Comments and/or questions?
Web Master

A BIRDER'S INITIATION

by Joyce Gero

     "So, what does the well-dressed birder wear on a field trip, anyway?" I asked, responding to an invitation to join my brother, his wife, and several others from their Naturalist's Society, on Grand Manan Archipelago for the Victoria Day weekend.

     "My best advice is—watch some old Beverly Hillbillies reruns. Take your cue from Jane Hathaway," my brother chuckled. "Seriously," he added, "wear comfortable walking shoes, dress in layers, take a hat. Be prepared for whatever Mother Nature chooses to give us."

     I borrowed a pair of binoculars; purchased an Eastern Bird book. Evening after evening in early spring was spent anxiously poring over the book, in futile attempts to garner a little knowledge. As the holiday weekend approached, my trepidation grew. How could one possibly learn to distinguish one brown thrush from another? To my inexperienced eye, many of the little wood warblers looked amazingly similar. How could I, who did well to recognise hummingbirds, cardinals, and blue jays, and who knew only that large black birds were crows, ravens, or grackles, possibly expose my ignorance to a group of avid birders?

     We did not have an auspicious beginning. The pale light of early morning, as we left my brother's home in Sussex, New Brunswick, turned to drizzling mist while we waited at Black's Harbour for the Grand Manan ferry. The crossing afforded us our first sightings of seabirds—double-crested cormorants, herring gulls, and great black-backed gulls—and my first major lesson: For serious birders, "seagulls" do not exist.

     My second lesson was more embarrassing. When a member of the group spotted several surf scoters, I scanned the watery horizon for small, motorised sea craft. Amidst good-natured laughter, I was told to look for diving black ducks, instead.

     The drizzle turned to a downpour. From the ferry landing at North Head, we followed the coast to our cottages in Ingall's Head. We unpacked, ate lunch. Rain continued to fall. Several Scrabble games later, nature co-operated, spilling sunshine over the island. It was time for some serious birding.

     For two-and-a-half days, equipped with binoculars, pen, paper, and cameras, we explored the island's bays, inlets and rocky shores. We climbed wooded slopes and trudged through open fields, noting daily the sighting of each new species, preserving on film the delicate beauty of spring violets and wild strawberry plants, the vibrant green fields and yellow dandelions, and the panoramic view of the ocean from craggy heights.

     Grand Manan was not as I had anticipated—primitive homes in rustic settings, and local "characters" providing fodder for colourful tales. Yes, there were those, as are found everywhere, if one only looks. There was also an abundance of prosperous homes situated on well-manicured lawns, and warm, friendly residents who graciously allowed us to tramp their yards and walk their wooded trails. At one home near Swallowtail Light, a posted board alerted us to recent sightings. Another sign, when we bought dulse, instructed us to help ourselves and leave our money if no one was about.