Birding. For anyone familiar with the concept, it probably brings to mind stereotypical images of bespectacled young and old gripping their binoculars, scopes, and cameras for dear life as they search for the elusive bird in the tree, river, or marsh. Birders travel far and wide trying to catch that 5 second glimpse of a bird that enables them to put a check next to a name in their bird book.
That’s definitely not me. Yet ever since my second field job – for which I worked with black- and red-legged kittiwakes, thick-billed murres, and least auklets here on St. George – various friends and family members have teased or referred to me as a ‘birder.’
At first I rather resolutely refuted the label. First off, I don’t have the eyes, ears, or memory for details to differentiate amongst some species. Secondly, I don’t keep a life list: a list of all the birds I’ve seen over the years. Nor do I get excited when I see a certain bird for the first time, or what birders would call ‘lifers.’ I don’t check eBird to find out what species have been sighted at my upcoming travel destinations or where I should go to see specific birds. Until I graduated from college and asked for a pair as a graduation gift, I didn’t even have my own pair of binoculars!
If I am a birder, I’m definitely at the beginning stages. Over the years I’ve worked with field technicians who cover the range from wildlife enthusiasts to moderate/intense birders. I consider myself part of the group some co-workers have named ‘bird professionals.’ While we think birds are pretty awesome to study, we don’t necessarily choose jobs based on the study species. For me, birds are part of the bigger picture of the grand experience. Sightings and photos are all great, but a scar from a bird is worth more than a check mark in a book.
Lately, though, I’ve noticed a few things that make me acknowledge that perhaps after all these years, I’ve moved a little closer to the birding end of the scale.
- Just thinking about long-tailed ducks makes me smile! Their markings are adorable, and because it’s just so melodiously cute, their call is the only one I will randomly imitate. I got the Tutakoke crew to use it as a rallying cry in 2014, and a friend even woke me up with the call as a wonderful alarm clock on my final morning there last summer.
- The northern pintail who slept under my tent fly at Tutakoke in 2013 counts as my favorite neighbor of all time, which is why I may have slept in a 60+ year-old man’s tent a number of times in 2014. (Since the pintail didn’t pick my tent as a base, I had to go visit her new location while that tent’s occupant was out-of-state!) It’s not as weird as it sounds. Err – maybe it is.
- Ever since we’ve been on St. George this summer, I’ve had my eyes open for black brant. I spent 2 summers with them at Tutakoke, so they’re practically my summer family. When Laney called, “Brant!” from our room overlooking the waters of the Bering Sea, I ran to see a bird for the first time in my life. I ran for a bird of which I’ve held hundreds and seen thousands.
- I can sit in the least auklet colony of 100,000+ birds for hours without getting bored. Whether I’m looking for color bands on their legs or being entranced by all of the fly-bys, the antics of least auklets keep me entertained. Perhaps the best part is when a bird makes an abrupt landing on the rock “blind” and then either proceeds to chatter or jump up and fly when it realizes it has landed 2 feet from a human.
While normal life has its perks, the memories of living with birds for months make it balance out. Now pardon me while I go continue my summer-long hopeful lookout for long-tailed ducks.
*Sorry about the lack of pictures for the duration of summer. We have data-limited internet use.*