On the Hunt for a Vesper Sparrow

Some birds are quite easy to see, such as doves, swallows, and crows. They feed in the open and are very much birds of the air. Others stay in the heavy foliage of treetops, like orioles and many warblers. Some are well hidden in the marshes, like rails and female red-winged blackbirds. If it were not for feeders, the hardest of all to see might be the sparrow family.

Most of these highly evolved seed eating birds have left the air and the treetops and returned close to the ground to feed and live. That is why you must spread seed on or near the ground if you want to attract them to your feeders. In the wild, sparrows stay hidden in the tall grasses or dense shrubbery, venturing out only in spring to sing briefly from an exposed perch.

There are fifteen different species of sparrows that nest in southern New England, and several of them are quite uncommon, found only in extensive grasslands, a rare habitat here. The sparrow with the most restricted home of all might be the vesper sparrow. It likes scrubby, sparse grass interspersed with plenty of just plain dirt. it is found in areas of intensive agriculture, such as the floodplains of Northampton and Hadley, where vegetables are grown, or the highland potato farms of Worthington and Plainfield.

One other place where the soil is disturbed and bare ground results, is the sand pit. There is a very large one in Southwick where vesper sparrows have lived for a number of years. About twenty members of the Allen Bird Club visited this spot last week to find this uncommon, unfindable bird.

Around the edges of the pit, or where the valuable sand had been removed, sparse, low vegetation has returned - grasses, weeds, and scattered trees. We waited along the access road to the pit, and heard the male vesper sparrow sing, perched sometimes on a brush pile, sometimes on a sign, once on a piece of heavy earth moving equipment, and even in some of the low trees.

If it was not singing, this bird would be invisible, crouched on the bare dirt among the weeds and shrubs, the brown striping perfectly blended. You would have to walk slowly back and forth, hoping to startle the bird, and flush it into the open in a nearby bush, showing off the special white of its outer tail feathers. It would scold you with a sharp chirp before plunging back into the grasses and scurrying out of sight.

Unfortunately, the morning sun was behind this singer, so some of us climbed the hill to get more than just a silhouette. Of course, he spooked at our approach, and we had to wait before he got comfortable, and resumed his duties at one of the singing perches. Then we could see the narrow eye ring and the delicate breast streaks without a central black spot. When we returned there was a surprise waiting for us.

Several of the group had stayed behind, because another bird was singing on the other side of the road, and all of us were unsure of the identity of the singer. Even Rudd Stone in his mid-eighties and walking slowly, but still with a sharp ear and a perfect memory from a lifetime of studying birds, could be heard muttering. "What is that bird?"

Two of the most eager and expert of the group, disdaining a better look at the vesper sparrow, were keen enough to try to get a look at this mystery singer. The song was a warble of notes, rising and falling in an unpredictable pattern, something like a house finch, but lacking the distinctive hoarse notes that are always present in that common bird's song.

One of the two finally got a good look at the bird before it ceased singing and flew off, not to be re-found that morning despite more searching. It was a blue grosbeak, not called a sparrow, but still within the family. It is a species common in the southern United States, but rarely north of New Jersey, and never before found in western Massachusetts in the month of June. Next week we will learn more about perhaps the most secretive sparrow of all, the blue grosbeak.