hierarchy. Females can sometimes be distinguished from males because of their paler gray or even brown upper plumage.

Since juncos are primarily ground feeders they tend to shun hanging feeders. But one winter I observed a junco that had mastered perching on a hanging “pine cone” feeder to enjoy a suet and peanut butter mixture.

Dark-eyed juncos often are content to glean the scraps other birds knock to the ground. Juncos are widespread. They visit feeders across North America. The junco is the most common species of bird to visit feeding stations. They will sample a variety of fare, but prefer such seeds as millet, cracked corn or black oil sunflower.

The juncos are a small branch of the sparrow clan. Some of the other juncos include the endangered Guadalupe junco, yellow-eyed junco, Baird’s junco and volcano junco. The last one on the list is endemic to the Talamancan montane forests of Costa Rica and western Panama. Baird’s junco is named for Spencer Fullerton Baird, an American ornithologist and naturalist.

Baird served as secretary  for the Smithsonian Institution from 1878 until  his death in 1887. He greatly expanded the natural history collections of the Smithsonian from 6,000 specimens in 1850 to over two million by the time of his death.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this introduction to juncos. There’s something about winter that makes a junco’s dark and light garb an appropriate and even striking choice, particularly against a backdrop of newly fallen snow.

Of course, the real entertainment from juncos come from their frequent visits to our backyard feeders. When these birds flock to a feeder and began a furious period of eating, I don’t even have to glance skyward or tune in the television weather forecast. I know what they know. Bad weather is on the way!

•••

Orders are being accepted for the 2022 bird calendar produced by Elizabethton Bird Club members. Calendars feature bird photographs taken by club members. The calendars sell for $15, plus $2 for postage and handling for those needing a calendar mailed to them. This year’s cover features a beautiful photograph of a chestnut-sided warbler among spring blossoms taken by Charles Warden. Anyone interested in the purchase of a calendar can email Bryan Stevens at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com for more information.

•••

If you’d like to share your first sighting this season of dark-eyed juncos as the temperatures get colder, email me at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com. As always, the column is also a line of communication with fellow bird enthusiasts. I’ve enjoyed sharing stories about birds with countless readers over the past 26 years. I can also be reached on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ahoodedwarbler.

 

 

 

Barn owl helps kin earn ghostly reputation

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Photo by Kevinsphotos by Pixabay • A barn owl flies through the darkness without any difficulty whatsoever. Special adaptations make barn owls a silent, highly efficient predator on rodents, some songbirds, and some reptiles and amphibians.

Halloween is drawing closer, and it’s definitely the one night of the year that we become acutely aware of things that go bump in the night.

While goblins and ghouls can be dismissed as mere apparitions of the imagination, some real-life feathered phantoms do roam the darkness, perhaps even in your own backyard. If so, you are more likely to have heard them than to have seen them.

If you do hear anything unusual Halloween night, chances are the sounds may have been produced by an owl.

Several species of owl reside in Northeast Tennessee, including the Eastern screech-owl, the barred owl, the great horned owl and the barn owl. A fifth owl, the tiny Northern saw-whet owl, can be found at some high-elevation locations, including Unaka Mountain in Unicoi County. A few other owls have made sporadic appearances in the region, including long-eared owl, short-eared owl and even snowy owl.

The barn owl is an owl that has adapted its ways to co-exist with humans. Even its common name refers to the fact that these owls will roost and nest in barns and other structures. They are also known to select natural tree cavities, caves and other human structures, including recesses build into sports stadiums and arenas. My most recent sightings of barn owls took place at a grain silo in Sullivan County a few years ago, a large barn located on Antelope Island State Park in Utah in 2006 and under the eaves of the old theatre on the campus of the Mountain Home Veterans Administration near East Tennessee State University back in 2000. These sporadic sightings are testimony to the overall elusive nature of this owl.

I was surprised to learn during my background research that the barn owl is the most widely distributed species of owl as well as one of the most widespread birds on the planet. This owl is also referred to as common barn owl, to distinguish it from other species in the barn-owl family Tytonidae. Owls in this family comprise one of two main lineages of living owls, the other being the typical owls in the Strigidae family. The barn owl, known by the scientific name, Tyto alba, is found almost worldwide except in polar and desert regions, Asia north of the Alpide belt, most of Indonesia, and the Pacific islands.

The genus name for this owl is Tyto, a variation of the ancient Greek word, “tutō,” which meant “owl.” The barn owl family, Tytonidae, consists of true barn owls, as well as grass owls and masked owls.

All owls are carnivores, but the barn owl specializes on rodents more than many of its kin. However, this owl will also eat other birds and insects.

Because of their pale plumage and nocturnal habits, barn owls have been saddled with such common names as demon owl, death owl, night owl and ghost owl.

Other common names include rat owl, inspired by one of its major prey items, and barnyard owl and church owl, which are two haunts where these owls often roost or perch. I also liked the name scritch owl and hissing owl, which were acquired because of vocalizations from this bird.

Barn owls have several adaptations that allow them to hunt in complete darkness. These owls have excellent hearing, allowing them to pinpoint prey even when the absence of light renders vision useless. The characteristic facial disc of the barn owl helps channel sounds toward the bird’s ears.

Even the feathers of owls have adapted to the need to stalk wary prey without revealing their presence. Specialized feathers permit owls to fly almost silently. Their feathers absorb flight noises and even alter air turbulence to keep the flight smooth and quiet. Most prey never suspect the owl’s approach until it’s far too late.

For the average person the term “owl” is representative of what is actually an extremely diverse family of birds. Worldwide, there are about 220 species of owls varying in size and habits.

Humans have come up with some descriptive names for various owls around the world. A sampling of these names includes fearful owl, pharaoh eagle-owl, collared owlet, pearl-spotted owlet, least pygmy-owl, red-chested owlet, buff-fronted owl, Stygian owl, vermiculated fishing-owl, black-and-white owl, bare-legged owl, maned owl, bearded screech-owl, spectacled owl and golden-masked owl.

Owls, according to Linda Spencer, author of “Knock on Wood: A Serendipitous Selection of Superstitions,” have inspired a mixed bag of superstitions ever since humans stood up. Owls have long been associated with the forces of both good and evil. The “hoot” or call of an owl is believed by people of many cultures to foretell death. There are some interesting ways to counter the ominous hoot of an owl, according to Spencer. Means of warding off the evil owl power include putting irons back in the fire, throwing salt, pepper and vinegar on the fire, tying a knot or taking one’s clothes off, turning them inside out and putting them back on.

According to Laura Martin, author of “The Folklore of Birds,” one of the earliest human drawings depicting owls dates back to the early Paleolithic period. The scene is of a family of snowy owls painted on a cave wall in France.

Owls have also entered the culture as symbols of wisdom and goodness. The wise old owl, Martin writes, dates back to the time of King Arthur. The sorcerer Merlin was always shown with an owl on his shoulder. During the Middle Ages owls became symbols of learning and intelligence. The Greeks didn’t fear owls as did the Romans. In fact, the owl was the sacred mascot of the Greek goddess Athena.

There’s one more owl-related myth I forgot to mention. There is a Chinese belief that owls snatch the souls of unwary people — just something you should know if you are out and about after dark on Halloween night.

Photo by skitter photos/Pixabay • Look for owls on Halloween and every other dark night.

 

Common nighthawks share autumn skies with many other migrants

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Autumn’s a chance for me to indulge my passion for warblers, with a few dozen species of these songbirds passing through the region in the span of a few weeks. I always try to keep in mind, however, that the warblers are not the only migrating birds winging through the region.

The Elizabethton Bird Club had planned a “nighthawks and hot dogs” party at the home of Larry McDaniel near Jonesborough, but that event had to be cancelled because of the recent surge in COVID-19 cases in the region.

My silver lining was that I saw a large flock of common nighthawks at my home on Aug. 29. It was an evening of birding dominated by insect-eaters and fruit-eaters.

Cedar waxwings and one American robin perched in the wild cherry trees and plucked ripening fruit from the branches.

Swooping overhead a handful of Chimney Swifts and about 30 Common Nighthawks (the first I have seen this fall) collected insects just over the treetops. Flycatching from a dead blue spruce was an Eastern Wood-Pewee, another fall first.

Other birds included a pair of Northern cardinals feeding three young, an Eastern towhee and one hooded warbler. At one point an irritable ruby-throated hummingbird chased the pewee round and round the trunk of the dead spruce. They almost looked like they were characters in a zany cartoon.

Photo by Jean Potter • A common nighthawk rests on a metal railing.

Like such birds as warblers, vireos, thrushes, tanagers, flycatchers and hummingbirds, the common nighthawk is a neotropical migrant. In addition, this nighthawk has one of the longest migration routes of any North American bird. Twice a year, these birds migrate for distances ranging from 1,600 to 4,200 miles. Nighthawks that spend the spring and summer in Canada travel to southern South America for the winter months.

With September advancing on the calendar, I have been keeping an eye on the treetops for passing warblers, vireos and tanagers, but I also remember to direct my gaze to the skies. Forgetting to look skyward could result in missing the passage of such varied migrants as chimney swifts, broad-winged hawks and common nighthawks.

So, what is a common nighthawk? First, this bird, despite what is implied by its name, is not a hawk. It’s also not strictly nocturnal. Particularly in the fall, nighthawks are active during daylight hours when engaged in catching winged insects. Outside of fall migration, these birds can often be observed over large parking lots or well-lit streets, snatching up insects swarming around the light poles.

Photo by Skeeze/Pixabay • A common nighthawk adopts an elongated pose atop a fencepost.

The common nighthawk is one of three members of the nightjar family found in the region during the summer months. The other two nightjars are the whip-poor-will and chuck-will’s-widow, birds that produce their namesake vocalizations in the nocturnal hours. Both of these species migrate, but they don’t take the dramatic approach employed by nighthawks. Each fall, common nighthawks form large flocks, ranging in size from dozens to hundreds or even thousands of individuals, as they migrate south for the winter.

Unlike whips and chucks, the common nighthawk isn’t active only after dark, which makes it much easier to observe these birds. They look somewhat like swifts and swallows but are much larger. They are brownish-gray birds with pointed wings and forked tails. They are easily identified by distinctive white patches on the underside of their wings.

A perplexing nickname for the common nighthawk is “bull-bat.” This merger of the words “bull” and “bat” makes sense when you explore a little deeper. The common nighthawk earned the nickname “bull-bat” because of its perceived “bat-like” flight and a “bull-like” boom produced by its wings as it pulls out of a dive.

The nightjar, or Caprimulgidae, family of birds is also sometimes known as “goatsuckers.” Apparently, in trying to explain the nocturnal tendencies of these birds, the Greeks came up with the imaginative but erroneous idea that birds like nighthawks liked to sneak into barns and have a meal of fresh goat’s milk. In reality, nighthawks feed almost exclusively on insects, including ants, wasps, beetles, caddisflies, moths, mayflies, flies, crickets, grasshoppers, and other insects. They capture much of their insect prey on the wing.

There are almost 80 species of nightjars in the world. Less than 10 occur in North America. Many of the common nighthawk’s relatives have been given descriptive names, such as long-trained nightjar, collared nightjar, spot-tailed nightjar, red-necked nightjar, golden nightjar, fiery-necked nightjar, swamp nightjar, pennant-winged nightjar, lyre-tailed nightjar, little nightjar, sickle-winged nightjar, rufous-bellied nighthawk, short-tailed nighthawk, sand-coloured nighthawk and least nighthawk.

So, keep looking skyward. The next flock of migrating common nighthawks may fly over your home. These flocks are usually on the move in August and throughout September.

I will keep watching the skies. Nighthawks can also appear almost magically, as if out of thin air. First, observers may see one of two birds, then several, followed quickly by dozens or sometimes hundreds as they wheel and cavort in the skies overhead with impressive grace and agility. I’ve seen flocks that would easily number more than 500 birds in locations throughout the region, although flocks often number only a couple of dozen birds.

To share a sighting, ask a question or make a comment, email me at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • Rising clouds provide a backdrop for a flock of migrating nighthawks.

Sightings signal that migration has started

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Photo by Bryan Stevens • Ruby-throated Hummingbirds make a non-stop crossing of the Gulf of Mexico. A hurricane in the Gulf during migration could have serious consequences for this small bird.

Mack Hayes, a resident of Telford, posted on my Facebook page recently about hummingbird experiences. 

“I have two hummingbird feeders out, and boy are they really working them,” Mack wrote. “I see several of them, and of course they fight each other. Males and females both. Guess they are getting ready for their long flight  ahead of them.”

Mack’s post reminded me that many of our favored summer visitors will soon make their return migrations to regions more hospitable for the duration of the winter season.

I replied to his post with my own comment.

“I am sure they are getting ready, but I still hope they don’t get in too great a hurry. I would like to keep them with us as long as possible.”

At home, I have enjoyed some fun bird observations. It was a veritable feeding frenzy in a corner of my yard for about an hour on Tuesday, Aug. 10. Everything kicked off with a Red-eyed Vireo enjoying some elderberries. I was reminded that, with a really good look, the Red-eyed Vireo should never be mistaken for a warbler. That bill is so much bigger than a warbler bill! I was watching the vireo in binoculars when he coughed and popped up an elderberry. He immediately swallowed it again! Waste not, want not, I suppose. 

I am counting this burst of bird activity as the official kickoff for my fall migration watching.

I watched the vireo a long time before I realized there was a Gray Catbird perched lower in the shrub and also enjoying the elderberries. Then, in rapid succession, three warblers: Black-throated Green Warbler, Northern Parula and Worm-eating Warbler. On the fringes of all this activity I noticed a Brown Thrasher, Downy Woodpecker, a couple of Mourning Doves, and the resident Carolina Chickadees, Tufted Titmice and Carolina Wrens. 

I also saw some parents hard-pressed to satisfy their young, including a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher being followed and pestered by a couple of young gnatcatchers, and a male Eastern Towhee leading a youngster around on the ground as they foraged beneath the forsythia tangle. 

Photo Courtesy of Jean Potter
A red-eyed vireo sits on its basket-shaped nest.

At the feeders I saw American Goldfinches, Northern Cardinals, and several Ruby-throated Hummingbirds, which don’t know the meaning of the word “share” as they dived and attacked any of their fellow hummers that came too close to “their” feeder. All in all, a fun Tuesday evening.

The start of migration appears to be more of a crawl than a sprint this fall, but I have picked up a few additional signs. For instance, I’ve been hearing the scolding sounds of red-eyed vireos from woodland edges for the past few weeks even before I observed the vireo feeding on the elderberries. A dedicated singer at most times, this vireo seems more likely to produce a harsh, scolding cry at this time of the year. Other hints of the steady advance of fall migration include flocks of chimney swifts congregating in the skies over my home and the unmistakable croaking of common ravens from nearby ridges.

So far, I’ve seen only a few warblers. At a glance, vireos would appear related to the wood warblers. Research into DNA, however, has led many experts to contend that vireos are more closely related to crows and shrikes. Like the flycatcher and hummingbird families, the vireo family is exclusive to the New World. With a mere 50 species, vireos and their kin are vastly outnumbered by flycatchers and hummingbirds. The majority of vireos resides in the tropics, but about a dozen species nest in the United States.

In East Tennessee Southwest Virginia and Western North Carolina, vireos resident during the summer months include red-eyed vireo, white-eyed vireo, blue-headed vireo, yellow-throated vireo and warbling vireo. Most people are likely unaware of vireos. Although not uncommon, these birds are more frequently heard than seen. They spend much of their time in the forest canopy or in dense brush. When singing, they can remain at a perch, unmoving, for long periods of time.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • Blue-headed vireos, such as this bird, are high-elevation summer residents in the region. In the fall, they are also common migrants.

The loud scolding calls of red-eyed vireos often heard this time of year are given apparently when the vireo is alarmed or irritated. This scolding vocalization is quite unlike the usual ones produced by this bird. First and foremost, the call is louder than one would think could be produced by a bird that is only about six inches long. During the summer season, the red-eyed vireo is also one of the most persistent of singing songbirds. Another common name for the red-eyed vireo is “preacher bird,” so called because of its tendency to unceasingly deliver its song.

The red-eyed vireo is still considered one of eastern North America’s most common summer breeding birds. At one time, the red-eyed vireo was probably the most common breeding bird in eastern woodlands. That, sadly, is no longer the case. Red-eyed vireos are olive-green above and clean white below. These birds show a distinctive head pattern consisting of a gray crown and white eyebrow stripe bordered above and below by black lines. Adults also have the red eyes that give this particular vireo its common name. The term “vireo,” originating in Latin, can be translated into English as “green bird.” It’s an apt description, as many of these small birds are primarily dull green in coloration. Consider the vireos the “Plain Janes” of songbirds.

Some of the more colorful common names for vireos include the dwarf vireo, golden vireo and yellow-winged vireo.  In Central and South America, the vireo family expands to include many birds with common names such as shrike-vireo, greenlet and peppershrike. Some of the varied species include lemon-chested greenlet, green shrike-vireo and the black-bellied peppershrike.

I still focus most of my birding efforts on warblers in the autumn, but vireos are always a pleasant diversion when the colorful warblers make themselves scarce.

Keep your eyes open for new visitors. Those hummingbirds that scorned you this spring may give your home a second glance as they pass through this fall. In addition, the skies are filled with migrating raptors, flycatchers, thrushes, nighthawks and many other birds. 

Share sightings, ask questions or make comments by emailing me at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com. 

Many of the world’s birds wear masks as part of their plumage

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Photo by Pexels from Pixabay • Many human masks feature feathers, but many of our feathered friends sport masks.

Who was that masked bird? 

While asking pardon from “The Lone Ranger,” which originated the memorable “Who was that masked man?” question, I thought I’d take a look this week at some of our feather friends known for going about their lives fully masked. After all, masks are all the rage, apparently.

When we look back, perhaps not fondly but inevitably, on the years 2020 and 2021, I’m confident that the one icon of this blip in the arc of history will be the mask. Living in the time of COVID-19 has been a cross to bear for current generations, but remember that our great-grandparents withstood the Spanish flu and our more distant ancestors weathered the plague known as “the black death.” 

Many of them did so by using masks, some more effectively than others, to shield themselves from infection. Even back in the 1300s as the black death, i.e. the bubonic plague, rampaged through Europe, masks were recognized as a means of dealing with a contagion. 

Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay • In their dark costumes with bird-beaked masks, these “doctors” must have presented a nightmarish appearance to their patients.

To complete the circle connecting masks and birds, I’ll remind readers that a strange costume arose in the 1300s among “doctors” attempting to combat the pandemic of their time. Plague doctors traveled across Europe, seeking public employment from desperate towns and cities, in an easily recognizable costume that consisted of dark robes and a weird mask with a prominent bird-like beak. The result was a look straight from some fevered nightmare. 

Looking at illustrations of these strange beaked masks and reading about some of the absurdly horrendous “cures” offered by these charlatans, I’m surprised that an anti-bird sentiment didn’t rise up and turn people against some of our fine feathered friends.  Ironically, the masks offered little or no protection from disease. Let’s just say that these were not the quality of some of the better surgical masks available today.

It may surprise people to learn that many birds are “masked.”  For mask-wearing birds, however, it’s not a choice but simply a quirk of their plumage that has given so many of our feather friends a distinctive mask, or in some cases even a complete hood, to complete their appearance. Birds ranging from popular backyard visitors like the cedar waxwing to more unusual avians such as the masked flowerpiercer and the masked fin foot wear masks.

The masked tityra is a medium-sized songbird. It has traditionally been placed in the cotinga or the tyrant flycatcher family, but many experts believe it is better placed in Tityridae. The masked  tityra has been spotted once north of the border, being found in the Bentsen/Rio Grande Valley State Park in February of 1990.

Photo by Pixabay • The loggerhead shrike sports a classic black mask. With this shrike, both males and females are identical in appearance.

Shrikes are a family with many mask-wearing members. The loggerhead shrike, in addition to wearing a bandit’s mask, even has the unsavory nickname of “butcher bird” due to its gruesome habit of impaling prey on thorns or barbed wire fences. The loggerhead shrike is native to the United States and is the only member of the family found in Northeast Tennessee. The Northern shrike, which is the only other shrike in North America, is also masked.

Some warblers sport masks, including the common yellowthroat and hooded warbler. Well, the latter wears an encompassing black hood, but you get the idea. The Kentucky warbler sports a partial black mask around the eyes. There’s also the masked yellowthroat — the name seems a bit too on point — that maintains separate resident breeding populations in Central and South America. Based on photos, the masked yellowthroat’s mask is even more pronounced than the mask of the common yellowthroat. 

There’s also the masked booby, which is a large seabird in the booby/gannet family, Sulidae. This bird spends most of its time at sea, coming to land to breed and nest. The name “booby” is actually derived from the Spanish word “bobo,” which can be translated to mean “fool” or “clown.” These seabirds are not truly stupid, but the Spanish, seeing them on land and out of their element, only noticed how awkward and clumsy the birds are on land. Some relatives of the masked booby include blue-footed booby, brown booby, red-footed booby, Nazca booby and Abbott’s booby of Christmas Island in the eastern Indian Ocean. 

Photo by Nadine Doerlé from Pixabay • The shorebird known as the masked lapwing is an Australian species.

The masked lapwing is a large, common and conspicuous shorebird native to Australia, particularly the northern and eastern parts of the continent, as well as New Zealand and New Guinea. In the family Charadriidae, which consists of plovers, lapwings and dotterels, the masked lapwing is the biggest of the bunch. The masked lapwing reaches a length of 14 inches and can weigh 368 grams. 

The cedar waxwing sports a jaunty crest. Unlike many birds with only males wearing the mask, both sexes wear sleek black masks. The world’s two other waxwings — bohemian waxwing and Japanese waxwing – are also masked. I’ve seen large flocks of cedar waxwings in recent weeks. Late summer is usually a good time to find these jaunty birds in the region.

Photo by David Mark from Pixabay • The Bohemian waxwing is a larger relative of the Cedar Waxwing. Both species sport a prominent black facial mask.

There’s no masked crow, but there is a hooded crow. Ranging across Europe and Asia, this crow has different common names in various countries.  In Ireland, it is called caróg liath or grey crow, while in Germany its often called the “mist crow.” It’s also called the Scotch crow and the Danish crow. The hooded crow is associated with fairies in the Scottish highlands and Ireland. There’s an 18th century tradition in Scotland in which shepherds would make offerings to them to keep fairies from attacking sheep. 

There’s a masked duck native to the American tropics. From time to time, these small ducks even stage invasions into southern states like Florida and Texas. A male masked duck in breeding plumage has a black face mask, bright blue bill and dark rusty-red body.

The masked trogon is another bird of the American tropics, ranging mostly in the Andes of South America. Males are variously glossy green, reddish-bronze or golden-green on their head, chest and back, with a red belly and a distinct red eye-ring. There’s usually a white band of feathers that separates the red belly from the greenish plumage of this bird. The trogons are closely related to the family of brilliant birds known as quetzals. 

The masked flowerpiercer is related to tanagers and can be found in Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru and Bolivia. Flowerpiercers are so named because of a sharp hook on the tip of their upper mandible which they use to slice open the base of flowers to get at the nectar. It’s a simple but effective hack for a bird unable to hover like a hummingbird. 

Found in Vietnam and China, the masked laughing thrush is a sociable, noisy thrush reflected by its common Chinese name, which means “seven sisters.” These birds often produce their harsh chattering when deep under cover of tangled vegetation. 

The masked finch is a small songbird found in dry savannah across northern Australia. Like the aforementioned masked laughingthrush, this finch is a noisy bird. Hundreds or even thousands of individuals may gather at popular watering holes to drink, bathe and preen, all while chattering constantly. 

The masked fin foot is found in the brackish waters of the eastern Indian subcontinent, which includes Indochina, Malaysia and Indonesia. This odd bird has been described as a combination of a cormorant and hornbill. This unique bird is endangered. Although a 2009 survey indicated that 600 to 1,700 masked finfoots existed, a worrisome 2020 survey found only 100 to 300 individuals. Most of the surviving individuals are found in Bangladesh and Cambodia. 

Lesser masked weaver, an African species, is a colony-nesting bird. Only the males show a distinctive mask of black feathers over the face. The rest of the male’s plumage is a bright yellow-green.

The golden masked owl is a barn owl endemic to the island of New Britain in Papua New Guinea. This owl’s facial disc, which is white in most barn owls, is tinged with russet-gold that does indeed form the shape of a partial mask like those used for masquerades.

There are other “masked” birds, but I think this sampling provides ample evidence that the mask appears frequently in the various plumage patterns worn by the world’s almost 10,000 species of birds.

Take care and stay well. For questions about birds, or to make a comment or share an observation, email me at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com. 

Wandering birds provide some surprising moments for birders

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Photo by Roger Mullins • A little blue heron, right, shares a perch with a white ibis at the Buffalo Valley Golf Course in Unicoi. These wading birds are usually found near the coast, but individuals tend to disperse and wander widely after the summer nesting season comes to an end.

Late summer has a sort of lazy feel. Most birds are finishing up their nesting season. Hungry fledglings appear at feeders in the company of adults. In recent weeks, I’m starting to notice a slight uptick in the number of hummingbirds visiting my feeders and garden flowers. It helps that I’ve got dense stands of naturalized bee balm at the edge of my woods. The cedar waxwings have finished off the mulberries, but I suspect they will stick around for the wild cherries. I’ve also noticed the vanguard of migrant birds that are starting to make appearances as fall migration approaches. It’s not just songbirds, however, that are on the move. Some large and rather conspicuous birds have been attracting attention in recent weeks, including a variety of wading birds.

Sightings this summer of long-legged wading birds in Northeast Tennessee that are outside of their usual range have included little blue herons, white ibis and great egrets. The little blue heron and ibis have been recent visitors to Unicoi County. To toss another species into the mix, Tom and Cathy McNeil recently found an American anhinga near Austin Springs at Boone Lake in Washington County. Their anhinga sighting followed their discovery of seven or eight little blue herons and 14 great egrets at this well-known birding hot spot.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • Adult little blue herons, like this adult preening at Huntington Beach State Park, South Carolina, have a mix of blue and purple feathers.

Roger Mullins discovered both an immature little blue heron and an immature white ibis during one of his regular visits to scan the ponds along the former Buffalo Valley Golf Course in Unicoi.

“I first spotted the little blue on July 5, and then on July 10 I saw the white ibis standing just a few feet away on the same limb.

“Within minutes they were standing next to each other,” he continued. “They were even following each other from place to place, almost like they were siblings.”

Roger noted that the little blue heron gradually learned to trust him, but he could only get so close without making the bird feel uncomfortable.

“Being extremely patient, taking it slow and easy, is pretty much how I approach all wildlife, and it usually pays off well,” Roger shared.

“I first started visiting the golf course ponds back in the winter when someone told me about seeing a male hooded merganser there,” he noted. “There is not always an abundance of wildlife present, but I always check it out just in case. The best thing about these ponds is the consistent peace and tranquility, since people don’t usually go there for family recreation or to walk their dogs.”

Roger added that he doubted that the little blue heron would have lingered at a public park with more activity.

Most of my own observations of little blue herons have taken place in SouthCarolina, Georgia and Florida, although I have seen this species a couple of times in Tennessee. I have also found little blue herons more skittish than some herons and egrets.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • This photo of a little blue heron at Huntington Beach State Park, South Carolina, shows the intermediate phase of plumage that makes identification even more of a challenge.

While diverting storms can’t be ruled out for causing some unexpected birds to detour into the region, it’s also normal behavior for young wading birds to disperse far and wide after leaving the nest. North American waders, or wading birds, include such long-legged species as herons, egrets, bitterns, ibises, storks and spoonbills. Most species are associated with wetlands or coastal areas.

Late summer birding is usually a period of doldrums as heat and humidity can discourage birders as well as diminish bird activity. However, it’s also the time of year when birders can make some unexpected surprises as wandering waders explore uncharted territory.

The great egret – a larger relative of the little blue heron – became a motivational symbol for conservation with the foundation of the National Audubon Society in 1905. Today, the organization has nearly 500 local chapters, each of which is an independent non-profit organization voluntarily affiliated with the National Audubon Society. These chapters often organize birdwatching field trips and conservation-related activities. The National Audubon Society spearheaded efforts to end the mass slaughter of various bird species. Some birds were killed for food, but millions were also killed for their showy feathers that were destined to decorate stylish attire worn as a symbol of high fashion. As early as 1910, some states began passing legislation to abolish trade in bird plumes. The federal government also came to the assistance of birds with the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, which was a law first enacted in 1916 to implement measures to protect and conserve migratory birds.

Photo by Tom McNeil • An American anhinga at Boone Lake found by Tom and Cathy McNeil represents an unusual find for the region. Even more unusual, Tom McNeil found another anhinga in Johnson County, Tennessee, a few days later.

Scientifically speaking, the little blue heron would be more accurately described as an egret. With the scientific name of Egretta caerulea, the little blue heron’s closest relatives are other members of the genus Egretta, which includes such other North American wading birds as snowy egret, reddish egret and tricolored heron. Other members of the genus found in other global localities include little egret, slaty egret and Chinese egret. I’m not sure why the tricolored heron and little blue heron were not named tricolored egret and little blue egret, but there are some Egretta species that also bear the name heron, including black heron, white-faced heron, Pacific reef heron and Western reef heron. It’s probably important to note that there are no real physical differences between herons and egrets. They are all classified together in the family Ardeidae.

I’m fairly confident that Roger’s sighting of a little blue heron is the first documented occurrence of the species in Unicoi County. His white ibis is unexpected but not unprecedented. An immature white ibis spent several days in July of 2011 at the ponds and fields at the home and farm of former Unicoi mayor Johnny Lynch.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • An American Anhinga dries off feathers after a swim at Huntington Beach State Park in South Carolina.

As for the anhinga spotted by the McNeils, this rare visitor was found the following day by several area birders, including Michelle Sparks who relocated the anhinga from her kayak. The anhinga is a large waterbird with a slender neck and a dagger-shaped bill reminiscent of a heron’s bill. These birds spend much of their time swimming beneath the water, often with only their neck and bill above the surface. Apparently the term “anhinga” comes from a native tribe in Brazil. Anhingas prefer fresh water, but they are often found in coastal areas. Most reports from Tennessee come from near Reelfoot Lake in the western portion of the state. Other common names for the anhinga include “water turkey,” “snake bird,” “American darter” and “devil bird.” Worldwide, there are only four species of anhingas, or darters as they are called in other parts of the world. The other three are the Indian darter, the African darter and the Australian darter.

Tom shared an amusing anecdote on Facebook about their sighting of the anhinga.

“Cathy and I found this bird (the anhinga) yesterday evening out of absolute luck,” he wrote. “We had already birded the area and had some great fun observing the little blue herons and great egrets.  We stopped at the Austin Springs bridge for a few moments and saw four river otters playing under the bridge and then just decided to drive back the way we came.”

On their way back, Cathy had Tom stop so she could look at the “white birds” in the top of the trees across the water.

“We both pulled up our binoculars to look at them, but it was the bird perched below them that was the star of the show,” he reported. “We shouted ‘anhinga’  at the exact same time!”

That’s the beauty of birding – those “anhinga” moments. I’m hoping readers are enjoying some fun birds this summer. Share sightings, ask questions or make comments by emailing me at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com.