Mystery of the Late Night Songster
Since age ten I have been an avid birder, or as folks called it in the 1960s, a bird watcher. It was uncommon to have a bird watcher in a remote coal mining community in southern West Virginia. But here I was, and I loved birds.
Birds served as the catalyst for my life-long interest in nature and my eventual thirty plus year career as a wildlife biologist and 46 years as a professional nature photographer. This passion for nature has never wavered.
I became skilled at identifying every bird found in the mountains surrounding my home. I could identify them not only by sight, but by sound as well. I could recognize the species just by their flight pattern and I could even look at a habitat and spout the names of the birds that would be there. The more time I spent in the field, the better I became and wherever I went my binoculars and ever-expanding field guide collection were beside me.
My birding capabilities improved even more when, with permission, I started using my father’s massive reel-to-reel tape recorder to record birds singing in the early morning hours outside my bedroom.
On Saturday mornings I would get up before dawn, lug the massive recorder to my bedroom and slip the microphone out the window and record the birds at our lone feeder in the backyard. Repeatedly, I just played and replayed what I recorded, learning the songs and calls from each bird species I observed.
I wanted to expand my birding skills beyond the yard, so my mother presented me with my own portable tape recorder that I would take into the field to continue recording bird songs and to document my observations. Thanks to mom, my avian auditory ability rapidly increased.
As the town’s self-proclaimed authority in all things ornithological, I figured nothing within the avian spectrum could stump me. But one June night in 1967 proved otherwise. I realized a 13-year-old ornithologist still has much to learn; make that so much more to learn.
This night was no different from other summer nights. A cool mountain breeze filtered through the open bedroom window as the light of a half-moon illuminated my darkened room. Quietness prevailed for a while.
Around midnight a cacophony of whistles, chirps, and croaks emanating from beyond the hillside below our home penetrated the quiet airspace, disturbing my much deserved and required sleep. It was such a clamorous assortment of sounds that I had no other choice but to investigate and reveal the noisy perpetrator. That is simply what the town’s teenage ornithologist must do. So, I obliged.
I had to practice moving stealthily so as not to frighten the mysterious vocalist, but it was just as critical at this time not to wake mom, too. Sneaking out was a skill I had long mastered before birding entered the picture! But I digress.
I donned my jeans and t-shirt, grabbed my 7x35 binoculars, a flashlight, and snuck out via a door in my bedroom that led to a small back porch and freedom.
Crawling, scooting, and sliding down the steep, thicket-filled slope, I crossed two sets of railroad tracks and finally tramped through a field of brambles, briars, and poison ivy to locate the boisterous culprit.
With patience, many scratches, and intense diligence, I employed my skill at “phishing” to lure the critter out of hiding. Using the flashlight to comb the vegetation around me, I finally saw the suspect: a yellow-breasted chat singing as if the sun had risen and warmed the earth with its golden radiance.
This plump, banana-yellow breasted bird checked me out before continuing its nighttime symphony. After enjoying the chat’s repertoire, I retraced my path through the thickets, crossed over the two railroad tracks, clambered back up the steep hillside to my bedroom and slipped back under the covers.
Once again, the town’s teenage ornithologist had solved another mystery of the birds of War, West Virginia. A teenage naturalist’s job is never complete – day or night – and neither is the marvel of nature in the Appalachians.
Some Chat Natural History Tidbits
Once classified as North American’s largest wood warbler, the chat is now the lone member of the newly named family Icertiidae (not to be confused with the Icteridae family that includes blackbirds, orioles, and meadowlarks).
The chat’s preferred habitat includes dense shrubbery and briar thickets, including abandoned farm fields, clearcuts, powerline corridors, fencerows, forest edges and along edges of streams and ponds. Unfortunately, the loss of this habitat has contributed to the steep decline of chats nationwide.
If you have yet to see a yellow-breasted chat, you are in for a treat when you do. You will hear the chat before you ever see it, which can be a challenge with this secretive, skulking avian delight.
Chats have a variety of calls during the breeding season, including a distinctive harsh scolding. When in flight male chats continue the vocal arrangement of jumbled notes – making for an amusing sight. While chats are typically active during the daylight hours, as I discovered, males are known to sing at night during the peak springtime breeding season.
Photographic Notes
These images were captured by me at the Banshee Reeks Nature Preserve in Loudoun County, Virginia. I used a Nikon D4 with a Nikkor 600mm AF lens with a Nikkor 1.4 teleconverter on a very sturdy Gitzo tripod. ISO was either 500 or 800 and shutter speed ranged from 1/1250 to 1/4000 second at f/5.6. I used Aperture Priority and set the exposure compensation to -0.7.
Yellow-breasted Chat - Banshee Reeks Nature Preserve, Loudoun County, VA (c) Jim Clark
Yellow-breasted Chat - Banshee Reeks Nature Preserve, Loudoun County, VA (c) Jim Clark
Yellow-breasted Chat - Banshee Reeks Nature Preserve, Loudoun County, VA (c) Jim Clark
Yellow-breasted Chat - Banshee Reeks Nature Preserve, Loudoun County, VA (c) Jim Clark