It’s April! Evidently everybody’s shaking off the cold, getting out birding, and enjoying migrants. Personally, a different dialect of the Bewick’s Wren song and plenty of Mourning and White-winged Doves have fascinated me since mid-March.
Anybody else being stubborn about using Impatient Birder’s Guide? This review by Aidan Place at PA Birding might just change your mind:
In essence, it’s a condensed guide of eBird information which allows a birder to easily see the best places to see certain birds in North America and the best places to bird in North America at a certain time of year.
Or perhaps reading about Prairie Birder’s observations of a Sharp-tailed Grouse lek interests you more:
I’m always interested in the scientific aspects of birding and Shyloh of Beakingoff has a a fascinating post about Birds, Past and Present:
Each year our local naturalist society makes the one-hour drive to the Canadian Forces Base at Wainwright, Alberta, to see the annual Sharp-tailed Grouse dance at their lek. The field trip is arranged by the Wainwright Naturalist Society, whose members also maintain the several blinds where we sit and observe. This part of the province has the highest counts and density of breeding Sharp-tailed Grouse.
When you step outside in spring, one of the first things you will hear (depending on where you live) are birds singing. Every year starting around this time, migrating birds show up to claim their territories and find a partner for the season, while birds that overwintered at your feeders begin to disperse. The song of a robin and the sight of graceful white swans is something the whole Yukon looks forward to each year. Birds are a part of our life, a part of the passing of the seasons, creatures that have lived here forever. But how long have birds been here, really?
Finally, our favorite Scottish birder talks about finding an uncommon Black Grouse over on Lothian Young Birder:
‘I see a Red Grouse and I want to paint it Black’. Very appropriate for those people that are so desperate for Tetrao tetrix they casually string Red Grouse in flight over a distant clump of some beknighted Scottish moor. Thankfully, Sir Mick won’t pick up on this absurd, absolutely naff lyrical twist, and even more thankfully I am not one of those, poor birders who goes on wishing that every Red Grouse they pick up on a once-a-year foray to Speyside is a Black Grouse.