Tag Archive for 'Black-capped Chickadee'

Leading

Published on August 31, 2011 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

The day was a culmination of a long and intense week. Frustrating medical news for my partner Scott had preceded my arrival at the Washington Ornithological Society’s annual conference in Port Angeles. The stress-filled week had been accompanied by many sleepless nights and anxiety-filled days. Today I was up at 4 a.m. preparing to lead a field trip for members of the WOS. The cries of Common Nighthawks joined my pinballing thoughts as I packed my car with field guides, scope, and binoculars. As is my usual style, I was punishing myself with unnecessary pressure.

As the first woman Vice-President of the WOS, I always feel undue weight of expectations and the crushing weight of cultural prejudice. WOS is resplendent with male ornithologists who have proven their mettle in the field, and today I was going to lead a birding trip for them, including the president of the organization. Doubts haunted the predawn light – would I be able to identify all of the gulls, what if a rare shorebird landed nearby, would I recognize it, what if I, in a moment of panic, turned a Northern Flicker into something ludicrous like a Purple Martin?

As we gathered in the parking lot it quickly became apparent that the field trip participants were birders like myself. None were armed, or sporting horns on their head, or spitting fire in my general direction. Perhaps I could survive the day unscathed. As we arrived at the first destination at the mouth of the Elwha River I congratulated myself that I had not gotten lost along the way, or dropped any of the other cars. Blinded by doubt, misgivings, and terror, one is likely to drive anywhere.

As we slowly made our way on foot toward the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the mouth of the Elwha River, I slipped easily into my bird leader role calling out birds that I could hear flitting through the riparian zone. Chestnut-backed Chickadee, Song Sparrow, and White-crowned Sparrow rolled out of my mouth as they had a thousand times before for hundreds of different audiences. “Notice the high call of the Brown Creeper, the cat call of the Spotted Towhee, see there, perched in the alders, a flock of Cedar Waxwings.” One participant called out “Bewick’s Wren.” Stopping to listen, I gently said “No – listen carefully – those are Red Crossbills and they’re coming this way – look up against the clouds.” Sure enough a dozen crossbills coursed across the sky flashing in the sunlight.

By the time we reached the water, I had shed much of the anxiety and worry and was again enjoying the time with birds and people who love birds. Together we scoped the waters. I helped everyone distinguish Pelagic from Brandt’s Cormorants, squealed with joy as I pulled out three Red-throated Loons still sporting their breeding plumage, compared the brown of the Marbled Murrelets with the gray of the Rhinoceros Auklets, and shared the group’s disappointment that only California Gulls and a few Heermann’s Gulls were present.

By our next stop at Tongue Point/Salt Creek County Park, I had relaxed into my usual democratic style of leadership – polling the members of the group on interest and focus. Forest birding was thin but enjoyable, but the real treats were held at the waters edge. Three Black Oystercatchers were picking their way along the exposed rocks of the intertidal zone – “catching” California Mussels. The sun glowed off of their brilliant red legs, beak, and even their orbital ring was brilliant. The group was ecstatic with the joy of discovery. Their attention wasn’t budged till a nearby Belted Kingfisher caught a flatfish. I pulled the group along with my shouts of amazement so we could all watch together as he pummeled the fish on a madrone branch, tenderizing his breakfast. How delightful; this group of true birders were interested and excited to watch behavior of a fairly common bird rather than twitch for the rarities.

The field trip was over all too soon. We had extended it to a nearby wetland area to pick up four species of swallows and Least, as well as some Western Sandpipers. But by now I was relaxed and ready to continue birding. The group agreed that they, too, wanted to continue, so off to Ediz Hook we went. Black and Ruddy Turnstones, Black-bellied Plovers and more Oystercatchers, alcids and yet one more loon species were rounding out our day. Eventually staring into a scope at yet the 300th Common Murre, straining into the sun to see something other than a California Gull was beginning to take its toll. I thanked everyone for the delightful day as we headed back to the hotel.

I needed a little time to myself to regroup and check in with Scott. News from home is good as he is feeling better, so I headed out to the waterfront trail along the Strait. Crouched on the pebbly shore line I emptied my mind; allowing the heat of the sun to soak into my shoulders as I watched through the clear waters of the strait a tiny hermit crab skitter along the rocks. Anxiety, worry, and stress melted away with the gentle breeze, warmth of the sun and the presence of a simple crab. Glancing up, I discovered two Common Loons in full breeding plumage floating on the water just a heart beat away, close enough that I could clearly see their jewel like eyes glowing red in the sunlight. I accepted their presence as a gift. I was filled with the joy of the moment; thankful that Scott will be well and I will continue to lead successful birding trips in the future.

Babies, Dogs and Birds

Published on April 19, 2011 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments Tags: , , , , , .

Babies, dogs, and bushtits. Oh yes, they’re all directly related. My neighbor has a newborn and is unable to walk her energetic black lab, Cajun, while homebound caring for a tiny infant and recovering. It’s no stretch at all for me to offer dog-walking services as I’m less than capable when it comes to sharing any domestic talents. So, together, Cajun and I roam the Ballard neighborhood, walking block after block exploring lovely flower lined streets.

Together we’ve explored blocks lined with homes, apartment buildings, duplexes, gardens, neighborhood pocket parks and miles of sidewalk. The beauty of walking with a dog is that moments can be both fast-paced and agonizingly slow as each bush, tree, and tiny patch of grass must be sniffed and inspected. So I’m able to get my exercise during her eager sprints from block to block and I have the luxury of birdwatching while she discovers yet another tantalizing odor.

By far the most common bird in our neighborhood is the diminutive Bushtit, Psaltriparus minimus. Certainly the crows, pigeons, and starlings abound and the Black-capped Chickadees are definitely in evidence, but it appears that every other block has a flock of eight or more tiny Bushtits. Cute is an understatement for these ping pong balls with tails. Just a bit of brown fluff bouncing from shrub to tree, always in the comfort of a family group. Careful observation will reveal the gold of the females’ eyes highlighted by a slim dark mask. The males’ dark eyes blend in with the warm brown of their perfectly round heads. They hang, cling, flit and generally are on the move at all times.

The fact that creatures so tiny can continue to coexist with we humans is astonishing. Despite the roaming cats, pesticides, herbicides, traffic, lack of trees or thick habitat, they persist and thrive. We can be grateful for their presence in our neighborhood as they glean aphids, caterpillars, and other potential garden pests from our carefully tended gardens. Their appetite for insects never slows as they flit from apartment nook to duplex courtyard. Their tiny psst, tsitt, psst contact calls lead them from hedge to birch and through the manicured lawns and messy rental house yards.

Careful inspection on my part (and Cajun’s slow nose) has revealed more than one of their wonderful nests in our neighborhood. These sleeping bags composed of moss, and lichens, carefully held together with yards of spider silk, hang delicately from the drooping branches of slim trees and impossibly small shrubs. The lining of feathers must be cozy, for the adults and nest helpers will all spend the night sleeping together until the eggs hatch. Everyone comes and goes, entering through the entrance near the top of the “bag” and resting on the eggs cupped at the bottom of the pendant.

Crows are keen on bushtit snacks so I am always careful to glance at the nests quickly then look away; feigning interest in whatever goodie Cajun may have discovered. Otherwise the crows will key in on my intent gaze and recognize a meal.

Soon my neighbor will recover and will be pushing a stroller with Cajun leading the way. Until then I’ll enjoy the cool spring mornings in the neighborhood watching, listening, and reveling in the company of my neighborhood bird life revealed at the end of a leash.

The Healing Power of Birds

Published on November 11, 2010 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments Tags: , , , , , , .

Arggh… the agony and misery I am swamped with. I am in-between surgical procedures removing skin cancer from my face. I must wait patiently while the lab determines whether the surgeon has excavated it all. Wallowing in self-pity and a new-found vanity that is screaming for sympathy, I fear my face will be scarred for life! But a sudden movement outside the sunlit windows of the waiting room pulls me out of my self-inflicted dark space. A Cooper’s Hawk! An adult Cooper’s ripping through the open air, scattering pigeons in its wake. Suddenly my mind is filled with questions – is she a resident?, is she migrating through?, did she catch a pigeon on the other side of the hospital?, is she hungry and tired or filled with energy from a recent meal? While I ponder these questions I forget myself and the misery of moments before – until the nurse appears, and pronounces my cancer cleared. Once back in surgery for the closure of the wound, the blackness and pity begin again.

The following day, while moping about the house, I remember my small lesson from the day before. With that in mind, I take my wounded ego, aching face, and bad attitude out onto the deck. Overlooking the backyard, I sit quietly and watch. The Dark-eyed Juncos are the first to appear, flitting and flashing their white outer-tail feathers at one another. They busily feed on fallen seed amongst the late-blooming sunflowers and barren raspberry bushes. The Black-capped Chickadees announce their arrival in a full-throated CHICK A DEE DEE DEE! They carefully select a single black oil sunflower seed (how do they know which is best?) and retreat to a nearby perch to pound the seed open for the protein inside. Then its off to the suet feeder for one delicate bite of suet. And then, of course, who can resist the temptation of washing it all down with a drink of hummingbird syrup. Fully satiated they dee, dee, dee at one another till its time to begin the feeding routine again: seed, suet, drink of syrup.

KATCHEE KATCHEE KATCHEE!!! Oh no – my morose attitude had plagued the memory! I had forgotten to put out peanuts for the Stellar’s Jays. Fully scolded and completely reprimanded, I quickly placed peanuts along the deck rail for the three amigos shouting their complaints. I suppress a laugh and a smile (the pain is excruciating) as the jays land on the deck and carefully weigh each and every peanut. Locating the best and heaviest they fly away to secrete the treasure in some very happy neighbor’s planters.

Soon the garden is filled with flashing orange light from the wings of the Northern Flickers. Spooky birds, flickers will fly at the least provocation, this reminds me to sit very still as they make their painstaking way to the suet feeder. I timed one male who took two minutes and forty five seconds to arrive upside down on the suet cage. While I was focusing on his arduous journey, the garden filled with the pshiting, popping sound of dozens of Bushtits. These little warm brown ping pong balls with tails were bobbing, popping, and flitting about the shrubbery, feeding on a myriad of insects, spiders, and egg sacs. Eventually, one-at-a-time, they lined up on the barren branch of an ocean spray. Eighteen brown feather bumps in perfect order, waiting in line for the flicker to vacate the suet. Oooooh, don’t smile – it HURTS! But they as so adorable!

PEEK! PEEK! Whoa, can it really be? Yes, a female Downy Woodpecker has graced our garden. They are very rare in this urban environment and each time we have a Downy it feels like a gift. She shifts her black-and-white body down the bare sycamore trunk until the suet was clear for her turn.

By late afternoon, when the immature Cooper’s Hawk screamed back into the yard in full hunting mode, I was beyond myself – moving past my vanity and unfounded misery. Birding had allowed me to overcome the pain and self-inflicted ego-stomping and  see something other than my tiny world. The birds will continue their life and death dance of foraging and fleeing from predators and I will always continue to bird.

If You Could Be a Bird…

Published on August 2, 2010 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments Tags: , , , , , .

If you had the chance to be a bird – what bird would you be? When this question is posed to a variety of folks, most answers center around what we admire most about our avian friends – flight. Answers generally trend toward hawk, eagle, even vulture for their magnificent ability to soar across the skies. They represent unlimited freedom, movement and the extreme joy of space. But with a little thought other interesting answers will be forthcoming.

Black-capped chickadee. Their familiarity and ability to grace our homes and gardens with such cheeky joy makes them an endearing choice. The Northern Cardinal. The peak of popular bird culture gracing holiday cards, sweatshirts, painted plates and ornaments. A wren of any type known for their gorgeous songs and fussy attitude – reflecting a confidence few humans experience naturally. Cedar Waxwings with their elegant beauty, seemingly tranquil social life and a penchant for luscious berries. Even owls make the list – so one can stay up all night long!

Having given this question some thought my choice would be a Rufous Hummingbird – male! Considering all aspects of a bird’s life from incurable flying feats, special habitats, excellent food preference, to “lifestyle” it is definitely a male Rufous. They are a handsome, even splashy,  spectacular bird that no one can view without admiration. Brilliantly fast with the ability to fly at great heights, super maneuverability and spectacular acrobatics.

As for lifestyle and habitat, consider the fact they live where it is consistently warm and the flowers are in bloom. Summers in the northwest sipping from alpine blooms, winters in Mexico and Central America enjoying the spectacular blossoms of the tropics. An occasional insect thrown in for good protein wouldn’t be too difficult. Add in a truly heroic migratory journey, so intense that early “scientists” assumed they rode on the backs of geese to their winter and spring destinations.

Why a male hummingbird? – well, his primary job is to look good and chase away any competitors. The fierce attitude is well represented in all three inches of his compact athletic body.
If I were a female hummingbird, rather than flying about enjoying the sweet nectar and occasional insect, my hours and days of spring and summer would be spent in a constant frenzy of nesting and raising young. Gathering moss, lichen and hours of silk stealing from nearby spider webs in order to build a work of art in a tiny cup nest. But a lot of work! Once this tiny sturdy structure was done; I would have then have to incubate two jellybean size eggs all alone, while continuing to feed myself. The minute naked young were hatched, it would be a constant battle to keep them warm until they could thermoregulate on their own, coupled with an endless gathering of enough insects to fill their voracious appetites. Not I – I’d rather perch fiercely on the tip of a branch flashing my gold gorget and swirling after any presumed threat (butterfly, swallow, or another hummingbird) just because I could.

Birding Memories

Published on May 4, 2010 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , .

I have been birding A LOT lately – every free day has been filled with trips to remarkable and amazing places filled with spectacular species. But with so much birding activity the memories has become soft like the fading of an old favorite photograph. Looking back through an opaque glass of my memories certain moments stand out clearly as if they were still happening today. The magic of discovering a sleeping Merlin in Othello, the joy of witnessing Wilson Snipes in a competing aerial display, and the agony of watching a Killdeer lure us away from her nest with the broken wing display. These birding jewels punctuate the mind but unexpected moments stand out clearly.

Dawn at Lower Crab Creek the air is filled with the calls of multiples skeins of geese and flocks of Sandhill Cranes flying into a nearby field. The soft light of the morning catches a spring wonder, a slice into a spectacular centuries old tradition – the cranes are dancing! These enormous birds leap into the air, flapping their wings, and waggling their bustles, sealing the bonds that will keep them together through the nesting season.

Driving through the sun drenched Yakima Canyon on the way to Fort Simcoe a client calls from the back seat Big! White! Tall! Big and White! – stammering her way through a description that fails her. I quickly pull off the road only to discover a group of American White Pelicans standing in the low water of the Yakima River. They are stunning in purest white with brilliant orange and yellow on their faces – full breeding plumage. These enormous birds contrast sharply with the rugged basalt canyon walls – seemingly out of place yet comfortable in their stark beauty. I am momentarily distracted from the spectacle by a memory of a Golden Eagle nest. Using the spotting scope I scan the cliff faces to see if the eagles are still in residence and am startled and overjoyed to see several small family groups of Big Horn Sheep. We all delight in the antics of the tiny newborn sheep. Death defying wobbles on the sheer cliffs keep us holding our breaths.

Scanning a flooded field north of Toppenish National Wildlife Refuge with our spotting scope we are surprised to see a Greater Yellowlegs lying down on the edge of a small island. Such a tall shore bird in deep repose with its distinctive legs tucked underneath its body is somewhat unusual. But not for long, an oblivious drake Mallard wanders in the Yellowleg’s direction and practically steps on the resting bird. Both look extremely startled when the collision occurs. The Yellowlegs too, too, toos away, while the Mallard continues to waddle on its own merry way.

Gathered together with a group of neighbors and friends we birded the Ballard Locks on an early Sunday morning. The birds were much to be expected with gleaming Barrow’s Goldeneye, and Double-crested Cormorants sporting crests and emerald green eyes glowing in the orange/yellow faces, but once we arrived at the Great Blue Heron rookery things took a turn for the exciting. While admiring the stately plumed grace of a heron adding a limb to its nest someone cried Wren! Nesting! Sure enough a pair of Bewick’s Wrens were constructing a nest less than ten feet away from the trail. And what a nest, it was! Two feet deep, less than three feet above the ground with a vast amount of nesting material packed behind the loose bark of an alder tree.

At first glance it had the appearance of a Brown Creeper Nest on steroids. The male and female worked diligently and failed to take note of the large group of birders admiring their work, nor the raccoon who ambled past. Now we were torn between heron and wren watching till another cry went up in the group. Turning we were amazed to see a pair of Black-capped Chickadees excavating a nest hole less that a foot away from the trail. But it wasn’t just the closeness that was so remarkable but the tree they had chosen. This snag was less that four inches around – I could have easily encircled it with both hands overlapping. Surely they weren’t going to nest there!? But excavate they did, with all the seriousness this ludicrous site could afford them.

All together each and every bird trip was an engaging wonderful experience but the unexpected will stand out in memories for years to come.