Barbara Seith , a relatively new birder who documents her explorations in a blog ( westerlybirder . com ), was mystified by the success rate of more experienced birders until she made a friend at the Audubon Society who initiated her into the secret society . “ The biggest thing he gave me was an invite to the ‘ RI Rare Birds ’ GroupMe group ,” she explains . “ Before that I could see on eBird a consistent group of people who all saw the new and rare birds on the first day they were spotted . I kept trying to figure how they knew . Now I was on the inside .”
When an alert comes in to that group , birders around the state spring into action , grabbing binoculars , scopes and cameras , changing plans , making unexpected treks from one corner to another , jostling for the handful of parking spots at Watch Hill or the breachway , wading through mud or waist-deep water , all for perhaps a few fleeting moments of glory , maybe photo documentation on a good day , a crucial addition to that year ’ s list on an even better day , and for a privileged few — mostly retirees — the chance to climb the annual rankings .
Most will insist this last part is the least important . Yes , listing can be serious business , but despite my own cynical desire to uncover some dark side of birding , full of cutthroat competitors and suspect sightings , the competition is just not that intense . The annual rankings are logged and tabulated through eBird , but overall it ’ s an informal contest . There ’ s no prize and it ’ s completely on the honor system . Birders need not provide photo evidence , though it ’ s certainly encouraged and many do . But at the end of the day , if you say you saw the bird , everyone is going to give you the benefit of the doubt .
That may seem naive to the average golfer , but most birders will insist that listing is really about the birds , not the rankings . Plus , there ’ s no pro circuit to which the best can aspire .
“ One thing I think is super cool about birding is that it ’ s amateur only ,” says Greg Nemes , ranked fourth in the state with 276 species as of press time , an impressive feat for a mid-career millennial competing mostly with retired baby boomers . “ There are no professional birders . There are ornithologists , but what they do for work is not going out and just looking at birds .”
Ultimately , the competition is more about personal satisfaction than bragging rights . “ Even if you win , you only get to enjoy it for a minute ,” shrugs Sue Palmer , a relatively recent arrival to both retirement and birding . Easy for her to say : At press time , she ’ s in first place with 282 . But she ’ s not just downplaying the thrill of victory ; it ’ s literally a moment in a calendar-year contest . The winner boasting 300-plus birds at 11:59 p . m . on December 31 will be back at zero a minute later along with everyone else .
If anything , the “ competitors ” are more apt to boost each other . Take , for example , Sue Palmer and the Baird ’ s sandpiper . It ’ s a late-summer migrant that looks , at least to my untrained eye , like half a dozen other shorebirds . But for a few weeks in August , it was Sue Palmer ’ s white whale . She estimates she spent forty to sixty hours chasing it .
The generous spirit of birders is such that eventually , Carlos Pedro , who also needed the Baird ’ s for his list , and Jan St . Jean , who already had it ( and who are both typically jostling for the top two spots in the rankings ) offered to spend a day helping Sue find it .
They started around 8 a . m ., scanning the turf farms and ponds of Richmond . They made the dreaded Napatree walk around noon , then retraced their steps through Richmond . By 4 p . m ., still empty-handed , Sue gave up .
Then , at 4:39 , she received a text from Jan , who spotted a Baird ’ s sandpiper at the mudflats by the Charlestown Breachway . ( As Carlos said , she ’ s relentless .)
“ I pack up my camera , drive down to the breachway and wade across the channel to get to Jan . The bird cannot be located . She apologizes numerous times , but , oh well , you can ’ t make birds stay where you want them . We look for a good hour before she has to go home . Keep in mind she didn ’ t have to stay because she already had this bird . We ’ re walking back across the channel and she gets excited and says , ‘ There it is ,’ ” Sue laughs , hinting that what Jan actually said was perhaps a bit saltier . “ And sure enough it was .”
The kicker : Up until that moment , they were both tied at 281 . Jan helped Sue jump ahead of her into first place .
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ACK OF COMPETITION , HOWEVER , SHOULD NOT be interpreted as lack of intensity . Some of these people would follow a “ nemesis bird ” ( a species that has eluded numerous attempts to see it ) to the gates of hell . Sure , there are birders like Barbara Seith , who drags her beach chair out to Quonnie Breachway on a near-daily basis just to spend time with the birds , enjoying what she calls the “ meditative feeling .” But then there are those like Carlos Pedro , who estimates that he will easily cover sixty to seventy miles on foot in a given week and occasionally charters a deep-sea fishing boat , voyaging 100 miles into open ocean just to see birds that never come ashore .
As Sue points out , “ Birders are the only people who will go on a whalewatching trip and hope they don ’ t see a whale . If you don ’ t see a whale , they refund your ticket — and we ’ re just out there to see the birds .”
Here I must confess : I don ’ t quite get it . I tried . I really did . I schlepped across Napatree with Greg Nemes . ( It ’ s not as bad as everyone says .) I visited Barbara Seith and her bird friends at Quonnie . I walked Trustom Pond ( a favorite among local birders ) with Sue Palmer and Carlos Pedro ( not wearing flip-flops that day ), listening to them | | CONTINUED ON PAGE 93
RHODE ISLAND MONTHLY l NOVEMBER 2020 55