Photographing Tits

I love photographing tits. It’s a real thrill. Especially when I’m doing it in the bush. It is not easy to do, though. They are so tiny, and they don’t stay still, which adds to the challenge.

The word “tit” does not fail, when spoken in polite company, to produce a smile in my mind, if not a grin on the face of my listener as well. You can find the etymology of the avian-related word in old Icelandic (tittr), Norwegian (tita), and 14th century English, as a reference to any little bird.

I first came across a flock of Bushtits (Psaltriparus minimus), chunky, fluffy balls of gray and tan feathers, foraging in oak-pine woodlands during a morning walk around a neighborhood lake. They blended in so well with the surrounding foliage, and that made them hard to find. I’m sure I’ve walked right by them on other occasions because, in ignorance, I wasn’t paying attention.

Bushtits flit around like Mexican jumping beans wherever they perch, hanging sideways, upside down, and all around a branch. If only they would stay still; it would be much easier to capture a photograph. Their piercing, little yellow eyes are mesmerizing, and will hold your gaze. If only they would stay in one place. 

Bushtit on a branch

Once they have finished picking off whatever insects they glean from the leaves and branches of one tree, the whole flock will peel off, one by one, in quick succession, and fly to a nearby food host. You are most likely to spot them when a large group is foraging together. On a good day, I’ve counted up to 40 in a single flock. You really have to be paying attention, though. Better still, be listening for their twittering vocalizations. But hearing them is a different challenge altogether.

Since Bushtits don’t linger, and if you are not fleet on your feet, they will leave you in the dust as they fly from tree to bush to tree to bush to… whatever. Following them is a bit like playing leapfrog: you catch up, and they take off. You will certainly get your daily exercise if you follow them for any distance, as I do trying to obtain a captivating photograph.

You can’t make friends with a Bushtit, as they are always on the move. They do come, however, to my backyard birdbath from time to time in the afternoon. I’ve had better luck photographing them when they are soaking wet than when they are flitting from tree to tree. A tit in the bath is worth two in the bush, I’d say.

Bushtits in birdbath

Bushtits in a bird bath

On my morning walks, I’ve long coveted discovering a Bushtit nest, but it turns out that I was looking for the wrong thing. Bushtit nests are not the shape you would think of when bird nests come to mind. Instead of a twiggy platform or cup-shaped container, picture an extra large athletic tube sock hanging delicately from a slender branch and you’ll be pretty close to imagining the real thing. 

Bushtits are only about 4” in length, so their nest seems oversized. But for incubation of 4-10 eggs, maybe not. The mated pair actually sleeps inside an active nest, sometimes along with related helpers. A family that sleeps together stays warm, and can help to fend off intruders. With a single entrance hole at the top, and eggs laid far down in the bowl at the bottom, perhaps it’s a good design for predator avoidance.

A fellow birder pointed out an active nest during a birding walk, and I was determined to photograph the tiniest of twittering tits being fed; and, hopefully, when they fledged, as well. Since this nest was in the later stages of construction, I was able to calculate an approximate date when eggs would be laid, then incubated, and chicks hatched. I had these milestones marked in my calendar so I wouldn’t lose track of time. It was a multi-step process to look forward to with great anticipation.

I returned a few days later to confirm that the nest had been completed. That would mark the start of my ticking days off the calendar. But I couldn’t find the nest. I knew I was in the right place, at least I thought, looking at the right tree, from the correct angle in the early morning light. But I couldn’t see any nest. I retraced my steps back to my car and started the search all over.

I was clearly befuddled until I looked down. And there it was, a few feet from where I was standing, fully intact, and neatly spread out as if someone had gently placed it there. A very strong windstorm that blew though the valley a few days earlier must have shaken the fragile construction off its flimsy hinge. Not to be deterred, the pair had already started over with all new material, leaving the original nest intact on the ground.

Bushtit nest

A Bushtit nest, in my experience, is the definition of a wing and a prayer. The nest might be constructed with supple plant material like grass, held together with spider webs (or perhaps some manmade fiber), and lined with moss, or even fur. The base material for this particular nest was oak catkins (you know, puffy balls of pollen), bits of string and miscellaneous plant material. I could not imagine it holding together, but it did.

The days passed, and the eggs hatched within the expected time frame (about 12 days). I returned to find chicks with gaping mouths being fed. Hooray, so far, so good. Things are going well now, I reflected. I checked my calendar again for the date range when I could expect to see fledgling activity (about 18 days). 

Bushtiit nestling

I returned ten days later for a progress check. There was no activity around the nest. It hung like a sad sack. The stillness in the air was dreadful: no sounds of chicks begging, no chittering of adults communicating. I waited and waited, for over an hour, hoping for the return of an adult with food, as if by sheer will I could make things right. But my waiting was in vain. The nest had quite possibly been predated by scrub jays (a common behavior) that held a territory nearby.

It is a distressing fact that, on average, more than 50% of forest bird nests are destroyed by predation. Some species are more successful, others less so. We don’t know the failure rate of unobserved nests, for obvious reasons. 

Next April, I’ll be back at this nesting site, camera (and calendar) in hand, longing to witness the beginning of a new nest, and, hopefully, a more bountiful nesting season.

Celebrate birds.

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Adult Bushtit leaving nest

Bushtit with calkins in bill