Part 2

Chapter 23,751 wordsPublic domain

The migration of birds at Raleigh, N. C, during the spring of 1915 was so unusual that it is believed that a short account, together with a list of the records, will be of interest to the readers of BIRD-LORE. In considering the following remarks, it may be well to bear in mind that records of the bird migration in this locality have been made each year for the past thirty-one years. Also, the amount of time spent in making observations during the past season is significant. From March 19 to May 7, field trips were made by Mr. Bruner on forty-seven days out of a possible fifty. Prior to and after this period observations were made by him for several weeks at intervals of from two to four days. Mr. Brimley was in the field for twelve days from March 30 to April 28, but was unable to pay full attention to birds. The duration of each trip averaged about four hours, this figure not including the time spent in going to and from the city. Observations for the most part were made independently by each of the writers, and on lands differing somewhat in general character. It is believed that the great majority of species were recorded on as near the actual date of their arrival as it would ordinarily be possible to obtain them.

The most remarkable fact in connection with the season was the very great delay in the arrival of the earlier migrants and in the departure of the winter birds. This was very probably due almost entirely to the unusual weather conditions which seemed to prevail throughout the South during March and early April. March was abnormally cool, especially so during the latter part of the month. At Raleigh one-half of an inch of snow fell on the thirty-first, and this was soon followed by the most severe snowstorm on record for the month of April. On April 2, at 8 P. M., wet snow began to fall, and continued steadily until about 8 P. M. on April 3, the ground at that time being covered to a depth of about ten inches, the total fall being equivalent to thirteen inches of dry snow. In the wake of this storm came fair and very warm weather. By April 6 nearly all traces of snow had disappeared, and the birds began to arrive. Between April 6 and April 9, the Black-and-White Warbler, Louisiana Water-Thrush, Yellow-throated Warbler, Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Maryland Yellowthroat, and White-eyed Vireo all reached Raleigh, these species being from nine to fourteen days late. Prior to this period the Chipping Sparrow had appeared on March 19--about two weeks late,--and the Blue-headed Vireo on April 1, this bird arriving only one week late. After April 6, the greater number of other species came in at about their usual time or a few days later, but several were decidedly early. The Kingbird reached Raleigh on April 12, the earliest date yet recorded in this locality. However, this was the only record for early arrival that was broken among the commoner species, although two others were equaled.

Six new records were established for late departures of winter birds, namely: Loggerhead Shrike, April 1; Fox Sparrow, April 6; American Pipit, April 6; Brown Creeper, April 19; Song Sparrow, April 28, and White-throated Sparrow, May 19. Two former records were duplicated and seven of the remaining fourteen species noted were from four to fourteen days later than the average. It is plain that species which leave normally before the sixth of April could have been delayed a few days by the severe weather of late March and early April; but it is not easy to understand how it could have affected, to any marked extent, the species which depart in late April and in May.

The migration at Raleigh was also characterized by an unusually great variety of species, including a number of very rare birds. A Black-crowned Night Heron taken on April 4 and a Bay-breasted Warbler observed on May 5 constitute new local records. Other rare or uncommon species worthy of especial mention are the Yellow-crowned Night Heron, Osprey, Black-throated Green Warbler, Yellow-legs, Pectoral Sandpiper, Bartramian Sandpiper, Cape May Warbler, Blue-winged Warbler, Chestnut-sided Warbler, Baltimore Oriole, Rose-breasted Grosbeak, and Wilson's Warbler. The total number of species whose arrival was observed amounted to no less than sixty-eight in all, which is the largest number yet recorded at Raleigh during a single season. This fact can probably in no way be attributed to the abnormal weather conditions before mentioned (except possibly in the case of the Night Herons), but rather to the large amount of time spent in making observations. Also the fact that two observers were in the field did not play so large a part in this as might be expected, as one of them alone observed all but one of the sixty-eight species recorded.

A. COMMONER SPECIES

II. Species normally arriving from April 1 to 10 inclusive.

III. Species normally arriving from April 11 to 20, inclusive.

IV. Species normally arriving later than April 20.

B. RARER SPECIES[2]

Yellow-crowned Night Heron April 2 and 8 Black-crowned Night Heron April 6 Rough-winged Swallow April 6 King Rail April 7 Rusty Blackbird April 8 Bachman's Sparrow April 10 Grasshopper Sparrow April 17 Bartramian Sandpiper April 17 Purple Martin April 17 Prothonotary Warbler April 24 Nighthawk April 24 (The last two were noted 15 miles east of Raleigh.) Cape May Warbler April 27 Olive-backed Thrush April 28 Blue-winged Warbler April 30 Scarlet Tanager April 30 Wilson's Thrush May 1 Chestnut-sided Warbler May 4 Baltimore Oriole May 4 Rose-breasted Grosbeak May 4 Bay-breasted Warbler May 5 Gray-cheeked Thrush May 13 Wilson's Warbler May 19

[1] The average date of arrival was calculated from records made during the period 1884 to 1911 inclusive.

[2] This group includes species of which our records are too meager or too irregular to obtain an average as to time of arrival.

First Efforts at Bird Photography

By H. IRA HARTSHORN, Newark, N. J.

With photographs by the author

The accompanying pictures are the results of my first attempts at bird photography, and I want to let others know how much pleasure is to be derived from this method of studying birds. All the pictures I have taken so far are of the tame birds one sees every day around the house. That is, if one doesn't live in too big a city; in which case a trolley to the suburbs will answer, as it did in my case.

My equipment, which includes a second-hand camera, two plate-holders, an electrical release, a flashlight battery, small satchel, flexible wire, etc., did not cost over $8.

The first nest I saw last year was a Chickadee's nest. I found it on April 18. It was still cold, with not a leaf on the trees. The two birds were taking out chips from the top of a birch stump, which was about seven feet high. The hole was about eight inches deep. There was still no lining in the nest, so I knew that the birds had not prepared it for the reception of the eggs.

I visited it again on April 26, and expected to see two eggs in the little home; but, when I arrived there, I found that the nest had been broken off at the very bottom of the eight inches already dug. This was caused by the Chickadees' digging too close to the rotten bark, when the first gust of wind probably broke it. Much to my delight, the birds were not daunted by this misfortune, but kept on building. On April 24, the hole was started the second time. A friend saw the Chickadees begin the hole. On April 26, the hole was six inches deep! The birds had dug through fourteen inches of wood to make their home!

On May 2 the nest was finished, and on May 9 there were eight eggs in the little bit of a hole that could hardly hold the mother bird.

May 23, I took my camera with me to the nest. I expected that the young birds would be out by that time, and that the old birds would be flying in and out with food, giving me many opportunities for photography. I looked in the nest and saw that every egg was hatched, so I proceeded to set my camera about two feet away, when who should appear on the ground-glass but one of the parents, with a mouth full of struggling little green caterpillars. She, if it were the female, looked at the camera a second or two, then, without another thought of the outside world, hopped down into the nest and fed her young.

The camera arranged, I was just about to seek concealment behind a bush, when both of the parent birds flew near the nest with food. I stood very still. One of the birds, the male, I think, stopped too, but the other one flew right into the nest. She soon came out, and stood on the very point I had the camera focused. Very slowly I put my hand up to the shutter-release, expecting the bird to fly any minute; but at last I reached it and, click, I had my first 'close up' bird picture. And it was the best one, too; for although I took six or seven others, they did not turn out so well as the first one.

May 31, I went to take the pictures of the little Chickadees, but found that they were still too small to handle. I was not able to go again, but my friend reports that the whole family of eight young left the nest, and were very healthy-looking little birds. This nest was situated on the edge of a woods at Verona, N. J.

During the two weeks' vacation at Fredon, Sussex Co., N. Y., I found twelve nests, a list of which follows. All but three were found on a farm.

One Robin's nest, containing one egg. Deserted for unknown cause.

Two Field Sparrows' nests. Each contained young, almost full-grown birds. One nest had an unfertile egg in it.

One Barn Swallow's nest, containing four eggs.

Two Red-winged Blackbirds' nests, each with four eggs. Both nests were broken up. One was entirely empty and the other contained the shells of the eggs. I could not find out the cause of this double tragedy.

Two House Wrens' nests. Both of these were in fence-posts. I caught one bird with the camera just as it was entering the nest.

Two Chipping Sparrows' nests. One was in an unusual place, on the limb of a Norway spruce that projected over the porch roof. I got some very good photographs of this family, which consisted of the parents and three young. The young were hatched on June 6, and they left the nest on June 15.

One Kingbird's nest, containing three eggs, was on a limb of a willow tree that extended over a pond about ten feet. The nest itself was three feet above the water.

One Flicker's nest. I could not determine the number of young in this nest, but I knew they were there by their hissing at a shadow over the entrance to the nest.

This year the Bobolink appeared in the neighborhood of Fredon for the first time in at least four years, if not more.

Of all the songs of birds I have heard, I like the Bobolink's the best.

* * * * *

The Interesting Barn Owl

By JOSEPH W. LIPPINCOTT, Bethayres, Pa.

With a photograph by the author

The Barn Owl commands my respect. He is the greatest mouse-eating machine I have yet encountered, and as such surely deserves every consideration in these days of crop destruction by rodents. Like most Owls, he does not allow his presence long to remain unsuspected. A loud, harsh scream after nightfall, repeated at the right intervals to keep one awake and echoed by the young Owls when they appear, is his greeting. And well may the little mice shiver in their poor retreats!

I heard the good old Barn Owls again and again during early spring nights, and later found that two, or perhaps more, young ones were generally in or about a hemlock grove not far from the creek and the swampy meadows that make such ideal feeding-grounds and are, in fact, the nucleus of the rodent hosts that spread over the neighboring farms each summer. It was by mere accident, however, that I found a nest.

A neighbor was planning a greenhouse on the site then occupied by his young chickens and, to give security to the glass, cut down a great storm-battered and fire-scarred buttonball tree that stood at one end of his farm buildings. Down it came with terrific force, but without killing three young Barn Owls, which were able to give one of the workmen a big scare when he climbed over the top. And this happened in the middle of August, when one brood was already in the woods!

They were in a deep, dark, ill-smelling hollow, and a weird-looking trio indeed with the white down still clinging over the yellow-brown feathers. What startled the workman was a splendid series of hisses; for they understood how to make the sound about as wickedly as the most poisonous serpent.

A little Owl is generally all grit, and these were the grittiest, bramble-footed propositions I ever expect to handle. Their big eyes kept an unwinking glare fixed on each one who came near, and they leaped like lightning, often all three together, at a hand thrust within reach. It would have been very comical except for the bitter earnestness which the poor little fellows put into their defense, making one feel sorry for them when double gloves prevailed, and they were deposited in a chicken-coop nearby, to prevent interference with the chopping. Then, for hours after the moving, it seemed as if steam were strangely and violently escaping from an ordinary chicken-coop, much to the astonishment of visitors.

Around the tree were many of the small masses of fur and bones which Owls disgorge a few hours after meals. These show very well what animals have been taken and, in this case, were most interesting, since the dozens I examined contained the remains of field mice, deer mice, shrews, and moles only. No rabbits, no squirrels, no insects, no little birds! Indeed, there was not a feather of any kind, although the little chickens had been running about and roosting all spring and summer within a few feet--alluring, easy and constantly announcing their presence by seductive peeping.

The old hollow must have suffered long use. It opened toward the south through a large limb hole about thirty feet from the ground, and also upward through the broken top of the tree; though that exit was not used, and probably only served to let in a veritable deluge of water during the thunderstorms. No doubt, too, the young Owls amused themselves watching the clouds and the stars pass slowly over their heads day by day, with the added excitement of a Hawk, Buzzard, or smaller bird now and then. They rested on layers of debris which, when examined, showed that honey bees had once been tenants, and later bats and generations of Owls, perhaps many other birds, for hollows have a strange, interesting history.

The birds themselves seemed about the size of old ones without the full feathering, strong muscle and weight. They were so queer and wore such humorous expressions whenever approached that, from the first, they would have been objects of continual interested observation, were it not for the rather discouraging fact that this almost always brought on a quarrel. The bright light and excited feelings seemed to confuse one so much that he would mistake the others for enemies and pounce on them. This caused equally fierce retaliation every time, and resulted in all three being scratched about the thighs. Darkening the coop remedied this.

It impressed me then as strange that, with all the birds' show of aggressiveness, there was no snapping of beaks nor marked disposition to bite; but I later found that they did not have the same strength in their beaks as most varieties of Owls, particularly the Great Horned Owls, which crush the skull of a rabbit with such ease. This, I suppose, has something to do with the species' love of very small mammals, which can be torn to pieces and swallowed without trouble by those queer cavernous mouths. Their hooked claws, which gripped me on several occasions, were all right, though and as sharp as needles.

The youngsters were left severely alone until evening, when, with the lessening light, came a quick change. They seemed to lose some of their fear, and to be expectantly listening for something. Every now and then one would utter a rasping cry, which blended harmoniously with the insect chorus and yet could be heard a long distance.

Just as the sun set and the glow still spread over the west, the cries became very insistent, and a shadow seemed to pass for an instant over the coop as one of the parents flew quietly into a locust tree nearby, and stood there close to the trunk, a mouse dangling from the left foot. It soon flew out and circled noiselessly, only to disappear very soon, much to the disgust of the coop occupants. Several minutes elapsed, the evening silence broken only by the rasping call and the drum of the katy-dids; then an old Owl circled by bearing a mouse in its beak. It may have been the same bird and the same mouse, the deepening shadows making it impossible to see accurately.

The night being dark, I left my hiding-place and the birds until morning, when it was surprising to find only the smallest of the three in the coop, and that dead. The other two had escaped; but how they squeezed beneath slats which allowed only the tiniest chicks to go through will ever be a mystery to me. I could not even pull out the remaining one. It was much less developed than the other two, both in size of limb and feather, and had evidently succumbed to the effects of the frightful fall, though its body showed no bruise.

I hunted around the debris of the felled trees, and finally spied the others, which had done some expert climbing and hidden in the darkest corners, one beneath a tree trunk, the other in a leafy top where it had evidently stayed all night, as evidenced by a kind of bed stamped down and lined with surplus food carried there by the parents. Such a supper! three particularly fine meadow mice and a fat star-nosed mole, all freshly killed and whole.

The youngsters, which at first crouched silently, were in a very bitter frame of mind, so I carried them out by the wing tips--the only satisfactory way I found of handling such a brambly article--and later made them stand in the light for a photograph--a difficult matter, because they ran with all speed for the wood-pile as soon as released. Just as I thought I had them, after many attempts, one mistook the other for a foe, and, without preliminaries, went for him. However, the other one met the rush feet first and seized the attacking claws before they hit, practically holding down his brother by each foot while he glared into his face in comical fashion, and hissed for all he was worth. This holding hands continued with much comical shaking of heads, until both birds suddenly struck at each other somewhat as roosters do; then they held hands again until separated and put into a deep open-top box for safe-keeping. If left free, dogs, cats, or opossums would most likely have found them through the strong odor so noticeable about young birds of prey. The mice were, however, first cut into pieces and thrust down the apparently hungry birds' throats, while each was held by his feet and neck.