Mya Bell's Backyard Birding Diary
27 Mar 02

Location:

My back yard in the Pacific Northwest.

Critter highlights:

• Black Capped Chickadee
• Chestnut Back Chickadee
• Raccoon
• Allen's or Rufous Hummingbird
• House Sparrow
• Steller's Jays
• Red-Breasted Nuthatch
• House Finch
• White-Crowned Sparrow

Mya Bell's Diary:

Fierce Flyers. Today was one of those mild, slightly misty, unremarkable days. As I started my daily routine, I didn't anticipate any special bird activity, even when the call of a chickadee drew me to the window. As I neared the balcony, however, I noticed that the sound was unusually loud and insistent. I would even venture to call it angry by human standards.

When I peeked out the window, I was surprised to see a black capped chickadee flinging itself at a reflective surface, pecking furiously between its calls, determined to drive off the 'other' chickadee it apparently perceived in the reflection. It continued this at intervals throughout the day with unabated vehemence, taking only occasional breaks to forage--then coming back as fierce as ever. I didn't think to remove the mirror, which had been put outside after the old bathroom cabinet had been replaced, because I assumed the chickadee would tire of attacking its own reflection. It didn't seem to be hurting itself and I was distracted by work.

I don't know if it was the cries of the chickadee that caught their attention, or they were making a routine visit to the yard, but soon the Steller's jays flew in for a visit. They seemed unconcerned about the chickadee's plight and foraged as usual.

During one of my breaks, I heard the sounds again and watched for a few moments as the little chickadee challenged the image in the mirror. I couldn't help but admire its fearless determination. Soon, a male house sparrow flew into the maple tree nearby and a couple of Juncos took up perches in the red oak.

I gradually realized that the chickadee wasn't going to give up the battle and it would probably be best to cover up the mirror. Just as I made this decision, however, the chickadee flew away. Since there were several other birds nearby, I decided to wait until they had finished feeding before venturing outside. Just then, the chickadee returned and resumed its onslaught.

After a few moments, the chickadee left and its insistent cries were replaced by a loud humming directly over my head. A female hummingbird, an Allen's or Rufous, was visiting the feeder that hung from the eaves and hadn't noticed me crouched so low to the floor. What luck, I thought, to see so many different species in such a short space of time. Little did I know there would be more to follow.

Homeland Hummers. It was then that I noticed, through the rails of the deck, that the hummingbird had flown over to perch in the oak tree. As surprising as this may sound, this is the first time I've ever seen a hummingbird perch. I've suspected them of taking breaks to sit in the pear tree in our neighbor's yard, but never could get close enough to find out for sure. Seeing the hummingbird so still was a wonderful moment.

I noted that the hummingbird's breast was mostly white with speckles, as you would expect on a female or young male. The back was a shimmering green and the belly and upper part of the tail were a lovely brick red with black and white tips at the ends of the outer tail feathers. When sitting still or visiting the feeder, the hummingbird held its tail tightly closed so that it came to a rounded point. It intermittently groomed and flicked its long tongue. At moments it would sit swaying rhythmically, puffing out its gorget more than you would expect from breathing alone. It occurred to me that perhaps it was singing, maybe at frequencies too high for human ears to hear, but I had no way to record or confirm this hypothesis.

I was very excited at the prospect of getting closeups of the hummingbird, so I moved slowly to another window and climbed up on a sideboard, putting my feet rather clumsily on another piece of furniture. It was not the most comfortable position, but over the next 15 minutes or so I was able to quietly work the window open without startling the birds. The chickadee came and went and so did the hummingbird, sometimes engaging in chipping and acrobatics with another hummingbird that looked physically similar. I couldn't tell if this was mating behavior (less likely if they were both females) or sparring.

So there I was 'perched' in my window, trying to get a shot of the hummingbird. The hummingbird wasn't about to pose for photos, however. Instead, it decided to fly down to the flowering Japanese plum at the back of the garden. Oh well. But wait, if the hummingbird hadn't relocated, I wouldn't have noticed that a raccoon was making its way down the trunk of a tree! Now I couldn't decide where to aim the camera! I must have looked like a clown, leaning halfway out the window, with my knees up around my shoulders, aiming the camera in a dozen directions. I was trying to catch shots of both the moving targets (the chickadee and the hummingbird), and now one of the first spring raccoons was coming out from its hiding spot and I didn't want to miss that!

Rocking Racoon. I finally decided to film the raccoon while watching the hummingbird with my peripheral vision. The raccoon was expertly making its way through the tree. They always appear so confident and composed when they're climbing around 50 feet off the ground. You rarely get the impression that they are in danger of falling, even though a raccoon is a fairly large animal. Today, however, the raccoon managed to climb its way into a dead end; it kept looking for a way to continue down the way it was headed, but the branch had become too thin to hold its weight. The raccoon was stuck, unless it traversed another slender limb back to the main trunk. It was the first time I've ever seen a raccoon look uncertain and nervous about its footing. It kept testing the branch, looking for other options and then, finally, just decided to go for it, while I watched, holding my breath and hoping nothing disastrous was going to happen.

Hummer Happenings. As the mist turned to a light steady rain, the hummer spent more time in the tree and less time at the feeder. It was the best opportunity I've ever had to see one at a distance of about only 11 feet. To make it even more interesting, a chestnut-back chickadee started hopping around in the same tree, which didn't seem to bother the hummingbird. I wanted to know if this was a female rufous or a female Allen's and the truth is, I'm not sure. As far as I know, ornithologists haven't discovered any easy, foolproof way to distinguish them from a distance. I was very fortunate in that the hummer was using the light rain as a shower and preened itself quite thoroughly, poking its long beak deep into its feathers, fanning out its beautiful tail so that the red, black and white were clearly visible. It even fluffed out the black spot on its gorget so that it flashed bright iridescent red. It was quite a show and I never imagined there was more to come!

As the hummer preened, the black capped chickadee returned to its fierce attack of its reflection. I was beginning to worry about it, indeed to think of it as 'the demented chickadee' because it didn't appear to be easing up its energetic assault--it was determined to oust its rival. That's when I discovered the chickadee isn't the only bird who puts such energy into encounters with other birds, the hummer was to give me a lesson in birdliness no less spectacular. After a few brief encounters where one hummer engaged the other in the tree, they took off into the yard in a dizzying spin that was as loud as it was energetic.

I wish I could have caught it on film, but hummingbird acrobats are too dazzlingly quick for the human eye to follow. All I managed to record was two tiny blurs of red engaged in fuzzy, swirling, buzzing acrobatics. I could barely follow them as they spun circles around one another, beating their wings for long seconds, no more than four or five feet off the ground. While they carried out this frenzied encounter (perhaps not frenzied to them), two bushtits visited the suet feeder and chickadees continued to come and go. Then the humming stopped. One hummingbird disappeared and, for a while, the first hummer came back and continued its preening as though nothing had happened. A little while later the hummers had another pas de deux and, while they were buzzing about, a red-breasted nuthatch visited the suet. I had never seen so many different species of birds so close to the house in such a short space of time and I was beginning to wonder if the noise from the black-capped chickadee and perhaps from the hummingbirds was attracting the attention of other birds.

A Ground-Feeding Visitor. As I was enoying my incredible good fortune, I was to get even more surprises. I was wiggling into a more comfortable position on the windowsill when a pair of house finches flew down to the oak tree and the brightly-colored male sang for a minute or two. Then a flash of white and motion near the rockwork and rhododendron bush at the back of the property tore my attention away from the bushtits, chickadees, and hummingbirds. I left the window (by now my hind end was pretty sore from sitting on the sideboard) and stepped onto the balcony just in time to see a little brown bird poking around the debris under the rhododendron. To my great surprise and delight it was a white-crowned sparrow. I have heard of them and seen pictures in books, I have probably heard their calls, but I have never actually seen one before, even though they are supposed to be fairly widespread. I've always lived in neighborhoods where there were many cats, so ground-foraging birds were understandably scarce. This 'first encounter' was a real treat. The bird was pecking at little dark specs in the rockwork, probably eating insects (there are carpenter ants and other crawly things that like to hide there) and I caught a few glimpses as it hopped through the shrubbery.

As much as I wanted to continue watching the birds, it was time to get back to work. I turned over the mirror so the little chickadee could get back to business and I could get back to writing. But I have to admit, I was reluctant to leave, in case I might miss something. Sure enough, a varied thrush came to sit in the tree where the hummingbird had been preening and a couple of starlings paid a visit too. One of the starlings sang the most incredible string of chortles, cracklings, whistles, and hums that I've ever heard. Well, time to get back to work, but I will certainly reflect on how fortunate I was to see so many different types of birds in my small back yard--a day that will not easily be equaled.

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Mya Bell is a novelist and screen author. Birding and sharing excerpts from her journals are Mya's hobbies.
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