The Ides of March

red crossbill in the rain

red crossbill in the rain by Lynette Schimming (Creative Commons BY-NC)

Ah March! It is the month that raises and often dashes my hopes as it swings from winter to spring and back again until I am dizzy from keeping up with the changes.

Every high school student who has been forced to read William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar remembers the prophetic “Beware the Ides of March” spoken to Caesar by a soothsayer. For him it foretold the day of his assassination. For me, the 15th of March may be a bright, sunny day foretelling spring, a blizzard concluding winter, or, most likely, something in between. So it was on March 15, 2013.

Even though it was overcast and 27 degrees, I was happy to take my morning walk after many weeks inside because of a muscle tear. My destination was the Norway spruce grove where I hoped to see the red-breasted nuthatches that had been wintering there since the previous October.

As I approached the lower end of the grove, I paused to watch a small flock of black-capped chickadees fly into a black locust tree at the edge of the trail. From there my eyes were drawn to movement at the top of a Norway spruce which was thick with long, dangling cones.

Through my binoculars I first spotted a red-breasted nuthatch and was glad to see that one was still making use of the grove. With the nuthatch was a dark-eyed junco and—could it be—two male red crossbills and one female extracting seeds from the cones. I stood and watched them as long as my back and neck could stand it. Instead of “warbler neck,” as birders describe their discomfort while observing warblers high in the trees, I developed “crossbill neck” and was pleased to do so knowing that seeing these birds here would probably be a once in a lifetime experience for me.

Of course, I had seen that one female red crossbill in the spruce grove during our Christmas Bird Count on December 15, and I wondered if it was the same female that had brought the two males or if the three had merely encountered the grove during their migration. Or maybe they weren’t migrating. Red crossbills are known to breed wherever they find a mature cone crop, beginning as early as late December or early January. Still, that seemed unlikely and, in fact, according to our county report in Pennsylvania Birds, my red crossbills were the only ones observed here in March.

I scanned the treetops to look for white-winged crossbills but saw no sign of them. The red crossbills were silent and difficult to watch as they were often hidden behind the large cones. Still, I felt amply rewarded for venturing out on that dreary day.

buck eating birdseed

buck eating birdseed by CoolValley (CC BY-NC)

When I returned home, I found Hoover outside below the back steps. My husband, Bruce, had whimsically named this spike buck back in November because of the way he “hoovered” up birdseed. We thought he had been shot during rifle season because he had disappeared over the winter. But there he was back again and keeping the ground-foraging birds away this Project FeederWatch day when I count birds for the Cornell Laboratory of Birds. Since I was more interested in counting birds than feeding Hoover, I chased him away several times, but back he came like a bad penny. Finally, I ran after him, holding my broom high over my head. This caused much merriment among the males in my family, but it also discouraged that young buck for the rest of the day.

Most importantly, his rout encouraged 10 song sparrows to fly down and feed on the seed. They, it seemed, were migrating despite the weather.

In the evening our son Dave called me outside. An American woodcock was performing what the late, great conservationist Aldo Leopold called his “sky dance.” I grabbed my coat and rushed down to the barnyard to join Dave in our annual spring ritual. What better way to celebrate the coming of my favorite season.

Standing in the cold and damp, we could hear the woodcock “peenting” across First Field. Then we heard the twittering of his wings, but we couldn’t see him flying high and diving down in the dusky light. We listened several more times to his calls and twittering wings before giving up for the night.

For me, the Ides of March had been a wonderful day, foretelling spring, but for the woodcock it foretold his possible doom. It snowed that night, and the next day, when our caretaker, Troy Scott, drove up our road, he saw the woodcock standing in the corral area. When he drove back down, the woodcock was standing in the road ditch, drenched and disconsolate. The ground had frozen once again, making it impossible for him to poke into the earth and extract earthworms, his favorite food, or other invertebrates.

woodcock in snow

woodcock in snow by sighmanb (CC BY)

That was the last we saw or heard any woodcock last spring because it snowed off-and-on for well over a week and remained bitterly cold. Even the songbirds stopped migrating.

But some springs are better than others for observing woodcocks on our property. One spring a woodcock called so loudly that I heard him through the walls as I sat in our living room reading in the early evening. I crept out on the front porch and traced his calling to the flat area at the edge of the woods down slope from our house. Finally, he fluttered off toward the First Field.

I walked up First Field Trail past our garage following more “peenting” and had an excellent view of his flight skyward, but he landed far up the field toward the spruce grove. By then it was almost dark and I knew that he would be finished soon and resume in the early dawn light.

The following evening, I had stepped off our veranda to listen and first he called from the springhouse area, then on the trail above the garage, and again concluded far up First Field.

Another spring our son Steve and I watched a performing woodcock on the same trail above the garage, but that time the bird was so engrossed in his display that he kept landing and “peenting” a mere 20 feet from where we stood, giving me the best view ever of a singing woodcock.

Other than singing here in March, we’ve never found evidence of nesting even though our old field, small wetland, and forest edge should be ideal nesting ground. But the females are adept at hiding their nests, and while the polygynous males move on, females choose nesting areas, construct their ground nests, brood, and care for their young.

But at noon, one early August day, Bruce slammed on our car brakes to avoid hitting what appeared to be a young woodcock at the bottom of our mountain road. It continued bobbing its way up the left hand track of the road until it was stopped by a drain spanning the road that it couldn’t cross. That’s when it flew off. According to some researchers, August is the time when broods break up, and young woodcocks go their solitary ways, which is why I thought that the woodcock might be a youngster still learning how to survive on its own.

However, last spring, like Julius Caesar, the Ides of March did not bode well for at least one woodcock. March was a starvation month not only for our resident species, like the spike buck, but also for birds that returned too soon. Only the red crossbills had found sustenance here.

Woodcock at Ninigret National Wildlife Refuge

Woodcock at Ninigret National Wildlife Refuge by Tom Tetzner/USFWS (CC BY)


red-breasted nuthatch

red-breasted nuthatch (photo by Matt MacGillivray, Creative Commons Attribution licence)

It began with red-breasted nuthatches. In early August 2012, one of the largest irruptions of this northern species in living memory started with reports from counties in eastern Pennsylvania. By the end of November unprecedented numbers were recorded in all 67 counties in the state.

In late September the first purple finches arrived in Pennsylvania and 63 counties had them by late November. Common redpolls and pine siskins began appearing in early October, evening grosbeaks by the last week in October, and both white-winged and red crossbills in early November. Even a few hoary redpolls and a couple pine grosbeaks made an appearance.

With so many northern finch species moving south, birders called it a superflight, which happens only once every decade or so when food sources fail in the north, forcing most conifer seed-eating species to fly south for food. I was especially excited that red and white-winged crossbills were in Pennsylvania, because our son, Steve, had had the only sighting of white-winged crossbills on our property eating hemlock seeds here in the winter of 1985 when I was in Peru. And I had never seen red crossbills.

Now that our hemlocks are dying from woolly adelgids, we could only hope to see crossbills in our 38-year-old Norway spruce grove at the top of First Field. By the first of October several red-breasted nuthatches had already arrived there.

white-winged crossbill

white-winged crossbill (OwenMartin12, CC BY-NC)

Then, on November 15, I hiked to the spruce grove. Black-capped chickadees and red-breasted nuthatches foraged in the spruces at the base of the grove. But I heard an unfamiliar bird call and wandered through the grove searching for the source of it. Finally, I gave up, walked out of the grove and glanced back at the spruces one last time. At the top of a spruce two white-winged crossbills perched. They remained long enough for me to admire white wing bars on black wings, rosy pink breasts, heads, and backs, and even the crossed bills of two beautiful males. At last I had seen crossbills on our property.

Previously, in early November, I had had a male and then a female purple finch at our feeder area for more than a week as well as pine siskins for three days and, as it later turned out, they were the only pine siskins and purple finches to visit us during fall and winter. But already I had seen four irruptive species, and it was only mid-November.

Then a bout with Lyme disease, followed by a nasty virus, kept me inside for several weeks. It took time for me to regain my strength, and I was grateful when our Christmas Bird Count arrived on December 15, that Kurt Engstrom and his keen birder son Carl, came once again to help me. They covered the much longer and more difficult section on Sapsucker Ridge and up our road while I walked a mile and a half on Laurel Ridge.

In the spruce grove I searched for red-breasted nuthatches and white-winged crossbills, but the grove was silent. I was tired and sank down on Alan’s Bench to rest. After a short wait, I heard the call of a red-breasted nuthatch.

red crossbills

red crossbills in Long Branch, NJ (John Beetham, CC BY licence)

However, I did not recognize the call of another bird coming from the upper edge of the grove. I turned my head in that direction and spotted what appeared to be a dull-colored bird at the top of a spruce tree, continually calling, looking around, and flicking its forked tail. It had clouded over, making it difficult to distinguish any color on the bird. I kept studying it through my binoculars, and finally noticed that it had a crossed bill. When I pished, in an attempt to bring it closer, it flew away still calling.

I had listened to it for so long that the call was seared in my brain. After studying my bird guides, I was almost certain the bird had been a female red crossbill. Still, when Kurt and Carl returned, I told them what I had seen and heard. Carl didn’t say anything. He just started playing a series of calls on an Audubon Birds app on his iPod.

“That’s it,” I said.

“Number 3 type of red crossbill,” he answered. “Exactly the type of red crossbill that should be here,” he replied.

I was ecstatic. A new species—number 171—for our property and, as it turned out, the only crossbill reported on our Juniata Valley Audubon Society’s Christmas Bird Count. My red-breasted nuthatch was also the only one on our count.

Red crossbills live throughout the northern regions and high mountains in Europe, Asia, North America, and even the Atlas Mountains of North Africa. Here in North America ornithologists have teased out at least ten types of flight calls by red crossbills north of Mexico that some feel may be discrete species and others merely races or subspecies of red crossbills. Type 1, 2, and 10 calls were also heard in Pennsylvania, although type 3 was the most common. The calling of the lone red crossbill I saw may have been an effort to attract other red crossbills to a feeding source, according to some researchers.

Red crossbills prefer to feed on attached cones, using their feet and crossed bills like parrots to pry open the cones. Then they husk the seed coating by pressing a seed against the lateral groove opposite the side of the lower mandible tip with their tongue. Small seeds they swallow whole but crush large seeds in their bills before swallowing them.

white-winged crossbill (Jean-Guy Dallaire, CC BY-NC-ND)

Both white-winged and red crossbills have straight upper mandibles. Only the lower one curves, and while three-quarters of white-winged crossbills’ lower mandibles curve right and the other quarter left, red crossbills’ lower mandibles curve right half the time and left the other half.

Even though both crossbills eat conifer seeds, red crossbills prefer the cones of pines, including white, pitch, scrub, scotch, red, and even table mountain in our area, but they will also eat hemlock, spruce, tamarack, and occasionally the seeds of deciduous trees.

White-winged crossbills prefer the softer cones of hemlock, spruce, and tamarack, but they will also take seeds from pines with stiff cones and occasionally those of deciduous trees. Researchers claim they eat as many as 3,000 seeds a day.

While both species sometimes visit bird feeders, I never saw either one at our feeders. I had plenty of time to observe them because I no sooner had I gained my strength back in early January than I was diagnosed with a deep muscle tear in my left calf which kept me inside for nearly seven weeks. That’s when I began to refer to last winter as the winter of my discontent.

I did see at my feeders the sixth irruptive species—a male common redpoll that appeared on December 21. He or another male and a female showed up on January 3, and on January 6 and the two following days, a flock of more than 30 common redpolls blanketed the ground and feeders. The bright red forehead and black chins of both sexes and the pink breast of the male are the distinguishing features of these mostly brown-streaked birds. I never did see a hoary redpoll among them.

I similarly failed to see an evening grosbeak at our feeders, even though this species made its best showing in over a decade in Pennsylvania appearing in 33 counties.

Although most were gone from the state by mid-December, up to 150 at a time appeared at a feeder in Marienville, Forest County.

common redpolls in flight

common redpolls in flight (Jean-Guy Dallaire, CC BY-NC-ND)

Numbers of both crossbill species also diminished by mid-December. White-winged crossbills went from 43 counties in early November to 35 in the winter and red crossbills from 30 counties in early November to 20 in the winter.

During similar irruptive invasions of red crossbills in Pennsylvania, most appeared in mid-to-late October and left the state by the end of March. Although they remain paired through most of the year and may breed at any time an area suits them, there are very few verified sightings of breeding red crossbills in Pennsylvania.

White-winged crossbills arrive and leave on the same schedule as red crossbills, and there are no records of breeding here. During one of the largest crossbill invasions in Pennsylvania in 1997-98, over 1,000 white-winged crossbills spent the winter in Cook Forest State Park and were often joined by lesser numbers of red crossbills. But we never saw them on our mountain then, probably because our spruce grove was only 24 years old and not producing a good cone crop. So last winter will remain in my memory as our crossbill winter, my first ever in the 41 years I have lived on our central Pennsylvania mountaintop.


Last winter was the kind of winter birders dream of. Not only did we have a classic “irruption” of winter birds from the north but a “superflight” in which all the highly irruptive finches–pine grosbeak, purple finch, common redpoll, hoary redpoll, pine siskin, evening grosbeak, red crossbill, and white-winged crossbill, as well as the red-breasted nuthatch–appeared somewhere in Pennsylvania.

Most exciting was the invasion of both crossbill species, those birds with crossed bills which they use to wedge open cone scales and then lift seeds free with their tongues, eating as many as 3,000 conifer seeds a day. Previously, a red crossbill irruption had last occurred here in 1972-73 and a white-winged in 1981-82, but there had never been a year on record when both had appeared in large numbers. Add to that glimpses of such rarities as pine grosbeaks and hoary redpolls by a few lucky people, plus the added bonus of all the other finch species to most of us who feed birds, and the extraordinary winter took on all the trappings of a legend in the making. In years to come, birders will speak with awe and longing of the fabulous winter of 1997-98.

The first hint that something big was afoot occurred on September 22, 1997 when a single white-winged crossbill was spotted at Hawk Mountain Sanctuary. This was followed, on October 17, by a report of three white-winged crossbills at the DuBois reservoir. By November both red and white-winged crossbills were being reported in record numbers throughout much of Pennsylvania. Their numbers increased steadily in December and early January.

By the time the invasion was over the following April, crossbills had been seen at 120 individual locations in 55 of Pennsylvania’s 67 counties. Unfortunately, our county–Blair–was not one of them because we did not have the food crossbills prefer, the seeds of eastern hemlock cones.

Even though our hemlocks had only a few cones, I spent many hours in the hollow, watching and listening hopefully for glimpses of crossbills. But I never saw any despite the fact that the second highest numbers of crossbills in the state were found in the Ridge and Valley Province where I live. In the middle of January a sudden influx of crossbills occurred on Somerset County ridges, in Venango County, and, most notably, in Cook Forest State Park.

Cook Forest State Park, and Clarion County in general, recorded the highest counts of crossbills throughout the irruption. The park, with its large number of huge, old growth hemlocks, was a natural magnet for the crossbills. And luckily the hemlocks were loaded with cones. So were the old growth white pines, usually a secondary choice for crossbills when they irrupt. But, by and large, the crossbills ignored them and ate almost exclusively hemlock cones.

The red crossbills were first reported at the park on the 28th of November by Paul M. Brown of Pittsburgh who spotted them on the Longfellow Trail. Brown called Margaret Buckwalter, the chief bird compiler for Clarion County. Two days later, Margaret’s son, Ted, found at least 50 red crossbills high in the hemlocks on the same trail. A little more poking about produced red crossbills in Ridge Campground and near picnic tables along the Clarion River. As Margaret later wrote to me, “That was the beginning.”

White-winged crossbills were first sighted on January 12 at the park, and after that it was difficult to tell them apart from the red crossbills as they all fed high in the hemlocks in mixed flocks. It was easier to see them when they flew from place to place across open areas. Surprisingly, they even came to feeders in Clarion County. Friends of Margaret’s had seven white-winged crossbills eating sunflower seeds from their tube feeder. Other folks observed them eating white pine cone seeds, black birch catkins, and maple buds. Apparently, while the cone-laden hemlocks of Clarion County enticed the birds to stay, they did sample other food as well.

But why this incredible influx of birds that are quintessential north country birds? Because, across much of Canada, the seed crop had failed. According to a letter from Ian Thompson of the Canadian Forest Service quoted in Paul Hess, Michael R. Leahy, and Robert M. Ross’s excellent article “Pennsylvania’s Crossbill Winter of 1997-98” in Pennsylvania Birds (January-March 1998), “There are no seed on any trees this year over the entire area from Manitoba across Ontario and Quebec. I have never seen such a ‘bust’ year where all species were dormant simultaneously.” In Algonquin Provincial Park, Ontario, Christmas Bird Count participants reported no crossbills at all compared to normal years when several thousand of both species are reported.

Anyone with a computer hooked to the Internet could keep up with the unprecedented winter finch invasion that occurred throughout most of the United States. The Cornell Lab of Ornithology/National Audubon web site, BirdSource, started tracking it in mid-November, after learning that all the winter finch species except hoary redpolls had been reported by diligent Ithaca, New York birders by October 26. As it turned out, those finches were moving on through because the New York seed crops had failed too.

“It became apparent early on that the 1997-98 invasion was going to be extraordinary,” BirdSource project coordinator Steve Kelling, who developed the Winter Finch Survey, maintained. Fruit and berry-loving pine grosbeaks showed up in huge numbers in Minnesota and New England where wild fruit crops were abundant. In addition to Pennsylvania, large flocks of crossbills also found eastern hemlock and white pine cone seeds in parts of New Jersey, Maryland and Washington state.

When I last logged on to BirdSource in late February, I discovered that red crossbills had appeared in central Florida by mid-February, white-winged crossbills in central Alabama in January, pine siskins in coastal Louisiana in December and central Texas in February, common redpolls in North Carolina in January, and evening grosbeaks in central Florida and Texas in February. Most of these southern sightings broke records for both numbers and species of these usually far-north birds. For instance, a white-winged crossbill sighted in Tennessee was only the third ever seen in the state. Red-breasted nuthatches were equally surprising, appearing in unprecedented numbers as far south as central Texas.

Although we didn’t have the more glamorous species on our mountain–the crossbills, pine grosbeaks, or hoary redpolls–we certainly experienced the greatest winter finch diversity ever last winter, both at our feeders and in the woods. On November 12, 20 evening grosbeaks appeared at our feeders. The following day they were joined by pine siskins.

“it looks like it is going to be a finch winter,” I wrote happily in my journal. And indeed it was, even though the evening grosbeaks and pine siskins moved on by the end of the month, momentarily dampening my belief in a finch invasion.

But we did have and continued to have huge numbers of American goldfinches, far more than I could ever remember. There were 60 at a time at our feeders when five to 10 had previously been our highest count. And in the woods large flocks coursed back and forth overhead as I took my daily walk.

What were they eating and why were there so many? Our conifer cone crop might have failed, but our black birch catkin crop was mind-boggling. And that was what they were eating. American goldfinches, like their close relatives, pine siskins and common redpolls, are nomadic in winter, going where the food is. All three species prefer birch and alder catkin seeds to other foods, but they are not adverse to supplementing those seeds with black oil sunflower seeds at feeders.

Still unaware of the general excitement in the birding world by late December, I nevertheless held out the hope that those catkins would bring in common redpolls and more pine siskins. And on a less-than-auspicious Christmas Bird Count day in late December my hope became a reality. My husband Bruce and I plodded through light snow for three miles, combing empty ravines and seeing very few birds. But late in the morning, as we re-crossed the Far Field, we were halted in our tracks by a chorus of bird calls. A grove of black birches, loaded with catkins, was also loaded with at least 200 common redpolls.

We sat down on a fallen tree and watched for a long time as they wheeled back and forth over the treetops, then settled down to eat, first on one tree, then another, before the whole flock finally took off.

That was the real beginning of the finch invasion for me. Pine siskins also returned although not in high numbers like the common redpolls. Both siskins and redpolls visited the feeders most days in small numbers (five to 10), along with hordes of goldfinches, but if I wanted to see all three species in the hundreds I headed for black birch trees. Luckily they grow all over our mountain.

I spent many happy winter hours, on sunny days and overcast ones, sitting at the base of a nearby tree and watching them moving restlessly from catkin to catkin, chirping continually. One snowy day a mixed flock alternated eating catkins with eating snow from tree branches. Other days I encountered common redpoll flocks feeding alone as I had the day of the CBC.

The common redpolls and pine siskins remained on the mountain until mid-April and were joined for several days by more purple finches than usual. Then, just as the finches headed north, I found my first red-breasted nuthatch on April 17. They crescendoed on May 7 when literally dozens landed on trees around me as I sat on Dogwood Knoll surrounded by hundreds of foraging yellow-rumped warblers. Apparently the red-breasted nuthatches that had spent their winter in the south were heading back north to breed.

I saw my last red-breasted nuthatch on May 13, effectively concluding my experience with the superflight of 1997-98. Of the nine official superflight bird species, I had seen five, a record for our mountain.

Although there is still some speculation in the ornithological world concerning the “why” of bird irruptions from the north, I am convinced that food supply controls irruptions. As I told my neighbor when he asked me where he could see redpolls and siskins, “Look for black birch trees, Charlie.” Or, as birder Douglas Gross said about the crossbill invasion, “They came, they saw, they conifered!”