Enjoying a Rising Son Along the Appalachian Trail ...P3

<< We interrupt this unfolding mountain-saga to actually comment on the bird life encountered. >>

Never having been in the Smoky Mountains before, I didn’t know what to expect.  That also goes for the local birding.  I think that of all the things I learned during this particular adventure, it was the positively “layered” location of the various species.  What I mean is, Nelson and I encountered specific elevations that seemed to harbor a specific bird's unique taste in environment.  While that interesting notion didn’t exactly dawn on me on the way down the mountain, I was convinced upon the return climb.  Using the smaller pair of Bushnell binoculars I had in a pouch on my web belt was not very practical due to the dense foliage and humid conditions, however using my ears worked quite well instead.  If you read this blog with regularity, you know  how important listening is to a bird-watcher.

 

When we began the hike from Clingmans Dome (at 6,643 ft) on our chosen segment of the Appalachian Trail; the prominent bird was the Carolina Chickadee.  I could hear its "feebee feebay, chick'adee-dee-dee" song as we carefully picked our feet up and around the endless loose cobblestones.  Another bird species that inhabited the similar higher elevation were Dark-eyed Juncos.  Hailing from Wisconsin as I do, I don’t get to see juncos in the summer time.  It took me a few minutes to figure out what bird was making the sounds I was hearing.  Juncos nest in boreal coniferous forests so I guess; the Great Smokies are a natural place for its family-building activities. As we lost some elevation, the high “tsee, tsee, tsee", sound of Golden-crowned kinglets filled the trees.  As per my rough calculations; I would estimate that the optimal elevation for these kinglets was between 4500 and 3800 feet as I did not hear them above, nor below.  This small discovery alone was something wonderful to concentrate on while my blistering feet were constantly reminding me of their own unmistakable existence.  Funny how when you are struggling through something unpleasant, even the smallest pleasant distraction can provide one renewed determination and energy.

 

Around 3,500 feet I heard the unmistakable calls of an Eastern towhee.  I asked if Nelson could discern the “drink your teaaaa” song.  He said that he could and laughed.  In this part of the country, Eastern towhees begin their breeding migration to the (GSM) Smoky Mountains in March and will remain there until October.  A primarily ground-dwelling species, the Eastern towhee is a bi-pedal (both feet simultaneously backward) scratcher.  They forage through the leaf and needle litter for their summer food source of insects.  Beginning around 3000 feet, many other new bird songs were detected as we trudged along.  Eastern wood pewee, Great-crested flycatcher, Acadian flycatcher, and Chimney swifts made their presence known.  Red-eyed and Yellow-throated vireo sat high in treetops singing their familiar songs of, “Here I am, over here, see me, where are you…” as the summer sun and humidity washed over Deep Creek valley.

As we walked along the rocky bank of Deep Creek, I was hoping to catch (and share) a glimpse of my “spark bird,” the American dipper fishing in the rushing waters of the creek; but alas none were to be sighted.  I think that perhaps the lower water level, and numerous rocks were prohibitive.  As dusk settled in to campsite 53, a barred owl could be heard asking its unanswerable question of “who cooks for you…who cooks for you-all?”  No other night sounds could be heard above the constant whooshing of Deep Creek’s rushing water.  None unless you count the annoying verbal titter of an unlikely Swedish boy and girlfriend combo (also on site 53) that had decided to hold an extended authentic American campfire experience. Unfortunately, that bed-time distraction seemed to fade away only when Nelson and I simply passed out from trail-exhaustion.

One of the most ethereal sounds to drift through the tall trees was that of the Wood thrush and Veery.  We heard them between the 5000 to 3500 foot range.  Their (twin) syrinx-generated, double flute-like notes are difficult to pinpoint as they float on the still forest air, but are musically moving nonetheless.  Finally, to round out this avian interlude, I will account the list of other notable birds “heard” during our hard-core back-packing experience:  Canada warbler, Black-throated green warbler, and Indigo bunting.  While this particular trip was not quite crafted to be birder's holiday, it did provide a small glimpse into the summer season, high altitude, life-cycle of more than a few species I traditionally lose sight of back in Milwaukee.  That my bird-blog reading friends - is a wonderful thing anytime.

► Stay tuned for part four of this blog-entry which will detail day two – a “strenuous” climb in the (pouring) rain ... and bees.

You Always Remember Your First(s)

Just like your first "love" - you'll always remember...

...the very first of any bird species seen first-hand; where you were, where "it" (they) were, what the weather was like, what you heard, how you felt inside, perhaps even what you were wearing...(no...then again probably not if you are male)

Each time you see a different bird for the initial time, an indelible imprint is left on your brain. For instance I can remember the first time I saw a bird that more or less defined me as a "birder." My family and I were camping in the Colorado Rockies alongside a rushing river. I went down to merely look at the water crashing through the large boulders along the banks. It had rained heavily earlier and the river had swollen, carrying large chunks of debris along with it. I was standing on the bank safely above the torrent when a small movement at water's edge caught my eye. Impossibly a small dark bird was jumping off a rock repeatedly, directly into the strong current, swimming under the water for a bit and then re-emerging for yet another unlikely session. When on the rock, in between its suicidal swimming sorties, its backside would bob up and down endlessly. I was so taken with this extraordinary animal that I researched it as soon as I could. I had just witnessed my "first" American Dipper. - Truly a memorable animal (and life-altering) moment for me.

You may think I am kidding, in that how could the memories of a first love interest compare with seeing a dumb bird for the first time. Well kidding I'm not, and "explain" it I cannot; I just "know" that it happens. Perhaps its all the senses working in harmony when discovering a new species that combine just as in that moment when you decide that he or she is "the one" to have stolen your heart for the very first time. All I can tell you is that I have spoken with many birders out there who can give you the nearly exact moment verbatim, of a personal encounter with a Scarlet Tanager, Western Bluebird, Pied-billed Grebe, or magnificently soaring Red-tailed Hawk as if they were watching a favorite rerun on TV that only they can see. Think back to the special someone in your own life and the moment of that first hand-hold, embrace or kiss...it's like that people...just like that; forever burned into your head with Technicolor and Dolby. In fact, just start telling one birding enthusiast about your first whatever, and be prepared to engage in a veritable marathon down memory lane.

So get out there and open your eyes (and all your other senses) and truly "see" for a change...the "remembering" part will take care of itself. You'll thank me when those special memories of all your "firsts" come flowing back; just like a scenic Colorado River.

My "first" Common Redpoll at our Milwaukee home.