Tag: wild profile

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the sea otter

Stephen Hamaday/Shutterstock

The Pacific Ocean’s sea otter is way cooler than its semiaquatic cousin, the river otter. Or no, maybe it’s warmer. Sea otters have the distinction of being the North American mammal with the thickest fur of all—one million hairs covering every inch of their bodies. Why? Unlike a sea lion or a walrus, a sea otter has very little blubber, that crucial layer of cushy fat designed to keep a body toasty in the coldest of waters.

Sea otter vs. river otter

No surprise: sea otters and river otters are very similar. But if you were to see them side-by-side, you could clearly spot the differences. Sea otters are much larger—think, up to 100 pounds compared to a river otter’s measly 30. Check out the tails. A sea otter’s tail is short and flat; a river otter’s? Long and pointed. And then there’s the fur. A sea otter is covered with a dense layer that fades to tan on the face and throat. River otters, on the other hand, tend to be dark brown all over.

The sea otter is aquatic, not semiaquatic. It can spend its entire life in the water, foraging for kelp-eating sea urchins and other slow-moving ocean creatures. Sea otters even sleep in the water, floating on their backs and holding each other’s hands—er, paws—to keep from drifting apart. Adorbs!

Is the sea otter endangered?

Canada’s population is happily in slightly better shape than sea otters worldwide. B.C.’s otters were declared extinct in 1929 (because of overhunting for the fur trade). Since this marine mammal is considered a keystone species, vital to the kelp forest ecosystem, the B.C. government reintroduced 89 otters into Checleset Bay in the late ’60s and early ’70s. Now, their numbers have surpassed 6,500. Consequently, in Canada, the species is listed as Special Concern—not great, but better than Endangered.

Is the otter the most Canadian of all animals?

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the Northern cardinal

By Danita Delimont/Shutterstock

The Northern cardinal is a cheery pop of colour against the winter landscape. Unlike so many other bird species, cardinals don’t moult their bright red plumage, so they stand out at bird feeders year-round. They’re one of North America’s most recognizable species—who can’t ID a cardinal? Even the females have a sharp, spikey crest and a cherry-coloured beak. Pretty, pretty bird!

The Northern cardinal is unusual for another reason: it’s one of the few female songbirds that actually sings (usually in spring and summer, on the nest). Ornithologists believe this may tell their male partners when to bring them food. (“I want pickles and ice cream! Right now!”) A female Northern cardinal also typically sings longer and more complex tunes than the male—again, unusual in the bird world.

In winter, cardinals are largely quiet. But they do form large flocks, for foraging—sometimes they’ll gather with other species such as dark-eyed juncos and white-throated sparrows. They’re pretty easy to attract to winter bird feeders; with no insects to hunt for, they’ll eat almost any seed you put out. (That said, they’re big fans of black-oil sunflower seeds.)

Weekly Hack: Winter bird feeding tips

Although mated pairs that hooked up the previous spring will often stay together for the winter, about one fifth of couplings break up by the time the next breeding season rolls around. Aww, divorce sucks. Newly split, both male and females are ready to find a new mate.

Have you ever seen a cardinal attacking its own reflection—in mirrors or car windows, for example? That’s because in spring and early summer, both males and females obsessively and fiercely defend their territories. Including from themselves. A cardinal isn’t smart enough to realize that it’s fighting its own reflection, and will attack a shiny surface for hours.

 

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the Arctic fox

By Sophia Granchinho/Shutterstock

There is no fox better equipped to handle chilly weather than the Arctic fox—a.k.a. the white fox. Canada’s smallest canid may weigh as little as 3 lbs, but it’s hardy enough to withstand temperatures as low as -50°C. It’s literally built for the cold, with a heavy white coat in the winter, a compact body, and a bushy tail that makes up about 30 per cent of its total body length. The Arctic fox uses that tail like a shawl to wrap around itself when sleeping.

In Canada, the Arctic fox’s range stretches from the northern tip of Ellesmere Island to the southern tip of James Bay. A carnivore, it survives mostly on a diet of lemmings. Foxes with whelps to feed will hunt up to 15 times per night—usually between 4 p.m. and mid-morning the next day. In open areas of tundra, adults catch their prey by chasing and pouncing. But an Arctic fox is smart enough to know how to locate an underground lemming nest, and will dig through the snow to get at it.

What do the foxes do when there are no lemmings?

Since an Arctic fox is so dependent on its lemming food source, the species’ numbers fluctuate with the lemming population. And the lemming population is known to “crash” and then peak. In a crash year, foxes will leave their usual hunting territories and wander for hundreds of kilometres, nomad-like, searching for food. This makes them vulnerable to fatigue and extreme cold—no den to hunker down inside—not to mention, starvation. Consequently, when lemming numbers are low, so are Arctic fox numbers.

White foxes are sometimes blue

The Arctic fox only keeps its snowy-white coat for the winter (just like the snowshoe hare). By May, it begins to shed its heavy fur in place of a thinner, two-tone brown outfit. Some Arctic foxes have a blue-toned coat in the winter; they shed that for a blue-grey coat in the summer. “Blue” foxes appear in almost every Arctic fox population. In Canada, they make up about five per cent of the population; in Greenland, meanwhile, about 50 per cent of white foxes are blue foxes. So…the foxes in Greenland are blue? Huh. Ironic.

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the white-breasted nuthatch

By yvontrep/Shutterstock

While it’s not as colourful as its cousin (the red-breasted nuthatch), the white-breasted nuthatch is just as clever and acrobatic. The bluish-grey and white bird is our largest nuthatch—though still no bigger than a sparrow—with a bulbous head, no neck, and a sharp beak that curves upwards.

Winter is one of the best times of the year to spot the white-breasted nuthatch, either at your feeder (try attracting them with suet or peanut butter) or scaling trees moving up, down, or sidebars, in a trademark jerky motion. You’ll also spot why they earned their name: all nuthatches are known for shoving nuts and seeds into a tree bark crevice, then “hatching” them open by smashing them with their bills. So smart!

Along with caching food, white-breasted nuthatches use a specific foraging strategy to nourish themselves through the winter: they’ll join mixed flocks of other non-migratory birds—chickadees and titmice—and hunt for food as part of a larger group. It’s possible this strategy offers protection from predators and makes it more likely for an individual white-breast to find food. (Many hands—er, eyes—make light work.)

That said, in winter, it’s still every bird for itself: a white-breasted nuthatch isn’t above knocking another aside to get feeder food. If you watch yours carefully, you might spot a male pushing nearby females out of the way. Rude! Nuthatches will also steal from each others’ food hiding spots; this is why, once a bird has gathered a morsel, it will first fly in the opposite direction of where it intends to cache the food, hoping to throw spying nuthatches off the trail.

Recent research suggests that the white-breasted nuthatch is an “irruptive” species, and will migrate—or not—based on food availability in winter. This is big news in the avian world. For a long time, ornithologists believed that red-breasted nuthatches exhibited this behaviour but other nuthatch family members didn’t.

These are the best places to go winter birding in Ontario.

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the white-breasted nuthatch

By yvontrep/Shutterstock

While it’s not as colourful as its cousin (the red-breasted nuthatch), the white-breasted nuthatch is just as clever and acrobatic. The bluish-grey and white bird is our largest nuthatch—though still no bigger than a sparrow—with a bulbous head, no neck, and a sharp beak that curves upwards.

Winter is one of the best times of the year to spot the white-breasted nuthatch, either at your feeder (try attracting them with suet or peanut butter) or scaling trees moving up, down, or sidebars, in a trademark jerky motion. You’ll also spot why they earned their name: all nuthatches are known for shoving nuts and seeds into a tree bark crevice, then “hatching” them open by smashing them with their bills. So smart!

Along with caching food, white-breasted nuthatches use a specific foraging strategy to nourish themselves through the winter: they’ll join mixed flocks of other non-migratory birds—chickadees and titmice—and hunt for food as part of a larger group. It’s possible this strategy offers protection from predators and makes it more likely for an individual white-breast to find food. (Many hands—er, eyes—make light work.)

That said, in winter, it’s still every bird for itself: a white-breasted nuthatch isn’t above knocking another aside to get feeder food. If you watch yours carefully, you might spot a male pushing nearby females out of the way. Rude! Nuthatches will also steal from each others’ food hiding spots; this is why, once a bird has gathered a morsel, it will first fly in the opposite direction of where it intends to cache the food, hoping to throw spying nuthatches off the trail.

Recent research suggests that the white-breasted nuthatch is an “irruptive” species, and will migrate—or not—based on food availability in winter. This is big news in the avian world. For a long time, ornithologists believed that red-breasted nuthatches exhibited this behaviour but other nuthatch family members didn’t.

These are the best places to go winter birding in Ontario.

Categories
Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the pika

By Peter Bowman/Shutterstock

The pint-sized pika is the coolest mammal that you’ve never heard of. The rodent-like creature is actually a “lagomorph” and has more in common with hares and rabbits than it does with mice or rats. But if you’re familiar with Pokemon—and you are, because you live on this planet—you might be interested to learn that the species is the inspiration for the fictional character Pikachu. Who knew?

Like Pikachu, Canada’s two native pika species are squat-bodied. But unlike the cartoon, the real-life critter has short, round ears and practically no tail. There’s a reason for the round shape: a compact build allows the pika to survive in alpine terrain. In Canada, that’s the Rocky Mountains in Alberta and B.C., and further north throughout the Yukon.

Pikas cache food and sing like birds! 

Pikas thrive in barren, rocky landscapes (they’re nicknamed “rock rabbits”). They don’t hibernate. To sustain themselves through winter, they cache food like squirrels and non-migrating birds. Before winter, a pika will gather bits of plants—wildflowers or grass—cure them to preserve them by letting them sit in the sun, and then hide them amid rocks. (This isn’t the species’ only bird-like behaviour; the mammals “sing” to defend territory and to attract mates in the spring.)

Winter is a pika’s preferred time of year. (Because their coat is thick year-round, too much time in the heat isn’t good for them; similar to the polar bear, the pika has been impacted by climate change and overall warming temperatures.) Even though they’re active all winter, they do spend more time in their rocky dens. Pikas live in colonies. This type of group living is a survival strategy. One pika can alert others to potential predators—hawks, weasels, and coyotes—by giving out a warning call.

How Canadian animals adapt to winter

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the bobcat

By Jack Bell Photography/Shutterstock

Do you know the difference between the bobcat and the Canada lynx? Well, you will soon—read on. The lynx and the bobcat are cousins, and close enough genetically that they can successfully interbreed (though it’s rare). But bobcats are smaller, with shorter ears tufts, smaller paws, and a slightly longer—but still “bobbed”—tail. The most easy-to-see difference between the two, though, may be their colour. The bobcat has spotted orangey-brown fur; the lynx is typically lighter, often closer to uniformly grey.

Meet the Canada lynx

The bobcat’s smallish size—it’s about twice as big as a house cat—doesn’t stop it from being a ferocious hunter, as long as the prey isn’t too big. Along with birds, rabbits, foxes, and the occasional lizard, they’ll take down young deer and skunks (brave!). Bobcats and lynx overlap in habitat, and can compete for food. But unlike the Canada lynx’s range, which is shrinking, its cousin’s has been expanding. Good thing it isn’t too picky about food; these little carnivores will feed on carrion—or even their own cubs—if they have to.

Are bobcats dangerous?

The bobcat is “crepuscular”—that is, most active during twilight. Even though the cats’ territory can range close to human populations, attacks (or even encounters) are rare. Like cougars, these kitties are reclusive and would rather avoid people. They’re more likely to be a danger to outdoor cats or dogs which owners leave unattended. (So don’t do that if you’ve seen one near your cottage. The same goes for cougars and Canada lynx, for that matter.)

Bobcat pairs hook up in winter, with Mamas giving birth roughly two months later, to up to six kittens. By one month, the babies are old enough to wander (briefly) outside the den. By two months, they’re ready to start eating meat. And when fall rolls around? The kittens are ready to hunt. Mommy taught them well!

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the mule deer

By Sean R. Stubben/Shutterstock

Late fall is a big time for mule deer: the rut has begun! Males matched in size duke it out for the right to mate with a chosen female. They’ll lock antlers and fight for hours. Eventually, the weaker mule deer gives up.

Although the mule deer looks similar to the white-tailed deer, the larger species sticks to Western Canada and the Yukon. They’re suited to arid prairie environments and the Rocky Mountains, where they feed mostly on herbaceous plants and woody shrubs as opposed to grass. Even though they have a four-chambered stomach like cows and elk, they’re not as good at digesting certain plants. They have to be choosy about what they eat in order to get enough nutrients

Mule deer sometimes travel by “stotting”: bounding into the air in four-footed leaps. (Gazelle move this way too.) Experts don’t know exactly why they do this. After all, it takes a lot of energy and it’s more likely to attract the attention of predators. That said, one possible reason could be that the deer hopes to show the potential predator that it’s physically fit and healthy. And therefore, will be able to escape. (“Don’t bother coming after me, wolf. You won’t be able to catch me anyway.”)

Mule deer are an iconic species of Western North America; there are nearly a dozen subspecies. They all vary slightly depending on where they live. Black-tailed deer, for example, are a subspecies of mule deer found in the coastal regions of northwestern North America.

In some areas, a mule deer’s range overlaps with white-tailed deer habitat, and the two species do sometimes hybridize. But, ID tip time! The mule deer has big, mule-like ears (about three quarters of the length of its head). Bucks, meanwhile, also have more of a forked antler structure; white-tailed deer have points that grow from a central branch.

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the belted kingfisher

By Harry Collins Photography/Shutterstock

Every Canadian should recognize the belted kingfisher—this guy’s been on the $5 bill since 1986. The Canadian Bank Note Company printed the cash as part of the Birds of Canada series. (Since now you’re probably wondering: the $2 note featured the robin and the $10 bill, a flying osprey. Fifty dollars went to a snowy owl, and $100, a Canada goose. The popular, and probably most coveted spot went to every cottager’s favourite bird: the common loon.)

But the belted kingfisher—with its huge beak and spiky crest—is easy to ID regardless of its monetary claim to fame. Although kingfishers migrate, they tend to stick around cottage country longer than other birds, often until mid-November. It’s only once lakes start to ice over and their food supplies dwindle that they’ll hit the skies. Some don’t go farther than Southern Ontario; others head to Central America and the West Indies.

8 ways to help birds during the fall migration

The belted kingfisher has a big, sharp beak for two main reasons. One, to dig. These pigeon-sized birds don’t build nests; instead, they excavate burrows into high sandbanks or beside lakeshores. It’s slow, hard work. It takes a pair three weeks to tunnel in, kicking sand out of the hole with their feet.

The second reason for the massive headgear…er, facegear? For fishing, of course. (King. Fisher.) A belted kingfisher will hunt, flying low, over shallow water. Once it spots prey—young fish, frogs, or tadpoles—it dives face-first into the lake. Ow! Except no: that large beak is designed to withstand the impact.

With a meal in hand, the bird will head back to a nearby perch (usually a standing, dead tree). It stabs the prey, flips it in the air, and swallows it whole; great blue herons use a similar, violent trick. Sometimes a fish is too big for the kingfisher to swallow in one go. In that case, the bird lets the unfortunate prey sit partway down its throat so that digestive juices can start to dissolve the swallowed portion. Sounds…uncomfortable. For everyone involved.

Spot the belted kingfisher! Go birdwatching at Rondeau Provincial Park

Belted kingfisher babies are gone by the time late fall rolls around. They’re born in May or June and only stay with their parents for about six weeks. But you can still find evidence of adult kingfishers in November. Look for piles of small bones and fish scales on the ground. The belted kingfisher regurgitates this stuff after it eats.

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Cottage Life

Wild Profile: Meet the humpback whale

By GUDKOV ANDREY/Shutterstock

So, you’ve never seen a humpback whale. Picture a city bus with fins, leaping acrobatically from the water. Unbelievable, right? If you happen to be near B.C.’s Salish Sea in the fall, you’re in luck: it’s prime humpback-whale time—and you can see this magic for yourself.

The humpback whale is big everywhere—even its heart weighs about three times as much as an average human being. Its powerful tail can measure as long as 18 feet. And its 15-foot-long pectoral flippers are the largest of all whales’ (compared to body size): one third of the entire humpback’s body length.

A six-hour rescue mission freed this humpback tangled in an anchor line

The Salish Sea is so humpback-heavy in the fall because this is the huge mammal’s last chance to stuff its face before moving elsewhere to overwinter. An adult whale will scarf up to 3,000 lbs per day, usually zooplankton, krill, or gobs of schooling fish. Humpbacks are baleen whales—they have no teeth (unlike, for example, orcas). So they don’t chew anything. Instead, they raise their upper jaws, and expand a series of folding plates—picture someone playing an accordion—to gulp down gallons and gallons of water and fish in one go. The whale can then use its tongue to squeeze the water through a series of bristly, hanging “plates” on either side of the jaw (a.k.a. baleens). It’s like pouring a can of stewed tomatoes through a sieve to drain the excess liquid.

What happens when humpback whales get into a rumble with orcas?

Working in groups, humpback whales also do something called “bubble feeding.” Whales will blow bubbles around fish to deliberately encircle them, as if in a net. Then, another whale, or several, will swim from beneath, swallowing the prey—helpfully concentrated into a mass—as they rise to the surface. Cooperation makes fish happen!

Humpbacks are also known for their stellar singing. The humpback whale’s song is more complex than the vocalizations of any other marine mammal. Their calls are audible—to other whales, at least—from hundreds of kilometres away. Whales don’t have vocal chords; they make noises by squeezing air through their sinuses. What they produce sounds like a series of whines, grunts, squeals, and cattle-like lowing. But it’s cool enough that in 1977, a Voyager spacecraft included a humpback whale recording as part of its “greetings from earth” messages. Has your voice ever been sent into space?