The Spring Return of the Ovenbird and the Waterthrush

After delaying for so long, the migration has now come with a mighty rush. The clouds broke on April 28 and three days of strong northerly winds followed before clear skies and south winds finally took over. As so often happens, the first day of May brought tropical air and tropical birds to our backyards.

There were warblers in the treetops, and among the newly arrived species found that day in my neighborhood was the yellow warbler. When this warbler sings it is finally true spring, and one was in a favorite wild spot, singing above a brushy wet meadow along a small willow-lined brook.

When you walk into the New England woods on the first day of true Spring, you should also expect to hear the voice of the ovenbird. It is the most common woodland song of all, loud and clear and seemingly belted out by a creature that is everywhere at once and nowhere to be found. Usually, its song is rendered into words as 'teacher, teacher, teacher.' This day the song eluded me, but the ovenbird offered something much rarer.

Often tropical migrants are silent when they first arrive here on their breeding territory. They have flown at night from Central America through Mexico and Texas or even over the Gulf of Mexico. Each day they feed and replenish their energy. The next night that the wind is calm, they launch off again in the dark and fly another few hundred miles.

It is a taxing journey that some do not survive, but if they do, they sometimes take a little time to recover their full senses and their appetite for the courtship song. No ovenbird sang for me, but at one place I stopped and noticed slight movement on the leafy forest floor. What usually stays hidden, suddenly appeared.

The ovenbird was walking gingerly across the dry brown leaves, placing each step carefully and peering down intently. Not only did the secret singer show himself, but how many times have you seen a land bird walk? Very few do at all, but rather hop or jump with a flit and a flutter. This bird looked comically human as it strode slowly but purposefully forward.

It reminded me of another rare scene only two days before, when twenty members of the Allen Bird Club were lined along an old stone dam in the hills. The small brook splashed noisily through the rocks below the dam, but above, the water was slow and sluggish with muddy edges.

We had been listening to the Louisiana waterthrush sing loudly below the dam, but as so often happens, it would not sit still on the branch or the rocks long enough for a good view. Finally, it flew over the dam right past us and landed on the edge of the pool. It was lined with leaves, which the waterthrush proceeded to lift and turn over one at a time as it walked the edges.

The waterthrush is another one of those few walking warblers, and is quite similar to the ovenbird in appearance. Both have white underparts heavily streaked with black, and dark brown backs. The ovenbird has a pale eye ring, while the waterthrush has a bold eye stripe, but both share the same leaning posture as they walk along the ground or a low branch.

You will only find the waterthrush near a running brook, for it specializes in eating the insects found there. It has the habit of bouncing its rump and tail up and down with agitated force, bending its knees to do so. The ovenbird is more sedate, as befits the quiet of the drier forest floor.

After a long trip from Mexico, these birds can be excused for not being eager to fly back into the endless air. Now they can walk to their heart's content, remaining on a small patch of forest floor or along a stretch of stream for several months, until a new generation is hatched and raised.

Odd, that with all the frenzy of hundreds of these tropical birds filling the treetops and bushes with song, color, and motion, what thrilled me the most were two small brown birds walking gently among the fallen leaves.