“Find a fall, or cascade, or rushing rapid, anywhere upon a clear stream, and there you will surely find its complementary Ouzel, flitting about in the spray, diving in foaming eddies, whirling like a leaf among beaten foam-bells; ever vigorous and enthusiastic, yet self-contained, and neither seeking nor shunning your company.”
~ John Muir, The Mountains of California, 1894
The first time I saw it, I knew exactly what it was. Not by an app, not by a bird book, I just knew. I had read about it a long time ago in My First Summer in the Sierra by John Muir, a “very interesting little bird that flits about falls and rapids and main branches of the river.”
It was the first week of December and I was sitting next to Martis Creek behind the dam. Winter was settling in, yet signs of fall were still present; the leaves of the willows orange-brown, the tall amber grass blowing in the wind. I just sat there — bundled up in my heavy coat, mittens, and hat — waiting for what, I don’t know.
And then it appeared.
A small, dark-grey, plump, round, little bird, small enough to fit in my hand. I spotted it standing on a rock next to the creek. As if it were bending at the knees and engaged in some kind of exercise, it bobbed up and down repeatedly. Then, after its workout, it dove head-first into a shallow part of the creek, surfaced in the exact spot it dove into, and climbed onto a rock in the middle of the creek.
“It’s the water-ouzel!” I shouted to no one.
I watched the dipper for as long as it would let me until it flew above the creek, not far above the surface, following the bends like a bobsledder.
“Were the flights of all the ouzels in the Sierra traced on a chart, they would indicate the direction of the flow of the entire system of ancient glaciers…the streams tracing the ancient glaciers, the ouzels tracing the streams,” wrote Muir in The Mountains of California.
Well, that is one to think about.
But to the simpler question: What is the purpose for swimming underwater, and how does the ouzel do it? Food, of course, is the reason. The American dipper forages for aquatic insects, mosquito larvae, fish eggs, and fish less than 3 inches in size, by diving and then pushing forward with short but muscular wings, much like humans rigorously breaststroke to avoid from being swept downstream. While underwater, it turns over pebbles or leaves to find its fare. It also picks at whatever bugs it can find on the sides of creeks and rivers.
I returned to Martis Creek two more times that week, excited by my find, and a fourth time the following week. During my fourth observation, I noticed a white flash coming from the bird’s eye. Through my binoculars I saw that each time it bobbed it blinked and each time it blinked the eyelids switched from black to white, as if by a switch. The reason? Its eyelids are composed of white feathers. To what purpose? Some things in nature remain a mystery.
Since that discovery 4 years ago, I haven’t seen “the only aquatic songbird in North America” — until Moonshine publisher Mayumi Peacock recently called with an announcement:
“Hey, I’ve got some cool news. Sarah Miller (graphic designer for Moonshine Ink) saw this amazing bird in the Truckee River while she was fishing. It bounces up and down when on shore and then jumps into the river and swims!”
“Oh my God,” I shouted. “It’s the American dipper. John Muir wrote about it in his journals.”
The fifth time I saw the dipper was with Sarah. Camera and tripod in her hands and binoculars and notebook in mine, Sarah and I walked along the Truckee River — and sometimes in the river — in highwater boots to get a closer look. Almost immediately Sarah spotted one, which is not easy since dippers prefer to hang out in the shadows of a river. We watched the dipper bounce up and down, then dive or bellyflop into the water, submerge for a few seconds, then resurface most often in the same spot. Never mind the rushing rapids. You would think the water was calm the way it reemerged in the same place time and again. With quick wing beats, it would fly to the nearest rock, then repeat: dive, emerge, fly, bounce.
When the dipper comes out of the water, it appears completely dry. Still, it shakes its tail feathers, preens a bit, and puffs itself up. Then into the river it goes. To survive in icy waters (like the Truckee River in January), the dipper has a low metabolic rate, extra oxygen-carrying capacity in its blood, and a thick coat of feathers. To keep water out of its nose, a flap of skin covers the nostrils.
Sarah taught me something else about the bird that Muir recalled “required no other inspiration than the stream on which he dwells.” She pointed out the bird poop stains splotched on the river rocks, a clear indication a dipper had been there. Even more indicative were tiny clumps of sand near the stains, as if glued together. Sarah guessed that since they feed on the river bottom perhaps this is a way to discard the sand to get to the food.
With the dipper being present in our area, some good news follows. They prefer to swim in unpolluted clean water — like the Truckee River! Or so I thought. I recently learned that the beautiful waterway that runs through our town is not as uncontaminated as I had believed. The EPA and state of California have deemed it “polluted with sediment.” But that’s where the Truckee River Watershed Council and the Town of Truckee comes in. They continually work on restoration, returning our creeks and rivers back to a healthier system. Perhaps the dipper is a benefit of that, hard to know.
What I do know is the joy in watching this aquatic songbird’s playfulness in the rapids. Imagine a life, jumping in and out of the river all day, grabbing some grub, warming up on a rock, flying above the surface of the water to scan the next swimming hole, and returning to a cozy, mossy nest. If there is such a thing as a second go-around, I want to be this bird that plays in the river all day in all seasons.
Home Sweet Home
Dippers, mostly monogamous, build round nests about a foot in diameter out of moss and grass along rivers and creeks (and under bridges), but also behind waterfalls where they fly through the waterfall to enter and exit the nest.
This heart-shaped dippers nest was found under West River Street where Donner Creek converges with the Truckee.
