A few birds from the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta.
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Cackling Goose:Cackling Goose Try as I might, I could never get the call of a Cackling goose just right. Don’t get me wrong, I had the best teachers, my own students. When the first cacklers arrived in spring over Marshall we all rushed to the window and gazed skyward. As we watched the birds flying overhead, the boys would imitate their call. And they were good at it. They would show me how it was done, and I would practice during my daily skis or walks in the tundra behind the village, but when I tried my own version of the call out in their presence they would politely say it sounded a little off, kind of like a sick goose. I still try imitating these familiar geese, but as my voice gets older I can’t even come close. Tuutangayak Whenever I heard or saw Cackling geese in spring or fall in their V-formations, a shiver ran through my body. For they were the true heralds of spring and fall, of the annual change of seasons that for me represented either the promise of canoeing or the suggestion of snow and the beginning of cross-country skiing. I was always aware, though, that the arrival and departure of the geese meant something different for my students. It meant a change in diet in the spring, a chance to eat something other than fish and store-bought food. In fall, for the boys it meant moose season was here and the opportunity to go out with their families to bag part of their winter food supply. And to be real hunters, just like their dads. Aside from this, cacklers are fascinating in their own right. They are among the few bird species in which the family does not separate at the end of the summer. The young stay with their parents almost all year, including both migrations and on the wintering grounds down south. They usually mate for life and are faithful to their original nesting ground, returning year after year to raise new young there. Only after the yearlings return to where they were raised in the Lower Y-K Delta do they separate from their parents. They do not nest yet, however, but usually form mixed-sex flocks with other yearlings that bounce all over the place, sometimes hundreds of miles from their nesting parents, just seeming to have fun and getting to know each other for future choice of mates and nesting themselves. Which mostly happens during the fourth summer, although some that establish early pair bonds may nest during their third summer. Young love. When these new lovers decide to get serious and raise young, there is an enchanting ritual involved. Even before arriving on their nesting ground the courting male stretches out his neck, holds his head about an inch off the ground with bill open and tongue raised, hisses loudly, shakes his quills vigorously, and slowly approaches his paramour, finally passing his neck around hers in what amounts to a caress. Who said humans had a monopoly on love? Soon after the mated pair arrives on their nesting ground, they get down to the serious business of nest building. When the female finds a good place to build her nest, usually on slightly elevated ground near water and with good visibility, she quickly scrapes a rounded depression with her bill and makes a shallow bowl-shaped nest of sticks, sedges, moss and other plants, finally lining it with down feathers she plucks from her own body. That done, mating and egg laying begin and, if you were to check the nest after the last egg was laid, you might find up to 8 eggs there. The average, though, is about 5, and you’ll see these are a creamy white color. Incubation is by the female alone while the gander stands guard nearby. He takes his job seriously and, if the nest is approached by other geese, ducks or predators, including humans, he will hiss loudly and even fly directly at them, striking them hard with his wings. Now that’s loyalty! After 25-30 days, the eggs all hatch within 24 hours. Then the precocial young are led from the nest by their parents to open water where they are relatively safe from predators. Once there, they are able to swim and feed themselves, although always guarded by their parents. If a predator approaches, the young immediately dive under the water while their father performs a distraction display. Even day-old goslings can dive and swim underwater for 30-40 feet. When swimming as a family the gander usually leads, the goslings stringing out in single file with their mother bringing up the rear. The goslings eat continuously as soon as they hit the water, feeding on a wide variety of plants, including the stems and shoots of grasses, sedges and aquatic plants, plus seeds, berries, grains and even some insects, snails, crustaceans and small fish. Even so, they take a long time to mature to where they can lift their big bodies off the water. When they finally do, they are 6-7 weeks old. In late summer it was interesting watching the young geese begin to prepare for migration. First, they flew around seemingly at random, acting like the ragtag gaggle of geese they were at this stage. After a week or so they began to get it, stringing out behind their mother, with their dad guarding the rear, the way they would do it during migration. Two weeks had them pretty well trained, after which they were joined by birds from other family groups. Together they practiced flying in the wedge formation they would use to save energy during their migration south. When they finally left the Delta in September and October, they were flying in practiced skeins. What a beautiful sight that was. Tuutangayak is the name for this goose everywhere in the Y-K Delta except in the Norton Sound region, including Kotlik, where it is called Tuutaalquciq. Both words refer to the “labret” or white chin strap under the bill. The first part of the bird’s scientific name, Branta hutchinsii, comes from the Anglo Saxon word bernan, meaning to burn. The goose was so named because of its charred dark color. The species name is after Thomas Hutchins who served as surgeon with the Hudson Bay Company in Canada in the late 1700’s. He was a keen observer and collector of birds and mammals while he was there. Note: Recent genetic work found the four smallest subspecies of the Canada goose to be very different. Hence, since 2004 these four subspecies have been renamed the Cackling goose and are now considered a completely separate species, Branta hutchinsii. In the 1970’s and 1980’s they became a bird of extreme concern, but thanks to the Hooper Bay Agreement of 1984 and cooperation by hunters in the YK Delta and elsewhere, the species has rebounded somewhat. Numbers are still below long-term averages, so they continue to have a protected status.  |
Common Eider:Sleeping Bag Bird Common Eider Aangikvak/Metraq How does the Common eider relate to a sleeping bag, you ask? Simple. You see, in the not so distant past, sleeping bags used to be filled with the soft downy feathers of this sea duck. A few still are, but most eider feathers now fill expensive pillows and bed quilts. Only in Iceland is the gathering of eider down still a lucrative business. There, large colonies of 10,000 or more of these wild ducks are closely protected and encouraged in their nesting. It is from the Icelandic language, in fact, that the name “eider” comes. While we’re on the topic of names and downy feathers, the scientific name of this bird is Somateria mollissima, a Greek-Latin combination, meaning, “very soft downy (woolly) body.” In Hooper Bay and Scammon Bay, I was told the Yupik name for the male Common eider is Aangikvak, meaning something like “big two-eyed spirit” bird. This may refer to its white head patches and the way it looms like a spirit out of the foggy dark waters of the Bering Sea. But the name for the duck changes in the Kuskokwim Bay area where it is called Metraq. Many Yupik people also use the moniker Nayangaryaq to refer to the female Common eider. The word literally means, “having the quality of nodding in agreement,” and you’ll understand why she has this name when you watch her for a while (if you can find her). Of the four eider species found in North America, the Common eider is the largest of them all. It is also the most abundant of the eiders, found throughout the circumpolar north. Apart from the nesting season, it is encountered only at sea. I have been lucky enough to run across huge rafts of them while skiing on the edge of the Bering Sea ice during the winter. Once I counted nearly 700 of them near Hooper Bay cruising north on the two mph current. As they swam, they dove for food items that included marine animals, such as clams, fishes, crabs, sea stars, worms and mussels, all of which give its flesh a strong fish flavor. Eiders swallow whole mussels and other shellfish up to two inches long, and the shells are ground into bits by the bird’s powerful gizzard. They can fish deep underwater, as far down as sixty feet, and use their wings to “fly” under the surface. If alarmed while feeding there, they can fly straight out of the water into the air. Like all ducks, they have their own unique calls. While watching and listening to them from the edge of the ice, I heard croaking and groaning sounds mixed with ghostly moans. I learned later the croaks and groans were from females, and the moans were from males in love. After finding mates, Common eiders nest in colonies on the ground near saltwater. The nest is usually located in a shallow depression and is built of seaweeds, mosses, sticks and grasses, then thickly lined around, under and over the eggs with a luxurious layer of fluffy gray downy feathers plucked by the hen from her own body. Only the female incubates the 3-5 pale brown to olive-green eggs. This lasts for approximately 28 days, and as soon as they hatch, the mother duck leads the ducklings to water. When young birds can pick up and leave the nest like this, they are referred to as “precocial.” Barring any unforeseen problems, like hungry Killer whales, within 56 days after leaving the nest the young should be able to fly. Some interesting English common names for the Common eider are: canvasback, black and white coot, laying duck, looby, squam duck, wamp, and Eskimo duck.  |
Common Goldeneye:Common Goldeneye Anarnilnguq or Anarnissakaq Once while canoeing with a friend on a clear water river near Marshall, I lifted my hand and whispered, “Listen! Do you hear that whistling sound? It’s the sound of a Common goldeneye flying over.” And I explained that’s why their scientific name is Bucephala clangula, meaning, “noisy-winged buffalo-head.” Both of its Yupik names, Anarnilnguq and Anarnissakaq, have a more pejorative meaning, however, relating to the digestive process of defecation. Perhaps because of the whistling noise made by the bird’s wings, it used to be considered a bad omen by many people on the Lower Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta. And it could be that, since it was a bad omen, it was given these names. Bad omen or not, this little diving duck is a fascination for me, especially during its courting period in late winter and briefly when it arrives on its nesting ground in wooded areas near the Yukon and Kuskokwim Rivers. For it is then that it has one of the most spectacular courtship displays of any of its waterfowl relatives. While still in its winter habitat in the Lower 48, several males may court one female with displays that include throwing their heads back with bills pointed skyward while uttering a shrill double-noted call that goes zeee-zeee, and a harsh rattling rrrrt. They also pump their heads back and forth in a ritualized dancing motion, and take off and land in short frenzied flights that stir the water to a froth and spume that sparkles in the sunlight. Since most of their courtship takes place before they migrate north, when they finally arrive on their breeding ground in Alaska the ducks are a bonded pair and soon begin what they came this far for. But what takes place next is unique to this genus of Alaskan duck. The female finds a large cavity in a dead tree between 6-60 feet above the ground that she may actually have located the year before when she was only one year old. After lining the bottom of the nest with her own pure white down feathers she starts laying her eggs, which are olive to blue green in color and usually number between 5-19. If cavities are scarce in the area, she will often lay eggs in the nests of other females, so that in some cases there have been more than 30 eggs counted in one cavity nest. She may also lay her eggs in the nests of Barrow’s goldeneyes, and vice versa. Only the female broods the eggs, and it takes a month before all of the young hatch together. The ducklings remain in the nest for a day or two or until they are strong enough to climb to the nest hole and flutter to the ground, at which point they follow their mother to a nearby freshwater pond or lake. There she protects them but does not feed them, since they instinctively know that aquatic insects and their larvae are to be their main summer dish along with a vegetable side dish of water plants, such as pondweeds. Since they are diving ducks, they will later eat small fish, marine worms, crabs, shrimp and small mollusks, including blue mussels. Some mothers abandon their broods soon after hatching, and if this happens the young will join another mother’s brood. These mixed broods are called “crèches.” This may also occur after a territorial fight with another female and the ducklings are scattered. Not all of them get back to their real mother after the turf battle and they will join the brood of the territory owner. The surrogate mother doesn’t seem to mind, however, and the ducklings all remain together until they finally take their first flight two months later. A cool fact about Common goldeneyes is the color of their eyes. Although they are gray-brown at hatching, they turn purplish-blue, then blue, then greenish blue as they age. By five months of age they are a clear pale greenish yellow, and will finally become bright yellow in adult males and pale yellow to white in females. Other common names of this duck are: American goldeneye, brass-eye, brass-eyed whistler, bull-head, copper-head, cub-head, cur, European goldeneye, garrot, goldeneyed duck, great-head, iron-head, jingler, merry-wing, spirit duck, whiffler, whistle-duck, whistler, and whistle-wing.  |
Common Loon:Common Loon Tuullek My son Steven and I were canoeing recently on the headwater lakes of the Delta Wild and Scenic River. As we approached the river, I noticed an unusual black shape on the shore. After glassing it with my binocs, I gestured for Steven to steer the canoe closer to shore so we could get a better look at what I thought might be a Common loon brooding its young. Sure enough. With her wings spread over the chicks, and her head bent down as if in prayer, the loon didn't move a muscle as we paddled closer and closer. I was even able to take out my camera and snap a few photos of her before we moved on down the river. We had heard the wild laughter and yodeling of these magnificent loons the night before and in the early morning, and we marveled at the rich variation of their calls. I had even tried to imitate them, but failed miserably compared to the boys who had taught me how to do it in Marshall, the Lower Yukon village where I taught for ten years. Steven wasn't very impressed with my attempt either. The name I learned in the Lower Yukon for Common loon was Tuullek, and when you pronounce it right you can hear why it is so called. As with many other bird names, it takes the moniker of one of the sounds it makes. The English name, however, has a much different origin, and comes from the Scandinavian, lom, meaning a lame or clumsy person, in referenceto the Common loon's clumsiness on land. Its scientific title, Gavia immer, comes from Latin gavia, meaning sea smew, and the Swedish word immer, which means dark ashes, relating to the black plumage of this loon. Tuullek is one of the most ancient of bird species, dating back more than 65 million years ago, which might explain not only its rich repertoire of calls but also the wonderful array of its other characteristics. For example, it is one of the most proficient of all the diving birds, sometimes diving to depths of up to 240 feet. Try it sometime. You won't even come close. On the surface of the water they are also powerful swimmers. But on land you are a much better walker than this loon. Here it can barely hold its body erect and shuffle along a few clumsy steps at a time. The reason they are able to dive so well is because many of their bones are solid rather than filled with air spaces, as with other birds. Their specific gravity is near that of water, and they can lower it even more by expelling air from their lungs and at the same time compressing their feathers next to their body, thus allowing them to sink slowly and ever so quietly below the surface, leaving hardly a ripple. They are able to stay underwater for up to three minutes because they have large amounts of myoglobin in their muscles. Myoglobin is a substance in the blood that allows them to store greater amounts of oxygen for underwater use. Even on water this loon must be able to run across the surface with its wings beating for all they're worth for more than 20 yards in order to take flight. That's why they take their time in Spring to return to the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta from their wintering areas on the open coastal waters of the Pacific Ocean. Their arrival is perfectly timed to the melting of ice on the large freshwater lakes in the Delta where they will make their nests and raise their families. They return to the same place where they were born, although they don't usually mate until they are two or three years old. After the male lays claim to a nesting territory by flying in circles over it and yodeling both in the air and on the water, courting begins. If you have the privilege of being present at this time, you will see some absolutely fascinating behavior, including repeated dipping of bills in the water; splash-diving; "penguin dancing," where the two birds rear into a vertical position with wings partly outspread; and racing side by side across the surface of the water. The few times I have seen this I have been spellbound. A rudimentary nest of matted grasses, rushes and twigs is built by both parents next to the water, then mating quickly takes place and usually two, brown-spotted olive-green eggs are laid and incubated by both mom and dad for almost a month. Although the eggs hatch at different intervals (asynchronously), the downy chicks leave the nest within one or two days after hatching. Amazingly, they can already dive and swim underwater by the time they are two or three days old! In any case, in order to rest and dry their downy coats, they will ride on their parents' backs. The young are tended and fed by both parents. Even a one day old chick is fed small whole fish, crustaceans, bits of water plants, etc. At night or when it's cool, small chicks may be brooded by their parents, as I saw during my recent river trip with my son Steven. By two weeks of age, the young are proficient at diving and can catch their own food, which in the Delta includes larger fish and crustaceans, snails, leeches, frogs, and aquatic plants and insects. They are not able to make their first flight, however, for up to eleven weeks after hatching, which takes them very close to winter in some parts of Alaska. This means they have to be careful not to wait too long to start their migration south. If there is a sudden freeze-up on their pond or lake, the position of their feet so far back on their body simply doesn't allow them to take off on a hard surface, so they are doomed to starve or to be shot and included in someone's next meal (half-cooked, from what my friends in Hooper Bay told me). The calls of the Common loon have always fascinated me. If you listen closely, you'll hear four basic types: the wild tremolo, or laughing call (which gave rise to the expression, "crazy as a loon"); the infinitely variable yodel, heard usually during the night or early morning; the wail, or long call; and talking calls of simple, often one-syllabled notes that seem to be equivalent to human conversation. Common loons are also found in Europe and Asia, where in English they are referred to as great northern divers. A few of their other English and American names are: big loon, black-billed loon, call-up-a-storm, ember goose, greenhead, guinea duck, imber diver, ring-necked loon, and walloon. Some of their foreign names are: polyarnaya gagara (Russian); colimbo mayor (Spanish); Ijsduiker (Dutch); plongeon huard (French); eistaucher (German); and strolaga maggiore (Italian).  |
Common Merganser:Common Merganser Payirpak Among the many fish-eating ducks of the Lower Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta this one is by far the most handsome. It is the largest of all inland ducks in North America, and its black back and dark green head are in striking contrast to its mostly white body. If you look at its spikelike red bill closely, it has backward projecting "teeth with which it grasps and hangs on to its slippery prey. Its streamlined body allows it to swim and dive swiftly in hot pursuit of a variety of fishes living in shallow but clear freshwater lakes and rivers in wild forested country. It propels itself underwater with both feet stroking together. Since it avoids dense marshes and muddy waters, it is found mostly on the inner reaches of the Y-K Delta from early spring to late fall. I often saw it near Marshall while I canoed on clearwater lakes, rivers and sloughs. Payirpak is one of three species of merganser found in the Delta, including the Red-breasted merganser and the Smew, which I've seen off the coast of Hooper Bay in winter. During a recent trip to Mongolia I also saw the Common merganser there. A number of years ago I came across it in many different parts of Europe, including northern Scandinavia. In European and Asian bird books it is referred to as the "Goosander," because of its large gooselike size. Its scientific name, Mergus merganser, means "plunging gooselike diver," and its English name follows from that. The Yupik name, Payirpak, derives from Payiq, meaning, Red-breasted merganser. Payiq probably refers to the croaking sound made by both birds, plus "pak," meaning, big. Since it is a fish-eating bird, it arrives on its nesting ground in the Delta as soon as there is open water, and it remains in the area until just before freezeup. When its hormones start kicking in the male courts a mate by swimming very rapidly in circles around her, suddenly stretching its neck upward pointing its bill skyward, and giving a soft "uig-a" sound "reminiscent of the twanging of a guitar string," according to one observer. The female selects the nest site and builds the nest, usually near water in some sort of large tree or other cavity. She constructs the nest of weeds, grasses, rootlets and down from her own breast. She is a prolific mother and may lay up to 13 buff-colored eggs. If a suitable nest site is not available, she may lay her eggs in another female's nest. If you've ever wondered why there are so many young mergansers scurrying along the top of the water with their mom in the lead, this may be part of the reason. Incubation is by the female only and sometimes lasts as long as 35 days. Unlike other species of duck that leave the nest almost immediately after they hatch, merganser young may remain in the nest for a day or two after hatching. Young hatched in tree cavities then climb to the edge of the entrance and jump to the ground. Like so many other duck species, the male Common merganser leaves the scene as soon as his mate begins incubating the eggs. He never knows his offspring. The female tends her own young, and sometimes those of other females who have deserted their brood, for several weeks. Since the young learn to feed themselves soon after they leave the nest, even if abandoned early by their mother they may survive quite well. In any case, they learn early how to scurry across the surface of the water and to dive underwater when necessary, either to feed or to escape a predator. It's good they're fast learners because it takes them usually 65-70 days before they're big enough and strong enough to finally take their first flight. They're a little clumsy at this in the beginning, but eventually they get it together and use the advantage of their streamlined body to power themselves at breakneck speeds above the rivers and lakes of the Y-K Delta. The Common merganser is another of those unique birds that has so many common names: American goosander, American sheldrake, big sheldrake, buff-breasted merganser, buff-breasted sheldrake, dun diver, fish-duck, fishing duck, freshwater sheldrake, goosander, greater merganser, morocco- head, pond sheldrake, sawbill, winter sheldrake and break horn. When you see this handsome duck swimming on a river or lake or clearwater slough, watch it closely for a while and you may be lucky enough to witness it do something very odd. Like a submarine, it might begin to sink slowly and quietly into the water before it finally disappears from view. It is one of the few ducks that does this. I only know of two other species on the Delta that can, the Horned and Red-necked grebes. More about them later.  |
Common Raven:Common Raven Tulukaruq Ever wondered why the Raven is called Tulukaruq in Yupik? Well, all it takes is a little imagination and a little twisting and turning of your tongue, mouth and vocal cords, and presto, you’ve got it. The Greek word for the idea is onomatopoeia, that is, the bird takes its name from the sound it makes. In Yupik, they say, “Tulukaruut kayanguit neryuitaput,” which is a warning against eating Raven’s eggs. There is good reason for this because, as is also said, “Yugnun ciuliaqniluku qanruteklaraat tulukaruq,” or “They say the Raven is the ancestor of human beings.” In this way, the Raven is also regarded as the creator of all things, including humans, much like the Christian God is said to be the creator. Unlike God, however, Raven had a real sense of humor and when he made the first man and woman, gave them this attribute, which explains why Yupik people have such a great sense of humor. I think that’s what I enjoyed most about the people during the twenty years I lived in the Delta. But let’s learn some more about this really very uncommon Raven. The Raven is known to scientists as Corvus corax, a Latin-Greek combination, meaning “the croaking raven.” It is found from Central America to Barrow, Alaska, and is the largest of all of our songbirds. Yes, it is a songbird. In fact, it is the most verbal of all songbirds on the planet, having more than 200 different vocalizations and many dialects. Ravens are not only smart when it comes to talking, they are the most intelligent bird on Earth, smarter even than the African gray parrot. They have been described as crafty, resourceful, quick to learn and to profit from experience. When elder Yupik speakers refer to them, they say, “Umyuartuut,” i.e., “They are wise.” They are also thought to have a higher awareness, “cella,” relating them to “Cellamyua,” meaning The Great Spirit, or God, which brings us full circle again to the idea of Creator. Interesting, eh? As with all great birds, the Raven has more than one name. He is also referred to as neqaiq (“food stealer,” also the name of the camp robber); tengmialleraq (“shabby old bird”); qer’qaalleraq (“shabby old croaker”); and Ernerculria, which means “the bearer of daylight,” and is the term of respect the elders used when telling legends of the Raven. Speaking of legends, there are so many old Yupik (and other Native American) stories about Raven, they could fill a book. My favorite legend is the one about how Raven created the Milky Way, which was told to me by Alexander Isaac of Marshall. Alexander now lives in the old folks home in Bethel. If you’d like to hear the story, pay him a visit there. I’m sure he’d appreciate the visit, too. One of the things I enjoy watching in the spring of the year is the courtship behavior of birds. As it turns out, the Raven has some of the most fascinating rituals of courtship. Watch carefully in early spring (it’s right around the corner), and you’ll see the male fly wingtip to wingtip with the female, then peel off and dive like a peregrine falcon, often tumbling over and over in the air, not unlike humans who “fall head over heels in love.” When perched on a tree limb, Raven couples are also very “lovey dovey” (to borrow a term from the doves), touching shoulders and often “kissing” (“beaking,” in Raven parlance) each other. Before they get to this point, however, they go through a 3-4 year socialization period when they get to know each other, a lot like we do during our teens and 20’s. Then when the right bird comes along, Ravens mate for life. After the ritual aerobatics comes the serious business of nest building and raising a family. They usually locate their bulky nests on a sheltered cliff ledge, constructing them of broken branches and lining them carefully with leaves, grass, moss, fur and feathers, in that order. Climb up to one sometime and check out how comfortably they’re made. If you’re lucky, you may even find 4 or 5 light green brown-spotted eggs in the nest. Watch out for the adults, though. They can be aggressive defenders of their home turf. You may find the mother bird on the nest because she is the one who incubates the eggs. The male helps out by feeding her while she’s on the nest, and twenty days later, after the young hatch, he contributes his share in the feeding of the hatchlings. Both of them also bring water to the young in their throats. It takes about 40 days to raise them to where they’re ready to take wing, although like most birds, they still have to be fed after they fledge and to learn how to hunt for themselves. If they learn well, however, they can expect to live a long and happy life of up to 25 years. Learn more about the Raven by asking an elder in your town or village. You’ll enjoy every minute of the visit.   | |
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Common Redpoll:Common Redpoll Uqviicaraq The word "common" definitely doesn't fit this tiny Alaskan bird. All you have to do is watch its behavior on a really cold winter day, and you'll decide it's really a most uncommon bird. It and its very close relative, the Hoary redpoll, qualify for Ripley's Believe it or Not as two of the hardiest bird species on earth, able to survive colder temperatures than any other songbird. Yupik people know redpolls by various names. Generally, they call them "uqviicar(aq)," which refers to their tendency to hang around willows and other trees ("uqvik or "uqviaq," mean willow or tree). In Hooper Bay they call the redpoll, "puyiitaar(aq)," and in Scammon Bay, "puyiir(aq)," both names referring to the smoky color of the feathers on its topside. Redpolls not only have smoke, they have fire. Get out your binocs and look at their flaming red caps and the flaming red chests of the male, especially in spring. Their scientific name, Carduelis flammea, recognizes its claim to flame, since "flammea" means exactly that in Latin. Carduelis is the more common half of its name, meaning "thistle seed eater." We don't have thistles in most of Alaska, so redpolls eat other foods, such as seeds from willows, alders and birch trees. Particularly during the short cold days of midwinter, they eat these seeds voraciously, storing them temporarily in a pocket-like pouch within their esophagus. During the long cold nights, this pouch serves as a lunchbox from which they slowly eat and digest their surplus seeds, thereby getting enough energy to maintain their regular daytime body temperatures. The way redpolls spend their nights also helps them survive Alaska's frigid winters. Some hide in tree cavities while others perch in protected nooks and crannies of spruce. During extremely cold nights they may burrow into the snow, as ptarmigan and grouse do. Another fascinating survival adaptation of redpolls is their dense winter plumage. Before winter begins they add 30 percent more down feathers to their body cover. These feathers insulate them so well that even at 60 degrees below zero (F) their core body temperature remains at 105 degrees (F). All of this makes for a very uncommon bird, wouldn't you agree? But, as with all unique birds, there are many things they have in common with the rest of their feathered friends. Their nests are rather ordinary little cups made by the female of twigs, grasses, mosses and feathers. They are built about 3-6 feet above ground in willows, alders and spruce trees. Four or five spotted bluish-green eggs are layed in these nests and incubated by the female. But here's something uncommon about them again. They are one of the earliest of Alaskan nesters, quite often even before the end of the freezing weather. It's like they've had enough of the cold and want to push spring to its limits. I remember in Marshall a few years ago showing my students a nest that had young in it even in mid-April. It was still frigidly cold out and we wondered if they would make it. We were amazed to see two of the young live to fledge. We often had immature redpolls awkwardly flying around by the time school ended in Marshall. Later in the summer it was interesting to watch the young birds as they flew in and out of their old nests. Sort of like some of my students after they graduated from high school. I'm watching redpolls around my bird feeders now. And they're living up to their name, eating voraciously from the thistles we recently put out for them.  |
