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July 21, 2005  Tour This Dear Bird Diary: Woke up this morning dazed and confused, have 3 different column beginnings rattling around in my head. Topics are rather mundane and branched; I’ll touch on equipment usage, birders as tourists, and the strange, quirky way a seemingly indifferent universe lets me know the weirdest things are connected. Originally wanted to write all three introductory paragraphs, but writing conventions and rules advise against such a course of action. It’s far better to pick the best of the bunch and use just one introductory paragraph - Hey, wait a minute, movies and books often have optional endings, why can’t I have optional beginnings? Beginning 1: ...I’m a tourist unfamiliar with the local birds. In order to uncover required information I accost any person looking as though they have a passing interest in birding. Woe betide anyone who dares wave a pair of binoculars in my vicinity because I’m on them like stink on a road-killed skunk. Park attendants, nature centre biologists, and even those who lurk in tourist information booths are not safe from a good grilling. Beginning 2: ...Next to a flock of pink flamingos, nothing attracts my attention more than someone peering over a marsh with a big sack of optical equipment resting beside their ankles. When such a spectacle presents itself, I hit the brakes as if I’ve just seen a lifer. Is it their equipment I want to ogle, (or ogle the world through?) Is it the camaraderie of encountering another birder in the field? Or is it simply a need to impress the idler with my wealth of local birding information? In truth it’s a bit of all these things. Beginning 3: ...I used to play tennis. Often during the course of a game, or while sitting on the sidelines waiting for someone to finish, tennis equipment came up as a topic of conversation, even if just cursorily. Many blamed their equipment. If only they had better shoes, or better racquets, or a better court to play on, the game would have had a different outcome. Much muted mirth was provided by a player who lost regularly and had the best equipment money could buy. What recourse was left open for them? What life lessons did they take away from the game? Breaking their racquet was often the only solution they found for themselves. Noting this, I often thought that if I had my way, everyone could start with the best equipment so the playing field was level. Dear Bird Dairy: I enjoyed writing my alternate beginnings. As you can see some paragraphs mention birds, some mention equipment, and some mention birder tourists who seek information. Off to a good start. However, my quirky universe theory is not hinted at, but could become the hook for another paragraph, or theme. On this note my column begins. ...Are some of those ducks out there Greater Scaup?" An observant stranger asked with some urgency as he strode towards me. I stepped down from a piece of heavy equipment I use as a perch to better see over the marsh. "I believe so," I replied "So much so, that I emailed one of the province’s top birders to get his opinion on whether Greater Scaup might even nest at this marsh." I couldn’t believe my ears upon hearing the visitor’s Greater Scaup question. In last week’s column I had all but given up on identifying whether the Scaup were Lesser or Greater. I suspected Greater were present and at one point nesting. My email to an authority returned a suggestion that a Greater Scaup nesting incident in British Columbia would be a first. Positive proof, I was told, could come only in the form of a clear photograph of the bird with open wings displaying the appropriate white markings on the primaries. The possibility of getting such a photograph, even if I had the proper equipment, would require incredible patience and luck. It was also very difficult to tell which female Scaup of the 3 present belonged with which ducklings. They were all mixed together. The out-of-town birder described the attributes of the Greater Scaup as he saw them through his scope. He mentioned the larger nail at the tip of the bill and the lighter marks on the upper neck of the Greater Scaup. Hearing an accent as he talked I asked where he called home. He replied, "The Netherlands." My incredulity increased. The universe had sent this person all the way across the Atlantic Ocean specifically to once again stir up my interest in the Scaup riddle. I noted this extra effort on the part of the universe, but was still not convinced enough to once again pick up the challenge of attempting to prove that Greater Scaup nested in 100 Mile House marsh. The man from the Netherlands had a very good command of the English language. His knowledge of North American birds was incredible. He named some of the birds seen while journeying with his wife and child through the Rockies, birding along the way. He continued connecting places to birds and motioned for me to look through his scope at a Hooded Merganser. I told him I knew that a female Hooded Merganser had been hanging around the marsh for some time, but added that it was a curious looking female in that it lacked the bristly crest at the back of the head. He suggested that maybe ‘this was a male in an eclipse plumage.’ I hung my eye over the lens, noting that I looked through a top of the line spotting scope, one that cost probably three times more than my van. That doesn’t tell you much if you don’t know what my van cost but let’s say we’re talking several thousand dollars for the scope. Binoculars from this company cost close to 2 thousand dollars so I’m extrapolating a bit on how much a scope might be. Sure enough, the Merganser was a Hooded male, rolled slightly over in the water and preening. Its white underside was clearly visible. The head of this bird lacked the typical fanned feathering and the yin-yang markings that males possess in breeding season but the amber eye was easily seen. "Believe it or not," the birder said, "I hadn’t seen a Coot until I came to this marsh!" "What about a Tree Swallow?" I asked and pointed at a passing bird. "There’s one there." He hadn’t seen that particular bird, but had scored the rest of the Swallow family elsewhere. After the Tree Swallow sighting, a lifer for the Netherlander birder, I wanted to get every bird I could for him right then and there. "Do you hear that sound?" I asked and pointed to a spot in the reeds about 8 feet in front of us. "That’s a Virginia Rail." "I don’t have the Virginia Rail!" he exclaimed. As luck would have it the birder stood on tiptoes and saw the usually elusive bird move to cover. "Do you have the Mountain Bluebird?" I asked breathlessly. He didn’t. "There’s one nesting just over in that building!" I pointed across the marsh towards the Stan Halcro arena. The Netherlander birder wanted that sighting. He yelled something in his native language to his wife, who sat in the Goose-free lawn area with their 16-month-old son, and gestured toward the arena and we were off. And that’s how it is with birds and birding; one minute you’re cursing feeble binoculars, the next you’re peering through some of the best optical equipment in the world, and offering to beat the bushes to get every bird you can, with a person whose name you don’t even know. Can you now see why I started this column with 3 introductory paragraphs? - I can’t either. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
