The first halfway decent snowfall in mid November drew me out to look for animal tracks and anything else of interest. I went with a friend to the forested banks of the lower reaches of Eagle and Herbert rivers. Deer, both big and small, had wandered extensively throughout the area. Mink had a regular route along the top of one river bank. Porcupines had been out before the snow stopped falling, but squirrels left very fresh prints. Just as we were commenting on the lack of bird tracks, we happened upon some clear prints left by a heron strolling through the forest.
Then we heard a ruckus made by some squabbling ravens, over on a sandbar across the river. We approached quietly, with several trees (and the river) between us and the gang of ravens, but they spotted us immediately and took off. A number of magpies then moved in. The big attraction was the bony torso (spine and rib cage) of a deer, already well picked-over but still clearly worth serious attention. We settled down among the trees to watch.
We counted at least nine magpies; the precise number was not readily determined, because they were constantly flying to and fro: pecking and tugging briefly, then departing for a few minutes, and returning to grab another morsel. Were they caching these little bits of meat or just going off to eat each bit in peace? All those magpies seemed to be able to forage together without altercations (unlike the ravens); there apparently was room around and even inside the rib cage for them all.
A juvenile eagle arrived, briefly scattering the magpies, but they soon moved in again — on the side of the carcass away from the eagle. This was not very profitable feeding for the big bird, however, and it soon departed. Meanwhile, one or two ravens cruised by, or perched up in the spruces, occasionally hopping over the sand toward the bones but nervously taking off without feeding there again. Maybe nine magpies were too much for them, but I think they knew we were still there and did not like being watched.
A few days later, we had wonderful snow and lots of it. Spruces bore thick white blankets on drooping branches and alders bent almost to the ground under the heavy load. Rather than do the various tasks I was “supposed” to do, I took off out the road to do a little exploring on snowshoes. ‘Twas the first time on ’shoes this season, and it showed (sadly). Tracking was good, however: fresh deer trails, old otter slides leading from one patch of open water to another, not-so-old porcupine trails, deeper than the otters’ marks, a few squirrels, and a mink.
Two ravens were assiduously digging in the snow, in selected spots, tossing snow aside with their bills. Sometimes they dug down several inches, apparently getting very small, unidentifiable items. What could they be finding, and how did they know where to dig? I shared a few crumbs with them.
That lovely snow didn’t last, here near sea level. But I sure liked how it brightened up our short days!
• Mary F. Willson is retired professor of ecology.
