Part 30

If possible, the Chestnut-backed Chickadee is a little more delicately moulded and more fay-like in demeanor than its gray-backed cousin, the Oregon Chickadee. Unlike the latter, it is found commonly in the densest fir woods. It is found, also, in the oak groves of the prairie country; and, in general, it may be said to prefer dry situations. No hard and fast lines can be drawn, however, in the distribution of the two species. In many sections they mingle freely, and are equally abundant. In others, either may be quite unaccountably absent.

As nearly as we have made out to date, the commoner notes of the Chestnut-backed Chickadee closely simulate those of the Oregon. The _sweetee_ call is either indistinguishable or a mere shade smaller. The sneezing note becomes more distinct as _kechézawick_; and “_Chickadee_” becomes _kissadee_, the latter given so caressingly that you want to pinch the little darling. The Chestnut-backed Chickadee has a really truly song, but it is anything rather than musical. When the emotion of April is no longer controllable, the minikin swain mounts a fir limb and raps out a series of notes as monotonous as those of a Chipping Sparrow. The trial is shorter and the movements less rapid, so that the half dozen notes of a uniform character have more individual distinctness than, say, in the case of the Sparrow: _Chick chick chick chick chick chick_. Another performer may give each note a double character so that the whole may sound like the snipping of a barber’s shears: _Chulip chulip chulip chulip chulip_.

Mr. Bowles finds that in beginning a nesting cavity this bird almost always avails itself of some natural advantage, as a place from which a bit of wood has been torn away, or a hole made by a grub of one of the larger Cerambycid beetles. On this account the bird enjoys a wider range of choice in nesting sites than _atricapillus_. Fir or oak stubs are oftenest chosen, and moderate heights are the rule; but I have seen birds go in and out of a nesting hole at an elevation of eighty feet.

Every furred creature of the woods may be asked to contribute to the furnishing of Chickadee’s home. Upon a mattress of fur and hair the bird lays from seven to nine eggs, white as to ground color, and sparingly dotted with pale rufous. Chickadees are close sitters and must sometimes be taken from the eggs. They have, moreover, a unique method of defense, for when an eye appears at the entrance, the bird bristles up and hisses in a very snake-like fashion. This is too much for the nerves of a Chipmunk, and we guess that the single brood of a Chickadee is not often disturbed.

No. 110. BUSH-TIT.

A. O. U. No. 743. Psaltriparus minimus (Towns.).

Synonyms.—Least Bush-tit. Puget Sound Bush-tit. Pacific Bush-Tit.

Description.—_Adults_: Crown and hindneck warm brown abruptly contrasting with dull leaden or mouse gray hue of remaining upperparts; wings and tail slaty edged with pale gray; sides of head like crown but duller and paler; underparts sordid brownish white deepening into dull drab on sides and flanks. Length about 4.00 (101); wing 1.87 (47.5); tail 2.05 (52); bill .26 (6.9); tarsus .62 (15.8).

Recognition Marks.—Pygmy size; leaden coloration with brownish cap unmistakable.

Nesting.—_Nest_: a pendulous pouch from six inches to a foot in length and three or four inches in diameter, with small entrance hole in side near top; an exquisite fabrication of mosses, plant-down and other soft vegetable substances bound together by cobwebs and ornamented externally with lichens, etc., lined with plant-down and feathers; placed at moderate heights in bushes, rarely from ten to twenty feet up in fir trees. _Eggs_: 5-8, usually 7, dull white frequently discoloring to pale drab during incubation. Av. size .55 × .40 (13.9 × 10.2). _Season_: April-July; two or more broods.

General Range.—Pacific Coast district from Lower California to the Fraser River.

Range in Washington.—Resident west of the Cascades at lower levels, rare northerly—perhaps nearly confined to the Puget Sound basin.

Authorities.—_Parus minimus_, Townsend, Journ. Ac. Nat. Sci. Phila., VII. 1837, 190 (Columbia River). C&S. Ra. Kk. B. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. Prov. B.

It is an age of specialists. The man who could do anything—after a fashion—has given place to the man who can do one thing well. And in this we have but followed Nature’s example. The birds are specialists. The Loon is a diver; the Cormorant a fisher; the Petrel a mariner, and so on until we come to Swallows, who are either masons or mining engineers; and to Catbird and Thrush, who are trained musicians.

The Bush-Tits belong to the builders’ caste. They are specialists in domestic architecture. The little birds not only enjoy their task; they have nest-building on the brain. A beautiful home is more than meat to them. For its successful rearing they are ready to forswear the delights of foreign travel, and to its embellishment they devote every surplus energy, even after the children have come.

If there were time it would be interesting to trace the genesis of this architectural passion. Suffice it to say that the Bush-Tit comes of a race of builders. They call him Tit, a name shared in common with all the Chickadees; and Chickadee he is in structure and behavior, in his absolute indifference to position or balance, in his daintiness and sprightliness. Now Chickadees, altho they have lost the art of building, are specialists in nest-lining. (A nest lined with rabbit-fur means as much to a Chickadee as does a seal-skin jacket to you, my lady!) Hence the Chickadee strain is not lost upon our subject. The Tit, further, shows his affinity with the Kinglets in a habit of restlessly flirting the wings; and the Kinglets, as we know, are master builders. But it is to the Wrens that the Bush-Tit owes most of all, and especially to the Tulé Wren, for he has taken the general conception of a completely enclosed nest and worked it out more daintily. This, by the way, is no fanciful comparison, for there is a strong strain of Wren blood in Bush-Tit’s veins.

Nest-building begins on Puget Sound about the middle of March, at a time when the shrubbery is only beginning to leaf. Early nests, like the one in our illustration, may be perfectly exposed. Indeed, the birds appear to be at no pains to effect concealment, but trust to the general protection afforded by the presence of other such masses, the withered panicles of “ocean spray” or spiræa, drooping mosses, and collections of unfallen leaves, in the draperies of the underforest. The pendant pouch is composed chiefly of moss made fast by vegetable fibres and cob-webs, and snugly felted with vegetable downs. The lining is composed sometimes exclusively of white felt, but oftener of plant-down mingled with wool, fur, or feathers.

Egg-laying may begin as soon as the nest is decently framed, or again, it may be deferred for a week or ten days after the structure is practically complete. But, however that may be, the birds never rest from their labors. A Bush-Tit’s nest is like the Jamestown Fair, never finished. The nest must be ornamented with lichens, petals, spider-egg cases, bits of tissue paper,—in short, whatever takes the fancy of the birds in the course of their restless forays. The interior furnishings, likewise, must be continually augmented. If the bottom of the nest was only an inch thick at the outset, it is built up from within until it attains a thickness of two or three inches. Even tho the eggs be near to hatching, the thrifty housewife, as she returns from an airing, must needs lug in a beakful of feathers, which it would have been a shame to waste, you know. Besides this, the male bird has two or three shanties under construction in the neighborhood, upon which he can profitably put in those tedious hours between three a. m. and sunset.

The mother Tit lays six or eight pearly white eggs, and these the Steller Jay counts quite the daintiest item on his bill of fare. Hence, of all the Bush-Tits’ nests one sees in a season, fully half have been slit open and robbed by the blue-coated thug. One such tragedy, with its human interest, is reported for us by Miss Adelaide L. Pollock, the well-known bird-lover of Seattle, as follows:

“We found the long purse-shaped nest swinging from the lower branches of a giant red fir July 8th, and every day thereafter for two weeks some member of our class in ornithology visited the castle in the air. It was woven with a silken foundation gleaned in the cobwebs of the forest, lined with the pappus of the willow and the thistle, and chinked with moss, lichen, and faded hazel blossoms. With an eye to man-fashion, the architects had papered the home, but only in spots on the outside. What a delight it was to watch the parent birds light on the doorstep with a worm and plunge inside. By the wriggling and swaying of the nest we knew there was something doing there, but we had to guess at the gaping mouths. July 17th was a dreadful day for the nestlings. We heard the pitiful notes of birds in distress as we approached and found the nest was gone. Searching the ground it appeared with a great gaping hole in one side, which told of the work of jay, crow, or chipmunk. On investigation a tiny dead bunch of feathers was drawn out; and then something moved. The nest was tied to a hazel branch and quick as a thought the parents went in at the front and out at the new back door. Gaining courage they tried again, this time with food, and within the hour had apparently forgotten their tragedy and settled down with the one wee chick. While the parents were foraging we opened the slit and the way that baby bird turned tail-up and buried its head in the lining of the nest reminded us of the ostrich.

“July 20th we saw the youngster scramble up the sides of his home to the doorway, where he perched blinking his round brown eyes at us. He seemed to enjoy having his throat and back scratched and did not resent our presence, but his parents did, for the nest was deserted at sundown of July 22d after a long visit from the class in the afternoon. Yet the tiny fledgling could scarcely leap from twig to twig of the tangled undergrowth into which he disappeared. Two days later we fancied we recognized the same family by a peculiar white iris of one parent bird, as they flitted from branch to branch of an alder forty feet above the ground.”

_Sittidæ_—The Nuthatches

No. 111. SLENDER-BILLED NUTHATCH.

A. O. U. No. 727 a. Sitta carolinensis aculeata (Cassin).

Description.—_Adult male_: Top of head, nape and upper boundary of back shining black, with a slight greenish reflection; remaining upperparts ashy blue; outer wing-quills fuscous, the second and three or four succeeding primaries narrowly touched with white on outer web in retreating order; inner quills and coverts with much black centering; tail feathers, except upper pair, black, the outer pairs squarely blotched with white in subterminal to terminal order; sides of head, and neck well up, and underparts white with a faint bluish tinge; distinctly marked, or washed more or less, on flanks and crissum with rusty brown; bill stout, subulate, the under mandible slightly recurved,—blackish plumbeous above, lighter at base of lower mandible; feet dark brown; iris brown. _Adult female_: similar to male, but black of head and back more or less veiled by color of back. Length 5.50-6.10 (139.7-154.9); wing 3.43 (87); tail 1.81 (46); bill .77 (19.5); tarsus .72 (18.2).

Recognition Marks.—Warbler to Sparrow size; tree-creeping habits; black and ashy blue above; white below.

Nesting.—_Nest_: a deserted Woodpecker hole, or newly-made cavity in stump or tree, usually at a considerable distance from the ground, and lined with leaves, feathers, or hair. _Eggs_: 5-8, sometimes 9 or even 10, white, thickly speckled and spotted with reddish brown and lavender. Av. size, .76 × .56 (19.3 × 14.2). _Season_: April, May; one brood.

General Range.—Pacific Coast states and British Columbia (to Ashcroft), in the northern portion of its range east of the Cascades. Non-migratory.

Range in Washington.—Resident, of regular occurrence in pine timber east of Cascades; rare and local in Puget Sound region.

Authorities.—? Townsend, Journ. Ac. Nat. Sci. Phila. VIII. 1839, 155 (Columbia River). _Sitta aculeata_, Cassin, Cooper and Suckley, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. XII. pt. II. 1860, p. 193. (T.) C&S. Rh. D¹. Ra. J. B.

Specimens.—(U. of W.) Prov. C.

_Who-ew’ o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o_ goes the Macfarlane Screech Owl in broad daylight. There is an instant hush on the pine-clad hillside—a hush followed by an excited murmur of inquiry among the scattered members of a winter bird-troop. If _you_ happen to be the Screech Owl, seated motionless at the base of some large tree and half obscured in its shadows, perhaps the first intimation you will have that the search party is on your trail will be the click, click, click, of tiny claws on the tree-bole above your head, followed by a quank of interrogation, almost comical for its mixture of baffled anxiety and dawning suspicion of the truth. He is an inquisitive fellow, this Nuthatch, for, you see, prying is his business; but he is brave as well. The chances are that he will venture down within a foot or two of your face before he flutters off with a loud outcry of alarm. When excited, as when regarding a suspicious object, he has an odd fashion of rapidly right-and-left facing on a horizontal bough, as tho to try both eyes on you and lose no time between.

Nuthatch is the acknowledged acrobat of the woods—not that he acts for display; it is all business with him. A tree is a complete gymnasium in itself, and the bird is master of it all. In all positions, any side up, this bird is there, fearless, confident; in fact, he rather prefers traveling head downward, especially on the main trunk route. He pries under bark-scales and lichens, peers into crevices and explores cavities in his search for tiny insects, larvæ, and insects’ eggs, especially the latter. The value of the service which this bird and his associates perform for the horticulturist is simply incalculable. There should be as heavy a penalty imposed upon one who wantonly kills a Nuthatch or a Chickadee, as upon one who enters an enclosure and cuts down an orchard or a shade tree.

The Nuthatch has a variety of notes, all distinguished by a peculiar nasal quality. When hunting with the troop he gives an occasional softly resonant _tut_ or _tut-tut_, as if to remind his fellows that all’s well. The halloo note is more decided, _tin_, pronounced _à la francaise_. By means of this note and by using it in combination, they seem to be able to carry on quite an animated conversation, calling across from tree to tree. During the mating season, and often at other times, they have an even more decided and distinctive note, _quonk, quonk, quonk_, or _ho-onk, ho-onk_, in moderate pitch, and with deliberation. They have also a sort of trumpeting song, but this is rarely heard in Washington; and, indeed, all the notes of the Slender-billed Nuthatch have a softened and subdued character as compared with those of the eastern bird, typical _S. carolinensis_.

The nest of this Nuthatch is placed in a cavity carefully chiselled out, usually at a considerable height, in a pine stub, dead fir, or cottonwood. Both sexes share the labor of excavation, and when the cavity is somewhat deepened one bird removes the chips while the other delves. Like all the hole-nesting species of this family, but unlike the Woodpeckers, the Nuthatches provide for their home an abundant lining of moss, fur, feathers, and the like. This precaution is justified from the fact that they are early nesters—complete sets of eggs being found no later than the second week in April.

The male is a devoted husband and father, feeding the female incessantly during incubation, and sharing with her in the care of the large family long after many birds have forgotten their young. The young birds early learn to creep up to the mouth of the nesting hole to receive food when their turn comes; and they are said to crawl about the parental tree for some days before they attempt flight.

The Slender-billed Nuthatch is of rare occurrence west of the Cascades, being chiefly confined to the wooded edges of the prairies. In the eastern half of the State it may be rare locally but increases in abundance in the northeastern section. Wherever found, this bird associates freely with the related species and is especially fond of the society of the Pygmies. A winter bird troop encountered near Spokane included, beside a half dozen Slender-bills, as many Red-breasted Nuthatches, a score of Pygmies, a dozen Mountain Chickadees, four or five Batchelder Woodpeckers, a few Clark Nutcrackers, and twenty Red-shafted Flickers.

Being non-migratory (with the irregular exception of S. canadensis) Nuthatches are called upon to endure the rigors of a northern climate with its occasional drop to thirty below; but this does not give them or their fellows great concern, because of the unfailing character of their food supply. Beside that, please remember that feathers and fat afford the warmest protection known.

No. 112. RED-BREASTED NUTHATCH.

A. O. U. No. 728. Sitta canadensis Linn.

Synonyms.—Red-Bellied Nuthatch. Canadian Nuthatch.

Description.—_Adult male_: Crown and nape shining black; white superciliary lines meeting on extreme forehead; a black band thru eye; remaining upperparts grayish blue; wings fuscous, unmarked; tail feathers, except upper pair, black; the outer pairs subterminally blotched with white in retreating order; chin, and sides of head, and neck below the black, pure white; remaining underparts rusty or ochraceous brown; bill short, subulate, plumbeous-black; feet dark brown. _Adult female_: Similar, but crown like the back, with only traces of black beneath; lateral head-stripe blackish; usually paler rusty below. _Immature_: Like adult female. Length, 4.25-4.75 (108-120.6); average of seven specimens: wings 2.61 (66.3); tail 1.43 (36.3); bill .50 (12.7).

Recognition Marks.—Pygmy size; black and grayish blue above; rusty below; tree-creeping habits.

Nesting.—_Nest_: of grasses, feathers, etc., in a hole of tree or stub, excavated by the bird, usually at lower levels. _Eggs_: 4-6, white or creamy white, speckled with reddish brown and lavender. Average size, .63 × .48 (16 × 12.2). _Season_: first week in May; one brood.

General Range.—North America at large, breeding from northern New England, northern New York, and northern Michigan northward, and southward in the Alleghanies, Rocky Mountains, and Sierra Nevada; in winter south to about the southern border of the United States.

Range in Washington.—Common resident and migrant in timbered sections thruout the State, more numerous in the mountains; winter residents are, possibly, Alaskan birds.

Authorities.—? Ornithological Committee, Journ. Ac. Nat. Sci. Phila. VII. 1837, 193 (Columbia River). Cooper and Suckley, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. XII. pt. II. 1860, 192. T. C&S. Rh. D¹. Sr. Ra. D². Kk. J. B. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. P¹. Prov. B.

There is nothing big about the Red-breasted Nuthatch save his voice. If undisturbed, birdikins pursues the even tenor of his ways, like any other winged bug-hunter; but once provoke his curiosity or arouse suspicion, and he publishes forthwith a broadside of sensational editorial matter which no thoughtful reader of the woods can overlook. The full war-dance song of the Red-breasted Nuthatch, executed, for instance, when he hears the false notes of the Screech Owl, is something like this: _Nyăă - - - - - - - nyăă - - - - - - nyăă - - - - - nyăă - - - - nyăă - - - nyăă - - nyă - nyă - nyă nyă nyă nyă nyă nyă nyă nyă nyă_ and so on, in an incoherent strain of wild excitement, until he runs clean out of breath and quits, exhausted. The early notes of this orgic rhapsody are interrogative and penetrating; the succeeding notes are a sort of trumpeting challenge for the intruder to show himself; failing which, the irate Creeper drops into a lower, non-resonant series, of doubtful meaning and more doubtful morals. But the bird is not always angry, and the nasal call sounding on migration has a friendly quality about it which brings one hastening out-of-doors to greet the traveler again. Contrary to an early report, the Red-breast is quite at home in our deeper forests. Indeed, his is one of the most characteristic voices of the solemn fir woods. He still claims an interest, however, in deciduous timber, in bottom lands, and in the oak trees which border the prairies. In western Washington, it is quite impossible to trace or to estimate the bird’s migrations, since it is present everywhere at all seasons; but it is probably much less abundant with us in winter. In eastern Washington, it is confined for the most part to the region of pine timber in summer, and altho it also winters here irregularly, the numbers in this part of the State are largely augmented by migrants during May and September.

Thru the intermittent quanking of a pair of these birds, my attention was directed to a couple of tall dead fir trees near the center of a woods, then known as the Puget Mill strip, but now as Moore’s University Park Addition to Seattle. A little lazy scrutiny descried the birds, mere twinkling bits of blue-gray, about one hundred and twenty-five feet up; and two or three mysterious disappearances established a suspicion that they were interested in a certain section of one of the trees. The suspicion received strong confirmation when, after a longer disappearance than usual on the part of the Red-breasts, a Harris Woodpecker alighted further up in the same stub. The Nuthatches immediately swarmed out and set upon the Harris with vigor and language. The Woodpecker was disposed to stand his ground, whereat the Nuthatches became highly enraged and charged upon the intruder so vigorously that the poor fellow was obliged to dodge about his chosen limb in lively fashion. The Hatches cried _nyă nyă nyă_ as fast as they could get breath, and flirted their wings between whiles to vent their outraged feelings. Harris naturally decided before long that the game wasn’t worth the bother.

Time and again the little fellows flew across to a live fir tree, but only to come back as often to the same fascinating belt. Finally, from a new vantage point I made out the hole, a very fresh one in an open stretch of bark about one hundred and twenty feet up. As I looked, one bird entered the excavation and remained, while the other mounted guard at the entrance. After about five minutes of this the tiny miner emerged and the other, the male, I think, took her place. His duty appeared to be to remove the chips, for he stuck his head out at the entrance momentarily, and one imagined, rather than saw at that height, the tiny flashes of falling white. All very romantic, but not a good “risk” from the insurance man’s standpoint.