A few weeks ago I wrote about a rare viewing of an elusive marsh bird, the Virginia rail, as well as a sighting of a blue grosbeak, over on Poplar Street in Old Town (along the “causeway,” that passes Mud Pond on the way to Pushaw Lake). I thought the catch of a Virginia rail and its family was an especially lucky, one-of-a-kind event, so this week I was surprised by an e-mail from my birding friend Paul Markson. His experience was quite similar – even down to the types of birds he viewed and the context in which he saw them.

“Yesterday I birded at my new favorite patch, Essex Woods in Bangor,” Paul wrote. “Within five minutes I heard and saw an indigo bunting.”

Paul was able to view the bird as it foraged through an area of tall grass – its favored habitat being bushy, overgrown fields, roadways, and railways. As the bunting flew from stalk to stalk, it gave its characteristic “chip,” note, which, according to the “Birds of North America,” species account, is a simple, mild distress note given at the approach of humans.

The indigo bunting’s song, on the other hand, is highly complex and has been extensively studied by ornithologists. Bunting populations in different “neighborhoods” have songs that are distinct from one another; the farther apart the neighborhood, the more unique the song is. But what’s interesting is that young birds do not learn their song from their parent. Rather, they copy older males on neighboring territories. If they move through neighborhoods in search of a mate, they will adopt the song being sung by the resident males.

Obviously, the indigo bunting’s song holds much more information for other buntings than it does for us. To our untutored ears, it’s just pleasant to hear, the notes often being sung in pairs. It’s been represented as, “sweet, sweet,-where, where,- here, here,- see it, see it.” And buntings are very prolific in their singing; in the BNA, an enthusiastic quote from F. Schuyler Mathews, writing about the bunting’s song in 1904, relays that, “It is common for him to sing at the rate of five songs a minute for an hour at a time, not less than two thousand times in a day!”

The beautiful indigo bunting was one of the first birds to show up at my feeder when I moved to Maine, so it will always have a special place in my heart. As its name suggests, adult males are entirely blue, and are surely a sight to behold; adult females are brown with some blue on their shoulders, rump, and tail.

My friend Paul appreciated his indigo bunting, and would have probably been quite content to end his day on that note. However, before long he came across a young common yellowthroat warbler, which must have fledged from the nest not long before.

“Its legs appeared very long and gangly for its body. I wasn’t sure what it was until I spotted mom with another of its siblings.”

Surely, another birding high note. But, it gets better, as Paul continues.

“The best bird was a long, five-minute-plus view of a sora. I had heard it earlier squawking in some reeds along the path, so I stood stock still and watched a clearing through some reeds. Sure enough, it appeared. But instead of walking past it stopped in the clearing and began to preen itself in the sun. I had superb looks at it from various angles as it moved and twisted about.”

This was quite a prize, as the sora is another small, very secretive rail that inhabits marshlands. It is very hard to catch one of these out in the open, and it is more often heard than seen, its distinctive vocalization sounding like a loud, descending whinny.

Paul could have called it quits and gone home happy. He didn’t.

“But, (like the Ginsu Knife ad), wait, there’s more!” He jokes. “All of a sudden a baby – and I mean baby as in black and downy – paddled up and began to beg for food. Had a great view of this for about one minute; eventually they both melded into the reeds and out of sight.”

Young soras look nothing like their parents; they are born with dark, downy fuzz that they do not molt until their second or third week of life. So the young bird Paul saw was likely less then two weeks old.

Quite a successful day of birding: a combination of being in the right place at the right time, as well as patience and perseverance.

The trail to Essex Woods is on Watchmaker Street, which is off of Essex Street, in Bangor, not far from Interstate 95.

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