How to Find Things Out

I love reading what other people think about birds and words and bird words. I love it even more, though, when they’ve taken the time to do a little homework.

Hairy Woodpecker

The presence in our backyard over the past couple of days of a female Hairy Woodpecker got me to thinking about it again. Most of us probably already know where the name — and its counterpart in scientifiquese, villosus — come from, but how would you find out if you didn’t?

Google won’t work here. I repeat: google won’t work here. Yes, the correct answer does happen to be out there in the first two pages of links it turns up, but how do you sort the wheat from the dross and the gold from the chaff?

Ad fontes, friends.

Confronted with a question like this, always go to the original description of the bird, which can be found (except in the case of the very most recently discovered species, of course) by consulting the index to Peters.

Bookmark it.

The index sends us to Volume VI. Widespread and common in eastern North America, the Hairy Woodpecker would have been among the first birds encountered by European immigrants, so it’s no real surprise to find that the original description was Linnaeus’s, in the Twelfth Edition of the Systemapublished in 1766.

Bookmark it.

The Archiater, of course, never saw this most charming of woodpeckers in life, and his description is based on the published accounts of several others, including his Fenno-Swedish disciple Pehr Kalm, the English naturalist Mark Catesby, and the great French ornithologist Mathurin Brisson. Happily, Linnaeus was as good a bibliographer as he was a scientist, so we have clear citations to each of those works.

Bookmark them all.

Kalm, we find, encountered this bird at Raccoon, New Jersey, where he found it an abundant pest in orchards, excavating its nest holes in the apple trees.

Brisson never saw the bird in life, but described it at length from specimens sent from Canada to Réaumur by the French trader and explorer Pierre Gaultier de Varennes et de la Vérendrye.

Both Brisson and Kalm (and, following those sources, Linnaeus) credit Catesby with first adducing the name “Hairy Wood-Pecker,” so we turn to his, the first comprehensive work on the natural history of the English colonies and the description he gives there of the “Picus medius quasi villosus.”

 The Back is black, with a broad white stripe of hairy feathers, extending down the middle to the Rump.

It’s not the tibia, it’s not the nasal tuft, it’s not the male’s nuchal patch. It’s the bird’s back that gives this species its English and its scientific names.

Screenshot 2014-03-14 17.59.20

Next time the question comes up — in a “trivia quiz” or in the car on the way home from a birding trip — you’ll know the answer. More importantly, you’ll know how to figure out the next nomenclatural puzzle somebody poses: no more guessing.

 

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Yard Bird!

Coming into our third spring in this house now, we’re still ticking off the occasional “yard bird” — birderspeak for a species detected for the first time in or from or over our little suburban postage stamp of a lot.

It’s always fun to see something new, but we’ve lived in so many places over so many years that our cumulative yard list, as opposed to our current yard list, is distressingly close to hitting a brick wall. That made doubly exciting this afternoon’s visitor, a bird I can’t recall ever having seen before from the comfort of my own window.

Red-shouldered Hawk

This adult Red-shouldered Hawk flew in to perch behind our back fence early this dim, rainy evening. Almost certainly a migrant (and almost certainly about to face a tough day or two as the temperatures fall and the ground freezes again), it surveyed the surroundings, a bit disdainfully, I thought, and then flashed off through the woods. I’d gladly offer it a Slate-colored Junco or a Red Fox Sparrow or two if it would like to stay around.

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Photo Quiz: An Answer

Screenshot 2014-01-11 16.43.37

As predicted, this Pine Siskin didn’t pose too many problems for most of us, and the responses tallied pretty much all of the classic “field marks,” including the pointed bill, the small head, the fine black streaking, and the wing markings.

The major “confusion species” for this bird, especially since the 1940s, is the House Finch, females and juvenile males of which are also brown and streaked and fond of bird feeders. There are differences, of course, most of them covered by the respondents to the quiz — the most important, though, unmentioned.

House Finch

House Finch, bits of which are visible in the photo above, is a long-tailed, short-winged bird, with the primaries protruding just a short distance beyond the tertials and the wing tip often barely seeming to extend down the tail at all.

Contrast that with the very different rear end of a Pine Siskin:

Pine Siskin

The long, long primaries of this bird create a noticeably attenuated wing tip extending far beyond the tertials, and that sharp little tail seems barely an afterthought. This is the structural difference that strikes me every time, from any distance, before I can gauge the head size or the bill shape or the wing pattern or the width of the shaft streaks on the underparts.

Over most of the continent, it hasn’t been much of a finch winter. But maybe next year will find more of them at our feeders — and maybe the reminder to start at the rear will make them easier to identify.

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“Swift As Meteors”

Pied-billed Grebe

Though the species is well known to be migratory, individual Pied-billed Grebes strike me (misleadingly) as among the most sedentary of birds. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen one in anything even approaching truly sustained flight, and sometimes I wonder whether they don’t use some sort of subterranean Northwest Passage to move through the continent’s aquifers with the seasons.

John James Audubon had more confidence in the grebes’ aerial abilities, which he describes in a decidedly overwrought apostrophe in the Ornithological Biography:

I know you can fly too…. September has come … the evening is calms and beautiful; you spread out your wings, reach with some difficulty a proper height, and swift as meteors glide through the air, until, meeting with warmer waters, you alight on them.

Poetic lie-cense, I guess we can call it.

 

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Red-bellied Woodpecker

Red-bellied Woodpecker

 

I’ve been watching Red-bellied Woodpeckers since way back in Centurus days, and we weren’t at all surprised to see this one using the rock-hard ice crust of our backyard as an anvil for opening tough oilseeds this morning.

Whenever I see this species on the ground, I’m reminded of a red-belly I saw years ago in eastern Nebraska, gleaning something or other from among the ballast stones on a railroad track. As I watched, the bird actually grasped one of the pieces of pink quartzite in its bill and moved it to the side; I didn’t measure the stone, or keep it, and I don’t know what the standard size of ballast is, but I have it in memory as more than two inches across.

That impressed me. These birds can do anything.

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