Birding is NOT for Sissies

We sleep till the last minute.  Sleepily, hubby makes a pot of coffee and fills our travel mugs. I slap together peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We’ll eat in the car. We grab our gear and head out.  No getting up early enough for the morning constitutional, no stretching, no waking up first.  We figure a short walk in the woods, the Nature Center with restrooms open, a no brainer all around.  It’s our first trip with the local bird club to Middle Creek. We’re ready for some easy entertainment.

After the parking lot gathering, the meet and greet, we set out high on anticipation.  The morning is misty cool and softly lit.  There is nothing better than quiet camaraderie with people, sans small talk, and beauty everywhere.  Meadows glisten with rain from yesterday’s storm.  We wander through the grasses and wildflowers

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as dew and raindrops tickle our arms and legs.  Fields of color explode before our eyes like exotic ground fireworks, a spike of Goldenrod here, Purple Loosestrife there and off in the distance, a patch of pink Joe Pye weed.  Our guide begins calling out birds as he spots them.

 “Goldfinch, hummingbird, cardinal, downy wood pecker.”  

We’re right with him, binoculars up. Yes!   Cormorants perch on stumps in a pond far in the distance, wings stretch out, drying in the sun.  Nothing we haven’t seen before, but it’s wonderful to be here.  

“Over there, juvenile bunting, little bit of blue…or a male with breeding colors fading.”

I see it; marvel over new knowledge.   

Then up to the woods, climb the hill slowly, looking, looking.  Not so pretty up here, lots of mud.  Shoes getting wet. No birds.  Is it really possible to walk this slowly? Wait, what is that? Sounds like the rasp of a big bird.  Oh, the guide is making a whistle-whisper in an attempt to flush out birds. I lower my perked up eyes and ears and look around sheepishly.  No one noticed my newbie-ness; they are all looking through field glasses. 

Two hours later, it’s a hot, humid, steamy day in the Pennsylvania woods. We’re still on the same trail. The 30min trail.  We’re going slowly. 

S-l-o-w-l-y.   

The man ahead of me has interesting pants, pockets everywhere.  He has black straps all over his back and chest with handles and hooks, packing bottles, books, thermos, and binoculars.  Is he spending the night?  With all those harnesses he looks like a service dog.

“Oven bird on trail to the left,” guide says. 

Five people lean left and block my view. The big powerful binoculars I am so proud of now feel like they weigh 20lbs.  Arms and shoulders tightening, I trade with Jay; his binoculars are lightweight. 

“Ovenbird, now to the right.”

Six people move right, one steps on my toe.  We smile and excuse each other.  I move purposely off the trail for a better view and pocket man points to poison ivy five inches from my foot.  I move back quickly, to my no view spot, and wish I had pants with pockets full of anti-ivy wipes. I can’t maneuver into a good position, or spot an ovenbird. I can’t even spot the trail as the field of view in these tiny binos is microscopic.  My back hurts.  My feet hurt.  My whole body wants to break out into a strong hike. Standing in place is strenuous.  

The trail opens up into another meadow and we hear the guide calling, warbler. 

Thank goodness for movement! We all jockey for position.  Again, I’m in the back watching all the birders with big guns look first.  It’s rather pointless to try with this wretched little pair, anyway.  Hubs and I listen to talk about wing bars and yellow and song and finally the experienced decide the little bird is a Canada Warbler.  Once identified, the crew begins looking in other directions.  I move in.  I look and look.  And look and look.  The guide watches me and suggests ‘follow the dead tree branch right here in front, turn left, follow the vine up and the bird is at 9 o’clock’.   

Which dead tree branch, there are hundreds?  Which vine, there are thousands?  Is the tree top the clock face, is the whole tree a clock face?  A woman birder sees my blank staring and gently moves my binocular laden hands slightly to the left. She points and encourages.   She points again.  And again.  I must have birding dyslexia.  My eyes are locked, and so is my body.  I’m frozen, arms raised, neck cocked, head thrown back, hands gripping a pair of tiny binoculars, and sweating.  Oh the sweating!  Minutes pass. The woman shifts her weight around, despairing.  The guide makes uncomfortable noises and moves away.  She persists.  I imagine whispered prayers “Please God, let her see something…anything …and let her think it’s the warbler.” 

And then there it is, a little yellow bird wearing a black dotted necklace.  Whooeee!  A tiny squeal escapes my lips and the woman breathes in sheer relief. I grin and sense her smile in response even as my eyes remain glued to the lens.  Amazing this extra sensory perception birders possess.  My first Carolina, uh, I mean Canada Warbler sighting.    

After more very slow walking, a chucking sound thrills me.  Oh, it's just the guide making noises again. 

An hour later we’re grouped in front of a cluster of trees.  Walnuts covered in wild grape, poplars, and pines. The guide calls out bird after bird: Nuthatch, Redstart, oriole, catbird, titmouse.  Warblers.   The experienced ones are all mumbling happy nonsense, seeing things.  I frantically search with minuscule binoculars, spotting leaf after leaf after leaf.  I glance at hubs; he’s not paying attention, shoulders slumped and head lowered, his binos dangle uselessly mid-belly.  He’s given up.  Or the weight of those high powered hunting binoculars is pulling him down.  

Good golly, when will this end?  My back kills. My legs are numb, can’t feel my feet except for the mud and slop covering them.  I can't lift my arms. My neck feels broken.  I need to find the girl’s room.  Much to my delight, someone says peewee and I picture an outhouse in the woods.  Pocket pants pulls a thermos from his leg and drinks.  The handsome man next to me notices my pinched look and explains a Pewee bird. Don’t any of these people have to go?  How long can they hold their coffee?  And, if we don’t start walking faster I’m going to die.

“Black and white!  Magnolia at 3 o’clock!”

What the heck is the guide talking about?  Black and white what?  Magnolia what?  And what, for cripes sake, is the clock?

I grip the binoculars and pretend to see.  I scan up and up and my lenses fog.  I’ve seen my own magnified eyebrow hairs through the lens before, am I now seeing sweat?  Peevishly, I lower the binos; rub the lenses with my T-shirt.  I take off my glasses and give them a rub too, stopping myself from asking pocket man if I could borrow some anti-fog spray. I’m positive he has some in his leg parts.  I adjust the knobs on my binos and have another look.  I see more fog.  Bugs are chewing the few spots of leg skin that isn’t numb. 

“Red Eyed Vireo song again.” 

I hear the song.  We’ve heard it many times during the morning and it’s still exciting. The woods have been almost void of sound.  I usually love silence but find it a little creepy crawling through brush with strangers and hearing no sounds.  Besides, I still hope to see this exotic sounding vireo. I never saw a song bird with red eyes. It has to be awesome.  I’m eager to get home and look it up. 

Finally, after three and a half hours on a trail that takes 30min, 20 at a brisk pace, we crest a grassy hill and I spot the best sight of all.  On the parking lot, all green with a red ball on the antennae, our Chevy Malibu at 6 o’clock! 

The guide and a few others are heading out to another place to watch for more birds.  The hubs and I express our thanks and exchange goodbye pleasantries. I try to keep my eyes from caressing the green bird with wheels.   We fairly fall into the car, gulp our stale coffee and inhale apples from the backpack I forgot was on my back the whole time, and wipe the sweat from our eyes. My back and neck may never be the same again.  Hubs is groaning something about his back between apple bites.

At home, we look up the red eyed vireo on Cornell Lab of Orthinolgy website, and snort.   That little brown bird is about as exotic as we are. Then we can’t help ourselves.  We pull out our list and gloat over the new birds added from this morning:  Canada Warbler, Common Yellowthroat, Scarlet Tanager, Field Sparrow, Red Eyed Vireo (okay, we didn’t see it but they say if you hear it and someone properly identifies the song, it counts).   We smile over all the repeat birds: cormorant, Green Heron, Indigo Bunting, Catbird, titmouse, woodpeckers, song sparrows, cardinals, goldfinches, orioles, robins, catbirds, flycatchers, nuthatches, wrens, bluebirds, jays, swallows.  We lust after the birds we heard about but didn’t see:  oven bird, redstart, white eyed and red eyed vireos, blue winged warbler, Magnolia Warbler, Black and White Warbler, Pewee, thrashers.

We look at each other and grimace.

 

                                     We simply must go birding again!

 

 

Joyfully,

Sharon

 

hubs and grand daughter birding