Every once in a while, a less-common species of bird shows up on Teller and when that occurs, it is an exciting opportunity to learn more about that species. Late November brought one of these instances when a small white and dark grey bird flew across the road and landed in the barley stubble. Thinking it may be a snow bunting, I slowly approached the grain stubble to validate the sighting as that of an adult Plectrophenax nivalis, (Plectro, Greek for the spur-like long claw on the rear toe and nivalis, Latin for snow white.) I have only seen snow buntings on Teller twice and after referencing the Hamilton Christmas Bird Count I learned that over the last 31 years snow buntings have coincidentally only been recorded twice. So where do these handsome song birds typically call home?
As the first cold snap hit the valley floor with over a foot of snow falling in the Bitterroot in late October, several other of nature’s seasonal indicators were also occurring.
Yellow, orange, and red leaves were falling to the ground. Snow geese could be heard migrating, and here at Teller, the arrival of tundra swans signaled that the fall bird migration was well underway. Winter will soon arrive.
With many of Teller’s wetlands frozen solid, it was a few warm water spring-fed sloughs that a dozen or more tundra swans settled in on, foraging on several species of aquatic plants. While wetlands on Teller have attracted their larger cousin, the trumpeter swan, in the past, this time the slightly smaller tundra swan dominated the slough, sharing the open water with mallards, widgeon, green-wing teal, and American coots.
For most of us living in the Bitterroot, we have spent time floating a river, hiking a mountain stream, or walking the Teller Trail along the Bitterroot River.
During that outing, I would wager that a small dark grey bird appeared near the shore, hopping from rock to rock only to disappear at a glance. Convinced the bird did not fly away, you look closer and see that this aquatic songbird actually stepped off the rock to begin an underwater excursion in search of aquatic insects, primarily larvae.
Yes, this robin size bird actually steps off the rock into a shallow riffle and submerges its entire body for 5 to 10 seconds before popping out back on the rock. There, it consumes its invertebrate prize and allows the beads of water to drip off its waterproof feathers before re-entering the water again.
Working on a wildlife refuge often provides a glimpse of how unforgiving nature is when it comes to predator-prey relationships.
Most species of wildlife all share one thing in common — staying alive from one day to the next. I have observed hooded mergansers eating fish, great blue herons spearing frogs with their sharp bills, coyotes chasing ground squirrels and prairie falcons knocking mallards out of the sky, but by far the most impressive predator-prey encounter I stumbled upon was a golden eagle taking down a white-tailed deer fawn.
While I did not witness the actual take down, I came across two adult golden eagles feeding on a freshly killed fawn. Inspection of the carcass revealed talon marks on the face and ears of the fawn with talon puncture marks on the backside of the neck. Since this was around 9 a.m. in full daylight and the majority of the fawn was still intact, I concluded the kill was quite recent and the eagles were likely responsible.
Most birders have a favorite bird and when they see it their attention focuses on that bird and only that bird. While we all have our favorite species or two, it is the unusual encounter of a species rarely seen or not expected that shifts our excitement in a new direction.
The car will come to a stop or you will hear the words, “OMG! There’s a rufous-sided...!” Recently, that is exactly what happened to me. While driving down Chaffin Lane, north of Corvallis, I saw this member of the blackbird family with the back of its neck and head dressed in a straw-yellow colored plumage, a black forehead and chest, with a mostly light back. It was sitting on top of a wooden fence post.
Thinking back to one of my college wildlife biology classes, Ornithology, I distinctly remember my professor pointing out the white rump patch on a Northern Flicker and asking the class why this bird and others have evolved to carry white patches of feathers towards their lower back or tail feathers.
A few suggested it was to attract a mate during courtship, but one student compared it to the white rump patch on an American pronghorn antelope and said it is to focus a predator’s attempt to catch prey on an area that is less vital. A swipe of a talon from a hungry sharp-shinned hawk across a rump patch of white rear plumage might just offer that Flicker another day of survival.
As I drove by the hawthorn tree on Teller, I could not miss the tangle of branches, appearing to be over one meter in height and width, settled in amongst the thorny branches. Upon close inspection, you could see what looked like a roof of haphazardly woven sticks covering the top of the twig cluster.
Visitors to Teller Refuge often ask about the entanglements, but most of us living in the Bitterroot know that this structure is a nest of one of our more common bird species in the valley, the Black-billed Magpie.
As the sound of irrigation sprinklers echo and ditches throughout the valley begin to deliver their share of Bitterroot River water for agricultural purposes, many bird species benefit from the seasonal pasture flooding associated with water delivery systems.
The water table slowly rises throughout the valley and areas that were dry just months prior are now inundated with shallow freshwater wetlands ranging from saturated soils to several inches of standing water. As temperatures rise these small seasonal wetlands create critical migratory bird feeding habitat by hosting a myriad of aquatic insect larvae that provide a protein-rich food source to wading birds and waterfowl.
I am amazed how often film producers display wildlife, especially birds in one of their movies and improperly add the call of a bird other than the one pictured.
One classic that comes to mind is Dances with Wolves. The scene shows Sandhill cranes migrating but the sound you hear is Canada geese honking away! Probably the most common misrepresentation is found in westerns where a Bald eagle, raven, or Turkey vulture is pictured with the call of a Red-tailed hawk sounding out loudly. TV producers should consult with a wildlife biologist prior to final edits, as they often go to such troubles to ensure authenticity only to have their wildlife sounds mismatched with the species they are highlighting.
Spring, here at Teller is often signaled by the return of migratory birds that use Teller habitats seasonally, to court, nest and successfully raise their young in time for a fall departure south to warmer temperatures.
Coinciding with the return of our avian friends, each spring three dedicated Teller volunteers, Jim Hamilton, Mark Dickerson and Paul Hayes also return to Teller for an important task. The three serve as Teller’s Wood Duck Nesting Box program volunteers.
Wood ducks are cavity nesters which means they nest in hollowed out cavities in old-growth cottonwoods or man-made boxes that mimic the natural tree cavity. Are you curious what drives these volunteers ever year to scale tall ladders to service 15 nesting boxes? Read on.
With COVID-19 keeping everybody cooped up, these are stressful times. But it is spring, and you can still maintain a social distance outside.
In our Montana Moment, we visit the Teller Wildlife Refuge near Corvallis.
Lisa King was hiking Teller's public access trail along the Bitterroot River. She was alone, and said hiking here is a good way to enjoy the day and still stay a long way from the few people she saw on the trail.
"I'm not a religious person," she said, "but I do believe in God, and this is my church."
No matter if you’re sitting in a drift boat, driving a car, out for a jog or simply walking the dog, when Haliaeetus leucocephalus flies by, one cannot help but say, “Look! A Bald Eagle!”
The Bald Eagle, not bald at all, is better described by its scientific name Haliaeetus, Greek for sea eagle and leucocephalus, Greek for white-headed.
There is something about watching this magnificent bird in flight that evokes a sense of wild in all of us. Perhaps we reflect back to the days when this bird was in steep decline and seeing one in the lower 48 states was a real treat. Today, Bald Eagles are a conservation success story and while common in the Bitterroot, it was not that long ago that their numbers were few due to pesticide use and its effects on eagle reproduction.
While I often observe small birds chasing larger birds from their territory or nesting site, one bird, in my opinion, tops the list as the most aggressive at defending its space.
Recently, I saw one of these small birds in flight, pulling feathers from the back of an immature red-tailed hawk as it chased the intruder away from its nest. This aggressor is a small perching bird known as the Eastern kingbird.
Honeybees know when they’ve found a good thing.
Researchers learned back in the 1920s that when bees find a good supply nectar, they perform a special kind of dance that shows their fellow bees where to go.
This summer, there must be a lot of dancing bees around the Teller Wildlife Refuge’s brand-new 10-acre pollinator plot.
On a recent morning, the place was already buzzing as thousands of bees converged on the blooms of lacy phacelia, annual sunflower, prairie Coneflower and small burnet that were part of the 14 species of grasses and flowering plants seeded with a no-till drill in early spring.
As I drove down the main entrance road to Teller Refuge, I stopped to watch a small dove size bird hovering above the two-foot vegetation only to disappear in a quick dive to the surface below. Within seconds the bird lifted above the vegetation and flew to a nearby wooded post to consume its catch. The bird wasted no time tearing the small rodent into swallowing size pieces. Soon, several black-billed magpies flew in to harass this skillful predator, which you could detect, aggravated the bird that clung tightly to its prize. Within seconds it took flight clutching what remained of its earned meal and flew from its tormentors. The bird I was watching was the American kestrel. For years known as the sparrow hawk, this small raptor is actually the smallest North American member of the falcon family.
Named after Meriwether Lewis, on his famous westward journey, the Lewis’s woodpecker holds a unique niche among other Bitterroot woodpeckers.
While woodpeckers typically use their strong neck and lingual muscles to expose insects from trees, the Lewis’s woodpecker makes short flights from an arboreal vantage point to capture flying insects.
Named for the hood-like crest on both the male and female, the hooded merganser is one of two commonly observed merganser duck species found in the Bitterroot.
The other, the common merganser, is mallard-size and more frequently found along river systems while the much smaller hooded prefers small backwaters and ponds.
Mergansers are often referred to as “fish ducks” as that is what they primarily feed on. Their bills have serrated saw tooth adaptations that help grasp slippery prey, while most waterfowl species have flat “toothless” bills adapted for seeds, insects and vegetation.
Peering through the cattails, the large white bird stood out amongst several Canada geese and mallards as enormous. Could this be the largest North American waterfowl species?
While Teller is commonly visited by Tundra swans, this bird immediately sparked my curiosity by its size, particularly its long neck, extending several feet in length. With the aid of binoculars and photographs, it was confirmed as a large adult trumpeter swan. I could not distinguish whether this bird was a “cob” (male) or “pen” (female) and it appeared to be alone and likely will not be joining a mate to produce “cygnets” (young) this year.
Thought to be nearing extinction in the late 1800s due to over-harvesting, this magnificent bird represents a true conservation success story involving public and private interests and today we can celebrate as trumpeter swan populations rebound.
The sighting of many bird species returning to the Bitterroot represents spring, however, one species stands out as the true indicator, the American robin.
My first 2019 sighting of this American symbol was March 15, when I observed two adult males perched in the barren branches of a cottonwood tree. Soon these birds will be singing their beautiful melody that peaks early in the morning just before first light, especially where robins tend to flock in tall pine trees.
So why has this birds become such a symbol of spring? Perhaps it’s because of a Russian-born early American singer/songwriter, Al Jolson, who was struck by the jovial nature of the bird and its song. The famous 1926 lyrics best describe the arrival of robins and how our mood is lifted when we hear the melody of the robin’s song. Listen to it on YouTube sung by Bing Crosby in the 1940s.
As I drive by a Corvallis haystack, several white-tails are munching away at the protein rich food source, barely bothered by my vehicle.
The two-foot snow pack surrounding the haystack is trampled as if 100 school kids had recess. Several deep trails lead to the haystack from the cotton woods in the distance, yet these trails may now be paths to survival in the Bitterroot. Luckily, deer and elk in the valley not lured by haystacks have adapted to survive deep snow by using their snouts and hoofs to clear away snow to reveal grass or browse below.
Most of the valley snow has not reached a height that could significantly impact these large grazers. Other mammals, like foxes and coyotes, use their tremendous sense of hearing to detect mice and voles as those rodents scurry about beneath the snow in a myriad of tunnels that have ample vegetation to feed on.