Black-Capped Chickadee
I stepped through the trees off the path, trying to move quietly through the ferns and across the ivy-covered ground, but my legs were shaking a little bit, my heart was pounding and my breath quick. It was often like that. Even though I was starting to get used to the experience, the possibility of a bird in the hand always gave me a bit of a thrill.
It was a rainy March morning on the University of Washington campus, and I was helping to capture song birds as part of an ongoing research project in the College of Forestry. Six mist-nets were scattered throughout our on-campus study plot, a small patch of woods across from the Forestry buildings. We had to move quickly, in order to minimize the time each net was left unattended – it is poor practice to leave a bird in a net for very long, especially in the rain – but we also tried hard not to move in a way that would startle any captured birds, not wanting to increase their stress further or cause them to struggle in a way that would entangle them further in the fine threads of the net.
I rounded a clump of maples towards the net and there in the middle was a tiny bedraggled clump of feathers. The Black- capped Chickadee eyed me steadily as I approached. It didn’t struggle, and it was very wet. Before removing the bird from the net I called the lead researcher and suggested that we take down the rest of the nets – the rain was coming down harder and given the weather I didn’t want to get into a situation of birds in multiple nets that could result in us leaving them waiting and cold.
My fingers trembled with cold and nervousness as I gently unwrapped the squares of netting from around toes and feathers. It was not badly tangled, and soon I had it cupped in my hand, head held firmly between my index and middle finger, with the rest of my fingers supporting it’s legs and belly. I quickly blew apart the belly feathers to reveal a bare and heavily vascularized patch of skin, identifying this as a breeding female, and then put her under my shirt against my own skin to warm her.
The Black-capped Chickadee is a small songbird, weighing around 1/2 an ounce. They frequent bird feeders in urban and suburban environments, but can also be found in wilder habitats. Although in some ways they seem well-adapted to living around people, like many songbirds they are negatively impacted by the habitat fragmentation that goes along with human development. They are cavity nesters, so their broods are safer from predators like crows, cats, and rats than those of many songbirds, but their nests may be usurped by starlings or house sparrows.
A Black-capped Chickadee can be identified by their jaunty black cap and throat patch, accentuated by a wide band of white from just below the eye to the sides of the throat. The back, wings, and tail are gray, and the sides are buff fading into a white breast and belly. The song is a whistled fee-bee, or dee-dee-dee, sometimes on the same note, sometimes on two different notes. The call is a hoarser chick-a-dee or chick-a-dee-dee.-dee. Aside from sunflower seeds and suet at bird-feeding stations, the Black-capped Chickadee can be seen foraging on insects, spiders, seeds, berries, and a variety of other foods. For some photographs and description of chickadee feeding sign, see Mark Elbroch’s Bird Tracks & Sign.
The tiny Black-capped Chickadee warmed in my hands against my belly, and watched us keenly as we attached one numbered metal and three plastic colored bands to her legs. With these accessories we would be able to identify her visually without recapturing her, and if she were captured again in the future in a different location or by a different research project, the numbered metal band would provide access to information about her life that would otherwise be impossible to guess at.
As we finished taking her measurements and scribbling numbers in our Rite-in-the-Rain notebooks, the little black and white and gray bird perched on my hand, feathers fluffed against the weather. As we closed our notebooks and prepared to pack up our tools, she lifted off, flitting into a cedar tree over our heads. Chick-a-dee-dee-dee.
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