For the most part, my winter-feeder birds treat me like an annoying yet familiar pest. If I step out the back doorway ready to work outside or make a trip into town, most birds quickly fly away. When I sit down, move around the yard, or walk towards the car, the birds quickly reappear. Mountain and Black-capped Chickadees simply ignore me, and cling boldly to tree limbs while I stroll by within arms reach.

This year, for some reason beyond my ken, even the faintest of faint-hearted Flickers are returning to the suet after being scared away. But there is one bird coming to my feeder on a daily basis that is not tame, or very easy to observe. I speak of the Raven, a star of gothic poetry and horror movies, and a dark, elusive, aloof presence. This winter, a Raven deigns to drop by looking for something to eat.

Ravens are not rare in the Cariboo at any time of year and a recent visit to the dump showed me just how many Ravens are around during winter.

As I stood near the 100 Mile House share-shed watching the rugged dumpsite horizon, (where non-dump workers are forbidden to enter at the risk of fines, and nasty tongue-lashings) some unseen machinery caused a large flock of dark birds to suddenly lift off. The sky quickly filled with black flapping wings. Whenever I thought there could not possibly be more, more lifted off and joined their cohorts. There were easily hundreds and hundreds of Ravens. Once I was over my initial shock at their numbers, I peered at the individuals to see if any of them were Crows. But they were all Ravens, to a bird.

I don't remember what first attracted my yard Raven to feed. Probably, I threw some moldy cheese or bits of fat from cooking into the fenced compound around the Lilac bush with hopes that Gray Jays would fancy it. A passing Raven must have discovered whatever it was and decided to include the yard in its hunting rounds. The food items probably disappeared several times before I connected it to a Raven, and began thinking of the Raven as I put out daily bird food rations. I wanted to avoid food items that could be scooped up by the four Gray Jays, so I offered heavier, larger objects. Big chunks of suet were ideal.

As the big chunks of suet lay on the snow awaiting the Ravens arrival, other birds such as Flickers and Chickadees, and Gray Jays descended and pecked away, or tugged at the mass. But eventually, within an hour or so, the Raven passed over and set its wings.

At my yard, the Raven's first stop is always a tree branch where it spends a few minutes watching for threats. Only after finding everything to its liking, it flies to the fenced area and lands outside. If not disturbed, it leaps over the fence in a single bound.

Initially the Raven dashed off with its prize as quickly as possible. However, now that it has visited many times it feels a little more relaxed, so it dawdles inside the fenced area looking for food tidbits, which have fallen to the snow. When it fills its throat with the bits and pieces, it picks up the large item and flies off, either to trees in the neighbors' yard or out toward the road.

While the Raven is inside the fenced area I approach the window carefully and peer at the immense black shiny bird. The Raven is one of those birds that I can't seem to see enough of and this daily feeding provides me with a wonderful opportunity to stare and study. It feels a little underhanded spying on such a wild and wary bird this way but surely if any bird could appreciate my stealth and cunning, it would be the trickster Raven. And it should be noted, there are no free lunches, even for Ravens.