I knew what it was, of course, as soon as I heard it.

"Kik-kik-kik-kik-kik!"

Problem was, the bird making that noise, barely flying between my truck and the four huge condensate tanks, didn't look like a kestrel. It was too dark, didn't have the flash of blue and orange you expect with a kestrel. More of a uniform dark colour, like a merlin or something, but without the band on the tail. And this thing was staying just a meter or so above the ground.

Then it hit me.

Where I was.

This was Saturday, the 8th, and I was trying to reach the second strutting ground of the morning. And someone had stuck a gas well right smack dab in the middle of my road.

I was trying to work my way around the tanks when the little falcon flushed up from the ground. And on the other side, was the oil-covered waste pits left over from the drilling operation.

So. What just disappeared between tanks three and four was probably a kestrel, all right.

Covered in oil.

I grabbed the camera, and circled around to the other sides of the tanks. Just in time to see the bird awkwardly flap its way back between tanks three and four.

And then it disappeared.

Circled all the tanks at least three times, checked under the outfit's rig, and wandered around the small car and two graders parked at the well site.

No kestrel.

Ooookay. The mornin's wasting. I try to get through the well pad to get back onto the road to the lek, but no can do. Unless I want to drop the rig over an embankment. As I turn back to try to find another road to the northwest, I see it again. The kestrel, sitting alongside the bare dirt, hopelessly trying to dry his feathers.

What follows is the usual comic chase through the sagebrush, the small bird hopping from bush to bush as I try to catch up. Finally he makes his last stand, flopping on his back with talons raised.

Big mistake, bird. I got gloves on. And soon, I have an oily bird in my hands.

Now, what do I do with him?

The good news is, today I got no heelers. Since the little maskless one had enjoyed a morning of sleeping-in the day before, the wife had insisted that the masked heeler get to stay in bed with her on a Saturday morning. And, of course, the little maskless one stayed, too.

So, I got half a truck to put this kestrel in. I clear the cooler out of the passenger-side floorboards, and set the bird down to see if it would ride peacefully.

Well, no. Not with the driver's side door wide open. After a quick attempt to climb up behind the dashboard, the kestrel darted out the other side, back into the sage.

After seeing him try to climb into the truck's wiring, I consider myself quite lucky that he decided instead to exit the vehicle, and make no complaints about having to chase him down again. This chase ends just as the first, with the kestrel laying talons up in the sage, and totally surprised his last ditch defense strategy fails completely.

So. What to do with an oily bird that is wont to climb into dark, tight spaces.

There was an abandoned water cooler jug on the road near the gas well. Rather unusual detritus for the desert, but if I cut the top most of the way off, I'll have kestrel in a bottle.

Which is none too easy to do with a leatherman tool, whilst your left hand is gently holding a falcon. I finally get the top cut off, and to be safe, take a whiff.

Oil.

The damn water bottle is lined inside with oil. No wonder they pitched it. I dropkick the blue plastic back in with their vehicles, and start tearing the back end of the truck apart. There's gotta be something that will hold a bird in there.

And find wings. A paper grocery bag filled with naturally dehydrated grouse wings that I was saving from last November's wing bee.

And into the bag he goes.

I make the call to the Audubon rehab folks in Central City, two hours away, and apologize for calling so early on a Saturday. And then hit the road, lek counts forgotten for the day.

Two hours later I deliver my charge. And they, too, are impressed at how bright orange his ceres are. Definitely in breeding plumage.

We can only hope he hasn't already mated and bred, 'cause this fellow won't be coming home for a while.