We had been looking for owls since before dawn. Mars, gleaming orange in the east, was visible as we pulled into the deep shadows of a hemlock stand. We played digital snippets of a barred owl hooting, did some hooting ourselves, and made a variety of desperate mouse noises, but no owl responded from the frozen darkness.
Back in town, we stopped by a house with an array of reliably full bird feeders, but at first light and 7ºF, nothing was moving.
Every year for the past 108 years, birders have left their warm nests to embark on the Christmas Bird Count (CBC), an annual survey of birds across North America coordinated by the National Audubon Society and carried out by volunteers. This year’s count ran from December 14 to January 5, with teams of beginners and seasoned birders alike canvassing for every single wild bird to be seen or heard.
Since most of our local birds in New Hampshire and Vermont had departed, perhaps for the open ground of Pennsylvania or maybe the misty forests of Venezuela, it was not an easy time to find birds. Two weeks earlier, I had seen a large flock of Bohemian waxwings and heard several reports of irrupting pine grosbeaks, but the official count had not yet begun.
After missing out on our best chance for an owl, our first break came in town. The rosy colors in the eastern sky were graced with the liquid call of an invisible cardinal. Northern cardinals have expanded their range northward into the region over the last 40 years or so and yet are not always found in the Winhall, Vermont, area. Other birds soon appeared, including blue jays working their way in a string across the road. Then, perched at the top of a maple, we spotted a single American robin, an auspicious start to the day.
This year, I had joined some friends on the opening weekend of the CBC in Winhall. The Winhall count revisits a 15-mile-diameter area, centered on Londonderry, each year. On Saturday, Julie and Betty worked into French Hollow and South Londonderry, Darlene searched along the West River into Jamaica, and Barbara worked up the edges of the circle from the lowest elevation in Manchester. I joined Ed to scour the area north of Route 11.
Near the Taylor Farm, the last dairy in our section, we found nine puffed-out turkeys shuffling through 18 inches of snow. From the farm, we doubled back to check the frozen marsh, the frozen lake, and to drive and walk, leap-frog style, along the road, grateful for the car’s defroster.
The Christmas Bird Count continues a far older English tradition of the hunting of the wren on St. Stephen’s Day, December 26. English revelers would capture the king of the birds and parade him from house to house on a stick to bring good luck and solicit coins.
Twice in recent years, Ed has found a Carolina wren, a bird more typical of a Virginia suburb, haunting a particular tangle of slash near Magic Mountain. This year, we emerged wren-less from our hunt.
We then stopped to check another reliable feeder and scanned the shrubs, ground, trees, and sky. The house’s human resident scanned us. Ed finally noticed obscure movement in the lower tray feeder. “Common redpoll!” This small finch has distinct brown-striped sides, a red crown, and despite its name, is not at all common most winters. “If there’s one, there are 15!” Sure enough, in the next few minutes, a flock slipped in – 11 all told.
By 10 A.M. the temperature had climbed to 9˚F and the understory beech leaves clattered with the mere suggestion of sunlight. A solitary chickadee revealed itself and was gone.
Afternoon is always a quiet time for birds. Ed gestured at likely spots for grosbeaks and waxwings without finding either. By the Utley Brook, he waved his hand and declared, “This has always seemed like great shrike habitat.” As if conjured, a dark spot appeared at the top of a prominent tree half a mile away across the meadow. Northern shrikes are winter birds in this region; songbirds with a black mask, hooked beak, and a taste for mice and other birds.
Along with the shrike, the afternoon yielded two American goldfinches, one brown creeper, and five mourning doves just as the light was fading.
Our total on the north end of the count circle: 464 individuals of 22 species. The other teams bumped up the diversity with five more species, including six snow buntings, seven pine grosbeaks, and one barred owl. No wren. Low numbers for the Winhall count, but you never know; every year is different.
This year’s CBC results are still being tallied, but you can view the historical summaries at www.audubon.org.