Me First

By Keith Michael

“What are you looking at?”

That is the Number One question that I’m asked while standing with binoculars poised on the sidewalk or in Hudson River Park. It’s spring migration season, and it’s BIRDS that I’m looking at/for. Frankly, it still amazes me that there are people surprised to hear about the annual migration of birds as though for the first time. They’ll ask, “Really? Birds fly through New York City?”

Why yes they do! NYC is smack on the Atlantic Flyway, one of the major routes for birds flying from South America to Canada, and NYC is one of the best places on the east coast to see a concentration of those birds during the spring and fall. On a recent night in April, over 5 million birds were sensed by radar flying above Florida, after an arduous non-stop trek over the Caribbean Sea. Those same birds are heading up the east coast toward little ol’ New York. Most birds fly at night when it’s cooler and safer. When morning comes, they put down however far they’ve made it. They’re tired and they’re hungry. As their flight takes them through the dense maze of east coast metropolises, New York City is a particularly daunting pin-ball slalom course with its mirrored, tall buildings and proportionately smaller green spaces. Our continuous westside greenway and Central Park are enticing destinations to rest and find food. Since New Amsterdam was founded in 1624, that’s 400 generations of birds that have flown through here—a drop in the temporal bucket to the eons before. Think about it.

Of course, after a night flying hundreds of miles, they can’t just put up their feet, scroll through clever memes, and order takeout. No, they still have to work for their breakfast, lunch, and dinner. All the budding and flowering trees provide a smorgasbord of free-range, locally sourced, responsibly raised, sustainable bugs. Torrential April showers soften the ground to make digging out worms and other delectable critters from the mud so much easier. There is also a stocked larder of seeds not yet germinating for the spring and summer seasons. With all of those marathon stakes going on for the birds, our slacker-activity is simply to put away our phones and to take the time to just watch all of this astonishing industry.

We gamester-humans can’t seem to help ourselves, but we turn everything into competitions and lists. Myself, oh so included. Bird watching easily morphs into a contest of superlatives: the first, the most, the earliest, the rarest, the coolest. Spring migration is the birders’ caldron where this tendency boils over. The list in the green box shows the birds I saw on today’s mid-week, lunch time, under-an-hour walk in Hudson River Park from Charles Street to 12th Street, and return.

By the numbers, there were 28 separate bird species seen and 81 total individuals. What stories each of those birds could tell about their swashbuckling adventures! On to the superlatives.

The First: More than a week ago, I’d already seen an Eastern Phoebe, one of the first migrants to arrive north, but on this walk I saw my first warbler of the spring, a Palm Warbler, and moments later, my second, a Black-and-white Warbler. The Palm Warbler is a distinctive bright yellow bird with a rust-colored cap and an identifying behavioral tic of constantly bobbing its tail, whether on the ground or on a branch, to scare up insects. The Black-and-white Warbler is one of the most aptly named birds because it is, obviously, a black and white bird striped like a zebra. Both are constantly on the move, especially when they are famished, like these two certainly were.

The Rarest: I had hoped to re-find the pair of Ravens I caught circling above Abingdon Square Park two days ago. But no. This outing didn’t produce any rare birds though I followed one confusing White-throated Sparrow for some time, trying to upgrade it into a “classier” White-crowned Sparrow. It seemed like a first-season White-crowned youngster with “not quite” the stunning white racing stripes on his topper. But when I got home and studied my photos, I had to concede that it was a muddier White-throated Sparrow. It’s getting late for them to still be around before they leave for the far north after spending their winter vacation with us.

The Coolest: Easily the most dramatic interaction was watching a young Red-tailed Hawk feigning invisibility on an air conditioner at Westbeth while enduring the dive-bombs of a blue and orange male American Kestrel. At first, I feared the Red-tail might be pinning down the Kestrel’s mate which would have been ample reason for the Kestrel’s attacks, but the whippersnapper hawk was really just trying to avoid the tiny falcon’s territorial wrath.

I do like to wonder about the personal stories of each individual bird. What would the view be from the body-cam of the non-stop, speed-freak flight of that Ruby-crowned Kinglet? What’s the generational saga of that Black Duck hen and hybrid Mallard/Black Duck drake couple? What is the chest-to-chest jousting conversation between those combative American Robins? Do Mockingbirds judge each other on the accuracy of their vocal impersonations: “So, you think you got talent?”

And spring has JUST begun.