Tiny but mighty

Rufous Hummingbird by Spencer Follett

Going the distance

Decades ago, I sat in a camp chair in Wyoming’s high country, looking at cliffs that had echoed with the soul-stirring screams of young Peregrine Falcons as they chased each other across a limitless sky. Though I still kept watch under a sweltering mid-July sun, the captive-raised peregrines that I’d reintroduced to the wild weeks before returned infrequently now to the cliffs from which they’d been released. Shimmering heat and silence reigned. And then, suddenly, a glittering fireball danced in front of my eyes. Hovering in place, a tiny Rufous Hummingbird—the first I’d ever seen—turned its head from side to side, its gorget of iridescent throat feathers glinting like a bright flame. Then with a buzz, it sped away in search of nectar-filled wildflowers.

Weighing slightly more than a penny and with wings that beat up to 3,700 times a minute, the diminutive Rufous breeds farther north (into southern Alaska) than any other hummingbird and makes the longest migratory journey in the world relative to its small body length. Leaving its Mexican wintering grounds in the Spring, it migrates northward along the Pacific Coast, feeding on early-blooming flowers. After nesting (see range map), the hummingbird migrates south through the Rocky Mountains, taking advantage of alpine flowers on its return journey to Mexico (some of these sparkling gems now winter in the southeastern US).

Although mid-July means mid-summer to me, the Rufous Hummingbird that visited me in Wyoming was my first indication that the year’s fall migration begins this early, with shorebirds, hummingbirds, and even some songbirds embarking on their southward journeys.

Now, years later, it’s another stifling mid-July and I find myself glancing repeatedly at my bird feeders, wondering when I’ll see my first Rufous Hummingbirds. For the last two years, a pair nested in one of my ponderosa pine trees, but this year the hummingbirds were absent, so I await the arrival of migrating rufouses with a mixture of anticipation (watching these pugnacious birds defend a nectar source is always entertaining) and sadness (how could fall migration be beginning when it feels like some of our migrant birds have only just arrived?).

On the evening of July 23, western Montana was struck with a sudden burst of hurricane-force winds that—along with accompanying lightning—sparked forest fires, uprooted trees, and sent debris flying. As I struggled to corral airborne deck chairs, the wind folded my metal garden trellis and snapped wooden plant supports. Worries about how birds like the Say’s Phoebes that were raising nestlings under my eaves would fare amidst the violent winds and flying debris tormented me.

I still felt shaken the next morning. It was eerily quiet. No meadowlarks. No phoebes. Emergency services in my county had fielded 500 calls and over 20,000 residents had lost power in the nearby city of Missoula, which was declared a disaster area because of downed trees and other storm damage. At dawn, I headed outside with my border collies to refill my bird feeders. After retrieving a hummingbird feeder that had flown 10 feet and lodged in some sagebrush, I turned back toward the house to make a fresh batch of sugar water.

And that’s when I saw it, my first Rufous Hummingbird of the year, visiting my other feeder. A second hummingbird flew in and the two faced off in mid-air before zooming off in different directions with a Zee chuppety chup. Soon a third Rufous appeared. The hummingbirds had arrived, and I watched them in wonder. The tiny pollinators migrate during the daytime so they must have arrived before the crazy storm. How had they weathered it?

Birds are fragile creatures. They are easily harmed. But they are also resilient. They are mighty. Living life on the wing—often traveling extraordinary distances—they navigate innumerable hazards. High winds; pelting rain, hail, and snow; predators, including our outdoor cats; windows, cars, and so much more. And yet they persist—though their numbers are vastly diminished—and they often respond well to the help we offer. I watched as one hummingbird careened overhead while another visited my flowering bee balm. Then I headed into the house to prepare more sugar water, eager to do what I could to ease these riveting birds through the next step in their tumultuous life journey.

Take a small step to help birds

It’s easy to feel helpless in the face of habitat destruction and disappearing wildlife. But according to the US Fish and Wildlife Service, over 96 million people in North America watch birds. If each of us does something to help them, we may be able to reverse declining bird numbers.

Here are a few things you can do:

1. Plant native flowers to help local and migrating pollinators such as insects and hummingbirds. Before planting, check that your plants weren’t grown from seeds that were treated with neonicotinoid pesticides, since these pesticides make the entire plant toxic.

2. Many of this year’s birds have left their nests and are learning how to find food and evade predators. You can often identify juvenile birds by their obvious yellow gapes, as well as by their confiding (some might say clueless) behavior. Help these youngsters navigate the transition from nestling to flying bird by giving them space, corralling pets that might harm them, and driving a little more cautiously, especially around riparian and densely vegetated areas.

3. If you want to provide food for hummingbirds, avoid using nectar/sugar mixes that contain dyes or artificial ingredients. A red feeder will attract the birds, so you don’t need to dye the liquid that you’re offering. It’s easy to make your own sugar mix: Boil four cups of water, add in one cup of white sugar, stir, let cool, and voilà.

Thank you for reading and thanks for all you do to help birds!

Until next time …

Helping Tree Swallows beat the July heat on my Montana property. The nestlings in this box had to endure many days of temperatures in the high 90s. So I installed an umbrella to shade their box. All fledged successfully.

P.S. My phoebes survived the storm and are still feeding their second clutch of nestlings!

P.P.S. For more information about Rufous Hummingbirds, bird fragility and resilience, and what we can do to help the feathered world, please check out my new book Feather Trails—A Journey of Discovery Among Endangered Birds.