1011 Sspopiikimi - Today is the
annual Christmas Bird Count for Sikoohkotoki. Mahoney and I have volunteered to
cover the western riverbottom, from the pond all the way to Whoop Up Bridge.
The temperature's about twenty below and, starting off, everything seems pretty
quiet, but we'll see
1018 Hiking in, there are
plenty of signs of life... aapi'si tracks galore, and therefore presumably a
good number of subnivian rodents, though the snow pack is really shallow, and
we haven't spotted any little critter trails yet
Our first live encounters occur
before even reaching the ksisskstakioyis at mid-pond. First we hear, and then
spot, three niipomakiiksi scouring the deep bark fissures of the mature
a'siitsiksiistsi on the golf course. Then a single mamia'tsikimi wings toward
the north wood. And just when we think that's it for the moment, a female
omahkiitokii is flushed from the cutbank, gliding off toward the dense
chokecherries below the coyote playground
1024 As we approach south-pond,
a second mamia'tsikimi flies high overhead, this one heading toward the
neighborhoods above the coulee rim. At our feet, there have been more tracks.
Some of them belong to deer, probably the awatoyiiksi ('wag-tails' or white-tails)
who reside down here in the wet meadows and forest main. The others belong, I'm
fairly certain, to the western jumping mouse, and comprise a series of hops,
with feet parallel, and tail dragging all the way, leading between favored seed
plants like gumweed and wild licorice
1046 Reaching the wide south
pool, we're surprised to find absolutely no birds in the currant and bulberry
patch above the peninsula, nor in the brush leading up the coulee draw there.
It's unusual that these areas, which usually offer some of the best birding for
small passerines, should be absent of such life. The only ones here at the
moment are sikaaatsisttaiksi, and we stop briefly to greet one of them
Then we move to the owl wood,
spotting our third mamia'tsikimi flying high (again) just before we drop into
the trees. Like last winter, the owl wood is the most quiet of places. No
longer are the kakanottsstooki wintering here, nor the raccoons hibernating.
The only tracks we find were left by a single aapi'si. There is no hint even of
paahpakssksisiiki or simitsiiksi
1102 Passing under the high
level bridge, I'm aware there are kakkoyiiksi up on the highest beams, but I
can't hear them and will never see them either, unless a raven or eagle passes
to scare them up
So much of the river is open
that I'm concerned we might not find any waterfowl at all; they're usually easy
to pin down at the small, flowing crags of your average winter. But a little
ways down the trail, we see that a little ways ahead, at the bend before Whoop
Uo, the opposite shoreline is thick with aapsspinii, and that there are quite a
few kihtsipimiisa'aiksi diving in the river itself. Counting through the thick
steam coming off the water, I confirm at least a hundred and eighty-four geese,
while Mahoney gets a minimum of twenty-five goldeneyes
1130 A little further up the
trail, along the steep coulee slopes, we become surrounded by a small foraging
flock of common redpolls. I figure at least seventeen of them, but they are so
small and swift it's difficult to know. They're stopping off at several seed
plants, including prairie sunflower and wavy-leaved thistle. Most of the
efforts, however, are focused on Canada goldenrod. Their bills are caked with
the fluff from goldenrod seeds
From our position on the coulee
slope, we can see even more aapsspini upriver. I count another eighty-four.
Mahoney and are are splitting up at this point. She's going to head back to
Sspopiikimi and the forest main, to ensure her legs don't give out while she's
too distant from our vehicle. I'm continuing upstream
1159 I hike all the way to
Whoop Up, crossing paths with three more mamia'tsikimiiksi and lots of
omahkiitokii trails, but that's it. I'm going to explore the flats here a bit,
to see if I can flush anyone up
Meanwhile, Mahoney's messaging
me that she made it back to the river bench by the old garter snake
hibernaculum. Sitting down to rest there, a mamia'tsikimi approached for a
conversation. And in the distance, she's heard our first omahkai'sto of the day
1215 Hidden in the dense
chokecherry shrubbery of this flat I'm surveying is a very small and secluded
oxbow wetland, complete with cattails and bulrush hummocks. I walk across the
ice, looking for mi'sohpsski push-ups, hoping to find evidence that a few of
them are still getting around on the surface in this season. No luck. But I do
find another, rather distinct and fresh trail. It leads me to a hollow under a shoreline
pile of logs, a den no doubt originally carved out by a ksisskstaki, but presently
inhabited by the terrestrial equivalent, kai'skaahp. Laying down on the snow to
peer into the den, sure enough a thickly-haired, sloth-like face looks back out
at me. We inspect one another quietly for a few moments, then the porcupine turns
and moves deeper into the logs, beyond my vision
Mahoney is messaging me that,
while hiking down to the duck blind beside the wide south pool, back at
Sspopiikimi, she's come across two more mamia'tsikimi. And just as I'm
responding to her text, the clucking sound of an approaching pheasant can be heard.
It's a male, and he'd intended to land in the clearing formed by this small wetland
where I stand. But seeing me, he turns abrupt, and glides to a landing closer
to the Whoop Up Bridge
1238 Eventually, I make my way
to the Oldman River and begin slowly walking the ice downstream, back toward
the pond. Along the way, I attempt to photograph the kihtsipimiisa'aiksi.
They're behaving surprisingly calm today, perhaps owing to either their
numbers, the presence of so many geese, or the amount of open water. In any
case, I'll allowed to approach as close as feels safe on the ice. The
goldeneyes are using some of the same fishing strategies employed by the
pelicans in summer. A few of them will fly a short distance upstream, then
allow the currant to drift them over what I assume are the best fishing holes,
where they dive vigorously in pursuit of their prey. When they reach a certain
point, they repeat the process. Though they aren't working as closely together
as the pelicans do, it seems at least that same-gendered birds are somewhat
cooperative. At one point, I witness a female come too close to a male, which
prompts a violent chasing. When the female ultimately escapes, the male cranes
his head back onto his wings in display
Meanwhile, Mahoney is having
all kinds of encounters at the duck blind by south-pond, and texting me with
updates every few minutes. Apparently, a third magpie joined the other two in
keeping an eye on her. And this trio may have brought Mahoney to the attention
of others, because soon a female paahpakssksisi makes a close pass by her.
Mahoney decides to play the downy woodpecker's calls with her iPhone, and this
prompts an immediate return of the little bird, followed shortly by her mate.
The two of them inspect Mahoney carefully, the female from plain sight, the
male peeking frequently from behind one of the beams of the duck blind. Eventually,
they fly away again, but are then immediately replaced by a curious mi'kaniki'soyi.
And while Mahoney turns her attention to this flicker, a second raven can be
heard calling overhead
I can't hear the raven from my
position on the river, and I receive the play-by-play texts. I do, however,
hear another mamia'tsikimi calling regularly from a nearby cottonwood
1300 As I put my camera away
and start seriously hiking back, a cluster of aapsspini breaks off from one of
the upstream groups and drifts along beside me, eventually joining the
northernmost flock. Along with them come several goldeneyes, who obviously want
to keep near the geese. I figure the latter offer safety in several respects.
First of all, the geese are more conspicuous, and it's likely their main predators
at the moment - eagles and coyotes - would focus on the larger, more obvious
birds. Secondly though, so long as the aapsspini are near, the goldeneyes have
many sentries to look-out for predators while they themselves are busy diving underwater
I ponder these relationships as
I continue moving, soon passing back under the high-level bridge. Another
magpie passes by. And somewhere ahead, in the forest main, Mahoney has come
across the kai'skaahp we call Peekaboo
1335 Mahoney's sighting of our
old porcupine friend is the last I hear from her. Even though warmed in my
pocket, my phone has finally succumbed to the freeze and died
With communications cut-off, I
hustle back toward our jeep. Soon, I too pass Peekaboo. He's asleep in the
canopy of one of the large poplars of the forest main. As I came to the
clearing at the north end of the forest, where the cutbank overlooks the big
island on the Oldman, another male pheasant is flushed from the grass. I stop
briefly at the cutbank to count goldeneyes on this downstream section of the
river. There are nine who I can see, and no geese to accompany or protect them
From there, I round north-pond
and quickly arrive at the parking lot, where I find Mahoney observing a group
of ten niipomakiiksi, who are scouring the bark of a small cottonwood. These
chickadees are the last we add to our contribution toward today's bird count.
In total, our numbers are as follows:
Niipomakii (Black-Capped Chickadee) 13
Mamia'tsikimi (Black-Billed Magpie) 12
Omahkiitokii (Ring-Necked Pheasant) 3
Aapsspini (Canada Goose) 268
Kihtsipimiisa'ai (Common Goldeneye) 34
? (Common Redpoll) 17
Omahkai'sto (Common Raven) 2
Paahpakssksisi (Downy Woodpecker) 2
Mi'kaniki'soyi (Northern Flicker) 1
Aapi'si (Coyote) T
Awatoyi (Whitetail Deer) T
? (Western Jumping Mouse) T
Sikaaatsisttaa (Mountain Cottontail) 1
Kai'skaahp (Porcupine) 2
