Carondelet Park: Phoebes en masse, Waterthrush in every sinkhole, Hermit Thrush abounding, and Chipping Sparrows arrive
The cold temperature late this morning (36 °F) might normally deter me from a walkabout, even though I love cold weather, but I was determined to get out to the park and relish in what was HAPPENING. Each day is a revelation as migrating bird numbers slowly increase toward their peak in May. Each day a new species for the season moves through. Closer to the peak, each day will bring not one, but sometimes. With torrential rain yesterday, I knew the park would be full of wonderful watery areas, perfect for migrating birds. I practically ran over there.
Right away, I encountered the new species on the move, Chipping Sparrows. They were busy munching on the seeds and buds falling from the Elm tree at the entrance to the park. Numerous Juncos had joined them. The male Belted Kingfisher cackled his way around the lake, drawing my attention. A Great Blue Heron was standing stately in a corner, so serene you'd never guess he was piercingly aware of the slightest movement of any fish beneath him until he suddenly bowed down, stared fiercely into the water for a second or two, and then, STRIKE, the fish was in his bill. The cries of a Red-shouldered Hawk drew me to the other end of the lake, where I discovered an immature. He seemed all show, as after he scared the bejesus out of everything present, he left.
While yesterday there was one Louisiana Waterthrush, today there were six, each having chosen a sinkhole full of their favorite mucky unmoving water to do their do-si-do bobbing dance moves as they foraged. Hmm. Makes me want to try being a little playful with my food. Golden-crowned Kinglets had poured in and were to be found searching frenetically for food in all areas of the park. Eastern Phoebes has descended in mass! Oh, what joy to see four or five in every sinkhole, more than I'd ever seen at the park before. They were clearly uncomfortable sharing, as they chased each other for the insect brave enough to face the cold.
Hermit Thrush had also increased in numbers from one or two to at least twenty plus - and were found at each sinkhole, one to three in each. (Depending on how you count, we have about 8 main sinkholes that I check, but also lesser ones, making for a total of 12 plus.) I love the karst soil that bequeaths the park with such gifts as sinkholes for wild ones!
A friend stopped by that I promised to help find the Great Horned Owl babes and Mama (all were fine) - and she stayed to enjoy other birds, too, before leaving after an hour or so. After she left, I kept on checking sinkhole after sinkhole, finally wearing myself out at the playground sinkhole, where I simply stood admiring the way the Hermit Thrush would flip out on occasion when their feet touched something unexpected? They'd engage in this quick hop into the air and zip-twirl turn, like they'd touched something hot - then land and stare at the offending whatever, nodding with their tail that all was well. Rusty Blackbirds were in heaven, as usual, after a rain, as they found whatever yummies the rain caused to rise and appear atop the smorgasbord that is the humus layer. The rain clouds waited to weep upon me until near the end of my four hours of meandering in frozen bliss, but even then, they were pretty cried out from yesterday, only soaking me a little. If I had not exhausted myself, I would have stayed longer, but I left stuffed on delight.
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