Birdwatchers, Big Days and Birdathons

Joe Meche is president of the North Cascades Audubon Society and also serves the chapter as newsletter editor and birding programs coordinator. He has been watching birds for more than 50 years and photographing birds and landscapes for more than 30 years.

As fascinated as any behavioral anthropologist might be, I am always interested in origins and personal stories on how we all came to be and eventually evolved into who we are today. One thing that intrigues me is how humans became interested in birds and carried that initial interest into the mass of knowledge that we have at our fingertips today. Not everyone was born with a proclivity for watching birds, for instance, yet the number of birdwatchers worldwide tells the tale.

I probably became a birdwatcher by a coincidence of geography. I suspect this was the case since I was born and raised in southwest Louisiana, where birds were always present and often abundant in sometimes staggering numbers. My hometown was right between the two main migration corridors for all the avian species that cross the Gulf of Mexico in spring to breed in the central and eastern U.S. The town and neighboring communities were surrounded by prime wintering habitat—rice fields—that attracted enormous flocks of waterfowl that fed throughout the winter on the stubble left in the fields. It was virtually impossible to ignore the birds.

After the rice was harvested in the fall, the fields became a boundless playground filled with winged creatures from faraway places like … Canada! With the rice gone and the fields drained, miles of levees beckoned to kids who had yet to become addicted to a new household appliance—television. Geese, ducks, shorebirds, and passerine species foraged and rested in the enormous fields and ignored our noisy play. It was great fun but no amount of horsing around with a gaggle of friends compared with the walks and quieter time I spent in the woods and along the maze of nearby bayous and backwaters, often with a family dog in tow.

My early experiences of enjoying the quiet and the natural sounds were the result of my grandfather’s words of advice to sit quietly and see what finds you! In retrospect, it seems like it was a great idea and one way for him to control a potentially noisy child when he was out on one of his regular walks or engaged in a whittling session in the shade next to the front porch. I can still see him sitting for hours at a time on his folding camp stool, with his pith helmet firmly in place. His ability to remain quiet always impressed me. Cardinals and blue jays thought he was part of the scenery. He led by example.

In those quieter times, birdwatchers—gentlemen in tweeds and little old ladies in sneakers and floppy hats, perhaps—were almost an anomaly and deserving of the status they would later gain as stereotypes. A few of these stereotypes are responsible for turning the tide on the senseless slaughter of birds around the turn of the century. Frank Chapman, of the newly formed National Audubon Society, proposed the first Christmas Bird Count (CBC) as an alternative to the traditional Christmas Side Hunt.

The CBC was established in 1900 and started with only a handful of participants across North America. That initial effort has grown to more than 50,000 people at almost 2,000 separate locations in 17 countries. As the CBC grew, so did the supporting cast. Many birdwatchers tested their own wings for the first time by participating in CBCs, along with family or friends who were already involved. The CBC became the foremost example of citizen science and continues to add significant data about the location and movement of birds across the continent.

With structured programs through organizations like the Audubon Society and the publication of handy field guides like Roger Tory Peterson’s “Guide to the Birds,” bird watching as we know it today was off and running. The number of bird watchers grew exponentially over the years and is today the most popular recreational activity in the country. Along with its ever-growing worldwide popularity, bird watching and the birdwatchers themselves have taken on a new look.

Birdwatchers are the consummate keepers of lists, and those lists range from backyard lists to trip lists and eventually to the ultimate list—the life list! Birdwatchers’ conversations often drift to the subject of lists, no matter how much they try to avoid it, and give the impression of competition. Truth be known, it’s more fun for some people to find one or two species more than you did. Suddenly, competition becomes part of bird watching.

Every imaginable variation of competition began to filter its way into bird watching. An activity that always had the potential to be a relaxing way to spend time outdoors has become to many a new way to compete. The competitive aspect was apparently added to make bird watching more exciting. And since it was now considered a competitive sport, the label bird watcher was too tame, so people began calling themselves birders.

Bird watching took on a new look as the spirit of competition swept through the rank and file, primarily through the practice of doing Big Days and Big Years. The Big Day is a competition that takes place over a 24-hour period where a team or an individual identifies as many species as they can within that time limit. Big Day teams often have sponsors and there might be prizes at the end of the day for the winners.

A Big Year, as the name might imply, is the broadest ranging of all the competitions in that there is no limit to how far you travel to add to your list for the year. It’s almost like having 365 consecutive Big Days!

If you plan to do a Big Year, prepare to spend a lot of time and money if you expect to compete for the big prize. If you want to read about the obsession that drives people to do a Big Year, read “The Big Year,” by Mark Obmascik. The author focuses on three individuals vying for the North American Big Year record. This is the ultimate competition that bird watching has become.

A variation in the Big Day that has swept across the country is the Birdathon, which is usually geared as a fundraiser for sponsoring nonprofit organizations. The main similarity is the 24-hour time period in which you can count species. The North Cascades Audubon Society sponsors a Birdathon every year and the excitement is slow to catch on, as shown by the slow turnout. This year, only two teams participated—the same two teams that have participated for the past few years! If you’d like to join in the fun next year, let me know.

One similarity that exists between all three of these counts is that they are species-only counts. The CBC tallies species as well as the total number of individual birds, while the other counts require only one bird per species. If you see 500 robins, they still count as only one. Such are the basic rules and regulations that come with any form of competition. If you choose to be a competitive birder instead of a relaxed birdwatcher, you’ll have to toe the line!

Whenever I think of Duck—my grandfather’s nickname—I can hear the quiet that surrounded him and in turn surrounded me. I could see his chin drop to his chest when he went a little beyond mere relaxation. I’ll continue to participate in Birdathons, but only to help in the fundraising effort. For this birdwatcher, give me the times when I can find a nice perch to sit quietly and see what finds me. §