SEPTEMBER 21, 2019 WASHINGTON, DC Three billion – the number of birds lost in North America over the past 50 years, according to a study released last week – isn’t a number that I find possible to grasp. Rather, as a lifelong bird observer, I encounter each bird as an individual. And each loss diminishes me. (Read the full scientific paper here.)
On a quick stop last week in Rock Creek Park, I spotted the most beautiful scarlet tanager I’ve ever seen in the fall. He was preening – the bird equivalent of taking a shower – and he perched right above me and allowed me to admire him. (Unfortunately, I did not get a photo.) Migrating birds, for the most part, don’t interact with humans. They keep their distance, but they’re not scared of us or curious about us.
In spring and summer, male scarlet tanagers are the brightest red you have ever seen in your life, while females are greenish-yellow. (The English name describes the male, while the Latin name, Piranga olivacea, describes the olive color of the female or the non-breeding male.) Toward August, yellow feathers gradually replace red ones on the male. Sometimes you’ll see them in transitional plumage, an awkward half-red, half-yellow phase. Their fall color makes them unbelievably camouflaged in the September and October trees as they make their way south for the winter. I’ll see one land in a black walnut tree, grab my binoculars, and then lose sight of it even though it hasn’t moved. They want it that way.
This creature in front of me was an egg-yolk yellow, a fiery color leaning toward orange, with dark black wings. He turned on his branch, and I was able to see one last red feather on the left side of his neck. I had a little fantasy where he plucked it out and it floated down so I could hold on forever to a little piece of the sky.
During fall bird migration, each joy is tinged with foreboding. My tanager has made the voyage before. When he goes back this fall – possibly as far south as Bolivia, possibly farther east to Cuba – what will he find along the way? Maybe a prestigious new condo development or high school where there used to be a stand of trees, or a canopied suburb where the three new homeowners decided to use pesticides this summer, crashing the population of caterpillars suitable to eat. Will he reach his destination, or will he meet his end in a window strike?
On two past October visits to Grand Bahama, I found the trees teeming with American redstarts and black-and-white warblers. These could very possibly be the same individual birds that I’ve observed in DC in September. Every time I’ve observed one this fall, I’ve wondered: what will she find she gets there this year, after the utter devastation of Hurricane Dorian? I have no idea whether insects survive when the trees are stripped bare by wind and salt water, but it can’t be a good scene. Will she understand that she can’t survive there and try to find another place? Will she come back next year?
You might have noticed that I use the word “observe” rather than “see” or “watch.” Looking at a photo of a bird is a little like seeing a photo of Chita Rivera. A photo gives no sense of their triple-threat abilities of vocalization, movement, and behavior. Black-and-white warblers are gorgeous, but the joy in observing them comes from their incessant movement up and down tree trunks and branches, the way they exist in all dimensions as they turn sideways and upside-down with quick agility. And American redstarts have colorful “windows” in their tails – red in adult males, yellow in females and young birds – that they flash around ostentatiously as they fan their tails out. They will readily do this for anyone who bothers to look up.
Migrating birds’ lack of engagement with humans seems to radiate an innocence, a trust in humanity that we have now collectively decided to betray, after decades of progress. We know the ways that we can eliminate threats to birds. Bringing back bird numbers is doable and not even that difficult. As to why we should make the effort, come birding with me and I’ll show you. And please bring the kids.
Note: A version of this post was written as an op-ed which was not picked up, so I decided to put it here.
