Chapter XI: Part 11

“Two days afterward in the cañon of Psuc-see-que Creek, of which the terraced banks were sparsely set with low trees of the western cedar (_J. occidentalis_), I found these birds numerous. * * * With the first dawn of day they began their songs, and at sunrise the valley was perfectly vocal with their notes. Never, anywhere, have I heard a more delightful chorus of bird music. Their song is not greatly varied, but all the notes are particularly clear and sweet, and the strain of pure gushing melody is as spontaneous and inspiring as that of the Song Sparrow. At this time, September 30, these birds were feeding on the berries of the cedar; they were very shy, and could only be obtained by lying concealed in the vicinity of the trees which they frequented.”

Mr. T. M. Trippe, speaking for the Clear Creek Cañon in Colorado, says[34]: “In summer and fall its voice is rarely heard; but as winter comes on, and the woods are well-nigh deserted by all save a few Titmice and Nuthatches, it begins to utter occasionally a single bell-like note that can be heard at a great distance. The bird is now very shy; and the author of the clear, loud call, that I heard nearly every morning from the valley of Clear Creek, was long a mystery to me. Toward the middle and latter part of winter, as the snow begins to fall, the Flycatching Thrush delights to sing, choosing for its rostrum a pine tree in some elevated position, high up above the valleys; and not all the fields and groves, and hills and valleys of the Eastern States, can boast a more exquisite song; a song in which the notes of the Purple Finch, the Wood Thrush, and the Winter Wren are blended into a silvery cascade of melody, that ripples and dances down the mountain sides as clear and sparkling as the mountain brook, filling the woods and valleys with ringing music. At first it sings only on bright clear mornings; but once fairly in the mood, it sings at all hours and during the most inclement weather. Often while travelling over the narrow, winding mountain roads, toward the close of winter, I have been overtaken and half-blinded by sudden, furious storms of wind and snow, and compelled to seek the nearest tree or projecting rock for shelter. In such situations I have frequently listened to the song of this bird, and forgot the cold and wet in its enjoyment. Toward spring, as soon as the other birds begin to sing, it becomes silent as tho disdainful of joining the common chorus, and commences building its nest in May, earlier than almost any other bird. During this season it deserts the valleys, and confines itself to partially wooded hill-tops.”

No. 92.
WILLOW THRUSH.

A. O. U. No. 556 a. Hylocichla fuscescens salicicola Ridgway.

Synonym.—Western Wilson Thrush.

Description.—_Adult_: Above, dull tawny-brown, uniform; wing-quills
shading to brownish fuscous on inner webs; below white, the throat,
except in the upper middle, and the breast, tinged with cream-buff,
and spotted narrowly and sparingly with wedge-shaped marks of the
color of the back; sides and flanks more or less tinged with brownish
gray; sides of head buffy-tinged, with mixed brown, save on whitish
lores; bill dark above, light below; feet light brown. Adult male,
length 7.25-7.75 (184.2-196.9); wing 3.93 (100); tail 2.95 (75); bill
.55 (14); tarsus 1.18 (30).

Recognition Marks.—Sparrow to Chewink size; dull cinnamon brown above;
breast buffy, _lightly_ spotted.

Nesting.—_Nest_: of leaves, bark-strips, weed-stems and trash, lined
with rootlets; placed at height of two or three feet in thickets or,
rarely, on ground. _Eggs_: 3-5, plain greenish blue, not unlike those
of the Robin. Av. size, .90 × .65 (22.8 × 16.5). _Season_: first or
second week in June; one brood.

General Range.—Western interior districts of United States and Canada;
breeding from North Dakota and Manitoba west to interior of British
Columbia and southward to Nevada, Utah and Colorado; southward during
migrations thru Arizona, etc., to Brazil, also thru the Mississippi
Valley and, casually, eastward.

Range in Washington.—Summer resident in the hilly districts of
northwestern Washington,—Blue Mountains(?).

Authorities.—Howe, Auk, XVII. Jan. 1900, p. 19 (Spokane). T(?). J.

Specimens.—Prov.

The Willow Thrush shares with its even more retiring cousin, the Olive-back, the forests of the northwestern portion of the State. Here it may be found in the seclusion of spring draws and alder bottoms, or in the miscellaneous cover which lines the banks of the larger streams. It is confined almost entirely to the vicinity of water, and spends much of its time on the damp ground poking among the fallen leaves and searching the nooks and corners of tree-roots. Since the bird is but a flitting shade, one cannot easily determine its color-pattern, and must learn rather the range and quality of its notes. The bird _is_, rather than _has_, a voice, an elusive voice, a weird and wonderful voice. And only after one has heard the song, with its reverberant, sweet thunder, and its exquisitely diminishing cadences, as it wells up at eventide from some low thicket, may one be said to know the Willow Thrush.

For the most part the bird betrays interest in your movements by a subdued _yewi_, a note of complaint and admonition, variously likened to a grunt, a bleat, or a nasal interjection. Not infrequently this becomes a clearly whistled _wheé-ew_; and this, in turn, is varied and strengthened to _ve-er-u_, or _Veery_, whence the common name of the typical form, _H. fuscescens_, in the East. The song proper consists of six or seven of these _ve-er-ys_, rolled out with a rich and inimitable brogue. The notes vibrate and resound, and fill the air so full of music that one is led to suspect the multiple character of each. The bird is really striking chords, and the sounding strings still vibrate when the next is struck. There is, moreover, in the whole performance, a musical crescendo coupled with a successive lowering of pitch, which is fairly ravishing in its impression of mystery and power.

The distribution of this species is as yet imperfectly made out. Having made its acquaintance at Spokane and along the valley of the Pend d’Oreille, we were able to recognize it later at Chelan and Stehekin, the latter unquestionably the westernmost record of its occurrence in the United States. Whether it may also extend further south along the east front of the Cascades, remains to be seen.

A nest before me was taken by Mr. Fred S. Merrill, in Spokane. It was placed in the crotch of an alder at a height of two feet, and contained, on the ninth day of June, four slightly incubated eggs. The nest is a rather loosely constructed affair of bark-strips, dead leaves, coarse grasses, shavings, leaf-stems, etc., and has a careless lining of dessicated leaves and broken grasses. The matrix of mud, or leaf-mold, which gives strength and consistency to the nests of certain other thrushes, is conspicuously lacking in this one. The brooding hollow is only three inches from brim to brim, by one and three-quarters in depth. The eggs are in every way miniature Robins’, being without spots, and representing only three-fifths or two-thirds the bulk of those of the larger bird.

No. 93.
RUSSET-BACKED THRUSH.

A. O. U. No. 758. Hylocichla ustulata (Nutt.).

Synonym.—“Wood Thrush” (name properly restricted to _H. mustelina_ of
the East).

Description.—_Adults_: Above olive-brown, substantially uniform; a
conspicuous orbital ring of pale buff; sides of head buffy mingled or
streaked with olive-brown; chin, throat and chest buff (or lightening
to buffy white toward chin); sides of throat and entire chest with
triangular marks of deep olive-brown, smaller and narrower on throat,
larger and broader (sector-shaped) posteriorly; breast, especially on
sides, transversely spotted with light brown; sides and flanks heavily
marked with brownish; remaining underparts white. Bill blackish,
paling basally on mandible; feet and legs brown; iris brown. _Winter_
specimens are brighter, more deeply tinged with buff before and with
under tail-coverts buffy. _Young birds_ are more or less marked and
streaked with buffy and tawny above and the markings of underparts are
mostly transverse. Length 6.50-7.50 (165.1-190.5); wing 3.83 (97);
tail 2.87 (73); bill .54 (13.7); tarsus 1.10 (28).

Recognition Marks.—Sparrow size; uniform olive-brown above; heavy
spotting and buffy wash on chest; sides of head and eye-ring buffy;
brown above as compared with _H. u. swainsonii_.

Nesting.—_Nest_: of bark-strips, moss and grasses, with a heavy inner
mat or mould of dead leaves, lined with rootlets and fine grasses;
placed usually at moderate heights in bushes or saplings of thickets,
sometimes 30-60 feet high in trees. _Eggs_: 3-5, usually 4, greenish
blue or dull grayish blue dotted and spotted, rather sparingly, with
various shades of brown. Av. size, .93 × .67 (23.6 × 17). _Season_:
June, July; one or two broods.

General Range.—Pacific coast district from southern California to
Alaska (Juneau), breeding thruout its range; south in winter thru
Mexico to Central and northern South America.

Range in Washington.—Common summer resident and migrant west of the
Cascade Mountains; probably overflows thru mountain passes to at least
the eastern slopes of the Cascades.

Authorities.—_Turdus ustulatus_ Nuttall, Man. Orn. U. S. and Canada,
Land Birds, ed. 2, 1840, pp. VI. 830 (Columbia River). C&S. L¹. Rh.
D¹. Kb. Ra. D². Ss². Kk. B. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. P¹(?). Prov. B. BN. E.

Artists of the later schools agree that shadows are not often black, as they have been conventionally represented for centuries. Their deepest color note is always that of the ground, or screen, which bears them. The Thrush, therefore, is the truest embodiment of woodland shade, for the shifting russets of its upperparts melt and blend with the tints of fallen leaves, dun roots, and the shadows of tree-boles cast on the brown ashes of fallen comrades. Not content, either, with such protective guarantee, this gentle spirit clings to cover, and reveals itself only as a flitting shade and a haunting voice. Now and then a brown gleam does cross some open space in the forest, but the action is hasty and the necessity much regretted.

The Russet-backed Thrush is not much given to song, altho on occasion the woodside may ring with the simple melody of its _wee loo weelo weeloeee_[35]. Other notes are more notable and characteristic; and by these one may trace the bird’s every movement without recourse to sight. _Quit_, or _hwit_, is a soft whistled note of inquiry and greeting, by which the birds keep in constant touch with each other, and which they are nowise disinclined to use in conversations with strangers. _Hwootaylyochtyl_ is the name which the Quillayute lad gives the bird, the first syllable being whistled rather than spoken, in imitation of the bird’s note. At the friendly call the Thrush comes sidling over toward you thru the brush, until you feel that you could put your hand on it if you would; but the bird remains invisible, and says, _quit, quit_, with some asperity, if you disregard the _convenances_.

A longer call-note, of sharper quality, _queee_, may be as readily imitated, altho its meaning in the bush is uncertain. The bird has also a spoken note, a sort of happy purring, which I call the _coordaddy_ cry. In this the _daddy_ notes are given in from one to six syllables, and are spoken “trippingly on the tongue.”

Recalling again the _queee_ note, we are surprised to find that it is the commonest sound heard during migrations. At midnight when a solemn hush is over all besides, this weird note comes down from the sky at any height, from every angle, a greeting _en passant_ from the voyageurs, the tenderest, the most pathetic, the most mysterious voice of Nature. There are a dozen variations of pitch and tone, _quééé, quee, kooo_, etc., but the theme is one, and the quality is that of the Russet-backed Thrush. Now it is incredible that any one species should so abound to the exclusion of all others, or that one alone should speak, while others flit by silently. Moreover, the intermittent utterance of a single bird proclaims the rate at which that bird is moving, and oftener argues for the passing of the smaller species, Warblers and the like. Repeated observation would make it appear certain that this _quee_ note is the common possession of many, perhaps of all species of migrant song birds, a sort of Esperanto for “Ho, Comrade!” by which the flying legions of the night are bound together in a great fellowship.

Much of the apparent difference in the call-notes of these night-birds is explained when we remember that they are reaching us from different angles. Thus, the _quee_ of a rapidly approaching bird is raised sharply and shortened, _quĕĕ_; while the same voice, in passing, falls to a ghostly _kwoo_, at least a musical third below. It is, perhaps, needless to add that practiced lips may join this mystic chorus and hold delightful converse with these brothers of the air—may, indeed, provoke them to trebled utterance in passing.

But only the Russet-backed Thrush may repeat this cabalistic note, by day. He is the bugler in that greatest of all armies and he must needs keep in practice while on furlough.

Russet-backs are tardy migrants, seldom arriving before the first week in May; and they are off again for the Southland by the first week in September. Two instances are on record, however, of the bird’s wintering hereabouts. On the 7th of March, 1891, several birds were “engaged in conversation” by the writer near Tacoma; and on the 22nd of January, 1907, two birds were encountered on the University grounds in Seattle. In the latter instance the birds would not disclose themselves, altho they passed half way around me in the thicket, uttering their characteristic and unmistakable notes.

In home building this Thrush makes no effort at nest concealment, trusting rather to the seclusion of its haunts. The materials which enter into the construction of the nest are themselves in a measure protective, especially in those numerous instances in which the exterior is composed entirely of green moss. At other times, twigs, bark-strips, and grasses are used; but the two things which give character to the nest of this Thrush are the mud-cup, or matrix, of mud and leaf-mold, and the lining of dried leaf-skeletons. I have surprised a mother Russet at her task of cup-moulding, and verily her bib was as dirty as that of any child making mud pies. For altho the beak serves for hod and trowel, the finishing touches, the actual moulding, must be accomplished by pressure of the bird’s breast.

During a season’s nesting at Glacier, in the Mount Baker district, Mr. D. E. Brown located about a hundred sets of the Russet-backed Thrush, taking no account of nests in other stages of occupation. In distance from the ground, nests varied from six inches to forty feet, altho a four or five foot elevation was about the average. Nests were found in thickets, where they were supported by the interlacing of branches, or else saddled upon the inclined stems of vine maples, or in fir trees. In the last-named places, nests might be set against the trunk on a horizontal limb, but were more often at some distance from it. The birds were very sensitive about molestation before eggs were laid, and would desert a nest in process of construction on the merest suspicion that a stranger had looked into it. After deposition, however, the mother Thrush was found to be very devoted to her charges, and great confidence was often engendered by carefully considered advances.

At Glacier, nest-building averaged to commence about the 25th of May, and the first eggs were found on the 1st of June. The last set was found July 15th. All nests examined in the earlier part of the season contained four eggs; those found later, presumably second efforts, never had more than three.

As a curious example of the use of the imagination on the part of early writers, take this from our venerated Cooper[36]: “The eggs, unlike those of most thrushes, are white, spotted thickly with brown, and four or five in number.” The brown spotting is all right and an unpigmented shell is not an impossibility, but deviations from the characteristic greenish blue of the ground-color have not since been reported.

No. 94.
OLIVE-BACKED THRUSH.

A. O. U. No. 758 a. Hylocichla ustulata swainsonii (Cab.).

Synonyms.—Swainson’s Thrush. Eastern Olive-back. Alma’s Thrush (_H. u.
almæ_ Oberh., disallowed by A. O. U. Com.).

Description.—_Adults_: Similar to _H. ustulata_ but grayer and more
olivaceous; “color of upperparts varying from olive to grayish hair
brown in summer, from deep olive to slightly brownish olive in
winter”; ground color of underparts lighter buffy (yellowish buff or
creamy buff); sides and flanks grayish—instead of brownish-olive. Size
of last.

Recognition Marks.—As in preceding; grayer above, lighter buffy below.

Nesting.—_Nest_ and _Eggs_ indistinguishable from those of typical
form, _H. ustulata_.

General Range.—North America in general except Pacific coast district
south of Cross Sound and Lynn Canal; breeding from the mountainous
districts of the United States (especially northerly) north to limit
of trees; south in winter thruout Mexico and Central America to Peru,
Bolivia, etc.

Range in Washington.—Imperfectly made out as regards that of _H.
ustulata_. Found breeding in the valley of the Stehekin hence
presumably summer resident in timbered districts of eastern
Washington.

Authorities.—Bowles and Dawson, Auk, Vol. XXV. Oct. 1908, p. 483.

Specimens.—Prov. B.

The more open woods and more abundant suns of eastern Washington effect that reduction of color in the “burnt” Thrush, which henceforth characterizes the species clear thru to the Atlantic. It would be idle to trace in detail all accompanying changes of manner and habit, but we can hardly fail to note the improved quality of the Olive-back’s song. This is most nearly comparable to that of the Willow Thrush and has something of the same rolling vibrant quality. It is, however, less prolonged and less vehement. It may or may not retain the liquid l’s, but it discards outright the rich r’s, which the Veery rolls under his tongue like sweet morsels; and the pitch of the whole rises slightly, perhaps a musical third, as the volume of sound diminishes toward the end: _We-e-o, we-e-o, we-o we-o weee_. A song heard some years ago at the head of Lake Chelan, _weeloo weeloo weelooee looee_, seemed to have all the music of perfected _swainsonii_ in it, yet it was not till the season of 1908 that Mr. Bowles established the fact of the Olive-back’s presence and the Russet-back’s absence from the Stehekin Valley. On the other hand, Ridgway finds that both forms sometimes occur together, even during the breeding season; so we are not yet prepared to make generalizations as to the relative distribution of these birds in Washington.

No. 95.
ALASKA HERMIT THRUSH.

A. O. U. No. 759. Hylocichla guttata (Pallas).

Synonym.—Kadiak Dwarf Thrush (Ridgw.).

Description.—_Adult_: Upperparts plain grayish brown (hair brown to
near broccoli brown) changing on rumps to dull cinnamon-brown of upper
tail-coverts and tail; a prominent whitish orbital ring; sides of head
mingled grayish brown and dull whitish; underparts dull white, clear
only on belly,—throat and breast tinged with pale creamy buff; sides
and flanks washed with pale grayish brown; throat in confluent chain
on side and lower throat, chest and upper breast—spotted with dusky or
sooty, the spots narrow and wedge-shaped on lower throat, broadening
and deepening on chest, fading and becoming rounded on breast. Bill
drab brown paling on mandible basally; feet and legs brown; iris dark
brown. _Winter_ specimens are brighter and more strongly colored
thruout. _Young birds_ are streaked with buffy above and the spotting
of underparts inclines to bars on breast and sides. Length 6.30-7.40
(160-188); wing 3.46 (88); tail 2.52 (64); bill .50 (12.7); tarsus
1.14 (29).

Recognition Marks.—Sparrow size; cinnamon of tail (and upper-coverts)
contrasting more or less with duller brown of remaining upperparts.

Nesting.—Does not breed in Washington. _Nest_ and _Eggs_ as in _H. g.
sequoiensis_.

General Range.—Coast district of Alaska breeding northward and
westward from Cross Sound; southward in winter as far as Texas and
western Mexico, migrating chiefly coastwise.

Range in Washington.—Spring and fall migrant west of the Cascades.

Migrations.—_Spring_: Tacoma, April 15, 1905 (J. H. Bowles). _Fall_:
Seattle Sept. 21, 1907 (Jennie V. Getty).

Authorities.—Bowles and Dawson, Auk, XXV. Oct. 1908, p. 483.

Specimens.—P(Alaskan). Prov. B.

About all we can certify to, so far, is that there are two varieties of the Hermit Thrush which may be seen on Puget Sound during the migrations: a lighter and grayer form, presumably from northwestern Alaska; and a darker, more warmly-tinted bird, _H. g. nana_, which may or may not summer to some extent in western Washington. Specimens so far encountered in eastern Washington are probably _H. g. sequoiensis_, en route to or from their breeding haunts in the high Cascades; while if any are ever captured in the mountains of Stevens County, they will probably prove to be of the _H. g. auduboni_ type, which prevails in the eastern portion of British Columbia.

No. 96.
SIERRA HERMIT THRUSH.

A. O. U. No. 759 part. Hylocichla guttata sequoiensis (Belding).

Synonyms.—Western Hermit Thrush. Cascade Hermit Thrush. Mountain
Hermit.

Description.—Similar in coloration to _H. guttata_ but larger, paler
and grayer. Adult male: wing 3.65 (92.8); tail 2.83 (71.8); bill .53
(13.5); tarsus 1.12 (28.4).

Recognition Marks.—As in _H. guttata_.

Nesting.—_Nest_: of bark-strips, grasses, leaves and moss, lined with
fine rootlets, placed on ground in thickets or at moderate heights in
fir trees. _Eggs_: 3 or 4, greenish blue unmarked—not certainly
distinguishable from those of the Willow Thrush. Av. size, .85 × .65
(21.6 × 16.5). _Season_: June, July; one brood.

General Range.—Mountains of the Cascade-Sierra system and from Mt.
Whitney north thru central British Columbia, etc., to the Yukon River;
south in winter to Lower California, Sonora, etc.

Range in Washington.—Common summer resident in the Cascade
Mountains—further distinction undetermined.

Authorities.—Dawson, Auk, Vol. XXV. Oct. 1908, p. 483.

Specimens.—D.

When asked to name the best songster of Washington, I answer, unhesitatingly, the Hermit Thrush. It is not that the bird chooses for his home the icy slopes and stunted forests of the high Cascades, tho that were evidence enough of a poetic nature. It is not for any marked vivacity, or personal charm of the singer, that we praise his song; the bird is gentle, shy, and unassuming, and it is only rarely that one may even see him. It is not that he excels in technique such conscious artists as the Catbird, the Thrasher, and the Mockingbird; the mere comparison is odious. The song of the Hermit Thrush is a thing apart. It is sacred music, not secular. Having nothing of the dash and abandon of Wren or Ouzel, least of all the sportive mockery of the Long-tailed Chat, it is the pure offering of a shriven soul, holding acceptable converse with high heaven. No voice of solemn-pealing organ or cathedral choir at vespers ever hymns the parting day more fittingly than this appointed chorister of the eternal hills. Mounted on the chancel of some low-crowned fir tree, the bird looks calmly at the setting sun, and slowly phrases his worship in such dulcet tones, exalted, pure, serene, as must haunt the corridors of memory forever after.

You do not have to approve of the Hermit Thrush,—nor of Browning, nor of Shelley, nor of Keats. The writer once lost a subscription to “The Birds of Washington, Patrons’ Edition, De Luxe, Limited to One Hundred Copies” and all that, you know, because he ventured to defend Browning. “No; I do not want your bird-book.” Quite right, Madame, it would have been a waste of money—for you. But I have heard the Hermit Thrush.

“Ah, did you once see Shelley, plain,
And did he stop and speak to you,
And did you speak to him again?
How strange it seems, and new!

“But you were living before that,
And also you are living after;
And the memory I started at—
My starting moves your laughter!

“I crossed a moor with a name of its own,
And a certain use in the world, no doubt,
Yet a hand’s breadth of it shines alone
’Mid the blank miles around about:

“For there I picked up on the heather,
And there I put inside my breast,
A moulted feather, an eagle feather!
Well, I forget the rest.”

No. 97.
DWARF HERMIT THRUSH.

A. O. U. No. 759 c. Hylocichla guttata nana (Aud.).

Synonyms.—Pacific Hermit Thrush. Sitkan Dwarf Thrush (Ridgway).

Description.—“Similar to _H. g. guttata_ but coloration darker and
browner, the color of back, etc., more sepia brown, upper tail-coverts
more russet, tail more chestnut, and spots on chest larger and darker”
(Ridgway). Adult male: wing 3.42 (86.8); tail 2.58 (65.5); bill .48
(12.2); tarsus 1.13 (28.8).

Recognition Marks.—As in _H. guttata_.

Nesting.—As in _H. g. sequoiensis_.

General Range.—Pacific coast district, breeding from western Oregon
(presumably) north to Cross Sound, Alaska; south in winter to
Southwestern States.

Range in Washington.—Probably common but little known, during
migrations. Presumably resident in summer west of the Cascades.

Authorities.—? _Turdus nanus_ Audubon, Orn. Biog. V. 1839, 201
(Columbia R.) ?Townsend, Journ. Ac. Nat. Sci. Phila. VIII. 1839, 153
(Col. R.) Belding, L. B. P. D. 1890, p. 254 (Walla Walla, J. W.
Williams, 1885).

Specimens.—U. of W. Prov. E.

As one passes thru the woods in middle April while the vine maples are still leafless, and the forest floor is not yet fully recovered from the brownness of the rainy season, a moving shape, a little browner still, but scarcely outlined in the uncertain light, starts up from the ground with a low _chuck_, and pauses for a moment on a mossy log. Before you have made out definite characters, the bird flits to a branch a little higher up and more removed, to stand motionless for a minute or so, or else to chuckle softly with each twinkle of the ready wings. By following quietly one may put the bird to a dozen short flights without once driving it out of range; and in so doing he may learn that the tail is abruptly rufous in contrast with the olive-brown of the back, and that the breast is more boldly and distinctly spotted than is the case with the Russet-backed Thrush.

This bird will not tarry with us, unless it may choose to haunt the solitudes of the Olympics. In the vicinity of Sitka, however, Mr. J. Grinnell reports the species as “very common everywhere, especially on the small wooded ‘islands.’”[37]

When disturbed in its nesting haunts the Hermit Thrush has a nasal scolding cry, not unlike that of the Oregon Towhee. This note lacks the emphasis of Towhee’s, tho its dual character is still apparent—_Murrry_ or _Murre_. But one forgets all trivial things as he listens to the angelic requiem of the Hermit at eventide. Not Orpheus in all his glory could match that,—for he was a pagan.

No. 98.
AMERICAN ROBIN.

A. O. U. No. 761. Planesticus migratorius (Linn.).

Synonym.—Eastern Robin.

Description.—_Adult male_: Head black, interrupted by white of chin
and white with black stripes of throat; eyelids and a supraloral spot
white; tail blackish with white terminal spots on inner webs of outer
pair of rectrices; wings dusky except on external edges; remaining
upperparts grayish slate; below,—breast, sides, upper belly and lining
of wings cinnamon-rufous; lower belly and crissum white, touched
irregularly with slate; bill yellow with blackish tip; feet blackish
with yellowish soles. _Adult female_: Similar to male, but duller;
black of head veiled by brownish. _Adults in winter_: Upperparts
tinged with brown, the rufous feathers, especially on belly, with
white skirtings. _Immature_: Similar to adult, but head about the
color of back; rufous of underparts paler or more ochraceous. _Very
young birds_ are black spotted, above and below. Length about 10.00
(254); wing 5.08 (129); tail 3.75 (95.3); bill .78 (19.8).

Recognition Marks.—“Robin” size; cinnamon-rufous breast; the “corners”
of the tail conspicuously white-tipped, as distinguished from _P. m.
propinquus_.

Nesting.—Does not breed in Washington. _Nest_ and _eggs_ as in next
(sub) species, save that eggs 4 or 5, sometimes 6.

General Range.—Eastern and northern North America westward nearly to
the Rocky Mountains and northwestward to valley of Kowak River in
Alaska; breeds from the southern Alleghenies, Pennsylvania, Ohio,
Iowa, etc., northward; winters in Gulf States; south irregularly
across the Western States during migration.

Range in Washington.—An early spring (and late fall?) migrant, both
sides of the Cascades. Winters sparingly on Puget Sound.

Authorities.—_Turdus migratorius_ Brewster, B. N. O. C. VII., Oct.
1882, p. 227. B. E.

Specimens.—B. E.

A small proportion, not over one per cent, of the Robins which annually cross our borders have enough white in the “corners” of their tails to proclaim them true “Americans.” The difference is striking and unmistakable, and we feel sure that we have here, not a chance variation, but an alien element, a slender stream of migration diverted from the accustomed channels of typical _P. migratorius_, and straggling down, or up, on the wrong side of the Rockies. When it is remembered that the American Robin winters in Florida and the Gulf States, and that its spring migrations take it as far west as the Kowak River, in Alaska, that is, due northwest from Atlanta, it is less surprising that the birds should occasionally bear west northwest instead, and so make Washington en route. It is almost certain that this is the case, for the wintering birds west of the Rockies and in Mexico are invariably of the western type, _propinquus_.

No. 99.
WESTERN ROBIN.

A. O. U. No. 761a. Planesticus migratorius propinquus (Ridgw.).

Description.—Similar to _P. migratorius_, but white on inner webs of
outer rectrices much reduced or wanting; gray of upperparts paler and
more olivaceous, more sharply contrasting with black of head;
cinnamon-rufous of underparts averaging paler; wing, tail, and tarsus
slightly longer. Length of males about 10.25 (260.3); wing 5.52 (140);
tail 4.13 (105); bill .80 (20.3); tarsus 1.34 (34.1). Females slightly
smaller.

Recognition Marks.—“Robin” size; cinnamon-rufous below—everyone knows
the Robin—without white on “corners” of tail as distinguished from
preceding.

Nesting.—_Nest_: a thick-walled but shapely bowl of mud (rarely felted
vegetable fibers instead) set about with twigs, leaves, string and
trash, and lined with fine grass-stems; placed anywhere in trees or
variously, but usually at moderate heights. _Eggs_: 3 or 4, rarely 5;
greenish blue, unmarked. Av. size 1.15 × .79 (29.2 × 20.1). _Season_:
April 15-July 10; two broods.

General Range.—Western North America from the Rocky Mountains to the
Pacific, north to limit of trees in coast forest district in Alaska;
south thru highlands of Mexico and occasionally Guatemala; breeding
nearly thruout its range.

Range in Washington.—Common summer resident and migrant thruout the
State, more common in settled portions; rare in mountains save in
vicinity of settlements; irregularly resident in winter, sometimes
abundantly on Puget Sound.

Migrations.—_Spring_: West-side, last week in February; East-side,
first or second week in March. _Fall_: October.

Authorities.—[Lewis and Clark, Hist. Ex. 1814 Ed. Biddle: Coues, Vol.
II. p. 185.] _Turdus (planesticus) migratorius_, Linn., Baird, Rep.
Pac. R. R. Surv. IX. pt. II. 1858, p. 219. (T.) C&S. L¹. Rh. D¹. Sr.
Kb. Ra. D². Ss¹. Ss². Kk. J. B. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. P¹. Prov. BN. B. E.

There are, it may be, a thousand fruits, sweet, acid or spicy, which delight the palate of man, yet if we were forced to choose among them, not many of us would fail to reserve the apple. In like manner, we could perhaps least afford to spare our tried and trusted, old, familiar friend, the Robin. He is a staple.

Everybody knows Robin. He is part and parcel of springtime, chief herald, chief poet, and lord high reveller of that joyful season. It is a merry day when the first flock of Robins turns itself loose on the home landscape. There is great bustle and stir of activity. Some scurry about to note the changes wrought by winter, some wrestle with the early and unsophisticated worm, while others voice their gladness from the fence-post, the gable, the tree-top, anywhere. Everywhere are heard interjections of delight, squeechings and pipings of ardent souls, and no end of congratulations over the home-coming.

Robin has cast in his lot with ours, for better or for worse. Our lawns are his lawns, our shade-trees were set on purpose to hold his homely mud-cup, and he has undertaken with hearty good will the musical instruction of our children. He serves without pay—Oh, a cherry now and then, but what of that? The fruit-grower never had a more useful hired man; and it is written: “Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn.” I wonder if we realize how much of life’s good cheer and fond enspiriting we owe to this familiar bird.

Near the close of a burning day in the desert, we drew near to a little ranch where a bravery of green, supported by a windmill and a tiny trickle of water, defied the engulfing waste of sand and sage. It seemed to me that I had never seen anything more pathetic than the stubborn faith of the man who had dreamed of rearing a home amidst such desolation. How could a man be happy here? and how dare he bring a wife and tender children to share such a forlorn hope? Why, the wilderness around had raised nothing but sage-brush and jack-rabbits for countless millenniums; but here in this tiny oasis were locust trees and poplars. And here, as the sun sank low in the West, a Robin burst into song. The nearest human neighbor was miles away, and the nearest timber further. Yet here was this home-loving Robin, this reincarnation of childhood’s friend, pouring out in the familiar cadence of old his thanksgiving for shelter and food, his praise for joy of life and gladness to the Almighty, who is Father of all. And then I understood.

The Robin’s song in its common form is too well known to require particular description, and too truly music to lend itself well to syllabic imitation. It is a common thing, indeed, like the upturned mold and the air which fans it, but out of these come the varied greens which beautify the world; the homely piping of the Robin has given birth to many a heaven-directed aspiration, and purged many a soul of guilty intent. Robin conceives many passages which are too high for him, and these he hums inaudibly, or follows in silent thought, like a tenor with a cold. When the theme reaches his compass again, he resumes, not where he left off but at the end of the unheard passage. It must be confessed, however reluctantly, that the song of the Western Robin is a little more subdued in character than that of the Eastern. The bird is a little less devoted to his art, and the total volume of sound yielded by any one chorus has never equalled, in my experience, that of a similar effort in the East.

When the Robin is much given to half-whispered notes and strains unusually tender, one may suspect the near presence of his fiancée. If you are willing to waive the proprieties for a few moments you will hear low murmurs of affection and soft blandishments, which it would tax the art of a Crockett to reproduce. And again, nothing can exceed the sadness of a Robin’s lament over a lost mate. All the virtues of the deceased are set forth in a coronach of surpassing woe, and the widower declares himself forever comfortless. It is not well, of course, to inquire too particularly as to the duration of this bereaved state—we are all human.

In spite of his fondness for human society, there are two periods of retirement in Robin’s year. The first occurs in March and early April, and may be denominated the season of courtship. After the first ardent greeting of the home folks, Robins gather in loose companies and keep to the seclusion of the woods, following the sun from east to south and west, ransacking the roots of trees and the edges of standing water for food, and, above all, sketching in the matrimonial plans of the season. When Robins have become common about the streets and yards of village and town, partners have usually been selected, but there still remain for many of the cocks hard-contested battles before peaceful possession is assured. These are not sham fights either; a Robin will fight a hated rival, beak and claw, till he is either thoroly winded or killed outright.

In late July and August Robins again forsake their familiar haunts, and spend the moulting season in the woods, moving about like ghosts in great straggling, silent companies. When the moult is completed, as autumn advances, they return in merry bevies to claim their share of the ripening fruits—no longer begrudged now, for they prefer such harmless viands as mountain-ash berries, and the insipid clusters of the madrone tree.

Robins occasionally winter on the east side of the mountains; and they are hard put to it unless they find a sufficient supply of ungathered fruit, preferably apples, left out to freeze or rot as the season dictates. West of the mountains they winter irregularly but quite extensively. There is nothing in the climate to forbid their staying all the time but I am inclined to think that their abundance in winter depends upon the berry crop, and especially that of the Madrona (_Arbutus menziesii_). The fall of 1907 was notable in this regard. The trees were in splendid bearing, and a certain patch on the bluff south of Fauntleroy Park was a gorgeous blaze of red, to which Robins resorted in hundreds.

Under such circumstances the birds establish winter roosts in convenient thickets, and repair to them at nightfall in great numbers. One such roost has been maintained on the outskirts of Seattle, just east of Ravenna Park, and in the winter of 1907-08 I estimated its population at some four thousand. The winter, it will be remembered, was a mild one, and every one in Seattle remarked the abundance of Robins.

In nesting, the Robin displays little caution, its homely mud-walled cup not being withdrawn from most familiar observation. Indeed, as in the case of the accompanying illustration, the bird appears rather to court notoriety. The major crotches of orchard or shade trees are not shunned. From five to fifteen feet is the usual elevation, but nests are sometimes found at fifty feet; and again, tho rarely, on the ground. Window sills and beams of porches, barns, and outbuildings are favorite places, and, in default of these, brush-piles or log-heaps will do.

The mud used in construction is, of course, carried in the beak. Arrived at the nest with a beakful of mud, the mother bird drops her load, or plasters it loosely on the inside of the cup. Then she hops into the nest, settles as low as possible, and begins to kick or trample vigorously with her feet. From time to time she tests the smoothness or roundness of the job by settling to it with her breast, but the shaping is altogether accomplished by the peculiar tedder action of her feet.

On the other hand, one Robin’s nest which I found in the open sage had no mud in its construction and was altogether composed of felted vegetable materials. Another freak nest, in Spokane, showed a hatchet handle firmly imbedded in its foundation and projecting from it a distance of six inches. The presence of the handle was not adventitious, for the nest was saddled on a pine branch, but it is difficult to conceive how the birds could have placed it in position at a height of fifteen feet.

Three eggs is the rule for the Western Robin; four is not unusual; but five is rare, and I have never seen six. In this respect, therefore, the Western Robin falls a little behind her eastern cousin.

Young Robins are darling creatures; that is conceded by everyone,—even by the cat. And hungry! Oh, so hungry! It is estimated that if the appetite of a man were proportioned to that of a young Robin, he would consume daily the equivalent of a sausage four inches in diameter and twelve feet long!

In spite of the law-makers, who knew exactly what they were doing in declaring the Robin worthy of protection, thousands of these birds are annually slaughtered by unthinking people because of a rumored fondness for cherries and other small fruits. And yet we are assured by competent authorities that cultivated fruit forms only four per cent of the Robin’s food thruout the year, while injurious insects constitute more than one-third. Robins in the cherry trees _are_ provoking, especially when they bring the whole family and camp out; but there is one way to limit their depredations without destroying these most distinguished helpers; plant a row of mulberry trees, preferably the Russian Mulberry, along the orchard fence, and the birds will seek no further. I have seen a mulberry tree swarming with Robins, while neighboring fruit trees were almost untouched. The plan is simple, humane, and efficacious.

No. 100.
VARIED THRUSH.

A. O. U. No. 763. Ixoreus nævius (Gmelin).

Synonyms.—Mountain Robin. Winter Robin. Oregon Robin. Columbian Robin.
Varied Robin. Painted Robin.

Description.—_Adult male_: Above dark slate-color (plumbeous slate to
blackish slate), sometimes, especially in winter, tinged with
olivaceous; wings dusky edged more or less with slaty, the
flight-feathers varied by ochraceous-buff, the middle and greater
coverts tipped broadly with tawny or ochraceous forming two
conspicuous bars; tail blackish, the outermost or several lateral
rectrices tipped with white on inner web; a conspicuous lateral
head-stripe originating above eye and passing backward to nape
ochraceous or ochraceous-buff; area on side of head, including lores,
suborbital space and auriculars, black or slaty-black connected
narrowly on side of neck with a conspicuous pectoral collar of the
same shade; chin, throat and remaining underparts tawny (or
ochraceous-tawny to ochraceous-buff), paling on sides and flanks where
feathers broadly margined with slaty-gray, changing to white on
abdomen; under tail-coverts mingled white, slaty and ochraceous;
axillars and under wing-coverts white basally broadly tipped with
slaty-gray and under surface of flight-feathers crossed basally by
band of white or buffish. Bill brownish black paling basally on
mandible; feet and legs ochre-brown; irides brown. _Adult female_:
Similar to adult male but paler and duller; upperparts olive-slaty to
olive brownish; tawny of underparts much paler and pectoral collar
narrower, of the shade of back or a little darker; more extensively
white on abdomen; _Young birds_: Like adult female but more yellowish
ochraceous below; pectoral band indistinct composed of ochraceous
feathers having darker edges; other feathers of throat and breast more
or less tipped with olive dusky. Length of adult 9.50-10.00 (241-254);
wing 4.92 (125); tail 3.43 (87); bill .83 (21); tarsus .87 (22).

Recognition Marks.—Robin size; blackish collar distinctive; wings
conspicuously varied by tawny markings; head pattern
distinctive—otherwise very Robin-like in bearing and deportment.

Nesting.—_Nest_: of sticks, twigs, grasses and rotten wood smothered
in moss, a bulky, handsome structure placed in saplings or trees at
moderate heights without attempt at concealment. _Eggs_: usually 3,
rarely 4, greenish blue sparingly speckled or spotted, rarely blotched
with dark brown. Av. size 1.12 × .80 (28.4 × 20.3). _Season_: April
20-May 10, June 10-July 1; two broods.

General Range.—Mountains and forests of western North America,
breeding from northern California (Humboldt County) to northern
Alaska, wintering from Kadiak Island to southern California and
straggling irregularly eastward during migrations.

Range in Washington.—Resident in coniferous forests thruout the State
from sea-level to limit of trees; retires to valleys and lowlands in
winter; less common east of the main divides (Cascade).

Authorities.—[Lewis and Clark, Hist. Ex. (1814), Ed. Biddle; Coues,
Vol. II., p. 184]. _Turdus nævius_, Baird, Rep. Pac. R. R. Surv. IX.,
1858, pp. 211 (“Simiahmoo, W. T.”), 220. T. C&S. L¹. D¹. Kb. Ra. Kk.
J. B. E.

Specimens.—U. of W. P¹. Prov. B. E.

No; it does not always rain in western Washington. So far is this from being the case, that we will match our Februaries against all comers, and especially invite the attention of “native sons” of California. Our summers, too, are just a little dry latterly, and we begin to wonder with a vague uneasiness whether we are to be condemned to mediocrity after all. This paves the way for a declaration that the true web-footer, nevertheless, loves the rain, and will exchange a garish sky for a gentle drizzle any day in the year. The Varied Thrush is a true Web-footer. He loves rain as a fish loves water. It is his native element and vital air. He endures dry weather, indeed, as all of us should, with calm stoicism. _Lehrne zu leiden ohne zu klagen_, as poor Emperor Frederick II, the beloved “_Unser Fritz_,” used to say. But the Varied Thrush is not the poet of sunshine. Dust motes have no charm for his eyes, and he will not misuse his vocal powers in praise of the crackling leaf. Ergo, he sits silent in the thickets while avian poet-asters shrill the notes of common day. But let the sun once veil his splendors, let the clouds shed their gentle tears of self-pity, let the benison of the rain-drops filter thru the forest, and let the leafage begin to utter that myriad soft sigh which is dearer than silence, and our poet Thrush wakes up. He mounts the chancel of some fir tree and utters at intervals a single long-drawn note of brooding melancholy and exalted beauty,—a voice stranger than the sound of any instrument, a waif echo stranding on the shores of time.

There is no sound of the western woods more subtle, more mysterious, more thrilling withal, than this passion song of the Varied Thrush. Somber depths, dripping foliage, and the distant gurgling of dark brown waters are its fitting accompaniments; but it serves somehow to call up before the mind’s eye the unscaled heights and the untried deeps of experience. It is suggestive, elusive, and whimsically baffling. Never colorless, it is also never personal, and its weird extra-mundane quality reminds one of antique china reds, or recalls the subdued luridness of certain ancient frescoes. Moreover, this bird can fling his voice at you as well from the tree-top as from the ground, now right, now left, the while he sits motionless upon a branch not fifteen feet above you.

Fantastic and varied as is this single note which is the Thrush’s song, it may be fairly reproduced by a high-pitched whistle combined with a vocal undertone. At least, this imitation satisfies the bird, and it is possible to engage one after another of them in a sort of vocal contest in which curiosity and jealousy play unquestioned parts. Sometimes the Thrush’s note is quite out of reach, but as often it descends to low pitches, while now and then it is flatted and the resonance crowded out of it, with an indescribable effect upon the listener, somewhere between admiration and disgust. At other times a trill is introduced, which can be taken care of by a trained palate, in addition to the vocal sound and the whistle.

In a unique degree the Varied Thrushes are found thruout the forest depths. Given tall timber and plenty of it, the precise altitude or location are matters of no consequence. The prettiest compliment that Nature can pay to the genuine wildness of Ravenna Park, in Seattle, or Defiance Park, in Tacoma, is the continued presence of the Varied Thrush in nesting time. Run a survey line across any timbered valley of western Washington, or up any timbered slope of the Cascades or Olympics, and the bird most certainly encountered, without reference to local topography or presumed preference, will be the Varied Thrush. The bird may likewise be found among the larches and cedars of the Calispell Range.

The Varied Thrush is known by a variety of names, none more persistent or fitting than Winter Robin. It is a Robin in size, prevailing color, and general make-up; and it appears in the lowlands in large numbers only in the winter time, when the deep snows have driven it out of the hills. The Thrush is much more shy than the Robin, and altho it moves about in straggling companies, and does not shun city parks, it keeps more to cover. It also feeds largely upon the ground, and when startled by a passer-by it flutters up sharply into the trees with a wing-sound whose quality may soon be recognized as distinctive. At such times the bird makes off thru the branches with a low chuck, or _tsook_, or else tries the air by low notes which are like the song, only very much more subdued. This is manifestly an attempt to keep in touch with companions, while at the same time attracting as little hostile attention as possible. This note is, therefore, barely audible, and has very little musical quality, _aarue_, or _üür_.

The nesting of the Varied Thrush was most fully brought to light by Mr. D. E. Brown, at Glacier, in the season of 1905. Like some tireless retriever, this ardent naturalist quartered the mazes of the dense spruce forest which covers the floor of the North Fork of the Nooksack, and in a range of some fifteen miles up and down that stream succeeded in locating forty-five nests of this, till then, little-understood species. Of these, twenty-five contained full sets of eggs, while the remainder fell before such accidents as desertion, robbing by Jays, Owls, etc. The first set taken was on May 5th, and the eggs were slightly incubated. The last, with fresh eggs, was taken June 19th,—probably the second nesting of some bird robbed earlier in the season. Among the nests examined, three contained sets of four each, and the remainder three. Of the entire number, all were placed in evergreen trees, save two. Of these last, one was set in the splinters in the broken top of a willow, about fifteen feet up; and the other was placed in an upright crotch of an elderberry bush at four feet from the ground.

Here are the woods that abound in moss-bunches,—great balls of thrifty green which grow, without apparent excuse, alike from the flimsiest and from the most substantial supports. It is in view of the abundance of these, that the Varied Thrush builds as it does, right out in the open of the underwood, near the top, or at least well up, in a small fir tree. The searcher has only the advantage of knowing that in order to secure adequate support the bird must build close up to the stem of the tree. The only exception to this rule is when branches intersect, and so offer additional strength. Owing to the fact that the large timber affords considerable protection to the younger growth below, and because of the superior construction of the nests, they prove very durable. Old nests are common; and groups of half a dozen in the space of a single acre are evidently the consecutive product of a single pair of birds.

There is a notable division of territory among these Thrushes. As a rule, they maintain a distance of half a mile or so from any other nesting pair. In two instances, however, Mr. Brown found nests within three hundred yards of neighbors.

When one approaches the center of a reserve, the brooding female slips quietly from the nest and joins her mate in denouncing the intruder. The birds flit restlessly from branch to branch, or from log to log, uttering repeatedly a stern _tsook_, which is almost their sole recourse. If the nest is discovered and examined, the birds will disappear silently; and the chances are that they will never again be seen in that locality.

A nest found on May 10th, with two eggs, was revisited on the 12th. It was saddled at a point ten feet out on a leaning hemlock, which jutted from the river bank over the roaring Nooksack. The prominence of the situation, in this instance, proved the owner’s undoing. An Owl had evidently snatched her up on the previous night, the first of her maternal duty; for the nest and the neighboring foliage were strewn with feathers. Yet so subtly had the marauder executed his first coup that not an egg was broken. The eggs were three in number, subovate, of a slightly greenish blue, beautifully and heavily spotted—one might almost say blotched—with rufous, the handsomest, Mr. Brown says, ever seen.