bird conservation -- Bird-of-the-Month
We feature a bird-of the-month in each of our eNewsletters. Enjoy these articles and check out the links to additional information. Thanks to naturalist and writer David Cronenwett.
Visit David at his blogspot: A View from Aerie Mountain.
- Gray Jay - January 2012
- Gyrfalcon - December 2011
- Turkey Vulture - November 2011
- Clark's Nutcracker - September 2011
- Sandhill Crane - August 2011
- Northern Goshawk - July 2011
- David Sibley (Bird-er!) - June 21011
- Golden Eagle - May 2011
- Long-billed Curlew - April 2011
- Common Loon - March 2011
- Northern Hawk Owl - February 2011
- American Dipper - January 2011
- Black-Capped Chickadee - December 2010
- Prairie Falcon - November 2010
- Sprague's Pipit - October 2010
- Red Crossbill - September 2010
Gray Jay -- Whiskey Jack - January 2012. by david cronenwett
There is so much snow here now, after the driest December on record, that its difficult to get my head around it. At the cabin, a foot is on the ground with a lot more on the way. The temperatures are respectable too, -22 this morning. Deep cold is punishing to wildlife, especially small-bodied creatures like birds. The relatively few species that winter in Montana must have adaptations to cope with dramatic weather events like blasts of polar air and attendant snowfall. Among the birds that stay are the Corvids; crows, ravens and jays. These are not species that many people hold in high regard for various reasons, but mostly, I think it is their commonness and comfort around humans that we resent. Our kind does tend to take the familiar for granted. However, these resident birds are some of the more interesting ones in Montana. Among the large-brained corvids we can observe in the forest this time of year is the Gray Jay or “Whiskey Jack” (Perisoreus canadensis).
Gray Jays range from the Canadian Maritimes to Alaska and down the Rockies to northern New Mexico. They are strongly associated with particular conifer species. In Montana, forests where Englemann spruce and Lodgepole pine are present provide the best habitat. It is thought that the configuration of their bark scales enable the birds to more easily cache food. Also, the antimicrobial properties in the resin and bark of these trees in addition to the cool temperatures of the subalpine environment, help to preserve food caches for long periods of time. Recent studies suggest that climate change may be affecting the southern range of the Gray Jay, in part because warmer average temperatures may be spoiling the bird’s caches. The astonishing memory capacity of the Jay enable it to revisit thousands of cache locations. They are omnivorous and will consume everything from berries to insects to live nestlings of other bird species.
Like other corvids, the Gray Jay has complex social and breeding behaviors. Because they inhabit subalpine forests year round, they are among the earliest to nest, which can be March or earlier in Montana. More dominant chicks will eventually force less dominant siblings to leave the nest, where many undoubtedly perish. In the following breeding year, dominant “stayer” chicks will help with the raising of their parent’s new young during the post-fledgling period. Generally, Gray Jays mate for life, although they will find new mates should their original one disappear or die.
The bird goes by many names to those of us who spend time in its habitat. “Camp Robber” is a popular one, due the critter’s propensity for helping themselves to human food. “Whiskey Jack” has more interesting origins. It is derived from the corruption of aboriginal terms for “Wiskedjak”. Native peoples across of the Great Lakes and boreal north have in their cosmologies a spirit-guide/trickster figure by this name, which is culturally attached to the Gray Jay. During the frontier period, settlers likely Anglicized the name, which is still very common in some regions, particularly in Canada.
The woods are utterly silent today. I’m on snowshoes atop two feet of new powder in a mixed-montane forest along the South Fork Teton. After a fresh dump like this and with ambient temperatures below zero, there is very little activity or signs of life out here. I’ve run traps in this forest before, camped here and interpreted the area for many people. Often too, I have been accompanied on my travels in this area by Whiskey Jacks, swooping down in their slow-motion way, to investigate and look for a handout. In the stillness, I can imagine the caribou hunters of the northern forests, missing the winter migrations and facing the bitterly cold silence of starvation. We know that some of these people, who hunted by snowshoe in small bands during winter, would sometimes be visited by Whiskey Jacks. The birds must have been welcome companionship to Ojibwe and Cree hunters. In good times, the people might leave scraps of caribou for the Jays, offerings for the worldly incarnation of Weskedjak. And in other times, the birds were gratefully trapped for survival.
I’m hoping to see Gray Jays now, waiting for their startling, gentle appearance. I wait, but there is nothing except silence in the forest today. There is nothing.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com
Gray Jays are already on the losing side of a warming world. Read about Gray Jays and climate change (takes you to a different section of our web site).
For more information see the Montana Field Guide - Gray Jay
gyrfalcon - december 2011. by david cronenwett
Description: "Rare in expansive open spaces such as tundra, marshes, and farmland. Nests on cliff ledges. Solitary. Hunts from perch or in low level flight, using ground contours for cover; less often from high in the air. Feeds on birds and smaller mammals. Color ranges from dark brownish-gray to almost pure white."
– From the Sibley Guide to Birds
The high Arctic, far to the north, is the domain of the Gyrfalcon (Falco rusticolus), earth’s largest member of the family Falconidae. While they occasionally disperse to the south in winter, the birds are strongly tied to circumpolar tundra landscapes and will breed only there. Like others falcons, it has structural adaptations which enable it to achieve remarkable speeds. Unlike its cousin the Peregrine which will “stoop” on birds from high in the air, the Gyrfalcon generally hunts horizontally and relatively close the ground. Much of what a Gyr consumes is Ptarmigan; the grouse-like bird of the northern barrens. In some locations, it comprises 95% of the falcon’s diet. This relationship has been likened to other well-known predator-prey bonds such as Canada Lynx and Snowshoe Hare. However, this strong dependence makes the Gyrfalcon vulnerable to environmental change and upheaval. Like the polar bear, Gyr’s are considered apex-level predators of the Arctic and therefore are viewed as indicators of overall ecosystem health.
In some regions, scientists have already observed Ptarmigan moving northward and up mountain slopes in response to climate change. It is still unclear what effect this will have on Gyrfalcon populations, but there are other concerns. Warming temperatures have enabled Peregrine falcons to move into tundra habitats from the south and directly compete with Gyrfalcons for nesting sites and prey. This is not an insignificant development since the Peregrine, while a smaller bird, is much more aggressive than its larger cousin. Because of its naturally low population density and relative isolation from other species, wild Gyrfalcons have poorly developed immune systems. They are highly vulnerable to diseases found near human settlements including avian influenza. Increasing human traffic in the Arctic due to new shipping lanes opening could introduce pathogens which the bird is not prepared to deal with. Additionally, more industrial activity could threaten the Gyr and many other species with pollution and outright disturbance.
Gyrfalcons have been present in the Arctic for a very long time and are known to use nesting areas repeatedly. In the summer of 2009, researchers in Greenland conclusively dated (via DNA analysis) a cliff nest in continual use by Gyrfalcons for over 2,500 years. The oldest feather recovered from the site was 670 years old. Other nests in the area also showed millennia-long use by Gyrfalcons. Interestingly, the birds in this region of Greenland (closer to the ocean and farther from the ice sheet) have a more diversified diet than other populations.
The origins of the term “Gyrfalcon” are not known. Gyr (pronounced, “Jer”) is a prefix believed to derive from Old High German but its meaning is not agreed upon by linguists. It is the least studied falcon in the world but with intense scientific interest in the Arctic now, great attention is being paid to the species and its ecology. The bird does have a long association with humans; it has been used in falconry for centuries and many Gyrs and hybrids thereof are still used for this purpose today.
Gyrfalcons are considered rare winter visitors in Montana. Last January as I was engaging in “drive-by birding” in the Freezeout area, a huge, low flying slate grey falcon took my breath away. I involuntarily blurted the word “Gyrfalcon!” as if to convey my excitement to the mile-long convoy of cars I was holding up behind me. I probably saw the bird for about ten seconds and when I stopped and turned back to get a better look, it was gone. This bird, a messenger from the Far North, left me with a brief glimpse of its existence and difficult questions as to whether its remote Arctic world would persist in the way we had come to know it, over time. And these thoughts hold my attention.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com
For more information see the Montana Field Guide - Gyrfalcon
Turkey Vulture - November 2011. by david cronenwett
Description: "Common. Usually seen high overhead, cruising for carrion. Roosts in trees or on structures. Nests on the ground in crevices or hollow logs. Solitary or in small groups. Note large size, dark color and distinctive flight with wings raised in dihedral and tilting side to side."
– From the Sibley Guide to Birds
Many times when birding on the open prairie, I’ve spotted a large, dark form soaring against the sky. Having finally learned not to be too quick to judge with birds, I give my eyes a moment to pick out diagnostic features of the animal. While it has large, obvious primaries and dark overall coloration similar to a golden eagle, I notice a much steeper “V” angle in its wing position and a tipping/ rocking behavior that is more characteristic of another bird. I resist a feeling of disappointment as I identify this one as a Turkey Vulture (Cathartes aura). If I’m out with others, there is a near universal sigh at this proclamation; “oh, it’s just a vulture” is often the response.
In our society, the Turkey Vulture and other scavengers are generally considered to be filthy harbingers of death that completely lack nobility. Indeed, the word vulture itself derives from the Latin, “tearer”, in reference to the bird’s scavenging ways. But when we look at this creature more closely, we find some amazing adaptations in an animal that is widely misunderstood and maligned by our kind.
Vultures appeared on earth roughly 50 million years ago, coinciding with the emergence of large numbers of grazing animals. There are 15 species of Old World vultures and 7 New World. Despite their physical resemblance, vultures of the Americas are not directly related to those of Asia, Europe or Africa. The similarities in behavior and morphology seem to be a result of convergent evolution; the mysterious tendency for some adaptations to appear in unrelated species. The taxonomy of vultures is not universally agreed upon; some consider the birds to be a type of raptor and include them in the Order Faconiformes. Others place them in Ciconiiformes along with storks and ibises.
The Turkey Vulture (or “TV”) is a large bird with a 67-inch wingspan. The overall coloring is dark and the bald, bright-red head of adults is where the turkey comparison arises. These birds summer in Montana and migrate in large numbers southward in the fall, in a similar manner as raptors. TV’s do not possess a syrinx (vocal organ) that other birds do. Therefore, they are largely silent, occasionally making soft clucking or hissing sounds. These animals are strongly adapted for scavenging. They have a sense of smell, very rare for any bird, that can detect a few parts per trillion of certain odors that emit from decomposing carcasses. This, coupled with excellent eyesight and a tendency to soar for hours, makes Turkey Vultures a patient and effective forager.
The baldness of all vultures is a curious feature that is related to cleanliness; because they spend so much time feeding in a bacteria-rich environment, their featherless head is an elegant way to prevent bits of meat from being carried off and infecting the bird. Urinating on its own feet is a way to directly kill bacteria and the stomach acids of vultures is especially potent for the same reason. Because TV’s have rather weak bills and feet, they often need to wait for another scavenger to open up a carcass before they are able to feed. These are very passive, defenseless birds. It is interesting that they have essentially no natural predators. Almost as if the rest of the natural world recognizes the important role that Turkey Vultures play in the Dance of Life.
The bird’s binomial description depicts this animal as something other than a hideous creature of dread. The genus Cathartes derives from the same Greek root as the term cathartic; that is, to purify, cleanse and purge. The idea of release is also implied. Their species name, aura refers to wind, breeze and soaring. In some Himalayan societies, vultures are venerated and play an essential part of the Sky Burial practice. Tibetan Buddhists view the human form as transitory and once a person dies and their soul reincarnates elsewhere, the body is brought to a sacred location, ritually dismembered and offered to vultures. Here, life’s preciousness and impermanence is accepted and honored.
At this time of Thanksgiving, when many people are at least somewhat aware that our lives are directly sustained by the bodies of other creatures, we might begin to consider the necessary but sometimes unpleasant processes of Nature. I imagine a band of early humans on a savannah landscape many thousands of years ago. These could be any of our ancestors, and they are not unaccustomed to suffering and starvation. We are ineffective hunters at this time, and our existence on planet earth is tenuous at best. But there in the distance, is a large swirling vortex of dark birds. The people know what this means; the gift of food and survival for another few days. Maybe these humans make simple offerings to the Vultures for again leading them directly to another meal. 
We might now see the humble Turkey Vulture as a symbol of something larger; a reminder of how life itself works. TV’s are critical players in the timeless exchange that drives all ecosystems, and we can’t help but consider that fact when we see them on a carcass, doing their thing, moving energy from one form to the next. These birds are not ignoble wretches but, rather, instruments of immortality.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com
For more information see the Montana Field Guide - Turkey Vulture
cLARK'S NUTCRACKER - SEPTEMBER 2011. by david cronenwett
Description: “Uncommon in mature mixed coniferous forests in mountains, usually near open rocky areas. Usually in groups. Pale gray color and black and white wings and tail distinctive. “ From the Sibley guide to birds." – From the Sibley Guide to Birds
If you spend time in country where prairie and mountains come together, you probably have observed Clark’s Nutcrackers (Nucifraga columbiana). This striking bird, a member of the family Corvidae, (crows, ravens and jays) is a well-known inhabitant of the Rocky Mountain West. Like other Corvids, they are gregarious, vocal and highly intelligent. Much of Nutcracker ecology revolves around their extraordinary capacity for storing conifer seeds. For example, because the birds are able to feed chicks earlier in the season, hatching generally occurs in March or April, far ahead of other birds present in the Rockies. They are monogamous and both sexes care for the young. Nutcracker’s are listed as a Species of Concern by the State of Montana. Though nomadic, they are considered non-migratory.
The bird has mutualistic relationships with two species of five-needle pines: Whitebark and Limber. The high elevation Whitebark Pine (Pinus albicaulis) is entirely dependent on animal-based seed dispersal since its cones cannot open any other way, and the Clark’s has a stout, sharp bill which makes quick work of collecting. The Limber Pine (Pinus flexilis) is not so limited but similarly benefits from the work of the Nutcracker. Each fall, the birds will transport pine nuts in a sublingual (under-the-tongue) pouch to cache locations, sometimes miles apart over a large territory. They can recall several thousand cache sites up to nine months later and are capable of retrieving them even through snow. Although they do have a more varied diet during other seasons, Clark’s Nutcrackers absolutely depend on the energy of stored pine nuts for their winter and early spring survival. Invariably however, some birds will die or simply not use all of its food stores and this is how the trees benefit, since the bird is essentially planting a future generation each year.
Clark’s Nutcrackers are thought to have inhabited North America for about 2 million years. The Blackfeet called this creature, “Gum Eater” for the prodigious quantity of pitch on its bill while visiting the pines in late summer. It is important to note that the Whitebark Pine is in precipitous decline in the West due to an introduced fungal disease (blister rust), native pine beetle activity, fire suppression and probably stress from climate change. However, the Nutcracker could play an unexpected role in the species’ survival; since there are a small percentage of trees that are genetically resistant to blister rust, the birds will select seeds from these survivors and disperse their genes across the landscape.
The genius of this animal is its ability to remember, across time and landscape, where its food caches are located. And they do so with incredible accuracy. An enlarged part of the brain called the hippocampus accounts for this. Last season was an overwhelmingly good one for cone production in my neck of the woods. I spent the better part of some days watching Clark’s Nutcrackers flying from the foothills, throats bulging with Limber Pine seeds, into the higher mountains. I felt I was witnessing a staggering airlift operation in which thousands of individual birds were taking part. It’s natural to consider that the birds were acting in their own, immediate self-interest. But then I allowed myself to think longer term; that these creatures were moving an unquantifiable tonnage of genetic material to hidden locations, perhaps places further from the threat of an exotic pine disease or into recently burned lands. They create so many caches, it boggles the mind. Most will be revisited and consumed, but some will not. The remarkable behavior of the Nutcracker then, is linked to time; the past, when it cached its seeds; the present moment when it revisits and consumes them, and to the future forest of five needle pines it enables, which will in turn sustain generations of Nutcrackers and many other organisms.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com
Note: We are concerned about the nutcracker's preferred food source, the whitebark pine nut. Warmer winters are allowing pine beetles to survive at higher elevations and whitebarks continue to die-off in concerning numbers. For more see our Birds and Climate Stories section.
For more information see the Montana Field Guide - Clark's Nutcracker
sandhill crane - august 2011. by david cronenwett
Description: Common locally; can be found in very large numbers at a few habitual gathering places. Nests in open meadows, winters in marshes or farmland. Entirely gray plumage distinctive. Performs elaborate dancing displays in courtship. – From the Sibley Guide to Birds
On the prairies of Montana, a particular rite of spring begins around the middle of May, dear to the hearts of many birders. This is when the Sandhill Crane (Grus Canadensis) begins an intricate mating ritual. There are only 15 species of cranes worldwide and many of them are in dangerous population declines. Although several subspecies occur in North America, the Greater and Lesser Sandhills are the most common in Montana. Unmated birds will begin bonding with a process of “unison calling”; this involves complex and lengthy vocalizations where each sex moves through a series of specific postures and spatial relationships with the other. The process can go on for some time and has the appearance of the birds trying to find a mutual, harmonic resonance with its potential mate. As if each is asking the other, “are you sure?” A lot rides on this initial bonding since once joined, they will stay together for life and return to the same breeding grounds year after year.
It is now that the greater ceremony gets underway. Watching these very large birds as they hop, bow, flutter and throw their heads back to the sky, it is not a stretch to see how humans were instructed by Nature long ago in ecstatic, ritual dance. The behavior can become infectious in groups of birds, even those not of breeding age, which means the activity likely serves other functions in Crane society than strictly reproductive. Indeed, one gets the feeling that Sandhill Cranes understand something profound about beauty and the joy of living as evidenced by these displays.
Sandhills range widely across the continent. Breeding habitat occurs in the Rocky Mountain West and large areas in the Boreal regions of Canada. The birds gather in enormous numbers during migration and in wintering areas. Well known spots to view these mass-gatherings are in western Nebraska and the Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge in New Mexico. Sandhills make fall migrations as a family group, with their offspring. All cranes are dependent on grassland and wetland habitats, ecosystems that are highly susceptible to degradation globally. It should be no surprise then that the majority of the world’s crane species are in significant decline, some rapidly. Through progressive management, Sandhill Crane populations are very robust across North America. They are considered opportunistic omnivores, feeding on seeds, vegetation and small animals such as mice and frogs.
Cranes are known to be very loud birds and there are anatomical reasons for it. Their ability to be heard for miles is due to resonator structures inside the neck and sternum which vibrate during vocalizations, increasing volume dramatically. Another interesting adaptation these birds possess is the black pigment of the primary feathers which strengthen and protects them from wear; very useful during long and treacherous migrations. An ongoing mystery about Sandhill coloring suggests that during migration, the birds preen themselves with “iron-rich sediments”, giving them a rusty color for a portion of the year. I find it difficult to believe that many thousands of birds each find such reliable soil deposits and coat themselves so evenly with it annually. Another theory is that the birds’ diets contain material that could influence plumage color, but this doesn’t work either because their color goes from gray to rusty red before they molt in late summer, when a diet-induced color change would become apparent. There is simply no good explanation for this phenomenon but it seems even cursory research and feather analysis could produce an answer.
I’ve never witnessed the gaudy, spectacular gatherings these birds are best known for, but have had more haunting moments with them. One September while glassing the Front country from a low butte, I caught sight of a solitary Sandhill Crane about a mile and a half from where I was sitting, backdropped by the dramatic uplift of Ear Mountain to the west. It appeared to be gliding and after a few moments, I could tell that the bird was flying in a very large upward spiral. Birds frequently take advantage of thermal uplift where mountains collide with prairie. Why waste energy flapping wings when you can get a free ride? This creature surely understood the practice of calorie conservation, slowly rising upward, circling. I couldn’t imagine how long this would continue. I scanned the country for other signs of life, but this late in the season, did not turn up much. Again I looked up and found the Sandhill deep in the sky, barely visible; it had gained several thousand feet in the forty or so minutes I’d been tracking it. Just when it reached an unbelievable apogee, the bird disengaged itself from the updraft (which was probably losing energy by that time) and accelerated rapidly in a descent towards the south.
The country felt more vacant now that this straggler had found his silent and beautiful exit. I thought wistfully of spring and the return of his kind and their remarkable dancing. But it would be months until then so for the moment I’m left with a heavy sense of a more hush and less ecstatic landscape and its long and coming winter.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com.
For more information see the Montana Field Guide - Sandhill Crane
Northern Goshawk - july 2011. by david cronenwett
Description: Uncommon to rare. Found in very small numbers in forests where clearings, wetlands or other features provide open areas. Nests in tall trees, nearly always solitary. Adult plumage is distinctive with pale underparts and bold face pattern. – From the Sibley Guide to Birds
I’m walking in the foothills of the Lewis & Clark National Forest this morning; still kind of bleary-eyed and not as alert as I should be. At 5200’ elevation, this country is a textbook example of the Montane ecotype; a paradise of lush meadows interspersed with Douglas Fir-dominated forest. It is the kind of landscape that our ancestral hunters would have sought out, with excellent grazing habitat and wooded areas in ideal proportion. Low-angle morning light casts a glow on this quiet world. When I come around a bend in the trail a striking, slate-colored blur catches my eye. It flies directly into a dense thicket of trees without slowing. Even in my dreamlike state, I’m surprised, gasping when it registers in my mind what I’ve seen; the “Gray Ghost” of the woods, a Northern Goshawk (Acciptiter gentilis).
This bird is the largest of our three Accipiter species in Montana. It is a creature that often prefers mature forests for nesting, especially those near meadow complexes; ecotones, where two or more habitats meet, are very productive hunting areas for these aggressive raptors. Goshawks (from the Old English “Goose Hawk”) are capable of impressive speeds when diving on prey, which is interesting given their wing structure, like that of Cooper’s Hawks and other forest dwelling birds, is rather short and broad and not really suited for high speed. This design, in addition to the bird’s notably long tail, is all about maneuverability through dense woods. To witness them pursue a grouse or other animal into a thicket is a remarkable experience. A Goshawk will fold its wings back to fly through very tight spaces between branches. This has the effect of reducing overall lift, but the bird compensates for this by fanning out its substantial tail.
Like all raptors in the Accipidridae family, Goshawks have oversized optical nerves and more than 1 million photo-receptor cells per-square millimeter in their retinas (by comparison, humans have about 200,000 per-square millimeter). This means they absorb a tremendous amount of visual information at great distances and can process it instantly. An interesting mental exercise is to imagine this bird, watching an animated film; where we would see a continuous flow of movement, the raptor sees a broken stream of choppy pictures, because it has sophisticated optical-neurological hardware capable of teasing the images apart. The Goshawk uses this great visual acuity to hunt the birds and small mammals it relies upon in both open and densely forested habitats.
These secretive birds are considered a Species of Concern by the State of Montana. Improper timber harvest activities pose a threat to Goshawk nesting habitat. It is currently unknown how natural processes like wildfire and beetle outbreaks will affect the species over time. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service was petitioned in 1997 to list the bird under the Endangered Species Act, but such an action was deemed not warranted. Clearly, more research is needed to assess the overall population trend in the Northern Rockies.
I can’t be certain if I stumbled upon a nesting area on my walk today. The habitat looks right, but anyone concerned with their own wellbeing should avoid an active nest site, since this bird will defend it with tremendous vigor. I know more than one person who has been knocked to the forest floor and bloodied by a Goshawk defending its nest. Literature suggests that pronounced aggression by Goshawks in this way may be a defensive adaptation related to black bears preying on chicks. In a typical season, the bird will produce 2-4 eggs per clutch and hatching occurs between 28-38 days. Both parents provide food for the young. Like many birds of prey, Northern Goshawks exhibit a dramatic size differential between the sexes. One explanation for this is that it allows the raptors to hunt in different niches; the larger females can take hares and bigger birds while the males will stick to smaller fare like mice and voles. Such a system improves the overall intake of food for the young.
The following week, I’m on the same walk, thinking about the Goshawk I flushed and hoping to get another look. It’s also early morning and again, I’m coffeeless, in that waking dream state, with the strange sensation that no time has passed since I saw the bird here seven days ago. But something is different now when I come to that same bit of forest; instead of a flash of gray through trees, I see blonde-gold and hear a thump. As I instinctively draw my pepper spray, a beautiful, grizzly-looking black bear materializes, looks at me through the woods, and ambles off. I know now that my expectation to see the Goshawk again is probably unwarranted since I encounter far more bears, both blacks and grizzlies in a season, than that particular bird. And it makes me think about an evolutionary link between bears and the secretive “Gray Ghost”. I’m standing here questioning if sleepy eyes have deceived me, if any of these events happened at all. This remarkable ebb and flow of species sharing habitat over time, shaping one another, and me stumbling through a country of such dreamy possibilities.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com.
For more information see the Montana Field Guide - Northern Goshawk
david sibley - june 2011. by david cronenwett
Note: This month instead of a "Bird of the Month" we feature a "Birder of the Month" - enjoy.
“All birds look different to my dad.” I’ll never forget when Evan said that to me. It was a few summers ago on a sweltering day in the high mountains of the Front. We were on a long hike when he and I stopped to discuss the field marks of our local warblers. “Wait, what?” was my initial reaction. Evan, the eldest son of renowned artist and author David Sibley just looked at me and smiled. What he meant and what I quickly realized was not that all bird species appeared different to his father, but all individual birds. And this gave me great pause. I had been working hard to expand upon fairly novice birding skills since my position as Pine Butte Guest Ranch naturalist requires a certain level of expertise. But at that moment with Evan on the mountain, I realized how far it was possible to go with knowledge and what true mastery looks like. I’m pretty sure I just stood there for a minute with my mouth open.
I’ve had the pleasure of co-instructing bird workshops at Pine Butte with David for the past five seasons and it is always an illuminating experience. This is a person who has researched, studied and painted essentially every bird in North America. He understands their molt patterns, behavior, regional occurrence, and feather structure. And he recognizes all of their voices, regularly pulling birds out of thin air by their songs and calls with a precision that is uncanny. In fact, I have never been around another human being with greater visual and aural perception skills. Far from being intimidating, his gentle disposition draws one closer into a world of avian richness that few others hold the key to. One has the feeling of being in the presence of a soft-spoken but heavy-duty genius.
People come from great distances to chase birds across the Front; with the meeting of montane forests, wetlands, and native prairies comes spectacular avian diversity. And the scenery isn’t bad either. This season, we had a full house of 16 from all over and of varying experience. Not everyone was a hard-core bird nut, but all were jazzed about being at Pine Butte with The Maestro. Our bird workshops are an interesting blend of David’s relaxed demeanor combined with participants’ enthusiasm for picking up unique species. These often include sensitive grassland birds like Sprague’s Pipit, McCown’s Longspur, Ferruginous Hawk, and Long-billed Curlew. All told, we observed 150 species and added the Purple Finch, Lewis’ Woodpecker and Indigo Bunting to the official workshop list. Natural history interpretation often requires great attention to detail, and this is one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned from David Sibley: the art of seeing what is there. That is, trying not to let expectations influence observation. One could imagine a better life and world if we could each embody such a simple, Zen-like idea. And this leads me to an amusing story.
On last year’s workshop I decided to play a practical joke on our esteemed instructor. Like many of us, David is something of a techie; he uses his iPhone to play recordings of bird vocalizations to help people understand regional differences and to occasionally bring species into viewable range. I decided to surreptitiously play an unusual bird on my own device to see if David would notice and of course, enjoy his reaction. I wanted it to be a bird far enough out of its range to be really striking, but not something totally improbable. I decided on a Canada Warbler and played it here and there throughout the week.
Finally, near the end of the workshop while we were birding in a local campground, he whipped his head around in astonishment; the bait had been taken. I feigned ignorance and followed him as he led the group on a fruitless journey to locate the warbler. I later told David and the others and we all had a good laugh about it. But there was a serious side to the gag, particularly regarding perception. He did actually hear a Canada Warbler, a digital playback that was good enough to fool the best in the business. If I hadn’t confessed, a record of that bird could have appeared on a map as an actual observance, and given David’s reputation, no one would question its veracity. Also, as a group we contemplated ethical questions of using electronics that potentially alter bird behavior, as well as the issue of becoming overly dependent on high-tech devices while we are in natural places, ostensibly to be free of such things. Though devilish, the prank did lead to a productive discussion.
I do a significant amount of birding on my own both on the job and off, and see plenty of great species. But weird things happen when Mr. Sibley comes to town. Like finding the southernmost known breeding pair of Northern Hawk Owls, observing a Prairie Falcon preying on Marbled Godwit young or seeing Burrowing Owls where they were previously unobserved. On the morning of his departure, David went for a short walk into the woods surrounding the buildings at Pine Butte. Not unexpectedly, a pantheon of unusual species showed up to send him off; a Northern Pygmy Owl feeding on Crossbills, a Brown Thrasher, a Peregrine stooping on Mountain Bluebirds. It seems a fitting gift for this master teacher who has contributed so much to the conservation and enjoyment of birds. I know he isn’t able to spend time in the field like he used to because of a packed schedule, which is a shame. But I am grateful he finds time every year to spend with us on the trail at Pine Butte; a good friend who sees birds like the rest of us see human faces . . . as distinct and unique individuals.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com
golden eagle - may 2011. by david cronenwett
Note: We are collecting information about active Golden Eagle nests (spring and summer 2011). For more head to our Raptor page.
Description: Rare in grasslands, deserts and other open country relatively far from people. Very large, dark with buteo-like proportions. Always has golden nape. Juvenile often shows white patches at base of primaries and white base of tail – from the Sibley Guide to Birds
In late summer, when trudging up Pine Butte, I can see and feel waves of heat wash across the baking prairie. It’s uncharacteristically windless now and a person questions their reason for being here in the first place. Only vegetation near the fen wetland is green this time of year; almost nothing stirs and the landscape seems lifeless, waiting patiently for autumn rain. But on many unbearable days like this, I’ve been startled by the unexpected appearance of a large, dark creature silently riding thermals off the Butte. The unmistakable Golden Eagle (Aquila chrysaetos; Family Accipitridae) is certainly one of the most iconic and noteworthy birds in Montana. They will soar over open grasslands for hours in their quest for prey and are always a spectacle to behold. Because I live along the Rocky Mountain Front flyway, they are rarely far from view.
Montana offers excellent habitat for breeding and wintering Golden Eagles. GPS technology has given biologists astonishing information about the migration behavior of these birds. Missoula-based Raptor View Research Institute tracks individual birds across vast areas of North America. This spring, a female Golden Eagle named “Elaine”, fitted with a satellite transmitter, flew from her wintering grounds near Livingston, Montana to breed in the northern Brooks Range of Alaska. That is a journey of well over 2000 miles and one that will be repeated on the return trip in autumn. Like other raptors, Goldens tend to follow topographical features like mountain ridges when migrating and do so ahead of low pressure systems when pulses of hundreds or thousands of individuals can be spotted along flyways. Accipitrids make these journeys in the daytime when the wind conditions they depend upon are more reliable. It has been theorized that because birds of prey migrate during daylight hours, much of the avian world does so under the cover of night.
Current data suggests a decline of Golden Eagles across the West. In addition to the usual culprits (habitat loss, poaching, etc.) a particular and surprising malady is affecting the population. In several studies, analysis of eagles and other scavenging birds point to elevated blood lead levels, coinciding with rifle hunting seasons and available gut piles on the landscape. Lead poisoning is devastating to raptors and other wildlife, causing potentially severe neurological damage. The solution is to use non-lead ammunition, which is available by several manufacturers. Though more expensive, the price will decrease if more hunters purchase it. Public outcry over this issue could spur legislation making “green” bullets mandatory in the future, just as it did for waterfowl hunters.
Wherever the Golden Eagle has interacted with humans, it has received our full attention and awe. Falconers around the world prize its hunting ability. These are large birds with nearly seven-foot wingspans, capable of taking down sizeable mammals like foxes and coyotes in addition to rodents. They have been documented pulling bighorn sheep, mountain goats and other ungulates off of cliffs to their deaths as a hunting strategy. Talons of Goldens are as large as an adult man’s hand and are strong and lethal. While preferring mammals, they can readily consume large birds if the situation arises.
In the West, most Native peoples consider the Golden Eagle sacred. Its dual nature as worldly predator and as one who soars high in the realm of the Creator, make it something of an intermediary between worlds; a unifier of heaven and earth. Eagle feathers are very holy to traditional Blackfeet people and are used along with other parts such as bone whistles, in ceremonies like the Sun Dance. In prehistoric times, the only way to acquire an eagle was to construct a “catch pit” on a prominent roosting spot and lure the beast in with a bit of carrion. A great deal of patience was required for this endeavor. When a Golden came down to investigate, the concealed person would have to bravely reach up to capture and break the bird’s neck.
To subsistence hunters, feathers were one of the scarcest resources in the vastness of the Plains. Even lithic material like chert and obsidian for projectile points, is easier to find or obtain via trade. Not only did Golden Eagle give itself to the spiritual lives of Native people, but also to their entire economy, since arrows will not fly without fletching and the best was likely made of eagle feathers. It is difficult for us to understand now but in many ways, the human cultures of Montana’s past rested on the back of the Great Raptor.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com
For more information see the Montana Field Guide - Golden Eagle
Long-billed Curlew - april 2011. by david cronenwett
Description: Uncommon. Nests on relatively dry grasslands. Extremely large, with extraordinarily long bill. Plain buffy brown overall, lacking dark crown-stripes of Whimbrel. In flight note broad wings and cinnamon underwing– from the Sibley Guide to Birds.
Among the many avian rites of spring on the Rocky Mountain Front, is the return of our Long Billed Curlews (Numenius americanus) to their breeding prairie lands. It’s a less gaudy event than the typically massive Snow Geese migration, but spectacular in its own way. I have found these creatures “staged up” in concentrations of nearly a hundred as they come into the country. This doesn’t last long though; the birds will quickly pair up and become territorial for the nesting process. Long Bills are the largest sandpiper in North America and one of the largest on earth. The females are significantly larger than the males with longer bills. These birds come back to Montana’s grasslands between April and May from coastal or inland-valley wintering areas in California, Central America and the Gulf of Mexico. Long Bills are ground nesters; a small depression is created in rather exposed areas of short-grass prairie and lined with available soft material. Four-egg clutches are most typical. After a nearly 30-day incubation period, the precocial young are born and soon ready to move.
The ridiculously long bill is actually a well-adapted foraging tool in both its wintering and breeding habitats. In Montana, much of what Curlews consume are grasshoppers and other insects, which can occur in great abundance. However, life for ground nesting, grassland birds is especially precarious; so not long after hatching, the Curlew parents will often move the new family to the cover of taller grass as a precaution against predation. In about 2-3 weeks, the female will essentially abandon the young, leaving the remaining chick-rearing to dad. Many people find the plaintive cry of these birds to be strongly evocative of Montana’s wide-open, native grasslands. Until recently, very little was known about migration routes and other basic facets of this bird’s ecology. Nearly all wildlife agencies in the US, Canada and Mexico consider Long Billed Curlews to be an “at risk” species, and it is a species of concern for Montana. Once again, this speaks largely to our cultural bias against grasslands as anything other than grain-growing, energy-producing areas that lack aesthetic appeal or biological value in general.
But nothing could be further from the truth. The grassland habitats upon which Curlews and other species depend are some of the richest, most rare and threatened ecosystems in all of North America. Because only 1-2% of relatively intact, native prairies exist on the continent, the concern for long-term viability of many creatures is serious. Ecologists estimate a global population of about 160,000 individual Long Billed Curlews. Although this is greater than some earlier estimates, the newer research still points to an overall decline and suggests a need for immediate, international conservation measures.
My connection with Curlews is strongly associated with the Front. I’ve watched these birds go about the business of life in that beautiful but unforgiving landscape for years now. High winds and predictably-unpredictable spring snowstorms probably kill birds with some regularity. Then there are the many eaters of Curlews; I have witnessed nest raidings by ravens, coyotes, badgers and foxes as well as the outright slaying of adult birds by falcons and Golden Eagles. And it’s hard to watch, knowing what we know about the sober conservation challenges for this and all grassland species that lie ahead. If we consider the stress of natural predation in addition to habitat loss due to wind farms, oil and gas development, invasive species and habitat conversion of prairie to crop production, things can look dire indeed.
But all is not lost. Some of the finest remaining prairies in North America are right here in Montana and many organizations are active in promoting their conservation. A fantastic educational opportunity for birders is our upcoming Wings Across the Big Sky Bird Festival, which will be held in Glasgow this year, from June 3-5. Participants can learn about Montana’s extraordinary grassland birds with expert-led field trips, lectures and other fun activities. For more information, head here.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com
For more information see the Montana Field Guide - Long-billed Curlew
common loon - march 2011. by david cronenwett
One of more startling moments during spring on the Rocky Mountain Front can be experienced at Eureka Reservoir. If you hit it right, you can spot migrating Common Loons (Gavia immer) on this human-created, prairie lake. When these iconic northern birds travel from their coastal winter range back towards boreal, wilderness lake habitat to breed, they are often seen in unsuspecting places, like Eureka. Globally, there are 5 species of loons, each in the family Gaviidae. They are all beautiful, well-evolved for diving and strongly associated with 
northern lands and waters. Loons are one of the most ancient bird families in North America. Fossil evidence suggests that Gaviiformes’ relatives came into being in the Late Cretaceous, approximately 65 million years ago, and that the “modern” loon was thriving during the Eocene, about 35 million years before present. These creatures witnessed the end of the dinosaurs and the dawn of the mammalian age.
The Common Loon is a large bird weighing up to 17 pounds, with denser bones and larger muscles for swimming than most waterfowl. They have an internal floatation system of balloon-like air sacs arranged along the backbone that can keep them on the water’s surface even in fierce conditions. The feet are positioned improbably far back on the body, near the tail and they flay outward. While this makes walking on land dangerously awkward, it is yet another important adaption for diving, their primary mode of hunting. Loons have a thermoregulation system that utilizes their large, webbed feet. A bird can sometimes be observed waving (or “waggling”) a foot above the water to help warm or cool itself. A useful tactic for a species that spends a great deal of time in very cold waters.
In the Western US, Common Loons are actually rather uncommon; they are only known to breed in Wyoming, Idaho, Washington and Montana, having been extirpated from California, Oregon and Utah by the mid 20th century. The State of Montana considers the bird a Species of Concern. Although, with an average of 200 individuals counted each breeding season since 1980, Montana is actually a stronghold for the species in the West since other states’ numbers are significantly lower. Part of the concern for loon conservation over time is their low reproductive rate, specific habitat requirements and the fact that they are very sensitive to disturbance while on the nest.
The Common Loon must have access to high quality, freshwater lakes to breed, and in our state, this means northwest Montana. Since they are highly vulnerable on land, the bird nearly always chooses shorelines with relatively undisturbed vegetation for nesting. The most successful nests tend to be on lakes less than 60 acres in size and the presence of islands improves their security significantly. Because humans also prefer habitats like these for spring and summer recreation, there can be very real issues with disturbance and nest abandonment. We should note when natural mortality factors are figured in, only about 10 of the 41 annual fledglings will ultimately survive and return to Montana to breed in a given year. Other threats to loon survival are environmental mercury contamination, which could increase should Clean Air Act emission standards be weakened by Congress, and outright poisoning from lead fishing tackle. The Montana Loon Working Group is an organization made up of several governmental, NGO and business interests dedicated to stabilizing and improving the Common Loon population in northwest Montana. Their research, education efforts, habitat improvements (building floating-nest platforms) and monitoring has been an important factor in keeping our state the loon sanctuary that it is.
Cultures in the Northern world universally consider the Loon, especially the voice of the Common, to be something quite special. Anthropologist Richard Nelson tells us how the Koyukon Natives of interior Alaska describe it; “The call of the Loon”, they say, “is the sound by which all others are measured.” And it is easy to understand why. I have had several encounters with this bird’s “wail” (a sorrowful “wolf howl” vocalization) that I will never forget. On Kintla Lake one summer, I experienced what can only be described as a Loon’s wail stopping time, while all of Nature paused to listen. For me, that sound speaks of the incalculable beauty and loss these ancient birds have witnessed across untold generations. A call that brings us to our knees and one we must do our best to keep alive.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com.
For more information, see the Montana Field Guide - Common Loon.
You can also check out Montana's Conservation Plan for the Common Loon
northern hawk owl - february 2011. by david cronenwett
Description: Rare in open spruce woods and around bogs or burned areas. Active in daylight, perching shrike-like on treetops or poles to watch for small mammals. Long pointed tail, uniformly barred underside and black frame on whitish face – from the Sibley Guide to Birds.
Last summer on the last hour of the final day of a birding workshop along the Rocky Mountain Front, I was piloting a vanload of participants on a bumpy road. We were motoring back to Pine Butte Guest Ranch after a week of chasing birds in this vast landscape across wetland, forest, and prairie. The area we had chosen for our final day was in the 2007 Fool Creek Burn, a 60,000-acre fire that began 30 miles back in the Bob Marshall Wilderness, eventually spilling over into the Teton drainage. The workshop was led by David Sibley and after getting our fill of the Accipiters, Falcons, and wood warblers that had been re-colonizing the burn, we began our drive home. That is, until a voice in the back of the van said, “Hey, there’s an owl over there.…”
This was when our instructor jumped out of his seat and humorously declared, “It’s a ‘mock-owl!’” And more than just one. We spent the next hour at close range watching a family of Northern Hawk Owls, two adults and five young, go about the business of life. Though breeding records exist for the Polebridge area, until now, there were none known south of there. Well-traveled birders have told me that it is possible to scour the Canadian boreal forest for weeks and not find any of these creatures. Yet here they were; the five fledglings squawking to their parents in a recently burned Montana landscape, well south of their traditional breeding range. Conservation status of the species in Canada is currently “Not At Risk” on the federal level but the State of Montana considers Hawk Owls a “Potential Species of Concern”. In a counterintuitive twist, this bird may adapt well to climate change and the more frequently burned habitats that such changes could create.
The appearance of Hawk Owls (Surnia ulula) is striking, like some weird fusion of an owl head atop a strongly “hawkish” body. The wings are not nearly as broad as other owls and it sports a long, pointed tail. Their overall coloration has a dark, charcoal-ashen quality and this is no accident; its preferred habitat outside of open bogs, is burned forest. We found the owls right off the road (!) using an area of total “stand-replacement,” that is, completely torched with lots of upright snags and no living conifers. In the three years since the fire, understory forbs, grasses, and shrubs had come back in a big way and apparently, so had the rodents and their attendant avian predators. While these birds can hunt day or night, they are known for their diurnal predation. So not surprisingly, Hawk Owls have exceptional vision. They can spot prey up to 800 meters (about ½ mile) away. However, they also possess the renowned hearing of their kind; with vertically offset ears the birds can triangulate creatures even beneath a foot of snow. The bulk of their diet is smaller mammals, especially mice and voles but they are known to feed on birds as well.
We were unable to determine the nest site with our family of birds. Generally they will use a natural tree cavity near good hunting grounds for this purpose. The clutch size is from 3-9 eggs and incubation is done entirely by the female. Her mate will feed her while she is on the nest and fledging occurs from 25-30 days. We likely discovered the owls on the cusp of the young one's dispersal. Because Hawk Owls do have a hawk-like build, they are faster and more maneuverable than most of the night-hunting owls. The construction of Great Horned primary feathers for example, show a soft, comblike leading edge which breaks up the sound of air rushing past as well as that of adjacent feathers rubbing together. In contrast, Hawk Owls and other diurnal owls that don't have as great a need to hunt by ear, have slightly stiffer feathers without as much capacity to muffle sound. Though you would hardly know it; our time with the birds, observing them gliding from snag to snag, left me with the impression that silence itself is the sound of a Hawk Owl flying.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com.
For more information, see the Montana Field Guide - Northern Hawk Owl
American dipper - january 2011. by david cronenwett
Description: Uncommon along clear, fast-flowing streams. Solitary. Perches on rocks within streams and dives underwater for aquatic insect larvae. Dark gray and plump overall, with long legs and short tail – from the Sibley Guide to Birds.
Anyone who has spent enough time along a mountain stream in our state has observed American Dippers (Cinclus mexicanus); the slate-gray aquatic songbird with its cheerful calls and peculiar “bobbing” behavior. The species ranges from northern Alaska to the high mountains of Mexico and even in isolated populations further south. Strongly tied to cold, fast-moving streams, you will rarely observe these creatures far from water and there is scarce evidence that they travel “overland” very often to expand territory or occupy new streams. Like our native trout, Dippers require clean/cold water in good quantity, rocky bottoms with healthy populations of aquatic insects and a roughly 50/50 mix of riffles to pools.
These birds feed mainly on macro-invertebrates, particularly mayflies, stoneflies, caddis, etc., and most often, when the insects cling to cobbles beneath the water’s surface in their larval stage. While Dippers can and do feed “on the wing” during dense insect hatches, the bulk of their diet is derived from the streambed itself and this is reflected in the animal’s behavior and biology. Among the many fascinating adaptations to living in such a wet and dynamic environment are the bird’s translucent “nictitating membranes” a protective third eyelid which allow them to see underwater; an enlarged preening gland (about 10 times bigger than those of comparably size birds) for water proofing; blood that is unusually high in hemoglobin; nostril flaps that can completely exclude water and very dense covert feathers which insulate exceptionally well.
During dives of up to 15 seconds in duration, the birds will use their wings and feet in concert to help propel them through the water. Dippers don’t migrate in the true sense, but will move up and down stream courses with the freezing and thawing of river ice. This can have the effect of individuals bumping into one another during winter and disputes can erupt. Both males and females will maintain their linear territorial boundaries once breeding begins in March. The nests of Dippers are ingenious and startling constructions; completely enclosed, and often basketball-sized, they are made largely of bryophytes (mosses) and often lined with another soft material such as dried grass. The underside of manmade bridges account for a large number of nesting sites anymore, but it is still possible to locate them in more natural settings; behind waterfalls and on boulders or rock walls with some kind of overhang are good places to look. Keep your eye out for an unusually large wad of moss in a strange place! I have found Dippers to be fairly tolerant of humans, so sometimes you can find nests simply by waiting and watching a parent birds on feeding forays from moss-ball to water and back.
In Montana, 4-6 eggs are usually laid from March to May; incubation lasts about 16 days and the hatchings will remain in the nest for another 24. Occasionally a mated pair will produce two broods in a season. The lovely and variable “Dipper Song” is sung by both sexes. Biologists think that because the species lives along stream corridors which tend to be constantly noisy, it takes more than just the males to define a pair’s territory. Also, Dippers vocalize at higher frequencies from that of the ambient noise of their home streams, enough to where they can be heard distinctly by others of their own kind. One study states that stream noise is most intense from 3.0-3.5 kHz whereas most of the birds’ calls are 4 kHz or higher.
Conservation status in most of the birds’ continuous U.S. range is good. Maintaining high water quality seems to be the most important factor to keeping them around. In the long term, water temperature and quantity may be bigger threats in some habitats as the global climate warms.
Walking along the North Fork Teton this time of year, it is not unlikely to see Dippers doing their thing in open areas of the river. I see one standing on the ice, bobbing for a few seconds before diving into the churning and freezing water. At this moment, it is easy to see why a close friend of mine once called the bird, “Montana’s little penguin”. Not quite songbird, not quite waterfowl; but like much in Nature, a graceful example of something beautiful and “in-between”.
For more information, see the Montana Field Guide - American Dipper.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com.
Black-capped chickadee - december 2010. by david cronenwett
Description: Common and widespread; Like all Chickadees, forms small groups; often joined by other woodland songbirds. Feeds on seeds, insects, and spiders gleaned from twigs. Black cap and throat with white cheek and buffy flanks distinctive. – from the Sibley Guide to Birds.
Small motion in trees,
Branches bare, wind howling
Black-capped birds in winter
One of the most recognizable and familiar birds in Montana, particularly in winter, is the Black Capped Chickadee (Paridae atricapillus). There are three additional species of Chickadees occurring in Montana; Chestnut-Backed, Mountain and the uncommon Boreal Chickadee. The Black Capped is often one of the first species beginning birders learn since they are common, energetic, social and easy to identify by ear and eye. The birds are particularly noticeable during winter, when they form flocks of 4-16 individuals. This group will forage collectively across a home range all winter, until they pair up and disperse to breeding territories in early spring. There is a strong, linear hierarchy in the winter flock; the “top” bird can and will chase off all others from a food source at times. The second-to-top individual can harass all others, except the “top” bird, and so on.
As we head into winter, it is important to look at the survival strategies and adaptations the Black Capped uses to make it through a very difficult time of year. These are animals with a small body mass living in environments where it is possible to reach temperatures well below zero. An average bird weighs between 9-14 grams, which makes it an exception to the ecological principal that species tend to have larger bodies the further north you find them. To overcome the potential for winter mortality (sometimes 70% a year!) the bird caches a significant amount of food. The ability to recall potentially thousands of cache locations requires some special abilities; research in recent years has demonstrated that the hippocampus in Chickadee brains grow by about 30% in the fall, when the need to store food across the landscape becomes pronounced. The reverse happens in springtime; effectively, the hippocampus shrinks and a memory wipe occurs. The ability of Chickadees and other birds to seasonally grow and absorb brain cells has excited neuroscientists eager to find applications to help humans suffering from certain brain conditions.
As the mercury falls, these birds are also capable of entering a daily torpor called “regulated hypothermia”. After consuming between 10% and 60% of its body weight during the day, Chickadees will lower their core body temperature by up to 15 degrees Fahrenheit, thus slowing its metabolic rate substantially. It will then burn the calories accumulated during the day by shivering all night long. The birds may consume nearly all of their body fat in this manner each day, if it is cold enough. Chickadees will often huddle together with their own kind in protected roosts or cavities to survive winter. In extreme cold, the birds will stop foraging altogether, hunker down and wait things out.
Communication amongst this species is highly complex. Research suggests that they can recognize and communicate the relative threat level that a potential predator poses by the number of “dee-dee’s” they attach to their calls. Another unique behavior is the well known “mobbing” that Chickadees will inflict upon an unlucky predator such as a Boreal Owl. This often has the effect of running the threat out of the neighborhood.
For me, there is something endearing about seeing these birds in winter. They remain where so many others do not. You have to hand it to the resourcefulness and pluck of these little guys; they inspire our affection with their social nature, their ease around us and their welcome company in the winter woods especially. They remind us also, to not take the common for granted.
For more information, see the Montana Field Guide - Black-capped Chickadee.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com
Prairie Falcon - november 2010. by david cronenwett
Description: Uncommon in open deserts, grasslands and agricultural land. Nests on cliff ledges. Solitary. Hunts from perch, from low contouring flight, or from high in the air. Feeds mainly on small mammals such as ground squirrels, but also takes many birds and some insects. Distinguished from Peregrine by sandy brown color and underwing coverts. – from the Sibley Guide to Birds
The Family Falconidae holds a special place in the hearts of many birders. These are earth’s fastest creatures, exhibiting unequaled precision and grace. The falcons that occur in Montana share similarities in body structure with subtle differences in habitat preference and hunting strategies. While the Peregrine gets a lot of attention, the slightly smaller and more common Prairie Falcon (Falco mexicanus) is just as deserving of our appreciation. If you spot a sandy colored falcon with distinctly dark armpits (i.e. underwing coverts), you’ve got a Prairie in your optics.
Aptly named, this bird is a year-round resident of Montana’s native grasslands. Breeding typically begins with a noisy courtship in early March and an average clutch of 3-5 eggs comes late April. Incubation, done mostly by the larger female, lasts about a month. It is not an accident that these birds, like many other species, time the birth of their young with the emergent greenup of the landscape; it is the time of year with the most abundant energy, in the form of prey. Prairie Falcons do not build their own nests; they often choose a spot on a high cliff, beneath an overhang if possible. Their eggs are highly tapered at one end (pyriform), which means if nudged, they will tend to spin in place rather than roll away. A handy adaptation when living on the edge.
Threats to this bird are the same as for other grassland inhabitants; invasive species, habitat conversion and potentially, wind and other energy development. Mercifully, they seem to be unaffected by the pesticide-related population declines that have plagued other species like its cousin, the Peregrine.
During the warmer months, the Prairie Falcon is known as an effective predator of the humble Richardson’s Ground Squirrel (Spermophilus richardsonii) and occasionally, larger insects. The bird can be found hunting smaller passerines like Horned Larks during winter. Unlike other falcons with spectacular “stooping” displays, the Prairie generally hunts low to the ground, using its uncanny eyesight (it has the largest eye for its size of any falcon) and remarkable maneuverability to surprise and kill its prey. Like all falcons, the Prairie has a notched, “tomial tooth” near the end of its bill. The purpose of this adaptation is simple; to decapitate its prey, which they do with great efficiency. Though it is no Peregrine, (which can reach speeds pushing 200 mph in a dive) the Prairie Falcon isn’t what we’ll call an avian slug either.
I witnessed this bird’s speed at close range a few years back while assisting with a birding tour on the Pine Butte Swamp Preserve. The area is a lovely mix of fen-wetlands, prairie and rock outcrops on the Rocky Mountain Front. We stopped by the side of the road to follow some Sharp-Tailed Grouse that had just scurried across. After sneaking up and flushing the birds, we heard a pair of Marbled Godwits squawking. We figured that we were near a nest (Godwits do so on the ground) and backed off a bit. Still the birds squawked with great fervor, continuously. It was then that someone noticed a Prairie Falcon about ¼ mile away on a low, sandstone ridge. This seemed pretty far for the Godwits to care much about or even notice its presence. Then it happened; the Prairie shot off its perch, covering that distance in about 4 seconds. It hit the nest, which had been completely invisible to us, removed one of the young, and broke its spine to make flying with the load easier. The whole operation was over so quickly, we had to stop and mentally process what we’d just seen. The parent Godwits were understandably, not pleased. Such is the nature of the great Energy Exchange; baby Falcons have to eat too.
Next time you visit Montana’s grasslands, keep an eye out for the resident Prairie Falcon; one of our many awe-inspriring raptors.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com
For more information, see the Montana Field Guide - Prairie Falcon
sprague's pipet - october 2010. by david cronenwett
Description: Uncommon and local. Nests and winters on shortgrass prairie with bare ground. Solitary and secretive; very difficult to see as it crouches in grass, foraging. Drab/cryptic coloring but with white outer tail feathers visible in flight. Song is a rolling cascade of high, dry whistles. – from the Sibley Guide to Birds
The Sprague’s Pipit (Anthus spragueii) is a native inhabitant of Montana’s eastern prairies. It’s story and precipitous population decline, mirrors the story of grassland habitats across the continent. Taxonomically, the bird is classed in the Family Motacillidae; Wagtails and Pipits. Wagtails differ significantly in appearance from their Pipit relatives, being sexually dimorphic and males brightly colored. While structurally and behaviorally similar, the plumage of Pipits is cryptic and drab. This combined with their habits of nesting and foraging amongst the grass, has made Sprague’s Pipits one of the least observed or studied birds in North America.
In contrast to its bland appearance, this Pipit has the longest known display of any bird on earth; reports cite events from 30 minutes to 3 hours at a go. The males will fly hundreds of feet above the prairie before erupting in one of the most haunting and lovely sounds in all of Montana; a descending, liquidy-cascade, whose beauty can’t be captured on a recording. It can only be described, like the cry of the Curlew, as a musical expression of the land itself. In this open, treeless environment, the sustained flight display is an elegant adaptation to draw attention to oneself. For birders, the Sprague’s Pipit’s voice is the only reliable way to even find this bird in the vast landscapes it inhabits. You stop at a suitable, native prairie, get out of the vehicle and listen. If fortunate, you’ll hear the song. But finding them in binoculars, hundreds of feet in the sky is another matter entirely!
The future of these creatures, like all of our grassland species, will depend largely on how we decide to conserve and manage habitat and the ecosystem processes upon which organisms depend. There has been an 80% population loss of Sprague’s Pipits in 40 years; this represents one of the steepest declines of any bird in North America. The most current estimate (2004) suggests that 840,000 individuals may exist across its entire range from Mexico to the Canadian prairies. The reasons for the decline are legion; habitat loss due to subdivision, agricultural conversion, fragmentation from oil-gas-wind development, invasive species out-competing native vegetation, poor grazing practices, fire suppression and others.
But a more fundamental, underlying cause for the loss is that our culture has not yet developed a meaningful affection for or love of prairies. These are lands upon which we have created a civilization; growing grain, developing energy and building communities. But we’re only beginning to see ecological or aesthetic values in grasslands. We recreate in, conserve and rhapsodize about our mountains and even named our state after them, but have mostly neglected and laid waste to the grass. It’s subtle beauty and rich ecology has been reduced to about 1% of the historic continental range, but many of the healthiest fragments are here, in Montana.
A ray of hope for Sprague’s Pipit is the recent listing as a Candidate Species under the Endangered Species Act. While this is only a preliminary step towards Federal intervention with full protection, it is a significant step and will certainly influence State and other land managers who are responsible for grassland bird conservation. We can also do our part individually, by advocating for native grassland protection, management and appreciation. Next time you find yourself on the prairie in late spring, listen for the song of Sprague’s Pipit, then go home and do something to ensure its music continues.
For more information on this species see the Montana Field Guide - Sprague's Pipit
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com
Red crossbill - september 2010. by david cronenwett
Description: Uncommon and very irregular. Always in flocks. Feeds on conifer seeds. Larger than House and Purple Finches; relatively large-headed and short tailed. Bill size varies with population. Rather dark reddish or greenish overall with plain dark wings and tail. – From the Sibley Guide to Birds.
The winter of 2009-2010 was troublesome in Montana due to mild temperatures and scant mountain snowpack. But then, in mid May, it began to rain, and did so on and off for weeks on end. The extended period of moisture caught us up on precipitation and, at least in North Central Montana where I live, helped produce one of the most impressive conifer cone irruptions in recent memory. The limbs of Douglas fir, Limber Pine, Engelmann Spruce and others are ridiculously laden with cones this year, and as birders might guess, this situation is a boon for several species.
Chickadees, nuthatches, Clark’s Nutcrackers and Pine Siskins can be seen feeding on the bounty hereabouts. But one beast is especially abundant and visible now; the Red Crossbill (Loxia curvirostra). These gregarious birds are included in the family Fringillidae, (the finches) and have remarkable bills obviously adapted to the specific task of dismembering conifer cones. This year on the Rocky Mountain Front, one can observe large flocks of Crossbills (both White- Winged and Red, often together) absolutely mauling cones across a huge area; in some places, there are cone piles several inches deep, with their telltale open scales, evidence of Crossbill activity. These birds will famously travel great distances seeking abundant crops and exhibit some unusual behaviors like the ability of sub-adults, in juvenile plumage, to mate and raise young in nearly all seasons. This may be an adaptation stemming from the highly nomadic nature of the bird; it must reproduce quickly, before moving on to the next feeding ground. 
The most astonishing thing about this creature however, are the several “Types” (1 through 9) that occur across its vast range. Most ornithologists only recognize one of the Types as a distinct species; there simply are not significant enough differences within the other variants to do so. Yet there are differences. Nine variations have been described; the morphological distinctions are minute, mostly reflected in bill size. But each Type nearly always identifies and mates with the same. Also, the Types have strong feeding preferences for particular conifers. However this behavior can vary and shouldn’t be used as a dependable means of identification. The most reliable way to discern between Types is by flight calls.
I have significant difficulty determining the call subtleties between the two Types (4 & 5) that are present in my area. But recently, I was able spend some field time with my friend David Sibley who was able to point out what to listen for. After significant help, I was able to recognize each; one call slightly ascending, one descending. I stood in amazement at my guide’s uncommon observational powers and the subtlety with which species diversify and express themselves across the landscape. With Red Crossbills, we seem to be witnessing evolutionary incarnation before our eyes; the Types are “species in the making”, a gray area we find hard to classify, but where Nature seems to frequently and comfortably operate.
David Cronenwett is a Writer, Naturalist and Wilderness Survival Instructor from Choteau, Montana. He can be reached at: dcronenwett@hotmail.com
For more information see the Montana Field Guide - Red Crossbill and the Birds of Montana Sample Species Account.
Common Nighthawk - August 2010
A couple days ago, I (Amy) was en route back from a Bird Conservation meeting with colleagues Megan Fylling and Kristi Dubois. As we drove north from the Dillon area we encountered hundreds if not thousands of Common Nighthawks feeding on the wing over the highway - a wild sight to say the least. None of us had experienced such a grand aggregation of nighthawks in Montana.
Nighthawks are aerial insectivores, and the sheer numbers in constant feeding motion undoubtedly made a dent in the mosquitoes that were also flying in abundance. Birds are essential elements of healthy ecosystems and are very important at controlling insects populations (aka "pests"!)
Nighthawks are one of the later migrants to arrive in Montana and one of the earliest to leave. This Aug 12 date however, appears on the 
early end. It could be these were transients forming flocks to head south. With the stormy weather and hail, it's possible these are individuals that did not successfully breed and are flocking early. In general we know a good deal more about spring arrival dates then of departures.
Above photo K Dubois
In the coming years Montana Audubon will be working to encourage folks to assist with Nighthawk and Common Poor Will Citizen Science. Specialized aerial insectivores are considered vulnerable to climate change because movement patters may not remain in sync with food resources. Stay tuned and learn more about this citizen monitoring program.
For more information see Montana Field Guides - Common Nighthawk
To learn more about a nation-wide citizen monitoring effort for Nightjars, go here.