It was getting dark, and it was raining, and we were still birding from the vantage of the observation tower at the end of Turkey Point Road. The “we” was wife Linda (who was wet and not particularly happy about it), Don Freiday (who was also wet but whose frame of mind wasn’t my concern) and me (who hates being wet and who has probably been wet more than anyone on the planet who hates being wet).
It was the closing minutes of the Cumberland County Christmas Bird Count. We were watching, hoping, to add Eastern Meadowlark, Boat-tailed Grackle, and Long-eared Owl to our list.
We got the meadowlark (a lone bird heading east over the marsh). Linda pried a flock of grackles out of the gloom. I was doing another sweep of the horizon–the horizon that I’d been sweeping for half an hour—when I noticed a bird keyed up on top of a bush.
My mind went right to “shrike.” Knowing how unusual this would be (Northern Shrike is a rare winter resident; Loggerhead Shrikes are about as common as Ivory-billed Woodpeckers in New Jersey) I held my tongue. Studied the bird through binoculars. Considered putting the scope on it to be absolutely certain but didn’t.
I was absolutely certain. The bird was only a couple of hundred feet away–plenty close enough to recognize a shrike (and even close enough to suggest Northern Shrike which, in fact, the bird proved to be–an adult).
“Darn,” wife Linda said after I announced the find.
“Why darn?” I asked.
“Because that bird’s been sitting there for twenty minutes. I just passed it off.”
So, you conclude, my point is that my wife is a lousy birder?
No. If this was the conclusion you drew then you are either dumb or very single. As anyone who has ever birded with Linda will tell you, Linda is an excellent birder. My point is that despite the fact that I am not a particularly lousy birder (and Don Freiday is an exceptional birder) a very desirable bird had been sitting in view for twenty minutes and nobody had recognized the fact.
Not Linda who blew it off. Not Don or I who were feverishly scanning and had likewise blown it off (because it’s certain our binoculars had passed right over it multiple times).
My point is, don’t you ever wonder how many birds you miss every time you go birding?
I sure do. And I’m willing to bet it is a lot more than I want realize or admit.
Actually, by degrees, there had been evidence of this all day. Don would say “Fish Crow!” and I’d look at him with a blank look in my face and he’d say: “It called.”
Of course I know the call of Fish Crow. I just didn’t hear it. I...
MISSED IT!
On another occasion we’d stopped and (because I stopped faster) I heard the low croak that lined up with the identification of “American Bittern.” Linda heard nothing. Don heard something (that might have been a heron). I was the only one to hear it.
I was stopped. I was facing the right way. They were not.
On last year’s World Series of Birding, we (meaning Will Russell, Don Freiday and I) did a Post Doc’s worth of study on the subject of the birds you miss.
We were doing a big sit. Warblers were flying overhead. In plain sight (but offering momentary glimpses).
I called out Cerulean. Nobody else got on it…
Will called out Prothonotary. Nobody else got on it.
Will and I had a Warbling/Philadelphia-type Vireo. Don never picked it up.
How many species went by that none of us picked up on? We’ll never know.
My point?
Simple. There is always, always more birds around than you know or realize. The next time you go birding and there’s “nothing around” temper that conclusion or rephrase it.