Ciblek Mania

The second we open the back door to start the morning feeding frenzy, the doughheads make a big show of flying away. But they only go far enough to be in a good position to swoop in first to the fresh handfuls of dough on the deck rail and in the hanging dough feeder.

Here are a few of the most avid doughheads.

On a recent Monday morning that was so snowy that school was canceled and the county roads were undisturbed by any moving vehicles, I went outside to fill the feeders. Moments after returning to the warm indoors I noticed a number of dark birds foraging on the ground, inside the brush pile. Wiping my still-foggy glasses, I could see that they were not common grackles.

The fact that they were foraging inside the brush pile made them very interesting. Grackles and red-winged blackbirds, both regular species at our feeders, usually forage on more open ground. Binocs to the eyes—rusty blackbirds!

This foraging behavior made perfect sense! This is a species that breeds in swampy woods in the far North. It's perfectly at home in dense habitat—especially when there is some cracked corn there to gobble up.

A few identification clues for the rusty versus other blackbirds:

• the rusty plumage is a great clue in fall and winter. Similar Brewer's blackbird females in fall show gray, not rust in plumage.
  
• pale eye stands out on the dark face around the eye.
• Pale rusty eyeline is obvious in fall females. Red-winged blackbird females are streaky overall.
  
• smaller overall than a common grackle.
  
• tail and bill shorter than common grackle.
• Prefers wooded, swampy habitat.
  

The rusty flock had five birds in it, and so I snapped a few digiscoped shots and a bit of video to document their presence. I'm sure the winter storm of Sunday brought these birds southward. Sadly, when we see rusty blackbirds at our feeders, they rarely stick around. This morning (Tuesday) we had just one rusty foraging under the pines on the western edge of our yard.

From these photos you can see how the species got its name, from the rusty edges on the bird's newly molted-in fall plumage. This is interesting since adult males in breeding plumage show no rust in their glossy blue-black finery. Fall males have dark bodies scalloped with rusty feathers. These three photos in this post show an adult female in fall (non-breeding) plumage.

The rusty blackbird has been experiencing a serious population crash in recent decades—some estimates say the population has dropped by 90 percent! Why? We're trying to find that out.

One thing seems certain: this species is a habitat specialist. It prefers wet wooded habitat and this habitat type has been greatly reduced in North America in the last century due to logging, draining of swamps for agricultural uses, suburban sprawl, and mosquito control measures. But habitat loss along may not be the whole reason.

Scientists suspect that the rusty blackbird's decline may also be tied to changes in food abundance in the swampy/boggy northern woods where the rusty breeds. It forages along the edges of the water, catching and eating lots of water-borne creatures such as salamanders, snails, insect larvae, and small fish. Acid rain and rising levels of mercury from air pollution have had a detrimental effect on this prey base.

Additionally, rusty blackbirds are getting hammered on their wintering grounds. In winter they sometimes join huge blackbird flocks in the South, along the Gulf of Mexico. These blackbird flocks are persecuted as agricultural pests—sometimes dying in the thousands after being sprayed with toxic chemicals from crop-dusting airplanes.

In 2005, the Smithsonian Migratory Bird Center formed The Rusty Blackbird Technical Working Group to study this species and its shocking population decline. Last year they held their inaugural Rusty Blackbird Blitz to document the species' presence throughout its winter range. Dates for the 2011 Blitz are January 29 to February 13, 2011. A state-by-state list of Blitz coordinators is available online. Data collection is being handled by eBird, the joint effort by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology and Audubon. All birders in the rusty blackbird's winter range are invited to participate.

In case you've never seen a live rusty blackbird, here's a short video for you to ogle.

It was a combination of factors that got me rolling on this outside project on a recent Saturday. Bad weather was headed our way. The bird feeders needed to be restocked with food. And we were all rotting our brains with too much TV and computer time.

Phoebe and Julie elected to go for a run, so I grabbed Liam and we launched the annual ritual that is the building of the brush pile.

Our sycamore tree on the edge of the yard to the west of the house lost several large branches in a late-summer wind storm. We pulled these brown-leafed monsters out of the tree and broke them up into manageable pieces.

First thing is to build a skeleton to support the brush pile. I used a cinder block to help hold one of the larger "bones" of the skeleton in place. Then it's just a matter of building a messy tepee of sticks, branches, and boughs.

Liam is really good at hauling the brush pile materials.

We laid most of the branches on the northwest-facing side of the brush pile. This will offer more protection from the elements for birds using the brush pile (our weather does most of its attacking from that quarter). And the open side faces the house, so our views of the brush pile denizens will be more clear and open.

After the holidays, we'll add our tree and wreath to the brush pile, giving it a bit of green to liven the scene.

Liam was proud of what we made. And so was I. We went inside to fix some hot chocolate and by the time we walked back into the studio to look out at our handy work, there were the usual suspects using the feeder. More importantly, there was a newly arrived fox sparrow kick-scratching through the seeds and leaves beneath the brush pile. Now that's what I call instant gratification!

Then, taking a celebratory swig from my mug, I burned my tongue on the too-hot hot chocolate.

Bad winter weather here in southeastern Ohio often brings an unusual bird to the feeding station. This winter we've had a handful of uncommon birds coming into the yard to check out the feeders, probably attracted by all the noise and activity of our regular feeder visitors. A lone pine siskin has stopped by, several tree sparrows have too. But no red-breasted nuthatches, redpolls, or evening grosbeaks have appeared, sadly.

This particular visitor is one that often confuses people, and this head-on view doesn't make it any easier. It's an adult female red-winged blackbird (note the peach-colored throat). The heavy streaking might suggest a finch or siskin or even sparrow. But it's a blackbird, and a hungry one at that. After gorging on some sunflower hearts, Ms. Peachthroat took off, headed south.

It won't be long until we start seeing male red-winged blackbirds returning early to set up their territories. I always know it's truly spring when I hear their first conk-a-reeee!

The feeder birds all love our suet dough. The northern cardinals are especially loyal customers. But I'm not sure they appreciate the bowl we use to feed the dough on our deck railing.

She is wondering if this might be a trap...

This male cardinal looks as though he's re-reading the letters on the bowl.

Notice the pale feathers on his flanks? He's got some plumage variation, I think. More on him in a future post.

When the weather gets tough, it's fascinating to see how birds will change their behavior to adapt. Conventional wisdom says that juncos are ground-feeding birds that prefer to scratch through whatever is covering the ground for their food. Or they may mount a weed stalk to get at the seed heads near the top. Normally at feeding stations, they are on the ground below the feeders, scratching for mixed seeds such as millet, cracked corn, or sunflower bits.

With our recent snows and ongoing low temperatures, the bird feeders are a blur of activity. When I looked out the other day, I did a double take. There was a junco, perched on a vertical log feeder, pecking at bits of suet dough we had packed into the drilled holes. The suet log, hanging nearly six feet off the ground, is normally visited by woodpeckers, nuthatches, chickadees and titmice, starlings, and Carolina wrens. Seeing the junco using it, despite the lack of strong clinging feet, was a new one.

We'd seen the juncos at the hopper feeders (top image) picking out sunflower bits. And we knew the juncos loved the suet dough we put out on the deck railing, so I guess his should not come as a huge surprise. After all, the birds don't read the books describing their behavior. They're just trying to survive until tomorrow.

We don't often get lake-effect snow way down in southeastern Ohio, but we surely are getting it now. We've got six inches on the ground here at the farm and another few inches on the way. After being home for the holiday break since the week before Christmas, our kids are looking at a week of snow days. (The hills are echoing with the cheers of children and the groans of parents). It's a light, dry snow—very powdery—so no danger thus far of a power outage.


Fortunately we're well provisioned inside and are keeping the bird feeders well-stocked outside, too. We have about 35 dark-eyed juncos in the yard most days—more when the snow cover is deep.

This chap (photo at top), fluffed up against the 17ºF cold, was staring me down through the kitchen window, trying his best to let me know that the suet dough dish out front needed a refill.

The birds have us really well-trained. Here's what they do:
They flutter down to the feeder.
Look into it, find nothing.
Then glance in the window with a forlorn look on your face at the clueless humans.
Fly off a short distance when the humans come scrambling out the door, hands full of seed, suet, peanuts, filling the air with apologies.

Like Pavlov's dogs, we respond every time to the birds' stimulus.

It's been a great fall for yellow-bellied sapsucker sightings around the farm. Some years we get one or two sappies that stick around through the fall. This year, given the number of migrant sapsuckers we've seen, I'm hoping we'll have a handful of wintering birds. I'm not sure our trees are happy about this, though they have nothing, really, to worry about.

On several occasions I've seen three individual YBSAs at once, swooping from tree to tree in that unique sapsucker way. Nearly all of the birds we've seen have been youngsters (birds born last spring/summer) and we can tell this by their splotchy, ill-defined plumage. On Saturday morning of Thanksgiving weekend a beautiful adult male yellow-bellied sapsucker showed up. I had stepped out onto the back deck to check the temperature and heard a light tapping coming from the nearby weeping willow tree. When the male peeked around from the trunk, the morning sun caught his red crown and throat (adult females have a white throat) and I bolted back inside the house for my camera.



In my experience, yellow-bellied sapsuckers are very quiet birds. They seem to lack the red-bellied woodpecker's zest for life, the downy and hairy's constant activity, and the flicker's flashy flight style. Sapsuckers can be easily overlooked, which is why it's so helpful to know the audible clues to their presence.


The tapping noise they make when excavating sap wells sounds like someone absent-mindedly tapping a pencil on a desk: tap-tap-tap —pause—tap-tap —pause—tap-tap-tap-tap. It is irregular in its rhythm and soft enough to go unnoticed.

Sapsuckers do vocalize quite regularly, making a soft, wheezy, descending meearr that sounds somewhat catlike. Our birds have been mewing a lot—perhaps scolding each other, trying to figure out whose territory this is going to be for the winter.

We've watched the sapsuckers make their rounds, visiting their sap wells like trappers checking their trap lines. On Saturday I noticed three other woodpecker species visiting the newly drilled sap wells in the willow: a downy, a hairy, and a red-bellied woodpecker. The male sapsucker actually tried to drive off the hairy, when it was caught poaching a drink at a ring of wells.

A few neat factoids about sapsuckers:

• They drill lines of small holes in trees, causing the tree to emit some sap to protect itself. The sapsuckers then revisit these wells on a regular basis to consume the sap and any insects attracted to it. The holes are visible scars in the tree bark, permanent evidence that a sapsucker was here at least once!
  
• It is thought that sapsuckers do not do much harm to healthy trees. In fact some ornithologists believe that sapsuckers prefer to drill holes in trees that are already under stress because they produce sap that is higher in certain nutrients. Still many sapsuckers are persecuted, especially by orchard owners.
• Sapsuckers don't actually "suck" sap—they lap it up with their tongues, which have short feather-like projections on the end. Sapsucker tongues function more like a brush than a straw.
  
• Dozens of other birds and many animals and insects will visit sapsucker wells to drink the slightly sweet sap.
• In spring, early arriving hummingbirds rely on sapsucker wells when plant nectar and insects are unavailable.
• Sapsuckers are avid migrants, with some birds reaching Central America and the islands in the Caribbean.

I've also seen our sapsuckers perch nearby our feeding stations, which are always stocked with sunflower seed, peanuts, suet, and suet dough. I'm hoping they will "tap into" this additional source of food so we can enjoy them all winter long.

Here's a very informative page about the yellow-bellied sapsucker.

"The recent unpleasantness" is how many Southerners would refer to The Civil War in the decades following the war's end. Unpleasant is a word that thoroughly applies to our winter thus far in southeastern Ohio. We've had several tenacious snows, a smattering of ice storms, and enough "snow days" off school to make us feel like we're home schooling our kids.

One of the few benefits of the harsh winter weather is that it keeps the feeders hopping, as long as we keep them full. We get visits from most of our backyard birds.

After the ice storm on January 27, we had a series of snowstorms. Fortunately the cold temperatures meant the snow was light and drifty. A wet and weighty snow would have meant much more damage to trees and more downed powerlines. As it was, the ice had already knocked out our power—we'd be out a total of three days—and canceled a week's worth of school for the kids.

Here are a few more images from the snowy aftermath of the ice storm.

On the night of January 27, 2009, southeastern Ohio (and parts of the surrounding states) was blanketed with a horrible ice storm. Freezing rain—not snow—fell, despite temperatures in the low 20's and every single exposed surface was encased in ice.

Throughout the night we heard repeated cracking and crashing noises as trees gave way under the weight of the ice. We dreaded waking up to see what the world would look like after the ice storm.

This has been a hard winter, as our winters go. Lots of cold temperatures for days and weeks at a time. Snow that sticks around well past its welcome. This has resulted in many snow days for the kids and quite a few power outages.

We can cope fairly well with the power outages. And we can make fun out of the challenges of no power and no vehicular mobility. But I always worry about the birds and animals which have no heated shelter.

Here are some of the images that greeted us around the farm the morning after the ice storm.










We put out extra food for the birds, deer, squirrels, rabbits, and anyone else in protected spots around the yard. Needless to say we had to replenish these feeding areas several times during the day.

Another image of the intense look on the sharpie's face as he waited for breakfast to show up.

For the past 20 years of my birding life I've tried to start each new year off with a good bird, an exciting field trip, or at least SOME sort of birding activity. This, unfortunately, often comes into conflict with the revelry of New Year's Eve, especially in years when I am playing music for someone's party. Arriving home in the wee hours of New Year's Day, crashing hard, then waking up well after the sun's appearance has usually meant that the new year starts off with a cup of coffee at 11 am, accompanied by a bleary cardinal or two at the feeders.

I always note my first bird of the year. Last year it was an American goldfinch. I'll tell the tale of this year's first bird in a future post.

The subject of today's post is the first stop on the birding trip Julie and I took on New Year's Day with our pal Shila. We called all the members of The Whipple Bird Club to organize an impromptu field trip for January 1. The fact that it was already nearly noon on January 1 was of no concern.


Shila could make it. Steve could not. Our destination was The Wilds, a recovering strip mine about 40 minutes north of Indigo Hill. The soil there is too poor to support trees, so it remains grassland and thus attracts birds that prefer vast open spaces: northern harriers, rough-legged hawks, short-eared owls, horned larks are just some of the winter species regularly found at The Wilds.

Before we could head north, we had to head south into town to drop of kids at my folks' house and to pick up Shila. En route to Shila's abode my cell phone rang. It was Steve.

"Billy! I've got a bird here that's different. Can you help me ID it?"

Now I know enough about Steve's birding skills to realize that he would not be fooled by a female red-winged blackbird, a leucistic house sparrow, or a winter-plumaged starling.

"I think it's something good."

We high-tailed it to Steve's and this is what we saw at his thistle feeders:






Steve had found a common redpoll among the 30 or so pine siskins at his feeders. We waited for about 40 minutes before the redpoll showed up and when it did, Steve's the one who spotted it for us. This was a great bird to see so early in a new birding year!

From the reports I've heard this is a big pine siskin year and a big white-winged crossbill year here in Ohio. We've had siskins at the Indigo Hill feeders for a month, but no other special northern finches have visited us (evening grosbeaks, crossbills, redpolls). However Steve's bird gives us all reason to check through the feeder flocks.

I first saw common redpolls at the Thompson family feeders in Marietta, Ohio in the winter of 1978—the very same year we started Bird Watcher's Digest. They came in with some evening grosbeaks and siskins and stayed for more than a month. They all came back the following year, too—both '78 and '79 were fierce winters. Little did I know it would be 14 more years before I'd see redpolls in Ohio again. We've had two visits—both short and more than a decade ago—from common redpolls at Indigo Hill. The last one we saw here was in 1994.

So this lone female common redpoll is a special bird, seen with great birding pals, on the very first day of a new year. Here's hoping 2009 turns out to be a special, memorable birding year for all of us!