Gray Vireo - A better photograph

Photograph by Mike Stake

Pinyon-Juniper Woodland: Paradise or Purgatory?

Gray Vireo (Vireo vicinior)

“Chu-weet! Che-o! Teedle-e! Chu-u!” The distinct syllables rang out across the pinyon-juniper Woodland (P-J), the song of the Gray Vireo, a New Mexico state-listed as a threatened species. This small, gracefully gray bird has become the New Mexico poster child for one of the most underappreciated but abundant habitats within the state. A recent estimate is that there are 55.6 million acres of pinyon-juniper in the west. It can be rugged country, with steep canyons and hillsides dotted with shrubby trees not much taller than a human. Not much to offer in the way of shade. Often, there’s not much in the way of grasses or shrubs either. Most folks avoid hanging out here. Much of it has been given it over to cows.

More than 70 different bird species breed in the P-J woodland, although you’d be unlikely to see more than 20 to thirty at any one site. These woodlands support the highest proportions of obligate or semi-obligate birds among the forest types in the West. Species that are considered “obligate” are only found nesting in prime habitat condition, birds like the Gray Vireo, which is precisely why there is so much concern about its population trends. Additionally, a high percentage of the total world population of this species breeds in New Mexico, giving our state a high level of responsibility for its well-being.

I’ve been spending a lot of time in P-J country the last couple of years, especially during May and June, when birds are nesting, conducting early morning surveys of all the species present. I’ve grown very fond of this special suite of birds, found nowhere else. The birds of my morning surveys are the very same species that birders worldwide have on their wish list if only they knew where to find them. Actually, it’s not all that hard, once you develop a fondness for all things P-J.

My morning friends range from the spectacularly colored, yellow and black Scott’s Oriole and the laughing call of the Pinyon Jay, to the cute antics of the Juniper Titmouse, all going about their business, just getting by in life. The song of the Black-throated Sparrow greets me at nearly every stop. The Ash-throated Flycatchers are enormously entertaining as they race around chasing each other, oblivious to my presence. The raucous call of the Cassin’s Kingbirds positively make me laugh. And, of course, one could never forget the Northern Mockingbird. He sings the song of all the others, just a few repeats of each and then moves on to another call. He sings all day and all night. If you are camping in P-J country, it seems as if he is singing right into your ear, without pausing for breath, all night long. It was he, along with the pinyon gnats that taught me to sleep in the back of my car. And sometimes, if you are very lucky, you get to hear or see a rarity, like the Gray Vireo.

Mature stands of P-J, with grasses and shrubs in prime condition, and gently sloping hills host the greatest diversity and populations of birds. When there is a nearby water source, the numbers can be simply astounding. One day, I arrived at my designated point to find not one or two, but some 40-50 Pinyon Jays. This site was clearly a Garden of Eden for its residents.

At other location, birds are few and far between, as are the grasses and shrubs. My companions at this site are of the bovine variety, mostly seeking refuge beneath the sparse canopy of the shrubby trees. Water isn’t much in evidence either and the ribs of the cattle show prominently. I wonder how the females will be able to produce enough milk to feed their scrawny offspring. All the emergent edible vegetation seems to have been already eaten. This could be a poster child of another sort, one for poor range management. Most of the birds have flown the coop to better pastures. Even the eagles and hawks are few and far between, for there is little food for their prey, the jackrabbit and cottontail.

We study birds because, much like the canary in the coal mine, they are indicators of biological integrity and ecosystem health and they are quite sensitive to environmental changes. The results of studies like these help land managers, landowners, and others practice best management practices and work toward a system in which multiple uses can co-exist in a beneficial environment.

Our studies have given me the opportunity to really know and understand an unappreciated habitat, and to learn a whole new set of bird songs and habits. It’s a cool place, that P-J, definitely of a different sort! If you’re lucky you might just hear “Chu-weet! Che-o! Teedle-e! Chu-u!”

Life as a Little: Hummingbirds

Black-chinned Hummingbird (Archilochus alexandri). Photo by David Powell.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be the smallest being in a land of giants? A place where even insects prey on your kind? Welcome to the world of hummingbirds, where reports abound of hummies being snatched in mid-air by the likes of roadrunners, jays, flycatchers, and your favorite pet feline. There’s even a report of a hummingbird snatch by an alert mountain lion in Arizona’s Sonoran Desert Museum. Even the praying mantis, that slow motion insect, sometimes dines on the most diminutive of birds. Lest you wonder if I am filling your head with grisly stories worthy of Snopes, check it out yourself. Just Google “hummingbird eaten by praying mantis” and see what turns up, some 4,130 hits including a YouTube video.

One might wonder just how the little guys are faring since most everything views them as a snack. Not much to worry about here though, because the top predator on the planet has a special fondness for the tiniest of North American birds, but not as a diet supplement. Yes, it is we, the two-legged, land-locked of this planet, that are enmeshed in a love affair with hummingbirds. We watch over, photograph, feed, and protect the little fellows, sometimes to the tune of many thousands of dollars annually per household. Some individuals report usage of up to 50 pounds of sugar a week.

What this means in scientific terms is that the introduction of exotic plants and feeders has produced a widespread energy subsidy that may maintain unnaturally large populations in times of flower scarcity, or when the natural nectar supply is reduced due to drought, insects, or weather. Our stocked feeders have helped increase populations in urban and suburban settings, leading to an overall increase in the species, as evidenced by range expansion and previously unoccupied habitats that are now occupied. Some hummingbirds now overwinter far north of their former range, including a handful that survive Albuquerque winters, almost entirely due to well-maintained feeders.

The two most common nesting hummingbirds in New Mexico are the Black-chinned and Broad-tailed. Both are present in the state, although the Black-chinned is often found at lower elevations, in riparian woodlands. In high quality habitat along rivers, black-chins might be found every 100 meters (33 feet), and this birder can tell you from personal experience that it happens. In the Middle Rio Grande bosque, the Black-chinned Hummingbird is the most common nesting bird, and it’s all-out war as males battle over the rights to sire offspring. Did you know that you actually can distinguish the different hummingbirds by calls?
Surveys here produce not single entries, but 2-3 birds at a time, often locked in combat or issuing battle cries of tiny warriors as they zoom past your head at warp speed.

Hummingbirds have many unique and interesting adaptations too, all necessary for survival. A hummingbird tongue has 2 grooves. Nectar moves through these grooves via capillary actions and the bird squeezes nectar into its mouth when it retracts its tongue. It drinks by extending its the tongue through a nearly closed bill at a rate of about 13-17 licks per second and consumes an average of 1/5 fluid ounce in a single meal. In cold weather, a hummingbird might eat 3 times its weight in food a day, a whopping ½ ounce for a bird that weights 1/10 - 1/5 ounce! However, natural nectar and sugar water alone are not adequate sustenance. Insects comprise a large portion of their diet, and the young are fed insects almost exclusively. Just watch hummies hovering above a slow moving stream. They are hawking insects, the no-see-ums that are a plague on all outdoor-loving people.

Their resting heartbeat is 480 beats and their resting breathing rate is 245 breaths per minute when it is 91 degrees – makes one hyperventilate just thinking about all that hyper-speed. At 55 degrees, their breathing rate increases to 420 breaths per minute! Hummingbirds survive cold nights by going into torpor. This is a state in which the bird’s heartbeat and breathing slow to such a degree that movement is impossible. A torpid hummingbird can be picked up easily, and has no power to move. However, warm it in your hand for just a little while, and the little fellow will spring to life and zoom away.

So for now, in mid-June, we should maintain our feeders by regularly cleaning them with a bleach solution to control mold, mildew, and bacteria. They should be filled with a solution of 1 part sugar to 4 parts water that has been boiled and cooled.

But, soon, probably about July 1, another hummie will arrive, the tiny Rufous Hummingbird, the little red dude. I call him Attila the Hum, for his fearsome guarding of all the hummingbird feeders on your property. He sits in wait for any unsuspecting local species to attempt to drink and then immediately dives upon them to drive them away from ‘his’ feeder. To help reduce the aggression, provide him with one feeder that contains a stronger elixir, a mix of 1 part sugar to 3 parts water. He might just decide to keep that one and leave the other, lesser quality feeders alone.

At any rate, it is important to keep feeders clean and filled until two weeks after your last hummingbird observation of the year and to put them out again in the spring about two weeks before their normal arrival, about April 1 in central New Mexico. You just never know. Perhaps your feeder will be the one that sustains a little throughout the long New Mexico winter.

A Family Affair: American Avocet

American Avocet. Photo by David Powell

The two American Avocets stood, silent but alert, in the shallows of a New Mexico wetland. Brilliant slivers of crimson in the eastern sky heralded the onset of the day. The female had been assiduous in her companionship, and eventually the male accepted her presence. Now, the two were rarely far from one another. Like a pair of ballet dancers, the birds were the epitome of elegance with their striking feathers and graceful, upturned bills, the silhouette of their image reflected in the mirror of the glassy surface of the water.

The dance began when the female slowly and deliberately leaned forward, stretching her neck as far as possible, submerging her bill into the water. This was the cue for the male to begin his solo performance. He began to preen his feathers on the side nearest his mate, dipping his bill into the water and lifting it to his breast. With the second dip, he shook his bill splashing water on the pair. He continued, moving in an ever increasing frenzy of vigorous splashing, until he joined the still motionless female, and they became one. After, in the grande finale of their ritualized dance, the pair stood side by side with necks intertwined, and ran as one through the shallows.

Avocets prefer to nest on islands within a wetland, if possible, because it provides some protection from predators. Their nest-search, which also is part of the pair formation, includes ritualized scraping displays. The final nest site often is somewhat elevated with a clear view from which the pair can scan for predators. Sometimes, females lay eggs in the nest of another female, who then incubates the eggs. Avocet eggs have been found in the nests of other species too, such as gulls. Likewise, eggs of other species sometimes are found in avocet nests. So, an avocet parent might raise a mixed species family that could include Black-necked Stilts or even terns.

Modern day parenting is the norm, where both parents take turns incubating the average size clutch of four eggs. Early on, the male performs on the bulk of incubation. In warmer areas, with relentless sun baking the sandy shores, incubation consists of cooling, rather than warming, the eggs. Parents soak their belly feathers before sitting on the nest. Evaporative cooling prevents the eggs from getting too warm.

For a vulnerable chick, life on the edge of a wetland is precarious. Young are up and out of the nest within 24 hours. Day old chicks can already walk, swim, and dive. Older, but still flightless, chicks can dive and swim up to 21 feet underwater using their wings and feet. If the nest is on an island, chicks follow their parents and swim to the shore, where they are raised in a nursery area with shallow water and dense vegetation for cover. Often, several avocet pairs will cooperatively raise their young in a communal nursery. Here, the chicks might a brooded by different parents.

Often, female parents abandon the nursery before the young a fully independent, leaving the remainder of the care with the males. Maybe, just maybe this is part of the reason why he is reluctant to initiate courtship, knowing what his parenting duties will be, and why avocets rarely have the same mate the following season.

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.

There's No Place Like Home!

Juvenile Harpy Eagle. Photo by Mark Watson

Scarlet-horned Manakin. Photo by Mark Watson

There’s nothing quite like a visit to a third world country to make one appreciate the lifestyle Americans take for granted. I currently have a special fondness for certain luxuries: hot water; potable water; meat that is recognizable; well-maintained roads, vehicles with adequate exhaust systems, and uninterrupted sleep. There are positives from the trip that I always will cherish: new and improved friendships, awe for the amazing diversity of flora and fauna of Venezuela; and an greater appreciation for a different culture.

We saw birds too! Many of them! While I didn’t see anything approaching the record 380+ species recorded by the top birder in the group, I tallied a remarkable 328 species, of which 281 were life birds for me. Yes, we did see the magnificent Harpy Eagle, one flighted youngster of 18 months, and both parents. Our Venezuelan guides led us right up to a viewing spot and there was the immature eagle, perched right in plain view. As we watched, the adult male flew over, likely checking to see if all was well with Junior. We later viewed the adult female who perched nicely for viewing through the scope as we were leaving the area.

We were asked to list our “top three” birds by our trip leader, Jim Black of Chupaflor Tours, so the group could determine the “top” bird of the trip. Indeed, the Harpy Eagles were a big score, but it seemed just a little too easy to find them, almost as if we didn’t earn the experience. We also saw rarities, birds that skulked in the dense undergrowth, and a wide variety of brilliantly colored species like the Paradise Tanager that looks as if it were colored by a child with a new box of crayons. We saw amazing hummingbirds, like the Crimson Topaz with its incredibly long tail, and a Sooty-capped Hermit on her nest. At a wetland, we found two Pinnated Bitterns in flight and a bird that is called, a Double-striped Thick-knee. Now, who would think up a name like that for a bird!? Fortunately, birds don’t care what we humans call them.

We found a Rufous Crab-Hawk in the mangrove swamp. To me, it seemed logical that the primary food of a bird called a Crab-Hawk would be crabs. As we motored through the mangroves on increasingly larger waterways, I kept expecting to arrive at the ocean, where there would be a beach with a flourishing crab colony. However, after at least two hours of boating, we didn’t appear to be anywhere near the beach. Eventually, our Venezuelan guide pointed to two large hawks perched high above the mangroves with no beach in sight. I wondered just where it was that these hawks could find enough crabs to sustain themselves in the unlikely crab habitat. That is, until we pulled over close to the mangroves to look at a flycatcher, only to discover the trees were literally crawling with crabs, big and small. They skuttled up and over the roots and raced up the tree trunks. They are a species of tree crab, at home in this aquatic environment, and so numerous they plunked into our boats with regularity.

As I think about all the marvelous birds of Venezuela, and choosing only three of them, there is one that brings a smile to my face each time, the Scarlet-horned Manakin. We came upon a male deep in the rainforest, a little fellow with a crimson head and a jet black body. We watched as he performed his unique courtship moonwalk dance in the style of Michael Jackson. I’ll never forget the abandon with which he danced – as if no one were watching. Check out another manakin species dancing. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDYpW3zyXqQ
If you are interested in more trip details, I’ve posted photos and stories about the trip on my other blog.

But, as exciting as my South American adventure was, there was immense comfort as I turned my car onto NM 4 and drove into the Jemez Valley. I stopped at the Highway 4 coffee shop for my favorite latte, and chatted with some of the folks there. Ponderosa Drive had just been bladed, for better or worse, and the birds at my place were hungry. My neighbors down the hill invited me over for dinner later this week, and I am thrilled to be back. There’s no place like home.