This little red bird doesn’t look like much (especially in this dreadfully grainy shot), but he is in fact a vermillion flycatcher, who really had no business whatsoever being in north-central California at the end of November (or any other time, for that matter). And yet there he was — and so we went to see him.

We were camping nearby, and it was a short drive from Colusa to the small town of Maxwell — or, rather, to its cemetery, where this vivid little fellow had been seen — to try and spot him. We knew it wouldn’t be easy: the vermillion flycatcher, though brightly colored, is only a very small bird after all. Still, we were on vacation and decided to have a go.

We wandered through the graveyard and along the edge of the peach orchard that bordered it, gazing up through our binoculars. We did see quite a few birds: meadowlarks and sparrows and killdeer, along with red-tailed hawks circling overhead and another small raptor flying through the trees (perhaps a kestrel?). But no bright spot of scarlet.

After perhaps 45 minutes of fruitless searching, we were ready to give up. I was making one last pass in the orchard, when another couple called out to Craig. They had seen us tiptoeing around the graves with our binoculars, guessed what we were about, and very kindly pointed the little beauty out to us. Craig gestured me over, and we all gazed, enraptured, at the vivid creature who had strayed so many miles from his home territory.

A little too much drama

As I moved closer, hoping for a photo, the flycatcher flew down to one of the gravestones. I had just taken a couple of shots, when several sparrows suddenly dashed up from the ground to take refuge in an overhanging tree. Our flycatcher quickly followed their lead — and none too soon. In a sudden blur of pale feathers, a kestrel (we were more certain of our identification this time) zoomed down and made a diving snatch at the smaller birds — first on the ground and then up into the tree, before flying swiftly away.

It all happened so fast that we couldn’t be sure of what we’d seen. Did he catch one? Craig thought he had seen something in the kestrel’s talons, but I thought not — and certainly nothing bright red. Plus, we reminded ourselves, there had been no burst of fallen feathers, as usually happened when a raptor caught another bird.

And yet, where was our rare flycatcher? We didn’t know, and we couldn’t find it again. Feeling heartsick and a bit guilty at the possibility that our paparazzi presence had distracted to its cost the bird we had come to see, we headed back to the camper for lunch, talking about the marvel and delight of encountering something so beautiful and rare — and agonizing again over whether it had become someone else’s meal.

A little later, as we packed up the camper and prepared to head out, I decided to have one last look for our vermillion flycatcher. Almost immediately, I spotted a tiny bird flying a loop from the top of a tall tree and back to the same spot — definitely flycatcher behavior! I couldn’t see its color, but when I looked through my binoculars, I saw red, literally. No doubt about it: that was our bird. We watched him perform a few more passes of his swoop-and-return feeding ritual. Then, with smiles of gratitude (and relief!) we took ourselves off and left him to chase his bugs in peace.

Here’s to the privilege of encountering these exotic wanderers,
who surprise us with their presence
and delight us with their beauty.
May they always find their way back home!

Connections

• Audubon Society: The Flyways — Pacific Flyway

You might also enjoy…

• The rest of my posts about birding in a pandemic:
  • Our fine-feathered friends
  • Which bird is which?
  • Our local birds
  • Capturing nature on the page
  • Along the Pacific Flyway
• Who is that big-footed bird?