Chances any of us will survive long-term as we hurl through space on this hot rock of ours are minimized by our collective cluelessness, an observation never so true as in recent days with the fuss made over the U.S. Bank Stadium bird-killer study.
The research's intent was to determine whether and if so how many birds are killed when crashing into the stadium. The assumption by "conservationists" (the media's description) who demanded the study was that the stadium's glassy façade poses a particular risk to winged critters.
The conclusion? The Vikings' home field kills … wait for it … 111 birds a year, third-most among downtown structures.
If only to gain context, one would have thought someone in this shadow boxing exercise would have asked, as one example, "Well, OK, how many ducks did hunters kill last year in Minnesota?" Or pheasants. Or ruffed grouse?
Answers: 615,000 ducks. 205,000 pheasants. And 195,515 ruffed grouse.
So, are we running out of ducks, pheasants or ruffed grouse?
No, because harvests of these birds is essentially compensatory to their overall annual mortality, not additive. Meaning, and I'm simplifying here in part to account for species and gender distinctions within overall duck and pheasant harvests, that when considered on a population level, the same, or similar, number of these birds would have died anyway, by some other means, in the course of a year.
Moreover, abundance of these birds — as is also the case with the sparrows, warblers and ovenbirds cited in the stadium study — has far less to do with their mortality causes or rates, the latter of which vary by the relative sizes of their populations, than to the availability of healthy habitats.