Heard the song of the russet-backed Swainson’s last evening. Such a sound. Quintessential Pacific Northwest. As described in every guide book; hiding (check) in the forest of mixed conifers of Douglas-fir, red cedar and hemlock (check) in an overcast-ish atmosphere (check).
These are 3-min sketches. (I reckon if I draw it, I will be ready to not confuse it for the Hermit Thrush). I doubt that I will ever see this feathered vintage-sounding musical box but I will be ready for the whirl of excitement if it should ever happen.
*Saw the Swainson’s Thrush three. days. later. I feel a practical joke afoot. (And yes, it was exciting.)