The Art of Bird Finding: Before You ID Them, You Have to See Them
By Pete Dunne
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About this ebook
Pete Dunne
Pete Dunne is an author and founder of the World Series of Birding, former Director of Natural History Information for the New Jersey Audubon Society, and former director of the Cape May Bird Observatory. An experienced tour leader, he is well-known for his columns and contributions to publications such as American Birds and Birding. He is also the author of more than twenty books, including Birds of Prey, Gulls Simplified, The Art of Pishing, The Wind Masters, and, most recently, The Shorebirds of North America.
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The Art of Bird Finding - Pete Dunne
page.
Introduction:
In Search of the Lost Skill Set
We were standing just off the parking lot and just inside the postage-stamp parcel of woods. Mature oaks, hickory, and maple canopy; dogwood and sassafras understory. Pretty lush shrub layer, too, because here in downtown Fort Lee, New Jersey, browsing deer are few.
It was Earth Day—the day set aside to celebrate our planet’s biological riches—and as a New Jersey Audubon staff person, I’d been invited to appear on a local TV station to represent Mother Earth to the viewing audience. New Jersey Audubon, founded to protect and foster awareness of New Jersey’s natural endowment, has been around for more than 110 years. I, as NJA’s director of natural history information, have been on staff for about a third of this.
Part of the broadcast was to be in-studio,
part in the woodlands out back—where I’d assured the producers we would find birds (and not just pigeons): because of the date (late April, so prime migration time), because of the weather (warm with southerly breezes), and because many resident bird species are versatile enough to live, even thrive, in urban enclaves like Fort Lee.
The trick, of course, is finding them.
I don’t know whether the producers believed it. Birds? In the brick and mortar heart of Bergen County? Right across the river from Manhattan and sixty seconds, as the pigeon flies, from the George Washington Bridge?
The two-man TV crew certainly didn’t have a lot of faith in the endeavor—and why should they? No doubt they’d parked their cars in this lot a thousand times. Never seen a bird, never heard a bird. That was about to change.
While they busied themselves with their camera, I conducted a quick reconnaissance. It’s not correct to say I studied the woods because that denotes a concentration of focus and what I was doing was somewhat the opposite.
I wasn’t, precisely, looking for birds. Rather, I was letting them disclose their whereabouts to me, and it wasn’t long before one of them obliged—attracting my attention first with a series of soft taps then with the slight motion of its head—a movement made conspicuous because in a woodlands unstirred by wind, even the slightest motion catches and holds a hunting eye.
Got a woodpecker,
I announced matter-of-factly. A downy.
WHERE?
they demanded in tone and volume that wouldn’t have been out of place had I just advised them that I’d found the remains of Jimmy Hoffa.
There,
I directed, pointing. On the left side of the first large tree. About twenty feet above the ground.
They couldn’t find it. Even though their eyesight and hearing were fine. Even though they made a living bringing cameras to bear on targeted objects.
The bird was in plain view, less than sixty feet away and completely unconcerned about our presence. As a resident species, the woodpecker saw people every day. It had grown used to their oblivious nature, so, indifferent to our presence, it continued to tap away at the tree.
I repeated the directions. Adding that what they were looking for was a small, black and white, salt-shaker-sized bird clinging to the trunk.
They still couldn’t find it. They had no search image to call up. Their eyes weren’t skilled at sifting through a three-dimensional woodland maze for small birds. And perhaps most of all, their sense of awareness was hobbled by disuse. Even if their eyes did pick up the bird’s slight motion (and it’s certain they did) and their ears detected the tapping sound (which was perfectly evident) their brains didn’t register the significance of these clues. So I elucidated.
Never mind the bird. Just watch for motion. You’re hot-wired to clue in on motion.
That did it. First one then the other located the woodpecker, and then both of them spun and stared, open mouthed, at me.
Downy Woodpeckers are common and widespread, but that doesn’t guarantee that they are going to be seen.
HOW’DYOUSEETHAT?
they demanded. Their expressions of astonishment would not have been out of place if I’d just produced a unicorn.
I do this for a living,
I pointed out. White-breasted Nuthatch,
I added.
WHERE?
they demanded, again.
Just went around the back of the same tree. Wait. It’ll swing back into view again.
And it did. But of course, initially, they had trouble finding this bird, too.
HOW’DYOUSEETHAT?
they demanded, again. This time they looked at me like I was in league with the devil, practicing some dark art . . . which, it could be argued, I was.
The art of discernment and awareness. These qualities aren’t exactly fruit hanging from the tree of knowledge. But they help you find that fruit.
Before I could reply, to tell them that I’d seen the bird fly in and land, I heard a rustling in the leaves. The kind of sound a bird of the forest floor might make while searching for food in the leaf litter.
White-throated Sparrow,
I announced, directing their attention this time to the cryptically colored bird that was busily engaged in the business of foraging among the leaves.
If they were astonished before, they were incredulous now—simply could not comprehend how a person could find a leaf-colored bird crouched among the leaves. And yes, it is tricky. Leaf-colored birds look the way they do specifically to avoid detection.
But that doesn’t make them invisible. And the act of scratching through leaf litter produces movement and sound—two of the basic building blocks of human perception.
Of course, you need to be attuned to such things—as my friends in the camera crew clearly were not. They are not alone in this regard. In fact, in twenty-first-century America, most people’s bird-finding skills wouldn’t do credit to a day-old duckling.
In a little over an hour, we pried a dozen bird species out of that tiny woodlot smack in the middle of Fort Lee. And while the two guys in the camera crew thought it was about the most amazing display they’d ever witnessed, I have to confess that any modestly competent birder could have done it.
So, for that matter, can you. That is the whole point of this book.
Whether you know it or not, you are a bird-finding machine. Under the shell of your modern veneer, stripped down to raw sensory receptors, you, Mr. and Ms. Homo sapiens, are genetically hot-wired to pick up the clues that say:
LOOK, LOOK. BIRD HERE.
Locating birds is largely a matter of letting your eyes and ears do what they are designed to do—sift through the world around you for visual and auditory clues and feed them to the brain—and then disciplining your brain to pay attention to the bird-related data it is getting. Not surprisingly, a discussion relating to boosting your situational awareness constitutes the first part of this book.
Actively finding birds—that is, using your understanding of bird behavior to locate birds—is a different discipline. It will command the balance of this book (and, with luck, the rest of your long and happy bird-finding life).
But getting back to the subject, the essence of locating birds is detection, and the tools we humans bring to bear are our eyes and our ears. The ability of these sensory organs to accomplish this task has been honed by evolution. Their capacity to do this was pretty nearly complete by the time you left the crib.