Common Yellowthroat

Summer is warbler season! Perhaps I’m a bit biased toward this group of birds, because we get a lot of birds that are not warblers moving into our region during the more temperate months to breed. But — summer is warbler season!

Raptors and warblers are probably my two favorite bird families. The variety, habitat diversity and ID challenges associated with both groups drive me to get out and find them. I actually base the start of the spring season not on what the calendar says, but by two key qualifiers; the opening day of Major League Baseball, and the first time I hear the song of a Lucy’s warbler. Almost every year, those two events occur within two or three days, and I know that the grip of winter has finally subsided.

Habitat diversity among the warblers is dramatic, and helpful when making an ID. Even in a Ponderosa forest, warblers tend to stick to their own specific strata among the layers of vegetation. The Virginia’s warbler likes the low brush, the painted redstarts like the mid-level shrubs and trees, and Grace’s warbler will almost always be found in the crown of the tallest Ponderosa in the area.

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One species that’s extremely habitat-specific is also one of my favorites, the common yellowthroat. While the name does indicate the relative abundance of the species, it’s a very challenging bird to see. When you do get to see one it’s generally a brief glimpse as it energetically makes its way through reeds or willow along a local waterway. With the exception of one sighting I’ll touch on later, I’ve never seen one that wasn’t closely associated with stagnant or slow-moving water.

Luckily, a brief glimpse is usually enough for a positive ID. Like most warblers, the female is a much more muted version of the male, but the male displays a striking black mask against a lemon-yellow throat. An equally contrasting white band borders the top of the mask, over an an olive-brown body.

No other warbler in North America looks quite like it.

Yellowthroats tend to stay low and tucked deep into thick vegetation along banks and shorelines. For every one you see you’ll likely hear 20 or more. Their breeding vocalization is an easily identifiable song that follows the cadence, “witchity-witchity-witchity” — you’ll know what I mean when you hear it. They often sing while hidden. On occasion, though, a male may perch five or ten feet off the ground, often in a willow or small cottonwood. From that perch he will sing his song over and over till he’s satisfied with his performance, before ducking back into the maze of reeds.

They spend all their time in those dense thickets, where they build their nests and glean insects. Interestingly, it takes only a small amount of habitat to attract them. They are plentiful in Watson Woods and Sedona wetlands, but for many years they’ve been nesting in the little wetlands on the northeast and southeast corners of the Iron Springs-Willow Creek intersection. It’s one of the busiest intersections in town and I would bet that most people have never noticed these little oases. Next time you’re stuck at the light there, roll down your window and listen. It speaks to the resilience of birds and their ability to carve out their niches if we make even the slightest effort to allow it.

Of the hundreds of yellowthroats I’ve heard or seen, all have been in riparian habitat — except one.

Several years ago I was manning the store at our old location. In those days we could get by with only two employees working at a time. Bonnie, a longtime customer-favorite employee of ours, was there with me and we were standing around talking about, well, birds, most likely. I looked down on the ground and couldn’t believe what was at our feet. All I could confusingly mutter was “Bonnie, there’s a yellowthroat on the floor.” It was during the heart of spring migration and it had somehow found its way through the front door, and after some time trying to get out had exhausted itself and was resting on the carpet. We hurriedly scooped him up, but he got away and I had to coax him off a stack of boxes in the back room. If you recall, our old store was a 30-second drive from the corner of Willow Creek and Iron Springs, so I took him down there and released him in the small patch of habitat that I knew his kind frequented. He seemed very happy to be out of our store, which was a little insulting given our product line!

Take some time to search out this secretive little species, and maybe even build a small wetland in your back yard. It’s sure to attract numerous species that your seed-feeders never will. You may get lucky and hear “witchity-witchity-withcity” echoing from your yard.