Part 26

This bird will not tarry with us, unless it may choose to haunt the solitudes of the Olympics. In the vicinity of Sitka, however, Mr. J. Grinnell reports the species as “very common everywhere, especially on the small wooded ‘islands.’”[37]

When disturbed in its nesting haunts the Hermit Thrush has a nasal scolding cry, not unlike that of the Oregon Towhee. This note lacks the emphasis of Towhee’s, tho its dual character is still apparent—_Murrry_ or _Murre_. But one forgets all trivial things as he listens to the angelic requiem of the Hermit at eventide. Not Orpheus in all his glory could match that,—for he was a pagan.

No. 98. AMERICAN ROBIN.

A. O. U. No. 761. Planesticus migratorius (Linn.).

Synonym.—Eastern Robin.

Description.—_Adult male_: Head black, interrupted by white of chin and white with black stripes of throat; eyelids and a supraloral spot white; tail blackish with white terminal spots on inner webs of outer pair of rectrices; wings dusky except on external edges; remaining upperparts grayish slate; below,—breast, sides, upper belly and lining of wings cinnamon-rufous; lower belly and crissum white, touched irregularly with slate; bill yellow with blackish tip; feet blackish with yellowish soles. _Adult female_: Similar to male, but duller; black of head veiled by brownish. _Adults in winter_: Upperparts tinged with brown, the rufous feathers, especially on belly, with white skirtings. _Immature_: Similar to adult, but head about the color of back; rufous of underparts paler or more ochraceous. _Very young birds_ are black spotted, above and below. Length about 10.00 (254); wing 5.08 (129); tail 3.75 (95.3); bill .78 (19.8).

Recognition Marks.—“Robin” size; cinnamon-rufous breast; the “corners” of the tail conspicuously white-tipped, as distinguished from _P. m. propinquus_.

Nesting.—Does not breed in Washington. _Nest_ and _eggs_ as in next (sub) species, save that eggs 4 or 5, sometimes 6.

General Range.—Eastern and northern North America westward nearly to the Rocky Mountains and northwestward to valley of Kowak River in Alaska; breeds from the southern Alleghenies, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Iowa, etc., northward; winters in Gulf States; south irregularly across the Western States during migration.

Range in Washington.—An early spring (and late fall?) migrant, both sides of the Cascades. Winters sparingly on Puget Sound.

Authorities.—_Turdus migratorius_ Brewster, B. N. O. C. VII., Oct. 1882, p. 227. B. E.

Specimens.—B. E.

A small proportion, not over one per cent, of the Robins which annually cross our borders have enough white in the “corners” of their tails to proclaim them true “Americans.” The difference is striking and unmistakable, and we feel sure that we have here, not a chance variation, but an alien element, a slender stream of migration diverted from the accustomed channels of typical _P. migratorius_, and straggling down, or up, on the wrong side of the Rockies. When it is remembered that the American Robin winters in Florida and the Gulf States, and that its spring migrations take it as far west as the Kowak River, in Alaska, that is, due northwest from Atlanta, it is less surprising that the birds should occasionally bear west northwest instead, and so make Washington en route. It is almost certain that this is the case, for the wintering birds west of the Rockies and in Mexico are invariably of the western type, _propinquus_.

No. 99. WESTERN ROBIN.

A. O. U. No. 761a. Planesticus migratorius propinquus (Ridgw.).

Description.—Similar to _P. migratorius_, but white on inner webs of outer rectrices much reduced or wanting; gray of upperparts paler and more olivaceous, more sharply contrasting with black of head; cinnamon-rufous of underparts averaging paler; wing, tail, and tarsus slightly longer. Length of males about 10.25 (260.3); wing 5.52 (140); tail 4.13 (105); bill .80 (20.3); tarsus 1.34 (34.1). Females slightly smaller.

Recognition Marks.—“Robin” size; cinnamon-rufous below—everyone knows the Robin—without white on “corners” of tail as distinguished from preceding.

Nesting.—_Nest_: a thick-walled but shapely bowl of mud (rarely felted vegetable fibers instead) set about with twigs, leaves, string and trash, and lined with fine grass-stems; placed anywhere in trees or variously, but usually at moderate heights. _Eggs_: 3 or 4, rarely 5; greenish blue, unmarked. Av. size 1.15 × .79 (29.2 × 20.1). _Season_: April 15-July 10; two broods.

General Range.—Western North America from the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific, north to limit of trees in coast forest district in Alaska; south thru highlands of Mexico and occasionally Guatemala; breeding nearly thruout its range.

Range in Washington.—Common summer resident and migrant thruout the State, more common in settled portions; rare in mountains save in vicinity of settlements; irregularly resident in winter, sometimes abundantly on Puget Sound.

Migrations.—_Spring_: West-side, last week in February; East-side, first or second week in March. _Fall_: October.

Authorities.—[Lewis and Clark, Hist. Ex. 1814 Ed. Biddle: Coues, Vol. II. p. 185.] _Turdus (planesticus) migratorius_, Linn., Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. IX. pt. II. 1858, p. 219. (T.) C&S. L¹. Rh. D¹. Sr. Kb. Ra. D². Ss¹. Ss². Kk. J. B. E.

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

There are, it may be, a thousand fruits, sweet, acid or spicy, which delight the palate of man, yet if we were forced to choose among them, not many of us would fail to reserve the apple. In like manner, we could perhaps least afford to spare our tried and trusted, old, familiar friend, the Robin. He is a staple.

Everybody knows Robin. He is part and parcel of springtime, chief herald, chief poet, and lord high reveller of that joyful season. It is a merry day when the first flock of Robins turns itself loose on the home landscape. There is great bustle and stir of activity. Some scurry about to note the changes wrought by winter, some wrestle with the early and unsophisticated worm, while others voice their gladness from the fence-post, the gable, the tree-top, anywhere. Everywhere are heard interjections of delight, squeechings and pipings of ardent souls, and no end of congratulations over the home-coming.

Robin has cast in his lot with ours, for better or for worse. Our lawns are his lawns, our shade-trees were set on purpose to hold his homely mud-cup, and he has undertaken with hearty good will the musical instruction of our children. He serves without pay—Oh, a cherry now and then, but what of that? The fruit-grower never had a more useful hired man; and it is written: “Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn.” I wonder if we realize how much of life’s good cheer and fond enspiriting we owe to this familiar bird.

Near the close of a burning day in the desert, we drew near to a little ranch where a bravery of green, supported by a windmill and a tiny trickle of water, defied the engulfing waste of sand and sage. It seemed to me that I had never seen anything more pathetic than the stubborn faith of the man who had dreamed of rearing a home amidst such desolation. How could a man be happy here? and how dare he bring a wife and tender children to share such a forlorn hope? Why, the wilderness around had raised nothing but sage-brush and jack-rabbits for countless millenniums; but here in this tiny oasis were locust trees and poplars. And here, as the sun sank low in the West, a Robin burst into song. The nearest human neighbor was miles away, and the nearest timber further. Yet here was this home-loving Robin, this reincarnation of childhood’s friend, pouring out in the familiar cadence of old his thanksgiving for shelter and food, his praise for joy of life and gladness to the Almighty, who is Father of all. And then I understood.

The Robin’s song in its common form is too well known to require particular description, and too truly music to lend itself well to syllabic imitation. It is a common thing, indeed, like the upturned mold and the air which fans it, but out of these come the varied greens which beautify the world; the homely piping of the Robin has given birth to many a heaven-directed aspiration, and purged many a soul of guilty intent. Robin conceives many passages which are too high for him, and these he hums inaudibly, or follows in silent thought, like a tenor with a cold. When the theme reaches his compass again, he resumes, not where he left off but at the end of the unheard passage. It must be confessed, however reluctantly, that the song of the Western Robin is a little more subdued in character than that of the Eastern. The bird is a little less devoted to his art, and the total volume of sound yielded by any one chorus has never equalled, in my experience, that of a similar effort in the East.

When the Robin is much given to half-whispered notes and strains unusually tender, one may suspect the near presence of his fiancée. If you are willing to waive the proprieties for a few moments you will hear low murmurs of affection and soft blandishments, which it would tax the art of a Crockett to reproduce. And again, nothing can exceed the sadness of a Robin’s lament over a lost mate. All the virtues of the deceased are set forth in a coronach of surpassing woe, and the widower declares himself forever comfortless. It is not well, of course, to inquire too particularly as to the duration of this bereaved state—we are all human.

In spite of his fondness for human society, there are two periods of retirement in Robin’s year. The first occurs in March and early April, and may be denominated the season of courtship. After the first ardent greeting of the home folks, Robins gather in loose companies and keep to the seclusion of the woods, following the sun from east to south and west, ransacking the roots of trees and the edges of standing water for food, and, above all, sketching in the matrimonial plans of the season. When Robins have become common about the streets and yards of village and town, partners have usually been selected, but there still remain for many of the cocks hard-contested battles before peaceful possession is assured. These are not sham fights either; a Robin will fight a hated rival, beak and claw, till he is either thoroly winded or killed outright.

In late July and August Robins again forsake their familiar haunts, and spend the moulting season in the woods, moving about like ghosts in great straggling, silent companies. When the moult is completed, as autumn advances, they return in merry bevies to claim their share of the ripening fruits—no longer begrudged now, for they prefer such harmless viands as mountain-ash berries, and the insipid clusters of the madrone tree.

Robins occasionally winter on the east side of the mountains; and they are hard put to it unless they find a sufficient supply of ungathered fruit, preferably apples, left out to freeze or rot as the season dictates. West of the mountains they winter irregularly but quite extensively. There is nothing in the climate to forbid their staying all the time but I am inclined to think that their abundance in winter depends upon the berry crop, and especially that of the Madrona (_Arbutus menziesii_). The fall of 1907 was notable in this regard. The trees were in splendid bearing, and a certain patch on the bluff south of Fauntleroy Park was a gorgeous blaze of red, to which Robins resorted in hundreds.

Under such circumstances the birds establish winter roosts in convenient thickets, and repair to them at nightfall in great numbers. One such roost has been maintained on the outskirts of Seattle, just east of Ravenna Park, and in the winter of 1907-08 I estimated its population at some four thousand. The winter, it will be remembered, was a mild one, and every one in Seattle remarked the abundance of Robins.

In nesting, the Robin displays little caution, its homely mud-walled cup not being withdrawn from most familiar observation. Indeed, as in the case of the accompanying illustration, the bird appears rather to court notoriety. The major crotches of orchard or shade trees are not shunned. From five to fifteen feet is the usual elevation, but nests are sometimes found at fifty feet; and again, tho rarely, on the ground. Window sills and beams of porches, barns, and outbuildings are favorite places, and, in default of these, brush-piles or log-heaps will do.

The mud used in construction is, of course, carried in the beak. Arrived at the nest with a beakful of mud, the mother bird drops her load, or plasters it loosely on the inside of the cup. Then she hops into the nest, settles as low as possible, and begins to kick or trample vigorously with her feet. From time to time she tests the smoothness or roundness of the job by settling to it with her breast, but the shaping is altogether accomplished by the peculiar tedder action of her feet.

On the other hand, one Robin’s nest which I found in the open sage had no mud in its construction and was altogether composed of felted vegetable materials. Another freak nest, in Spokane, showed a hatchet handle firmly imbedded in its foundation and projecting from it a distance of six inches. The presence of the handle was not adventitious, for the nest was saddled on a pine branch, but it is difficult to conceive how the birds could have placed it in position at a height of fifteen feet.

Three eggs is the rule for the Western Robin; four is not unusual; but five is rare, and I have never seen six. In this respect, therefore, the Western Robin falls a little behind her eastern cousin.

Young Robins are darling creatures; that is conceded by everyone,—even by the cat. And hungry! Oh, so hungry! It is estimated that if the appetite of a man were proportioned to that of a young Robin, he would consume daily the equivalent of a sausage four inches in diameter and twelve feet long!

In spite of the law-makers, who knew exactly what they were doing in declaring the Robin worthy of protection, thousands of these birds are annually slaughtered by unthinking people because of a rumored fondness for cherries and other small fruits. And yet we are assured by competent authorities that cultivated fruit forms only four per cent of the Robin’s food thruout the year, while injurious insects constitute more than one-third. Robins in the cherry trees _are_ provoking, especially when they bring the whole family and camp out; but there is one way to limit their depredations without destroying these most distinguished helpers; plant a row of mulberry trees, preferably the Russian Mulberry, along the orchard fence, and the birds will seek no further. I have seen a mulberry tree swarming with Robins, while neighboring fruit trees were almost untouched. The plan is simple, humane, and efficacious.

No. 100. VARIED THRUSH.

A. O. U. No. 763. Ixoreus nævius (Gmelin).

Synonyms.—Mountain Robin. Winter Robin. Oregon Robin. Columbian Robin. Varied Robin. Painted Robin.

Description.—_Adult male_: Above dark slate-color (plumbeous slate to blackish slate), sometimes, especially in winter, tinged with olivaceous; wings dusky edged more or less with slaty, the flight-feathers varied by ochraceous-buff, the middle and greater coverts tipped broadly with tawny or ochraceous forming two conspicuous bars; tail blackish, the outermost or several lateral rectrices tipped with white on inner web; a conspicuous lateral head-stripe originating above eye and passing backward to nape ochraceous or ochraceous-buff; area on side of head, including lores, suborbital space and auriculars, black or slaty-black connected narrowly on side of neck with a conspicuous pectoral collar of the same shade; chin, throat and remaining underparts tawny (or ochraceous-tawny to ochraceous-buff), paling on sides and flanks where feathers broadly margined with slaty-gray, changing to white on abdomen; under tail-coverts mingled white, slaty and ochraceous; axillars and under wing-coverts white basally broadly tipped with slaty-gray and under surface of flight-feathers crossed basally by band of white or buffish. Bill brownish black paling basally on mandible; feet and legs ochre-brown; irides brown. _Adult female_: Similar to adult male but paler and duller; upperparts olive-slaty to olive brownish; tawny of underparts much paler and pectoral collar narrower, of the shade of back or a little darker; more extensively white on abdomen; _Young birds_: Like adult female but more yellowish ochraceous below; pectoral band indistinct composed of ochraceous feathers having darker edges; other feathers of throat and breast more or less tipped with olive dusky. Length of adult 9.50-10.00 (241-254); wing 4.92 (125); tail 3.43 (87); bill .83 (21); tarsus .87 (22).

Recognition Marks.—Robin size; blackish collar distinctive; wings conspicuously varied by tawny markings; head pattern distinctive—otherwise very Robin-like in bearing and deportment.

Nesting.—_Nest_: of sticks, twigs, grasses and rotten wood smothered in moss, a bulky, handsome structure placed in saplings or trees at moderate heights without attempt at concealment. _Eggs_: usually 3, rarely 4, greenish blue sparingly speckled or spotted, rarely blotched with dark brown. Av. size 1.12 × .80 (28.4 × 20.3). _Season_: April 20-May 10, June 10-July 1; two broods.

General Range.—Mountains and forests of western North America, breeding from northern California (Humboldt County) to northern Alaska, wintering from Kadiak Island to southern California and straggling irregularly eastward during migrations.

Range in Washington.—Resident in coniferous forests thruout the State from sea-level to limit of trees; retires to valleys and lowlands in winter; less common east of the main divides (Cascade).

Authorities.—[Lewis and Clark, Hist. Ex. (1814), Ed. Biddle; Coues, Vol. II., p. 184]. _Turdus nævius_, Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. IX., 1858, pp. 211 (“Simiahmoo, W. T.”), 220. T. C&S. L¹. D¹. Kb. Ra. Kk. J. B. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. P¹. Prov. B. E.

No; it does not always rain in western Washington. So far is this from being the case, that we will match our Februaries against all comers, and especially invite the attention of “native sons” of California. Our summers, too, are just a little dry latterly, and we begin to wonder with a vague uneasiness whether we are to be condemned to mediocrity after all. This paves the way for a declaration that the true web-footer, nevertheless, loves the rain, and will exchange a garish sky for a gentle drizzle any day in the year. The Varied Thrush is a true Web-footer. He loves rain as a fish loves water. It is his native element and vital air. He endures dry weather, indeed, as all of us should, with calm stoicism. _Lehrne zu leiden ohne zu klagen_, as poor Emperor Frederick II, the beloved “_Unser Fritz_,” used to say. But the Varied Thrush is not the poet of sunshine. Dust motes have no charm for his eyes, and he will not misuse his vocal powers in praise of the crackling leaf. Ergo, he sits silent in the thickets while avian poet-asters shrill the notes of common day. But let the sun once veil his splendors, let the clouds shed their gentle tears of self-pity, let the benison of the rain-drops filter thru the forest, and let the leafage begin to utter that myriad soft sigh which is dearer than silence, and our poet Thrush wakes up. He mounts the chancel of some fir tree and utters at intervals a single long-drawn note of brooding melancholy and exalted beauty,—a voice stranger than the sound of any instrument, a waif echo stranding on the shores of time.

There is no sound of the western woods more subtle, more mysterious, more thrilling withal, than this passion song of the Varied Thrush. Somber depths, dripping foliage, and the distant gurgling of dark brown waters are its fitting accompaniments; but it serves somehow to call up before the mind’s eye the unscaled heights and the untried deeps of experience. It is suggestive, elusive, and whimsically baffling. Never colorless, it is also never personal, and its weird extra-mundane quality reminds one of antique china reds, or recalls the subdued luridness of certain ancient frescoes. Moreover, this bird can fling his voice at you as well from the tree-top as from the ground, now right, now left, the while he sits motionless upon a branch not fifteen feet above you.

Fantastic and varied as is this single note which is the Thrush’s song, it may be fairly reproduced by a high-pitched whistle combined with a vocal undertone. At least, this imitation satisfies the bird, and it is possible to engage one after another of them in a sort of vocal contest in which curiosity and jealousy play unquestioned parts. Sometimes the Thrush’s note is quite out of reach, but as often it descends to low pitches, while now and then it is flatted and the resonance crowded out of it, with an indescribable effect upon the listener, somewhere between admiration and disgust. At other times a trill is introduced, which can be taken care of by a trained palate, in addition to the vocal sound and the whistle.

In a unique degree the Varied Thrushes are found thruout the forest depths. Given tall timber and plenty of it, the precise altitude or location are matters of no consequence. The prettiest compliment that Nature can pay to the genuine wildness of Ravenna Park, in Seattle, or Defiance Park, in Tacoma, is the continued presence of the Varied Thrush in nesting time. Run a survey line across any timbered valley of western Washington, or up any timbered slope of the Cascades or Olympics, and the bird most certainly encountered, without reference to local topography or presumed preference, will be the Varied Thrush. The bird may likewise be found among the larches and cedars of the Calispell Range.

The Varied Thrush is known by a variety of names, none more persistent or fitting than Winter Robin. It is a Robin in size, prevailing color, and general make-up; and it appears in the lowlands in large numbers only in the winter time, when the deep snows have driven it out of the hills. The Thrush is much more shy than the Robin, and altho it moves about in straggling companies, and does not shun city parks, it keeps more to cover. It also feeds largely upon the ground, and when startled by a passer-by it flutters up sharply into the trees with a wing-sound whose quality may soon be recognized as distinctive. At such times the bird makes off thru the branches with a low chuck, or _tsook_, or else tries the air by low notes which are like the song, only very much more subdued. This is manifestly an attempt to keep in touch with companions, while at the same time attracting as little hostile attention as possible. This note is, therefore, barely audible, and has very little musical quality, _aarue_, or _üür_.