I'm not much of a chaser. My life list, gathered from decades of watching birds, is meager by any serious standard. Last December I did chase the great kiskadee seen by hundreds of folks near Channahon – without success. It was there the day earlier and a couple days later, but even though it would have been a lifer, I didn't try again. Nor did I go for the other unusual visitors to that same area within the same few weeks.
Missing target birds, especially for a life list, can be a severe disappointment. Frustration of that sort can weigh you down, or it can provoke some introspection into what birding means to you.
Driving an hour to look for a target isn't much of a commitment. Nothing like the trip from Toronto to Arizona in search of an elegant trogon undertaken by Zarankin, which included hiring a guide to look for specialties. Trogons had been seen regularly, even that very morning, but despite hours with her chagrined guide, the birds didn't show. Her calmly philosophic reaction is recalled in the chapter Zen Birder in her memoir.
Ambivalence, though, runs through this narrative. In the chapter following Zen, Zarankin worries about FOMO (fear of missing out), the anxiety that can result from obsessively checking sightings on ebird. The more you see the more you want to see.
Daughter of professional musicians, Zarankin immigrated to Canada from the Ukraine as a young child. Her memoir recounts her frustration with not having the talent to follow a line of accomplished musicians, as she searches for a personal place in an adopted land. She comes to birding accidentally, as her title notes. Even after finding that birds offer something special, she is slow to absorb and understand identification skills or even the basics of how to enjoy finding and watching birds.
An experienced birder may find this very personal memoir frustrating at times. You might wish she would be shaken out of her self absorption, but her long journey to understanding offers helpful reminders for the experienced of what can frustrate a beginning birder, and how to help. Less experienced birders can take heart from her struggles with identification, and from the patient help she received from many.
We were all beginners once, if not exactly now. After the unexpected thrill of seeing her spark bird, a red-winged blackbird, Zarankin fell in with a group of older birders who were patient with her “raptures of ecstasy” from her first cardinal, and when “my first hundred blue jays made me shout in wonder.” When she said her favorite bird of a trip was a deerkill the group leader's response was simply, “That would be a killdeer, but yes, its a lovely spring migrant.”
Eventually Zarankin becomes so focused on birds that she sometimes annoys others with “birdsplaining,” the urge to tell anyone everything she has learned about any bird in view. At the same time she acknowledges that her identification skills, especially with song, slowly and often embarrassingly acquired, will never be those of an expert. She comes to know the joy of birding is not in razor sharp identification or accumulating lists. The joy and delight is in discovering the hidden beauties of birding, especially urban birding, of being outside among beautiful creatures.
“... seeing that bird, which might take off at any second, has taught me to sit still, to relish the moment... You see a bird, and then life becomes exponentially richer because suddenly you're connected with these magical flying machines that transport you back in time, since they're as close as you'll ever get, evolutionarily speaking, to dinosaurs.”
I am reminded that after missing the great kiskadee, I happened on a totally unexpected evening grosbeak along one of my usual routes close to home. The joy is in discovery, never knowing what you might see next, rare or common. Pleasure is in learning for yourself instead of relying on someone else to locate and identify birds. Could we all join Zarankin in accepting and valuing that we will always be beginners?
Zarankin, Julia, Field Notes of an Unintentional Birder, Douglas and McIntyre, 2020
John Elliot
John is a CAS Board member and long-time birder. He leads bird walks, and is a font of local conservation knowledge as a former naturalist and education manager for the Forest Preserves of Cook County.