Back to the 'Bend With No Binocs

During another bout of cold/allergies/something that takes my voice away and gives me a cough, I was privileged to go out around the Riverbend Retreat lake in the rain.

I've backslidden recently. I had thought once of bringing my binoculars, but didn't think of it again until the cold drops slid down my arms and a flock of dark birds with white sides on their tails fluttered further away. A flock of ducks fluttered off the far side of the lake as we approached it.

I was sharing an umbrella--not quite the ideal birding situation, just perfect to augment the gray light and lack of optics. I still don't know what those little dark birds were, but there were lots of them; it seemed like I should recognize their voices, but I didn't. I got more than a little wet sneaking around umbrellaless to see them more closely. Soon we all succumbed to the weather and went inside to discuss "relationships."

The rest of the day improved; chickadees called from the trees, a Ruby-crowned Kinglet hopped around in the tree outside the window. I returned to the dramatic overlook which figures so highly in memory from four years ago, when I spent a couple days at Riverbend on singers' tour. It offers a stunning view of the river, complete with trees and far-reaching farmland with circular hay bales. As I did not note the first time I was there, a vulture patrolled the trees on the bottom side of the circle of life.

As we left the retreat center hours later, the sun shone cheerfully upon us as vultures and red-tails danced in the sky above.

Finally Dunne

For those one of you who has been waiting eagerly for my response to Pete Dunne's The Feather Quest, my sincere apologies for the delay.

The cover quote of TFQ says it "Makes you want to grab your binoculars and head outdoors." This somewhat universalist statement raised my Calvinist hackles before I started it, but heeding the ancient maxim I did not judge this book by its dove-emblazoned cover.

Though I will not attempt to do so here, one cannot give a full account of TFQ without addressing each chapter. Each chapter shows a different North American location and a different type of birding, providing a broad range of views of what birding can be like. If I had read this book two or three years ago, I would have shaken my head in disbelief: "Naw, that's a little extreme. Nobody takes it that seriously."

Maturity teaches that in everything there is somebody who takes it that seriously. With increasing layers of testimony, Dunne shows that thousands of people do just that in birding, as a recreational activity, a sport, an extreme sport, or a crusade. Even though birding has become a dearly valued activity to me, I cannot take it seriously all the time. I'm not sure if I can do that with anything.

So, the way Mr. Dunne gained my approval for this book was with his disarming sense of humor. Because of his knowledge and experience, he can laugh with impunity at the oddities immediately apparent to non-birders. The birders laugh because they have "been there before," and the non-birders can chuckle and shake their heads: "These people are nuts!"

The non-humorous aspects of the book are the ones that will pique the interests of non-birders. Since Dunne writes about birding spots in every area of the continental United States, everyone can read about places close by or even familiar. Like I did three years ago, readers of this book will probably think, You mean all these amazing things are in that little spot of wilderness? All you have to do is go look and you'll find them?

The content of the book is predictably environmentalist. There is a twist toward the end which gives perspective to what seemed to be the message that man is the ultimate determiner of the earth's destiny and DOOM is on the horizon because of him. Though the book seems a little heavy-handed on guilt, perhaps that type of discomfort is the only way to get the audience it needs to accomplish its purpose.

The Christian buzzword for it is "stewardship," but responsible behavior toward natural resources starts with awareness of how the things we do can have unplanned consequences. Humility would be a good start on both sides of the issue, both admitting when we have been wrong in our judgments and when we are not wise or powerful enough as a race to heal our groaning earth.

There are few who could read Dunne without learning something. Whether you are focusing on the technical aspects of ornithology or the psychosocial aspects of humanity, if you have any association with birders or birding, you will enjoy Dunne's testimony. Just make sure that if you're borrowing the book you do your level best to keep the cover in good shape. Heh heh.

Around Home

My mom asked me what our yard list was. We didn't have one, and I was ashamed.

This was really my first visit home in which I noticed we had things in our yard other than Mourning Doves and Brewer's Blackbirds. We don't have any feeders (in my upstart insolence, I can't shake the thought that though it is sanctioned by the highest classes of birders, feeding is "cheating"), so we just take what comes.

I'll start a list here. The only ones I'm including are the ones I have seen on our own humble half-acre in the suburbs. This counts branches hanging over the fence into our yard and does not count branches overhanging into the neighbor's yard (not that it makes much of a difference yet). I'll have to pay attention quite a bit longer to get a list that is anywhere near complete, and that could take a while.

American Crow
Anna's Hummingbird
Brewer's Blackbird
House Finch
Mourning Dove
Northern Mockingbird
"Oregon" Junco
Western Scrub-jay
White-crowned Sparrow
Yellow-rumped Warbler

Some of the things I've gotten used to including in "around home" lists--cardinals, chickadees, Blue Jays--are of course absent, not being found in this part of the country. I'm sure they would be replaced with things even more fascinating if I were more attentive.

One species I did catch was the White-crowned Sparrow several days ago. I saw three things hopping under the orange trees and ran to get the binoculars. They had unmistakable white stripes down their heads, yellowish bills and legs, plain gray fronts, and brownish sides. Now that was a sparrow worth identifying.

Next time: finally, a Puritan Birder review of Pete Dunne's The Feather Quest. The PB has taken some time with the book, but she still may not have anything to say. Stay tuned to see!

When Opportunity Knocks

My mom chuckled at me when I brought my binoculars on our quick trip to the store. "You going birding at Costco?" was essentially what she said.

I didn't really know why. I just knew I had to make the most of the time I had. I had to pay attention. The recent rains have filled the San Joaquin Valley's numerous reservoir ponds, and gulls and geese fly over all day.

Riding past the pond across from Costco, I looked over and saw a form that was a little too white. At 35 mph, I still managed to train my binocs at the form and saw a definite merganser shape.

I don't know how shocking this will be for die-hard listers; you're probably getting used to it by now. I'd never seen a merganser outside of the Sibley. We didn't exactly have leisure time to stop at the side of busy "no stopping any time" roads. There was a family to feed at home. Coming out of the store with both hot and cold food, however, my gracious and considerate mother volunteered to drive back to the pond for "three minutes or so."

The side we had to park on was far away, so we observed on this side a Great Egret, Snowy Egret, several coots and grebes and a couple of Killdeer. "That's the Killdeer talking," I said to Mom, who said, "I hear only children." (The pond is next door to a small park.)

In the middle of the pond were several small diving ducks with white cheeks; even with all the recent ducking I've been doing, I still thought of Bufflehead first and later found them to be Ruddy Ducks.

But that one white form was still far away. Ignoring the rude yelling passersby, I trotted further down the sidewalk and looked: yes. Reddish bill and beautiful white sides, riding low in the water. I knew it was a merganser; any satisfaction had to come from that. Sibley would have to tell me later what kind. Mom appreciated it, too, so much so that she did not remonstrate for the three minutes that had turned into sixteen.

The Next Generation

She's a natural.

Though she still thinks the binoculars are a camera and which end to look through is only a matter of taste, I think my niece will figure it out quickly. After all, it has taken her aunt quite a long time to master the basics, and "Ynnie" still doesn't always know which way to point the ones in the lower right corner.

Yesterday produced another Anna's Hummingbird (male with glowing pink face and throat) and a closer acquaintance with the calls of Yellow-rumped Warblers. Now maybe I will understand how quickly the guru and the chaplain can shriek "yellow-rump" after one little chirpy noise.

This afternoon I think I'll mosey over to the pond, which after record rain and some flooding in our valley town has risen to its high water mark. Perhaps I won't mistake a heron for a cormorant this time. But I doubt the stilts will still be around.

I Heart Washington

Red-breasted Nuthatch!

Mountain Quail!

I want one.