When you go running in the woods in mid-July, on a warm afternoon, you aren’t likely to hear very many birds singing. There are a few reasons for this: the time of day is the least-productive for songbirds, which are most vocal in the early morning hours and just before dusk. Also, the big arrival and establishment of territories and mate attraction, begun in late May and early June, have given way to the quieter business of brooding and raising young.

There are, however, a few birds you can almost always count on hearing, and I pointed them out to my companion as we powered up a small hill.

“That’s a black-throated…,” – huff, puff – “green warbler,” I said as I carefully watched my footing across some stone ledges.

“A black-throated green warbler?” she asked, sounding annoyingly un-out-of-breath.

“Yeah,” I panted. “It sounds like it’s saying,” – huff – “zee-zee-zee-zoo-zee.” I also described the other variation on this warbler’s song, which brought me dangerously close to wheezing. I’m glad it didn’t, though, as that would have been too embarrassing. My running companion is 10 years older than I.

The black-throated’s second song is represented phonetically as, “trees, trees, murmuring trees,” and is used in a different context than the first. This second song is known as their “unaccented ending,” and is most often given during territorial interactions between males, usually after they are mated. It is also most likely to be sung at dawn and dusk.

The first song – the one with the accented ending – is given by unmated males. It can also be sung by mated males in the presence of a female. Ornithologists think this may alert the female to leave the nest in the presence of a threat. It may be used in other contexts as well.

The “Birds of North America,” species account describes this warbler as, “an abundant species with a distinctive, persistent song.” Persistent is right. One male, the account states, was noted to sing 466 songs in an hour.

Although this bird may be abundant, it is vulnerable to habitat loss and fragmentation on its wintering grounds in Central America and on its breeding grounds in North America.

As my running companion and I entered another set of trails threading through coniferous/deciduous woodland, I pointed out a song that drifted lazily down to us from the treetops. She recognized it, as she’d heard it often, but was never sure what it was, thinking perhaps it was a vireo. She was right; I guessed it was a red-eyed vireo, another tireless singer. The narrator on Peterson’s “Birding by Ear,” CD series humorously states that unlike other sensible birds, this bird never stops singing, even through the hottest part of the day.

This vireo’s song, too, seems to fit the mood of a hot, lazy summer day: it is repetitive and monotonous, and not very lively. Its repeated phrase of, “here I am, where are you,” seems to be designed to lull all who come within earshot to sleep.

Quite the opposite was the emphatic song of an ovenbird, which we had heard on the first part of our run. Its “teacher, teacher, teacher TEACHER!” song, increasing steadily in volume, followed after us as we pelted along the trail. Here’s where my challenge of that day began: explaining why the bird had this name while maintaining a good running pace and not loosing breath. The warbler’s nest, which is built on the ground by the male, resembles the shape of a little, pot-bellied stove.

Running through the woods on a warm summer afternoon may not seem very productive from a birding standpoint. However, if you know what you’re listening to, and have an appreciative audience, it’s a good way to introduce someone to this hobby.

That is, if you can catch your breath.

BDN bird columnist Chris Corio can be reached at bdnsports@bangordailynews.net