A few birds from the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta.
Browse the glossary using this index
Special | A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O
P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X | Y | Z | ALL
W |
|---|
Western Sandpiper:Western Sandpiper Iisuraar(aq) Have you ever wondered about the word "sandpiper?" I did, and when I finally looked it up I found one of the meanings of the word "pipe" is to chirp, peep or cheep. Thus, a "sandpiper', is a bird that chirps or peeps in the sand. Since Western, Semi-palmated, Least and a few other sandpipers make this sound, and also look very much alike, these species are all referred to as "peeps." In Yupik, there is a parallel to the English usage. Iisuraar(aq) is the name the people in Scammon Bay use for this shorebird. Hooper Bay and Chevak use the variation Iiyuraar(aq), since the sound "s" becomes "y" in that area. So what do you think those words mean? Well, look at them closely and you'll probably come up with something like, "the dear little one that makes the sound "iisur," or "iiyur," as the case may be. And if you've ever listened to this bird, you'll have to agree that they do make a sound you could write this way. Anyway, there is yet another Yupik name for the Western sandpiper, cenair(aq), which means "bird that lives (and eats) along the shore." For all I know, it is a word that refers to all shorebirds. More names, but I must give you one more because it is the bird's western scientific name, Calidris mauri, meaning Mauri's speckled water bird. It was bestowed in 1838 by the famous naturalist Charles Bonaparte for his friend Ernesto Mauri. But that's another story. Enough names. Let's go to some interesting behavior. Where migrant and wintering Westerns are found on open shorelines, tidal mudflats and sandy beaches, during the breeding season these birds are mostly found on tundra slopes where they eat insects, such as flies and beetles, plus a few spiders and crustaceans here and there. During migration they have a much larger menu, including insects, crustaceans, mollusks, marine worms and a few seeds every now and then. Most of the time they forage for their food by walking in shallow water or on wet mud or sand, probing below the surface with their sensitive bills. Being opportunists, they also pick up food items from the surface. After returning from their long migration to as far away as northern Peru and Surinam in South America, Western sandpipers seek out their old breeding grounds in the dry tundra of western Alaska and eastern Siberia. The male immediately establishes his nesting territory and chirrs (probably the Yupik sound "iisur") vigorously while performing his display flight over this coveted area. Once an interested female alights nearby, he lands too and tries to dazzle her with his charm. He slowly approaches her in a hunched posture, tail raised over his back, repeatedly uttering his sexiest trilled call. If she likes what she sees and hears, well, you know what happens next. With sandpipers that breed in the north the courting period is fleeting, since they don't have any time to spare in the short window of warm weather up here. Even with global warming the nesting pair has to worry about climatic time constraints. While the male was doing his display flight, trying to attract a female, he was also scraping out several nest sites on the ground for his potential mate to choose from once she decided he was the one-and-only. It doesn't take him long to do this, since the scrapes are only shallow depressions on slightly elevated shrubby tundra near a water source such as a marsh or pothole lake. Each is lined with grass, tiny leaves and moss, and is sometimes domed with sedges and grasses. After choosing the site, she adds a little to what her paramour has already placed there. And then it is time to be extremely serious and prepare for the future. Yes, eggs, incubation and child care. She lays four brown-splotched whitish-brown eggs, which are incubated by both parents for about three weeks. At first, the female broods the eggs from late afternoon to midmorning the next day, at which time the male takes over for a few hours. But gradually the male increases his share of the time. Sometimes the female departs from the nest and her mate even before the eggs hatch. Then it is up to him to finish the job. When the eggs hatch they do so almost simultaneously, and the already downy-feathered young leave the nest within hours after hatching. This is called a precocial behavior and is necessary for survival reasons. If you've ever found a sandpiper nest, you've probably noticed how large the eggs are in comparison to the size of eggs belonging to non-sandpipers. This is so the chicks can develop inside the eggs to a size where they are able to trot away from the nest right after they are born. Sometimes both parents care for the young, but often the female deserts them after a few days, thus leaving the male alone to care for the young. He really doesn't have much responsibility, however, since the chicks already instinctively know how to feed themselves, just watching the old man to learn about the variability of foods that are available in the area. After almost three weeks of feverish, almost constant feeding, the young are mature enough to take wing for the first time, and then they are completely on their own. Soon afterward, both father and mother (wherever she is) depart the breeding area for more southerly dimes. The fledglings hang around, though, for another two to three weeks, frenetically feeding to fatten up for their long migration south. Listen to these birds at this time of year as they move and whistle constantly along the water's edge, digging with their specialized bill, and you will hear why they are called peeps and pipers.  |
Whimbrel:Whimbrel Kikikiaq What a bird this one is! With its long, down-curved bill and bluish stilt-like legs, it almost looks extraterrestrial. But I assure you, it is an earthling, and an Alaskan through and through, at least for part of the year. Kikikiaq is also quite a world traveller. I've seen this bird from the Lower Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta and the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge all the way to South America, including the Galapagos Islands. One of the most fascinating encounters I've had with it was on the lower Yukon River near Marshall many years ago. I was out walking on the tundra when a lone Whimbrel flew directly over me, making its flight call, a quick, loud and liquid kikikikikiki. I instantly called back to it, using the sound it makes on its nesting grounds, a sort of kur-leeou, kur-leeou (which, by the way, gives this bird another of its names, curlew).The Whimbrel immediately changed course, circled me, and landed on the tundra. As I continued to call, the bird began circling me and approaching closer and closer. I watched him through my binocs, and at one point even thought I saw a sparkle in his eye, but finally when he was within fifty feet of me the sparkle faded and he flew away. I guess I wasn't his cup of tea. The Whimbrel, which is a member of the sandpiper family, was so-named in England from one of its calls which the British apparently thought sounded like whim, to which the suffix brel was added. This suffix means something like "dear little one" in old English. It has two Yupik names I'm familiar with, Kikikiaq, which I learned in Hooper Bay, and Pipipiaq in Scammon Bay. Both of these are onomatopoeic, that is, they take the name of a sound the bird makes. In this case, the sound is of its flight call, mentioned above. While living in Hooper Bay and Scammon Bay, I remember young hunters taking whimbrels and other large shorebirds to give as food gifts to their elders. Then, of course, there is its scientific name, Numenius phaeopus. Numenius is Greek for "new moon," and refers to the crescent shape of the bird's bill. Phaeopus is Greek for "gray-foot," and relates to the whimbrel's bluish-gray colored legs. It's curious that in northern Alaska, the Inupiat name of the bird, Sigoktuvak, also describes its anatomy and loosely means, "big, long-billed shorebird." For the record, some of the Whimbrel's other common English names are: blue- legs, crooked-bill marlin, foolish curlew, Hudsonian curlew, jack, jack curlew, short-billed curlew, and striped-head. So much for names. In spring on his nesting grounds, the male Whimbrel puts on quite an aerial courtship show for his mate. After taking off from the tundra, he flies low, then circles higher and higher until suddenly he begins gliding down to earth again, uttering his rapid, trill-like kikikikikiki. This is a precursor to, you guessed it, copulation and egg-laying in a quickly built nest that isn't much more than a saucer-shaped depression in dry tundra and lined with bits of dry grass, moss and lichen. Four olive-colored, brown-spotted eggs are usually laid, then incubated by both parents for about a month. After the young hatch, they leave the nest quickly. At first, both parents feed and protect them, but gradually they learn the tricks of the trade, and a little more than a month after they've hatched the birds are on their own. By then they have learned to both feed themselves and to defy the force of gravity by flying. The diet of the young is the same as that of their parents: aquatic invertebrates, including small crustaceans, worms, small mollusks, spiders, sand fleas, and, in late summer, wild berries, especially crowberries which provide them with ample fat for their migration to southern climes in fall. When it finally comes time for the migration to take place, the young stick around Alaska for at least a week longer than their parents to build up their fat wads and to learn a little Spanish for their long trip to South America. Buen viaje.  |
White-crowned Sparrow:Uipinipaaq White-crowned Sparrow Ever heard the bird that sings, “Don’t wanna go to school no more”? If you haven’t, spring is the time of year to start listening. The male White-crowned sparrows return first, so that’s all you’ll be hearing or seeing for about two weeks, and since they sing even at night in Alaska, you’ll be happy when the females arrive and begin to settle in with their paramours. One of the reasons the females arrive later is that they winter further south in Mexico than the males. When the girls do arrive, they put on quite a display for the male, especially in a nesting territory where there aren’t enough males to go around. This is referred to as polygyny, and happens in some human cultures, too. Sometimes among the White-crowns it gets so complicated that the females divide up the male’s territory and even sing to show possession of their little part of the realm. That seems to explain why the female does the courting, by fluttering her wings and trilling to attract the male’s attention. Sounds strange, but think of some of the things we humans do! Once the female has found a mate and a nesting territory, she sets about selecting a nest site, then building a cup-shaped nest on the ground by herself of materials such as grass, leaves and hair. This done, she begins the serious business of laying 4-5 brown-spotted creamy-white to pale-green eggs. Only she incubates the eggs, which hatch about 12 days later. Both parents feed the young in the nest until they fledge after about 10 days. If there is enough time left in the season and the female decides to try for a second brood, the male will continue feeding the fledglings until they are on their own. While the adults feed mostly on wildflower and grass seeds and some insects, they feed their young a high protein diet of mostly insects. The Yupik name Uipinipaaq is probably onomatopoeic, that is, it sounds similar to the bird’s song. This is not the case for either the common name (perfectly descriptive) or the scientific (Greek) name, Zonotrichia leucophrys, which loosely means, “white striped feathers over the eyebrow.” Which leads me into a short discussion about their white crowns. Researchers refer to these white crowns as badges, and have shown that they indicate relative status among adult male and female birds, those with the brightest white striping having the highest dominance status. This is apparently important in finding genetically worthy mates, not unlike the role of hair in humans, although there’s no guarantee of the genetic quality in the latter. Something else fairly unique among these sparrows is that they have many local dialects. These have also been widely studied by scientists, but have not been found to have any evolutionary significance. They have arisen simply as a result of the young males (and females) hearing the songs sung in their local territories by their fathers and neighboring males. “Don’t wanna go to school no more!”  |
White-fronted Goose:White-fronted Goose Leqleq Listen to these amazing geese and you will hear honest to goodness laughter and chuckling. As they fly overhead, it could be they're laughing at the way we build our houses, or the way we're so confined to the earth, or perhaps the way people point up at them and say "leqleq," or "neqleq," or "neqlepik"! Now it's time for you to laugh because these are names that were given probably many thousands of years ago by hunters who thought the sound these geese made reminded them of someone passing gas. You don't believe me? Well listen again. One person's laughter is another's, how can I put it delicately, "flatus." On to other things, such as their scientific name, Anser albifrons, meaning, "goose with the white forehead," which is where the big goose also gets its official English common name. In the Y-K Delta, however, the goose is called "Yellow legs," because of its brilliant orange-yellow legs. Some of my friends also call it "Speckle belly," because of its, yes, speckled belly. After migrating north from their wintering grounds in California and Mexico, these laughing geese fly in to the Y-K Delta in large numbers. Three year olds have by now already found mates and immediately prepare to nest, even if there is still snow on the ground. Both during the winter and on their way north the two newly mated birds have strengthened their pair bond with what is called the "triumph display," where the male briefly attacks another adult bird, then returns to its mate with its neck outstretched and its wings partly spread. While he does this, both male and female call loudly back and forth. Since, in this case, it is no laughing matter, they don't laugh. Mother goose builds her nest by herself in a shallow depression in the tundra near water out of dried grasses and small sticks and then lines it with her own down. Father goose meanwhile remains nearby, calling loudly, and hissing and flying at any other White-fronts that may approach too close for comfort. This may happen fairly often, since White-fronts nest in loose colonies of 15-20 pairs. The female usually lays 5-6 large cream-colored eggs and incubates them by herself while the gander stands guard. It takes almost a month for the young to begin to peck their way out of their shells, but when they finally make it into the light of day they are already quite big and strong, and within a day can walk and swim without any help from mom or dad. Both parents tend the young after they leave the nest, leading them to feeding areas. They do not feed them, however. Feeding close by, the hatchlings eat pretty much the same fare as their parents: marsh and tundra plants, aquatic insects and their larvae and, especially during migration, crowberries and blueberries. After fattening up on these foods for about a month and a half, the young are ready to push into the air and fly, fly, fly. They don't seem to be in any hurry to leave the company of their parents, though, and remain with them for the first year of life, and often are loosely associated with them for several years. When it comes time to migrate in Fall, the young follow their parents, thereby learning the skills needed for long-distance migration. They fly with them by day or night, using well established routes flown by countless generations of White-fronted and other geese, and relying on traditional stopover points to recharge for the next leg of their journey. My favorite migration memory of these handsome geese was during a walk one late Autumn day on the mountain above the village of Marshall. Snow was falling and, well, let me tell the story in the form of a poem I wrote about them: It was an opaque sky with early snow falling when I heard them gabbling somewhere out there in those hoary flakes dropping leaden on green birch woods and bleaching red tundra frosty white with winter. Further along the trail I spotted their tracks, a stampede of webbed feet chasing blueberries across yellowing tufts of splayed cotton grass on wet snow, lightly squashing confetti leaves of dwarf birch cast away by galing September winds. Then I heard them again, above me, their noisy gabble warning of some amorphous imminence. Suddenly, there they were, like giant wings flapping, first one flock, then another, and another, scudding off in different directions, splitting their numbers, flying higher on the mountain where no one will bother them, to fatten some more on blueberries and crowberries, just biding their time till the weather breaks and they can see the grey snake braids of the Yukon river once again. Then they'll be gone, heading across the pass to Russian Mission, over to the Kuskokwim and south to warmer climes and another winter of respite from the blood and broken feathers inflicted by the greedy cannonfire of hungry hunters. Good luck to you, my friends. P.S. The White-front has many other common names: Gray brant, gray wavey, harlequin brant, laughing goose, marble-belly, pied brant, prairie brant, speckled brant, tiger brant, tule white-fronted goose, yellow-legged brant, and yellow-legged goose.  |
Willow Ptarmigan:Willow Ptarmigan Aqesgiq Aqezaqezaqezaqezqzqzqzqzqz.... Ever heard that sound? Sure you have. Just walk out in the tundra in Spring, and I guarantee, if you listen hard enough, you'll hear it. Enter, two aspiring bird watchers. "Okay, now we're in the tundra, and we hear it. So, what are we hearing?" "Did you remember your binoculars? No. Well, go back and get them." Pause.... ''You're back. Good. Now take your binocs and scan the horizon. Stop! See them...like little white snowballs skittering across the tundra." "Yah, tundra chickens." "Right, except those aren't any old chickens. Those are willow ptarmigan, what they call around here, aqesgiq, because of the sound of their spring mating call (that word, "onomatopoeia" again). That's what you're hearing right now." "Alright, what next?" "Well, watch them for a while and you might see some interesting action out there." If our new bird watching friends really did take the time, they probably saw some remarkable behavior between the male ptarmigan and a few passionately curious females (ptarmigan) that came around to check him out. They also might have witnessed some very aggressive behavior on the part of the male if any other males happened to venture near the little bare patch on the tundra that he called his own. What they saw might have reminded them of a bloody cock fight they'd been to in Mexico. If the bird watchers return the following day, they might see the ptarmigan mating game unfold even further. Read on.... After frightening off his rivals, and with bright red nuptial "eyebrows" (also called combs) flashing at high speed, the male aqesgiq begins to strut his stuff and flutter his brown-stained wings, chuckling for all he's worth to attract the woman of his dreams over to his little bare patch on the tundra so he can, you guessed it, make babies and quickly settle down to married life and all that means to a male ptarmigan. Unlike the other two species of Alaska ptarmigan, the aqesgiq is actually a pretty good husband and sticks around while his new wife builds her nest, then lays and incubates her 15 (or more) eggs. Hiding in a thicket near the nest, he will do whatever it takes to defend his spouse from attacks by gulls and jaegers. He flies viciously at them, sometimes even knocking them over, to prevent them from getting the eggs of his future progeny. One was once even seen frontally attacking a grizzly bear that stumbled on his mate's nest. If you chase after the chicks and try to pick them up, prepare for a fierce flying attack yourself. This almost happened to me in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. I escaped just in time. Here's something else. If his mate is somehow killed while still brooding her eggs, the male will take over the responsibility of not only incubating the eggs, but also of feeding the young until they're old enough to care for themselves. I wonder how many humans would do that? Okay, that's enough for now about aqesgiq. Except for two things, two important things, the scientific name, which ...(you look it up), and, what else? You tell me. But I'll give you a hint ....It has to do only with Alaska.  | |
|
Wilson's Snipe:Wilson’s Snipe Kukukuaq Listen carefully this fall and you may hear the sound of spring. The Wilson’s snipe sometimes makes its weird winnowing call, woo-woo-woo-woo, even during its fall migration. You won’t mistake this sound for that of any other bird. It is unearthly, and is produced by air vibrating the bird’s two outer tail feathers. When the snipe dives at between 24-53 mph, the winnowing sound can be heard for up to a half-mile away. The noise is mostly a part of the male’s mating display over the nesting territory to warn other males to stay away, but is also directed toward his beloved below both while courting her favors and later while she is incubating the eggs on the nest. Interestingly, it may be made by either sex during the early part of the breeding season and sometimes by both sexes at once. This unusual sound is also the source of one of its Yup’ik names, kukukuaq (which is simply imitative of the sound), and even of its Iñupiaq name, avikiak, which means, “sounds like a walrus.” The Nunivak Island name for the bird, cen’aq, translates loosely as “sandy beach bird.” The snipe’s scientific name, Capella gallinago, also relates to the sound of its territorial winnowing call. Both words are Latin and mean “little nanny goat-like chicken,” probably in allusion to this goat-like noise. At one time the snipe was very abundant in North America, especially on its wintering ground in the southern U.S. where it was slaughtered in the late 19th century by market hunters. One hunter in Louisiana killed almost 70,000 snipe in a 20 year period. They are still hunted each fall, but with a strict bag limit. When I taught in Hooper Bay and Scammon Bay, I remember them being hunted by Yup’ik young people and then presented to their elders as gourmet treats. After finding her prince charming, the female quickly goes to work and selects a nest site. With her bill, she scrapes a spot in soft dry ground, then crouches and turns in the scrape with her body to mold mosses and grasses to a cup shape, adding grass or sedge for lining. She then lays four dark, spotted olive-buff eggs, which she alone incubates for 18-20 days. Soon after hatching, both parents lead the chicks from the nest and feed and brood them. If a fox or man appears, both adults flutter about like wounded birds to distract the enemy from the chicks. Within ten days the chicks can fend for themselves and by their 15th day can even fly short distances. Like their parents, the young get most of their food by plunging their bill straight down into soft earth or mud. The bill is soft and flexible and the upper mandible can be raised and curved to seize earthworms and larvae and pull them out of the ground. The bird works its food up the length of its bill with its spiny tongue and backward-projecting serrations on the inside of the upper mandible. Insects, including their larvae, are about 50 percent of their food, but they also eat small frogs, crabs, snails, earthworms, leeches, spiders, centipedes, and even seeds of sedges and grasses. They chase this daily fare with large amounts of water. Any indigestible parts of the food are burped out in the form of pellets. The Wilson’s snipe was named after the “father of American ornithology,” Alexander Wilson (1766-1813). It has also been called the Alewife bird, American snipe, bleater, bog snipe, English snipe, gutter snipe, jacksnipe, marsh snipe, meadow snipe, shad bird and shad spirit. Many years ago, while a teacher in Scammon Bay, I remember walking over to Castle Rocks after an early snowfall in October when suddenly a snipe flew out of the snow in front of me, swiftly zigzagged away for a few hundred feet, then dived back into the snow, probably to keep warm. I’ve observed this behavior a few times since then – which prompts me to call this bird by yet another name, the snow snipe.  |
Wilson's Warbler:Wilson’s Warbler Cungakcuarnaq This tiny warbler is a real gem, and when flitting through the bushes on a cloudy day looks like a golden ray of sunshine. No wonder it is graced with so many names everywhere it’s found. Let’s begin with Yup’ik names. I’ve found three of them so far, and they cover all the bases of what the bird is: Cungakcuarnaq means “the little bird that is the color of greenish-yellow bile;” Ciivcivciuk is imitative of its call (the male sings a quick rolling chitter, drooping in pitch at the end: t’le t’le t’le t’le chee chee chee; and Ciugciugciaq describes its behavior of tilting its head up while either singing or searching for edible tidbits. And that’s only the beginning. In English, the Wilson’s warbler was named after the 19th century ornithologist, Alexander Wilson. So was its scientific name, which means, “Wilson’s very small warbler.” Other English names for this rolly polly little bird are: Pileolated warbler; Golden pileolated warbler; Green black-capped warbler; Northern pileolated warbler; Wilson’s black-cap; Wilson’s black-capped flycatching warbler; and Wilson’s pileolated warbler. Finally, for those who speak French: Fauvette jaune, Paruline à calotte noire, and Paruline jaune; and Spanish: Chipe amarillo, Chipe corona negra, Reinita gorrinegra, Reinita de Wilson, Chipe careto, Reinita de capucha, Chipe Coroninegro and Verdin amarillo. If you’re searching for Ciivcivciuk, check out thickets of second growth saplings, black spruce and tamarack in sphagnum bogs, or stands of willows, alders and birches near creeks and ponds. You won’t find them deep in the forest. While feeding they usually stay within 10 feet of the ground. They are lively little birds, jerking their tails as they glean insects, caterpillars and spiders from the leaves of bushes, especially near water. You’ll also frequently see them darting into the air to catch flying insects. Or sometimes you may see the little guys hopping on the ground, probing among fallen leaves, then, as I mentioned above for Ciugciugciaq, tilting its head upward and fluttering into the air to take prey from the undersides of leaves and branches. In spring, male Wilson’s warblers migrate north to Alaska ahead of females and arrive first on their nesting grounds to establish their breeding territories. After the arrival of the females the mating game begins. During courting the male flits about restlessly trying to dazzle his paramour with an exhibition of color and dance and a spirited repertoire of song, t’le t’le t’le t’e chee chee chee. It doesn’t take long for the female to decide on her soul mate and she quickly settles into the serious business of building her nest, usually on the ground in a secluded nook in the grass or tundra, often at the base of a small willow or other shrub. The nest is a bulky open cup, made of grass, moss and dead leaves, and lined with finer grass and animal hair. She lays 4-7 creamy white, brown-speckled eggs that she incubates by herself for 10-13 days. The nestlings are fed by both parents, but only the mother bird broods them. The young fledge between 8-13 days after hatching. Both parents feed the fledglings for a short period after they leave the nest, but very soon the young learn to feed themselves. For the next few weeks, however, one or both parents tend them, with some of the young staying with one parent while the rest accompany the other. Together they now hurriedly fatten up for their long fall migration to places as far away as southern Mexico and Central America. In March, 2013, during a 10 day birding hike across the tropical Sierra Madre mountains in Chiapas, Mexico (located next to Guatemala), I was privileged to see them in their winter homes. What a treat that was. A cool fact is that the color and size of Wilson’s warblers depends on where they nest. Those that nest along the Pacific coast have the brightest yellow, even orangish, foreheads and faces. And birds that nest in Alaska and the western-central part of the Lower 48 are larger than eastern and Pacific coast populations. A cool bird, eh?  |
