here, as it is of considerable interest in this discussion,
an observation made by a capable observer with great care.
Forbush says, _loc. cit._, vol. II, p. 268: “The first
trustworthy evidence, however, that I obtained regarding
the tapping of trees for sap by the Downy Woodpecker was
in 1899, when my assistant, the late Charles E. Bailey, on
April 6 watched one for several hours. His report reads:
‘At 12:30 I found a Downy Woodpecker, and watched him till
2:45; he took three larvae from a maple stub, just under
the bark. He next tapped two small swamp maples, four and
six feet from the ground, and spent most of the time taking
sap. He tapped the tree by picking it a few times very
lightly; it looked like a slight cut, slanting a little.
The bird would sit and peck the sap out of the lower part
of the cut. The cut was so small the sap did not collect
very fast. The bird would go and sit for a long time in a
large tree and not move, then it would come back and take
more sap. It did this three times while I was watching it.
It did not care to take any food but the sap.’ * * * Mr.
Bailey cut off and brought me the limb, the bark of which
was perforated by the bird. * * * The perforations passed
through the bark to the wood, but did not enter it and
they do not in the least resemble in shape those made by
the Yellow-bellied Sapsucker.” Here is just what we should
expect in a woodpecker not specialized as a sapsucker. * * *
The next record is of considerable significance in this
discussion, and had I seen only the latter half of the
drama, my conclusions might have been different. In the
Wenham swamp on May 11, 1906, my notes state that Glover M.
Allen and I found a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker drilling holes
in a white pine. His movements were slow and he paid little
attention to us standing below him at the foot of the tree.
When he departed, a female Downy Woodpecker visited the
holes.
Speaking of his own observations, Dr. Townsend says: “I may state that,
although I have long watched Downy Woodpeckers gleaning insects on
and in the bark and wood of trees at all seasons of the year, I have
never seen them dig circles of holes in the bark. * * * I have never
found fresh rings of holes except during the time of the sapsucker
migrations.”
_Voice._--The downy woodpecker is by no means a noisy bird; compared
to the red-headed woodpecker, with its loud rattling calls, or to the
shouting, boisterous flicker, it is quiet and demure. Nevertheless, we
cannot be for long near one of these little birds, hidden high among
leafy branches, before we learn of its presence. Within a few minutes,
long before we catch sight of it, we are almost certain to hear its
voice.
Its call note is a single abrupt syllable, like _tchick_. Although
this note is of sufficient volume to carry a considerable distance, it
is not a loud note even when heard at short range. As in the case of
many bird notes, it is recognizable from the voice of any other bird
hereabouts once we have become familiar with it, yet it is not easy to
say how it differs from numerous other calls that might be suggested by
the same letters. I believe one characteristic of the note that helps
us distinguish it is its shortness--it is over almost as soon as begun,
like a dot in the telegraph code. But in spite of being sharp, it is a
modest little sound; it does not ring through the woods like the wild
call of the hairy woodpecker.
Another note is a long whinny made up of a dozen or more _tchicks_.
These increase in rapidity soon after the beginning of the series, and
the pitch drops rather sharply. Near the close, the volume diminishes,
and the whinny ends with a “dying fall.”
Elizabeth Sampson (1934) brings this note very clearly to our mind when
she speaks of it as “a handful of his staccato notes * * * flung out in
a rapid run, gaining speed as they came, till they almost tumbled over
each other at the end.”
This whinny is also given, although not often, without any fall in
pitch.
The downy woodpecker has other notes in its vocabulary, some of
which are described under courtship, but, compared to the two noted
above, they are rarely heard. It may be that some of these notes are
only modifications of the call note, uttered with a slightly changed
inflection. One, a single short note, has a distinct vocal quality.
Of the young birds in the nest, Dr. Arthur A. Allen (1928) says that
they “keep up an incessant chippering, especially when they get the
least bit hungry, and at times they sound almost like a bee-hive, from
the ground.”
After the young birds have left the nest, I have often heard them give
a series of _tchicks_ similar to the whinny of the adults, but in a
weaker voice and _all on the same pitch_. However, this note evidently
varies, for Francis H. Allen says in his notes that the young have also
a rattle resembling the kingfisher rattle of _D. villosus_, but fainter
and falling in pitch like the similar note of the adult.
_Field marks._--The downy, the smallest of our woodpeckers, may be
separated at once from any other woodpecker, except the hairy, by the
broad white stripe down the back.
The hairy is half again as large as the downy, but in situations where
comparative size counts little, the downy may be recognized by its
short bill--no longer than its head. The hairy’s bill is longer even
in proportion to the size of the bird.
_Enemies._--Lewis O. Shelley, who as a bird bander has handled many
downy woodpeckers, says in his notes: “I find this species practically
free from parasites, but I have found among the feathers the two bird
flies, _Ornithoica confluenta_ and _Ornithomyia anchineuria_.”
Alexander Wilson (1832) shows that the house wren, although not an open
enemy of the downy, causes it a good deal of annoyance by stealing its
nest sometimes. He says:
The house wren, who also builds in the hollow of a tree,
but who is neither furnished with the necessary tools nor
strength for excavating such an apartment for himself,
allows the woodpeckers to go on, till he thinks it will
answer his purpose, then attacks them with violence, and
generally succeeds in driving them off. I saw some weeks
ago a striking example of this, where the woodpeckers we
are now describing, after commencing in a cherry-tree
within a few yards of the house, and having made
considerable progress, were turned out by the wren; the
former began again on a pear-tree in the garden, fifteen or
twenty yards off, whence, after digging out a most complete
apartment, and one egg being laid, they were once more
assaulted by the same impertinent intruder, and finally
forced to abandon the place.
Maurice Thompson (1885) describes thus the bird’s defense against the
attack of a goshawk:
I once saw a goshawk pursuing a downy woodpecker, when
the latter darted through a tuft of foliage and flattened
itself close upon the body of a thick oak bough, where
it remained as motionless as the bark itself. The hawk
alighted on the same bough within two feet of its intended
victim, and remained sitting there for some minutes,
evidently looking in vain for it, with nothing but thin air
between monster and morsel. The woodpecker was stretched
longitudinally on the bough, its tail and beak close to the
bark, its black and white speckled feathers looking like a
continuation of the wrinkles and lichen.
More commonly, when attacked by a hawk, the downy dodges behind a
branch and, if the hawk catch sight of it again, either winds round the
branch or dives behind another one. By this adroit defense the downy
has a fair chance of eluding the hawk’s attack.
_Fall and winter._--We see little change in the behavior of the downy
woodpecker at the approach of autumn, at the time when many of the
migratory birds are beginning to show a daily increasing restlessness,
seeming on tiptoe to start on their long journey, moving about actively
in their new feathers, and breaking out sometimes with a phrase of
postnuptial song. In the role of permanent resident, the downy remains
calm in the midst of the bustle of travel; it may join the hurrying
groups for a time, or become surrounded by them, but it does not catch
the contagion of departure, and soon drops behind to continue its local
round.
The downy is not forced to seek the sun and warmth and the
inexhaustible food of the Tropics, for the woodlands of New England and
southeastern Canada are stored with food that, with a roosting hole,
enables the bird to withstand the severest winter. But this food is
limited; the insects that have been multiplying all summer, thus adding
continually to the woodpeckers’ supply of food, stop multiplying when
the frosts come, and will add no more until spring.
The downy is not a bird that ranges widely in search of food; moreover,
for protection against the weather it is held to the vicinity of its
roosting hole. Therefore each bird, in order to be sure of sufficient
food for itself during the cold months, must maintain dominion over a
territory large enough to support it through the winter.
Thus it comes about that in autumn the downy _does_ perforce change its
habits, or rather its attitude toward other birds of its species. The
families disperse, and until the next breeding season each individual
becomes a solitary bird, living in a restricted region, which it
defends against trespass, resenting and repelling the approach of any
other downy woodpecker.
This reversal of attitude or character--the change from a member of a
family to an anchorite in fall, and back again in spring--takes place
gradually, we may suppose, and not exactly at the same time in every
bird. Hence one bird meeting another in autumn, while the change is
in progress, may underestimate the degree to which it has drawn away
from its fellows, or, in the spring, may overestimate the amount of
cordiality that has returned to the wintering anchorite. This lack of
understanding may give rise to behavior difficult or impossible for us
to interpret.
Sometimes the relationship between two downies is clear enough, as
when, on September 20, 1910, I saw a male fly repeatedly at a female
in a menacing way and drive her off; and when on November 3, 1935, I
saw a female bird fly toward a male, which was perched near a hole in
an electric-light pole, from which he did not retire, as a perched
bird commonly does when approached by a bird on the wing, but held his
ground while she flew away; and when Lewis O. Shelley (MS.) tells of a
female bird “rushing with antagonistic attitude at her two daughters”
and also driving off her granddaughters whenever they invaded her
winter territory in autumn, all these birds being identified by bands.
There are cases, however, in which the relationship between the birds
is very puzzling. In the following scene, from my notes, there is
a hint of hostility or remonstrance, but a suggestion of courtship
also--out of place, it seems, in autumn between two female birds.
“October 15, 1935. Two birds are in a large, bare maple tree; one is
noticeably larger than the other, but neither one has a red occipital
patch. They keep near each other, one following the other by short,
quick flights. They perch perfectly motionless for a moment a foot or
two apart; then both together sway their heads, swinging them quickly
down and up to one side, down and up to the other side. The swing is
very rapid, like the wink of an eye. They flit their wings upward and
outward, also with the speed of a wink, over and over--all this without
a sound. They fly behind a branch sometimes but keep mostly in sight of
each other, and, although neither attacks, each seems wary of attack
and dodges away when approached. They sometimes alight on very slender
branches, and once a bird goes to the ground where it stands with its
head held high up. They move very actively and lightly, with never
the slightest blundering, flitting silently and easily from branch to
branch.”
The following astonishing story, taken from William Brewster’s Concord
journal (1937), tells of a case in which antagonism of unknown cause
leads to the killing with brutal violence of a female downy by a male:
March 20, 1911. We were in the dining-room, consulting
about the day’s work, when we heard the _tchick_ note of
the Downy Woodpecker repeated almost incessantly and very
rapidly just outside. For a moment or more we paid no
attention to it. But something unusual in its quality and
its insistence soon led me to look out and this was what I
saw:
On the snow, among the outermost stems of the lilacs on
one side of the dense thicket that they form was a female
Downy with extended and quivering wings. About her hopped
or rather danced a handsome male, showing the red on
his occiput very conspicuously. He kept striking at her
head with his bill and occasionally he held on for a few
seconds, when the two birds fluttered about together and
perhaps rolled over once or twice, closely united. At
first I thought it an amatory encounter and I am still
almost certain that the male attempted to secure sexual
contact with the female once or twice. But if so it could
not have been his primary or at least sole object. For he
continued to peck her head even when she was lying almost
motionless on the snow. For a time she seemed to be trying
to escape and for fully two minutes her cries were piteous
and incessant. At length he left her and flew up into an
elm where he clung for a moment or two, making what seemed
to me a very unusual display of the red on his occiput.
Then of a sudden he swooped down on the female, who had
meanwhile been cowering in the middle of a cluster of
lilac stems, on the snow. Dragging her forth from this
slight shelter into an open space, he attacked her again,
this time with obvious fury, fairly raining a shower of
blows on the back of her head. She seemed too weak to make
any further attempt to escape and her cries, although
continued, were so faint that we could only just hear them.
I now realized for the first time that he was inspired by
the _lust of killing_ and not by sexual ardor. It was very
hard to refrain from rushing out and driving him away but
I restrained the impulse, not being willing to interrupt
a tragedy of such extraordinary, if repulsive, interest.
It would have made no difference anyway, for, this final
onslaught lasted only a very few seconds. During its
continuance the male Downy seemed literally beside himself
with rage. No Butcher Bird that I have ever watched
has shown, while dealing with a Mouse or Sparrow, more
murderous energy. After finishing the foul deed he left the
female lying perfectly motionless and flew up again into
the elm. We now went out and picked up the female. She was
still living but unable to move. The [back] of her head was
soaked in blood and her bare skull showed in places. She
died a little later. I skinned her and preserved her skull
which I have attached to the skin. It is _punctured in 10
or 12 places_. The bird was in normal condition physically
with healthy-looking ovary the ovules undeveloped. The only
injuries were to the skull.
Doubtless a few downy woodpeckers move southward in autumn or early
in winter, especially from the northern part of the bird’s range.
Dr. Charles W. Townsend in his Ipswich notes (MS.) says that he sees
“evident migrants not uncommonly in October and November.” But most
of our birds spend the whole year round with us, and in autumn we may
watch them as they make provision for winter. Even before the leaves
are off the trees--in September here in New England--we may hear, day
after day as we pass a certain tree, the tapping of a downy woodpecker
where, invisible from the ground, high up on a branch, it is digging
out a cavity, its roosting hole, in which it will sleep alone through
the long winter nights, and into which it may retreat in the daytime
whenever “the frost-wind blows.”
DRYOBATES PUBESCENS NELSONI Oberholser
NELSON’S DOWNY WOODPECKER
HABITS
This large race of the downy woodpecker inhabits the wooded regions
of northern Alaska and northern Canada, intergrading with _Dryobates
pubescens medianus_ in southern Canada and possibly in northern New
England.
Dr. H. C. Oberholser (1896a), in describing and naming it,
characterizes it as “similar to _Dryobates pubescens_ [=_medianus_],
but averaging larger; the under parts pure white instead of brownish;
the lower tail-coverts and outer tail-feathers averaging with much less
of black markings; red nuchal band of male averaging somewhat wider.”
Swainson and Richardson (1831) say: “This diminutive but exceedingly
industrious Woodpecker is a constant inhabitant of the fur-countries
up to the fifty-eighth parallel. It seeks its food principally on the
maple, elm, and ash, and, north of latitude 54°, where these trees
terminate, on the aspen and birch. Its researches are made mostly, if
not wholly, on live trees.”
Dr. E. W. Nelson (1887) writes:
Throughout the Territory [Alaska] where woodland or a
growth of bushes and small trees occurs the present bird is
certain to be found, and is a resident winter and summer.
It has been taken along the entire course of the Yukon as
well as at various points on the coast of Bering Sea, and
thence south at Kadiak and Sitka. In autumn it is a rather
common visitant to the coast of Norton Sound in spite of
the lack of timber, and it was not uncommon to see it
clinging to the sides of the houses, or to the flagstaff,
and other similar supports; after resting awhile, and,
perhaps, tapping a few times on the unproductive logs, they
would leave for a more promising field. They were seen
at times passing from one alder patch to another, on the
hill-sides, and they follow the spruces and other trees to
the shore of the sea.
While I was camping in spring, at the Yukon mouth, these
birds were rather common in the dense bushes along this
stream and its tributaries. Their holes were frequently
found in the decaying stubs, although I did not find a nest
containing eggs. This species appears to frequent deciduous
thickets and trees by preference, as, in addition to the
various times which I saw it in the interior in winter,
while at the Yukon mouth, I always found it about locations
where only deciduous trees and bushes were found, and its
holes were always made in cottonwood or birch-stubs.
Judged from what little is known about them, the nesting, food, and
other habits of Nelson’s downy woodpecker do not differ materially
from those of its more southern relatives, except as influenced by its
different environment. Living in the far north, where trees are small
and scarce, it has to be content to excavate its nest in small trees
or low stumps. There are very few eggs in collections; a set of five
eggs in the Thayer collection was taken from a hole 4 feet from the
ground in a rotten stump, near Fort Saskatchewan, Canada, on June 10,
1898. These eggs are like other eggs of the species, pure white, ovate
in shape, and somewhat glossy. The measurements of 31 eggs average
19.54 by 15.43 millimeters; the eggs showing the four extremes measure
=21.9= by 16.1, 19.4 by =16.4=, =17.5= by 15.0, and 18.65 by =14.28=
millimeters.
DRYOBATES PUBESCENS TURATI (Malherbe)
WILLOW WOODPECKER
HABITS
The downy woodpeckers of California were for many years all called
_D. p. gairdneri_, until Dr. Walter K. Fisher (1902) called attention
to the smaller and lighter-colored race, which inhabits much of the
coast region and nearly all the lowlands of southern California. For
this race, he very properly revived Malherbe’s name, as given above,
for this name was based on birds taken near Monterey. He gives as the
characters of the willow woodpecker:
Smaller than _Dryobates pubescens gairdneri_, with smaller
feet; under parts lighter; the elongated superciliary patch
and rictal stripe extending over sides of neck, pure white,
instead of smoky white of _gairdneri_; tertials always more
or less spotted with white. * * *
_Dryobates pubescens turati_ is a southern representative
of _gairdneri_, which it resembles in the smoky under parts
and restricted areas of white on the wings, and from which
it differs in its smaller size, much smaller feet, and
clearer white markings of head. The present form is near
true _pubescens_ of the Southern States, but differs from
it in having much less white on the wings, the coverts
and tertials of _pubescens_ being conspicuously and often
heavily marked with white. * * *
The willow woodpecker in a typical form breeds from Los
Angeles and San Bernardino counties north in the coast
ranges to San Francisco Bay, and along the west slope of
the Sierra Nevada at least to Yuba County. Intergradation
with _gairdneri_ occurs over the coast region north of
San Francisco Bay and in the mountains at the head of the
Sacramento Valley.
Grinnell, Dixon, and Linsdale (1930) say of the haunts of the willow
woodpecker in the Lassen Peak region: “Downy woodpeckers were seen most
often close to streams and in orchards. Their forage places included
the limbs or small trunks of willow, alder, cottonwood, sycamore,
valley oak, blue oak, digger pine, and yellow pine trees.”
_Nesting._--Major Bendire (1895) writes: “Mr. Charles A. Allen informs
me that it breeds in the oaks and willows along the Sacramento River,
Calif., but that it is not common. Its breeding sites seem to be
confined to deciduous trees, preferably dead ones, or old stumps,
and besides those already mentioned, sycamore and cottonwoods are
occasionally used. Their nesting sites are rarely found at any great
distance from the ground, usually ranging from 4 to 20 feet up and
rarely higher.”
W. L. Dawson (1923) says: “Willow woodpeckers, in the wild, place
their nests at considerable heights in deciduous trees, and those, if
possible, among thick growths on moist ground. Both sexes assist in
excavation, as in incubation. Partially decayed wood is selected, and
an opening made about an inch and a quarter in diameter. After driving
straight in for an inch or two, the passage turns down and widens two
or three diameters. At the depth of a foot or so the crystal white eggs
are deposited on a neat bed of fine chips. Incubation lasts twelve
days, and the young are hatched some time in May.”
_Eggs._--The willow woodpecker lays three to six eggs, more commonly
four or five; it may occasionally lay seven, as some of the other
western races have been known to do. The eggs are typical of
the species. The measurements of 40 eggs average 18.74 by 15.20
millimeters; the eggs showing the four extremes measure =22.3= by 15.7,
18.4 by =16.3=, =17.3= by 14.5, and 18.0 by =14.4= millimeters.
_Food._--Mr. Dawson (1923) writes:
It is as an orchardist that the Willow Woodpecker deserves
the most careful consideration. Bird-lovers are, perhaps
prone to superlatives in commending their friends, but
it is safe to say that a more useful bird _for his
ounces_ than the downy woodpecker does not exist. He eats
not only ants and the larvae of wood-boring beetles,
but scale insects, plant lice, and the pupae of the
detestable coddling moth. The evidence is clear that these
incomparable tree experts, together with their friends, the
nuthatches, the chickadees, and the creepers, would insure
the health of our orchards if they were numerous enough.
It becomes of the highest importance, then, to study their
welfare in turn. In the northern and more elevated valleys
of the State, it may be worth while to offer them nuts or
to hang out a bit of suet in winter. In the South no such
precautions are necessary. A fundamental consideration,
however, is the provision of suitable nesting sites.
Experiment has shown that the downy’s forage range during
the breeding season is not extensive. The clamoring young
are fed by the product of nearby trees (fed, it may be, a
thousand insects a day). Their services, therefore, must be
secured in the orchard; and to this end the orchardist must
consent to leave certain dead branches--a foot or so at the
base of the larger ones will do--for a nesting site. Dead
wood, of course, invites insects; but the most serious and
frequent mistake which our California orchardists make is
to trim out all the dead wood from the fruit trees. A pair
of Willow Woodpeckers, or of Slender-billed Nuthatches,
will clean out all the dangerous pests from a dead tree,
and sixteen live ones to boot.
Grinnell and Storer (1924) made some studies of the feeding habits of
the willow woodpecker in the Yosemite region, of which they say:
A pair of Willow Woodpeckers proved to be regular tenants
of Curry’s apple orchard on the floor of the Yosemite
Valley. They, or their ancestors, had evidently worked
there for some years, with the result that most of the
150 trees in the orchard showed marks of their attention,
and many of the trunks were fairly riddled with drillings
somewhat like those of the sapsucker. * * *