I did a lot of birding last fall, starting around early
September, when the migration was picking up and the weather was not quite as
sweltering as it tends to be in July and August. By November, however, I noticed that I was
starting to slack off a little—the peak of migration was over, and I had a lot
of other important things on my mind. A
few local birders had seen a rare Vermilion Flycatcher at White’s Slough—a
cypress swamp—in Columbus, MS, near the end of October. This would be a life bird for me, but I had
been busy on those days, and didn’t hear about the sighting until fairly late, anyway. But when the flycatcher was found again on
November 2nd, and yet again on the following day, I decided to make
the 20-minute drive to see it for myself.
Since the bird had been seen from Port Access Rd. earlier in
the afternoon, I figured that it would probably still be there by the time I
showed up, at nearly 4:00 p.m. I was
right. Only about a minute after my
sister (who wanted to be along for the ride) and I pulled into a very un-busy
parking area, I spotted a small bird sallying out from a shrubby tree at the
edge of the road.
My first comment: “Well, that bird is acting like a flycatcher.”
Then I lifted my binoculars to my face.
Second comment: “Yep, that’s the Vermilion.”
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| It wasn't exactly secretive. |
I should point out that this Vermilion Flycatcher didn’t
exactly fit its name. It was a female,
which meant that it had a peachy-yellow wash to its belly, but no red. That’s one of the slightly annoying issues
with the common names (and frequently even the scientific names) of many, many
species of birds: they describe the adult males, but not the adult females or
the immatures. A newbie could certainly
be forgiven for feeling confused that a bird with “vermilion” in its common
name (and also possessing the scientific name Pyrocephalus rubinus—“flame-headed ruby,” basically) might display not
one scarlet feather in its plumage. Oh,
well. The flycatcher was pretty in a
subtle way, with its gray-brown back and head, white throat, white wing-bars,
pale eyebrow, and yellow belly.
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| No red, but a pleasing color combination, anyway. |
The flycatcher darted after insects a few more times before
making a beeline to the power lines in a field just south of the slough. While I was still watching the flycatcher, I also
noted other birds, such as hundreds of Double-crested Cormorants flocking into
the swamp for the evening, meadowlarks
bzzzping as they foraged in the grass, an American Kestrel hovering over a
field, and a Mourning Dove perching on a power line.
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| Mourning Dove |
Besides the fact that this was the “lifer” Vermilion
Flycatcher for me, there was another big reason why I was particularly pleased
with the observation. Back in January of
2014, I made an attempt to see a male Vermilion that had been hanging around
Noxubee National Wildlife Refuge.
Unfortunately, even though I went to the exact location where the bird
had been observed in December, I never saw it.
That individual Vermilion was later found dead—most likely the victim of
extremely cold temperatures.
Unfortunately, that’s often the fate of wildly out-of-place birds and
other animals. At the time, I was
saddened and a little frustrated, but I was also aware that this was just
another part of nature. So far, it
appears that the Vermilion Flycatcher in Columbus this winter has been doing
pretty well, so maybe she’ll survive long enough to migrate back to her normal
territory.
Although the Vermilion Flycatcher is a rare vagrant to eastern
and central North America, its typical range is actually very wide, covering
most of Mexico and swaths of Central and South America. In the U.S., though, it’s usually found only
in the Southwest. I don’t know exactly how
one managed to find its way to Northeast-Central Mississippi; maybe it was blown
off-course during migration. At any
rate, seeing it going about its normal business in the rather abnormal location
made for a great birding day.
