When your day starts with a Yellow-billed Cuckoo slinking through the trees in your yard, followed by a Baltimore Oriole flashing through the tree tops, then the repeated calls of a Red-shouldered Hawk rising up from the C & O Canal not far below, well, it's going to be a good day.  Saturday was fantastic.

The combination of juveniles emerging, ciccadas providing the feast, and the drama of species interaction made it memorable in terms of quality experiences if not diversity and quantity of species seen.

Comic relief was provided by the sight of a European Starling flying into a yard tree after a ciccada, and watching that part of the tree explode with a dozen or more ciccadas trying not to be the Starling's victim.  While the yard action was constant and generally interesting (including hearing 3 more Yellow-billed Cuckoos, all close by and from different directions than that taken by the one seen), those hawks were calling for me to come on down.

So I went to see what was happening at the nest by Cabin John Creek.  I stood for an hour, watching...nothing.  Other than a Black-crowned Night Heron, making its way around the island beneath the Red-shouldered Hawk's nest, that is.  Mallards flew in with a duckling, startling a Great Blue Heron, who flew off in a huff with its harsh, 'scrawck.'  A Yellow-billed Cuckoo flew into the tree next to me from across the creek (2, a pair, were seen later flying up the creek, going in the opposite direction).  Great-crested and Acadian Flycatchers called as they moved around in the woods nearby. 

Finally, after being teased twice by the calls of a Red-shouldered clearly nearby, an adult flew in from behind me heading in the direction of the nest.  It seemed to be ignoring the much smaller Common Grackle giving the appearance of being in hot-pursuit of the probable female Red-shouldered.  She had a small mammal (vole?  mouse?) in her beak, and that could have been incentive enough to get quickly to the nest.  But when she bent her head down into the nest...there was nothing there.  Just like there hadn't been for the hour before she got there.  She flew with her prey still dangling from her beak off to the west, back into the tall trees and dense foliage beyond the nest tree.

The chicks had fledged.

Thinking they must still be nearby, the trail on the south side of the creek seemed to offer a better opportunity to see them, perhaps from Cabin John Island just to the south of the nest-island.  Well, that didn't work.  No hawks.  But there plenty more Great-crested Flycatchers calling.  And a Yellow-throated Vireo approached as it sang.  A Northern Flicker swooped down from a tree at the junction of the Potomac and the south channel of the creek, catching a ciccada in mid-air, took it back to its perch, dismembered it and flew to another nearby tree to beak-feed it to a juvenile.  That, or something, drew the attention of a Yellow-billed Cuckoo who proceeded to chase both adult and fledged Flicker around and thru the trees until they had enough and left.

Shortly after, 3 Yellow-billed Cuckoos chased each other back and forth through the trees.  While watching them, the sounds of several Warbling Vireos caught my ear.  1 was found gleaning through leaves and I watched as it grabbed something that was not a ciccada.  A Belted Kingfisher rattled near; a Green Heron flew over head.  On my way back through the Island, I heard what sounded like a Black & White Warbler's song, but shorter, softer.  Heeding Bob Ringler's advice, I tracked it down rather than tick it off by sound.  Sure enough, a male Northern Parula proved to be the source, singing merrily as it gleaned its way through the woods.

After being humbled once again by a N. Parula, I watched 2 adult Tufted Titmouse being humbled by an apparently newly fledged nestling.  They could do nothing to calm its plaintive squeals, almost tantrum-like.  In reality, it was probably scared to death being finally out on its own, as it scrambled through limbs and twigs.

Heading north along the river trail, a Wood Duck hen and her duckling peddled furiously against the swift, muddy current trying to get away.  After taking cover behind a rock, she flew over the edge of an island, leaving her chick to scamper up the island's bank and through the dense underbrush, taking the land route to join her on the other side.  Nearby, an unseen Prothonotary Warbler sang repeatedly.  Another Acadian Flycatcher, perched overhead, gave its 'teesup' call.

2 adult Bank Swallows, making buzzy sounds, took their catches to a fallen tree in the channel opposite the Double-crested Cormorant rookery where they beak-fed 2 juveniles.  On the rookery island, only 2 Cormorant nests appeared occupied.  The first, the most visible, had 1 adult and 4 nestlings, all panting away.  The other, only partially visible, had 1 adult, 1 nestling.

The nearby Pileated Woodpecker's nest appeared abandoned.  An Orchard Oriole sang from the trees beyond it.  Two pairs of Yellow-billed Cuckoos moved furtively through the branches next to it, both eventually flying over to trees near me.  Eastern Kingbirds, two of them, were busily (and very professionally, it seemed) catching ciccadas.  Cedar Waxwings zipped around, catching them, too.  Geese, with half a dozen goslings, and Mallards, with only a single duckling, swam by.

That was enough for one morning/afternoon.  With one last appreciative glance at the river scene under a broad blue sky briefly punctuated with small fluffy clouds, it was goodbye to a good day of birding.

Heading back down the towpath, another Acadian Flycatcher called from its perch overhead.

If the influx of flycatchers and cuckoos is due to the ciccadas, I can't wait another 17 years.

Good birding,

Frank Powers
Glen Echo, MD