White Throated Sparrow

I’m a horrible birder.

I told you last time how I got into birding a few years ago.  But although I enjoy birding – seeing the birds, taking their pictures, learning their songs and habits, and I’ve made many new friends and had many new experiences because of my interest in birding – I also admit without reservation that I suck at it.

Last Saturday the weather here in Northern Virginia was sunny and very mild – 65-70° – so I packed up my camera and went to Occoquan Bay National Wildlife Refuge to see if there were any birds that I could photograph.  I particularly wanted bluebirds.  There’s a population of bluebirds that lives at the refuge, but I’ve never manage to get a good close-up photo of one.

In the parking lot there was an unusually high number of cars, but I just figured that it was because of the mild weather.

I hit the trail with my camera, tripod, and binoculars about 1:30pm.  A few song sparrows darted around in the high grass, but none posed for me.  A blue heron flew by high overhead.  I walked around to the area where I’d seen waxwings recently.  Nothing.  A little further on, I spotted a white throated sparrow.  (See photo above.  It was breezy, so the branch moved just enough to blur all 6 photos I took before he fluttered off into the brambles.)

Meantime, I noticed a lot of people on the trail going past me.  Because they were carrying binoculars and spotting scopes and cameras, they’re obviously birders.  And it’s very unusual for birders to be out in the afternoon.  They tend to…. well…. get up with the birds.  (Birds are most active in the morning, during the first couple hours after sunrise, and least active in the warm afternoons.  So most birders stalk their tiny prey first thing in the morning.)

When I got tired of waiting for the white throated sparrow to make a reappearance, I moved further along the trail.  Near the creek, a pair of cardinals flit across the road in front of me and disappear into the brush.  There were birders there, too, pishing (which, btw, is against the rules on a refuge) and talking.  As I got closer, I recognized a friend who I’d met through bird banding.  We chatted for a couple minutes, then we both moved on.  She didn’t mention anything unusual going on.

(I found out later that she assumed I knew what was going on and that’s why she hadn’t mentioned it.)

I kept going toward the field where I’d seen many bluebirds many times in the past.  I didn’t see a single bird anywhere.  Nor did I hear any.  (More on that in the minute.)  I passed a guy headed the other way and asked him if he’d seen any bluebirds.  He seemed confused, then said no, and we both moved on.

I didn’t see or hear a thing except the low murmur of other groups of birders further ahead and on a side trail.  No birds.  So I continued to the bay hoping to at least see some ducks or cormorants or eagles.  Even a seagull or a heron would have been welcome, although I’ve taken lots of shots of those in the past.

I set up within 6 ft of the water’s edge. (Lat:  38°38’52.72″N.  Long:  77°13’27.77″W) It’s a great spot and one of my usual birdwatching sites.  But that day, there were no ducks, no cormorants, and the only gulls were so far away that they were difficult to make out even with my binoculars.

There was an eagle perched in the tree on Conrad Island, but he was too distant for me to get a really good shot.  But I got him anyway.

Bald Eagle

I sat there for a while, snapped a few shots of the bay, the rescue boats that zoomed past, the distant line of gulls.  A lady bug visited me, crawling up my arm.  But no birds.  Dead silence to my ears.
After a long sit, I packed up my gear again and headed back toward the parking lot.  Obviously nothing was going on.  No birds.  Just people.  And it was probably the unusual number of people who were scaring the birds into hiding.
Just as I rounded the corner and began up the road through the bluebird field again, a Fish & Wildlife truck was coming toward me.  It was the refuge manager, another friend of mine, who offered to give me a lift back to the parking lot.  I accepted.  I climbed into the truck.  He had a pair of binoculars around his neck and two more sitting on the seat, in addition to a bird book.  None of that was really out of place. Then he mentioned that the previous weekend there had been a sighting of a Brewer’s Sparrow on the refuge and that was why the parking had been full since before 8am when he came work.  Everything fell into place.

Brewer’s Sparrows are nondescript little brown, black, and buff birds, only distinguished from other sparrows by their lack of distinguishing field marks.  But they are a big deal here in Virginia, drawing birders from as far away as Roanoke, because their usual territory is west of the Rockies, especially in the southwest.  Certainly not in the mid-atlantic region.

And apparently at least three more birders had seen the Brewer’s that very morning.

So, now, you’re wondering what about any of that makes me a horrible birder.  I’ll explain.

In the first place, I subscribe to VA-Bird, a list-serve that sends out notification of bird sightings from all over the state.  However,  I’d fallen out of the habit of birding regularly, so I hadn’t been paying attention to the emails.  If I had, I would’ve known about the Brewer’s Sparrow.

In the second place, according to later postings to VA-Bird, I missed seeing all the other birds, too.  Other birders saw several hawks, mergansers, wigeons, a variety of ducks, a Palm Warbler and several other types of sparrows, as well as the Brewer’s Sparrow.  Granted, they’d been there from 7am until noonish, whereas I was only there for a couple hours in the afternoon.  But still, discouraging.

In the third place, I can’t hear the birds.  I’m not completely deaf, and I do hear some birds, but I’ve lost the higher range of sounds.  Often when I’m with other birders, they’ll say, “Did you hear that?”  Nope.  Nothing.  I didn’t hear a thing.

At least half of birding is hearing the chirps and tweets and using the sound to track the bird, then finally spotting it with the binoculars.  But I literally can’t hear most of what other birders can, so my birding skills are limited.

So I’m a horrible birder.  I didn’t keep up with the breaking news in the birding community, nor did I see even a fraction of what others saw, nor could I hear what they can hear even if I try.

Alas.

But I do it anyway.  Because the anticipation and excitement of seeing a new bird, the thrill of getting one really nice photo out of fifty shots taken, not to mention the beautiful scenery, fresh air, and effortless exercise (made effortless by the sense of purpose, anticipation, and excitement) all make the disappointments and hours of waiting worthwhile.

You understand completely if you’ve ever seen a yellow-rumped warbler, a scarlet tanager, or a pileated woodpecker.

Who wouldn’t get up early and traipse through the woods for a chance to see pileated woodpecker?  Come on, now.  Admit it.  You want to.