Part 14

Fred J. Pierce writes to me:

On my rambles over the rolling country of Buchanan County, Iowa, in the early spring, I usually hear the Bartramian sandpiper and see the small speck high in the sky that I know is his form. A damp, cloudy morning seems to be the preferred time for the bird’s sky circling, but it may be found frequently in the early morning, too. Cloudy days are the days which it enjoys most, it appears.

Edward S. Thomas tells me that he has seen it in Ohio as early as March 26, but that the average date of arrival is April 2. It is not recorded east of Cuba in the spring, but some birds migrate across from Yucatan to Cuba and Florida and then up the Atlantic coast. When this species bred more commonly in New England it used to arrive in April, but now it is very rare here.

Courtship.--The courtship flight song of the upland plover is well described in some notes sent to me by Fred J. Pierce, as follows:

The bird’s song is very interesting, but it is given little attention in books relating to ornithology. On still wings, these large birds circle slowly about, usually so high as to be mere specks in the sky, and give their shrill, penetrating whistle, which will carry nearly a mile, depending upon the wind and the altitude of the whistler. First there are a few notes sounding like water gurgling from a large bottle, then comes the loud whip-whee-ee-you, long drawn out and weirdly thrilling. When I first heard this strange cry I at once thought of some species of hawk as being the author of it, and I have known others to think the same thing. It is too loud and penetrating a cry to be attributed to one of the sandpipers. I have heard the bird whistling in this manner as late as July, but I do not believe that this is a common practice. On more than one occasion I have seen the bird, after circling at such height as to be almost out of sight, close its wings and shoot to earth like a falling stone. This thrilling performance is similar to that of the prairie horned lark, which takes a headfirst drop to earth when it has finished singing its contribution to the usual spring morning chorus.

Another pretty version of the courtship is given by Katharine U. Hunter (1916) thus:

It was the springtime (1916). The prolonged wail, vague and sad, of the plovers rose in our upland pasture. I watched them carry on their odd courtship; hopping toward each other, twittering, flying away, then repeating it all again, the hopping, twittering, and retreating. Ungainly, spirit-voiced birds! Once from out the black, vibrant night came the eerie, long-drawn whistle of a plover lover.

Nesting.--My first upland plover’s nest was found on May 25, 1900, near the western end of Marthas Vineyard, Mass. The birds were still fairly common here in those days and there were at least three pairs of them breeding in this and adjoining pastures. The nest was on a knoll in a sheep pasture where the grass had been cropped short except for scattered tufts, where it grew from 7 to 10 inches high, offering the necessary concealment. In one of these tufts, about a foot in diameter, a hollow had been scratched, 4 or 5 inches in diameter and nearly 3 inches deep; it was lined with small bits of dried grass and held four handsome eggs.

Since then I have found several nests in Saskatchewan. These nests were all similarly located on the dry, grassy prairies, slight hollows in the ground, about 4 inches in diameter and 2 inches deep, generally well hidden in rather long, thick grass; they were lined with pieces of dry grass, and the growing grass was artfully arched over them for protection. The birds usually sat very closely; once we drove over a nest, flushing the bird under the wagon; and several times we were able to part the grass over the nest or even touch the bird before she left. She usually ran or fluttered away for a few feet and then ran about near us, with her long neck stretched up above the grass, watching us and uttering her quip-ip-ip-ip notes of protest.

Nests found by others have been similarly described, but Prof. W. B. Barrows (1912) says that--

in Michigan, it frequently nests in wet grounds, although the nest itself is usually placed on one of the drier spots. We have seen the birds nesting in two instances in good snipe bogs where the mud was ankle deep and dry spots few and far between.

Prof. William Rowan (1926) says that in Alberta--

the nests found were very variable in make-up and situation. One had no lining whatever and consisted of a mere scrape in the ground. This was in a hollow right in the open on a huge sandy area with but sparse vegetation, on which long-billed curlews (Numenius americanus) were nesting. Others were in clumps of rough brush, and this is probably typical for this locality. Another was in long grass. The most elaborate lining noted consisted of leaves, bents, and small twigs. One clutch of five was found and one of three, the latter no doubt incomplete, as the bird was not about and the eggs were fresh.

Edward R. Ford has the following observation on the selection of a nesting site:

As in the case of the larger ground-nesting birds, whose nests have little architectural pretension, the upland plover often deposits the first egg before any nest-building operations have been begun. It is probable that the physiological condition of the female urges her to seek a location generally favorable to the successful rearing of a brood; but the exact site of the nest may be in some measure accidental. It is not often that one may be fortunate enough to come upon the kind of evidence best calculated to prove a theory of animal behavior, but it happened once that we found a single egg of the upland plover, unbetrayed by the presence of the parent and hidden deep in the grass. It might have been an egg prematurely laid and, therefore, not likely to receive further parental attention. If it had been a meadow lark’s egg, for example, that would have been the conclusion and the facts of experience would have borne it out. But here was the chance to test a theory and so, while not surprised, we were gratified, three days later, to flush a bird from the spot marked as the location of the single egg and to find there the full complement of four. About these the dry grass had taken hemispherical form and, with the addition of loose material and by reason of the impression made by the eggs themselves, as well as by the body of the parent, there now existed a well-defined if simple nest.

Eggs.--The upland plover lays four eggs, rarely five, and perhaps sometimes only three. These are ovate to short ovate in shape, less pointed than most shore birds’ eggs; and they have only a slight gloss. In the commonest types the ground colors vary from “light pinkish cinnamon” to “pale pinkish buff”; in others they vary from “cartridge buff” or “pale olive buff” to greenish white. They are more or less evenly spotted with small spots of various shades of dark browns or reddish browns, and usually with small underlying spots, rarely large blotches, of “ecru drab” or “pale drab gray.” The measurements of 66 eggs in the United States National Museum average 45 by 32.5 millimeters; the eggs showing the four extremes measure =51= by 33, 48 by =35=, =41.5= by 32.5, and 48 by =29.5= millimeters.

Young.--The incubation period is said to be 17 days, but this needs confirmation. Both sexes share in the duties of incubation and care of the young. Katharine U. Hunter (1916) says:

The birds relieved each other at the nest--a true division of domestic cares: one bird would alight at a long distance, fold his wings, utter no cry, and, with head held low, walk through the grass, squatting lower and lower till finally he disappeared on the nest; then the female would retreat with the same caution, not spreading her wings till far from the eggs.

Doctor Coues (1874) describes the behavior of young birds and their parents very well, as follows:

Young birds are abroad late in June--curious little creatures, timid and weak, led about by their anxious parents, solicitous for their welfare, and ready to engage in the most unequal contests in their behalf. When half grown, but still in the down, the little creatures have a curious clumsy, top-heavy look; their legs look disproportionately large, like those of a young colt or calf; and they may be caught with little difficulty, as they do not run very well. I once happened upon a brood, perhaps two weeks old, rambling with their mother over the prairie. She sounded the alarm, to scatter her brood, but not before I had secured one of them in my hand. I never saw a braver defense attempted than was made by this strong-hearted though powerless bird, who, after exhausting her artifices to draw me in pursuit of herself, by tumbling about as if desperately wounded, and lying panting with outstretched wings on the grass, gave up hope of saving her young in this way, and then almost attacked me, dashing close up and retreating again to renew her useless onslaught. She was evidently incited to unusual courage by the sight of her little one struggling in my hand. At this downy stage the young birds are white below, finely mottled with black, white, and rich brown above; the feet and under mandible are light colored; the upper mandible is blackish.

Although these tattlers are generally dispersed over the prairies during the summer, yet they affect particular spots by preference. Away from the river valleys, such spots are the numerous depressions of rolling prairie, often of great extent, which are moist or even watery at some seasons, and where the vegetation is most luxuriant. Here they gather almost into colonies. Riding into some such spot in July, when the young birds are being led about by their parents, some old bird more watchful than the rest, or nearest to the person approaching, gives the alarm with a loud outcry, the young scatter and hide, and all the old birds are soon on wing; hovering in the air, often at a great height, crossing each other’s path, and ceaselessly vociferating their displeasure. I have often seen a dozen or twenty overhead at once, all from a little spot only a few acres in extent. Later in the season, when all the summer’s broods are on wing, they make up into flocks, often of great extent, and old and young together assume the ordinary routine of their lives. They leave these northern regions early. I saw none after the forepart of September.

Plumages.--In the downy young upland plover, the crown, back, and rump are prettily variegated, marbled, or mottled, with black, “wood brown,” “pinkish buff,” and white, with no definite pattern. The sides of the head and the entire under parts are pale buff or buffy white, whitest on the belly and throat. A narrow, median frontal stripe and a few spots on the sides of the head are black.

The juvenal plumage is much like that of the summer adult, but it is much more buffy, especially about the head and neck, which are “cinnamon-buff” or “light ochraceous buff”; the crown is nearly solid brownish black, or with only a narrow, median, buffy line; the back and scapulars are brownish black with broad “cinnamon” edgings and with little or no definite barring on the scapulars; the lesser wing coverts are sepia with “cinnamon-buff” edgings, broader than in the adult; and the median coverts are sepia, broadly tipped, and notched with “cinnamon-buff” and with a subterminal spot or bar of dark sepia. This plumage is partially molted in August and September, producing the first winter plumage, which is like the adult, except that the juvenal flight feathers and most of the wing coverts are retained. At the first prenuptial molt young birds apparently become indistinguishable from adults.

Adults have a complete postnuptial molt, beginning with the body plumage in August and ending with the wings in December and January. Their prenuptial molt in spring involves nearly everything but the wings. The winter plumage is less buffy than the spring, more grayish above and whiter below, with paler edgings, but the color pattern is about the same.

Food.--The feeding habits of the upland plover are almost wholly beneficial. It is one of our most useful birds; living, as it does, in grass lands and cultivated fields, it destroys vast numbers of grasshoppers, locusts, and other injurious insects. W. L. McAtee (1912) writes:

From its habits the upland plover would naturally be expected to have a closer relation to agriculture than most sandpipers, and such proves to be the case. Almost half its food is made up of grasshoppers, crickets, and weevils, all of which exact heavy toll from cultivated crops. Among the weevils eaten are the cottonboll weevil; greater and lesser clover-leaf weevils; clover-root weevils; Epicaerus imbricatus, which is known to attack almost all garden and orchard crops; cowpea curculios; Tanymecus confertus, an enemy of sugar beets; Thecesternus humeralis, which has been known to injure grapevines; and bill bugs. Thecesternus alone composes 3.65 per cent of the seasonal food of the 163 stomachs examined, and bill bugs constitute 5.83 per cent. No fewer than 8 species of bill bugs were identified from the stomachs. These weevils injure, often seriously, such crops as corn, wheat, barley, and rye, as well as forage plants of many kinds. The upland plover further makes itself useful to the farmer by devouring leaf beetles, including the grapevine colaspis, southern corn leaf-beetle, and other injurious species; wireworms and their adult forms, the click beetles; white grubs and their parents, the May beetles; cutworms, army worms; cotton worms; cotton cutworms; sawfly larvae; and leather-jackets or cranefly larvae. They befriend cattle by eating horseflies and their larvae, and cattle ticks. They eat a variety of other animal forms, such as moths, ants, and other Hymenoptera, flies, bugs, centipedes and millipeds, spiders, snails, and earthworms. Practically 97 per cent of the food consists of animal matter, chiefly of injurious and neutral forms. The vegetable food comprises the seeds of such weed pests as buttonweed, foxtail grass, and sand spurs, and hence is also to the credit of the bird.

J. M. Bates (1907) says that, in Nebraska, “after the wheat is cut, and during migration, it frequents the wheat stubble and gorges itself with the waste grain.” He has also seen it in the rye stubble in Connecticut. But this does no harm, of course.

Behavior.--When traveling the upland plover’s flight is swift and strong, well sustained on its long, pointed wings; and when migrating, by day or by night, it flies at a great height. In the autumn it is wary and difficult to approach, as it jumps up at long range and flies rapidly away for a long distance. But in the spring its flight is quite different, more leisurely; it seems to drift along so high up in the sky as to be almost invisible; it might pass unnoticed, were it not for its flute like notes. Edwin Sandys (1904) has described this very well, as follows: