A Year in Birding

2020 was a challenging year and one way that helped people cope was undertaking a new hobby. While some picked up baking or gardening, 2020 was the year I started birding. 

Birding wasn’t a social distancing-inspired hobby (although it fits that niche well - more on that later); in fact, it was always on the docket for 2020 ever since I received a pair of binoculars from my wife, Chelsea, last Christmas. I’ve always been interested in birdwatching and so after receiving my binoculars, I bought a few field guides and planned a fancy, inaugural birding expedition at the Indian Springs resort in Calistoga.

Chelsea had to travel there for a work offsite, so I took some time off and accompanied her. On January 17, 2020, I went birdwatching for the first time on the grounds of the resort. Looking through my binoculars, I discovered a brand new world that had always existed before me but never noticed. Birds in a variety of shapes, sizes, and colors were everywhere.

Within the first hour, I saw energetic yellow-rumped warblers bouncing about, black phoebes flying agilely, and purple finches whose color was so bold, I couldn’t believe I had never noticed them before. I also discovered how many mistakes I had been making: California towhees were not robins, ruby-crowned kinglets were not goldfinches, and it was very clear to see the difference between a common crow and and a raven. Overall, I saw 20 different species of birds on this trip.

I logged all my findings using eBird, an app made by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Not only is the app free and easy to use, but the data collected is used by the National Audubon Society to track behavior and migration changes. So now, not only was I a birder, but also a participant in citizen scientist.

eBird (in conjunction with the bird identification companion app Merlin ID) also keeps a life list of all the birds you see. With 20 birds under my belt, I made a goal for myself to see a 100 by the end of the year. Because I was new to birding, my list grew quickly. Common birds like crows, pigeons, and scrub jays were easy logs, but it was more thrilling to find uncommon ones like a varied thrush or white-tailed kite. It was addictive and like a real-life Ash Ketchum, I had to log ‘em all.

A photo I took to identify a bird later. It was the first time I saw a black phoebe.

One of the great things about birding is how it encourages you to slow down and observe your surroundings. In March 2020, the San Francisco Bay Area went into lockdown due to COVID-19. One of the limitations of the lockdown was that we were restricted on how far we could travel. In addition, state parks were all temporarily closed. As a result, most of my birding was done on neighborhood walks.

City birding by the BART tracks with the kiddo

Instead of looking at my phone or listening to music, I simply strolled around and was present. It was fascinating to see the variety of birds that lived within just my neighborhood: European starlings, cedar waxwings, even downy woodpeckers would make an appearance, looking for lunch in telephone poles.

Eventually, state parks reopened and it was exciting to hike and look for birds on the trails. Some places, like Tomales Point Trail, had so many different species that each visit would be completely different from the last.

More restrictions would lift and I found I would be able to bird in more adventurous places like Montana, where I saw bald eagles soar over Flathead Lake. However, my favorite place to bird was still around the Bay Area. While there is still a thrill of seeing something new and adding it to my life list, I found myself also enjoying getting to know my local birds better.

A Western Meadowlark walks around at a local park

Wild Turkeys of the East Bay

Snow Plover on the beaches of Point Reyes

Jenny O’dell, author of How to Do Nothing, describes this concept of getting familiar with local wildlife as bioregionalism, which is “based on observation and recognition of what grows where, as well as an appreciation for the complex web of relationships among those actors.” Jenny talks about how her own pursuit of birdwatching allowed her to develop a deeper connection to the birds in her own neighborhood:

“I looked over at my neighbor, the song sparrow, and thought about how just a few years ago, I wouldn’t have known its name, might not have even known it was a sparrow, might not have even seen it at all. How lonely that world seemed in comparison to this one! But the sparrow and I were no longer strangers. It was no stretch of the imagination, nor even of science, to think that we were related. We were both from the same place (Earth), made of the same stuff. And most important, we were alive.”

Similarly, I felt comforted in seeing some of the same birds over and over again. There was the Anna’s hummingbird that lived across the street in our neighbor’s tree and a lesser goldfinch that would visit our garden and nibble on some chard. When we visited the beaches in Pacifica and Point Reyes, I would be excited to say hello to my friends the snowy plovers, who would be walking around the sand looking for things to eat. In a time where we, as people, are becoming isolated from one another, having a connection with another being, albeit avian, was reassuring and grounding.

I eventually hit my goal of seeing 100 different species of birds, one day late on January 1, 2021, with a Western Grebe (followed by 101, a GreaterScaup). I felt excited and accomplished, but the feeling was fleeting.

The next day, I was on a walk with my daughter and in front of our neighbors’ house, we saw three western bluebirds taking a bath in a fountain. Immediately, a group of yellow-rumpled warblers flew in, followed by house finches and lesser goldfinches. My daughter and I stood motionless and in awe as we watched these birds, birds that I see every day, our neighborhood friends, taking turns, having fun, and enjoying themselves. And for me, that birding moment was the most magical thing I’ve experienced yet.