Ruby-crowned kinglets are tiny birds with a big appeal

More than a quarter-century has passed since I first became acquainted with the ruby-crowned kinglet. The kinglet is one of the smallest birds to inhabit Alaska. It’s also one of our state’s most impressive singers! There’s a good reason that the ruby-crown has earned a reputation in some Alaska birding circles as “the little bird with the big voice.”

I can’t say it was an instance of love at first sight — or first song — but the ruby-crowned kinglet quickly became one of my favorite birds once it was brought to my attention in the mid-1990s.

For more than a half-century, I hadn’t been aware that such a creature even existed. But truth be told, I could say that about most birds. They simply weren’t on my radar until the early 1990s, when black-capped chickadees changed my life (a story I’ve shared previously and will likely recount again in some future essay). For now, I’ll simply note that a close and delightful encounter with a group of Hillside chickadees in December 1993 showed me some of what I’d been missing for more than five decades, and I hungered for more.

In the months and years to come, I made it a point to discover more about my avian neighbors. And a whole new world opened up. Though I learned about the many kinds of birds with whom we humans share the Alaskan landscape, songbirds quickly became my favorites.

It didn’t take long to learn the identities of the few common songbirds who reside in Alaska year-round. But once spring arrived and migratory species began to appear, things got considerably more challenging. So how the heck does a budding Alaska birdwatcher learn to distinguish one sparrow from another? And those warblers, wow, can they be confusing!

What worked best for me in those early days of chasing songbirds was participating in early morning bird walks led by local experts. Being around the people who really knew the voices and forms of songbird species, both resident and migratory, made my foray into ornithology possible.

Over time, those guided outings, combined with my feeder activities, walks with knowledgeable friends, and what might be called “independent research,” helped me learn about the songbirds that inhabit Anchorage. For instance, I began to notice the order and timing of different migrants, the habitat they’re most likely to be found, the foods they eat, and the sometimes subtle differences between various species’ songs and calls.

Without intending to do so, I also found myself developing favorites. While chickadees have remained my all-time favorite birds, the ruby-crowned kinglet is at the top of my migratory passerines.

Among the first things I learned about ruby-crown kinglets is that they’re often hard to spot, especially for beginners. Partly that’s because the bird is so tiny; weighing less than a third of an ounce, it’s about four inches long, smaller than some hummingbirds.

Beyond that, ruby-crowns prefer the upper reaches of trees, making them hard to find, except when perched at the top, as males sometimes do when singing. And their overall coloring is rather plain, even drab. For that reason, it’s probably among the species that I once tossed into the LGB (little gray bird) category.

The bird’s head and back are olive, its undersides grayish (though the birds also have white eye rings and white wing bars). And while males have red crown feathers — hence the name — they’re revealed only when the bird becomes excited by a potential mate, rival, or threat.

Walking through spruce forest, I once watched two loudly chattering ruby-crown males chase each other through the trees, their crests raised high and flashing bright red. But when they’re not agitated or excited, even the males blend well into the forest — except, of course, while singing.

Though its size is diminutive and its coloring may largely be unremarkable, the ruby-crowned kinglet has other traits that make it stand out among its forest neighbors. One is its hyperactive nature. Ruby-crowns constantly flit about, flicking their wings open and closed as if nervous. Even when treetop singing, males continuously shift position.

And then there’s the voice, among the forest’s loudest. Once learned, the ruby-crown’s long and complex (some field guides say “jumbled”) whistled tune is easily recognizable, as is its tendency to at times get “stuck” on certain parts of the song and repeat them over and over, like a broken record.

When male ruby-crowns sing, their entire body seems to quiver with the effort — and, I like to think, with passion.

That singing is what I love most about ruby-crowned kinglets. To those who are paying attention, their loud, bright voices herald the arrival of spring every bit as much as the honkings of Canada geese, the roarking calls of sandhill cranes, and the hiccupy songs of wood frogs. The songs tell me that kinglets have returned for another nesting season, that we’re again sharing the landscape. They serve as another connection to this place I call home, remind me to pay attention to what’s going on around me, and speak to me of zestful living.

Once I began to seriously track them in the late 1990s, I learned that ruby-crowns are among the first migrant songbirds to announce themselves each spring. This year ruby-crowned kinglets revealed themselves to me on April 25, nearly a week before I heard the first songs of junco, thrush, or robin.

Their reliable position among the earliest migratory birds to reach Anchorage (songbirds or otherwise) got me wondering about their travels outside Alaska. It turned out that little was known about the migratory patterns of Alaska’s ruby-crowned kinglets, except that they usually arrive in April and depart in October.

When I first inquired, local ornithologists told me that Anchorage-area ruby-crowns probably spend their winters in the western U.S., Mexico, or even Central America. Though small numbers sometimes overwinter here) and then travel up the West Coast in small mixed groups. They range throughout much of Alaska, limited only by their need for the conifer forests in which pairs nest and raise their young and even reside above the Arctic Circle.

Because they prefer to nest high in spruce and other conifers, ruby-crowns’ nesting behavior is equally difficult to study. However, research suggests that they build pendulous nests of mosses, grasses, twigs, and sometimes even moose hair hung from tree branches like basket hangings. Females lay four to 10 eggs, a surprisingly large clutch for so small a bird. Incubation lasts about two weeks, and fledging occurs 16 days after that. By early July, young ruby-crowns are testing their wings throughout Anchorage.

If the online research I’ve done in preparation for this column is any indication, not much more has been learned about the migratory travels of Alaska’s ruby-crowns in the quarter-century or so since I first sought answers. I did, however, come across a 2019 report prepared by the Alaska Center for Conservation Science that indicates two subspecies of ruby-crowns inhabit Alaska.

The more widespread subspecies, Regulus calendula calendula, has a breeding range that extends from the Cook Inlet region north to the Brooks Range. In contrast, the other Regulus calendula grinelli occurs in Alaska’s southernmost coastal areas.

Exactly what distinguishes the two subspecies (besides their geographic differences) is not explained in the report, and so far, I’ve been unable to discover such distinctions in my online browsing. Clearly, further personal research is needed before I next report on ruby-crowns!

Such research will be more fun than work because I enjoy learning bits and pieces about the lives of ruby-crowned kinglets whose beautiful voices have lifted my spirits and opened me to wonder. Whether on a forest walk with Denali or friends who are also birding enthusiasts, I anticipate the ruby-crown’s sweet song, and listen to it with great delight.

Anchorage nature writer Bill Sherwonit is a widely published essayist and the author of more than a dozen books, including “Living with Wildness: An Alaskan Odyssey” and “Animal Stories: Encounters with Alaska’s Wildlife.” Readers wishing to send comments or questions directly to Bill may do so at akgriz@hotmail.com.