 Shrikes Alive When the winter temperature is not prohibitive, I enjoy sitting outside by the woodshed and watching birds. My stated reason is that I must have more sun during the long, gray, winter months. My ulterior motive is that bird activities are often more interesting and complete when viewed from the great outdoors. When I watch birds through a windowpane, all the great dramas that unfold in the lives of birds are reduced to a few visual snippets. It’s much like viewing a TV with the sound turned off and only a tiny portion of the picture visible. In order to properly enjoy a winter sit, ones seating should be perfectly suited to the task. This winters seat is ideal. The chair is metal and recently acquired, for free, from a local landfill. The chair’s wire mesh seat does not need to be swept off even after the biggest snowfall. Additional chair enhancements include a thick, made-for-outdoor furniture cushion that I purchased at the thrift store. It’s like half a mattress. It has cloth on one side and genuine vinyl on the other. Once I plop into place on this chair I need only worry about keeping forward facing extremities warm. Last Saturday was completely overcast so it was obvious (even to myself) I was outside for bird viewing, not for the sun. At first glance all appeared sedate; Chickadees came and went, and so did Downy and Hairy Woodpeckers. Suddenly, a Chickadee in a poplar tree behind the house let out a protracted alarm call. I was able to tell from the length and sound of the alarm call that the Chickadee wasn’t totally afraid. It was more of a yellow alert rather than a red alert. Perhaps, I speculated, some Raven had just hove into view. If the Chickadee sighted something as fearsome as a Sharp-shinned Hawk then the call would be sharp and short, and any Chickadee within earshot would perch absolutely motionless. Even a Woodpecker versed in “chickadee-speak” will freeze or flee when it hears the call. This, however, was not the red alert call. I looked around to see what the problem was and soon spotted it. Atop a poplar tree, about ten feet from the east corner of the house, a sleek pale bird appeared as if by magic. It was a Northern Shrike. There was no attempt at concealment, the Shrike simply perched turning its head this way and that to take in all the Chickadee activity. Chickadees carried on fluttering around in the tree limbs giving no thought to the Shrike in their midst. No more alarm calls rang out. It looked like business as usual. I never did understand why a Chickadee won’t accord a Shrike the same respect as other flying predators. If this had been a Sharp-shinned hawk the Chickadees would all appear to have vanished, so complete is the freeze response. Unable to resist the sight of the Chickadees, the Shrike flew toward a nearby dead pine where several Chickadees bustled about. The drooping tangles of tree limbs thwarted the Shrike’s attempt to make a direct attack, nevertheless the Shrike fluttered up and down the trunk of the tree. The Chickadees were forced to stay near the tree truck, but they were safe and moved around just out of the Shrikes reach. In a frenzy of frustration the Shrike mistook a pine cone for a Chickadee and latched on. It soon realized its mistake then swung about and continued to harass the Chickadees. Suddenly a Chickadee broke cover. The Chickadee darted into a fir tree next to the house with the Shrike close behind. Around and around they went, emerging and disappearing in the fir tree as though they were tying it up with an invisible string. Abruptly the Shrike banked upward toward the top of the tree and I assumed it lost sight of the Chickadee. Just as quickly though, it turned hard right only to disappear behind the house. The trajectory of the Shrike now carried it into the dense firs and out of my line of sight. Was it still in pursuit of the Chickadee? There was no way to tell because the house blocked my view. I assumed that the Chickadee escaped and I would not see the final outcome of the pell-mell chase. When the action finally stopped I was sitting on the edge of my chair. Those Chickadees lucky enough to remain unpursued now felt safe enough to travel through the trees and out of the yard. I ruminated on what I’d seen and remembered other times when Chickadees appeared to tease a Shrike without paying the price. Then I saw some movement in the trees behind the house. A Gray Jay flew and jumped from limb to limb gradually making its way up a tree. It attained the crown of the dead pine and I clearly saw that it wasn’t a Gray Jay; it was the Shrike holding a limp Chickadee in its beak. The Shrike sat for a moment then flew eastward lugging its prey. This was the first time I’d seen a Shrike successfully hunt a Chickadee. I continued sitting outside but the Chickadees which usually come to the feeders all day never returned. Perhaps their aversion to the yard was the result of a Shrike attack but it was also nearing the end of day, a time when small owls sometimes make an appearance. Eventually a light snow fell, so I picked the padded cushion from my chair and went into the house. I pulled the door shut and considered what I’d witnessed. If I had watched from inside the house there would be no clue as to what transpired. At most I would have noticed the yard was very quiet and the Chickadees retired early. Instead, I had a front row seat to the life and death struggle that is the everyday reality in a bird’s life. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
