Elegant Western grebes

Western grebes are odd birds, indeed. “A grebe trying to become an elegant swan” is how Radd Icenoggle (“Birds in Place,” Farcountry Press, Helena, 2003) describes the appearance of this undeniably elegant water bird.

Due to size constraints, Western grebes have not become swans, but instead show themselves to be proficient in ballet. Perhaps they would be better described as “grebes dancing Tchaikovsky’s ‘Swan Lake.’ “

No other bird puts on quite the show these grebes do – except for Clark’s grebe, which I’ll mention later – and they dress in stylish formal wear of black and white for the occasion, as well as all other occasions. This, combined with a long, curving, swanlike neck, a thinly tapered rapier of a beak and a glowing red ruby of an eye, makes a grand impression before the dance even begins.

When it does begin, you’ll find you are holding your breath. Two birds will swim toward each other to begin the dance. They raise their black crests; they swing what are now beaklike weapons from side to side; they dip their weapons in the water in obviously ritualistic ways.

As the birds – often three or more – come abreast, they make a perfectly synchronized lunge that brings them fully out of the water and, with wings slightly lifted, necks perfectly vertical, heads held horizontal and beaks upturned, they begin their choreography. They run rapidly across the surface for as many as 60 feet, the churning and splashing of their uniquely lobed toes on the water the only sound.

With beaks slightly parted, the partners in dance periodically, and perfectly timed, look at each other. Then, without warning that the end is near, all dancers arch and dive head first out of sight.

This was a simple series of steps – a contest between rivals, perhaps, or a greeting between potential mates. The elegance is in the fine details of what’s called the “rushing ceremony.” There are postures called dip-shaking, ratchet-pointing, tick-pointing and barging. The sequence, the intensity and duration of the postures, mixed with the stylized dance across the water, means different things in different circumstances to the birds, but it’s all dazzling to human spectators.

A more explicit dance is done between a bonding pair that has a name reminiscent of musicals from the ‘60s such as “Hair.” Called the “weed ceremony,” it usually precedes the acts of mating and nest building.

In this dance, the pair faces each other in erect posture and stares at one another. Then, abruptly and alternately they dip their beaks and foreheads vertically into the water and shake their heads two or three times (bob-shaking). After a series of these moves, the birds dive in place, with beaks vertical, and resurface with a large mass of sodden vegetation.

Next, the pair approach, rise into a penguin-like stance, with necks stretched upwards, bills raised and heads rotating from side to side. Depending upon the mood of the moment, for this dance is more freeform and less stylized than rushing, the birds move slowly forward or spiral in place.

The display is over when one of the pair flips away its weeds with several quick head shakes and drops to a normal position on the water. This is followed with side by side high-arch posturing and bob-preening. This part of the display is again highly stylized and may be repeated as many as 60 times.

Once solidly bonded, the daily dance deteriorates into a common “greeting ceremony” that is a shortened form of rushing. After a time of separation, the pair performs an ensemble of moves including dip-shaking, bob-shaking, bob-preening and arch-clucking.

I don’t claim to understand ballet or modern dance, or the terminology biologists have assigned to these rituals – and who is Bob? But I guess that you don’t have to understand all the steps to enjoy the performance.

The current bible in bird natural history (“Sibley’s Guide to Bird Life and Behavior,” Knopf, New York, 2001) describes these Western grebe ceremonies as the “most elaborate, stereotyped, and captivating courtship displays of all birds.” Many would agree. The French name for this bird is “grèbe élégant.”

Besides being exquisite dancers, Western grebes can also be described as feathered submarines. As with their close relatives, the loons, grebes have relatively dense bones and poor buoyancy. As they prepare to submerge, grebes flatten their feathers, squeezing air from between them.

Then, rather than diving, the grebe slowly sinks, often until only the top of the head, including the eyes, can be seen, in periscope fashion. This maneuver, when unexpectedly first seen, is quite spooky, as I’ll attest to from personal experience.

Also rather spooky is the appearance of adult grebes brooding their young during their first three or four weeks of life. As soon as they hatch, the white and downy chicks climb on a parent’s back and nestle down among the feathers between folded wings. Only a little head may be showing, somewhat reminiscent of scenes from several sci-fi moves I’ve seen.

Here the chicks are sheltered and fed. In fact, they do about everything except defecate from this vantage. To take care of this necessity, the parent rises up, lifts its wings and dumps the kids into the water, where they immediately empty themselves. Otherwise, this is where they ride, even when the taxi submerges.

Floating just seems to be a part of everything grebes do. Even their nests are floating mats of lake-bottom vegetation piled into a rotting mass. Grebes have no use for land and only end up on it if water levels recede, leaving the nest high and dry.

Western grebes, along with their closely related and look-alike cousins, Clark’s grebe, are the largest of the grebes at 25 inches in length and 3 1/3 pounds. They look much larger, even, on the water. Clark’s grebe is slightly smaller, more gray than black, has a more orange-yellow than olive-yellow beak and lacks the black hood encircling the eye of the Western.

Until 1985, the two species were considered one. The Western has a two-note call while Clark’s has a single-note call. That one feature seems to be enough to keep mating individuals true to their species in North Idaho, though interbreeding occurs in other areas.

Not only are these grebes large, but they are the only ones to have a heronlike, spring-loaded neck that allows them to use their spearlike beaks to harpoon larger fish. Western grebes are also known to maliciously swim beneath intruders and jab them in the abdomen with their swords – sometimes with fatal results.

It all fits. As with so many of the beautiful productions, be they ballet or opera, after the singing or, in this case, the dancing, tragedy comes at the end of a knife. It always seems to make for a better story.