Taiwan: Streamside Birds

I have long had a particular fascination with birds that live along rushing streams (or, these days, that hang around the dams we build to block them).  Life along a torrent poses challenges for birds - in particular, the roar of the waters competes with any sounds the birds make, so signalling others of their kind by voice can be tricky. As a consequence a number of streamside birds have developed combinations of shrill, high-pitched calls and, often, flash-pattern, black-and-white plumage that they show off with tail-wagging or bobbing displays and other stylized movements - with the additional value that this combination of pattern and display can help to conceal the bird from a predator against a background of foam-flecked water. 

I am particularly fond of one group of stream birds, the graceful and elegant forktails (Enicurus). Taiwan is home to one I had never seen, so en route to our next stop, Xitou, we stopped off to have a look for it at a spot where Bob had previously photographed a pair. They weren't there when we arrived, but with a bit of patience and some help from a curious passerby we soon located them.

The Little Forktail (Enicurus scouleri) is the smallest and most compact of the forktails, and if it lacks the slim elegance of some of its cousins it is a charming bird nevertheless. You can see how it's striking pattern breaks up the bird's outline when viewed against the background of the light-dappled water. Notice the pink feet!  On the Asian mainland, this forktail is a bird of high elevations, above the range of the other species; here in Taiwan, where it is the only one, it can be found - as we found it - lower down. 

Forktails are members of the chat/old world flycatcher family. The same family contains other Asian stream birds, and we caught up with two of them once we arrived at Xitou. 

One was an old acquaintance: the Plumbeous Redstart (Phoenicurus fuliginosus affinis), a bird I first met many years ago in the Himalayas and have seen again in mainland China. This is an adult male.  This bird, with a close cousin from Luzon, is usually placed in a separate genus, Rhyacornis, but a recent molecular study of the chats shows that it belongs with the other redstarts – something, by the way, that I proposed myself in a paper that appeared back in 1979.  

It has the distinctive habit of constantly fanning and depressing its tail, something that differentiates it from its cousins but, in my opinion, is simply another example of a streamside bird flash display.

The female Plumbeous Redstart is a very interesting bird. It's plumage is quite different from that of other female redstarts, but looks very much like that of a juvenile. In my old paper I proposed that this was a case of a species that had lost sexual dimorphism (in its closest relatives the male and female are alike), but reacquired it by retaining a modified, greyed out version of its juvenile plumage into adulthood in the female birds.  The female, by the way, has white tail patches that it reveals when it fans its tail feathers.

The other stream bird at Xitou was the Taiwan Whistling Thrush (Myiophoneus insularis), an endemic species.  While ornithologists have concluded that the chats (such as the forktails and the water redstarts) are more closely related to flycatchers than to thrushes, the idea that these big, robust birds are not thrushes seems counter-intuitive.  Nonetheless, the molecular study I referred to earlier shows not only that they are oversize chats, but - even more surprisingly - that their closest relatives are the forktails.  Other than their preference for running water, the two groups of birds seem about as different as can be - but that's what the genes tell us.  Whistling thrushes lack the flash-pattern plumage of forktails, and can seem downright dull - but perhaps they have another way of drawing attention to themselves.

These photos seem to show a completely different bird from the dull-coloured blackish creature above - but it's the same individual, this time taken with a flash.  The result brings out striking structural blues that, I suspect, birders rarely see.

Are these shots unnatural?  Or are they showing us something of the brilliance that other whistling thrushes, who see further into the ultraviolet than we do and have plumage patches of pure ultraviolet that we cannot see at all, see when they encounter one of their own kind? Is that what gives this bird its "flash"?

Taiwan: The Heights of Hehuanshan

From Dasyueshan Bob drive Eileen and I deeper into the mountains, as high as the roads reach: to the cold, mist-enshrouded heights of Hehuanshan, above the tree line at over 3000 metres elevation. Here, on April 17, 2013, we searched for some if the special birds of Taiwan's alpine zone. 

Perched high in the mountains - so high, in fact, that among its amenities for guests is a supply of oxygen - is Song Syue Lodge, our destination for the night.

At this altitude, at least some of the birds are more typical of Siberia than tropical Asia. There aren't many places this far south where I could be serenaded by a Eurasian Wren (Troglodytes troglodytes taivanus), perched atop a conifer tree behind the lodge.

Here's the wren at ground level, on a bank outside the lodge entrance. Wrens, by the way, are a primarily American family, and there are plenty of species in the New World tropics. In tropical Asia, though it has its share of wrenlike birds - mostly babblers, or something like babblers - this is the only true wren. It used to be considered a member of one wide-ranging species found from Britain (making it the first bird to which the name "wren" was applied) to Alaska and Canada, but the American populations have now not only been split away from the Old World birds, but have been divided into two species themselves, the Winter Wren (T. hiemalis) and the Pacific Wren (T. pacificus).

After breakfast, Bob and I headed to a nearby conifer plantation (listed as Hehuanshanguanli Station on the map) in search of (for me) the most interesting of Taiwan's endemic birds: the Taiwan Firecrest or Flamecrest (Regulus goodfellowi).

First, though, we met another endemic: a male Collared Bush-Robin or Johnstone's Robin (Tarsiger johnstoniae). Obviously this individual has had dealings with people before - the coloured leg-bands are there for individual identification, so someone - I don't know who - has enlisted this bird as part of a population or behavioral study. I'd be curious to know the results.

The White-whiskered Laughingthrushes (Garrulax morrisonianus) here must also be used to people - especially people with food. They descended on us with cries of delight almost as soon as we set foot along the plantation edge.

Birding is a lot easier when the birds come to you!

The Firecrest, Bob told me, was by no means a sure thing - so I was extremely gratified when this one paid us a short visit. Like its cousins elsewhere in the world, this is a bird that keeps on the move.  It was all I could do to get a few quick snaps (Bob got some far better ones; you can see them on his Flickr site).  There is just enough orange in this bird's crest to make me think this is a male; the bird didn't treat us to the sight of its crest fully erected (something it can do much more spectacularly than the other members of its family).

Firecrests (or kinglets, as we call them in North America) are, as I have said, interesting birds. They belong to a tiny and apparently ancient family, the Regulidae, only half a dozen species of little, active birds whose relatives remain a mystery. They are primarily birds of the northern forests of both the Old and New Worlds, with a few isolated populations (or species, if you prefer) in the Canaries and Madeiras in the Atlantic and this one, the most colourful of the lot, isolated in the highlands of Taiwan.

The Taiwan Fulvetta (Fulvetta formosana), another higher-elevation endemic, has not been recognized as an endemic for long; before 2006 it was considered to be only a subspecies of the Streak-throated Fulvetta (F. cinereiceps).  That is not its only recent name-change; it used to be included in the genus Alcippe with all the other "fulvettas", but it turns out (based on molecular studies) that some fulvettas are really relatives of the laughing thrushes (Leiothrichidae) while the others are closer to the parrotbills (Paradoxornithidae).  The laughingthrush relatives include the original Alcippe, so they keep that name, but but the others, including this one, have to be renamed - so Fulvetta they are.  Anyway, they're very cute.

This plain but active little bird is another victim (if I can use that word) of a recent taxonomic split, though in this case that doesn't convert it, except at the subspecific level, into a Taiwan endemic.  The Taiwan form of the Yellow-bellied Bush Warbler (Horornis [or Cettia] acanthizoides concolor) is  one of three subpecies; the others are scattered across the mountains of central China and the Himalayas.  The species was once included with Hume's Bush-Warbler (Horornis brunnescens) of northern India and Nepal.  

Its song is much stranger and more distinctive than its appearance - a series of slow, increasingly high-pitched whistles (followed by a monotone trill) at such a high frequency that I was amazed, at my age, that I could still hear them.  Mind you, they must sound a lot louder to other birds than they do to me!

After our successful Firecrest hunt Bob and I headed back to the lodge, where we found a female Collared Bush-Robin.  She hopped onto a rock for a better look at us before getting back to the more productive task of poking about in the leaf litter.

By now the fog was closing in, but Bob wanted to show me one more high-mountain specialty before we headed back to less oxygen-starved altitudes.  After collecting Eileen, we headed off to a nearby overlook in search of the Taiwan race of the Alpine Accentor (Prunella collaris fennelli).  The overlook was fogged in and didn't look over anything, but the bird - undoubtedly expecting a handout from us - was there.

Accentors (Prunellidae), like firecrests, are pretty exotic creatures for a southeast Asian (or, for that matter, a North American) birder.  They are confined to the temperate regions of Eurasia; I first came across this species in the Alps.  They are rather sombre birds, but their undramatic plumage hides a frantic sexual lifestyle that can involve monogamy, polygamy, polyandry, multiple partners and intense sperm competition.  All this was first uncovered in a classic study by Nicholas Davies of the plainest of the lot, the Dunnock or Hedgesparrow (Prunella modularis), amid the spires of Oxford.  You can check out the sordid details in Davies' book Dunnock Behaviour and Social Evolution.  It's a superb, and enlightening, read.

Taiwan: Pheasant Jungles (Part Two)

The next morning - April 17, 2013 - Eileen and I left our cabin at Dasyueshan National Forest in the brisk early morning light with Bob Du, our friend and guide, to search for the second of Taiwan's endemic pheasants.

Swinhoe's Pheasant (Lophura swinhoii), a species once reduced to less than 200 individuals in the wild, is a bird of lower elevations than the Mikado Pheasant, mostly below 1000 metres (though it can range higher, up to 2500 m). This time, then, we set off not uphill but down, following the road into dense, deep green broadleaf forest.

We had not far to go.  Well before we reached the traditional Swinhoe's stakeout point, we came across a female showing great interest in a gutter at a bend in the road.

We soon found out why. At  the bottom of the gutter were a brood of chicks - whether they had gotten there by accident or design, we couldn't say.

The chicks were particularly attractive little birds, beautifully patterned in black, grey and buff with a rich chestnut wash over the crown.

Their mother seemed to be trying to show her brood how to get out of the gutter…

…but the chicks, though they certainly tried, couldn't manage it.  We thought we would only make matters worse by interfering (and were concerned that just by being there we were adding to the tension of the situation), so after watching the family for a few minutes we reluctantly moved on.

The usual drill for seeing Swinhoe's is much the same as for the Mikado Pheasant: drive to the right spot, put out some attractive bait, get your camera ready, and work on the assumption that If You Feed Them, They Will Come…

…and it works!

After the sombre and elegant beauty of the Mikado, the male Swinhoe's Pheasant is almost garish.

The effect is pronounced by the bird's ability, when excited (either by us or by the presence of a nearby female in the undergrowth) to pump blood into its facial watches and comb,  spreading them out to cover most of its face.

 At the height of his excitement, even his bill vanishes from view.

It didn't hurt that our bird strutted repeatedly almost to our feet, flaunting his colours at us as he did so.

Of course we saw other birds, too - Swinhoe's Pheasant is not the only species that has learned that crazy humans scatter bait on the roadside. Others included a female White-tailed Robin (Myiomela leucura montium)…

…and one of the most attractive (and common) of Taiwan's endemic birds, Steere's Liocichla (Liocichla steerii).

Perny's Long-nosed Squirrels (Dremomys pernyi owstoni) were as eager for a handout here as they were at the Mikado Pheasant stakeout higher up the mountain.

Our pheasant had wandered off for a bit, but just as we were about to head off ourselves he treated us to a mid-morning encore.

This time, he seemed considerably more excited - a female had emerged onto the roadside, an opportunity he was not about to pass by without some response.

This video shows, among other things, a bit of his antics, including head shaking and wing whirring followed by a bounding display. The female seems to take it all, more or less, in stride.

Eventually the pheasants grew tired of us and stalked off into the trees. We were free to pursue other forest birds - and to take in some of the forest where they lived.

The understory at this elevation was heavy and seemingly diverse, dominated in places by thick clumps of ginger (at least along the roadside).

Ferns of a number of species grew on fallen logs or carpeted roadside banks.  The plant in the lower photo may be Japanese Tongue Fern (Pyrrosia lingua), but I am far from sure.

Gingers are widely cultivated in Taiwan, so I am not sure if the roadside plants at Dasyueshan were wild or escapes.  We were there early in the season, and their flower heads were just beginning to open, making identification tricky.

I think, though, that these are a species of Alpinia - ginger experts out there, please feel free to comment!

Whatever they are, they were most attractive, even in bud.

I am on a bit firmer ground here - but then any naturalist from Ontario would recognize this plant as a cousin of our Jack-in-the-Pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum), though Asian members of this aroid group are usually called cobra lilies.  Arisaema is one of those interesting plant genera found in both eastern North America (where there are only a few species) and Eastern Asia (with far more, spreading to southern Asia and East Africa in this case), but not in between.  I was very interested to see it blooming by the roadside, and Bob kindly found me a clump to photograph.

Anyway, there are several in Taiwan.  As this one has only 10 or so leaflets (see photo above) it is probably Arisaema formosanum, which is recorded from Dasyueshan.  Well, I think so anyway.

This roadside rest stop was a spot for one of Taiwan's more elusive endemics, the Yellow Tit (Parus holsti).  I had only the briefest glimpse of a bird in a treetop, but this stretch of roadside was beautiful and productive all the same.

I include this shot - our only raptor - not so much because it is good (it isn't) but in the hope that someone out there can confirm my identification.  I'm tentatively calling it a Crested Goshawk  (Accipiter trivirgatus) for lack of anything that fits better, but I'm not happy about it.

This isn't a terrific shot either (better ones will come in a later entry) but it introduces you to one of Taiwan's most charming endemics, the Taiwan Yuhina (Yuhina brunneiceps).  Yuhinas are now known to be close to the white-eyes (in the same babbler subfamily, Zosteropinae), and like them travel through the trees in active twittering flocks.

So do Black-throated Tits (Aegithalos concinnus), though we saw far fewer of them than we did of the yuhinas.

The Ferruginous Flycatcher (Muscicapa ferruginea) is a bird I also see now and again in West Malaysia, where it is a migrant and winter visitor (it is a rarity in Borneo). 

Another bird shared by both Taiwan and Borneo (where it is a montane species common on Mount Kinabalu) is the Grey-chinned Minivet (Pericrocotus solaris griseogularis). This is a male. 

In short, as a birding spot Dasyueshan deserved its reputation. We spent quite a bit of time in the forest - more than we intended, actually, because Bob's car developed a bit of trouble and we had to wait for a service truck to make its way up from the lowlands. Mind you, I didn't 't mind the extra time in this beautiful place one bit!