Exploring Kootenay Lake

A few days ago, I watched Pine Grosbeaks as they sampled the berries on a mountain ash—it was red on red.

For the last few days, it has been orange on red as some Varied Thrushes visited the same tree and helped themselves to a few of the many remaining berries.

A Varied Thrush eyes the feast of berries,

while another sets to eating.

Is it too much to hope for—a heron nest only two-hundred meters from my door?

It is too early to be sure, but for nearly two weeks, I have watched two herons from the same spot. Sometimes they are flying, sometimes fishing, often standing in trees. A nascent nest is beginning to look likely.

Of course, other things are seen (below) during these walks, but the possible nest is the exciting news.

This morning a heron sat on the same branch as on other occasions; meanwhile its friend flew to a nearby tree.

Two days ago, while the first heron sat on that branch, its friend fished from a nearby piling.

From the same spot, a dipper is seen as it floats on the Lake between dives.

And only slightly farther along, a Common Goldeneye couple has been seen day after day.

It appeared to be an ancient courting ritual I was watching in the light of the dying sun.

Indeed, that is what was taking place far out on the waters of Kootenay Lake: the penguin dance of the Horned Grebes.

The penguin dance was described and named a century ago by the English biologist, Julian Huxley. He watched the manoeuvres of the Crested Grebe (not the Horned Grebes that I saw) and observed:

finally the whole bird save for a few inches was standing erect in the water, and reminded me of nothing so much as the hypnotized phantom of a rather slender Penguin.

Along with the many things Huxley described, my grebes also bumped bellies and nudged bills.

Horned Grebes are monogamous (as are other grebes), but apparently reestablish commitment in this way in the late winter or early spring. Spring? This is early January. Could this reflect the mild winter we are having?

Hi there sweetie!

The American Dipper is covered in guidebooks with statements such as:

Perches on rocks within fast-flowing mountain streams and dives underwater for aquatic insect larvae.

It seems that one local dipper failed to read these manuals; its behaviour departed somewhat from the description.

Yesterday’s dipper:

• Didn’t hunt along a stream, but in a lake (behaviour seen before in midwinter);
• Sang from on a rock perch, but then flew to deeper water, alighted on the surface, floated, peered below and dove;
• Surfaced with (what seems to be) a fish and flew off.

This dipper acted rather as if it were a kingfisher wannabe. (Whimsey aside, I recognize that limited guidebook space allows for few subtleties).

A dipper sings from a rock along the shore of Kootenay Lake.

It then flew to deeper water, floated a bit while peering below, then dove.

After surfacing, it flew off carrying, what certainly looks like, a small fish.

I watched a Bohemian Waxing landing in a bush beside my pathway. It then took off, but more arrived and filled a mountain ash. Waxwings travel in flocks and usually provide for good pictures as they feast on berries. So, I happily clicked away, paying more attention to exposure, focus, and composition than I did to the birds themselves.

It was only after looking at the pictures that I realized that only some of the birds in the flock were Bohemian Waxwings; most were Pine Grosbeaks. (Well, actually, I thought they were Red Crossbills, but Gary Davidson set me straight on that). The Pine Grosbeak is listed as uncommon in my neighbourhood, and occasional elsewhere in the West Kootenay. Maybe I can be forgiven for not recognizing it.

A Pine Grosbeak samples a berry from a mountain ash to give a picture of red on red.
Many of the berries show signs of having been chewed.

The same bird, but facing the other way and eating a berry.

A view from the back shows the white bars on the wings.

This one is a female.

And what about the Bohemian Waxwings that started it all? Well, here is one that was travelling with the grosbeaks.

This is a problem that only a birder could love: how to distinguish the female Barrow’s Goldeneye from the female Common Goldeneye. Both are ducks, and both look much the same.

I was reminded of this problem during a lakeside walk this morning. There in the water was a pair of Common Goldeneyes—a fact made obvious by the male. During the breeding season (which is upon us), he is the showy one. He is black and white. The male Common Goldeneye has a circular cheek patch; the male Barrow’s Goldeneye has a crescent cheek patch.

The females, however, try to be inconspicuous, and in doing so are an almost identical brown and grey. Almost—but not quite. Distinguishing them is mainly a problem when they are seen alone. In the pictures, below, the females appear with the males making their identification obvious. This pairing enables one to recognize the subtle differences between the females.

A Common Goldeneye couple (male has an oval cheek patch) along the West Arm this morning. The female goldeneye has a somewhat more sloping forehead than the Barrow’s and its bill has extensive black at its base.

Here are some Barrow’s Goldeneyes (male has a crescent cheek patch) seen at the Nelson waterfront last month. The females have a steeper forehead and a bill with somewhat more yellow.

The Christmas Bird Count (CBC) is over a century old. It was started by birders in reaction to the nineteenth century practice of hunters seeing how many birds could be shot in a day.

Yesterday I, too, went out to shoot birds—but, with my camera. I was a minor participant in Nelson’s count, which in turn was a minor participant in North America’s count. The pictures I show below are only a few of the things I saw. My favourite bird of the day was the Hooded Merganser.

There are always many crows and ravens to count. Here is a preening crow in a tree.

Mallards were numerous. These ones were on the ice of a small bay.

There were House Finches near someone’s feeder. Here is the female.

The male was caught in flight. It has lowered its legs as it approaches a landing. The House Finch has a undulating flight: it flaps its wings briskly, then folds them and coasts for a moment before flapping again. This bird was caught at the moment its wings were folded. Note the seed from the feeder in its bill.

The Bufflehead Duck has iridescent feathers on its head. Normally they look black, but sometimes in the sunlight, colours can be seen. I have tried to photograph this before, but with somewhat less success.

Although not as small as the Bufflehead, the Hooded Merganser is much smaller than the Mallard, as is clear when one swims past the other.

My favourite picture of the day is of the Hooded Merganser, but I like it almost as much for the look of the water as for the bird itself.