Mornings in the Thinking Chair are definitely starting to change. With the arrival of August, there has been a significant changing of the guard. The birds, who during their breeding season made so much noise, are now starting to clam up. The only bird still singing is an adult male Eastern towhee, who, for some reason, is still singing his brains out every morning. The rest of the birds have shifted gears and have gone into “skulking” mode. They are present, but very quiet.
As a result of this change in behavior, I must also shift gears. If the birds are singing, then they easily give themselves away to anyone who can identify their songs. If, however, the birds stop singing, then things get significantly more difficult. I can no longer sit still, with my eyes closed, and form a 3D map of the singing males in my head. Now, I must continue to listen, but I must also keep a sharp lookout for any movements within my field of view. These movements must be scrutinized very carefully lest something slip by.
Such was the case last week when a slight movement out in the meadow turned out to be a male indigo bunting — still the only one that I have seen this year. The same thing happened this week. Only because my head was up and I was actively searching for activity did I notice yet another bird that might easily have come and gone without notice. The “little friends” that I have made — the young jays, chickadees and titmice that visit me every morning — can complicate things by clogging up my “radar.” Only the sight of a patch of yellow feathers alerted me to the fact that something interesting was happening.
So, with my attention riveted on this “not-quite-jay,” I decided to try an old birder’s trick. Known as “pishing,” you simply make a “shhh” sound and then introduce the sound of the letter “P” into the performance. This repeated “pishhh-pishhh-pishhh” is a noise that sounds a little like a chickadee’s scolding note, and it can be intriguing to the point of irresistible to young, inexperienced birds. I saw a strange bird that I needed to investigate, and the bird heard a strange noise that it needed to investigate.
All of a sudden, out of the shadows came the mystery bird. It then took about one second for me to solve the mystery. It took another three seconds to start taking photos, which generated additional “interesting” noises that the bird seemed curious about. There, perched in the branches of a young tree whose leaves were already starting to show some color, sat a juvenile great crested flycatcher (Myiarchus crinitus).
I heard this species early in the season, but then it seemed to go quiet prematurely. Normally a regular voice in my particular area, the bird was becoming conspicuous in its silence. I wasn’t really sure what was going on, but the appearance of a juvenile made me feel a little better about things. Every summer is a little different, so you can’t start to panic right away. Even if this young bird hadn’t been born and raised in my yard, at least the species was still present.
The great crested flycatcher is one of those birds with a name that doesn’t immediately make a lot of sense. The word “great” is a reference to its fairly large size. Roughly the same basic size as a blue jay, this is indeed fairly large for a flycatcher. The word “flycatcher” really needs no translation. The word “crested,” on the other hand, is somewhat problematic. Birds like blue jays, Northern cardinals and tufted titmice have obvious crests, but the flycatcher certainly does not. It can raise the feathers on its head when it is excited, but so can almost every other bird. The yellow belly feathers might have offered an alternate name, but that had already been used for a smaller species.
Posing for me in perfect light, this young bird was delightful to look at. It had hatched out of a gorgeous, cream-colored egg that had been decorated with long, dark lines that looked like a piece of pen-and-ink artwork. Initially blind and deaf, the young chick would respond to the seismic bump of a parent returning to the nest, which was located in a hollow tree somewhere in the forest. The chick would be fed all sorts of different insect prey, most of which were caught in the air by one of its parents.
After a week or so, the chick’s eyes would finally open, and the youngster could get its first view of the world in the gloomy interior of the nest cavity. Soft plant fibers, soft animal hair and even the shed skin of a snake were incorporated into the nest.
Adults would come and go regularly to keep the brood of four to eight chicks fed. The chick would be ready to leave the nest in just two weeks, and then it was out into the greater world. Learning to fly required a little practice. Learning to catch food took a little more, but eventually, the baby bird managed to grow up and move on. In just a few weeks, the entire species will start migrating south, headed for the Caribbean and Central America.
Some of you may be familiar with great crested flycatchers, while others may have only just learned of their existence today. It all depends on where you live and what habitat that environment provides for the birds in your neighborhood. Once migration starts, however, the birds can start to be seen in all sorts of different places, so keep your eyes peeled whenever you are outside. Something interesting may pop up at any moment.
Some of you may be familiar with Great Crested Flycatchers, while others may have only just learned of their existence today. It all depends on where you live and what habitat that provides for the birds in your neighborhood. Once migration starts, however, the birds can start to be seen in all sorts of different places, so keep your eyes peeled whenever you are outside. Something interesting may pop up at any moment.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 29 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more information visit www.speakingofnature.com, Speaking of Nature on Facebook, or the Speaking of Nature Podcast.