A Tale of Two Kestrels

Female American Kestrel. Photo by Keith Bauer.

Male American Kestrel. Photo by Doug Brown.

They’ve been called ‘sparrowhawk’ for their habit of preying on songbirds, but in actuality, insects, small lizards and mice are more common fare for North America’s smallest falcon, the American Kestrel. About the size of a robin, the kestrel is four ounces of power-packed muscle, sinew, and determination, trademarks of the little guy, the one who flies harder and fights tougher.

I once watched a male kestrel take on a female Cooper’s Hawk that had intruded into his territory. The Cooper’s Hawk is a bird-eating specialist and no slouch in the flight department, regularly capturing and killing birds as large as pigeons and even pheasants. It also weighs about four times as much as a male kestrel. The little guy’s only advantage was the speed and agility common to all falcons. I heard his battle cry, “killy, killy, killy” long before I saw anything. Within a few seconds, a harried looking coop flapped furiously away from the white cliffs where the kestrel pair were nesting with the little guy in hot pursuit. He would rise above the coop, and then plummet down to attack her back, over and over. In one instance, she turned just as he reached her, rolling onto her back and presenting those dangerous feet right in his face. In that same instant, I knew that he was a goner and that his mate would not be able to rear their clutch of young alone. But, pluck and perseverance served him well, and I watched them fly off together into the distance with the smaller figure keeping up a relentless attack, dive-bombing her repeatedly as they flew out of sight. A few minutes later, he returned victorious, circled the cliff, and took up his position above the nest cavity near the top of the cliff where he could continue his daily patrol, keeping all intruders away from his family.

Kestrels build their nests in cavities, ranging from tree cavities to holes in cliff faces to cracks in the eaves of buildings. A couple of years ago, a pair successfully reared four young in the cavity of an expansion joint of interstate 40 where it crossed the Rio Grande in Albuquerque. The cavity ensures that the female and young are well protected from the elements and other predators. It also makes monitoring nest success a challenge because the young are not visible until after they emerge. Within the first few days after the young falcons leave the nest, they are flightless. There isn’t enough space in the cavity for them to stretch their wings and exercise their flight muscles. However, their lungs and voices are fully developed and it is a simple matter to spot the youngsters loudly begging, killying, and calling from their various perches. If you keep a watch on a falcon family, you’ll notice that the babes have very short tails, perhaps an adaptation for the cramped quarters of their nursery. Within a few days, however, the young falcons master flight and the entire family leaves the area.

Like all falcons, kestrels have black eyes, and are built for speed with long, pointed wings. However, the similarity with their larger cousins, the merlin, peregrine falcon, and prairie falcon, ends there. The kestrel is a predator but, as a small bird, it is also prey. They have two spots on the back of their head, called false eye spots. The purpose of these spots is to confuse a predator that might attack from the rear into thinking that it is tackling the kestrel head on, and give the falcon a better chance to escape. Kestrels also have two black vertical stripes on their heads, one directly below the eye, and the other slightly farther back. The purpose of the dark mark, called a malar stripe, is to reduce glare from the sun, much like that of football players that paint a black stripe below their eyes.

Males and females have different plumages, and can be easily identified. Females have a back and tail with horizontal brown and black bars with a vertically streaked breast. The more colorful males, have handsome bluish gray wings, a clear buffy breast, and a striking rufous tail with a single black bar at the end.

In fact, I once heard a story from one of our volunteers, a young birder named Lindsey Porter. Because Lindsey and her family are such strong supporters of Hawks Aloft, we asked her to do the honor of giving our newest educational bird, a male American Kestrel, his name. She thought about it for several days before deciding. She told me that when she was learning about raptors, a man told her that she could always tell the boy kestrels from the girl kestrels because every day when the boys got up, they put on their blue Superman cape! We call Lindsey’s kestrel, Clark Kent.

Kestrels adapt well to human activities and often live near businesses and homes in both urban and rural areas. Many people welcome the plucky little birds with the big attitude, not just because they are entertaining, but because they help to reduce rodents and insects. You, too, might be able to attract a kestrel family to your property, particularly if you live near open fields with an abundance of food. Kestrels are known to adapt well to artificial nest boxes. You can find several different nest box plans on the World Wide Web as well as pre-made boxes ready to install in your backyard.

Fastest Bird in the World: Peregrine Falcon

Adult Peregrine Falcon in Flight. Photo by Doug Brown.

Fact or Fiction? Various accounts report top speeds ranging between 100 and 250 miles per hour for the Peregrine Falcon. Most, however, agree that in a stoop (when the bird is diving on prey) that it is indeed the fastest on our planet. Recent technology enabled a team of scientists, lead by falconer and researcher, Ken Franklin, to attach a speed monitor similar to those used in sky diving to his falconry bird, Frightful. National Geographic filmed her remarkable descent as Frightful adjusted her body’s position to become as streamlined as possible once the lure (a leather pouch designed to look like a bird) was released. Although some might argue that since the bird was lifted aloft via aircraft, possibly skewing the results, Frightful reached a top speed of 242 miles per hour while diving on a lure, impressive in the extreme.

Extreme might be one of the adjectives that best describes this remarkable species. Throughout history, humans have been held spellbound by the aerial acrobatics of the peregrine and other large falcons. Few other North American species have been as highly regarded and romanticized in the second half of the 20th century. The peregrine is among the most studied of all wild birds, with over 2,000 scientific publications. The falcon has been eulogized in numerous books and poems, and appears in a wide variety of art dating back several centuries. Its daredevil acrobatics undoubtedly inspired the sport of falconry, where participants may witness these remarkable flights close at hand. During the heyday of falconry in the Middle Ages, the peregrine was the most prized of hunting hawks and reserved for the pleasure of the aristocracy. Severe penalties were incurred for harming a wild falcon or robbing her eyrie (nest).

Revered to reviled: After the introduction of firearms, and conversion of land to agriculture, the sport of falconry declined, and peregrines came to be regarded as vermin, relentlessly persecuted by gamekeepers, hunters, egg-collectors, skin collectors, pigeon fanciers, and others. From the 18th century until the mid 1900s, this attitude persisted and humans destroyed many thousands of peregrines, eggs, and young worldwide. It should be noted that this attitude extended to all raptor species, not just falcons. Yet, falcon populations were remarkably resilient to hunting pressure. One estimate reported a decline of only 10-18% in occupied territories by the 1930s and it was impossible to determine the if they were permanently deserted.

By World War II, the peregrine was viewed as a menace to the all important carrier pigeons, and the British Air Ministry undertook a campaign to eradicate the falcons in the south of England. The control measures resulted in the systematic destruction of 100 or more eyries and shooting about 600 falcons each year. However, within 10 years after the persecution ended, falcon pairs were again present at 80% of those eyries. However, a far greater threat to its survival loomed on the horizon: pesticides.

Vanished: In the mid 1960s, researchers and falconers realized that Peregrine Falcon populations were in deep trouble in North America. A population crash had been occurring for the past 10-15 years, on a parallel with declines of the species in Europe. Except for one eyrie that continued to be occupied until the 1980s, peregrines had vanished east of the Mississippi River. They probably also disappeared from most eyries in the Rocky Mountains at about the same time, although it was not until the 1970s that adequate surveys took place and verified the suspicions of scientists. By 1980, no active eyries could be found in Idaho, Montana, or Wyoming. Suddenly, it seemed as if only 15-20% of the former total population in the lower 48 United States survived.
DDT (dichloro-diphenyl-trichloroethane) was considered to be a safe and effective insecticide in the 1940s and 1950s. It was used as an agricultural insecticide, and to combat lice and mosquitos responsible for the spread of human diseases such as typhus, and malaria. There were no known significant adverse effects to either animal or human health, that is, until Peregrine Falcon populations, along with other birds such as the Bald Eagle and Osprey crashed.
When DDT use was widespread, daily doses of the chemical accumulated in the fatty tissue of the peregrine. The stored chemicals acted to "block" the movement of calcium during eggshell formation causing the shells to be "thin." Peregrine falcon eggs broke and embryos died at an alarming rate. The peregrine became the cause célèbre for the fledgling environmental movement, lead by the publication of Rachel Carson’s landmark book, Silent Spring.

By 1970, the peregrine was federally protected in the United States, and the chemical culprits were banned in North America by 1972. Peregrines were have since made a strong recovery, thanks in large part to extensive captive breeding and release programs implemented by The Peregrine Fund of Boise, Idaho. They were officially de-listed on August 20, 1999, although they remain a state-listed species in New Mexico.

Lessons learned from the plight of the peregrine have worked their way into science curriculums throughout the U.S. Most third and fourth grade students understand what the words “endangered” and “extinct” mean. We are extremely fortunate that falcon watching of this charismatic bird alerted the world to a problem in time for there to be a resolution. Will we be as lucky in the future?

Anatomy of a Rescue

Juvenile Peregrine Falcon (Falco peregrinus). Photo by Doug Brown

The Peregrine Falcon, a highly visible and charismatic species, was proverbial “Canary in a Coal Mine” that alerted us to the dangers of pesticides. Its precipitous decline, discovered in the 1960s, lead to worldwide concern among ornithologists, researchers, and falconers, who convened conferences to assess the situation and implement plans to prevent the falcon from disappearing altogether. Efforts to breed and release falcons began in late 1960s by several different organizations, including the Peregrine Fund, which was founded at Cornell University in 1970 and lead by ornithology professor, Tom Cade.

The P Fund, as it is often referred to now, began breeding falcons in captivity for release to the wild in an attempt to prevent further declines. They successfully bred and released more than 4,000 falcons from 1974 to 1998, resulting in a minimum of 700 re-established breeding territories in North America. The non-profit organization is currently based at the World Center for Birds of Prey in Boise, Idaho.

Peregrines, like other falcons, do not build nests but use naturally occurring cavities (scrapes) on cliff edges, often near water, where the female (referred to as ‘falcon’) lays her eggs on sand or gravel. Generally, these nest sites, called eyries, have an expansive view of the surrounding habitat from which the female can watch for intruders and the male (tiercel) can scan for prey. Peregrines prey almost entirely on birds in New Mexico, including doves, swifts, flickers, jays, meadowlarks, and others. At one eyrie, the remains of 62 bird species were identified. I’ve also watched them hunt for bats emerging from a cave at dusk, and research shows that they are opportunistic, taking other animals on occasion. They can take birds up to the size of ducks and pheasants, hence the nickname, Duck Hawk.

It’s the unique hunting style of the peregrine that has earned the admiration and adoration of countless numbers of falcon fanatics worldwide for, indeed, this falcon has circumpolar distribution, except for Antarctica. The falcon climbs high into the sky, watching for aerial prey below with eyesight that is 8-10 times the distance and acuity of the human eye. Once prey is sighted, the bird tucks its body into the celebrated stoop at speeds of 200 miles per hour or more, and dives on often unsuspecting prey. At the last moment, the falcon swings her balled feet forward and strikes the victim, knocking it unconscious. The falcon then swoops to pick up the prey, and using her tomial tooth (an extra notch on the underside of the upper bill unique to falcons), breaks the prey’s neck. The falcon then descends to the ground with the prey to eat.

Because the peregrine had been extirpated (absent) east of the Mississippi River, but was still present in the West, initial reintroduction efforts focused on this region. Early release sites were located on bridges over rivers that simulated natural falcon habitat and also allowed easy human access, often near major metropolitan areas. The birds took well to these releases and a small population began to thrive. However, although humans thought that the bridges might be an ideal habitat, the peregrines had other ideas about preferred nesting sites. The falcons began to move into cities where they nested on ledges of skyscrapers, and dined on the ubiquitous urban avifauna, notably the Rock Pigeon. It seemed that, in the falcon’s eyes, the city had everything that they needed: suitable eyries and an unlimited food supply.

An additional benefit accrued to the peregrines that took up residence in urban centers, an adoring public. As people became aware of the plight of the peregrine and began to notice the rare falcons nesting outside their high rise, high rent offices, they became falcon watchers and peregrine protectors.

Today, the everyday activities of countless pairs of urban nesting peregrines are chronicled via webcams and falcon watches on the web and in local newspapers. My web search for peregrine falcon news results turned up 119 stories less than 30 days old. This includes last week’s exploits of “Early Bird” a 37-day-old peregrine falcon that leapt from his eyrie on the 12th floor of the Joseph Smith Memorial Building in Salt Lake City. Although the first flight went well, the second did not. He crashed into a flower bed and returned to his nest box by volunteers who keep an eye on the falcons. The volunteers, known as the Peregrine Falcon Watchpost Team, will be on hand from dawn to dusk for roughly the next 10 days in case "Early Bird" or his sibling decides to try again.

Closer to home, peregrines have been observed in downtown Albuquerque although no nesting has been known to occur. Certainly, the falcons are finding ideal hunting conditions in our southwestern city, complete with an abundant pigeon population. One falcon watcher called to excitedly share the intimate details of the recent kill outside her high rise office window.
Not all peregrines have migrated to urban centers, and New Mexico still has a population that eschews city life for the solitude of wilder country. However, getting to see one in the back country is uncommon, even in the appropriate habitat. They remain a state listed threatened species by the New Mexico Department of Game and Fish.
The plight of the peregrine was the impetus for increased research, monitoring and conservation of all bird species. After their success in reintroducing peregrines, the P Fund pioneered propagation and release techniques for numerous species worldwide. Other species released to restore wild populations include the Aplomado Falcon, Bald Eagle, Bat Falcon, California Condor, Harpy Eagle, Madagascar Fish Eagle, Mauritius Kestrel, Orange-breasted Falcon, and Prairie Falcon. However, bringing a species back from the brink of extinction is the least desirable and most expensive way to save a species. The annual costs for recovery of the Peregrine Falcon were placed at more than $5.4 million in the 1990s. Thus, the shared goal of “keeping common species common” is the mantra that drives most conservation efforts today.

Babes in the Woods

Northern Mockingbird. Photo by Doug Brown

Just another day in field, this time near the end of the nesting season. My expectations were low, particularly because this area had been mechanically cleared, leaving either an open, weedy field, or a cottonwood forest mostly devoid of understory vegetation. That, combined with the weariness that results from too many very early mornings, and the impending July heat and humidity, left me dreading the next three hours it would take to complete the survey. I trudged out to the start point, dutifully arriving before sunrise and, looking to the east, visually confirmed that this would be yet another futile exercise in negative data collection.

But, as I slowly traversed the transect line, my ears thrilled to the calls of birds that make a living on the edge: forest edge, meadow edge, and the interface that connects them. The first surprise was the call of a bird I’d never before heard at this site, a Northern Mockingbird. And, it sounded none too pleased. Scanning with my binoculars, I found the bird with a large bug firmly clamped in its bill calling for its fledgling. The youngster quickly responded, getting a bit of breakfast, and then diving into the shrubs nearby. Suddenly, Mom (or Pop) took offense at the presence of another bird, shrieking a warning and taking chase. Each time the hapless intruder tried to land, the mockingbird dove on it, shrieking a warning. They moved, snag to snag, tree to shrub, as Mom harassed the other, as yet unidentifiable, bird until it moved beyond the invisible line that formed the mockingbird’s territory, the area it had claimed for its own family.

My curiosity aroused by the scuffle, I scanned for the loser of the battle. It was an American Kestrel, the smallest North American falcon and normally not a threat to a mockingbird which is almost the same size. However, this falcon also was a fledgling, one of three young that the kestrel parents had produced. Although certainly no threat to the mockingbirds, the little falcon was getting a lesson in territory boundaries, not to be crossed with impunity. Each time the little falcon landed, the mockingbird stooped and the falcon ducked, before taking off for a safer perch. Soon it was joined by its siblings and the three nosily flew from tree to tree, practicing takeoffs, turns, dives, and precarious landings. Carefree, with no worries, but with new knowledge of the invisible territory fence to the south, these kestrels were unaware of all other dangers, and secure in their assumption that food would be forthcoming via their parents indefinitely.

Before I moved beyond the kestrel family, however, Mom coyote took exception to my presence in her territory. She howled; she barked; she warned. Now, I had intruded beyond her invisible territory line, and was a potential threat to her babies, who also were out of their den and beginning to explore their new world. She stayed with me, always out of sight behind a shrub, incessantly barking. Mentally, I tried to let her know that I bore her family no ill will and that I would soon pass by. My silent message, “Please stop! I mean you no harm, and I can’t hear any bird calls with all this racket.” It did no good. She kept up her noisy vigil until I passed beyond the boundary line on the other side of the territory.

Moving into the woods, my first sight was of Dad Cooper’s Hawk carrying prey toward the nest, pursued by three noisy, begging fledglings. Although I couldn’t see the nest antics as the youngsters squabbled for food, it was easy to envision the action. One baby hawk secured the prize while the other two loudly expressed their displeasure, moving to nearby perches and resuming their endless whiny, begging calls. At this time in their lives, their food demands are so great that it takes the combined efforts of both parents to hunt for enough prey to satisfy their offspring. (Cooper’s Hawks are primarily bird-eating hawks and it takes an average of 67 robin-sized birds to successfully rear a single young). Eventually, the din subsided as the hawk babies turned their attention to exploring their new, forested world, and I resumed counting birds.

As I began to near the forest edge, however, a fierce ‘killy-killying’ broke through the otherwise peaceful reverie of compatible bird calls. Killy! Killy! KILLY! Clearly, the kestrel family was on the attack, and based on the decibel levels, it was a substantial effort to eject a perceived threat. It wasn’t until I cleared the forest edge that I was able to see the source of their distress, a fledgling Cooper’s Hawk that had dared to fly beyond its forest territory and had perched in a branch on the edge of the opening. Coops are mortal enemies of kestrels who are just about the right size for prey. However, baby Coop had no idea yet, that he/she would ever had to hunt for food. He also was unaware that .
his territory ended at the edge of the forest. There the little hawk sat, with the supreme confidence of a toddler, completely exposed in a foreign land. Clearly, he had a few lessons left to learn.

Mortality rates in the avian world run high. About 7 of every 10 youngsters do not survive to one year. Although they are biologically equipped with survival tools, hunting, flight, and a healthy fear of humans are learned skills. As I watch the young of the year bumble along, the avian equivalent of toddlers-on-the-loose, I am amazed that any of them survive. The ones that do, learn their lessons quickly for, in the wild, a single mistake might be the last one they ever make.

Gray Vireo - A better photograph

Photograph by Mike Stake

Pinyon-Juniper Woodland: Paradise or Purgatory?

Gray Vireo (Vireo vicinior)

“Chu-weet! Che-o! Teedle-e! Chu-u!” The distinct syllables rang out across the pinyon-juniper Woodland (P-J), the song of the Gray Vireo, a New Mexico state-listed as a threatened species. This small, gracefully gray bird has become the New Mexico poster child for one of the most underappreciated but abundant habitats within the state. A recent estimate is that there are 55.6 million acres of pinyon-juniper in the west. It can be rugged country, with steep canyons and hillsides dotted with shrubby trees not much taller than a human. Not much to offer in the way of shade. Often, there’s not much in the way of grasses or shrubs either. Most folks avoid hanging out here. Much of it has been given it over to cows.

More than 70 different bird species breed in the P-J woodland, although you’d be unlikely to see more than 20 to thirty at any one site. These woodlands support the highest proportions of obligate or semi-obligate birds among the forest types in the West. Species that are considered “obligate” are only found nesting in prime habitat condition, birds like the Gray Vireo, which is precisely why there is so much concern about its population trends. Additionally, a high percentage of the total world population of this species breeds in New Mexico, giving our state a high level of responsibility for its well-being.

I’ve been spending a lot of time in P-J country the last couple of years, especially during May and June, when birds are nesting, conducting early morning surveys of all the species present. I’ve grown very fond of this special suite of birds, found nowhere else. The birds of my morning surveys are the very same species that birders worldwide have on their wish list if only they knew where to find them. Actually, it’s not all that hard, once you develop a fondness for all things P-J.

My morning friends range from the spectacularly colored, yellow and black Scott’s Oriole and the laughing call of the Pinyon Jay, to the cute antics of the Juniper Titmouse, all going about their business, just getting by in life. The song of the Black-throated Sparrow greets me at nearly every stop. The Ash-throated Flycatchers are enormously entertaining as they race around chasing each other, oblivious to my presence. The raucous call of the Cassin’s Kingbirds positively make me laugh. And, of course, one could never forget the Northern Mockingbird. He sings the song of all the others, just a few repeats of each and then moves on to another call. He sings all day and all night. If you are camping in P-J country, it seems as if he is singing right into your ear, without pausing for breath, all night long. It was he, along with the pinyon gnats that taught me to sleep in the back of my car. And sometimes, if you are very lucky, you get to hear or see a rarity, like the Gray Vireo.

Mature stands of P-J, with grasses and shrubs in prime condition, and gently sloping hills host the greatest diversity and populations of birds. When there is a nearby water source, the numbers can be simply astounding. One day, I arrived at my designated point to find not one or two, but some 40-50 Pinyon Jays. This site was clearly a Garden of Eden for its residents.

At other location, birds are few and far between, as are the grasses and shrubs. My companions at this site are of the bovine variety, mostly seeking refuge beneath the sparse canopy of the shrubby trees. Water isn’t much in evidence either and the ribs of the cattle show prominently. I wonder how the females will be able to produce enough milk to feed their scrawny offspring. All the emergent edible vegetation seems to have been already eaten. This could be a poster child of another sort, one for poor range management. Most of the birds have flown the coop to better pastures. Even the eagles and hawks are few and far between, for there is little food for their prey, the jackrabbit and cottontail.

We study birds because, much like the canary in the coal mine, they are indicators of biological integrity and ecosystem health and they are quite sensitive to environmental changes. The results of studies like these help land managers, landowners, and others practice best management practices and work toward a system in which multiple uses can co-exist in a beneficial environment.

Our studies have given me the opportunity to really know and understand an unappreciated habitat, and to learn a whole new set of bird songs and habits. It’s a cool place, that P-J, definitely of a different sort! If you’re lucky you might just hear “Chu-weet! Che-o! Teedle-e! Chu-u!”

Life as a Little: Hummingbirds

Black-chinned Hummingbird (Archilochus alexandri). Photo by David Powell.

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be the smallest being in a land of giants? A place where even insects prey on your kind? Welcome to the world of hummingbirds, where reports abound of hummies being snatched in mid-air by the likes of roadrunners, jays, flycatchers, and your favorite pet feline. There’s even a report of a hummingbird snatch by an alert mountain lion in Arizona’s Sonoran Desert Museum. Even the praying mantis, that slow motion insect, sometimes dines on the most diminutive of birds. Lest you wonder if I am filling your head with grisly stories worthy of Snopes, check it out yourself. Just Google “hummingbird eaten by praying mantis” and see what turns up, some 4,130 hits including a YouTube video.

One might wonder just how the little guys are faring since most everything views them as a snack. Not much to worry about here though, because the top predator on the planet has a special fondness for the tiniest of North American birds, but not as a diet supplement. Yes, it is we, the two-legged, land-locked of this planet, that are enmeshed in a love affair with hummingbirds. We watch over, photograph, feed, and protect the little fellows, sometimes to the tune of many thousands of dollars annually per household. Some individuals report usage of up to 50 pounds of sugar a week.

What this means in scientific terms is that the introduction of exotic plants and feeders has produced a widespread energy subsidy that may maintain unnaturally large populations in times of flower scarcity, or when the natural nectar supply is reduced due to drought, insects, or weather. Our stocked feeders have helped increase populations in urban and suburban settings, leading to an overall increase in the species, as evidenced by range expansion and previously unoccupied habitats that are now occupied. Some hummingbirds now overwinter far north of their former range, including a handful that survive Albuquerque winters, almost entirely due to well-maintained feeders.

The two most common nesting hummingbirds in New Mexico are the Black-chinned and Broad-tailed. Both are present in the state, although the Black-chinned is often found at lower elevations, in riparian woodlands. In high quality habitat along rivers, black-chins might be found every 100 meters (33 feet), and this birder can tell you from personal experience that it happens. In the Middle Rio Grande bosque, the Black-chinned Hummingbird is the most common nesting bird, and it’s all-out war as males battle over the rights to sire offspring. Did you know that you actually can distinguish the different hummingbirds by calls?
Surveys here produce not single entries, but 2-3 birds at a time, often locked in combat or issuing battle cries of tiny warriors as they zoom past your head at warp speed.

Hummingbirds have many unique and interesting adaptations too, all necessary for survival. A hummingbird tongue has 2 grooves. Nectar moves through these grooves via capillary actions and the bird squeezes nectar into its mouth when it retracts its tongue. It drinks by extending its the tongue through a nearly closed bill at a rate of about 13-17 licks per second and consumes an average of 1/5 fluid ounce in a single meal. In cold weather, a hummingbird might eat 3 times its weight in food a day, a whopping ½ ounce for a bird that weights 1/10 - 1/5 ounce! However, natural nectar and sugar water alone are not adequate sustenance. Insects comprise a large portion of their diet, and the young are fed insects almost exclusively. Just watch hummies hovering above a slow moving stream. They are hawking insects, the no-see-ums that are a plague on all outdoor-loving people.

Their resting heartbeat is 480 beats and their resting breathing rate is 245 breaths per minute when it is 91 degrees – makes one hyperventilate just thinking about all that hyper-speed. At 55 degrees, their breathing rate increases to 420 breaths per minute! Hummingbirds survive cold nights by going into torpor. This is a state in which the bird’s heartbeat and breathing slow to such a degree that movement is impossible. A torpid hummingbird can be picked up easily, and has no power to move. However, warm it in your hand for just a little while, and the little fellow will spring to life and zoom away.

So for now, in mid-June, we should maintain our feeders by regularly cleaning them with a bleach solution to control mold, mildew, and bacteria. They should be filled with a solution of 1 part sugar to 4 parts water that has been boiled and cooled.

But, soon, probably about July 1, another hummie will arrive, the tiny Rufous Hummingbird, the little red dude. I call him Attila the Hum, for his fearsome guarding of all the hummingbird feeders on your property. He sits in wait for any unsuspecting local species to attempt to drink and then immediately dives upon them to drive them away from ‘his’ feeder. To help reduce the aggression, provide him with one feeder that contains a stronger elixir, a mix of 1 part sugar to 3 parts water. He might just decide to keep that one and leave the other, lesser quality feeders alone.

At any rate, it is important to keep feeders clean and filled until two weeks after your last hummingbird observation of the year and to put them out again in the spring about two weeks before their normal arrival, about April 1 in central New Mexico. You just never know. Perhaps your feeder will be the one that sustains a little throughout the long New Mexico winter.