Thursday, February 14, 2008
Known by the company they keep
The in-laws were in town last week, and as avid birders they couldn't pass up a drive through the Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge. They were thrilled at the sight of a golden eagle and just a little ho hum at spotting four bald eagles.
The dramatic recovery of the bald eagle's population is one of the great environmental success stories in modern times. I remember vividly a visit by the same birders about a decade ago. They were driving across the Dover Bridge crossing the upper Choptank when they sighted a mature bald eagle soaring low over the river. You'd have thought they discovered the Holy Grail, so great was their disbelief and excitement.
On this recent trip, they were mildly surprised to find that the golden eagle was hanging out with a group of vultures. It makes sense, of course. Vultures are the official sanitation crew for roadkill and carrion in general, a taste not disdained by eagles. Fish comprise some 90 percent of eagles' diets, but they're not fussy about freebies when the opportunity arrives.
All the same, it's hard to associate these regal beauties with the likes of vultures; even if you count the degree of baldness as a measure of merit, vultures would win by a mile. It has been surmised that their leathery, hairless pates are a function of hygiene, since they routinely stick their heads into gore. Really, it doesn't bear thinking about.
Speaking of eagles, I read this week that "Hunting with a partner, an eagle can bring down a deer." A piece by William K. Stevens under the title, "Birds of a Feather often Kill Together," states, "The majestic image of the lone eagle may often hold true, but scientists are also beginning to piece together a more complex picture of eagles, hawks and falcons as team players whose hunting tactics and keen intelligence invite comparison with the wolf and the fox."
"Eagles, in fact, not only mount concerted and successful attacks on the fox itself...by acting together, they are even able to bring down big animals like deer, antelopes and African bush-bucks."
Our local eagles may or may not fit that pattern. Most likely they are busy these days with home renovations. Nests are being readied for mating in two or three weeks from now, I'm told by a Blackwater staffer.
On the home front, flibbitygibbets rule the roost. Well, not actually the roost, which is unknown to me, but certainly the backyard feeders. Chickadees are all motion, all incessant energy as they swoop into the feeder, grab a mouthful and exit without breaking stride. Their bosom buddies are the tufted titmice that catch the contagious sense of rush-rush fun. I have watched chickadees hang upside down on a twig and poke its bill into a pine cone. The search is constant to find a seed or a tidbit hidden in a crevice.
The chickadee spends all day every day hunting for food. As Pat Furgurson writes, "He is driven by his metabolism, by a body temperature of 108 degrees and a heart that beats a thousand times a minute when he is up and on the job ... Such a heart demands constant hunting and feeding, which is why we never see the chickadee perched on high, rendering elaborate arias like the operatic mockingbird."
Now and again a nuthatch joins the crowd, but never seems to capture the frantic pace of chickadees. Nuthatches simply defy gravity. What a strange bird! It walks down a tree trunk head first, upside down. It circles the trunk methodically amid the flurry, the comings and goings of chickadees, titmice, sparrows, a pair of cardinals and a mockingbird that alights on the fence rail and quickly departs, wanting nothing to do with such a crowded lunch spot.
The nuthatch ignores it all. His bill is slightly tilted at the tip and he uses it to flick off bits of tree bark. That's where bugs have taken shelter to wait out the winter. He spirals down, sending a shower of chips in his wake. There's none of the nervous flitting and chatter of his neighbors. Feeding is just a job for the nuthatch, and when he's finished canvassing one tree he moves on to the next.
It's a wonder I get any writing done with all the action on the other side of my window. The last 15 minutes have been a circus and now, quite abruptly, the backyard is vacant. I don't see the sharp-shinned hawk, but it may be in the vicinity. Even the squirrels have disappeared, the same party crashers that knocked the big feeder askew twice already this morning.
On balance, the company I keep charms the socks off me.
The dramatic recovery of the bald eagle's population is one of the great environmental success stories in modern times. I remember vividly a visit by the same birders about a decade ago. They were driving across the Dover Bridge crossing the upper Choptank when they sighted a mature bald eagle soaring low over the river. You'd have thought they discovered the Holy Grail, so great was their disbelief and excitement.
On this recent trip, they were mildly surprised to find that the golden eagle was hanging out with a group of vultures. It makes sense, of course. Vultures are the official sanitation crew for roadkill and carrion in general, a taste not disdained by eagles. Fish comprise some 90 percent of eagles' diets, but they're not fussy about freebies when the opportunity arrives.
All the same, it's hard to associate these regal beauties with the likes of vultures; even if you count the degree of baldness as a measure of merit, vultures would win by a mile. It has been surmised that their leathery, hairless pates are a function of hygiene, since they routinely stick their heads into gore. Really, it doesn't bear thinking about.
Speaking of eagles, I read this week that "Hunting with a partner, an eagle can bring down a deer." A piece by William K. Stevens under the title, "Birds of a Feather often Kill Together," states, "The majestic image of the lone eagle may often hold true, but scientists are also beginning to piece together a more complex picture of eagles, hawks and falcons as team players whose hunting tactics and keen intelligence invite comparison with the wolf and the fox."
"Eagles, in fact, not only mount concerted and successful attacks on the fox itself...by acting together, they are even able to bring down big animals like deer, antelopes and African bush-bucks."
Our local eagles may or may not fit that pattern. Most likely they are busy these days with home renovations. Nests are being readied for mating in two or three weeks from now, I'm told by a Blackwater staffer.
On the home front, flibbitygibbets rule the roost. Well, not actually the roost, which is unknown to me, but certainly the backyard feeders. Chickadees are all motion, all incessant energy as they swoop into the feeder, grab a mouthful and exit without breaking stride. Their bosom buddies are the tufted titmice that catch the contagious sense of rush-rush fun. I have watched chickadees hang upside down on a twig and poke its bill into a pine cone. The search is constant to find a seed or a tidbit hidden in a crevice.
The chickadee spends all day every day hunting for food. As Pat Furgurson writes, "He is driven by his metabolism, by a body temperature of 108 degrees and a heart that beats a thousand times a minute when he is up and on the job ... Such a heart demands constant hunting and feeding, which is why we never see the chickadee perched on high, rendering elaborate arias like the operatic mockingbird."
Now and again a nuthatch joins the crowd, but never seems to capture the frantic pace of chickadees. Nuthatches simply defy gravity. What a strange bird! It walks down a tree trunk head first, upside down. It circles the trunk methodically amid the flurry, the comings and goings of chickadees, titmice, sparrows, a pair of cardinals and a mockingbird that alights on the fence rail and quickly departs, wanting nothing to do with such a crowded lunch spot.
The nuthatch ignores it all. His bill is slightly tilted at the tip and he uses it to flick off bits of tree bark. That's where bugs have taken shelter to wait out the winter. He spirals down, sending a shower of chips in his wake. There's none of the nervous flitting and chatter of his neighbors. Feeding is just a job for the nuthatch, and when he's finished canvassing one tree he moves on to the next.
It's a wonder I get any writing done with all the action on the other side of my window. The last 15 minutes have been a circus and now, quite abruptly, the backyard is vacant. I don't see the sharp-shinned hawk, but it may be in the vicinity. Even the squirrels have disappeared, the same party crashers that knocked the big feeder askew twice already this morning.
On balance, the company I keep charms the socks off me.
# posted by Richard Polk @ 10:28 AM 
