The Birds of Washington (Volume 1 of 2)
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Title: The Birds of Washington (Volume 1 of 2)
Author: William Leon Dawson
John Hooper Bowles
Illustrator: Allan Brooks
Release date: September 3, 2014 [eBook #46764]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46764
Credits: Produced by Bryan Ness, Stephen Hutcheson, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BIRDS OF WASHINGTON (VOLUME 1 OF 2) ***
Produced by Bryan Ness, Stephen Hutcheson, and the Online
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The Birds of Washington
Of this work in all its editions 1250 copies have been printed and the
plates destroyed.
Of the Original Edition 350 copies have been printed and bound, of which
this copy is No._298_.
[Illustration: HEPBURN’S LEUCOSTICTE
MALE, ⅚ LIFE SIZE
From a Water-color Painting by Allan Brooks]
THE BIRDS OF WASHINGTON
A COMPLETE, SCIENTIFIC AND POPULAR ACCOUNT OF THE 372 SPECIES OF BIRDS
FOUND IN THE STATE
BY
WILLIAM LEON DAWSON, A. M., B. D., of Seattle
AUTHOR OF “THE BIRDS OF OHIO”
ASSISTED BY
JOHN HOOPER BOWLES, of Tacoma
ILLUSTRATED BY MORE THAN 300 ORIGINAL HALF-TONES OF BIRDS IN LIFE,
NESTS, EGGS, AND FAVORITE HAUNTS, FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR
AND OTHERS.
TOGETHER WITH 40 DRAWINGS IN THE TEXT AND A SERIES OF FULL-PAGE
COLOR-PLATES.
BY
ALLAN BROOKS
ORIGINAL EDITION
PRINTED ONLY FOR ADVANCE SUBSCRIBERS.
VOLUME I
SEATTLE
THE OCCIDENTAL PUBLISHING CO.
1909
_ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_
Copyright, 1909,
by
William Leon Dawson
Half-tone work chiefly by The Bucher Engraving Company.
Composition and Presswork by The New Franklin Printing Company.
Binding by The Ruggles-Gale Company.
To the
_Members_
of the
_Caurinus Club_,
in grateful recognition of their friendly
services, and in expectation that
under their leadership the interests
of ornithology will prosper in
the Pacific Northwest,
this work is respectfully
_Dedicated_
EXPLANATORY.
TABLE OF COMPARISONS.
INCHES.
Pygmy size Length up to 5.00
Warbler size 5.00-6.00
Sparrow size 6.00-7.50
Chewink size 7.50-9.00
Robin size 9.00-12.00
Little Hawk size, Teal size, Tern size 12.00-16.00
Crow size 16.00-22.00
Gull size, Brant size 22.00-30.00
Eagle size, Goose size 30.00-42.00
Giant size 42.00 and upward
Measurements are given in inches and hundredths and in millimeters, the
latter enclosed in parentheses.
KEY OF ABBREVIATIONS.
References under Authorities are to faunal lists, as follows:
T. Townsend, Catalog of Birds, Narrative, 1839, pp. 331-336.
C&S. Cooper and Suckley, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv., Vol. XII., pt. II.,
1860, pp. 140-287.
L¹. Lawrence, Birds of Gray’s Harbor, Auk, Jan. 1892, pp. 39-47.
L². Lawrence, Further Notes on Birds of Gray’s Harbor, Auk, Oct.
1892, pp. 352-357.
Rh. Rhoads, Birds Observed in B. C. and Wash., Proc. Acad. Nat. Sci.
Phila., 1893, pp. 21-65. (Only records referring explicitly to
Washington are noted.)
D¹. Dawson, Birds of Okanogan County, Auk, Apr. 1897, pp. 168-182.
Sr. Snyder, Notes on a Few Species, Auk, July 1900, pp. 242-245.
Kb. Kobbé, Birds of Cape Disappointment, Auk, Oct. 1900, pp. 349-358.
Ra. Rathbun, Land Birds of Seattle, Auk, Apr. 1902, pp. 131-141.
D². Dawson, Birds of Yakima County, Wilson Bulletin, June 1902, pp.
59-67.
Ss¹. Snodgrass, Land Birds from Central Wash., Auk, Apr. 1903, pp.
202-209.
Ss². Snodgrass, Land Birds Central and Southeastern Wash., Auk, Apr.
1904, pp. 223-233.
Kk. Keck, Birds of Olympia, Wilson Bulletin, June 1904, pp. 33-37.
J. Johnson, Birds of Cheney, Condor, Jan. 1906, pp. 25-28.
B. Bowles, Birds of Tacoma, Auk, Apr. 1906, pp. 138-148.
E. Edson, Birds of Bellingham Bay Region, Auk, Oct. 1908, pp.
425-439.
For fuller account of these lists see Bibliography in Vol. II.
References under Specimens are to collections, as follows:
U. of W. University of Washington Collection; (U. of W.) indicates
lack of locality data.
P. Pullman (State College) Collection. P¹. indicates local
specimen.
Prov. Collection Provincial Museum, Victoria, B. C.
B. Collection C. W. & J. H. Bowles. Only Washington specimens
are listed.
C. Cantwell Collection.
BN. Collection Bellingham Normal School.
E. Collection J. M. Edson.
PREFACE.
Love of the birds is a natural passion and one which requires neither
analysis nor defense. The birds live, we live; and life is sufficient
answer unto life. But humanity, unfortunately, has had until recently
other less justifiable interests—that of fighting pre-eminent among
them—so that out of a gory past only a few shadowy names of bird-lovers
emerge, Aristotle, Pliny the Elder, Ælian. Ornithology as a science is
modern, at best not over two centuries and a half old, while as a
popular pursuit its age is better reckoned by decades. It is, therefore,
highly gratifying to those who feel this primal instinct strongly to be
able to note the rising tide of interest in their favorite study.
Ornithology has received unwonted attention of late, not only in
scientific works but also in popular literature, and it has taken at
last a deserved place upon the curriculum of many of our colleges and
secondary schools.
We of the West are just waking, not too tardily we hope, to a
realization of our priceless heritage of friendship in the birds. Our
homesteads have been chosen and our rights to them established; now we
are looking about us to take account of our situation, to see whether
indeed the lines have fallen unto us in pleasant places, and to reckon
up the forces which make for happiness, welfare, and peace. And not the
least of our resources we find to be the birds of Washington. They are
here as economic allies, to bear their part in the distribution of plant
life, and to wage with us unceasing warfare against insect and rodent
foes, which would threaten the beneficence of that life. They are here,
some of them, to supply our larder and to furnish occupation for us in
the predatory mood. But above all, they are here to add zest to the
enjoyment of life itself; to please the eye by a display of graceful
form and piquant color; to stir the depths of human emotion with their
marvelous gift of song; to tease the imagination by their exhibitions of
flight; or to goad aspiration as they seek in their migrations the
mysterious, alluring and ever insatiable Beyond. Indeed, it is scarcely
too much to say that we may learn from the birds manners which will
correct our own; that is, stimulate us to the full realization in our
own lives of that ethical program which their tender domestic relations
so clearly foreshadow.
In the matter herein recorded account has of course been taken of nearly
all that has been done by other workers, but the literature of the birds
of Washington is very meager, being chiefly confined to annotated lists,
and the conclusions reached have necessarily been based upon our own
experience, comprising some thirteen years residence in the State in the
case of Mr. Bowles, and a little more in my own. Field work has been
about equally divided between the East-side and the West-side and we
have both been able to give practically all our time to this cause
during the nesting seasons of the past four years. Parts of several
seasons have been spent in the Cascade Mountains, but there remains much
to learn of bird-life in the high Cascades, while the conditions
existing in the Blue Mountains and in the Olympics are still largely to
be inferred. Two practically complete surveys were made of island life
along the West Coast, in the summers of 1906 and 1907; and we feel that
our nesting sea-birds at least are fairly well understood.
Altho necessarily bulky, these volumes are by no means exhaustive. No
attempt has been made to tell all that is known or may be known of a
given species. It has been our constant endeavor, however, to present
something like a true proportion of interest as between the birds, to
exhibit a species as it appears to a Washingtonian. On this account
certain prosy fellows have received extended treatment merely because
they are ours and have to be reckoned with; while others, more
interesting, perhaps, have not been considered at length simply because
we are not responsible for them as characteristic birds of Washington.
In writing, however, two classes of readers have had to be
considered,—first, the Washingtonian who needs to have his interest
aroused in the birds of his home State, and second, the serious
ornithological student in the East. For the sake of the former we have
introduced some familiar matter from other sources, including a previous
work[1] of the author’s, and for this we must ask the indulgence of
ornithologists. For the sake of the latter we have dilated upon certain
points not elsewhere covered in the case of certain Western
birds,—matters of abundance, distribution, sub-specific variety, etc.,
of dubious interest to our local patrons; and for this we must in turn
ask their indulgence.
The order of treatment observed in the following pages is substantially
the reverse of that long followed by the American Ornithologists’ Union,
and is justifiable principally on the ground that it follows a certain
order of interest and convenience. Beginning, as it does, with the
supposedly highest forms of bird-life, it brings to the fore the most
familiar birds, and avoids that rude juxtaposition of the lowest form of
one group with the highest of the one above it, which has been the
confessed weakness of the A. O. U. arrangement.
The outlines of classification may be found in the Table of Contents to
each volume, and a brief synopsis of generic, family, and ordinal
characters, in the Analytical Key prepared by Professor Jones. It has
not been thought best to give large place to these matters nor to
intrude them upon the text, because of the many excellent manuals which
already exist giving especial attention to this field.
The nomenclature is chiefly that of the A. O. U. Check-List, Second
Edition, revised to include the Fourteenth Supplement, to which
reference is made by number. Departures have in a few instances been
made, changes sanctioned by Ridgway or Coues, or justified by a
consideration of local material. It is, of course, unfortunate that the
publication of the Third Edition of the A. O. U. Check-List has been so
long delayed, insomuch that it is not even yet available. On this
account it has not been deemed worth while to provide in these volumes a
separate check-list, based on the A. O. U. order, as had been intended.
Care has been exercised in the selection of the English or vernacular
names of the birds, to offer those which on the whole seem best fitted
to survive locally. Unnecessary departures from eastern usage have been
avoided, and the changes made have been carefully considered. As matter
of fact, the English nomenclature has of late been much more stable than
the Latin. For instance, no one has any difficulty in tracing the
Western Winter Wren thru the literature of the past half century; but
the bird referred to has, within the last decade, posed successively
under the following scientific names: _Troglodytes hiemalis pacificus_,
_Anorthura h. p._, _Olbiorchilus h. p._, and _Nannus h. p._, and these
with the sanction of the A. O. U. Committee—certainly a striking example
of how _not_ to secure stability in nomenclature. With such an example
before us we may perhaps be pardoned for having in instances failed to
note the latest discovery of the name-hunter, but we have humbly tried
to follow our agile leaders.
In the preparation of plumage descriptions, the attempt to derive them
from local collections was partially abandoned because of the meagerness
of the materials offered. If the work had been purely British Columbian,
the excellent collection of the Provincial Museum at Victoria would have
been nearly sufficient; but there is crying need of a large, well-kept,
central collection of skins and mounted birds here in Washington. A
creditable showing is being made at Pullman under the energetic
leadership of Professor W. T. Shaw, and the State College will always
require a representative working collection. The University of
Washington, however, is the natural repository for West-side specimens,
and perhaps for the official collection of the State, and it is to be
devoutly hoped that its present ill-assorted and ill-housed
accumulations may early give place to a worthy and complete display of
Washington birds. Among private collections that of Mr. J. M. Edson, of
Bellingham, is the most notable, representing, as it does, the patient
occupation of extra hours for the past eighteen years. I am under
obligation to Mr. Edson for a check-list of his collection (comprising
entirely local species), as also for a list of the birds of the Museum
of the Bellingham Normal School. The small but well-selected assortment
of bird-skins belonging to Messrs. C. W. and J. H. Bowles rests in the
Ferry Museum in Tacoma. Here also Mr. Geo. C. Cantwell has left his
bird-skins, partly local and partly Alaskan, on view.
Fortunately the task of redescribing the plumage of Washington birds has
been rendered less necessary for a work of such scope as ours, thru the
appearance of the Fifth Edition of Coues Key,[2] embodying, as it does
the ripened conclusions of a uniquely gifted ornithological writer, and
above all, by the great definitive work from the hand of Professor
Ridgway,[3] now more than half completed. These final works by the
masters of our craft render the careful repetition of such effort
superfluous, and I have no hesitation in admitting that we are almost as
much indebted to them as to local collections, altho a not
inconsiderable part of the author’s original work upon plumage
description in “The Birds of Ohio” has been utilized, or re-worked,
wherever applicable.
In compiling the General Ranges, we wish to acknowledge indebtedness
both to the A. O. U. Check-List (2nd Edition) and to the summaries of
Ridgway and Coues in the works already mentioned. In the Range in
Washington, we have tried to take account of all published records, but
have been obliged in most instances to rely upon personal experience,
and to express judgments which must vary in accuracy with each
individual case.
The final work upon migrations in Washington is still to be done. Our
own task has called us hither and yonder each season to such an extent
that consecutive work in any one locality has been impossible, and there
appears not to be any one in the State who has seriously set himself to
record the movements of the birds in chronological order. Success in
this line depends upon coöperative work on the part of many widely
distributed observers, carried out thru a considerable term of years. It
is one of the aims of these volumes to stimulate such endeavor, and the
author invites correspondence to the end that such an undertaking may be
carried out systematically.
In citing authorities, we have aimed to recall the first publication of
each species as a bird of Washington, giving in italics the name
originally assigned the bird, if different from the one now used,
together with the name of the author in bold-face type. In many
instances early references are uncertain, chiefly by reason of failure
to distinguish between the two States now separated by the Columbia
River, but once comprehended under the name Oregon Territory. Such
citations are questioned or bracketed, as are all those which omit or
disregard scientific names. The abbreviated references are to standard
faunal lists appearing in the columns of “The Auk” and elsewhere, and
these are noted more carefully under the head of Bibliography, among the
Appendices.
At the outset I wish to explain the peculiar relation which exists
between myself and the junior author, Mr. J. H. Bowles. Each of us had
long had in mind the thought of preparing a work upon the birds of
Washington; but Mr. Bowles, during my residence in Ohio, was the first
to undertake the task, and had a book actually half written when I
returned to the scene with friendly overtures. Since my plans were
rather more extended than his, and since it was necessary that one of us
should devote his entire time to the work, Mr. Bowles, with unbounded
generosity, placed the result of his labors at my disposal and declared
his willingness to further the enterprise under my leadership in every
possible way. Except, therefore, in the case of signed articles from his
pen, and in most of the unsigned articles on Grouse and Ducks, where our
work has been a strict collaboration, the actual writing of the book has
fallen to my lot. In practice, therefore, I have found myself under
every degree of indebtedness to Mr. Bowles, according as my own
materials were abundant or meager, or as his information or mine was
more pertinent in a given case.
Mr. Bowles has been as good as his word in the matter of coöperation,
and has lavished his time in the quest of new species, or in the
discovery of new nests, or in the location of choice subjects for the
camera, solely that the book might profit thereby. In several
expeditions he has accompanied me. On this account, therefore, the text
in its pronouns, “I,” “we,” or “he,” bears witness to a sort of sliding
scale of intimacy, which, unless explained, might be puzzling to the
casual reader. I am especially indebted to Mr. Bowles for extended
material upon the nesting of the birds; and my only regret is that the
varying requirements of the task so often compelled me to condense his
excellent sketches into the meager sentences which appear under the head
“Nesting.” Not infrequently, however, I have thrown a few adjectives
into Mr. Bowles’s paragraphs and incorporated them without
distinguishing comment, in expectation that our joint indebtedness will
hardly excite the curiosity of any disengaged “higher critic” of
ornithology. Let me, then, express my very deep gratitude to Mr. Bowles
for his generosity and my sincere appreciation of his abilities so
imperfectly exhibited, I fear, in the following pages, where I have
necessarily usurped the opportunity.
It is matter of regret to the author that the size of these volumes, now
considerably in excess of that originally contemplated, has precluded
the possibility of an extended physical and climatic survey of
Washington. The striking dissimilarity of conditions which obtain as
between the eastern side of the State and the western are familiar to
its citizens and may be easily inferred by others from a perusal of the
following pages. Our State is excelled by none in its diversity of
climatic and physiographic features. The ornithologist, therefore, may
indulge his proclivities in half a dozen different bird-worlds without
once leaving our borders. Especially might the taxonomist, the
subspecies-hunter, revel in the minute shades of difference in plumage
which characterize the representatives of the same species as they
appear in different sections of our State. We have not gone into these
matters very carefully, because our interests are rather those of avian
psychology, and of the domestic and social relations of the birds,—in
short, the _life_ interests.
While the author’s point of view has been that of a bird-lover, some
things herein recorded may seem inconsistent with the claim of that
title. The fact is that none of us are quite consistent in our attitude
toward the bird-world. The interests of sport and the interests of
science must sometimes come into conflict with those of sentiment; and
if one confesses allegiance to all three at once he will inevitably
appear to the partisans of either in a bad light. However, a real
principle of unity is found when we come to regard the bird’s value to
society. The question then becomes, not, Is this bird worth more to _me_
in my collection or upon my plate than as a living actor in the drama of
life? but, In what capacity can this bird best serve the interests of
mankind? There can be no doubt that the answer to the latter question is
usually and increasingly, _As a living bird_. Stuffed specimens we need,
but only a representative number of them; only a limited few of us are
fitted to enjoy the pleasures of the chase, and the objects of our
passion are rapidly passing from view anyway; but never while the hearts
of men are set on peace, and the minds of men are alert to receive the
impressions of the Infinite, will there be too many birds to speak to
eye and ear, and to minister to the hidden things of the spirit. The
birds belong to the people, not to a clique or a coterie, but to all the
people as heirs and stewards of the good things of God.
It is of the esthetic value of the bird that we have tried to speak, not
alone in our descriptions but in our pictures. The author has a pleasant
conviction, born of desire perhaps, that the bird in art is destined to
figure much more largely in future years than heretofore. We have
learned something from the Japanese in this regard, but more perhaps
from the camera, whose revelations have marvelously justified the
conventional conclusions of Japanese decorative art. Nature is ever the
nursing mother of Art. While our function in the text has necessarily
been interpretative, we have preferred in the pictures to let Nature
speak for herself, and we have held ourselves and our artists to the
strictest accounting for any retouching or modification of photographs.
Except, therefore, as explicitly noted, the half-tones from photographs
are faithful presentations of life. If they inspire any with a sense of
the beauty of things as they are, or suggest to any the theme for some
composition, whether of canvas, fresco, vase, or tile, in things as they
might be, then our labor shall not have been in vain.
In this connection we have to congratulate ourselves upon the discovery,
virtually in our midst, of such a promising bird-artist as Mr. Allan
Brooks. I can testify to the fidelity of his work, as all can to the
delicacy and artistic feeling displayed even under the inevitable
handicap of half-tone reproduction. My sincerest thanks are due Mr.
Brooks for his hearty and generous coöperation in this enterprise; and
if our work shall meet with approval, I shall feel that a large measure
of credit is due to him.
The joy of work is in the doing of it, while as for credit, or “fame,”
that is a mere by-product. He who does not do his work under a sense of
privilege is a hireling, a clock-watcher, and his sufficient as coveted
meed is the pay envelope. But those of us who enjoy the work are
sufficiently rewarded already. What tho the envelope be empty! We’ve had
our fun and—well, yes, we’d do it again, especially if you thought it
worth while.
But the chief reward of this labor of love has been the sense of
fellowship engendered. The progress of the work under what seemed at
times insuperable difficulties has been, nevertheless, a continuous
revelation of good will. “Everybody helps” is the motto of the Seattle
spirit, and it is just as characteristic of the entire Pacific
Northwest. Everybody has helped and the result is a composite
achievement, a monument of patience, fidelity, and generosity far other
than my own.
I gratefully acknowledge indebtedness to Professor Robert Ridgway for
counsel and assistance in determining State records; to Dr. A. K. Fisher
for records and for comparison of specimens; to Dr. Chas. W. Richmond
for confirmation of records; to Messrs. William L. Finley, Herman T.
Bohlman, A. W. Anthony, W. H. Wright, Fred. S. Merrill, Warburton Pike,
Walter I. Burton, A. Gordon Bowles, and Walter K. Fisher, for the use of
photographs; to Messrs. J. M. Edson, D. E. Brown, A. B. Reagan, E. S.
Woodcock, and to a score of others beside for hospitality and for
assistance afield; to Samuel Rathbun, Prof. E. S. Meany, Prof. O. B.
Johnson, Prof. W. T. Shaw, Miss Adelaide Pollock, and Miss Jennie V.
Getty, for generous coöperation and courtesies of many sorts; to Francis
Kermode, Esq., for use of the Provincial Museum collections, and to
Prof. Trevor Kincaid for similar permission in case of the University of
Washington collections. My special thanks are due my friend, Prof. Lynds
Jones, the proven comrade of many an ornithological cruise, who upon
brief notice and at no little sacrifice has prepared the Analytical Key
which accompanies this work.
My wife has rendered invaluable service in preparing manuscript for
press, and has shared with me the arduous duties of proof-reading. My
father, Rev. W. E. Dawson, of Blaine, has gone over most of the
manuscript and has offered many highly esteemed suggestions.
To our patrons and subscribers, whose timely and indulgent support has
made this enterprise possible, I offer my sincerest thanks. To the
trustees of the Occidental Publishing Company I am under a lasting debt
of gratitude, in that they have planned and counselled freely, and in
that they have so heartily seconded my efforts to make this work as
beautiful as possible with the funds at command.
One’s roll of obligations cannot be reckoned complete without some
recognition also of the dumb things, the products of stranger hearts and
brains, which have faithfully served their uses in this undertaking: my
Warner-and-Swasey binoculars (8-power)—I would not undertake to write a
bird-book without them; the Graflex camera, which has taken most of the
life portraits; the King canvas boat which has made study of the
interior lake life possible;—all deserve honorable mention.
Then there is the physical side of the book itself. One cannot reckon up
the myriad hands that have wrought upon it, engravers, printers,
binders, paper-makers, messengers, even the humble goatherds in far-off
Armenia, each for a season giving of his best—out of love, I trust.
Brothers, I thank you all!
Of the many shortcomings of this work no one could be more sensible than
its author. We should all prefer to spend a life-time writing a book,
and having written it, to return and do it over again, somewhat
otherwise. But book-making is like matrimony, for better or for worse.
There is a finality about it which takes the comfort from one’s muttered
declaration, “I could do it better another time.” What I have written I
have written. I go now to spend a quiet day—with the birds.
William Leon Dawson.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.
NOS. PAGE.
Dedication i.
Explanatory iii.
Preface v.
List of Full-page Illustrations xv.
Description of Species Nos. 1-181.
Order Passeres—Perching Birds.
Suborder _OSCINES_—Song Birds.
Family _Corvidæ_—The Crows and Jays 1-14 1
_Icteridæ_—The Troupials 15-22 43
_Fringillidæ_—The Finches 23-68 68
_Tanagridæ_—The Tanagers 69 170
_Mniotiltidæ_—The Wood Warblers 70-86 172
_Alaudidæ_—The Larks 87-89 212
_Motacillidæ_—The Wagtails and Pipits 90 221
_Turdidæ_—The Thrushes 91-102 225
_Sylviidæ_—The Old World Warblers, Kinglets,
and Gnatcatchers 103-105 262
_Paridæ_—The Titmice 106-110 273
_Sittidæ_—The Nuthatches 111-113 287
_Certhiidæ_—The Creepers 114, 115 295
_Troglodytidæ_—The Wrens 116-122 301
_Mimidæ_—The Mockingbirds 123, 124 320
_Cinclidæ_—The Dippers 125 325
_Hirundinidæ_—The Swallows 126-132 329
_Ampelidæ_—The Waxwings 133, 134 348
_Laniidæ_—The Shrikes 135-137 352
_Vireonidæ_—The Vireos 138-141 358
Suborder _CLAMATORES_—Songless Perching Birds.
Family _Tyrannidæ_—The Tyrant Flycatchers 142-151 369
Order Macrochires—Goatsuckers, Swifts, etc.
Suborder _TROCHILI_—Hummers.
Family _Trochilidæ_—The Hummingbirds 152-155 393
Suborder _CAPRIMULGI_—Goatsuckers.
Family _Caprimulgidæ_—The Nighthawks (Goatsuckers,
etc.) 156-158 404
Suborder _CYPSELI_—Swifts.
Family _Micropodidæ_—The Swifts 159-161 410
Order Pici—Picarian Birds.
Family _Picidæ_—The Woodpeckers 162-179 418
Order Coccyges—Cuculiform Birds.
Suborder _CUCULI_—Cuckoos.
Family _Cuculidæ_—The Cuckoos 180 452
Suborder _ALCYONES_—Kingfishers.
Family _Alcedinidæ_—The Kingfishers 181 454
LIST OF FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE OR FACING PAGE.
Hepburn’s Leucosticte (Color-plate) Frontispiece
Northern Raven (Half-tone) 3
American Magpie (Half-tone) 25
Bullock Orioles (Color-plate) 52
Western Evening Grosbeaks (Color-plate) 68
Audubon Warbler (Color-plate) 182
Townsend Warblers, Male and Female (Half-tone) 191
Tolmie Warblers (Half-tone) 199
Golden Warbler (Color-plate) 208
Chestnut-backed Chickadee (Half-tone) 283
Violet-green Swallow (Color-plate) 346
Calliope Hummers (Color-plate) 400
Gairdner Woodpecker (Half-tone) 425
Red-breasted Sapsucker (Color-plate) 434
The Birds of Washington
VOL. I.
Description of Species Nos. 1-181
_Corvidæ_—The Crows and Jays
No. 1.
NORTHERN RAVEN.
A.O.U. No. 486a. Corvus corax principalis Ridgw.
Synonym.—Formerly called the American Raven.
Description.—Color uniform lustrous black; plumage, especially on
breast, scapulars and back, showing steel-blue or purplish
iridescence; feathers of the throat long, narrow, pointed, light gray
basally; primaries whitening at base. Length two feet or over, female
a little smaller; wing 17.00-18.00 (438); tail 10.00 (247); bill 3.20
(76.5); depth of bill at nostril 1.00 (28.5); tarsus 2.68 (68).
Recognition Marks.—Large size,—about twice as big as a Crow; long
rounded tail; harsh croaking notes; uniform black coloration.
Indistinguishable afield from _sinuatus_.
Nesting.—_Nest_: a large but compact mass of sticks, lined with grass,
wool, cow-hair, etc., placed high in fir trees or upon inaccessible
cliffs. _Eggs_: 4-7 (8 of record), usually 5, pale bluish green or
olive, spotted, blotched, and dashed with greenish brown and obscure
lilac or purple. Av. size, 1.90 × 1.33 (48.26 × 33.78). _Season_:
April 15; one brood.
General Range.—“Arctic and Boreal Provinces of North America; south to
Eastern British Provinces, portions of New England, and Atlantic Coast
of United States, higher Alleghenies, region of the Great Lakes,
western and northern Washington, etc.” (Ridgway).
Range in Washington.—Found sparingly in the Cascade and Olympic
Mountains, more commonly along the Pacific Coast.
Migrations.—Resident but wide ranging.
Authorities.—[Lewis and Clark, Hist. Ex. (1814), Ed Biddle: Coues.
Vol. II. p. 185.] _Corvus carnivorus_ Bartram, Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R.
Surv. IX. 1858, pp. 561, 562, 563. (T). C&S. L¹. D¹(?). B. E.
Specimens.—(U. of. W.) Prov. C.
Altho nowhere abundant, in the sense which obtains among smaller
species, nor as widely distributed as some, there is probably no other
bird which has attracted such universal attention, or has left so deep
an impress upon history and literature as the Raven. Primitive man has
always felt the spell of his sombre presence, and the Raven was as
deeply imbedded in the folklore of the maritime Grecian tribes as he is
today in that of the Makahs and Quillayutes upon our own coast. _Korax_,
the Greek called him, in imitation of his hoarse cry, _Kraack, kraack_;
while the Sanskrit name, _Karava_, reveals the ancient root from which
have sprung both _Crow_ and _Raven_.
Quick-sighted, cunning, and audacious, this bird of sinister aspect has
been invested by peoples of all ages with a mysterious and semi-sacred
character. His ominous croakings were thought to have prophetic import,
while his preternatural shrewdness has made him, with many, a symbol of
divine knowledge. We may not go such lengths, but we are justified in
placing this bird at the head of our list; and we must agree with
Professor Alfred Newton that the Raven is “the largest of the Birds of
the Order Passeres, and probably the most highly developed of all
Birds.”
The Raven is a bird of the wilderness; and, in spite of all his cunning,
he fares but ill in the presence of breech-loaders and iconoclasts.
While it has not been the object of any special persecution in
Washington, it seems to share the fate reserved for all who lift their
heads above the common level; and it is now nearly confined in its local
distribution to the Olympic peninsula; and is nowhere common, save in
the vicinity of the Indian villages which still cling to our western
shore.
In appearance the Raven presents many points of difference from the
Common Crow, especially when contrasted with the dwarf examples of the
northwestern race. It is not only larger, but its tail is relatively
much longer, and fully rounded. The head, too, is fuller, and the bill
proportionately stouter with more rounded culmen. The feathers of the
neck are loosely arranged, resulting in an impressive shagginess; and
there is a sort of uncouthness about these ancient birds, as compared
with the more dapper Crow.
Ravens are unscrupulous in diet, and therefrom has arisen much of the
dislike which has attached to them. They not only subsist upon insects,
worms, frogs, shellfish, and cast-up offal, but devour the eggs and
young of sea-birds; and, when pressed by hunger, do not scruple to
attack rabbits, young lambs, or seal pups. In fact, nothing fleshly and
edible comes amiss to them. In collecting along the sea-coast I once
lost some sandpipers,—which I had not had time to prepare the evening
before—because the dark watcher was “up first”. Like the Fish Crow, they
hang about the Indian villages to some extent, and dispute with the
ubiquitous Indian dog the chance at decayed fish and offal.
[Illustration: NORTHERN RAVEN.]
Altho by force of circumstances driven to accept shelter and nesting
sites in the dense forests of the western Olympic slope, the Raven is a
great lover of the sea-cliffs and of all wild scenery. Stormy days are
his especial delight and he soars about in the teeth of the gale,
exulting, like Lear, in the tumult: “Blow winds, and crack your cheeks!”
The sable bird is rather majestic on the wing, and he soars aloft at
times with something of the motion and dignity of the Eagle. But the
Corvine character is complex; and its gravest representatives do some
astonishingly boyish things. For instance, according to Nelson, they
will take sea-urchins high in air and drop them on the cliffs, for no
better reason, apparently, than to hear them smash. Or, again, they will
catch the luckless urchins in mid-air with all the delight of
school-boys at tom-ball.
Nests are to be found midway of sea-cliffs in studiously inaccessible
places, or else high in evergreen trees. Eggs, to the number of five or
six, are deposited in April; and the young are fed upon the choicest
which the (egg) market affords. We shall need to apologize occasionally
for the shortcomings of our favorites, and we confess at the outset to
shameless inconsistency; for even bird _villains_ are dear to us, if
they be not too bad, and especially if their badness be not directed
against us. Who would wish to see this bold, black brigand, savage,
cunning, and unscrupulous as he is, disappear entirely from our shores?
He is the deep shadow of the world’s chiaroscuro; and what were white,
pray, without black by which to measure it?
[Illustration: _Taken in Clallam County._ _Photo by the Author._
POINT-OF-THE-ARCHES GROUP, A CHARACTERISTIC HAUNT OF THE RAVEN.]
No. 2.
MEXICAN RAVEN.
A. O. U. No. 486. Corvus corax sinuatus (Wagler).
Synonyms.—American Raven. Southern Raven.
Description.—Like preceding but averaging smaller; bill relatively
smaller and narrower; tarsus not so stout. Length up to 26 inches, but
averaging less. Culmen 2.85 (72).
Recognition Marks.—As in preceding—distinguishable only by range.
Nesting.—_Nest_: placed on ledge or in crannies of basalt cliffs, more
rarely in pine trees.
General Range.—Western United States chiefly west of the Rocky
Mountains; in its northerly extension nearly coincident with the Upper
Sonoran life zone, south to Honduras.
Range in Washington.—May be arbitrarily defined as restricted to the
East-side, but common only on the treeless plains and in the Blue
Mountain region. Resident.
Authorities.—_Corvus carnivorus_ Bart., Cooper and Suckley, Rep. Pac.
R. R. Surv. XII. pt. II. 1860, p. 210. Bendire, Life Hist. N. A.
Birds, Vol. II. p. 396 f.
It is no mere association of ideas which has made the Raven the bird of
ill omen. Black is his wing, and black is his heart, as well. While it
may be allowed that he works no direct damage upon the human race, we
cannot but share in sympathy the burden of the bird-world which regards
him as the _bete noir_, diabolical in cunning, patient as fate, and
relentless in the hour of opportunity.
As I sit on an early May morning by the water’s edge on a lonely island
in the Columbia River, all nature seems harmonious and glad. The
Meadowlarks are pricking the atmosphere with goads of good cheer in the
sage behind; the Dove is pledging his heart’s affection in the
cottonwood hard by; the river is singing on the rapids; and my heart is
won to follow on that buoyant tide—when suddenly a mother Goose cries
out in terror and I leap to my feet to learn the cause. I have not long
to wait. Like a death knell comes the guttural croak of the Raven. He
has spied upon her, learned her secret, swept in when her precious eggs
were uncovered; and he bears one off in triumph,—a feast for his carrion
brood. When one has seen this sort of thing a dozen times, and heard the
wail of the wild things, the croak of the Raven comes to be fraught with
menace, the veritable voice of doom.
To be sure, the Raven is not really worse than his kin, but he is
distinguished by a bass voice; and does not the villain in the play
always sing bass? Somehow, one never believes the ill he hears of the
soulful tenor, even tho he sees him do it; but beware of the bird or man
who croaks at low C.
Of all students of bird-life in the West, Captain Bendire has enjoyed
the best opportunities for the study of the Raven; and his situation at
Camp Harney in eastern Oregon was very similar to such as may be found
in the southeastern part of our own State. Of this species, as observed
at that point, he says:
[Illustration: _Taken near Wallula._ _Photo by the Author._
THE RAVEN’S FIEF.]
“They are stately and rather sedate-looking birds, remain mated thru
life, and are seemingly very much attached to each other, but apparently
more unsocial to others of their kind. On the ground their movements are
deliberate and dignified; their walk is graceful and seldom varied by
hurried hops or jumps. They appear to still better advantage on the
wing, especially in winter and early spring, when pairs may be
frequently seen playing with each other, performing extraordinary feats
in the air, such as somersaults, trying to fly on their backs, etc. At
this season they seem to enjoy life most and to give vent to their
usually not very exuberant spirits by a series of low chuckling and
gurgling notes, evidently indifferent efforts at singing.
“Their ordinary call is a loud _Craack-craack_, varied sometimes by a
deep grunting _koerr-koerr_, and again by a clucking, a sort of
self-satisfied sound, difficult to reproduce on paper; in fact they
utter a variety of notes when at ease and undisturbed, among others a
metallic sounding _klunk_, which seems to cost them considerable effort.
In places where they are not molested they become reasonably tame, and I
have seen Ravens occasionally alight in my yard and feed among the
chickens, a thing I have never seen Crows do. * * *
[Illustration: _Taken in Walla Walla County._ _Photo by the Author._
NESTING HAUNT OF THE MEXICAN RAVEN.]
“Out of some twenty nests examined only one was placed in a tree. It was
in a good sized dead willow, twenty feet from the ground, on an island
in Sylvies River, Oregon, and easily reached; it contained five fresh
eggs on April 13, 1875. The other nests were placed on cliffs, and, with
few exceptions, in positions where they were comparatively secure.
Usually the nest could not be seen from above, and it generally took
several assistants and strong ropes to get near them, and even then it
was frequently impossible to reach the eggs without the aid of a long
pole with a dipper attached to the end. A favorite site was a cliff with
a southern exposure, where the nest was completely covered from above by
a projecting rock.”
Having once chosen a nesting site, the Ravens evince a great attachment
for that particular locality; and, rather than desert it, will avoid
notice by deferring the nesting season, or by visiting the eggs or young
only at night.
We have no records of the taking of Raven’s eggs in Washington, but it
does unquestionably breed here. A nest was reported to us on a cliff in
the Crab Creek Coulee. While we were unable to visit it in season, we
did come upon a family group some weeks later, comprising the two adults
and five grown young. This is possibly the northernmost breeding station
of the Mexican Raven yet reported.
No. 3.
WESTERN CROW.
A. O. U. No. 488b. Corvus brachyrhynchos hesperis (Ridgw.).
Synonyms.—California Crow. Common Crow. American Crow.
Description.—Entire plumage glossy black, for the most part with
greenish blue, steel-blue, and purplish reflections; feathers of the
neck normal, rounded. Bill and feet black; iris brown. Length
16.00-20.00; wing 12.00 (302); tail 6.70 (170); bill 1.83 (46.5);
depth at nostril .65 (16.5). Female averages smaller than male.
Recognition Marks.—Distinguishable from Northwest Crow by larger size
and clearer voice.
Nesting.—_Nest_: a neat hemisphere of sticks and twigs carefully lined
with bark, roots and trash, and placed 10-60 feet high in
trees,—willow, aspen, pine, or fir. _Eggs_: 4-6, usually 5, same
coloring as Raven’s. Occasionally fine markings produce a uniform
olive-green, or even olive-brown effect. Av. size 1.66 × 1.16 (42.2 ×
29.5). _Season_: April 15-May 15; one brood.
General Range.—Western United States from Rocky Mts. to Pacific Coast,
save shores of northwestern Washington, north in the interior of
British Columbia, south to Arizona.
Range in Washington.—Of general distribution along streams and in
settled portions of State, save along shores of Puget Sound, the
Straits, and the Pacific north of Gray’s Harbor. Not found in the
mountains nor the deeper forests, and only locally on the sage-brush
plains.
Migrations.—Resident but gregarious and localized in winter. The
winter “roosts” break up late in February.
Authorities.—_Corvus americanus_ Aud., Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv.
IX. 1858, 566 (part). Brewster, B. N. O. C. VII. 227. T. C&S. D¹. Kb.
Ra. D². Ss¹. Ss². Kk. J. B. E.
Specimens.—BN(?).
While the Raven holds a secure place in mythology and literature, it is
the Crow, rather, which is the object of common notice. No landscape is
too poor to boast this jetty adornment; and no morning chorus is
complete without the distant sub-dominant of his powerful voice, harsh
and protesting tho it be.
The dusky bird is a notorious mischief-maker, but he is not quite so
black as he has been painted. More than any other bird he has
successfully matched his wits against those of man, and his frequent
easy victories and consequent boastings are responsible in large measure
for the unsavory reputation in which he is held. It is a familiar adage
in ebony circles that the proper study of Crow-kind is man, and so well
has he pursued this study that he may fairly be said to hold his own in
spite of fierce and ingenious persecution. He rejoices in the name of
outlaw, and ages of ill-treatment have only served to sharpen his wits
and intensify his cunning.
[Illustration: _Taken in Oregon._ _Photo by Bohlman and Finley._
WESTERN CROW AT NEST.]
That the warfare waged against him is largely unnecessary, and partly
unjust, has been pretty clearly proven of late by scientists who have
investigated the Crow’s food habits. It is true that he destroys large
numbers of eggs and nestlings, and, if allowed to, that he will
occasionally invade the poultry yard—and for such conduct there can be
no apology. It is true, also, that some damage is inflicted upon corn in
the roasting-ear stage, and that corn left out thru the winter
constitutes a staple article of Crow diet. But it is estimated that
birds and eggs form only about one-half of one per cent of their total
diet; and in the case of grain, certainly they perform conspicuous
services in raising the crop. Besides the articles of food mentioned,
great quantities of crickets, beetles, grasshoppers, caterpillars,
cut-worms, and spiders, are consumed. Frogs, lizards, mice, and snakes
also appear occasionally upon the bill of fare. On the whole, therefore,
the Crow is not an economic Gorgon, and his destruction need not largely
concern the farmer, altho it is always well to teach the bird a proper
reverence.
The psychology of the Crow is worthy of a separate treatise. All birds
have a certain faculty of direct perception, which we are pleased to
call instinct; but the Crow, at least, comes delightfully near to
reasoning. It is on account of his phenomenal brightness that a young
Crow is among the most interesting of pets. If taken from the nest and
well treated, a young Crow can be given such a large measure of freedom
as fully to justify the experiment from a humanitarian standpoint. Of
course the sure end of such a pet is death by an ignorant neighbor’s
gun, but the dear departed is embalmed in memory to such a degree that
all Crows are thereafter regarded as upon a higher plane.
[Illustration: _Taken in Benton Co._ _Photo by the Author._
NEST AND EGGS OF WESTERN CROW.]
Everyone knows that Crows talk. Their cry is usually represented by a
single syllable, _caw_, but it is capable of many and important
modifications. For instance, _keraw, keraw_, comes from some irritated
and apprehensive female, who is trying to smuggle a stick into the
grove; _kawk-kawk-kawk_ proclaims sudden danger, and puts the flock into
instant commotion; while _caw-aw, caw-aw, caw-aw_ reassures them again.
Once in winter when the bird-man, for sport, was mystifying the local
bird population by reproducing the notes of the Screech Owl, a company
of Crows settled in the tops of neighboring trees, and earnestly
discussed the probable nature of the object half-concealed under a
camera cloth. Finally, they gave it up and withdrew—as I supposed. It
seems that one old fellow was not satisfied, for as I ventured to shift
ever so little from my strained position, he set up a derisive
_Ca-a-a-aw_ from a branch over my head,—as who should say, “Aw, ye can’t
fool me. Y’re just a ma-a-an,” and flapped away in disgust.
Crows attempt certain musical notes as well; and, unless I mistake, the
western bird has attained much greater proficiency in these. These notes
are deeply guttural, and evidently entail considerable effort on the
bird’s part. _Hunger-o-ope, hunger-o-ope_, one says; and it occurs to me
that this is allied to the _delary, delary_, or springboard cry, of the
Blue Jay (_Cyanocitta cristata_),—plunging notes they have also been
called.
Space fails in which to describe the elaborate structure of Crow
society; to tell of the military and pedagogical systems which they
enforce; of the courts of justice and penal institutions which they
maintain; of the vigilantes who visit vengeance upon evil-minded owls
and other offenders; or even of the games which they play,—tag, hide and
seek, blind-man’s-buff and pull-away. These things are sufficiently
attested by competent observers; we may only spare a word for that most
serious business of life, nesting.
A typical Crow’s nest is a very substantial affair, as our illustration
shows. Upon a basis of coarse sticks, a mat of dried leaves, grasses,
bark-strips, and dirt, or mud, is impressed. The deep rounded bowl thus
formed is carefully lined with the inner bark of the willow or with
twine, horse-hair, cow-hair, rabbit-fur, wool, or any other soft
substance available. When completed the nesting hollow is seven or eight
inches across and three or four deep. The expression “Crow’s nest,” as
used to indicate disarray, really arises from the consideration of _old_
nests. Since the birds resort to the same locality year after year, but
never use an old nest, the neighboring structures of successive years
come to represent every stage of dilapidation.
West of the mountains nests are almost invariably placed well up in fir
trees, hard against the trunk, and so escape the common observation.
Upon the East-side, however, nests are usually placed in aspen trees or
willows; in the former case occurring at heights up to fifty feet, in
the latter from ten to twenty feet up. Escape by mere elevation being
practically impossible, the Crows resort more or less to out-of-the-way
places,—spring draws, river islands, and swampy thickets.
Notwithstanding the fact that the spring season opens much earlier than
in the East, the Crows, true to the traditions of a northern latitude,
commonly defer nesting till late in April. Fresh eggs may be found by
the 20th of April, but more surely on the 1st of May. Incubation lasts
from fourteen to eighteen days; and the young, commonly five but
sometimes six in number, are born naked and blind.
It is when the Crow children are hatched that Nature begins to groan. It
is then that birds’ eggs are quoted by the crate; and beetles by the
hecatomb are sacrificed daily in a vain effort to satisfy the Gargantuan
appetites of these young ebons. I once had the misfortune to pitch camp
in a grove of willows which contained a nestful of Crows. The old birds
never forgave me, but upbraided me in bitter language from early morn
till dewy eve. The youngsters also suffered somewhat, I fear, for as
often as a parent bird approached, cawing in a curiously muffled voice,
choked with food, and detected me outside the tent, it swallowed its
burden without compunction, in order that it might the more forcibly
berate me.
If the male happened to discover my out-of-doorness in the absence of
his mate, he would rush at her when she hove in sight, in an officious,
blustering way, and shout, “Look out there! Keep away! The Rhino is on
the rampage again!”
I learned, also, to recognize the appearance of hawks in the offing. At
the first sign the Crow, presumably the male, begins to roll out
objurgatory gutturals as he hurries forward to meet the intruder. His
utterances, freely translated, run somewhat as follows: “That blank,
blank Swainson Hawk! I thought I told him to keep away from here. Arrah,
there, you slab-sided son of an owl! What are ye doing here? Git out o’
this! (Biff! Biff!) Git, I tell ye! (Biff!) If ever I set eyes on ye
again, I’ll feed ye to the coyotes. Git, now!” And all this without the
slightest probability that the poor hawk would molest the hideous young
pickaninnies if he did discover them. For when was a self-respecting
hawk so lost to decency as to be willing to “eat crow”?
No. 4.
NORTHWEST CROW.
A. O. U. No. 489. Corvus brachyrhynchos caurinus (Baird).
Synonyms.—Fish Crow. Western Fish Crow. Northwest Fish Crow. Puget
Sound Crow. Tidewater Crow.
Description.—Similar to _C. b. hesperis_, but decidedly smaller, with
shorter tarsus and relatively smaller feet. Length 15.00-17.00; wing
11.00 (280); tail 6.00 (158); bill 1.80 (46); tarsus 1.95 (50).
Recognition Marks.—An undersized Crow. Voice hoarse and flat as
compared with that of the Western Crow. Haunts beaches and sea-girt
rocks.
Nesting.—_Nest_: a compact mass of twigs and bark-strips with
occasionally a foundation of mud; lined carefully with fine
bark-strips and hair; 4.00 deep and 7.00 across inside; placed 10-20
feet high in orchard or evergreen trees, sometimes in loose colony
fashion. _Eggs_: 4 or 5, indistinguishable in color from those of the
Common Crow, but averaging smaller. A typical set averages 1.56 × 1.08
(39.6 × 27.4). _Season_: April 15-June 1; one brood.
General Range.—American coasts of the North Pacific Ocean and its
estuaries from Olympia and the mouth of the Columbia River north at
least to the Alaskan peninsula.
Range in Washington.—Shores and islands of Puget Sound, the Straits of
Juan de Fuca, and the West Coast (at least as far south as Moclips,
presumably to Cape Disappointment). Strictly resident.
Authorities.—[Lewis and Clark, Hist. Ex. (1814), ed. Biddle: Coues,
Vol. II. p. 185.] _Corvus caurinus_ Baird, Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R.
Surv. IX. June 29, 1858, 569, 570. T. C&S. L¹. Rh. Kb. Ra. Kk. B. E.
Specimens.—U. of W. Prov. E. B.
After lengthy discussion it is pretty well settled that the Crow of the
northwestern sea-coasts is merely a dwarfed race of the _Corvus
brachyrhynchos_ group; and that it shades perfectly into the prevailing
western type, _C. b. hesperis_, wherever that species occupies adjacent
regions. This area of intergradation lies chiefly south and west of
Puget Sound, in Washington; for the Crow is ever fond of the half-open
country, and does not take kindly to the unmitigated forest depths, save
where, as in the case of the Fish Crow, he may find relief upon the
broad expanses of shore and tide-flats. The case is quite analogous to
that of native man. The larger, more robust types were found in the
eastern interior, while those tribes which were confined exclusively to
residence upon the sea-shore tended to become dwarfed and stunted; and
the region of intergradation lay not chiefly along the western slopes of
the Cascades with their crushing weight of tall timber, but in the
prairie regions bordering Puget Sound upon the south.
It is impossible, therefore, to pronounce with certainty upon the
subspecific identity of Crows seen near shore in Mason, Thurston,
Pierce, or even King County; but in Clallam, Jefferson, San Juan, and
the other counties of the Northwest, one has no difficulty in
recognizing the dwarf race. Not only are these Crows much smaller in
point of size, but the voice is weaker, flatter, and more hoarse, as tho
affected by an ever-present fog. So marked is this vocal change, that
one may note the difference between birds seen along shore in Pierce
County and those which frequent the uplands. However,—and this caution
must be noted—the upland birds do visit the shore on occasion; and the
regular shore dwellers are by no means confined thereto, as are the more
typical birds found further north.
The early observers were feeling for these differences, and if Nature
did not afford sufficient ground for easy discrimination, imagination
could supply the details. The following paragraph from the much quoted
work[4] of John Keast Lord is interesting because deliciously untrue.
“The sea-coast is abandoned when the breeding time arrives early in May,
when they resort in pairs to the interior; selecting a patch of open
prairie, where there are streams and lakes and where the wild crab apple
and white-thorn grows, in which they build nests precisely like that of
the Magpie, arched over the top with sticks. The bird enters by a hole
on one side but leaves by an exit hole in the opposite. The inside is
plastered with mud; a few grass stalks strewn loosely on the bottom keep
the eggs from rolling. This is so marked a difference to the Barking
Crow’s nesting [“Barking Crow” is J. K. L.’s solecism for the Western
Crow, _C. b. hesperis_], as in itself to be a specific distinction. The
eggs are lighter in blotching and much smaller. I examined great numbers
[! !] of nests at this prairie and on the Columbia, but invariably found
that the same habit of doming prevailed. After nesting, they return with
the young to the sea-coasts, and remain in large flocks often associated
with Barking Crows until nesting time comes again.”—No single point of
which has been confirmed by succeeding observers.
[Illustration: _Taken at Neah Bay._ _Photo by the Author._
THE PHANTOM CROWS.]
Dr. Cooper wrote[5] with exact truthfulness: “This fish-crow frequents
the coast and inlets of this Territory in large numbers, and is much
more gregarious and familiar than the common Crow. Otherwise it much
resembles that bird in habits, being very sagacious, feeding on almost
everything animal and vegetable, and having nearly the same cries,
differing rather in tone than character. Its chief dependence for food
being on the sea, it is generally found along the beach, devouring dead
fish and other things brought up by the waves. It is also very fond of
oysters, which it breaks by carrying them upward and dropping again on a
rock or other hard material. When the tide is full they resort to the
fields or dwellings near the shore and devour potatoes and other
vegetables, offal, etc. They, like the gulls, perceive the instant of
change of the tide, and flocks will then start off together for a
favorite feeding ground. They are very troublesome to the Indians,
stealing their dried fish and other things, while from superstitious
feelings the Indians never kill them but set a child to watch and drive
them away. They build in trees near the shore in the same way as the
common crow and the young are fledged in May.”
Mr. J. F. Edwards, a pioneer of ’67, tells me that in the early days a
small drove of pigs was an essential feature of every well-equipped
saw-mill on Puget Sound. The pigs were given the freedom of the
premises, slept in the saw dust, and dined behind the mess-house.
Between meals they wandered down to the beach and rooted for clams at
low tide. The Crows were not slow to learn the advantages of this
arrangement and posted themselves promptly in the most commanding and
only safe positions; viz., on the backs of the pigs. The pig grunted and
squirmed, but Mr. Crow, mindful of the blessings ahead, merely extended
a balancing wing and held on. The instant the industrious rooter turned
up a clam, the Crow darted down, seized it in his beak and made off;
resigning his station to some sable brother, and leaving the porker to
reflect discontentedly upon the rapacity of the upper classes. Mr.
Edwards declares that he has seen this little comedy enacted, not once,
but a hundred times, at Port Madison and at Alberni, V. I.
The Fish Crows have learned from the gulls the delights of sailing the
main on driftwood. I have seen numbers of them going out with the tide a
mile or more from shore, and once a Crow kept company with three gulls
on a float so small that the gulls had continually to strive for
position; but the Crow stood undisturbed.
[Illustration: _Photo by the Author._
BIRDS AND BOATS AT NEAH BAY.]
Speaking of their aquatic tendencies, Mr. A. B. Reagan, of La Push,
assures me that he has repeatedly seen them catch smelt in the ocean
near shore. These fish become involved in the breakers and may be
snatched from above by the dextrous bird without any severe wetting.
Crows are still the most familiar feature of Indian village life. The
Indian, perhaps, no longer cherishes any superstition regarding him, but
he is reluctant to banish such a familiar evil. The Quillayutes call the
bird _Kah-ah-yó_: and it is safe to say that fifty pairs of these Fish
Crows nest within half a mile of the village of La Push. They nest,
indifferently, in the saplings of the coastal thickets, or against the
trunks of the larger spruces, and take little pains to escape
observation. The birds are, however, becoming quite shy of a gun. Seeing
a half dozen of them seated in the tip of a tall spruce in the open
woods, I raised my fowling piece to view, whereupon all flew with
frantic cries. Indeed it required considerable manœuvering and an
ambuscade to secure the single specimen needed.
[Illustration: _Taken on Waldron Id._ _Photo by the Author._
THE CROW’S FARE.]
At Neah Bay the Fish Crows patrol the beach incessantly and allow very
little of the halibut fishers’ largess to float off on the tide. And the
_Oke-t(c)ope_, as the Makahs call the birds, have little fear of the
Indians, altho they are very suspicious of a strange white man. I once
saw a pretty sight on this beach: a three year old Indian girl chasing
the Crows about in childish glee. The birds enjoyed the frolic as much
as she, and fell in behind her as fast as she shooed them away in
front—came within two or three feet of her, too, and made playful dashes
at her chubby legs. But might I be permitted to photograph the scene at,
say, fifty yards? _Mit nichten!_ Arragh! To your tents, O Israel!
In so far as this Crow consents to perform the office of scavenger, he
is a useful member of society. Nor is his consumption of shell-fish a
serious matter. But when we come to consider the quality and extent of
his depredations upon colonies of nesting sea-birds, we find that he
merits unqualified condemnation. For instance, two of us bird-men once
visited the west nesting of Baird Cormorants on Flattop, to obtain
photographs. As we retired down the cliff, I picked up a broken shell of
a Cormorant’s egg, from which the white, or plasma, was still dripping.
As we pulled away from the foot of the cliff a Crow flashed into view,
lighted on the edge of a Shag’s nest, seized an egg, and bore it off
rapidly into the woods above, where the clamor of expectant young soon
told of the disposition that was being made of it. Immediately the
marauder was back again, seized the other egg, and was off as before.
All this, mind you, in a trice, before we were sufficiently out of range
for the Cormorants to reach their nests again, altho they were hastening
toward them. Back came the Crow, but the first nest was exhausted; the
second had nothing in it; the Shags were on the remainder; moments were
precious—he made a dive at a Gull’s nest, but the Gulls made a dive at
him; and they too hastened to their eggs.
Subsequent investigation discovered rifled egg-shells all over the
island, and it was an easy matter to pick up a hatful for evidence. As
he is at Flattop, so he is everywhere, an indefatigable robber of birds’
nests, a sneaking, thieving, hated, black marauder. It is my deliberate
conviction that the successful rearing of a nestful of young Crows costs
the lives of a hundred sea-birds. The Baird Cormorant is, doubtless, the
heaviest loser; and she appears to have no means of redress after the
mischief is done, save to lay more eggs,—more eggs to feed more Crows,
to steal more eggs, etc.
No. 5.
CLARK’S NUTCRACKER.
A.O.U. No. 491. Nucifraga columbiana (Wils.).
Synonyms.—Clark’s Crow. Pine Crow. Gray Crow. “Camp Robber.” (Thru
confusion with the Gray Jay, _Perisoreus_ sp.).
Description.—_Adults_: General plumage smoky gray, lightening on head,
becoming sordid white on forehead, lores, eyelids, malar region and
chin; wings glossy black, the secondaries broadly tipped with white;
under tail-coverts and four outermost pairs of rectrices white, the
fifth pair with outer web chiefly white and the inner web chiefly
black, the remaining (central) pair of rectrices and the upper
tail-coverts black; bill and feet black; iris brown. Shade of gray in
plumage of adults variable—bluish ash in freshly moulted specimens,
darker and browner, or irregularly whitening in worn plumage. _Young_
like adults, but browner. Length 11.00-13.00; wing 7.00-8.00 (192);
tail 4.50 (115); bill 1.60 (40.7); tarsus 1.45 (36.8). Female smaller
than male.
Recognition Marks.—Kingfisher size; gray plumage with abruptly
contrasting black-and-white of wings and tail; harsh “_char-r_” note.
Nesting.—_Nest_: basally a platform of twigs on which is massed fine
strips of bark with a lining of bark and grasses, placed well out on
horizontal limb of evergreen tree, 10-50 feet up. _Eggs_: 2-5, usually
3, pale green sparingly flecked and spotted with lavender and brown
chiefly about larger end. Av. size, 1.30 × .91 (33 × 23.1). _Season_:
March 20-April 10; one brood.
General Range.—Western North America in coniferous timber, from
Arizona and New Mexico to Alaska; casual east of the Rockies.
Range in Washington.—Of regular occurrence in the mountains thruout
the State. Resident in the main but visits the foothills and lower
pine-clad levels of eastern Washington at the close of the nesting
season.
Authorities.—_Corvus columbianus_, Wilson, Am. Orn. iii. 1811, 29. T.
C&S. D¹. D². J. E.
Specimens.—(U. of W.). Prov. E. C.
No bird-lover can forget his first encounter with this singular
Old-Bird-of-the-Mountains. Ten to one the bird brought the man up
standing by a stentorian _char’r’r, char’r’r, char’r’r_, which led him
to search wildly in his memory whether Rocs are credited with voices. If
the bird was particularly concerned at the man’s intrusion, he presently
revealed himself sitting rather stolidly on a high pine branch,
repeating that harsh and deafening cry. The grating voice is decidedly
unpleasant at close quarters, and it is quite out of keeping with the
unquestioned sobriety of its grizzled owner. A company of Nutcrackers in
the distance finds frequent occasion for outcry, and the din is only
bearable as it is softened and modified by the re-echoing walls of some
pine-clad gulch, or else dissipated by the winds which sweep over the
listening glaciers.
[Illustration: CLARK’S NUTCRACKER.]
Clark’s Nutcracker is the presiding genius of the East-side slopes and
light-forested foothills, as well as of the rugged fastnesses of the
central Cordilleras. His presence, during fall and winter, at the lower
altitudes depends in large measure upon the pine-cone crop, since pine
seeds are his staple, tho by no means his exclusive diet. This black and
white and gray “Crow” curiously combines the characteristics of
Woodpecker and Jay as well. Like the Lewis Woodpecker, he sometimes
hawks at passing insects, eats berries from bushes, or alights on the
ground to glean grubs, grasshoppers, and black crickets. In the
mountains it shares with the Jays of the _Perisoreus_ group the names
“meat-bird” and “camp-robber,” for nothing that is edible comes amiss to
this bird, and instances are on record of its having invaded not only
the open-air kitchen, but the tent, as well, in search of “supplies.”
Of its favorite food, John Keast Lord says: “Clark’s ‘Crows’ have, like
the Cross-bills, to get out the seeds from underneath the scaly
coverings constituting the outward side of the fir-cone; nature has not
given them crossed mandibles to lever open the scales, but instead, feet
and claws, that serve the purpose of hands, and a powerful bill like a
small crowbar. To use the crowbar to advantage the cone needs steadying,
or it would snap at the stem and fall; to accomplish this one foot
clasps it, and the powerful claws hold it firmly, whilst the other foot
encircling the branch, supports the bird, either back downward, head
downward, on its side, or upright like a woodpecker, the long clasping
claws being equal to any emergency; the cone thus fixed and a firm hold
maintained on the branch, the seeds are gouged out from under the
scales.”
These Nutcrackers are among the earliest and most hardy nesters. They
are practically independent of climate, but are found during the nesting
months—March, or even late in February, and early April—only where there
is a local abundance of pine (or fir) seeds. They are artfully silent at
this season, and the impression prevails that they have “gone to the
mountains”; or, if in the mountains already, the presence of a dozen
feet of snow serves to allay the oölogist’s suspicions.
The nest is a very substantial affair of twigs and bark-strips, heavily
lined, as befits a cold season, and placed at any height in a pine or
fir tree, without noticeable attempt at concealment. The birds take
turns incubating and—again because of the cold season—are very close
sitters. Three eggs are usually laid, of about the size and shape of
Magpies’ eggs, but much more lightly colored. Incubation, Bendire
thinks, lasts sixteen or seventeen days, and the young are fed solely on
hulled pine seeds, at the first, presumably, regurgitated.
If the Corvine affinities of this bird were nowhere else betrayed, they
might be known from the hunger cries of the young. The importunate _añh,
añh, añh_ of the expectant bantling, and the subsequent _gullú, gullú,
gullú_ of median deglutition (and boundless satisfaction) will always
serve to bind the Crow, Magpie, and Nutcracker together in one compact
group. When the youngsters are “ready for college,” the reserve of early
spring is set aside and the hillsides are made to resound with much
practice of that uncanny yell before mentioned. Family groups are
gradually obliterated and, along in June, the birds of the foothills
begin to retire irregularly to the higher ranges, either to rest up
after the exhausting labors of the season, or to revel in midsummer
gaiety with scores and hundreds of their fellows.
No. 6.
PINON JAY.
A. O. U. No. 492. Cyanocephalus cyanocephalus (Maxim.).
Synonyms.—Blue Crow. Maximilian’s Jay. Pine Jay.
Description.—_Adults_: Plumage dull grayish blue, deepening on crown
and nape, brightening on cheeks, paling below posteriorly, streaked
and grayish white on chin, throat and chest centrally; bill and feet
black; iris brown. _Young_ birds duller, gray rather than blue, except
on wings and tail. Length of adult males 11.00-12.00; wing 6.00 (154);
tail 4.50 (114); bill 1.42 (36); tarsus 1.50 (38). Female somewhat
smaller.
Recognition Marks.—Robin size; blue color; crow-like aspect.
Nesting.—Not supposed to nest in State.
General Range.—Piñon and juniper woods of western United States; north
to southern British Columbia (interior), Idaho, etc.; south to
Northern Lower California, Arizona, New Mexico, and western Texas;
casually along the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mts.
Range in Washington.—One record by Capt. Bendire, Fort Simcoe, Yakima
Co., June, 1881, “quite numerous.” Presumably casual at close of
nesting season.
Authorities.—[“Maximilian’s Nutcracker,” Johnson, Rep. Gov. W. T. 1884
(1885), 22.] _Cyanocephalus cyanocephalus_ (Wied), Bendire, Life Hist.
N. A. Birds, Vol. II. p. 425 (1895).
Specimens.—C.
Captain Bendire who is sole authority for the occurrence of this bird in
Washington may best be allowed to speak here from his wide experience:
“The Piñon Jay, locally known as ‘Nutcracker,’ ‘Maximilian’s Jay,’ ‘Blue
Crow,’ and as ‘Pinonario’ by the Mexicans, is rather a common resident
in suitable localities throughout the southern portions of its range,
while in the northern parts it is only a summer visitor, migrating
regularly. It is most abundantly found throughout the piñon and
cedar-covered foothills abounding between the western slopes of the
Rocky Mountains and the eastern bases of the Sierra Nevada and Cascade
ranges in California, Nevada, and Oregon.
“It is an eminently sociable species at all times, even during the
breeding season, and is usually seen in large compact flocks, moving
about from place to place in search of feeding grounds, being on the
whole rather restless and erratic in its movements; you may meet with
thousands in a place to-day and perhaps to-morrow you will fail to see a
single one. It is rarely met with at altitudes of over 9,000 feet in
summer, and scarcely ever in the higher coniferous forests; its favorite
haunts are the piñon-covered foothills of the minor mountain regions,
the sweet and very palatable seeds of these trees furnishing its
favorite food during a considerable portion of the year. In summer they
feed largely on insects of all kinds, especially grasshoppers, and are
quite expert in catching these on the wing; cedar and juniper berries,
small seeds of various kinds, and different species of wild berries also
enter largely into their bill of fare. A great deal of time is spent on
the ground where they move along in compact bodies while feeding, much
in the manner of Blackbirds, the rearmost birds rising from time to
time, flying over the flock and alighting again in front of the main
body; they are rather shy and alert while engaged in feeding. I followed
a flock numbering several thousands which was feeding in the open pine
forest bordering the Klamath Valley, Oregon, for more than half a mile,
trying to get a shot at some of them, but in this I was unsuccessful.
They would not allow me to get within range, and finally they became
alarmed, took wing, and flew out of sight down the valley. On the next
day, September 18, 1882, I saw a still larger flock, which revealed its
presence by the noise made; these I headed off, and awaited their
approach in a dense clump of small pines in which I had hidden; I had
not long to wait and easily secured several specimens. On April 4, 1883,
I saw another large flock feeding in the open woods, evidently on their
return to their breeding grounds farther north, and by again getting in
front of them I secured several fine males. These birds are said to
breed in large numbers in the juniper groves near the eastern slopes of
the Cascade Mountains, on the head waters of the Des Chutes River,
Oregon. I have also seen them in the Yakima Valley, near old Fort
Simcoe, in central Washington, in June, 1881, in an oak opening, where
they were quite numerous. Their center of abundance, however, is in the
piñon or nut-pine belt, which does not extend north of latitude 40°, if
so far, and wherever these trees are found in large numbers the Piñon
Jay can likewise be looked for with confidence.
“Their call notes are quite variable; some of them are almost as harsh
as the ‘_chaar_’ of the Clarke’s Nutcracker, others partake much of the
gabble of the Magpie, and still others resemble more those of the Jays.
A shrill, querulous ‘_peeh, peeh_,’ or ‘_whee, whee_,’ is their common
call note. While feeding on the ground they kept up a constant
chattering, which can be heard for quite a distance, and in this way
often betray their whereabouts.”
No. 7.
AMERICAN MAGPIE.
A. O. U. No. 475. Pica pica hudsonia (Sabine).
Synonym.—Black-billed Magpie.
Description.—_Adults_: Lustrous black with violet, purplish, green,
and bronzy iridescence, brightest on wings and tail; an elongated
scapular patch pure white; lower breast, upper abdomen, flanks and
sides broadly pure white; primaries extensively white on inner web; a
broad band on rump with large admixture of white; tail narrowly
graduated thru terminal three-fifths; bill and feet black; iris black.
_Young_ birds lack iridescence on head and are elsewhere duller;
relative length of tail sure index of age in juvenile specimens.
Length of adults 15.00-20.00, of which tail 8.00-12.00 (Av. 265); wing
7.85 (200); bill 1.35 (35.); tarsus 1.85 (47).
Recognition Marks.—Black-and-white plumage with long tail
unmistakable.
Nesting.—_Nest_: normally a large sphere of interlaced sticks, “as big
as a bushel basket,” placed 5-40 feet high in willow, aspen,
grease-wood or pine. The nest proper is a contained hemisphere of mud
8-10 inches across inside, and with walls 1-2 inches in thickness,
carefully lined for half its depth with twigs surmounted by a mat of
fine rootlets. _Eggs_: 7 or 8, rarely 10, pale grayish green, quite
uniformly freckled and spotted with olive green or olive brown.
Occasionally spots nearly confluent in heavy ring about larger end, in
which case remainder of egg likely to be less heavily marked than
usual. Shape variable, rounded ovate to elongate ovate. Av. size, 1.20
× .88 (30.5 × 22.3). _Season_: March 20-May 1; one brood.
General Range.—Western North America chiefly in treeless or sparsely
timbered areas from southern Arizona, New Mexico, and western Texas
north to northwestern Alaska. Straggles eastward to west shore of
Hudson Bay, and occurs casually in North Central States, Nebraska,
etc. Replaced in California west of the Sierras by _Pica nuttalli_.
Range in Washington.—Confined to East-side during breeding season,
where of nearly universal distribution. Disappears along east slope of
Cascades and does not-deeply penetrate the mountain valleys. Migrates
regularly but sparingly thru mountain passes to West-side at close of
breeding season.
Authorities.—[Lewis and Clark, Hist. Ex. (1814) Ed. Biddle: Coues,
Vol. II. p. 185.] _Pica hudsonica_ Bonap., Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R.
Surv. IX. pt. II. (1858), 578. T. C&S. Rh. D¹. Ra. D². Ss¹. Ss². J. B.
E.
Specimens.—(U. of W.) P. Prov. B. E. BN.
Here is another of those rascals in feathers who keep one alternately
grumbling and admiring. As an abstract proposition one would not stake a
_sou marquee_ on the virtue of a Magpie; but taken in the concrete, with
a sly wink and a saucy tilt of the tail, one will rise to his feet,
excitedly shouting, “Go it, Jackity,” and place all his earnings on this
pie-bald steed in the race for avian honors. It is impossible to
exaggerate this curious contradiction in Magpie nature, and in our
resulting attitude towards it. It is much the same with the mischievous
small boy. He has surpassed the bounds of legitimate naughtiness, and we
take him on the parental knee for well-deserved correction. But the
saucy culprit manages to steal a roguish glance at us,—a glance which
challenges the remembrance of our own boyish pranks, and bids us ask
what difference it will make twenty years after; and it is all off with
discipline for that occasion.
The Magpie is indisputably a wretch, a miscreant, a cunning thief, a
heartless marauder, a brigand bold—Oh, call him what you will! But,
withal, he is such a picturesque villain, that as often as you are
stirred with righteous indignation and impelled to punitive slaughter,
you fall to wondering if your commission as avenger is properly
countersigned, and—shirk the task outright.
The cattle men have it in for him, because the persecutions of the
Magpie sometimes prevent scars made by the branding iron from healing;
and cases are known in which young stock has died because of malignant
sores resulting. This is, of course, a grave misdemeanor; but when the
use of fences shall have fully displaced the present custom of branding,
we shall probably hear no more of it.
[Illustration: _Taken in Yakima County._ _Photo by the Author._
NEST OF MAGPIE IN GREASEWOOD.]
[Illustration: AMERICAN MAGPIE.]
Beyond this it is indisputably true that Magpies are professional nest
robbers. At times they organize systematic searching parties, and
advance thru the sage-brush, poking, prying, spying, and devouring, with
the ruthlessness and precision of a pestilence. Not only eggs but young
birds are appropriated. I once saw a Magpie seize a half-grown
Meadowlark from its nest, carry it to its own domicile, and parcel it
out among its clamoring brood. Then, in spite of the best defense the
agonized parents could institute, it calmly returned and selected
another. Sticks and stones shied by the bird-man merely deferred the
doom of the remaining larks. The Magpie was not likely to forget the
whereabouts of such easy meat.
[Illustration: _Taken in Yakima County._ _Photo by the Author._
MAGPIE’S NEST FROM ABOVE.
WITH CANOPY REMOVED. SAME NEST AS IN ILLUSTRATION ON PAGE 24.]
Nor is such a connoisseur of eggs likely to overlook the opportunities
afforded by a poultry yard. He becomes an adept at purloining eggs, and
can make off with his booty with astonishing ease. One early morning,
seeing a Magpie fly over the corral with something large and white in
his bill, and believing that he had alighted not far beyond, I followed
quickly and frightened him from a large hen’s egg, which bore externally
the marks of the bird’s bill, but which was unpierced. Of course the
only remedy for such a habit is the shot-gun.
To say that Magpies are garrulous would be as trite as to say hens
cackle, and the adjective could not be better defined than “talking like
a Magpie.” The Magpie is the symbol of loquacity. The very type in which
this is printed is small _pica_; that is small _Magpie_. Much of this
bird’s conversation is undoubtedly unfit for print, but it has always
the merit of vivacity. A party of Magpies will keep up a running
commentary on current events, now facetious, now vehement, as they move
about; while a comparative cessation of the racket means, as likely as
not, that some favorite raconteur is holding forth, and that there will
be an explosion of riotous laughter when his tale is done. The pie, like
Nero, aspires to song; but no sycophant will be found to praise him, for
he intersperses his more tuneful musings with chacks and barks and harsh
interjections which betray a disordered taste. In modulation and
quality, however, the notes sometimes verge upon the human; and it is
well known that Magpies can be instructed until they acquire a handsome
repertoire of speech.
In order that their double quartet of youngsters may be lined up for the
egg harvest, the Magpies take an early start at home building. April is
the nesting month, but I have two records for March 30th,—one of five
eggs at Chelan, and one of eight in Yakima County. In the latter
instance the first egg must have been deposited not later than March
18th. And because the season affords him no protection, the Magpie
resorts to two expedients in nest building in lieu of concealment: he
first seeks retirement, the depths of some lonesome swamp, an
unfrequented draw, or wooded spring, in the foothills, and then he
erects a castle which would do credit to a feudal baron. The nest is a
ball of interlacing sticks set about a hollow half-sphere of dried mud.
The amount of labor expended upon one of these structures is prodigious.
The greasewood nest shown in the accompanying cut is three feet deep and
two feet thru, and the component sticks are so firmly interwoven that no
ordinary agency, short of the human hand, can effect an entrance. The
bird enters thru an obscure passage in one side, and, if surprised upon
the nest, has always a way of escape planned thru the opposite wall. The
mud cup is carefully shaped with walls an inch or two in thickness, a
total breadth of eight or ten inches, and a like depth. In the best
construction this cavity is filled to a depth of three or four inches
with a loose mat of fine twigs of a uniform size. Upon this in turn is
placed a coiled mattress of fine, clean rootlets, the whole affording a
very sanitary arrangement.
Another fortress, of single construction, was four feet deep and three
and a half feet thru; and that, too, after making liberal allowance for
chance projections. The component sticks measure up to three feet in
length and three-quarters of an inch in thickness. Nests are repaired
and re-occupied year after year; or if they fall into hopeless decay,
new structures are erected upon the ruins of the old. The tenement
photographed on Homely Island is a double nest (it looks triple, but the
upper third is merely the dome for the central portion, or nest proper),
and measures seven feet from top to bottom. It contained seven eggs on
April 24th, 1905, but altho the oölogist is very fond of little Magpies’
eggs, he left these as a tribute to Mr. and Mrs. Cheops.
[Illustration: _Taken in Benton County._ _Photo by the Author._
MAGPIE’S NEST ON HOMELY ISLAND.]
This historic pile is in marked contrast to one sighted in a willow on
the banks of Crab Creek near Odessa. My attention was attracted to the
spot by a scuffle, which took place between a Magpie and a pair of
Kingbirds; and when I started to examine the nest, I was in honest doubt
whether it might not belong to the Kingbirds. The foundation was of mud,
but this came near constituting the outside of the nest instead of the
inside. The action of the wind upon the willows had compressed the mud
bowl to a boat-shaped receptacle wherein lay five brown beauties,
unmistakable Magpies’ eggs. There was a copious lining of rootlets, and
a light half-cover of thorn twigs; but the whole structure was not over
a foot in diameter and scarcely that in depth.
[Illustration: _Taken near Spokane._ _Photo by Fred S. Merrill._
YOUNG MAGPIE.]
Magpies, like Blue Jays, are discreetly quiet in nesting time, and
especially so if they have attempted to nest in the vicinity of a
farmhouse. When driven to the hills by persecution they accept any
shelter, and will nest in greasewood, sage-brush, or even on the ground.
Arbors of clematis (_clematis ligusticifolia_) offer occasional
concealment, but thornapples (_Cratægus columbianum_, etc.) afford the
safest retreat. A Magpie snugly ensconced in a thornapple fortress may
well bid defiance to any retributive agency short of man. Among several
scores of nests I never saw one in a pine tree in the Yakima country,
yet these are freely utilized in Chelan, Okanogan, and Spokane Counties.
Indeed, in these latter localities there is a suspicion of dawning
preference for the tree-tops and difficult climbs. On the Columbia River
I once found a family of Magpies occupying the basement of a huge
Osprey’s nest, and had reason to believe that the thrifty pies made
efficient, if unwelcome, janitors.
Young Magpies are unsightly when hatched,—“worse than naked,” and
repulsive to a degree equaled only by young Cormorants. Hideous as they
unquestionably are, the devoted parents declare them angels, and are
ready to back their opinions with most raucous vociferations. With the
possible exception of Herons, who are plebes anyhow, Magpies are the
most abusive and profane of birds. When a nest of young birds is
threatened, they not only express such reasonable anxiety as any parent
might feel, but they denounce, upbraid, anathematize, and vilify the
intruder, and decry his lineage from Adam down. They show the ingenuity
of Orientals in inventing opprobrious epithets, and when these run dry,
they fall to tearing at the leaves, the twigs, the branches, or even
light on the ground and rip up the soil with their beaks, in the mad
extremity of their rage.
A pair with whom I experimented near Wallula rather fell into the humor
of the thing. The Magpie is ever a wag, and these must have known that
repeated visits could mean no harm. Nevertheless, as often as I rattled
the nest from my favorite perch on the willow tree, the old pies opened
fresh vials of wrath and emptied their contents upon my devoted head.
When mere utterance became inadequate, the male bird fell to hewing at
the end of a broken branch in most eloquent indignation. He wore this
down four inches in the course of my three visits. Once, when my
attention was diverted, he took a sly crack at my outstretched fingers,
which were hastily withdrawn; and, believe me, we both laughed.
The Black-billed Magpie winters practically thruout its breeding range,
but it also indulges in irregular migratory movements, which in
Washington take the form of excursions to the coast. While never common
on Puget Sound, they are not unlikely to occur anywhere here in the fall
of the year, and are almost certain to be found somewhere about the
southern prairies. They return early in spring by way of the major
passes, and are not again seen within the heavily timbered areas during
the breeding season. Mr. D. E. Brown, then of Glacier, on the north fork
of the Nooksack River, records under date of March 4, 1905, the
appearance of several bands of Magpies passing eastward at a
considerable height, perhaps something between three and five thousand
feet. He says they were unrecognizable until glasses were trained on
them, and he thinks he must have seen at least fifty birds, with chances
for many more to have passed unobserved.
East or west the Magpie becomes a pensioner of the slaughter house in
winter, and his fondness for meat has often proved his undoing in the
cattle country. As a scavenger his services are not inconsiderable. The
only trouble is, as has been said, that he sometimes kills his own meat.
Volumes could be written of the Magpie as a pet. He is a brainy chap as
well as a wag, and infinitely more interesting than a stupid parrot.
Mischief is his special forte: the untying of shoe-strings, the
investigation of cavities, the secreting of spoons, and the aimless
abstraction of gold teeth are his unending delight. Once when the writer
was shelling seed peas in the garden, a spoiled “Jackity” assayed to
fill his (the man’s) ears with these innocent pellets; and when he
discovered a rent in the knee of the man’s trousers, he fairly chortled,
“Well; I see myself busy for a week filling _that_ hole!”
Cage life is irksome for bird or beast; but, if we must be amused, and,
above all, if we feel called upon to pass adverse judgment upon this
gifted bundle of contradictions, as he exists in a state of nature, let
our harshest sentence be sociable confinement with occasional freedom on
parole. A bird in the cage is worth two in the obituary columns.
No. 8.
CALIFORNIA JAY.
A. O. U. No. 481. Aphelocoma californica (Vigors).
Description.—_Adults_: In general blue, changing to brownish gray on
back (scapulars and interscapulars), whitening variously on
underparts; crown, hind neck and sides of neck dull cobalt blue,
nearly uniform; wings, tail, and upper tail-coverts dull azure blue;
cheeks and auriculars cobalt blue and dusky; chin, throat, and chest,
centrally, white, the last-named with admixture of blue in streaks,
and passing into the clear blue of its sides; breast sordid gray,
passing into dull white of remaining underparts; shorter under
tail-coverts pure white, the longer ones tinged with pale blue; bill
and feet black; iris brown. In _young birds_ the blue of adults is
supplanted by mouse-gray on head and lower neck, rump, etc., save that
crown is tinged with blue; the gray of back is of a deeper shade; the
underparts are white, save for light brownish wash across breast and
sides. Length of adult males 11.50-12.25; wing 5.00 (127); tail 5.60
(143); bill 1.00 (25.4); tarsus 1.60 (41). Females slightly smaller.
Recognition Marks.—Robin size; blue coloration without crest; whitish
underparts.
Nesting.—_Nest_: a bed of small twigs without mud and heavily lined
with fine dead grass; 8 inches across outside by 3½ in depth—thus much
smaller and lighter than that of the Steller Jay—placed at moderate
elevation in tree or bush in thicket near water. _Eggs_: 3-6, usually
4 or 5, deep green of varying shades, spotted with reddish browns. Av.
size, 1.11 × .82 (28.2 × 20.8). _Season_: first week in May; one
brood.
General Range.—Pacific Coast district of United States, including
eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada and the Cascade Range in Oregon,
north to southwestern Washington.
Range in Washington.—Of limited but regular occurrence along the banks
of the Columbia west of the Cascades. Resident.
Authorities.—[“California Jay,” Johnson Rep. Gov. W. T. 1884 (1885),
22]. [Belding, Land Birds Pac. Dist. (1890) p. 111] _Aphelocoma
californica_, Lawrence, Auk, July, 1892, p. 301.
Specimens.—C.
Thru the western part of Oregon the breeding limits of the California
Jay do not extend as far north as the Columbia River. I have never known
of this species nesting about Portland, yet thirty miles south and
southwest it is not at all uncommon. Thru the Willamette Valley, one
meets this bird about as often as the Steller Jay. The habits of the two
jays are much the same, yet the birds are easily distinguished by their
dress, the California Jay having more resemblance to the Blue Jay of the
East in color but lacking the crest, while the Steller Jay has a dark
blue and blackish coat with the long crest.
[Illustration: _Taken in Oregon._ _Photo by Finley and Bohlman._
YOUNG CALIFORNIA JAY.]
According to popular opinion, the California Jay is a bird of bad
reputation. Many people think he does nothing but go about wrecking the
homes of other birds and feasting on their eggs. This is not true, altho
occasionally a Jay will destroy the home of another bird. In Oregon I
have often seen this bird feeding on wheat about the edge of the fields
after the grain has been cut. Fruit, grain, grasshoppers and other
insects make up a large part of his food.
Several years ago I saw a small flock of California Jays along the
Columbia River in the dead of winter. During the nesting season the jay
is too quiet to show his real character. During the autumn and winter he
throws off all restraint, picks up a few mates and goes wandering about
from place to place in search of food. The bold and boisterous squawk of
the Blue Jay always comes to my ear as a welcome and fitting note to
relieve the cold quiet of the winter woods.
One day I was watching several English Sparrows that were feeding on the
ground under an oak when a pair of California Jays came flying thru the
trees. With a loud squawk one swooped down, with his wings and tail
spread and his feathers puffed out as much as possible, evidently
expecting to scare the sparrows. He dropped right in their midst with a
screech which plainly said, “Get out of here or I’ll eat you up alive!”
The bluff might have worked with any bird except an Englisher. The
Sparrows sputtered in contempt and were ready to fight but the Jay’s
attitude changed in a second. He took on an air of meekness and
unconcern and hopped off looking industriously in the grass for
something he had no idea of finding. I thought it a good touch of Jay
character.
William L. Finley.
No. 9.
STELLER’S JAY.
A. O. U. No. 478. Cyanocitta stelleri (Gmelin).
Synonyms.—“BLue Jay.” “Jaybird.”
Description.—_Adults_: Head and neck all around, and back, sooty
black, touched with streaks of cerulean blue on forehead, and pale
gray on chin and throat, this color passing insensibly into dull blue
on breast and rump and richer blue on wings and tail; terminal portion
of tail and wings crossed with fine black bars, sharply on secondaries
and tertials, faintly or not at all on greater coverts. Bill and feet
black; iris brown. _Young birds_ are more extensively sooty, and
wing-bars are faint or wanting. Length of adults about 12.00; wing
5.90 (150); tail 5.43 (138); bill 1.18 (30); tarsus 1.80 (46).
Recognition Marks.—Robin size; harsh notes; blue and black coloration
unmistakable.
Nesting.—_Nest_: a bulky mass of fine twigs thickly plastered
centrally with mud and lined with fine rootlets, placed 6-30 feet high
in evergreen tree of thicket, or near edge of clearing. _Eggs_: 3-5,
usually 4, pale bluish green, uniformly but moderately spotted with
olive brown and pale rufous and with numerous “shell-markings” of
lavender. Av. size, 1.23 × .90 (31.2 × 22.8). _Season_: April 20-May
10; one brood.
General Range.—North Pacific Coast district from Gray’s Harbor and
Puget Sound north to Cook’s Inlet, except Prince of Wales Island and
the Queen Charlotte group (where displaced by _C. s. carlottæ_).
Range in Washington.—Entire western portion from summit of Cascades,
shading into _C. s. carbonacea_ along north bank of the Columbia.
Resident.
Authorities.—? _Cyanura stelleri_ Swains., Orn. Com., Journ. Ac. Nat.
Sci. Phila. VII. 1837, 193. _Cyanocitta stelleri_, Newberry, Rep. Pac.
R. R. Surv. VI. pt. IV. 1857, p. 85. T. C&S. L¹: Rh. Ra. Kk. B. E.
Specimens.—U. of W. Prov. E. B. BN.
Mischief and the “Blue Jay” are synonymous. Alert, restless, saucy,
inquisitive, and provoking, yet always interesting, this handsome
brigand keeps his human critics in a perpetual see-saw between wrath and
admiration. As a sprightly piece of Nature, the Steller Jay is an
unqualified success. As the hero-subject of a guessing contest he is
without a peer, for one never knows what he is doing until he has done
it, and none may predict what he will do next.
The pioneers are especially bitter against him, and they are unanimous
in accusing the bird of malicious destructiveness in the gardens, which
are dearer than the apple of the eye during the first years of
wilderness life. The birds will eat anything, and so, tiring of bugs and
slugs, are not averse to trying corn, cabbage leaves, or, best of all,
potatoes. They have observed the tedious operation of the gardener in
planting, and know precisely where the coveted tubers lie. Bright and
early the following morning they slip to the edge of the clearing, post
one of their number as lookout, then silently deploy upon their ghoulish
task. If they weary of potatoes, sprouting peas or corn will do. Or
perhaps there may be something interesting at the base of this young
tomato plant. And when the irate farmer appears upon the scene, the
marauders retire to the forest shrieking with laughter at the
discomfitted swain. Ay! there’s the rub! We may endure injury but not
insult. Bang! Bang!
As a connoisseur of birds’ eggs, too, the Steller Jay enjoys a bad
eminence. The sufferers in this case are chiefly the lesser song birds;
but no eggs whatever are exempt from his covetous glance, if left
unguarded. The Jay has become especially proficient in the discovery and
sacking of Bush-tits’ nests. Mr. D. E. Brown assures me that he has
found as high as fifteen nests of this bird in a single swamp, all
gutted by Jays. When it is remembered that these busy little workers
make one of the handsomest nests in the world, the shame of this piracy
gets upon the nerves. The investigation of Tits’ nests has something of
the fascination of the gaming table for the Jay, since he never knows
what the wonder pouches may contain, until he has ripped a hole in the
side and inserted his piratical beak.
The dense forests of Puget Sound are not so well patrolled by these
feathered grafters as are the forests of the East by the true Blue Jay
(_Cyanocitta cristata_). But then our bird has the advantage of denser
cover, and we do not know how often we have been scrutinized or
shadowed. Upon discovery the Steller Jay sets up a great outcry and
makes off thru the thickets shrieking lustily. A favorite method of
retreat is to flit up into the lower branches of a fir tree and, keeping
close to the trunk, to ascend the succeeding limbs as by a spiral
staircase. The bird, indeed, takes a childish delight in this mad
exercise, and no sooner does he quit one tree-top than he dashes down to
a neighboring tree to run another frenzied gamut.
Owls have abundant cover in western Washington, but should one of them
be startled by day, the Steller blue-coat is the first to note the
villain’s flight. The alarm is sounded and an animated pursuit begins.
When the Owl is brought to bay, the deafening objurgation of the Jays is
not the least indignity which he is made to suffer. The Jay, in fact,
seeks to make the world forget his own offenses by heaping obloquy upon
this blinking sinner.
The notes of the Steller Jay are harsh and expletive to a degree.
_Shaack, shaack, shaack_ is a common (and most exasperating) form; or,
by a little stretch of the imagination one may hear _jay, jay, jay_. A
mellow _klook, klook, klook_ sometimes varies the rasping imprecations
and serves to remind one that the Jay is cousin to the Crow. Other and
minor notes there are for the lesser and rarer emotions, and some of
these not unmusical. Very rarely the bird attempts song, and succeeds in
producing a medley which quite satisfies _her_ that he could if he
would.
_C. stelleri_, like _C. cristata_ again, is something of a mimic. The
notes of the Western Red-tail (_Buteo borealis calurus_) and other hawks
are reproduced with especial fidelity. For such an effort the Jay
conceals himself in the depths of a large-leafed maple or in a fir
thicket, and his sole object appears to be that of terrorizing the
neighboring song-birds. One such I heard holding forth from a shade tree
on the Asylum grounds at Steilacoom. Uncanny sounds are, of course, not
unknown here, but an exploratory pebble served to unmask the cheat, and
drove forth a very much chastened Blue Jay before a company of
applauding Juncoes.
It is well known that the gentleman burglar takes a conscientious pride
in the safety and welfare of his own home. Nothing shall molest _his_
dear ones. The Jay becomes secretive and silent as the time for
nest-building approaches. The nest is well concealed in a dense thicket
of fir saplings, or else set at various heights in the larger fir trees.
If one but looks at it before the complement of eggs is laid the
locality is deserted forthwith. If, however, the enterprise is
irretrievably launched, the birds take care not to be seen in the
vicinity of their nest until they are certain of its discovery, in which
case they call heaven and earth to witness that the man is a monster of
iniquity, and that he is plotting against the innocent.
In our experience, Steller’s Jay is not, as has been sometimes reported,
a bird of the mountains. To be sure, it may be found in the mountain
_valleys_, but if so it is practically confined to them. The bird, is,
however, ubiquitous thruout the lowlying countries of Puget Sound,
Gray’s Harbor, and adjacent regions, giving way only upon the south to
the dubious Grinnell Jay (_S. s. carbonacea_).
No. 10.
GRINNELL’S JAY.
A. O. U. No. 478e. Cyanocitta stelleri carbonacea J. Grinnell.
Synonyms.—“Blue Jay.” Coast Jay (A. O. U.).
Description.—“Similar to _C. s. stelleri_, but paler thruout, and
averaging slightly smaller; color of head very nearly as in _C. s.
stelleri_, but averaging browner or more sooty, the forehead always
conspicuously streaked with blue, and throat more extensively or
uniformly pale grayish; back and foreneck much paler, slaty brown or
brownish slate, instead of deep sooty; blue of rump, upper
tail-coverts, and under parts of body light dull cerulean or verditer
blue, advancing more over chest, where more abruptly defined against
the sooty or brownish slate color of foreneck.” (Ridgway). Adult
males: wing 6.10 (150.5); tail 5.51 (140); bill 1.15 (29.1); tarsus
1.75 (44.5).
General Range.—Pacific Coast district from Monterey county,
California, north to Columbia River.
Range in Washington.—Has only theoretical status in State, but
specimens taken along north banks of Columbia would appear to belong
here.
Authorities.—? _Corvus stelleri_, Nuttall, Man. Orn. U. S. and Can. I.
1832, 229 (“Columbia River”). ? Orn. Com. Journ. Ac. Nat. Sci. Phila.
VII. 1837, 193. _C. s. frontalis_, R. H. Lawrence, Auk XVII. Oct.
1892, p. 355 (Gray’s Harbor). _C. s. carbonacea_ Grinnell, Ridgway,
Birds of No. and Mid. Am. Vol. III. p. 354 (footnote). L. Kb.
Ornithology is the furthest refined of the systematic sciences. So
zealous have been her devotees and so sagacious her high priests, that
no shade of difference in size, form or hue of a bird is allowed to pass
unnoticed, or its owner unnamed. It is unquestionably annoying to the
novice to be confronted with such subtleties, and the recognition of
subspecies in the vernacular names of our birds is of doubtful wisdom;
but the fashion is set and we will all be foolish together—so that none
may laugh.
The normal range of Grinnell’s Jay, as defined, extends northward to the
Columbia River; and since the district lying between the Columbia and
Puget Sound presents intergrades between _C. stelleri_ and _C. s.
carbonacea_, obviously, those Jays which inhabit the southern portion of
this debatable ground are better entitled to be called _carbonacea_ than
_stelleri_.
No. 11.
BLACK-HEADED JAY.
A. O. U. No. 478c. Cyanocitta stelleri annectens (Baird).
Synonyms.—“Blue Jay.” Pine Jay. Mountain Jay.
Description.—_Adults_: Similar to _C. stelleri_, but marked with a
small lengthened white spot over eye; streaks on forehead (when
present) paler blue or whitish; streaks on chin and upper throat
whiter and more distinct; blue areas slightly paler and rather more
greenish in tone. Size indistinguishable.
Recognition Marks.—As in _C. stelleri_. White spot over eye
distinctive.
Nesting.—As in _C. stelleri_.
General Range.—Eastern British Columbia and the northern Rocky
Mountains, south to Wahsatch Range in Utah, west to eastern slopes of
Cascade Range in Washington and Oregon.
Range in Washington.—Forests of eastern Washington, shading into
typical _stelleri_ in Cascade Range. Nearly confined to pine timber.
Authorities.—_Cyanocitta stelleri annectens_, Brewster, Bull. Nutt.
Orn. Club, VII., 1882, 229. (C&S.) D¹. D². J.
There is no such difference of plumage between _C. stelleri_ and _C. s.
annectens_ as is suggested by the name “Black-headed”; but in
endeavoring to mark eight shades of difference between tweedledum and
tweedledee within the limits of a single species, we are naturally
pretty hard put to it for appropriate names. _Annectens_ marks the
annexion, or welding together, of two branching lines in the _C.
stelleri_ group. It is the head of the wish-bone, whose divergent arms
run down the Sierras to Lower California and along the Rockies to
Guatemala respectively.
With a hypothetical center of distribution somewhere in southeastern
British Columbia, this subspecies inosculates with _stelleri_ in the
mountains of that province, and is roughly separated from the western
stock by the central ridge of the Cascades, in Washington.
Black-headed Jays in Washington are normally confined to the limits of
coniferous timber, being therefore most abundant in the northern
portion, in the Blue Mountains, and along the eastern slopes of the
Cascades. We have, however, like Bendire, discovered them on occasion
skulking in the willows along creek bottoms some twenty miles from pine
timber. On the other hand, they do not assert, with the Gray Jays and
Clark Crows, the right to range the mountain heights: but are quite
content to maintain their unholy inquisition amidst the groves and
thickets of the valley floors.
They are, perhaps, not so noisy as the Steller Jays, being less
confident of their cover; and their notes are rather more musical
(breath of pines is better than fog for the voice); but for the rest
they are the same vivacious, intrepid, resourceful mischief-makers as
their kin-folk everywhere.
No. 12.
WHITE-HEADED JAY.
A. O. U. No. 484a. Perisoreus canadensis capitalis Ridgw.
Synonyms.—Rocky Mountain Jay. “Canada” Jay. Whiskey Jack. Wisskachon.
Camp Robber. Moose-bird. Meat Hawk. Meat-bird.
Description.—_Adults_: General color plumbeous ash lightening below;
whole head white save space about and behind eye connected with broad
nuchal patch of slaty gray; wings and tail blackish overlaid with
silver gray; tail tipped with white and wings more or less edged with
the same. Bill and feet black; iris brown. _Young birds_ much darker
and more uniform in coloration than adults—slaty gray to sooty slate
with lighter crown and some whitish edging on underparts. Length
12.00-13.00; wing 6.00 (152); tail 5.75 (145); bill .82 (21); tarsus
1.38 (35).
Recognition Marks.—Robin size; slaty gray coloration. White of head
with its abruptly defined patch of slate on hind neck distinctive as
compared with related species of the genus _Perisoreus_.
Nesting.—Has not been reported for Washington but bird undoubtedly
breeds in the Kalispell range. _Nest_: in coniferous tree, a large
compacted mass of the softest and warmest substances,—twigs for a
foundation, then grasses, abundant moss, plant-down and feathers.
_Eggs_: 3-5, usually 4, grayish white, spotted and blotched with brown
having a tinge of purplish. Av. size 1.15 × .85 (29.2 × 21.6).
_Season_: Feb.-April; one brood.
General Range.—Higher ranges of the Rocky Mountain district from
British Columbia to Arizona.
Range in Washington.—Mountains of northeastern corner of State and
(probably) the Blue Mountains.
Authorities.—[“White-headed Jay,” Johnson, Rep. Gov. W. T., 1884
(1885) 22.] Ridgway, Birds of North and Middle America, Vol. III. p.
371, (“Sinzoknoteen Depot, etc.”).
The casual observer, camping first on Calispell Peak in Stevens County,
and later on Mt. Stuart, in southern Chelan County, might fail to note
any difference in the soberly-dressed Jays, who are the self-appointed
overseers of camp economics. For while the birds of the two localities
really represent two species, the resemblance in general appearance and
behavior is so close as to be virtually negligible afield.
[Illustration: _Taken near Spokane._ _Photo by W. H. Wright._
WHITE-HEADED JAY.]
Of this bird in Colorado, Mr. Frank M. Drew has observed[6]: “In autumn
when on his first tour of inspection around the house he hops along in a
curious sidelong manner, just like a school-girl in a slow hurry.
White-headed, grave, and sedate, he seems a very paragon of propriety,
and if you appear to be a suitable personage, he will be apt to give you
a bit of advice. Becoming confidential he sputters out a lot of nonsense
in a manner which causes you to think him a veritable ‘Whisky Jack’;
yet, whenever he is disposed, a more bland,
mind-his-own-business-appearing bird will be hard to find, as will also
be many small articles around camp after one of his visits, for his
whimsical brain has a great fancy for anything which may be valuable to
you, but perfectly useless to him.”
No. 13.
OREGON JAY.
A. O. U. No. 485. Perisoreus obscurus (Ridgway).
Synonyms.—Camp Robber. Meat Bird. Deer Hunter.
Description.—_Adults_: In general upperparts deep brownish gray;
underparts white tinged with brownish; forehead and nasal plumules
most nearly clear white; chin, throat, cheeks, auriculars, and obscure
band around neck white more or less tinged with brownish; crown and
nape sooty brown, nearly black; feathers of back with white shafts
more or less exposed; wings and tail drab gray, the former with
whitish edging on middle and greater coverts and tertials. Bill and
feet black; iris brown. _Young birds_ are nearly uniform sooty brown
lightening below. Length 10.00-11.00; wing 5.30 (135); tail 5.00
(127); bill .71 (18); tarsus 1.30 (33).
Recognition Marks.—Robin size; brownish gray coloration, familiar,
fearless ways. Not certainly distinguishable afield from the next
form.
Nesting.—_Nest_: a bulky compacted structure of twigs, plant-fibers
and tree-moss with warm lining of fine mosses and feathers, placed
well up in fir tree. _Eggs_: 4 or 5, light gray or pale greenish gray
spotted with grayish brown and dull lavender. Av. size 1.04 × .79
(26.4 × .20). _Season_: Feb.-April; one brood.
General Range.—Pacific Coast district from Humboldt county,
California, north to Vancouver Island. Imperfectly made out as regards
following form.
Range in Washington.—Probably the Olympic Mountains and irregularly
thru the heavier forests of southwestern Washington.
Authorities.—_P. canadensis_ Bonap., Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. IX.
pt. II. 1858, 591 part. Ridgway, Bull. Essex Inst. V. Nov. 1873, 194.
(T) C&S. L¹. Rh. Ra. B. E(?).
Specimens.—U. of W. Prov. E. C.
The relative distribution of the Oregon Jay and the more recently
distinguished Gray Jay is still very imperfectly understood. It would
appear probable that this form is the bird of the rainy district,
including all lowlands of western Washington, the Olympic Mountains, and
the western slopes of the Cascades, and that it gives place to _P. o.
griseus_ not only upon the heights and eastern slopes of the Cascades,
but in the deep valleys which penetrate these mountains from the west.
Certainly it is the Oregon Jay which abounds in the Olympic Mountains,
and among the dense spruce forests of the adjoining coasts. While the
bird is more abundant on the lowlands in winter, the prevalent opinion
that the Oregon Jay is exclusively a bird of the mountains is probably
incorrect. Altho bold enough where undisturbed, the birds soon learn
caution; and their nests have been found near Renton where their
presence during the breeding season would otherwise have gone
unsuspected. The depths of the forest have no terrors for this quiet
ghost, and there are other reasons besides color why he remains _the
obscure one_.
No. 14.
GRAY JAY.
A. O. U. No. 485a. Perisoreus obscurus griseus Ridgw.
Synonyms.—Camp Robber, etc.
Description.—“Similar to _P. o. obscurus_, but decidedly larger
(except feet), and coloration much grayer; back, etc., deep mouse
gray, instead of brown, remiges and tail between gray (No. 6) and
smoke gray, instead of drab gray, and under parts grayish white
instead of brownish white.” (Ridgway). Length (Av. of three Glacier
specimens) 11.16 (283.5); wing 5.82 (147.6); tail 5.48 (139.1); bill
.75 (19); tarsus 1.25 (31.7).
General Range.—Central mountain ranges of central California, Oregon,
Washington, and British Columbia.
Range in Washington.—Thruout the Cascade Mountains and irregularly
along their lower slopes west (?) to tidewater.
Authorities.—? _P. canadensis_ Bonap., Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv.,
Vol. IX, pt. II, 1858, p. 591 (Cascade Mts. W. T.). Ridgway, Auk, Vol.
XVI., July, 1899, 225. Kk. ?
The “Camp-Robber” appears promptly as interested neighbor and
smell-feast before all who invade the precincts of the mountains. The
hunter, the trapper, the prospector, the timber cruiser, the mere
camper-out, all know him, and they speak well or ill of him according to
their kind. The Gray Jay appears to have forsworn the craftiness of his
race, and he wins by an exhibition of artless simplicity, rather than by
wiles. The bird is mildly curious and hungry—oh, very hungry—but this is
Arcadia, and the shepherds draw nigh with never a doubt of their
welcome. There is a childlike insouciance about the way in which the
bird annexes a piece of frizzled bacon, humbly intended for the man.
“’Shoo,’ did you say? Why, what do you mean? Can’t I have it?” And the
bird retires before a flying chip, baffled and injured by such a
manifest token of ill-breeding. He complains mildly to his fellows. They
discuss the question in gentle _whews_; generously conclude you didn’t
mean it, and return unabashed to the quest.
Hunger is the chief characteristic of these docile birds, and no
potential food is refused, nuts, acorns, insects, berries, or even, as a
last resort, the buds of trees. Meat of any sort has an especial
attraction to them; and they are the despair of the trapper because of
their propensity for stealing bait. The hunter knows them for arch
sycophants, and he is occasionally able to trace a wounded deer, or to
locate a carcass by the movements of these expectant heirs. Says Mr. A.
W. Anthony[7]: “While dressing deer in the thick timber I have been
almost covered with Jays flying down from the neighboring trees. They
would settle on my back, head, or shoulders, tugging and pulling at each
loose shred of my coat until one would think that their only object was
to help me in all ways possible.”
In the higher latitudes “Whisky Jack,” in spite of carefully secreted
stores, often becomes very emaciated in winter, a mere bunch of bones
and feathers, no heavier than a Redpoll. While the jays of our kindlier
clime do not feel so keenly the belly pinch of winter, they have the
same thrifty habits as their northern kinfolk. Food is never refused,
and a well-stuffed specimen will still carry grub from camp and secrete
it in bark-crevice or hollow, against the unknown hour of need.
[Illustration: _Taken in Rainier National Park._ _Photo by J. H.
Bowles._
A BACHELOR’S PET.]
I have never heard the Gray Jay titter more than a soft cooing _whee ew_
repeated at random; but Bendire credits it with a near approach to
song[8]; and Mrs. Bailey says of the Jays on Mt. Hood[9]: “Their notes
were pleasantly varied. One call was remarkably like the chirp of a
robin. Another of the commonest was a weak and rather complaining cry
repeated several times. A sharply contrasting one was a pure clear
whistle of one note followed by a three-syllabled call something like
_Ka-wé-ah_. The regular rallying cry was still different, a loud and
striking two-syllabled _ka-whee_.”
The eggs of the Gray Jay have not yet been reported from this State, but
it is known that the bird builds a very substantial nest of twigs,
grasses, plant fibre, and mosses without mud, and that it provides a
heavy lining of soft gray mosses for the eggs. The nest is usually well
concealed in a fir tree, and may be placed at any height from ten or
fifteen feet upward, altho usually at sixty or eighty feet. Only one
brood is reared in a season, and family groups hunt together until late
in the summer.
_Icteridæ_—The Troupials
No. 15.
COWBIRD.
A. O. U. No. 495. Molothrus ater (Bodd.).
Synonyms.—Cow Blackbird. Cuckold.
Description.—_Adult male_: Head and neck wood-, seal-, or coffee-brown
(variable); remaining plumage black with metallic greenish or bluish
iridescence. _Female_: Dark grayish brown, showing slight greenish
reflections, darkest on wings and tail, lightening on breast and
throat. _Young in first plumage_: Like female but lighter below and
more or less streaky; above somewhat mottled by buffy edgings of
feathers. The young males present a striking appearance when they are
assuming the adult black, on the installment plan, by chunks and
blotches. Length 7.50-8.00 (190.5-203.2); wing 4.40 (111.8); tail
3.00-3.40 (76.2-86.4); bill .65 (16.5); tarsus .95-1.10 (24.1-27.9).
Female, length, wing, and tail one-half inch less.
Recognition Marks.—Chewink size; brown head and black body of male;
brown of female.
Nesting.—The Cowbird invariably deposits her eggs in the nests of
other birds. _Eggs_: 1 or 2, rarely 3 or 4, with a single hostess,
white, often faintly tinged with bluish or greenish, evenly speckled
with cinnamon, brown or umber. Av. size, .85 × .65 (21.6 × 16.5), but
quite variable. _Season_: April-June.
General Range.—United States from the Atlantic to the Pacific, north
into southern British America, south in winter, into Mexico.
Range in Washington.—Of limited but regular occurrence east of the
Cascades, increasing; rare or casual in western Washington. Summer
resident.
Authorities.—Bendire, Life Histories of N. A. Birds, Vol. II., p. 434.
D¹. D². Ss². J. B. E.
Specimens.—C. P.
While I was chatting with my host at milking time (at the head of Lake
Chelan in the ante-tourist days), a dun-colored bird with light
underparts flew down into the corral, and began foraging as tho to the
manor born. One by one the cows sniffed at the stranger and nosed it
about, following it up curiously. But the bird only side-stepped or
walked unconcernedly ahead. When I returned with the gun, a moment
later, I found a calf investigating the newcomer, and it was difficult
to separate the creature from bossikin’s nose. The date was August 3rd;
the bird proved to be a young male Cowbird in the lightest juvenile
phase of plumage, a waif cuckold far from any of his kin, but shifting
for himself with the nonchalance which characterizes his worthless kind.
If our hero had lived (and I make no apology for his demise in the first
act), he would have exchanged his inconspicuous livery for the rich,
iridescent black of the adult; and he would have done this on the
installment plan, by chunks and blotches, looking the while like a
ragpicker, tricked out in cast-off finery.
In the month of March Cowbirds mingle more or less with other blackbirds
in the migrations, but if the main flock halts for refreshments and
discussion _en route_, a group of these rowdies will hunt up some
disreputable female of their own kind, and make tipsy and insulting
advances to her along some horizontal limb or fence rail. Taking a
position about a foot away from the coy drab, the male will make two or
three accelerating hops toward her, then stop suddenly, allowing the
impulse of motion to tilt him violently forward and throw his tail up
perpendicularly, while at the same moment he spews out the disgusting
notes which voice his passion.
Of the mating, Chapman says: “They build no nest, and the females,
lacking every moral instinct, leave their companions only long enough to
deposit their eggs in the nests of other and smaller birds. I can
imagine no sight more strongly suggestive of a thoroly despicable nature
than a female Cowbird sneaking thru the trees and bushes in search of a
victim upon whom to shift the duties of motherhood.”
The egg, thus surreptitiously placed in another bird’s nest, usually
hatches two or three days before those of the foster mother, and the
infant Cowbird thus gains an advantage which he is not slow to improve.
His loud clamoring for food often drives the old birds to abandon the
task of incubation; or if the other eggs are allowed to remain until
hatched, the uncouth stranger manages to usurp attention and food
supplies, and not infrequently to override or stifle the other occupants
of the nest, so that their dead bodies are by-and-by removed to make
room for his hogship. It is asserted by some that in the absence of the
foster parents the young thug forcibly ejects the rightful heirs from
the nest, after the fashion of the Old World Cuckoos. I once found a
nest which contained only a lusty Cowbird, while three proper
fledgelings clung to the shrubbery below, and one lay dead upon the
ground.
When the misplaced tenderness of foster parents has done its utmost for
the young upstart, he joins himself to some precious crew of his own
blood, and the cycle of a changeling is complete.
While not common anywhere west of the Rockies, the Cowbird is no longer
rare east of the Cascades, and it is making its appearance at various
points on Puget Sound. The earlier writers make no mention of its
occurrence in Washington, and it seems probable that its presence has
followed tardily upon the introduction of cattle. Bendire was the first
to report it from this State, having taken an egg near Palouse Falls on
June 18, 1878, from a nest of the Slate-colored Sparrow (_Passerella
iliaca schistacea_).
Its presence among us is, doubtless, often overlooked because of the
superficial resemblance which it bears in note and appearance to
Brewer’s Blackbird (_Euphagus cyanocephalus_). The note of the former is
distinctive,—a shrill, hissing squeak in two tones with an interval of a
descending third, uttered with great effort and apparent
nausea—honestly, a disgusting sound.
No. 16.
BREWER’S BLACKBIRD.
A. O. U. No. 510. Euphagus cyanocephalus (Wagler).
Description.—_Adult male_: Glossy black with steel blue and violet
reflections on head, with fainter greenish or bronzy reflections
elsewhere; bill and feet black; iris pale lemon yellow or light cream.
_Adult female_: Head and neck all around deep brownish gray with
violet reflections; underparts brownish slate to blackish with faint
greenish iridescence; upperparts blackish, or outright black on wings
and tail, which are glossed with bluish-green; bill and feet as in
male, but iris brown. _Immature males in first winter plumage_
resemble adults but have some edging of pale grayish brown. Length of
adult males: 10.00 (254); wing 5.00 (128); tail 3.90 (99); bill .89
(22.6); tarsus 1.27 (32.3). Adult female: length 9.25 (235); wing 4.60
(117); tail 3.50 (89); bill .79 (20); tarsus 1.20 (30.5).
Recognition Marks.—Robin size; pure black coloration and whitish eye
of male. Larger than Cowbird (_Molothrus ater_) with which alone it is
likely to be confused.
Nesting.—_Nest_: placed at moderate height in bush clump or thicket,
less frequently on ground at base of bush, more rarely in cranny of
cliff or cavity of decayed tree-trunk, a sturdy, tidy structure of
interlaced grasses, strengthened by a matrix of mud or dried cow-dung
and carefully lined with coiled rootlets or horsehair. Nests in
straggling colonies. _Eggs_: 4-7, usually 5 or 6, presenting two
divergent types of coloration with endless variations and intermediate
phases. _Light type_: ground color light gray or greenish gray,
spotted and blotched with brown of varying shades, walnut, russet, and
sepia. (In some examples there is purplish brown scrawling, which
suggests the Redwing type. One egg in the writer’s collection is
indistinguishable from that of a Cowbird, save for size.) _Dark type_:
ground color completely obscured by overlay of fine brown dots
resulting in nearly uniform shade of mummy brown or Vandyke brown. Av.
size 1.03 × .72 (26.2 × 18.3). _Season_: April 20-May 10; one or two
broods.
General Range.—Western North America from the plains to the Pacific,
and from the Saskatchewan region south to the highlands of Mexico to
Oaxaca.
Range in Washington.—Of general distribution thruout the State but
found chiefly in more open situations in vicinity of streams and ponds
and in cultivated sections. Normally migratory but increasingly
resident especially on West-side.
Authorities.—[Lewis and Clark, Hist. Ex. (1814) Ed. Biddle: Coues,
Vol. II. p. 185.] _Scolecophagus mexicanus_, Newberry, Rep. Pac. R. R.
Surv. VI. pt. IV. 1857, p. 86. (T) C&S. L¹. Rh. D¹. Ra. D². Ss¹. Ss².
Kk. J. B. E.
Specimens.—U. of W. Prov. B. E. P.
“Blackbirds” are not usually highly esteemed in the East, where the
memory of devastated cornfields keeps the wrath of the farmer warm; but
if all species were as inoffensive as this confiding pensioner of the
West, prejudice would soon vanish. He is a handsome fellow, our
Washington grackle, sleek, vivacious, interesting, and serviceable
withal. We know him best, perhaps, as an industrious gleaner of
pastures, corrals, streets, and “made” lands. He is not only the
farmer’s “hired man,” waging increasing warfare against insect life,
especially in its noxious larval forms, but he has an accepted place in
the economy of city and village as well.
[Illustration: _Taken in Douglas County._ _Photo by the Author._
BREWER’S BLACKBIRDS.]
As one approaches a feeding flock, he notes the eagerness with which the
birds run forward, or rise and flit past their fellows, now diving at a
nimble weevil, now leaping to catch a passing bug, but always pushing on
until one perceives a curious rolling effect in the total movement.
As we draw near, some timid individual takes alarm, and instantly all
are up, to alight again upon the fence or shrubbery where they clack and
whistle, not so much by way of apprehension as thru sheer exuberance of
nervous force. As we pass (we must not stop short, for they resent
express attention) we note the droll white eyes of the males, as they
twist and perk and chirp in friendly impudence; and the snuffy brown
heads of the females with their soft hazel irides, as they give a
motherly fluff of the feathers, or yawn with impatience over the
interrupted meal. When we are fairly by, the most venturesome dives from
his perch, and the rest follow by twos and tens, till the ground is
again covered by a shifting, chattering band.
Like all Blackbirds, the Brewers are gregarious; but they are somewhat
more independent than most, flocks of one or two score being more
frequent than those of a hundred. During migrations and in autumnal
flocking they associate more or less with Redwings; but, altho they are
devoted to the vicinity of water, they care nothing for the fastnesses
of reed and rush, which are the delight of Redwing and Yellowhead. Their
preference is for more open situations, so that they are most abundant
upon the East-side. Here a typical breeding haunt is a strip of willows
fringing a swamp; or, better still, a line of dark green thorn-bushes
clinging to the bank of the rolling Columbia.
Altho isolated nests may now and then be found, colonies are the rule;
and I have found as high as forty nests in a single patch of greenery.
There is room, of course, for individual choice of nesting sites, but
the community choice is the more striking. Thus, one recalls the
greasewood nesting, the rose-briar nesting, the thorn-bush nesting,
where all the members of the colony conformed to the locally established
rule in nest position. Mr. Bowles records the most remarkable instance
of this: One season the nests of the South Tacoma colony were all placed
in small bushes, the highest not over four feet from the ground; but in
the season following the birds were all found nesting in cavities near
the top of some giant fir stubs, none of them less than 150 feet from
the ground. On the other hand, in the Usk nesting of 1906, on the placid
banks of the Pend d’Oreille, one pair had recessed its nest in a stump
at a height of eighteen feet, while three other pairs had sunk theirs
into the ground at the base of bushes.
In construction the nest of the Brewer Blackbird varies considerably,
but at its best it is quite a handsome affair. Composed externally of
twigs, weed-stalks, and grasses, its characteristic feature is an
interior mould, or matrix, of dried cow-dung or mud, which gives form
and stability to the whole. The lining almost invariably includes fine
brown rootlets, but horsehair is also welcomed wherever available.
The eggs of Brewer’s Blackbird are the admiration of oölogists. Ranging
in color from clear greenish gray with scattered markings thru denser
patterns to nearly uniform umber and chocolate, they are the natural
favorites of “series” hunters. The range of variation is, indeed,
curious, but it proves to be entirely individual and casual without
trace of local or constant differences. Eggs from the same nest are
usually uniform in coloration, but even here there is notable diversity.
In some instances, after three or four eggs are laid, the pigment gives
out, and the remainder of the set is lighter colored. Again, single eggs
are heavily pigmented half way, and finished with a clear green
ground-color.
Fresh eggs may be taken in the Yakima country during the last week in
April, and in one case noted, deposition began on April 14th; but May
1st-15th is the usual rule there and elsewhere. Five eggs is the common
set, but six to a clutch is not rare. Of twenty-eight nests examined in
Yakima County, May 4, 1906, eleven contained six eggs each; while, of
something over two hundred seen altogether, two nests contained seven
each.
[Illustration: _Taken in Stevens County._ _Photo by the Author._
GROUND NEST OF BREWER BLACKBIRD.]
It is in his notes that the Brewer Blackbird betrays his affinities best
of all. The melodiously squeaking chatter of mating time is, of course,
most like that of the Rusty Blackbird (_S. carolinus_), but it lacks the
bubbling character. He has then the swelling note of the Grackles
proper, _fff-weet_, the latter part rendered with something of a trill,
the former merely as an aspirate; and the whole accompanied by expansion
of body, slight lifting of wings, and partial spreading of tail. This
note is uttered not only during the courting season, but on the occasion
of excitement of any kind. _Kooreé_ has a fine metallic quality which
promptly links it to the _Keyring_ note of the Redwing. _Chup_ is the
ordinary note of distrust and alarm, or of stern inquiry, as when the
bird-man is caught fingering the forbidden ovals. A harsh low rattle, or
rolling note, is also used when the birds are squabbling among
themselves, or fighting for position.
Unquestionably this species has gradually extended its range within the
borders of the State, for the earlier investigators did not regard it as
resident on Puget Sound. It has profited greatly and deservedly by the
spread of settlement everywhere, and this is especially true of the more
open situations. Not a little it owes, also, to the introduction of
cattle; for it is as great a rustler about corrals and stamping grounds
as its renegade cousin, the Cowbird.
No. 17.
BULLOCK’S ORIOLE.
A. O. U. No. 508. Icterus bullockii (Swainson).
Description.—_Adult male_: Black, white, and orange; bill, lore, a
line thru eye, and throat (narrowly) jet black; pileum, back,
scapulars, lesser wing-coverts, primary coverts, and tertials chiefly
black, or with a little yellowish skirting; remiges black edged with
white; middle and greater coverts continuous with edging of tertials
and secondaries, white, forming a large patch; tail chiefly yellow but
central pair of rectrices black terminally, and remaining pairs tipped
with blackish; remaining plumage, including supraloral areas
continuous with superciliaries, orange yellow, most intense on sides
of throat and chest, shading thru cadmium on breast to chrome on rump,
tail-coverts, etc. In _young adults_ the orange is less intense and,
encroaches upon the black of forehead, hind-neck, etc., altho the tail
is more extensively black. _Adult female_: Above drab-gray, clearest
on rump and upper tail-coverts; wings fuscous with whitish edging;
pattern of white in coverts of male retained but much reduced in area;
tail nearly uniform dusky chrome; underparts in general sordid white;
chin and lores white; forehead, superciliary, (indistinct), cheeks,
hind-neck and chest more or less tinged with chrome yellow. _Young
males_ resemble the female but soon gain in intensity of yellow on the
foreparts, gradually acquiring adult black along median line of throat
and in streaks on pileum. Length of adult male about 8.25 (209.5);
wing 3.89 (99); tail 3.07 (78); bill .73 (18.5); tarsus .98 (25).
Female a little smaller.
Recognition Marks.—Chewink size; black, white, and orange of male
distinctive; slender blackish bill of female strongly contrasting with
the heavy light-colored bill of female Western Tanager with which
alone it is likely to be confused by the novice. General coloration of
female ashy or drab rather than olivaceous, yellow of tail contrasting
with whitish or light drab of tail-coverts.
Nesting.—_Nest_: a pouch of cunningly interwoven grasses, vegetable
fibers, string, etc., 5 to 9 inches deep and lashed by brim to
branches of deciduous tree. _Eggs_: usually 5, smoky white as to
ground color, sometimes tinged with pale blue, more rarely with faint
claret, spotted, streaked and elaborately scrawled with purplish black
or dark sepia, chiefly about larger end. Elongate ovate; av. size .94
× .63 (23.9 × 16). _Season_: May 20-June 15; one brood.
General Range.—Western United States, southern British Provinces and
plateau of Mexico; breeding north to southern British Columbia,
Alberta and southern Assiniboia east to eastern border of Great Plains
in South Dakota, Nebraska, etc., south to northern Mexico; in winter
south to central Mexico.
Range in Washington.—Regular summer resident in eastern Washington
thruout settled sections and along water courses; rare or casual west
of Cascades.
Migrations.—_Spring_: Yakima County, May 2, 1900; Moses Lake, May 15,
1906; Chelan, May 21, 1896.
Authorities.—_Icterus bullockii_ Bon., Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv.
IX. pt. II. 1858, p. 550. T. C&S. D¹. D². Ss¹. Ss². J. B.
Specimens.—(U. of W.) Prov. C. P¹.
Bird of sunshine and good cheer, springtime’s ripest offering and emblem
of summer achieved, is this happy-hearted creature who flits about the
orchards and timber cultures of eastern Washington. The willows of the
brook, the cottonwoods and the quaking asps, were his necessary home
until the hand of the pioneer made ready the locust, the maple and the
Lombardy poplars, which are now his favorite abiding places. And so, for
many years, the droning of bees, the heavy-scented breath of the acacia,
and the high, clear whistling of the Oriole have been associated
memories.
[Illustration: BULLOCK’S ORIOLE.]
A little less dandified than his eastern cousin, the lordly Bird of
Baltimore, the Bullock Oriole fulfills much the same economy in habit,
song, and nesting as that well-known bird. He is, if anything, a little
less musical, also, and not so conspicuous.
The males arrive a week or two in advance of their mates, and appear
quite ill at ease until joined by their shy companions. Marriage
compacts have to be settled at the beginning of the season, but rivalry
is chiefly between the under-colored young blades who must make their
peace with the sweet girl graduates of the previous year. Orioles are
very closely attached to a suitable locality, once chosen, and a group
of nests in a single tree presenting successive annual stages of
preservation, is fairly eloquent of conjugal fidelity.
[Illustration: _Taken near Spokane._ _Photo by F. S. Merrill._
FEMALE BULLOCK ORIOLE.]
The purse-shaped nest of the Bullock Oriole is a marvel of industry and
skill, fully equal in these respects to that of the Baltimore Bird. A
specimen before me, from a small willow on Crab Creek, in Lincoln
County, taken just after its completion, is composed entirely of
vegetable fibers, the frayed inner bark of dead willows being chiefly in
evidence, while plant-downs of willow, poplar, and clematis are felted
into the interstices of the lower portion. This pouch is lashed at the
brim by a hundred tiny cables to the sustaining twigs, and hangs to a
depth of six inches, with a mean diameter of nearly three, yet so
delicate are the materials and so fine the workmanship, that the whole
structure weighs less than half an ounce.
A more bulky, loose-meshed affair, taken at Brook Lake No. 4, in Douglas
County, has a maximum depth of nine inches outside, a mean depth of six
and a half inches inside, and a greater diameter of five inches.
Near farm houses or in town the birds soon learn the value of string,
thread, frayed rope, and other waste materials, and nests are made
entirely of these less romantic substances. Occasionally a bird becomes
entangled in the coils of a refractory piece of string or horse-hair,
and tragedies of Orioles hanged at their own doorstep are of record.
The eggs of this species, four to six in number, are usually of a pale
smoky gray color, and upon this ground appear curious and intricate
scrawlings of purplish black, as tho made by a fine pen, held unsteadily
while the egg was twirled. The purpose of this bizarre ornamentation, if
indeed it has any, may be thought to appear where scanty coils of black
horse-hair in the lining of the nest show up in high relief against the
normal white background of vegetable felt. I can testify that under
these circumstances the eggs are sometimes indistinguishable at first
glance from their surroundings.
[Illustration: _Taken in Douglas County._ _Photo by the Author._
NESTING SITE OF THE BULLOCK ORIOLE.]
The value of the pouch-shaped nest is less clear than in the case of the
Baltimore Oriole, whose home is the pendant branch of the elm tree; for
the nest of the Bullock Oriole is often attached to stocky branches,
pines even, which yield little in the wind. Nor is there any such
obvious attempt in the case of this bird to escape enemies by placing
the eggs out of reach. The Magpie would search Sheol for a maggot, and
any effort to best him would bankrupt the longest purse.
[Illustration: BULLOCK ORIOLES
MALE AND FEMALE, ½ LIFE SIZE
From a Water-color Painting by Allan Brooks]
Tired of the confinement of the nest, the ambitious fledgelings clamber
up the sides and perch upon the brim. From this less secure position
they are not infrequently dislodged before they are quite ready to face
the world. Some years ago a friend of mine, Mr. Chas. W. Robinson, of
Chelan, secured a fledgeling Oriole which he rescued from the water of
the lake where it had evidently just fallen from an overhanging nest.
When taken home it proved a ready pet, and was given the freedom of the
place. Some two weeks later my friend rescued a nestling from another
brood under precisely similar circumstances, and put it in a cage with
the older bird. The newcomer had not yet learned to feed himself, but
only opened his mouth and called with childish insistence. Judge of the
owner’s delight, and mine as a witness, when the older bird, himself
little more than a fledgeling, began to feed the orphan with all the
tender solicitude of a parent. It was irresistibly cunning and heartsome
too, for the bird to select with thoughtful, brotherly kindness, a
morsel of food, and hop over toward the clamoring stranger and drop it
into his mouth; after this to stand back as if to say, “There, baby! how
did you like that?” This trait was not shown by a chance exhibition
alone, but became a regular habit, which was still followed when the
older bird had attained to fly-catching. It upset all one’s notions
about instinct, and made one think of a golden rule for birds.
No. 18.
CALIFORNIAN BICOLORED BLACKBIRD.
A. O. U. No. 499. Agelaius gubernator californicus Nelson.
Description.—_Adult male_: “Uniform deep black, with a faint bluish
green gloss in certain lights; lesser wing-coverts rich poppy red or
vermilion; middle coverts black, or (if not entirely black) at least
broadly tipped with black, the basal portion tawny buff or ochraceous;
bill, legs, and feet black; iris brown” (Ridgway). _Adult female in
breeding plumage_: Dark sooty brown more or less streaked on crown and
back; chin and throat whitish or pinkish buff streaked with brown;
faint superciliary stripe composed of narrow whitish streaks on sooty
ground. _Adult female in winter_: Feathers more or less edged with
rusty. _Immature male_: Lesser wing-coverts partly black, the
remaining red not clear, ochraceous-rufous or orange-tawny. Length of
adult male: (skins) 8.62 (219); wing 5.78 (136.9); tail 3.67 (93.2);
bill .84 (21.3); tarsus 1.28 (32.5). Adult female 6.93 (176); wing
4.27 (108.5); tail 2.82 (71.6); bill .72 (18.3); tarsus 1.10 (27.9).
Recognition Marks.—Like Redwing Blackbird but epaulets pure red
without exposed buff.
Nesting.—_Nest_ and _Eggs_ like those of the Northwestern Red-wing.
Said to be less prolific.
General Range.—Central and northern coast districts of California
north to Washington; straggles irregularly eastward and southward in
California in winter.
Range in Washington.—Recorded breeding at Cape Disappointment and may
possibly extend north to Gray’s Harbor.
Authorities.—_Agelaius gubernator_ Bonaparte, Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R.
Surv. IX. 1858, p. 530 (Columbia River by J. K. Townsend). Allen, B.
N. O. C. VI. p. 128. R. H. Lawrence, Auk IX. 1892, 45. Kobbé.
We accept this bird as a resident of this State chiefly on the testimony
of William H. Kobbé, who listed it[10] as a breeding bird of Cape
Disappointment. He found it closely associated with the Northwestern
Red-wing (_A. phœniceus caurinus_) altho the latter frequently pursued
it in the attempt to expel it from the small swamp which both were
compelled to occupy. This probably represents the northernmost extension
of this species, the Gray’s Harbor record of Mr. Lawrence[11] being at
least open to question in the matter of identification.
The habits of the Bicolored Blackbird do not differ in any known
particular from those of the familiar Red-wing, of which it is a
discontinuous offshoot.
No. 19.
COLUMBIAN RED-WING.
A. O. U. No. 498. Agelaius phœniceus neutralis Ridgway.
Synonyms.—San Diego Red-wing. Interior Red-wing. Red-winged Blackbird.
Red-shouldered Blackbird. Swamp Blackbird.
Description.—_Adult male in summer_: Glossy black; lesser wing-coverts
bright red (poppy-red, vermilion or scarlet); middle coverts buffy or
ochraceous-buff—the two forming thus a conspicuous epaulet, or
shoulder patch. Bill, legs, and feet horn black; irides brown. _Adult
male in winter_: Middle wing-coverts more deeply buffy; scapulars and
feathers of black more or less edged with rusty. In _immature males_
the black of the plumage is more or less extensively margined with
rusty-buffy or whitish; the wing-coverts have an admixture of black
and the “red” of the lesser coverts is of a sickly hue (orange-tawny,
etc.). _Adult female in summer_: Brownish gray, everywhere mottled and
streaked, or striped, with dusky, finely on chin, cheeks, and
superciliaries, where also more or less rubescent, heavily below, less
distinctly above; lesser coverts brownish-gray or dull red; middle
coverts black edged with buffy. Bill dusky lightening below; feet and
legs dusky. _Adult female in winter_: Plumage of upperparts more or
less margined with rusty or ochraceous; sides of head and underparts
tinged with buffy. Length of adult males (skins): 8.39 (213.1); wing
4.84 (122.9); tail 3.57 (90.7); bill .90 (23.1); tarsus 1.19 (30.2).
Adult females (skins): 7.11 (181.9); wing 3.98 (101.3); tail 2.85
(72.4); bill .77 (19.6); tarsus 1.06 (26.9).
Recognition Marks.—Chewink to Robin size; bright red epaulets of male;
general streakiness of female. Female lighter-colored and not so
heavily streaked as in _A. p. caurinus_.
Nesting.—_Nest_: a neatly woven but rather bulky basket of grasses,
cat-tail leaves or hemp, usually lashed to upright stalks of cat-tail,
occasionally on bushes, as willow and the like; lining of fine grasses
of uniform size. _Eggs_: 4-7, usually 4, light blue to dull grayish
blue, scrawled, blotched or clouded with dark purple, purplish brown
or black, chiefly about the large end. Av. size 1.04 × .70 (26.4 ×
17.8). _Season_: last week in April, June; two broods.
General Range.—Western United States in the interior north to eastern
British Columbia, restricted by Rocky Mountains and Cascades in
northern portion of range but reaching coast in San Diego and Los
Angeles Counties in California and breeding as far east as western
Texas, southward to northern Chihuahua and northern Lower California;
displaced in Lower Colorado Valley and southern Arizona by _A. p.
sonoriensis_; south in winter to southern Texas, etc.
Range in Washington.—Found in all suitable localities east of the
Cascades.
Migrations.—Irregularly resident but numbers always greatly augmented
about March 1st.
Authorities.—_Agelaius phœniceus_ Vieil., Cooper and Suckley, Rep.
Pac. R. R. Surv. XII. pt. II. 1860, 207. Allen, Bull. Nutt. Orn. Club,
VI. 1881, 128. D¹. D². Ss¹. Ss². J.
Specimens.—U. of W. C. P.
A meadowlark may pipe from a sunny pasture slope in early February, and
a Merrill Song Sparrow may rehearse his cheerful message in midwinter,
but it takes the chorus of returning Blackbirds to bring boisterous
tidings of awakening spring. What a world of jubilation there is in
their voluble whistlings and chirpings and gurglings, a wild medley of
March which strikes terror to the faltering heart of winter. A sudden
hush falls upon the company as the bird-man draws near the tree in which
they are swarming; but a dusky maiden pouts, “Who cares?” and they all
fall to again, hammer and tongs, timbrel, pipes, and hautboy. Brewer’s
Blackbirds and Cowbirds occasionally make common cause with Red-wings in
the northern migrations, but it is always the last-named who
preponderate, and it is they who are most vivacious, most resplendent,
and most nearly musical. The Red-wing’s mellow _kongqueree_ or
occasional tipsy _whoop-er-way-up_ is the life of the party.
Almost before we know it our friends, to the number of a dozen pairs or
more, have taken up their residence in a cat-tail swamp—nowhere else, if
you please, unless driven to it—and here, about the third week in April,
a dozen baskets of matchless weave are swung, or lodged midway of the
growing plants. Your distant approach is commented upon from the tops of
bordering willows by _keyrings_ and other notes. At close range the
lordly male, he of the brilliant epaulets and the proper military
swagger, shakes out his fine clothes and says, _Kongqueree_, in a voice
wherein anxiety is quite outweighed by vanity and proffered
good-fellowship withal. But if you push roughly thru the outlying
sedges, anxiety obtains the mastery. There is a hubbub in the marsh.
Bustling, frowsy females appear and scold you roundly. The lazy gallants
are all fathers now, and they join direful threats to courteous
expostulations, as they flutter wildly around the intruder’s head. To
the mischievous boy the chance of calling out these frantic attentions
is very alluring, even when no harm is intended.
I have said that the Red-wing prefers cat-tails for nesting; there is
probably no undisturbed area of cat-tails in eastern Washington which
does not harbor Columbian Red-wings; yet, even so, the cover does not
suffice and they are impelled to occupy the extensive tulé beds which
border the larger lakes. For the second nesting, which occurs in June,
the Blackbirds are likely to try the willows, now covered with foliage;
or, in default of these, may venture into any coarse vegetation which
lines the swamp.
[Illustration: _Taken near Spokane._ _Photo by F. S. Merrill._
NEST AND EGGS OF THE COLUMBIAN REDWING.]
Four or five eggs are commonly laid and sets of six are very rare. On
the 18th of May, 1896, I took a set of eight eggs, all believed to be
the product of one female, from a nest in Okanogan County, and this set
is now in the Oberlin College Museum.
Of the economic value of the Red-wing there can be no question. The bird
is chiefly insectivorous and destroys an immense amount of insect life,
particularly in the larval state, injurious to vegetation. Its single
fault is a weakness for young corn, but as corn is not a staple crop in
Washington, this fault may be readily condoned in view of the bird’s
valuable services to stockman and orchardist.
No. 20.
NORTHWESTERN RED-WING.
A. O. U. No. 498f. Agelaius phœniceus caurinus Ridgway.
Synonyms.—Red-winged Blackbird. Red-shouldered Blackbird. Marsh
Blackbird. Swamp Blackbird.
Description.—Similar to _A. p. neutralis_ but female much darker,
heavily streaked with black below; in winter feather skirtings of
female more extensively rusty. Measurements not essentially different.
Recognition Marks.—As in preceding. Female darker and more heavily
streaked than in _A. p. neutralis_.
Nesting.—_Nest_: as in preceding; dimensions 5 in. wide by 6 in. deep
outside, 3 × 3 inside. _Eggs_: 3 or 4, rarely 5, colored as before;
dimensions varying from 1.05 × .76 (26.6 × 19.3) to 1.00 × .66 (25.4 ×
16.7). _Season_: second to last week in April, June (Tacoma, April 6,
1906, 3 eggs); two broods.
General Range.—Northwest coast district from northern California north
to British Columbia on Vancouver Island and mainland.
Range in Washington.—Common in suitable localities west of the
Cascades. Irregularly resident.
Authorities.—_Agelaius phœniceus_ Vieil, Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv.
IX. 1858, 528. T. C&S. Rh. Kb. Ra. Kk. B. E.
Specimens.—(U. of W.) Prov. B. E.
The bird-man was sitting Turk-fashion on a great mossy log which ran far
out into the rustling depths of the South Tacoma swamp. The April sun
flooded the scene with warm light and made one blink like a blissful
drowsy frog, while the marsh sent up a grateful incense of curling
vapor. A pocket lunch of bread and cheese was the ostensible occasion of
this noontide bliss, but victuals had small charms beside those of the
sputtering Tulé Wrens who played hide and seek among the stems, or the
dun Coots, who sowed their _pulque pulque pulque_ notes along the reedy
depths.
Upon this scene of marshy content burst a vision of Phœnician splendor,
Caurinus I., the military satrap of South Tacoma, the authentic tyee of
Blackbirds. He was a well-aged bird, and as is the proper way with
feathered folk, resplendent in proportion to his years. His epaulets
seemed a half larger again than others, and their scarlet was of the
brightest hue, contrasting with a black mantle which fairly shone. He
appeared an amiable old fellow, and as he lighted ponderously on an
uplifted branch of my tree, he remarked, “_Whoo-kuswee-ung_,” so
hospitably that I felt impelled to murmur, “Thanks,” and assured him of
my unhostile intent. “_Conqueree?_” he questioned, richly. “Er—well,
yes, if you are the conqueror.”
But the general had other interests to watch. An upstart male of the
second year with shoulder-straps of a sickly orange hue, was descried a
rod away climbing hand-over-hand up a cat-tail stem. _Keyring, keyring_,
the despot warned him; and because the presumptuous youth did not heed
him quickly enough, he launched his splendor over the spot, whereat the
youth sank in dire confusion. And next, our hero caught sight of a
female fair to look upon peeping at him furtively from behind her
lattice of reeds. To see was to act, he flung his heart at the maiden
upon the instant, and followed headlong after, thru I know not what
reedy mazes. Oh, heart ever young, and pursuit never wearying!
Northwestern Red-wings find rather restricted range thruout western
Washington, but they appear wherever there are fresh-water marshes or
reed-bordered lakes. In default of cat-tails they will accept the
shelter of dwarf willows, or coarse dense grass of any sort.
Nesting is undertaken at Tacoma at least by the third week in April, and
we have found eggs as early as the sixth of that month. The nest of the
accompanying illustration (photogravure) is composed solely of the
coiled stems of the dried bulrushes, amongst which it is placed, with a
lining of clean dried grass-stems.
Few eggs exceed in beauty those of the Red-winged Black-bird. The
background is a pale bluish green of great delicacy, and upon this occur
sharply-defined spots, blotches, marblings, traceries, and “pen-work” of
dark sepia, purplish black, drab, and heliotrope purple. Or a spot of
color appears to be deeply imbedded in the fine, strong texture of the
shell, and carries about it an aura of diminishing color. Occasionally,
the whole egg is suffused with pale brownish, or, more rarely, it is
entirely unmarked.
Incubation lasts fourteen days and the young are ready to leave the nest
in a little over two weeks more. They are frizzly, helpless, complaining
little creatures, but if they cannot fly well they can clamber, and they
cling with the grip of terrified monkeys.
Our Northwestern Red-wings are normally migratory, but they also winter
with us irregularly; and this habit appears to be gaining ground as the
guarantee of food becomes more certain. Numbers of them subsist in both
Seattle and Tacoma in the vicinity of grain elevators, where they will
have comfortable sustenance until such time as the augmented English
Sparrows decree death to all native birds.
No. 21.
YELLOW-HEADED BLACKBIRD.
A. O. U. No. 497. Xanthocephalus xanthocephalus (Bonap.).
Description.—_Adult male_: Head, neck all around, and breast orange
yellow; lores and feathers skirting eyes and bill, black; a double
white patch on folded wing formed by greater and lesser coverts, but
interrupted by black of bastard wing; usually a little yellow about
vent and on tibiæ; the remaining plumage black, dull or subdued, and
turning brown on wing-tips and tail. _Female_: Dark brown; line over
eye, throat, and upper breast dull yellow. Length 10.00-11.00
(254-279.4); wing 5.30-5.60 (134.6-142.2); tail 4.00-4.50
(101.6-114.3); bill .90 (22); tarsus 1.25 (31.8). Female smaller,
length 8.00-9.50 (203.2-241.3).
Recognition Marks.—Robin size; yellow head and breast; white
wing-patches.
Nesting.—_Nest_: a bulky but usually neat fabric of dried grasses,
reeds or cat-tails lashed to growing ones; 5-7 inches in diameter
outside by 5-8 deep; inside deeply cupped. _Eggs_: 3-6, grayish green
spotted or clouded with reddish brown, rarely scrawled as in
_Agelaius_; elongate ovate in shape. Av. size, 1.10 × .75 (27.9 × 19).
_Season_: May or June; one brood.
General Range.—Western North America from Wisconsin, Illinois and
Texas to the Pacific Coast, and from British Columbia and the
Saskatchewan River southward to the Valley of Mexico. Accidental in
Middle and Atlantic States.
Range in Washington.—Of local distribution in eastern Washington
chiefly east of the Columbia River. Rare or casual west of the
Cascades. Summer resident.
Authorities.—[“Yellow-headed Blackbird,” Johnson, Rep. Gov. W. T. 1884
(1885), 22.] Bendire, Life Hist. N. A. Birds, Vol. II. 1895, p. 447.
Ss^r. J.
Specimens.—Prov. C. P.
Oh, well for the untried nerves that the Yellow-headed Blackbird sings
by day, when the sun is shining brightly, and there are no supporting
signs of a convulsion of Nature! Verily, if love affected us all in
similar fashion, the world would be a merry mad-house. The Yellow-head
is an extraordinary person—you are prepared for that once you catch
sight of his resplendent gold-upon-black livery—but his avowal of the
tender passion is a revelation of incongruity. Grasping a reed firmly in
both fists, he leans forward, and, after premonitory gulps and gasps,
succeeds in pressing out a wail of despairing agony which would do
credit to a dying catamount. When you have recovered from the first
shock, you strain the eyes in astonishment that a mere bird, and a bird
in love at that, should give rise to such a cataclysmic sound. But he
can do it again, and his neighbor across the way can do as well—or
worse. When your nerves have somewhat recovered, modesty overcomes you,
and you retire, not without a chastened sense of privilege that you have
lived to hear the Yellow-head pop the question,—“and also you lived
after.”
The expiring Romeo cry is quite the finest of the Xanthocephaline
repertory, but there are others not devoid of interest. _Ok-eh-ah-oh-oo_
is a musical series of startling brilliancy, comparable in a degree to
the yodelling of a street urchin,—a succession of sounds of varying
pitches, produced as tho by altering the oral capacity. It may be noted
thus: [Illustration: music] The last note is especially mellow and
pleasing, recalling to some ears the liquid gurgle of the Bobolink, to
which, of course, our bird is distinctly related.
[Illustration: _Photo by the Author._
MALE YELLOW HEAD.]
Alternating with the last named, and more frequently heard from the
depths of the nesting swamp is _gur, gurrl_; or, as oftenest, _yewi(nk),
yewi(nk), gur-gurrl_. In this phrase the _gurrl_ is drawn out with
comical effect, as tho the gallant were down on his knees before some
unyielding maiden.
The Yellow-head’s ordinary note of distrust, equivalent to the _dink_
note of the Red-wing, is _kluck_ or _koluck’_. In flight this becomes
almost invariably _oo’kluk, oo’kluk_.
At rest, again, this is sometimes prolonged into a thrilling passage of
resonant “l” notes, probably remonstratory in character. The alarm cry
is built upon the same basis, and is uttered with exceeding vehemence,
_klookoloy, klookoloy, klook ooooo_.
Finally, if one may presume to speak finally of so versatile a genius,
they have a harsh, rasping note very similar in quality to the scolding
note of the Steller Jay, only lighter in weight and a little higher in
pitch. This is the note of fierce altercation, or the distress cry in
imminent danger. The last time I heard it was in the rank herbage
bordering upon a shallow lake in Douglas County. I rushed in to find a
big blow-snake coiling just below a nestful of young birds, while the
agonized parents and sympathetic neighbors hovered over the spot crying
piteously. To stamp upon the reptile was but the work of a moment; and
when I dropped the limp ophidian upon the bare ground, all the blackbird
population gathered about the carcass, shuddering but exultant,
and—perhaps it was only fancy—grateful too.
For all the Yellow-head is so decided in utterance, in disposition he is
somewhat phlegmatic, the male bird especially lacking the vivacity which
characterizes the agile Brewer Blackbird. Except when hungry, or
impelled by passion, he is quite content to mope for hours at a time in
the depths of the reeds; and even in nesting time, when his precincts
are invaded, he oftener falls to admiring his own plumage in the
flooding sunshine than tries to drive off the intruder. Let the homely
and distrait female attend to that.
[Illustration: _Taken in Douglas County._ _Photo by W. Leon Dawson._
NEST OF YELLOW-HEADED BLACKBIRD IN TULES.]
This bird is essentially a plains-loving species, and its favorite
haunts with us are the reedy borders of the treeless lakes, and the
upland sloughs of eastern Washington. It is highly gregarious,
especially in the fall and early spring, but confesses to about the same
degree of domesticity as the Red-wing, in late spring and early summer.
[Illustration: _Taken in Douglas County._ _Photo by the Author._
A STOUTLY-WOVEN BASKET.]
The nests are stoutly-woven baskets of reeds and grasses, light and dry
and handsome. No mud or other matrix material is used in construction,
and the interior is always carefully lined with fine dry grass. The
illimitable bulrushes are the favorite cover, but rank herbage of any
sort is used if only it be near or over water. The most humble
situations suffice; and the nest is often placed within a foot of the
water, or its equivalent of black ooze.
No. 22.
WESTERN MEADOWLARK.
A. O. U. No. 501.1. Sturnella neglecta Audubon.
Synonyms.—Field Lark. Old-field Lark. Medlark. Medlar (poetical).
Mudlark (corruption).
Description.—_Adult male_: General color of upperparts brownish black
modified by much tawny and buffy-gray edgings of the feathers which
throw the black into stripes and bars with suggestion of herring-bone
pattern; the tawny heaviest on secondaries and upper tail-feathers
where taking the form of partial bands, a median crown stripe and
posterior portion of superciliary sordid white or buffy; anterior
portion of superciliary, cheeks, chin, upper throat, breast (broadly)
and middle belly rich lemon yellow (inclining to orange in older
specimens); a large black crescent on upper breast; sides and flanks
black-streaked and spotted with pale brown on a buffy or whitish
ground. Bill variegated, tawny, black and white. _Female_: Like male
but smaller and paler with some substitutions of brown for black in
streaking; black of jugulum veiled by grayish tips of feathers; yellow
of breast duller, etc. The plumage of both sexes is duller in fall and
winter, the normal colors being restrained by buffy overlay. Length of
adult male: 10.00-11.00 (254-279.4); wing 4.85 (123.2); tail 3.00
(76.2); bill 1.30 (33); tarsus 1.46 (37.1). Female smaller.
Recognition Marks.—Robin size; yellow breast with black collar
distinctive; general streaky appearance above; yellow cheeks as
distinguished from the Eastern Meadowlark (_Sturnella magna_).
Nesting.—_Nest_: on the ground in thick grass or weeds; a slight
depression lined (carefully or not) and usually overarched with dried
grasses. _Eggs_: 4-6, white, speckled and spotted, sometimes very
sparingly, with cinnamon brown or purplish; very variable in shape,
elliptical ovate to almost round. Av. size, 1.12 × .80 (28.5 × 20.3).
_Season_: April and June; two broods. Tacoma, April 5, 1906, 4 fresh
eggs.
General Range.—Western United States, southwestern British Provinces,
and northwestern Mexico, east to prairie districts of Mississippi
Valley, Minnesota, Iowa, Missouri, etc., occasionally to Illinois and
Michigan; breeding thruout its range.
Range in Washington.—Abundant east and west of the Cascades; largely
resident on the West-side, partially on the East-side; numbers
augmented from the south during last week in February.
Authorities.—[Lewis and Clark, Hist. Ex. (1814), Ed. Biddle: Coues.
Vol II. p. 186.] _Sturnella neglecta_ Aud., Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R.
Surv. IX. 1858, 539. T. C&S. L². Rh. D¹. Sr. Ra. D². Ss¹. Ss². Kk. B.
E.
Specimens.—(U. of W.) Prov. B. E. BN. P¹.
Summer silences the birds so gradually and we ourselves have become so
much absorbed in business during the prosy days of September that we
have almost forgotten the choruses of springtime and have come to accept
our uncheered lot as part of the established order of things. But on a
nippy October morning, as we are bending over some dull task, there
comes a sound which brings us to our feet. We hasten to the window,
throw up the sash and lean out into the cool, fresh air while a
Meadowlark rehearses, all at a sitting, the melodies of the year’s
youth. It all comes back to us with a rush; the smell of lush grasses,
the splendor of apple blossoms, the courage of lengthening days, the
ecstacies of courtship—all these are recalled by the lark-song. It is as
tho this forethoughted soul had caught the music of a May day, just at
its prime, in a crystal vase, and was now pouring out the imprisoned
sound in a gurgling, golden flood. What cheer! What heartening! Yea;
what rejuvenation it brings! Wine of youth! Splashes of color and gay
delight!
It is impossible not to rhapsodize over the Meadowlark. He is a
rhapsodist himself. Born of the soil and lost in its embraces for such
time as it pleases him, he yet quits his lowly station ever and again,
mounts some fence-post or tree-top, and publishes to the world an
unquenchable gladness in things-as-they-are. If at sunrise, then the
gleams of the early ray flash resplendent from his golden
breastplate,—this high-priest of morning; and all Nature echoes his
joyous blast: “Thank God for sunshine!” Or if the rain begins to fall,
who so quickly grateful for its refreshment as this optimist of the
ground, this prophet of good cheer! There is even an added note of
exultation in his voice as he shouts: “Thank God for rain!” And who like
him can sing farewell to parting day! Piercing sweet from the meadows
come the last offerings of day’s daysmen, peal and counterpeal from
rival friendly throats, unfailing, unfaltering, unsubdued: “It is good
to live. It is good to rest. Thank God for the day now done!”
The Meadowlark of the East has a poet’s soul but he lacks an adequate
instrument of expression. His voice does not respond to his requirement.
Perhaps his early education, as a species, was neglected. Certain it is
that in passing westward across the prairies of Iowa or Minnesota one
notices an instant change in the voices of the Meadowlarks. The song of
the western bird is sweeter, clearer, louder, longer and more varied.
The difference is so striking that we can explain it only upon the
supposition of an independent development. The western bird got his
early training where prairie wild flowers of a thousand hues ministered
to his senses, where breath of pine mingled faintly with the aroma of
neighboring cactus bloom, and where the sight of distant mountains fired
the imagination of a poet race. At any rate we of the West are proud of
the Western Meadowlark and would have you believe that such a blithe
spirit could evolve only under such circumstances.
Bird song never _exactly_ conforms to our musical notation, and there is
no instrument save the human “whistle” which will even passably
reproduce the quality of the Meadowlark’s song. Nevertheless, many
interesting experiments have been made in recording these songs and a
little attention will convince the least accomplished musician that
there is a fascinating field for study here.
A formal song of the Western Meadowlark comprises from four to a dozen
notes, usually six or seven. The song phrases vary endlessly in detail,
yet certain types are clearly distinguishable, types which reappear in
different parts of the country, apparently without regard to local
traditions or suppositional schools of song. Thus a Chelan singer says,
“_Oku wheel′er, ku wheel′er_”, and he may not have a rival in a hundred
miles; yet another bird on the University campus in Seattle sings, _Eh
heu, wheel′iky, wheel′iky_, or even _Eh heu wheel′iky, wheel′iky,
wheel′iky_, and you recognize it instantly as belonging to the same
type. In like manner _Owy′hee, rec′itative_ was heard with perfect
distinctness both at Wallula and in Okanogan County.
Each bird has a characteristic song-phrase by which he may be recognized
and traced thru a season, or thru succeeding years. One boisterous
spirit in Chelan I shall never forget for he insisted on shouting, hour
after hour, and day after day, “_Hip! Hip! Hurrah! boys; three cheers!_”
Yet, while this is true, no bird is confined to one style of song. An
autumnal soloist in Ravenna Park rendered no less than six distinct
songs or song-phrases in a rehearsal lasting five minutes. He gave them
without regard to sequence, now repeating the same phrase several times
in succession, now hurrying on to new forms, pausing only after each
utterance for breath.
Nor is the effort of the Western Meadowlark confined to the formal song
for he often pours out a flood of warbling, chattering and gurgling
notes which at close range are very attractive. Not infrequently he will
interrupt one of these meditative rhapsodies with the clarion call, and
return immediately to his minor theme.
In the presence of a stranger the lark serves frequent notice of
intended departure in a vigorous _toop_, or _toob_, accompanying the
sound with an emphatic flirt of the wings and jerk of the tail. Now and
then the actual departure is accompanied by a beautiful yodelling song.
After several preliminary _toobs_ the bird launches himself with
fantastic exaggeration of effort and rolls out, _O′ly o′ly o′ly o′ly
o′ly_, with ravishing sweetness.
At nesting time the parent birds have many causes for apprehension, and
as they move about in search of food they give vent to the _toob_ note
of distrust in a fashion which soon becomes chronic. In Douglas County
this note is doubled, _two′ bit_, or _two′ whit_, and one cannot recall
the varied life of the sage in June without hearing as an undertone the
half melancholy _two′ bit_ of a mother Meadowlark as she works her way
homeward by fearful stages.
At nesting time the Western Meadowlark enjoys a wide distribution in
Washington. It is found not only on all grassy lowlands and in
cultivated sections but in the open sage as well and upon the half-open
pine-clad foothills up to an altitude of four thousand feet.
The Meadowlark is an assiduous nester. This not because of any unusual
amativeness but because young Meadowlarks are the _morceaux délicieux_
of all the powers that prey, skunks, weasels, mink, raccoons, coyotes,
snakes, magpies, crows. Hawks and owls otherwise blameless in the
bird-world err here—the game is too easy. Even the noble Peregrine does
not disdain this humble, albeit toothsome, quarry, and the Least Falcon
(_Falco sparverius phalæna_) will stoop for a young Meadowlark when all
other avian offerings are virtuously passed by.
[Illustration: _Taken in Stevens County._ _Photo by the Author._
NEST AND EGGS OF THE WESTERN MEADOWLARK.]
Fecundity then is the only recourse,—this, and concealment. Not relying
altogether upon its marvelous protective coloration the lark exhibits
great caution in approaching, and, if possible, in quitting its nest. In
either case it sneaks along the ground for a considerable distance,
threading the mazes of the grass so artfully that the human eye can
follow with difficulty or not at all. At the approach of danger a
sitting bird may either steal from her nest unobserved and rise at a
safe distance or else seek to further her deception by feigning lameness
after the fashion of the Shore-birds. Or, again, she may cling to her
charge in desperation hoping against hope till the last possible moment
and taking chances of final mishap. In this way a friend of mine once
discovered a brooding Meadowlark imprisoned underneath his
boot—fortunately without damage for she occupied the deep depression of
a cow-track.
To further concealment the grass-lined depression in which the
Meadowlark places her four or five speckled eggs is almost invariably
over-arched with dried grasses. This renders the eggs practically
invisible from above, and especially if the nest is placed in thick
grass or rank herbage, as is customary. Touching instances of blind
devotion to this arch tradition were, however, afforded by a sheep-swept
pasture near Adrian. Here the salt-grass was cropped close and the very
sage was gnawed to stubs. But the Meadowlarks, true to custom, had
imported long, dried grasses with which to over-arch their nests. As a
result one had only to look for knobs on the landscape. By eye alone we
located six of these pathetic landmarks in the course of a half-hour’s
stroll.
One brood is usually brought off by May 1st and another by the middle of
June. Altho Meadowlarks are classed as altricial, i. e. having young
helpless when hatched and which require to be nurtured in the nest, the
young Meadowlarks are actually very precocious and scatter from the nest
four or five days after hatching, even before they are able to fairly
stand erect. This arrangement lessens the chances of wholesale
destruction but it would appear to complicate the problem from the
parental standpoint. How would you, for instance, like to tend five
babies, each in a separate thicket in a trackless forest, and that
haunted by cougars, and lynxes, and boa-constrictors and things?
We cannot afford to be indifferent spectators to this early struggle for
existence, for it is difficult to overestimate the economic value of the
Meadowlark. The bird is by choice almost exclusively insectivorous. If,
however, when hard pressed, he does take toll of the fallen wheat or
alfalfa seed, he is as easily justifiable as is the hired man who
consumes the farmer’s biscuits that he may have the strength to wield
the hoe against the farmer’s weeds. Being provided with a long and
sensitive bill, the Meadowlark not only gleans its insect prey from the
surface of the ground, but works among the grass roots, and actually
probes the earth in its search for wire- and cut-worms, those most
dreaded pests. Besides devouring injurious grubs and insects of many
kinds, the Lark has a great fondness for grasshoppers, subsisting almost
entirely upon these in the season of their greatest abundance. In the
matter of grasshopper consumption alone Meadowlarks of average
distribution, are estimated by no less an authority than Professor Beal,
to be worth about twenty-four dollars per month, per township, in saving
the hay crop. To the individual farmer this may seem a small matter, but
in the aggregate the saving to the nation amounts to some hundreds of
thousands of dollars each year. Even in winter, when a few individuals
or occasional companies of Larks are still to be found, a large
proportion of their food consists of hardy beetles and other insects,
while weed-seed and scattering grain is laid under tribute, as it were,
reluctantly.
It goes without saying that we cannot regard this bird as lawful game.
We exempt the horse from slaughter not because its flesh is unfit for
food—it is really very sapid—but because the animal has endeared itself
to our race by generations of faithful service. We place the horse in
another category, that of animal friend. And the human race, the best of
it, has some time since discovered compunctions about eating its
friends. Make friends with this bonny bird, the Meadowlark, and you will
be ashamed thenceforth to even discuss assassination. Fricassee of prima
donna! Voice of morning _en brochette_! Bird-of-merry-cheer on toast!
Faugh! And yet that sort of thing passed muster a generation ago—does
yet in the darker parts of Europe!
_Fringillidæ_—The Finches
No. 23.
WESTERN EVENING GROSBEAK.
A. O. U. No. 514a. Hesperiphona vespertina montana Ridgway.
Description.—_Adult male_: Forehead and superciliaries gamboge yellow;
feathers about base of bill, lores, and crown black; wings black with
large white patch formed by tips of inner secondaries and tertials;
tail black; remaining plumage sooty olive brown about head and neck,
shading thru olive and olive-green to yellow on wing and under
tail-coverts. Bill bluish horn-color and citron yellow; feet brownish.
_Adult female_: General color deep smoky brownish gray or buffy brown,
darker on the head, lighter on wings, lighter, more buffy, on sides,
shading to dull whitish on throat and abdomen, tinged with yellowish
green on hind-neck, clearing to light yellow on axillars and under
wing-coverts; a small clear white patch at base of inner primaries;
white blotches on tips of upper tail-coverts and inner webs of
tail-feathers in varying proportions. Length about 8.00 (203.2); wing
4.39 (111.5); tail 2.42 (61.4); bill .82 (20.8); depth at base .62
(15.9); tarsus. 81 (20.3). Female very slightly smaller.
Recognition Marks.—Chewink size; olive-brown coloration with black and
white in masses on wings; large, conical beak distinctive;
high-pitched call note.
Nesting.—Has not yet been found breeding in Washington but undoubtedly
does so. _Nest_ (as reported from New Mexico): principally composed of
fine rootlets with some Usnea moss and a few sticks, settled upon
horizontal branches of pine or fir, near tip, and at considerable
heights; in loose colonies. _Eggs_: 4, “in color, size, form, and
texture indistinguishable from those of the Red-winged Blackbird”
(Birtwell).
General Range.—Western United States and Northern Mexico; east to and
including Rocky Mountains; north to British Columbia.
Range in Washington.—Co-extensive with evergreen timber and appearing
irregularly elsewhere. Resident within State but roving locally.
Winters regularly in parks of the larger cities.
Authorities.—? _Fringilla vespertina_ Townsend, Journ. Ac. Nat. Sci.
Phila. VIII. 1839, 154 (Columbia R.). _Hesperiphona vespertina_ Baird,
Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. IX. 1858, 409. T. C&S. Ra. Kk. B. E.
Specimens.—U. of W. P¹. Prov. B. E.
[Illustration: WESTERN EVENING GROSBEAKS
MALE AND FEMALE, ¾ LIFE SIZE
From a Water-color Painting by Allan Brooks]
Sparrows are also called Cone-bills; it is, therefore, fair that the
bird with the biggest cone should take precedence in a family history.
But for this primacy there are damaging limitations. The Grosbeak is
neither the most beautiful nor the most tuneful of the Fringillidæ, if
he is by common consent rated the oddest. His garb is a patchwork; his
song a series of shrieks; his motions eccentric; his humor phlegmatic;
and his concepts beyond the ken of man. Altho at times one of the most
approachable of birds, he is, on the whole, an avian freak, a rebus in
feathers.
Perhaps we make too much of a mystery of him, just as we rate the owl
highest in wisdom for the single discretion of silence, which any
dunderhead may attain. But now take this group in the park; just what
are they at? They sit there stolidly in the rowan tree where all the
passersby may take note of them, giving vent ever and anon to explosive
yelps, but _doing nothing_ by the hour, until an insane impulse seizes
one of their number to be off to some other scene no better, be it near
or far, and the rest yield shrieking consent by default of alternative
idea. It is all so unreasonable, so uncanny, that it irritates us.
Evening Grosbeaks are semi-gregarious the year around, but are seen to
best advantage in winter or early spring, when they flock closely and
visit city parks or wooded lawns. One is oftenest attracted to their
temporary quarters by the startling and disconnected noises which are
flung out broadcast. It may be that the flock is absorbed in the depths
of a small fir, so that one may come up near enough to analyze the
sound. Three sorts of notes are plainly distinguishable: a low murmuring
of pure tones, quite pleasant to the ear; a harsh but subdued rattle, or
alarm note, _wzzzt_ or _wzzzp_, familiarly similar to that of the
Crossbill; and the high-pitched shriek, which distinguishes the bird
from all others, _dimp_. A little attention brings to light the fact
that all the birds in the flock bring out this astonishing note at
_precisely the same pitch_. Once distinguished, this note will serve
again and again to draw attention to this uncanny fowl, as it passes
overhead or loses itself in the bosom of some giant conifer.
It is not a little surprising at first thought, that the habits of these
birds are best known in our larger cities, Seattle, Tacoma, Spokane, and
Portland. Why they should be especially attracted to them, it is hard to
say, unless it be that they love the din of urban life, which they help
so valiantly to promote. But it is easy to see why they are more
noticeable there; for their showy and patchy coloration marks them as
distinguished visitors in town, whereas in the forest their colors so
melt into and harmonize with their surroundings that it is difficult to
follow their movements.
These Grosbeaks, or New World Hawfinches, are not to be commended as
horticulturists. In winter they feed largely upon the ground, gleaning
fallen seeds and fruits; and are especially fond of the winged key of
the large-leafed maple (_Acer macrophyllum_). They drop down to such a
feast one by one from the branches above, and it is amusing to note how
the loud cracking of seeds is interspersed with music. A little later
the birds devote themselves to swelling buds, and here too the maple is
a favorite; tho ash, alder, flowering currant, and a dozen more are not
disdained. The damage done is not considerable; for the birds, viewed in
the large, are not numerous enough, all told, to be taken seriously; but
viewed in the concrete, the snip, snip, of those mandibles in the lilac
bushes is no idle joy.
It may be that the key of high C sharp, or whatever it be, _staccato con
moto_, is the accepted love note, and that the green-liveried swain
hurls declarations at his enamorata, like Samson in Handel’s oratorio,
the live-long year. Anyway, his exertions are redoubled in early June,
and he charges about in a reckless frenzy which should make the city
gape. June, 1906, was memorable to us for the abundance of these
Grosbeaks in the vicinity of Spokane. The very air of Cannon Hill and
Hangman’s Creek seemed charged with expectation of Grosbeaks’ nests. But
they were not for us. Nor has the nest yet been taken in Washington.
No. 24.
ALASKAN PINE GROSBEAK.
A. O. U. No. 515c. Pinicola enucleator alascensis Ridgway.
Synonym.—Pine Bullfinch.
Description.—_Adult male_: In highest plumage rosy red (poppy red);
back with dusky centers of feathers; lower belly and under
tail-coverts ashy gray—this high plumage is the exception; in general
the rosy gives place to ashy gray in varying proportions; wings and
tail ashy dusky; tips of middle and greater coverts and outer edges of
exposed tertials white (or rosy). Bill dusky; feet blackish. _Adult
female_: Similar to male but rosy replaced by dingy yellow (varying
from olive-yellow, olive-tawny and ochraceous to bricky red) and
chiefly confined to head, hind-neck and upper tail-coverts (where
brightest); feathers of back frequently tipped with ochraceous and
breast with an ochrey wash. Length about 8.60 (218.4); wing 4.60
(117); tail 3.66 (93); bill .57 (14.5); tarsus .89 (22.7).
Recognition Marks.—Chewink size; large, rounded conical beak; red and
gray coloration for size distinctive.
Nesting.—“_Nest_, composed of a basement of twigs and rootlets within
which is a more compact fabric of finer materials. _Eggs_, usually 4,
pale greenish blue, spotted and blotched with dark brown surface
markings and lilac shell-spots.” Av. size 1.05 × .74 (26.7 × 18.8).
_Season_: About June 1st; one brood.
General Range.—“Northwestern North America, except Pacific Coast,
breeding in interior of Alaska; south, in winter, to eastern British
Columbia, Montana (Bitterroot Valley), etc.” (Ridgway).
Range in Washington.—Reported by Allan Brooks as breeding in the Mt.
Baker district (as below); should occur upon the timbered lowlands in
winter.
Authorities.—Allan Brooks _in epist._ Dawson, Auk Vol. XXV. Oct. 1908,
p. 482.
Specimens.—Prov.
This large and handsome Finch is of very irregular occurrence in
southern British Columbia excepting the higher mountain ranges, where it
breeds. During some winters it is present in large numbers, while in
others, equally severe, none are seen. The species was very common
throughout the winter of 1906-1907, a very severe one; but in that of
1901-1902, which was notably mild, Pine Grosbeaks were noticed in
considerable numbers as far south as Penticton, 40 miles north of the
international boundary, and they undoubtedly occurred much farther
south.
Their food in the winter months is principally berries, but, strange to
say, they altogether refuse those of the mountain ash, both the
introduced and indigenous species. The former is the favorite food of
the Eastern Pine Grosbeak thruout the winter in Ontario, but trees
loaded with fruit were passed by at Okanagan Landing in the winter of
1906-1907, even after the birds had eaten all the rose hips and snow
berries and were reduced to eating weed seeds with the _Leucostictes_.
Either this sub-species or _montana_ breeds on all the higher mountain
ranges in British Columbia, occupying a zone from timber line downwards
about 2,000 feet.
My first acquaintance with the Pine Grosbeak at its breeding grounds,
was in the Cascade Mountains due north of Mt. Baker, on both sides of
the Forty-ninth Parallel. Here the species was a somewhat sparing
breeder close to timber line among the hemlock and balsam timber. They
were feeding young on the 17th of July; at the same time Crossbills had
fully grown young in flocks. No red males were seen, though many gray
males were singing in the early mornings from the topmost spray of some
balsam.
In the writer’s opinion the red plumage in the male is acquired at the
first moult or immediately after the juvenal dress, and is usually only
retained for one season; in some males a duller red dress is carried
through the second summer, or more rarely a salmon-pink one; but in most
cases the dress of the second summer is a gray one like the females,
with yellow head and rump. Females may sometimes be seen with decidedly
red heads and rumps,—from the size and shape of the bill these seem to
be very old birds. The above remarks as to the red dress in the male
apply also, in the writer’s experience, to the genera _Loxia_,
_Carpodacus_ and _Acanthis_.
Allan Brooks.
No. 25.
AMERICAN CROSSBILL.
A. O. U. No. 521. Loxia curvirostra minor (Brehm.).
Synonym.—Red Crossbill.
Description.—_Adult male_: Tips of mandibles crossed either way;
plumage red, brightest on rump; feathers of back with brownish
centers; wings and tail fuscous. Shade of red very variable,—orange,
cinnabar, even vermilion, sometimes toned down by a saffron suffusion.
_Immature males_ sometimes present a curiously mottled appearance with
chrome-green and red intermingled. _Female and young_: Dull
olive-green, brighter and more yellow on head and rump; below gray
overcast by dingy yellow. Adult male, length 5.50-6.25 (139.7-158.8);
wings 3.40 (86.4); tail 2.05 (52.1); bill .70 (17.8) or under.
Recognition Marks.—Sparrow size; crossed mandibles; male red and
female olive-green; both _without_ white wing-bars.
“Nest: in forks or among twigs of tree, founded on a mass of twigs and
bark-strips, the inside felted of finer materials, including small
twigs, rootlets, grasses, hair, feathers, etc. _Eggs_: 3-4, 0.75 ×
0.57, pale greenish, spotted and dotted about larger end with dark
purplish brown, with lavender shell-markings” (Coues). Av. size, .85 ×
.53 (21.6 × 13.5) (Brewer). _Season_: erratic, Feb.-Oct.; one brood.
General Range.—Northern North America, resident sparingly south in the
eastern United States to Maryland and Tennessee, and in the
Alleghanies, irregularly abundant in winter. Of irregular distribution
thruout the coniferous forests of the West, save in southern
California, Arizona, and New Mexico, where replaced by _L. c.
stricklandi_.
Range in Washington.—Found thruout the coniferous forests of the
State; of irregular occurrence locally. Non-migratory but nomadic.
Authorities.—_Curvirostra americana_ Wils. Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R.
Surv. IX. pt. II. 1858, 426 part, 427. T. C&S. L¹. D¹. Ra. D². J. B.
E.
Specimens.—U. of W. Prov. E. B.
When a bird’s pastures are the tree-tops it is possible for it to live a
quite secluded life here in Washington. And, indeed, we know the
Crossbill chiefly as a wandering voice or, rather, a vocal babel,
passing from summit to summit in the grim fir forest. But on a rare day,
it may be in Spokane, or it may be in Tacoma, the birds descend to human
levels and are discovered feeding busily on their favorite pine cones.
The birds are perfectly indifferent to equilibrium, and feed any side up
without care. While thus engaged they may exhibit little fear of the
beholder and sometimes venture within reach; but as often, for some
whimsical reason they are up and away again as tho seized by evil
spirits.
The Crossbill owes its peculiar mandibles to an age-long hankering for
pine-seeds (using that word in the generic sense), a desire fully
satisfied according to the fashion of that Providence which works so
variously thru Nature, and whose method we are pleased to call
evolution. The bill of the bird was not meant for an organ of
prehension, and Buffon, the Deist, once won a cheap applause by railing
at the Almighty for a supposed oversight in this direction; but as
matter of fact, its wonderful crossed mandibles enable the Crossbill to
do what no other bird can; viz., pry and cut open the scales of a fir
cone, in order to extract the tiny seed with its tongue.
These birds are not entirely confined to a vegetable diet, for I once
detected a group of them feeding industriously in a small elm tree which
was infested with little gray insects, plant-lice or something of the
sort. The presence of these insects, in colonies, caused the edges of
the leaves to shrivel and curl tightly backward into a protective roll.
Close attention showed that the Crossbills were feeding exclusively upon
these aphides. They first slit open a leaf-roll with their
scissor-bills, then extracted the insects with their tongues, taking
care apparently to secure most of the members of each colony before
passing to the next.
Crossbills also feed to some extent upon the ground, where they pick up
fallen seeds and other tidbits. Mr. J. F. Galbraith, a ranger of the
Washington Forest Reserve, first called my attention to another purpose
which the birds have in visiting the ground. He had noticed how at
certain places, and notably where dish-water was habitually thrown, the
Crossbills were wont to congregate, and, turning the head sidewise, to
thrust out the tongue along the bare ground in a most puzzling manner.
Suspecting at last the real state of affairs, he sprinkled the ground
with salt, and upon their return the birds licked it up with great
avidity. Mr. Galbraith claims to have tried this experiment successfully
upon numerous occasions. The birds do not appear to recognize the salt
at first sight, but soon learn to resort to established salt-licks in
open places. Rev. Fred M. McCreary also reports similar habits in
connection with certain mineral springs in the Suiattle country. When we
recall that the normal food of the Crossbill is pine-seeds, this craving
for Nature’s solvent is readily understandable.
Crossbills give out an intermittent rattling cry, or excited titter,
_tew, tew, tew_, while feeding. They have also a flight note which
consists of a short, clear whistle; and a flock composed of separately
undulating individuals affords a pleasing sensation to both eye and ear,
as it rapidly passes. The male is said to have sprightly whistling notes
of a most agreeable character, generically related to that of the Pine
Grosbeak, or Purple Finch, but their exhibition must be rather rare.
After all, there is something a bit uncanny about these cross-billed
creatures, and their eccentricities show nowhere in greater relief than
in their nesting habits. The quasi migrations of the bird are determined
by the local abundance of fir (or pine) cones. Like their food supply,
the birds themselves may abound in a given section one year and be
conspicuously absent the next. Moreover, because there is no choice of
season in gathering the seed crop, the birds may nest whenever the whim
seizes them; and this they do from January to July, or even October. The
communal life is maintained in spite of the occasional defection of
love-lorn couples; and there is nothing in the appearance of a flock of
Crossbills in April to suggest that other such are dutifully nesting.
Mr. Bowles has never taken the eggs near Tacoma, altho he has
encountered half a dozen of their nests in twelve years, the only
occupied one of which we have record being found by a friend on the 25th
of April, 1899. It contained three half-incubated eggs, and was placed
in one of a group of small firs in the p
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