...the song is an ethereal, flute-like melody, rising and falling....Hermit Thrush 057 Temescal Canyon Southern California_
"Birding is a three-dimensional pastime. It’s superior to, say, mushrooming, where the quarry is never higher than your shoelaces. And, of course, misidentifying a bird won’t kill you. Now, while all the mushroomers get busy writing angry op-eds, let me explain.
Birds fly. The sky’s the limit. One can’t go birding without looking up. The entire forest is stratified, from the treetop warblers to the ground foraging turkeys. And in the middle: thrushes.
Members of the thrush family spend much of their time on or near the ground. They forage on foot.
Males on territory might sing from a treetop, but they are often content to croon from a lower branch in the canopy. Birders sometimes complain about “warbler neck,” the pain that comes from looking high into the trees. Nobody complains about thrush neck.
Robins and bluebirds are thrushes. They’re easy to tell apart. The rest? Not so much. All the medium-sized thrushes are various shades of brown, with whitish, spotted breasts. So when walking in the woods, identification becomes easier if you start with a default bird: everything is a hermit thrush, unless it isn’t.
The hermit thrush is the most common and widespread thrush in Maine. It is comfortable in the understory of both hardwood and softwood trees. It forages through the leaf litter on the ground. When surprised, it may fly to a nearby branch where it can look you over and assess the threat, perhaps raising its tail or wiggling its wings. In other words, it’s easy. Its reddish tail contrasts with its brown body, confirming the identification at a glance. The whitish breast is lightly spotted.
Hermit thrushes don’t go far in winter. Most stay in the states. Some are even found on Christmas bird counts in Maine. They are the earliest of the brown thrushes to return, and start singing in late April.
Like their cousins, the song is an ethereal, flute-like melody, rising and falling. "
by Bob Duchesne (serves as vice president of Maine Audubon’s Penobscot Valley)
song
...the song is an ethereal, flute-like melody, rising and falling....Hermit Thrush 057 Temescal Canyon Southern California_
"Birding is a three-dimensional pastime. It’s superior to, say, mushrooming, where the quarry is never higher than your shoelaces. And, of course, misidentifying a bird won’t kill you. Now, while all the mushroomers get busy writing angry op-eds, let me explain.
Birds fly. The sky’s the limit. One can’t go birding without looking up. The entire forest is stratified, from the treetop warblers to the ground foraging turkeys. And in the middle: thrushes.
Members of the thrush family spend much of their time on or near the ground. They forage on foot.
Males on territory might sing from a treetop, but they are often content to croon from a lower branch in the canopy. Birders sometimes complain about “warbler neck,” the pain that comes from looking high into the trees. Nobody complains about thrush neck.
Robins and bluebirds are thrushes. They’re easy to tell apart. The rest? Not so much. All the medium-sized thrushes are various shades of brown, with whitish, spotted breasts. So when walking in the woods, identification becomes easier if you start with a default bird: everything is a hermit thrush, unless it isn’t.
The hermit thrush is the most common and widespread thrush in Maine. It is comfortable in the understory of both hardwood and softwood trees. It forages through the leaf litter on the ground. When surprised, it may fly to a nearby branch where it can look you over and assess the threat, perhaps raising its tail or wiggling its wings. In other words, it’s easy. Its reddish tail contrasts with its brown body, confirming the identification at a glance. The whitish breast is lightly spotted.
Hermit thrushes don’t go far in winter. Most stay in the states. Some are even found on Christmas bird counts in Maine. They are the earliest of the brown thrushes to return, and start singing in late April.
Like their cousins, the song is an ethereal, flute-like melody, rising and falling. "
by Bob Duchesne (serves as vice president of Maine Audubon’s Penobscot Valley)
song