A Grey Day

 

It's a Grey Day today, and I love grey days, even the kind when the sun doesn't show itself. But this is a different kind of Grey Day, with its own particular brand of sunshine in the person of a family of three Grey (Canada) Jays which have been returning to my suet feeder for several years. I am sure that at least one generation has passed, since the life span of the species in the wild averages a mere eight years with the occasional bird making it twice that long, and I know that my original pair had three offspring one season who could possibly be the three currently visiting the yard. They are a family unit for certain, but whether they are siblings from the same year is something at which I can only guess. That they are repeat customers is undeniable, as they have grown more confident of me and the scary black box with the shiny, blinking eye. They were watching from the mountain-ash, anticipating breakfast when I stepped out to provide it.

Sweethearts

Day 111: At the opposite end of the spectrum from irritating Blackbirds, annoying Starlings and disgusting Band-tailed Pigeons, we have endearing Evening Grosbeaks, personable Chickadees and of course the sweethearts: the Canada (Grey) Jays. Highly intelligent and very sociable, Perisoreus canadensis is well-known to backcountry hikers as the "camp robber" for its penchant for stealing food right off the table or out of the hand, but the term is applied lovingly (for the most part, at least) and visitors often defy Park regulations to have the privilege of a Grey take tidbits from an open palm. Their call is a plaintive mew which plucks at the heartstrings: "I'm starving. Please feed me!" and is hard to deny. Fortunately for me, a family of Greys discovered my feeders a few years ago and have been coming more and more frequently, albeit irregularly, to the yard. They are not yet confident in approaching a human at this altitude, which is probably wise, so with this species, I do not encourge contact as I do with the smaller birds.

My Greybies

Day 41: Perisoreus canadensis will always be Grey Jay to me, or rather "Greybies," and one of my favourite birds. I have many fond memories of backpacking trips where these delightful moochers talked me out of my breakfast oatmeal or part of a granola snack, one even going so far as to fly through a three-inch gap between my hand and lips to snatch a graham cracker. I have scores of photos of them sitting on my hand or my husband's head, soliciting the bird-friendly food we often carried specifically for them. Consequently, I was overjoyed when the first one came to my feeders. It only stayed a day or two, but over the next few years, it kept returning and staying longer, and even brought a friend. Although I couldn't say which was male and which was female, it was apparently one of each, because three came together later, one obviously a juvenile. Even later, the family unit grew to five, and they began coming around in both summer and winter. I have only counted three at once so far this year, and none is sufficiently acclimated to my presence to permit contact, although I'm hopeful. I love my Greybies!

Acrobat Feeder

Day 343: My "Greybies" are back! The Canada Jays (Perisoreus canadensis) have returned from the uplands where they've summered on illicit handouts from Park visitors to enjoy a more healthful diet at my feeders. It takes them about ten minutes to empty the suet basket of the quarter-block portion I put out every morning, carrying off as much as they can hold to stash elsewhere for later consumption. I'll increase their ration as cold weather settles in. I believe this group is a family unit. Earlier this year, I had seen as many as five birds at once, and at this point, I have only observed three together. There could be more, taking turns. I have not yet been able to identify individuals by subtleties in their markings.

Turkey Dinner

Day 48: Even without COVID, it's difficult for me to find material for my daily posts at this time of year, so when I stepped out to feed the birdies this morning and spotted a couple of Grey Jays, I said aloud, "Oh, I think my blog shot for the day just flew in." I am almost certain that this is the same family grouping which comes for a brief visit each winter. It began with two birds and after a few years, a third arrived. Now there are four. They seldom stick around for more than a few days, but may return several times over the course of the winter. Now officially known as the Canada Jay, Perisoreus canadensis is a gregarious fellow, and in their normal habitat which here is usually considered to include the subalpine and forested zones, they can be quite brazen when it comes to stealing food from backpackers. I've had them land on my head, my hands, my shoulders, and even had one fly through a very narrow space between my hand and my lips, taking with it the graham cracker I had intended to put in my mouth. They are not quite as comfortable around humans when in populated areas, so I am not expecting this group to eat from my hand even though they did enjoy a post-Thanksgiving turkey dinner on the crow board.

Winter Guests

Day 60: Call them "camp robbers," "whiskey jacks" or Grey Jays (Perisoreus canadensis), these very friendly birds are recognized by almost every hiker in the Pacific Northwest. They have become so acclimatized to humans that it's not uncommon for them to land on an outstretched hand or a person's head, hoping to share trail food. That said, they're usually seen at altitudes above 2000'; however, living in proximity to the Mountain as I do, I have had a family unit of three come consistently to my feeders over the last three winters. On the other hand, Scrub Jays have moved up in altitude range and occasionally appear here during the summer months. Jays are highly adaptable as a general rule (a trait common to most corvids), and the presence of Steller's (my "anchor species"), Grey and Scrub demonstrates that all three can live compatibly within the margins of their specific ranges.

Playing The Pitiful Card

Day 349: If ever there were experts at playing the "pitiful" card, Grey Jays would take the prize. Their call is a plaintive mew, not unlike that of a very young kitten, and they understand the power of eye contact, shifting their glance from your trail snacks to your own eyes in obvious interspecies communication. Don't tell me I'm anthropomorphizing. I've studied the corvids and I've lived with psittacines. The term "bird brain" should be considered a compliment. They understand stimulus and response, the "stimulus" being their heart-rending begging and the "response" that you share your lunch with them. If you analyze that closely, it's a bit more sophisticated than pecking a green button to get a treat from a laboratory dispenser. They know how to work an audience.

The issues involved in feeding wild birds are complex, and humans aren't really the brightest crayons in the box when it comes to understanding anything more complicated than "Do this" and "Don't do that." The average hiker sees no difference between giving a Grey Jay a graham cracker and giving it a few raw unsalted sunflower seeds. The reward for the human is the same: Jay sits on your hand or your head, and you get to take a picture to share on Facebook. The Jay, on the other hand, gets a mouthful of chemicals, sugar and processed grain in the case of the graham cracker, or something not too far removed from its normal diet which is digestible and nutritious from the sunflower seeds. I am not against feeding wild birds outside the Park; I am against feeding them the wrong foods. That said, I speak out against the practice in general because humans are largely ineducable on the finer points. But no, the Sheep Lake lot didn't talk me out of my figs.