For a good bit of time, Northern Harriers were an obsession of mine, a source of frustration. I couldn’t get a good photo and desperately wanted one. Would see them often, always ended up with flawed pictures. The bird would be facing the wrong way or have a shadow on its face from the wings.
Pursuing harriers with the camera made me “feel like Ahab—if his white whale had been measured in ounces rather than tons, and was drastically easier to find.” My white whale was a white-rumped raptor.
It feels icky quoting myself, but the feeling is still apt. Often roused by birds—different species at different times of year. Some warblers, waterfowl. Scarlet Tanagers, Brown Creepers, Yellow-billed Cuckoos, not just harriers. Clearly birds have evoked this feeling for a while if something I wrote years ago still holds true.
For years, all my harrier photos were subpar. After thrilling encounters, I now have photos I feel good about. One of them is among my favorite photos I’ve taken. The best way to have thrilling encounters, to take good photos of birds, is to get out and bird. Trial and error can result in error, but trial is a requirement—and sometimes doesn’t turn out in error.
I shouldn’t say “one” of those photos is among my favorite photos I’ve taken. There were many, all largely the same. Enthralled, I held down the shutter for more pictures than needed. Had to spend time deciding what to keep or delete. Kept 10 or so, probably nine too many. I’ve taken objectively better photos, even specifically of harriers, but this one transports me to that moment, that feeling.
It was a banner day of birding after another banner day of birding 24 hours beforehand. That first day I didn’t bring my camera, but saw a harrier at the same time do the same thing in the same spot. Wanted to see if a harrier would be in that spot again at the same time. There it was. Sometimes the birds play along with your fanciful notions.
Harriers can be pretty easy to find. At certain times of year in certain places it is a very safe bet you’ll see one. One of those places is a well-loved birding spot nearby where I’ve seen great birds. There’s a little trailside signboard that explains birders will likely see Norther Harriers.
When the day demands a bit of birding I sometimes go to see about the harriers. A brief run to this spot resulted in me being the closest I’ve ever been to one of these birds. It took me past a few birdy spots, so I traveled the same route by foot other times. Walking is one of my chief joys. I’ve quoted her before, but always think of Gretel Ehrlich on a good walk: Walking is “an ambulation of the mind.”
Walking with a camera and big lens, seeing birds? Doesn’t get much better. Plus, birding puts me in conversation with other birders. Birding this spot often does.
“Nice camera, shooting any good birds?” “What’re you seeing?” Usually at this spot I’m hoping for an American Kestrel, but rehash encounters with harriers or Savannah Sparrows.
“Any Snowys yet?” “What species are those birds flocking? Do you know why they’re doing that?” “What do you think these birds are eating?” We were standing by a bunch of berries, so discussed them as a probable food source. Bird conversation is good conversation.
As walking is a simple pleasure, so is the Northern Harrier. Within this pleasure there is a deeper pleasure: The Grey Ghost. The mature male, his striking plumage.
Juvenile and female harriers look largely the same. Brown, streaky, the characteristic white rump. They are an accessible pleasure. If you see a harrier, odds are it looks like one of these. The Grey Ghost is, you guessed it, grey. To be specific, “steel gray with glowing yellow eyes.”
But why are they called ghosts? They’re more elusive, aren’t expected. That Audubon article calls them “our spookiest hawks.” To be fair, they are owl-like in some ways and owls are spooky.1
Harriers hunt not only by sight, but by sound. They hear and find prey in very low light because of their facial disks. These disks can make the birds look owl-like. Harriers have been compared to the Short-eared Owls they often share habitat with. So “ghost” isn’t unfounded.
Sometimes I’ll see a raptor flying in a harrier’s manner, which is always exciting. Harriers don’t hesitate to reveal themselves as harriers. They’re pretty distinct. Per Hawks In Flight, by Pete Dunne, David Sibley, and Clay Sutton, “nothing looks like a Harrier except another Harrier,” and this is true. “Northern Harriers are extremely buoyant and agile in flight,” writes Jerry Liguori in Hawks From Every Angle. They often “fly leisurely in conditions where other raptors seem to struggle to stay aloft.” Their flight style is unique, so can be a pretty definitive indicator: That’s a harrier. When I see one of these birds and get a better look at it, if it’s grey with yellow eyes I gasp: Grey Ghost!
Again, it’s a specific pleasure within something routine. It certainly isn’t earth-shattering to see a harrier. I’d call it nothing to write home about, but in my eyes it is something to write home about. If I was on a birding trip, wrote journal entries and saw a harrier, goodness knows how much paper real estate I’d give to the bird. When you see a harrier and realize it’s a Grey Ghost you can’t help but feel triumphant. Fortunate the bird graced your eyeline.
I borderline harp on this point, but it’s especially relevant with birding. Be happy with less. I don’t like using that word as a de facto synonym for certain bird species, but you know what I mean.
If you bird where a harrier is essentially a sure thing and see one, be happy you saw a harrier. The odds were in your favor, but so what? You saw a Northern Harrier! Harriers are always a treat. If it was a Grey Ghost that takes it a step further.
Birds do not exist to make you happy. You, reader, might not even like birds that much; I’m writing as if talking to myself. As much as they make me happy, I know birds don’t exist to do so, nor do they really care that I exist. I like that about them.
A bird’s raison d'être isn’t to put a smile on your face. That doesn’t mean one shouldn’t. It’s up to you to allow it. The ball is in your court. Be glad when you see one—Blue Jay, American Robin, Northern Harrier—or don’t be glad.
When I think of birds that’ve thrilled me, the first that come to mind aren’t profound rarities. Osprey, Carolina Wren, Grey Ghost. The more I think of which species have made me happy, the less abundant the species become. Brown Creeper, Wood Duck, American Kestrel, Ovenbird, Fox Sparrow, Lesser Scaup, Yellow-billed Cuckoo, Blackpoll Warbler, Swamp Sparrow, Blackburnian Warbler. You get the idea. Having spent less time with them, they require a little more thought to come up with. Great birds but not ones I see too regularly.
Point being the birds that most often make me happy are the ones I most often see, thus they come to mind first. Seeing a bird often allows it to make me happy often.
If you compare the time I’ve spent watching an Osprey to the time I’ve spent watching a specific rare species of bird, the Osprey handily wins. I saw a special rare bird while on a trip, far off. Thrilling because it was what it was. I am lucky to have seen it, but don’t really bring it up. It happened just one time, was only cool if you knew what it was, wasn’t an otherwise thrilling encounter. Comparatively, come spring I won’t shut up about Ospreys. I’ll see them regularly, sometimes diving for underwater prey. When they migrate away, I focus on harriers.
Ospreys and Northern Harriers. Not rarities, but my frequency of Osprey and harrier encounters illustrates they add more to my life than a rare bird I saw far away in passing one time ever could. The objective value of a bird doesn’t always match its subjective value. That’s one of the lovely parts of getting to know birds: cultivating that subjective value.
Seeing a harrier isn’t insane. Seeing a Grey Ghost makes the not insane feel closer to insane—though still not insane. Who cares? Did it put a smile on your face, did it make you feel good? Maybe you’ll see one again tomorrow.
The bird adds to your life. Let it. If you’re lucky, that harrier was a majestic Grey Ghost. Two levels of excitement: 1. A Northern Harrier. 2. Not only that: a Grey Ghost.
An illustrative story of an owl’s spookiness: I had an unsettling moment walking back to my truck one night after fishing. An Eastern Screech Owl appeared directly in my headlamp’s light, just sitting there. It looked so indifferent as my heart skipped a beat, so at home in darkness. Despite any fish I’ve caught there, that spot always makes me think of that owl.
Awesome birding and really like those Northern Harrier photos. I've never seen one myself yet. I like your point about "getting to know birds: cultivating that subjective value."
Some of the more uncommon birds I've seen are Great-Horned Owls and Snowy Owls here in the Ottawa area. But I can't stop telling my wife about the antics of the local American Crows I see at the conservation area.
I'd never heard of Gretel Ehlrich and love that quote: "...walking is an ambulation of the mind." This is basically my weekend Nature hikes: ambulations of the mind.
Birds exist to make me happy. I challenge you to prove they do not.
I love your essays. This birder is delighted you take the effort to record not only pictures but your thoughts from the field.
Keep it up. Remember: that bird in your lens may delight you, but its existence is all about me.