Way back in the last century when I came out of the closet and declared myself a real birder (this was shortly after dinosaurs left the planet) there was a Holy Grail, of sorts, that separated real birders from “bird watchers.” It was a number—600. It represented the number of species one saw in a lifetime in North America as defined by the American Birding Association (ABA, www.aba.org).
This arbitrary number was created when there were about 800 species on the list of birds possible to see in the designated territory. Like birds, that number is a moving target. Now there are something like 969 birds recorded in North America, including Alaska, and the Holy Grail is whatever you want to make it.
As I approach my allotted three-score-and-ten, Susan asked how I might celebrate the big occasion. I said I’d rather ignore the whole thing. Our conversation switched (or maybe got back to) birding and the fact that I was stuck at 595 on my life list. The Holy Grail was within reach if only I was willing to stretch a bit. Stretching at my age has its hazards; it leads to obsession. I began to think, however, maybe, just maybe …
Odds were against me. This is a tough time of the year to chase birds. On the other hand, it’s a great time of the year because rarities pop-up in the strangest places.
Bird #596 turned out to be a Little Gull we located in Niagara Falls, Canada, still part of North America by most definitions, on a whirlwind trip with birding buddies Pat and Karin.
Bird #597 was a Hoary Redpoll, thanks to local birding dynamo Jen Brumfield (www.jenbrumfield.com). Jen is a local artist and bird guide, with energy levels that rival the Energizer Bunny. Thanks to cell phone technology, she reported a rare Hoary Redpoll among a flock of Common Redpolls and within minutes, Susan and I were in the car and looking at the bird.
My hands were getting sweaty. I was trying to hit a lifetime 600 with no trip to Alaska, nor a pelagic trip—that’s a trip on the ocean. I have a lot of holes in my life list that could easily be filled by doing either. And if I did, I’d have serious holes in my pockets.
Now, within three birds of the Holy Grail (as defined by me), I leaned on another young local area birder, sharp-eyed Ethan Kistler, education and outreach specialist, Black Swamp Bird Observatory (BSBO, www.bsbo.org). He also posts a regular update of rare birds seen in Ohio. One of the relatively easy birds that has alluded me over the years has been the Cackling Goose. Ethan promised to keep me posted on any reports that crossed his desk.
Then, the planets aligned. Cackling Goose was reported near by. Better yet, a rare Pink-footed Goose had been hanging with the Canada guys over in Maryland; easy pickings. More better yet, an even more-rare Black-headed Gull was reported near Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I dug out the maps, did the math and got approval from management.
Time for a road trip!
I’ve been running off the leash this week with Susan away on grandma duty. Everything pointed toward success. Only one major stumbling block I refused to recognize—birds have wings.
A day of birding the local patch, Sunday, and I came up empty handed on the Cackling Goose. Not to worry. Go for the tough ones, said the voices in my head.
A day’s drive east got me to where the Black-headed Gull should have been on the Susquehanna River. I watched an uncountable number of Ring-billed Gulls, along with a couple local birders. We swapped lies until dark, then called it a day.
The next day, close to Baltimore, I searched pond after pond in the toney suburb of Lisbon, Howard County. It’s one of those places with street names like, “Brittle-branch Way.” You get it. Lots of ponds, mostly on inaccessible private property where the people will call the cops if they see you looking at their starter castles with a spotting scope.
I met up with another birder also following the rare-bird reports. We combed through hundreds of Canada Geese, taking breaks by looking at daffodils and admiring the colors of the crocus in bloom. Carolina Wrens were singing, a Swainson’s Thrush made a cameo appearance and an Eastern Meadowlark helped brighten the morning.
Three and a half hours of looking at Canada Geese is about all I can take. It was a fun trip. I still have 46 days to finish my income taxes or find three new life birds—whichever comes first.
Hope is the thing with feathers … Emily Dickinson
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