Part 28
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.
“Where’s your kingdom, little king? Where’s the land you call your own? Where’s your palace and your throne? Fluttering lightly on the wing Thru the blossom world of May Whither lies your royal way? Where’s the realm that owns your sway, Little King?”
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
“Where the cypress’ vivid green And the dark magnolia’s sheen Weave a shelter round my home”
in October. But under the incitement of the poet’s playful banter, the Kinglet enlarges his claim:
“Never king by right divine Ruled a richer realm than mine! What are lands and golden crowns, Armies, fortresses and towns, Jewels, scepters, robes and rings, What are these to song and wings? Everywhere that I can fly There I own the earth and sky: Everywhere that I can sing There I’m happy as a king.”
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).