Here are a few shots I got this weekend while out and about.
While the majority of spring migrants are still working their way north, many of New England’s year-round birds are already getting down to the business of nesting.
I’m sure I’ll see plenty of nesting activity as the spring progresses, but last week I witnessed two interesting scenes related to nesting.
The first was in my backyard. As I approached one of my birdfeeders to throw in a handful of safflower seed, I noticed a northern flicker dart off into the woods. Its white rump patch gave away its identification. I was fairly certain the flicker had been clinging to a topped-off dead tree a dozen or so yards away from the feeder, and I made a note to approach the feeder more carefully next time.
Sure enough, I returned half an hour later and found a flicker on the same snag. I kept my distance this time and watched as the flicker worked on hollowing out a hole in the snag. I observed for a few minutes and went back into the house.
Over the next several days, I watched a male and female flicker take turns hollowing out the hole. It was slow-going, but the flickers kept at it dutifully. I’ll continue to watch the progress, and, hopefully, the flickers will successfully build a nest there and raise young. That would make for an interesting spring and summer in my yard.
Watching how slow the progress was and how much work the flickers put into making the cavity, I have new respect for woodpeckers and how difficult the job of securing the future of the species is. I also see why so many birds and animals utilize old woodpecker holes for their own nesting purposes. The hard construction work has already been done.
I read that flickers are uncommon among woodpeckers in that they often reuse cavities from the previous year. I don’t blame them. I can’t imagine doing that every year.
From that hopeful scene to one a bit darker: I was sitting in my office when I noticed movement through the window. The motion stopped in a tangle of vines where the parking lot and woods meet. I lifted my binoculars (yes, I have a pair at the office) and spotted a robin sitting in a nest. I was excited and concerned at the same time. While the nest itself was pretty well hidden, it was right at the edge of the woods and fairly obvious with the bird in the nest.
I watched a male and female come and go throughout the day and even shared the news with some co-workers. Even while I thought about how neat it would be to have a flicker nesting at my home and nesting robins visible through my window at work, I remained cautiously optimistic about the robins.
Later in the afternoon, I saw a blur flash past my window. By this time, a car in the lot had blocked part of my view of the vines where the nest had been built. I had a feeling what the blur was, but hoped I was wrong.
I stood, and my fears were realized. A red-shouldered hawk was standing on the nest tearing it apart. The robins took a few swipes at the hawk, but the larger bird of prey hardly seemed to notice.
The robins, of course, abandoned the nest and haven’t returned. Thankfully, it’s still very early in the season, and the robins can try again–hopefully, in a better place next time.
I was confused about the encounter. The obvious conclusion is that the hawk raided the nest to eat the eggs. However, I don’t think the robins had eggs in the nest yet. I had just noticed the robins for the first time that day. Surely, since it was in direct sight of my office window, I would have noticed the robins building the nest prior to that day.
Then why would the hawk go after the nest like that? Maybe it attacked the nest in the hopes that there would be eggs or baby birds in it and came up empty. Or perhaps it was a territorial message, as red-shouldered hawks do nest on the property.
Regardless of the reason, I wish the robins luck with their next attempt. I also wish the hawk luck on its next quest for food. And, of course, I wish the flickers luck in their nesting season.
I got up early and headed to Huntington State Park in Redding, Connecticut, and was rewarded with a good mix of migrants I hadn’t seen since last year.
Fun, feisty little bird.
Not exactly a migrant, and I had seen sapsuckers all winter, but I had to include this handsome bird anyway. This is a male as indicated by the red throat.
I’ve been seeing these for a few weeks now.
Not the best photo, of course, but this was as close as I could get. Cool bird though.
I was lucky enough to live through New Hampshire’s golden age of moose.
The moose population in the state peaked at somewhere around 7,000 to 8,000 in the mid- to late-1990s. At the time, I worked a four-day week and had Sunday, Monday and Tuesday off each week. Working until midnight on Fridays and Saturdays wasn’t great for my social life, but it was ideal for camping trips. As I headed to northern New Hampshire on Sunday afternoons, most people were packing up and going back home to start the workweek.
I had my choice of campsites at Deer Mountain State Park in Pittsburg, and I had my choice of ponds on which to canoe. Rarely did I see other paddlers on the ponds. But I saw plenty of moose. I won’t exaggerate and say I saw dozens on each trip, but I certainly saw four or five either on the ponds or along the roads each time I went. I can’t recall a trip where I didn’t see at least a few moose.
My most memorable canoe trip came on a Monday after a Fourth of July weekend when I had my favorite pond to myself in the evening and three bull moose lumbered out from different parts of the surrounding woods and settled into the pond with me. That was 30-odd years ago, and I still vividly remember the splashing noise the water made as it cascaded off their velvet-covered antlers when they picked up their heads with a mouth full of aquatic plants.
Those were the good old days.
Then, my life situation changed. I moved farther away and worked normal hours and days. My trips up north decreased dramatically and were relegated to typical weekend days.
More importantly, the moose started to disappear. Slowly at first and then dramatically.
The state’s moose population is now estimated to be about 3,000. A combination of winter ticks, brainworm and changing habitat essentially cut the moose population in half, or more.
The decline started in the early 2000s and received a boatload of press for many years. I wrote my own news article for the Keene Sentinel on the subject in 2019. Lately, it seems to me anyway, the updates have subsided. How are moose doing now? Still decreasing? Perhaps increasing?
It seems like it’s neither, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“The moose population has been relatively stable for the last five years,” Henry Jones, Moose Project Leader for New Hampshire Fish and Game Department, said last week. “It varies locally, with some areas up and some down. Overall, the population has been declining for 20 years.”
Why is that not necessarily bad news? The golden age of moose I mentioned before may have been too much of a good thing. The density of moose in some areas was too high and not sustainable. High moose density allows for winter ticks to thrive. More moose, more ticks. Fewer moose, fewer ticks.
Jones, who received his bachelor’s and master’s degrees from University of New Hampshire, said the goal is to conserve the moose population while still being able to offer recreational opportunities. Last year, the state issued 35 moose hunting permits and there was a 70 percent success rate. This year, the state will again issue 35 permits.
Goal number one for moose in the New Hampshire Big Game Management Plan 2026-2035 calls for population levels that “allow them to be in good physical condition and are realistic for habitat conditions.”
With winter ticks decimating the moose up north, a relatively small population compared to the 1990s is desirable. Why have 7,000 moose if most of them are going to die or become extremely weak due to the ticks slowly and excruciatingly bleeding them dry?
As much as I’d love to head north and see as many moose as I used to, conditions no longer support that. It pains me to say that because I have great memories of seeing so many moose back then, but this is the new reality.
While we may not see a glut of moose again in the state, with the help of biologists at New Hampshire Fish and Game, moose in sustainable numbers will be around for a long time.
Too often, the perils facing a species in serious decline rise to the top of our consciousness through extensive media coverage or other means only to fade into the backs of our minds over time.
Is progress being made to help the species? Has the decline worsened, gotten better or stayed the same?
Here is a look at a few species in peril that were all over the media years ago, but not so much in recent years.
Remember when monarch butterflies were believed to be going extinct and had only a few years left? That news took on a life of its own in the mid-2010s due to a catastrophic population collapse caused mainly by habitat loss.
It turns out the apocalyptic predictions may not have been right, but the species is far from out of the woods. The latest reports show short-term improvement but significant long-term declines.
The World Wildlife Fund last month published an article entitled “Monarch butterfly population increases by 64 percent.” The article states that the population increase is buoyed by a reduction in forest degradation of their winter habitat.
While that is definitely good news, I’m slightly skeptical about how they obtained the 64 percent number. Scientists do not actually count or estimate the number of butterflies they see (that would be nearly impossible to do) but rather monitor how many acres of forest have monarch colonies in their winter range. In 2026, 7.24 acres were inhabited by monarchs compared to 4.42 acres last year.
Again, good news for sure, but the long-term decline is still grim considering they covered 45 acres just 30 years ago, according to the WWF. Hopefully, this short-term increase trend continues.
What about honey bees? Remember how the media told us we were all going to starve because honey bees were disappearing? Indeed, Colony Collapse Disorder in the mid-2000s wiped out about 30 percent of the honey bee colonies, and those losses continue today in some areas due to factors such as mite infestation, pesticides, and habitat loss.
The panic over the loss of honey bees created a surge in home beekeeping, which has helped keep overall population numbers relatively stable. Unfortunately, recent years have seen an uptick in bee colony mortality, with 2025 being one of the worst years yet.
Extinction is not imminent, but all bees, either wild or part of a managed colony, should remain in the public consciousness as the consequences of a bee-less world are severe.
Bats are another animal that received a lot of concern due to a precipitous decline. The panic was warranted as some species were nearly completely wiped out by white-nose syndrome that came to New Hampshire in 2009. Similar to the monarchs and honey bees, bats seem to be making a slow comeback.
Despite the recent success, historic numbers are still concerning. Caves that used to house thousands of bats now have hundreds. According to a University of New Hampshire report last month, one bat survey counted more than 3,000 bats in 2009 and only 16 in 2011. That’s how quick and devastating the fungus was. In 2022, the number was up to 700.
Next week, I’ll look at a decline that is near and dear to my heart. Ever since I saw my first moose in the early 1990s, they have been my favorite animal at times bordering on obsession. Sadly, their numbers took a huge hit in recent years. Are they making a comeback, or are they still struggling?
There is a pond 20 minutes from my house that I pass frequently. For 50 weeks of the year, the pond holds little interest for me other than being an aesthetically pleasing landmark to look at as I drive past.
In the summer, a few mallards and Canada geese are the only birds present. It being a small pond in New England, it is frozen for most of the winter, which is great for the skaters who have fun on the ice, but not so much for birdwatchers.
However, during one week in early spring and one week in late fall, the pond holds a surprisingly solid variety of migrating ducks.
The other day when I drove past, I noticed a bunch of white blobs in the water, and, even at 40 mph, I knew just what they were.
I pulled over at the closest spot where it was safe to do so and turned the car around. From a spot along the road about 30 yards from the pond’s edge, I was able to confirm that indeed they were common mergansers. For a small pond, it held quite a few of the large waterfowl. Common mergansers happen to be one of my favorite birds, so I lingered at that spot along the road for close to an hour watching them.
In previous years, I have seen hooded mergansers perform their courtship display on this pond. To my delight, the common mergansers were doing their courtship display on this day.
Also to my pleasant surprise, the mergansers were not the only duck species on the pond. As I was watching the mergansers dive and resurface, a small group of ring-necked ducks came over to join the party. They did not stay long among the common mergansers but rather silently floated to the other side of the pond. As I followed the ring-necked ducks’ path through my binoculars, I spotted a pair of gadwall on the opposite edge of the pond as well. A few mallards and Canada geese rounded out the fowl sightings.
It was a pleasant hour spent at the pond, especially considering a busy road runs adjacent to one long edge of the pond and the other edge is a residential area. My parking spot was along the residential road.
Yet another pleasing moment of this unexpected birding experience came in the form of a songbird. I had turned off my radio so as to not spook the mergansers away from the pond’s edge. Instead of listening to old songs I’ve heard hundreds of times before or some divisive news channel, I was treated to the sounds of a northern mockingbird showing off his repertoire from a nearby perch. At first, I thought it was an eastern phoebe, but that was just the first mimicked song I heard from the mocker.
I love the spring waterfowl migration. It serves as a link between the early songbird migrants, such as red-winged blackbirds and eastern phoebes, and the multitude of other birds that follow. While the spring waterfowl migration is somewhat predictable (look at just about any unfrozen body of water and you’ll see ducks of some sort), it is fleeting. Ducks and other fowl feel a sense of urgency to get to their northern breeding grounds, and they tend not to linger too long on their migratory stopover spots.
Depending on your location, the variety of waterfowl that pass through New England (and some stay, of course) is pretty impressive. Some of my favorites include common merganser, hooded merganser, northern pintail, northern shoveler, bufflehead and common goldeneye.
The trick is getting out there as often as possible during these few weeks when they are passing through. The other trick is to check all open water. Migrating ducks often end up in unexpected places such as swelled roadside ditches, fast-moving streams, and, of course, small ponds along busy roads.
As far as I’m concerned, it’s never too early to talk about signs of spring.
Not that I’m rushing winter. There is plenty to do in winter, and I appreciate all of New England’s seasons for what they offer birdwatchers. But when a sign of spring presents itself, even with several inches of snow still on the ground, it’s hard to ignore.
Unlike plants that may be popping up through the ground but remain unseen due to the snow, birds offer visible and reliable signs of spring. The other day, as soon as I started my walk, I spied several birds flying overhead. In the distance, I heard the familiar and unmistakable songs of red-winged blackbirds.
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When you have done something for so long, sometimes it is hard to remember what it was like at the beginning. The other day, however, I came across a scene that reminded me of one of my early birdwatching experiences.
The recent prolonged cold spell we endured froze or kept frozen most of the water throughout the region. That makes for a great time to check the areas where water does not freeze, such as dams or fast-moving streams.
I drive past a large dam frequently and always look at the bottom where the water is constantly flowing. I do this especially during the winter to see if any ducks are gathered in the open water. In the right season and under the right conditions, there are usually several common mergansers in the pool created by the flowing water.
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At first it looked like a growth on the tall bush near my bird feeding station. I quickly realized it wasn’t a growth at all but rather a yellow-bellied sapsucker hugging a small branch.
It was a first-year bird, and its dark coloration, lack of red head or throat, and barred plumage made it look like part of the bush. It also caught me by surprise because yellow-bellied sapsuckers are migratory and are not frequent visitors to feeders. It was also perfectly still for several minutes as, from the comfort of my living room, I watched it brave the single-digit temperatures.
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The main entrance to Huntington State Park in Redding, Connecticut, features really cool statues of wolves and a bear.
I had only my phone camera with me last evening, but I couldn’t resist taking this photo at dusk of the wolves seemingly howling at the moon.
Birds of New England.com 