Exploring Kootenay Lake

The Northern Shrike is a songbird that eats other songbirds.

Indeed, with its hooked bill, it is almost a wannabe raptor. Alas, it lacks a raptor’s talons and so must impale its prey on thorns as a way of holding them in place as it uses its hooked bill to tear them into bite-sized pieces. 

Having bred in the boreal forest well to our north, the Northern Shrike visits here only in the winter months, beginning in October. Mind you, as with predators everywhere, it isn’t a common find, but just an occasional one. So, I was delighted to encounter one in the grasslands of Kokanee Creek Park this morning. Curiously, this is where I have also seen Northern Shrikes other years. There it hunts small birds and ground-dwelling vertebrates from prominent perches. I also include a picture of a shrike taken a year and a half ago as it took a shrew from those grasslands.

It will also hang out adjacent to household bird feeders hoping to pick off tasty little birds. 

A newly arrived Northern Shrike watches for prey from a convenient thorn bush.

From a year and a half ago on the grasslands, a Northern Shrike captures a shrew.

A newly fledged Bald Eagle takes four or five years to become an adult with a dark body and white head and tail. During those first few years, it has a strikingly different look. 

Over the last weekend, I visited a river flowing into the Lake that is still replete with spawning Kokanee. It was attracting many hungry Bald Eagles that were perched on the trees along the shore while they watched for fish. Below are shots of two of the young eagles seen.

The fledgling Bald Eagle departs its nest looking dark —  plumage, eyes, bill — all dark. However, there may be flecks of white in the plumage. Further, the cere (fleshy area at the base of the bill), mouth gape, and feet are yellowish.

The transition to the look of an adult takes the better part of five years. This bird is probably in its third year. Eyes and bill are now mainly yellow, feet are a brighter yellow, and head and tail are nearly all white, but there is still white on the body and wings.

The Double-crested Cormorant is a big bird — it requires a long runway to take to the air.

The cormorant is demonized in Ontario where hunters are allowed to shoot the birds on sight. However here, the cormorant is rather an interesting curiosity. Indeed, there is a bay on the outflow of Kootenay Lake where it is consistently, but rarely to be seen. And it was there that I watched two cormorants this morning. 

The cormorants didn’t seem to like being watched, even from a great distance. Upon spotting a watcher, they would systematically fly off, but that behavioural quirk gave me a chance to watch their liftoff from the water. Cormorants cannot merely jump into the air and fly off as does a mallard. Rather, they must run across the water surface so as to slowly pick up the speed necessary for flying. This is similar to the behaviour of a swan when lifting off from water. 

Two cormorants take to the air. Notice the spacing of the splashes left by their foot prints on the water. The closer one (left) has just started its liftoff and so is moving slower than the distant one (right). Its splash prints are closer together. Further, the spacing of the splash prints of the distant bird progressively get farther apart as the bird picks up speed. Ultimately, each became airborne.

People are at pains to interpret the sounds and gestures of one another. They want to do the same for animals and feel that they do a good job making sense of the signals sent by their pets.

But, what about signals from wildlife? What is the purpose of the howl of a wolf? The penguin dance of the grebe? The spread-wing stance of the dipper? The huff of the black bear? 

The communications of the loon are a particular source of fascination, in part because its calls are so evocative and beautiful. We have named four of them — wail, hoot, tremolo and yodel — and for each, a supposed message has been deduced. The loon also adopts various understood stances in its close interactions with others. So, it is not unreasonable to ask: When a loon raises its foot out of the water and waggles it, what is it signaling?

Consequently, the purpose of the waggling foot of the loon has received modest study.

It seems that the loon is communicating nothing: the bird is merely having a stretch. Chuckle.

A juvenile Common Loon waggles a foot as it drifts languidly by. Ho-hum. 

When I casually started to watch local birds a dozen years or so ago, I posited that there was no point in paying attention to shorebirds — there were just too many similar ones.

I adapt. 

With time, I realized that we have both the (rather few) standard summer residents, and the migrants (passing through, the shoulder-season visitors). So, from late July through September, I now watch for migrants.

This year, I have seen fewer migrating shore birds, and certainly the wildfire smoke of the last week or so has kept the birds and me apart. I did see a Greater Yellowlegs a month ago, but that was it — until this morning. I have just spotted a Long-billed Dowitcher foraging in a pond adjacent to the lakeshore.

A Long-billed Dowitcher looks up briefly as it forages in a pond adjacent to the lakeshore.