Few things will clear out the bird feeders faster this time of year than the sudden appearance of a butcher bird. That’s the common name for a shrike, and here in a North Country winter that means the northern shrike, a species that summers in the boreal forest, up to the tree line, with highly variable wintertime movements. Virtually every winter at least some of these birds move into Minnesota.
They’re generally considered rare and for birders, it’s a sighting guaranteed to engender a bit of excitement for those so inclined. I once narrowly missed driving my car into a snow-laden ditch when one flew across the road in front of me.
The shrikes are an interesting genus. They are considered passerines, which means they’re a songbird versus a raptor. Yet as their common name implies, they are birds of prey and frequently feed on other birds, as well as mice and voles, particularly in winter. During good times, when prey is abundant, they have a habit of impaling their surplus on thorns for later consumption.
As songbirds, they lack the talons of hawks and owls, relying most on their slightly hooked beaks to grasp and rip apart their prey. As with other songbirds, the northern shrike does have a distinctive song, and some studies have suggested they sometimes use their singing to lure in small curious birds, like chickadees.
Those of us with multiple bird feeders, and an abundance of chickadees, probably see northern shrikes more often than other people since all the activity can catch the eye of a wandering shrike.
I was reminded of that once again earlier this month when a northern shrike caught my eye as it zipped into the yard, sending the chickadees, nuthatches, and pine grosbeaks fleeing for cover. I was in the yard at the time and dashed in to grab my camera in the hopes that he might stick around for a photo or two. Not only did he stick around, he showed once again that species from the boreal forests tend to exhibit little fear of humans. Even as I stood in the open with my camera and long lens, the shrike was focused on the hunt, trying to wait out some of the birds that obviously hid when he arrived.
We tend to think that birds simply fly away when a predator arrives on the scene, but for many smaller birds, like chickadees and sparrows, flying away can make them vulnerable to a predator that’s likely much faster on the wing. Many of these small birds will quickly drop into heavy cover and freeze as a better defense. It’s not perfect, of course. I still remember the time a sharp-shinned hawk showed up near the feeders. After the birds scattered for cover, that hawk landed on the ground, proceeded to stalk through the brush looking for those hiding places, reminding me of one of those velociraptors from the old Jurassic Park movies. When he found one sparrow, the poor bird made a last-ditch attempt to fly but the hawk was on it like a shot. If they can hide, most small birds opt for that approach, and for good reason.
The shrike’s focus on prey gave me the chance to capture a few images before my camera battery, which had obviously been low, gave out entirely. I went back in for a fresh battery, but by the time I came back out the shrike had moved on. A few minutes later, the birds were back like nothing had happened.
I’ve been on the lookout ever since, but if there’s one thing I’ve noticed over the years, it’s that northern shrikes tend to stay on the move. And with the small mammal population having rebounded considerably this winter, the shrikes likely aren’t as reliant on birds as a source of prey. Which makes our bird feeders of limited interest. That’s fine by me. While I appreciate an occasional look at this interesting species, I prefer when my feeder birds can come and go unmolested.