More busy LBBs.

LBBs.  Walking down a path or along a dock, they bounce ahead of me, bright-eyed handfuls of feathers, flitting away as I approach like leaves blown by the wind, diving into dense shrubbery (how do they avoid getting tangled in that tightly-woven web of criss-crossing branches, I always wonder). I turn around, and there they are again, close behind me, industriously pecking at specks on the trail. Time's a-wasting; the days are short, the nights cold.

Sparrow on the dock.

Junco on a bridge.

Someone's been dropping sunflower seeds.

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LBBs. Little Brown Birds, pajaritos color café. En el camino los encuentro, pequeños manojos de plumas con sus ojitos negros, dando saltitos en el suelo. Al acercarme, se alejan en vuelos cortos, como hojas llevadas por el viento; se esconden entre las ramas entrelazadas de los arbustos; como es que evitan atorarse en esa maraña de ramas, no puedo comprender.  Doy la vuelta, y allí están a mis espaldas, casi a mis pies, diligentemente buscando su comida; hay que apurarse; ahora los dias son cortos, las noches frias. 

1. Gorrión en el muelle.
2. Junco ojioscuro, en un puente.
3. Alguien ha estado esparciendo semillas de girasol.

At the salad bar

Sparrows gettting their veggies:

Immature golden-crowned sparrow, with a beakful.

Yum!

Sparrows are omnivorous. Insects, spiders, seeds, fruit, grains ... And in the spring, they like a salad of fresh, green sprouts.

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Un par de gorriones gorridorados, disfrutando una ensalada primaveral.  Comen de todo; insectos, arañas, semillas, frutas ... Y en la primavera, les gustan los primeros brotes verdes.

Lbbs? Not exactly.

 Backyard birding ...

A sunny afternoon, almost spring. The lawn is green, the flower beds and veggie garden still bare. Seedling pots laid out, with seed packets promising summer goodies. Under the shrubbery, scuffling through last year's leaves, pecking at loose soil, gathering seeds tossed by the homeowner, the lbbs (little brown birds) are celebrating. Bouncing, hopping, scratching, chattering. They take turns at the birdbath. Some call from the trees overhead. Hummingbirds zip here and there, perch momentarily on the tips of bare branches, zip away again.

We sit on the far side, under the deck. When we stand, the birds melt into the shrubbery, waiting silently until we sit down again.

The camera sees better than my old eyes do. They're all lbbs until I see the photos on the computer screen. Then they become white-crowned, gold-crowned, fox sparrows, juncos. Then the colours show up; green, red, gold.

House finch?

Glittery green Anna's hummingbird female.

It almost looks like she's standing on air.

Fox sparrow and junco.

This one has an orange head and throat.

Three lbbs. Fox sparrow, junco, house sparrow?

The fox sparrow's "breast is heavily streaked with inverted 'V's; ... and the lower mandible is yellowish."

Golden-crowned sparrow.

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Pájaros en el jardín ...

Es una tarde asoleada, a principios de la primavera. El césped está verde, los jardines — flores y verduras — siguen desnudos. Macetitas ya sembradas, con sus paquetes respectivos anunciando las delicias prometidas para el verano. Bajo los arbustos, revolviendo las hojas muertas del año pasado, picando la tierra suelta, juntando las semillas ofrecidas por el dueño de la casa, los pajaritos (LBBs, los llamamos en inglés; pajaritos cafés) celebran el dia. Saltan, brincan, rebotan, parloteando constantemente. Toman su turno en el baño o llaman desde lo alto de un árbol. Los colibríes van y vienen, se paran por un momento en el mero punto de una rama, vuelven al aire y desaparecen.

Nosotros nos sentamos debajo de la terraza, al lado opuesto del césped. Cuando nos paramos, los pájaros se esconden entre los arbustos, y se mantienen en silencio hasta que nos sentamos de vuelta.

La cámara ve mejor que mis ojos viejos. Todos los pájaros son LBBs hasta que los miro en la pantalla de mi computadora; entonces resultan ser gorriones de cabeza blanca, de cabeza dorada, zorruno, o juncos. Entonces aparecen los colores: rojo, verde, amarillo ...

Fotos: 

1. Carpodaco doméstico, creo.
2. Colibrí Anna, hembra
3. Parece estar parada en el aire.
4. Gorrión zorruno y junco.
5. Este tiene la cabeza anaranjada.
6. Tres LBBs. El gorrión zorruno (Passerella iliaca) "tiene el pecho marcado con formas de V invertidas ... y el pico inferior es amarillo."
7. Gorrión de cabeza dorada.

Little brown bird

I took the camera out for a walk today. A short walk, in a freezing rain, blowing almost horizontally. Out in the water, the waves were white-capped, the only white to be seen anywhere; everything else was blue-grey, blue-black. Too wet for the camera; too wet for my eyes, squinting into the rain. I came home and looked over last month's forgotten photos, from warmer, drier days.

On Baikie Island, I followed this little brown bird, too quick, too well camouflaged to be seen clearly. The camera caught him once or twice.

Roots, blackberry stem and leaves, and the bird, stopping to look at me.

And then he scooted down among the roots and dead leaves and disappeared.

Failed camouflage

Golden-crowned sparrow, with rose hips.

On Tyee Spit

For most of the year, these wild rose bushes on Tyee Spit are full of the twitterings and flittings of small birds, mostly invisible, though I stand straining my eyes to catch a glimpse of one. There are fewer in the winter; I expect most have moved inland to the backyard bird feeders. But at least those few hold-outs are visible. For now. Until it snows and fills in the gaps between branches.

Company for supper

I was on the road most of the day, yesterday*. It was good to come home and find company waiting for me:

White crowned sparrow, looking for supper. His mate was more timid, and waited in the shade of the hedge. 

Carpet beetle, just finished his supper on the cut edge of an African violet leaf.

And today, we're going to the antique fair. We're sure to find something interesting to show you.

*Friday, that is. Even though I haven't gone to bed yet, it is Saturday morning. I wish the days ended a few hours later, after I'm sleepy enough to go to bed, so I could avoid this confusion!

Bright eyes

Lbb in a salal bush, Reifel Island:

So much personality in so small a package!

How big is little?

In the winter, the sun never shines on my garden. It lies dormant, mostly in shades of brown and grey; the evergreens surrounding it add life, but at a cost. In the gaps between the branches, I can sometimes see glimpses of sunlight on the surrounding neighbourhood. Not here, not until well into mid-spring.

I'm a stubborn sort (that's a polite way of putting it); in spite of the low light, the gloomy greys, I persist in trying to take photos of my birds, themselves mostly grey and dull browns. On rainy days, dull, overcast days, when the sun refuses even to warm the neighbours, there I am, aiming the lens at sparrows and juncos. Little Brown Birds. Little Brown Bouncy Birds.

Sometimes, I am pleasantly surprised; I get a recognizable shot.

So I happened to have the camera in my hand when this tiny, tiny wren dropped in to take a bath:

A blurry shot, but I'm happy; this is the first time a wren has come to visit.

A chickadee stopped at the edge of the bath for a couple of seconds while the wren splashed around. I was amazed at the difference in size. The wren, probably a winter wren, would measure between 4 and 4 1/2 inches, beak to upturned tail; the chickadee is not much bigger, at 4 3/4 to 5 3/4 inches. But that's a full 25 percent more. It showed.

Even tinier are the bushtits that come for suet: 3 3/4 to 4 inches, half of that tail feathers. A dozen or more swarm around the feeder, covering it like pins on a pincushion for a minute before they blow away into the trees.

 A few stragglers, getting a final bite before they follow the rest of the flock to the next feeding station.

The junco is about twice the size of a bushtit; 5 to 6 1/4 inches. They take turns at the feeder; at most, one per side.

We do see an occasional flash of colour, here one moment, gone the next. A pair of red-breasted nuthatches (4 1/2 - 4 3/4") dashes over for sunflower seeds and suet; so do a few house finches (5 - 5 3/4"). Towhees search the ground under the suet feeder, picking up any crumbs the squirrels drop. Mostly, though, they stay in the deep shadows under the hedge, so that they're more recognizable by their size (7 -8 1/2") and their chicken-like scratching than by their colour.

And the last few days, a varied thrush, a brilliantly painted giant at 9 - 10", has joined the towhees. So far, any photos have been silhouettes, nothing more. He may as well be brown, too.

At least the towhees are towhees.

I'm settling comfortably into my winter schedule; in the morning, first thing, I take the birdbath outside and fill it with tepid water, which will be cold by the time the first birds find it. Then I check the chickadee feeder and the suet holder, fill them if necessary. I throw a few handfuls of seeds under and near the shrubbery for the ground birds, adding a small pile of Zick dough. In the evening, I dump the ice out of the birdbath and bring it inside for the night. That's easier than chipping ice in the morning.

The birds respond: the chickadees come and go constantly, morning till dark, a small flock of juncos hops here and there. A robin or two drop in, get a bite, and leave, but a few towhees hide in the evergreens and dash over for a snack whenever they figure the coast is clear. And there are sparrows, the little white-crowned and a pair of big ones, the occasional house finch, and rarely, a Steller's jay or a crow. I'm hoping for bushtits any day now, swarming around the suet basket.

I forgot the other essential; polishing the glass doors, inside and out. I spent a fair portion of yesterday afternoon taking photos of the birds. Then I deleted most of them; with flash, the dust on the glass hid everything outside. Without, the light was too low to capture quick-moving birds. And with the door open, all the birds left.

These are the few photos I kept:

Sparrow, fox?
Update: see comments. Song.

I thought this was a fox sparrow: it's a large sparrow, half-way between the towhee and the robin that were hanging around, with the streaky breast and the big black spot in the centre. But the description on the Audubon Society Bird Web, includes,

"The head is not striped or streaked, the face is plain, and the lower mandible is yellow."

Now I'm confused. The lower mandible is yellow:

Sparrow #2. Blurry photo, but with the yellow lower bill showing clearly. Fox.

And the head of this one is not streaked. But its mate ...

Side view of sparrow #1. Just a hint of yellow. Song. See comments.

... is definitely streaky. Other sparrows with a two-toned bill are the tree sparrows, but they have no streaks on the breast, and a solid chestnut cap.

A couple of days ago, I was reading, on a blog I can't find now, about how easy it is to distinguish sparrows. I had my doubts. Now they're stronger. Do sparrows hybridize, like mallards?

Corey, on 10,000 Birds has a helpful post, with good photos. I notice that his Fox Sparrow has a stripy head.

I give up! Uncle!

Here's one of the pair demonstrating feeding technique:

Fox.

Every time it dips to pick up a seed, it also flaps its wings, almost too fast to see. Under the shrubbery, it scratches for food, chicken-style, then pecks and flaps. Head down, tail up, return, all in a split second.

And this is a sparrow by another name:

Spotted towhee. Easy to identify. But very shy.

On a grey day, all the colours

It was a good thing we'd started on our way to Reifel Island early; with a stop for lunch, and all the stops in between to look at birds, it was well past 2:00 when we arrived at the parking lot, barely 2 hours before sunset.

The mallards were out in force, some in the parking lot, more along the first part of the pathway, where new visitors would have fresh bags of grain. I dispersed a mere handful, though; I had other customers in mind.

Kid contemplating mallards.

Mallard with orange belly.

Between the office and the first crossroads, the LBBs (no-name brand: Little Brown Birds) set up shop. In the summer, the feeders are kept full; this week, they were all completely empty. But the scrubby bush there is full of food; dried blackberries in abundance, full heads of weed seeds, dried grasses, holly berries, and more. The birds chirp and sing happily in the tangle of stalks.

I tried to entice them out with my bag of grain, without much luck. We managed to get blurry photos of brown -- somethings -- before they hopped back into hiding. Oh, well; the ducks would get the bait instead.

A few LBBs, however, sat on the fence, and even stayed put as we took photos.

All puffed out against the cold.

House sparrow.

Golden-crowned sparrow in the blackberry canes.

We turned into the paths bordering the waterways. Now, the predominant birds were ...


... mallards, of course.

But there were a fair number of pintails:


... wigeons:


... coots, mergansers, and a few shovellers. We saw no geese, which surprised me.

Laurie got this photo of a male bufflehead, in all his female-luring glory:


I've always thought of buffleheads as black-and-whites, but when I looked at the photo, I noticed the sheen of blue on the head, and saturated the colours a bit more, just to see what they were. Here's what I came out with: (Click on it for a large copy, to get the full impact.)

Black and white. And blue, green, and burgundy.

I wondered; what do the females see? Do their eyes pick up all this display of colour? How much are we missing of the scenery here at Reifel?

Back to Google. I found this page: Causes of Color - Color Vision in Birds.

Only recently have we begun to grasp that vertebrates such as birds and fish possess more sophisticated color visual systems than we do. While we are trichromats, having photo-pigments with sensitivities at three peak wavelengths, birds have photo-pigments with sensitivities at four or five peak wavelengths, making them true tetrachromats, or perhaps even pentachromats. In some species, the visual spectrum extends into the ultraviolet range, once thought to be visible only to insects.

It is as hard for us to imagine how birds perceive color as it is for a colorblind person to imagine full color vision; it is outside of our experience. This impacts the study of bird behavior, and our grasp of how birds navigate during migration, classify objects, and interact socially and sexually. For example, some species we see as having identical male and female plumage differ when seen in the ultraviolet range - a difference apparent to the birds themselves.

Wandering through discussion groups and GoogleImages, I learned that some birds glow under ultra-violet lights. The males only, at least in some species. And the females pay no attention to them if they are somehow prevented from seeing the UV. (Sunglasses?)

From Wikipedia:

Some animals can distinguish colors in the ultraviolet spectrum. The UV spectrum falls below the human visible range. Birds, turtles, lizards, and fish have UV receptors in their retinas. These animals can see the UV patterns found on flowers and other wildlife that are otherwise invisible to the human eye. ...

UV and multi-dimensional vision is an especially important adaptation in birds. It allows birds to spot small prey from a distance, navigate, avoid predators, and forage while flying at high speeds. Birds also utilize their broad spectrum vision to recognize other birds, and in sexual selection.

Something to mull over. Something to think about in these grey days; maybe we are surrounded by unseen, unimagined rainbows.

Maybe not so dull, after all.

And here's a rainbow, even for our limited eyes: the male wood duck.

Handsome pair.

On our way back to the car, I stopped off at the washrooms. And while I was there, I checked out the swallow's nest at the side of the building.


Still there, still in good repair. I'll look for violet-green swallows there this spring.

I wonder how many colours they really wear.
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