A few birds from the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta.
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Dark-eyed Junco:Dark-eyed Junco I never saw this little gray and white sparrow in the treeless parts of the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta, so that could explain why I didn't find a Yupik name for it. But upriver where there are tall trees on both the Yukon and Kuskokwim Rivers you might see it, that is, if you look hard enough, for this bird is so nondescript you may not notice it. Even in winter, you might see a junco or two around your feeder, if you have one. The scientific name of the Dark-eyed junco is Junco hyemalis, meaning "winter juncus reed bird," which I think says something of its ability to stick around during the winter. I know from personal experience that there are always a few of these juncos that frequent feeders here in Fairbanks all winter long. In fact, we recently had one in our own back yard for a few cold snowy weeks in October. We saw it even in the darkness of the early morning and evening. Unlike chickadees and redpolls, they don't have the same efficient strategies of surviving the cold winter temperatures of the Alaskan Interior and must eat almost continuously. Which made us wonder if they ate all night long? Most juncos are migratory birds, however, and in early spring return to Alaska for two reasons, to feed and breed. They are, in fact, one of our earliest sparrows to arrive back in Alaska in Spring, often before the snow disappears. And when they do return, they arrive in flocks on their old nesting grounds, probably the same ones their ancestors used for countless generations. On arrival, the males immediately proclaim their territories by singing from the tops of the tallest trees. You'll recognize the male's territorial song by its jingling trill, which sort of reminds me of the call notes of the first cell phones. During courtship both male and female hop around on the ground with wings drooped and tail fanned wide, showing off their white outer tail feathers. As he perches on a low limb, the male performs similar behavior while singing softly to the female. After the female makes her choice, she selects a well hidden nest site on the ground and builds an open cup of grass, leaves and other plant material, lines it with fine grass, hair or feathers. Meanwhile mating takes place and lickety split 3-5 splotchy pale bluish-white eggs are laid and incubated solely by the mother bird for 11-13 days. Although both parents feed the nestlings, mom broods them. Meanwhile they are growing like gangbusters and in less than two weeks are out of the nest and into the air. An interesting tidbit about baby juncos is that their feet grow more quickly than those of tree nesters, thus allowing them to run from their nest if they are threatened before they can fly. Once the young have fledged, the mother bird does not usually remain with her young. That's dad's job as mom heads back to the nest to lay another smaller clutch of eggs to better ensure the survival of the species. Like he did when the young were still in the nest, the father bird makes sure his progeny fatten up on insects. As Autumn draws near, however, and there are fewer insects to eat, the juvenile juncos eat more and more seeds and even a few berries. By this stage they have learned most of the tricks of the trade and are fat enough to begin their migration south to warmer climes. That is, except for a few hardy individuals who hang around all winter at someone's feeder. Our Alaskan Dark-eyed junco has many cousins in other parts of North America, some of them actually quite colorful compared to our slate-colored variety. To best appreciate them, go to your Sibley's bird guide. My favorite of the six is the Oregon junco. With his rufous jacket and black hood, he almost looks like a Spotted towhee. Some of our slate-coloreds up here also have a black hood. I've had one nesting in my yard for three summers now. If the number of pet names a bird has is any indication of how endeared humans are to it, juncos must be well-loved. Here are just a few: Black chipping bird; black snowbird; blue snowbird; Carolina junco; Cassiar junco; common snowbird; eastern junco; gray snowbird; slate- colored snowbird; snowbird; and white-bill. What a bird!  |
Downy Woodpecker:Downy Woodpecker Puugtuyuli Although this little guy with the soft downy feathers is almost a deadringer for his cousin Hairy, he is not closely related at all. He is actually closer kin to the Ladder-backed woodpecker of the western part of the U.S. As with all woodpeckers in the LYK Delta, his Yupik name, Puugtulyuli, means "the one who is good at diving through the air and banging its head against something." Especially in late winter when their hormones start to kick in, listen to both male and female as they bang out their long, unbroken drum roll, trrrrrrrrrrrrrr, against a hollow tree with their small sharp beaks. They do this 9-16 times a minute, with only a few seconds pause between drums. This is a declaration of territorial ownership, similar to a no trespassing sign, for other Downy woodpeckers, and it's also an invitation to bring members of the opposite sex together in courtship. Quite often it is to restore a mating bond from the year before. Sometimes Downies have been known to remain paired for four successive years. Either member of the pair may do the drumming or tapping to attract the other to a potential nest site. Some of the ways besides drumming that the male uses to entice the female to be his mate have been described as "dancing," bill waving, "duetting" and a rather stilted floating flight around the female. When he is finally successful, search for a good nesting tree begins in earnest, especially by the female, who usually selects the site. Once just the right dead tree stub has been located, a small entrance hole is hammered out by both sexes. The nest cavity that is excavated is gourd-shaped, about 10 inches deep, and the pair leaves fine chips at the bottom on which the female lays her eggs. In order to camouflage the entrance to the cavity, the pair often dig it next to a tree fungus or lichen. Once their new home is ready, mating takes place and four or five white eggs are layed. If you've ever wondered why all cavity nesters lay white eggs, well, there just isn't any need for color camouflage, is there. So tens of millions of years of evolution have selected for the non-color, white, for their eggs. Both sexes incubate these white eggs, although it has been reported that the majority of the brooding is done by the male bird, most of it during the twilight night hours of Alaska's sun-filled spring. Brooding doesn't last for long with Downies, though, only about 12days. After that the really serious business begins, and, if you watch closely, you'll see both parents hurriedly bringing back beakfuls of insects to feed the ravenous hatchlings. They bring food to the nest every two to three minutes, and on their way back out of the cavity they carry away fecal sacs so the nest doesn't become fouled and smelly and so attract predators. In the evenings everything slows down and it is reported that the male does night duty in the nest with the young until the sun warms everything up and insects again become more available. Finally after about 23 very busy days the young have enough feathers and confidence to jump from the edge of the tree hole and start to fend for themselves. They continue to follow their parents around for a few weeks, however, until they learn the art of woodpecker subsistence. Then, voila, the adults are free to go their own way again, and they separate until the next year. I enjoy watching these little elves of the forest. Sometimes while skiing in winter I'll surprise one of them climbing about acrobatically on a tree limb or aggressively tapping on the bark of a dead tree. As I approach more closely, the bird will attempt to hide by slipping behind the other side of the tree, but eventually it will move out into the open again where I can watch it in full view. At the feeders my wife and I put out we often see the male or female hanging upside down on the suet they so much love to eat. Before they come in they announce themselves with a long whinny like that of a small horse. As they feed they utter a short, gentle, flat pik, similar to the call of a Hairy woodpecker but not so wild and ringing. As with all birds, the Downy also has a few other names: Batchelder's woodpecker; Black and white driller; Gairdner's woodpecker; Little guinea woodpecker; Little sapsucker; and Tommy woodpecker. Next time you meet these little guys in the forest, stop and watch them for a spell. You may be surprised by some of their behavior.  |
Dunlin:Dunlin Ceremraq The Ceremraq brings back some powerful memories of my years out on the fringes of the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta. For this humble sandpiper is so much more than the sum of its parts, if you know what I mean. During late summer and early fall when Dunlins stage for migration, their flocks are so huge and perform such perfectly synchronized movements in the air that from a distance they look like swarms of insects. No one fully understands this phenomenon, but it is truly a wonder to behold. In addition to the beauty of its collective flight pattern, the Dunlin's many names are also fascinating. Its common name is a shortened form of "dunling," a small dun-colored (brown) bird. Its scientific name, Calidris alpina, is a Greek-Latin combination, meaning "alpine speckled water bird," which indeed it is. It has two Yupik names. The first and most common is "ceremraq," which relates to its song, a series of harsh rolling trills, jrrre jrre jrrrijijijijijiji jijrr jrrr. (The Yupik word, "ceryuq," by the way, describes the sound of breakers on the beach.) The second Yupik name, "cenairpak," means "big shore bird," (from "cena," for shore). The Western sandpiper has a similar name, "cenairaq," but isn't as large as the Dunlin, so doesn't take the "pak at the end. Other English names for this sandpiper are: Black-bellied sandpiper; blackbreast; blackcrop; black-heart plover; brantbird; crooked-bill snipe; fall snipe; lead-bird; little black- breast; ox-bird; red-back; red-backed dunlin; red-backed sandpiper; stib; winter snipe; and simpleton. With all of these English names, you can see the need for just one scientific name used by scientists world wide. Here are a few scientific tidbits about the bird's life history. The Dunlin probes with its bill into the shore for sand fleas and other crustaceans, marine worms, mollusks and insects. In wet tundra, it will also eat the larvae of mosquitoes and mosquitoes themselves. I love them for this. If you have the good fortune to find their nest in spring, you will see it is made of grass and leaves on a dry hummock on the tundra. Be careful where you step, because there may be four brown-spotted olive-green eggs in it. Both male and female incubate these eggs, and it takes about 21 days for them to hatch. 21 days after hatching, the young take their maiden flights and are more or less on their own. If they are very lucky, they may live for more than 14 years. In Alaska we have two different populations of this little black-bellied sandpiper. One nests on the coastal tundra of the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta, and the other on the North Slope. Both are found on the Y-K Delta in late summer and early fall fattening up for their long migration south. For Alaskan birders who may find themselves down south in winter, the Y-K Delta nesters can be seen from S.E. Alaska to Baja, California. The North Slope nesters will not be found so easily, however. After gorging themselves in the Y-K Delta on small insects and crustaceans, they head for Asia where they spend the winter along the coast of Japan and around the Yellow Sea in China and North and South Korea. Dunlins that nest in the Canadian North will be waiting for you from southern Florida to the Caribbean coast of Mexico and Central America. If you happen to be in Europe, look for the European birds in their winter habitat along the Mediterranean coast. During migration Dunlins have been clocked by airplane at 45-110 mph. Closing my eyes, I have visions of the wild frenetic flight of the Dunlins Iused to watch in Hooper Bay. Here's a poem I wrote many years ago, which I hope helps conjure up the same wonderful images for you. My nerves quivered electrically
as I sat on a sand-dusted log on the fringe of a sedge marsh watching a cloud of charcoal-bellied Dunlins billow up in a wavering swarm, then surge and twist in crystal salt air above the mud flats near Hooper Bay. Their frenetic frog chatter surged excitedly when a cackling family of Emperor geese slowly commanded their way across the darting fleeing shadow, now reflecting black like the black mud, now silver like a mirror in the silver sun, speckling the late summer sky with the vibrant ricochet and bounce of shimmering tufts of dancing feathers. Soon they drifted down again to the green grass shore, scurried around fretfully for a moment, then finally stopped, tucked their little down-bent bills under tired gray wings, and rested.  |
