birds – Page 34

Hiking the Rouge

Today was Family Day here in Ontario, a newly-created holiday courtesy of our provincial premiere, who believed that the unbroken stretch between New Year’s Day and Easter was just too long for an employee to reasonably have to suffer through. This was the first year the new holiday has been in effect, and there’s still some kinks to be ironed out. Federal employees such as postal workers and some unionized groups were on the job today because the holiday hasn’t been negotiated into their contracts.

Blackburnian had the day off today, however, and I’m basically self-employed at the moment and take whatever days I want off, so we decided this afternoon to take advantage of the mild temperatures and head out to the Rouge Valley, out in the east near the Toronto Zoo. Back when I was in university I had a job for a couple summers inventorying the birds of the Rouge Park. It was very informal, I basically spent the summer hiking around as I pleased, trying to cover everywhere but not following any sort of rigorous protocol. It was a fabulous job, and I have a very fond spot for the Rouge because of my time spent there getting to know it and its birds. Despite this, I’ve rarely been back since then, and I’d never been there in winter.

The top photo is an image of the valley, taken from the top of a high bluff overlooking the Rouge River. Blackburnian’s standing at the top of the cliff, to give you a sense of scale. This isn’t a little bluff that you’re going to shimmy down to the water. The Rouge Valley contains two primary rivers, the Rouge and the Little Rouge, which joins it. This is the Little Rouge. Doesn’t look so little here, but the Rouge is a bit wider and deeper. Most of the river is upland forest, but there’s the odd patch of wetland here and there.

The Rouge is a gorgeous, mature woodland through most of the Park’s valleys, and it can be easy to lose yourself among the extensive habitat. However, reminders of the city next door are hard to ignore. On the horizon are apartment buildings and rooftops. The trails run 1.6 km along either side of the river, between two roads. Road noise from the city carries the short distance into the park. People come out here to walk their dogs, and many of the dog owners don’t pick up after their pets.

Or themselves.

But the scenery is beautiful. The trails cover a number of different habitats, starting in scrubby meadow at the edge of the woods, passing through a powerline corridor, and then entering into mature upland forest. It’s a mixed deciduous-coniferous forest, with the evergreen component mostly hemlock. The trees here are no western Red Cedars, but put in perspective are pretty impressive themselves.

We didn’t see many birds. Of course, winter birding is like that, very hit-or-miss and sparse even when there’s hits. This guy was the indisputable highlight of the outing. A Hermit Thrush, very out of place in the Toronto snow. Seeing a Hermit in the Toronto area isn’t unusual, per se, but it’s certainly very uncommon. This is the first one I’ve seen around here in the winter. Virtually all Hermits leave the province for the winter, though they don’t go far and may winter in the northeastern states.

This guy had found himself a stash of Black Cherry berries. I didn’t even notice the cherries until I saw him pop one. I watched him eat three or four before a movement I made, possibly shifting my weight or adjusting the camera, startled him and he flew off to a nearby hemlock.

Frozen berries such as these are a large component in many overwintering birds’ diets. Two species of northern birds (Pine Grosbeak and Bohemian Waxwing) will feed pretty much exclusively on frozen berries such as crabapple, chokecherry, buckthorn, hawthorn, etc. There seemed to be a fair bit of Black Cherry in the forest, which should give the Hermit Thrush lots to eat.

The first group of birds we came across were these robins, perhaps 20 of them. Nearly all robins leave the Toronto area in the winter, too, although in recent years increasingly more will stick around through the winter and feed on frozen berries in the woods as well as urban gardens. Another great reason to plant berry-bearing bushes!

We found a few groups of chickadees foraging in cedar stands along the floodplain of the river. Blackburnian pished at all of them, but these were the only group to respond strongly. They were seriously pished off! You can even see the right one yelling, “dee-dee-dee-dee-dee!” Chickadees drop the “chick-a” from their call when they’re responding to perceived threats or dangers. Some research has suggested the number of “dee”s is correlated with the seriousness of the threat, with more meaning a greater danger.

This Red-breasted Nuthatch pished in with one of the flocks of chickadees. It was the fourth and final species of the outing. I was thinking as we were leaving that it wasn’t a great diversity or abundance of birds, and would’ve made for a very lacklustre Christmas Bird Count. I loved the haziness of the periphery of this image created by peeking through a gap in the foliage.

We walked nearly 4 km on very uneven, slippery trails (not groomed trails, so they were simply packed down by many feet, and every step you were trying not to slide). It’s the furthest I’ve walked since the fall, I’m pretty sure, and the addition of the trail condition means we’ll probably be feeling achey legs tomorrow! Ah, but it was good to get out.

the Valentine bird

One of the cool things about being a bander (or visiting a banding station, or going out with an independent bander) is the opportunity to see live birds up close, at a distance that you’re only likely to view them otherwise if they crash into your window (and hopefully that doesn’t happen too often). Lots of details that you might not notice when the bird’s in the field being viewed through binoculars can be seen easily with the bird in the hand.

The above photos are a great example of this. Over the last few years I noticed that some of the spots on Northern Flickers were heart-shaped. But only on the females! The males had round spots in the same areas. I won’t claim that this will hold true over a large sample size or across a broad geographic area, but still thought it was really neat. The funny thing is, despite this observation I never took any photos specifically of the spots! So these are cropped from full-bird photos.

Here’s the male for comparison:

I’ve worked for many, but the station I’m primarily affiliated is the Tommy Thompson Park Bird Research Station in Toronto, Ontario. There are many such stations across both Canada and the US, as well as other continents; I know Britain has a huge ringing contingent, and I know of ringers/banders in most other parts of the world.

Banding, as touched upon in the chickadee post, is not only an invaluable scientific tool for studying bird populations, it’s also a great way to share birds and the natural world with people – kids in particular just love seeing the birds up close. If you have the chance I highly recommend finding out if there’s a banding operation in your area, and seeing if you could visit (most stations are open to the public some or all of the operating season).

A male Northern Flicker, the whole bird. The more traditional way to tell that it’s a male is by the black “moustache”, which the female lacks. :)

The bad lands of South Dakota

Yesterday we got another dump of snow, a good six inches worth, which piled on top of the foot we got last week, which was on the foot from the week before, with very little melting in between. It’s a shame that I’m not more into winter sports, because it seems the conditions out there at the moment are perfect for just about any of them. However, given that my pastime is hiking, and hiking in knee-deep snow is not only a lot of work but also results in very wet feet, it doesn’t work as well for me. I should learn to snowshoe, but haven’t.

So for those of you who need a short break from all the snow, like I do, I offer some sweltering hot South Dakota grasslands in the summer. I was sorting out some of the pictures last night, and thinking fondly of the warm temperatures. These were taken last July, during a cross-country car trip (final destination was a fall employment contract in British Columbia). I tried to pace myself so that I could make some stops along the way and do some birding, and the formations of the badlands combined with the birdlife made it a target destination.

When I first got there it was overcast and lightly raining, and I was a little disappointed at the muted colours and potential for low bird activity. Little did I know how preferable this was to the clear sky! I had put on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt when I first arrived, but within half an hour of the sun coming out I’d stripped off as much clothing as was socially acceptable and lathered myself up with sunscreen.

The formations are caused by erosion of soft sediment and volcanic ash over the course of millions of years. The landscape has gone through many changes, starting out as a large sea some 75 million years ago, becoming lush, wet floodplains about 40 through 25 million years ago, and then undergoing regional uplifting some 5 million years ago that began the erosion resulting in the formations seen today. Because of the area’s wet history, many well-preserved fossils can be found in the layers, often exposed by erosion (I didn’t see any while I was there, but I was focussed more on the wildlife). I took so many photos of these cool formations, but they’re a little like mountains – when you look back at the photos, they all sort of look the same, even though each one seemed marvelous and new when you took the picture.

I loved the colours in these formations, called the Yellow Mounds. It was only in a very small area of rock where these rainbow walls could be found, so I have to assume there was some local event here when the sediment was laid down that created these unique hues (or, alternatively, where the unique hues were exposed by erosion). The Badlands National Park visitors guide indicates they were caused by the uplifting of the area exposing the ocean mud to the air where it became yellow (through oxidation? does that suggest high sulfur content?). Lots of great information about the geology of the park can be found in their guide (in pdf form at the above link).

Spotted Towhee, Badlands National Park, SD

This was one of the first birds I came across in the park, in a small sheltered area with a good stand of juniper trees. It’s a Spotted Towhee, previously considered the same species as the Eastern Towhee (no spots) that we have here at home. He was singing from the trees while I was there, but staying mostly hidden.

Western Meadowlark, Badlands National Park, SD

At my next stop this young Western Meadowlark had obviously gotten quite used to the bustling parking lot; he walked back and forth along the edge and under the cars looking for bugs, paying little attention to the people. He got so close at a couple points that I could no longer focus on him with my telephoto lens (which has a close-focus of 1.5m). Look at him strutting…

Lark Sparrow, Badlands National Park, SD

I tried starting down one of the trails to get away from the crowded lookout spots, but the beating sun (which came out just after I made my first stop at the towhee) turned me back quickly – I just didn’t have enough water to make it very far. However, in the short area I did traverse, I found this Lark Sparrow, evidently quite upset with me being in the area. I love the Prickly Pear cactus. :)

Lark Sparrows, Badlands National Park, SD

A short search of possible hiding places turned up this little fledgling huddled at the base of a small shrub. Although it had left the nest, it was only a day or two out of the nest, as it didn’t flush when I peeked in at it.

Just down the road a bit was this Lark Sparrow family. The youngster (on the right, taking off after its parent) was considerably older than the one I found in the bush. Considering that these were the first Lark Sparrows I’d ever seen, I felt fortunate to have come across multiple whole families of them.

Meadowlarks were the bird of the day. They were at virtually every stop. While I struggled to turn up a Rock Wren or a Lark Bunting, meadowlarks were a dime a dozen.

Upland Sandpiper, Badlands National Park, SD

I had really been hoping to see an Upland Sandpiper while there, but departed the park gates without having seen one. Then, not 100 metres outside the park, I spotted this guy perched on a fencepost at the side of the road.

Mammals weren’t very apparent, but there were a couple colonies of prairie dogs who all very obligingly posed for pictures near the side of the road (the road seemed to bisect the colony; I wasn’t sure what this did for roadkill statistics, but didn’t figure it could be good. However, there was no evidence that it was a problem, either).

Black-tailed Jackrabbit, Badlands National Park, SD

And finally, I startled this jackrabbit from underneath the boardwalk where he was trying to keep cool. He paused after going out about 50 metres into the grass to look back at me, before taking off and disappearing from view. Even though it was just a quick view, I was excited to see him. Check out those ears! Their giant ears are used for keeping cool in the scorching prairie heat, through heat loss over the broad, exposed surface area.

Well, that’s it for South Dakota. We’ll be back to the regularly scheduled Ontario winter tomorrow!

The February freeze

It was minus frigid today. The thermometer showed a high of -8 oC (18 oF) in the afternoon, and a brisk wind dropped it to the teens. Actually, that’s not terribly cold; yesterday it was -17 oC (0 oF), with a wind chill of -29 oC (-20 oF). I had the pleasure of walking home from the subway in that, and the bits of my face that were exposed, my cheekbones and the bridge of my nose, were aching by the time I got inside. The ten minute walk probably only took me seven because I was hurrying so much! The good news was that my new down jacket performed fabulously in its first serious field test. Average temperatures for this time of year run about -1 oC according to weather.ca, so we’re in a bit of a cold snap.

Today, back out in the country at my parents’, I couldn’t help but think of all the little critters who didn’t have the ability to hide indoors beside the wood stove. Those juncos looked a little cold out there. They turned down my offer to come in, though. A lot of animals suffer through conditions that would freeze us solid quickly. All those poor male Emperor Penguins incubating their eggs in the Antarctic winter (seen March of the Penguins?) comes to mind. More locally, the chickadees and sparrows in the backyard often make it through long stretches of sub-freezing temperatures and deep snow.

One of the keys to their survival is their full-body down jackets (or, in the case of mammals, fur coats) that keep them well-insulated. I reflected, as I was hurrying down the street yesterday, that if I had a down jacket for my legs and face I’d be in pretty good shape, since my torso was quite comfy. Part of that was the fact that I was being quite active and producing a lot of heat. This is also a key for birds; they keep relatively active during the day, and the heat they produce then gets trapped under the layers of down. On the above feather, the fluffy bit at the bottom creates many tiny air pockets that trap warm air against the body (this is the bit they stuff in your down jacket or duvet, though less expensive ones include the whole feather), while the smooth upper part streamlines the bird’s body to optimize aerodynamics. Mammals have a similar system of hairs that creates the same effect. Both birds and mammals have the ability, through itty-bitty muscles at the base of the feather/hair, to raise the insulative layer to create a wider air pocket and trap more heat when it’s colder (this is what goosebumps are… we don’t have enough hair for it to do much, though).

But what about those tiny bare feet? Standing on the snow in the winter it would be hard to keep any warmth in them at all. And think of the ducks swimming on the near-freezing water. Well, as the junco above is demonstrating, often birds will tuck one foot up into their breast feathers if they’re resting (I’ve even seen some birds continue to forage for a time, hopping on one foot, while the other’s tucked up). Ducks, gulls and other waterbirds do this frequently, landbirds are less often observed doing it (mostly because they don’t loaf as much as gulls do!).

In addition to that, they’ve evolved an ingenious circulatory system to their legs, called countercurrent circulation. The arteries in their legs line up right next to the veins, so that the blood being pumped down into the legs through the arteries transfers its heat to the blood coming back up from the feet in the veins. This cools the blood down before reaching the feet to minimize heat loss to the environment, and warms it back up before it reenters the body. There’s actually very little tissue in a bird’s foot, it’s mostly tendons, so it doesn’t have the same heat requirements that muscle or organs do (in fact, it can approach freezing with no serious consequences). Mammals have a similar system in their legs, although they have more muscle tissue, so also use a layer of fur for insulation.

Speaking of mammals… look who was out today! I have seen the Red Squirrel more this winter than I can recall in previous years. I have a feeling it’s in part because he’s set up shop in the attic of the house, I think in the area over the room with the wood stove. Judging by the size of the icicles hanging off the eaves there, the attic is probably pretty warm, and I imagine he doesn’t have to work too hard to conserve heat. Plus, with the feeders right there and handy for him, once his cache ran low he didn’t have to go too far for more food. I may have seen more of him this winter than the Gray Squirrels – unusual.

“Oh my GOSH it’s cold!”

Snowstorm, the day after

I took a break this afternoon to wander outside and enjoy the snow of yesterday. It had stopped snowing last night, and the day dawned clear, with a gorgeous blue sky and brilliant sunshine. These are the sorts of days that I love about winter. That, sitting by the fire, and fat softly-falling snowflakes. I could do without the slushy, slippery roads, the freezing rain, the bitterly cold winds (although these are all easier to take while sitting by the fire). The bright white snow and blue sky wonderfully set off the green conifers and red dogwood.

The snow in the front yard was clean and pristine, stretching out beneath the big trees. I can’t bring myself to walk through it, it doesn’t seem right to spoil something so clean and fresh and full of promise. I’ll leave that to the squirrels and rabbits, and I skirt around.

The smooth white of the unbroken snow makes a great canvas, catching the shadows of the big maple above. It seems somewhat abstract, like something that should be hanging in a museum somewhere. Nature is a great artist.

One downside to all this snow is the necessity of clearing it from the driveway so people can come and go. Here a snowball has rolled down off the giant snowbanks created by the plow (they were at least up to my waist in front of the house, and can be larger along the drive). My parents have an old 1945 Ford tractor that my dad has managed to keep running all these years and has hooked a plow to, used primarily in the winter for clearing snow. It’s been a faithful machine, and, given the length of the driveway (see the second photo), let’s hope it continues to be!

All this deep snow can be a challenge to ground-foragers such as the juncos and tree sparrows. At these times feeders become an invaluable resource that allows more birds to survive the harsh weather than might be able to without a supplemental food source. My mom tries her best to keep the feeders stocked through the winter, though wading through knee-deep snow can be a challenge. Certainly appreciated by the birds!

I wasn’t the only one out enjoying the fresh snow. The two younger horses were having a grand old time frolicking in the white stuff, throwing up plumes of it as they raced through. After a few laps around the field they pulled up near the gate where I stood, their bellies caked with snow, their nostrils wide as they panted deeply. But their eyes sparkled with energy and enjoyment.

Mine too.