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QuickTake:
As old-growth forests and brick chimneys disappear, Vaux's swifts are running short on roosting habitat. Each fall, their stop at the University of Oregon's Agate Hall chimney draws crowds, including queer birders, who know, too, what it's like to look for spaces to gather.
They weren’t having it when trouble came for one of their own.
At sunset, a hungry Cooper’s hawk dove into thousands of small birds — the Vaux’s swifts — swirling around a brick chimney top. A flock of them splintered off and chased it away.
Amy Sherman watched through her binoculars, sitting with friends and family together in a parking lot at the University of Oregon’s Agate Hall.
“There’s safety in numbers,” said Sherman, the founder of Lane County Queer Birders.
“When I first threw the invite out for Lane County Queer Birders my thought was that if we were all together here in nature, we would be safer, and we’ve never had an issue,” said Sherman, who often hosts nature walks and bird watching events as she was doing this mid-September evening.
“There’s a certain magnetism in the group sometimes, and I think that can be really beautiful, like it was tonight,” she said.
The Vaux’s swifts are on their fall journey — migrating from as far north as British Columbia toward their wintering grounds between southern Mexico and Venezuela. Eugene is one of their stops.
They fly up to 100 miles a day, eating and drinking on the wing. They are in constant motion, because they can’t perch.
When the tiny swifts call it a day, their endurance turns ethereal. They funnel into a tight space, where they cling onto a rough surface and huddle together for warmth.
Thousands of small creatures
The birds are in Eugene from September through early October, and on the busiest night this year the Agate Hall chimney held more than 9,000 swifts, according to this year’s counts.
They have roosted at the Agate Hall chimney for at least 30 years. Debbie Schlenoff has watched about half of those years..
“Before there were chimneys, they were doing just fine, because there were enough really mature forests and old-growth forests that contain these big old snags that could fit a whole bunch of roosting swifts,” Schlenoff said. “As we lose mature forests, and we lose old-growth, and we lose the snags, they have less and less places to basically spend the night along their migration routes.”
The Vaux’s swifts population has declined an estimated 50% since the late 1960s, according to the National Parks Service, which cites the loss of old trees, as well as the demolition of old brick chimneys.
“Old-fashioned chimneys are best because they have a lot of places to hang on to inside the chimney because of the way they’re constructed. So we’re hoping that those don’t totally disappear as well as people modernize,” Schlenoff said.
Future of birds and people, together
Schlenoff is the president of the Coast to Cascade Bird Alliance, formerly known as the Lane Audubon Society. The group dropped the Audubon name as the local board, as part of a nationwide reckoning, examined the legacy of naturalist John James Audubon, who enslaved people and held white supremacist views.
“It is only through many people acting together that we have a chance of improving the future for birds, for other wildlife, and for people.” Coast to Cascade Bird Alliance President Debbie Schlenoff
“We do not want our organization to bear a name that makes people feel excluded,” Schlenoff wrote on the behalf of the local board. “It is only through many people acting together that we have a chance of improving the future for birds, for other wildlife, and for people.”
The alliance typically hosts bird walks two Saturdays each month, with the first of the month reserving space for women; people who are Black, Indigenous and of color; and people who are LGBTQ+.
It’s for people who “otherwise feel uncomfortable going on a traditional walk,” Schlenoff said.
That’s part of why Sherman started Lane County Queer Birders, too. But when starting the group a couple of years ago, she was also looking for community. She was reflecting on the 2024 presidential election, amid widespread concern among LGBTQ+ people and advocates about the future of their rights.
“We just knew enough to know we should be scared, and yet we didn’t know enough. And there are times when that feels really, really heavy still,” Sherman said outside Agate Hall.
“This gets to be a place of queer joy,” she said. “So long as we’re seeking out the joy, whether we’re gathering in threes or in hundreds. I think that’s a really important thing, because that’s what keeps us alive.”
