The Birds of Washington (Volume 1 of 2) / A complete, scientific and popular account of the 372 species of birds found in the state

Both parents are unsparing in their devotion to the rising generation, and so thoroly is this unselfish spirit reflected in the conduct of the children that it is the subject of frequent remark. Mr. Finley tells[42] of an instance in which a first brood, just out of pinafores, turned to and helped their parents provide food for another batch of babies, and this not once, nor twice, nor casually, but regularly, until the second brood were well matured. Instinct! Instinct! say you? But, wherefor? Is it not rather a foregleam of ethical life, an outcropping of that altruistic tendency which hints a deeper kinship with the birds than we have yet confessed?

And real gallantry between the sexes may not be less ethical. On a day in Ohio, I located a Bluebird’s nest in the knot-hole of an apple tree, and planted the camera in a commanding and somewhat threatening position. The cavity held callow young, but after the parents had visited their charges once and were somewhat relieved in anxiety, I saw a very pretty passage which took place between them. In a neighboring apple tree the male secured an elegant fat grub and was most devoutly thrashing it, when the female appeared upon the scene. With a coaxing twitter she approached her mate; but he backed off, as much as to say, “Wait, wait, dear, he isn’t dead yet!” But she was hungry and pressed her suit, until he in good-natured impatience flitted across to another limb. Here he whacked the worm vigorously, striking him first against one side of the limb and then against the other by a swinging motion of the head. The female followed her lord and cooed: “Oh, I know that will taste good. Um! I hav’n’t tasted one of those white grubs for a week. So good of you, dearest! Really, don’t you think he is done now?” The valiant husband gave the luckless grub just one more whack; and then, with every appearance of satisfaction, he hopped over toward his better half and placed the morsel in her waiting beak, while she received the favor with quivering wings and a soft flood of tender thanks. Altogether I think I never saw a prettier exhibition of conjugal affection, gallantry, and genuine altruism than the sight afforded. It was not only like the behavior of humans; it was like the best in human life, a pattern rather than a copy, an inspiration to nobility and gentleness of the very highest type.

Bluebirds have a decided preference for human society, or at least are very quick to appreciate the hospitality of proffered bird-boxes. Being chiefly insectivorous, their presence is a benediction to any neighborhood, and is an especial advantage in the orchard. A friend of mine in the East, who owns two young orchards and a small vineyard, maintains upon his premises upwards of fifty Bluebird boxes, each composed of a section of a hollow limb closed with a board at top and bottom, and provided with a neat augur-hole in the side. The boxes are made fast to the apple-trees or lodged at considerable intervals along the intersecting fences. The experimenter finds that more than half of the boxes are occupied each season, and he counts the birds of inestimable value in helping to save the grapes and apples from the ravages of worms.

In providing for Bluebird’s comfort, care must be taken to expel cats from the premises; or at least to place the box in an inaccessible position. English Sparrows, also, must be shot at sight, for the Bluebird, however valorous, is no match for a mob. Tree Swallows or Violet-greens may covet the nesting-box—your affections are sure to be divided when these last appear upon the scene—but the Bluebirds can take care of themselves here. For the rest, do not make the box too nice; and above all, do not make it of new lumber. Nesting birds do not care to be the observed of all observers, and the more natural their surroundings, the more at ease your tenants will be. An occasional inspection will not be resented, if the Bluebirds know their landlord well. There may be some untoward condition to correct,—an overcrowded nestling, or the like. At the end of the season the box should be emptied, cleaned, and if possible sterilized.

Two broods are raised in a season, and the species appears to be on the increase in the more thickly settled portion of the State. Occidentalis avoids the dry sections, and is nowhere common on the east side of the mountains, save during migrations. It is, however, regularly found on the timbered slopes of the Cascades, the Kalispell Range, and the Blue Mountains, where its range inosculates with that of the Mountain Bluebird. There is reason to suppose that its range will extend with the increase of irrigated territory. West of the mountains, per contra, the Bluebird affects the more open country, and especially that which has been prepared by fire and the double-bitted axe.

No. 102.
MOUNTAIN BLUEBIRD.

A. O. U. No. 768. Sialia currucoides (Bechstein).

Synonym.—Arctic Bluebird.

Description.—Adult male in summer: Above rich cerulean blue, palest (turquoise blue) on forehead, brightest on upper tail-coverts, darkest (sevres blue) on lesser wing-coverts; below pale blue (deepest turquoise) on chest, shading on sides of head and neck to color of back, paling on lower belly, crissum and under tail-coverts to whitish; exposed tips of flight feathers dusky. Bill and feet black; iris dark brown. Adult male in winter: Blue somewhat duller and feathers skirted more or less with brownish above and below, notably on hind-neck, upper back, breast and sides. Adult female: Like male but paler blue, clear on rump, tail and wings only, elsewhere quenched in gray; pileum, hindneck, back and scapulars mouse-gray tinged with greenish-blue; outer edge of first primary and outer web of outermost rectrix, basally, white; a whitish orbital ring; underparts tinged with pale brownish gray fading to white posteriorly. Young birds somewhat resemble the adult female but are even duller; the blue of rump and upper tail-coverts is replaced by ashy gray; the back is streaked with white; the throat and jugulum are pale gray indistinctly streaked with whitish; chest, sides and flanks broadly streaked with drab, each feather having a white center. Length 7.00 (177.8) or over; wing 4.60 (117); tail 2.83 (72); bill .53 (13.4); tarsus .89 (22.6).

Recognition Marks.—Sparrow size; azure blue coloration of male and bluish-gray and azure of female unmistakable.

Nesting.—Nest: much as in preceding species. Eggs: usually 5, uniform pale blue sometimes very light bluish white, rarely pure white. Av. size, .80 × .60 (20.3 × 15.2). Season: May, June; two broods.

General Range.—Mountain districts of western North America north to the Mackenzie and Yukon Territory, breeding eastward to the Black Hills and western Texas, westward to the Cascade-Sierras, southward to the higher ranges of Arizona, New Mexico and Chihuahua, in winter irregularly eastward upon the Great plains and southward to southern California, Lower California, etc.

Range in Washington.—Summer resident in the Cascade Mountains chiefly on the eastern slopes (but west to Mt. Rainier); common during migrations and irregularly resident in summer upon lower levels east of the Cascades (Wallula, May 15, 1907, breeding).

Migrations.—Spring: Chelan, Feb. 24, 1896; Conconnully, March 15, 1896; Ahtanum, March 13, 1900.

Authorities.—Sialia arctica Brewster, B. N. O. C. VII. Oct. 1882, p. 227. T. L¹. D¹. D². Ss¹. J.

Specimens.—P¹. Prov. C.

A bit of heaven’s blue incarnate! We shall not stop to chide this exquisite creature that he does not sing. Why should he? It is enough to inspire song.

The Mountain Bluebird is of regular occurrence but of very irregular distribution in eastern Washington, and is scarcely known west of the Cascades. John Fannin found it in British Columbia “west occasionally, to Chilliwack, and other points on the lower Fraser; also Vancouver Island,” but we have only two records of its occurrence on the Pacific slope in Washington[43]. The bird ranges up to the highest peaks of the central divide, but it is not at all common in the mountains. It seems to prefer more open situations and, so far from being exclusively boreal in its tastes, has been found nesting at as low an altitude as Wallula, on the banks of the Columbia River.

At Chelan in a typical season (1896) the migrations opened with the appearance, on the 24th day of February, of seven males of most perfect beauty. They deployed upon the townsite in search of insects, and uttered plaintive notes of Sialian quality, varied by dainty, thrush-like tsooks of alarm when too closely pressed. They did not at any time attempt song, and the entire song tradition, including the “delightful warble” of Townsend, appears to be quite without foundation, as in the case of S. m. occidentalis. On the 15th of March a flock of fifty Bluebirds, all males, were sighted flying in close order over the mountain-side, a vision of loveliness which was enhanced by the presence of a dozen or more Westerns. Several flocks were observed at this season in which the two species mingled freely. On the 27th of the same month the last great wave of migration was noted, and some two hundred birds, all “Arctics” now, and at least a third of them females, quartered themselves upon us for a day,—with what delighted appreciation upon our part may best be imagined. The males are practically all azure; but the females have a much more modest garb of reddish gray, or stone-olive, which flashes into blue on wings and tail, only as the bird flits from post to post.

In nesting, Mountain Bluebirds sometimes display the same confidence shown by the darker species; and their adoption into urban, or at least village life, would seem to be only a matter of time. They are a gentle breed, and it is an honor of which we may well strive to prove worthy, to be chosen as hosts by these distinguished gentlefolk.

“Gentle,” as applied to Bluebirds, has always the older sense of noble,—noble because brave. My attention was first called to a nest in the timbered foothills of Yakima County, because its valiant owner furiously beset a Flicker of twice his size, a clumsy villain who had lighted by mistake on the Bluebird’s nesting stub. The gallant defender did not use these tactics on the bird-man, but his accents were sternly accusing as the man proceeded to investigate a clean-cut hole eight feet up in a pine stub four feet thru. Five dainty eggs of the palest possible blue rested at the bottom of the cavity on a soft cushion of fine grasses.

This must have been a typical structure, but near Chelan I found the birds nesting at the end of a tunnel driven into a perpendicular bank much frequented by Bank Swallows. The original miner might have been a Swallow, but the Bluebirds had certainly enlarged the hole and rounded it. There were no available trees for a mile or so around, but—well, really now, it did give one a turn to see this bit of heaven quench itself in the ground—for love’s sake.

Sylviidæ—The Old World Warblers, Kinglets, and Gnatcatchers

No. 103.
WESTERN GOLDEN-CROWNED KINGLET.

A. O. U. No. 748. Regulus satrapa olivaceus Baird.

Description.—Adult male; Crown-patch (partially concealed) bright orange or flame-color (cadmium orange); a border of plain yellow feathers overlying the orange on the sides; these in turn bordered by black in front and on sides; extreme forehead white, connecting with white superciliary stripe; a dark line thru eye; above bright olive-green, becoming olive-gray on nape and side of head and neck; wing-quills and tail-feathers much edged with light greenish yellow, the former in such fashion as to throw into relief a dusky spot on middle of secondaries; greater coverts tipped with whitish; underparts sordid white, sometimes dusky-washed, or touched on sides with olivaceous. Adult female: Similar, but with crown-patch plain yellow instead of orange. Immature: Without crown-patch or bordering black, gradually acquiring these thru gradation of color. Length about 4.00 (101.6); wing 2.16 (55); tail 1.57 (40); bill .29 (7.5); tarsus .67 (17).

Recognition Marks.—Pygmy size; orange, or yellow, and black of crown distinctive.

Nesting.—Nest: lashed to and largely concealed by drooping twigs on under side of fir bough near tip, an exquisite ball of mosses, lichens, liverwort, fine grasses, etc.; bound together with cobwebs and lined with the softest materials, vegetable-down, cow-hair, and feathers, 3½-7 inches in diameter, and placed from five feet up. Eggs: 7-9, rarely 10 (one of 11 on record), sometimes in two layers, dull white, cream white, or sordid cream-color, finely sprinkled or not with pale wood-brown or dull rufous, and sometimes, obscurely, with lavender. Av. size, .54 × .40 (13.7 × 10.2). Season: April 1-July 1; two broods.

General Range.—Western North America from Rocky Mountains to the Pacific Coast, southward in winter over highlands of Mexico to elevated districts of Guatemala; breeding from Colorado (near timber-line), eastern Oregon (mountains near Fort Klamath), Sierra Nevada (south to Mount Whitney), Mount Shasta, etc., northward to Kenai Peninsula and Kadiak Island, Alaska.

Range in Washington.—Common resident in coniferous timber (except pine) thruout the State, sea-level to limit of trees, less common east of Cascades, where numbers greatly augmented during migrations.

Authorities.—? Townsend, Journ. Ac. Nat. Sci. Phila. VIII. 1839, 154 (Columbia River). Regulus satrapa, Licht. Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. IX. pt. II. 1858, p. 228 (part). (T.) C&S. L. Rh. D¹. Kb. Ra. D². Kk. B. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. P. Prov. B. E.

“Good things come done up in small packages,” my college chum used to say (speaking, of course, of la femme petite), and that was before he knew the Golden-crowned Kinglet. Indeed, it is surprising how few people do know this amiable little monarch; and yet, I suppose, he is by all odds the most abundant bird in Washington. To one who seeks the honor of his acquaintance, he proves a most delightful friend; but he has his little modesties and reserves, becoming to a potentate, so that a thousand of him would never be “common,” nor pall upon the senses.

Kinglets go in troupes, family parties, which keep a little to themselves ordinarily; altho Chickadees and Nuthatches, or even Creepers and Wrens, are welcome messmates, in the friendly winter time. Evergreen trees, exclusively, are frequented, except during migrations upon the East-side where the favorite cover is lacking, and the real abundance of the birds at all seasons is coextensive with that of the Douglas Spruce (Pseudotsuga douglasi). With tireless energy they search both bark and branches for insects’ eggs and larvæ scarce visible to the human eye. They peer about incessantly, bending and darting and twisting and squirming, now hanging head downward, if need be, now fluttering prettily against the under side of the branch above; but always on the go, until frequently one despairs of catching fair sight of the crown for the necessary fraction of a second. Of course it’s a Golden-crown; but, then, we want to see it.

And all the time Cutikins is carrying on an amiable conversation with his neighbor, interrupted and fragmentary, to be sure, but he has all day to it—tss, tss-tsip-chip, tseek. If you draw too near, tsip can be made to express vigorous disapproval.

Concerning the “song” one is a little puzzled how to report. One hears, no doubt, many little snatches and phrases which have in them something of the quality of the better known carol of the Ruby-crown, but they lack distinctness and completion. Moreover, they are never given earnestly, even in the height of the mating season, but, as it were, reminiscently, mere by-products of a contented mood. It may seem a little fanciful, but I am half tempted to believe that the Gold-crests are losing the ancient art of minstrelsy. The lines have fallen unto them in such pleasant places; food and shelter are no problems, and there is nothing of that shock and hazard of life which reacts most certainly upon the passion of song. And then it is her fault, anyway. Phyllis would rather whisper sweet nothings in the mossy bower than be serenaded, never so ably. Oh, perilous house of content!

It remained for Mr. Bowles, after years of untiring effort, to discover the first nest of this western variety. And then it came by way of revelation—a fir branch caught against the evening sky and scrutinized mechanically afforded grounds for suspicion in a certain thickening of the twigs under the midrib. Investigation revealed a ball of moss matched to a nicety of green with the surrounding foliage, and made fast by dainty lashings to the enveloping twigs; and, better yet, a basketful of eggs.

These birds probably nest at any height in the heaviest fir timber; but, because they are relatively so infinitesimal, it is idle to look for the nests except at the lower levels, and in places where the forest area has been reduced to groves and thickets. The boundaries of the prairie country about Centralia and northward afford the best opportunity for nesting, for here the Douglas Spruces attain a height of only a hundred feet or such a matter, and occur in loose open groves which invite inspection. Here, too, the Kinglets may be noted as they flit across from tree to tree, and their movements traced.

The kinglet and queenlet are a devoted pair in nesting time. Whether gathering materials for the nest or hunting for food after the babies are hatched, they work in company as much as possible. They are discovered, it may be a hundred yards from the home tree, gleaning assiduously. After a time one of the birds by a muffled squeak announces a beakful, and suggests a return; the other acquiesces and they set off homeward, the male usually in the lead. It looks as tho tracing would be an easy matter, but the birds stop circumspectly at every tree clump en route, and they are all too easily lost to sight long before the home tree is reached.

Nests may be found at any height from the level of the eyes to fifty feet (higher, no doubt, if one’s eye-sight avails) but always on the under side of a fir limb, and usually where the foliage is naturally dense. The nest ball is a wonderfully compacted affair of moss, both green and gray, interspersed with liverworts, dried grasses, soft weed fibers, and cow-hair. The deep depression of the nest cup scarcely mars the sphericity of the whole, for the edges are brought well in; so much so, in fact, that a containing branch overloaded with foliage upon one side, once tipped half way over without spilling the eggs. The deep cavity is heavily lined with cow-hair and abundant feathers of grouse or domestic fowl. These feathers are placed with their soft ends protruding, and they curl over the entrance in such fashion as almost or quite to conceal the eggs. One would like to particularize at great length, for no fervors of description can overstate the beauties of this Kinglet palace.

Eggs vary in number from five to nine, seven and eight being the rule. I once took a nest with eleven—one too many at the least, for it had to rest on top of the others. They are not much larger than Hummingbirds’ and are quite as fragile. Mr. Bowles consumed twenty minutes in removing the contents of the big nest to the collecting box without a break. The eggs vary in color from pure white to sordid white and dusky brown. In the last two cases the tint may be due to a profusion of fine brown dots, or to advancement in incubation, the shell being so thin that the progressive stages of the chick’s development are dimly shadowed thru it.

The female Kinglet is a close sitter and will not often leave the nest until the containing branch is sharply tapped. Then, invariably, she drops down a couple of feet and flits sharply sidewise, with manifest intent to deceive the laggard eye. Yet almost immediately she is minded to return, and will do so if there is no further demonstration of hostilities. Re-covering the eggs is not always an easy matter, for the well is deep and the mouth narrow. One dame lighted on the brim of her nest and bowed and scraped and stamped, precisely as a carefully disciplined husband will when he brings muddy boots to the kitchen door. The operation was evidently quite unconnected with hesitation in view of my presence, but in some way was preparatory to her sinking carefully into the feather-lined pit before her. When she first covered the eggs, also, there was a great fuss made in settling, as tho to free her feathers from the engaging edges of the nest. When the bird is well down upon her eggs there is nothing visible but the top of her head and the tip of her tail.

The male bird, meanwhile, is not indifferent. First he bustles up onto the nesting branch and flashes his fiery crest in plain token of anger, but later he is content to squeak disapproval from a position more removed.

While the mother bird is sitting, the male tends her faithfully, but he spends his spare moments, according to Mr. Bowles, in constructing “cock nests,” or decoys, in the neighboring trees. These seem to serve no purpose beyond that of a nervous relief to the impatient father, and are seldom as carefully constructed as the veritable domus.

When the young of the first brood are hatched and ready to fly, the chief care of them falls to the father, while the female prepares for a second nesting. As to the further domestic relations one cannot speak with certainty, but it would seem at least possible that fall bird troops consist of the combined families of Mr. and Mrs. Quiverful.

As to the time of home-making, the Ringlets are not very particular. Nor is it necessary that they should be. It is always spring here after the first of February. Besides that, a fir tree is both forest and store-house at any season. In the vicinity of Tacoma, the usual nesting time is the last week in April for the first set, and the second week in June for the second. The earliest record is April 9th, that of a nest containing half-grown young. The first egg of this set must, therefore, have been deposited about March 15th.

So far as we can make out, this bird is strictly resident in western Washington, but it is much less common on the east side of the Cascades, and is there largely migratory. Not only does the species retire in winter from the mountains to the lower foot-hills, but considerable numbers pass over the State to and from British Columbia. At such times they appear wherever timber or watered shrubbery is to be found. With manners so engaging and lives so sheltered, to say nothing of families so blessed in the yearly increase, is it any wonder that the gentle tribe of Regulus prevails thruout the giant forests of this western slope, and spills over in blessing wherever trees abound?

No. 104.
RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET.

A. O. U. No. 749. Regulus calendula (Linn.).

Description.—Adult male: Above olive-green, duller anteriorly, brightening to greenish yellow on edgings of quills and tail-feathers; a partly concealed crest of scarlet (flame-scarlet to scarlet-vermilion); two narrow, whitish wing-bars formed by tips of middle and greater coverts; some whitish edging on tertials; a dusky interval separating greenish yellow edges on outer webs of secondaries; a whitish eye-ring and whitish skirtings around base of bill; under parts soiled white, heavily tinged with buffy and olivaceous buff. Adult female and immature: Similar but without crown-patch. Length 4.00-4.50 (101.6-114.3); wing 2.33 (59.2); tail 1.72 (43.7); bill from nostril .25 (6.4).

Recognition Marks.—Pygmy size; scarlet crest distinctive. Note wing-bars and whitish eye-ring of female and young. Lighter than R. c. grinnelli.

Nesting.—Nest: a ball of moss, lichens, etc., bound together with cobwebs, and lashed to drooping twigs beneath branch of conifer, lined with vegetable-down, catkins, hair, and feathers, and placed at moderate heights. Eggs: 5-9, dull white, or pale buffy, faintly or sharply but sparingly speckled with reddish brown, chiefly about larger end. Av. size, .55 × .43 (14 × 10.9). Season: June; one brood(?).

General Range.—North America at large in wooded districts, north to limit of trees, west to northwestern Alaska (Kowak River), breeding chiefly north of the United States, and irregularly in the higher ranges of the West.

Range in Washington.—Common spring and fall migrant; summer resident in northeastern portion of State only(?).

Migrations.—Spring: April, May. Fall: October.

Authorities.—Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. IX. pt. II. 1858, p. 227. (T.) C&S. L¹. Rh.(?) D¹. Sr. Ra. D². Kk. J. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. P¹. Prov. B. BN. E.

Dr. Henry Van Dyke is the questioner, and the little bird has a ready answer for him. Being an Easterner, it is “Labrador” in May, and

in October. But under the incitement of the poet’s playful banter, the Kinglet enlarges his claim:

And surely there is no one who can meet this dainty monarch in one of his happy moods without paying instant homage. His imperium is that of the spirit, and those who boast a soul above the clod must swear fealty to this most delicate expression of the creative Infinite, this thought of God made luminous and vocal, and own him king by right divine.

It seems only yesterday I saw him, Easter Day in old Ohio. The significant dawn was struggling with great masses of heaped-up clouds,—the incredulities and fears of the world’s night; but now and again the invincible sun found some tiny rift and poured a flood of tender gold upon a favored spot where stood some solitary tree or expectant sylvan company. Along the river bank all was still. There were no signs of spring, save for the modest springing violet and the pious buckeye, shaking its late-prisoned fronds to the morning air, and tardily setting in order its manifold array of Easter candles. The oak trees were gray and hushed, and the swamp elms held their peace until the fortunes of the morning should be decided. Suddenly from down the river path there came a tiny burst of angel music, the peerless song of the Ruby-crown. Pure, ethereal, without hint of earthly dross or sadness, came those limpid welling notes, the sweetest and the gladdest ever sung—at least by those who have not suffered. It was not indeed the greeting of the earth to the risen Lord, but rather the annunciation of the glorious fact by heaven’s own appointed herald.

The Ruby-crowned Kinglet has something of the nervousness and vivacity of the typical wren. It moves restlessly from twig to twig, flirting its wings with a motion too quick for the eyes to follow, and frequently uttering a titter of alarm, chit-tit or chit-it-it. During migrations the birds swarm thru the tree-tops like Warblers, but are often found singly or in small companies in thickets or open clusters of saplings. In such situations they exhibit more or less curiosity, and if one keeps reasonably still he is almost sure to be inspected from a distance not exceeding four or five feet. It is here too that the males are found singing in spring. The bird often begins sotto voce with two or three high squeaks as tho trying to get the pitch down to the range of mortal ears before he gives his full voice. The core of the song is something like tew, tew, tew, tew, titooreet′, titooreet′, the last phrases being given with a rising inflection, and with an accent of ravishing sweetness. The tones are so pure that they may readily be whistled by the human listener, and a musical contest provoked in which one is glad to come out second best.

Having heard only the preparatory spring song for years, it was a matter of considerable rejoicing to come upon the birds at home in Stevens County. They were especially common in the neighborhood of Newport, and they sang incessantly, and loudly from the depths of the giant larches, which abound there. It appears that the full-fledged breeding song is quite different from the delicate migratory carol. The preliminary notes are of much the same quality, but instead of accenting the final syllable of the titooreet phrase, and repeating this, the phrase is given only once, with a sort of tittering, tremolo effect, and the emphasis is thrown upon a series of strong, sharp terminal notes, four or five in number, and of a uniform character—the whole somewhat as follows: tew tew tew tew titteretteretter reet, cheep′ cheep′ cheep′ cheep′. These emphatic notes are also rendered in a detached form at occasional intervals, usually after the entire song has been rehearsed; and they are so loud at all times as to be heard at a distance of half a mile. One individual began his song with an elaborate preliminary run of high-pitched, whining notes of a fineness almost beyond human cognizance; then effected a descent by a kititew note to the tew tew tew series. In his case, also, the emphatic closing notes had a distinctly double character, as cheépy, cheépy, cheépy.

We ransacked the Newport woods day after day with feverish eagerness, allured and goaded by the music, but filled also with that strange fire of oölogical madness which will lead its possessor to bridge chasms, dangle over precipices, brave the billows of the sea, battle with eagles on the heights, or crawl on hands and knees all over a forty-acre field. The quest was well-nigh hopeless, for the woods were dense and the tamaracks were heavily draped in brown moss, “Spanish beards,” with a thousand possibilities of hidden nests to a single tree. June the First was to be the last day of our stay, and it opened up with a dense fog emanating from the Pend d’Oreille River hard-by. Nevertheless, six o’clock found us ogling thru the mists on the crest of a wooded hill. A Ruby-crown was humming fragmentary snatches of song, and I put the glasses on him. I was watching the flitting sprite with languid interest when Jack exclaimed petulantly, “Now, why won’t that bird visit his nest?” “He did,” I replied, lowering the binoculars. The bird in flitting about had paused but an instant near the end of a small fir branch about thirty-five feet up in a sixty-foot tree, springing from the hillside below. There was nothing in the movement nor in the length of time spent to excite suspicion, but it had served to reveal thru the glasses a thickening of the drooping foliage, clearly noticeable as it lay outlined against the fog.

We returned at ten o’clock and the first strokes of the hand-ax, as the lowermost spike bit into the live wood, sent the female flying from the nest into a neighboring tree. As the ascent was made spike by spike, she uttered a rapid complaint, composed of notes similar to the prefatory notes of the male’s song; but during my entire stay aloft she did not venture back into the nesting tree, nor did the male once put in an appearance. The nest was only five and a half feet out from the tree trunk, and the containing branch an inch in thickness at the base. Hence, it was not a difficult, albeit an anxious, task to support the limb midway with one hand and to sever it with a pocket-knife held in the other, then to haul it in slowly.

The nest was composed largely of the drooping brown moss, so common in this region as to be almost a necessity, yet contrasting strongly with the clean bright green of the young fir tree. But, even so, it was so thoroly concealed by the draping foliage that its presence would have escaped notice from any attainable standpoint, save for the mere density,—a shade thicker than elsewhere. At first sight one is tempted to call it a moss-ball, but close examination shows it to be rather an assemblage of all sorts of soft substances, vegetable downs, cottons from the pussy willows and cottonwood trees, weathered aments, hair, fine grass (in abundance), with occasional strange inclusions, such as spider-egg cases, dried flower-stalks, and the like. The lining is exclusively of feathers, those from the breast of the Robin being most in evidence. A few of these curled up from under the neatly turned brim, so as to partly conceal the contents; but only a little effort was required to obtain a perfect view of the eggs from above.

I counted the glowing pile, slowly, calmly, as a miser counts his gold when the bolts are shot—twice to make sure—one, two, three, * * * nine, the last one being thrown in on top of the heap for good measure.

The eggs were marvelously fresh, insomuch that in blowing them Mr. Bowles coaxed seven of the nine yolks out unbroken thru the mere needle-holes in the shell which he counts a sufficient exit. In color they were pure white, flushed with the peculiar ruddy of fresh eggs having semi-transparent shells, with a pale broad band of brownish dust about the larger ends (the smaller one in one case).

When I had descended,—singing and whistling right merrily snatches of songs once popular, “Sweet Marie,” and the like, for my spirits were uncommon high,—the mother-bird returned to the nesting tree and haunted the site of the ruined home persistently. First she peered down from the branch above; then she dropped down to the branch below, and craned her head, sorely perplexed. She lighted upon the white stump of the severed limb and examined it confusedly, then she fluttered in midair precisely where the nest ought to have been, and dropped to the limb below again in despair. This mystified quest she repeated over and over again until it wrung the hearts of the beholders. Well, well; we are inconsistent creatures, we humans. And somehow the comfortable philosophy of the bird-nester fails at these critical points.

No. 105.
SITKAN KINGLET.

A. O. U. No. 749 a. Regulus calendula grinnelli Palmer.

Synonyms.—Alaskan Kinglet. Sitka Ruby-crowned Kinglet. Grinnell’s Kinglet.

Description.—Like preceding but of much darker coloration,—a “saturated” form; also wing somewhat shorter, bill larger, etc. Av. measurements of male[44]: wing 2.23 (56.6); tail 1.69 (42.9); bill .34 (8.7); tarsus .72 (18.1).

Recognition Marks.—Of strikingly darker coloration than R. calendula—supposed to be the exclusive form in winter.

Nesting.—As preceding. Does not breed in Washington.

General Range.—Pacific Coast district breeding from British Columbia to head of Lynn Canal and Yakutat Bay, Alaska; south in winter (at least) to middle California.

Range in Washington.—Early spring and late fall migrant, common winter resident on Puget Sound.

Authorities.—? Regulus calendula, Licht. Cooper and Suckley, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. XII. pt. II. 1860, p. 174 (Winter resident on Puget Sound). Bowles, Auk, Vol. XXIII. Apr. 1906, p. 148.

Specimens.—B. E. P(A).

So far as our somewhat scanty observation goes, this would appear to be the prevailing form in the earlier spring migrations, and the only one found in winter upon Puget Sound. Thus, while the lighter-colored birds, which summer in our mountains and in British Columbia, are enjoying sunshine in Mexico, this Alaskan coast dweller is re-dyeing his plumage under the dull skies of the Pacific watershed.

The Sitkan Kinglet is not abundant in winter, altho it enjoys a general distribution. It does not associate in flocks of its own kind to any large extent, but oftener two or three individuals join themselves to winter bird troops consisting of Chickadees, Seattle Wrens, Western Golden-crowned Kinglets, Puget Sound Bush-Tits, etc. At such times it is noticeable that they keep largely to the lower levels, for they hunt and titter among the spiræa thickets, salal bushes, logs and evergreen saplings, while their cousins only occasionally venture within five or ten feet of the ground, and range from there to the tops of the tallest firs.

The notes, too, of the Sitkan Kinglet are low-pitched and explosive, as compared with the fairy sibilations of the Golden-crowns. The neighborhood of “Seattle” Wrens and Western Winter Wrens will serve also to throw a certain wren-like quality of the Alaskan’s note into fine relief.

Paridæ—The Titmice

No. 106.
CHICKADEE.

A. O. U. No. 735. Penthestes atricapillus (Linn.).

Synonyms.—Black-capped Chickadee. Black-capped Titmouse.

Description.—Adult: Top of head and nape shining black; throat dead black with whitish skirting posteriorly; a white band on side of head and neck, increasing in width behind; back and scapulars gray with an olivaceous cast and more or less admixture of buffy at the edges and as skirting; wings and tail dusky, more or less edged, especially on greater coverts and tertials, with ashy or whitish; breast and belly white; sides, flanks and crissum washed with buffy or light rusty (nearly whitish in summer); bill and feet dark. Rather variable in size; one adult specimen measures: wing 2.27 (57.7); tail 2.10 (53.3); bill .34 (8.6). Another: wing 2.70 (68.6); tail 2.57 (65.3) bill .38 (9.7). Length, 4.75-5.75 (120.6-146.1); average of eight specimens of medium size: wing 2.60 (66); tail 2.44 (62); bill .36 (9.1).

Recognition Marks.—Warbler size; of lighter coloration but not certainly distinguishable afield from P. a. occidentalis (q. v.).

Nesting.—Nest: a heavy mat of moss, grasses, and plant-down, lined with rabbits’ fur, wool, hair, or feathers, in made hole or natural cavity of stump or tree, usually not over ten feet from the ground, and near water. Eggs: 5-8, white, marked sparingly with reddish brown, in small spots, tending to gather about larger end. Av. size, .58 × .47 (14.7 × 11.9). Season: April 15-May 15; one brood.

General Range.—Eastern North America north of the Potomac and Ohio Valleys. “A separate ‘colony’ inhabits the area between the Rocky Mountains and the Cascade Range, in eastern Washington (Walla Walla, Ellensburg, etc.), western Idaho (Lemi, Fort Sherman, etc.), and central British Columbia (Sicamores [Sicamoos], Clinton, Ashcroft, etc.).[45]”—Ridgway.

Range in Washington.—As above.

Authorities.—P. a. occidentalis Brewster, B. N. O. C. VII. 1882, 228 (Walla Walla). J. If this colony proves to be completely isolated, as claimed, the bird should, perhaps, be separately named, and I would suggest Penthestes atricapillus fortuitus.

Specimens.—B. P¹.

The Chickadees of eastern Washington, east of the Cascade foothills, along with those of northeastern Oregon, western Idaho, and southwestern British Columbia, are notably larger and brighter than P. a. occidentalis. In these and other regards they exactly reproduce the characters of P. atricapillus, which is a bird of the eastern United States, and from which they are widely separated by P. a. septentrionalis. Now Chickadees are resident wherever found. The most severe winters do not suffice to drive them south, and they are subjected to such uniform conditions as tend to insure stability of type, once adjustment to local environment is accomplished. We have here, therefore, either an example of a colony widely separated from the parent stock, and remaining inflexible under alien conditions, or else an indistinguishable reduplication of another form not closely related in time thru the interaction of similar conditions. If the latter supposition be the true one, and it probably is, we have in this bird a theoretical sub-species, but one which we cannot describe or distinguish in other than geographical terms.

The case is somewhat similar with our Nighthawks (C. virginianus subsp.) and Sparrow Hawks (Falco sparverius subsp.), but the problem in these instances is further complicated by the opportunities of migration.

No. 107.
OREGON CHICKADEE.

A. O. U. No. 735b. Penthestes atricapillus occidentalis (Baird).

Synonym.—Western Black-capped Chickadee.

Description.—Adults: Similar to P. atricapillus but smaller and coloration much darker; whitish edging on wings and tail much reduced in area; “back varying from deep mouse-gray or very slight buffy slate-gray in spring and summer to deep hair-brown or light olive in fall and winter plumage”; sides and flanks pale buffy in spring, strong brownish buff or pale wood-brown in fall plumage. Length 4.50-5.25 (114.3-133.3); wing 2.44 (62); tail 2.20 (56); bill .37 (9.5); tarsus .66 (16.8).

Recognition Marks.—Warbler size; no white stripe over eye as distinguished from P. gambeli; back gray as distinguished from P. rufescens.

Nesting.—Nest: as in P. atricapillus, usually placed low in stump of deciduous tree. Eggs: as in foregoing. Season: April 15-May 15; one brood.

General Range.—Pacific Coast district from northern California to British Columbia (Port Moody).

Range in Washington.—Resident west of Cascades; characteristic of wet lowlands and borders of streams; intergrades with typicus on east slopes of Cascade Range.

Authorities.—Parus occidentalis Baird, Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. IX. pt. II. 1858, p. 391. (T.) C&S. Rh. D¹. Kb. Ra. D². ? Ss¹. ? Ss². Kk. B. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. P¹. Prov. B. E.

Chickadees abound in Washington; and, because for the life of you you cannot surely tell whose notes you hear, there is a perennial necessity for levelling the glasses to make sure which is passing, Oregon or the Chestnut-backed. There are differences—Oh, bless you, yes—but then you always want to make certain, if only to pat yourself on the back and say, when you happen to have guessed correctly, “There, I knew it was an Oregon; I can always tell by its squeak.”

Chickadees are friendly little folk (and this remark applies, irrespective of species), so that wherever they go, except in the busy nesting season, they form the nucleus of a merry band, Western Golden-crowned Kinglets, Sitkan Kinglets, Creepers, Juncoes, Towhees maybe, and a Seattle Wren or two to guard the terrestrial passage, and to furnish sport for the federated fairies. The Chickadees are undisputed leaders, tho their name be legion. While they remain aloft we may mistake their dainty squeakings and minikin ways for those of Kinglets, but if we can only determine what direction the flock is pursuing, we may count on the vanguard’s being composed of these sprightly, saucy little Black-caps.