Monday, February 1, 2010

A New Bird

There are around 10,000 living species of birds in the world today, making them the most numerous vertebrates with legs. Translation: there are a lot of birds out there; there’s more fish, way more insects, but it’s safe to say that birds are pretty common. Learning to recognize birds by their individual characteristics, thus identifying a specific species, can feel like a 1 in 10,000 proposition, especially the first time you do it. But taking one bird at a time, not only is it easier than it sounds, it can be a rewarding exercise.

I've seen lots of birds around my house over the years. The American Robin, very familiar in the northwest especially where I live, is easily recognized by its dark gray back and brick-red breast. Last spring my family and I watched with rapt attention as pair of Robins built a nest, laid eggs, fed the hatchlings, and trained the young birds to fly. We even took some video footage as this lasted for several weeks. But most of the time, when trying to identify a bird, they don't cooperate that well.

Preparing to go to work one morning last December I heard a fairly loud bird call from outside the house. We're used to hearing Robin's sing around our house, they are almost as easy to recognize by their song as they are by sight. One thing I knew for sure at this point was the bird making this call definitely wasn't a Robin. Always interested in identifying a new bird, I stopped what I was doing in order to figure out if the sound was coming from the front or back of my house. Since the Robin's nest in the front has been vacant for many months, and I have some bird feeders in the back, my first impulse was to look in the back. As I headed that direction I heard the call again, this time more distant. I reversed direction and moved toward the front of the house. Knowing from past experience if I opened the front door the mostly likely thing that would occur is I'd witness a flurry of wings as any bird in the area made a hasty retreat from my yard, I stealthily positioned myself at the front window unsure of exactly where the bird would be.

From my point of view at the window I quickly scanned the front yard searching for the source of the call. My eyes were immediately drawn to motion around, of all places, the vacated Robin's nest. I saw a good sized bird, larger than a Robin, pecking at and around the nest. Its beak was long, resembling a Woodpecker's. My first thought was this bird is a Lewis's Woodpecker which is similar in size. It had a grayish head and a tan breast covered with black spots. I watched for a couple minutes trying to note in my mind as many characteristics as I could, relishing in how smart I was to quickly identify this bird I'd seen on a couple of occasions, albeit never very close to my house. The bird flew from the tree to our rain gutter, the only thing visible from the front window now was its tail, but it was a really good view of the tail – often a significant characteristic when identifying a bird. Then it hopped up on the roof of our porch. Totally gone from my view at the front window I ran upstairs to my son’s room hoping to get a closer look. From this new vantage point I saw it pecking at a patch of snow on the roof, breaking off tiny ice crystals into small enough pieces to consume. It was fascinating to watch. During this time I was able to catch front and side views well enough to validate my id -- at least I thought I did.

I don't remember what caused me to second guess myself but after watching it for a while I decided to grab my bird field guide and bask in the triumph of my identification from memory. I'm pretty good, I thought to myself. Casually perusing the Woodpecker section of the field guide it was obvious I'm not as good as I thought I was. While the Lewis's Woodpecker is about the same size the similarities to this bird ended there. I turned the page thinking, ok, it must be a Hairy Woodpecker, also a bird I've identified before. Strike two. My confidence started to waiver. I turned to the next page and continued my downward spiral; the Northern Flicker was the first text on the page. Having never even heard of the Northern Flicker before, I thought I was going to have to start over from scratch searching through the entire field guide – a tedious process to say the least. What I failed to notice is that the Northern Flicker is a member of the Woodpecker family. Nearing utter defeat, my eyes scanned the pictures locking onto the topmost bird on the page. To my surprise it had a grayish head -- with a red crown, which I hadn't noticed -- but it had a tan breast with black spots, the back and wings were brown with black bars (stripes) -- which I had noticed, kind of, more so after reading about them than before. According to the field guide the key distinguishing marks of a Northern Flicker is a black patch across the chest, just below the neck, and a conspicuous white rump while in flight.

Armed with this new information, 90% sure of myself now, I raced back upstairs to see if the bird was still on the porch roof. It was gone. However, I did see a slight bit of fluttering just past the edge of the roof, in the tree with the nest. I raced back downstairs to the front window and in what was now an unprecedented experience for me; the bird was once again rummaging around the nest. Its back was turned to me but as I patiently watched, hoping it wouldn't up and fly away, it hopped to the side of the nest oriented facing me. What a stroke of luck. Even better luck was, there in plain sight, too obvious to miss now, the bold black patch across its chest. Now I'm 100% sure this is a Northern Flicker.

The Northern Flicker is not new. What is new is something inside me, something the Northern Flicker has added to me, a spark of appreciation kindled for the seemingly common, yet deeply amazing, environment I get to live in every day. I become a new bird. The list of birds I’ve personally identified, my life list, is modest, especially compared with avid birders. Each time I add to my list however, is a very satisfying experience. It’s like making a new friend.