Exploring Kootenay Lake

Most birds are limited in what they can eat for they have to swallow whole whatever is caught. This was illustrated three months ago in the posting, birds eat. However, the beaks of a few birds have a prominent hook which enables them to tear large prey into pieces to swallow a bit at a time. Many, but not all, of these birds are raptors — a striking example of which was last Saturday’s fortuitous observation of a Golden Eagle. Other delights are the Bald Eagle, and our favourite summer resident, the Osprey. Photographed last week were two other raptors, plus a songbird, all with hooked bills. 

A Red-tailed Hawk is a permanent resident. This one was watching for voles.

The Rough-legged Hawk is only seen during the winter; in the summer it breeds in the high Arctic.

The Northern Shrike is a songbird, yet, like a raptor, it uses its hooked bill to tear apart prey. The shrike is smaller than a robin and so is tiny by comparison to the hawks, above. 

I don’t see a Golden Eagle often. Indeed the last time I saw one was a half-dozen years ago and it was flying at a high altitude somewhat south of the Lake. Today’s golden flew low along the north slope of the West Arm — a region with sparse observations of this upland species. 

Mind you, Golden Eagles are reported more often than they have ever been seen. Usually the (erroneous) report is actually of a juvenile Bald Eagle, but I have seen breathless claims where the actual bird seen was a Red-tailed Hawk. Further, the Golden Eagle isn’t the gargantuan bird of popular myth. It actually averages slightly smaller than the Bald Eagle.

Yet, seeing this upland bird is indeed a rare treat — especially a close observation, such as occurred on this occasion.

A Golden Eagle flies low along the ridge north of the West Arm. One of the many features that distinguish this eagle as a golden is the colour of its nape.

Woodpeckers are not particularly common around here. Of a half-dozen or so species, only the Northern Flicker is likely to be seen regularly. Below are two species, seen five weeks apart: a Pileated Woodpecker (seen in late December), a Downy Woodpecker (seen in late January).

These two birds differ greatly in size. The Pileated, our largest woodpecker, is a dozen times heavier than the Downy, our smallest. And although both species eat insects and their grubs, the difference in their sizes gives each one access to resources the other cannot reach.

Weighing 250 – 350 g, the Pileated Woodpecker is nearly as large as a crow. Its weight restricts it to hunting on the sturdier trunks of trees, but its long bill allows it to probe deeply into that trunk.

Weighing 21 – 28 g, the Downy Woodpecker is light enough to scour insects from twigs, from which it is sometimes seen hanging.

One would not normally set out to photograph ravens. Rather like mallards (the ubiqui-duck) and blades of grass, finding a raven offers few challenges. Now and then, however, a raven offers an interesting image. 

A raven flies off with its prize — possibly a crabapple. 

January seems to be the month to get a picture of a perfectly camouflaged Ruffed Grouse — or not.

This grouse actually has rather good camouflage, but only in other seasons when, by moving ever so slowly through the brush, its mottled plumage blends beautifully with the foliage and dappled patches of sunlight and shade.

On a field of snow, however, the grouse is just comical as it tries to pass unnoticed by walking excruciatingly slowly. 

Confident that its camouflage renders it invisible, a Ruffed Grouse creeps across a field of snow.

There is something about the name, shrike, that strikes terror.

Today, I spotted a Northern Shrike within meters of where yesterday I watched a Northern Pygmy Owl. Each bird is a rare to uncommon winter resident in our valleys. They are about the same size, and each is a deadly predator upon other birds of about its own size or smaller. 

So what happens when they meet?

As each attacks another bird from behind, it may just depend upon which gets the drop on the other. One anecdote does not a case make, but, here is a link to a picture where the owl won.

A Northern Shrike sits beside a path across from yesterday’s Northern Pygmy Owl.

The shrike was not as tolerant of humans walking along the path as was the owl. While the owl seemed to view passing humans with disdain, the shrike quickly decamped.

A Northern Pygmy Owl looks down on passing humans with not so much a look of fear, as one of disdain: “Why do you keep interfering with my world?”

I get to watch a Northern Pygmy Owl only a couple of times a year, always in the winter. This fist-sized owl is an altitudinal migrant, but is fairly hard to find in the warm months in the vastness of the local mountains. When it travels to the valleys in the winter, it is occasionally seen hunting from trees next to more open areas. 

A Pygmy Owl was seen this morning next to the grasslands of Kokanee Creek Park. Perched on a tree’s leader, it was watching for delicious birds.