Marie Read

Pileated Woodpeckers Growing Up

by Marie Read · July 14, 2012 · 4 Comments

Back in early May, when I heard about a Pileated Woodpecker nest in the woods a few miles from my home, I was thrilled—I’d always wanted to photograph this species’ activities at the nest. Checking it out, it took me only a short time to realize that the adults were already feeding young. But the excitement really ramped up a couple of weeks later when the nestlings were almost old enough to leave the nest. By now they were really photogenic as they poked their heads out of the entrance of the nest cavity in a big dead tree trunk, ever watchful for their approaching parents.

The youngsters were getting noisy too! Earlier in May their rasping begging calls were only faintly audible from within the tree and only when an adult was present. Later on the begging became louder and more persistent as the nestlings grew older and more demanding, intensifying to the point of sounding frantic just before they were fed. In fact, for several days before the young left the nest, I could hear a constant kak-kak-kak in the distance while I walked down the trail into the woods each morning. I was glad for that sound cue, because by now the trees were so thickly leafed out that I had worried that I would have trouble relocating the nest tree!

Bob McGuire joined me one morning for sound recording. We knew the growing woodpeckers would start practicing adult vocalizations before they left home, something we wanted to be sure to record. We weren’t disappointed—there in the entrance of the hole sat the biggest of the young birds, demanding attention by giving the far-carrying adult call every few minutes as if to remind its parents, however distant they were, that it was still hungry. In human terms I suppose it’s like a teenager who’s reached the age where he’s started talking back to his long-suffering parents!

The nestling’s adult-like outburst sounds very different from its harsh begging calls. Listen to Bob’s first recording below, in which the begging nestling suddenly pauses and gives an adult call, followed by the parent bird responding from nearby with a long sequence of wuk calls.

Pileated Woodpecker fledgling calls, 23 May 2012, 5:45am, near Ithaca NY. Bob McGuire.

In Bob’s second recording, the nestling again gives an adult-like call, followed by a sequence of raspy begging calls. Then you’ll hear a feeding sequence in which the begging takes on a gagging quality as the adult is regurgitating food into the youngsters’ open bills, followed by more begging from several nestlings.

Pileated Woodpecker fledgling calls, 23 May 2012, 6:27am, near Ithaca NY. Bob McGuire.

Within a couple of days of these images and sound recordings the young Pileateds had left the nest and were following their parents around the woods, on their way to independence.

In terms of call development, it is interesting that the adult outburst given by the young is quite distinct from their raspy begging notes. One does not gradually transform into the other over time. The adult outburst is unique unto itself and appears more-or-less fully developed when it first occurs, though perhaps it sounds a bit harsh at first. Just for comparison, the recording below by Lang Elliott features outbursts given by two different adult birds, the last one also giving a sequence of typical wuk calls:

Adult Pileated Woodpecker outbursts plus typical wuk calls. Recorded by Lang Elliott.

Sunflower Birds

by Marie Read · March 20, 2010 · 2 Comments

> HD version.

Every year I love to grow sunflowers in my garden. I plant a variety of colors and sizes, joyfully anticipating that late summer riot of brilliant blooms. But the ultimate goal for those golden flowers is the food they’ll provide for the birds in winter. If the squirrels don’t get them first, that is! So to protect the seed heads from damage, I gather them in early autumn, complete with stems, and bring them inside to dry.

This winter I forgot I still had the sunflowers until early February. Good timing, though, because by then a lot of the natural food sources had been depleted, and there was a fair bit of snow cover. The hungry birds would welcome those high-energy snacks. I set out the seed heads at the shrubby edge of my yard, then sat back to watch the entertainment and wait for some great photo ops.

It wasn’t long before they’d been discovered by the local Black-capped Chickadees—feisty little survivors, constantly on the move, full of curiosity, with appetites to match their boundless energy. My winter chickadee flock must number in the dozens, but each seemed to know its place in the pecking order and would wait its turn to fly in, pry out a seed, and make off with it. There were two individuals, though, that were pretty evenly matched. Whenever they arrived together there would be a flurry of tiny wings and excited calls as they bickered over who would have first dibs.

Next Tufted Titmice arrived to share the feast. In the video, watch how a titmouse raises its crest, appearing to intimidate its smaller chickadee cousin during a brief face-off. During a heavy snowstorm, Dark-eyed Juncos also joined the sunflower birds. Juncos prefer smaller seeds and usually forage on the ground, which was now thickly blanketed with snow. Notice that the junco isn’t quite up to the job of extracting the large seeds. That’s a task at which the more acrobatic chickadees, titmice, and nuthatches excel.

Sunflowers—summer beauty and winter entertainment!

American Robin Winterberry Feast

by Marie Read · February 8, 2010 · 1 Comment

> HD version.

Winter came late to New York’s Finger Lakes in 2009; it was mild into November and we didn’t get our first serious snow until halfway through December. As usual, by then most of the songbirds of summer were just a memory, but certain species always linger those that birders refer to fondly as “half-hardy”. Birds such as the Eastern Bluebird, Carolina Wren, Hermit Thrush, Northern Flicker, Cedar Waxwing—and of course American Robin—take their sweet time heading south, staying well into the cold weather season, sometimes all winter long if they can find food.

Winter Solstice was just days away when I heard the robin. I’d watched the usual big push of migrant robins fleeing ahead of the north wind weeks before, and so I was surprised to find one remaining individual in my backyard. Its sharp calls gave it away—PEEK!…PEEK!…PEEK!-tut-tut—coming from the edge of the woods (see below for a recording). And there it sat, looking chilly with its feathers fluffed up against the wind while the snowflakes tumbled down, surely berating itself for lingering too long up north!

It seemed like a photo-op in the making, something in fact that I’d been anticipating. Several years ago I began making my yard more bird-friendly by planting native food plants such as winterberry, a type of holly that produces masses of bright red berries that are an important winter food for wildlife around here. The reason half-hardy birds can stick around so long is that they adapt their diet to the season. Robins, bluebirds and other thrush relatives switch from a summer meal plan of insects, earthworms and other small creatures to a fall and winter diet of fruit. And I’d made sure there was fruit in abundance on my property.

Sure enough, those berries proved irresistible and the hungry robin was soon filling up, arriving for a snack several times an hour throughout the day. So I set up my photo blind and camera gear and got to work. Three days, and many images both video and stills—later, the robin had departed, presumably to somewhere with better weather!

Fruit-eating birds are essential dispersal agents for many plants. Notice how the robin swallows the berries whole; it will eliminate the seeds later at some other location in its droppings, spreading winterberry to other areas so more hungry birds can enjoy a winter feast.

Here is an example of the PEEK! and PEEK!-tut-tut calls of a robin, recorded in late winter not far from my home near Ithaca, New York:

Alarm calls of an American Robin. 7:30pm. 15 February 1990. Shindagin Hollow near Ithaca New York. Recorded by Lang Elliott.