On the trail of the hermit thrush

Three birders were walking together in beautiful woods. This forest of beech and hemlock was studded with many big rocks, some of which were topped with the fern polypody. One rock was taller than we were and covered with ferns. We were transfixed by a big granite boulder that looked like a giant head with green hair.

We walked toward the rock and suddenly a brown bird, a hermit thrush, flew from the top of the rock. We walked closer and saw over our heads a mound of twigs, pine needles and grass – it could be a bird nest among the ferns.

We walked away from the big rock and discussed a strategy. We wanted to know if this hermit thrush, usually a ground-nesting species, had a nest on top of the rock. We knew tools we needed, but we were far from home.

One of us had a small mirror in the car, one had clothespins holding shut a half-full bag of potato chips and one had a jackknife. We were all set!

We cut off a branch with a twig growing at a right angle from it. We attached the small, thin mirror to the twig with the clothespins. Then we went quickly and quietly back to the big rock. The thrush had not yet returned to the nest. One of us reached up with the branch, and held it so that the mirror was over the nest. We saw three blue-green eggs in the mirror! We were thrilled.

We made a quick departure. We didn’t want to keep the thrush away from the nest any more. We were delighted that the thrush had made its nest in such a safe place. We all have found hermit thrush nests in much less safe places – at the edge or in the middle of a trail, under somebody’s tomato plant in a garden near the woods, in the clearing of a camp, or the edge of a logging road.

One finds hermit thrush nests by walking in the forest and having a thrush fly away almost from underfoot.

The hermit thrush is a favorite among birders because of its beautiful song. The late naturalist and writer John Terres described it as “opening with a clear flutelike note, followed by ethereal bell-like notes, ascending and descending in no fixed order, rising until they reach dizzying vocal heights and the notes fade away in a silvery tinkle.”

For information on Fields Pond Audubon Center, call 989-2591.