"Every shortcut has a price usually greater than the reward."
― Bryant McGill
The woodland canopy is nearly filled in and birding is best done now by ear (or app) for the remainder of spring. Though past peak, warbler migration is still going pretty strong, but I've already begun focusing my gaze to things near my feet. It's cooler today and the haze from Canadian fires has cleared out, but I believe I'm going to take a break today ― my feet and back could use it.
I know I wrote that I was done hating on the Merlin app, but I just have to share a recent observation of its use. As Wisconsin birders know, at Wyalusing State Park some of the best birding is done along Long Valley Road. My birding posse and I went there a few days ago to look for Kentucky and Cerulean Warblers, as well as other species typically found there. Plus, it's a gorgeous state park with scenic vistas of the Mississippi and Wisconsin Rivers. Anyway, I got a chuckle out of watching a pair of birders work the road from their vehicle. Rather than actually hike the length of the road, they drove up and down with their smart phone held out the car window ― presumably using Merlin to find things to stop for. If this isn't the epitome of slacker-lazy birding then I don't know what else is. It wasn't the case that they were unable to walk because we did see them occasionally stop, exit their car, and look around. A few times we were within earshot of them and I think they were a little dismayed how many species we were finding (calling out their names) as we listened to avian vocalizations. Not to gloat, but I suspect we got a much better view of a Kentucky Warbler than they did.
Prior to this spring migration I had no idea so many birders are relying on Merlin. So the app detects a bird ― how do you then find it? If you know what the bird sounds like and can hear it, then you don't need the app unless you just gotta have the shortcut. On the other hand, if you can't hear songs, how does the app help you to locate the bird? It's just computer software letting you know there's probably a particular species present within audio detection limitations of the app/phone ― you still have to track it down. And just how rewarding is that? Being out in Nature from the comfort of you car with a computer telling you when you ought to stop, get out and look. This is just sad.
In this vein, my posse and I discussed what are the basic necessities for birding:
1. Binoculars (whatever you can afford).
2. Decent hiking shoes.
3. Comfortable clothes (and a hat).
4. A field guide (at first).
That's really it and a good portion of the time I spend in the field that's all I bring ― keep it light, keep it simple, keep it minimal. Depending on the situation, it might be prudent to have sunscreen and insect repellent. An umbrella is nice to have along when it's raining. If it's a longer outing, some snacks and water are advised for energy and hydration. Naturally, a camera to record observations can be helpful, but I don't haul my digiscoping rig around as much as I once did. If you are making a long day out of it, a backpack is a good thing to use to carry all your stuff.
Several days ago at the creek corridor I heard a Mourning Warbler softly vocalizing in the presence of many Merlin birders ― none of them seemed to be aware of it. The warbler was whisper/fragment singing, so perhaps the app isn't good enough to detect this particular song variation. With everyone else oblivious to it, I finally hollered out "Mourning Warbler!" so nearby birders could see/tick the species. To be sure, the more birders I see in the field looking at their phones instead of the canopy or understory, the more I see technology turning birding into more of an ersatz experience. If I ever start leading field trips again, I'm going to require participants to turn off their phones.
Chick-burr!
What the heck was that?
Chick-burr!
There it was again! The solitary early-1990s Pheasant Branch birder slowly made his way toward where the curious call was coming from.
Chick-burr!
Chick-burr!
Chick-burr!
Over and over it went. The unfamiliar call was sure to turn out to be something new and exciting, right? After much scanning and searching, the bird finally appeared in my binocular field of view ― a Scarlet Tanager. Cool! I got to watch it make the call, which is excellent learning reinforcement. It wasn't a life bird, but at the time I was unaware of this particular avian vocalization. Well, it stuck. I learned it. Now it's one of my favorite bird calls. Even today when I hear it, I repeat the vocalization aloud to my posse or even just to myself. It's kind of fun to say with the same cadence and inflection as the tanager does. Song by song, call by call, this is how I developed the skill I have today.
Chick-burr!
Fast-forward to 2023:
"Merlin says it's a Scarlet Tanager."
:: wilt ::
Think of the potential memories and stories this technology is virtually sucking the life from. Oh, I'm sure it's creating some as well, but it simply must homogenize them.
It's a good thing wildflowers and insects are mostly silent. When it comes to orchids, I force people in my company take a blood oath to keep the location a secret. Of course, what can be discovered by one individual is often bound to be found by another, and it isn't uncommon to return to a site to find orchids dug up and removed. The sickest part of this exercise in futility is that the plants won't likely survive where the orchid thief relocates them. The presence of wild orchids is a good indicator of a healthy ecosystem, thus it's highly unethical and stupid to remove them.
Yellow-lady Sippers and Showy Orchis ― what excellent finds!
And Nodding Trillium, too. Where was I? I'll never tell!
All images © 2023 Mike McDowell