A Slow Birder

We were walking on the shaded side of the canyon in the early morning. The rays of the sun had not yet reached this part of the trail. Holding tightly onto my heavy binoculars, I folded my arms so my hands would reach the warmth of my armpits. It was too early to have the binoculars digging into my neck. There was no rush; the birds were not singing. We walked silently along. I liked to photograph flowers but even the tiny daisies were not open. For the second day in a row, we were in search of a certain bird. The Golden-cheeked Warbler is an endangered species only found in the mixed cedar-oak woodland of the Edwards Plateau in central Texas. Everywhere people talked, this bird was the topic of conversation. “Have you seen the Golden-cheeked Warbler?” they would say.


 

Gary was the most knowledgeable about birds, and was really an expert. It's good to go out with someone who knows what to look for. He had been to this spot another year and fully expected to see this speciman again, so he could add it to The List. There were lists for the day, lists for each park we had been to, and most importantly, The Life List. This bird would be on Terry's Life List, and he was glad to have the opportunity to sight it. I didn't keep lists, but helped Terry add to his if we were out together. I don't know if Marie kept a written list, but she informed us that we should do a “happy dance” very time we sighted a “Lifer”. John, who was tagging along with us, stared at her, not sure what to make of this pronouncement. He, too, seemed to be taking detailed notes. 

 

Gary decided we would start at the end of the trail we finished yesterday, to see if we could spot the bird we had heard calling high in the trees. It was almost snack time by the time we got to a little pond surrounded by maple and live oak trees. The fact that they were not in leaf yet meant birds were easy to spot amongst the tangle of branches. That is, if they sat still, which they rarely did. Somone would say, “There's a bird!” or if they knew what it was, the name of the bird according to its song. Everyone's binoculars were trained on the general area. The one who had the bird in sight would give instructions. “Up at the top of the yellow part.” or “At three o'clock in the green branches of the middle juniper tree.” Sometimes I saw it, if it was close enough. My binoculars were not the best, and my neck would begin to ache very quickly with the odd angle. 

 

Around the pond, John, who was from California, saw a couple of birds he had not seen before. But no Golden-cheeked Warbler. I can now recognize the common calls, like the Northern Cardinal, and the moaning sound of the Greater Roadrunner, although he didn't oblige us by running across the road in this park. We headed back the way we came through the grove of trees, Gary listening intently. “There he is!” We tried to pinpoint the source of the sound. Finally everyone's binoculars were trained in a certain tree. Usually I'm slow on the uptake. The tree seemed so high, and birds would hide behind the yellow blossoms. But everyone was seeing it. Finally I saw a movement, and saw a bird, too. What a beautiful bird! A creamy peach breast and an eye rimmed in white. “Does it have a white eye-ring?” I asked Gary. “No, that's the wrong bird.” Lowering my binoculars, I gave up. I was disappointed, though. Everyone was raving about the brilliant yellow colour of the warbler's cheeks. John was thrilled that he had seen not one, but three life birds in one morning. Well, I thought, Maybe we'll still be on the Edwards Plateau at the next park tomorrow.

PS  I just had to show you a picture of John's boots.  In case he encountered a snake!