Volunteers Who Drive Six Hours for a Hurt Hummingbird

There’s a thump-thump-thump in the trunk, and it’s not the bass—it’s a juvenile bald eagle waking up after being electrocuted on a power line. Faith Davis is navigating a winding Vermont mountain road on a summer day in 2024, racing against time to get her unconscious passenger to the Vermont Institute of Natural Science, or VINS. When the bird arrives at the clinic, it emerges with burn marks and attitude—very wide awake and very agitated. But it’s alive, and it has a chance.

This is the story of avian emergency responders: a quietly heroic network of about 100 trained volunteers in Vermont, New Hampshire, and eastern upstate New York who do exactly what the job title suggests. They get the call. They drive, sometimes nearly six hours, to rescue an injured songbird, raptor, or waterfowl and transport it safely to a rehabilitation facility. Davis herself once drove almost six hours just to pick up a hummingbird with a metabolic problem. No glory. No headlines. Just old towels, spare containers, and a willingness to wade across rivers to find a gravely injured heron.

Why does this matter? Because birds across North America are getting crushed by human activity—literally and figuratively. Habitat loss is decimating populations of common species. More than a billion birds a year die from collisions with buildings. At VINS alone, more than 1,000 wild birds arrive annually, most bearing the scars of human interference: car collisions, diseases from feeders, attacks by house pets. Without a coordinated transport network, many of these animals never make it to treatment in time. As VINS avian rehabilitator Celia Reinhardt puts it plainly:“If we didn’t have volunteers, it would be very, very difficult to actually get that bird care.”

The nationwide infrastructure is remarkably organized. Similar volunteer corps operate from Minnesota to Alabama to Hawaii. In Washington in 2023, Spokane Audubon’s volunteers drove 5,000 miles responding to 249 incidents. Davis joined four years ago, drawn by her love of nature and a desire to contribute around her IT job schedule. The training is straightforward—throw a sheet over the bird, wear gloves and eye protection, keep it dark and quiet (stress can be fatal, especially for small songbirds), and get moving.

The survival rate hovers around 40 percent, and you might think that’s reason enough to stay home. Davis sees it differently: without these volunteers, it would be much lower. Birds that fully recover get released where they were found, continuing to support their local ecosystems. For long-lived raptors especially, this kind of intervention can actually boost entire populations. It’s unglamorous work with modest odds, but it’s the difference between a bird getting a fighting chance and no chance at all.

If you find an injured bird, the next move matters: call in a report to your local wildlife rehabilitator. Keep the bird contained in a dark box with air holes. Resist the urge to peek. Silence and stillness save lives. The National Wildlife Rehabilitators Association can help you locate a licensed facility near you—and maybe you’ll meet volunteers like Faith Davis, ready to drive through the night for a bird in need.