Photos by Billy FitzGerald
Last October I noticed a posting in our local Northern Susitna Birders group on the Internet about a sighting of a grounded Common Murre in the Talkeetna area. I thought that was odd. A seabird so far inland? What was that about? Over November and into December, a few more sporadic sightings were posted. I was intrigued.
Another posting on December nineteenth: Starving Murres were being found all over South Central. Some were taken to the Bird Treatment and Learning Center in Anchorage, rehabbed and released in salt water. Dozens of Murres were reported in Seward- some washed up dead on shore, having starved. What was going on?
I had left Birch Creek Ranch- my home for the past ten years- and moved to a friend’s home in Willow on September 1st. It is temporary quarters for my dogs, birds and me until the Talkeetna cabin into which we will be moving, is completed. Unfortunately, the locale in Willow is just out of reach of KTNA, and is on the fringe of Internet access, so I am somewhat out of the ‘loop’ of what is happening up north. Whenever I make the trip up to Talkeetna, I go to the Library and get caught up on things. I read that there had been more Murre strandings and that now the birds were being taken to the two Bird Treatment Centers-one in Houston and one in Anchorage. There they were being cleaned, fed, and released into the Inlet whenever possible. Some birds had been too starved to save. Others were in fair to good condition. None should have been so far from salt water.
The first Murre stranding was reported in March of last year and is part of a broader seabird die-off in coastal Alaska and up and down the Pacific coast. Scientists say it’s possible the effect of warmer water in the Gulf of Alaska, which formed in 2014, is forcing the birds’ food source of small fish, krill, and other marine life to go deeper than the Murres can dive. This current of warm water is expected to combine with other warm ocean currents to form an extreme El Nino cycle in 2016.
In my research I found this on the Seattle, Washington website: “The Washington breeding population of Murres does not migrate. They are sensitive to oil spills, gill nets and over-fishing. In 1983 the population experienced a crash due to an El Nino event, dropping from 30,000 to fewer than 3,000 birds. Some populations have recovered, but others have yet to rebound, leaving the current population at one-third its former level.”
Then, on December 29th I got my first call. Billy Fitzgerald had gotten a call from his friend and neighbor-Tod Marder- that there was a Murre in his yard. They got it in a box and Billy called me to ask what I thought he should do next. I suggested calling the Bird Treatment Center in Houston and see what they said. He did and they wanted him to bring it in. I had told him I would drive on up to get the bird if he could meet me out at the Parks highway. He called back to say they were closing at one pm that day. It was eleven. There was simply no way I could make the trip from Willow, which takes an hour- one way- pick up the Murre, and make it back to Houston before the Center closed. The bird would have to stay in the box overnight. I suggested Billy put some water in with the bird and some sardines, if he had any. He said he did, and he would.
The next morning I dealt with an early-morning power outage, and when the power came back on at seven-thirty, I breathed a sigh of relief and continued with preparations to leave for Talkeetna. I called Billy as I neared Kashwitna Lake. He informed me of a change in plans. The woman at the Treatment Center had suggested that he release the bird-since it was healthy- into water on the river, as an open lead had been sighted on the Susitna, about a mile north of the Talkeetna confluence. She told him that five more people had called with rescued Murres that morning, and they were fast becoming inundated. He and Tod had gathered four more birds over the rest of the 29th and the morning of the 30th, including a woman bringing them one she had found standing in the middle of the Susitna bridge when she had been driving down from Trapper Creek. They were loading the birds into a Toyostove shipping box strapped onto a trailer pulled by a snowmachine. The box had a heavy-duty plastic liner taped to the bottom, and over that a big towel to give the birds traction. They discovered that when the birds were by themselves, they were feisty and defensive, but when placed with other birds, they became docile. That made sense, since these birds live in large colonies and fish together in large groups called “rafts”. They don’t like being alone.
When Billy and Tod arrived at the open channel, they discovered about three hundred Murres flying above and circling over the water, and a few dozen in the water. The weather was calm, with the Alaska Range in full view and clouds to the south. They unloaded the box and put it up on its side so the Murres could exit. When they did, the box was moved back and the men moved away to watch. Billy said the birds closest to the shore immediately came towards the newly-arrived Murres, as though encouraging them back to the water. When the released birds went into the water, each one immediately drank. In the box the water and sardines had been trampled, and there was no evidence that any of the birds had eaten snow, so no doubt they were very thirsty.
Billy stayed about three hours, watching the birds. He said all the time he was there, birds were flying back and forth above the water in great numbers. The ones in the water were diving, some resting, some preening. All seemed to be in good shape.
Meanwhile, I had completed what I had come to do in Talkeetna, and started back for Willow around two-thirty. I was a little disappointed that I hadn’t seen a Murre. Billy had left for the river long before I arrived. I had two empty tubs in my car, to transport Murres to the Treatment Center, but now they weren’t needed. I was glad they were being released into the river, instead.
Be careful what you wish for.
This ends part one of my story of the Murre Invasion. Next time I will continue with what I encountered as I headed on back to Willow. Be sure and tune in.
* * * * *
Just south of Caswell Lodge something on the snow berm beside the road caught my eye; son-of-a-gun, it was a Murre, standing on the brown snow left by the snow plow. I turned around, drove back, turned again and pulled up next to the bird. It had settled onto its belly by then and was preening. I grabbed my camera and went to the back of the car to get a tub ready and nabbed a hand towel to place over the bird. I didn’t want to use one of the big towels which was lining the bottom of each tub. The Murre was about the size of a Mallard and I felt coming at it with a big bath towel would frighten it. The bird was unconcerned about the traffic barreling by- even when a big ol’ 18-wheeler roared by, flinging sand and snow to the side of the road. The bird didn’t flinch. There was nothing in its ‘hard-wiring’ to warn it that these strange ‘creatures’ were dangerous. I knew that this bird was going to become a ‘Murre pancake’ if I didn’t stop it from heading on out across the highway. I approached carefully. The Murre eyed me unconcerned, and kept preening. Billy had told me that the Murres folks had brought in had either come up to people or had let them approach and toss a towel over them without much fuss. I got within inches and then suddenly this bird startled and darted in the opposite direction, scooting itself across the snow by rowing its wings, its black webbed feet trailing out behind it.
Murres are diving birds- some have been reported to dive over 250 feet deep after their food of small fish, krill, crustaceans, marine worms, and squid. Their feet are set well back on their compact bodies to act as flippers while their sturdy wings propel them through the water. While their bodies are a wonder in the water, they are clumsy on land, and like loons and grebes, they are almost incapable of taking to the air from land. They can do it- an eye-witness watched one take off down her drive- but it takes a lot of running and a good tail wind for the seabird to get airborne off of land.
This may be a good time to interject some of their biology: they are in the family Alcidae, and other family members include various murrelets, auklets, Pigeon Guillemot, and Horned and Tufted Puffins.
Right now they are in their winter plumage. The chin and lower ½ of the face is white, with a pencil-thin black line running from the back of the eye down through the white area. Underside is white. The breeding plumage has the entire head and neck black, with only the underside remaining white.
They have the most densely packed nesting colony of any bird species. On top of cliffs there can be 28 to 34 birds within three square feet. Adults nest while touching other birds on both sides. They don’t build a nest. The female, who begins nesting in her fourth or fifth year, lays her single pale teal-colored egg with black dots and squiggle markings, right on bare rocks. The egg is round on one end and sharply pointed on the other, so should it be jostled with the comings and goings of the parents, it will only roll in a tight circle and not pitch off the side of the cliff. After a four to five week incubation, the parents take turns feeding the nestling and two to three weeks later the chick takes its first flight and leaves the colony with its parent (usually dad) and moves to the water, where it will spend most of its life, usually leaving the water only to breed and nest.
So as I chased after my Murre, I could easily picture the bird propelling itself over rolling waves the way it was rowing itself over the undulating snow layer. The only way I was able to keep up with it at all was because it kept fetching up against spruce boughs and stopping, which gave me time to struggle through the thigh-deep snow and catch up to it. Finally it slid down into a bowl beneath a spruce and got tangled in spruce branches enough that I was able to grab it with the towel before it could get itself free and take off again. For my efforts I received a stab on the wrist by its needle-sharp bill. I quickly placed the Murre’s head inside my jacket and it instantly became quiet and still. I struggled back through the snow, filling my boots, and at the car placed the Murre in the tub, taking a quick photo to get a size reference with my hand on the bird. It made a couple of more jabs at me, which I was able to dodge before I closed the tub’s lid. This bird was in good condition- I couldn’t feel any bones and its feathers were clean and in nice shape. It wasn’t starving, as far as I could tell.
I called Billy. He had just returned from releasing the Murres at the river. He and Tod would keep the Murre overnight and release it the next day at the river. I turned around and drove on back to Talkeetna.
Story by Robin Song
