Ruby-crowned Kinglet

Good kings are supposed to be wise, dignified, and austere. Ruby-crowned Kinglets are none of these things, which must be why they’re kinglets. They’re energetic little birds that bounce around in the forest and never stop talking. Their song is a little less than beautiful, but what they lack in musical talent they make up for in loudness and enthusiasm. Male Ruby-crowned Kinglets do indeed have a red crown, which is usually kept hidden. Male kinglets use them as a complement to their song to impress their dates and chase off competitors—why the female kinglets find this attractive, I’m not sure, but apparently they do.

In Vancouver, there is a suite of small brownish birds that can be challenging to identify. Two of the hardest are Ruby-crowned Kinglet versus Hutton’s Vireo—two distantly related birds that decided to copycat each other’s plumages. You know you’re looking at a Hutton’s Vireo when it looks exactly the same as a Ruby-crown, but has a stockier bill and looks like a tourist in Disneyland the way it rubbernecks all the time. Ruby-crowns, in contrast, are like fangirls at a concert, flicking their wings and chatting incessantly. Other helpful clues include the colour of the feet and the dark bar across the base of the secondary feathers (because I’m always looking at the base of the secondaries when observing birds…).

I saw this bird on October 31 at the UBC Botanical Gardens. She never held still for more than a second so most of my photos of her look something like this:

Dark-eyed Junco

The Dark-eyed Junco (also known by her pseudonyms, the Snowbird and simply the Sparrow) is a ubiquitous bird in North America, and often spends the winter in areas with relatively harsh climates. They’re a pain in the rump for those who like to categorize species into simple, discrete units: Dark-eyed Juncos have a staggering 15 subspecies, many of which used to be considered separate species entirely. In Vancouver we have the Oregon Group, which, in itself, apparently houses eight subspecies (none of which I would be able to tell apart). Juncos build their nests in cleverly concealed locations on the ground, which always seemed like a dumb strategy to me. Though, I suppose having a nest in a tree might not be that big of an advantage when your main predators are squirrels and other birds.

The entrance to a Junco nest in northern Saskatchewan

In Vancouver, as we begin our dreary descent into the rain-drenched months of winter, the birds are also preparing for the cold season. As they preen, they coat their feathers with oil from a special gland that keeps them waterproof. They can fluff up their plumage to make it more insulating, and might be putting on fat to keep their energy stores high. Many birds will get together with all their friends to roost at night and keep each other warm. Snowbirds, or Rainbirds, as the case may be, around here have it easy compared to those who live in climates with “real” winters.

I saw this pair in the Point Grey neighbourhood on September 22 (way back before midterm season hit).

Steller's Jay

I’ve always associated Steller’s Jays with British Columbia, and especially with BC Parks, where they take full advantage of food left unattended at camp sites. The Steller’s Jay is even the provincial bird of BC. However, their range extends down the coast to California and down the Rockies all the way to Mexico!

Vancouver has been crawling with Steller’s Jays lately, screaming to their heart’s content and feasting on acorns. Like other Corvids (jays and crows), they have a varied suite of vocalizations and enjoy chatting with one other. Steller’s Jays mate for life, and, like perfect lovebirds, seem to spend all winter together too. Mated pairs have complex social interactions that are midway between territorial defense and colonial living.

Birders call brightly-coloured birds “candybirds”, a term that usually refers to groups like warblers and tanagers. But I think this species qualifies as a candybird if anything does. I saw this one in our back yard on October 1st, where she has been burying acorns in our lawn.

Red-breasted Nuthatch

Red-breasted Nuthatches are the trouble-makers of your backyard bird community. The nuthatches in our back yard, at least, are out of control. They’re Chatty Cathys, and their annoying “een – een – een – een” can be heard all day long. To prepare for the coming winter, they select the best-quality sunflower seeds from our feeder and hide them in various secret locations around the yard (including in the roof, in the vegetable garden where the seeds have germinated, and in the nooks of the bark in the surrounding trees.) In order to select the best seeds they have to get rid of the ones that aren’t up to snuff, which means that for every seed they take they spit out four onto the lawn. They’ve been making such a mess that we’ve installed a net underneath the feeder to catch their rejects.

The chickadees often eat the rejects right out of the net.

During the breeding season, Red-breasted Nuthatches smear the entrances to their nests with sticky conifer sap, applied with either their beaks or bits of bark used as paintbrushes. In order to avoid the sticky mess themselves, they will dive right through the entrance without touching it. This is likely a strategy to discourage competitors for nesting holes and nest predators.

Ultimately, the nuthatch decided that this tree wasn’t a good enough hiding spot, so he took the seed away somewhere else. I might pretend to have disdain for this species, but in truth I always admire animals who are an annoyance to humans.

He tried jamming the seed even deeper into the nook, but ultimately gave it up as a bad choice. Maybe he was concerned that I knew his secret and would try to steal it later on.

Sanderling

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the word Sanderling comes from Old English words meaning “sand-ploughman.” True to their name, this species spends most of its time along the shoreline eating whatever small critters they can find. Sanderlings are a species of sandpiper, a group known as “peeps” because of their high-pitched, peep-y calls. Peeps are notoriously hard to identify and I hope I’m not embarrassing myself by making a public ID error, though it wouldn’t be the first time and probably won’t be the last!

I saw this young bird at Blackie Spit, Surrey, on September 16. Based on her speckled back she should be a juvenile bird, only a few months old and freshly arrived in Metro Vancouver from her birthplace in the Arctic. Sanderlings overwinter as far north as Alaska and as far south as Argentina (as well as in Eurasia and Australia)!

Also at Blackie Spit was a Western Sandpiper, who looked so tired from his migration that he was about to fall asleep right on the beach. Many birds will fly almost nonstop on migration, only occasionally landing at stopover sites to have a quick nap and a snack before moving on.