New bird guide a keeper
I’m frequently asked to recommend the best field guide for
beginning birders. Since my own car is likely to contain at least
three bird guides, a guide to dragonflies and damselflies, another
for butterflies and probably a local guide or two, it’s obvious
that I’ve failed to answer that question for myself.
New bird guide a keeper
I’m frequently asked to recommend the best field guide for beginning birders. Since my own car is likely to contain at least three bird guides, a guide to dragonflies and damselflies, another for butterflies and probably a local guide or two, it’s obvious that I’ve failed to answer that question for myself.
But a recently published book by Todd Newberry of Santa Cruz caused me to re-evaluate. Next time I am asked to recommend a guide, I’ll pitch “The Ardent Birder,” Newberry’s new book.
At first glance, I expect readers will be disappointed in my recommendation. “The Ardent Birder” contains no colorful illustrations or photos. Its text appears next to a handful of witty pencil sketches by Gene Holtan.
The value in Newberry’s book rests with Newberry himself. A semi-retired professor of biology at U.C. Santa Cruz, Newberry is a master teacher. His approach is chatty and nonthreatening, and at the same time challenging and filled with insights.
Newberry does not tell readers what they’re looking at, but rather, what to look for, how to look, why we should care and why it’s fun.
For example, he makes a convincing case for slowing down. That’s not new advice; John Muire wrote an essay more than a century ago about stopping long enough to let nature unfold.
Newberry makes his case most convincingly, and whenever I’ve slowed down long enough to heed his advice, I’ve been rewarded beyond my expectations.
I was birding with Newberry some months ago. As we walked a levee near Moss Landing, he remarked that almost whenever we observe birds, our presence has already put them in a state of agitation, and their behavior is altered as a result.
He also notes how many experienced American birders will march along, “pishing” at every clump of brush. Pishing is the practice of making hissing noises or chirps that often cause hidden birds to briefly reveal themselves as they investigate the unfamiliar noise.
The problem is that, once fooled, the bird being sought is unlikely to reveal itself again. The same goal can be accomplished better with the expenditure of a few minutes’ time.
Newberry discusses equipment, but reserves that discussion for a spot near the end of the book. Birding is, after all, an endeavor that requires little specialized equipment.
He talks of birding by ear. I was once astonished to read of several accomplished birders who are legally blind. What could the pursuit possibly offer them? What about the thrill of flight and color?
But as I’ve trained my own ears, listening to unseen species and identifying them by song alone is an obsession.
I would not want to be presented with the choice, but were I to pick one sense or the other to lose for the purposes of birding, today I’d have to vote to keep my ears. They “see” the hidden wildlife that chooses not to reveal itself.
Newberry occasionally waxes philosophical, and in a way wholly appropriate to an activity that invites reflection.
Mostly, Newberry conveys a sense of wonder that remains fresh after most of a century spent birding. He modestly places himself outside the class of what he describes as “varsity birders.” I would place Newberry in that category.
But more important, I’d describe Newberry as most definitely a varsity teacher of this activity that enthralls 70 million Americans.
