Birding By Ear
Birds and birdsong remind us of the world’s wild beauty. Amid urban sprawl or suburban development, birds help us remember we’re part of something larger.
More often than seeing a bird, we hear one. Hearing a bird doesn’t require much of you, nor does seeing one. Finding birds, visually or aurally, then differentiating them, is where demand arises. That’s called “birding,” a lovely and fulfilling pastime. Richard Prum writes in The Evolution of Beauty:
birding is about more than just seeing a bird and taking in the visual experience of it. Birding is about recognizing all the physical characteristics of the bird and being able to attach the correct name, or proper noun, to that observation.
Birding is indeed about more than purely “visual experience.” It includes sounds.
Before a lecture on avian vocalizations, attendees were asked which birds we’d like to sing like. Song Sparrow, some said. White-throated Sparrow, said others. Ovenbird, teacher, teacher. Eastern Towhee, drink your tea. Eastern Screech-Owl for me.
Birding leads to special moments. On a recent walk, two Great Horned Owls flew into nearby trees—close enough to see adequately without binoculars. A Wood Duck flew into a different tree just after. A perching duck. Special moments.
Special birding moments can become animated. I sprinted past another birder, fervidly pointed: “SHOVELERS!” They disregarded the Northern Shovelers and pointed out a vocal Belted Kingfisher. I resumed my shoveler beeline. Some don’t have bottomless adoration for ducks…but Northern Shovelers.
It’s hard to find a better way to spend your time than birding.
Birding by ear is less immediately rewarding than by sight. An obvious joy of birding is you get to see beauty. Birding by ear, seeing takes a backseat.
My ongoing ocular saga is an impetus behind my focus on birding by ear. “Ongoing” because yesterday the surgeon recommended a third procedure. Each time, a different muscle. I manage. Woodcocks and kestrels wait for no man.
Sound demands more effort than field marks. It requires you pay attention, separate birds from other noise. A squirrel can sound birdlike, so can trees or insects. Differentiation is incumbent upon the birder. “To learn bird songs,” explains Sibley, “it is first important just to notice bird sounds.”
Filter out sounds which aren’t avian. Birdsong recognition isn’t immediately effortless; identification is difficult. To many, none of it is worth it. Let’s respectfully disagree.
Recognizable birdsong includes the American Robin and Carolina Wren. Northern Cardinals sing frequently too. Blue Jays make plenty of noise—but corvids can be tough. Blue Jays adeptly mimic Red-shouldered Hawks. Let’s focus on the first two.
Carolina Wren. A suitable candidate for the first bird you identify aurally. Recognizing their song is easily practiced, because they belt it. Joan E. Strassman calls it “clear repetition.”
Listen for: teakettle, teakettle. A popular way of describing the wren’s song.
“Teakettle, teakettle, teakettle.”
“Wait.”
“Teakettle, teakettle, teakettle, teakettle!”
“Carolina Wren!” The eyebrow, the tail often cocked.
American Robin. Cheerily, cheer up, cheer up, cheerily.
Other birds sound like the American Robin. The Scarlet Tanager is described as a robin with a sore throat. The Rose-breasted Grosbeak’s song is “sweeter and more melodious than a robin’s.” The Red-eyed Vireo is a prolifically vocal bird with a robin-like song. Here-I-am, way-up-here, high-in-the-tree, can-you-see-me?
A joy of birding by ear is learning how similar songs differ.
Pine Warbler and Chipping Sparrow. Both have long trills. The sparrow’s is long, machine-like; the warbler’s sounds musical. A good pair to focus on to start.
Other birds sound like the Carolina Wren. Common Yellowthroat, witchety-witchety-witchety. A Tufted Titmouse can veer wren-like, too.
The Kentucky Warbler sings two syllables—churee rather than teakettle—and sounds gentler. Its song is sometimes quite slurry.
The wren can sound like it’s hitting you over the head. TEAKETTLE!! It’s me, the Carolina Wren!! TEAKETTLE, TEAKETTLE!!!
I conveniently hear the Common Yellowthroat’s song as: yellowthroat, yellowthroat.
Teakettle versus witchety, or teakettle versus yellowthroat? The latter minimizes potential confusion, but requires you know how yellowthroat differs from teakettle.
Then there are Chestnut-sided and Yellow Warblers. The “most difficult” birdsong duo, per Audubon. They do sound rather similar, the songs they sing to attract mates.
Warblers usually have more than one song. Primary and secondary songs—or first and second category. I’ve heard/read both. It was explained to me that a straightforward way to differentiate is based on when they are sung, early-season or later on.
Another helpful explanation stems specifically from Golden-cheeked Warblers. Like other species, males sing two songs: A primary song, “heard from males marking their territory and advertising to females, [and a] slower, lower-pitched secondary song…often delivered before sunrise, usually after the female has laid eggs.”
Aside from Chestnut-sided and Yellow Warblers, we have Cerulean and Black-throated Blue. Not always similar, but Sibley explains:
A local variation of Black-throated Blue Warbler…is extremely similar to the typical song of Cerulean Warbler. This variant is common in birds breeding across southern New England: from Connecticut north to Vermont and east to Maine.
I’d be remiss not to mention the Northern Parula. Straightforward warbler song. Also the Prairie Warbler, rising in pitch, buzzy—but the Parula is a slam dunk. Buzzy birdsong drumroll, rising to an end like a punctuation mark.
It’s easy for birdsong to become a mellifluous backdrop. Sitting outside with a non-birder, I heard a Black-capped Chickadee and Golden-crowned Kinglet. Pointed out the sounds and encouraged them to download Merlin for Sound ID. “But I have you.” Flattery I don’t deserve. I’ll always see myself as a birdsong neophyte.
Knowing birdsong and calls creates a holistic picture of a bird. The Carolina Wren looks how it looks. Proud with a prominent eyebrow. It sounds how it sounds. Teakettle. It starts to look how it sounds, vice versa. Teakettle evokes its physiognomy.
Sound helps you locate species. If you’d like to see one, learn its sounds. To encounter the sought-after Red-cockaded Woodpecker, vocalizations helped. They’re a vocal bird, but don’t drum super often.
Woodpecker drumming is a can of worms. This article explains that regions of a woodpecker’s brain are related to pecking, like to language in humans.
There are other nonvocal avian sounds. A Mourning Dove’s wings, Wilson’s Snipe’s tail feathers, a Ruffed Grouse hitting its sides. The Greater Prairie-Chicken’s “low booming…made by air passing through the syrinx and amplified by the inflating air sacs.”
Appreciating birdsong is like recognizing Coltrane’s melodic beauty; appreciating woodpecker drumming is like recognizing Elvin Jones’ prowess on the kit.
Most know Coltrane. “My Favorite Things,” “A Love Supreme.” Let’s call him a Wood Thrush, Jones a Pileated Woodpecker. A Pileated Woodpecker actually gives more of a John Bonham, Led Zeppelin, feeling. Jones is a Hairy Woodpecker. He’s not the only drummer to have played with Coltrane, but leaves his mark on songs he drums on.
My birding playlist is mainly bird songs. “Peregrine Falcon” leads to good encounters. “Is this on…repeat?” passengers have asked. It often unashamedly is. Mixed reviews.
It seems to court birds. You know I love a song when I sing along with modified lyrics about whatever’s on my mind: “You’re a [Northern Shoveler], my bird [of the day]!”
Aside from fun bird songs and literal birdsong, my playlist has come to include some Coltrane/Jones, the William Tell Overture, even some Lily Allen. The birds don’t seem to mind. Birding by ear includes the soundtrack you choose, driving to spots.
As drumming is valuable in music, it’s valuable with birds. Obviously woodpeckers, but softer drumming might be a nuthatch, lighter tapping could be a chickadee.
A unique woodpecker drum is the Yellow-bellied Sapsucker’s.
To resume my imperfect percussionist analogies, the sapsucker is Keith Moon, The Who. He was unpredictable, the Yellow-bellied Sapsucker’s drumming is erratic—likened to morse code. It territorially drums on metal. If Moon was a woodpecker, he’d have drummed on speed limit signs.
I’ll conclude before I get even more digressive.
Appreciate birdsong, calls, avian sounds. Woodpecker drumming, Ruffed Grouse or Greater Prairie-Chickens. Auditory gifts, thanks to our winged friends.
I love this post, even though, being in the UK, I'll probably never hear most of the birds you describe. I love listening to birdsong and have recently really developed an ear for the Green Woodpecker's laughing call, which has made me aware that this woodpecker (that drums very rarely) is actually much more common in my area than I had ever thought.
Wonderful post, a field guide to song.