The morning of Aug. 3 was a little different from any that I’ve had so far this summer. It was a weekday, and for reasons that are not particularly important, I had to drive my beautiful wife Susan to work, which meant I was not going to get a ride down the road for my morning walk home.
I was up. I was awake. But, the comfortable pattern of my summer morning had been interrupted. This was not a big deal by any stretch of the imagination, so I happily chauffeured Susan to work.
I returned home by 7:15 a.m., which left an enormous amount of time for me to tackle my latest problem: what was I going to write about for my next column? This was exacerbated by the fact that I was going out of town the following week and needed to have the column written and submitted way ahead of time.
By the time you read this column, I will be back home, but trust that it was a little tense before I left.
Basically, I had two options.
First, I could go up to my office, log onto my computer and try to find some photos in my collection that would tell a good story for early August.
My other option was to grab my camera, go down into the woods and see if I couldn’t come up with something fresh.
It was an exquisite morning, following an equally exquisite summer night, so I grabbed my camera. There would be plenty of time to stay inside during the winter.
The dew was thick upon the grass. The ground was still wet from the rain that we finally got the previous week, and the cool morning temperature allowed the steam rising from the damp earth to condense on everything.
I meandered along the trail, through the meadow (a trail that I have named “Susie’s Trail” in dedication to my wife) and finally ended up at the thinking chair. The white plastic was also covered with dew, but I plunked myself down and actually reveled at feeling the cool water soaking into my shirt. I don’t like getting rained on much, but I don’t mind getting damp with thick summer dew.
I switched on my camera and took a preliminary photo of a slender snag with a pileated woodpecker hole in it. I do this every time I sit down in an attempt to gauge the ideal settings for my camera in the light provided on any day. The time stamp on that first frame read “7:35.” I was ready for action.
Little did I know that I was about to be the focal point of a tidal wave of action!
The male common yellowthroat was there, as always, but he wouldn’t come out into the open for a photo. Instead, he was in the low brush and he was making a real fuss about my presence.
At 7:36, I was scrutinized by a fledgling song sparrow; a position I have found myself in repeatedly this summer. The little sparrow had nothing to say, but was very interested in all of the hubbub.
At 7:37, a cardinal fledgling showed up, crest erect, completely absurd and in a state of high alert. I snapped a quick photo, but the camera focused on the branch instead of the bird’s face, so I didn’t really get the clarity I was looking for — another one that got away.
At this point, I realized that I wasn’t just causing a ruckus, I was responsible for an enormous hullabaloo in the avian community around me. There were birds everywhere and they were either agitated or angry or just curious bystanders drawn to the scene of intense intrigue.
At 7:38, I snapped a photo of a beautiful catbird that came in for a closer look. I knew I had made the big league when I saw that even a hummingbird had been flown in to see what was going on. The fact that he thought his “two cents” were required was so delightful that I actually started laughing. He had perched on a thin branch about 15 feet from me, and I regained my composure in time to snap another great photo.
But the real excitement still lay ahead.
I continued scanning my surroundings, looking for new faces, when a movement up to my left caught my eye. I turned, squinted and was stunned to find myself looking at a male indigo bunting.
Moving as quickly as possible, without being too dramatic about it (I didn’t want to scare the bird off), I swung my camera, focused and fired. The burst of photos lasted for only 4 seconds before the bird vanished. I took a quick look and was thrilled to see that at least one of the frames looked like a keeper.
No time for celebration, however.
Thinking that I might see the bird in another tree, I started to scan in a greater arc above me. That’s when I locked onto another movement (even farther to my left), and I craned my neck up to find myself face to face with a pair of scarlet tanagers. For the briefest of moments they were there, side by side, in the exact same pose as they looked down at me.
Then, in the time it takes to blink, the female vanished into the forest to the west of me, while the male lingered. The departure of his mate resulted in a repositioning on his part, which put him completely out of view.
I moved my leg in preparation to lean to the side and the male tanager picked up on the movement and flew to a different tree.
Disaster? No! This actually improved my view of him!!
I saw that he had started preening himself (perhaps the leaves on the trees were still damp with dew), so I took a chance and stood up.
The male tanager was completely at ease. Safe in his high perch, he nibbled at the feathers of his right wing and his eyes were half squinted in a manner that suggested extreme comfort and relaxation. I’ve seen this expression on Susan’s face whenever I give her a foot massage, so I recognized it.
He made eye contact with me, but continued in his ablutions until he was satisfied, then he too flew off to the west, no doubt in the hopes of reuniting with his own beautiful wife.
The scarlet tanager shoot had lasted for 42 seconds, but it felt much longer than that. Then, with the tanager’s departure, the rest of the birds seemed to just melt away into the landscape. I had been there for only nine minutes and managed to get pictures of two species that I haven’t photographed in years.
No amount of “pishing” was sufficient to draw the birds out again. The great surge of activity was over.
The indigo bunting (Passerina cyanea) is a bird of the forest edge. The fact that my thinking chair is positioned in the transition zone, between a wet meadow and mature forest, is probably why I saw the bird.
Mass Audubon’s Checklist of the Birds of Massachusetts identifies the indigo bunting as uncommon during the summer, but common in May and September. The males defend territories, while the females do almost all of the work of building the nest, incubating the eggs, and feeding the chicks.
The last time I took a photo of an indigo bunting was in August 2002.
The scarlet tanager (Piranga olivacea) is another common bird in our area, but it is threatened by climate change. It prefers oak forests, and it just so happens that there are more than a few oak trees in the forest on the southwest corner of my property. With a song that is somewhat reminiscent of an American robin with a sore throat, the most distinctive vocalization of this species is the “chick-burrrr” call that really stands out in the forests of mid summer.
Tanagers are more equitable in their division of domestic chores. Both sexes feed the chicks, but the female, adorned with olive-green feathers and far better camouflaged, does all of the nest building and incubation of the eggs.
The male, a bright beacon of avian splendor, spends his time defending the territory and gathering food.
The last time I photographed a scarlet tanager was in 2003.
Once again, Nikonus and Iso have bestowed gifts upon me — I think this was entirely the result of me choosing to go outside, rather than stay indoors.
I hope you take your next opportunity to go outside. Bring a camera with you, find a quiet place and perhaps the photo gods will reward you as well.
Bill Danielson has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service and the Massachusetts State Parks. He has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 19 years, and he also teaches high school biology and physics. Visit: www.speakingofnature.com for more information, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.