“Tis the season! It’s Christmas Bird
Count time and as many of us do our duty to count every last single feathered
thing in our prescribed circles, certain things have become evident to me
after twenty-four years in the tallying
trenches and now seventeen years as a
compiler. First, let me congratulate
every one of you for your dedication and diligence to the birds. Each and every
one of you is a foot soldier in the citizen science army. Without you, we’d
know little about the species that grace an otherwise drab and somber winter
landscape. But then, after all these
years, there are certain-truisms and phenomena that seem to keep repeating
themselves. I thought in the spirit of giving and the season, I would share a
few. So here goes!
1. Does anyone ever REALLY count all the birds? I mean, after the
110, 678th Rock Pigeon—how much more counting can you do? And besides, they don’t really count anyway.
Do they?
2. What’s up with that
person in your sector who always turns the ordinary into the
extraordinary. You know, that guy who
sees a half dozen varied thrushes skulking where everyone else saw six American
robins; or the woman who somehow makes the cardinal into a vermillion
flycatcher—all before lunch. Even the subtle hints to consult a field guide and
consider the common thing first don’t
seem to work as they insist on the goldfinches being evening grosbeaks because
it’s an irruptive year. Yeah, and your
count is in South Florida.
3. Ummm yeah--foot miles. So who’s
wearing the pedometer in the group? If I’m
brush busting for sparrows
around huge ag fields- leaving
shreds of flesh in bramble tangles and
stumbling in and out of muddy furrow canyons,
then rest assured that by the end of the day my foot miles will have
swollen to at least 3 times the actual
distance I’ve walked.
4. The bird count doldrums. Yes, that horrifically and
excruciatingly boring time—typically between noon and three or so, when you're fighting that Mexican lunch special and all the
birds decide to siesta somewhere other than where you’re counting. As tumbleweeds
roll through the streets and paint dries
somewhere at a rate faster than you ‘re piling up species, even that fifth can of Red Bull Xtra Octane
doesn’t do the trick. My suggestion? Try toothpicks as eyelid supports.
A bit painful but…
5.
Sooo…it’s
a BIRD COUNT—not a BIG DAY. So you’ve got those folks who stake out some rare
bird for a week, surrounding the location in super secrecy and swearing
everyone else to keep the whereabouts hush-hush until the compilation when they can spring it on
everyone—BAM!
A SCOOP! Meanwhile, they report no crows or gulls from their sector—which
contains a landfill full of rotting
fish. They may have watched “The Big
Year” one too many times.
6. Post Note
to #5 --Ever notice how the last hour of the count is like an episode of “The
Amazing Race” as you rush frenetically
to find the species you should have on your list? Somehow Carolina Wrens---- birds you saw
everywhere just the day before-- have been extirpated from your area. Not one,
not a single solitary loud-mouthed wren can be found. Oh the
shame of it all! The humiliation of missing the “can’t miss bird” cannot be
drowned by even the fanciest scoop—or that
third grande cerveza.
7. What the duck?!? Waterfowl have decided not to come
south of like—North Dakota—for the past few years. Some call it short-stopping as the hordes of
web-footed, winged things find open water
far to the north and leave us down south with nary a mallard for the
tally. Even the feral Canada geese make themselves rare. If this doesn’t convince you that global
warming is real then you should invest heavily in coastal development futures.
8. Caution. Don’t sit in front of that
dilapidated hovel of a house (the one with the 1978 AMC Pacer on cement blocks
and the confederate flag painted on the door) with binoculars waiting for
the lark sparrow to show up in the weedy field that’s really the home’s front
yard. As folks who look like casting call rejects from the movie “Deliverance”
pile out of the house eyeing you with suspicion, three teeth (and maybe armed
to protect their castle), drive away—quickly. The sound of banjos you hear is
real and the lark sparrow wasn’t confirmed anyway. By the way, if you continue
to insist on counting birds at Honey Boo Boo’s place, you might want to learn
to squeal like a pig. Just sayin’.
9. The
"Super-spisher". Yep. That
guy. You know, the one who sprays a fountain of spit into the brush to pull out the bird so that everyone can
I.D. it. Not only do his absurdly loud salivary solicitations assure that every
skulking sparrow will flee to the opposite side of the woodlot, but those that
do remain hidden are likely to be drowned in the subsequent shower of saliva.
10. Recipe for Post Christmas Count Recovery-
a. Ditch the winter weather,
Carhartts, heavy coats and Keen
boots for a hot shower, bathrobe, jammies and
thick socks.
b. Secure copious amounts of beer and/ or other libation
(tequila and/or single malt scotch dulls the pain of dawn to dusk ticking and
herding the cats that a group of counters at a compilation can become).
c. Commandeer the most comfortable chair possible in front of a
wide screen HD television with opposing groups of 11 heavily-padded ,
hyper-muscularized, uniformed men
running around on a green field and
intent on smashing one another to take possession of a brown spheroid --otherwise known as a football. This
activity can salve the long hours spent counting. Keep the remote nearby to
switch to your favorite reality show (Honey Boo Boo maybe?) or perhaps swoon into dreams of your own as
you repeat 10a.
d. Fall deeply into a dreamless sleep (or stupor) as a result of combining
10a, 10b and 10c. The next count is
coming and data entry can’t be far behind!
Have Fun Birding Y’all and Happy
Holidays!
Drew
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