To rescue or not to rescue

Early in January while bird-watching in The Pilliga, I got a closer look than I imagined I would of flightless Rufous Whistler chicks.  Had the helpless nestlings fallen while exercising their wings perched on the rim of the nest?  Or had last night's storm up-ended the nest?

Whatever the accident, the untimely eviction of the chicks left them vulnerable to predation and unfavourable weather conditions.  The little fellow in the images below was clinging to it's perch less than 30cms from the ground in a 1mt eucalypt sapling right beside the road.  It's sibling was squawking from a fallen tree lying in water nearby.  Above was a mature eucalypt, but I could see no nest.  I did however, notice a dedicated Rufous Whistler mum quietly gathering insects for her two hapless chicks.

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I sat on my stool on the road, giving the unfortunate but inspiring family space to feel comfortable to carry on with their surviving.  The youngsters sat silently, and very ungainly.  But when mother approached with food, they were quite vocal.  Dad didn't put in an appearance - had he abandoned his family in need?

With no nest in sight, there was no option of returning the chicks to the nest.  But if there was a nest, what's the most responsible course of action?  Would the parent birds abandon their chicks if they smelled like the human hand that 'rescued' them?  Would interference leave a scent that would attract predators?  I don't know.

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I left Nature to take it's course, not holding out much hope for the chicks. I took some comfort knowing the Rufous Whistler was one of the most common birds in the forest, not that the loss is any less saddening.  When I returned in the morning to check on the situation, Mum was still feeding the nestling in the sapling, and she appeared to be offering insects to something on the ground near the fallen logs, so both chicks made it through the night.

However, the following day, there was no sign of the female Whistler tending her young.  The air was full of the Rufous Whistler song, but the sapling was empty.  Perhaps the chicks were able to flap feebly to another perch, or perhaps they fell pray to fox or goanna, or the night chill.  I'll never know, but I always find so much interest observing Nature take it's course - should we humans intervene?

Poor me - I'm a baby Whistler without a safe and cozy nest. . . .

. . . .what you looking at then? I've still got a mum you know. . . .

. . . .hey Mum, what's that big lump of a thing staring at me?. . . .

. . . .oooh, tucker - quick, I'm not sharing with anyone. . . .

. . . .ho hum, you don't mind if I nod off after dinner, then, do you?. . . .

. . . .yeah, I trust you - I'll go off and feed the other youngun.
A mother's work is never done.