Such noise! The birds were fussing, scolding, screaming, and downright hollering at the top of their little lungs, if birds holler. So much energy, so much racket.
“There must be a snake,” I said to Bethany. We slipped down the trail until we were closer.
Soon we spotted agitated birds fluttering about. A squirrel inched down a branch, adding his remarks—no, two squirrels. And there we spied him, a long stretchy snake in their tree—probably birding!
Just yesterday as I worked on this magazine, a juvenile hawk flew to the closest tree to my window, a redbud. He was probably birding too. I slipped from my chair and retrieved a camera. Slowly I eased open the door. I was still behind a screen door that has been modified into a photo blind. Fabric concealed my movements, for the most part. I poked the lens through the lens port and soon found the bird. Would he fly before I got photos?
The fuzzy view snapped into sharp focus. Soon rapid-fire photos were clicking away. I raised the ISO and shot some more. After all, if the hand-held 600mm lens was shooting too slow of a shutter speed, I would have a bunch of blurry photos.
I eased my camera in and looked at the results while relieving the strain on my cramped back. Nice! It’s hard to get close to a wild hawk and capture sharp photos.
I poked the lens back out through the blind and shot some more. Repeat. After about the third time of this, the hawk was gone. I hadn’t seen him leave—he had just disappeared.
But just what kind of hawk was it? I’m not an expert birder, by a long shot, and juvenile hawks can be confusing. I sent Greg a photo. He thought it was a juvenile of either a Red-shouldered or Broad-winged Hawk.
Shaphan said if I could have captured its tail or in-flight photos, ID would be easier.
I’m working on the magazine again today, and I plopped a photo of yesterday’s hawk onto the “Let’s Take a Hike” page. But the ID still bothered me. I wanted an accurate one without question. After all, I would be hearing from some of you if I published the wrong name with the photo.
I glanced out my window just in time to see this juvenile Red-shouldered Hawk land in a redbud twenty feet away. I went for a camera and poked it through the blind in my doorway. Thankfully, the hawk was preoccupied with bird-watching of its own, and he/she posed for me while I fired off my first shots ever of this species. Photo © Kevin Shank.
I thought about Matt and his expertise with birds. Maybe he would have an opinion—I would send a photo to him.
Bethany and I began reading a story we were going to consider for “The Birders’ Trail” page. Bird encounters could be hugs from God, the writer said.
A reply came back. Like Greg, Matt had an element of uncertainty between the Red-shouldered and Broad-winged.
“Well, we have books,” Bethany stated. She retrieved a Crossley’s guide and began comparing the two species.
“If we could see under its tail—the Red-shouldered has this line of markings while the Broad-winged does not,” she said, pointing to a row of dark spots/short bars on the bottom side of the tail.
I looked down at her picture. Then I looked up and out the window.
“There he is!” I exclaimed.
I soon had a camera out the window. “Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat”…the shutter said…“tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.” Yesterday’s thirty-six photos were in the dust now… “Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat…”
The hawk began to scream. Bethany began recording the calls.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat…fifty pictures…tat…tat…tat…a hundred. The hawk turned around. Photos of his back side were now an option, not to mention the broad-side profile as he turned around. Tat…tat…tat…tat…tat…two hundred…tat…tat…tat.
And then he leaned forward. “Tat-tat-tat-tat” went the camera as he stretched his wings and flew away.
The reason for firing bursts of rapid photos (twelve frames per second) is to hopefully capture the mouth open, wings spread, or any other tidbit of action that would otherwise be missed. Thankfully, one of those rapid shots captured the moment he lifted off the roof, tail up. There, under his tail, were two rows of tell-tale markings. He was a Red-shouldered.
Bethany played the call of a Red-shouldered Hawk, and there was no mistaking that distinctive call.
Matt had hardly responded by two minutes. Bethany’s search was less than that. God smiled.
As I began writing my own birding trails story, the young Red-shouldered was still screaming away, just down over the ridge a piece. He was out of sight in the forest. The little birds were happy.
Let him scream, they seemed to say—the little birds didn’t care now. A nuthatch headed for seeds. A cardinal flew into the crabapple. A little chickadee landed in the redbud. A phoebe landed in the serviceberry, his tail flicking up and down like they do. A titmouse pounded a seed clamped between his toes. A noisy Blue Jay flew in.
Meanwhile the keyboard goes tap, tap, tap—tap, tap, tap, tap. It is another day on Dogwood Ridge—another day at Nature Friend. All is well.
Oh, the hawk is back. Such noise! Scream, scream, scream, scream…! There he sounds off again—Scream, scream, scream, scream. If he would learn to hunt instead of begging, he would become a better birder. That trip to the camera was another three hundred photos—thankfully, there is no film to buy.
By the screams I’m again hearing, he might soon be back in focus—can’t see a little bird anywhere.
Yes, he’s back. The End. I’ve got to quit.
P.S. See “End of the Trail” (pictured below) for the end of the tale.
Out of all the photos taken of this hawk this afternoon, this one is my favorite. It captures a juvenile Red-shouldered Hawk screaming, while a gray squirrel lies flattened on the back side of a chestnut oak just yards away. Photo © Kevin Shank.