Why Are There No Birds at the Feeder?

I’ve had many people ask me, “Why are there so few birds at my feeder this winter?” The short answer is, “I don’t know.”

I don’t have many birds at my feeders either. Through the Fall and early Winter, my feeders were teeming with birds. There were large flocks of finches and sparrows. Common Redpolls were a highlight of the early winter, with a flock of fifty or more feeding throughout the day. Now they are gone. What’s happened?

Before I continue, let me remind readers that I am a birding hobbyist. I am not a scientist. Early in my academic career, I was a major in science and acquired an understanding of how science does its research, weighs its evidence, tests its theory, and arrives at the “facts” based on the best evidence available at the moment. At its best, science relies on empirical data and the research of one scientist can be verified by another scientist. Conclusions are based upon research, not political positions, economic theory, or theological bias - such as those which try to influence a lot of science in our current society.

I may have begun with the study of science, but I swerved into history, and we all know how historians can interpret and reinterpret historical events. There is nothing precise about the writing of history.

Nevertheless, I do try to get the science right as I write about birds. So a disclaimer: I do not know any science about why there are so few birds coming to my bird feeders during the last couple of months. Nor do I know why there are so few birds coming to some other people’s bird feeders.

I also don’t know if the lack of birds at my bird feeders is typical. There are a lot of anecdotal reports to suggest that the reality is complex.

For example: Common Redpolls. I was enthralled with the flock that came to my feeders in the early winter. Then they disappeared. Since the beginning of the year, a single redpoll has come to the feeders a couple of times, spending a day or two, and then disappearing. But a friend atop Newfane Hill announced that a flock of two hundred redpolls were busy around her homestead. And a conversation about bird feeders with a Dummerston resident included many redpolls.

On the last day of the old year, I wrote about the cardinals which came daily to my feeders - Prince Cardinal with his harem of four. Soon after, they disappeared. Occasionally I would see a single male at dusk, or a single female at some other time of the day. But the tiny group was gone. Had the repeated winter storms done them in? Or had they moved southward, trying to avoid the brunt of winter? Unanswered and unanswerable questions?

Last Sunday, cardinals were back at the feeders - Prince Cardinal and at least three females. The same ones as earlier in the winter? Probably, since cardinals are not known to migrate. If so, where have they been? There is always plenty of seed at my feeders, and we clear the snow and ice at least once a day. Had they gone to someone else’s feeders? Had they found another source of high energy food in a place more protected from the elements? I don’t know.

A similar thing happened with other wintering birds. For several weeks, I had only one or two stray chickadees and a single Downy Woodpecker; their feeder visits were brief and erratic. Then the “normal” neighborhood flock returned - several chickadees and titmice, a couple of nuthatches, a pair of Downy Woodpeckers, and a Hairy Woodpecker. In winter, these year round residents forage in mixed flocks and can be nomadic. Apparently, their nomadism has brought them back to my yard.

As many people who have queried me about the absence of birds at their feeders, just as many are unaware of any problem. They have plenty of birds at their feeders - or at least a respectable number. Sighting reports from southeastern Vermont and around the state continue to report wintering northern birds, often in substantial numbers (Pine Grosbeaks, Snow Buntings, Horned Larks, redpolls). Last week I saw a large flock of Evening Grosbeaks in Guilford getting grit and salt from the road, along with doves, robins, and juncos - none of which have been in my neighborhood for weeks.

In spite of the continuing grip of winter, some birds are already on the move. Reports of Rusty Blackbirds have come from a several places. And last Sunday, a caller reported four male Red-winged Blackbirds at her home on Upper Dummerston Road. The red-wings usually begin appearing during the first week of March.

Two weeks ago, I drove to Philadelphia. I left my home with snow squalls swirling. At the Massachusetts border, the squalls were so heavy that it was almost white-out conditions and I considered turning around. By the time I reached Holyoke, the road was dry, the sun was shining, and there wasn’t a white patch to be seen on the ground anywhere. Which leads me to theorize that many birds which we might expect to see, such as finches and some sparrows, have moved southward to where the foraging is a little easier.

It has been a difficult winter. Even people who enjoy winter are getting tired of it. I know several families who enjoy winter sports, but they are not planning on spending the next week’s winter school break skiing or snowshoeing - they’re going to Florida. I’m tempted to make a comment about people who “wimp out,” but the truth is, I wouldn’t mind wimping out with them.

If many birds have moved south, who can blame them. It has been a tough winter, all the more difficult for those creatures which must make their living in this weather. If there are not as many birds at some feeders this winter, it may mean that they have gone south, or it may mean that they have not survived.

Here is a report that has surprised me. Two people have told me about having a Barred Owl at their feeders. In both case, the owl perched on or very close to the feeder. One of them was clearly observed hunting for rodents. Beneath the snow pack there is lots of life and activity. We’ll see the trails and tunnels when it finally melts. I see red squirrels diving into a hole in the snow and reemerging from another hole ten or twenty feet away. The Barred Owls, whose weak talons restrict their prey primarily to small rodents, were coming to where the mice and voles could be easily found. The owls can hear the mice active beneath the snow pack, but how do they break through the ice crust on top? One observer watched the owl as it tried to plunge through the ice crust, and even tried to scratch and break the surface.

Curiously, neither of these owls was harassed by the small birds. They were ignored. Even the Blue Jays payed no mind to the owl.

Are the numbers of birds more or less than usual this winter? I don’t know. Perhaps data from the Great Backyard Bird Count will tell us. What can be said is that winter is a time of harsh gleaning. In nature, there is no sentiment, or sentimentality, for the weak. The strong and the fit survive.

Mute Swan - Beautiful, Graceful ... and Invasive

An apology ... sort of. Every so often someone will excitedly call me or e-mail me: “Did you see the swans!?” I can seldom respond with any enthusiasm. Because - the swans that are being reported are usually Mute Swans, and unfortunately the presence of Mute Swans is not good news.

Mute Swans are elegant birds - luxuriant pure white plumage, long sinuous necks, graceful swimmers. But they are not native to North America, and like other introduced birds, they pose a threat to native species.

World-wide, there are seven members of Genus Cygnus (from the Latin for swan, coming from the Greek kyknos, also meaning swan), although typical of taxonomic classifications, there is debate whether some subspecies should be accorded their own species status.

Two swans are native to North America. The Trumpeter Swan, the largest native waterfowl in North America, has been returned from the brink of extinction and is being reintroduced in many parts of its former breeding range in Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, and Ontario. There are no recent records of the Trumpeter Swan in Vermont.

The Tundra Swan is our smallest swan, short-necked and gooselike. It nests on the Arctic tundra and migrates to wintering grounds. Many winter along the mid-Atlantic coast. A few may be seen in Vermont during Spring or Fall migration. Most recently, in November 2003 and 2004 Tundra Swans stopped briefly in the Retreat Meadows. The bill of the Tundra Swan is black.

The adult Mute Swan is most readily identified by its unique orange bill and the black mask with forehead knob.

In the last few years, the Mute Swan has become the swan most likely to be seen in southeastern Vermont. Last year a pair nested in the vicinity of the Hinsdale setbacks. To my knowledge, this was the first successful nesting in our area. Murin and Pfeiffer in Birdwatching in Vermont, report that the Mute Swan has “nested in Vermont but the Vermont Fish and Wildlife Department probably won’t allow a repeat performance.”

So, what’s the problem? First, some background. The Mute Swan is native to Europe and western Asia. Its nature and character (elegant, aggressive, silent) made it the subject of many myths and legends. Occasionally it was domesticated for food. More often it was kept as an ornament in the gardens of the nobility beginning at least as early as classical times. The Mute Swan is the national bird of the Kingdom of Denmark, while in Britain, the Crown retains the right to ownership of all unmarked mute swans in open water. Magnanimously, the Queen only exercises her ownership on certain stretches of the Thames and its surrounding tributaries. Swans continue to be a feature in the public parks of Europe.

In the 1800s, many growing American cities expressed their civic pride through the creation of public gardens, complete with paths and ponds. The ponds were decorated with Mute Swans brought from Europe, their wings clipped to keep them in the parks. The pampered swans enjoyed an easy life, settled down and raised families. Naturally long lived (nineteen years is the record for a banded wild swan - thirty to forty years is not uncommon for captive swans) swans often outlived the ponds and estates which kept them. They, or their offspring, went wild. With a high reproductive rate, a lack of natural predators, and an abundance of suitable wetland habitat, these feral Mute Swans have established significant populations, especially along the Atlantic Coast.

A survey conducted in the summer of 2002 found over 14,000 Mute Swans in the Atlantic Flyway. This number had doubled in just sixteen years. The pair that nested in Hinsdale on the Connecticut River last summer raised five young. About fifty swans are wintering in the Turners Falls area. As recently as ten years ago when I moved to southeastern Vermont, Mute Swans were a rare occurrence.

The growth of the Mute Swan population causes several ecological problems. They have voracious appetites and often are a year-round presence. They are capable of disrupting the natural food chain. “Several studies have documented large reductions in aquatic vegetation, and even the complete disappearance of certain plant species in some locales, because of heavy grazing by mute swans. In some areas of the Chesapeake Bay, efforts to restore native vegetation have been seriously hampered by foraging mute swans. In turn, there is a negative impact on native wildlife and fish species that depend on these plants for food and cover.”

During breeding season, Mute Swans maintain a four to ten acre territory, aggressively driving off any intruders, including native species attempting to nest. They have caused terns and skimmers to abandon their nests and have killed Mallard ducklings and goose goslings. Their aggressiveness is sometimes directed toward other animals and even humans. They can be, at the least, a nuisance to pets and people, and perhaps even a danger.

“Adults are not paired for life, contrary to the stereotype of the ‘pining swan’ who has lost its mate. In fact, some have been observed to have as many as four mates, or even ‘divorce’ one mate in favor of another. However, established pairs are more successful breeders than non-established pairs and mute swans do form monogamous pairs for at least a season.”

Ironically, Mute Swans seem to be the only effective control on Canada Geese nesting in many areas, but any benefit derived from limiting the goose numbers is outweighed by the damage the swans cause to aquatic vegetation. On the other hand, their need for a large territory directly competes with the Common Loon, which also needs a sizeable nesting territory. As the native Trumpeter Swan continues its recovery, it may also find itself competing with the Mute Swan for nesting territory.

In the interest of being as fair to the Mute Swan as possible, there is some evidence that it may have been, and therefore may still be, an occasional vagrant to North America. In 1585, while on a scientific exploration to America for Sir Walter Raleigh, John White painted a watercolor which he titled simply, “The Swann.” In the 1960s the British Museum labeled it as a Trumpeter Swan,” probably because its bill is black. However, scientists at the British Museum “say that lead in the paint used by White has degraded over the four hundred years, turning some colors grey or black. The curved neck, the knob, the lifted rear feathers, the entire countenance are consistent with Mute Swan. Research on the painting continues, as does debate as to whether the Mute Swan might have, or could today, occur naturally in North America.

One person’s good bird is often another person’s invasive pest. Good birding is sometimes a messy affair.

Quotations are from the web site of Pennsylvania Game Commission and from wikipedia.org.

The Short-eared Owl Show

I attended a Short-eared Owl show. I was told that the show began in the early morning, but I did not join the show until two in the afternoon. I watched it until sunset.

When I pulled into the parking area, four people were staring across the barren salt marsh. Short-eared Owl, they told me. Across the ice and snow and broken grasses of the marsh, I saw a dark anomaly. With binoculars I saw the owl’s flat round facial disk. It was still there when I set up my scope and brought it closer with the long lens. It was eating. Then it took flight. In its beak it carried something limp and gray, probably a vole.

The flight was short and when it landed, it resumed its meal. The final remains of its prey disappeared in a single gulp. Then it flew to a stake and perched. From there it surveyed the lifeless looking marsh. Soon it would hunt again.

I wandered slowly, back and forth, along a mile and a half of the Parker River refuge road on Plum Island. Three Short-eared Owls were active along this short stretch. They provided a textbook study of this particular owl, and of life in a winter salt-marsh.

The winter salt-marsh never ceases to amaze me. It is a stark, forbidding landscape. The ponds are frozen. The tidal channels are rimmed with jagged chunks of ice. The reeds and grasses are battered, broken, flattened. Nothing breaks the wind as it sweeps across the open marsh, and the wind, laden with ocean moisture, penetrates. The heavy dampness chills. The winter salt-marsh is not a welcoming place. Forbidding is an appropriate adjective.

And yet ... there is life that goes on about the business of earning its living. In the tidal channels, Red-breasted and Hooded Mergansers dove. The drakes displayed for the hens. Gulls were in constant movement; often one could be seen dropping a mussel, using the hard ice to crack open the shell. Black ducks and geese grazed among the grasses. Robins went from berry bush to berry bush, feeding on the fermented fruit. A mockingbird, his mimicking song still silenced by winter, eyed me with interest and curiosity.

I could easily understand where these birds were finding their food, although I wondered why they might not find a more temperate place to winter.

But consider the birds of prey. In addition to the three Short-eared Owls, I saw at least six Northern Harriers hunting over the marshes and dunes. Somewhere in the large expanse of the refuge, there were wintering Rough-legged and Red-tailed Hawks and at least one Snowy Owl. I did not see them, but there were almost daily reports of their presence. Small rodents make up most of the winter diet of these predators. These raptors may be adapted and accustomed to frigid conditions, but their survival still requires many calories every day. Each of these predators must hunt successfully several times each day.

The owls I watched were consistently successful. The Short-eared Owl is a bird of open spaces - tundra, marshes, grasslands. It is also the owl most likely to be seen hunting in daylight. Owls rely heavily on sound to find their prey. The circular facial disc of the Short-eared Owl acts like a dish receiver, capturing sound and funneling it to the ears. The ear openings are asymmetrical, allowing the owl to triangulate sound and locate its prey. The “short ears” of the Short-eared Owl are not ears, but small feather tufts which are not usually visible.

During the afternoon I watched the Short-eared Owl show. I saw it perch on the ground, camouflaged among the marsh grasses until suddenly it spread its wings for a short flight, landing on prey. Other times it perched on a stake, quite prominent on its elevated position. Its head turned one way, and the other. Then it was still, focused; it took flight - a short flight - landing on prey hidden beneath the snow and matted grasses.

More commonly the Short-eared Owls hunted in flight, climbing and descending, floating nimbly over the marsh. At times they resembled the Northern Harrier , their wings held in a droopy dihedral, but quicker than the harrier. The harrier is a somewhat owl-like hawk with a facial disk to help it hunt by sound; in flight the harrier long and rangy. By contrast, the Short-eared Owl looks like a blunt battering ram, or as Pete Dunne puts it: “a pale beer keg on wings.”

The owls and the harriers did not share the air space willingly. There were frequent aerial dogfights between the Short-eared Owl and the Northern Harrier. Sometimes it looked to me as though the owl was the aggressor, as though it was protecting its exclusive hunting preserve. Other times the harrier made the first aggressive maneuver.

The owl, flying above the harrier, dove and swirled. The harrier rolled on its back, talons up as though protecting itself. But such aerial maneuvers are quick and the purpose not always apparent. I spoke with a photographer who had been watching and photographing the birds all day. He showed me an image where the harrier had rolled in flight onto its back. Visible also was the vole which the harrier had dislodged from the owl’s talons. He described the harrier following the vole to the ground, grabbing it, and flying off. One predator had stolen from another. It is no wonder that predators are often aggressive toward one another.

Hawks usually sit in the open and consume their prey slowly. Owls, on the other hand, try to avoid thieving competitors by swallowing their prey whole. Their digestive system then compacts the indigestible materials (fur and bones) into a pellet. An owl ejects one or two pellets each day. Beneath an owl’s favorite roosting spot there may be a pile of pellets. These pellets have been used by biologists to study diet and foraging patterns.

Like all predators, the Short-eared Owl will take what is available, and this may include a variety of small birds. But its distinct preference is for small mammals. Generally non-migratory, they nevertheless wander, usually in winter, to where the food sources are. When rodent populations explode, the Short-eared Owls somehow get the message and congregate. They have been credited with preventing significant agricultural losses from rodents.

Short-eared Owls are found on every continent except Australia. They have even found their way to the most remote islands on the planet, the Hawaiian Islands, where “Pueo” was worshiped as a god and guardian spirit. On a couple of occasions, I saw a Short-eared Owl hunting on the grassy slopes near the summit of Haleakala on Maui.

It is a curiosity to me that the diurnal raptors, the day-hunting hawks, eagles, and falcons, are often elusive and difficult to study. I see lots of hawks during the Fall migration on Putney mountain, but most are here-and-gone observations. On the other hand, the nocturnal owls have provided a number of extended and rewarding occasions. One of these was the show put on by three Short-eared Owls. They hunted from the ground, a perch, or in the air. They competed with harriers. They swallowed their prey in a single gulp.

The owls reminded me that the winter marsh may appear cold and lifeless. But it is alive with the struggles for survival - with the rhythm of death and of life. At fading light, I was cold, yet conscious that sometimes harsh conditions are necessary for good birding.

Winter on Cape Ann

Note: This was a post with Short-eared Owl photos. I've remove the photos from this post so they can be used with column on 2/9. Here are a few other photos from winter birding around Cape Ann.

American Black Ducks and Gadwalls photographed near lighthouse on Eastern Point, Cape Ann.

Harlequin Ducks near Andrews Point.

Great Cormorants were roosting at low tide on rocks off the Granite Pier near Rockport.



Began the day birding Cape Ann. At Halibut Point, a flock of 75 Purple Sandpipers were feeding & bathing in their manner, on the rocks as the high surf broke.




Off the Granite Pier in Rockport,captured this Harlequin Duck just as it dove.

Slaty-backed Gull on Cape Ann

I was on a narrow road near Niles Pond on East Point in Gloucester, Massachusetts. I had just gotten in the car when a walker stopped by the driver’s window. I lowered the window. He asked, “I notice a lot of people are taking pictures today. How come?”

“There’s a rare gull out there,” I replied. My answer seemed to leave him unmoved. So I added, “It’s from the eastern Pacific.” He still seemed unimpressed, but muttered a “Thanks” as he continued on down the road. Gulls just don’t excite some people.

On the other hand, many birders get excited by gulls. Niles Pond on Cape Ann is a regular stopping place for birders, especially in the winter when gulls gather there by the thousands.

The unusual object of interest on Niles Pond this year is the presence of a Slaty-backed Gull. It is native to coastal areas and islands of northeastern Asia, with the largest breeding concentration being Kamchatka; it is sometimes called the Kamchatka Gull. In winter it often ranges south to Korea and through the islands of Japan. A few non-breeding and winter birds find their way to western Alaska. In North America it is a rare vagrant, usually found from southern Alaska to Oregon.

But, in the last twenty years the Slaty-backed Gull has been turning up in widely scattered locations including Ontario, Missouri, Texas, Florida, and Hawaii. Last year one was recorded at a water treatment plant in Rochester, New Hampshire.

On December 23, while birding on the Jodrey Fish Pier in Gloucester, David Sibley (of the Sibley bird guides) identified a Slaty-backed Gull sleeping on a flat roof on the waterfront, although he had to wait for the bird to awake and take flight to confirm the identification. About an hour later, a staff member of Massachusetts Audubon observed a “suspicious” gull on Cape Cod while doing a Christmas Bird Count. This also was a Slaty-backed Gull. Eventually a third one was found in Gloucester, leading the Boston Globe to report “A Russian Invasion in Gloucester.”

Most gulls belong to the genus Larus, including all of the regularly occurring gulls in North America. In the Northeast, the three most common gulls are all white-headed Larus gulls: Great Black-backed, Herring, and Ring-billed. There are enough size differences and distinctive field marks that identification of adult birds is seldom difficult ... if you only have these three gulls to tell apart.

But when additional white-headed gulls get thrown into the mix, then identification can be challenging. My first sighting of the Slaty-backed Gull was through the spotting scope of a Massachusetts birder and photographer. That gave me the angle and I was able to find it with my scope. It was among several hundred other gulls on distant rocks on the ocean side of Niles Pond. At that distance it looked very much like a Great Black-backed Gull. I could see differences between the Slaty-backed and the Great Black-backs, but they were subtle differences. I doubt I would have found the bird on my own.

A couple of hours later, I returned to Niles Pond and this time found the bird on my own; it was again among many hundreds of other gulls, this time on the ice of the pond. The Slaty-backed Gull is about the same size as the Great Black-backed Gull. Both have black backs. But this time I could see the characteristics that set the vagrant apart from the resident. The head of the adult winter Slaty-backed is dark streaked, that of the Great Black-backed is white. The legs are raspberry-pink on the Slaty verses dull fleshy on the Great Black-backed. Tertial edges are noticeably broader on the Slaty than on the Great Black-backed.

It takes several years for gulls to reach maturity, and it is not unusual for young gulls to wander widely. It is more unusual for mature gulls to wander. The Slaty-backed Gull I saw at Niles Pond was an adult, at least four years old. Adult gulls are a challenge to identify, but there are usually differences in field marks, size, or shape which enable a sorting out. Immature gulls are more difficult. Plumage varies each year as the gull matures and molting from one plumage to the next adds more variation.

Then add in to the mix the close relationship among the Larus gulls. Speciation occurs when populations become isolated from one another and evolve according to local needs and conditions. In evolutionary terms, the Larus gulls have been evolving for only a short time. How these gulls are classified as species and subspecies is a subject of intense debate among scientists.

Take, for example, the Herring Gull: Most classify Larus argentatus as a single circumpolar species, with at least three subspecies (or races) - Asian (“Vega”), North American (“American”) and European. Some taxonomist accord species status to each, giving them there own common and scientific names: Vega Gull, American Herring Gull, and Herring Gull, with the latter having British/Iceland and Scandinavian races. Within their own range, each is distinguishable. But ranges overlap and one species (or subspecies) grades into the next.

We are in the center of the (American) Herring Gull range, so it is very rare (but not unknown) for an Asian or European Herring Gull to show up and confuse us. But the close relationship within the Genus Larus results in hybridization. Regularly occurring eastern gulls which occasionally cross breed include: Herring Gull x Great Black-backed Gull, Herring Gull x Lesser Black-backed Gull, Laughing Gull x Ring-billed Gull, Black-headed Gull x Ring-billed Gull. The Herring Gull x Glaucous Gull is sufficiently common that it has its own name: “Nelson’s” Gull.

A few birders with the time, patience, and opportunity to study gulls are able to sort out the many variations among and between species and even to identify the parentage of hybrids. But some apparent hybrids remain mysteries. “Unidentified gull” is the label attached to some gull photographs which are posted on web blogs and other birding sites by these Class A birders.

I don’t have the time or opportunity to do enough gull watching to become good at it. If there is a rare vagrant among a mixed flock of several hundred gulls, I am probably going to miss it. However, the Slaty-backed Gull was a first Massachusetts record, and the Massachusetts birders were all atwitter. When I headed to Cape Ann on that cold morning last week, I was sure I would find experienced gull watchers watching the gulls. I did. They showed me the gull, and later, knowing what I was looking for, I found it for myself.

I have no idea how an Asian gull (three, in fact) from the Pacific ends up on a pond near a Massachusetts fishing harbor. But it did. A life bird in the middle of a New England January is a good way to start a new year.

Good birding!

Barred Owl - Our Most Common Owl

Coming out of Brattleboro on a faux Spring day last week, just pass the Retreat Meadows I saw something white and brown in a tree close to the road - not the erect posture of a hawk, but a stubby, round posture that said, “Owl.” Fortunately, there were no vehicles in front of me or behind me so I could brake suddenly with safety. And the berm was wide, so I could exit rapidly and also safely. (Getting smacked by a vehicle when chasing a bird can ruin the chase.)

The Barred Owl was so close to the road that I only grabbed my camera. It was looking at something in the direction of the West River. I took a couple of pictures of the back of its head, then began maneuvering through the snow bank for a better angle. I got the better angle. The owl’s head swivelled at my noisy disturbance through the crunchy snow, considered me with distaste for a moment, and then flew.

Fortunately, it merely crossed the road and found a new perch among tall trees. It perched with complete ease, even as I again maneuvered along the roadside for an unobstructed view through the barren branches. My camera whirred away.

Then I began to hear a bird call that I don’t remember having heard before. Just before I had braked for the owl, I had made a quick stop to insure that the mockingbird perched on a wire was in fact a mockingbird and not a shrike. Now the mockingbird had come across the road. The unfamiliar calls I heard were strident, warning calls; the mockingbird began harassing the owl, boldly. It flew within a few feet of the owl, screaming as loudly as a mockingbird can scream, then flew back and yelled some more. A couple of times it appeared to peck at the back of the owl, and once it looked like it had landed on the owl - ever so briefly. To say that the mockingbird was unhappy with the owl’s presence in its neighborhood is an understatement.

Soon after the mockingbird began its noisy harassment of the owl, chickadees began calling. Downy Woodpeckers chimed in. The troops were rallying. The alarm had been sounded; the danger passed along. However, I did not see any of the small birds join the harassment, and, after a few minutes, the mockingbird allowed discretion to replace valor and moved some distance away. If there had been Blue Jays in the neighborhood, they would have been much more aggressive.

This harassment of a predator is called “mobbing.” It is a collective response to danger. At the very least it alerts the bird community to the threat and sometimes results in driving away the enemy. I have often seen crows harassing a Red-tailed Hawk along an interstate; they usually succeed in chasing away the hawk.

A few summers ago on a Newfane hill, I heard an unholy racket from a mob of crows. I could only get glimpses of the crows through the tree tops and I never saw the object of their odium. But in the deep woods, I was quite sure that they had found a Barred Owl and were more than a little unhappy about their discovery.

The Barred Owl is the most common owl in our area. At twenty-one inches, it is large. It is stocky, round-headed, with a grayish-brown back speckled white and a streaked (barred) belly. It has an orange-yellow beak and black eyes. It is the only owl likely to be seen in our area with black eyes.

The Barred Owl is a forest owl. It prefers mature deciduous and mixed forest with a closed canopy. The Great-horned Owl (a less common year-round resident) and the Great Gray Owl (a rare winter visitor to the northern US border) usually sit on the forest edge. Both have yellow eyes. The Barred Owl rarely sits on the forest edge.

The Barred Owl usually perches high in trees and close to the trunk. It hunts from a perch closer to the ground, and almost always at night. Unlike the powerful Great-horned Owl, the Barred Owl has weak talons which impose limits on what it is capable of killing. Most of its prey consists of small rodents: mice, rats, chipmunks, squirrels, moles, shrews, bats, young rabbits. In his life history, Bent cites the conclusion of a researcher: “Altogether, the Barred Owl seems endowed with about as mild a personality as a raptor could have yet maintain a predaceous existence, in some instances subsisting for considerable periods upon large invertebrates (insects and crayfish) or upon fish and amphibians.”

That being said, the Barred Owl is similar to most other predators. It will eat whatever is available, including birds. The list of documented birds in the food of the Barred Owl is long. While primarily nocturnal, there is plenty of evidence that it also hunts in broad daylight. The owl I watched being harassed by the mockingbird may not have been hunting, but like all raptors, it posed a potential danger to songbirds, and danger cannot be ignored.

The Barred Owl is normally a bird of the forest, but in the winter it may venture into villages and towns. The one I saw was very close to Brattleboro. Burlington has had several reports of an urban Barred Owl. And in general, there are been an unusual number of daytime sightings of this owl in recent weeks.

Last summer rodents had a prolific breeding year. This in turn produced higher than usual nesting success for many raptors that feed on the rodents, including Barred Owls. The young owls are inexperienced hunters; they often have a difficult time getting enough to eat. They feed on roadkill, but become victims themselves of vehicles. They often turn up on the doorstep of rehabilitators injured or emaciated.

Now add an early winter with deep snow, and the challenge of survival becomes greater, even for experienced adults. They must take food when and where they can find it. They must do so in these harsh conditions successfully for at least two more months. Then, sometime in late March, they may begin their nesting season.

This is a harsh winter for the owl, but a good winter for seeing owls. It is more common for us to hear the Barred Owl with its haunting “who cooks for you, who cooks for you, who cooks for you allll ....” - often as a back and forth conversation seeming to echo through the night forest.

In 1927, Edward Forbush witnessed a Barred Owl performance which I have to share with you. He wrote: “At one of my lonely wilderness camps in the month of March a pair of Barred Owls came to the trees over my campfire and made night hideous with their grotesque love-making, banishing sleep during the evening hours. Their courtship antics, as imperfectly seen by moonlight and fire light, were ludicrous in the extreme. Perched in rather low branches over the fire they nodded and bowed with half-spread wings, and wobbled and twisted their heads from side to side, meantime uttering the most weird and uncouth sounds imaginable. Many of them were given with the full power of their lungs, without any regard to the sleepers, while others were soft and cooing and more expressive of the tender emotions; sounds resembling maniacal laughter and others like mere chuckles were interspersed here and there between low wha whas and hoo-hoo-aws.”

Good birding.

Slaty-backed Gull - Niles Pond

Slaty-backed Gull, one of three in Gloucester, Massachusetts. This one on Niles Pond. Photographed on January 17. Also, many Iceland Gulls, several Glaucous Gulls, a Nelson's Gull (HEGU x GLGU), displaying waterfowl. Check links on right - Some (Fairly) Recent Photos - for additional photos on photobucket site - Also updated with Hawaii Birds and Winter Birds

Bush Is for the Birds ... but What about Birdwatchers?

Every issue of Audubon, the magazine of the National Audubon Society, has a section of “Field Notes” - brief items about birds, wildlife, and conservation that have recently been in the news. In the most recent issue (January-February 2008), one of those “Field Notes” carried the dateline, “White House,” and the headline, “Bush is for the Birds.”

When I read the headline, my first reaction was, “So, what else is new.” National Audubon Society, along with almost the entire environmental and conservation community, have harshly criticized the current administration for practically everything it has done, or not done, over the past seven years, including (but not limited to) censoring global warming reports, inadequately funding the National Park Service, and adding the fewest number of species to the endangered species list of any presidency in the last thirty-five years.

Suspecting there might be a double entendre behind the headline, I read the article. It began: “One day last October, Audubon’s editor-in-chief received a phone call that nearly knocked him off his chair. The White House Office of Media Affairs wanted to know if the magazine would like to cover an event in three days at which President George W. Bush would announce major bird initiatives.” This was a totally unprecedented contact.

An Audubon reporter attended the Saturday morning event. The President and First Lady arrived in a fuel deficient Chevy Suburban. The President announced a “grab bag of policies to benefit birds,” and explained that “‘[These policies] show our commitment to protecting America’s migratory birds, conserving habitat they depend on, and ensuring that generations of Americans will enjoy the beauty of birds for decades to come.’”

The article speculates that this twilight interest in birds might stem from Laura Bush, whom the President describes as his very own “birdwatcher extraordinaire.” The article then concluded, as it must, with this caution: “if he ends up carrying through with his promises and putting birds on the political map, it may well be good news.” If!

The Audubon report included a photograph of President Bush holding a screech-owl on a gloved hand. He looks a little uncomfortable. Texas ranchers are more accustomed to picking up dead birds they have just shot, than to holding live ones. In a burst of spontaneous eloquence, he referred to the screech-owl as a “cute little fellow,” although this eloquence hardly matched that of his father who referred to the Northern Spotted Owl as “that little furry-feathery guy.”

The bird-friendly initiatives announced by the President are better than none - if implemented. We can only hope that they are not too little, too late. A recently completed, comprehensive analysis of all birds in the United States lists 217 of 700 U.S. species on the WatchList. Fifty-nine continental species are considered to be in danger of extinction. Photo-Op events for politicians and green image burnishing is not going to address threats from critical habitat loss, toxic pollution, or global warming.

Bush may be for the birds, but, tempted as I am to elaborate, this is not a political column. I am reminded of that trite but true adage that when you point a finger at another person, there are three fingers pointed at yourself. While bird loving birdwatchers continue our criticism of the environmental disaster that this current administration has been, we ought also to question whether we are for the birds.

Bird loving birdwatchers who let their cats roam outside are for the birds. Domestic cats kill millions of birds and small animals every year. They take a bloody toll. They have no way of distinguishing between an invasive pest like the House Sparrow and starling, and a rare Dickcissel migrating or an endangered Bicknell’s Thrush which may pause in the neighborhood on its long journey. A fledgling Mourning Dove on the ground has little awareness of danger and is easy prey for beloved tabby. A young Ruby-throated Hummingbird hovering by a late August bee-balm in the backyard garden is within easy reach of the crouching cat out for a prowl. You might like to think that your cat has gone out for a walk and some exercise, but it is predator on the prowl.

It is stating the obvious: bird feeders and cats are a bad mix.

So, you are a bird loving birdwatcher. You do not let your cat outdoors. Or even better, you have a small dog. A small dog running in the backyard rarely gets blamed for anything, and unlike a cat, quickly comes home when called. You enjoy sitting with a cup of coffee, watching the birds at your bird feeder. In the Spring, you are especially anxious to see the return of certain birds to your feeders - a Rose-breasted Grosbeak perhaps, or Indigo Bunting. You put out oranges for the Baltimore Oriole, and you watch the trees carefully for fleeting glimpses of one of the colorful warblers.

Your coffee came from a one pound, or maybe a three pound, can which you purchased in the super market. It is one of the major brands and you got it for a good price - perhaps $2.50 - $3.50. Per pound

But that cup of coffee was almost certainly grown on a sun-coffee plantation, very likely in Brazil or Columbia. Small coffee shrubs are in neat, closely packed rows. There is no ground cover, no mulch, no shade trees. There is nothing to enhance soil fertility or prevent erosion. The farms rely on synthetic fertilizers, insecticides, herbicides, and fungicides, usually applied by workers with little training and no protective clothing. They are biological deserts. There is no habitat for those wintering songbirds you love to see. Feeding the birds, and drinking that kind of coffee is for the birds.

But you can still have your cup of coffee, and feed the birds, and be for the birds. You can also be a good capitalist, an environmental activist, an advocate of social justice for farm laborers, and a birder committed to species protection. You can be all those things by buying coffee that is shade grown and/or organic. The fact is that how the beans in our morning cup of coffee were grown is more important to the long term diversity of our local bird life than the many dollars we spend on squirrel-proof bird feeders (there is no such thing, by the way) and those bags of bird seed.

Shade-grown and/or organic coffee is more expensive than the supermarket canned stuff. But add up the extra cost and compare it with the cost of bird seed for the year. If you can’t afford both, go for the coffee. Our local feeder birds can survive without our bird feeders. Our tropical migrants (like the Rose-breasted Grosbeak or Baltimore Oriole) need a place to live winter after winter, if they are going to return spring after spring and fill our woods with their song.

Two things you can do for the birds: keep your cat indoors, and drink shade grown and/or organic coffee. Frankly, I doubt that Bush is really for the birds, but I do hope that birdwatchers are for the birds.

The Last Day of the Old Year

The last day of the old year. I am sitting by the kitchen window watching the snow fall. Later this morning I will go outside and clear the driveway, but for the moment, I just sit. A chickadee comes to the sunflower feeder, takes one, and flies to the red-twig dogwood. The small bill pounds on the seed until it cracks open, yielding the kernel inside. The shell drops to the ground. When the Spring thaw is finally complete, I will find the barren ground littered with sunflower shells. Now the debris just disappears into the pristine snow. The chickadee returns to the feeder for another seed, but flies further off. He does not return. There are no birds at the feeder. It is quiet.

When the day had finally lightened, I came down for my second cup of coffee. There were more birds stirring at that first light. A couple of chickadees, a junco, a redpoll, a pair of tree sparrows. They had surely just emerged from their nighttime roost and were quickly replenishing their fat reserves. The feeders needed attending, so I bundled up and went out. I tramped a path among the feeders with my snowshoes, swept the snow from the platform, filled the mixed seed feeder, and replenished the suet. A chickadee seemed to say chatter a “thank you,” so I gave it a “you’re welcome.” I spread some seeds on the covered porch for the ground feeders, and returned to my winter roost.

I have not been doing much bird watching recently. The home was full of family for the holidays. The children needed tending, feeding, changing, and regular nose wipes. They needed help getting in and out of snow suits, making a slide for the snow saucers, and finding carrots and coals to provide their “Frosty” with eyes and nose. They are active, irrepressible, creative, sometimes cranky, but more often fun. And generous - they brought lots of germs with them and shared them freely. And now they’ve gone to their homes, and I snuffle their gift. The house is quiet. With my coffee, I sit by the window, and finally have time to watch the birds. But the birds are gone and the only sound is the snow falling silently beyond the window.

A Downy Woodpecker comes to the suet feeder. No red spot brightens the back of the head, so I know this is a female. Her mate comes soon after. A small flock of chickadees hurries in. With each trip to the sunflower feeder, they return to a branch, and the piled snow is knocked loose, dropping to the ground with a silent plunk. I can hear muted conversation through the window. A pair of nuthatches land on the platform. A wandering flock of our wintering birds has made a visit.

That is typical. Our wintering birds gather in mixed flocks and forage over a wide area during the day. Black-capped Chickadees, White and Red-breasted Nuthatches, Downy Woodpeckers - see or hear one and you are likely to see or hear the others in the woods or around the feeders. Less conspicuous, but often accompanying these flocks, is the Brown Creeper; it does not come to the feeder, foraging along tree trunks and branches throughout the year. Golden-crowned Kinglets are often present in these flocks, and Blue Jays may not be far away. Foraging is a full-time activity during the short winter days and food is often scarce. Individuals are helped in their foraging when others are looking for food. Multiple eyes can watch for predators. If a wintering Sharp-shinned Hawk is hunting, the odds of being alerted to its presence are greater if vigilance is shared with others. The odds of surviving are also better if there are ten birds, rather than one, or twenty rather than two.

Not all wintering birds join mixed flocks. Doves and pigeons stay with their own. Separate flocks of about a dozen each are regular in my yard, but around towns the numbers that join together may be in the hundreds. Cedar Waxwings form large flocks, often of fifty, a hundred, or more. The waxwings are very nomadic in the winter, but when you come upon one, you are likely to come upon many.

The wintering finches which have so many New England birders excited this year also tend to form homogenous flocks. Pine Grosbeaks, Evening Grosbeaks, and Snow Buntings are generally with their own kind, although Horned Larks and an occasional Lapland Longspur may be found with the buntings, or with each other, or by themselves. Likewise Common Redpolls tend to flock with their own kind, though I have also seen Pine Siskins and American Goldfinches with redpolls. Birders will study flocks of Common Redpolls in the hopes that a Hoary Redpoll is mixed in somewhere.

The neighborhood cardinals just came in. They are skittish, seldom staying long on any feeder, and cautious before leaving the protective branches of the apple tree. In the winter landscape, they are so conspicuous, especially the brilliant male. The four females that travel with him don’t stand out quite as prominently as he does, but their rich red and brown plumage can’t be missed against the white landscape. If Prince Cardinal and his harem of four all survive the winter, I wonder how things will be sorted out come spring. A previous generation of observers regarded the cardinals are exemplars of monogamy and family devotions. Recent research shows that most songbirds prefer genetic diversity in their clutch of young. I rather suspect this little flock of congenial cardinals will evolve into a daytime soap opera come April. The females will compete with one another, and the male will try to make them all happy, when not contending with strays males trying to intrude on his menage-a-five.

I finally stirred myself and cleared the drive, hopefully for the last time this year, but only the first time this week. I was delayed a few minutes in my chore. When I first went out, I heard a musical call from a tree top. I have a hard time remembering the songs and calls of the familiar birds and have to refresh my memory several times every year. But this call was not a familiar call that I couldn’t remember. It was, as I said, musical - sort of a “chyew-wee” or maybe a “tew-tew-tew.”
I had an inkling of what I might be hearing, and I finally found a dark silhouette on the top of a branch. I retrieved my binoculars and focused on a male Pine Grosbeak, still whistling his call.

Again, the feeders are quiet. No birds. It is very different from what I see from April through October when migrants pass through, when courtship is underway, when young are being fed, when fledglings are feeding, when flocks are gathering, departing, passing through again. Now only a few residents remain. I saw the young of many of these through the summer breeding season - like the downies, for example. More than one brood from more than one pair enjoyed the seeds and the suet. But not now. Parents may have driven them off - or they may already have succumbed to the harsh, early winter, to a predator, to their own failure to learn to forage and develop their ability to feed themselves.

I sit in my warm kitchen. It’s late morning now. I have switched from coffee to hot chocolate, and the warm cup warms my chilled hands. I watch the last drifting snowflakes. The branches of the pines sag beneath the accumulated snow. It is a winter wonderland, a peaceful fairy landscape. An indulgence which I can enjoy in my cosy winter nest.

For the chickadee that just flew in, there is no pleasant indulgence. Survival is its only concern. I watch him on this last day of the old year, and wish many days in the new year.

More Canadian Birds Show Up in Christmas Bird Count

There was more snow on the ground than I can remember in my eleven years of doing the Brattleboro Area Christmas Bird Count (CBC). And it was colder than previous years. And when the wind blew, it was colder yet. By mid-afternoon, the clouds began moving in; the air became dank and damp and felt even colder. My heavy insulated boots kept my feet warm, but everything became chilled.

Tiny birds moving through tree tops are located by ear, not eye, and that means exposing tender, delicate flesh to the frigid air. We could sort of warm up in the car as we crept slowly from place to place, except that the windows had to be down so we could listen as we crept along, and the fan motor on the heater had to be low or off because it made too much noise. The rivers and ponds were frozen. The fields were barren and cold. There were icy patches on many roads, and no place to pull off the road when we had to stop, walk, listen, count, freeze and shiver.

I had a blast!

The annual CBC is one of my favorite days of birding throughout the year. In the late Spring, I can stand in my backyard and see or hear thirty to forty species in the early morning hours. Last Saturday, the team I was with scoured our assigned area and eventually tallied twenty-nine species. We wandered slowly along dirt roads until somebody watching or listening through the car windows cried, “Stop.” Then we tumbled out of the vehicle before it had stopped to chase an elusive sound or sight.

But in the winter landscape, when all of life seems to have gone into hiding, finding signs of life still on the move - up and about and around - is energizing and affirming. And we never know what we will find.

We almost always find wintering bluebirds in our survey area, and this year we found one lone bluebird perched on a wire not far from Brattleboro. We continued searching the orchards along our route. Sooner or later we almost always find bluebirds working through one or more of these orchards, but not this year.

In the mid-afternoon we were in a dense stand of hemlocks; Juncos moved through the forest understory. Watching them, and counting, we were led to a Golden-crowned Kinglet in a small, leafless beech, and that lone kinglet led us to more kinglets. Conventional wisdom has it that several species will forage together through the winter woods, and we soon found the only Brown Creeper of the day, inching its way up a huge hemlock, then following the juncos and kinglets south along the road. Movement deep in the woods caught our attention. A larger bird ... another ... and another. One landed on the road forty feet from us, picked salt and grit from the road, and flew. Eastern Bluebirds - thirteen in the flock.

About thirty people participated in this year’s CBC. Seven teams surveyed assigned areas and counted the winter birds. One team searched frustratingly all day and tallied only a few species and few numbers. But they had a great time following mammal tracks. Numbers often seemed hard to come by. But by the end of the day, forty-eight species had been tallied with an unofficial total around 3000. Additional “count week” species brought the total for this year’s CBC to fifty-five.

Fifty-plus species has become the norm for the Brattleboro CBC. The species vary from year to year. Each year there are a few species reported which have no business being here; they should have gone south long ago. This year there was a Great Blue Heron seen in flight, and a Northern Flicker. Species recorded for the first time were Yellow-bellied Sapsucker (two) and an American Woodcock. These migrants should have migrated before now, and quite frankly, not having done so may be a fatal mistake.

With almost no open water, it was no surprise that Canada Geese (some years there are hundreds) were completely absent as were most other waterfowl. A few ducks were found in the open water above and below the Vernon Dam and where Whetstone Brook enters the Connecticut River.

Totals for most of the usual wintering birds were close to the average for the last nine years. Here are a few “Average/’07 Count” - American Crow: 230/74; Blue Jay 195/161; Black-capped Chickadee: 447/576; Downy Woodpecker: 42/38; Hairy Woodpecker: 15/27; Tufted Titmouse: 54/54; Northern Cardinal: 34/41; Mourning Dove: 196/206; White-breasted Nuthatch: 58/55.

Count numbers for the invasive birds that no one likes but which feed the wintering hawks also matched recent numbers - European Starling: 362/336; Rock Pigeon: 285/ 271; House Sparrow: 211/166

The significant difference this year was the presence of wintering finches. Reports of birds irrupting south from Canada (where many seeds crops failed this year) have been coming from all over the Northeast. But we had to find them on count day, and we did. We counted fifty-one Common Redpolls, probably an undercount - since these birds are very nomadic as they forage. One year counters found a single flock of redpolls with over 200 birds, but not this year. There was a flock of twenty Snow Buntings, a scattering of forty-plus Tree Sparrows, and fourteen Evening Grosbeaks.

The buzz came with two other winter finch species which have only been recorded once in the last dozen years. In 2001, eleven Pine Grosbeaks were reported. This year, eighty-one were counted. These large, tame, red and gray male - or olive and gray female - finches are being found in fruit trees and berry bushes in many locations in southeastern Vermont. They stripped my loaded crab apple weeks ago.

The other finch species, also last reported in 2001 during count week, was found in a pine forest atop Stratton Hill in Newfane - five White-winged Crossbills. This is be the first time our CBC has recorded an actual count number for this species which feeds on pine and spruce cones.

So it was cold, and wintery, and sometimes difficult to find the birds. But the end result is a snapshot of the bird life present in the Brattleboro area in the middle of December. Added to the results of thousands of other counts done around North America, we also contribute to a snapshot of the continental bird life. These accumulated snapshots from many years help researchers analyze the health and well-being of the birds, and more importantly, of the state of the environment and climate on which the birds - and all other life, including us - depend.

And it was fun. The Christmas Bird Count is always a good day spent with some crazy bird nerds and resulting in - by definition - a day of good birding.