An Unexpected and Welcome Visitor

   Most birders will say when asked, that their favorite bird is the last one seen.   That can be true, especially if you're on a trip seeing lots of new and unusual birds.  But I think my backyard crew is closest to my heart, and the wren family is closest to the top of the list.

During the recent heavy weather I scattered hulled sunflower seed on a stone bench near a window in order to see who came in for breakfast.  It's a perfect spot, situated near a big old alder tree where the birds can shelter.  A mixed flock would pour down from the alder into the shorter escallonia, take a look around, then move, one by one, to the potted maple and gingko trees that  overhang the stone bench.  Birds have to be cautious: you never know what bigger bird may have you in its sights for breakfast.

Visitors included the usual suspects: towhees, song sparrows, lots of juncoes, red-winged blackbirds.  Three Stellar's jays would sometimes noisily arrive like ill-mannered party guests and scatter everyone else.  Two flickers would occasionally  squat on the bench and peer curiously at the seed.  Because of the flat, hard surface of the stone and their longish bills, they would have to tilt their heads sideways to carefully glean a seed.

But then - an unexpected guest.  A Bewick's wren.  Short, finely striped tail tilted straight up, lovely light eyebrow  over a bright, bead eye.  His back brown as a nut, he was the picture of optimism on a windy and harsh day.  The wren preferred to glean seed where it had fallen into two big soil-filled pots next to the bench.  I was surprised because wrens are mainly insect eaters.  I can't recall seeing one at a feeder.  But times were hard, the wind was blowing, and many birds are opportunists.  

I used to live next door to a pair of Bewick's wrens who lived in the dense hedge in our side yard in Portland.  The male would sit atop the hedge and sing his lovely sparrow-like song and the female would poke her head out  to watch him, near their hidden nest.  Some of the best neighbors ever.  Later in the spring I would see their slightly scruffy brown-grey fledglings, but none ever came to one of my feeders that I know of.

By the way, this wren was 'discovered' by John James Audubon.  He named it after an English  friend who was a skilled wood engraver and bird lover.  The usual pronunciation is 'Buick' - like the car.

Now that the weather has softened at least for the moment, it's good to see the wren skulking in the dense shrubs near the house.  Later this spring, when I see little fluffs of new wrens lined up on a branch with a parent, I'll be happy  to think I made life a bit easier during the hard times.

Two Very Different Hummingbirds

It's 23 degrees at four o'clock this afternoon with a stiff east wind blowing.   Safe to say we're all freezing our tail feathers off.  What about those tiny, delicate looking hummingbirds we see zipping around our gardens?  Well  there are two very different hummingbirds that we may see. 

This time of year it's a safe bet that all the fair-weather-friend rufous hummingbirds are soaking up the sun along the Texas Gulf Coast or even farther away along the coast of Mexico.  They return in very early Spring and it's fun to read of their advance north on the on-line bird tracking  sites. In fact, a way too early rufous hummer has been spotted in northwestern Oregon this week.   Just in time for the deep freeze.  Sad to say, that little bird probably won't see summer, as they just aren't  cold weather survivors. 

The  cinnamon and green hummers you see in spring and summer are the rufous ones.  The males almost glow red in their mating finery. The throat, or gorget, is a dense fuchsia when it flashes in  the light.  

This time of year  we should be seeing only Anna's hummingbirds.  These little birds have greenish backs and what is called a "washed out grey" underbelly. I think it's kind of pretty: an oyster-shell grey.  But the great thing is that the males' heads are a full helmet of deep rose red, all the way down to the tops of the wings.  When the light catches that red, all the girl hummers swoon.  It is pretty remarkable.  And, they survive this kind of weather fairly routinely.

Anna's hummingbirds live year-round from southern B.C. to northern Mexico.  They stay on the west side of the Cascades for the most part, and  can be found on the lower mountain slopes as well as near the ocean. One way they  survive this killer weather by "going torpid" at night.  This means that they can lower their body temperature to almost the temperature of the surrounding air.  When that happens to a human, it's called death.  But hummers do this every cold night.  This causes their metabolism to run at about one-third its normal rate.  Because they need to continually stoke their super-fast metabolism, they would risk starvation trying to maintain it during especially cold times. 

On a cold night an Anna's will find shelter out of the wind, deep within a dense shrub or tree. I saw an Anna's one cold morning with a little cap of snow on his head.  I thought  for sure he was a goner.  But as the sun began to minimally warm the garden, he slowly opened his eyes, then shook his head till the snow was gone. He fluffed his feathers and zip, off he went in search of breakfast.

If you feed hummers during the winter they will love you if you switch out the icy feeder solution for gently warmed sugar water each morning.  But they will survive (or not) regardless of sugar water feeders.  They find lots of insects wintering in tree bark or just flying about.  The big danger comes with a silver thaw, when ice coats the branches and food  is locked in the deep freeze.

This winter I have two Anna's vying for space at the feeder.  They wait in the holly tree each morning, noisily challenging each other and then buzzing me in an effort to get me moving faster.  I look forward to seeing the slightly scruffy grey babies that they will bring to the feeder some warm March morning, when this weather is just a distant memory. 

New Bird Species Found in 2013

In a world where walking on the moon and instant messaging are taken for granted, it's surprising that new species are still being found in remote places in the world.   But that's exactly what happens every year.   This past year, at least five outstanding new bird species were discovered.    Just to give you a flavor for how very exotic these birds are, I'll name them.  There is the Cambodian Tailorbird, the Guerrero Brush Finch, the Junin Tapaculo (emphasis on the third syllable), the Rinjani Scops Owl and the Sierra Madre Ground Warbler.  Wow. 

There are still animals, plants and birds out there to be discovered.  We have been responsible for the extinction of several species: passenger pigeon and dodo come to mind, and yet still there are more to be found.   This, for me is the essence of hope. 

Of course, they all live in incredibly remote jungles.

 The Cambodian Tailorbird was undoubtedly seen or heard by some of our troops fighting long ago in Viet Nam.  This bird lives in humid lowland scrub in Phnom Penh and other sites in that floodplain area. Humid lowland scrub means temperatures close to 100 and humidity to match.  You have to be very committed to hunt down an elusive small bird in these conditions. 

The Guerrero Brush Finch lives south of us in Mexico, in the misty cloud forests of the southern Sierra Madre range in the state of Guerrero.  It has a lovely chestnut crown and black mask.  If this bird lived in the U.S, it would fall into the sparrow family.

The Junin Tapaculo is found in the Andes in Peru.  Scientists differentiate it from other very similar birds only by the notes of its song.  Its scientific name  is Scytalopus gettyae.  As often occurs, the bird was named in honor of a scientist whose hard work has merited attention and distinction.  Mary Getty is a nature conservationist and works for the National Fish and Wildlife Foundation.

The Sierra Madre Ground-Warbler is a unique little bird.  It is in a  family of ground-walking songbirds and it appears that they can barely fly.  They live in dense forest understory and feed on bugs.  They are also skilled ventriloquists~  you can never figure out where they are from their call, and they always sound far away, even if they're within a few feet. 

Lastly, the Rinjani Scops Owl is found only on one island in a series of islands in Indonesia.  Locally these dapper little owls are called burung pok, which sounds like their call.  This is the only bird native to this island.

I hope that by telling a bit about each of these birds I've made them more real.  They are all listed as endangered already.  Maybe we can learn to preserve these exotic little creatures so that future generations can travel to wonderful remote places and actually see them thrive.  

First Bird of the New Year

It was early New Year's Day morning in Guadalajara and all was quiet, finally.   Tradition calls for families to gather for all night street parties in this busy city.  Cooking starts on grills in the late afternoon of New Year's Eve as people gather with more food, music, kids and dogs.  A great time is had by all, and the best thing for visitors to do is simply enjoy the spectacle.

When peaceful morning arrived, I opened the door to the beautiful walled garden outside our room to see what birds had ventured out early, like me.

Many of us have special ways of kicking off the new year.  Resolutions, plans and wishes seem more doable with a clean slate ahead.  A tradition for many birders is to make a point of noting the first bird seen on New Year's Day.   This can be a relatively predictable  ritual if you're at home - robins, sparrows -  and an adventure if you're not.

 As I walked out into the bursting greenery, two little Inca Doves scuttled to safety through the low-growing azaleas near the fountain.  Great first bird!

Inca Doves are small tropical doves, about the size of a robin.  They are dainty, graphite-colored little birds easily found in tropical America.  A closer look reveals that each feather is softly outlined in a darker grey, giving the dove a delicate, scalloped look.  And when they fly, lovely red underwings flash in the light.

The thing about the first bird of the year is that it can help you set the tone for the coming year.  Doves are seen around the world as a symbol of peace, but they carry even deeper meanings.  Doves represent harmony and hope by being a uniting force.   Think of the soft call- cooing - of doves.  It's a calming and soothing sound.  Doves form large flocks and are comfortable living among people  all around the world.  Every  park and plaza in Mexican towns and cities has its dove contingent, industriously dot-dotting along, avoiding kids and dogs and finding good things to peck up in the grass.

So, more harmony, optimism and tolerance - some good goals for the new year.

Being at home could mean that that first bird sighted might turn out to be (heaven forbid) a starling.  Well, don't despair- take a deeper look.  Starlings are survivors.  They are bossy, fearless and strong, and will chase away predators.   Not bad attributes to have on tap.

As the new year begins to gain momentum, take a minute to consider all of those we share this earth with.  The birds and other critters have a lot to offer us, if we are willing to slow down and look a little deeper.



 

Sharing the Road with Red-Tailed Hawks on the Hunt

                                 


I’ve had to make more than the usual number of trips to Portland lately,  and I've noticed a large number of red-tailed hawks hunting the margins of the road.  Some of these raptors are residents, and some are moving through, heading farther south for the winter.  Red-tailed hawks  are very variable in coloration, running from tan to almost black.  Most commonly though, they are a rich brown and from the front, you will see a thickish dark 'necklace' on lighter breast to belly feathers.  And of course, a brick-red tail on adults.

Highway 26 has become incredibly busy as development  moves from  Beaverton, Hillsboro, North Plains and on westward.  I always watch for  the red-tailed hawks that are commonly found sitting hunkered on the big overhanging light supports along the road.  They like to hunt the wide flat fields, so start looking once the road leaves the mountains and flattens out. The birds may even clutch the power line in massive claws, teetering back and forth - not a very fierce and dignified hawk posture.  But these are excellent lookouts  for  meals.  The grassy median and the roadsides are a great place for mice and voles.  The hawks can see the slightest movement below them, even with all the wind movement from the traffic. They launch downward with great concentration and speed to grasp their prey with strong talons.  If you see this happening, watch for the next thing - keeping one eye on the road, of course.  Once the prey is secured, the hawk will spread her wings out and forward on either side of the unlucky catch.  This is called 'mantling' and from the fierce look-around by the hawk that accompanies this action, I'd say it's a serious warning for other predators to back off.

It's getting trickier for raptors to navigate Highway 26 these days.  There are more lanes, faster traffic, bigger trucks.  The hawk has to time her swoop for a meal so that she isn't falling directly into the path of a car traveling at 60-plus mph.  Sadly, some don't time it so well, but  I see very few road-killed hawks along 26.   I credit their sublime ability to move in the air, to gauge distance and speed.   More often, they're seen pulling off tasty bits of lunch as traffic roars by in both directions.

Hawks will feed just feet from the road and traffic.  I'm sure if you stopped to get out, that bird would fly with its prey, but they must not see the flow of traffic as a threat.    A female hawk will fly up and away with her captured meal to take to her nest to feed young.   This is fun to watch when a big long snake is the prey and the hawk flies, snake twisting and dangling,  over a convertible.

When you drive 26 or other roads,  be on the lookout in the distance and you may be able to enjoy seeing wild nature at work during rush hour.

It's Time to Watch for Snowies

As I looked out our windows the past few days, I wouldn't have been a bit surprised to see a snowy owl perched on a snag, gazing out with yellow cat eyes over the snowy expanse of our side yard.  This is snowy owl weather, and reports are beginning to come in that these owls from the far north are starting to drop down into 'warmer' territory.  It may be because of the pressure of too many owls (a good thing in a way) that pushes owls down to us.  It may be harsher than usual weather up north.  There are lots of theories but the important thing is to enjoy them while they're with us.

Snowies prefer open, grassy fields where they  hunt mice.  A snowy will appear as a short, squat, white shape on the edge of an open field, usually perched low.   Young birds will be mottled brownish, but still mainly white. Adults are the purist white imaginable.  They hunt by sitting motionless for hours, watching for movement in the field.  When a hapless field mouse or other prey is spotted,  in utter silence the owl will swoop out and down, taking the catch in powerful talons.

I watched a snowy owl who had been perched for some time on a low snag, motionless except for the slow blink of amber eyes.  A flock of red-necked phalaropes, small shorebirds who also winter with us, gradually drew closer and closer to the still hunter.  Finally the flock, still busily feeding, was no more than twenty feet from where the owl sat.   When he made his move, his lift-off was effortless.  Huge white wings unfolded and long feathered legs pushed him from the snag.  He angled over the now-panicked flock, talons extended, and easily grabbed an unlucky shorebird.  Almost casually he arced back to the snag, where feathers blew away in the icy breeze as he ate his catch.

Snowy owls showed up in Ocean Park last year.  One bird spent the night on the eaves of a friend's house right in town.  One snowy was seen at the Ocean Park approach to the beach.  He was quietly perched near the dunes in plain sight, but few of the people on the beach seemed to notice him.  Nature is all around us, but we often do not see the unexpected.  That's one of the lures of nature for me: to have the gift of such wildness so near us.

On another front,  it's been a busy few days feeding and watering the local bird crew.  Even the lake outlet is frozen over, so the small birds need water as well as food.   Little black-hooded juncoes, chickadees, towhees and even a few red-winged blackbirds have appeared on the deck, looking for a handout.  Shelled sunflower seed is quite popular, and a shallow plastic bowl of warm water is much appreciated.  These birds survive - or don't - without us.  Some will fall prey to the cold and stress, especially birds that were hatched this year.  They don't have all the survival skills lined up yet.  I found a beautiful female orange and brown varied thrush this morning.  She was actually still warm, but had sadly succumbed to the cold.
If throwing a handful of seed outside a few times a day can save one or two young birds, I'm all for it.  And the payback is to see them skittering along on the slippery ice,  fluffy and optimistic in the wintry sun.

Eight Reasons to Love Birds

It’s the special time of the year to be thankful.  If you read my column at all you’ll know that I have a deep love of birds.   I’ve been asked many times why that is, and oddly,  it’s hard to explain.   It’s one of those things:  if you love something, no explanation is needed; if you don’t, none will suffice.

Here are eight reasons the quickly come to mind that partially explain that love.  National Audubon recently did a “Ten Reasons to Love Birds”, but they included ideas like “money makers”, which I guess is true, but really doesn’t fit for me.   Maybe you can think of other reasons than these.  I can, but there has to be a limit, after all!

1.    Birds are optimists.   On the rainiest, darkest morning of winter I can find a noisy, busy gathering of chickadees, nuthatches, juncos and towhees around the feeders.  They’re fluffed out and waterproof, exchanging info about the night just past, easily shaking sparkles of rain from their tiny backs.  Not a sign of a down mood anywhere.

2.    Birds are dependable.   Spring migration brings winter birds back to us to sing, forage and nest.   Like the swallows of San Capistrano, many follow a schedule that will bring them back  within the same week every year.   Following the approach of Rufuous Hummingbirds on the on-line bird sites is like waiting for Santa.   First spotted on the California border, then the Willamette Valley, then around Astoria then wow- there’s a bright Rufous male at my feeder.

3.    Birds are great vocalizers.   The soft murmuring that arises from the mallard flock when I appear with the corn can in the morning is a lovely sound to start the day.  I wonder what they’re saying about me?  The absolutely mystical sound of a Swainson’s Thrush song echoing through the summer woods is thrilling.  He sings  ‘cordelia’ over and over on a rising note.   Lovely.

4.    Birds will boost your mood.  Red-breasted nuthatches hanging upside down on a pine trunk making their toy horn call brings a grin every time.  An assertive female mallard chasing off an over-attentive male, her head down and eyes narrowed is just comical.

5.    Birds are good parents.   Watch a mother woodpecker try to teach her youngster to eat from a suet feeder, patiently repeating the same action over and over.  Or a mother mallard with a brood of ten, she so carefully watches over them, counting them repeatedly and immediately herding them to safety at the first whiff of danger.

6.    Birds are the clean-up crew.   Who else is going to eat road kill?   Those young crows who wait to the very last minute to get out of the way of your car deserve a brake.   That’s dinner they’re peeling off the road, and the clean-up part is a bonus for us.

7.    Birds are efficient.   There are ducks designed to utilize food in every depth of water.  Dipping ducks, like mallards, forage on material in shallow water where they can tip up and eat away.  Other species of ducks dive somewhat deeper for the next layer, and others to even deeper.  Nothing goes to waste.  Spilled seed at the feeder disappears fast.  Skulking fox sparrows, towhees and juncos dash out from the protection of the heather and rhododendrons to score every seed.

8.    And finally, birds just are.   From what we call drab brown little sparrows to tropical resplendent quetzals, their beauty is awesome, in the truest sense of the word.  They  make their livings near us, giving us joy by letting us see them raising their families, nesting, singing, hunting and finally dying, to become once again, part of our great earth.

What’s not to love?