Ruby-crowned kinglets make a big sound
On June 27, 1833, legendary frontier ornithologist John James Audubon was deep in the wilds of Labrador. He and his party were seeking new birds in this poorly known region of northeastern Canada.
While traversing conifer-dotted boglands, Audubon heard a song unfamiliar to him. Spotting a tiny songster atop a fir tree, his son John raised his gun and fired.
Upon finding the victim — shotgun ornithology was then the norm — Audubon was surprised to see it was a “ruby crowned wren,” as the ruby-crowned kinglet was known at the time.
The bird whose melody “suddenly charmed my ear and raised my expectations” was actually well-known to Audubon. He just had not recognized the ruby-crowned kinglet’s complex rollicking song.
As an aside, ruby-crowned kinglets do commonly sing in spring migration and occasionally in winter. As Audubon was familiar with the bird on its wintering grounds and in migration, he surely had heard them before. But nearly three centuries ago, high-powered optics such as the binoculars we enjoy today were nonexistent. It was far harder for early ornithologists to study tiny songbirds, observe their behavior, and connect sounds to individual birds.
Audubon’s paintings of elfin songbirds such as this kinglet often look rather flat and wooden. He probably seldom saw them well until the shot specimen was in his hand. Such portraits stand in remarkable contrast to his lifelike, expressive works featuring large easily observed birds such as herons, raptors and waterfowl.
A ruby-crowned kinglet is a smidge over four inches long, and weighs but six grams. It’d take 15 of them to match the mass of a blue jay. What it lacks in size is more than compensated by a big personality.
The colorful part of its name stems from the bright-red patch of feathers on the male’s crown. These feathers are normally mostly concealed. A bird that is agitated will puff the crimson feathers to a remarkable degree. It appears as if the top of its head is aflame.
Kinglets are often fearless, curious and easily approached. They rage through the vegetation, wings and tail constantly aquiver, seeking the small insects that are their main fare. Rubycrowned kinglets don’t generally sing in winter, but regularly issue harsh jit-jit
calls.
Those calls led me to discover two kinglets this winter, including the bird in the accompanying photo. While rubycrowned kinglets are very common in Ohio in spring and fall migration, they mostly winter from southern Kentucky southward.
While once considered a rare winter bird in Ohio, ever-increasing numbers of ruby-crowned kinglets have been found over the past few decades. Several dozen have been reported statewide this winter. A few decades ago, a dozen or two kinglets would have been exceptional.
As mean winter temperatures increase, so will wintering kinglets. Slight increases in temperature mean more insect prey and better winter survivorship.
Come early April and continuing into May, kinglets from farther south will pour into Ohio. Then, they become easy to find and one is treated to the boisterous song that perplexed Audubon long ago in the wilderness of Labrador.
The kinglets are headed north to the great swath of boreal forest that blankets the northernmost U.S, and Canada. There, they will construct ornate cup nests high in the boughs of conifers. In a remarkable reproductive feat, a female can lay up to a dozen eggs.
This huge clutch of eggs can match her own body weight! And I can only imagine what a nest packed with 12 tiny kinglet chicks must look like. However, because of the often inaccessible nest locations high in dense conifers, very few people have seen ruby-crowned kinglet nests.
Naturalist Jim Mccormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first and third Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at www.jim mccormac.blogspot.com.