What’s in a name? Many American birds will get renamed by AOS

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Photo by Veronika Andrews from Pixabay • Anna’s hummingbird, a species of hummingbird native to the coastal regions of western North America, is named after a 19th-century duchess. The bird, as well as almost 80 other species, will be renamed by the American Ornithological Society in the future.

What’s in a name? To paraphrase the Bard, a bird’s tweet would still sound as sweet, regardless of the name of the bird.

That theory’s about to get tested. The American Ornithological Society has decided to rename about 80 species of birds named for people. The birds, which can be found in the United States and Canada, range from songbirds to shorebirds, as well as woodpeckers and jays.

The best I can determine after some research is that the new names for some of our birds will be based on appearance or habitat preferences. I’d be more optimistic if it wasn’t the AOS that gave us the boring name of Eastern towhee and took away the accurate and descriptive name of rufous-sided towhee for a familiar backyard bird.

The towhee was renamed in 1995. Some of my birding friends have long memories, because I still hear people refer to this bird as “rufous-sided towhee.”

Photo by Bryan Stevens • A male Eastern towhee forages in the grass beneath a feeder.

I’m sure I will miss some of the former names. I’ll be waiting to see what name is given to Anna’s hummingbird, a species named for Anna Masséna, Duchess of Rivoli. As far as I can determine, the duchess had no particular strikes against her character. A French princess, the duchess was married to amateur ornithologist Prince Victor Masséna, the owner of an impressive collection of bird specimens.

Even royalty needs its hobbies, and birding’s certainly a worthy pursuit in my eyes. I do think the trivia associated with birds named for people can make interesting reading. For example, the duchess served as the Mistress of Robes for the Empress Eugénie, wife of Napoleon III.

Be careful what you find when doing online research. I found one article claiming that the duchess met John James Audubon, the famous American naturalist and painter, in Paris in 1882.

If true, it would have been quite the feat as Audubon died in 1857 in New York.

Then there’s Nuttall’s woodpecker. As explained on the website All About Birds, William Gambel named the small black-and-white woodpecker after Thomas Nuttall, an English botanist and ornithologist, back in 1843.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • The Wilson’s snipe is one of many birds likely to be renamed in the near future.

Nuttall was perhaps better known as a botanist, according to All About Birds, but he also published an early field guide on birds titled “A Manual of the Ornithology of the United States and Canada.”

All About Birds also notes that Nuttall’s book and his passion for nature also inspired the formation of the first organization in North America dedicated to birds in 1873, the Nuttall Ornithological Club.

It seems a shame to me to remove the woodpecker’s name when it honors such a relevant figure in the early history of birding.

Even birds — Clark’s nutcracker and Lewis’s woodpecker — named for the famed Meriwether Lewis and William Clark of the historic Lewis and Clark Expedition will likely lose their long-standing names.

Gambel’s quail also faces renaming. This small desert quail is named for William Gambel, an American naturalist, ornithologist and botanist from Philadelphia. As a young man Gambel worked closely with the renowned naturalist Thomas Nuttall, basically becoming an apprentice to the older man.

Photo by AZArtist from Pixabay • Gambel’s quail is named after William Gambel, an American naturalist, ornithologist and botanist from Philadelphia.

At the age of 18, Gambel traveled to California, becoming the first botanist to collect specimens in Santa Fe, New Mexico, as well as many parts of California. In late 1838, Gambel and Nuttall traveled together on a collecting trip to the Carolinas and the southern Appalachians.

Gambel accomplished a lot in his short lifespan. He tried unsuccessfully to establish a medial practice in Philadelphia and decided, like many Americans, to head west. Shortly after reaching California, he tried to help miners afflicted with typhoid at a camp along the Yuba River. He became sick himself and died Dec. 13, 1849, at age 26.

Animals named in the young man’s honor include Gambel’s quail and Gambelia, a genus of lizards. Also in 1848, a genus of flowering plants, Gambelia, native to California and Mexico, was named after him.

I feel that Shakespeare had it right. The names may change, but the stories of the birds and their namesakes will still be there for anyone who wants to do a little digging.

Some of the stories you might uncover make for interesting reading.

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Email Bryan Stevens at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com to share a bird sighting, ask a question or make a comment.

Column, which is turning 28 years old, began with a profile on juncos

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Photo by simardfrancois from Pixabay • The dark-eyed junco is a winter visitor at many bird feeders in the region, but this bird also nests every summer on some high elevation mountains in the region.

I wrote my first bird column on Sunday, Nov. 5, 1995, which means this weekly column is marking its 28th anniversary this week.

This column has appeared in a total of six different newspapers, which I regard as a personal achievement, as well as an accomplishment for our feathered friends. It’s on their behalf that I pen these weekly efforts to promote conservation and good will toward all birds. I have also posted the column as a weekly blog posting since February 2014 at http://www.ourfinefeatheredfriends.com.

I’ve played detective, helping people identify everything from “rain crows,” or cuckoos, to Muscovy ducks, chukars and double-crested cormorants. I’ve observed unusual birds, including white pelicans, brants and roseate spoonbills, in Northeast Tennessee, Southwest Virginia and Western North Carolina and spotlighted them in these columns.

While I’ve had some vision challenges this past year, I still take delight in the kaleidoscopic parade of colorful warblers that pass through the region each spring and fall as well as the fast-paced duel of ruby-throated hummingbirds and the occasional rufous hummingbirds straying through the region.

At my home, I also provide sunflower seed and other supplemental food for the resident birds like Carolina chickadees, white-breasted nuthatches, song sparrows and downy woodpeckers.

Even as I tweak my anniversary column for “Feathered Friends,” parts of the region just experienced the first heavy frost. This prognostication of approaching winter weather is a perfect time to dust off this week’s column, which is a revision of the first bird column I ever wrote. This column focused on a common visitor to yards and feeders during the winter months. In fact, dark-eyed juncos should be returning to the region any day. Here, with some revisions I have made through the years, is that first column.

Photo by Ken Thomas • A dark-eyed junco perches on some bare branches on a winter’s day.

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Of all the birds associated with winter weather, few are as symbolic as the dark-eyed junco, or “snow bird.” The junco occurs in several geographic variations.

John V. Dennis, author of “A Complete Guide to Bird Feeding,” captures the essence of the junco in the following description: “Driving winds and swirling snow do not daunt this plucky bird. The coldest winter days see the junco as lively as ever and with a joie de vivre that bolsters our sagging spirits.” The dark-eyed junco’s scientific name, hyemalis, is New Latin for “wintry,” an apt description of this bird.

Most people look forward to the spring return of some of our brilliant birds — warblers, tanagers and orioles — and I must admit that I also enjoy the arrival of these birds. The junco, in comparison to some of these species, is not in the same league. Nevertheless, the junco is handsome in its slate gray and white plumage, giving rise to the old saying “dark skies above, snow below.”

Just as neotropical migrants make long distance journeys twice a year, the junco is also a migrating species. But in Appalachia, the junco is a special type of migrant. Most people think of birds as “going south for the winter.” In a basic sense this is true. But some juncos do not undertake a long horizontal (the scientific term) migration from north to south. Instead, these birds merely move from high elevations, such as the spruce fir peaks, to the lower elevations. This type of migration is known as vertical migration. Other juncos, such as those that spend their breeding season in northern locales, do make a southern migration and, at times, even mix with the vertical migrants.

During the summer months, a visit to higher elevations mountaintops is almost guaranteed to produce sightings of dark-eyed juncos. Juncos may nest as many as three times in a season. A female junco usually lays three to six eggs for each nest, which she constructs without any assistance from her mate.

Juncos are usually in residence around my home by early November. Once they make themselves at home I can expect to play host to them until at least late April or early May of the following year. So, for at least six months, the snow bird is one of the most common and delightful feeder visitors a bird enthusiast could want.

Juncos flock to feeders where they are rather mild-mannered — except among themselves. There are definite pecking orders in a junco flock, and females are usually on the lower tiers of the hierarchy. Females can sometimes be distinguished from males because of their paler gray or even brown upper plumage.

Since juncos are primarily ground feeders they tend to shun hanging feeders. But one winter I observed a junco that had mastered perching on a hanging “pine cone” feeder to enjoy a suet and peanut butter mixture.

Dark-eyed juncos often are content to glean the scraps other birds knock to the ground. Juncos are widespread. They visit feeders across North America. The junco is the most common species of bird to visit feeding stations. They will sample a variety of fare, but prefer such seeds as millet, cracked corn or black oil sunflower.

The juncos are a small branch of the sparrow clan. Some of the other juncos include the endangered Guadalupe junco, yellow-eyed junco, Baird’s junco and volcano junco. The last one on the list is endemic to the Talamancan montane forests of Costa Rica and western Panama. Baird’s junco is named for Spencer Fullerton Baird, an American ornithologist and naturalist.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • A dark-eyed junco visits a hanging feeder.

Baird served as secretary for the Smithsonian Institution from 1878 until his death in 1887. He greatly expanded the natural history collections of the Smithsonian from 6,000 specimens in 1850 to over two million by the time of his death.

I hope you’ve enjoyed this introduction to juncos. There’s something about winter that makes a junco’s dark and light garb an appropriate and even striking choice, particularly against a backdrop of newly fallen snow.

Of course, the real entertainment from juncos come from their frequent visits to our backyard feeders. When these birds flock to a feeder and began a furious period of eating, I don’t even have to glance skyward or tune in the television weather forecast. I know what they know. Bad weather is on the way!

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I’ve not seen the first junco of the season, but I did observe a close relative (white-throated sparrow) on the morning of Oct. 24 at my home.

If you’d like to share your first sighting this season of dark-eyed juncos, email me at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com. As always, the column is also a line of communication with fellow bird enthusiasts. I’ve enjoyed sharing stories about birds with countless readers over the past 28 years. I can also be reached on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ahoodedwarbler.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • Dark-eyed junco nests on high mountain slopes during the summer month. This dark-eyed junco was photographed at Carver’s Gap on Roan Mountain during the summer nesting season.

Some birds expert at conjuring thrills and chills

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Photo from Pixabay • The great tit, a bird related to titmice and chickadees, has acquired a taste for bat brains. Scientists have documented great tits in the mountains of Hungary killing a small species of bat to consume their brains.

NOTE: This column originally ran in November of 2018.

The ultimate coma victim is the fabled zombie, but that’s not likely to afflict any of our feathered friends, right? Well, consider the great tits of Hungary, which are relatives of our tufted titmouse and Carolina chickadee. These birds — at least the Hungarian ones — have apparently acquired a taste for brains.

Not human brains, thankfully. The victims of these brain-hungry great tits are a species of bat — a flying creature often associated with the modern celebration of Halloween, as well as legends about vampires — that shared the habitat of these birds in the Bükk Mountains of Hungary. As it turns out, the tits only hunted bats, in this case a tiny species known as common pippistrelle, out of dire necessity.

Bat ecologists Péter Estók and Björn M. Siemers, after observing the odd behavior of the great tits during some winter seasons, conducted a study to see if great tits are consistent devourers of bats’ brains. They discovered that the birds did hunt the bats and had even learned to detect a special call the bats make as they emerge from hibernation. The ecologists conducted their study over two years and learned that the great tits teach others of their kind the special art of hunting bats. They also learned that the birds made efficient killers, dragging the bats from their roosts and cracking their skulls to get at their brains.

However, when provided with plenty of alternative food, including such favorite items as bacon and sunflower seeds, the great tits chose to eat these items rather than actively hunt bats. The researchers concluded that great tits only resort to harvesting the brains of small bats during times of scarcity during harsh winters. The bizarre story is even featured in the title of a fascinating book by Becky Crew titled “Zombie Birds, Astronaut Fish, and Other Weird Animals.”

So, if humans have nothing to fear from brain-hungry birds, are there any birds that we should fear? Some experts suggest that precautions might be in order if one expects to come into close proximity with a southern cassowary, which is the third-tallest and second-heaviest living bird, smaller only than the ostrich and emu.

The cassowary, a native of New Guinea and northeastern Australia, has developed a reputation as a fearsome bird capable of injuring or killing humans. According to ornithologist Ernest Thomas Gilliard, cassowaries deserve their reputation. In his 1958 book, “Living Birds of the World,” he explained that the second of the three toes of a cassowary is fitted with a long, straight, dagger-like claw which can sever an arm or eviscerate an abdomen with ease. According to Gilliard, there have been many records of natives being killed by this bird.

A thorough study, however, has partly exonerated the cassowary from these misdeeds. In a total of 150 documented attacks against humans, cassowaries often acted in self-defense or in defense of a nest or chicks. The only documented death of a human took place in 1926 when two teenaged brothers attacked a cassowary with clubs. The 13-year-old brother received a serious kick from the bird, but he survived. His 16-year old brother tripped and fell during the attack, which allowed the cassowary to kick him in the neck and sever the boy’s jugular vein.

So we can rest easier knowing that murderous birds that reach a height of almost six feet tall are unlikely to terrorize us should we travel to the lands down under. A more ancient relative of the cassowary, however, might have been a different story had humans lived during the same time period.

Phorusrhacids, also known as “terror birds,” were a group of large carnivorous flightless birds that once had some members reign as an apex predator in South America before they went extinct around two million years ago. The tallest of the terror birds reached a height of almost 10 feet. Titanis walleri, one of the larger species, even ranged into what is now the United States in Texas and Florida.

Terror birds were equipped with large, sharp beaks, powerful necks and sharp talons. Their beaks, which would have been used to kill prey, were attached to exceptionally large skulls. Despite their fearsome appearance, these birds probably fed on prey about the size of rabbits. Perhaps not knowing this, Hollywood has cast these birds as monsters in such films as 2016’s “Terror Birds” and 2008’s “10,000 BC.”

Besides, casting birds as the villains had already been done back in 1963 when Alfred Hitchcock released his film, “The Birds,” based loosely on a short story by Daphne du Maurier. The film, which starred some big Hollywood names such as Rod Taylor, Tippi Hedren, Jessica Tandy, Suzanne Pleshette and Veronica Cartwright, cast a whole new light on a “murder” of crows. Today, the film has achieved the status of a Hollywood classic. I guess it just goes to show that werewolves, zombies and other Halloween monsters have nothing on our fine feathered friends.

Great horned owls become feathered phantoms after sunset

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Photo by HMaria from Pixabay • A great horned owl is capable of almost silent flight, which helps this predatory bird take prey by surprise. Many myths and superstitions surround the world’s owls, but the truth about owls is often more fascinating.

Great horned owls become feathered phantoms after sunset

In late September, I began hearing a great horned owl near my home. The sonorous hoots resonated from a distant ridge the other side of the road. The ridge was logged this year and many of the large white pines are gone. I wasn’t at all optimistic the owl would return.

There’s nothing to send shivers traveling along your spine like listening to these haunting hoots from a creature that’s well hidden from human eyes by the cloak of darkness.

Or a cloak of fog and mist, as the case may be. This returning owl calls most often near dawn and dusk. On foggy mornings, of which there has been plenty, the owl’s still been calling as I leave for work.

It’s no wonder that owls have also become popular motifs for the celebration of the Halloween holiday. Just remember there’s more to these creatures of the night than perhaps meets the eye. Owls may be our neighbors, but we’ll never truly belong to their world, which must be why they continue to intrigue us.

While human culture has turned owls into beloved creatures, keep in mind these birds are fierce and ferocious predators. For young American crows in their nests, this owl is the stuff of their avian nightmares. It’s no wonder that crows, some of their numbers no doubt having witnessed their peers taken by the great horned owl as prey when young and helpless, grow up with an abiding hatred of this large nocturnal raptor.

Flocks of adult crows form quickly when an owl is discovered at a roost during the daylight hours. With safety in numbers, the crows mercilessly hound and harry the unlucky owls.

Quite often, a crow’s sharp vision is required to detect a motionless owl at its daytime roost. Great horned owls have a plumage of mottled grays and browns, as well as some white feathers on the chin and throat. This plumage helps them blend into their surroundings. Even when on the move, the great horned owl rarely attracts attention. They can fly in almost perfect silence on wide wings that can stretch out to a wingspan of 4.6 feet.

I know about their silent flight from firsthand experience. Back in the early 2000s I visited Orchard Bog in Shady Valley in Johnson County in early spring for a chance to witness the evening display of American woodcocks. While waiting with other birders for the evening show, I noticed a large shadow moving low over the fields heading toward us. As the bird got closer, it became recognizable as a great horned owl. The owl barely diverted from its flight. In fact, it flew just over our heads, gliding silently on wide wings. I still marvel at how the owl’s wings made no noise whatsoever. The owl continued to glide over the fields until we lost it in the dusk.

On another occasion I also witnessed how, when they want to do so, great horned owls can be absolutely silent. While vacationing on Fripp Island, South Carolina, in the 1990s, I would accompany my family for dusk golf cart excursions. We liked to pull off the side of the road on a causeway that crossed a series of tidal creeks and marsh. On that occasion, a great horned owl flew from nearby woodlands to land on a gnarled snag that rose above the marshland vegetation. Although the owl arrived on silent wings, it soon interrupted the silence with resonant hoots that carried over the marshes. The owl returned to the same snag for two additional evenings during our vacation stay.

I’ve seen other great horned owls over the years in locations from South Carolina and Florida to Utah and and Virginia. I’ve heard many more of these large owls than I have ever been able to get into focus in my binoculars. It’s still a thrill to get even a brief sighting of these impressive birds.

I’ve always thought about trying to locate the owls in residence at my home. I’ve scanned the silhouettes of the tree line in the direction of their hoots, but I’ve not ventured forth on a more methodical search. Perhaps I’ll save that as a Halloween activity this year. I’ll more likely continue to enjoy the owl’s haunting serenade and let a cloak of mystery continue to shroud this fascinating bird.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • A captive rehabilitated great horned owl at Calloway Gardens in Georgia.

Fall Bird Count detects 121 species

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Photo by Hans Room/Pixabay • A blackpoll warbler found during the Fall Bird Count represented a rare appearance by this species on the seasonal count, which has been held for 53 consecutive years. A purple gallinule found in Washington County represented another extremely rare find.

The 53rd consecutive Elizabethton Fall Bird Count was held Saturday, Sept. 30, with 30 observers in about 12 parties. The count area included Carter County, as well as the surrounding counties of Johnson, Sullivan, Unicoi and Washington.

The weather was good, with a temperature range between 54 and 82 F. Participants tallied 121 species, plus one unidentified Empidonax species. The Empidonax flycatchers, or “Empids,” as birders fondly lump them, are birds so similar in appearance they cannot reliably identified in the field unless they are vocalizing. Unfortunately, the Empids are largely silent in autumn.

This total is slightly below the recent 30-year average of 125 species, according to longtime compiler Rick Knight. He noted that the all-time high was 137 species in 1993.

Knight said that a count highlight was a lingering immature purple gallinule in Washington County.

The list:

Canada goose, 850; wood duck, 40; mallard, 179; common merganser, 6; northern bobwhite, 3; ruffed grouse, 1; and wild turkey, 37.

Pied-billed grebe, 4; rock pigeon, 362; Eurasian collared dove, 1; and mourning dove,172.

Yellow-billed cuckoo, 5; black-billed cuckoo, 1; common nighthawk, 2; chimney swift, 246; and ruby-throated hummingbird, 17.

Virginia rail, 1; purple gallinule, 1; killdeer, 45; Wilson’s snipe, 1; and spotted sandpiper, 2.

Double-crested cormorant, 84; great blue heron, 34; great egret, 3; green heron, 3; black vulture, 29; and turkey vulture, 141.

Osprey, 7; northern harrier, 1; sharp-shinned hawk, 5; Cooper’s hawk, 4; bald eagle, 7; red-shouldered hawk, 6; broad-winged hawk, 1; and red-tailed hawk,19.

Barn owl, 2; Eastern screech-owl, 17; great horned owl, 4; barred owl, 4; and Northern saw-whet owl, 1.

Belted kingfisher, 26; red-headed woodpecker, 3; red-bellied woodpecker, 69; yellow-bellied sapsucker, 7; downy woodpecker, 39; hairy woodpecker, 12; northern flicker, 54; and pileated woodpecker, 30.

American kestrel, 16; merlin, 1; great crested flycatcher, 1; Eastern wood pewee, 18; Empidonax species, 1; and Eastern phoebe, 97.

Yellow-throated vireo, 2; blue-headed vireo, 31; red-eyed vireo, 5; blue jay, 438; American crow, 505; fish crow, 7; and common raven, 20.

Tree swallow, 220; barn swallow, 1; Carolina chickadee, 195; tufted titmouse, 168; red-breasted nuthatch, 17; white-breasted Nuthatch, 64; and brown creeper, 3.

House wren, 3; Carolina wren, 177; blue-gray gnatcatcher, 1; golden-crowned kinglet, 5; and ruby-crowned kinglet, 4.

Eastern bluebird, 152; veery, 1; gray-cheeked thrush, 6; Swainson’s thrush, 43; wood thrush, 5; and American robin, 113.

Gray catbird, 38; brown thrasher, 9; Northern mockingbird, 80; European starling, 615; cedar waxwing, 106; and house sparrow, 37.

House finch, 42; pine siskin, 2; American goldfinch, 123; chipping sparrow, 95; field sparrow, 11; dark-eyed junco, 83; Savannah sparrow, 3; song sparrow, 84; and Eastern towhee, 62.

Eastern meadowlark, 17; red-winged blackbird, 10; brown-headed cowbird, 2; and common grackle, 10.

https://www.nps.gov/articles/blackpollmigration.htm

Ovenbird, 6; Northern waterthrush, 3; black-and-white warbler, 2; Tennessee warbler, 73; common yellowthroat, 12; hooded warbler, 13; American redstart, 10; Cape May warbler, 23; northern parula, 11; magnolia warbler, 20; bay-breasted warbler, 28; Blackburnian warbler, 5; chestnut-sided warbler, 6; blackpoll warbler, 1; black-throated blue warbler, 21; palm warbler, 21; pine warbler, 14; yellow-rumped warbler, 6; and black-throated green warbler, 15.

Scarlet tanager, 9; Northern cardinal, 169; rose-breasted grosbeak, 26; blue grosbeak, 3; and indigo bunting, 12.

Observers in this year’s Fall Bird Count included Fred Alsop, Jerry Bevins, Rob Biller, Tammy Bright, Debi and J.G. Campbell, Ron Carrico, Bill and Linda Cauley, Catherine Cummins, Dave Gardner, David and Connie Irick, Rick and Jacki Knight, Roy Knispel, Vern Maddux, Joe McGuiness, Tom McNeil, Alson Ovando, Susan Peters, Brookie and Jean Potter, Lia Prichard, Pete Range, Judith Reid, Judi Sawyer, Bryan Stevens, Kim Stroud and Charlie Warden.

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To ask a question, share a sighting or make a comment, email me at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com.

Raucous ravens, hooting owls and more contribute to the autumn soundscape

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Photo by LoggaWiggler from Pixabay • Ravens are extremely vocal birds. Captive-raised ravens have even learned words.

The spring bird chorus is deservedly famous, but the birds don’t exactly go silent in the autumn.

Although recent mornings have started out with a definite chill over the past couple of weeks since the calendar officially turned the page into fall, the birds have simply fluffed their feathers and continued with business as usual.

The birds have been active despite these morning chills that I have been somewhat reluctant to acknowledge. Carolina wrens scold from tangles of vines and weeds. As of Oct. 5, I am still hearing the soft whirr of hummingbird wings, too, although I know that the curtain’s closing on their yearly stay. Other vocalizations I’ve detected early in the day have included the rattle of a belted kingfisher at the fish pond, the quarrelsome mews of a gray catbird plucking pokeberries one at a time from an overladen plant and a vigorous Eastern Phoebe repeating its “fee-bee” name continuously from the edge of the woods.

Some other birds also make their presence known while remaining concealed from direct visual observation, including a great horned owl that regularly produces resonant, distant hoots from a nearby ridge. From the ridge behind my home, the croaks of common ravens have added a bit of a spooky vibe to fog-shrouded mornings.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • A great horned owl grasps a post with its talons. This bird was part of a show at Callaway Gardens in Georgia featuring rehabilitated raptors.

Ravens are extremely vocal birds. In addition to the harsh croaks usually associated with these birds, raven can also produce an uncanny imitation of a tinkling bell.

I’m not pulling any legs. Among their vocal repertoire, ravens can produce, usually in flight, a “bell” call. I’m not sure if this is a common vocalization. I only remember ever hearing a raven’s “bell” on a few occasions. I was with a group of more established birders at Roan Mountain State Park when a raven flew overhead. Someone called out, “Listen to that.” I listened and heard my first raven “bell” call.

The strange thing is that I can find little about this unusual vocalization when I researched the subject. According to the website All About Birds, common ravens calls vary from a low, gurgling croak to harsh grating sounds and shrill alarm calls. Scientists have placed their vocalizations into as many as 33 different categories based on sound and context. The most commonly heard is the classic gurgling croak, rising in pitch and seeming to come from the back of the throat.

The croak is their standby vocalization, which they produce often. The raven’s croak can be heard from a mile away. And, in defense of the poet Edgar Allan Poe and his “ominous bird of yore,” ravens are accomplished mimics. According to All About Birds, ravens can imitate other birds. Raven raised in captivity can even learn words. “Nevermore?”

This is the time of year when departures appear to outpace new arrivals, but there are some birds that will soon make their return after a lengthy absence, including white-throated sparrows, dark-eyed juncos and winter wrens. The local ravens, on the other hand, appear to have chosen to reside near my home year-round.

From the opening refrain of “once upon a midnight dreary” in his poem, “The Raven,” Edgar Allan Poe established a somber mood and also helped cement the dark reputation of one of North America’s most misunderstood birds. Poe describes the bird that provides the title of his famous poem with adjectives such as “grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous.” His raven also speaks, although it has the limited vocabulary of a single word, “Nevermore.”

How else does the real common raven resemble the “bird of yore” in Poe’s classic poem? For starters, the raven is an intelligent bird. Authors of a scientific study conducted about 15 years ago posited the claim that ravens and crows are just as intelligent as some of the great apes. Although parrots are more famous for the ability to mimic human speech, captive ravens have proven capable of learning more words than even the most impressive vocabulary-endowed parrots. So, Poe was not wide of the mark when he gave the gift of gab to the raven in his poem.

The sounds of autumn are definitely richer for having the croaking calls of ravens in the mix. Keep your eyes (and ears) open for new arrivals as the transition of seasons continues.

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To share a sighting, ask a question or make a comment, email me at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com.

Northern waterthrush provides warbler watching highlight

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Photo by Bryan Stevens • Even in migration, both waterthrushes like to stay near water. This Northern waterthrush was photographed along the linear trail in Erwin, Tennessee.

My usual pastime of fall warbler watching declined somewhat this season, for a variety of reasons.

Time, that commodity so rare for many of us, played a part. It’s also more difficult these days to spot the movements of these swift, energetic birds in dense foliage. A vision problem that developed this past February that I have detailed in earlier columns hampered me.

My hearing’s still good, knock on wood, and I managed to hear quite a few warblers this autumn, including hooded warbler, black-throated blue warbler and Northern waterthrush.

So, I spent less time watching for the warblers this autumn and saw fewer warblers. There’s probably a connection.

I did manage to spot a few reliable favorites. I added a Northern waterthrush on a recent misty morning with that chill in the air so associated with the transition of seasons.

This warbler produces a rather loud “chunk!” chip note that’s distinctive enough to alert birders to the presence of one of these birds.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • The Northern waterthrush, pictured, has a beige eye line rather than the white one usually shown by the Louisiana waterthrush.

With some patience, I got a decent look at the Northern waterthrush, which is a migrant through the region in both spring and fall. Northern waterthrushes frequent wet habitats with dense ground cover. In migration, even a puddle or a damp thicket is enough to attract one of these warblers. My recent sighting took place in the branches of a sprawling yew tree adjacent to a creek.

The related Louisiana waterthrush is a summer resident – and one of the first warblers to return each spring – that nests in the region. The two waterthrushes are very similar in appearance. The Louisiana waterthrush has a heavier bill and a white eye line, while the Northern waterthrush’s eye line is usually somewhat yellowish-beige. A Louisiana waterthrush typically also has a whiter belly and underparts.

The two waterthrushes are the only species in the genus Parkesia, so named to honor American ornithologist Kenneth C. Parkes, who was for many years Curator of Birds at Carnegie Museum of Natural History.

The common name of the Louisiana waterthrush is not a very apt one, as this bird does not have any special affinity for the state of Louisiana. Someone collected some of the early specimens of the Louisiana waterthrush in its namesake location, and the name has stuck through the years.

According to the website All About Birds, Northern waterthrushes are numerous, and their population has grown by an estimated 54% since 1970. Partners in Flight estimates the global breeding population at 17 million. The species rates an 8 out of 20 on the Continental Concern Score, indicating it is a species of low conservation concern.

Songbirds usually lead brief lives, but the oldest recorded Northern waterthrush was at least 8 years, 11 months old when it was recaptured and re-released during banding operations in Michigan in 1987, according to All About Birds. The bird had been banded originally in Ontario, Canada, in 1978.

Northern waterthrushes migrate through the region throughout October, so there’s still a window open for seeing one. Search near quiet water surrounded by thickets and listen for that chip note.

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To ask a question, share a sighting of make a comment, email me at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com.

Early artist and naturalist John James Audubon painted this Louisiana waterthrush.

Swainson’s thrush kicks off fall migration season

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Photo by Hans Toom/Pixabay • The Swainson’s thrush is named for 19th-century naturalist William Swainson. A yearly visitor to the region, the bird’s appearance provides visible evidence that fall migration has started in earnest.

I like to kick off fall migration with a warbler sighting, but for a change of pace, a Swainson’s thrush showed up in my yard on Labor Day weekend.

I usually see more Swainson’s thrushes in the autumn rather than spring, so the sighting wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. My observation did provide the visible evidence that fall migration, an annual phenomenon among our feathered friends, has started in earnest.

The Swainson’s thrush does not nest in the region. These birds spend the summer breeding season in Canada, Alaska and the northern United States. They also nest in areas of the mountainous western United States.

In migration, this small thrush can be quite widespread, with sightings possible from coast to coast and all points between in the continental United States.

Thrushes that do nest during the summer in the region include wood thrush and veery, as well as the hermit thrush, which is also a winter resident.

William Swainson, the namesake of the Swainson’s thrush, was a famous English naturalist living in the 19th century. Swainson, who grew up in London but spent much of his adult life in New Zealand, excelled as an English ornithologist, malacologist, conchologist, entomologist and artist. Besides the thrush, eight other species of birds are named in his honor.

Two of the other birds — Swainson’s warbler and Swainson’s hawk — are resident in the United States for at least the spring and summer months.

The other six species include Swainson’s francolin, Swainson’s sparrow, Swainson’s antcatcher, Swainson’s fire-eye, Swainson’s flycatcher and Swainson’s toucan.


Photo by Bryan Stevens • After striking a window, this Swainson’s thrush was given time to recover in a box in a dark, quiet place before being released to continue its migration.

In what I find a surprising twist, Swainson never visited the United States of America, but in 1806, he accompanied the English explorer Henry Koster to Brazil in South America. Swainson and his family emigrated to New Zealand in 1841. Swainson settled near the New Zealand city of Wellington, only to have earthquakes in 1848 and 1855 devastate the shoreline near his estate, which he called Hawkshead. He found the pioneer life in New Zealand difficult, especially when a native Maori chief pushed his own claims to Swainson’s estate. Swainson died of bronchitis on Dec. 6, 1855, at the age of 66.

I usually see Swainson’s thrushes every fall, but some members of the family have been harder for me to observe. I’ve only twice seen a gray-cheeked thrush. My last sighting of one took place in 2018, 18 years after my first sighting.

The species is aptly named.

The gray-cheeked thrush lacks an eye ring, and its most prominent feature is the grayish plumage around the bird’s face. No evidence of brown or buff coloration intrude into the face region.

Gray-cheeked thrushes nest far from Tennessee and Virginia. In fact, they nest almost to the very edge of the tundra region in the far north. Because of this tendency to nest in remote regions, experts have had difficulty determining population trends for this species.

Most thrush migration actually takes place at night. The daytime observations of thrushes involve individuals that have stopped for a brief respite to refuel and rest.

Both the gray-cheeked thrush and Swainson’s thrush belong to the genus Catharus, a term derived from Ancient Greek that can be described as “pure” or “clean” in reference to the plumage of some of the members of the genus.

Most of this family of talented singers, which also includes the veery and the wood thrush, will depart the borders of the United States until next spring. When they get ready to leave, most thrushes will make a remarkable non-stop journey that will take them to the region where they will wait out the cold winter months. Enjoy them before they depart.

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To share a sighting, ask a question or make a comment, email me at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com.

Flamingo Fallout: Local couple makes two long-distance trips to see flamingos displaced by Hurricane Idalia

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Photo by Cathy McNeil • A lone American flamingo wades along the edge of a farm pond in Wayne County, Tennessee. The bird, and others of its kind, were displaced by Hurricane Idalia, blown from the Yucatan to 10 U.S. states, including Tennessee and the Carolinas.

 

I can’t say it often enough: Birds have wings! That’s the joy of birding. An unexpected bird can show up in the most unlikely locations, all thanks to the power of flight.

On occasion, Mother Nature lends a hand, too, as in the case with displaced American flamingos that have been found in at least 10 U.S. states, including Tennessee and North Carolina, in recent weeks. These refugees from the storm have found themselves achieving celebrity status as birders from across the country have flocked to find them after rare bird alerts popped up in several states.

“This has definitely been a flamingo week in the eastern United States,” Tom McNeil posted on his Facebook page. “Following the passage of Hurricane Idalia, displaced American flamingos have been located in ten or more states!”

On Sunday, Sept. 3, McNeil and his wife, Cathy, made a round-trip trek of 670 miles to see 11 American flamingos that had been found in the Outer Banks of North Carolina. The birds had been discovered on Sept 2.

“If I had not already been in North Carolina, I would have probably chosen to go see the five birds that had been found in Wayne County, Tennessee, on the same day,” McNeil wrote on Facebook.

“Lucky for us, one of the Tennessee birds stayed until Sept. 6 and we were able to go see it,” McNeil said.

The McNeils left their home in Carter County, Tennessee, at 3 a.m. and made the 830-mile round-trip drive to visit with a young flamingo for a few minutes.

That’s a lot of miles, but the McNeils enjoy chasing after rare or unexpected birds. Cathy McNeil even got a photo of the young flamingo.

It’s not even their first dash to the Outer Banks this year. Back on July 28, the couple traveled there to add a Pacific golden-plover to their life lists. “We were successful!” McNeil noted in a Facebook post.

He added some other interesting details.

“This is the fifth year that this bird has made a late July appearance in the Cape Point region of Hatteras Island,” he wrote. “It is thought to be the same bird. Luckily we were able to chase it this year.”

To add to the luck, this year the bird spent a lot of time in the Cape Point Campground.

“We were able to get it from the air-conditioned comfort of the car,” McNeil wrote. “No sand-marching required!”

Photo by Bryan Stevens • A Chilean flamingo at Zoo Atlanta. Pink Floyd, an escaped Chilean flamingo, haunted the Great Salt Lake in Utah for many years.

Once again, it bears repeating: Birds have wings!

The first storm-driven flamingos were spotted in Ohio. Afterwards, these birds showed up in North and South Carolina, Tennessee, Virginia, Alabama, Texas, Kentucky and even as far north as Pennsylvania.

National Public Radio even put the birds on air, so to speak, in a feature by Dustin Jones posted to the NPR website on Sept. 7. In that article, Nate Swick, digital communications manager for the American Birding Association, addressed the flamingo fallout.

As for the flamingos, these refugees from Hurricane Idalia will have to do their best to straggle home.

Swick noted that flamingos are big, strong birds, more than capable of making their way back home, just as they did in 2019 following Hurricane Barry when that storm hit the northern part of the Gulf of Mexico and drove a handful of flamingos to western Tennessee and Missouri.

Swick said that the consensus is that the flamingos swept up by Hurricane Idalia were likely birds from the Yucatan Peninsula, which separates the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean Sea.

Despite their name, American flamingos are not birds one is ever likely to find in the continental United States with the possible exception of Florida. Also known as the Caribbean flamingo, this bird lives in and around brackish water and saltwater environments, including marshes, estuaries and coastlines. Based on the range of this species, Caribbean flamingo is a more accurate name.

The species did once live wild in the Sunshine State, but the Florida population was hunted into extermination by the early 1900s. Most Florida American flamingos today are captive birds that have managed to escape from zoos and aviaries. A few are probably wandering individuals from the Caribbean.

There are six flamingo species found worldwide, but the American (Caribbean) flamingo is the only species native to North America. The other species are greater flamingo, lesser flamingo, Chilean flamingo, James’s flamingo and Andean flamingo.

Another famous flamingo vagrant by the name of Pink Floyd haunted the Great Salt Lake in Utah from 1988 to 2005. Pink Floyd was a captive Chilean flamingo living at the Tracy Aviary in downtown Salt Lake City who escaped and found that he was content to live life in the wild for 17 years.

I visited Tracy Aviary during a visit to Salt Lake City in 2008, a few years after the last sighting of Pink Floyd. Although the captive birds in Pink Floyd’s flock had their wing feathers clipped on a regular basis, Pink Floyd apparently avoided these sessions.

I think he had his escape in mind all along. The Great Salt Lake, teeming with brine shrimp, a favorite food of flamingos, beckoned him to spread his wings and fly to freedom. In the process, he became a local legend. Although he’s probably gone – it has been close to 20 years since the last sighting – keep in mind Chilean flamingos can live 40 to 50 years. If Pink Floyd is still living the life of a free bird, he might only be in his late 30s.

Once again, and everyone keep this in mind: Birds have wings! They can and do show up in the most unlikely places. Keep your eyes open.

Photo by Bryan Stevens • Chilean flamingos at Zoo Atlanta.

Nomadic crossbills are cone specialists

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Photo by Bryan Stevens • As cone specialists, red crossbills have evolved twisted beaks to get the job done.

This column originally ran Sept. 10, 2013, in The Erwin Record.

am seeing green herons on almost every visit I make to any local body of water. In the last week, I have seen this small heron at the pond at Erwin Fishery Park, at Musick’s Campground on South Holston Lake in Bristol and from the boardwalk over the pond along the linear trail near Erwin’s Riverview Industrial Park.

A green heron at Erwin Fishery Park was stalking dragonflies along the edge of the pond and appeared to be having good success at capturing these winged insects.

I saw the heron catch and eat several dragonflies while observing it.

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My mother and I made a trip to Carver’s Gap on Roan Mountain on Saturday, Aug. 3. We hadn’t even gotten out of the car when my mom noticed some red crossbills perched in the upper branches of some of the Fraser firs near the parking area at Carver’s Gap. We continued to watch the crossbills and counted a total of seven birds, although the flock may have consisted of a few additional members.

The observation of the red crossbills allowed me to add this bird to my 2013 list as Bird No. 170 for the year.

It’s going to be a challenge to get those other 30 species to reach the 200 mark for the year, but I am looking forward to it.

The crossbills were all busy ripping apart the new cones on the firs to get at the seeds. Feeding on cones must be a messy business because the feathers around their heads appeared matted in a few spots. I had never thought about it, but these birds must constantly get pine resin on their feathers as they use their crossed bills to pry open cones. One of the male crossbills made quick work of several cones, using his bill to take them apart with exquisite precision. He had the process honed into a science.

The red crossbill, known by the scientific name Loxia curvirostra, is a member of the finch family, which includes such well-known feeder-visiting birds as American goldfinch, house finch, purple finch and pine siksin. In Europe, the species is known by the name common crossbill.

Crossbills have distinctive beaks, which cross at the tips, enabling them to skillfully extract seeds from conifer cones and other fruits.

Red crossbills are rather nomadic and breed in areas with an abundant crop of cones. These birds may wander widely between years to find a good cone crop. Perhaps because of this year’s wet weather, there’s a bounty of new cones on the trees at Carver’s Gap, so it has been a good summer to look for red crossbills.

For many years, this was one of my “nemesis” birds. No matter how hard I tried, I kept striking out in attempts to observe the species. I made many trips to Unaka Mountain and to Carver’s Gap on Roan Mountain to look for this bird before I finally got a good look at a pair of birds picking up grit from gravel at the edge of the Carver’s Gap parking lot.

Experts debate how many species of crossbills exist, but the current consensus is that there are five species worldwide. In addition to the red crossbill, the white-winged crossbill lives in North America but is an even more rare visitor to Northeast Tennessee.

The other three species are the parrot crossbill of northwest Europe and western Russia, the Scottish crossbill of the Caledonian Forests of Scotland and the Hispaniolan crossbill of the Caribbean island of Haiti and the Dominican Republic.

After observing the crossbills and taking several photos, we made the ascent to the grassy balds to look for other birds. I held some hope of finding a vesper sparrow, but these small birds never made an appearance.

I did observe common yellowthroats, golden- crowned kinglets, American robins, gray catbirds, cedar waxwings, dark-eyed juncos and Northern ravens during my hike on the balds.

When we returned to the parking lot at Carver’s Gap, we found some stands of blooming bee balm, which attracted visits from several ruby-throated hummingbirds.

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I received an email this past week from Crystal Miller about a fascinating observation of bald eagles on Friday, July 26, 2013.

“I was rafting down the lower Nolichucky River, in Tennessee, just past the Devil’s Looking Glass,” Crystal wrote. She was rafting with five other people when they saw a huge nest on the right side of the river. She said the nest was fully occupied, except for one parent circling overhead.

“The other parent was a few feet from the nest, while other younger eagles were closer, inside and around the nest,” she wrote. “We paddled against the current as long as the river would allow before we succumbed to the river.”

Crystal said others on the raft took pictures of the eagles and the nest.

“None of the younger eagles had white, or bald heads, but one I noticed had incredibly large legs,” she wrote.

She described her rafting adventure as the “best trip ever.”

Crystal also shared that her mother was born and grew up along the river and that her grandmother still lives in a house near the river.

“That eagle nest made me happy,” she concluded.

Crystal’s sighting of this family of eagles is more evidence that this once endangered national bird is indeed fully recovered and thriving.

Earlier this year, I learned of reports of a bald eagle nest in Unicoi County near the Devil’s Looking Glass. It’s very likely Crystal’s story provides more evidence that the nesting was successful.

Other eagles also successfully nested in Sullivan County and Washington County. A nest at Wilbur Lake in Carter County, unfortunately, was destroyed during a powerful storm this past spring.

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Bryan Stevens has written about birds since 1995. Email him at ahoodedwarbler@aol.com to share a sighting, ask a question or make a comment.