Capital Area Chapter of the Audubon Society of New Hampshire

Contributions to the Capital Nighthawk

The Capital Nighthawk is the newsletter of the Capital Area Chapter of ASNH. It is published four times a year, and mailed to all members of the Chapter, in February, May, August and November. It regularly contains a calendar of future events, notes on past field trips and programs. Our newsletter also usually contains at least one story, poem or other item from a member, and occasionally from a non-member. See listing below for some recent items.

Articles - Stories - Poetry - Comment - Observations

Note: The year and season of the year noted at the end of a listing
indicates the issue of Capital Nighthawk in which the item appeared.
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Diversify!

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Frustrated with trying to remember ALL those bird songs? Then try FROGS! There are only 10 frog songs to learn and only a few are difficult to distinguish. Or take a break from songs entirely for awhile and look for salamanders, dragonflies, butterflies, plants, (yes, and birds too!) by participating in Audubon’s Biodiversity Project! Going into its second year beginning this spring, the Biodiversity Project is looking for volunteers -- the more the merrier! If interested in learning more, contact Pam Hunt, Biodiversity Project Coordinator at 224-9909 (x328) or phunt@nhaudubon.org.
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Birding Spotlight: Bald Eagles
by Tom Gilson, Concord, Winter 1999-2000

The bald eagle holds a special place in the hearts of most birders. The majesty of our national symbol is an awe-inspiring sight long remembered afterwards.

I can still picture my first New Hampshire bald eagle, a migrating adult flying over Pack Monadnock. What started as a black spot in the distance slowly became "the flying black wood plank." The white head came into view and my excitement peaked as the bird banked slightly to reveal the beautiful white tail.

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Sea Birds from Land

by Bob Quinn, Canterbury, Summer 1998

I was lucky enough on two occasions this June to experience some land-based sea birding, proving my contention that there is always something worth looking for no matter what the weather. On Saturday, June 13, we had the rains which caused significant flooding, but I was still out in the field. After a soggy but rewarding morning at Pawtuckaway State Park, I headed for the coast at Ragged Neck, part of Rye Harbor State Park. Under the shelter of a pavilion there, I set up my scope and in less than an hour had seen a dozen or so Manx Shearwaters. Normally it is a red letter day if you see one Manx Shearwater 20 miles out to sea, so seeing so many of them within a few hundred yards of shore was a real treat. On June 17, I struck pay dirt again on a foggy but rain-free day at the coast. This time it was about 75 Wilson's Storm Petrels, another species normally found only far at sea. Bob Quinn

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Bird Watching in Pembroke

by Katie Dunn, Pembroke, Spring 1997

It was with great anticipation that I watched the mail for the Audubon Bird Count mailing. My partner Chris and I have always wanted to participate but, with work and graduate school demands, the time never seemed to be there. This year was going to be different. We had the time. We had the birds.

We've always had the birds. Our house sits up on a little knoll off a fairly busy secondary road. We have a huge, beautiful crab apple tree sitting right on the front lawn and close enough to the house that the strategic placing of bird feeders usually draws a diversity of bird life and usually in good quantities.

Many people are surprised when we show them our video of the male and female ring neck pheasants that spent a couple of winters with us. They marvel at our story of watching six fledgling chickadees taking their first flight from a bluebird house right outside our bedroom window.

We watched the parents as they sat on the branches of the nearby silver maple tree, encouraging their young to take the big leap and join them. We observed sibling number 4 grow impatient and push by sibling number 3. We gasped with fear as the baby chickadees took off from the perch, took an immediate dive towards the ground only to recover and land on a branch, bobbing up and down as if they were connected to a slinky. It was truly a special moment that ended with our hearts racing and our spirits flying.

We have had other special bird moments, and surely participating in the annual bird count will only add to the pleasure we receive in the simple yet elegant fun of bird watching.

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Embrace the Breeze

by Lori Sadler, Weare, Spring 1997

Reach out your arms and embrace the breeze.
Hold them up high and dance with the trees.
Bow down low and consider the ants.
Give the world more than a casual glance!

Listen to rainbows, laugh with the brook,
Invite the bookworm into your book
Find the joy that's there to be found
In the sky, in the forest, and under the ground.

The world is more than the sum of its parts.
If we really look it will gladden our hearts.
Ours is the power to brighten this world
With open hearts and spirits unfurled.

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A Morning Visit

by Sue Burns, Contoocook, Winter 1996-97

I'm not one for air conditioning. In fact, I even feel a little penned-up with the screen door closed, so I frequently prop it open and deal later with the six- and eight-legged critters who pop in for a visit. Another thing I'm not crazy about is watering my many house-plants, but it turned adventurous the day a two-legged critter swooped out from under the dieffenbachia as my watering can came near. Slam! Ugh, right into the picture window.

There, still and stunned, lay a wee bird. Gently, I scooped it into my hands, stroked its soft brown back, and took notice of its thin curved bill and stiff, rather pointed, tail. Its eyes blinked but it made no attempt to free itself from my palms.

I carried it out to the deck and set it down. It found its footing, crouched and sat patiently as I flew in to grab my Peterson's and check its identity. I learned that this little bundle, this Brown Creeper, is not uncommon but usually stays well-camouflaged. It ascends trees spirally as it probes the bark for insects with its decurved bill.

Suddenly it occurred to me that my cat, Eeyore, might be enjoying our little visitor as much as I. Back to the deck I scurried, only to find the scene just as I had left it. Again I scooped up the bird. Happy for an excuse to repossess it, I couldn't resist pressing its velvety soft back against my cheek. I then tucked it out of harm's way under the picnic table and stood vigil until, perhaps twenty minutes later, it took wing and disappeared into the forest.

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Diamond Forest

by Lori Sadler, Weare, Winter 1996-97

Rising early on a summer day,
I travel to a place not far away.
The Diamond Forest calls my name
And I am drawn, as moth to flame.

The sun peeks tentatively through the trees.
Not a leaf is stirred by the slightest breeze.
Mist caresses me, cooling my skin;
I enter the forest, the adventure begins.

Surrounded by giants, I have no fear;
I know that no harm will come to me here.
Compelled by a strong, invisible force,
Without hesitation, I follow my course.

My feet become wet but I no longer care;
Jewels are glistening everywhere.
I walk slowly, as in a dream,
While all around the diamonds gleam.

Ethereal music begins to play;
From where it comes I cannot say.
Delicate melodies around me swirl,
Notes too sweet to be of this world.

I wait patiently on a mossy stone,
By myself but not alone.
And if I remain quiet and steady
They will emerge when they are ready.

Finally, I see from the corner of one eye,
The slightest movement in the leaves nearby.
Out they come, one by one,
To find the warmth of the morning sun.

Stifling my laughter I watch them dance.
They no longer give me the slightest glance.
All around they cavort and play
And I wish for this dream to always stay.

But the sun continues its relentless climb,
It reaches the sky in too short a time.
Sadly I rise from my mossy chair
And shake the dew from my dampened hair.

The mist dissipates, the diamonds are gone,
I bid farewell to squirrel and fawn.
The Diamond Forest disappears
But the music plays on, a feast for my ears.

The breeze arrives, caressing my face
As I take my leave of this beautiful place.
I feel the sun, warming me through
And I look to the sky, now a brilliant blue.

At one with the world, part of the whole,
These visits to the forest soothe my soul.
With a backward glance I say goodbye
And return to my life with a satisfied sigh.

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Memories of Nighthawks

by Polly Morton, Concord, Winter 1996-97

Capital Nighthawk and the picture plus description brought back memories of when I moved to Concord in 1936. Married and living at 117 North State Street, we were next to a very large brick building with a large chimney on the north end and a flat roof. This was the Buick dealership. In the summer at dusk, hundreds of nighthawks swirled around the chimney and dropped in to disappear, the air filled with wing rustlings and the nasal squawks. I also often saw them diving around the State House Annex. Through the years, the birds no longer came and the chimney was removed. Occasionally I do see one over Concord.

In Rye, New Hampshire, one late afternoon in late summer, I heard the sound again and, looking upward, saw a flock of about 25 nighthawks flying south!

I do enjoy your publication, especially since I am no longer able to "go out birding."

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There's always something of interest out there

by Robert A. Quinn, Canterbury, Winter 1996-97

I am absolutely convinced that there is always something worthwhile to see if we would only make the effort to get out and look. Our Christmas Bird Count is a good example of this belief and a recent excursion also serves as a good example. Tudor Richards and I had been trying to get up to Lake Umbagog this fall but our schedules did not mesh until late in November. Now, late November in the North Country can be quite wintry and devoid of birds but that did not deter us in the least.

So on a calm, cloudy and cold morning we put his canoe in the Androscoggin River and paddled up to the lake. One of the first birds seen was a probable Great Horned Owl that disappeared into the woods. A few minutes later we saw what was probably a Barred Owl fly off and also disappear into the woods. Not bad for the first ten minutes. Common and Hooded Mergansers flushed as we approached the lake and a few Common Loons were about.

As we paddled around the edge of the partially frozen lake I suddenly heard what for all the world sounded like rapids. Since there are none anywhere nearby I scanned the water and spotted a huge flock of Common Mergansers taking off from its surface and stirring the water as they did so. This was the noise which had attracted my attention.

As Tudor and I watched, an estimated 1000 mergansers streamed by and then set down on the water again. After a lunch break on the shore, three Gray Jays joined us for dessert. Actually landing on the picnic table I was sitting at, these brazen jays were not bashful at all about helping themselves to our scraps. After lunch we paddled up to the Leonard Pond area and were surprised to see that one of the adult Bald Eagles and its young were still in the area. They calmly watched us as we went by and headed down the river back to our car.

On the way through Berlin we stopped to scan a flock of gulls and had 230 Great Black-backed Gulls (probably a North Country high count) and, most surprising of all, two Lesser Black-backed Gulls. This species is a rare European straggler to the Northeast and had never been reported from the North Country before. As the light faded and the snow showers began, we reflected on our good luck and credited it as a reward for our perseverance. There's always something worth getting out to see.

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A Fall Weekend on Block Island

by William M. Goodwill, Pembroke, Winter 1996-97

I have been going to Block Island on these fall weekends with the Audubon Society of Rhode Island since about 1982. Many folks have been doing this trip for over 30 years. The island is about an hour from Point Judith and sometimes can be a rough trip when there have been hurricanes in the area. It is seven miles long by three miles wide at its widest point and has 28 miles of paved roads.

Ideal conditions for successful birding should be a cold front associated with a northwest wind. Most of the birds that are seen during migration are young ones that probably have not migrated before and get blown out to sea. The island ends up being a convenient resting place. Typically birds land on the south end of the island and work up toward the north end, feeding along the way on the many berries and seeds, and leave from the north end the next night.

Thousands of birds are present, and this year 132 species were recorded a pretty good variety but low numbers of most species. There have been quite a few varieties in the past. A White Pelican was seen this year and, in previous ones: Black Skimmers, Wheatears, Oystercatchers, White Ibis, Yellow-crowned Night-Herons, Nighthawks, many Peregrine Falcons, Merlins and Sharp-shinned Hawks.

Rain or shine, good weather or bad, Block Island is a special place.

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I Sure Do Miss Harry

by Patricia Ann Hallett, Concord, Fall 1996

Around the first of June, I was looking out my kitchen window and saw a strange looking bird. It was buff-colored with a black crescent at the back of its neck and was about the size of a Mourning Dove. In my trusty Birds of North America, I learned that it was a Ringed Turtle Dove and that they are caged birds that have become local residents of downtown Los Angeles and in Tampa and Miami. So what was that beautiful bird doing in my backyard? Obviously it was someone's pet that had flown the coop.

I named him Harry. He would visit several times a day, sit on top of the bird feeder or on my deck, and sometimes look into my kitchen through the sliding glass doors. He would mingle with the other birds on the ground and enjoy the bird seed, and get a drink of water from the dish on my deck.

He was so friendly that I would go out on my deck and talk to him: "Hi Harry, pretty boy" and he would reply with a hoo hrroo. I would always hear his call before I saw him at the feeder. Often he would just perch in the nearby trees for a long time.

One day I shot a whole roll of film on Harry as he posed nicely in my backyard while I talked to him. He would allow me to get about three feet from him before getting a little spooked. Walking my dog one day, I heard hoo hrroo and, when I looked up in the tree, there was Harry with his head tipped towards me. I answered him with a Hello Harry hoo hrroo.

I enjoyed this wonderful experience with my feathered friend for about five weeks. The last time I saw him he was sitting on the arm of a chair on my deck. Every day I would look for him and call hoo hrroo.

I sure do miss Harry.

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The Common Nighthawk

by Bruce Elliott, Henniker, Fall 1996

Chordeiles minor is its Latin name and it's also known sometimes as the mosquito hawk or bullbat. By whatever name, it is commonly seen and heard in the vicinity of our state capitol, one of its favorite locales, and thus our newsletter's banner bears its image and its name.

The mostly crepuscular Nighthawk species is a member of the Nightjar family in the Goatsucker order. In Birds of the World (Golden Press, New York, 1961), Oliver L. Austin says that the Nighthawk is one of the most diurnal of the family, and not a hawk any more than completely nocturnal. It's small legs and feet are of little use on ground, and it's more likely to fly from spot to spot rather than walk. It breeds widely throughout most of North America, and winters in South America. Austin continues:

"Nighthawks have been known to move their eggs as much as 50 feet during their 19-day incubation period. Every time the bird drops on them from the air, it moves them an inch or two by the impact of its body as it lands. As it usually comes from the same direction each time, the eggs move continually in the opposite direction. Strangely, however, if the eggs are moved during the incubating bird's absence as little as 5 feet from where she left them, though still in plain sight, she is often unable to find them. Memory of the exact spot where they should be is dominant, and she fails to recognize them if they are too far out of place.

"The Nighthawk has a number of unusual facets to its character. It is one of the few members of the family that call out in flight. Silent when perching, it calls incessantly on the wing, typically a nasal, buzzing peent reminiscent of the snipes' plaint. This is evidently a recognition call designed to advertise the individual's position and to keep the loose parties together. It plays little if any part in courtship. The courting Nighthawk dives down out of the sky at its mate on the ground, brakes, and turns upward with a loud zoom produced by the wind vibrating through his primaries, again reminiscent of the snipes' courtship.

"Essentially a bird of open country, the Nighthawk is fond of coursing over marshes, wet pastures and clearings. It has taken comfortably to urban life since the development of flat, gravel-surfaced roofs. It has learned these rooftops make fine nesting sites, and the plaintive buzzing calls of Nighthawks are now commonly heard above the traffic noises of many American cities as the birds course high over the rooftops in their buoyant, dancing search for flying insects."

Have you seen or heard one high over the State House?

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Kestrels, Honor and Disgust

by Roni Hardy, Henniker, Spring 1996

When my husband and I first moved to our house in Henniker three years ago, we were thrilled to discover that the area was home to a breeding pair of kestrels. While they regularly entertained us by performing aerial gymnastics high above the fields and plucking voles from our barnyard, it also appeared that we occasionally provided entertainment for them. I would often catch one of them spying on me from its perch on a nearby fencepost as I fed the horses in the early evening. Toward mid-summer, we noticed a third member of the family had joined them in the sky above the fields.

The following spring, however, there was a disturbing development. Every evening, we would find one of the kestrels trapped in our barn, which we kept closed during the day to keep out sparrows. It would fly from one end of the barn to the other near the rafters, squawking, and in its frantic attempts to escape would smash into the windows at either end. Each time we discovered one of the kestrels in the barn, we would open the doors until it escaped. However, at some point during the following day, it would find its way back in, and the whole scenario would be repeated. Obviously, we were concerned that it would injure itself trying to escape.

After the third or fourth episode, I made a call to the Audubon Society office in Concord and spoke with Becky Suomola. Her theory was that the kestrel, looking for a nesting site, had apparently found a certain hole in our barn that looked promising for that purpose. Unfortunately, once inside, it was unable to locate the hole for egress. Becky suggested that we build a kestrel box, for which she would mail us the plans, and mount it post haste on the side of the barn.

Despite our pessimism about this project's success, my husband built and mounted the box by the end of the week. The plans specified that the box be mounted 15 to 30 feet high with the opening facing either south or west. In order to satisfy those requirements, we had to mount it on the easterly side of the barn with the opening facing south.

We were pleasantly surprised when the kestrels adopted the box almost immediately and moved in. Shortly thereafter, we noticed that the female spent most of her time sitting on the nest. Although there is a lot of activity at that end of the barn and the doors are opened and closed frequently, that did not seem to bother the small raptors. It wasn't long before I noticed the newest kestrel peering down at me from the hole in the box whenever I was in that area, sometimes noisily flapping its wings inside.

Since then, the kestrels have returned to use the box every spring and, as far as we can tell, have successfully fledged one young kestrel every summer. We remain awed by their presence and honored that they return to our farm every year. One cannot host a pair of raptors, however, without being subjected to the unpleasantries of carnivorous life, and being reminded of the delicate balance of nature. (I am still trying to reconcile the fact that the two gentle, purring balls of fur curled up on our bed every night are also vicious killers by day.) The life and death lessons my cats have failed to teach me, the kestrels seem destined to do, as they dismember and devour their prey atop a pole just outside our kitchen window. In fact, I was convinced that it was a cooperative effort when I witnessed the cats chase a baby chipmunk up that very pole one day, much to the kestrel's delight and my disgust.

The kestrels seem to have found an endless source of voles and chipmunks in our yard and in the surrounding fields. We were more than a little disappointed that the kestrels did not live up to their nickname, sparrow hawk. We had secretly hoped that they would discourage the messy house sparrows from inhabiting our barn. No such luck. The sparrows continue to noisily fly in and out of the barn directly beneath the kestrels' box.

In fact, with the exception of one robin, we have never witnessed the kestrels bothering any birds. We only witnessed part of the drama involving the robin, which seemed to involve the kestrels' proximity to the robin's nest. We were certain that the robin was not acting prudently when we observed it diving repeatedly at the kestrel the greater part of one day. The kestrel, for its part, was sitting on its dinner roost not far from the box, seeming to tolerate the disturbance quite well. Apparently, it tired of the game. We found the robin later that day almost directly under the roost and based on the evidence, surmised that hunger was not the kestrel's motivation. Perhaps the kestrel performed a service for the entire species by ensuring that this robin's suicidal genes were not passed on. In all fairness though, we do not know for sure that the kestrel had not done something to deserve the robin's ire.

Aside from the philosophical dilemmas, and a little bit of loud squawking at fledgling time, having the kestrels around has been a positive experience. They are beautiful and interesting birds. As for the life/death thing, I guess I should appreciate the confrontation.

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Aviantics & Anomalies

by Bruce Elliott, Henniker, Fall 1995

One May morning, as usual, I was observing the aviantics (bird behavior!) around my backyard feeders. Among those on the ground were a male/female pair of cardinals, feasting on the seed dropped from the feeders above by obliging finches, nuthatches and other friends. As I looked at the cardinals with only the aid of my eyeglasses, I thought I saw them kissing. Well, I'm a downright novice at this business and had no idea of whether birds kiss. Studying them through my binoculars, I soon found that the male was instead feeding seed to his mate. Part of their courting, I suppose, and maybe it's really their equivalent of our kissing. Half a dozen times I saw the male hop briskly over to his mate, put a delectable seed into her willing beak, then turn and seek another morsel for his intended. While he searched and wasn't watching her, she found a few kernels on her own and ingested them with nary a nod to the brighter red one. Then, when he came back with a new treat, she eagerly accepted his offering and never offered any of hers. After she flew up to a nearby branch, he followed with yet another delight. I wonder what other species do this. Not homo sapiens, of course.

On the ground and the trees around my bird feeders, a couple of gray squirrels and five or six little red ones often feed and cavort. Of the latter, all but one look like all I've ever seen of their species. The red on their backs extends all the way out to the end of their tails, with black on the middle part of fringe hairs. But the single anomaly looks normal except for the trailing end of his tail. It's entirely pure white and the hairs are a bit sparser. Did he accidentally dip his tail in a can of white paint. Or, is it just old age that turns his hair white, as is the case with what's left on top of my head?

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A Tenderfoot Experience

by Bruce Elliott, Henniker, Fall 1995

When I joined the Audubon Society of New Hampshire last year, I was a complete novice among many knowledgeable and experienced birders - a tenderfoot again, just as when I started in Boy Scouts a long time ago. Living for many years in a small house on a dirt road in the backwoods of this wonderful state, I've been a long-time lover of birds and other little creatures that share my four acres of paradise. But, I had no book learning about these friends and I'd never done any photography of them. I very much wanted to capture them on film, just as I've done with other facets of my nature photography (mainly closeups of flowers and other natural wonders except fauna).

First things first. To me, that meant trying to learn something from those who have traveled this road before. Start by getting out the several bird books that I've had but neglected for years, rejoin the great Audubon group we have in the state, profit from at least some of the benefits they offer, acquire some basic equipment, and do some observing. Now I've finally done all of that to what seems like a reasonable degree. And it's been getting increasingly exciting lately, particularly after the chapter's terrific program on Nantucket Through The Seasons.

So, I mounted three feeders in my front yard and put lots of goodies in them. In the first week, nobody came to visit, which was a bit disheartening despite not being unusual. Then, on one beautiful Sunday morning, feathered creatures were all over the place and I was thrilled beyond words. They swooped in from nearby trees, some in power dives, some in undulating flits. Mostly they hung on a feeder and took their fill, but some found their meal on the ground. On that mossy turf, a male/female pair of northern cardinals, plus mourning doves and other birds, were joined by chattering chipmunks and a red squirrel.

I sat there just inside the window, some 12 feet from the feeders on a pole, and was fascinated by these guys for a long time. Everyone got along well most of the time, with only a bit of squabbling or bullying. They enjoyed the bird bath as well as the food, and they had plenty of trees and dwarf evergreens nearby to dart into. They were messy too, reminding me of my kids and their kids when they were first learning to eat.

The Society does a lot of marvelous things to introduce kids to the world of wildlife, and many of those young people are far beyond me in bird knowledge. But, it's never too late to learn. I'm starting at age 70 and I intend to have a lot of fun with some of the beautiful creatures in this world, and perhaps also contribute something to their welfare.

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