Birding-Continual Discovery

“There was a bird in my yard yesterday I never saw before,” a neighbor recently related to me.  “It was yellow with some black, and I think some white.  It had a kind of long tail.  Do you know what it was?”  I thought of some possibilities, but wasn’t sure.

Most active birders regularly hear such questions from non-birding friends, or even from strangers who notice us out staring into trees or scanning the ocean with binoculars and scopes.  Sometimes the details listed in these queries add up to something, and we come up with an answer (or at least some good possibilities).  More often the questions can’t be answered—the curious person did not notice the essential details to sort out the identification.  Both parties in the exchange go off disappointed- the non-birder lacking a curiosity-satisfying answer, the birder frustrated by not being able to help.  Nevertheless, the non-birder, in noticing the bird and some details about it, took an initial step along the path that many of us have followed for years—a process of discovery that begins with something catching our attention, which lead to questions, and answers to these questions that inspire further exploration.   A spark was struck; sometimes sparks find tinder.  For many of us, it was some similar “moment of noticing” that convinced us to take a more serious look at birds.

            In learning birds and the process of birding, we create and build upon cognitive tools that allow us to move forward.  Learning the local birds combines aspects of a treasure hunt and a pile of wrapped gifts waiting to be opened.  One by one we find each treasure (the bird species), and with the knowledge we gain from books, other birders, and experience, we identify them, figuratively “unwrapping” each new “gift”.  As this is going on, we find out more about what we should look for…learning how to learn, really. 

Part of it is knowing the categories, and developing the ability to quickly place a mystery bird into ever more finely delineated “pigeonholes” (maybe there’s a better word. . .oh well).  An unrecognized bird might be a “little brown bird” to a beginning birder, but the same species under similar circumstances a few years later could become “some kind of sparrow”, then after more experience an early thought might be “one of the smaller Spizella”.  Another aspect is learning what to look for- trying to judge the age of an unknown small sandpiper, for example, or looking for the face and wing patterns when getting glimpses of a mysterious warbler.  Then we also develop our skill to detect things- the ability to pick a vireo out of a thick tree, or find those dark gray shorebirds on the dark gray rocks, or pick out the odd call from a morning chorus. 

We also learn what limits us.  The apparently large bird seen on a treetop on a foggy morning somehow turns out to be a hummingbird (well, at least it’s an Anna’s), while that little insectivore in the thick of that oak tree emerges and somehow becomes a Scrub-jay.  I remember once seeing an improbably orange-breasted flycatcher one morning as the sun rose, which was somehow transformed to a normal Pacific-slope as the sun got a bit higher in the sky.     

            Eventually we get to the point where we have identified most of what is normal in our area.  We expand the possibilities by seeking rarities and with travel.  Some of us expand our focus to include more facets of the natural world-butterflies or amphibians, native orchids or forest fungi.  It is great to expand the focus of our observations, and the skills we acquire through birding help us with all of this. 

There is no reason to give up on the local birds, though.  In fact the possibilities for new questions to explore are almost endless.  You now know that the bird you are looking at is a Western Wood-Pewee, but why is it nesting in this habitat?  And why aren’t the Warbling Vireos showing up here this year like the have the past several? “I never noticed that the juveniles of this species have that pattern on their tail feathers”, and “look how many species are feeding on those poison-oak berries”.  After many years of studying birds and other parts of the natural world, and getting out in the field quite regularly, I still manage to notice, find, or encounter something new just about every time I go out.  It builds upon itself-the more one learns, the more one learns- and it still has that thrill of discovery- the treasure hunt, the unwrapping of gifts, that it did when I was first learning birds.  Besides, when one is out in the field a lot, those rarities do show up. . .  How each of us started birding, why we watch birds, and continue to do so for years, is, of course, as variable as the many personalities in the birding community.  In some ways it is a game.  We try to achieve or exceed a certain number of species in a day, and add to county and life and whatever other lists.  We encounter a mystery- a brief and inadequate view of something unfamiliar in the local patch of scrub.  A bit of stalking skill, some instinct, good luck, and a lot of patience may bring us enough glimpses to add up to an identification.  Then there is that perfectly cooperative gull posing in the open right in front of us, showing off details of plumage, shape, and soft part coloration that just don’t match anything in any references we have available—a challenging puzzle, that might or might not be solvable. 

            In addition to this multifaceted game, we experience the satisfaction of doing something valuable.  Our notes and records, the surveys and censuses and studies we participate in- all add to the knowledge of the local avifauna and the natural world in general.  Given the precarious state of the natural world, the better we understand the status of things, the more likely we are to make the best decisions, know what to work for or lobby for, or at least head in the right direction.

This issue of the Albatross marks the beginning of the fiftieth year for the Santa Cruz Bird Club.  Over the course of this half-century, knowledge of our avifauna has increased greatly, much of it due to projects the club or club members have been involved in.  The Santa Cruz County and Moss Landing Christmas Bird Counts provide long-running sources of data.  The ongoing Forest Bird Monitoring Program, the atlas project, many specific studies, and the observations of numerous local birders add up to a mountain of information, but there is always much more to be learned.  More will be learned (in keeping with the mountain analogy), because it’s there, and because we are here to go look for it.  And you never know, maybe that neighbor who saw the yellow, black and white mystery bird will join us.