Archive for Quizzes
Come on, couldn’t they please start with an easy one?
Like most of the participants in the recent Parade of Plumage contest, I cringed when I saw the very first image up for identification: What on earth could that be, and how on earth would I figure it out?
Boddaert to the rescue:
At least now — no thanks to the typo in the page number, which should in fact be 275 — we can see what Buffon had to say about the plate prepared for him by Martinet:
The bird called “tanas” by the inhabitants of Senegal, presented to us by Mr. Adanson under the name “fishing hawk” (see number 478 of the Planches enluminées), resembles our [peregrine] falcon almost entirely in the colors of its plumage: but it is slightly smaller, and on its head it has long protruding feathers, which fall back to form a sort of crest, thanks to which this bird can always be distinguished from others of the same kind: it also has a yellow bill, less curved and thicker than that of the falcon; it differs further in the very clear notches of both mandibles, and its habits are also different, fishing rather than hunting….
Not overly helpful. But Boddaert also gives us a binomial name, Falco Piscator, and a quick look at the Richmond Index gets us started.
The trail grows warmer with a simple google search. In the Novitates zoologicae for 1924, no less an authority than Ernst Hartert rehearses the taxonomic history of the bird in the Martinet plate:
Falco piscator Boddaert, Tabl. Pl. Enl., p. 28, is a name bestowed on Daubenton’s pl. 478, on which is represented a bird from Senegambia, obviously meant for our old Chizaerhis africana. I was at first inclined to reject this plate, because the tail is much too short, but as Mr. Sclater pointed out to me the peculiar bill is quite characteristic, the colour on the whole agrees well, and the tail is much foreshortened; the bill and the long occipital crest are well described by Buffon, and we must therefore overlook the much too rufous colour of the head, the shortness and the colour of the tail, and the descriptions of the habits, which were really meant for a bird of prey, but carelessly applied to this plaintain-eater.
Hartert follows Bannerman in assigning the bird on plate 478 the name Crinifer piscator (Bodd.); the genus name Crinifer, “crest wearer,” coined in 1821 by F.P. Jarocki, has priority over what Hartert calls “our old friend Chizaerhis” and, obviously, is to be preferred over Boddaert’s Falco.
Avibase then confirms that Crinifer piscator is still, 90 years later and over Peters’s objection, the bird’s correct name; it is known in English as the western plaintain-eater. Absent a physical specimen, the plate from the Planches enluminées serves as the formal type.
Happily, number two in the contest was easier.
Congratulations to Susie Haberfled for taking first place in the Parade!
Every single thing I know about hummingbird identification — and a measurable share of what I know about hummingbirds, period — I owe to Steve Howell’s photographic guide. A feeder, a scope or pair of binoculars, and that book open on the table in front of you for a couple of hours, and suddenly things once inscrutable begin to make sense. Frustration cedes to challenge and, yes, even to fun.
Click on the photo to see the entire wing.
One of the neatest tricks in the book is the identification of birds in the genus Archilochus using the relative widths of the primaries. On most hummingbirds, the primaries are of more or less even breadth (except, obviously, where the outermost is modified to produce sound, as in Selasphorus). In Archilochus, though, the outer four — numbered by convention 10 through 7 — are significantly and visibly wider than the inner six (6 through 1), as even my smudgy photo of a ruby-throated hummingbird reveals. In the field or at the feeder, the result is a row of “mini-feathers” along the top of the folded primaries, ending at the square secondary panel.
I remember it this way: the name “Archilochus” starts off slow and easy, ar-KIL, and then rushes to its end, ukus, just as the primaries begin nice and broad before suddenly, hastily shrinking. (Well, it works for me!)
As to distinguishing between the two species of Archilochus, I’ll admit that I don’t always find it as easy as other people apparently do. Me, I see plenty of female-plumaged individuals whose outermost primary (10) strikes my eye as neither especially broad and blobby-tipped (as in the black-chinned) nor particularly narrow and sharp-ended (as in the ruby-throated). To be honest and lazy, I don’t worry about it that much this time of year in my New Jersey backyard.
Interestingly, the distinctive wing structure of the ruby-throated was discovered very early on in the history of trochidology. Where Catesby writes only that the wing of the ruby-throated is “of a singular Shape, not unlike the Blade of a Turkish Cymiter,” Buffon was able to tell us in his memorable way that
the shape of their wings is quite notable…. The outermost four or five feathers are very long, the next much less so, and those nearest the body are exceedingly short, all of which, combined with the fact that the large outer primaries are recurved, makes the spread wings look like a stretched bow; the body of the little bird is in the center like the arrow.
Subsequent writers seemed to ignore what the great Frenchman had found “assez remarquable.” Audebert and Vieillot, and later on Lesson, ignore this feature. MacGillivray’s dissections say nothing of it. Bourcier and Mulsant, naming the black-chinned hummingbird in 1846, offer no detail beyond calling the bird’s wing “falciform.” And Reichenbach, when he created the oddly named genus eight years later, provided no diagnosis at all.
To my knowledge, memory of the unique wing structure of Archilochus was not revived in writing until 1874, when one of the authors of the History –whether it was Baird or Brewer or Ridgway — wrote that the
inner six primaries [are] abruptly and considerably smaller than the outer four,
a comment illustrated with a sketch by the youngest author.
Daniel Giraud Elliot, in his Classification and Synopsis five years later, provided an even better drawing — though this text leaves the primary widths unmentioned. The same sketch appeared in the second and subsequent editions of Coues’s Key, with the explanation that the
inner six [primaries are] abruptly smaller and more linear.
For the rest of the nineteenth century and into the early twentieth, this character would be stressed again and again as diagnostic for Archilochus, finding its clearest statement in Ridgway:
six innermost (proximal) primaries abruptly, and in adult males conspicuously, smaller than the rest.
This was not, however, one of the in-hand characters that passed from the museum into the field in the 1920s and 1930s. No doubt deemed too fine, too subtle, and just too downright small for the optics of the day, the wing structures of hummingbirds went unmentioned in the popular guides — and I have the impression, too, from some quick sniffing around in the more technical manuals, that primary shapes were gradually neglected even there.
One of the great projects of the past 30 years — starting with “the new approach” and continuing with such fine books as Howell’s photograph guide — has been to return to the drawers and the handbooks in search of neglected, forgotten, and misunderstood information that we can use in the field. The wing shape of Archilochus hummingbirds is just one of the best-known examples — why not go out and come up with more?
Nearly everyone got this quiz right, though to my surprise almost no one used the right words in talking about the inner primaries, which more than one respondent called “secondaries.”
A few respondents went on to identify the bird to species — and a majority decided (incorrectly) that this was a black-chinned. I repeat: Not as easy as often claimed!
Some of us were talking about hummingbird wing structures the other day — which may be why some of us don’t get invited to many cocktail parties.
In any event, take a look at this. What genus does this bird belong to?
Photographed north of Mexico.
(Click the image for the full picture.)
Two hummingbirds, photographed north of Mexico. What are they?
With hummingbirds as with all birds, start, when you can, at the rear, with the length and shape of the tail and the wingtip. The lefthand bird — the one with its head pattern so conveniently blotted out — shows a long tail that extends beyond the wingtip, which is itself long and noticeably pointed. The bunched secondaries are more or less uniformly wide.
All of that rules out many possibilities. If we look closely at the pattern of that long tail, we see a definite rufous edge to the outermost rectrix; the upper tail coverts and rump are the same emerald green as the back. Put it together, and we can identify this bird easily as a broad-tailed hummingbird.
The second bird, most of it invisible behind its saccharine lunch, seems to be larger, an impression created mostly, I think, by its relatively upright posture: the bigger the hummingbird, the more vertical its perch on a feeder. The dirty white underparts with coarse, dingy gray-green spangles should lead us to the correct identification: this one’s an Anna’s hummingbird.
Fun stuff. And a timely reminder to those of us in the east to start checking feeders for “other” hummingbirds, even as ruby-throated numbers remain high for the next month.