What's in a Name: Wood Warblers

Yellow Warbler. Photo by David Powell

Yellow-rumped Warbler. Photo By David Powell.

Imagine sitting on the deck overlooking the Jemez River on the first beautfiul spring morning spring morning of the year. The streamside vegetation is bursting with new green verdance. As the caffeine from your coffee or tea begins to work its morning magic and the sleep induced blurriness clears from your eyes, you realize that today the world is a little different. Tiny little birds of brilliant yellow, black, green, and blue flit among the tree tops and bounce across the streamside vegetation oblivious to your presence. They’re in a hurry, these little birds, gobbling up bugs as if they’ve not eaten in a long time, hastily replenishing their fat reserves. Every so often, one of them appears to forget the business of survival, and bursts into song, often from the very top of a very exposed perch, as if he were warbling his presence to the world. Indeed, he is doing just that but, in truth, he cares little for planetary interest. His serenade is meant for only one, a certain special female.

Warblers, properly known as wood warblers, have long captivated bird watchers with their diversity, bright plumages and sprightly behavior. Most of them winter in Mexico, Central and South America, and return to our latitudes in late April and May. Down south, during the winter, they were busily eating as much as possible, mostly insects, so they could produce an entirely new set of iridescent feathers and attain prime breeding condition. They’re hungry when they arrive after their long journey, often feeding voraciously in the densest vegetation of the very tops of the tallest trees. Warbler watching is not for the faint of heart. There’s actually a name for this particular sports injury, “warbler neck”. It feels as if your binocular strap is literally going to sever your head from your body. It hurts

I clearly remember a trip to southern Arizona, to the upper reaches of the Chiricahua Mountains on a quest for rarities, one of which was the Olive Warbler. The habitat preference of this little fellow is the tip top of the tallest pines. We heard him sing almost as soon as we arrived and occasionally saw something flit way up there. My neck loudly proclaimed its discomfort as I searched through the tips of the pine forest without capturing one in my binoculars. Then, just when I was about to give up, I realized that I didn’t necessarily have to stand with bowed back and bent neck. My friend and I decided to lay down in the grass and watch from a more natural body postition. Voila Olive Warbler added to my checklist

Warbler watching is not for everyone, but some dedicated birders travel far afield to places like High Island, Texas each spring. This tiny island on the north shore of the Gulf of Mexico hosts the first trees and shrubs seen by trans-gulf migrants after flying nonstop across hundreds of miles of water, a nonstop trip of 36-45 hours across the hostile ocean. Exhausted, the tiny birds fall from the sky, resting and eating within easy sight of the average birder.

Our western warblers make and overland journey north along the spine of the continent and its watersheds. While many species migrate through, only a few stay to nest: Yellow-breasted Chat (our largest warbler), Common Yellowthroat, and Yellow, MacGillivray’s, Grace’s, and Virginia’s Warblers are the most common Jemez nesting warblers.

Insect larvae comprise the bulk of the diet of all warblers, although fruit and nectar are seasonally important for some species. Just as species occupy widely differing habitats, their feeding styles vary widely. Some are gleaners, patiently plucking insects from leaves and bark, moving slowly and reaching for the next morsel, like our Grace’s Warbler that probes pine needles, bark, and crevices in the ponderosa pine forest. Some skulk in dense vegetation, often along streams, picking insects from clusters of dead leaves on the ground or bark and vegetation just above, like MacGillivray’s Warbler. Others prefer to hang from or flutter beneath vegetation, gleaning prey from the underside of leaves, like the Wilson’s Warbler that migrates through New Mexico and breeds in our northernmost coniferous forests. This tiny, bright yellow fellow with the solid black cap is constantly on the move. In fact, “the bird that can’t stop moving” is one of the ways to help identify the species. Some warblers, like the Yellow-rumped Warbler, employ a sallying technique, flying quickly out from a perch to snatch an aerial insect, also called flycatching.

While warblers occupy themselves with survival, we humans wrestle with cataloguing and naming all things on our shared plant. It can be the cause of strife and dissension, with a heavy dose of ego. In the world of ornithologists, the honor of naming a bird is bestowed on the person that discovers the new species, but naming a bird after oneself is frowned upon by the scientific community. Changing a name, once bestowed, can be construed as scientific jealousy and cause for scorn.

Some species have names that reflect something about their biology, such as the Field Sparrow, often found in weedy fields, or Swamp Sparrow. Others are named after their song or call, such as the chickadee with its ‘chick-a-dee-dee-dee’ call. Some choose to name the newly discovered species after another individual, generally another revered scientist. However, controversy sometimes rears its ugly head when egos are overly invested in a name.

Such was the case with our beautiful MacGillivray’s Warbler. It was discovered by eminent ornithologist, John Kirk Townsend, who named it after his close friend, Dr. W. T. Tolmie, Esq., a surgeon, noted ornithologist, and entrepreneur with the Hudson Bay Company. The new species was called Tolmie’s Warbler. Later, however, in Birds of North America, John James Audubon renamed the species MacGillivray’s Warbler in honor of his close friendship with Dr. W. MacGillivray, a Scottish ornithologist and professor of natural history who had helped Audubon edit his book. Audubon’s disregard for Townsend’s prior name and MacGillivray’s lack of North American field experience have caused resentment among some western birders, who still prefer reinstating the original name. Fortunately, the warbler shares none of our concern about his name. He’s too busy just doing what comes naturally.

Little Robin Redbreast

American Robin family. Photo by Don Bartram.

Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a tree
Up climbed pussycat and down went he,
Down came pussycat, away Robin ran.
Says little Robin Redbreast, “Catch me if you can.”

Little Robin Redbreast flew upon a wall,
Pussycat jumped after him, and almost had a fall.
Little Robin chirped and sang and what did Pussy say?
Pussycat said, “Mew,” and Robin flew away.

– Mother Goose

The subject of myth and folklore, the robin has been popular in literature worldwide for hundreds of years. The robin is often viewed as a symbol of peace, charity and compassion and the origin of its red breast has inspired countless tales. There is one story of how the robin plucked a thorn from the crown that pierced Jesus’ forehead as he was on his way to be crucified, accidentally piercing his own breast, and staining his feathers red. Another tale tells that the robin’s breast was singed while the bird was fanning the fire to warm baby Jesus.

Robins are often viewed as indicators of spring. Their presence is a sure sign that soon birdsong will fill the air, trees and shrubs will burst forth with verdant vegetation, and all life will be renewed. They are viewed as a peaceful bird, minding their own business, pulling up worms, and caring for their families. Their image graces countless note cards, Christmas cards, and advertisements, a symbol that all is well. But, are fact and fiction one in the same with regard to the robin?

Our American Robin (Turdus migratorius), the bird that we see gracing cards, is actually a member of the thrush family (Turdidae), and closely related to bluebirds, mockingbirds, and Townsend’s Solitaire. It is found throughout North America, although the northernmost populations migrate south for the winter. It is not the bird of European literature. To the rest of the world, robins are small members of the flycatcher family. The European Robin (Erithacus rubecula), subject of much literature, is a small insect-eating songbird now considered to be an Old World flycatcher (Muscicapidae). That robin has a bright orange breast instead of red, and is found across Europe, east to Western Siberia and south to North Africa. The term Robin also is given to other species of birds with red breasts, including the Australian red robins of the genus Petroica, which are more closely related to crows.

Now that you are thoroughly numbed by the above paragraph and nodding off toward an extended nap, let’s think about the peaceful part. In general, we rarely see more than one or two robins and their families hopping about in our yards during the spring and summer. That’s because the male of the pair has ferociously defended your yard from all challengers. Only he and his mate can peacefully occupy that territory. This is not to say that there will be no challenges from others, for each robin must maintain enough precious habitat with an adequate food supply and interlopers lurk, waiting for their chance, that moment of inattention when Daddy Robin is looking the other way and the mealworm pan is left unattended.

Earlier this month, I watched a fierce battle over the less than desirable territory of my back yard (at least in my opinion). The two males stabbed with their beaks and grabbed with their feet until one fell from high in the elm tree to land on the ground on his back. That must have hurt! A few days later, I found a dead male in the front yard. Could they have battled to the death? It is a simple matter of survival for the male, his mate, and their offspring. And raise families, they do. A pair of robins can produce up to three clutches of young a year.

Then, there is the myth that robins are harbingers of spring. While this is true for those who live in northern states and Canada, New Mexico actually has far more robins during the winter than the breeding season. Those northern robins head south in search of food. It seems logical that xeric New Mexico cannot hold enough worms and other insects to feed all those wintering robins. So, some other food source must be the attractant. Those of you who have towering Russian olives in your yard, or a tangle of pyracantha with 6" thorns just waiting to shred your skin are the reason the robins thrive in our arid landscape. Berries are a vital part of their diet and both pyracantha and Russian olive hold their berries until they are eaten.

Robins thrive in an urban environment like your back yard. Populations appear stable or are increasing throughout their range. But, because the robin often feeds on insects in lawns, it is vulnerable to pesticide poisoning and can be an important indicator of chemical pollution. So, next time you are worried about that perfect lawn, do your wallet and a bird a favor and skip the pesticide company.

I was once lucky enough to have pair of robins build their nest on my front porch and I was able to spy on them from the safety of the bedroom window, in essence having a front row seat to watch the antics, fun for me but deadly serious to them. Even though they are a common bird, they can be uncommonly entertaining. I found a 10 minute film clip that shows robin family rasing a family from start to finish. Check it out.

All About Baby

American Robin
Photo by David Powell

You might have heard the old myth, the one that says you can’t put a baby bird back in its nest because the mother will smell the human scent and reject it. Today, avian savvy folks know that this just isn’t true, as evidenced by solid data. We also know that branching is a normal stage for baby birds of all species. This is the time when they have left the nest, but are not yet able to fly.

At this time, the parents are still caring for their young, although many young birds run into problems at this time of their life cycle due to cats, dogs, vehicles, and human intervention.
Yes, it’s true. This is the time when well-meaning humans notice those unflighted youngsters, think they have been abandoned, and KIDNAP them. They gather up the avian equivalent of a toddler, put it in a box and begin calling rescue groups looking for help for their “orphan”. We, along with wildlife rehabilitation groups nationwide, receive loads of call each spring and summer from frantic humans looking for other humans to take care of baby.

Flash back to Memorial Day 2008. It had been a gloriously long, full day of hiking in the Ojito Wilderness Area with friends, but I was tired that evening. While I reclined on my sofa, watching the news, I heard frantic shouting in my Rio Rancho back yard. Puzzled, I arose to investigate the cause of all the commotion. A male voice shouted,

“Gail! Gail! GAIL!”

Neighbor John leaned over the fence looking very relieved. Seems he had found a baby robin running around in his back yard, and felt the need to rescue it. Shortly, he produced a small cardboard, holding a small, very confused fledgling robin. We talked about nature, and how it was best to leave them be, but John wasn’t having any of that! Proudly, he handed over the box.

I waited until he went indoors, and promptly opened the box to set the little one on the ground near some dense shrubbery. My logic was that since our yards were adjacent, surely Mama Robin would hear her baby only 20 feet further away in the next yard. But, the baby didn’t cheep, or beg, or do anything except stare at me. I hid behind the door, peeking out every once in a while. After 30 minutes or so, baby was no longer visible. A few minutes after that, a plaintive cheep, cheep, cheep arose from the shrubs.

It was about then that I began to doubt all the literature, as well as my hands-on experience, and the worry set in. It was windy that evening, terribly windy. What if Mom could not hear her little one calling? After all, I hadn’t seen a robin in my yard in days, nor had I heard one. What if I had made a terrible mistake? The cheeping went on; the wind kept blowing, and I knew that I had done the WRONG thing.

Just before dark, I heard an adult robin call. But the irrational worry didn’t end there. In fact, it continued for three days, even though I was now noticing robins foraging in my yard every day. But, there was still no sign of baby. Maybe one of the neighborhood cats got him.
Finally, three days later, when I looked out my back window, there he was, and quite proud of himself too. With a stubby little tail, and half-grown wings, he had climbed up to the lofty height of about 2 feet in a sand sage. He preened; he stretched; he exuded confidence as only the very young can. Mama Robin returned and stuffed a giant worm down his throat.

All was well. There was nothing to worry about! Really! I knew that it would work out just as I intended. Whew! I hope that particular issue doesn’t happen again anytime soon.

Speaking of orphans: Hawks Aloft has already placed one Cooper’s Hawk fledgling back into its nest at an apartment complex in Albuquerque. Its kidnappers had driven it all the way to the Wildlife Center in Espanola, where it spent four days in captivity while we coordinated its return to its natural parents. Coordination meant working together to get baby back to Albuquerque, as well as assistance from our friends at PNM who donated the use their bucket truck and crew. Fortunately, there were two other siblings in the nest so the parents were still in attendance. Baby settled in nicely and, when our biologist checked on it an hour later, all three were being fed by Mom. This particular hawk baby just got an early lesson in human avoidance.

If you find a feathered baby bird on the ground, observe it from a distance to see if it is being attended by its parents. If the bird is constantly begging and the parents are not responding, only then should it be caught and taken to a wildlife rehabilitation organization. If, however, you find a naked baby bird on the ground, try to return it to its nest. If that isn’t possible, line a berry basket or shallow plastic container with some ventilation holes punched in the bottom with paper towels or tissue to simulate a nest and securely fasten that to the tree as high as you can place it. If the nestling is in danger of being harmed by pet animals, then capture it and call a wildlife rehabilitator.

The two largest rehabilitation groups in New Mexico are the Wildlife Center, Espanola, at 575-753-9505, and Wildlife Rescue, Albuquerque 344-2500.

Brave New World

Golden Eagle Chick. Photo by Ron Kellermueller

Perhaps it was a tussle over a food delivery. Or sibling rivalry. Maybe it was an ordinary exercise session gone amok, the furious pre-flight flapping that strengthens flight muscles in preparation for the aerial maneuvers that will come later. We will never know the real cause of the eaglet’s premature descent from her lofty nest. The wise biologist who had been watching the nest all season knew, however, that there should have been two eaglets still inside the safety of the sizeable stick fortress in which they had been born. The biologist began his search, and easily located the large female chick huddled in natal position on the ground, a behavior common to most unfledged nestlings. With only half-grown flight feathers, she was definitely too young to be out, yet putting her back was a physical impossibility. She would not be flighted for another week or so. Her chances for survival? Reasonable, particularly because she was already quite large, and few animals would attempt to prey on a chick of this size, particularly with defensive parents in the immediate vicinity.

Great Horned Owls do not build nests. As the earliest nesting species other than eagles, they merely select their preferred nest, add a nest lining, and set up housekeeping. Unfortunately, they are not known for their ability to select structurally sound nests. Many disintegrate as the young begin to move around. Such was the case of the nest watched by the female biologist, but its demise was particularly early, when the nestlings were only about 2 weeks old, still covered in gray down, and far too early to expect survival of the young. Two diligent searches a week apart failed to reveal any evidence of survival and this nesting attempt was declared failed. One month later, however, a songbird biologist conducting a survey in the same area called to ask if there had been a Great Horned Owl nest because he had seen two fledged owls and their attentive mother. Interestingly, the sighted trio was within 50 feet of the original nest.

The transmission line that runs through Ted Turner’s Armendaris Ranch bears a special name, “Maternity Row”, bestowed by ranch manager, Tom Waddell. Nearly every transmission tower holds at least one nest, and on average, there is an active nest on one of every two towers. Most are ravens, but Swainson’s and Red-tailed Hawks also crowd into the premium high-rise district. Management practices on this expansive ranch, just east of Elephant Butte Reservoir, are intended to foster healthy populations of all wildlife. The Chihuahuan desert ranch positively teams with life in all shapes and sizes, from large ungulates including Oryx, pronghorn, and bison, to endangered turtles, prairie dogs, Burrowing Owls, bats, and cicadas. In fact, I had never before seen so many cicadas in my life. It was a smorgasbord of food, enough for everyone even the sizeable families of quail with golf ball-sized young speeding along on invisible legs.

We were there to look for a particular nest, one that held two very precious nestlings, the first of their kind in New Mexico – Aplomado Falcon – another species that does not build nests, but generally uses existing nests in oversized yuccas. However, when a bird is reared on a wooden structure, perhaps it views that as the most desirable nest location. One tower held a smallish nest, located in the shade of the crossarms above. It was insignificant in size compared to the others, but I got the scope out just in case. As I watched through the lens, one tiny white fuzzy head bobbed above the nest rim, soon joined by another. Precious cargo here, watched and loved by ranch management and biologist alike, a success story just one year following the first release of 11 young, by the Peregrine Fund in August 2006. Chances of survival for these two chicks are mixed. Birds that attempt nesting when they, themselves, are less than one year old, may not be sufficiently skilled hunters to provide for their young. Here, however, watchful human eyes keep a close, but distant eye on the nest, and food limitations are certainly not a problem.

The woman called to tell me that she and her family had discovered a nest with five featherless nestlings on their boat. She wasn’t asking for information, just telling me about her discovery. As politely as possible, I asked how they had handled the situation and suggested that the best thing to do was to either return the nest to an area very near where the boat had been or to transport them to a wildlife rehabilitator. Her response was to say that they had already driven five miles before the discovery and did not want to take the time to put them back. Instead, they had placed the nest on the ground under the shade of a tree (five miles away from the original location). The disastrous phone call continued as the woman went on to tell me that ‘these birds’ need to learn not to build their nests on people’s boats. So ‘these young’, species unknown, had no chance for survival, and indeed the woman reported that by the next morning only the centermost nestling was still alive. I still haven’t figured out why she felt the need to display her ignorance in this way.

Many chicks of all species end up on the ground before they can fly. It is a stage called ‘branching’ and the young are indeed quite vulnerable at this stage even though it is part of their normal life cycle. The parents continue to feed and care for their young, while at the same time, teaching them to find and consume appropriate food. Most baby birds, especially those that have almost all of their feathers do not need to be rescued.

Another myth is that a mother will reject a baby that has been handled by humans because of the human scent. This is not true. If you can find the nest, the best thing to do is to put the youngster back into the nest. If you cannot find the nest, which is probable because birds hide their nests for protection, then you can build a nest to hold the baby bird.

Find a margarine tub, or similar shape and puncture it with drainage holes. Line it with tissue for support and warmth. Nail the container to the tree as close as possible to where the bird was found, making sure that the location will remain shaded and protected as the sun moves. Watch for a parent to find the nestling and continue to care for it. Monitor for at least two hours. If you still have concerns, contact a wildlife rehabilitator. Two different groups are within an hour’s drive of Jemez Springs. The Wildlife Center, (505-753-9505) located in Espanola, takes all kinds of animals including bears, mountain lions, reptiles, bats, and birds. In Albuquerque, Wildlife Rescue (505-344-2500) takes all species of birds, as well as some small mammals. If you have an injured or orphaned raptor, Hawks Aloft (505-828-9455) will assist you in making sure that the bird gets to a rehabilitator.

Of the four vignettes above, three sets of young were not in need of human interference. Only in the case of the last incident, should humans have taken a different course of action.

Big Black Birds a.k.a. Nature’s Clean-up Detail

Photo by David Powell


In my mind, they are among the first harbingers of spring. Each year, beginning in mid-March, my eyes are drawn skyward daily, searching for their dark form, soaring aimlessly above. I record this event faithfully each year, and my records show that our Turkey Vulture (Cathartes aura) friends return from their wintering grounds around March 15 each year, just in time for Saint Patrick’s Day celebrations. This year it happened on March 17, only not in the cerulean blue open sky, but on KOAT-TV, on the news! They ran a wonderful story, showing one of the first big black birds to return. My first sighting occurred a few days later, on March 21, at 8:30 a.m. in the Rio Grande bosque during a songbird survey. First one large black shape caught my eye, followed by another. Ultimately, ten birds took flight from their night roost in snag along the river bank. I knew that spring was on the way despite the dreadfully windy days of late.

Often unappreciated, vultures perform a vital role in the Earth’s food chain, that of the scavenger. Their scientific name, Cathartes, means purifier. Until very recently, they were considered to be a raptor even though they almost never kill their food, preferring instead to eat carrion. DNA studies conducted within the last ten years have proven that this species is more closely related to the stork family. Unlike other birds of prey, Turkey Vultures have a highly developed sense of smell, and can locate concealed carcasses beneath the forest canopy. Vultures tend to forage alone, but keep a keen watch on the activities of other vultures nearby. A discovered carcass may attract numerous vultures to the site, along with the other, much smaller western scavenger, the Common Raven. Even Golden Eagles are sometimes found at carcasses, and indeed, nearly all species of raptors scavenge when live food is scarce. Vultures, including the Black Vulture which does not occur in New Mexico, are responsible for the removal of tons of animal carcasses in North America each year.

Generally acknowledged as a beneficial scavenger, Turkey Vultures were accorded protection in many states even before the Migratory Bird Treaty Act was passed in 1918. They are; however, still persecuted in some areas and have been trapped, shot, and poisoned by ill-informed humans who fear that they may spread disease among livestock, or kill newborn calves, although direct kills of young are almost certainly due to another avian predator. Over 100,000 vultures were killed in Texas in the mid-1900's by baiting walk in traps with carrion, and the species is also vulnerable to steel leg-hold traps such as the ones that were responsible for the deaths of two gray foxes in Jemez Springs in February 2006.

The population of Turkey Vultures is generally stable in the U.S., particularly as increased education about the benefits of this species has reduced persecution. The greatest causes of mortality for this species today are collisions with automobiles and aircraft, and electrocution on power poles. Collisions with military aircraft are particularly serious, costing the U.S. Air Force 21.6 million dollars, 3 crashed aircraft, and 2 fatalities between 1989-1992. Records of collisions with power lines are rare, and Turkey Vultures often forage directly beneath power lines on carcasses of other less adept species; however, electrocutions occur when the bird perches on power poles, and two body parts, such as wings, or a wing and a foot, touch separate energized portions of the structures, causing electricity to arc between them. Their winspan (63-71 inches), which is smaller only than that of eagles, makes them particularly susceptible to electrocution when the fleshy wrist tissue spans two energized wires.

One of my first and most memorable close encounters with Turkey Vultures happened in the Jemez Mountains. A friend and I were attempting yet again, to find a way to hike to the top of Virgin Mesa without driving around to the west side. We struggled through the increasing steep terrain of the tent rocks, where each step forward was countered by a half slide back. Then, just as we were about to admit defeat, several vultures took flight right over our heads. Their presence was impressive as they wheeled buoyantly on the wind, above and around us oblivious to the limitations of the land-locked humans below. I wondered then, if they nested on the cliffs above us, and they may have been doing just that. They do not build nests, but utilize caves and crevices in cliffs, like the escarpment on Virgin Mesa, and other mesas in the Jemez Mountains. By the time this reaches you, these remarkable black birds should have returned to their mountain home.