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Warblering on Parkway



This was supposed to be a week of NO BIRDING for me since my mom is
viswiting from California and I am supposed to be showing her conods so
she might move up here. By way of promoting N Carolina (over California,
mind you) I, of course, volunteered to take her up to the Blue Ridge
Parkway. That the trip happened to coincide with warbler migration was,
naturally, just an accident.
It was also just a fluke that two binoculars got packed in the car along
with the clotes and food. And wouldn't you know it, hardly had we stepped
onto the parkway than a handsome male Scarlet Tanager came to serenade
us. The Ceruleans at E B Jeffres Park never opened their bills,and thus
were not seen. But at mile 289.5 we were treated to high drama. Two
gorgeous Chestnut Sideds were fighting it out for territory, singing and
posturing for all they were worth from eye-level branches, while a female
demurely lurked in the background, every once in a while piping up to
encourage one suitor. The males would periodically come together in a fast
chase, giving rich 'chip' notes, and then a second later would be hopping
on branches singing with their chest puffed all up, as though nothing had
ever ruffled them in the past hour. I had never before intercepted a bird
int he very act of carving out a territory. And that incredible lime-green
on their heads and backs: I couldn't help but think of some of the vile
cake icings I have seen (sorry if I have offended anyone by such demeaning
associations; actually I love CHestnut sideds).
Trout Lake was simply Heavenly. Beatiful as can be and completely empty
except for one very friendly local who just couldn't get over the fact
that we were from India. And of course, I played it up and claimed to have
just got off the plane and headed straight for Trout Lake since its fame
had spread across the seven oceans. Dodging her we managed to see many
Canadas framed on the tips of Rhododendron Bushes (for which they seem to
have unusual affinity). The Canadas I used to see in Chicago were headed
 places, they had no time to stand still, and you were lucky if you got
them in view for a few seconds. These, on the other hand, were by
comparison lethargic. They would flutter about and settle on this or that
branch just to deliver their punchy song, and while doing so would be
visible for entire minutes. Such luxury. There were more black Throated
Blues than you could shake a stick at, a Black and White at every other
tree, singing Yellow Rumpeds, a Hooded, and FINALLY after so much
anticipation a Blackburnian sending its song piercingly up to outer
space. My first time with a Blackburnian in this state. More Chestnut
Sideds, and a singing Louisiana Waterthrush, all washed down with a Red
Breasted Nuthatch and a teetering Spotted Sandpiper, and we were off to
Linville Falls. This is not a long drive, but we were waylaid by a
Pileated that was on the ground by the parkway. At first I could not
believe my eyes, but after we had approached within 25 feet ON FOOT we had
to admit that that is what it was. It was at the base of a huge Pine tree,
and kept hammering away at it, chipping away with incredible efficiency,
and pouncing on grubs as they rolled and tumbled out. It ws amazing to see
 how efficiently it hammered; generally it would take just three knocks to
loosen a good-sized chunk of a bark. The first tap seemed preparatory,
with the second it made a crack, and the third was placed at such a
masterful angle that the crack simply gace way and the wood just peeled
right off. By now we were directly opposite the Pileated on the other side
of the parkway. Would it let us cross the road? We did and then we stood
within 1 feet of the Pileated who must surely have seen us, but simply
didn't care: it had really hit a rich vein, yet another grub would come
tumbling out, and it would pounce in them. We were so close eventually to
it that we could see the individual bits of bark on its white markings,
which had taken on a deistinctly reddish-brown hue from the wood dust.

And thus we got to Linville Falls just in time to catch the BT Greens sing
in the flowering Oaks. There were lots of trilliums everywhere and Bluets
on the mossy banks; some rhododenrons had opened, but the most
spectacular,perhaps, were the deciduous Magnolias. Wood Thrushes and
ovenbirds called from deep in the forest, and another Blackburnian struck
up somewhere in the pines.

But the best of it all was the Golden Eagle which soared by overhead on
highway 221 about 6 miles out of Linville on the way to Marion.

Now, if this were me I would be convinced that North Carolina has
California beat any day, at least any SPRING day; because all those
Dippers on clear Mountain streams mean nothing when you know that no
Canada or Chestut Sided can possibly fly in to deliver a song from a
rhododendron thicket nearby.

Upon rereading this I am shocked to find that I claimed to be within 
1 foot of the Pileated. That was a typo. The closest we got was
actually about 15 feet, but this damned email program I have is very 
unforgiving and does not allow you to edit mistakes easily. 





Shantanu Phukan
Chapel Hill,
N.C. 27599

phukan@email.unc.edu
919-962-6825
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