💥SWARMED! Nasty blackbirds on Burnaby Lake💥

I could do worse than to be swarmed with blackbirds. The pickings have been extremely lean this summer, with maybe 1/10 of the usual number of flocks or even singles or pairs. There has been a modest return in a couple of places. The back yard, replete with food and watering stations, attracts only a sprinkle throughout the day. I don't know what has happened. There has been a serious outbreak of avian flu, which may well be the COVID of the bird world. So I try to make do with what I have. This video is from a couple of months ago, but things are even more sparse now, with no blackbirds flying down at all last time we were there. This comes in a regular, consistent pattern every year, and at this moment the adults are still feeding the juveniles, which are well out of the nest and mostly capable of feeding themselves. So I'll have to wait for the next feeding cycle. We also get a "massing of the blackbirds" every single year, with dozens and dozens of them hiding in the bushes, barely visible, making an incredible racket. THIS happens every year, too. Birds think with a single mind, but right now their mind seems to be elsewhere. 

Voices: Common Nighthawk (The Skeezix Bird)

It was one of those hothotHOT summers in Chatham, in the heel of Southwestern Ontario, when it felt like someone was holding something to your nose and mouth so you could not breathe. Sweat accumulated in layers on your skin, but if it evaporated at all, it provided no relief from the relentless, doggy heat.

We didn't take showers then, because you just didn't - women washed their hair in the sink and wrapped a towel around their head, turban-style (God knows why, or how they ever dried it). If you were so hot you were turning into melted rubber, you lay in a bath tub full of tepid water, drained it, and felt more moist and clammy than ever. As far as I know, people didn't bathe every day, nor were clothes washed as often, but perhaps the predominance of natural fibres kept us from keeling over from each other's stench.

The humidity devil did not let up often. But on certain nights the sky suddenly cracked open, and floods of lukewarm rain caused some of us (mostly kids, or a few heat-crazed adults) to strip down to the bare essentials and go out in it, dancing around, hair streaming, mouth open. The cracks of livid electricity almost made my hair stand on end, and sometimes I felt it zip up my arms as if it wanted me for some awful unknown purpose.

But the buckets of rain did not help. Soon everything was just steaming, the air more choked with water than before.

Cicadas buzzed their long, rattlesnake-like arches of sound on those summer afternoons in which time seemed to hang suspended. We didn't like finding the adults - "June bugs", they were usually called, big fat things with wings - but the cast-off shells of the nymphs were magical. They appeared all over the bark of the elm trees that would all-too-soon be felled due to disease, never to be seen again.

But at night, there was this - this sound! A night bird, one that I called "the Skeezix bird" because that's what it sounded like. On damp, hollow, star-filled Chatham nights, the Skeezix would begin to swoop in the sky, the sound swinging near and far so that you couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from. It had to be some kind of hawk or falcon. But nobody ever referred to it or talked about it. It was just there, like the long-drawn-out tambourine-hiss of the cicadas. All part of summer in the city.

But when I heard the Skeezix bird, every so often I also heard the strangest sound, halfway between a burp and a groan. Short, hollow, and - stupid really, because obviously it had nothing to do with the bird, yet there it was, persistent. I even asked other people about it once, and no one had ever heard it. It seemed like nobody really wanted to talk about it. At least they looked at me strangely, though I suppose by then I should have been used to that.

Then one time, my older brother said, "You know that booming noise? It's sound waves from the hawk's cries bouncing off buildings."

It wasn't. In fact, until this very moment I didn't know what the hell it was or how it could be related to the Skeezix bird.

Then came this answer, this beautiful, golden Answer. Simply laid out. Not even a long or detailed video, just a clear audio explanation with pictures. There WAS a Skeezix bird, even if it was called something else. If it was creating that groany boom out in nature, obviously it had nothing to do with sound waves and buildings.

The real explanation is exotic and a little far-fetched, but it must be true. It just took me fifty years to find it. Play the video above, and be enlightened.

NOTE: Since I first wrote this post in 2017, I have become totally addicted to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology website. If you have ANY interest at all in ANY wild bird, at least in North America, you will find information about it here - not only pictures, but habitat, what they eat, when they mate - and, most magical of all, the SOUNDS they make. I have even identified a bird (Swainson's thrush - I may do a separate post on that mystery) just by narrowing down the species and listening to all the different calls. So if you love birds, and want to know more, GO THERE. 

Cornell Lab of Ornithology

A little more info on the Skeezix cry, dive and "boom".

On summer evenings, keep an eye and an ear out for the male Common Nighthawk’s dramatic “booming” display flight. Flying at a height slightly above the treetops, he abruptly dives for the ground. As he peels out of his dive (sometimes just a few meters from the ground) he flexes his wings downward, and the air rushing across his wingtips makes a deep booming or whooshing sound, as if a racecar has just passed by. The dives may be directed at females, territorial intruders, and even people.

🤎NEW CHICK IN TOWN: Adorable BABY Sandhill Crane!🤎

Bird-watching can be very hit-or-miss. One day birds show up in noisy droves, challenging your ability to even get them into camera range, and the next they just seem to disappear. Species come and go in my own back yard with dizzying frequency. Right now it's house finches, black-headed grosbeaks, nuthatches and chickadees, though the odd rogue towhee shows up to hop back and forth scratching for bugs. 

The larger birds, the Steller's jays, ravens and flickers, are nowhere to be seen, though we do see a downy woodpecker now and then, hammering away at suet. Likewise, the places we go to birdwatch vary wildly in what they present to us. This sandhill crane chick was such a gift, and the blackbirds swooped down on me relentlessly, jabbing their needle beaks into the palm of my hand as they greedily devoured black oil sunflower seeds. 

But aside from those two, all we seemed to have were obnoxious Canada geese in their dozens, if not hundreds. I've seen so many species at Burnaby Lake, including the rare mandarin duck, as well as ringnecks, scaups, wood ducks, teals, and God knows what else that I can't remember just now. But the geese appear to have taken over. You can tell by the massive poops on the dock, as large and foul as dog shit.

Will the rest of them be back? That's up to the birds, who are so "flocky" that no one can really predict their ways. Today I walked around Como Lake and was heartened to see several duck families with ducklings of different ages, some drakes having a bachelor party, and MANY Canada geese, which were behaving very strangely indeed. 

They were all in the water, at least two dozen of them, and suddenly they all started running along on the surface of the water - all in one direction. HOW can a bird as heavy and "breasty" as a Canada goose RUN on the water? But I saw their feet! They kept doing this, not preparing for takeoff but just skidding along in unison, looking utterly ridiculous, while I tried to take a video of it (it was too far away to film properly). Then they started splashing violently, dunking themselves, and dabbling so deep that their huge webbed feet flailed wildly in the air. 

But the thing of it is - last time we went to Como, maybe a couple of weeks ago, I don't think we saw any ducks or geese there at all. The place seemed deserted.  I'm still not seeing my beloved diving birds, coots, hooded mergansers, Northern shovellers, and the cormorants that used to show up in the "duck park" (Lafarge Lake). The lagoon, which has in the past displayed red-tailed hawks, sandhill cranes, mergansers of every stripe, and even SWANS (and just once, an otter), seems completely dead right now. WHERE IS EVERYONE??

I don't know how many times I've been convinced my bird-watching days are over, when everyone just takes off somewhere and the lakes are virtually vacant. Will this teach me patience? Probably not, because a blank lake makes me bleak. 

But being so flocky, these creatures think with a single mind, so whatever the flock leader wants to do (and who knows how THIS gets sorted out), the rest of the birds either follow, or quickly die due to the lack of protection from predators. This is, unfortunately, what happened to my beloved Bosley and his companion, Belinda. I tell myself it's all part of nature, but so am I, so I can't help feeling the loss. 

🦆 Squeaky-toy Duck: It's a WIGEON!

The wigeons are back! After a long, cold, lonely winter, spring and the birds have finally arrived. Birds are my spiritual salvation, so this is no small thing for me.

GLEEP GLEEP

FUN FACTS from Wikipedia: Like other jays, the Steller's jay has numerous and variable vocalizations. One common call is a harsh SHACK-Sheck-sheck-sheck-sheck-sheck series; another skreeka! skreeka! call sounds almost exactly like an old-fashioned pump handle; yet another is a soft, breathy hoodle hoodle whistle. Its alarm call is a harsh, nasal wah. Some calls are sex-specific: females produce a rattling sound, while males make a high-pitched gleep gleep.

Canuck the Crow is a daddy!

I don't seem to have time to set this up much, but it's self-explanatory, I think. My daughter Shannon is the reporter. I was being all envious about her being able to meet the local legend, when she told me, "Canuck BIT me!" I think  she was trying her best, but the bird didn't like her body language. She stroked him tentatively, and tentative just doesn't work with a stud crow. You've got to scratch behind the head, like the guy they showed before. Extending your forearm helps, as it gives the bird something to land on. Hey, it's been a while, and I am a cat person now, but I will never forget that I loved birds, and had them in my home. There's a bird-shaped space in my heart, which is what drives me on my video searches around the lakes and seaside paths of Coquitlam.

This crow is completely CRAZY!

The crow I recently encountered on Lafarge Lake was acting very strangely. It was standing on the banks rattling its beak menacingly, and raucously cawing its head off. Periodically he (she? I can't really tell them apart) would charge at one of the mallards which was peacefully sitting at the lakeside. I've never seen behaviour like that before. If it were nest-guarding, which crows are notorious for doing, I think it would have been dive-bombing me and all the other (many) passersby in the park. But he just stood there, sometimes strutting back and forth, making the loudest, ugliest crow sounds I have ever heard.

The ducks, strangely enough, stood their ground. One was scared into the water, but after that, they stood or sat stodgily, as if to say, we won't tolerate this interloper. Ducks are placid, but they also have a certain gravitas. They are not easily perturbed. Any goose would have made short work of this crow, lowering its neck, hissing and charging at him, but the ducks just had a sort of "we shall not be moved" attitude.

But why try to scare off ducks? How could a duck ever reach a crow's nest, and what sort of interest would it have even if it could? There are plenty of ground-dwelling predators capable of climbing trees and picking off tender crow fledglings. Raccoons, skunks, weasels and ferrets, even squirrels have been known to raid nests. And let's not start on the eagles, hawks and falcons, and even the owls which could easily swoop down and snatch a whole nest.

But this crow was attacking ducks. Placid mallards which didn't want their afternoon snooze disturbed. Ducks who were just waiting for the next handout, the inevitable, forbidden tourist-feed. 

I had a passing thought that the crow was injured, but he seemed so able-bodied, so muscular and glossy (thus my use of "he", though I could be wrong) that it didn't make sense. He did not stir from the banks in all the time we spent at the lake, photographing Bosley and Belinda, our favorite duck couple. When we left, he was still cawing raucously and walking back and forth. Strutting, rather, aggressively. My only conclusion is that he saw birds, and birds meant threat, so he was going to get rid of them forthwith. 

Duck divers: hooded mergansers in Como Lake

Stunning wildlife videos just fall into my lap these days, and it's mid-winter! I've only ever seen these hooded mergansers as white blobs in the distance, too far away to film. Now for some reason they are swimming much closer to shore. We also see cormorants, sea birds which you almost never see in freshwater lakes, though the fact this lake is stocked with fish might have something to do with it. 

Ghost birds of Maui

We remember these graceful birds (which at first we thought were herons) from other trips to Maui. They're cattle egrets, semi-tame birds which hang around condo developments waiting for the maintenance person to trim hedges and stir up the best-tasting bugs. I was sad to hear that islanders dislike these birds, which were imported to eat some sort of specific pest, with the usual results (eating all the wrong things: nobody handed them the menu when they arrived). But I think they're lovely, graceful ghosts. They can come and eat in my back yard any time.

Blackbird, bye-bye

From the time it first happened, it has always seemed magical to me that blackbirds fly down to eat out of your hand at Piper Spit, the dock on Burnaby Lake. I've even had a bird in each hand, but this time they took turns, not always graciously. I've never seen so many of them at one time, all of them greedy to be fed. For months I've noticed this flock, juvenile males who were probably hatched last spring, and they were too shy to come down, though they did take an interest. They seem to like to mass in a clump of bushes near the entrance of the dock, and even if you can't see them, you can hear that exquisite song. And when people walk by, they don't fly away. They know a good thing when they see it! But with the capricious habits of birds, we may not see them again until next spring. 

Black beauties: ravens in the yard

Three ravens like to come sit on the back fence in our yard. They just hang out for a while, not doing much of anything. They don't go to the feeder. Once in a while, one of them lets out a croak. Sometimes, one or more of them sleeps with one foot up. We don't even know if they're the same three ravens, or if ravens just like to hang out in groups of three. One of them will leave, or two of them, or even three, then come back one at a time. Then, eventually, they fly away. (Note. Only two of them appear here. One of them flew away.)

Bird in the bush

One of my more poetic nature videos. I shot this from very far away, through a window with a screen in it, but it lent the video a fey, almost mystical quality. Well, maybe. It's pretty wobbly, because I had a hard time keeping the bird in my sights and even had to edit out a big chunk where I lost it altogether (which is why I substituted music for my "fuuuuuck"s on the sound track).  I am not sure what bird it is - perhaps a robin, with that fat, rounded body, or a varied thrush. At one point it appeared to be asleep, with one foot drawn up.

Sometimes it strikes me with a shock of surprise that all this was out in the yard for the past thirty years, and I paid not the slightest bit of attention to it. Now, suddenly, a wonderland has opened up for me. What else am I looking at and not seeing?

How to make a simple task incredibly difficult

How do you teach a wild bird to eat from your hand? by A. Byrd X-pert

Around my parts, we practice a form of conditioning; acclimating the birds to our presence and our hand in a gradual process.

Place a feeder near a window of the house and keep it filled,

Over the course of a couple weeks, place the feeder closer and closer to the house.

Place the feeder right next to the window (one that can be opened)

Place bird feed on the windowsill,

After several days, stick the sleeve of a large shirt under the window sash and close the window on it.

Put bird feed on the sleeve where it is flat on the windowsill. Keep seed there for several days.

After several days, put a work glove on top of the sleeve cuff and put bird feed in the palm of the glove.

After several more days, you can open the window a bit, stick your arm into the sleeve and your hand into the glove. If you don’t move around much, if you hold bird feed in your gloved palm and keep it where the glove has been for several days, the bravest birds (tufted titmice and chickadees around here) will land on the glove and take the food.

When you are getting good responses, try feeding without the glove.

After a time, you could put a chair under the window, put on the familiar shirt, and extend your hand out with feed in it. It may take some time, but the brave birds will often come to your hand and take the food. Once you get to this point, you can sit in the chair with just about any clothing and the braver birds will make the effort to take the best food from your hand.

In NO case should you attempt to otherwise touch or pet the bird(s). Let them decide how close they are willing to get. Let them decide how long to stay. Let them control the interaction. They will never be pets, but they may become long-time friends….as long as you keep feeding them regularly.

I have no kick against this particular bird expert, but the first time I decided to try wild bird feeding (3 days ago), I walked up to my feeder, stood 3 or 4 feet away from it, held out my hand with some seeds on it, and within one minute a chickadee flew down and took a seed of my hand.

The next day I wasn't quite so lucky, as birds kept flying towards my hand, then veering away.  But today two chickadees decided not just to fly down, but to light for a couple of seconds while picking out a favorite seed.

The whole glove thing, I don't know, it's like a puppet show or something! I think a glove attached to a flat, empty sleeve would freak them out more than a normal human hand.

Back in my day, a thousand years ago, we used to call this method "federalizing the simple". I don't know where that expression came from, but it means taking something completely natural and simple and splitting it into a million difficult parts. 

I don't know how far I'll get with feeding wild birds by hand. I'd like those jays to come down, and so far they're skittish. It seems unlikely, but still more plausible than feeding them with a goddamn seed-dispensing hand puppet.

What's that bird?

What kind of bird is that?

"With a golden head, a white patch on black wings, and a call that sounds like a rusty farm gate opening, the Yellow-headed Blackbird demands your attention. Look for them in western and prairie wetlands, where they nest in reeds directly over the water. They’re just as impressive in winter, when huge flocks seem to roll across farm fields. Each bird gleans seeds from the ground, then leapfrogs over its flock mates to the front edge of the ever-advancing troupe." - Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology

http://www.birds.cornell.edu/page.aspx?pid=1478

Love or lust on Burnaby Lake

This is some footage of pigeons I took at Piper Spit, Burnaby Lake, our favorite place to bird-watch. The pigeons are at it full-force, and it's quite funny to watch. The video has a little gap in the middle where I forgot to turn the recorder off.

Pigeon Love (Wikipedia)

Courtship rituals can be observed in urban parks at any time of the year. The male on the ground or rooftops puffs up the feathers on his neck to appear larger and thereby impress or attract attention. He approaches the hen at a rapid walking pace while emitting repetitive quiet notes, often bowing and turning as he comes closer.

At first, the female invariably walks or flies a short distance away and the male follows her until she stops. At this point, he continues the bowing motion and very often makes full- or half-pirouettes in front of the female. The male then proceeds to feed the female by regurgitating food, as they do when feeding the young.

The male then mounts the female, rearing backwards to be able to join their cloacae. The mating is very brief with the male flapping his wings to maintain balance on top of the female.

One wonders, given the fact that actual mating takes only a few seconds, why there has to be such a prolonged, elaborate mating ritual. I suppose there's a parallel in human beings, where "love makes the world go 'round", songs are all about "love" (banging, usually), and - aside from industry - sex seems to be not just the main thing, but the only thing. (Come to that, it is also an industry in itself.)

What I have long wondered is this: since birds were directly descended from dinosaurs, did dinosaurs have similar elaborate rituals to attract a mate? Did T-Rex perform pirouettes and coo softtly so he could get it on with a girl T-Rex? How about Tricerotops? Did it throw up in another Tricerotops' mouth to charm and beguile? And how noisy would all this be? I have always thought of the dinosaur-scape as deafeningly loud, as each creature bellows with gigantic vocal cords to communicate. But this. The thuds on the ground! It would be like an earthquake.

Take these broken wings

The first time a blackbird flew down to eat out of my hand at Burnaby Lake, my hair stood on end (figuratively speaking). From the time I was a little girl, I longed to have a bird light on my hand, and  I even used to stalk them, wondering why they always flew away.  A mean neighbor kid said I could catch a bird if I put salt on its tail, and I literally went tromping around with a salt shaker in my hand for the longest time. I also took home baby birds I found on the ground, which I now realize was a mistake: in many cases the parent birds are still feeding them. I've seen nearly-full-grown crows screaming after their parents, still wanting a handout. The birds I took home nearly always died, or were so close to being adults that they just flew away on their own.

But birds.

I lost my beloved Paco a couple of years ago, and it still hurts. How it hurts. The bond between bird and human isn't understood unless you have it. Most people say it's "only a bird". Now that we know more about the intelligence of ravens and crows, attitudes are changing. Paco was a sweetheart, a violet-blue lovebird who at only a few weeks old was highly sociable and smart. Then, only a few weeks in, I found her dead in her cage.

Losing Paco led indirectly to gaining Bentley, but our attachment to Bentley was amplified, I am sure, by the loss of Paco. Bentley, too, came from a difficult background. No one quite knows the extent of the trauma, but I am sure he would have died had someone not rescued him in time. Covered with dog bites and nearly emaciated, he was found wandering around Surrey, the toughest neighborhood in the lower mainland. He had no tattoo, no chip, nothing to identify him, but he clearly wasn't feral. Once he recovered he turned out to be a wonderful pet. His loyalty and protectiveness towards us is a palpable thing. He is simply dear.

But these, my wild birds, I still have. It was a delight when the first bird of spring descended. Over the winter we kept hearing the delightful ker-squeege of their song high in the bushes, but no birds ever came down. The ones I saw up there looked immature. Even now they are still a little shy of full adulthood, their feathers a bit mottled with juvenile camouflage. The big, lusty males of last summer must be off nesting somewhere.

These are a comfort to me, because to be honest, I have lost so much over the past several years that I can't begin to count the blows. I am sort of afraid of totting it all up. Some of it was stuff or people I had to walk away from, because it or they had become suffocating. Some was simply taken from me. Life is about loss, no matter what our shallow, striving, materialistic culture might think (if you can attribute thinking to it at all).

You don't try to get it back, and there are no compensations. Not really. You just keep going, and going, into the unknown.

Tragopan strikes out!

(Note that the satyr tragopan, not the brightest of birds, is extravagantly performing his courtship ritual for a log.)

Satyr tragopan
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
(Redirected from Tragopan satyra)

Satyr tragopan

Tragopan satyra from Pangolakha WLS, East Sikkim, India

Conservation status


Near Threatened (IUCN 3.1)[1]
Scientific classification
Kingdom: Animalia
Phylum: Chordata
Class: Aves
Order: Galliformes
Family: Phasianidae
Subfamily: Phasianinae
Genus: Tragopan
Species: T. satyra
Binomial name
Tragopan satyra
(Linnaeus, 1758)


The satyr tragopan (Tragopan satyra) also known as the crimson horned pheasant, is a pheasant found in the Himalayan reaches of India, Tibet, Nepal and Bhutan. They reside in moist oak and rhododendron forests with dense undergrowth and bamboo clumps. They range from 8,000 to 14,000 feet in summer and 6,000 feet in winter. The male crimson horned pheasant is about 70 cm long.

Captive bird from Osaka, Japan.

When it is mating season, male satyr tragopans grow blue horns and a gular wattle. When ready to display, they will inflate their horns and hide behind a rock, waiting for females to pass by. When one does, they will perform an elaborate and attractive display in front of the females. At the end of the display, the male will stretch to his full height and show off all of his ornaments.

Females are brown. Males are usually red with blue, black, and white spots and freckles.

Drama in the back yard

(Please note. These gifs can run slow at first, or at least they do for me. Once they have gone through a full cycle, usually 10 or 15 seconds, they should run smoothly.) The first day I ever worked with the video camera, every bird in the neighborhood suddenly showed up - including some we had rarely seen before. This is a female flicker who has taken to the suet feeder. She hung around for quite a long time - oh, so beautiful, while I scrambled to capture video of her.  I hadn't put the camera on the tripod yet and was wobbling all over the place. I don't know when we'll see her again.

Up close and personal with a Steller's jay. These guys are frequent visitors and tend to gulp and guzzle the seeds, quickly emptying out the feeder. They are so beautiful, almost as mystical at the flickers.

We were amazed that the flicker hung around for so long. In this case, it flew down and pecked at the crack in the door. Flickers are a kind of woodpecker and would normally go after grubs in the ground. This time it actually used the feeder (very briefly), hammering away at it.

Squirrels! We have three baby squirrels living in the back yard. This happens every year. They were likely born in the spring and are SO CUTE that we can't bear to keep them away (like so many bird-feeding people try to). We couldn't believe they'd go after suet or be able to get to it. Obviously they can. Occasionally we get fat bushy-tailed grey squirrels, and even the odd red squirrel which is particularly adorable.

We have tons of juncos in the yard. This is an example of a particularly handsome male. They just hang around and eat, mostly the fallout from the feeder. They are easygoing and don't attack each other, believing there is plenty to go around.

And this is the miracle - even more miraculous than the appearance of the flicker. This is a spotted towhee, a bird we have only rarely seen, and always on the ground. Not sure why so many amazing birds showed up when I was using the video camera for the first time! 

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Flickers, jays and squirrels: is this a McDonald's, or what?

This is Baby's First Video, the first time I ever tried to work with the video camera: and all at once, a Steller's jay, a squirrel and a flicker showed up! After this I more or less figured out how to work with a tripod, so the worst of the shakes ended. Gifs to follow!