Pissing Cold Rain
The skies have been pissing for days and days.
They call it a Pineapple Express, which is basically a river of rain barreling toward and then across the West Coast from the pineapple-y regions of the South Pacific, just north of Hawaii. If temps are cold enough it’s great for building up snowpack in the mountains, which we really, really need, and great for the coastal rain forests who simply live for such drenchings, but it can play hell on the psyches and survival of any and all, non-aquatic types who must find a way to hunker down and endure, hour after hour of rain with no real place to hide. They just try to hold it all together until the respites of sunshine and blue skies appear again, so they can dry out and warm up.
In brief, precipitation-free pockets, between storms I’ve been watching birds of all stripes perched, wings partially outstretched, trying to allow the movement of air to evaporate some of the water from their matted, saturated feathers.
We humans can head indoors, sit by the fire, put on rain parkas, drive about in water-tight cars, stand under umbrellas. Birds, from tiniest hummingbird to most massive eagle, have no such luxuries or possibilities of respite. A few hours of rain are probably no big deal, but near constant rainfall for several days in a row… that’s gotta call on every bit of courage and endurance in them. Imagine how that must feel on day three at about four in the morning. Will this never cease?
I watched a pair of Spotted Towhees (below), who presumably have a nest tucked in beneath a large, Western Sword Fern, disappear and reemerge beneath the rain-soaked fronds multiple times to go in search of food and keep an eye on me (so it seemed). Both, like me, were soaked, their feathers matted, and though each one of the pair fluffed and shook to rid themselves of as much water as possible, multiple times, being out in the rain certainly gave no respite and each trip back under those down-bent fronds exacted yet another cold drenching.
As soon as I sorted out that my lingering presence was likely a part of the problem they were doing their best to solve I quickly backed away with sincere apologies. They were brave and diligent parents who already had more than enough to deal with, without my curious, gawking presence just a little too close to their nest. Sometimes my cluelessness is bewildering, even to me. I have much yet to learn.
The clouds finally cleared a few days ago and weather was mostly dry on Sunday and Monday. Finally, I didn’t have to wade through three inch deep puddles yesterday, to visit the two momma hummers whose nests I’ve been checking in on for the past week and a half. It felt good to be able to watch both of them fly off for a few minutes, take a stretch and rest on a nearby branch and then head off to forage a little meal. But it started raining again last night and is still going this morning. The weather app on my phone says it will continue to dump rain until early afternoon and then it will become notably windy until about nine, tonight. Those tiny, little, warrior-poet mommas are ever so much tougher and braver than I am. This is not at all in dispute.
During the break in the atmospheric river that has been keeping us all soaked, I met another, tiny, little female hummer (immediately below), who seems way smaller than a typical Anna’s (much more Rufous sized), but calmer in demeanor, like an Anna’s. From a distance, I immediately thought she was a Rufous because there was a somewhat orangeish coloration to her from behind, and given her diminutive size, I thought surely. But then she came in close and decided to just hang out. We had only just met but she perched up just a few feet from me for several minutes, multiple times over the next half hour, including one visit, a non-scolding hover just six inches from my face. I’m kinda wondering if she’s a rare, hybrid cross between the two species. It does occasionally happen, or so I’m told.
I made my way back into the woods, yesterday and the weather was much kinder, partly cloudy and dry. Both mommas who’ve been incubating their eggs for days in pouring rain were leaving their nests occasionally to gather food, which they both brought back, partially digested and then carefully fed it to mostly unseen little mouths. So obviously, the jelly-bean eggs in both nests have hatched in the last day or so and we’ve moved from patient, egg-sitting mommas to diligent, hungry baby mommas.
I’m kinda beaming.
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Pineapple Express is a specific recurring atmospheric river both in the waters immediately northeast of the Hawaiian Islands and extending northeast to any location along the Pacific coast of North America. It is a non-technical term for a meteorological phenomenon. It is characterized by a strong and persistent large-scale flow of warm moist air, and the associated heavy precipitation.
Ohh shiveringly lovely! "Insulating lid!"
You, David, are amazing! And like the birds you picture in this essay, you are courageous enduring, like the birds, to get such photos. Also you are humble and enlightened to know when you must move away. I had such a tough day yesterday and this post lifted my spirit up up and up!