The Plumicorn Puzzle

March 5, 2025March 5, 2025 / The Urban Nature Enthusiast / 2 Comments

“So, what are plumicorns?”

This may seem the very last question you need answering in these tumultuous times.

And yet, being curious and engaged with nature is more vital than ever, so let’s distract ourselves awhile with the wonder of ravens and their fabulous and theatrical head feathers.

What are plumicorns?

You know when you see what looks like feather horns on a raven’s head? They go up and then they go down, then up again.

Those are raven plumicorns.

The word plumicorn comes from the Latin words pluma (feather) and cornu (horn) so they are, literally, feather horns.

Some varieties of owl (Great Horned, Long-Eared and Short-Eared) are most readily associated with plumicorns.

Long-eared owl

But owls are not the only plumicorn-endowed birds out there.

Horned Larks, Tufted Penguins and Rockhopper Penguins are part of the club, along with our friends, the ravens.

Raven plumicorns are smaller, more subtle and not always on display. They are dynamically expressive, erect one moment, and flattened down the next, as the mood or social occasion demands.

Are Plumicorns Ears?

Although these head feather displays (especially on owls) do look a lot like waggling ears — they’re not.

Birds’ ears are actually something entirely different — funnel-shaped openings located further down the head, behind the eyes. We rarely see them as they’re usually covered with feathers.

In the photo below this crow has considerately moved their ear-covering feathers aside for a moment while having a good old scratch so we can have a quick look at their lug.

The diagram below shows the location of the ear and feather covering on a raven.

Do Crows Have Plumicorns Too?

While crows do fluff up their head feathers to look more dominant when they feel threatened, they don’t have the ability to articulate those head feathers into separate horn-like appendages.

Young crow with head feathers up to look bigger and tougher for his/her peers

Ravens also do the fluffy-head display. This, I’ve read, is an indication of submission to more dominant ravens. So, in crows it means “Back off. I’m unbelievably large and in charge,” while in ravens, it means “Who me? Nope, I’m just over hear minding my own business, sir.”

Photograph of a raven with fluffy head feathers up.

Raven with the fuzzy head display. No horns here, just deferring to my seniors.

How Do Ravens Use Plumicorns?

Plumicorns in general seem to be a bit of a scientific mystery. It’s thought that, in owls, they can serve as camouflage, making them blend in with the branches and twigs in a tree. They’re also handy for making the bird look bigger and more formidable when they feel under threat or are involved in a territorial dispute.

Looking dominant seems to be just one way in which ravens use their horn-feathers.

See the way the dominant raven in this interaction flaunts his plumicorns for emphasis as he swaggers up to his competitors.

In my years of watching ravens, I’ve seen those feather horns go up and down in all kinds of raven interactions and I’ve never found much literature on the meaning of it all. I do know that they’re not used only as a way to look dominant.

In the next video, these two ravens had just finished mating (right before our amazed eyes) and went on to have an affectionate interaction, including grooming and head feather waggling. The male is the bird on the right.

And here is some more head feather action during a more low-key raven domestic chit chat. Raven couples are affectionate to each other all year round, not just during mating season.

And here’s a raven calling in a snowfall with head feathers rising as the song continues. Did he see his mate in the distance? Or a rival? Is it a commentary on the weather? Part of the performance? Did they just think of something funny?

Yet more things we don’t really know about ravens.

It seems that the plumicorn puzzle is yet another mystery within the larger Ravenspeak riddle; another part of the complex raven vocabulary used to express everything from aggression to affection, ferocity to flirtation and, possibly, other raven moods beyond our human experience.

It now seems that the Duo-lingo Raven module, once available, will need to include translations for all those the raven plumicorn vocabulary-enhancers — perhaps the corvid equivalents of frowning, winking, smiling, smirking, cheeks being puffed out and eyes rolled.

Close-up photograph of a raven with feather horns (plumicorns) held up.

Say what?

Ravenspeak

November 9, 2023November 9, 2023 / The Urban Nature Enthusiast / 20 Comments

Sometimes it seems like cheating for a self-described “urban nature enthusiast” to follow the urge to get out of the city — to leave the daily crow-banter behind for a few hours and talk to the ravens.

But, every so often, a bit of raven chat is just what’s needed, so off we go.

Quite often, hours of hiking yield zero in the way of raven communication — only the whoosh of wing-displaced air as they sail indifferently by.

Of late, I’ve been trying my hand (or epiglottis) at raven calling.

My dream: those aloof fly-by ravens will be so intrigued by my eloquent commentary, my fluent greetings, my show-stopping non sequiturs, they’ll do a mid-air U-turn to get to know this fascinating earth-bound conversationalist.

Results, predictably, have been mixed.

But yesterday, on our hike up on Black Mountain, I heard a raven fly over, performed my “come-hither” squawk and, a few minutes later, two ravens landed near us.

Buoyed by my possible success, I attempted a more close-up conversation.

Below are some of the looks I got in response to my conversational gambits.

Curious, bemused …

A mix of horror and astonishment …

Concern. Is the poor thing hurt?

Another observable reaction to my vocalizations was claw biting. I’m unclear as to whether this was a form of anxious nail-biting (what is she trying to do to us?) or just boredom (when will she stop?) … or none of the above.

There were some responses from the ravens but there clearly remains a vast gulf of incomprehension between us. Much more practice is needed.

More hiking. More squawking.

You may wonder what my walking companions get up to while I’m trying out my raven phraseology.

Geordie puts himself into a state of doggy self-hypnosis until this boring phase is over and we can get going again.

Phillip, fittingly, takes the time to keep up with his Duolingo Spanish commitments on his phone. Where, I ask, is the Duolingo Raven module?

Which leads me to wonder: is anyone out there studying what different raven calls mean?

I know that a group in the UK were studying this topic a few years ago as they asked me to submit some of my videos to help with their research, but I’ve never been able to find out what their conclusions were. I’ve been corresponding with a bird rescue volunteer on Vancouver Island who’s trying to compile a guide for volunteers on raven calls but can’t find any comprehensive information either.

Does anyone know if there is, anywhere, a study on the types of raven calls and what they might mean?

Duolingo, are you listening?

For more posts on the wonder of raven calls:

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When the Raven Knocks

February 22, 2023February 22, 2023 / The Urban Nature Enthusiast / 13 Comments

My title sounds a bit ominous, like Edgar Allen Poe’s doleful visitor tapping on a window, but have no fear. In my world, when the raven knocks, you should always answer!

As winter drags on down here in the city, only letterbox shaped views of the mountains are available most days, peeking out between the gunmetal clouds.

Those glimpses do serve to remind me that the mountains and the ravens are out there — and that I might get up to see them once a week or so. Many people head south for this gloomy part of the winter, but I’m always drawn to the snow rather than the sand.

Often we get up on the mountain and there’s only a matching letterbox view back out at the city through the same clouds …

… but every time it’s wonderful in some different way.

To hear a raven calling in the snow-hushed forest — that knock, knock, knock call, something between a tapping on hollow bamboo and water dropping into a still pool — that sound alone is worth getting out of bed early and stepping into long johns and winter woollies.

You can see the raven’s chilly morning breath in this video and, if you listen closely, hear a stream merrily running in the background.

We met this suave raven below in the forest on our last trip. I like to think I “called” him or her. I have been practicing my raven calling, with mixed results. Usually they ignore me, but occasionally they do a U-turn in mid-flight, possibly to come see if something down below is dying and available for lunch.

But, back to the raven and the beautiful call.
Like a trained opera singer, the raven pours all kinds of skill and stamina into that effortless sounding “clock clock clock.”

Head thrown back for best possible vocal projection.

Nictitating membrane of the eye deployed, giving the impression that our performer is blocking out all distraction in order to produce the purest sound.

Throat expanded, presumably to make a hollow space from which to draw that echoing call. Magnificent feathery “cravat” sticking out in all directions.

Wings held out to the side and tail spread out — that horizontal line behind the raven is the tail, held out like a fan.

The virtuoso performance …

For more posts on the wonder of raven calls:

You might also enjoy: Edgar Allen Poe and the Raven Mix-up