Omaha, NE
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November 26, 2009
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A purple martin comes in for a landing in the trees at the Nebraska Medical Center near 44th and Farnam Street, where the birds have a roost. They will swarm in the area each night until mid-September as part of their annual migration. KENT SIEVERS/THE WORLD-HERALD
Superlatives fly as fast as the birds as purple martins, noted for their individual acrobatic skills, swarm by thousands to roost each night at the Nebraska Medical Center.
The martins appear first like a whirl of tornado debris high in the sky. Then they torpedo toward the ground like Star Wars fighter pilots.
“They swoosh right down on us — it's exciting,” said Skeeter Gurzick of Omaha, who recently came with her family to watch the show.
Descriptions like “purple martin storm,” a “martin vortex,” and “a storm of fat black snowflakes” can be heard among those watching.
Central Nebraska is known for its spring spectacle of migrating sandhill cranes, but Omaha has its own “wow” factor with the swarm of martins.
Again this year, purple martins have selected the one-block stretch of 44th Street just south of Farnam as a nightly roosting spot.
Justin Rink and Jim Ducey, who spend many evenings watching the ritual, estimate that sometimes 35,000 martins roost there.
Unlike the notoriously shy sandhill crane, martins have little fear of humans and fly kamikaze-style over the heads of spectators before swooping into the trees.
Gurzick marveled at the martins' ability to fly at breakneck speed in tight, twisty packs without crashing into one another. As they plummet toward earth, they're known to reach speeds of at least 40 mph.
“What a phenomenon,” she said. “I can't believe more people aren't paying more attention to it.”
Usually, no more than a dozen people gather at about 8 p.m. on the steps at the adjacent J.P. Lord School to watch the birds.
And so far, that small a crowd is just fine with the medical center.
Paul Baltes, spokesman for the medical center, said 44th Street is the main entrance used by ambulances.
Because ambulances use the street, the med center is not encouraging spectators. However, it cannot ban people from the sidewalk on the west side of 44th Street because it is public property.
Baltes asked that spectators be watchful of vehicles and not park or stand in the street.
The med center has hung banners over windows to keep birds from crashing into them.
“We've done what we can to protect the birds and welcome them,” Baltes said. “But at the end of the day, our job is to operate a hospital and protect the patients who come here.”
About 350 such roosts are believed to exist in the United States and southern Canada, said Louise Chambers of the Purple Martin Conservation Association, headquartered in Pennsylvania.
Roosts begin forming in midsummer after the nesting season is completed, peak in August and disperse by mid-September, she said. Roosts are essential to prepare martins for their several-thousand-mile trek to their wintering grounds in Brazil.
The parents are resting and putting on weight, while the young are gaining experience in feeding and are building up endurance, strength and weight, Chambers said.
Based on studies elsewhere, the birds at the med center may have flown in from as far as 250 miles away, she said. Each day, they disperse around Omaha to feed on insects. Studies have shown that some will forage as far as 30 miles away.
“It is amazing to realize that every bird there came from a martin house or gourd rack in someone's backyard,” Chambers said. Because of habitat loss, martins east of the Rocky Mountains rely on humans for nesting sites.
Chambers said the martins probably are drawn to the area because its dense trees provide plenty of places to perch; lighting encourages a sense of security and nearby buildings shelter and warm the area, which allows the birds to expend less energy while they rest for their trip south.
Chambers said research has shown that martins, because they are a social species, have a larger portion of their brain devoted to the capacity to communicate.
The collective chatter of the birds sounds like rainfall.
Chambers has her own theory about what they're saying as they settle down for the night:
“I think they're yelling: ‘Don't sit on me! Sit over there, I'm sitting here!'”
Contact the writer:
444-1102, nancy.gaarder@owh.com