Boring. Midsummer birding is boring. Songbirds aren’t singing. Nestlings have fledged and are becoming independent. Parents are more relaxed. Most birds are staying in the trees, obscured by the thick foliage of August.
There are boredom exceptions, of course.
Marshes are particularly lively right now. Mama ducks are still being followed around by their broods. The ocean is getting more active, as birds from all over the planet come into the Gulf of Maine. The first wave of shorebirds is starting to arrive on mudflats.
Still, birding adventures right now are tame, unless you know one secret: Watch their behaviors. I’ve been finding a lot of amusement right at home over the last couple weeks, as all my normal birds do abnormal things.
The other day, I watched a loon family exhibit puzzling behavior. Both parents were tending their single chick. Nearby, an adult eagle perched and watched. Certainly, they were all aware of each other. The parents surely knew that the eagle could snatch the chick, if inspired to do so. Normally, I would expect the loons to call warnings. I would expect them to closely guard their chick. Neither happened.
Daddy loon remained several hundred yards off. Mommy loon stayed underwater much of the time, snatching fish to feed her youngster. Baby loon was often on its own, isolated from both parents, presumably in grave danger. Somehow, the loons perceived that the eagle was disinterested.
All waterfowl are threatened by eagles. So are gulls and other prey species. They can “read” an eagle’s body language and divine hostile intentions. It’s routine for them to watch for danger, like when humans look both ways before crossing the street. These loons sensed the eagle couldn’t care less. How? Why? After a while, the eagle merely flew off.
Meanwhile, a half-mile down the lake, seven adult loons were gathered in a tight circle, feeding cooperatively. I make it a point to keep my distance from loons. In this case, I decided to test their comfort zone to find out how close I could drift before they showed concern. These unsuccessful breeders, with no young to worry about, just kept hooting to each other contentedly, diving in unison, ignoring me.
Distressed loons call warnings, and sometimes rear up and beat wings. This group simply didn’t care. Loons know what people and boats are. They see a lot of them. Sometimes they even approach boats, wondering if they can snatch a meal from an angler. Respect them, and they’ll respect you. I kept at least 50 yards away, and they considered me unworthy of notice.
That same afternoon, the chickadees in my backyard made a sudden fuss. A few resident warblers joined the agitation chorus. Clearly, they were upset about an intruder I couldn’t see. I became aware of tiny clucks in the treetop, unlike any hawk or eagle I’d ever heard.
I was surprised to see a turkey, 50 feet up in a pine. It was surprised to see me and seemed somewhat embarrassed. Turkeys are rare in my lakeside neighborhood, and the resident birds were uncertain what to do about this large non-eagle. Was it a threat? After a minute, they decided it wasn’t, and the alarm calls abated. I never did see the turkey leave. It waited until my back was turned.
Whenever a bunch of chickadees start chickadee-ing, take notice, especially when other birds chime in. Something’s going on. Whenever a sitting flock of gulls takes off in a panic, look for the eagle. When all the shorebirds abruptly take off, look for the falcon. Their behaviors say they see something you don’t.
Red-eyed vireos have changed their tune. They have been singing prolifically since mid-May. Now, they’re mostly just complaining. Whenever I hear red-eyed vireos making “ZHREEE” call notes, I know that blue jays are passing through the yard. Vireos hate jays.
Speaking of vireos, a blue-headed vireo in my yard went silent at the end of June. Two weeks ago, he started singing again. Constantly, dawn through dusk. I have no idea why.
Eastern phoebes managed to raise a second brood on my porch. For most of July, both parents gave alarm calls every time I stepped out the door. Then, mid-morning last week, those alarms suddenly stopped. I didn’t even have to look at the nest. I knew the youngsters had fledged and flown away.
Even in the doldrums of summer, there’s a lot to watch. You just have to know what you’re watching.
