Bird Is The Word...

Wandering with the 'littles'

Based ever so loosely on a recent encounter.

A Brown Creeper (Certhia americana), thrives in a world that seemingly defies the laws of gravity that bind us while looking at everything from what we humans might think of as way, way outside the box. They are so damn cool!

Most days I’m not the only one walking in the woods with a telephoto lens in tow, nor am I, by an even longer stretch the most knowledgeable birder trying to see and hear, and continually fine-tune his ‘bird noticer,’ the better to commune with this crazy, beautiful world, despite the passive implications of my occasional posts and observations, and my fanboy posturings to the contrary. Which leaves me all the more surprised on those rare days when I encounter an ‘alpha-birder,’ someone wearing the telltale item(s) of ‘Swarovski green birder regalia,’ (binoculars, spotting scope with tripod and camera), who is completely ignoring the feathered littles that are scritching and singing, and hunting, and sideways walking right up the sides of some glorious tree trunk, nearby while he grandly looks for more impressive, more enviable game.

“Seen anything interesting?” he asks, avoiding direct eye contact, one cool-as-shit insider to another. (Wink, wink.)

Bewick's wren (Thryomanes bewickii)

“Well,” I say, “I have been watching this little wren as it has searched through every nook and cranny for the past few minutes, hoping to find some drowsy, fat spider for breakfast. And, umm, there are a half-dozen Common Goldeneyes diving and carrying on like hormone addled teenagers just out there in the bay. Do they count?”

His eyes glass over. Is that boredom or is it more like veiled contempt, I wonder?

“Any Bald Eagles? Blue Herons? You know, maybe an owl or a hawk?”

I’m so ashamed of myself, now, having forgotten yet again that there are ‘cool’ birds and ‘boring’ birds; the worthy and the unworthy.

Song Sparrows? Way too common! Grays and browns. And small. Boring!

Bushtits? Tiny and completely unremarkable looking. Boring.

Robins? Duh! So boring.

Juncos? Dime a freaking dozen, dude.

Glaucous-winged Gulls? Oh, puhlease! I’m not setting up my thirty-five hundred dollar spotting scope to look at some damned, french-fry stealing seagull. Get a clue, man!

“Nah,” I reply, staring off into the bayside distance where a Great Blue Heron stands, one-legged, and in silhouette atop a mossy piling, blending in so completely with its surroundings that only careful eyes would ever notice. “…nothing quite your level of cool, I’m afraid.”

Brown Creeper (Certhia americana)

The haughty one dismisses me for a second time, then, turning his back toward me and his face toward that place his half-good intentions have imagined some feathery ‘magnificence’ appearing to his discerning eyes alone and then waiting patiently while he unshoulders his tripod-mounted spotting scope, sets up and finds proper focus. I am not absolutely certain what form this bird brain’s imaginings assume beyond that, but have a sense that somewhere in all the downy fluff of self-importance there is a purposeful sauntering, or gliding, wherein this fine, rare and profoundly photogenic bird of his dreams flutters to within frame-filling distance, alights and strikes a pose that would make even Madonna jealous. And holds it perfectly while he fumbles and tries to frame it up.

The noble-ish birder then captures this rare moment perfectly, for …yes, you guessed it, he has only the very best and most expensive equipment, after all, and everyone knows the really, really ‘cool’ birds only appear in close, award-winning proximity to groovy dudes like him, the ones with the most expensive gear.

My shame, diminished somewhat by the alpha-birder’s dismissal, allows me, finally to catch my breath and wipe those salty tears from my eyes. And when I blink a second time, there, just in front of me is a teensy, yellow-green, feather bullet with white eye rings and a tiny, red crown patch, perched sideways, staring into the depths of my soul. The connection lasts only a few moments, yet feels vast.

And when I blink a second time, there, just in front of me is a teensy, yellow-green, feather bullet with white eye rings and a tiny, red crown patch, perched sideways, staring into the depths of my soul. The connection lasts only a few moments, yet feels vast. Ruby-crowned kinglet (Regulus calendula)

“Definitely not ‘alpha’ worthy,” I tease my momentarily attentive friend. He flits off in search of another bug and the world I love so dearly swings fully back into focus.

Peter from Family Guy: Bird is the word

Yesterday’s wander: there were a couple of eagles, three kinds of woodpecker, crows, thrushes and towhees, but the highlights of yesterday morning's walk, really were the wee ones, the Ruby-crowned Kinglet who studied me for several moments, the Brown Creeper who completely ignored me (much to my delight), and the Bewick's Wren who flitted in and serenaded me from about ten feet away.