Become A Better Birder

Day 93: The most important thing you can learn if you want to be a better birder is what to observe. Note that I do not say, "what to look for." If you spend the fleeting seconds before your subject disppears into cover trying to look for something specific, you will blind yourself to observations you might have made when shown the overall picture. Take for example the two birds in the top picture. A novice birder might conclude that they are the same species because they are both orange and black, but might fail to note that one has a white breast and a red eye, whereas the other has orange wing markings and an eye stripe. When partially concealed by brush, it would be easy to make that mistake. Seen without interfering scrub or grass, the two are much easier to tell apart. The Towhee's wing markings are white; those of the Varied Thrush are orange. The Thrush's breast is mottled; the Towhee's white beneath rusty sides. Learn what field markings commonly distinguish species, such as wing bars, crowns, eye stripes, tail feathers, the colours of eyes, beaks and legs. You will find that your cursory glimpse registers these features more readily as you practice. And be patient with those who might insist that either or both these birds are American Robins. Take those poor uneducated souls under your wing and teach them to be better birders.

Varied Thrush

Day 137: This morning, I have a flush of thrush, probably half a dozen who dart quickly out from the sheltering branches of the contorted filbert to grab seed scattered by the other birds, and then back again before I can train the lens on them. Like the Towhees, they seem to prefer feeding on the ground, at least when there is snow. Also like Towhees, they search for food by digging their front talons into leaf litter or soil and then hopping backwards to turn it up, sometimes using their beaks to assist in moving larger leaf debris. Peculiar to the western states from Alaska to southern California, Ixoreus naevius is alone in its genus. The first half of the binomial ("Ixoreus") means "mistletoe," and refers to the fact that Varied Thrush eat the berries of that plant.

Fluffball Thrush

Day 71: The Thrush is back...the Thrush are back...Thrushes are back...dang it anyway...more than one Thrush is back, and they are all puffed up to maximize the amount of air trapped by their feathers, the better to insulate them against the cold. While the principle seems sound, I keep thinking about the reason Pacfic Northwest backpackers choose synthetic-filled sleeping bags: down is worthless if it gets wet, and right now the Thrush is (are) soaked through and through with freezing rain. Watching them run out from the protection of the shrubs to grab seed, only to dart straight back in again sends the train of my thoughts along tracks cut through the Olympics, the Mt. Margaret backcountry north of Mt. St. Helens, and the Northern Loop in Mount Rainier National Park. Oh, how miserable I was, wet to the bone despite good raingear! I can sympathize with the Thrush who only leaves the safety of his natural "tent" for the most urgent of reasons, if rather different from those which compelled me into the storm on those occasions. At least I could take my meals inside.

Spring Thrush

Day 133: Typically, male Varied Thrush (Ixoreus naevius, shown here) arrive ahead of the females, hoping to establish exclusive territory which they will defend against rivals for the same turf, often locking beaks with their competitor during a struggle for dominance. He voices his call both to alert other males that he has taken possession of an area, but also to attract potential mates. It is thought that nest-building is the domain of the female, and Varied Thrush are known to be monogamous, at least through one season and possibly longer. If two broods are raised in a single year, it is likely that the father of both is the same bird. The female lays up to six eggs. The young are altricial (nidicolous), i.e., naked but for patches of soft down (and here I must voice my obligatory qualifier: "there is nothing...absolutely nothing!...cuter than baby birds"). In summer, the Thrush's diet consists largely of insects which it scavenges from leaf litter. In the winter, the birds eat fruits and nuts.

Ixoreus Naevius, Varied Thrush

Day 76: If he had his druthers, this fellow would be eating insects, spiders and berries, a diet which is severely curtailed when there's two feet of snow on the ground, but he'll accept seeds, fruit and small nuts if they're offered. Oh, back up a minute...I need to translate for my non-American readers, don't I? "Druthers" is a shortened form of "I'd rather" or "would rather" and first came into use in the late 1800s. It was popularized later in a comic strip called "Li'l Abner" and is so much a part of the American vocabulary that we tend to forget that our Kiwi, Aussie and Brit cousins might fail to understand it. Anyway, back to Mr. Thrush. Yes, "Mr." This is a male, as evidenced by his bright colours. Females are more drab, as are juveniles. Native to the West Coast, this species is a unit unto itself. Once erroneously thought to be related to robins, even now, it is often mistaken for one. The second half of Varied Thrush's Latin binomial means "spotted," so if you see a "spotted robin," it's undoubtedly a thrush. And like "fish," the word "thrush" is either singular or plural, i.e., one thrush, two thrush, a dozen thrush. If I had my druthers, they'd be "thrushes."

Birbs In Snow

Day 123: Whether or not Varied Thrush (Ixoreus naevius) qualifies as a "birb" might be a matter of some conjecture, but I will argue that the definition of "cute round little bird" can be extended to include the pair (male and female) which have come to my yard with the snow. The size of an American Robin, they might not fall within the scope of "little," but stood up next to an eagle or an ostrich, the logic of using the term would be inarguable. "Round" is unassailable; the fluffed-out feathers define as globose an object as you are likely to find in nature if you omit the tail, beak and feet. "Pudgy" would be unkind. In any event, Thrush are something of an oddity at my feeders, their customary habitat being the surrounding forests where their melodious single-note call will chime in the months of spring; not yet, although this male seems to have already selected his mate. The female wears somewhat drabber garb, her colours not so bright so that she can better conceal herself in flecked light and shadow. That said, these two images show the male's mottled orange and grey flanks, his vivid wing-bars and dark breast band which even an amateur birder could not attribute to a robin. I couldn't choose which birb pose I preferred.

Spring Thrush

Day 166: A few days ago, I thought I heard the whistle of the Varied Thrush (Ixoreus naevius), but dismissed it from mind because my mental record of its phenology told me it was too early. I should have known to trust my ear. Thrush (at least two) are appearing at my feeders, this being the best restaurant on their maps, and also scratching in the leafy debris under the contorted filbert (an area generally considered by the Spotted Towhees to be their private domain). While Thrush prefer a diet of insects during spring and summer months, switching to fruit and nuts in autumn, these seem perfectly happy with black-oil sunflower seed. Black-oil seed is by far the most popular fare among my guests. Only the Northern Flickers and Red-Breasted Sapsuckers demand anything else, and lately if I've let their provision of suet run out, the Flickers have been taking possession of the trays as soon as I refill them. Thrush can be aggressive towards other bird species, but with plenty of food available, I've seen no arguments. Largely a species of west-coast evergreen forests, Varied Thrush are known to winter in the upper midwest and northeastern portions of the United States.

Varied Thrush, Ixoreus Naevius

Day 14: Varied Thrush (two of them, actually) was doing an astonishingly good job of blending into the rich fall of Japanese maple leaves, and hopping about on a bug hunt which made the bird very difficult to track through the lens. Soon, his diet will shift from insects to berries, notably snowberry and mountain ash, both of which are present in my yard. I seldom saw Thrush here until the mountain ash reached maturity and began to bear fruit, and now I count them among my "regulars." The female of the species (shown here) is slightly browner than the male and wears a washed-out breast band as opposed to the male's distinctive black cummerbund. Young birds may be easily mistaken for females, but can be separated by a lighter "eyebrow" and a greyer breast. Like the American Robin to which they are related, Thrush may rebuild their nests in the same location each year, often stacking new material on top of the old base. Regrettably, this very preference has led to the species being listed as in steep decline as the old-growth forests which have provided suitable habitat are being logged off. If I can see the benefits of conservation right here in my own front yard in just the space of a few years, what makes it so hard for others to understand?

Thrush Feather Study

Day 149: Today's post is being brought to you by angry birds. No, not "Angry Birds" (capital letters, referring to the game), but enormously cranky, territorial, aggressive, maybe even downright vicious Varied Thrushes. I've been rather concerned for the Thrush population in my yard after finding evidence which seemed to point toward a predator with a particular taste for Thrush. I don't know why I didn't catch on sooner to the true reason I was finding little pockets of Thrush feathers in the snow. I've certainly seen them attack one another often enough. Today it dawned on me: preceding the actual aggressive run, one or both competitors goes breast-to-the-ground as insults are exchanged. "Your mama was a robin!" "Was not! You're a chicken...chicken-chicken-chicken!" Then the dash commences, one bird running to, the other (the smarter one, I suspect) running from. Sometimes the pause before the salute of swords lasts up to ten seconds, plenty of time for soft, warm breast feathers to freeze to the snow. Given the abundance of the resource, microscopy was a given, resulting in the interesting discovery that the downier sections near the shaft are marked with knot-like, dark nodes (lower right). This fluffy portion insulates the angry bird's chest against the icy snow.

The White Lion Of March

Day 145: March has come in like the proverbial lion, although a rare albino form of the beast. Six inches of white deposited itself in my yard yesterday, topping off the eight-inch rock-hard glacier purporting to be lawn and garden. March snows in the Pacific Northwest should be light and brief, a dusting melting off by mid-afternoon, never more than an inch, never persisting for days on end. Weird weather, you say. Yes, if you look at the short term, but harder winters and heavier snowfalls are symptomatic of a deeper issue: climate change.

Now I hear you sputtering, "But...but...but they say we're having global warming! I'm freezing my buns off here, and I can't see out for snowdrifts against my window!" Yes, that's right. The two things go hand in hand.

In simple terms (and the issue is really much more complex), our summers are getting hotter and drier. Hot, dry conditions drive moisture into the atmosphere, with evaporation occurring not just from bodies of water, but from anything with water content (leaves, evergreen needles, even human skin). It remains there until the annual weather patterns shift, at which time it comes back to Earth in force as precipitation, i.e., flood-producing rains, heavy snowfalls. The net result, mapped over a period of decades (as opposed to days, weeks or months), indicates the climatological trend.

Weather or climate? The average American's knowledge of science seems to be limited to the one question they asked as children: where do babies come from? Unfortunately, it seems like many of them still believe they're brought by the stork. Trying to explain climate change/global warming to someone who can't tell you the difference between an amphibian and a reptile is as futile as talking genetics to a Creationist. The brain cells simply aren't there to address.

Varied Thrush, Ixoreus Naevius

Day 122: We're back among the living! Shortly after breakfast, my power went out and my cell phone lost service. Kevin managed to call in on my land line, but almost immediately after he hung up, that went out as well. Power came back on a little over two hours later, but both phones remained dead. I settled in with a good book, taking a break mid-day to make chocolate chip cookies. The mail still hadn't arrived by three and I was getting anxious, sure that trees were down somewhere up the line. I kept checking in between chapters, but got engrossed in the plot for a longer stint and the next time I looked out the window there were two men in my driveway, shovelling snow. Huh? The one furthest away seemed youngish. The other was behind one of my trees, and when I caught a quick glimpse, I noticed several days' growth of whiskers before realizing that it was Kevin. He and his youngest son had come up with a "care package" of milk, soup and banana bread and a pair of heavy duty snow shovels. In half an hour, they'd cleared my driveway.

That said, both Kevin and another friend had tried reporting my phone outage to CenturyLink, the worst phone company in the world. Kevin was told that since it was my service, I would be the person who needed to report the outage. He insisted, "She can't report it because, as I keep telling you, her service is out!" I don't know that he ever got the point across to the moron on the other end of the line, but at 8:30 PM, I still didn't have phone. At 8:45 PM, it was back, bringing my internet with it. Those cheery chirps you're hearing aren't the Varied Thrushes. They're a happy Crow!

A Flush Of Thrushes

Day 115: Yesterday evening, I noticed activity in the heavy cover at the base of the contorted filbert, but although I could see orange on the bird, it wasn't doing Spotted Towhee's customary hop-back/scratch maneuver. Nor did it act like a Robin. It was definitely digging furiously, with decaying leaf matter and gobs of snow being thrown about with vigour, so I got out the camera and zoomed in through the double-pane glass of my big window. "What the heck?" I blurted. "That's a frigging Thrush! It's too early for Thrushes!" But there it was, and as I watched it, another Thrush joined the first. I wrote them both off as mentally deficient. This morning, however, I discovered not one or two, but at least a dozen of them, some in the woods adjacent to the house, others again under the filbert. And they were piping, albeit rather faintly, as if they couldn't quite bear to draw a full breath of frosty air. Some insect must be hatching out in the leaf litter, both under the filbert and in the piles I made when I raked last fall. Having guest accommodations at the ready is important; you never know when someone may drop by for an unseasonal visit.

I Am Light And Shadow

Day 174: The Varied Thrush has been hanging out under the contorted filbert for several days now, and although I've managed to capture a rather mediocre "field guide" image, this shot is my favourite. It demonstrates just how effective the broken colour pattern can be for camouflage, despite the bird being rather vibrant otherwise. Thrush brings insects to the surface by scatching furiously at the ground for a second, grabbing a bite and then standing stock-still. In doing so, he foils predators by melting into the mosaic of light and shadow. As with the camera lens in this photo, the viewer's focus shifts to the nearer objects and is distracted from the bird by the visual interference. Frequently as I sat on my perch at the open window, my eyes would stray to the side to look at another bird, and I would lose track of his position even though the Thrush hadn't budged. He might be obvious when he's walking on the lawn, but in the shrubbery, he is a master of concealment.

A Little Confused

Day 134: Although Varied Thrush (Ixoreus naevius) is said to be a year-'round resident here, they generally appear here in April or May. Consequently, I was surprised to see this guy at the feeder, munching down seeds instead of the usual diet of insects and fruit. Like the Black-Capped Chickadee, he seems to be a solo, as was the single American Robin who cropped up a few days ago. This tells me I'd better keep my eyes open for other isolated occurrences as the seasons progress. I may have a "big year" in my own back yard!

The call of the Varied Thrush is a long whistle, followed a few seconds later by another whistle on a different pitch, and accounts for one of the questions I'm most frequently asked by visitors to the Park: "Do you know what bird makes this sound?" Some of the human imitations are quite good, but even a poor rendition is easily identifiable as Varied Thrush. Once you have heard it and have had the bird identified, you'll never forget those haunting, paired notes. These birds prefer cool, moist evergreen forests such as those found in Mount Rainier National Park, and although the species is still listed as "common" in the Pacific Northwest, its habitat is shrinking due to logging outside of protected areas.