Category Archives: For the Birds column

For the Birds: Describing bird songs and calls is not an easy task

Posted on by
1
Photo by Chris Bosak A Red-bellied Woodpecker takes a peanut from a homemade birdfeeder in Danbury, Conn., spring 2016.
Photo by Chris Bosak
The call of the red-bellied woodpecker is often described as “querulous.”

I was walking across a parking lot at work when I heard a red-bellied woodpecker utter its loud churr call. I looked up and saw it swoop across the lot and land on a nearby tree trunk. It immediately scootched over to the other side of the trunk and disappeared out of view.

It was a perfectly clear and still fall day. The weather was crisp and the sky as blue as can be. The harsh churr abruptly broke the stillness, if only for a second.

Every time I hear a red-bellied woodpecker make that sound, I recall reading it described as “querulous” a long time ago. I had never heard that word before, and I found it fascinating for some reason. Even having never heard the word, at the time it sounded like the perfect description of the sound. Even though I had never heard the word before, it sounded like the perfect description of the sound at that time.

For the record, querulous is defined as “habitually complaining” by Merriam-Webster. Some synonyms include irritable, grouchy, grumpy and fretful. To me anyway, I never thought of the churr call of the red-bellied woodpecker as any of those things. To me, it was just a cool, unique sound I heard every so often in nature.

Now that we’re on the topic, written descriptions of bird songs or calls rarely resonate with me. The mnemonic phrases or adjectives used to describe the sounds only help me after I know the bird song or call already. If I had never heard a red-bellied woodpecker before and someone told me to listen for a querulous sound in the woods, I would never equate that to the sound a red-bellied woodpecker makes.

Even worse (again for me anyway), I had a book once that visualized bird songs using musical notation. Having zero musical talent or background, that obviously didn’t work for me. I did play the violin for one school year, but that was in third grade. I remember nothing.

This is not to say the words to describe bird songs have no value. In some cases, they make perfect sense to me. Again, I have to know the song first and then the words make sense and help to solidify the identification in my brain.

I can clearly make out “old sam peabody, peabody, peabody” when I hear a white-throated sparrow sing now. It wasn’t always that way, however. The northern version of that mnemonic, “oh sweet Canada, Canada, Canada” does not do it for me.

The mnemonics for the eastern towhee’s song and call make sense for me now that I know them and have heard them over and over. Of course it sings “drink your tea” and calls out “tow-hee.” Of course the Carolina wren says “teakettle, teakettle, teakettle,” and the tufted titmouse says “peter-peter-peter.”

Does the ovenbird really say “teacher, teacher, teacher?” Not to me, but maybe it works for other people. Warbler and other migrating bird songs are notoriously difficult to learn because there are so many and most are sung softly. Most of the mnemonics are of little help to me. Black-throated blue warbler: I’m so laa-zzy. Chestnut-sided warbler: pleased, pleased, pleased to meet you. Indigo bunting: fire, fire, where, where, here, here, see it, see it.”

I just don’t get those.

The best way to learn bird sounds is to match the descriptions when you are actively hearing the songs or calls. Knowing that a titmouse says “peter-peter-peter” doesn’t do a whole lot in a vacuum, but matching it to the bird when actually hearing it in the field can drive it home and perhaps allow you to remember it the next time.

What are your thoughts on learning bird songs and calls? What has worked for you and what hasn’t? Let me know at the email address below.

For the Birds: Sometimes patience is needed in the fall for those who feed birds

Posted on by
2
Photo by Chris Bosak
A blue jay perches on a log and grabs a peanut in New England, October.

There’s a viburnum bush outside my window at work that is bursting with red berries. I watch it carefully this time of year, as I’ve seen robins, cardinals, hermit thrushes and blue-headed vireos chowing down the berries in previous years.

Also in years past, as winter approaches and a few of the berries remain, I’ve seen white-throated sparrows enjoying the fruits.

This viburnum is just one of many examples of why birds are sometimes scarce at birdfeeders in the fall. One day, titmice, chickadees, nuthatches, cardinals, blue jays and mourning doves are visiting the feeders frequently, and, seemingly, the next day there is very little activity at the feeder.

Just as our gardens flourish and provide a bountiful harvest in late summer and fall, so does the rest of nature in New England. Berries ripen, flowers and grasses go to seed and insects remain numerous. Birds don’t need feeders in the fall as much as they do in other seasons.

Sure, some feeders will remain active, but others will experience a slowing down period. Once nature’s fall bounty is consumed or dies off in the cold, the birds will be back to the feeders. Birds will, however, still get a fair amount of their diet from natural sources, but the feeders provide a welcomed supplement to the fruits, seeds and insects that remain.

Birds that migrate are a mixed blessing for those who feed birds. They provide much-needed excitement in the spring when they return from their wintering grounds. It’s always a thrill when the first rose-breasted grosbeak, Baltimore oriole, gray catbird or ruby-throated hummingbird shows up at a feeder in April or May. But these same migrating birds also contribute to the fall slowdown, as they make their way out of the region once again.

It is fun, however, when a southward migrating bird makes a surprise stop at your feeder. The other day, a yellow-rumped warbler stopped by for a bite at my suet cake cage. I also recently saw a blue-headed vireo in a bush next to my feeding station. It was likely looking for berries, but I don’t think the fruits were quite ready. It’s also nice when kinglets flit among my flower garden looking for coneflower, black-eyed Susan or daisy seeds. Usually, I get ruby-crowned kinglets, but the occasional golden-crowned kinglet will show up as well.

“Where are all my feeder birds?” is a common question this time of year. It is most likely because they are finding food elsewhere. The trick is to be patient and continue to maintain the feeders through this slow period. Keep the feeders filled and clean so they are ready when the birds need them in late fall and winter. Birds will occasionally stop by during the fall to grab a seed or two. If they visit and there’s no food for them, there’s a chance they’ll seek out another feeding station and not return in the winter. That would make for a long winter – not for the birds, but for the person looking for the birds.

Feeding birds in the fall will not prevent them from migrating. Those that need to migrate will migrate; those that don’t won’t.

If you’re experiencing a slow time at your feeders, hang in there. The action will pick up again soon enough.

For the Birds: Long live the butterbutt

Posted on by
1
Photo by Chris Bosak
Yellow-rumped (Audubon’s) warbler just south of Grand Teton National Park, fall 2026.

It has one of the better nicknames in the birding world: butterbutt.

It makes perfect sense too because the yellow butt is a key field mark. Of course, it’s the yellow-rumped warbler, one of New England’s most commonly seen warblers. There are fall days when I’ll see dozens of butterbutts and hardly anything else, except for maybe a few palm warblers.

Yellow-rumped warblers can be tricky in the fall, however, as the flocks are a mixed bag of adult males and females and first-year males and females. All four varieties look fairly similar this time of year.

In the spring, we have adult males and adult females coming up from the south, and they look completely different from each other with males sporting an attractive mix of bluish gray, white, black and yellow. In the fall, they are all much duller than they are in the spring.

Their trademark and namesake is the yellow patch on their rump, which is visible at rest and in flight in all seasons. They also have small yellow patches on their sides. The western subspecies also has a yellow throat while the eastern subspecies sports a white throat.

The yellow-rumped warbler is an interesting study in bird names and splits. It used to be considered two separate species: Audubon’s warbler and myrtle warbler, which are now each considered subspecies of the yellow-rumped warbler. That change took place in 1973. There has been talk for years about splitting them again, but that hasn’t happened yet.

To add to the confusion, there are two more forms of the yellow-rumped warbler: black-fronted from Mexico and Goldman’s of Guatemala. I’ve never seen one in person, but from photos, the Goldman’s form looks like a really cool bird that is mostly black with yellow and white markings.

To add even more confusion, the Audubon’s and myrtle subspecies interbreed where their ranges cross somewhere around the Rocky Mountains. It was there where I saw dozens of yellow-rumps during a recent trip to Grand Teton National Park. It being fall, it was difficult to tell males from females and adults from immatures, but they were definitely yellow-rumped warblers. Whether they were the Audubon’s or myrtle subspecies is another question. I believe they were Audubon’s based on the yellow throats.

Who knows when or if the split will take place again. In the last few years, the American Ornithologists’ Union seems to be on a splitting kick. I wrote recently about the splitting of the warbling vireo, house wren and yellow warbler ─ all common New England birds.

In a way, I’d prefer the bird to remain a single species. Yellow-rumped warbler is much more fun to say than Audubon’s warbler or myrtle warbler. Either way, butterbutt remains a fitting nickname, so there’s that.

For the Birds: Big animals highlight trip out west

Posted on by
1
Photo by Chris Bosak
Bull moose in Grand Teton National Park, fall 2026.

If the trip took place somewhere in New England, I would get a year’s worth of columns out. But, since the trip took place far from New England, I’ll jam it all into one column.

I took a trip early this fall to Montana, Grand Teton National Park and Yellowstone National Park. The goal was to see and photograph moose, elk, bison, pronghorn and bighorn sheep. I was fairly confident about getting elk, bison and pronghorn. My recent lack of luck finding moose in New England made me uncertain about seeing moose out there. I also thought bighorn sheep may be a stretch.

At the end of the trip, I got better moose photos than I ever thought I would, many solid elk photos, a few bison photos but far less than I had thought, a few pronghorn and no bighorn sheep.

The moose photos, of course, were the most exhilarating. I met a group of professional wildlife photographers, and they allowed me to tag along to their secret moose locations. At one point, we watched a bull moose and two cow moose bedded down for more than two hours. We kept a safe and respectable distance away and did not alter the animals’ behavior.

Prior to meeting the professionals, my photo opportunities had been limited to subjects far away and sharing the space with 100 or more other people who had pulled off to the side of the road to see what people were looking at. It was after the summer season, but the parks were still crowded. The campgrounds were full (I had made reservations ahead of time), and the parking lots for popular hikes were overflowing to the point of people parking on the side of the road for nearly a mile in each direction.

Keeping up with the professional photographers was not easy as we hit the woods well before first light, crossed swift-moving streams, bushwhacked through the brush and tried to find each other by following a GPS pin on our phones. The scout of the group was in the woods at 4:30 a.m. with infrared binoculars. It was worth it though. One morning, we watched three cows, three calves and one bull walking in a field. Bulls are notorious for fighting during the rut (fall breeding season), but we saw two cows with their calves cross paths and square off. The altercation lasted about two seconds and consisted of each cow raising onto their hind legs, kind of like when a horse rears, and moving on their way.

It was great to be among moose again. The New England moose population has taken a serious hit from winter ticks and brainworm and they are becoming more difficult to find. For me anyway, a trip to northern New England in the late 1990s would yield a dozen or more moose sightings. Now, it’s been years since I’ve seen a single moose on my trips up north.

The other wildlife highlights in Grand Teton were a coyote hunting in a field and a grizzly bear mother and cub. The bear sighting was nice, of course, but park rangers kept visitors quite a distance away. There was also a huge crowd of people clamoring for a peek.

Then it was northward into Yellowstone on my way to Mammoth with a quick stop to see Old Faithful do its thing. It was around Old Faithful where I had my only bison sightings. I thought I’d see great herds of bison and eventually get tired of seeing them, but I saw only about five lone bulls in total. I did get one photo of a bison with the hot springs near Old Faithful steaming in the background.

Mammoth Campground, on the other hand, was filled with elk. One bull lorded over his harem, which consisted of 30 or more cows and calves. The cows and calves walked among the campground as if it were the most normal thing in the world. They had no fear of humans and were just part of the landscape. At one point, I sat at the picnic table at my site and six elk walked around me like I wasn’t even there. In the evening, the bull started bugling, and everyone (including me) grabbed their cameras and rushed toward the noise.

I saw several pronghorns along the side of the highways, particularly on the drive from Montana to Idaho. Pronghorns are commonly called pronghorn antelope, but they are not officially antelope and are their own distinct species. They are the fastest land animal in North America, reaching speeds of up to 60 miles per hour. They also look completely different than any other animal in the U.S. and look as if they belong on the African savanna instead.

Oh yeah. There were some birds to be seen as well. Among the notable birds were bald eagles, mountain bluebirds, tons of yellow-rumped warblers, yellow-headed blackbirds, redheads, American coots, horned grebes, sandhill cranes, white pelicans, and magpies–lots and lots of magpies.

I could go on and on, of course, but I like to keep this column focused on New England as much as possible. Feel free to visit my other posts on this site for more photos of the trip.

For the Birds: Veery and wood thrush share the title

Posted on by
4
Photo by Chris Bosak
A veery stakes out territory in New England, spring 2025.
Photo by Chris Bosak
A wood thrush sings from a branch in New England.

I wrote back in early July that the veery had taken the lead as the Bird of Summer, my very unofficial designation that goes to the bird that I see most frequently, or at least more frequently than usual.

With summer now over, I can officially—or unofficially—name the Bird of Summer. The veery and wood thrush share the distinction. Early in the summer, I saw and heard veeries on every walk. In the middle of summer and into late summer, it was the wood thrush that stood out more. I didn’t always find the often-secretive bird, but I certainly heard the unmistakable flute-like song way more often than I usually do.

It was encouraging to hear the wood thrush so often, as they are one of the many birds that have experienced a sharp population decline in recent decades.

Continue reading →

For the Birds: Spotted lanternflies coming to your town next?

Posted on by
Reply
Photo by Chris Bosak
Author Chris Bosak holds a spotted lanternfly in southern New England, summer 2026.

NOTE: This column was originally written for newspapers in New Hampshire, which has not yet been subjected to an invasion of these insects.

Coming to a town near you? Let’s hope not.

So far, the middle and northern parts of New England have largely been spared of the spotted lanternfly. Let’s hope that continues, but I have a feeling those dastardly insects may work their way up into at least the middle of New England.

My reasoning is as follows:

In the summer and fall of 2023, my son played for the St. Frances Academy high school football team in Baltimore, Maryland. I traveled back and forth from Maryland about a dozen times.

One particular beautiful early fall day in downtown Baltimore, I walked with friends to check out some sites and find a good place to eat. Out of nowhere, something bapped me right in the forehead. What the heck was that? 

The offender lay at my feet. I can’t remember if it was stunned or dead. Either way, it was a spotted lanternfly. If you are not familiar with spotted lanternflies, they are invasive insects native to Asia. They feed on the sap of a wide variety of plants, causing severe agricultural and ecological damage. They are now pervasive in ….

They are not flies, despite their name, and they are not moths, despite their resemblance. Rather, they are a planthopper-type of insect.

The bap to the forehead knocked some awareness into me, and I suddenly realized those things were all over the place. On the sidewalks, on the buildings, on the trees. Everywhere.

Baltimore was infested with them. I didn’t know much about the species at the time, but I recall that I had at least heard of them and knew they were not desirable. I also recalled that the guidance at the time was to swash them on sight.

Squashing them proved to be more difficult than I would have thought. They are surprisingly quick. My stomping foot often came up empty as the insects utilized their spring-loaded back legs to propel themselves and fly or glide to safety.

Fast forward three years, and the spotted lanternfly is now infesting parts of southern New England, namely Connecticut, Rhode Island, and Massachusetts. I was in southern Connecticut recently and spotted lanternflies were numerous. It didn’t reach the infestation levels I had observed in Baltimore, but even a short walk yielded several sightings. A glance out the window more often than not resulted in at least one sighting.

New Hampshire would be next if the lanternfly maintains its northward movement. In fact, officials in New Hampshire recorded its first sighting last month in Salem. From what I could find and as of this writing, there haven’t been any confirmed sightings in Vermont.

Are the Twin States next? I guess we’ll see in the years to come. Perhaps even next year.

This may be an unpopular opinion, but spotted lanternflies would be pretty cool to have around if they were native and beneficial instead of invasive and destructive. Adult lanternflies are about an inch long (fairly large compared to most insects in New England) with pinkish or gray wings covered in black spots. When in flight, the bright red hindwings (also adorned with black dots) offer a flash of color.

In the life stages leading up to adulthood, lanternflies are black with white spots and then red and black with white spots.

Birds have helped control the invasion somewhat. From what I’ve read, birds such as cardinals, blue jays, catbirds, and woodpeckers have been seen preying upon them. Interestingly, chickens seem to love them. Although spotted lanternflies damage a variety of trees and shrubs, their preferred food source is tree of heaven, another invasive native of Asia. This may make the insects bitter and undesirable to some predators.

Here’s hoping the northward march of the spotted lanternfly stops in southern New England. It will be an interesting story to follow in the years ahead.

If you find a spotted lanternfly, report the sighting at www.nhbugs.org/reporting-form.

For the Birds: Towhee saves the quest

Posted on by
3
Photo by Chris Bosak – An eastern towhee perches on a tree branch in New England, August 2026.

I got home at 6 o’clock in the evening and had two hours of daylight left.

Did I have enough time to change and get to the park for a bird walk? Or should I sit around the house and do nothing?

I wouldn’t be writing a bird column about that evening if I chose the latter, so yes, I decided I did have enough time to look for some birds before it got dark.

It had been a long time since I had taken a decent bird photo, so my goal was to get one on this walk despite not having a lot of time. I didn’t care what bird it was, I just wanted to capture a good image. 

As I pulled into the parking lot, I started making odds in my head about what bird would present itself for a good photo opportunity first. I was about 90 percent sure it would be a catbird. They are reliable sightings all throughout the summer and often are not shy about being seen. If not a catbird, I thought, perhaps a song sparrow, mourning dove or cardinal. But catbird was definitely my best shot, I figured.

Continue reading →

For the Birds: Female birds have a more subtle beauty

Posted on by
Reply
Photo by Chris Bosak
A female bobolink perches in a field in Brookfield, Connecticut, summer 2026.

Every spring I head out to the same field to photograph bobolinks.

I know the hotspots to find them and wait patiently on the trails that cut through the fields for one to perch within reach of my zoom lens.

Even as I write this, several months after my latest adventure, I am picturing a male bobolink with its amazing black and white plumage accented by a large yellow patch on the back of his head. New England boasts many colorful birds, especially in the spring, and bobolinks certainly fit that bill.

As I was walking out of the field, I noticed a female bobolink perched among the tall grasses. I stopped in my tracks and snapped several photos of the willing subject. She didn’t have the striking colors or patterns of the male, but she had a subtle, understated beauty nonetheless. 

The Cornell Lab of Ornithology describes the female bobolink as “warm buffy brown, streaked with dark brown on the back and flanks, and bold brown stripes on the crown.” That sounds about right. It must be a tough job having to write descriptions of brownish birds and capturing the subtle beauty they each possess.

Continue reading →

For the Birds: Turnstones and plovers add excitement to fishing trip

Posted on by
1
Photo by Chris Bosak
A ruddy turnstone looks for food at Milford Point, Connecticut, summer 2026.

My son Andrew and I moved quickly along the beach to the fishing spot several hundred yards away. He lugged the heavy bag with a cooler, fishing supplies, and snacks. I carried the rods and chairs.

We passed dozens of shorebirds on the way to our spot at the mouth of a river that feeds into Long Island Sound. I noted mostly piping plovers, but there were also ruddy turnstones and a few American oystercatchers.

Normally, I would drop everything and obsess over trying to get photos of the birds, but we had this day planned for a while, and I didn’t want my hobby to take over the father-son time. Maybe I’ll stop for a few photos on the way back, I thought.

Continue reading →

For the Birds: Loons and eagles highlight trip up north

Posted on by
1
Photo by Chris Bosak
A common loon rests on a pond in northern New Hampshire, summer 2026.

It was a scene you might see in the opening frames of a movie.

The mist was thick coming off the water, and the sunrise peaking over the distant mountain painted the eastern sky a brilliant orange. Tall pines marked the edge of the pond, and a pair of loons silently floated on the mirror-like water.

Heather and I slowly paddled toward the loons but kept a respectable distance so as to not disturb their morning routine, which seemed to be not much more than sitting still on the water. Neither one of the loons made any of their iconic sounds, but the scene was still quintessential New England regardless.

As we paddled east toward the rising and slowly brightening sun, belted kingfishers on either side of the pond rattled simultaneously, creating a stereo effect among the din of birdsong that filled the morning air. Based on what we heard, common yellowthroats, Swainson’s thrushes, red-winged blackbirds and red-breasted nuthatches were the dominant songbirds hiding in the thick woods.

Continue reading →