Sweet Meets

By Keith Michael

Don a second sweater. Double wrap my scarf. Zip the down vest. Snap my coat. Hat. Gloves. Let’s go!

I’m still a little surprised when people ask me, “Really? You go out birding in the winter? Aren’t you cold?” I guess it might be counterintuitive, but winter is a GREAT time to look for birds. When it’s cold you can put on more layers to get toasty, whereas when it’s hot in summer, you’re just hot. Many bird species only show up in the winter. To see them you have to go out.

Let’s take a brisk walk around the neighborhood with eyes and ears open. Right out of my front door on Perry Street, I get three birdy voice messages. High overhead, out of view, I catch the distinct croak of a passing Raven. Visually, a Common Crow and a Raven might be similar big, black birds, but the difference between the Raven’s basso, throaty CRONK and the Common Crow’s forthright CAW CAW CAW is definitive for even the most tone-deaf observers. Down the block, a Blue Jay calls out its familiar JAY JAY JAY alarm which is either a warning that there’s a troublesome hawk in the neighborhood or that they themselves are the “trouble” to watch out for. Much closer, somewhere right above my head — oh, there they are — one, two, three complaining Tufted Titmice are scavenging the Callery Pear tree for any remaining frozen fruits. These little gray birds with their jaunty “tufted” peaked caps are a jolt of wide-eyed wintry cheerfulness, though their constant whines, whistles, and clicks seem to profess grumpy dispositions.

I next head down Charles Lane—always a quiet interlude to contemplate the cobblestones, the inmates of the old Newgate State Prison, the estate of Charles Christopher Amos, the lane’s former names as Bayard Place and Pig Alley, as well as its fame as the shortest, narrowest street in Manhattan. Like today, there’s usually a House Sparrow party in the shrubbery. They do know how to have a good time.

Crossing West Street into Hudson River Park, during the lull with cars stopped at the light, I hear a faint “mewing.” Looking up into the Honey Locust bosque, I finally make out the indistinct outline of a foraging Yellow-bellied Sapsucker. The camouflage of this creeping woodpecker is always confounding. The white and black lines down its back blend perfectly with the striations in the tree bark. Don’t even bother to look for a yellow belly. In winter light, you’re lucky to see the smattering of red on its head.

Heading north there’s a congregation of Canada Geese doing pro bono winter landscaping work trimming and fertilizing the grass. There are too many geese to be just the locals, so these are likely geese for whom NYC is “south for the winter.”

A few White-throated Sparrows are scratching through the borders. This is one of the best-named birds: a sparrow with a white throat. Make. Every. Word. Tell. They are only here for the winter, so enjoy them, especially if they are singing their “Oh sweet Canada, Canada, Canada” refrain. Up ahead, a brief flurry of gray and white belies a small group of Dark-eyed Juncos. More winter birds, these seem to be confections of snow and ice itself, and ever on the move with their trills, twitters, and flicks of their white tail feathers.

Crossing to the promenade railing, bobbing on the Hudson are a smattering of ducks. I joke with my friends about not saying, “Oh, it’s just a duck.” Each duck thinks that they are a very fine duck. We should think so too. Indeed, this “smattering” boasts a few finely-mottled brown duck hens with their iridescent, green-headed male Mallard suitors trying to edge out competitors. There’s a handsome duo of Black Ducks who have already paired up, and, delightfully, a square-dance of Gadwalls. In their nuptial plumage, Gadwalls are the height of sartorial splendor with their scallops, chevrons, dots, plumes, and that fetching, jet black rump. This is the frenzy of the dating season. Is it getting hot out here? Today, there’s not a Loon plying the pile field but there’s a black-necked, Double-crested Cormorant bobbing up—this time without a catch. Try again.

Up on the rafters of David Hammons’ “Day’s End” are the usual sprinkling of gulls: a few suitably named Ring-billed Gulls, two robust gray-winged Herring Gulls, and a sole Great Black-backed Gull waiting to wreak havoc wherever he can. I’m always on the lookout here for American Kestrels and Peregrine Falcons (yes, I’ve seen them loitering and even dining) but lately, I’m hoping to see a Bald Eagle. Keep your eyes open and off your phone screen!

With raptors on my mind, I scan the roof edges across West Street. As if conjuring an apparition, on a water tower finial sits a young Red-tailed Hawk looking anxiously (my interpretation) for its next meal. Young Red-tails still haven’t grown into their namesake tail coloring and their first winter on their own is the ultimate hazing to achieve adulthood. Godspeed.

Returning down Washington Street, one tree looks like it’s still harboring leftover Christmas tree ornaments. The fluctuating temperatures have frozen, then perfectly thawed, the ornamental cherries, and American Robins are feasting. It’s really like the “Thirteenth Day of Christmas!”

This was certainly a sweet afternoon meeting and greeting the bounty of winter birds adorning the West Village.