Years ago, a flock of Canada Geese flying overhead meant that winter was either around the corner or that it was over. A honking “V” flock on the move  represented the wild call of the  north and nature’s seasonal pageant all rolled into one. Today, when the sound of a calling Canada Goose greets your ear it simply indicates that you are alive, equipped with hearing, and probably standing near a golf course. It also means that you should be looking down and assessing exactly where you are standing! A vast part of the Canada Goose population no longer migrates south in the winter. They have become a year-round source of fertilizer and companionship. Because of this, it is natural not to pay them too much heed on a day to day basis.

Once in a great while, however, these Canadian flocks will offer up something unusual. Different species or varieties of geese will hang out (or is it “ooht”?) with the locals, eh, and offer up some interesting sightings. Yesterday just such a flock stopped by Lake Erie Metropark along the Detroit River. This flock was a “two-fer”, as a matter of fact – there were two odd birds in the bunch.  I happened to be in the right place at the right time when it was reported that a “snow goose and something else ” was with a small flock of Canadas, so I stopped over to check out the situation. What I, and the others, saw was a dozen or so Canada Geese and two misfits.

The group was grazing on the grass along a seawall, and the small grayish bird on the left (see picture above) stood out like a sore thumb. To make a long story short, it appeared to be an immature Snow Goose. These northern breeders are one of the most common of geese in North America (estimated population at around 2 million birds) but they rarely show up in our eastern neck of the woods. Snows breed in the high north from Wrangle Island in Russia to James Bay, Canada and they migrate south to the west and Gulf coasts of the U.S. and Mexico. This path doesn’t normally bring them into Midwestern or eastern flyway routes.

To make this short story a bit longer, it would be nice to explain a few of the visual points that identify this gander as the snow variety. Take a look at this more detailed shot (here) and you’ll see it has a “sneer” on its pinkish bill. The guides will often refer to this beak feature as a grinning patch, but it is more like a Clint Eastwood sneer if you ask me. Part of this expression is due to the increased number of ridges on the bill edge that act to cut the tough grasses eaten by these birds. Another “Snow” feature is the small size – they are about 65% the size of a typical Canada (as you can see in the first picture).  As a snow goose, you might wonder why this guy isn’t white. The answer to this question is a bit more complicated.

Snow Geese come in two basic colors – the white and the so-called “blue” varieties.  It wasn’t until the early 1960’s when it was discovered that the blue and white birds were actually the same species that could interbreed at will. The white birds are snow white with black wing tips, while the  darker types are white faced with dark gray bodies and wing feathers.  The blue color is dominant, but a majority of the eastern birds are dark and the western birds are white. This errant bird is a young blue phase Snow Goose which is just coming into it’s own adult colors. It will eventually gain the fully white face and bright pink beak and legs as it enters it’s first breeding season.

When this bird flew away with his new-found flockmates (see here) it voiced another distinctive trait.  It’s honk was distinctly more nasal – almost tin-like – when heard among the mix of big honking Canadians. It could still be clearly heard as the gang flew out of sight over the tree line.

Now, the other bird in the flock (see below) was one of a totally different feather. This individual, looking almost like a Canada Goose attempting to dress up as a blue phase Snow Goose, seems to be a hybrid. Exactly who be da mamma and who da fadder isn’t clear on this bird except that one of his parents was definitely a Canadian, eh. The other parent was probably a Greylag (domestic farm) goose or a White-fronted Goose. Canada Geese can make whoopie with many other kinds of geese, and known hybrids involving these two other species run the gamut of shades. I could argue for either bird, but I don’t think it really matters in this case. Without a blood test, it can only be guesswork regarding the paternity of this fowl. All that can be said is that it is an interesting hybrid.

It was unusual, to say the least, to find two special birds in a small flock of regulars such as this. The odds are against it. One of the funny things about this goose gathering is that it also contained a regular Canada Goose with a bad limp. Like a gang of movie extras – the accidental arctic kid, the hy-bird, and the Festus bird- are like misfits banished to the flock of misfit geese (migrants from an island just to westward of the Island of Misfit Toys). I’m guessing that one of them also whistles instead of honks or that another wants to be a duck. At the very least, this assemblage casts some doubt on the “birds of a feather flock together” moniker.

A February thaw is always deceiving. Even the slightest hint of warmth triggers an inner switch that causes us to say things like “well, Spring is right around the corner” or “I’m ready for winter to end.” Even though a cursory glance at the calendar would show us that the glass of bitter winter brew is only half empty, we choose to ignore the facts. This is a survival tool.  It is as valid as any employed by the wild creatures of wood and water, although somewhat dumber in evolutionary terms

Actually, we have turned the seasonal corner – it’s just that the route is more like a roundabout than a city block. Animals are responding to the change in the air. You’ll note that the Cardinals are beginning to sing, Horned larks are now performing a head to head bobbing dance, and the opossums are hurling themselves at passing cars with renewed vigor.  While I certainly plan on returning to these topics in future versions of Naturespeak, I would like to now call attention to cutworms.

It was just before Valentine’s Day when I encountered a juicy little cutworm crossing my driveway (see below). The heavy rain accompanying the recent thaw apparently drove the beast from it’s winter hibernaculum (over-wintering spot) somewhere on the north side of the drive and sent it packing towards an undetermined place on the south side. I, being in the middle of the drive, spotted it and picked it up. Even though the day was “warm” by winter standards at about 38 degrees F., the sight still took me back a bit. Seeing a fleshy caterpillar this time of year provided a nice reminder of the different strategies used by animals to get through the season.

Even though I don’t know what kind of cutworm this is, I am fairly confident that it is indeed one. Cutworms are the larvae of a large group of moths in the Noctuidae group. Telling them apart is about as easy as keying out the Goldenrods. As a group they are all covered with smooth skin decorated with mottled coloration. They characteristically roll up in to a “C” shape when disturbed and this one performed on cue (as you can see above and here in better detail). In addition to becoming a circular letter of the alphabet, the caterpillar in question disgorged a healthy amount of green spit onto my palm. All of this is done to look unappetizing and I’ll admit that I wasn’t even tempted to pop it into my mouth.  If someone had offered me a $10 bill, I might have considered it but…oh, well we’ll never know will we?

Among cutworms, there are those -such as the Black Cutworm- that overwinter as a pupae. Others, like the Clayback, Dusky and Army Cutworms, overwinter as larvae. My February driveway discovery wasn’t any of these latter species as far as I can tell, but it was obviously one in the larval overwintering school of thought. This tactic requires the ability to build up anti-freeze in the body fluids (which I happen to know are juicy and green!) in order to attain the ability to super-cool. Super-cooling doesn’t mean the same as super neat or really “with it,” it means the body can still function at levels below the normal freezing point of water. In fact, cutworms have been known to resume feeding during mild periods over the course of the winter. Eating grasses in the middle of winter, now, that’s cool.

Gardeners and farmers certainly don’t think cutworms are cool. These creatures can wreak havoc on all forms of turf and vegetable crops. A typical feeding pattern for this larvae is to emerge from the ground and cut down a tender shoot in the manner of a miniature lumberman with a saw. The severed stalk is chewed up and the stumps are left as evidence. This habit explains how the group got its common name. This also explains why some people have spent their entire career trying to outwit these things.

The recognition of cutworm damage has entered into the general folklore of farming. In the days before chemical sprays, it was custom to plant four corn seeds to get one surviving one. “One for the blackbird, one for the crow, one for the cutworm, and one to grow” was the motto. I’ve also seen this phrase as “One for the blackbird, two for the crow, three for the cutworm, and four to grow,” but even though the mathematics are the same, it’s more confusing. Either way, it was widely accepted that you will lose some of your crop to avian and insect pests, so you’d might as well get used to it. Crows and other blackbirds relish cutworms, by the way, so there might be some conversion factor needed to make this formula balance out at the bottom of the sheet.

I chose to release my worm, preferring to think he might freeze to death on his own sometime in the next few months. If he doesn’t, well, then he’s made the cut and deserves to live.  Hey, he’s only eating my yard and anyone who has viewed my yard will see that it will never make the cover of Golf Digest.  If, when it pupates in the spring and turns into a flying brown moth that goes into your yard, then you have my blessings to wipe it off the face of the earth. For now, however, it’s one for the cold cutworm.

Right now, smack dab in the middle of winter, is as good a time as any to step back and reflect upon the past few months. Snow conditions for the first half of the season have been very conducive to tracking. They have, in fact, been way too conducive. Six inches of white stuff would have been plenty, thank you. Given that it was so cold that every single solitary flake of snow hitting the ground was preserved, the levels built up incrementally from deep to very deep.

All this leads up to the fact that I’ve been accumulating track photos as fast as the snow has piled  up. I’ve not been able to make use of many of them as Naturespeak subjects, however, so I feel this is as good a time as any to pull a few out of the bag. There are a number of reasons why I will opt not to publish a track. The first and foremost reason is that I may have already featured a particular species – there are so many really really good squirrel tracks I can show you, in other words. Bad picture quality, a specialty of mine, and the lack of anything interesting to say are other factors. Finally, if I don’t know what animal made a certain track, I won’t display it either. Doing this would reveal my true ignorance.

There are a few tracks that rise above the level of the ordinary when it comes to story-telling. With that thought in mind, I would like to present a few leftovers for your consideration.

Some tracks are interesting solely because they were made by a creature that doesn’t usually have the opportunity to leave a track in the snow. A set of Iguana foot prints or a jellyfish trail would certainly be worth reporting, but I only have a set of woodpecker tracks (see below and a detail view here) that meet the requirements of this category. A detailed look at these snow marks reveals the  distinctive “X” pattern made by members of this tree-climbing clan. These birds have two forward pointing toes and two backward pointing ones that assist them in gripping vertical perches. Woodpeckers are common winter birds, but they rarely come to earth unless there is a compelling reason to do so. I can’t tell you what compelled this one to descend snow-ward. It took about a dozen hops and entered back into the air space without leaving any feeding evidence. There is a chance he did it just because it could be done!

Based on the size of these tracks, I would have to say they were left by a large woodpecker such as a Red-bellied or a Yellow-shafted Flicker. My money is on the Flicker simply because they spend a lot of time on the ground during the summer and I know that several of these guys are overwintering in the area.

The next set of tracks begs the question posed in the title of this piece: Do bunnies line dance?  Take a good close look at the set of Cottontail tracks pictured at the start of this column. I encountered these in a patch of new-blown snow along a paved path. What is especially fascinating here is that the longer hind foot tracks clearly indicate a sequential, and side by side,  foot placement right next to a series of small ovals where the snow was blown away to reveal the dark pavement underneath.

I quite simply have no idea what was going on here. Either this was the starting line for some kind of race – you know, as in “on your mark, get ready…” –  or we have evidence of rabbit line dancing. The small cleared patches could have been where the critter was licking snow or snorting out a blast of nostril air on the third and forth step of the dance. I do know that as the sun rose a bit higher on that day the whole thing became a receding hare line due to the rising air temperature!

My final exhibit  involves an opossum. These hardy marsupials sleep through the roughest part of the winter and emerge during brief thaws or breaks in the weather to search for food – or at least that’s what they’d have you believe. The set of tracks pictured below were made last week just as the current thaw began to set in. It appears to be a place where a hungry opossum grubbed through the snow for some hidden morsel. Although the deep snow obscures the identifying ‘possum “thumb” marks, a tail mark can clearly be seen. What is not so clearly seen is that there is a bottle cap sticking out of the snow at the far left side of the disturbance.

Take a look here, and you’ll see what I saw.  There was a crisp clean Budweiser bottle cap sticking out. Further investigation uncovered an identical bottle cap on the far right edge of the cluster of  ‘possum pad marks. The location was along a boardwalk running through a lowland woods and was far from any parking lot or road. I find it hard to believe that a sane human would uncork a couple of cold brews along a frigid nature trail in the middle of the winter. No, I’m afraid the only conclusion to be drawn here is that opossums drink beer and that they prefer Budweiser. This same animal left this set (see below) of tell-tale tracks in the snow leading away from the bottle cap site. You don’t have to be a traffic cop to notice that he was not walking in a straight line.

I do see some dangerous trends here. We have woodpeckers trying to walkpeck, bunnies line dancing, and marsupials engaging in frosty midnight drinking  binges. Earlier in the winter I came across another set of rabbit tracks which ended in a freshly extinguished cigarette butt.  What is nature coming to? I know for a fact that opossums and cottontails don’t carry money, so they have to get their booze and Marlboros through some illegal means. Scary stuff, eh?

There is a little bit of good news here, though. Apparently, given the absence of the bottles at the binge scene, ‘possums believe in recycling.

I called up my younger son, the Latin scholar, today and asked him a question. I was thinking about a nice winter seed plant called the Virgin’s Bower (see above) and came up with a semantic query regarding the name. The plant’s scientific name is Clematis virginiana which basically means “the climbing plant of Virginia” in dead tongue. I didn’t need him to come up with this one, since the old man has an extremely basic knowledge of Latin and can usually figure such things out – if he can’t, he simply makes it up.  My question was about the ending of the species name. It was such a small matter that I didn’t think it was worth making up anything about it.

Many early discoveries of the New World were classified as coming from Virginia, so they are labeled as such. A lot of living things, therefore, have Virginia in their Latin name. The White-tailed Deer, Great-horned owl,  Choke Cherry, Opossum, and the Virgin’s Bower all share this trait. The part that befuddled me was why their scientific names are officially listed as either “virginiana” or “virginianus” and  both forms mean “from Virginia.”  Take the Great Horned Owl, Bubo virginianus, and the Oppossum, Didelphuis  virginiana for example.  These two animals are both “from Virginia” but they are designated with two different endings – “a” and “us.”  I asked my college scholar to give it to me simple. “These are probably masculine and feminine endings,” he answered. “The masculine form requires an ‘us’ ending and the feminine ends in an ‘a’.”  He actually said this in a much more technical manner, but that was the gist of it.

This left me with another deeper question, however. What is it that makes one animal masculine and another not?  Why is it that the ‘possum and the black cherry tree are considered in female terms while the horned owl and deer are burdened with masculinity? There certainly are manly ‘possums and effeminate deer out there. If there weren’t, there would be no little deer and possums, if you know what I mean. Think about it. Yes, I realize that in the scheme of things this is not an important question but it’s worthy of a few brain cells. Having just expended those few cells, I will now move on.

There is little doubt why the Virgin’s Bower name is feminized. The name, bower, can equally refer to a “woman’s private chamber” or a “leafy arbor”- in other words girly things.  It is probably no coincidence that it bears the name of the state of Virginia, which was originally named for the “Virgin Queen” Elizabeth the 1st of England. I’m guessing that the frilly nature of the seed head somehow reminded folks of a queenly sort of boudoir decor. A greasy snarling opossum has no royal resemblance, I might add, so my interpretation can only go so far.

The less romantically inclined are compelled to descriptively call the Virgin’s Bower by the name of  “Old Man’s Beard.” This is a good description. Bowers produce wonderful puffy seed heads that stand out against the stark winter landscape. When framed in a bright morning light (see below), they invite you to closely examine their virgin beauty  in greater detail ( see here). Now, technically they are not truly virgin because they bear seeds, but we’ll let that one pass!  For some reason beyond my comprehension, some have chosen to call this plant the “Devils Darning Needle”. This decidedly negative and masculine designation is not a good name.

The summer appearance of the vine is somewhat non-descript. It bears serrated three-part leaves and white flowers along a winding 20 foot woody vine, but the whole thing blends into the greenery. Winter is the time when the Virgin’s Bower can show off it’s feminine charms. It is, as you can see, a bearded lady deserving of an “a.”

And in one corner you have Sturnus vulgaris weighting in at two and three-quarter ounces and a wingspan of tee-welve and one-half inches. In the other we have the contender, hailing from the far side of the tracks, a 13 inch-spanner by the name of Accipiter striatus who tips the scales at six and one-half ounces on the nose.  Bing! The fight is on with a left dash for the corner by Sturny and a counter left by Ms. Striatus. Sturny delivers a right flight,then another left before the out-towner closes in. Wham. The Sturn is on the ropes. Striatus goes for the knockout and then the kill. Oh, this fight is over, ladies and gentlemen. In less than sixteen and three quarter seconds Striatus has defeated her opponent.

To tell the truth, I was late to the fight. It was over before I happened upon the cornfield ring just off Reinhardt road. I will admit to faking the action details, but the contenders, a Starling (Sturnus) and a Sharp-shinned Hawk (Striatus), were real and the result was as reported.  As you can see by the above photo (and this better shot here), the slightly larger Sharpie had just downed her blackbird prey and was getting ready to enjoy the fruits of her labor when rudely interrupted by yours truly. I was in my truck and she was just of the road. She definitely delivered the stink eye in my direction as you can see below.

I’ve come across quite a number of bird “kill sites” this winter but all were long after the event ended and the crowds had gone home. Snow shadows were the only record of these incidents. Here, finally, I was witness to the real thing. This “real thing” is not a rare event, mind you, but one only occasionally witnessed. If you have a bird feeder, it is very likely that you’ve seen this before, although the results were not always the same. The chase is always short and either the kill is made quickly or the prey makes a clean getaway.  Most of the time, the prey gets away.

Sharp-shinned Hawks are the smallest true hawks in North America. They are bird-eaters in the same vein as the larger Cooper’s Hawk and much larger Goshawks. Because of their size, these robin-sized predators are limited to perching bird fare which includes Robins, Sparrows, and, obviously, Starlings. The size of the chosen prey differs between the female and male birds because there is a notable size difference between the two. Males are the petite ones at 9-12 inches in length whereas the gals pick up where they leave off and reach sizes of around 12 -14 inches. The slightly larger females can tackle slightly larger prey. I believe the bird pictured here was a female based on a scale comparison between it and the lifeless bird beneath her, but I can’t really be sure. There was no lipstick or handbag in evidence. I can be sure that it was a juvenile bird, however.

First year birds have the full body size of adulthood, but they have yellow eyes and a brown streaked breast. Adult Sharp-shins have blood red eyes, befitting their occupation, and a rufous barred breast with a slate colored back. The fact is that most of the first year birds never get to be second year adults because of the difficulty of the lifestyle. It ain’t easy tracking down and killing living food and they themselves often fall victim to the larger members of their own clan.

I was able to flip into movie mode in anticipation that the bird would start to pluck her prey, as is tradition see here Unfortunately, my presence and the approach of another car resulted in a performance consisting of a series of nervous glances. She eventually launched into the air with her heavy cargo, made a cumbersome low flight over the road, and glided into the security of a nearby patch of evergreens. There, safe from prying eyes, she could begin the plucking and eating process in peace.

The snow at her eating spot will record what happened. There will be a few spots of blood, a pile of feathers, wing marks and a tail rub. Perhaps another curious naturalist will come upon the spot and take a photo of it, but this one is content with witnessing the real show for a change.

It was Groundhog Day and I was up in the air again. By that statement, I don’t mean that I was un-decided about something, but that I was literally up in a Raven Helicopter looking for deer. I was taking part in our annual aerial deer survey for the Metroparks and the opportunity to do this task is definitely a job perk for which I offer no excuses. We conduct the population count in order to determine the health of the deer herd and to assess their potential impact on the limited resources within our boundaries. Our team spotted around 200 deer wandering, bedding, running, (and at least one doing absolutely nothing) inside the borders of the four southern parks from Lower Huron to Lake Erie.

This is necessary work, but I’ll be the first to admit that it is also fun. It’s not my intention to detail the deer portion of the survey right now- I’ve done that before – but I will offer up a photo showing what three deer look like from 150 feet up in the air (see here).  As you can see, or not, these things are hard to spot. Your eyes have to be glued onto every feature of the landscape and more than once one of us would declare a sighting and then have admit “No, it’s a stump.”  Apart from sightings of the actual critters themselves, we saw lots of stumps, rocks, and deer-like things along with three bald eagles, twenty some Great Blue Herons, 5 million geese (estimate), a  Great-horned Owl on the nest, a beautiful Red Fox walking the edge of the frozen Huron River, and three pretty cool snowmen. The non-deer aspects of this survey definitely were the  most fascinating.

We did not see any woodchucks, however.  I suppose we could have flown over one or two, since dead frozen-stiff chucks would have looked very rock-like from that height, but I doubt it. Real woodchucks – the live ones – are underground at this time of year. They have no more sensibility than a rock when hibernating and certainly are without any innate ability to read winter weather signs. The rock, in fact, would probably be a better predictor over time but everyone takes them for granite. I just read that the Groundhog weather predictions over time have only been 37% correct regarding the end of winter! So, there you have it.

It was a bright sunny morning, however, and according to tradition this meant six more weeks of winter.  Punxsutawney Phil had already declared this by the time we entered into the frigid air-scape. No one asked the Punxsutawney Pebble, but it’s likely that it would have agreed.

Everything on the landscape was casting a shadow on this morning flight – including our own copter.  The single most fascinating sight that trumped everything, for me anyway, was the coyote sighting. We got a clear view of the canine as he attempted to avoid us while under the trees (see here at upper left). We circled once to get a better angle and this compelled the nervous beast to make a dash for it. It bounded over the clearing at breakneck speed, kicking up clouds of powdery snow with each forward leap, and provided a great shadow profile (see above) in the process.

Seeing a coyote cast his shadow on Groundhog Day certainly has some poetic justice to it. Granted, it’s meaningless poetry, but then again so is a lot of poetry. You can clearly see, even though the photo is a grainy enlargement, that the thing was in mid leap with his feet stretched forward and his pointy ears looking like horns. Coyotes run with their tails down, unlike wolves, so this appendage doesn’t make a shadow impression.

To give you a better idea of what we actually saw, here is a clearer picture of the coyote just as he was in mid-field (see here). He’s nearly lost in the pattern of deer trails with that view, but shows up better upon enlargement (see below). He was a big individual and probably would have wieghted in closer to the 40 pound end of the recorded weights for Michigan coyotes.

Watching the animal cover that piece of ground with such rapidity, I was prompted to wonder just how fast coyotes can run. A little homework puts that speed estimate at around 35-40 mph, with 43 mph being the fastest. Given his reaction to our large rotating metal bird, I would say our individual was performing  at his  personal best speed. Just for comparison, keep in mind that Greyhounds top off at around 39 mph, humans can run 25 mph if they are at their personal best,White-tailed Deer & Cats achieve around 30 mph, mice are clipping at 8 mph, and your average Garden Snail burns up the moss at .03 mph. Rocks don’t move unless pushed.

Winter, beginning in late January and running until early March, is the breeding season for coyotes. The females come into heat for only a few days during that time and this probably explains why this coyote was out and about during broad daylight. A male coyote has to make his “fast moves” before the game is over. It’s a safe bet, based on the coyote’s shadow casting, that winter will still have a firm grasp on our region by the time the mating season concludes. That weather prediction is strictly between you, me, and the rock by the way.

Thermoregulation. That’s the word of the day and a super fantastic Scrabble word to boot. It refers to the way animals maintain their body temperatures by either cooling off or heating up in response to surrounding air temperatures.  In the midst of a winter Scrabble game, it’s the heating up and staying warm part that matters. Little creatures, such as the White-throated Sparrow pictured above, are especially concerned about  these matters. This is the little guy that got me thinking about such things.

Little birds happen to be especially hot little packages.  On average they have a running body temperature of 104-108 degrees F . Ounce for ounce, birds have a warmer body temperature than mammals of equivalent size. Bigger birds are closer to the mammal model than the smaller ones, however. I’m talking about the wee (“wee-er,” if that’s a word) birds in this case. In an effort to stoke their tiny furnaces they need to take in a lot of calories and burn a lot of oxygen. This means their rate is nothing short of phenomenal.  A small fowl’s heart rate can be up to in the 400-1,000 bpm range. When you compare this to a human exercise rate of only 160 bpm, you wonder why these things don’t just blow up! Winter poses a whole set of problems for such hot-headed birds.

As you can see, this sparrow was doing his best to stay warm on a bitter January day where the temperature was about 9 degrees F.  To achieve his goal, he basically curled up into a fluffy ball. From a different angle (see here) the thing looked more like a dust bunny than a bird. Every feather was erect, his feet were withdrawn,  and his head was tucked around so deeply into the back feathers that it appeared to be lost. He was so involved in his thermoregulatory endeavors that he did loose his head, in a manner of speaking, because he ignored his predatory avoidance endeavors. I, the potential predator, was able to crawl up to within inches of this fellow without alerting his alarm system.

A few days later I came upon another one of these sparrows. The day was “warmer” at a balmy 15 degrees F, so it was puffed out but not balled up. He cracked an eye open just enough to check me out (see below) before resuming his energy conservation tactics.  Other birds are doing the same thing as well – like this inflated winter robin (see here). There is more going on with these little peeps than first meets the eye. The small scale winter bird has many metabolic and behavioral tricks hidden under those feathery sleeves.

To stay alive, a bird needs to find a balance between producing heat and conserving it. Different small birds have different responses. Cold weather, especially that rendered brutal by high winds, causes sparrows to increase their rate of heat production. Chickadees can go into a state of controlled hypothermia if necessary and drop their body temperatures by up to 15 degrees F. Redpolls can eat like pigs and keep their furnaces going at their normal rate. The major way for birds to produce the quick heat they need is to shiver. First, by shaking their large flight muscles and then adding in some quivering leg muscles at lower temperatures, heat is generated.

Conserving that precious  heat, once produced, is equally as important. Changing shape, like going from an oval to a round shape, decreases the amount of surface area. Erecting feathers traps a surrounding layer of air. The action that brings these feathers up is akin to the muscular action that creates goosebumps on us, by the way. Tiny feet are protected from frostbite through a system known as counter-current blood flow. In short, this means that the warm blood coming from the body into the foot transfers its heat to the cold blood returning from the cold little toes.  The cold blood is brought back up to body temperature before it gets back into the body.

On top of all this “body stuff,” the smallish bird has to use that hot little head to make some behavioral choices. They need to choose roosting spots out of the wind and position their bodies into the wind if necessary. For instance, my fluff ball White-throated Sparrow chose his spot away from the wind and next to a building. You’d think standing on a cold slab of cement would be a poor idea, but the fact is that the building and the concrete store some of the sun’s heat and then radiate it out as the temperatures drop. Tree trunks and rocks will do the same thing which is why sheltered birds seek these spots for the few extra degrees of comfort they receive. On another level, one study even showed that many birds choose to feed later in the day so that they can have that additional energy boost to get them through the long cold night.

These are all things you can think about when next you nestle deep into the folds of your down jacket and curse the north wind. Little birds don’t curse – it’s a waste of energy.

I’ve just finished up with a four owl week. During this late January period of frigid three-dog nights, experiencing a couple of two-owl days ain’t bad. But, when you can put a few of these multi-owl days together and come out with a four owler, well, that’s something. Some would classify my effort as a mere two-hooter happening, since two of the four owls of which I speak were either dead or not present at the time of their “discovery.”  To those naysayers out there, however,  I will boldly say “frankly, my dear, I don’t give a hoot.” This thing is about the birds, not the man.

My first encounter was with a Saw-whet Owl. Well, O.K., I didn’t actually see one of these soup can sized birds but I found one of their snow angels – I think.  Take a look at this picture (here) and you’ll see what I’m talking about. My identification is based on size, proportion, and something else which I’ve since forgotten. Anyway, these tiny owls feed on song-birds and mice during their winter stay. The songbirds are as vulnerable as ever, but the mice are able to get about under the protective white stuff with relative impunity. They are, to put it bluntly, loving it. Aerial predators, such Saw-Whets can’t see them but they can hear them them through the snow (when mice burp, owls listen!). I believe this track shows where one of the owls plunged directly down into the snow at the base of a Queen Anne’s Lace to nab an over-confident and chatty little rodent at its base. The wingspan mark, measuring around 17 inches, combined with the short tail mark point to this species as the maker. I can’t tell you if the plunge was successful other than it successfully produced an nice little snow angel.

The subject of Screech Owls came up while listening to a morning report on NPR a few days ago. Obviously lacking any solid new to report, the local station aired a short segment on how Screech Owls are suffering through this winter. The deep snow, they report, is keeping them from their food and they are suffering – you can hear their painful hunger-driven screeching ringing through the night woods. A well meaning commentator, when asked about this situation, suggested that people put out bird seed to help. I heard my wife laugh from down the hall when this comment aired.  I’m sure he meant that the seed would attract mice and birds which, in turn, could be eaten by the owls, but there was no real science to back up this claim.

With visions of screech owls lining up at feeders throughout the north country, I headed off to work that morning thinking about the reality of the claim. The best thing to do would be to verify the presence of dead screech owls and examine them for signs of starvation. No sooner had that thought entered my head than I spotted a dead screech owl a block from my house! The bird was dead on the road – the victim of a car strike – but the circumstance was a bit spooky. I retrieved it and performed a little bit of science on it. This bird, an ashy salt & pepper gray phase individual, was not starving at the time it met its untimely end. Its breast muscles were plump and full up to the keel. I suppose it could have been heading for the nearest feeder, now that I think about it.

Detailed examination of the bird revealed a 19 1/2 inch wingspan which provides a comparison with the smaller span of the Saw-Whet mentioned earlier. I spread the feathers out in order to get a good look at the silencers on the wings. The leading edge of their primary (wing) feathers have a comb-like structure which evens out, and therefore silences, the rush of air over the wing (see here). All owls, at least the night-time fliers,  have this stealth feature. All owls are also equipped with impressive talons. Even tiny owls like the Screech, have formidable talons and rough-padded feet for securing and killing prey… such as feeder birds, for instance (see here).

My third owl was not only alive, but it was in the midst of performing one of the truly remarkable rituals of the natural world. The bird was a Great-horned Owl and she was sitting on eggs.  Great-horns begin their courtship in early winter and lay their eggs by late January or early February. By doing so, they beat everyone else to the punch kinda like a baseball fan camping out at the stadium while snow is still piled high on the seats.

Great-horned Owls take over the old nests of Red-tailed Hawks , Herons, and even Bald Eagles long before these birds would even think about nesting. By the time the original nest makers return they find their nest occupied and will move on to make another nest. This particular owl opted out of the nest stealing game and decided to situate herself in the cavity of an old cottonwood snag (see here). The snow downwind from the tree had several downy feathers scattered over the surface (see here).  A closer look (see below) shows her sitting hen-like on the nest.  This a very non-owl like pose although it is made significantly more owlish by those intense yellow eyes. The impact of this scene is made especially poignant when you consider that the overnight temperature just previous to this shot was -1 degree F and the daytime temp was hovering at 12 degrees F. She will go through much more of this in the coming month before her young finally hatch.

My last owl of concern was a Long-eared Owl. These wintering birds are creatures of habit who tend to return to the same daytime roost day after day. They prefer the cover of dense  tangled vegetation or conifer trees. Often they roost together in informal groups and it is not unheard of to find up to 20 owls in the same tree. I believe the proper way to refer to such a gathering as a parliament. My bird (someone else found it and told me about it, so it’s not really mine – but then again it’s not really theirs either) was a solitary member of the House of Commons.

He was alone and somewhat contented when first approached (see here). Squint-eyed and upright, with “ear tufts” erect, he was the near-perfect imitation of a stick. You can see why they can be so hard to spot when employing such camouflage. My presence irritated him for some reason (this happens in my presence quite often) and he began to puff up into a defensive display (see the photo at the top of this entry). With those intense yellow eyes burning a hole right into my soul, the bird raised every feather of it’s body and dropped a wing down. Overall, the act served to enlarge the owl to nearly three times it’s starting size (see below). “Look at me -ain’t I frightful” is the intended message which is reserved for potential predators. Owls have on their back bigger owls to bite ’em, you see, so a good defensive act is always a good backup.

This was my signal to back off.  I didn’t want to flush him just for the sake of a picture. By the time I was ready to turn around, the Long-ear was in full puff mode. He started to blink continuously and look nervously about. My last photo caught him in mid blink and it is the best shot of the four owl week (see here). A translucent nictitating membrane, which serves to cleanse the surface of the eye, is employed from the upper inner corner of each eye. It is a serendipitous occasion to catch this motion in mid-wipe.

Owls are, in fact, serendipitous creatures who don’t allow too many viewing opportunities.   This is why a four owl week is not something that can be expected on a regular basis. Every view has the potential to be a learning experience. There is actually a potential to have a five or six owl week in these parts, so you can bet owl give it a try.

Numbers don’t mean much by themselves. They don’t breath, cavort, fly, or dive into the water. When combined with living things they do begin to shed their sterility and begin to breathe. So, when I say that there were at least 216 Bald Eagles counted along the Michigan portion of the Lake Erie shore during the recent Christmas Bird Count, these particular numbers have the potential to jump off the screen and shout “Hallelujah!”

Yes, you read correctly. From the state line up to the Detroit River mouth the combined totals of the Rockwood and Monroe Audubon bird counts tallied over 200 individual eagles. Not so terribly long ago, one eagle could be considered a life sighting in S.E. Michigan. The effects of DDT and other chemicals having sucked the lifeblood from the once thriving local population, the bird was all but extinct except in the northern portions of the state.  Today the eagle is not only back, but continuing on a population rebound across the Great Lakes country. Take a look here at this photo (see here) taken by birder/photographer Jerry Jourdan showing 43 eagles off the Monroe County shore and you’ll get the idea. Hallelujah!

Perhaps the most surprising aspect of these numbers – these breathing, cavorting, and diving numbers – is that these are winter birds.  The spring/summer breeders and migratory numbers are certainly respectable, but winter is the best time to view our neighborhood eagles. Like Canvasbacks and Tundra Swans, Bald Eagle numbers peak during the cold season. Like the before mentioned waterfowl, these birds of prey gather here along the waters of the Detroit River and Lake Erie to partake in the abundance of food. Unfortunately for the waterfowl they, along with the fish life,  are the object of the eagle’s partaking.  Lots of duck and fish will die within the clutches of  a set of talons, but we are richer for it.

Our wintering population is not only phenomenal but it is also accessible.  You can see the birds along many waterside areas, but one of the easiest viewing opportunities is offered at Lake Erie Metropark. By driving the Cove Point Picnic area you can watch the birds from your car window.  I say to you, therefore, ” get thee down to the Erie shore to see eagles.”  I say also that you will be in the presence of eagles sooner rather than later.

The best conditions are present when there is a significant ice shelf along the water. This situation concentrates the waterfowl and the eagles. Not a day has passed since mid-December without a half a dozen or more eagles perching out on the shelf ice along the open leads of water at Lake Metropark. Most of the birds are quite far out  and they look for all the world like patient ice fishermen. On an icy morning, they will stand there like evenly spaced sentinels -the wavering cold air issuing from the river ice creating a quivering mirage that appears to make them shift about. One will occasionally jump up into the air and shift position or plunge into the water after prey.

This morning, I watched as five eagles cavorted (see, there’s that word again) about a half mile out on the ice.  They would engage in short circling flights and replace each other’s position like a living version of the recycling logo. The background scene to this dance was the shimmering far shore of Canada and the looming red spectre of a Canadian Coast Guard Cutter breaking ice in the Amherstburg Channel. The cold mirage made the northbound cutter look like it was hovering just above the ice. Between the shore and the eagle activity, thousands of Canvasback ducks bobbed like white corks and filled nearly every inch of the open water space.

In all, the setting surrounding the winter eagles is somewhat unreal. The birds do come in to shore from time to time for closer inspection. Most of the birds are immature and lack the white head and tail of the five-year old plus birds. They are dark brown with random white streaking like the bird I photographed above.

Remnants of dis-articulated ducks and fish remains are in evidence under some of the shoreline trees. For the most part, however, the eagle sign can only be found out on the ice. I spied one of the eagle landing spots on the frozen shelf and ventured eastward from shore to take a look (see here). At this spot you could plainly see the feather marks and a central spot where the bird finished off what looked to be a fish. It was hard to tell exactly what the prey was because there were no identifiable pieces left. Not too far from this landing point was another much clearer set of foot prints (see below).  Here the bird performed a two-point landing, sauntered about six feet, shuffled a bit, and then took off.

A detailed look at one of the prints (see here) provides a rare view of a very transitory thing.  Here, it can be said, is where the “Eagle has landed”. Eagles don’t make tracks too often because they don’t come to earth too often. When the Eagle spacecraft landed at Tranquility Base in the Sea of Clouds three decade ago, it left tracks that will mark the moon dust for thousands of years to come. This track, photographed only a few days ago, was erased by shifting ice in only a few days time.  It’s spot has been taken up by a new patch of snowy ice and awaits yet another landing. The good news is that there are now plenty of eagles around to make that landing.

If fog comes in on little cat feet, then surely death comes on cat-owl feet. It glides in on silent flight and snuffs life into the powdery snow (with apologies to Carl Sandburg). The cat-owl, better known as the Great-horned Owl or Flying Tiger is often characterized as a “ferocious”  predator in the literature. It ‘s not really fair to see anything other than instinct behind the predatory skills of this owl. They are persistent, efficient, and eclectic in their tastes – cool and able rather than ferocious. Now, Rabbits, if asked and assuming they could actually answer, would certainly call these large owls ferocious in the extreme. “Cold killers, that’s what they are. Maniacs out for blood and the thrill of killing our kind” they’d say before bounding off to sooth their deep angst with a sprig of tender blackberry vine. Great-horns are rabbit specialists, you see. These powerful birds, with a wing span of up to 5 feet, are one of the few local birds of prey that can take down full grown rabbits.

The deep whiteness that now blankets the countryside  provides written testimony for the nocturnal efforts of the Great-horned Owl. I came upon a fresh owl kill site alongside a snowy back country road a few days ago.  At a point where the road cut through a brushy wood, rabbit tracks peppered each side of the way. This was a rabbit crossing where timid nightime cottontails dash over the open space seeking, I guess, those tender blackberry vines. I’m sure the vines are equally as tender on either side, but those on the “other” side are always more tender.  No sooner had I recognized this as a  crossing point than I spotted the distinctive mark of a kill to my left (see below).

A fan of feather tip marks surround a central spot matted with blood, guts, and hair. A pile of innards,the digestive tract, was deposited off to the side. It’s hard to imagine that crows would turn down  fresh innards on a cold day, so I imagine they hadn’t discovered the place yet.  Apparently the owl spent enough time at the spot while dismantling the bunny to melt a patch of snow under its warm bottom.

Taking in a wider look at the site (see here) reveals that the owl probably grabbed onto and killed the rabbit about six feet away. There is another set of wing marks there along with a drag mark connecting it to the final eating  location. Owls use their powerful claws to literally crush their prey. Once the bunny was held in the predator’s grip, there was little it could do but wait for its trip to the great blackberry patch in the sky. Once the prey was dead, the owl used it’s sharply hooked beak to rent it asunder.

There were several other snow marks in the vicinity made by the owl. One was a brush mark made by the primaries after a low pass – perhaps made as the killer flew in low to make the kill (see title picture). Another spot shows where it plunged into the snow for some reason (see here).

Great-horned Owls will tackle  just about anything. Although rabbits are high on their list, they will eat mice, squirrels, pheasants, songbirds, crows, snakes, fish, and chickens if the opportunity presents itself.  One even attacked a white spot on the back of a very surprised collie. I often find myself getting asked if Great-horns will take house cats. As you might expect my answer, often accompanied by a smile, is that they will and often do. Cats and rabbits are about the same size.  However, I do try to clarify things by stating that they don’t take true house cats but only cats allowed by their owners to wander about in the great outdoors.

I was doing a bit of research on this subject and found several passages in Arther Cleveland Bent’s classic 1937 book on Birds of Prey. Mr. Bent had little to say about rabbits except that Great-horned Owls eat them with relish, but he did report at least three instances where cats were taken. One of them proved to be too much for the owl to handle and it had to drop his ferocious prey!  Allow me to quote a passage in which an observor, Mr. Oliver Austin narrates another cat vs. owl event. The man  frightened an owl off it’s kill and he “…stopped to pick up it’s prey which to my surprise (and delight) proved to be a half-grown house cat.”I find it comforting to know that someone, way back when, wrote a passage which sounds like I wrote it.  I’m not sure even I would have said “delight,” but there it is.

I was delighted to have found the rabbit kill site – not delighted at being in the presence of death but because it gave me an opportunity to record and memorialize a moment in natural history. This bunny did not die in vain.  The rabbits probably do not share my enthusiasm.