The hawk-watchers at Militia Hill in Fort Washington State Park have been keeping tabs on the skies for 22 years now.  When I visited a while back, probably a dozen people -- volunteers, all -- were stationed on a wooden overlook, scanning a broad, open sky for hawks.

Recently, they spotted this swallow-tail kite, the first recording of this bird by the Militia Hill group.

This is the season they migrate south, riding the thermals of the region’s many ridges, so it makes for great birdwatching. Plus, the data collected over the years is beneficial. It’s passed along to the Hawk Migration Association of North America, which also collects data from similar programs across the region, the state and the country.

Here’s an update from Militia Hill volunteer coordinator Jamie Stewart: “Most of the 17 species of raptors occurring in the eastern US are recorded each year including over 65 Bald Eagles in 2008. By far the most numerous species recorded is the Broad-winged Hawk with over 8,500 recorded last year. On Sept. 19 of this year, 7,525 were recorded in just one day.

“Broad-winged Hawks breed in eastern half of North America from the southern US up through southern Canada. The birds recorded at MHHW are on their way to their wintering grounds from southern Mexico all the way down through Central and South America as far as Brazil and Bolivia. Raptors, commonly referred to as birds of prey, are excellent indicators of environmental health as they feed at the top of the food chain.”

The Militia Hill watch is active in the months of September and October, every day from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. every day, weather permitting.

Meanwhile, to give you the gist, here’s a story I wrote in the Inquirer about the hawk-watchers in 2001:
 

The sky was a vivid, velvety blue. The leaves were a sun-drenched gold. The air was crisp and invigorating.

In short: a vastly crummy day, at least for hawk-watching.

"It's a lousy sky. We want northwest winds and clouds," grumped Marylea Klauder, although grumped is probably the wrong word. Birders find it difficult to feel worse than ecstatic when they're on a watch, rubbernecking for raptors.

But on Thursday, a fluctuating group of 10 to 12 people spotted only two hawks all morning. Even those were so high that they were invisible to the naked eye, just silhouettes in binoculars.

It was a far cry from Sept. 17, 1995, when watchers could do little more than count frantically - and gape in amazement - as 13,079 broad-winged hawks soared overhead in a single eight-hour stretch.

It's those days that keep people coming to Militia Hill, a tiny bump of Montgomery County in Fort Washington State Park, where hundreds of hawk-watchers gather each fall - as many as 50 at a time - to glimpse one of nature's spectacles, the southbound raptor migration.

Sure, there's Hawk Mountain in Kempton, Pa., renowned for the river of raptors winging by, following the Appalachian ridges.

But that's only part of the picture. Raptors migrate all along the East Coast, and broad-wing hawks in particular seek the updrafts from warm fields and, as it happens, office-building roofs and highways near Militia Hill.

"We watch the birds come in and turn," Klauder said. "It seems they're following the turnpike sometimes."

Raptor watches have taken off. Pennsylvania has 16, the newest at Rose Tree Park in Media, Delaware County. New Jersey has nine, including the well-known Cape May watch.

The Hawk Migration Association of North America, a volunteer conservation and educational group, tracks the totals.

Militia Hill has nothing in particular to recommend it, Klauder said. The elevation is just 330 feet. The view to the northwest is blocked by trees.

But from Sept. 1 to Oct. 31, more than 10,000 raptors fly through. It reflects national trends. In 1988, watchers saw just five bald eagles. This year, it's 38 so far.

Klauder, 64, of Oreland, was the watch's instigator. A former waitress who retired when the cigarette smoke became too much for her asthma, she began volunteering at the park. One day, while working on the bluebird trail, she spotted a big bird soaring overhead. It was a hawk.

One thing led to another, and 14 years ago, the watch began. She's been in charge ever since, coordinating volunteers - now 200 - and designating official counters for two shifts a day.

To find her during migration, go to the deck built in 1995 or call on the pay phone nearby; you may get lucky. "Let it ring," she advised last week.

The watchers make up a mini-society of all ages and professions. Many stop by daily - some for hours, others just on lunch breaks. A few race over after work for a quick sky scan.

School and scout groups visit. Not along ago, a tour bus of senior citizens came. The watch is credited with making the park one of the most heavily used in the region.

On days like this, when birds are scarce, the gathering turns social. The watchers munch on doughnuts and chat about whatever.

Often, it evolves into an impromptu nature forum. They check the action in a butterfly garden they planted. Eva Abraham, 71, a retired nurse from Abington, knows mushrooms. Dale Twining of Wyncote, an 80-year-old insurance retiree, is the tree expert.

Klauder even added an aircraft identification book to the on-site library. The location is bracketed by Willow Grove Naval Air Station and a private airstrip, so the watchers have seen blimps, biplanes, the Blue Angels, police helicopters, transport helicopters and - a shocker in the binoculars for unsuspecting birders - a low-flying stealth bomber. Members are convinced they saw Air Force One not long ago.

And of course, there's always another bird story to tell.

"The whole activity of migrating is fascinating," Twining said. "With their limited mentality, how do they know where they're going? How do they find their way back?"

Harvey Bass, 47, a law enforcement officer from Mount Airy, comes to the deck "to get away from all that." A birder since childhood, he's one of the "young eyes" the retirees envy.

Birding is "an addiction," said Jack Fanelli of Oreland. "I can see 500 birds in one day. But then I want 501. When you see 501, you want 502."

Fanelli, 38, doesn't start his maintenance shift at Wissahickon High School until 3 p.m. Mornings, he's on the deck.

Bill Murphy, 62, of Springfield, Montgomery County, said raptors had "a certain mystique," roughly akin to the fascination for lions, tigers and other big cats. "It's a prey animal," he said. "It gets everybody interested."

A retired computer systems analyst, Murphy has been to every continent except Antarctica and Australia in search of birds. His personal count has topped 4,000 species. Still, Militia Hill has him in its grasp, and he is there just about every day, scanning the sky hopefully.

"Bird up!" Fanelli suddenly hollered, following with directions. "Top of the tulip poplar. Half a field above. A sharpie!"

Twelve pairs of binoculars swiveled to the spot.

"Got it," Frank Welsh, the official compiler, confirmed. "You earned another doughnut."