January's Mountain

I stare out my window towards the south and see a rocky ridge shrouded in fog. It’s cold for this southerner, maybe 28 degrees, with a layer of last night’s freezing rain on the ground. The sun hasn’t been heard from in days. By lunchtime I have a pretty bad case of cabin fever and refuse to be confined by the weather any longer. Living among the bustle of town, what more was there to do but buck up and head across the road to this mountain for a hike? The mountain, confined by progress to the north and near Ozark, hillbilly wilderness to the south, has provided me much inspiration in the past. It stands as a summer stronghold for sugar maples and Scarlet Tanagers. Today, the maples are dormant to all but sapsuckers, and tanagers are long gone. Today, the mountain belongs solely to January.

Expecting solitude on this day when most of society rests indoors, I’m not disappointed. Nary a soul was seen as I climbed the trail through a miraculous passage of striated sandstone, up and up to the top where the fog was thickest. Robert Frost would’ve beamed with pride at my adventure down the “road less traveled”. Leaves were frozen to the forest floor, clambering across rocks and mud proved dangerous thanks to a film of ice, and many trees provided a slippery hold being iced themselves. Yet in spite of it all, life was everywhere. The freeze brought out brilliant greens on mossy rocks and trees. A cranky chipmunk was munching an acorn on one of these rocks; a lively part of this mountain life. He seemed to tell me to look around instead of down and when I did I realized the forest teemed with birds. So many birds made me reminisce of times in a tropical forest (partly wishing for that warmth).

Berry bushes were adorned with Cedar Waxwings, hanging at different angles trying to get at the dried fruit. Sometimes a skittish species, I was able to get VERY close, probably due to an increased drive for food in the extreme cold. The most intimate encounters seem to be had only without the distraction of my camera. One waxwing, curious of this silent intruder, came in for a better look as I did the same. A waxwing’s subtle, silky pastels are something I long for a good look at year-after-year and this bird wore January like a real dandy. Among the waxwings hung bluebirds, many of them azure-backed males. From the trees, I heard light tap-tapping that gave away the location of a Hairy Woodpecker who was startled by even my slowest approach.

Cedar Waxwing among greenbrier.

Onward and upward I climbed, coming across a flock of White-throated Sparrows, all kicking backwards at icy leaves to find the rejuvenating morsels beneath them. Travelling back and forth between foraging on the ground and in the trees were White-breasted Nuthatches and Yellow-rumped Warblers. The energetic “butterbutts” are one of our most charming winter warblers, as if there are many warblers to choose from this time of year. A little higher still, Golden-crowned Kinglets filled the cedar trees, olive-drab with a striking golden-orange stripe on the head. Their tiny voices were easy to hear on the still, January mountainside. They hover-gleaned on the undersides of the boughs and were never caught in a still moment, constantly bouncing around.

Butterbutt (Yellow-rumped Warbler) in the snow.

Finally reaching the base of the foggy ridge-crest, another barely audible sound alerted me to the presence of a Brown Creeper. Creepers are an inconspicuous winter resident and often missed by those not paying close attention. Their usual silence and cryptic designs render them invisible against the bark of most trees. Creepers are fun to watch going about their business and this one was no exception. It worked from tree to tree, always starting at the bottom and working its way up until it deemed it necessary to move to another. It was this particular creeper that piqued my curiosity…having been one of my favorite winter species for years, I’ve never thought of HOW they successfully climb trees. For comparison, woodpeckers have unusually stiff tail feathers that act as a prop so they don’t fall off the tree. Watching this creeper, I noticed it was using its long tail as a prop too. Back at home my Sibley Guide to Bird Behavior confirmed these suspicions.

Later, watching a White-breasted Nuthatch climb up, down, and sideways on a tree I asked the same question. Nuthatches, however, have stubby tails that can’t reach the tree trunk. They can also move in any direction on a tree, whereas creepers and woodpeckers can pretty much only travel up it. In lieu of having long, stiff tail feathers, nuthatches offset their legs, one below the other, acting as their “prop”. Take a look next time you see a nuthatch hanging on tight and you’ll find this to be true! 

As I reached the ridge’s spine, I came to a shale barren, dotted with post oaks that have seen this world at its worst and at its best. It was on one of the downed ancients that I sat to catch my breath after the final jaunt to the top. The fog was thicker here than it had been down below, there was no wind, and all was silent. Refreshing, but a little eerie. I stood to turn back and was startled by the outburst of a Carolina Wren, invisible through the fog. Wondering whether or not it was me who caused the sounding of the alarm, my heart jumped as two deer darted from the fog and down the ridge. With an extra spring in my step, I trekked back down the mountain, past where all the birds had been an hour before, and out through the striated sandstone walls. Exiting, I was bid farewell by more waxwings and my first Purple Finches of the year, all hanging tight to branches as they wheeled around snagging berries. Moving slowly, I managed to slip past without flushing them, though I’m sure they were always watching.

Not only is any day in the same forest completely different to those who look hard enough, but also after nearly a lifetime of naturing and almost ten years of birding, I learn something new every day. As a good friend of mine (another birder) often says, “It’s always interesting”.