Bald

Where Vesper Sparrows Sing, Where Grassland Vestiges Sway Near the Sky:

A stretch of the Appalachian Trail, the "AT" traverses Big Yellow Mountain and the grassy bald of the summit. Late summer wildflowers and grasses form an expansive field which melds with blue peaks in all directions, to a mottled backdrop of cumulous, blue skies and maraudering thunder clouds. It is a day of almost, never quite in full sun or in prolonged rain. It is a day when Vesper Sparrows never quite ramp up to full throated continued song, yet they are not quite silent. Anticlimactic, peaceful, beautiful. To be here in July, is not to be alone. The magnet of such scenery, and escape from strip malls, and the office life, draws a steady stream of hikers. Both AT backpackers on varying lengths of treks, from days to weeks, as well as the day hikers, and the overnight family camping group complete with dogs that flush turkeys, and bark at sound recordists.

Still stunning but by no means bringing any lasting sense of solitude. But above is my picture, a panorama of a people-less place with a sweeping vistas. The background sound track too is a creation. As the frames above are stitched together, so are the sounds of the target species of this visitors quest. Snippets of Vesper Sparrow are digitally sewn together with ravens, with the thunderstorm that chased me down the mountain to the shelter of the van, with my parabola held high as an umbrella to the digital recorder. To view and listen you might not know, this trickery or art, but the truth is that what I wanted to see and hear, could not be stolen is so short a time. A mere dash from the piedmont in the family minivan would not afford the peace the long distance AT hiker might attain, or better still, the hiker or searcher whom endeavors to take a turn off of the well worn rut through turf, and soil, off of the trail, to other balds and peaks. So this melancholy fiction is here for now, and thanks to the un-ceasing efforts of conservationists as those with the Nature Conservancy, this place shall last and persist beyond the monthly contracts and services provided by the ISP and web host. And like the voice of the ravens in the wind, and the songs of the sparrows from the swaying grass, this too shall fade to memory, to obscurity and insignificance, as the hikers with their dogs continue to traverse the bald soaking up both mountain sunshine and rain, breathing the fresh air and aura of such a place.

It was a post on the carolinabirds list serve that rekindled a want for bird sound, and specifically for those songs of the Vesper Sparrow (Pooecetes gramineus). Like the breeding season, the bird song season (and opportunities to record bird sound) was drawing to a close. But in July, according to reliable sources, the Vesper Sparrows were still singing. A few emails, a mapquest search and an all night drive west was in the works. Digital recorders, microphones big and small, cables and granola bars all jammed into the back of the vehicle. A thermos of coffee, and a bag of pretzels would ride up front, --it's hard to fall asleep while crunching.

I'd had few chances at Vesper Sparrow song, proximity, priorities, though there was that three or four song snippet from a bird in migration in a central New York hayfield recorded in 1998, The dream cut however, would be of recording birds at close range and in stereo. The perfect piece of tape, would have clean strong signal from Vesper Sparrows, at least one up close, perhaps others off in the distance to left and right--not too much to ask for.

Hiking up to Big Yellow Mountain and the grassy bald at the top was not too hard. And once atop in the low clouds and wispy fog, I waited in now wet boots and pants, the tripod with microphones in one hand, a spool of mic cables in the other, knapsack and parabola slung over the back, I waited, I listened through the mics to test the system, disappointedly hearing wind-quaf on the mics, but no song. Way too quite, and soon some of the hikers I passed with a "good morning" on the trail below would be coming by.

With hints of sunlight sound did come to the bald, first it was Song Sparrows though, even though the trigger hand wanted them to be something else. Next it was Indigo Buntings, then a few sounds from Rose-breasted Grosbeaks. To the sounds of conversing hikers I moved off of the rut of the AT, into the partial fog, and close to likely song perches. But then up trail from the woods edge, there was non-Song Sparrow, sparrow song, with the bins and not too far from the hikers on a shrub perch was the target. As I approached it flew to the trail, and ran along it away from me as I approached. As I closed it flew ahead, showing the white outer tail feathers. It made me, or maybe another one yelled "recordist on your six" The bird after running mouse-like for a bit then flew to a higher perch, and began to sing.

Unfortunately as I followed it up slope, I came closer to the family camping near the large rock outcrop in the center of the bald. The dogs had barked at the hikers ahead, and now they barked at me, and my microphones. As their campers reeled them in there might be a window, a chance, to be close enough to the birds with the parabola properly aimed, with the wind not blowing to forcibly, while my hands and fingertips were just steady enough, when the dogs stop barking, and when the hikers and camper's conversations are just low enough, and don't forget, no planes, trains or autos.

The result in the end was better than the migrant snippet from the NY hayfield maybe by a song or two--but it would not be the only chance, and there would be more balds in view, beyond barking and tent-side breakfasters.