Field Notes: Bird Sounds

~by Jim Eagleman

My open bedroom window lets me awaken to the many bird songs in our woods. I am usually up by seven, some days earlier, and the chorus kicks in right at daybreak.

Having fasted all night, birds are ravenous and feed at the first sign of light. This also signals to parents of birds just fledged to feed their young—maybe to last all day long. Begging calls from the young sound different than adult calls, accompanied by a fluttering of wings and short flights. This feeding frenzy—wings moving all the time while perched—can make for some great watching.

Birds vocalize for a variety of reasons: to attract a mate, announce their presence, to group together for feeding and safety, and to call for distress. While songs may be melodic and rather pleasing, they are not sung to entertain. Calls and songs are learned instinctively by the young as parents reinforce this connection. In many species, the young male must hear a song at a certain age in order to learn it. This leads to more individual variety in songs than in calls.

Bird communication has been studied by many scientists and naturalists for a long time. The public televison broadcaster David Attenborough’s account of birds recorded in different countries and featured in various nature programs, helped me appreciate the variety and complexity.

Bird calls are a challenging and rewarding soundtrack to the “sport” of birdwatching, now called birding. I call it a sport since those involved can sometimes make it a contest, documenting the birds seen and heard with each outing, and comparing numbers.

Learning bird songs for me is a life-long pursuit. Each spring into early summer, I review the warbler, flycatcher, and vireo songs. Memories of the first time and place I heard the bird, maybe years before, are recalled. A sense of place, historians call it, when a significant event can help recall the location where it occurred. A hooded warbler singing above me in a Chicago forest preserve years ago, is an example. I had never seen one in class or with friends before that. Alone and thrilled at the sight and song—the event stayed with me.

No bird apps for identification, or learning songs were available when I took my first ornithology class in the early 70s. The professor suggested we purchase a long-playing album of bird calls from the university bookstore. A few of us pitched in and bought the album. One day I heard the album at a friend’s place. “The black-capped chickadee, song one,” said the narrator, followed by a familiar call we recognized, but with other background calls we didn’t. “The black-capped chickadee, song two,” came next— even more confusing. This went on for five or six songs of more birds, all producing different versions. Listening to this entire album in hopes of learning bird calls was futile. “Torture,” we called it, and we soon opted to head outside to watch and listen for the actual bird. This we found was the best way to learn bird calls. For me, it still is.

When I first started listening to bird sounds, I had trouble describing what I was hearing. Was it a whistle, a song, a squawk? When asked how many birds we saw on an early morning walk, the normal response was, “We heard a lot more than we saw.”

Compounding the challenge, some songbirds can actually sing two notes simultaneously. I paid attention to pitch (high or low), tempo (speed), and how the tone sounded. I made rough descriptions of the bird sounds and then sought to match them with characterizations in the birder and field guides. Soon, I was able to differentiate between trills, buzzes, whether rich or thin, harsh, bell-like, flute-like, whistling, or metallic. It helped that I was in a marching band years before, because I sometimes compared bird sounds with instruments and music—the melodic notes of a thrush, a rusty screech of the common grackle. Like voices of friends, you recognize the differences.

Many birders see the value in learning to recognize songs. People may speak of “birding by ear” as if it is different from normal birding. It’s not. It is something you are already doing. When I’m outside, I never stop listening for birds. Sound is often the best way to detect when a bird is near. “Birding by sight alone,” our professor told us, “is like watching television with the sound turned off. You’ll miss most of what’s going on.”

Still, birding by ear can seem daunting when first getting started. I’m overwhelmed with dozens of different species calling all at once during a summer sunrise. Picking out a single species is difficult. Will I ever learn them all?

I don’t have to learn them all, especially not at first. The benefits of listening begin to kick in as soon as a few calls become familiar. Mastering one or two species is the key to learning more. Like learning an instrument or foreign language, you build up your mental library. With practice and repetition, you have more basis for comparisons.

Summer is upon us, and the sights and sounds of the Brown County woods are here. Happy birding!