Scarlet Tanager - Photo by Joseph Kennedy
Seasonal Influences
Summer Symphony
Listening to their songs reveals these tropical guests
BY
Iain MacLeod
PHOTOGRAPHY
Joseph Kennedy and David McNicholas

American Redstart - Photo by David McNicholas
Hermit Thrush - Photo by Joseph Kennedy
Blackburnian Warbler - Photo by David McNicholas
Veery - Photo by David McNicholas
I remember a conversation with a middle-aged gentleman a few years ago who insisted that  “all the Baltimore orioles disappeared in my woods years ago. … I haven’t seen them since I was a boy.” As we had the conversation, I could hear at least three orioles singing from the treetops around us. If one gauged the population of orioles solely on visual observations, the count would be very low. However, if you listen for their distinctive songs, your count will be much higher and much more accurate.

Summer in New England is a noisy time in the bird world, but the only way to be sure who is here is to learn their songs. Our woods are filled with the chorus of tropical birds that have winged their way here to feast on the bountiful insect hordes. Most of these birds are here for just enough time to stake a claim, find a mate, and raise a brood of chicks before back to Latin America they go. Many of these tourists are hard for us to see because they arrive after the trees have leafed out, spend their time up in the canopy and, unlike the winter residents, do not come to feeders for sunflower handouts.

One of those summer visitors, the scarlet tanager, sings a song that sounds like a robin with a sore throat. It’s a series of five or so fluting phrases which have a scratchy quality, sung from the very top of the highest trees in his territory. In addition to his song, he also has a ‘chik-brrr’ call note, which is unlike any other species. Once you learn this song, you will quickly realize that there are quite a lot of tanagers around. They are a common member of the chorus in our southern New England avian choir.

Tanagers spend our winter months in the jungles of Colombia, Ecuador, Peru and northern-central Bolivia. They arrive in New England in the middle of May, and the males immediately start singing. They choose mature hardwoods dominated by oak, maple and beech. They prefer large tracts of forest, but will also frequent smaller woodlots and wooded gardens.

To see a male scarlet tanager is to glimpse a tropical treat. His fire engine red body and jet black wings and tail are a striking combination. The first time I saw one, my first thought was… it’s even brighter than in the field guide! Researchers have found that intense sunlight and the carotenoid pigments in tropical fruits play a role in the prevalence of red plumage in tropical birds. The consumption of these fruits during the pre-migration molt of male tanagers results in brilliant red feathers when they arrive here in the spring. By the fall, these feathers look worn and faded, and it’s time for a carotene fix. The female wears a more subtle green ensemble that helps her blend with the foliage when incubating her precious eggs.

Another of our common summer songsters is the veery. His “Vreer vreer, Vreer vreer” song has an ethereal fluting lilt that suggests panpipe-playing fauns are practicing for solstice revelry. This little thrush spends the winter in

Brazil and even as far south as Paraguay. They are secretive, and their plumage of buff and rust blends perfectly with the forest’s carpet of leaf litter. The veery is one of several almost identical thrushes that inhabit our eastern forests. Each has a song that rivals the others for their beauty and fluting quality. My personal favorite is the hermit thrush. For me, the hermit is the essence of the New Hampshire woods in the same way that the nightingale is revered in the English countryside (or even Barclay Square). They prefer woods with a good proportion of conifers. Some of the best locations to find them are in dark hemlock-filled ravines where even on the hottest of summer days it is cool and quiet.

Warblers are another group of tropical avian gems. More than two dozen species of these insect-eaters make our eastern forests home for a portion of the year, and all have distinctive songs for you to learn. Each fills a different niche by utilizing diverse habitats and feeding on specific invertebrate groups.

In areas with a predominance of conifers—perhaps where that hermit thrush dwells—the very tip top of the highest super canopy pine is where the blackburnian warbler sings his high-pitched whispery song. If he drops down into sight, you will be blown away by his flame-orange throat outlined in black. The blackburnian nests in the more northern parts of New England, but when they first arrive in May and are moving north, they can be seen almost anywhere. All of these song birds migrate at night, so when morning comes, they will stop off and feed wherever they find themselves—perhaps in your garden. Even here they will seek out vegetation that best matches their favored environs, so if you have an ornamental blue spruce or other evergreen you might be treated to a breakfast-time frenzy of northern forest warblers.

Filling a very different niche is the American redstart. This orange and black warbler got its name from European-influenced ornithologists who thought it resembled the redstart of the Old World (not a warbler, but more closely related to European thrushes and flycatchers). The redstart got its name because of its bright orange tail (“steort” in Old English). The male American redstart has a spectacular orange tail tipped with black. He also has orange blazes on his chest and wings, all of which he flashes in jerky movements while he sings and attracts the more subdued female.

The American redstart is found throughout New England’s hardwood forest and is often in backyards and parks. His sweet but strident song is a constant summer backdrop wherever I travel here in New Hampshire.

So how do you learn all the songs of your backyard birds? Well, first off you don’t have to learn all of them—at once. Start with the common species. Just sit quietly, listen, and concentrate. Get to know the rich songs of the robin and the house finch, then the whistles of the cardinal, tufted titmouse and the chickadee. Build your internal database of sounds, then, when new songs arrive, you will notice them. There are wonderful tapes and CDs to help, but there is no substitute for the real thing, in context.

I find myself constantly attuned to the rich tapestry of bird sounds that surround me. I notice the subtle changes in the make-up of the chorus; the new arrivals, the departures, the individual variations and the hourly, daily and seasonal patterns of the voices. Each note, warble, whistle and tweet signifies an event; an encounter; a signature that gives away the presence of a tiny trans-continental traveler otherwise hidden in the foliage.