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Birding Column: Getting In Tune With Song Sparrows |
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Mathew Tekulsky The Birdman of Bel Air for National Geographic News |
| August 3, 2004 |
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As its name implies, the song sparrow spends most of its day singing, and I imagine that it thinks that its song is the best song in the land. It starts off with three or four high-pitched peeps in rather quick succession; then the bird launches into a raspy, guttural shriek; and then the bird whistles a few warbling notes as a coda. So when you put it all together, it goes something like this: "Peep, peep, peep—waaagh—whistle, whistle, whistle." Try to top that. Well, I have tried to outsing the song sparrow, but I always lose. Usually, you hear the song sparrow before you see it. It may be out in the bushes, singing away, but it's hidden by all those branches. So I'll launch into a whistling imitation of its song. This often entices it to poke its body out of the bushes and find a perch within full view of me. Who is trying to copy my song? it seems to be asking. I usually shut up then, knowing that I've been busted. Now, the song sparrow is a very elusive creature, and it rarely lets you get closer than 25 or 30 feet (7 to 9 meters) away from it. It's so tiny that you hardly see it disappear into the shrubs at its first sight of you. But one day in early February, I found a song sparrow along the side of the road leading into Sullivan Canyon, behind my house. This bird was so preoccupied with feasting on the ants and the algae-covered seeds and leaves that had been deposited in a muddy area of a stream that he allowed me to stand about 16 feet (5 meters) away from him for the better part of two hours. On closer observation, I could see that there were many more ants crawling around in this muddy area than in areas of the stream where mud and leaves hadn't collected. I gathered that the song sparrow was eating plenty of ants during this session. But when I looked through the 1000mm lens, I could see that the bird was picking up decaying leaves and other vegetable matter out of the mud. Now, song sparrows always live around water, but this particular downhill stream resulted from runoff from a narrow drainage pipe that was built into the hill at the side of the road. The runoff had left iron deposits that had turned the cement area a reddish-brown color. Was the song sparrow gleaning food value from the algae in the mud, as well as from the oxidized deposits? I think so. About two weeks after this encounter, I noticed that a song sparrow began frequenting my side yard. He made a habit out of hopping out of the bushes, just under the platform feeder. I always put out mixed birdseed on the ground here. The song sparrow availed himself of the food, especially focusing on the millet seeds. In one photograph that I took of him here, you can clearly see the millet seed in his mouth, just before he swallows it. I would like to think that this was the same individual that I had photographed in the mud puddle in Sullivan Canyon, and that he had followed me home—but there is no way of telling. So it is with watching birds. Song Sparrow Variations The song sparrow has 31 recognized subspecies, and as such, it is one of the most geographically varied in appearance of all terrestrial vertebrates in North America. Since these variations occur gradually over the bird's range, song sparrows in regions that are close to each other will look more alike than song sparrows that inhabit regions that are farther apart. For instance, song sparrows here in Bel Air have highly visible, dark streaking on the white underparts and long, white streaks on the sides of the crown and chin. By contrast, song sparrows of the Pacific Northwest have a darker plumage in general, and lack the white streaking of my local subspecies. Meanwihle, song sparrows in Alaska are larger than song sparrows in other regions, and their plumage is grayish with brownish streaks; and song sparrows in the East are medium-size and brownish, with shorter and thicker bills than many of the song sparrows in the West. What do most song sparrows have in common? A dark central spot on the breast, where the streaks merge; a pumping of the tail during flight; a preference for open, bushy habitats, often near water; and, of course, their melodious song! Mathew Tekulsky writes a regular column about birding in his backyard and neighborhood in Bel Air, California. You can follow his encounters with the birds of the Santa Monica Mountains here on National Geographic News Bird Watcher every fortnight or so. Previous columns by the Birdman of Bel Air New Bird-Watching Column: "The Birdman of Bel Air" The California Towhee, Boldly Bland At Home With Hooded Orioles Scrub Jays Go Nuts for Peanuts Northern Mockingbird is a Wary Neighbor Christmas With the Pelicans California-Quail Close Encounter Yosemite Steller's Jay Encounter Banding Birds at Devils Postpile California Condor Close Encounter California Condor Rebound Going Nuts With Wilderness Ravens Hummingbird Chicks Fly the Nest Mexican Jays' Dogged Pack Mentality National Geographic BirdWatcher Regularly updated news stories, features, and columns about birds and birding Recent News Stories About Birds Migrating Birds Reset "Compasses" at Sunset, Study Says Bowerbirds Dance, Decorate to Suit Females' Changing Tastes Emperor Penguins: Uniquely Armed for Antarctica African Birds Understand Monkey Communication, Study Says After 400 Years, Cranes Return to U.K., Site Is Kept Secret For more birdwatching news, scroll down. |
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