Every so often, I am granted the privilege of being present for another’s special birding moment.
Bird enough, and those moments for yourself become scarcer. You can only see a Loggerhead Shrike or a Cinnamon Teal for the first time once; standout encounters with a Merlin or an Osprey are standouts because they’re infrequent. They can wow you after however long you’ve been birding for, but don’t happen too often.
Thus, it is incumbent upon the birder to go to either extreme for such moments.
On one extreme, plan trips to bird. To keep things domestic, maybe the Everglades or Cape May; to make use of a passport, Costa Rica or the Galapagos.
Or tack birding onto preexisting trips, as I’m about to for a rare woodpecker. That trip is for my cousin’s wedding. She reads here, so: Hello and congratulations, Olivia!
Aside from a shot at the Red-cockaded Woodpecker, a Black-bellied Whistling Duck sighting is quite likely. Wouldn’t be a lifer, just a gorgeous duck for my year list, described by Jonathan Franzen as “one of those birds in the field guide which I couldn’t quite believe existed—something out of Marco Polo.”
It’s also the start of migration. I’ve been logging migratory birds—Eastern Phoebe, Red-winged Blackbird, Killdeer—and started bidding farewell to beloved species of waterfowl. A necessary price to pay. Warblers dull the pain.
Among other birds I’d like to see on this trip: White-eyed Vireo, Anhinga, Tricolored Heron. If I see a Mississippi Kite, I’ll be thrilled. For a Swallow-tailed Kite, I’ll become unhinged—over the moon.
On the other extreme: Stop and appreciate the common birds you see all the time. Song Sparrows or Black-capped Chickadees. Don’t get too big for your birding britches.
Or do both. Venture elsewhere for different birds, return to familiar ones with renewed appreciation.
The latter is less objectively flashy than a birding trip. Being less flashy makes it feel more special. Putting forth the effort to be wowed by a common, local bird you know well isn’t as easy. It falls upon the birder to create and recognize special moments.
I’ve seen innumerable Canada Geese. Not only abundant, they’re hated by many. I brought two people birding. One was very quick to malign geese.
Birding alone, I decided I’d see how close a goose would let me respectfully get so I could admire what is so often overlooked.
I was on a knee, eye level with a goose. A group of birders was approaching. I sprung up and turned to watch some harriers, something to talk about other than a goose. “Anything good?” Yes, a Canada Goose. “Harriers, mergansers, blackbirds, the usual.”
A different day, I was birding in nice morning light. Saw a goose and its reflection. That is gorgeous. I pulled over and took pictures. They don’t do it justice. A special moment with a common species. To quote Aldo Leopold again: “For us of the minority, the opportunity to see geese is more important than television.”
I was birding with a newer birder at an estuarine reserve I’d never birded before. “2,250 acres of salt marsh, freshwater wetland, beach, dune, forest, and field.” There were geese of course, but that’s not what this is about. The other birder had a more objectively special birding moment than a Canada Goose in nice light.
That morning, it was raining. It was supposed to start tapering off around 9:00, stop at 11:00. It was coming down pretty good at the start, so we waited it out with breakfast sandwiches and coffee.
I’d opted not to bring my camera. Didn’t want my attentiveness to bird photos render me a less fun birding companion—which I imagine it does. The best encounters also happen when I’m unable to document them.
Some encounters stood out. A mature Bald Eagle flew low and close. Without really looking—just recognizing a raptor’s silhouette—I assumed it was a Red-tailed Hawk and focused on smaller birds by the water. You know what they say about assuming.
“Is that what I think it is?” I asked—meaning is that a Red-tailed Hawk I shouldn’t get too excited about?
“It is.” They thought I meant: Is that a Bald Eagle?
I am mixed on Bald Eagles. This is known by birders who know me, including this one. I recently gave them an earful about Ben Franklin’s famous Bald Eagle antipathy. End of the day, I like them—but I’m more intrigued by Steller’s Sea Eagles, and try to keep an ear to the ground for news of vagrants. Regardless, when I stopped to see this Bald Eagle I was thrilled. So close like an unbothered redtail! It defined the day.
A Grey Ghost also flew low and close in front of us. Red-winged Blackbirds were raucous enough we were able to use them as a marker when we didn’t realize we were on a loop trail. “Are those the same blackbirds?” Conk-la-ree! “Wait, that’s where we started.” There was also plenty of exciting coyote scat.
Downy Woodpeckers called—I compare their call to a dropped ping pong ball. We birded by ear, then collaborated for a Fox Sparrow. “There’s a brown or red bird.” The song. “Fox Sparrow.” Sometimes Larkwire pays off. “Where is it?” There it was.
Then there were ample Eastern Bluebirds—a species I’d already seen in 2024 but hadn’t yet logged. A reminder to log them, which got me past a numerical landmark. I am happily on pace to meet/exceed my goal for the year.
It’s easy to get too used to the beauty of a bluebird. Hard to feel too used to it when a blue male is set against a reddish field, when there’s a handful in a treetop or atop tall grass. I was kicking myself for not bringing my camera.
“That’s my first bluebird,” the other birder told me. But how? I thought. They spend a lot of time outside, had likely seen them before; this was their first bluebird as a birder.
They’ll see more. Birders, if they truly like birding, stick with it—they don’t just stop. And bluebirds, while beautiful, aren’t exactly scarce. If this birder was game to convene in the rain to look for birds, I’m sure they’ll see bluebirds aplenty.
The first of numerous bluebirds. I got to witness it. That is special.
I don’t remember my first bluebird. Certain spots have the bluebird connotation—a fence, a field, the start of a trail I go to for ducks. Now I will add this event, these birds, and this spot to my bluebird timeline. Vicarious birding joy.
Such moments make birding special. They decrease as you bird more. Witnessing this one was a reminder why I love birding. That feeling is still attainable, firsts are just less abundant—so make or recognize special moments.
Beautiful Eastern Bluebird photos, James! I have to say, I can totally relate to this: "I’d opted not to bring my camera. Didn’t want my attentiveness to bird photos render me a less fun birding companion—which I imagine it does. The best encounters also happen when I’m unable to document them."
Well-said James: "It falls upon the birder to create and recognize special moments."