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What kind of Junco? (1 Viewer)
- Thread starter Chuck A. Walla
- Start date
Grousemore
Senior Member
I'm a Junco novice,but from a quick look at Sibley,I'd agree with gthang on the oregon form.
Now where exactly is Nevada....
Now where exactly is Nevada....
Grousemore
Senior Member
found it,due west from those big lakes;oregon it must be!
gthang
Ford Focus Fanatic: mmmmmm... 3.1415926535.....
Nevada is the pointy state just to the right of California.
california on the left (the state bordering the Pacific) and nevada is just to the right (The state with Carson city)
http://maps.yahoo.com/maps_result?ed=M7tNO.p_0TqT&csz=Nevada&country=us
california on the left (the state bordering the Pacific) and nevada is just to the right (The state with Carson city)
http://maps.yahoo.com/maps_result?ed=M7tNO.p_0TqT&csz=Nevada&country=us
Grousemore
Senior Member
Thanks,mate,our posts crossed;I'll study your map links,I need to spread my wings from Florida really.
Chuck A. Walla
Well-known member
Grousemore said:
Thanks.
BTB, Nevada is the big open space just east of California. :eat:
bob
Carson
Well-known member
There's nothing I see in the picture to suggest that is any different from the hundred or so Oregon-form Dark-eyed Juncos I saw today. I've grown up with those birds. Yours looks absolutely typical.
On the other hand, the last time I posted anything in these forums suggesting a bird was simply the ordinary form, I got into lots & lots of trouble, as everyone agreed it must surely be a hybrid; in that case, a very exotic duck hybridized with another assumed to be a scaup.
Therefore, having learned my lesson, I will say your bird is obviously an Oregon Junco x Lesser Scaup cross.
Once bitten, twice shy.
On the other hand, the last time I posted anything in these forums suggesting a bird was simply the ordinary form, I got into lots & lots of trouble, as everyone agreed it must surely be a hybrid; in that case, a very exotic duck hybridized with another assumed to be a scaup.
Therefore, having learned my lesson, I will say your bird is obviously an Oregon Junco x Lesser Scaup cross.
Once bitten, twice shy.
Katy Penland
Well-known member
Chuck A. Walla said:
Typical Oregon junco male. The buffy flanks rule out slate-colored of either gender. Nice shot, Chuck!
Michael Frankis
conehead
The interesting thing is that the pointless bit is right down near in the pointy bitgthang said:
:king:
Chuck A. Walla
Well-known member
Michael Frankis said:
Oddly enough, the pointy bit, to the best of my knowledge, at 400 ft elevation, actually is the lowest point in the state.
And thanks all. I haven't seen the range of Junco and wanted to verify this one.
Included is a shot of one of the locals.
bob
Attachments
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Carson
Well-known member
You might be interested in knowing that, in 1941, Roger Peterson listed six species of Juncos in his western Field Guide. Here, the typical Nevada form pictured was called Gray-headed Junco, Junco caniceps. Notice the very pale bill, both upper and lower mandibles, which distinguished it from the Red-backed Junco, J. phaeonotus.
Of course, we still differentiate these two in the same way today, the Red-backed being the more southerly. But now we consider them (and the Oregon Junco too, which I learned as a species, J. oreganus) as colour forms of a single species called Dark-eyed Junco, J. hyemalis.
Are you still holding on? The hyemalis name was taken from the eastern all-evenly-gray Slate-coloured Junco, another former species now considered a colour form of Dark-eyed Junco. (In North America, eastern names generally predominate, through historical precedence. As a true westerner, I have never liked that; not one bit.)
Dark-eyed Juncos came into being, in the AOU's typically floundering grammar, as opposed to Yellow-eyed Juncos. Yellow-eyed Juncos now have that old name J. phaeonotus, and are the only juncos still recognized as a separate species from the original bunch of six.
If six junco species were not enough, there were subspecies into which you could further break them down.
And if you'd like to go back even further, juncos (and fieldfares, too, I've read) were once known as snowbirds. We might think snowbirds must have been snow buntings, but No--and, when the name "Junco" became common parlance, there was protest that such a good name as "snowbird" could be discarded for a word like "junco."
In any case, Canadian singer Anne Murray owes her career to the junco.
(I tried to find the etymology of "junco," but you have to be careful about much of the quick-&-dirty etymology you get on the web, which is pretty junky in itself. Maybe (or maybe not) the word could relate to juncus, the reed, and so jonquil, daffodil. I really doubt the former, but it's possible to conjure some rough reasoning for the latter, as juncos are especially conspicuous at Easter [daffodil-time]. But I don't know.)
As for Chuck A. Walla's state being "pointy," I see your point, but with a name like my own, I think of Nevada as much more special than "pointy." And you Brits who enjoy web-discoveries might also like to research Chuck A. Walla's (significant) forum name.
Of course, we still differentiate these two in the same way today, the Red-backed being the more southerly. But now we consider them (and the Oregon Junco too, which I learned as a species, J. oreganus) as colour forms of a single species called Dark-eyed Junco, J. hyemalis.
Are you still holding on? The hyemalis name was taken from the eastern all-evenly-gray Slate-coloured Junco, another former species now considered a colour form of Dark-eyed Junco. (In North America, eastern names generally predominate, through historical precedence. As a true westerner, I have never liked that; not one bit.)
Dark-eyed Juncos came into being, in the AOU's typically floundering grammar, as opposed to Yellow-eyed Juncos. Yellow-eyed Juncos now have that old name J. phaeonotus, and are the only juncos still recognized as a separate species from the original bunch of six.
If six junco species were not enough, there were subspecies into which you could further break them down.
And if you'd like to go back even further, juncos (and fieldfares, too, I've read) were once known as snowbirds. We might think snowbirds must have been snow buntings, but No--and, when the name "Junco" became common parlance, there was protest that such a good name as "snowbird" could be discarded for a word like "junco."
In any case, Canadian singer Anne Murray owes her career to the junco.
(I tried to find the etymology of "junco," but you have to be careful about much of the quick-&-dirty etymology you get on the web, which is pretty junky in itself. Maybe (or maybe not) the word could relate to juncus, the reed, and so jonquil, daffodil. I really doubt the former, but it's possible to conjure some rough reasoning for the latter, as juncos are especially conspicuous at Easter [daffodil-time]. But I don't know.)
As for Chuck A. Walla's state being "pointy," I see your point, but with a name like my own, I think of Nevada as much more special than "pointy." And you Brits who enjoy web-discoveries might also like to research Chuck A. Walla's (significant) forum name.
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Michael Frankis
conehead
Hi Carson,
Michael
Easy one this - hyemalis was the first junco described, and the name therefore takes priority. In Latin names, it is first come, first served.Carson said:
There's another one in Central America, Volcano Junco (Junco vulcani), and the Gualadupe Junco (J. insularis, endemic on Isla Guadalupe off western Baja California) is also often still treated as a distinct species.
Checked in the OED - from Juncus (rushes) is right, by way of an old Spanish name for the Reed Bunting (Emberiza schoeniclus), which is the European bird which most closely resembles a junco; Spanish 'junco' meaning "rush-dweller". So it should presumably be pronounced latino style, 'hunco'
Michael
Carson
Well-known member
Yeah, Michael, the explorers worked their way across the continent usually from east to west. The eastern names were established first, and, of course, the big population centres remain largely eastern.
As a result, West Coast schoolkids to this very day know the commonest eastern bird names, but not their own. Children know such names as Ruby-throated Hummingbird, Blue Jay, Baltimore Oriole, and Red-headed Woodpecker, which predominate in text books and on cereal packages; but even adults remain fairly unfamiliar with our own Rufous Hummingbird, Steller's Jay, Bullock's Oriole, and so forth.
Of course, again, the books are printed in the population centres which are mainly eastern.
However, the influence is less now than it used to be. Peterson's first western field guide, in 1941, began the long slow process of "naming" our western birds for us. And I did enjoy eventually seeing the birds whose names I had known as a child--even though that experience came twenty years after the names themselves.
We also have quite a number of plants whose names are "False" this-and-that, as they were originally named for not-necessarily-similar eastern species. False azalea, False Solomon's-seal, and so on.
Hand-me-down names, that don't necessarily fit!
So you go for the junco/juncus etymology, do you? Pretty thin. Juncos have nothing to do with reedy places; they're especially non-reedy in the various habitats they choose. It's so easy for these people (not you; the etymology-writers) to make the connections after the fact, but I distrust surmise. The names junco and juncus are right on top of each other, but I still wonder.
(I got into the habit of debunking "native legends," which are almost all white-man's stories, years ago, when I was studying native cultures. I'm leery now. I'm not disagreeing with you; but I'm more comfy-cozy in my usual "I don't know" spot.
(We had such a problem in interpretation, getting staff to say "I don't know" instead of surmising, so it left me cautious. There was a fantastic example of wrong etymology circulated world-wide several years ago, as to the origin of "blue moon." Fascinating; but mildly horrifying, too. I believe it began with one person's [incorrect] surmise, and then the surmise being picked up in a schoolteachers' reference. Something like that.)
Do we have another bird named for a habitat it never visits? We have Magnolia Warbler, of the northern conifer forests. It has nothing particularly against magnolias, and I believe the first one gunned down was a migratory bird in a magnolia, very far to the south of what was until then its destination.
You know, Michael [and you do know, and I know you know; this is really for any readers who might find it interesting], the American and English Robins are dissimilar. But the bird that is much more confusing in its name is the Blackbird, singing in the dead of night--for your blackbird is a thrush. Not only is he a thrush, but he's a Turdus, of the very same genus as our American Robin. Therefore the American Robin and your Blackbird are much closer cousins than are the two "robins." And, if that isn't enough of a name-trap, we can top it off with the blackbirds here being members of a completely different family, not a bit closely related to your Blackbird.
Is that enough? Or should I add that the American Ornithologists' Union lists the American Robin, Turdus migratorius, and eight other Turdus thrushes as, in English, various kinds of robins; while listing another eight Turdus thrushes as thrushes. (There are more, but these all have adjectival first names, so the choice is there.) I guess fair is fair, right? Half and half.
All of this was done purposely, I'm sure. It just must be a conspiracy of some sort.
Tell you what, if you'd like to make a little trip down to Irazu, I'll go with you and we can look at Volcano Juncos together. Now there's a name that is right on! Our Zonotrichia sparrow collection of five is completed down there too, with Costa Rica's ubiquitous Rufous-collared Sparrow--the other four are right here.
I loved the Rufous-collared Sparrows, although I did not guess they were Zonotrichias. (That's an "oh, of course" thing.) There are wondrously few House Sparrows in Costa Rica, and the Rufous-collared Sparrows maintain their every-neighbourhood-has-some status, which is the way it should be. But I never visited the volcanoes, so, c'mon, let's go! Gotta see that junco!
A junco junket.
(Actually I aborted a to-be six-month CR trip last June, hours before plane time. I still have a ticket that is repairable for cheap, but I'm afraid my non-capitalist lifestyle barely buys me food, let alone flights of fancy.)
As a result, West Coast schoolkids to this very day know the commonest eastern bird names, but not their own. Children know such names as Ruby-throated Hummingbird, Blue Jay, Baltimore Oriole, and Red-headed Woodpecker, which predominate in text books and on cereal packages; but even adults remain fairly unfamiliar with our own Rufous Hummingbird, Steller's Jay, Bullock's Oriole, and so forth.
Of course, again, the books are printed in the population centres which are mainly eastern.
However, the influence is less now than it used to be. Peterson's first western field guide, in 1941, began the long slow process of "naming" our western birds for us. And I did enjoy eventually seeing the birds whose names I had known as a child--even though that experience came twenty years after the names themselves.
We also have quite a number of plants whose names are "False" this-and-that, as they were originally named for not-necessarily-similar eastern species. False azalea, False Solomon's-seal, and so on.
Hand-me-down names, that don't necessarily fit!
So you go for the junco/juncus etymology, do you? Pretty thin. Juncos have nothing to do with reedy places; they're especially non-reedy in the various habitats they choose. It's so easy for these people (not you; the etymology-writers) to make the connections after the fact, but I distrust surmise. The names junco and juncus are right on top of each other, but I still wonder.
(I got into the habit of debunking "native legends," which are almost all white-man's stories, years ago, when I was studying native cultures. I'm leery now. I'm not disagreeing with you; but I'm more comfy-cozy in my usual "I don't know" spot.
(We had such a problem in interpretation, getting staff to say "I don't know" instead of surmising, so it left me cautious. There was a fantastic example of wrong etymology circulated world-wide several years ago, as to the origin of "blue moon." Fascinating; but mildly horrifying, too. I believe it began with one person's [incorrect] surmise, and then the surmise being picked up in a schoolteachers' reference. Something like that.)
Do we have another bird named for a habitat it never visits? We have Magnolia Warbler, of the northern conifer forests. It has nothing particularly against magnolias, and I believe the first one gunned down was a migratory bird in a magnolia, very far to the south of what was until then its destination.
You know, Michael [and you do know, and I know you know; this is really for any readers who might find it interesting], the American and English Robins are dissimilar. But the bird that is much more confusing in its name is the Blackbird, singing in the dead of night--for your blackbird is a thrush. Not only is he a thrush, but he's a Turdus, of the very same genus as our American Robin. Therefore the American Robin and your Blackbird are much closer cousins than are the two "robins." And, if that isn't enough of a name-trap, we can top it off with the blackbirds here being members of a completely different family, not a bit closely related to your Blackbird.
Is that enough? Or should I add that the American Ornithologists' Union lists the American Robin, Turdus migratorius, and eight other Turdus thrushes as, in English, various kinds of robins; while listing another eight Turdus thrushes as thrushes. (There are more, but these all have adjectival first names, so the choice is there.) I guess fair is fair, right? Half and half.
All of this was done purposely, I'm sure. It just must be a conspiracy of some sort.
Tell you what, if you'd like to make a little trip down to Irazu, I'll go with you and we can look at Volcano Juncos together. Now there's a name that is right on! Our Zonotrichia sparrow collection of five is completed down there too, with Costa Rica's ubiquitous Rufous-collared Sparrow--the other four are right here.
I loved the Rufous-collared Sparrows, although I did not guess they were Zonotrichias. (That's an "oh, of course" thing.) There are wondrously few House Sparrows in Costa Rica, and the Rufous-collared Sparrows maintain their every-neighbourhood-has-some status, which is the way it should be. But I never visited the volcanoes, so, c'mon, let's go! Gotta see that junco!
A junco junket.
(Actually I aborted a to-be six-month CR trip last June, hours before plane time. I still have a ticket that is repairable for cheap, but I'm afraid my non-capitalist lifestyle barely buys me food, let alone flights of fancy.)
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Carson
Well-known member
Ah, gthang, you ask a question that would allow for the teaching of an entire university course, and doctoral degrees as well--and has.
But I'm not sure if you're asking why subspecies were listed in that old field guide, or why they exist at all in taxonomy. I'll assume the first.
There was no precedent for IDing birds in the field--you were expected to go out and shoot them; I kid you not; and bring them home in a bag. So these new field guides of the 1930s and 1940s were quietly revolutionary, and they turned "birding" upside down.
Early writers had no particular interest in species designations; the idea was simply to identify the bird as well as you could. Formerly, colour descriptions had been exquisitely detailed feather-by-feather essays of perhaps 300 or 500 words for a single bird. Now, here were these pioneers like Peterson using little arrows to point out "diagnostic" features.
Diagnostic: if it's there, the ID is conclusive.
Characteristic: typifies, but doesn't guarantee the ID.
So, IDing the bird "as well as possible" might take it to species, subspecies (a finer distinction), or just to genus (a coarser distinction). Heated arguments have been had as to the feasibility in being accurate at various levels in the field. Well up through the 1960s and into the 1970s, it was still considered a great idea to shoot the bird if it was rare.
Which made it more rare, but we won't digress.
Okay: an Empidonax flycatcher is safest to ID just to the generic level ("Empidonax"), unless it's a relatively easy species (Western Flycatchers have yellowish throats) or else it sings for you. Habitats offer weight as characteristics. In the old days, birders might have been more satisfied than now to just take the bird to genus, in a case like Empidonax; a younger generation today feels it can go further.
I'm 57, and I'm not atypical of my age group to feel more comfortable saying "I don't know" than saying "it might be" or "it could be." It just depends which chair you prefer to sit in.
Besides, it's fun to say "Maybe...and, then again, maybe not," because it drives those young keeners crazy.
Long- and Short-billed Dowitchers: same thing. They have different calls, but they associate together, so a little flock of six, flying away with some calls characteristic of one species, may actually consist of a majority of (silent) birds of the other species. It's quite possible.
Subspecies: Well, species are the finest delineations that (1) in nature will (2) breed together and (3) produce fertile offspring. It's theoretical, because you're freezing evolutionary time here: you're classifying water that's flowing down a stream. And it is anything but neat & tidy.
Botanists look at birders and just shake their heads: they don't have it nearly so easy. There are only about 10,000 species of birds on the planet, so they're a comparative cinch.
But not really. The water of time keeps slipping through our fingers. Our species don't conform. That's why flickers and orioles and warblers and Aythya ducks and heaven-knows-what break our careful little rules.
But IN THEORY two subspecies might interbreed, but they are likely separated geographically, like the girl and boy who lived on the morning and twilight sides of the mountain. So--hey, we're really coming up with an ANSWER, here--so, there are times when subspecies can be easily determined, because of a color difference and a geographical location. And those were the subspecies the early writers of field guides liked to mention.
Now STOP SCREAMING, all you well-meaning, enthusiastic, knowledgeable birders! I KNOW that that is just asking for trouble! That was the original point expressed here by gthang! And, it is a fact that Roger Tory Peterson advised against IDing a subspecies based on its geographical location, because, as he pointed out, what does that achieve? You could miss a neighboring subspecies just in for the day; and you haven't really identified the bird at all--you've really just identified its location.
So, point taken in advance: your protests are correct, and subspecies are mentioned less today than in 1941, when Peterson dedicated 3 1/2 pages of his western field guide to White-crowned Sparrows alone, as well as a 17-page chapter to subspecies as a topic.
--This in a book of only 240 pages!
There's always a catch. Here it comes: As a result of that early treatment of subspecies, those early field guides are treasured documents today, for their still-very-useable detail. For instance, the songs of all those subspecific White-crowned Sparrows were also detailed out diagrammatically.
And, today, old rednecks like me still refer to Red-shafted Flickers and Audubon's Warblers. If the distinction can be made, make the distinction.
Which was the whole idea in the first place, and was also the one-line answer to the question.
But I'm not sure if you're asking why subspecies were listed in that old field guide, or why they exist at all in taxonomy. I'll assume the first.
There was no precedent for IDing birds in the field--you were expected to go out and shoot them; I kid you not; and bring them home in a bag. So these new field guides of the 1930s and 1940s were quietly revolutionary, and they turned "birding" upside down.
Early writers had no particular interest in species designations; the idea was simply to identify the bird as well as you could. Formerly, colour descriptions had been exquisitely detailed feather-by-feather essays of perhaps 300 or 500 words for a single bird. Now, here were these pioneers like Peterson using little arrows to point out "diagnostic" features.
Diagnostic: if it's there, the ID is conclusive.
Characteristic: typifies, but doesn't guarantee the ID.
So, IDing the bird "as well as possible" might take it to species, subspecies (a finer distinction), or just to genus (a coarser distinction). Heated arguments have been had as to the feasibility in being accurate at various levels in the field. Well up through the 1960s and into the 1970s, it was still considered a great idea to shoot the bird if it was rare.
Which made it more rare, but we won't digress.
Okay: an Empidonax flycatcher is safest to ID just to the generic level ("Empidonax"), unless it's a relatively easy species (Western Flycatchers have yellowish throats) or else it sings for you. Habitats offer weight as characteristics. In the old days, birders might have been more satisfied than now to just take the bird to genus, in a case like Empidonax; a younger generation today feels it can go further.
I'm 57, and I'm not atypical of my age group to feel more comfortable saying "I don't know" than saying "it might be" or "it could be." It just depends which chair you prefer to sit in.
Besides, it's fun to say "Maybe...and, then again, maybe not," because it drives those young keeners crazy.
Long- and Short-billed Dowitchers: same thing. They have different calls, but they associate together, so a little flock of six, flying away with some calls characteristic of one species, may actually consist of a majority of (silent) birds of the other species. It's quite possible.
Subspecies: Well, species are the finest delineations that (1) in nature will (2) breed together and (3) produce fertile offspring. It's theoretical, because you're freezing evolutionary time here: you're classifying water that's flowing down a stream. And it is anything but neat & tidy.
Botanists look at birders and just shake their heads: they don't have it nearly so easy. There are only about 10,000 species of birds on the planet, so they're a comparative cinch.
But not really. The water of time keeps slipping through our fingers. Our species don't conform. That's why flickers and orioles and warblers and Aythya ducks and heaven-knows-what break our careful little rules.
But IN THEORY two subspecies might interbreed, but they are likely separated geographically, like the girl and boy who lived on the morning and twilight sides of the mountain. So--hey, we're really coming up with an ANSWER, here--so, there are times when subspecies can be easily determined, because of a color difference and a geographical location. And those were the subspecies the early writers of field guides liked to mention.
Now STOP SCREAMING, all you well-meaning, enthusiastic, knowledgeable birders! I KNOW that that is just asking for trouble! That was the original point expressed here by gthang! And, it is a fact that Roger Tory Peterson advised against IDing a subspecies based on its geographical location, because, as he pointed out, what does that achieve? You could miss a neighboring subspecies just in for the day; and you haven't really identified the bird at all--you've really just identified its location.
So, point taken in advance: your protests are correct, and subspecies are mentioned less today than in 1941, when Peterson dedicated 3 1/2 pages of his western field guide to White-crowned Sparrows alone, as well as a 17-page chapter to subspecies as a topic.
--This in a book of only 240 pages!
There's always a catch. Here it comes: As a result of that early treatment of subspecies, those early field guides are treasured documents today, for their still-very-useable detail. For instance, the songs of all those subspecific White-crowned Sparrows were also detailed out diagrammatically.
And, today, old rednecks like me still refer to Red-shafted Flickers and Audubon's Warblers. If the distinction can be made, make the distinction.
Which was the whole idea in the first place, and was also the one-line answer to the question.
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crispycreme
Well-known member
This is completely off-topic and inappropriate, but I just had to pop in and say how much I enjoy your posts, Carson! Here's hoping you continue to make your presence known throughout BirdForum.net for a long time to come.
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