The Birdathon starts with a whimper.

Regardless, I am up around midnight to see it in, hoping that a barred owl sounds off to start my list. Some rain fell earlier in the evening, but it never really amounted to much – just enough to make everything wet for my hike this morning.

While waiting for a bird to make a peep, some scurrying around in the leaf litter ensues outside my shelter, which is not far from Raven Lake’s west shore. Beyond that, it remains quiet except for the soft gurgle of a nearby stream.

At this rate, the Birdathon could be a very long day indeed.

The deafening silence makes staying awake exceedingly difficult, resulting in reawaking once again at around two-thirty in the morning. This proves fortuitous though, as my first bird for the day finally makes an appearance when a barred owl hoots on the far shore of the lake. A second species follows soon afterwards, as a white-throated sparrow sings a single time nearby, apparently returning to its slumber, with me soon joining it.

After a short time passes, I reawaken again to a racket of the leaf-scampering, this time much louder than the previous bout from earlier. Suddenly, a whoosh comes out of nowhere, bellowing my tarp as if a sudden wind blew over it. With the scampering now silent, I wonder whether an owl captured a mouse right in front of my tarp.

Even this excitement does not keep me awake though, as I quickly drift off to sleep again.

Section Stats:
Date: May 16, 2015
Length: 1.9 miles (1.9 total daily miles; 6.4 total trip miles)
Difficulty: Easy

I rouse from my slumber at about five in the morning with my radio alarm blaring. Soon, I am up and fully dressed; ready to do a little birding prior to breakfast. The morning chorus is scant around my shelter, probably due to the dark clouds or damp conditions. Only a few typical Adirondack birds sing around my campsite, such as yellow-rumped warbler, winter wren, white-throated sparrow and hermit thrush. After recording those few species, I head down to Raven Lake to check out and see if I can snag a few water birds before leaving the area.

Raven Lake delivers the same disappointing array of bird species from my campsite. A duck quacks off into the distance, but too infrequent for my limited duck calling skills to identify. A Swainson’s thrush sings off into the forest behind me, making the jaunt down to the shore at least worth something.

I return to my campsite for some breakfast with a growing sense of despair of finding less than 50 species again this year. I try to keep my ears open for anything new, but that is difficult while crunching cereal in my mouth. As I sit devouring my breakfast, it starts feeling cooler when fog starts drifting into the area. The only new species heard is the Nashville warbler, which sings a couple times nearby while I shove the last bit of breakfast down my throat as fast as possible.

After packing up my campsite, I head back down to Raven Lake one last time, hoping to see a common loon at least. Although the loon is a bust, I get to check off ovenbird and red-eyed vireo, as both are singing from the other side of the lake.

While juggling my binoculars and camera, a duck sees his chance and seizes it by flying overhead. All I see is its dark silhouette as it flies over; vanishing by the time I am able to untangle my binoculars. I console myself with the thought of other waterfowl opportunities, especially at Deer Pond later this morning.

Before leaving Raven Lake, I hear a purple finch singing nearby. Just as I get ready to flee and head on my journey through the Pepperbox Wilderness, a sandpiper flies along shore toward me. It lands on a downed log at the shoreline, but takes off moments later upon spotting me. Although I am sure it is either a spotted or solitary sandpiper, without being positive, it does not go on my list. Hopefully, I will pick up one or both species elsewhere as the day unfolds.

Two lost opportunities and it is not even nine in the morning yet.

After that depressing thought, it is time to move on from Raven Lake and continue into the Pepperbox Wilderness, ultimately ending at Cropsey Pond. This journey begins with the short illegal yellow-marked trail I camped near and heading back to the orange trail, the first illegal trail that I found yesterday.

Once back at the orange trail, I head north a short distance toward the bridge over the outlet of Big Bad Leroy Bog, a large wetland to the northwest, named in honor of Jim Croce. No time for dawdling at the bridge though, so after capturing a few common species, I turn around and double back toward the original point where I came upon the illegal trail system the previous evening.

The bird species found at the bridge include: common yellowthroat, Nashville warbler, white-throated sparrow, yellow-rumped warbler, winter wren & black-throated green warbler.

From the intersection of the orange and yellow marked trails, I turn west following the yellow marked one as it heads toward the Pepperbox Wilderness, where I plan to spend the majority of my day. The trail climbs steadily upon leaving the orange-marked trail, the slight indention in the ground enough to follow it most of the time, though occasionally it requires a scan of the forest in front of me for the little plastic trail markers to find my way. The surrounding hardwood forest, its nascent leaves just starting to emerge, provides some more common bird species, their singing in the canopy giving them away.

Along trail uphill to top of rise: black-throated blue warbler, ovenbird, red-eyed vireo, black-throated green warbler, brown creeper & blackburnian warbler.

By the time I reach the height of land along the trail, I start looking for a place to begin bushwhacking, as Big Bad Leroy Bog is my first planned destination on my route. An open area to the north seems to provide an ideal opportunity, so I say good-bye to the illegally marked trail and northeast toward the large bog instead. Black flies just start making their presence known now, and it is barely 7:30 in the morning. So much for my brief respite from the biting little buggers today.

As the saying goes, you just do not realize how good you had it until they appear.

A rumble off in the distance makes me pause from listening to the birds around me. The sound is not thunder (I hope), but what else could it be? I convince myself it is artillery practice at Fort Drum to the southwest and therefore continue on without donning any of my rain gear.

I stay west of the small open area not wanting to delay my arrival to the Big Bad Leroy Bog any further, but after going northeast for a while I still fail to arrive at its border. Turning southeast, the large open area suddenly appears through the forest, now with a good deal of conifers mixed in. This makes bushwhacking even more difficult despite the lack of any hardwood understory vegetation.

Bushwhacking from trail to Big Bad Leroy Bog: ovenbird (singing), red-eyed vireo (singing), black-throated green warbler (singing), chimney swift (calling overhead), scarlet tanager (singing), black-throated blue warbler (singing).

By the time I reach Big Bad Leroy Bog, I find myself way up in its northwest corner, where it is boggier and less grassy than most of the wetland. My desire is to spend more time at this large wetland, so I hike south along its border to get a better look and hopefully pick up a few species.

Unfortunately, the wetland is too wet for my own tastes, so I retreat back into the forest a short distance just uphill from the soggy ground. Unfortunately, the thick mixed forest requires a lot bowing and weaving to navigate through, which interferes with my ability to hear the birds, not to mention catch sight of a new species out in the open wetland.

Despite the detour, I hear a Lincoln’s sparrow sing from the southwestern portion of the wetland, where on previous visits there was open water. Other species at Big Bad Leroy Bog and in surrounding forests are blue jay (calling and observed), Nashville warbler (singing), common yellowthroat (singing), ovenbird (singing), winter wren (singing), and black-throated green sparrow.

After reaching the bog’s approximate mid-point along its western border, I stop and rest, enjoying a snack and some water. During this brief respite, I hear both a black-and-white warbler and a Canada warbler, both singing in the surrounding canopy.

This might not turn out to be such a disastrous Birdathon after all.

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