In late April, a male yellow-rumped warbler began coming regularly to my deck, visiting the feeders. He picks off mouthfuls of peanut butter, one after another, sometimes several times a day. Usually he perches nearby and reaches over to the feeder but sometimes he hovers clumsily in front of the feeder and picks his lunch while doing that.
Then, in early May, he investigated the nearby hummingbird feeder and found a way to sample the nectar, on at least two days. But he clearly favors the peanut butter. He also took a bite or two from the suet feeder on several days.
From inside my house I watch the birds at my feeders without disturbing them. In addition to the warbler, there are chickadees, two pairs of juncos, a male hairy woodpecker, a female hummer, some golden-crowned sparrows and siskins, even a Lincoln sparrow, and a pair of red-breasted nuthatches.
I love to watch those nuthatches deal with sunflower seeds. They take one from the feeder and flit over to a nearby beam — always to exactly the same place on that beam. Putting the seed down, they hammer it with several full-body blows, rising up on their toes and slamming the bill into the seed on the beam. That is followed by lighter jabs and picking up fragments of the kernel. Maybe there is a little crevice in that special spot that helps hold the seed in place.
A male yellow-rumped warbler sings. (Photo by Bob Armstrong)
The chickadees have two special places on that beam too, although they don’t rear back to get a full body blow when they tap a seed; they usually have to tap many times, though.
A stroll out to Pt. Louisa brought several good observations. I spotted a hermit thrush in the forest along the trail, but I hadn’t yet heard one sing—that came later. Out on the rocky point, two black oystercatchers foraged companionably when the rocks were exposed at low tide. Their peaceful dining was sorely interrupted by a third oystercatcher that flew over them and then landed briefly. Consternation! Much shouting and flapping and ultimately one of them left.
A little flock of Bonaparte’s gulls floated on the more protected side of the point, calling and preening. A male northern harrier flew along the beach and, to my surprise, went straight into the trail opening and up into the forest — not the usual place for harriers, in my experience. I wonder what he was doing.
During the first week of May, two male mallards cruised around the pond together, side by side, very companionable. Then one evening I noticed a big ruckus on the pond: Ripples upon ripples, lots of splashing. A closer look revealed a male mallard just rising to the surface with a female coming up just below him. And again the next evening and the next. Aha! I reckon she lost her first brood and came back to start a second one.
By early May, the western (or boreal) toads were engaged in courtship and mating. Watching them in a pond near Fish Creek was good fun. It took a bit of practice to distinguish the disturbance-ripples of the heavy rain and the air bubbles rising, but eventually I could pick out pairs of bulging dark eyes. Female toads are bigger than males, and one female carried two hopeful males on her back, jostling for position. The first male on a female’s back has to contend not only with the mood of the female but also frequent attempts by other males to dislodge and replace them.
These are just the preliminaries, of course. Actual mating occurs when a male embraces a female around her waist (an arrangement called amplexus) and they both release gametes at the same time, sperm and eggs meeting in the water, making strings of gel-covered eggs. The fertilized eggs hatch in a few days, more quickly when water temperatures are warmer. Tadpoles swarm about for a few weeks (more weeks if temperatures are low and food is scarce) and then mature into toadlets, small versions with the adult form. Toadlets disperse over the landscape, beginning their adult terrestrial life. They become sexually mature in two to four years; males typically mature earlier than females. They spend their adult lives on land, hibernating in winter in sheltered nooks, and return to the ponds only to breed.
This dispersal phase of the life cycle is dangerous for toads. At Fish Creek, the toadlets spread out over the picnic area and parking lot, where they are at great risk of getting smashed by vehicles or careless human feet. Another risk is being captured by humans and poisoned by stuff such as insect repellent on our hands; the toadlets can absorb it through their skin. It’s best not to catch and handle the toadlets…
• Mary F. Willson is a retired professor of ecology. “On The Trails” appears every Wednesday in the Juneau Empire.
