This winter, for the first time ever, common redpolls have shown up at my feeder. In January, they appeared in groups of up to three dozen birds; however, more recently, they are coming in smaller groups along with pine siskins.
The redpolls have been fascinating to watch as they searched for food on the bare ground around the feeder. It appeared they were picking up bits of cracked corn, sunflower seeds and, perhaps, cedar tree seeds. They seldom fed individually but in groups, and would fly up and away, with a whirr of wings, at some secret signal. In less than a minute, they would be back again, descending in small groups from the apple tree and surrounding shrubs. Again, they would feed and repeat the flight performance. What triggered their sudden, unpredictable flights is a mystery. It does seem like a good tactic to keep predators like a merlin, a falcon and pigmy owls on their toes. My being freshly reminded of this habit came in useful later.
Out on a February walk in Lister, we spotted a group of redpolls ahead on the roadway. They, while we approached, flew up and returned, as usual, to the same spot of gravel. When we were about 30 feet away, we got a good look with binoculars. At this point we devised an approach plan. We decided to walk forward when they flew up the next time. According to “plan”, they flew up again and we walked forward, cutting by a third the distant between us and their favourite spot. Now we were too close to get the binoculars to focus. Once again they flew up, and when they flew down again we were 10 feet away. What a view — redpolls, siskins and three goldfinches, which gave us a glimpse of their brilliant yellow, still to come. We could see the birds in detail. We moved on.
On a trail, we came upon a low spot with thin, delicate ice suspended over once water-filled spaces. As the ice was broken, it made a tinkling sound in the crisp morning air. It reminded me of some streams in the mountains that froze over when filled with water and stayed frozen over after water levels dropped with decrease in late fall and winter runoff from glaciers and snowfields. In some cases, a person, donned in rubber boots, could walk in the streambeds under a natural skylight of ice.
Speaking of ice, yesterday I stood viewing a little pond covered with a thin layer of ice. The ice was water-like in that it was very transparent. Is it ice or is it water? Some pine siskins coming along seemed to be challenged in the same way. One flew down from a low evergreen branch to get a drink. After a short period of hovering and fluttering over the ice (or was it water) it chose a spot where a brown leaf was embedded in the ice. In a moment another fluttered down, putting on the brakes just above the ice but not landing where the ice was clear. For a moment it hovered and then landed where a stick was encased in the ice, and drank from a minute opening. A third came down to get some water, repeating the same hovering routine like a giant hummingbird. Shortly, it took over the spot left by the first siskin. None to that point would land on the clear ice.
There is always something going on out there besides what humans have devised. There is always some phenomena unfolding to the patient, casual observer. The screen is the biggest you will ever see. There are 60 billion shows to choose from. Where can you get a better deal? Say, by the way, what silent mid-winter night’s and day’s phenomena contribute to there being almost no snow under evergreen trees in the forest?
Ed McMackin is a biologist by profession but a naturalist and hiker by nature. He can be reached at 250-866-5747.
