My Life’s Birds: #206-207
May 15, 1994 – Christian Co, Mo – For the most part in our early birding careers, my dad and I were co-conspirators in the new and exciting world of birding. We went out together, we did Big Days and Christmas Bird Counts and afternoon floats down the river together. And as such, our respective life lists grew in tandem. Up to this point, there were no birds that I’d seen and he hadn’t and vice versa. All this was about to change, of course, in a big way, and this very year even. But for the most part we were taking on this birding thing as a duo.
That is, until one spring afternoon when my dad came in saying he’d seen something different in the backyard. Something I hadn’t seen. A mysterious gray-headed warbler. Racing to the spot I peered into the bushes, pished a little, jumped at every little sound. But nothing. The bird wouldn’t come out. The miss burned.
The next day, immediately after school we stopped at the Ozark City Park, a wide swath of green running along the Finley River. In the willows along a trail in the back corner we found a smartly-capped little Wilson’s Warbler. The first indication that the largely manicured park might, in fact, be a productive birding site the right time of year. Dad and I both saw the bird, but he was still up on me one from the day before.
It wasn’t till we got home that the green eyed monster struck in earnest. I rushed out to the backyard to the very spot where Dad had found his prize. This time, I was successful, catching a glimpse, but just a glimpse, of a quiet male Mourning Warbler. The grey-headed Oporornis warblers are still mysterious to me, having only seen a handful of Mournings and still neither of the remaining two. Birders often tag the group with the moniker “skulker”, and it’s certainly appropriate. Such a name implies how lucky you are to catch that glimpse. And I was lucky, not least because this individual stuck around at least one more day.
In any case, and maybe most importantly, Dad and I were even once again.
MOWA from Scott A Young via flickr
WIWA from wikipedia
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Oporornis -Warbler.
This magic word conjures memories of stealthy walks through thick undergrowth, of following the movement of leaves, of standing still for a quarter of an hour or longer without moving as much as a hair waiting (in vain) for what might be a bird to hop out of cover and onto another branch, of crouching down silently onto the forest floor to listen, listen real hard, not breathing, for any sound.
It conjures images of long, long hikes, endless days out in the field, of chases from one end of Point Pelee to the other following other birder’s reports…
But come to think of it:
it conjures very few images and memories of actual birds seen.
Skulkers? Yeah. They rule.
Great post. I am envious of the fact that you birded with your Dad. While mine isn’t a birder, he at least showed interest in my passion. You must have a ton of great memories. Good luck on the “other two” warblers.
@Jochen- It’s a wonderful bird. One of those species that really “makes” a spring. I haven’t seen one in some time as they aren’t as common further east as they are where I grew up. I do miss them.
@Jamie- I still bird with my dad whenever he’s in town and we still make some pretty good memories. I was certainly fortunate to have a parent who was so involved in my interests.
The journey is the reward!
They may be neat birds (all 10,000 of them are), but what makes them so very special to me is the process of searching for them. It requires all those skills that make birding so special, as mentioned in your way-out-there excellent post on the house wren. They really challenge all your senses as a birder.
Gosh, I sure miss them as well, and I recon your chances of seeing one/some are slightly better in NC than mine are in Germany.
The very best of luck next spring, hope a Connecticut comes your way. Neat birds, those Conns (as I was able to witness myself … hehehe).