fine, soft, south to southwest weather, and formerly they could be
expected to pass in numbers between May 20 and June 5. In former
times, when such conditions prevailed, thousands collected on Cape
Cod, when they would remain for a few days to a week before
resuming migration.
The knot is less common in the interior, but Prof. William Rowan
evidently regards it as a regular migrant in Alberta during the latter
part of May; his notes record a flock of about 200 on May 21 and one of
over 150 on May 23.
It seems to be a comparatively rare migrant on the coast of California,
where it never was abundant. But it still occurs in large numbers on the
coast of Washington. In some notes from Gray's Harbor, sent to me by D.
E. Brown, he mentions a flock of over 500 birds seen on May 14, 1920.
And S. F. Rathbun has sent me the following notes:
Late on the afternoon of May 16, 1921, we were on the south side of
Gray's Harbor, Washington, on a marsh meadow bordered by the tide
flats. At this hour the tide was nearly at its full, and the many
shore birds that had been feeding on the flats were forced to
retreat before the incoming waters and in consequence were driven
close to the edge of the meadow. Not far from where we lay
concealed a very large number of these had assembled on a somewhat
elevated stretch of ground near the meadows border, among them
being several hundred of the knots, these in two or three compact
flocks all the individuals of which were facing the wind. The knots
were resting quietly although there was much movement going on
among the shore birds. We could easily by the aid of our glasses,
see many turnstones, a few greater yellow-legs, these keeping by
themselves, and in the shallow water at the edge of the flats a
very large number of red-backed sandpipers and long-billed
dowitchers, flanked by an immense flock of the smaller sandpipers.
At this time the sun was low in the west and its almost horizontal
rays fell full on the breasts of the knots, for in facing the wind
they happened to be turned toward the sun, whose light intensified
the pale cinnamon of their breasts, this making a beautiful sight.
Without any warning nearly all of this mass of birds suddenly took
wing. As they rose, the knots keeping by themselves separated into
three compact flocks and rising high in the air then flew directly
towards the north giving their calls as they did so, and this
appears to be a habit of the species when taking wing. Again, the
knot does not appear to fly aimlessly about as do many other of
the shore birds, and is generally to be seen in flocks, the
individuals of which are closely associated, although at times
scattering birds will be observed; and in flight by the seeming
course a flock will pursue, we always receive an impression that
it has some objective point in view.
Dr. W. E. Ekblaw has sent me some very full notes on the habits of the
knot in northwestern Greenland in which he says:
The knot is one of the commoner shore birds of northwest Greenland,
but even so, not numerous anywhere. It arrives in the land as early
as the end of May, for early in the spring of 1915 when my two
Eskimos, Esayoo and Etukashoo, and I were encamped at Fort Conger
on Discovery Harbor in latitude 81° 45´ N., we heard the keen call
of the knots flying over our camp the afternoon of May 30. The
first knots that come are generally in small flocks, but they soon
mate and scatter to their nesting places, only a few coming
together from time to time near the favorite feeding places. If the
weather of early June be inclement the flocks do not scatter so
soon, but remain together until the conditions become favorable for
mating and nesting. It is quite likely that some of the pairs are
already mated when they arrive, for the sex organs are fully
developed and ready to function upon their arrival.
In northeastern Greenland the time of arrival is about the same, for A.
L. Manniche (1910) writes:
The knots arrived at the Stormkap territory in couples at exactly
the same time as did the other waders; in two summers,
respectively, on June 2 and May 28. While the sanderlings, dunlins,
turnstones, and ringed plovers immediately took to the sparsely
occurring spots free from snow, the knots would prefer to go to the
still snow-covered hollows in the marshes and moors, where I saw
them running on the snow eagerly occupied in picking up the seed of
_Carex_-and _Luzula_-tufts the ends of which here and there
appeared over the snow. This sandpiper more than its relatives,
feeds on plants at certain seasons. In the first days I also
observed now and then a couple of knots on snowless spots on
elevated table-lands and even on the top of the high gravel banks
at Stormkap. These may, however, have settled there in order to
rest after the voyage and not to search food. As soon as ponds of
melting snow and fresh-water beaches free from ice were to be
found, the knots would resort to these, and here the birds wading
or swimming looked for animal diet. In this season the knot did not
appear on the salt-water shore like other waders. Gradually as more
extensive stretches of low-lying table-land became free from snow,
the knots occurred more frequently here in their real nesting
quarters; they would, however, still for a while often visit moors
and marshes with a rich vegetation of _Cyperaceae_.
_Courtship._--Doctor Ekblaw describes this as follows:
The courtship is brief but ardent. Whether it is the females that
woo the males, as among the phalaropes, or as normally the males
that woo the females, it is difficult to determine, for the
breeding plumages of the two sexes are quite indistinguishable. On
June 3, 1916, I observed closely the courtship of three knots high
up on one of the plateaus of Numataksuah, back of North Star Bay.
Two males (?) were evidently pursuing one female (?), she leading,
they winging rapidly in her wake, contending as they flew;
apparently all uttered the shrill piercing call to which the knots
so frequently give voice during the mating and nesting season of
early summer, and which one rarely, if ever, hears after the young
are hatched. In great circles they flew, now and then stooping to a
zigzag pirouetting and dodging, again rising in wide circles until
they disappeared from sight in the bright sky, though their shrill
calls came to earth as sharp and clear as ever.
In the ecstasy of the mating season a single bird may indulge
himself (?) in a kind of dance flight alone. He rises high above
the hills, sweeping the sky in great graceful circles not unlike
the stately flight of the sparrow hawk, so smooth and calm it
seems. From time to time he utters the shrill, clarion call of the
mating season, or the soft _coo-yee_ that is most common about the
nesting grounds. Then suddenly he drops wildly, tumbling and
tossing like a night jar at sunset, as suddenly to break his fall
and soar for miles on still, outstretched wings, not a movement
noticeable.
Mr. Manniche (1910) refers to it as follows:
The male suddenly gets up from the snow-clad ground, and producing
the most beautiful flutelike notes, following an oblique line with
rapid wing strokes, mounts to an enormous height often so high that
he can not be followed with the naked eye. Up here in the clear
frosty air he flies around in large circles on quivering wings and
his melodious far-sounding notes are heard far and wide over the
country, bringing joy to other birds of his own kin. The song
sounds now more distant, now nearer, when three or four males are
singing at the same time. Now and then the bird slides slowly
downwards on stiff wings with the tail feathers spread; then again
he makes himself invisible in the higher regions of the air,
mounting on wings quivering even faster than before. Only now and
then the observer--guided by the continuing song--succeeds for a
moment in discerning the bird at a certain attitude of flight, when
the strong sunlight falls upon his golden-colored breast or light
wings. Gradually, as in increasing excitement he executes the
convulsive vibrations of his wings, his song changes to single
deeper notes--following quickly after each other--at last to die
out while the bird at the same time drops to the earth on stiff
wings strongly bent upward. This fine pairing song may be heard for
more than a month everywhere at the breeding places, and it
wonderfully enlivens this generally so desolate and silent nature.
The song will at certain stages remind of the fluting call note of
the curlew (_Numenius arquatus_), but it varies so much with the
temper of the bird that it can hardly be expressed or compared with
anything else.
_Nesting._--The nesting habits of the knot long remained unknown; Arctic
explorers were baffled in their attempts to find the nest; and the eggs
were among the greatest desiderata of collectors. This is not to be
wondered at, however, when we consider the remoteness of its far
northern breeding grounds, its choice of its nesting sites on high
inland plains, its widely scattered nests, and its habit of sitting very
closely on its eggs and not returning to them after flushing. Col. H. W.
Feilden (1879) writes:
Night after night I passed out on the hills trying to find the nest
of the knot. Not a day passed without my seeing them feeding in
small flocks; but they were very wild, rising with shrill cries
when one approached within a quarter of a mile of the mud flats on
which they were feeding. It is very extraordinary, considering the
hundreds of miles traversed by myself and my companions--all of us
on the lookout for this bird's eggs, and several of us experienced
bird's-nesters--that we found no trace of its breeding until the
young in down were discovered.
Some of the earlier records of knot's nests are open to doubt, but there
can be no doubt about the two nests found by Peary in 1909. Referring to
his own failure and Peary's success, Colonel Feilden (1920) says:
The nests and eggs of the knot were obtained by Peary in the
vicinity of Floeberg Beach where the "Nares" expedition of 1875-76
wintered on the exposed coast of Grinnell Land north of 82° N.
lat., and where Peary, on the _Roosevelt_, wintered in 1908 and
1909 at Cape Sheridan some 3 or 4 miles farther north, and which
was the base for his ever-memorable adventure to the North Pole.
Probably the reason why we failed in 1876 to obtain the eggs was
due to our ignorance of the localities selected by the birds for
nesting. We saw the birds circling over and feeding around the
small pools of water left by the melted snow, which here and there
were surrounded by sparse tufts of vegetation, and we gave too much
of our scanty time to the searching of the marshy spots. Peary's
photographs show that in Grinnell Land the knot has its nests on
the more elevated slopes and surfaces covered by frost-riven rocks
and shales. The finding of a knot's nest in Grinnell Land is not an
easy task, and it is highly commendable that Peary on his return
from the North Pole to Cape Sheridan, and in the midst of his
engrossing and more important duties found occasions to take the
unique photographs here reproduced.
Two nests with eggs were found by the Crockerland expedition in
northwestern Greenland, of which Doctor Ekblaw has sent me the following
account:
Though level lands along the shores and the river valleys, or about
the pools constitute the feeding grounds of the knots, the high
plateaus far back among the hills, covered with glacial gravel or
frost-riven rubble, furnish their nesting sites. By this rather
anomalous choice of nesting site, the knot was long able to keep
its nest and eggs a secret, and it was not until the members of the
Crockerland Arctic Expedition persistently ran down every clue that
two full clutches of eggs in the nests were discovered in June,
1916, on a high flat-topped ridge back of North Star Bay, at least
3 miles from shore.
The nests are placed in shallow depressions among the brown clumps
of _Dryas integrifolia_ and _Elyna bellardi_ which grow among the
rubbles and gravel of the high ridges. The nest is merely a small
hollow, apparently rudely shaped by the nesting bird. The bird in
the nest is so like the terrane about her, that she is well-nigh
indistinguishable from it, even to one who knows exactly where she
is sitting. Trusting to her effective concealment, the mother bird
does not flush from the nest until almost pushed from it. When I
placed a camera only a foot from the sitting bird she did not
leave it. Though frightened so sorely that she panted and her
heart beat visibly, she stuck to her precious eggs. Her head
turned to the wind, she crouched flat upon the eggs, her feathers
ruffled wide to hide them. When finally I placed my hand upon her,
she broke away, trying by the well-known shore-bird device of
feigning injury and inability to fly to draw the intruders away.
The bird did not appear at all shy and when she failed to draw us
away, remained near us, evidently anxious, but trying to appear
unconcerned. Now and then she uttered a soft, but sharply pleading
call, more plaint than protest. One nesting bird did not leave her
eggs until Doctor Hunt pushed her, protesting plaintively quite
away from the nest, with the stock of his rifle.
A set of four eggs in Edward Arnold's collection was taken by Capt.
Joseph Bernard, July 1, 1918, on Taylor Island, Victoria Land. The nest
was in a dry spot in a wet marsh; there was a snow bank 50 yards from
the nest and a pond on the south side of the nest 100 yards away. He
watched the nest for three or four hours, from a hill 500 yards away,
but did not see the bird again.
_Eggs._--The knot lays four eggs, perhaps sometimes only three. The eggs
are ovate pyriform in shape, with a slight gloss. In the set of three
eggs, taken by the Crockerland expedition and now in Col. John E.
Thayer's collection, the ground colors vary from "pale olive buff" to
"olive buff"; they are spotted all over, but more thickly at the larger
end, with small spots or scrawls of "sepia," "Saccardo's umber," and
"Vandyke brown," with underlying spots of "pallid" and "pale brownish
drab."
The other set of four eggs, from the same source and now in the American
Museum of Natural History, is thus described for me by Ludlow Griscom:
Ground color varying from white with the faintest tinge of light
olive (1 egg) to "olive buff" (2 eggs) and deep "olive buff" (1
egg); clouded and spotted, especially at the larger end, with
shades of color varying from "dark olive buff" to "olive brownish,"
the intensity varying in direct proportion to the intensity of the
ground color; where the spots coalesce into blotches at the larger
end of the darkest egg, the color is blackish brown; the spotting
is scant at the smaller end.
Referring in his notes to the same two sets of eggs, Doctor Ekblaw
describes the ground colors as varying from very light pea-green, almost
gray, to dark pea-green, "with brown, umber, and almost black dots and
blotches of varying size and shape over the green, and faint subcrustal
lavender blotches showing through." Other eggs which I have seen figured
or described would fit these descriptions fairly well. The measurements
of 42 eggs average 43.1 by 29.6 millimeters; the eggs showing the four
extremes measure =49.8= by =33.8=, =39.9= by 29.7 and 41.5 by =27.7=
millimeters.
_Young._--The period of incubation is said to be between 20 and 25 days.
Both sexes have been taken with incubation patches, so this duty is
doubtless shared by both. I quote from Doctor Ekblaw's notes again:
Though we found but two clutches of eggs, we discovered many
families of young birds. They are able to leave the nest as soon as
hatched, little gray downy chicks with faint blotches of brown, so
like the dried tufts of _dryas_ as to be quite undiscoverable when
hidden among them. Three or four, or rarely five, chicks constitute
the group. Their faint plaintive "cheeps" are so ventriloquistic
and illusory that it is impossible to distinguish the direction
from which they come. When an intruder approaches the little
fellows squat at the signal from the parent bird wherever they
happen to be at the time, and remain immovable as the pebbles and
tufts of _dryas_ until the danger is over, even though it be hours
before the safety seems assured. Even the tiniest of these downy
fledglings seem able to look after themselves. They run eagerly and
constantly about independently pursuing the moths, crane flies, and
flies upon which they feed, often 40 or 50 feet from their mother.
The first signal from the mother, a mellow, solicitous _coo-ee_
transforms them into immovable pebbles or tufts of _dryas_. When
they are discovered and realize that their concealment is no longer
effective, they scatter panic stricken like a flock of little
chickens, chirping appealingly to their "mother" who dashes
valiantly to their defense, quite beside "herself" with concern,
fear, and anger.
Whenever the jaegers, relentless brigands of birdland, appear, the
old knots do not hesitate to attack. In combining their forces,
they drive full into the bigger birds, striking them from beneath
again and again, until they chase them away. The young grow fast.
In three weeks after hatching they are almost full grown and
half-clothed in feathers, quite capable of taking care of
themselves. They stay until they leave among the interior plains
and plateaus, coming down to shore only when they are able to
fly--and then the southward migration begins at once.
Apparently, the knots, like the phalaropes, reverse part of their
secondary sex characteristics, for all the birds caring for the
young that I collected were males, beyond doubt. When I examined
the first bird that I collected with its young, I was surprised to
find that the supposed "mother," who had so valiantly and zealously
shielded "her" little ones, was actually father. I thought then
that perhaps the mother bird had been killed and that in the
emergency the father had assumed the responsibility for the
youngsters; but later I became convinced by examination of many
birds, that invariably it is the male that cares for the fledglings
after they are hatched. The female incubates the eggs, but the male
relieves her of further care in bringing up the family.
_Plumages._--In its natal down the young knot can be easily recognized
by the grayish, mottled colors on the upper parts and the absence of
browns and bright buffs. The shape of the bill, characteristic of the
species, is also diagnostic. The crown, back, rump, wings, and thighs
are finely mottled or spotted with black, white, gray and dull "cinnamon
buff," the last being the basal color. The forehead, the sides of the
head, the throat, and the entire under parts are dull white, tinged with
grayish on the flanks and crissum. There is a broad median stripe on the
forehead, a broad loral stripe from the bill to the eye and a narrower
rictal stripe of black.
The juvenal plumage appears first on the wings, scapulars, and sides of
the breast; the primaries burst their sheaths before the young bird is
half grown. In the juvenal plumage, as seen on migration in August, the
crown is heavily streaked with blackish brown, the feathers being edged
with light buff; the feathers of the back and scapulars have an outer
border of light buff, then a black border, then another buff, and
sometimes a faint black border inside of that; the greater and median
wing coverts have a terminal buff and a subterminal black border; the
tail feathers are edged with buff and the under parts are more or less
suffused with pale buff. Probably the buff is brighter and deeper in
fresh plumage and it fades out to white before this plumage is molted.
A postjuvenal molt takes place, between September and December, of the
body plumage, some scapulars and some wing coverts. This produces the
first winter plumage, which is like that of the adult, except for the
retained juvenal scapulars and wing coverts. I have seen birds in this
plumage as early as September 30. A partial prenuptial molt, similar to
that of the adult, produces during the spring a first nuptial plumage in
which young birds can be distinguished from adults by varying amounts of
retained winter feathers. At the next complete molt, the first
postnuptial young birds assume the fully adult winter plumage.
Adults have a partial prenuptial molt between February and June,
involving most of the body plumage, but not all of the scapulars, wing
coverts, and tertials. There is much individual variation in the time of
this molt. I have seen birds in full nuptial plumage as early as March
21 and in full winter plumage as late as May 13. The complete
postnuptial molt begins in July with the body molt, which is usually
completed before October. I have seen adults in full nuptial plumage as
late as September 6. The red-breasted birds reported by Mr. Mackay
(1893) as shot on Cape Cod in December and February must have been
exceptional cases of delayed or omitted molt; the February birds may
have been cases of early spring molt.
_Food._--Doctor Ekblaw says:
Their food when they first come to the North is scarce, and when
the weather is unduly unfavorable they are hard put to it to find
enough to live. They probe about the grasses and sedges on the wet
moors and along the swales and pools, and sometimes wade breast
deep into the water to pick out the small but abundant life that
swarms in some of the pools, mostly crustacea and larvae. The upper
mandible is relatively soft and pliant. Sometimes they search the
tide pools left at low water, or poke about the rocks and gravel
along shore.
Other Arctic explorers have referred to the scanty food of the knot in
the north; H. Chichester Hart (1880) says that "of a number of knots'
stomachs examined, only one contained any food; this consisted of two
caterpillars, one bee, and pieces of an Alga;" Colonel Feilden (1879)
saw knots "feeding eagerly on the buds of _Saxifraga oppositifolia_;"
Mr. Manniche (1910) "saw them running on the snow eagerly occupied in
picking up the seed of _Carex_ and _Lazula_ tufts, the ends of which
here and there appeared over the snow." Later on, when the ponds and
marshes are teeming with animal life, they have plenty of food.
With us, on migrations, the knots feed mainly on the sandy and stony
beaches, moving deliberately along in compact groups close to the
water's edge, probing in the sand for minute mollusks and small
crustaceans. On the sandy beaches on the west coast of Florida, the wet
sand is filled with minute shellfish known as _Coquinas_, on which the
knots seemed to be feeding. They also feed to some extent on the mud
flats and sand flats with the black-bellied plover, where they find
marine insects and their larvae. Mr. Mackay (1893) says "they also eat
the larvae of one of the cutworms (Noctuidae) which they obtain on the
marshes," some of which he has found in their throats when shot. Edward
H. Forbush (1912) says: "They are fond of the spawn of the horsefoot
crab, which, often in company with the turnstone, they dig out of the
sand, sometimes fighting the former birds before they can claim their
share." W. L. McAtee (1911) says that they also feed on grasshoppers and
on marine worms of the genus _Nereis_.
_Behavior._--The knots fly swiftly in compact flocks, twisting and
turning in unison like the smaller sandpipers, for which they might
easily be mistaken at a distance. On the ground they are rather
deliberate in their movements, generally grouped in compact bunches and
all moving along together; they are less likely to scatter over their
feeding grounds than other waders. When resting on the high beaches
between tides they stand quietly in close groups, all facing the wind;
their grey plumage renders them quite inconspicuous at such times. F. H.
Allen tells me that he has seen half a dozen of them hopping about on
one leg in shallow water; this may be a sort of game, frequently
indulged in by many small waders.
Mr. Manniche (1910) says:
Peculiar to this species is its restless character. The resident
couples would every day make long excursions, not only to seek
food, but probably also for pleasure. Their great power of flight
makes them able to do this without difficulty. In rapid high flight
they are now here and now there. I often saw them set out in a
northern direction high over the summits of the mountains or in a
southern far out over the ice in the firths, to return after a
short while.