Forster's Tern in breeding plumage
About 500 terns swirled and dove into the Cape May rips, and after a second or two of appreciating the frenzy for the spectacle it was, I set about doing what birders do: identifying the members of the flock. How to go about doing that with a maelstrom of terns 500 yards off the beach is a fit subject for another column, and will be someday, but suffice it for now to say I discerned that about 400 of the terns were Forster’s, 75 were Commons, 25 were Leasts, and if there was anything rarer than that out there I couldn’t find it.
Now what?
I checked the beach, discovering a few Sanderlings and a lingering, non-breeding Black-bellied Plover. The ocean away from the rips and their accompanying tern frenzy seemed barren, with just a few scattered gulls wandering past.
Had I “used up” the birding for that place and moment? Hardly, though I believed I’d identified everything in sight and reached the point at which many birders, including me sometimes, feel it’s time to move on to a new location.
Instead, I turned my scope back to the terns. I picked out an individual Forster’s, and stayed with it, with several things on my mind:
How can I get better at identifying this bird?
You can ask that question about any species, even “easy” ones like adult Bald Eagles or Painted Buntings. Terns, however, are especially ripe subjects, since they are so similar and often seen in the distance or in bad light conditions. Early ornithologists, including Audubon, did not even realize that Common and Forster’s Terns were two different species. I “work” on terns all the time, and for a while this day I studied the shape of the Forster’s where its head joined the body, deciding that no matter the angle the bird never looked small-headed, the way Common Terns sometimes do. The head of my Forster’s seemed to always match the circumference of the body, or nearly so.
What is this bird doing now? How is it going about its business?
I learned right away that this tern was not flying around randomly looking into the water. When I picked it up the tern was in the middle of the flock, and it worked its way into the wind to the left (east) side of the rips, then dropped out, circled around, and re-joined the flock at the right side. After three repeats this qualified as a pattern, broken only by the occasional (unsuccessful) dives for fish.
Why is this bird doing what it’s doing?
Well, duh – in this case it was trying to catch a fish. But why then and there? With a strong outgoing tide, I knew fish concentrate where the bottom is uneven and the water turbulent – the rips are a prime spot for human fishermen for this reason, as well as for birds. What did it want the fish for? Well, duh – or maybe not. Because when the Forster’s Tern finally caught a fish, it left the frenzy with it and came to shore, passing over my head in the process. The date, June 3rd, suggested it probably did not yet have young to feed. The fish was meant for its mate, either as a courtship gift or for sustenance as it incubated their eggs.
With “my” bird out of view, I turned back to the flock, this time picking out a Common Tern. I had several things on my mind. . .
DONE HIDING -->
May 12th was both one of the best and one of the most grueling birding days of my life.
It was one of the best because Will Russell, Pete Dunne and I had chosen the perfect day and perfect place for a “Big Day Big Stay,” and a morning flight of songbirds passed at a rate of 300 per hour. By day’s end we had seen 139 species, apparently a new North American record for birds seen from a single location in a 24-hour period.
It was the most grueling because when I say “seen,” that’s what I mean. On a normal Big Day, 60 to 70% of the birds are heard, but on the Big Stay, barely 10% were audio identifications. We scanned constantly 
with both binoculars and scopes, sometimes identifying small birds at long distances, and often faced viewing birds backlit by the sun.
Big Stays are unique, perhaps, in the long-term intensity of scanning, but some other kinds of birding are similar. Hawk-watching is the closest match, perhaps. Sifting flocks of gulls at the local dump can be both tedious and eye-testing, as can working shorebirds on a flat or scanning passing flocks of waterfowl at a seawatch. How can you get on every bird possible without gradually going blind?
Though I didn’t exactly poll my teammates on the subject, I’m sure we each coped with the eye strain in different ways. Pete, for example, was the only one wearing sunglasses, which he often does. Will and I dislike sunglasses for birding, feeling that the lost light and distorted color more than offset any advantages. But certain tactics were common for all three of us, and they might help you, too:
Alternate scanning with binoculars with periods of scanning naked eye. This does two things. First, it gives your eyes a break from the pull of magnification. Second, it gives you the widest field of view possible – the naked eye view – which helps prevent birds from sneaking by.
Learn to scope with both eyes open. This is easiest to do with an angled scope, since the “off” eye is pointed at the uninteresting ground and has little reason to try to take over. Keeping both eyes open minimizes “scope eye;” the unpleasant state that long-term scoping often brings, wherein the left eye and right eye refuse to agree what to focus on and thus, everything looks blurry. Just as alternating between binoculars and naked eye helps, so does alternating between scoping and using binoculars.
Find a way to steady your binoculars. Hand shake, and the resulting unsteady image, will rapidly fatigue your eyes, as they work hard to keep the seemingly moving image in view. I found that a seated position, with elbows resting on knees, kept the binoculars very still. While standing, resting the bins on my scope helped. If there had been a tree or post nearby, I would have leaned against it.
Close your eyes periodically for short periods. Closing your eyes stimulates the tear duct to release moisture, and the closed eyelid keeps that moisture there to do some good.
Vary the distance you scan. For example, I would alternate between scanning a nearby row of trees, a distant marsh, the bay to the horizon line, and the sky.
Wear a brimmed cap. Obviously, this keeps direct sun from your face.
Use sunscreen formulated for athletics. Birding is athletic, after all! Non-greasy sunscreen that stays in place even when wet will stay out of your eyes and off your binocular lenses.
Use dark make-up under your eyes, like pro athletes do. Okay, I confess, none of us tried that – but maybe that would have gotten us to 140 species!
DONE HIDING -->
Sometimes publishers are pretty darned clever. A successful book fills a niche. Often that niche has to do with subject and/or author. As for
Good Birders Don’t Wear White, the subject is of interest (birding tips), and the list of authors is something like the Hall of Fame for birding authors. But no, the niche for this book is gift-giving. It’s inexpensive (list price is $8.95) and small, just right for a little hospitality gift to bring when visiting a birder, or as a present for that birding acquaintance who is retiring from the office or having a big birthday. I expect that a lot of these books will be bought by birders and by non-birders searching for something inexpensive at the bookstore.
Fortunately it’s a nice little book. Touted as, “50 Tips from North America’s Top Birders,” don’t be tricked into thinking that this is the volume that will turn you from beginner to expert overnight. These aren’t those kind of tips. No, it’s mostly this august group giving advice. On several occasions one author mildly contradicts another. The readers are told not to wear white, as it can scare away birds, but to wave a white hankie over ponds because waterbirds may become curious and, in a third piece, told not to worry about wearing white (though only in certain situations). We are told to go birding in storms and at night, to linger over birds after we’ve identified them, to keep journals and calendars, to travel the world and its oceans, and prodded to be more actively involved with bird conservation. We are given advice on how to become great birders and then discouraged from even trying.
Take kids birding. Build a blind for bird photography. Learn bird songs. Show birds to strangers. Call to birds with an iPod. Share the spotting scope. Buy a digital camera. Watch the weather forecasts. Take field notes. Sketch birds. Get great birding gear. Don’t worry about your birding gear. The advice just keeps coming.
By and large, it’s all very pleasant stuff. The chapters are very short – ideal for a quick read when you’ve got only a couple minutes to spare. Some of the writing is delightful, and it is quite interesting to compare the writing of many noted authors side-by-side in this format and on this open-ended subject. I’ll say no more than that the cream rises to the top and let you judge for yourself. It’s a great way to sample the work of many writers, and that can help you decide what birding books to tackle next.
I guess it’s worth listing them all: Mike O’Connor, Connie Toops, David M. Bird, Bill Thompson III, Clay Sutton, Sheri Williamson, Kenn Kaufman, Jeffrey A. Gordon, Jessie H. Barry, Don and Lillian Stokes, Dave Jasper, Kevin Karlson, Victor Emanuel, Judith A. Toups, Amy K. Hooper, Steve Howell, Paul Kerlinger, Ted Floyd, Scott Shalaway, John Sill, Kevin J. Cook, Louise Zemaitis, Donald Droodsma, Lang Elliott, Noah Strycker, Julie Craves, Mel White, Wayne R. Petersen, Peter Alden, Bill Schmoker, Paul Lehman, Jeffrey Bouton, Paul J. Baicich, Scott Weidensaul, Julie Zickefoose, Tim Gallagher, Arthur Morris, Richard Crossley, David Sibley, Chuck Hagner, Robert A. Braunfield, John Kricher, Peter Stangel, Stephen Shunk, John Acorn, Alicia Craig, Laura Erickson, Pete Dunne, Jon L. Dunn, and Richard K. Walton.
Here’s my own bit of advice. Don’t sit down with this book and read it cover to cover. It’s a bit like having 50 parents lined up to say, “We need to talk,” one right after another. Some offer encouragement, others are relaxed and funny, but there is more than a little admonishment in here, too. “Hey,” I want to say, “I didn’t do anything wrong!” Too much advice is definitely not a good thing. Instead, read a chapter here, a chapter there. Don’t take it too seriously; I don’t think many of these authors did. If you’re like me, you’ll find some advice to discard, and some times when you’ll say to yourself, “Yeah, I agree.” With luck you’ll find a few hidden gems that are actually helpful. But you’ll enjoy the little insights into the personalities and philosophical outlooks of some of today’s best-known birders, and that’s really fun.
White, Lisa (ed). 2007. Good Birders Don’t Wear White: 50 Tips from North America’s Top Birders. Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston. $8.95, paperback, 268 pages. ISBN-13: 978-0-618-75642-1.
