The Weekly Raven

one giant raven step

2011-04-19T17:29:00.000-07:00

I began to write this two days ago as the El Moro Runt (the late Runt below), the fourth and only one left in the nest, contemplated flight. Sadly, this morning, I found him dead in the sand. Did he fall flying or was he prey to a greater power and/or hunger? His three siblings sat quietly on the cliff, looking seaward.

Further south, the Inklings have at last come off the nest at times, indicating successful incubation, I believe. Edgar Allen prowls the cliffs for food as well as for protection of his mate, Lenore, and his progeny.

The Grogs appear so carefree, flying out and about together and without any apparent demands for food, that I am almost convinced that they are nest-free now. Their abandoned nest drops its walls with the wind, twig by twig, and to the cacophony of saws and tree trimming. The liberated Grogs give no indication of having established a new post.

Raven Redux

2011-03-29T13:36:00.000-07:00

The triumphant Moros scour the bush for bread to feed three big babies feathered in black. I thought I saw a diminished fourth in the back of the nest but am uncertain. Often the parents fly straight past the white crusty beaks begging for supper. They are intent about their business.

The frazzled Inklings (see damp Edgar Allen Inkling to left) have retaken an old nesting spot on the cliff where they were at home in years past. Their rival Jets are so consumed with life in the palm tree, that they appear to have taken little notice and no threatening actions.

The Grogs are acting enigmatically. Sunshine no longer sits in the eucalyptus tree nest and there is no evident life about it. Grog is not guarding there. Have they moved because of the troublesome building distractions? Arthur Conan Grog is giving nothing away yet (Mr.Cool in photo on top).

Before the rains

2011-03-23T21:58:00.000-07:00

The poor Inklings have been washed out again. This was their home before the rains. What will they do now? Which way to turn? It's forever starting over, again and again and again...

Meanwhile, further north, three Moro babes showed their beaks. The Moro family is a raven's pace ahead. El and Ella Moro scrounge the coast for tasty tidbits for their hungry young.

A.C.Grog coasts along the sands in a more leisurely fashion as his mate, Sunshine, is stuck incubating the nest. Occasionally, he flies in with a morsel to keep her content. Otherwise, this is deep breath time before new demanding beaks begin to call.

Raven Families Update 2011

2011-03-02T16:50:00.000-08:00

Faithful Grog is guarding his nest and feeding his Sunshine who sits impatiently. She was happily gallivanting through the air and around the beach only last week. Now she is stuck in that old necessity of creation. The Grog couple are at home in the eucalyptus tree still left standing after their previous tree home was chopped without notice in 2009. There is busy building around and beneath them but A.C.Grog keeps his beak up, more concerned about potential trouble from the air.

Hidden Grog Home (photo)

The Moros are also at nest. Ella Moro rarely ventures off from her edgy cliff-face home, cleverly camouflaged in shadow. Her views of the Pacific are second to none but perhaps she can be blase, having lived there many a year. She keeps her head mostly down, focusing her warmth and trusting in the aerial ingenuity of her mate, the El Moro, to take care of 'out there'.

El Moro flying on his back (photo)

The Inklings appear to have taken over Pip

territory, having built a nest in the runoff pipe

only to have it washed away in last week's rain. Today, I saw it was rebuilt in the same place. Let's hope the predicted storm does not wreck their work.

The Jets remain in their palm tree, although they venture further into the beach area, seeming to claim a narrow stretch between Moro territory and old Inkling ground as their own. In rather aggressive fashion, they are staking the air further and further south, pushing the Inklings closer to the border and cousin chihuahua ravens. The Pips appear nowhere in sight.

The family furthest north, north of Grog territory, I failed to mention before. I call them the Smuts. Gus and Elise are magnificent raven specimens. They have lived for years in a palm tree with the flat top of the grand arches leading up Coast drive as their front porch.

Returned to Earth: 2011

2011-02-26T09:27:00.000-08:00

Two years later and we're back together. The ravens stayed. The ravens remember. I have landed once again in their territory.

Territory is their preoccupation as nesting is soon to begin. The Grogs and Moros are in fine fettle as are the other pairs.

Although I stay a bit further away, I hope to catch still the raven's ear.

The Last Post

2009-07-03T01:00:00.000-07:00

Nesting Sun

Pelican conductors: "Sing!"

Scout, Grog #6

1 of 3 Inkling fledglings

Grog & Sunshine*

5 of the 6 Grog Gang

The young Inklings are out. As they study from the cliff the bush and bees, skywaves of pelicans spot them and jot them down--three new notes to their make-shift, wing-bearing song. The raven fledglings watch the pelicans drift, dipping to the Pacific, adding wave-crash and gull-screech as chorus to the graceful order of their line which reminds these corvid half-notes that they, too, can fly and up they go, following their parents, Edgar Allan Inkling and Lenore.

The Grog Six have not only survived but are a force of nature. They own the cove by working together. They can de-snack a seagull, one or two distracting it, pulling a tail while another jumps in for the dropped morsel or use their numbers to intimidate the young Moro even though he is larger. They are quick, sharp and endearing.

The Grog Six are also competitive with each other, a good survival tactic. They remain in some proximity to their parents who appear to be in the last phase of kid control--still providing food, following the trail of inept caching and gobbling up the precious wasted bits, flying in quickly to break up fights, raising the alarm to danger and frequent scolding before simply looking on, shocked feathers raised but silent.

The three Moros, on the other hand, form a perfect triangle. Only the exuberance of their flight occasionally shifts their form, loyal and devoted. The Pips and Jets hunt the hills as much as the beach and join in the greater society of ravens living landward.

Now that nests are abandoned, there is nothing to contain these ravens. Lifting with the breeze or of their own volition, against cloud, surf or vast sea, these black stars fold the blue sky under their wings. Grog tucks his Sunshine*. Night is come. "Prepare to climb unto the stars."

Photos through generosity of Diana @ravendiairies.com. Thank you!

The Last Nestlings

2009-06-22T08:36:00.000-07:00

"Out with the new and in with the old"-E.A. Inkling

*The Last Nest

"I know everything now."

"Not listening anymore, old Grog."

Now that I am away for a week, I expect the three little Inklings will fledge before I return. I imagine they will venture forth, first climbing out of their nest to explore the bushy cliff above them before any serious flights. The three are fairly well feathered out but with big white-lined beaks still.

Before I left, I watched the big greedy nestling in front testing his wings. Soon they will not be mere vans to beat the air. The third nestling seems always stuck behind or beneath the other two. They are growing so rapidly now that the parents have to feed them from the edge or outside the nest.*

The young Grogs act like they've been out and about for years, flying with supreme confidence, engulfing a parent's beak with their own before a gesture of food can be made, demanding yet endearing too. One little Grog kept creeping closer to me as I sat on a log, curious I think of what I might be made of, yet just resisting an urge to peck me to see. Like his parents, we too seem to respect the line between us.

There is a calm in the Grog family with some of the parent's irritation in abeyance. Perhaps it is a lull before the inevitable separation, a time of mutual enjoyment. The parents appear proud if not sometimes dumbfounded by the power and precociousness of their young while the young happily revert to their childhood privilege of parental preening. With Grog working on one wing and Sunshine the other, a young Grog's soft cooing and fluffed feathers exude pure bliss.

Everyday, I expect to see less than six Grog offspring yet so far, the six remain in home territory. No one seems to know what becomes of young ravens. Like most birds, their survival rate is speculated to be low. As I think of the three new Inklings coming out in all their youthful trust and curiosity, I am remanded to the newly old, the raven parents, those songbirds--'singing-masters of my soul'.

Air Chief Marshal Grog

2009-06-15T15:17:00.001-07:00

aka Sunshine

*"Come fly with me..."

Sunshine, on a mission...

"Hmmm should we join #6?"

#6: "Here I come, Hawk!"

The Grog young are ranging far and wide now. I happened to meet all six of them when I was walking up the hill over the weekend. Their parents appear to be familiarizing them with the far corners of Grog territory (Is this in preparation for their 'final' launch?).

As we nodded greetings, a neighboring raven (whom we'll call Ace) as yet unmentioned by me, took a post-stance above us all. The resourceful Sunshine, Mother of the Skies, flew straight up to challenge the great hulk from due north. She not only managed to send him flying after a hair-raising, knocking display but then joined him in seductive flight as they twisted and turned, wings in perfect time.*

This distraction allowed her six young to eat road-kill rabbit (provided by Grog) at their ease without any swiping attacks from the great Ace, something he is known for. A.C. Grog looked both ways with admiration, to his indomitable mate on high and to his long line of progeny, the Grog guard.

With so many Grogs, I can only hope that their strength in numbers doesn't give them false security. Soon after this, one of the six took off in pursuit of a circling Cooper's hawk. He chased and chased and chased it, only occasionally joined by less enthusiastic siblings.

The next time I looked up, the hawk with wings tucked for speed was racing furiously after Sunshine (Was she taking the brunt of the hawk's annoyance with her child?). After this chase had gone some distance, Sunshine ducked left, coming back up behind the hawk. Now Air Chief Marshal Grog was chasing him.

Photos courtesy and generosity of Diana@theravendiaries.com

Don Juan del Moro

2009-06-12T10:04:00.000-07:00

Don Juan?

A feather-eared maiden--nevermore?

The young Moro, the eldest of the ravens born at the beach this year (I think he must be about two and a half to three months old), is turning into a handsome fellow. Instead of his mother, "looking [at him] a lecture," she rather seems dazed by his beauty.

Instead of scolding when he made a foolish cache that was quickly scarfed by a seagull, she seemed glued to her rock-perch, admiring the unscarred sleekness of his outspread wings as he jumped and the rise of his finely developed beak in outrage. El Moro Padre meanwhile made it a rule to follow the trail of his son's dinner, refusing to allow any edible speck to go to waste, that seagull theft being the exception. I have watched him gather his son's caches and re-cache them himself in less discoverable spots. The Grogs also keep a good watch on their young's caching, playing the devil's advocate if not just enjoying a morsel themselves.

Also, I have noticed the ravens crunching tiny bits of seashells. I imagine there is something in them to compensate a lack in their diet. When I saw El Moro land on a brittle bush with flimsy looking branches, I was reminded of their lightweight and hollow bones (the average adult raven weighs about two and a half pounds) despite their largeness among birds. His son even joined him there to beg for food. Raven parents appear completely unselfish in their feeding.

The Inkling mother is looking haggard with the constant care of her nestlings. She has a near-bald band above her eyes which gives her an exaggerated air of care. Yet, when she makes "ears" to assert herself by depressing most of her headfeathers except tufts above and behind the eyes, Lenore's definitely stand out (not enough to get her to a head-dresser because to Edgar Allan Inkling she is a radiant maiden evermore).

RAF

2009-06-09T10:45:00.000-07:00

Raven Air Force

"agile, adaptable & capable"

"Trust me, Moro, I'm a nice guy."

--Scout

Yesterday, as I was catching up with the El Moros, I looked up and there flew the RAF, the Raven Air Force. Was this a reconnaissance of El Moro territory or perhaps an attempt to recruit new wings? Whatever the intention, the result was some daredevil flying before any thoughts of returning to base.

What I love about the young Grogs, young ravens altogether, is that curiosity which I have written about before. They can't pass a rock without looking beneath it or pass a stick without trying it out for size. The just can't keep to themselves but must test that crab, chase that squirrel or taste that bee. As I have noted, no boundaries seem to stop them, their world is still growing--unconfined.

Today, after the squadron dispersed, one young Grog stayed behind much to the annoyance of the El Moros. This Grog--Scout, I think--is smaller than young Moro but seemed determined to get to know him despite the Moro parent's discouragement. The two young made several short test flights together before landing. Scout hopped among the rocks and sand, pulling kelp and studying rock shadows, trying to engage the Moro in a bit of fun. The Moro parents stayed close, occasionally flying at Scout which fazed him not. Young Moro himself, made some tentative playful gestures but often returned to Madre Moro for approval.

Both the Grog and El Moro young are still being fed by their parents. The control is still at the top. Yet, the Grog squadron is definitely asserting some independence. I have heard the parent's call only to be ignored by some. This Scout was a point in fact. I could see (through my binos) his parents about a mile north, sitting on a post, no doubt wondering if he was coming back or had joined the enemy or was Scout on a secret Grog mission?

Nest update: Only the Inklings have nestlings now. So far I have seen three.

Photos through the kindness of Diana @theravendiaries.com

Runt or SuperRaven

2009-06-05T18:30:00.000-07:00

"Where's the nearest phonebooth?"

"My hero, my dad--Grog"

The runt of the Grogs has a special place in his father's affections. While the other five are precocious and inquisitive, pushing each other off cliffs and tantalizing each other with the preciousness and desirability of some newly discovered stick or string of kelp, the runt sits alone.

He favors his parent's company to his rowdy siblings, seeming to relish calm moments of repose next to them. Yesterday, he and his parents were each on a post leading down to the beach. Some people walked by frightening the runt who flew to the cliff edge. After a few moments, Grog left Sunshine's side to join him, placing himself between his favorite and the ledge. The two sat side by side in obvious contentment.

I noticed their closeness again today. Unlike his siblings, I haven't noticed the runt begging loudly for food. Rather he appears to be in his own world perhaps dreaming of being SuperRaven. He and Grog both take evident pleasure in their mutual proximity. When Grog returned to their perch after feeding a noisy kid, the runt turned himself around to position himself just like his dad. Grog looked at him as if in approval, barely resisting the urge to preen him. Instead, they held their heads identically, nobly looking forward while Sunshine scrambled around the other five.

Tonight when the parents decided it was roosting-time, they let out strong calls and flew down the beach toward the old nesting area. Four Grogs followed immediately; the fifth flew over to the runt's perch and gave him a peck before taking off in pursuit of the rest of the family. The runt only looked on, thinking his own thoughts. A good ten minutes later, he seemed to wake up and notice no one was about. He gave a croaky call and flew unhurriedly in much the same direction as the rest, doing several zigzags cleverly escaping the likes of Lex Luther. "It's a bird, it's a plane, no, it's SuperRaven!"

Air Lines?

2009-06-03T15:30:00.000-07:00

The Lines of Oblivion

"Stay safe with me, nino."

"Let's hit the air."

I had been awaiting with great expectation the meeting of the Grog Six with Moro Uno. Yesterday, as I was running along the beach from the south, reversing my usual direction, I stopped dead in the sand of El Moro territory. There was the Grog clan making themselves at home, having crossed the El Moro Line.

Oblivious to any boundaries, the Grog Six explored different rocks and pulled the poisonous white trumpets of jimson weed before flying close to the El Moros to inspect them. The El Moro parents like the Grog pair were alarmed and alert with feathers stretched to the skies, hopping war dances around each other. The young Moro appeared curious, then confused, then adopted the aggressive stance of his parents. The Grog Six remained unfazed.

Madre Moro flew south and her son obediently followed. El Moro took a parting jab in flight at a young Grog and his parents before rejoining his family. All the Grogs then relaxed but the El Moros were only regrouping. The three flew back into the fray. Sunshine Grog, fiercely protective of her six, challenged Ella Moro. They locked claws in circles in the air. If this combative display was meant to be instructional to their young, they didn't seem to notice.

Today, I hoped for peaceful play. I ran my usual route from north to south and the Grogs followed. The young raced ahead and joined Moro Uno in fabulous flights. There seem to be no borders acknowledged or lines drawn by the young. The cranky adults made a showy pretense of dominance while their young, nearly as big and strong as the parents, conquered the air with congeniality, brushing the blue sky with their wingbeats.

Other raven update: Two Pipsqueaks, noticeably smaller than the three Jet young, out of the nest; two pink Inklings evident in nest with likelihood of more; the three Jumbo Jets, full and richly feathered appear to prefer their palm tree to airy pastures new.

Just an Inkling

2009-05-31T13:36:00.000-07:00

E.A. Inkling

More than an inkling--one is inside

Summer seems scarcely coming as a stolid gray bank of clouds has claimed the horizon for weeks--June gloom as it's known around here. The waves fail to crash but draw themselves in and out listlessly. The bright bush sunflowers and mustard have dissolved into brittle postmodern sculptures. Yet, the migrating orioles call their sunny staccatos from branch to branch, the common yellowthroat reveals his black mask from behind the leaves and young ravens stir the wind with the flick of their fresh tails at the dull air. The Grog Six appear to revel in wonder at their new world, even forcing the seagulls to take note by pulling their tails.

Further along the beach from a promontory, I watched the solitary young Moro hold his alert gaze out to sea as a string of brown pelicans surged north.* He then looked down to the orange-red bills of the black oystercatchers scouring the rocks for barnacles. As his parents landed below him, he scratched his head and got back to work hammering his cliff art, sending rocks right and left and one right onto his mother's head. She shook it off gamely while the silent Moor only looked on.

In the next stretch of beach, high in the cliff, I finally got an Inkling. At last I saw an Inkling nestling, only one. It is not feathered out yet, tiny. I would guess that it is about a week old as all I could see was a naked pink head and beak, edged white. Edgar Allan Inkling seemed busy collecting mutes for disposal so perhaps there is more than one nestling. Mother Lenore, after feeding her little one, settled gently into the nest for further incubation.

Across the road, I believe the Jumbo Jets did take off yesterday in flight training. I couldn't see them in or around their nest. This morning the three were striking even against the palm shadows with their lush coats of sable giving them an air of rich contentedness as they awaited breakfast-in-nest. And the shy Pips still keep good guard with each parent on either side of the cliff jutting out from their precious pipe family of two babes, as far as I can see. An inkling of a raven could "beguile any sad soul to smile."

Son of Grog (and others)

2009-05-27T09:25:00.000-07:00

Jet

Edgar Allan Inkling

(son of Grog)

Pip

I mentioned in one of my posts, a raven pair to the south of the El Moros--the Inklings. The Inklings have carved out a bit of beach territory between two reef points, fighting off the El Moros to the north and another pair to the south, the Pips, who have nested in a pipe coming out of the cliff (fortunately, it hardly rains here). Just a long stone's throw behind them is a another pair, the Jets, who have nested in a palm tree just across the road from the beach.

Edgar Allan Inkling is a familiar character. I feel certain that he is a son of Grog. He has never been afraid of me and so I can only assume that he remembers me from his youth in Grogland. For a mature raven, he is garrulous and utterly confident. He'll land right beside me without raising a feather. His father, whom I have known longer, is much more cautious. He has a right fork in his tail at present. The Inklings' nestlings appear to be the least developed of these three southern pairs. The mother seems to be still incubating baby Inklings.

Down the beach from Edgar Allan Inkling is Mr. Pip who has a left fork in his tail, a bigger air gap than Edgar's. The Pips nesting in the large pipe are shy and wary of people. I have seen at least two nestlings whom I would guess might be about three weeks old.

In the palm tree across the road are the Jets. Both parents are a deep black without a feather missing, gorgeous. I have been watching the nest and yesterday saw heaps of sable feathers. Both parents were out so I concluded that featherbed had to be babies.

It has been difficult to see into their nest and so only yesterday was I able to confirm that there were young ravens. Imagine my surprise when today, I saw Jumbo Jets. I think the three Jet young I saw this morning were looking for a runway, ready for take-off.

Jabberwocky

2009-05-26T11:08:00.000-07:00

The Jubjub crooning

The Grog Six

"Not that nonsense again!"

This morning the Grog Six (yes, happily there are still six) flew spectacularly, I thought. As the swallows dove in and out of the air, the Grogs seemed to take note and do it one better. Could there be a special providence in the flight of a swallow? Not for insects, but perhaps for ravens. Of course, the ravens weren't catching breakfast in flight, they were too busy chattering, chopping and changing direction.

Many times I have listened in wonder to the conversation between ravens high in flight as they replicate moves and compose patterns together. How could they fly so elegantly while carrying on a discourse? What are they saying? "I want to take you higher"? This morning I witnessed the rougher version--the young Grog's clappers going a mile a minute at each other as they jerked right and left, wiggling their tails, chased by a black phoebe.

Several of the young landed in the sand, one on a nearby rock to practice her monologue with such an appreciative audience as me. She clacked, jabbered, prated and sang, her rosy red mouth wide-open and inexhaustibly answering herself. This gifted gabbler has the identical profile to her mother, Sunshine, with a flatter head and beak than the others (or maybe she will get a bigger head as she grows).

The El Moros are very quiet by comparison as if the solitary young Moor is keeping his thoughts to himself. Without the jabbing, daring and volubility of siblings around him, his sounds may lack their range and variety. Yet, that may change when he begins the social rounds.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!"

*Click on to enlarge

Birds do it

2009-05-22T15:50:00.000-07:00

The Call

"He's got that look in his eye."

"What's up?"

Exploration

I was relaxing on a piece of driftwood, with five of the Grog Six picking around in the cliff above me and their parents taking a break next to me. After some mutual admiration, A.C. Grog let off a loud, deep call, a warning or admonition, I thought, to a recalcitrant young one, perhaps the one on the sands with us. I had noticed no raven infraction. We all came to attention, Sunshine particularly. She then proceeded to jump upon Grog's back, making love motions.

I was more than surprised, wondering if I had misidentified their sexes all along. After a minute, he slightly pushed her off and then hopped atop her, proceeding with what I can only assume was the real thing. The young Grog on the sand looked agog, much like myself. Was this a lesson for him or just a pleasurable extension of the parent's break?

The raven young do learn by example, not only in their flying but in their examination of the world around them. The parents show them the value in picking up rocks, sticks, shells, leaves as sometimes there are uncovered creatures to eat. A young raven's curiosity is boundless and only with age and experience, more fearful.

Although the young's flying has improved, their landings could still use some finesse. Both the Grog and El Moro parents have shown understandable irritation at being landed upon or crashed into. Kek-kek calls of agitation, head feathers raised in annoyance, followed by putting distance between themselves and their young seems to be on the rise. As the young's mobility increases, they press their presence upon their parents by following them and calling to them, begging them for food. Consequently, the parents seem to be slightly oppressed.

On the other hand, the young Moro is still being spoiled like an only child with his mother grooming and preening him, not to mention frequent beak kisses. The Moor looks proudly on, ready "to die upon a kiss."

Photos through the kindness of Diana @theravendiaries.com

Sea-Wings

2009-05-20T10:55:00.000-07:00

The Sunshine Queen

in the lead

The air she flew in was like a burnished throne. Sunshine, gliding with regal wings wide and still, led her six devoted young, their wings beating with love to follow faster. Her royal beak burned the air blue.

And then she turned. The formation broke into individual acrobats afire. I have never seen such twists and turns, biting the air and goading each other. One young Grog flew as if he had ants in his pinions, head flicking round right and left, wings and tail in aerial convolutions--truly extraordinary. It was if he was discovering every possible bodily contortion he might form in flight or how he might use the air thus.

If it took the Grogs awhile to get airborne, it is the air itself now gone vacant to gaze upon the wings of the Grogs, "making a gap in nature".

The Grisly Grogs

2009-05-18T09:17:00.000-07:00

In Sync

*Grog youth: "Don't look to me for answers."

Grisly Grogs

While the Grog Six were resting (three in a magnolia tree and of the other three, two were asleep, top to tail on a telephone post with the last one just next to them on the wire), the parents took a flight down the beach. There they met El Moro in no bird's land and so feathers came up along with a lot of strutting around. Ella Moro remained a short distance away on a rock, keeping a close eye on her young one.

To my horror, the three got into a fight with one raven on his back in the sand (I assume it was El Moro) while the other two attacked, wings all over the place. I ran over to break it up just as Ella Moro and even the young Moro flew to help, calling all the while. The Grisly Grogs flew back north and the El Moros returned south. It had not been a happy sight, yet I was impressed by the young Moro's unhesitating advance into the fray to defend his father. He obviously is not a featherweight.

Recently, I had been lucky to witness a flying lesson by El Moro. The father led, executing swift turns while the young Moro missed not a beat, following his father's moves perfectly. They flew together--right, left, up, down--inches apart in exact synchronization.

Yesterday, I saw another synchronized flight of two ravens. While her mate, A.C. Grog, watched graciously from a post, Sunshine Grog air-waltzed with a neighboring raven. Why the good-breeding Grogs yesterday and the beastly ones today?*

Where do the Grogs go at night?

2009-05-13T13:00:00.000-07:00

Rolling

& below, Five having Fun

while elsewhere...

was Six, the clever Cacher

Last night, I went late to Grog territory to see if the sextuplets returned to the nest at night. At eight o'clock sharp, the parents who had been sitting by me, gave a sharp call and flew around their area. I had thought they might call them back to the nest. Instead, the six all settled down to sleep on a branch in the sycamore tree. Three rested close together, another on a branch below them and the other two on a separate branch on the other side of the tree.

As the sky darkened, I lost track of the parents. A hooded oriole made his grated clicking sounds and the sprightly phoebe with his young nowhere in sight, was still fishing the air. The woodpecker I had seen in the morning made no drumming sounds to give himself away. The hummingbirds continued to drink the sweet nasturtiums that paled in the moonlight while the melancholy cry of the owl fortunately was unheard.

The Grogfather

2009-05-12T11:35:00.000-07:00

Moro mother and child

Young Grog with an itch

The Grog young seem to be fascinated by sticks amongst everything else. They play tug-of-war, push them into the air (and no, sticks don't fly). There is speculation that ravens use sticks as tools. Mature ravens are definitely adept at finding a stick's center to balance it to fly off with it. This morning as I watched young El Moro using his beak to hammer a hole in the cliff, I wondered if a raven has ever considered a stick also as a weapon, an extension of his beak.

Once on the beach not long ago, the Grogs were flying south as I was running. The El Moros came up to challenge the Grogs approach to their territory. I sat down to watch and the Grogs flew over to me and began pulling sticks off the beach and out of the cliff. They both were doing this in a seemingly furious manner. They had not done a feathered prestige display to the El Moros, but this stick gathering appeared ominous. Was this their power display? Once I got up to continue running, the tension seemed to dissipate and they flew back to their territory. Now that the Grog young have fledged, I can only assume that Grog's current interest in sticks is for nest repair or perhaps to teach the young their use.

Often he and Sunshine call out in youthful, high voices, sounding like young ravens. When I hear them, I wonder if they are coaxing their young from a morning lie-in? (Others are about, shouldn't we get flying?) Other times, the parents make sharp retorts. A fledgling's clumsy landing practically on top of her brought Sunshine's feathers up in annoyance. With an angry quork, she flew off. The El Moros are not as vocal around me as the Grogs.

The El Moro youth is flying with increasing competence. Whereas most of the Grogs are still just trying to get from tree to tree without crashing, young El Moro is already practicing turns in the air, using his tail to change direction.

This morning the Grogs had a lesson in extracting squirrel flesh. With his young surrounding him in fascination and hunger, the Grogfather used his claws to hold down and his beak to expertly skin his catch. As he pulled out meat, he fed his dependents. One adventurer managed to procure a great piece of squirrel and jumped to the ground to cache it, caching being another of their lessons. This proud young Grog couldn't believe his luck as he returned to his cache continually, inspecting new possible locations, then eating bits and reburying others, unbeknownst to his five siblings.

All photos courtesy of theravendiaries.com with gratitude. (click on to enlarge)

Now there are SIX

2009-05-07T18:25:00.000-07:00

Help

Grog to the rescue

This afternoon I went to see how the Grogs were faring. Well, to my great surprise there were six! I suppose one must have been hidden in the nest from my counting eyes. Now they are all out. The last three to leave the nest (but not far from it) were sitting together on a eucalyptus branch, basking in the sun. In my three hours of observing them, they did not even exercise their wings but stuck together resting. Then the lowest slid down the branch and so the other two followed. Eventually two of them were situated in the crook of the tree. After a while, the highest one climbed back up and so the other two followed. Safety in company.

Of the remaining three, two were more pleasantly situated in the shade of the sycamore tree, playing with the large leaves, pulling bark, even preening each other. They appeared to be great friends. The last Grog might have been the first one out and flying. Unlike the others, he was flying around, looking at everything, keeping his parents on their toes. He seemed already confident, almost fearless.

As I was about to leave, the three newest fledglings were still huddled next to each other on the eucalyptus branch, each with their right wing hanging down in apparent exhaustion from all that climbing. Their nictitating membrane gave them a faraway look and their beaks dropped open, revealing bright rosy mouths.

May there be six forever and ever. Last year there were six and only three survived.

Five vs. One

2009-05-06T21:40:00.000-07:00

Grog child

*No one messes with the Moro

It is an interesting contrast with the Grog's almost quintuplets and the El Moro's only child--the scramble to keep track of five as opposed to the exaggerated attention given Baby Moro. Madre Moro hardly leaves her fledgling's side, preening, cuddling and cooing. Only when the Moros are giving chase to an encroaching raven pair or other danger does she separate. Padre Moro is almost as solicitous, chasing away with fury a small squirrel that stopped momentarily near the Moro fledgling as if it were a hawk with deadly intent. Yes, no one messes with the Moro. I thought osprey ate fish and so was surprised when El Moro gave chase to this osprey.*

Sunshine, the 'quint-mom' does manage but without the devotion Madre Moro shows her one. It seems that the fact that some of the Grogs are staying in the nest longer does give the Grog parents time to help the first ones out. It's almost as if the nest-leaving is staggered on purpose. Also, the larger the nestlings are upon leaving, the greater their ability for independence. The five also have each other to emulate and play with. The Moro parents are Baby Moro's sole companion. Still, once the young are all 'air-worthy', they will get together if the previous years are anything to go on. On with the fledglings, let flight be unconfined.

Patience, the hard thing?

2009-05-05T12:30:00.000-07:00

the unruffled

the unhurried

Raven parents are models of patience. Three baby Grogs are up and flying now but not without endless hours of parental feeding, coaxing with gentle calls, short suggestive flights, and just standing by protectively. This morning, after a bit of branch hopping and short flights, the three fledglings were rewarded with breakfast. Almost immediately, they settled onto their respective branches for a morning siesta, their soft down feathers spread out like a pillow, eyes blissfully shut. Sunshine flew over, calling encouragement to the two still in the nest. Nothing doing.

Over the weekend, I saw Baby Moro on the cliff. He seemed untroubled to be resting atop a bush, catching insects overhead and playing with a small bird, perhaps a gnatcatcher that kept flying up to him. An El Moro parent was always close by and the ace-flying father entertained him with great dives and rolls besides showing him easy flights to try.

Grog seems to be taking advantage of the fledglings' sometime absence to refurbish the nest. I have noticed him collecting sticks for repair work, I presume, as well as soft mossy bits to re-line the nest. Sunshine seems the more frantic feeder in the family while Grog keeps watch and provides a close shoulder for a fledgling to lean on. "Patience fills his crisp combs."

A Fifth Grog: Number 1 Flyer

2009-05-01T12:27:00.001-07:00

Out and walking

What I missed early yesterday was the fifth Grog. While I was busy observing the four sweet beaks around the nest, number five had flown. He was out. When I discovered him several trees away in a mess of eucalyptus leaves, he was walking precariously across a horizontal branch, occasionally testing his wings.

Grog and Sunshine had him in their vision but seemed more interested in preening each other as they rested together on a tall wooden post. Occasionally, one of the parents would call a soft sounding encouragement before returning to their grooming. The two in the nest that had been out on a limb climbed back into the nest with the other two, perhaps waiting to see what might happen to number five.

After a while, Pater Grog flew over and perched near his son. Number five tried to climb an upward sloping branch to his father but his pearl gray feet (later to turn charcoal) kept slipping down the slick eucalyptus branch. Up he would go again, only to slide back down. Grog did show him a way out by hopping from branch to branch into a clearing where he flew a short distance away. Number five failed to follow.

Next, Mater Grog arrived with a snack. He fluttered his wings awkwardly to beg and Sunshine stuck some food down his throat. This gave him a bit more spunk and he slid into the fork of the tree and began playing with its sticks and gnawing on some of its leaves.

Soon he made a flight attempt and fell, catching some branches on his way down. But he was one tree closer to home. I only hope he made it.

Ravens Evermore

2009-04-30T08:34:00.000-07:00

Almost there

Upon returning south, I went with my binos to check the nest: black evermore! Couldn't see the forest for the feathers! At first I thought both raven parents must be perching with their backs to me, examining their young. But the Grog parents were to my right in the sycamore tree, agog in affection. So what I was seeing at the nest were two enormous Grog nestlings who were perching on a branch next to their nest.

From my distant balcony seat, they looked like two phantoms of the opera, swathed in black feathered capes with a mere white outline of beak for identification (later their bills will turn completely black). Two more were resting in the nest, or at least that is what I could see. There might be more. The Grog infants are so big that they might have to take turns to sleep in their nest. The two on the branch made no effort to test their wings while I was watching. It was much the same at the El Moro nest but with only one nestling showing his new black velvet coat and white smile.

This morning I did see Sunshine doing some sample short-distance flying from the nest to another tree. No young Grog followed. Both sets of raven parents are looking rather haggard and run down, particularly the mothers. It's not hard to see why. The nestlings looked to me to be about the same size as the parents. Imagine having to feed them all and get a bite in for oneself, too. I did watch Sunshine cough up a cached pellet, various bits held together with her saliva. She had retrieved it from a palm tree, coughed it and then carried it nestward: not a rabenmutter, leaving her young, but a responsible provider.

*photo of a fledged Grog last year, courtesy of theravendiaries.com

In the flowers

2009-04-24T14:48:00.000-07:00

In the fading wildflowers back home

Away for a week, I have been watching the skies for ravens. Yesterday, I followed several to the Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate Park. I had noticed some ravens there before and also had met with a friendly raven couple at the top of Twin Peaks with the exquisite expanse of San Francisco below.

In Golden Gate Park, massive with its wonderfully thick cypress and great redwood, eucalyptus, and fir trees, I could hear ravens calling. I saw some aerial displays and hawk chasing. Ravens know if they are being watched. I had been searching with my binos what I thought might be a raven nest. But I believe the raven saw me and kept away.

He did come down near a newly planted flower bed. I watched him jump the fence and check out the one dahlia shoot. I had a bit of bread left from my sandwich and so left it for him. As I was about to leave, he walked calmly up to it. (He did no 'jumping jacks', a manner of hopping up and down around an unfamiliar object to see if it moves or is dangerous. Ravens teach this to their young.) The bread was about two feet from me. He took it and casually walked to the nearest puddle where he began soaking it before tearing the softened bread into smaller pieces. He then flew off in a circular route back around to the tall trees behind the Conservatory, I imagine to his nest.

As I left the gardens and its conservatory of foreign flowers and plants, I thought those familiar black wings circling it might be our own exotic option.

Upside Down

2009-04-17T11:03:00.000-07:00

As I ended my last post on the raven's aerial acuity, I had to post the photo just given to me by my photographer friend of El Moro's back flying. (If you click on it to enlarge you will see him better.) Imagine his nestling learning that! So far, there appears to be just one baby Moro. Below El Extraordinaire Moro is a photo of both parents and baby Moro at their nest. Their nestling is not feathered out and so younger than the Grog's brood.

Yesterday, I sat with my binoculars searching the Grog nest. Their nest is more obscure than the El Moro's. Earlier yesterday morning with big winds about, I sat with Grog a spell. As he stood still, he smacked the air in an insect feast. The smaller insects he swallowed whole. Then Grog scrounged around the rocks at the cliff edge, finding a bigger creature which he de-winged before clamping shut his beak on it.

I saw an identical movement as I watched the Grog nest--a baby Grog catching a passing fly? Yes, the nest is now wall to wall pitch black with feathered baby Grogs. I caught one stretching a wing and later, one flapping his wings. I counted a definite three bodies but was unable to tell if there were more. I heard one calling to a nearby parent for food and watched Sunshine go to the nest with her throat pouch apparently full, only to change her mind and go cache it. Was she on a strict hourly feeding schedule?

Being feathered out, the Grogs are at least three weeks old, still sleeping much of the time but jostling for position in their increasingly crowded nest, packed so because of their growth. I imagine it will be another few weeks before they attempt to fly.

As parents, the Grogs showed apparent pride as they paired up on a nearby branch after feeding their young. They preened each other, making sweet sounds and joined beaks affectionately. They seemed to be in their own small Eden with the eucalyptus tempering the sea breeze, the cheery bush sunflowers and black mustard, a golden carpet for their claws.

The Ferocity of Flight

2009-04-14T09:37:00.000-07:00

The full-throated Chase

The Patrol

After the period of relative calm as new beaks were bred and born, I have noticed an increase in aggression between raven neighbors. Sunshine, having broken free of nest sitting, seems particularly active in reasserting the Grog family's territorial rights. She seems ready to take any raven on and this morning gave the El Moros a run for their airspace. Of course, Grog was there to back her up but looking less agitated. I think Sunshine's rugged appearance with her perennial missing feathers reflects her courage and resolve in ravenomics ie. managing Grog resources--food and territory.

Likewise the El Moros, I noticed pushing into Inkling territory, their raven neighbors to the south of them. For most of the breeding period, the El Moros stuck close to the nest and appeared even wary of my presence. Their personalities seemed so altered that I wondered at times if they were different ravens. It was as if their only world was in relation to each other, he increasing his dominance while she acted the weak young thing by adopting a higher, more youthful voice as she begged from him and fluttered her wings.

Today, there was no timidity in sight as both El Moros fought the Inklings over a fish. They swooped at each other, dive-bombing fiercely. If ravens weren't as quick and deft in movement as they are, I imagine they could kill each other with a beak fast as a speeding bullet. Last week, I happened to be close to Grog when he was being attacked by a crow's dive-bomb. The whizzing speed of the crow's blitz was not only impressive but almost frightening. I wouldn't have liked to have been the crow's target. A raven's greater weight and longer beak would make his dive-bomb doubly devastating.

I have read that birds have no fear of the void. The way ravens wield the air, I believe it.

Meet the El Moros

2009-04-10T09:36:00.000-07:00

Birth and death seem to go hand in hand. April can be the cruelest month. Last week, my photographer friend spotted the remains of a baby raven near El Moro's nest. [My last post I introduced El Moro flying with Grog. The El Moro couple is the raven pair I know best after the Grogs. They are nesting in the cliff on a different stretch of the beach to Grog territory.] This sad fact could explain El Moro's dispiritedness early that week. It was noticeable because El Moro is the raven flyer extraordinaire, the ne plus ultra of the air.

Happily, today he soared, tucked his wings and dived innumerable times, doing his favorite flying on his back as he came lower to the cliffs. Then his wife joined him, not one to be outdone. One after the other, they did dives, rolls and back flies--truly breathtaking. One would lead; the other follow. It doesn't take much imagination to see why they chose each other.

As I wrote before, ravens mate for life. According to Bernd Heinrich's research, a raven chooses her mate carefully. Hunting capability, the promise of providing, of course, comes high on her list. Aerial agility is also important, the ability to chase prey and to evade danger. The sheer beauty of a raven's aerial dexterity might also be a wooing influence.

That the El Moros are able to leave the nest together suggests to me that the nestlings are growing rapidly and don't need the parents' warmth so much as more food now. The Grogs are also both out much of the time.

And so the counterpoint to the cruel April is the April smitten with flowers and sweet rain, a rare sensation in Southern California.

New Life

2009-04-07T06:27:00.000-07:00

Proud Father

Working Mom

(click to see creature in beak)

I saw one; I saw two!* I had begun to doubt the existence of new life, even questioning the nest--was it a phantom home? Even though I had seen Sunshine's beak tinged with white which led me to believe she had been eating her baby bird's mutes ie. their liquid waste, I still questioned. I had read and watched raven parents do this until the babies grow and mute volume increases to the point that the parents pick the mutes up and carry them off. All this is to keep the nest clean until the nestlings are able to position themselves at the edge of the nest to 'let go' as it were. When the nestlings are that big, I should be able to see them but not yet.

Yesterday, I had spent some time watching from the bushes with my binos but the Grogs patiently spent the same hours watching me watch them, preening themselves, changing positions, calling out. It was if the nest had nothing to do with them, until just before sunset last night.

At last I saw one--the back of a head and beak raised in supplication. Only when Sunshine finally flew to the nest could I see it. Eureka! New life confirmed. The nest is cleverly hidden with only one angle barely visible and from this angle, most of the nest is behind a great fork of the eucalyptus tree with all its leaves and shadows.

Just prior to my 'vision,' Sunshine had been vigorously tearing up some creature difficult to identify--bird, rabbit or rodent, and putting choice bits in her throat pouch. She then took the rest of the carcass to an adjacent sycamore tree to cache. It's hard to find any cold storage in Southern California but the huge leaves of a sycamore are the best smart bet for a bit of shade near the Pacific.

I had been questioning the wisdom of the Grog's move from cliff to eucalyptus tree. Their having the sycamore 'fridge' next door to their nest seems not just fortuitous. I think it might have been well-planned. With new life in the balance, the steady supply of fresh food is crucial. The tree fridge takes a little pressure off the parents, not only in their search for food but enables them to spend more time closer to home, guarding their young. This will be crucial with the Cooper's hawks so close. I have watched Grog avoid the hawks by flying within inches of the ground and maneuvering adroitly between the trees.

On the other hand, Arthur Grog seems a nonchalant father. Last night, while Sunshine was picking apart her kill, worrying about the next meal, Grog sat on the hill near me singing (well, like a soft cooing). Of course, he was in a lookout position for the nest. But I thought all he was missing was a fine cigar.

*The other pink mouth was in the El Moro's nest.

Show your stuff!

2009-04-01T10:05:00.000-07:00

Grog & El Moro

I still have not seen a baby beak stretched to the sky but other indicators seem to verify that some have hatched. The parents are both out, searching for food and Sunshine revelling in her unconfinement ie. flying with apparent abandon and joy even in the same old territory. Besides the pleasure of flying together, being out and about again, there is the serious business of food.

I have noticed male macho displays between raven neighbors, each insisting on its bit of territory. I imagine this is to meet the greater demand on them for food. These male challenges consist of the fluffing of feathers to make them look larger, walking deliberately up to each other with head held high, beak up, and throat feathers poking out, exaggerated by deep swallowing. They puff their 'ears' by flattening their head feathers and so tufts go higher. This seems to precede puffing all their head feathers for greater effect.

Strutting around they makes what is called 'baggy pants', flaring their flank feathers. They also spread their tail feathers and do a bow and click as they try to raise themselves higher than the other. I have watched them hop together along the sand, one trying to seem bigger and more important than the other. Sometimes, one raven tries to 'be greater' by flying to the cliff above the other, only to be followed usually. Today, I saw two end up in an actual fight with feet and beaks at each other. But I haven't seen any real damage as they end up going back to their respective, established territories. Other times, they seem to just forget the competition and go for a fly together, as in the sequence of the photos* above [courtesy of the ravendiaries.com].

Ravens also have what is called a nictitating membrane ie. a third or inner eyelid to protect the eye from dust or keep it moist. They seem to use it to express submission as opposed to the commanding, direct stare. Females flirt with these eyes in courtship. They also pretend to be helpless, mimicking a young bird's begging by crouching and flapping their wings quickly and making higher, more infantile sounds. They do that with the guys, probably to check out how well they provide food, ie. sizing them up. But when with other females, they also have their feather displays and struts which are similar to the guys but the girls seem to make more knocking sounds--two females trying to outdo the other. All is vanity, pull down thy vanity, girls. Smooth those feathers.

*click to enlarge

Nest rustlings?

2009-03-30T10:19:00.000-07:00

Brooding

Previous nest

For the past few days, Mother Sunshine has been coming out (of the nest). Could this mean some eggs are beginning to hatch? Although the nest is barely visible to me, I did watch some of the building of it and was interested in Grog and Sunshine's use of recyclable nest lining, ie. discarded paper amongst other bits. In the chillier Maine woods of Bernd Heinrich's ravens, their nests are lined with cozy deer fur.

If any young ravens have hatched, Sunshine will still brood them as they cannot control their body temperature yet, having no feathers. Their eyes are still closed and their pink bodies are only pinfeathered, ie. not yet plumed. Their bills are white-edged and they sleep most of the time except when fed.

Although their eyes (which will open blue, changing eventually to deep brown) are closed, the nestlings will hear a myriad of birdsong rising from the bush beneath them--the thrasher's complex lovely phrasing, the plaintive mew of the gnatcatcher, the shrill call of the quail, the seek, seeking of the black phoebe punctuated by the chee chee of Ana's hummingbird. Against the crash of the waves comes the clackity clack of the roadrunner, not to mention the crow's insistent caw. Along with the important parental voices, all these different signaling sounds start the raven off well, a bird known for its mimicry.

Besides the neighboring Cooper's hawks and their high kucking cries, crows are harassing the ravens more these days as they, too, are nesting. Ravens often fly low, searching for food while the crows dive bomb them from above. I have watched in amazement as Grog flips over to show the crow or hawk his feet and bill and then easily rights himself, all while still flying, a lesson he will teach his offspring in the coming months.

Black Bird Bias

2009-03-26T06:06:00.000-07:00

A Songbird, a raven

(click on photo to see clearly)

There seems to be a prejudice out there against corvids, that these songbirds kill the smaller songbirds in gardens. Corvids do eat young birds but cats kill more. A professor at Cornell, Kevin McGowan, has a theory he calls 'compensatory mortality' which states that if one predator doesn't kill the songbird's young, another will. Most young birds die in their first year through one cause or another. The greater threat to garden bird numbers though is human encroachment into their habitats, all of our building, our pesticides and consequent climate change are the greater evil.

These black corvids are wild, also struggling to survive. Hawks, coyotes, snakes take their young. Corvids have a history of human persecution. They were associated with the black death and the plague in medieval times. They were hated and hunted but they have adapted. They are survivors. They eat the roadkill and the garbage we leave behind.

As spelled out so thoroughly in Marzluff and Angell's In the Company of Crows and Ravens, the interaction between man and corvids goes back to the cave dwellers who carved their images on the walls of their caves. Genetic evidence makes a case for ravens having been in North America for over four million years, well before humans. The authors believe the most important interaction between men and ravens was when our ancestors were hunter-gatherers.

When Siberian hunter-gatherers crossed the land bridge to North America ten thousands of years ago, the clever raven joined with him, perhaps leading the hunter to the kill and then taking some share of the booty. The authors suggest that it was the larger corvids who flew the Bering Land Bridge from Asia, leading the smaller songbirds to the Americas.

With the onset of agrarian society, crows adapted to the conversion of forests to fields better than ravens. Of course, the crows ate much of the corn and became an infamous pest to be hunted and annihilated. In the thirties and forties, some states particularly in the midwest, designated crows as vermin and dynamited crow roosts, killing hundreds of thousands. Even today, they are still hunted for fun or sport. Likewise in Europe, ravens were persecuted for centuries and are rare.

Ravens are known for their interaction with wolves and are sometimes called wolf-birds. With the re-introduction of wolves into Yellowstone, the ravens are back with the wolves in what appears to be a symbiotic relationship, a raven calling the wolf's attention to prey, the wolf doing the killing for both. As mentioned above, early man had a similar relationship with the ravens as wolves do. In many native American cultures, corvids are held highly, worshipped as sacred whereas the Euro-American culture made their black image negative, one of death and destruction.

Like most people, I also love the smaller songbirds. In my tiny garden, I follow the wren, the hummingbird, the finch and the yellow throat, different warblers. If I see a nest search going on, I try to scare off the bigger hungry relatives. Yet, it is all nature, their interference and mine. According to the poet, Wallace Stevens, there are at least "Thirteen ways of looking at a blackbird." Like him, "I know the blackbird is involved in what I know."

A Darkling Duet

2009-03-22T14:24:00.000-07:00

It might be a surprise to some to know that ravens, and crows for that matter, are officially songbirds. They, corvids, belong to the order of perching birds (Passeriformes) and the suborder, true songbird (oscines) along with about half of the bird species. The oscines, unlike owls for instance, do not have an innate language of song; they have to be taught by their parents, just like humans, dolphins and whales.

Understanding that fact, explains the very different sounds Grog and Sunshine sometimes make. (You might recall that Grog was brought up in the old country, across the pond as they say.*) Sunshine seems to favor click-like sounds and I have heard more of the same in the local hills where I sometimes walk. Recently, eight ravens sitting on a row of posts produced a musical roundelay of clicking sounds, each responding to the other. It reminded me of the Xhosa language with its clicks. There didn't seem to be any apparent reason for their chorus other than a spontaneous joining in song.

When I first was getting to know Grog, at the end of my run as I was leaving the beach, he would fly over with an aaaarkh, what I took to be farewell, and circled back to his territory. For the most part, raven sounds are for communication. Like humans, ravens accentuate their voice with body language, raised feathers being one of their more common means of expression. Their emotions are apparent in the harsh, loud cry to alert to danger, or a hard repetitive quork to show displeasure, particularly with their young.

Young ravens with their much higher voice, beg loudly in demand for food but also spend hours gurgling, quorking, trilling, clicking, practicing it seems a plethora of sounds. They are learning their language. At the other extreme of the frightful sounds are the sweet and soft murmurings of a raven with its mate. I have been lucky to hear Grog and Sunshine sing together and respond in what seemed like a point, counterpoint. In between the dulcet and the gruff raven sounds, there are something like eighty different calls recorded according to the raven expert, Bernd Heinrich.

Most people will find the morning corvid calls, the crow's caw, the raven's kaaark, annoying. It's a far cry from the golden scales of the house finch's dawn lilt. I have never heard a nightingale sing but I have read Keat's ode. Like him, to "darkling, I listen," but to a different darkling and I listen now again.

*See Meet the Grogs again post

To see or not to see

2009-03-19T16:04:00.001-07:00

White-necked Ravens up Kilimanjaro

It's with great consternation that I didn't see these ravens with much interest. I think they were around the 16,000 feet level and I was probably more interested in pulling out another breath. Nevertheless, my fascination with corvids came later. Will it always be the case that my interest soars once something is no longer available such as the exotic and diverse African birdlife like these ravens, Corvus albicollis? Yet maybe the ravens were beginning to work on my unconscious.

Which brings me to Grog in the fog. This morning, despite the fog, Grog found me on the beach while Sunshine was stuck in the nest. As he was standing on the sand, he pushed his neck backward until his head touched his back, a contortion necessary to inspect the heavens. He did not turn his head around like the ravens in the above photo but pulled it straight back. Of course, with no blue visible, I thought he was checking the fog for any passing trouble. Grog returned to his normal posture with his head in place before a crow flew over. He didn't give it a passing glance.

When he threw back his head again with his beak pointed straight up, I thought perhaps there were insects in the moist air worth his catching even though I couldn't see them. Once again, Grog returned to himself and uttered notes soft as the mist. The third time he craned his neck skywards with his beak a bit open, it was as if to drink the moist air. I thought maybe he really was thirsty. Then when we moved on, he did stop at a rivulet for a drink. What was he doing with these contortions? Perhaps Grog was trying the view from below, from my perspective rather than from his usual heights.

As Bernd Heinrich noted, raven vision is excellent. He followed a raven with his binoculars who had been near him as it raced off to harass an eagle about two miles away. All Heinrich had been able to see at first was a dot in the horizon. Like all birds, ravens have binocular and monocular vision, ie. they can focus both eyes like us but they can also use each eye separately. Marzluff and Angell in their comprehensive book, In the Company of Crows and Ravens, note how corvids can rest one eye while keeping the other vigilant. They discovered that the corvids on either end of a line roosting for the night can rest their inner eye while keeping the outer eye on guard.

Cache and carry

2009-03-18T10:06:00.000-07:00

All corvids cache or hide things. Ravens cache some food for later. The raven's expandable throat is the perfect carrier for their treats. Caching requires a good memory, a spatial awareness. They also are clever or one might say, devious in their caching. I have seen Grog burying some food in the sand, marking it carefully with a stick or broken shell while Sunshine looked on. When he flew off, she went to the exact spot, turned over the sand and nothing was there. Almost invariably, there is a double cache.

I guess theft is common but the ravens definitely have the seagulls licked. One day I saw Grog casually walk up to a seagull who had just caught a fish in the surf. Grog took the fish right from the shocked seagull's mouth and walked away with it. After eating some, he flew with a full throat pouch to the cliffs to cache. The fish might have ended up in the palm trees. There are some near Grog and Sunshine's nest and the pair seem to find the base of the palm leaves, where they attach to the stem, much to their liking for a hiding or an apparent hiding place.

Ravens learn early to be aware of other vigilant eyes and to anticipate their fellow cachers. Perhaps they take pleasure in tricking each other or just keeping the other on his claws as it were. I have watched young ravens practicing caching with debris on the beach. The watchful eyes of their fellow fledglings make for a perfect school. Of course, they first learn by watching their parents even though to 'cache and carry' seems almost innate.

Esther Woolfson, in her elegantly written and deeply felt book, Corvus, describes her resident rook, Chicken's, caching behavior as not just natural but artistic and obsessive. She tells us that if the food is a particular favorite of Chicken's, (in this case she mentioned goat cheese) she will wrap it first in paper, unwrap it, wrap it again, cache it, retrieve it and cache it again, enjoying it obsessively throughout the day, tasting it bit by bit. Chicken's piece de resistance for caching is her excavation, inch by inch, over the years of part of the author's kitchen wall above the skirting board.

I haven't been able to detect quite such artistry from my wild raven friends unless the chiseling with their beaks into the cliffside to cache is the beginning of a monumental sculpture. The act of saving--an art, I wonder?

Meet the Grogs again

2009-03-15T14:47:00.000-07:00

I thought I might go back and explain how I named the Grogs to make them more memorable. To the left is Sunshine Winger-Grog and above is Arthur Conan Grog, Esq. Not long after I had started noticing these ravens, I read an article in the Los Angeles Times about the ravens at the Tower of London and one that escaped. "A raven called Grog, the Tower's notes say, "was last seen outside an East End pub called the Rose and Punchbowl."

What kind of amazing raven could escape the Tower? I mean, think of all the those decapitated wives of Henry VIII! Not only that Grog escaped but that he was last seen at a pub, this doubled my admiration. As for his forenames, I thought Arthur Conan was appropriate in two senses: Firstly, King Arthur is believed to have returned in the form of a raven and secondly, Arthur Conan after the creator of the most famous sleuth, Sherlock Holmes. Along with Grog's apparent regality, I thought it would take a clever detective to escape the fortress that has imprisoned so many kings and queens.

I somehow imagined with all those tourists at the Tower that Grog had heard of California and so might have made his way, riding westward. What more Californian than sunshine? And so Sunshine I named his California girl, Sunshine, who never had a gorgeous day I'm afraid. But A.C. Grog would delve beneath appearances. Sunshine has a funny flat head (not precisely evident in the above photo) from which her beak extends in a continuous plane. She stands out in many ways. Even though she sometimes can look mean, she has a lovely voice when in the mood. Sunshine is a hard worker and good mate to Grog. Her wings seem forever battered from aerial battles; she's not afraid to take anything on. She seems more impatient than Grog but Sunshine is showing patience and diligence in her nest sitting. Most female ravens are smaller than the male. Not Sunshine, she is definitely Grog's equal.

Better together

2009-03-13T05:06:00.000-07:00

Watching a raven pair work together is admirable, instructive and inspiring. Raven survival and success are due primarily, I believe, to this trait. One is always there to back up the other; one guards while the other eats. Together they chase threatening prey from their territory. Four eyes are better than two. Their vision to me seems extraordinary. They seem to sense the approach of a hawk. But it is their coordinated efforts that are a beauty to watch. One day I was sitting at the beach with the Grogs and the inevitable seagulls. The ever-hungry Sunshine was behind me, Grog and a seagull in front. I put a small piece of bread on a nearby rock. As Sunshine and the seagull started to go for it, Grog, with his beak held the seagull by its wing so Sunshine might have the bread. Chivalrous, I thought.

Recently, a fisherman friend watched the ravens bring down a pigeon. Working as a team, one raven flew into a group of pigeons, disturbing them while the other raven followed, helping separate and isolate one pigeon. Then the ravens, having cornered it in the air, forced it to the sand where, once destabilized, they grabbed it and ate it.

An interesting counterpoint happened several weeks ago as I sat on a rock at the beach. All of a sudden there were feathers flying above and behind me. It looked to be two pigeons who came down on the other side of the bush to me. Above us all, the two ravens watched. After nothing emerged from the bush, I went to check. Partially hidden in the sand and the leaves were two big eyes staring at me with feathers in its mouth. I stared back. After perhaps a minute, straight up in the air and escaping with his life, a pigeon flew out followed by a Northern Harrier, a smallish hawk. Immediately, the two ravens set off in pursuit of the harrier. I had thought they might go for the pigeon. After they had chased the harrier out of sight, the ravens returned to the cliff. He made a low Tarzan-like sound and jumped on his mate in celebration!

Leaving the old home (don't look back!)

2009-03-11T10:19:00.000-07:00

I went out in the afternoon with my binoculars to try to see the Grog's nest. I thought I knew where it was (in which tree) but wasn't certain. After studying many points of view, voila! With a bit of corvusmorphosis, I caught a big black form shift deep in a thick density of eucalyptus. Then I could see some of the large sticks that ravens weave to make their nest.

It's particularly interesting to me that the Grogs have moved home. As Bernd Heinrich points out in his raven books, ravens seem to nest in the same spot each year. The first two years I began watching the Grogs, they nested in the cliff above the beach. When they were in their cliff home (above photo by Rick @theravendiaries.com*), I did see them chasing coyotes. Perhaps they moved to avoid the coyotes eating their young. Last year they moved to a tree near the one they have chosen this year but closer to the road. From last year's nest, six Grogs were born and one was hit by a car. Perhaps this latest move, a bit further from the road and nearer the beach makes sense. I hope they haven't become 'nest flippers'. I'll check the old nest to see if anyone's moved in.

So Sunshine will be incubating the eggs for about twenty to twenty five days. I can't know exactly when she started but in previous years, I think the nestlings appeared around the beginning of April.

*If you click on the photo, it enlarges.

Expecting to fly

2009-03-10T10:18:00.000-07:00

Today was kind of like old times. Grog flew down the beach with me awhile just as he began to do three years ago when I was first getting to know him. Then it was also raven spring when Sunshine was busy with their eggs and Grog had some free time. Just like a guy to be having fun while the wife keeps the nest warm! Of course, Grog can fly a million times faster than I can run but he developed a style of flying a bit, then hopping on the sand alongside me before taking to the air as if to say, 'don't you get it--take off!'.

That first spring seemed to solidify our bond even though his wife, Sunshine, with her pushier manner often sits nearer to me. Recently, when she was still out and about, I was sitting on some wood at the beach and she tried to pick my pocket. As long as I don't make eye contact when they are close, they will both come within inches of me. They seem to like to sit just behind me, one on either side or one in front of me with the other behind. I'm reminded of the Norse myth of Odin having a raven on either shoulder to tell him about the world. No doubt the Grogs have been trying to tell me things, still to be translated. Also, I think their stance is a way of taking command, like having me covered and themselves at the same time.

Synchronized swimmers of the air

2009-03-09T11:39:00.000-07:00

It's hard to get away from the beauty and dexterity of raven flight. Their timing seems based on an acute awareness of their partner. Their sense of fun in flying is impossible to miss. Most days if I look, I will see a group of ravens soaring, diving, rolling, tucking their wings to fly upside down and then rising again together. Windy days seem to soar their spirits. I have watched them for hours racing with the wind, dipping and diving and then making their way back to start all over again. They also quork with seeming delight or perhaps in accolade of each other's maneuvers.

In the sky, ravens and crows can at first be difficult to distinguish even though the raven weighs about four times as much as the crow according to Bernd Heinrich. Generally, ravens have wedge-shaped tails while crows have squarer tails. The raven's wingspan is up to four feet wide while the crow's is about two and a half. Also, individual ravens are hard to tell apart unless they have some missing tail or wing feather or an unusually-shaped beak. I have found the surest way to identify a pair is by its territory or how they identify me ie. what sounds they make if they see me.

Even though ravens congregate for group flying, at other times a pair fiercely keeps everyone out of their territory. They seem to have definite lines drawn in the air. The beach where I run appears to have been divided by four, possibly five raven pairs. Excepting this time of year with the raven's narrow focus on the nest, they patrol their territory diligently. Yet, they don't hesitate to call for help from their fellow ravens and cousin crows when there is a red-tail or other hawk to chase away.

A pair of Cooper's hawks is nesting in a tree near the Grog's nest. The Grogs and the Coopers are contesting the territory. I saw Sunshine quickly leave the nest only to be attacked by the Cooper's hawk. Although the Cooper's hawk is smaller than the raven, more similar in size to the crow, the Cooper's hawk's claws are deathly. It captures its prey with its feet and squeezes it to death. Will the hawk and raven young become food for each other?

Mutual curiosity

2009-03-04T11:03:00.000-08:00

It's not just their graceful and agile flying which makes ravens interesting to watch. Their natural curiosity in everything around them is evident. They watch people; they're interested in us. There has been nothing more thrilling than to have one of the Grogs recognize me from miles up, turn, do a roll and descend with a "kaaark" of acknowledgment.

Like us, they use their voice to express a multitude of things, harsh calls when there is danger, soft murmurings when they're rubbing beaks with their mate. Before I had gotten to know the Grogs very well, I was walking in the hills, training to go up Kilimanjaro. Because I had been advised to be able to walk for eight hours, I passed some of the hours with poetry going through my head. I'll never forget the Wallace Stevens' line that I was saying, "the real will from all its crude compoundings come," as two ravens flew over quorking loudly. There, several yards in front of me, its length the width of the path was a rattlesnake. Even though I was terrified I admired its diamonds of black and white. Naturally, I believe the ravens warned me.

All of the glorious pictures I have been posting are from my friends, Rick and Diana who are working on their site: theravendiaries.com.

Out on his own

2009-03-03T12:40:00.000-08:00

I take back one thing I wrote initially. It wasn't my husband's comment that first brought ravens to my attention. It was reading Joan Aiken's Mortimer stories to my children, Mortimer the raven. Quentin Blake was her illustrator, a favorite.

I know that scientists abhor any anthropomorphic strain in nature study. I suppose it is to some extent unavoidable and intend to stress in my blog what I call, corvusmorphosis ie. some of the raven's point of view.

Also, I have called this The Weekly Raven so as not to be pressed for daily news. Yet, if there is a daily special, I will write about it. As far as I can tell, the Grogs have begun their nesting for 2009 and laying of eggs. A.C. Grog, Esq. is on guard and hanging about their nesting area while Mrs. Sunshine Winger-Grog is hardly to be seen. I did catch a glimpse of Sunshine this morning being fed some tasty morsel by her husband. I believe this (his feeding her) only happens when she is on the nest as it were. The rest of the year she is quite capable of getting her own food.

Gone to the birds (or the beginning)

2009-03-02T11:56:00.000-08:00

MEET THE GROGS

I'm afraid of waves, wings (on birds that is) and being watched, yet most mornings I am running on the beach with a raven at my side.

How this unlikely scenario unfolded was a result of my husband's comment on corvids, particularly a crow's flight: "Watch them fly and you will see their sense of fun." I had never thought of birds having fun and so began my observations and readings. I read the fascinating Mind of the Raven by Bernd Heinrich and began to look to the skies.

Crows move and work in groups; a murder of crows is their collective noun. Ravens, bigger and more silent, deeper in voice, mate for life and work as a pair. At the beach where I run, I noticed two big black birds that flew together in graceful patterns, that perched on the cliffs watchfully. I saw them and saw them see me.

That was the beginning of my interest in raven intelligence and pleasure in their personalities, these black birds with brilliant streaks of purple and green in the sun's light: black stars in the day sky.