Recently, traveling, I caught sight of a flock of long-legged flamingos lazing in a lagoon. It was an odd sight, an African species (Phoenicopterus roseus) so near a bustling European city. Then I remembered, they were a migratory species, just like the seasonal Canadian snowbird I was.
Having never studied ornithology, a few years ago, I had bird awakening. While in Zimbabwe, on safari at the Hwange National Park, I came to realize how much I loved birds. The larger herons, hornbills, kites, eagles and vultures were impressive, but it was the smaller of the bountiful 470 bird species found within the park, the colorful and shy pittas, rollers, nightjars, turacos and kingfishers, that stole the show and charmed me. What marvelous creatures they were, fascinating really.
Synchronicity being what it is, while I was away on that adventure, my wife, left home in California’s wine country tending the little ones, had the same epiphany while taking a walk. It was so funny: I came home eager to talk about the warm-blooded vertebrates (aka birds) I had seen, excitedly showing her photos, and she just about fell out of chair saying, “me too!” And viola, we had become birders…as they say, birds of feather flock together, and it has not been a fly by night craze. We had a legitimate Jonathan Franzen “Bird Problem”…the good kind!
I’m guessing part of my attraction to birds has something to do with my profound love of trees. But what a life it would be to be a bird…so Jonathan Livingston Seagull like: I want to be a bird at sunset, dancing with my bird friends, soaring, playing tag, seeing how high I can soar, before settling down to sleep till dawn…another day over, I made it. I think I almost even get Hollywood auteur Terrence Malick’s atmospheric movie-making lyricism in observing life and nature, when I watch birds at twilight play. And the Birdsong Project is something worth everyone’s while.
Nearby where I grew up, we had a bird sanctuary called Jack Miner’s, located just outside Point Pelee National Park—Canada’s southernmost point FYI. It was a safe space for migratory species flying over Lake Erie to rest, feed and recuperate, during their annual coming and goings. My parents took me there often; literally hundreds of thousands of ducks and geese gamboling during peak migration. And believe it or not, the huge Hiram Walker’s whiskey rack aging warehouses nearby were patrolled by Canadian geese—who can be both exceedingly vocal and aggressively mean. Don’t mess with Canadian geese!
Yet despite my peaceful Canadian snowbird status—I did end up in California after all!—I sadly, was not always a bird’s best friend. I hunted when I was young, evolving from a pellet gun and .22s on Peche Island—where I probably saw my first exotic birds (Great blue herons and egrets)—to double barrel shotguns hiding in duck blinds during hunting season. Too which I genuinely feel great remorse for, killing things just to kill things; it was utterly senseless.
I could not imagine hunting birds today, as I have had birds as pets. Colleen, the bartender I lived with as a So-Cal undergrad in the early 80s, had half a dozen little chirpy checkered finches. They were fun to watch, so cheerful with their orange beaks, but oh so jittery too, forever trying to figure out how to get out of that multi-tiered oriental bamboo cage.
In the early 90s, I owned an amazingly affectionate and colorful South American sun conure named Pete. He was a present from my boss Neil. Pete’s plumage was bright yellow and green with a red trim, and he would fly every morning down the hallway from his cage to my bedroom and snuggle on our pillows picking at my curly hair and beard, like an alarm clock. Pete was on my shoulder one day as I tended to plants on my balcony and got spooked. He flew straight up, fluttered around obviously disoriented and was sadly lost forever. It seemed wrong to clip his wings, as I was recommended to do. How can a bird not fly?
A decade later, in Santa Monica a brash blue jay friended us. We trained her to come in an open window while we had breakfast at the table, taking a seed or nut from our outstretched hands, and then she would fly across the room out the left open front door. Repeat, over and over. In British Columbia, bald eagles circled routinely overhead and a Great horned owl lived high among the trees on our acreage. We would listen attentively at his salacious midnight booty calls on moonless nights. He would occasionally swoop down on us walking outside late—letting us know he was there first and that this was his territory. One night he scared the bejesus out of our puppy lab who came squealing in with tail between his legs. But we never had a mice problem.
In Squamish, BC, we visited Brackendale Eagles Park Reserve during the great Bald Eagle gathering one January. A must see! And what a sight it was: six or seven white headed eagles sitting in each majestic tree. Over a thirteen hundred come every winter.
Writing this, my brain got focused and I realize that I have many other bird-related memories: Pesky peacocks in Jaipur telling me to “pay up, pay up” every morning. Seagulls stealing our food while windsurfing in Baja. I once had my fortune told to me by a parrot—long life, many wives, rich man. Visiting a falconry hospital in Qatar—were they get better care than most people. Driving Belize’s Hummingbird Highway. Having to get a photo with six pigeons on me in St. Mark’s Square, Venice—that is another story! Avoiding bird flu in China in 2004. Watching people “walk” their birds in Singapore and visiting the giant aviary of Kuala Lumpur’s Bird Park. Eating Bird’s Nest soup in Hong Kong—yuck! Seeing the morbid, yet utterly amazingly vast dead bird specimen collection, including dodos and passenger pigeons—a taxidermist wet dream—in London’s Natural History Museum. Being in a plane struck by a flock of birds*. And listening to Jade Bird sing.
I met a keen young birder named John in Africa, an enthusiastic champion of birding competitions—I recall John was apprehensive of letting me borrow his expensive binoculars—who asked me what my favorite bird was. I was momentarily stumped. So many to choose from, favorites are always tough. I can eliminate crows straight off—always stalking baby squirrels and other birds’ nest eggs, and their obnoxious cawing. But I adore watching hummingbirds, seeing raptors fish, owl eyes at night, playful toucans, soaring condors and cute puffins—I received a stuffed puffin as a present from family in Iceland one birthday—seeing awkward flightless emus and ostriches is always a fun sight, as are busy woodpeckers, smart-ass ravens, nervous roadrunners, and graceful storks, and giant albatross too.
But hands down, my favorite birds are pelicans (Pelecanus occidentalis californicus). I love to watch a squadron of them glide effortlessly, catching wind drafts off Pacific Ocean waves. Or watching them clumsily suddenly fall from the sky, one after the other, taking a dive deep into the water fishing for a mouth full of sardines. And it was always awesome when some would follow me when I windsurfed back in the day. Truly funny looking birds, seemingly aerodynamically unsound, and all butt and beak.
I love birds.
*Bird strikes with airplanes are no laughing matter and it happens about 26 times a day (11,000 annually) worldwide with flocks of birds hitting aircraft windscreens and flying into their engines…Maybe it’s birds’ revenge on us? Who doesn’t remember the 2009 case of Captain “Sully” Sullenberger and US Airways flight 1549 landing in the Hudson River after being struck by a large flock of Canadian geese during takeoff out of LaGuardia Airport? Damage costs are estimated at $1.2 billion annually to commercial aircraft worldwide. Think about it: a 3kg (6.6 pound) stork at 620 mph = 40 tons of force. According to the International Bird Strike Committee, 70% of all bird strikes with civil aircraft occurred below 500 feet. At critical take offs and landings Globally, wildlife strikes have killed more than 255 people and destroyed more than 243 aircraft since 1988.
Thanks for the privilege of your time, it is the most precious thing we have, and I appreciate it. Be well.
William D. Chalmers © 2022 GreatEscape Adventures, Inc. All Rights Reserved.