It was one of those October mornings that fills you with contentment. The sky was a clear blue, there was a slight fog hanging over the meadow, and every surface had been coated with a fresh layer of frost. The temperature was holding at 32 degrees Fahrenheit and there were just about 15 minutes to go until the sun peeked over the eastern horizon. The feeders had been put out, there was additional food spread out on the deck boards and the railings, and there should have been a large gathering of birds enjoying breakfast. The only problem was that everyone was late. Where were they?
Normally, there is a light surge of sparrow activity before sunrise. This is the time when you can see the birds, but they aren’t much more than silhouettes in the gloom of dawn. Their size can often help to identify them, but at this point in the year there are only a few white-throated sparrows and dark-eyed juncos that I would call “regulars.” More will show up once there is snow on the ground.
On this particular morning there were no sparrows. In fact, there just weren’t many birds at all and over the years I have learned that this generally indicates the presence of a hawk. More specifically, this indicates the presence of an “Accipiter,” which is a type of hawk that specializes on hunting small birds. Here in our area there are basically two species of hawks that fit this description: the sharp-shinned hawk (Accipiter striatus) and the Cooper’s hawk (Astur cooperii).
So, as I have learned to do, I scanned my immediate field of view for any sign of a hawk before I got up from my seat to check the other windows. Because of this habit, I very quickly discovered that there was indeed a Cooper’s hawk in the yard. In fact the bird was perched on a branch of the cottonwood tree that stands right beside my deck. This was very exciting from a birdwatcher’s perspective, but very frustrating from a photographer’s point of view. The hawk was so close, but photos were going to be nigh impossible.
The problem, of course, was the fact that window glass is not of the same quality as the glass used in camera lenses. Further complicating the situation was the design of the windows, which are double paned for added thermal protection. When looking up at an angle, the refraction of the light, through multiple layers of window glass adds so much blur to a photo that it would become useless for anything beyond simple identification.
I took the photos, looked them over, grumbled about the blur, and then I decided to “take a shot.” All I needed to do was gently open the kitchen door, then open the screen door even more carefully so there was enough clearance for my telephoto lens to peek over the top of the door and focus on the hawk. I have tried this maneuver many times before and it usually ends in failure; the hawk sees the movement and instantly flies away. However, every once in the greatest of whiles I find myself working with a mellow bird that tolerates my activity. You never know until you try, right?
So, with the greatest of care I opened the kitchen’s inner door. I looked up and saw that the Cooper’s hawk was still there; seemingly unaware of my activity. The real test would be the screen door, because it would me much more obvious to the bird that something was amiss. To my delight, the bird remained where it was. The final test was the riskiest of them all – opening the screen door enough to make room for my lens. I did this and … the bird stayed put. Amazing! I was working with a mellow and cooperative bird that would tolerate me.
The camera started clicking away, but the light was still low and the photos were too blurry to use. So I quietly closed the door and went back to my desk by the window. Minutes ticked by and the hawk remained. More importantly, the sun was getting closer to the horizon and the light levels were quickly improving. I went back to the door, tried my luck again, and found the hawk right there and still unfazed. More photos were taken, but it was freezing outside and I eventually had to retreat once more.
Finally, when the sun had risen over the trees to my east, I gave it one more try. At one point the clicking sounds from my camera attracted the full attention of the bird and it gave me a penetrating stare that my camera ate up like candy. Those big yellow eyes and the red breast feathers told the whole story. An immature Cooper’s hawk has yellow eyes and white breast feathers streaked with dark brown. Full adults have red eyes and red breast feathers. The combination of yellow eyes and red breast feathers indicated that the bird was about 18 months old; just six months away from full adulthood. It was nice to contemplate the fact that this particular individual has lived life, but remained mellow around people. I hope it never learns to fear us.
The drama of the breeding season is over, but the drama of winter survival is just about to begin. The world is full of young birds, predator and prey alike, and with every passing day there will be fewer of each. Will this young Cooper’s hawk set up shop in my yard? Will the presence of this predator require constant vigilance from the songbirds that dine at my feeders? Will the mob of over 16 blue jays (made strong by an autumn diet rich in peanuts) keep the hawk pestered and unsettled? Only time will tell and I will be sure to share the details with you as they unfold.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 28 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service, the Nature Conservancy and the Massachusetts State Parks and he currently teaches high school biology and physics. For more information visit his website at www.speakingofnature.com, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.