The Comforts of Home
I’ve been traveling all over the West, chasing down bird species I rarely see, taking part in a very privileged form of birding known as “listing.” Last year I told myself that this is how I could become a better birder: getting binocular time with as many species as possible. Today I am staying home, and challenging that notion. I’m working on becoming a better birder right here in my backyard. I’m not burning a single ounce of gas, and it’s not costing me any money. I’m just spending the day noticing the subtleties of the birds that share space with me.
I’m not going to lie, I’m really burning out on my big year. This weekend, I looked at somewhat-close reports of Brambling, and Golden-crowned Sparrows, and couldn’t think about traveling without getting nauseated. The hours in the car, the days without a good nap or time on the couch, the nights in hotels, and the gas station burritos are all starting to wear me down. I’ve only seen one Golden-crowned Sparrow in my life, and Brambling is a European species that I likely won’t get another shot at without traveling across the Atlantic. I just couldn’t commit to the chase.
Recently, I was reading the intro to A Field Guide to Advanced Birding written by my birding and writing idol, Kenn Kaufman, and one paragraph jumped out at me.
He writes:
Beginners are often tempted to ignore the common birds and go chasing off after rare ones [although I’m not a beginner anymore, this still speaks to me]. But ironically, experts are able to find rarities precisely because they know the common species so well. Top notch birders may not necessarily have the biggest life lists or the quickest reflexes, but they have all spent lots of hours looking carefully at the common birds.
Speaking of irony: Kenn’s book Kingbird Highway motivated me to do a big year in the first place. Now he’s motivating me to sit on my porch and look at backyard birds. I started this whole big year in an effort to become a better birder, but maybe I got it completely backwards. Maybe I should have paid more attention to the final few pages of Kingbird Highway, where Kaufman says, “One thing was becoming obvious to me now: list chasing was not the best way to learn birds.”
Even if it were a good way to learn, listing has problems that I have a hard time justifying. I call birding a privileged pastime because it is one. The common rebuttal is always “but it’s free to watch birds.” That point is understood, I just don’t think it covers much nuance. Yes, birds do not charge you to look at them, but travel, state and national park entrance fees, good optics, and outdoor gear all cost exorbitant amounts of money. This isn’t even touching on the facts that it all requires free time away from work, and that listing is a pursuit that has historically only held prestige for wealthy, straight, white, able-bodied folks like me. I have been having a hard time getting my class consciousness, my dreams of justice and equity, and my love for bird chasing to coexist.
I opened the back door this morning, and saw an American Goldfinch feeding on a desiccated stalk of a sunflower that has been standing straight since last summer. The bird was a male, transitioning from a drab brown into its brilliant yellow breeding plumage that will eventually look like a summer sunrise. The golden feathers had grown in haphazardly as if a plain brown bird had flown in front of Jackson Pollock as he was flinging paint around.
I went to my office to grab my camera, and when I returned, the goldfinch had already left. I walked out into the crisp and bright morning, and filled the feeders. The grass was still stiff with frost and crackled underfoot. I returned to my camera, which I had left inside, and waited for the birds to descend to the trays full of sunflower seed.
The doves had been waiting for me to give them their daily meal, and were the first to arrive. They packed in so thickly, that they were standing on each others backs and jockeying for position. Both White-winged and Eurasian-collared Doves frequent my backyard. Identifying those two species is pretty straightforward when I get a good look at them sitting on a bird feeder, but how well did I know them? They’re both large brown doves. Could I tell them apart if I only had an incomplete sighting, where I saw just a few field marks as a bird streaked by?
There are big differences between these two species, and no one has trouble telling them apart when getting a good look. White-winged Doves have turquoise skin that surrounds a deep amber eye. They have a white wing patch that is obvious when the birds are resting, and when they are in flight. They are dark brown overall. Eurasian Collared-doves are a lighter brown, they are a bit larger than White-winged Doves, and they have a prominent black collar around the back of their neck.
I was looking at the smaller things today, though. White-winged doves have bright pink legs, dark brown central feathers on a more distinctly banded tail, and have a black comma-shaped spot on their cheek (similar to Mourning Doves). Collared-doves differ in that they have duller pink legs; lighter tail feathering; and although they also show a white wing crescent in flight, it contrasts much less with the rest of their lighter-colored bodies. Both species hung out at the feeders and gorged themselves, while they gave me the opportunity to take a deeply educational look.
The American Goldfinch was a new bird for the year, so my total is 123 species in just over two months. It’s not a bad start towards 300, I just don’t know if I have it in me to keep going as hard as I have been. Instead of chasing down a Brambling today, I’m going to take a hike up Woodhill Terrace behind my house, and see the same Pinyon Jays and Juniper Titmouse (Titmouses? Titmice?) that are up there all year.
I’m going to use my time alone on the terrace to think. I’ll look at all the common birds and decide which route I want to take going forward. It’s obvious what I’m leaning towards, but I’ll let my Carbon County cohabitants help me make the final decision. Do I keep up the big year pace where I rush around and spend little time with as many species as possible? Or do I stay closer to home and carefully look at the common birds, accepting the fact that I could fall short of my goal with this strategy? Do I want to be a better lister? Or a better birder? Should I constantly be yearning for more? Or should I be grateful for what I have already?
This is a year where I’m learning as much as I can about birds, and about myself. That will continue to be the goal, but the tactics can change as the year goes on. Learning is never linear. Today I see sitting out a chase, and watching backyard birds, as progress.
That's a great point Carl about the experts having spent so much time observing the more common species, they are have a better chance of identifying the uncommon ones.
I have found that on a much smaller scale in the area I regularly hike. I've come to know the various calls of the year-round birds like Black-capped Chickadees, Northern Cardinals, and others, the uncommon ones stand out that much more. It's like someone playing your favourite song and throwing in an extra note or two.