WILLIAMSVILLE — Conk-a-reeeee!
Nine inches of black feathers, he stretches his neck skyward, opens his pointed bill, and pours forth nasally, gurgling phrases, sounds that could only be called a “song” by another of his species.
As he sings, his wings open in flightless display, and red epaulets flash with sun-drenched brilliance even on the grayest of days.
The Red-wing Blackbird has returned.
In any year, regardless of the depth of the snow pack, the thickness of the ice on the pond, or the piled-up disarray in the rivers and streams, when the Red-wing Blackbird proclaims his “conk-a-reee,” winter is on the run, and spring is imminent.
* * *
Some months ago, in a post on my blog, I dismissed the popular notion that the robin is a sign of spring. In our southeastern Vermont neighborhoods, the American Robin can be seen, and is seen, every month of the year. The coldest January day or the snowiest February day does not preclude the presence of robins.
Following the post, I received an email from a reader in Great Britain who told me that swallows are their sign of spring. “Is that true in Vermont?” he asked. “If not, what bird is your sign of spring?”
Swallows eat flying bugs, so they are not dependably present until spring has more or less defeated winter. Tree Swallows might arrive fitfully in early April, but they are not secure in our area until later in that month.
In our neighborhoods, I wrote to my correspondent, the sign of spring is the Red-wing Blackbird.
He arrives in southeastern Vermont on March 7, plus or minus two or three days. (A male Red-wing Blackbird was reported in Westminster in early February, but I think that poor guy was more than a little confused.)
Some Red-wing Blackbirds winter as near as the Connecticut coast, but most gather much farther south in flocks, which might number in the thousands. They wander through farmland, marshes, forest edges, and open fields, gleaning whatever food might be available.
The flocks are segregated; the boys hang with the boys and the girls with the girls. Among the boys, there is no rivalry, no posturing, no conflict. That only happens when the hormones begin their annual surge. By then, the males are moving northward and the flocks are dispersing.
By the time the Red-wing Blackbirds begin reaching our neighborhoods, the flocks are starting to break up.
Individual males begin looking for breeding territory. When the ice goes out of our ponds and marshes and plant life begins to reassert itself, the males will be there. Perched on a reed, cattail, or shrubby willow, they will stake their claim as proprietors, intimidating their rivals with red wings and vocal prowess. “Conk-a-reeeee!”
When the drab females come along in another few weeks, by and large the males will have settled their real estate disputes. They'll be ready to urge one or more females to make their territory home for a season.
* * *
The Red-wing Blackbird does not draw much attention from bird watchers except in March, when it is one of the earliest of the summer residents to return. (Cowbirds and grackles often accompany them.)
It is a successful and adaptable species. Except during our Vermont winters, there is no shortage. It is one of those birds that should make it onto the list of birds seen every day.
So common is the Red-wing Blackbird that it is easy to overlook its beauty - and its toughness. It is a scrappy bundle of feathers.
What the Red-wing's song lacks in musical quality to our ears, it makes up for in volume. Inevitably, it draws my attention. I am then treated to the accompanying territorial or nuptial display.
He holds the fore part of his wings well out from the shoulders. He spreads his shiny black tail. He bows his head and displays his bright red wing patches.
It is an impressive display; one might even say thrilling. And if I have that kind of reaction, imagine what it can do for a female blackbird!
Some males are so impressive that they attract two, three, or more mates, as many as 15 females comprising the harem of one very impressive (and busy!) male, making the species one of the most highly polygynous of all bird species.
The females get almost no help from the male in raising the kids. He is too busy defending his territory and ... well, you know.
Several factors explain why females choose to concentrate their nests in a single male's territory.
First, a good male has a good territory with plenty of food resources for the growing kids, and that means she can do the job without a lot of help from him. In theory, multiple nests provide “safety in numbers.” A vigilant male can also warn of predators and might even be able to intimidate predators.
Once the nuptials are concluded, the nondescript females seem to disappear into the confused tangle of the marsh, while the male stands guard. He is vigilant and fearless.
A passing crow will draw his attack, as will a Northern Harrier, a bittern, or an Osprey. Neighbors will join the fray, and the passing intruder will soon be mobbed by angry blackbirds.
* * *
On a misty, early morning, I once watched a Turkey Vulture laboriously take flight. It was all it could do to get airborne in the heavy atmosphere.
The struggling vulture, with its 5½-foot wingspan, was soon hurried along by 9 inches of black fury. The attacking Red-wing Blackbird pecked and prodded and harassed the backside of the hapless and probably harmless scavenger.
A few summers ago, I needed to confirm the breeding presence of the Red-wing Blackbird within my assigned area for the Vermont Breeding Bird Atlas project. There was no lack of blackbirds in the marshy fringes of the beaver pond, but I needed to find harder evidence.
So I cautiously ventured into the soggy grasses.
The slight change of angle enabled me to see a couple of nests: bulky open cups that were lashed to the reeds. But I quickly retreated.
I had taken only a few steps, but they were enough to send the Red-wings flying into hysteria. They fluttered overhead, heaping maledictions on my head. They raced from reed to reed to shrub, wailing at my intrusion into their domestic realm. Seldom have I felt less welcome.
I was a rather bumbling researcher in the Red-wing Blackbirds' marsh. The real threats - for which the sentinel males must stay on the alert - are predators.
The male's protective task is daunting, or he is not very good at it. Several studies have shown that about 40 percent of eggs and nestlings are lost to predators, most commonly raccoons, mink, and the Marsh Wren.
Yes, Marsh Wren, a bird about half the size of the Red-wing Blackbird. It punctures eggs and kills young, but not for food. The Marsh Wren, like the voluble backyard House Wren, does not easily tolerate a mixed-species neighborhood.
* * *
The female Red-wing Blackbird chooses her male guardian for the quality of his territory and his ability to warn of danger and drive off threats. Does that make her true and loyal to her guardian? Not at all.
Genetic studies have shown that she will mate with her male, the male from an adjoining territory, and a free-wheeling, unattached male. Anywhere from 25 to 50 percent of nestlings are sired by an “extra-pair male.”
This presents me with the opportunity to do all kinds of tsk-tsking and/or moralizing, which might be fun but would be irrelevant. The genetic diversity that the female gathers? It works.
Females that have extra-pair copulations hatch more nestlings and produce more fledglings than females that are “faithful” to their mates.
“Conk-a-reeee!” We might still have heavy, gray skies. Snowflakes might still fall. We might still have a winter storm to wait out.
But when you hear the Red-wing Blackbird gargle, you know that it is spring!
“Conk-a-reeee!” Good birding!