Snowbirds

Joe Meche is president of the North Cascades Audubon Society and also serves the chapter as newsletter editor and birding programs coordinator. He has been watching birds for over 50 years and photographing birds and landscapes for more than 30 years.

The first time I recall hearing the term snowbird was in the early 1970s when Canadian singer Anne Murray had a hit single with that title. I seem to recall the song being yet another in a long line of songs about lost love and other such matters of the heart. The song was catchy enough and fun to sing while trying to imagine a “snowy mantle” from the geographical perspective of southeast Texas.

In 1978, Canada bestowed the official designation of 431 Air Demonstration Squadron on the flight team now more commonly known as the Snowbirds. The Snowbirds perform at various air shows and other functions and events and are somewhat similar to our own Blue Angels and Thunderbirds. They have entertained audiences throughout North America for more than 35 years. But still, no real perspective for me.

Snowbird is also a ski resort in Utah, known for its deep powder and steep runs and is considered one of the most challenging places to ski, as well as the top-rated ski destination in the western United States, according to some. In the distant past when I lived in the Rockies, I had occasion to spend some time in and around Snowbird, but it was always in late summer and early fall. No deep powder in August so, again, no perspective!

When I moved to the Pacific Northwest 32 years ago, I eventually became aware of yet another variation of snowbird. As it turns out — and it is common knowledge across the northern tier states — many senior citizens and other folks who have had their fill of northern winters and are logistically capable, emulate birds and migrate south until spring. Given the last two weeks of this past December in our neighborhood, I considered joining the flock. Now I’m gaining perspective.

In the early morning hours of December 14, the Big Freeze of 2008 began. This was also the day of the Bellingham Christmas Bird Count (CBC). I awoke to a perceptibly colder morning than I had the day before and I noticed a coating of white outside. My reliable wind direction indicator atop the engineering building on Bay Street also alerted me to a stiff wind out of the northeast. And then I had a call shortly after 6 a.m. imploring me to call off the count!

Anyone who is familiar with the tradition of the CBC knows that inclement weather does not cancel a count. So we finished breakfast, dressed with multiple layers and snow boots, and headed into the teeth of the cold weather that was to stay with us for the next couple of weeks. Throughout the day, I considered the collective wisdom of the human snowbirds, but at the same time came to renew my appreciation for the real snowbirds; i.e., the actual birds we would all be counting throughout the day. Why didn’t these birds “spread their tiny wings and fly away” like so many others?

As you scan the list of the 128 species that were recorded on CBC Count Day, consider that the birds which do not migrate to warmer climes are hardy beyond anything we can imagine. Birds are exposed to the elements day in and day out, without the luxury of adding layers or donning boots to keep their feet warm! How do they persevere in the extreme cold?

The significant, evolved adaptations of birds are never more remarkable than they are in winter. To survive the long, cold nights, birds slow their metabolism and lower their body temperatures, while reducing their heart rates to conserve energy. Humans could not survive the body temperature swings that birds do to endure extreme heat or cold; and it seems that cold weather always presents more of a challenge.

Birds have another unique adaptation that helps them through cold nights ­— they fluff their feathers to provide insulation from the frigid air. The layer of air that is trapped beneath the feathers serves as insulation against the cold. Efficient blood flow and circulation combine to warm avian feet. To stay warm, some species are known to huddle together during the long winter nights.

As it is with humans, it’s understandable that food is the most critical element in the lives of birds and never is it more of a factor than in winter. Food is essential for survival in colder temperatures. Chickadees, for instance, might spend 20 times as much time feeding during the day in winter as they do in spring and summer. Some birds will store food during the warmer months and return to their caches during the lean times of winter.

Most of our winter visitors and resident birds are more used to moderate temperatures with bare ground and open water to feed and rest until spring. When below-freezing temperatures prevail, most of the diving species that frequent local saltwater habitats, like goldeneyes and scoters, are not as adversely affected as their freshwater counterparts. And when snow covers the ground, it can be difficult to find food.

For the most part, it’s best to understand that the below normal temperatures and snowfall we experienced in the second half of December are not typical of our moderate Pacific Northwest winters. The birds that winter here are often migrants from even colder parts of the hemisphere, and their survival skills are keen. They blend well with our resident chickadees, juncos, and sparrows, and backyard feeders serve to provide food for many species.

Possibly more of a factor than any of the adaptations that birds possess to withstand the cold is the availability of their primary food sources. If you think of the birds that liven our days during spring and summer, consider their diets. Swallows and swifts, for instance, feed on flying insects, while many of our summer warblers rely on insects to sustain them. Insects will return to us in the spring, as will our insect-eating feathered friends.

We spent two cold nights at Silver Lake over the New Year’s holiday and the only birds we saw or heard were the corvids — jays, crows and ravens. The lake itself was frozen solid and a foot of snow covered the ground. On the morning of New Year’s Day, we strapped on snowshoes to negotiate eight additional inches of fresh snow with more falling. I had hoped that we would find more than just the three species, but not a creature was stirring … not even a mouse.

To better appreciate another being’s situation or lot in life, put yourself in their place and see how you would fare. Gaining perspective in life is as important as anything else we do. That’s probably what the first human snowbirds came to realize when they began to take notice of the phenomenon of migrating birds. It’s amazing the number of life skills we can learn from other species. §

Beneath this snowy mantle cold and clean
The unborn grass lies waiting for its coat to turn to green
The snowbird sings the song it always sings
And speaks to me of flowers that will bloom again in spring.