There I was, cresting a hill on a country road. About a mile away, I saw a flock of small birds, probably starlings. They were packed tightly in formation and clearly wishing they were somewhere else. I figured a hawk had spooked them. Sure enough, there it was, a speck in the distance right where I had first seen the flock. It had given up pursuit, having lost the element of surprise, and was slowly circling to regain altitude. With every tight circle, it fluttered quickly, three or four times. A Cooper’s hawk.
I don’t know if I am over experienced or under motivated. The odds favor the latter. The longer I bird, the less I rely on color and field marks. Much of the time, my initial identification of a bird is the result of an active imagination and the application of adjectives. In this case, the tight circling and intermittent flapping was typical of an accipiter.
It wasn’t a falcon. A peregrine can soar but doesn’t flap much when circling. A merlin doesn’t even circle much. And neither would have given up pursuit in the open sky so easily.
It wasn’t a buteo. Only a few members of this hawk family even bother to chase birds, and none of those live in Maine.
So it had to be an accipiter: a sharp-shinned hawk, a Cooper’s hawk or a northern goshawk. These three hawks have long tails for maneuverability and relatively short wings that are good for speed but not so good for soaring, which explains the quick flapping to maintain altitude. It was too small to be a northern goshawk. The head appeared to stick out well in front of the wings, which eliminated sharp-shinned. From a mile away, I had identified a Cooper’s hawk while it was still just a mere speck.
I’m talking about identification by jizz. Jizz is a term I’ve only ever heard used by birders. Spellcheck rejects it as a word, and I’ve wondered about its origin. After virtually no research, I discovered that it’s British. According to Wikipedia: “Jizz is a term originally used by birders to describe the overall impression or appearance of a bird garnered from such features as shape, posture, flying style or other habitual movements, size and colouration, combined with voice, habitat and location.”
So, jizz is birding by impression. It’s when something about that little cuss tells you what it is, long before you’ve focused on any particular field mark. The good news is, you get better at this skill with every mistake you make. I’ve been wrong so often that I’m getting harder to fool.
For example, my wife and I were driving a back road last week. Two drab birds flew up and away from the side of the road. “Sparrows,” my wife said. “Finches,” I said. “Sparrows would have flown to the nearest bush. These flew high and away.” Most likely, they were winter-colored goldfinches.
Another example, I was driving down Interstate 95 this week. I spotted a large raptor ahead, circling over the median strip. Its circle was tighter than an eagle’s, and it didn’t flap while circling. Red-tailed hawk. I actually checked the odometer to measure the distance from which I had made the ID: four-tenths of a mile.
Our brains form an impression long before the rest of the field marks become apparent. Size, shape, movement — these are attributes the mind processes before color, wing bars and bill size. Often, that’s enough.
The ultimate jizz bird is the common raven. It looks like a big crow, and they are easily confused. The raven has a larger bill and a wedge-like tail, which confirm the identification, but I’ve usually figured it out long before ever seeing those telltale signs. It just flies funny. Its wings are proportionally longer, so the wingbeat is slower. Crows flap in what has been described as a “rowing” motion, beating their wings slightly toward the rear. The big wings of a raven move vertically up and down, and the wingtips always seem to point slightly up. Ravens soar; crows don’t. Crows don’t even glide much, except when approaching a perch. Unless chasing an eagle or being chased by a crow, ravens never seem to be in much of a hurry. These are impressions that are hard to put into a field guide.
The best thing is, we’ve got lots and lots of crows and a goodly number of ravens. All it takes is a little time to notice.
Bob Duchesne serves as vice president of Maine Audubon’s Penobscot Valley Chapter. He developed the Maine Birding Trail, with information at mainebirdingtrail.com. He can be reached at duchesne@midmaine.com.