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April 07, 2005  Bear With Us Before I begin this week’s saga, a word about where we are in spring’s return as indicated by the birds. This morning I took a leisurely stroll around 101 Marsh on what had to be one of the most moderate days we have had this year. With that in mind I hoped I might see some birds that had yet to make an appearance. The surface of the marsh was quite bereft of waterfowl; several Buffleheads, both male and female interacted near the shore closest to the road and the ubiquitous Canada Geese were sprinkled here and there in pairs. It was while scanning a male Common Goldeneye that I saw the golden glow of a bird I had not seen since last year. Straddling the tule rushes, the soft wind buffeting it, a Yellow-headed Blackbird fairly glowed from the far side of the marsh. The yellow-heads were back! Well, one Yellow-head was back; all the rest of the dark blotches in the rushes turned out to be Red-winged Blackbirds, which by now had become passe. I listened carefully as possible with the thundering of the nearby highway traffic but couldn’t detect the sound of a Marsh Wren, which after seeing one at the 100 Mile Marsh yesterday, I half expected to see one at the 101 Marsh too. Reaching the north fence line I glassed the row of posts, a strategy that will sometimes yield birds that are inveterate fence sitters, but there were none. After stepping from the van I noted that several Robins dashed about overhead. I watched, as several male robins near a poplar stand, stood with bodies pointing into the wind. I make a point to stop and scan the Robins as a sign that I am not one of those kind of birders that can only take an interest in the exotic or rare species (My saying, ‘Stop and Smell the Yellow-rumps’ has yet to catch on.) Judging by their antics I guessed these Robins had just flown in to the area and we all know how that is - jet-lagged, hungry, fidgety, and yet excited to be in unfamiliar surroundings. As I watched the brick-chested harbingers, the incessant call of a Flicker finally penetrated my internal dialogue. Lured by the sound I walked forward, the chanting continuing, a not unpleasant sound but an insistent tirade nonetheless. I paused occasionally trying to see the bird before it flew but without success. When the Flicker finally took flight I found myself, instead of staring through binoculars at a departing bird, fixated on the incredible geometric characteristics of the aspen from which it had just flown. Wow! I would have to bring a camera back to capture the intricacies of the twisted branches that curved round the trunk and seemingly pointing with flair toward a very visible cavity nest. As I pulled my eyes away from the poplar mechanics I heard the first yellow-headed Blackbird call, no doubt the bird I’d just watched. All the Yellow-heads at the 101 Marsh have a distinct call, a loud ‘k-kowk.’ Yellow-heads as near as the 100 mile Marsh don’t produce this particular sound and if they do, as one out of a hundred might, I find myself thinking, ‘It’s a visitor from the 101 Marsh just come to see how their marsh functions.’ My walk now carried me to the west side of the fence where I hoped I might find a mountain Bluebird, Red-naped Sapsucker, or even a stray Tree Swallow - but none showed. I wasn’t really surprised but after today I’d expect Swallows would make an appearance. Mountain Bluebirds returned more than a week ago so returning Swallows wouldn’t be that unlikely. I dallied around a stand of scraggly poplar fairly riddled with useable cavity nests. It is here that I previously came upon Rough-winged Swallows but other than the jabber of Starlings somewhere to the south, all was still. I let my eyes wander over dark hummocks across the fence remembering quite well that it was here I walked up on a discarded black mohair couch last fall that turned out to be a black bear busy foraging in the grass. There were no mobile couches today. The Canada Geese talked uneasily as I veered nearer the marsh shore but none rose into the air. Suddenly two Flickers came flying along the fence and landed on the bent top of an aspen. They immediately began their tail display. This consisted of each bird standing tall on its relatively short legs and fanning the tail feathers as wide as possible and showing them to the other bird. I haven’t seen this display very often so I moved in for a closer look. I wanted to know if this was a display among males, or males and females? Through binoculars I could make out that the uppermost bird, the one having the easiest time showing its ruddy tail feathers to the bird below, was a female. Before I could focus on the subordinate Flicker it flew but happily to a nearby dead tree. There the bird commenced drumming, at intervals, on a crook in a branch, no doubt a continuation of the courtship display. In order to drum a tune on its choice tree bump the Flicker turned away from me still not allowing me to see if it was indeed a male. The wind wasn’t helping either, blowing strongly from the south it pushed the nape feathers of the drummer into a mini-crown. I dared to walk closer even though there was no cover between the bird and I. Finally in the tousled nape area I could make out some red feathering. It made sense that the drummer was a male. I listened attentively to the sound, noting duration and any tell-tale production aberrations, all this because I now boast that I can identify the species of almost all local Woodpeckers by drumming alone. The only one I can’t say I know by heart is the Hairy Woodpecker so I’ve decided that if I don’t know a certain drum, it must of course, be a Hairy. I don’t know the sound of the two species of Three-toed Woodpeckers either but if they know what’s good for them they’ll stay out of my way. I continued my walk along the south side of the fence and spotted three birds on a small island in the marsh. They were Killdeer. Judging by their demeanor they too looked as if they had just come in on this morning’s or last night’s southerly breeze. One Killdeer squatted down, asleep; the other two stood with heads tucked down on their chests. These were not the animated and raucous versions of Killdeer on home turf. I was almost to the van now and stopped to listen to a Starling doing an imitation of a House Sparrow. I actually stopped because I thought I was hearing a House Sparrow, which would have been out of place in this open field and marsh situation. I found the idea of a Starling doing a House Sparrow slightly amusing since both birds are introduced and neither one is greatly loved by birders. And that is about where we are with returning birds. Pre-Swallow is how I would categorize it. In other words it’s too cold for flying insects, a factor that, when it changes, will admit the next flurry of bird activity. And what about this week’s saga? Well, I’ve written so much about this morning’s walk that I find myself pressed for space so I’ll put it in a nutshell. Over the course of the last week a black bear has visited my yard nightly and destroyed all my feeders. On its last visit, finding nothing to eat, it broke a limb off a tree holding my last feeder, and swung by its teeth from a poplar sapling just to show its disdain. Not much of a saga in its shortened version but one that has the Chickadees asking ‘Where’s our *&%#@$* food? To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
