Birders Helping Birders

Find Yourself a Bruce

Every beginning birder should have a Bruce.

When I first started using eBird in May of 2020, I had no idea I was tapping into a community of birders that was largely concentrated in Michigan’s Ingham County, where we lived at the time. When I started, I was birding alone and blithely submitting checklists from my daily walks around the defunct Walnut Hills Country Club, which was overgrown, loaded with wildlife, and conveniently located across the street from our house. For all I knew, I was the only SOB out there looking for birds. Those were blissful days of birding ignorance and daily visits with the resident Sandhill Crane couple.

Well, people were paying attention, it turned out. Other eBirders were seeing those checklists, and the more familiar I became with the app, the more I was learning about not just the local avifauna but also the people keeping track of it. And there were a lot of people out there looking for birds, maybe more than ever. Covid was raging, and folks were looking for any form of entertainment that didn’t involve close contact and germ transmission.

Still, I kept to myself and my not-so-posh country club, content to bird in solitude as I explored every corner of those 200 acres, reveling in Red-winged Blackbirds, Orchard Orioles, and American Kestrels.

But it couldn’t last. Eventually Walnut Hills changed hands, and seemingly overnight dozens of NO TRESPASSING signs sprang up like dandelions. Neighbors were no longer welcome to recreate in what had become a makeshift park for joggers, dog walkers, and one upstart birder. I mourned that loss at first, but it soon proved a blessing.

By then the birds had their talons in me, so instead of slinking back indoors, I began researching local birding hotspots. I bought up-to-date field guides and, for the first time in my life, a decent pair of binoculars. I was ready to up my game, hit some spots, see some birds, and eventually have this epiphany.

Naturally, the more I got out there, the more I crossed paths with mid-Michigan birders. And I liked that, I was surprised to discover. I’m not sure what it is, but when I see someone walking outdoors with binoculars, bashful Nate becomes an extrovert on steroids. I could recognize by (lack of) eye contact when a birder preferred remain solitary, but more often than not the birders I met were equally outgoing and eager to share what they were seeing and what they knew about birding the region. Introductions were often met with familiarity. I knew a lot of their names from eBird, these birding celebrities. Sometimes they knew me too—that one guy who birded Walnut Hills.

But I wasn’t that guy anymore, and I was in the market for a new birding home base. Among the spots I discovered was a little-used nature preserve near our home called Towar Woods, 125 acres of woodland and fields the township of Meridian is working to restore to a native state. That hidden treasure became my wife Alex’s go-to for her morning walks, and for me the birding there was phenomenal, especially during migration.

Fall migration was well underway one fateful morning at Towar, a day that would alter my birding mindset forever. I was moving through a field that was overrun with American Goldfinches and Cedar Waxwings when I encountered a birder who was quick to introduce himself. I knew of Bruce from eBird, and as usual it was nice to put a face to the name. We struck up a friendly conversation that resulted in him adding me to the listserv he ran to alert local birders of rare sightings. I still wonder if he ever regretted that invitation when shortly afterward I announced with some degree of confidence I had found a Worm-eating Warbler (almost unheard of in Ingham County) at the very spot we met. (I’ve botched countless IDs before and since, but I’ll die on my Worm-eating hill.)

If Bruce thought I was running afoul of his listserv, he didn’t hold it against me. Anytime we met in the field, he was happy to let me tag along, talk birds, talk life in general. The man knew his shit, I quickly found out. I also found out he’d been birding Ingham County for decades and was more entrenched in its birding community than just about anyone.

The impact someone has on your life isn’t always easy to quantify. Sure, I can name all the birds Bruce helped me see for the first time (Black-bellied Plover, Greater Scaup, White-winged Crossbill, Cliff Swallow, and all three scoters, to name a few). Less easy is measuring the impact he had as a mentor and friend. But I can try. From his example, I learned the importance of being careful with IDs (especially in birding’s digital age, when reports are sent far and wide and instantly). I learned not to take myself too seriously (to this day, he’s willing to help me with an ID, and just as willing to say “dunno” when stumped). I learned the best way to react to a missed sighting (saying “Fuck!”). But what I really hope I took away was his generosity in helping fellow birders.

Our family wasn’t long for East Lansing when I met Bruce, and by January we already knew we’d be relocating to Pittsburgh in the fall. I was hellbent on getting to 200 birds for the year before departing for good, and I would never have gotten as maddeningly close as I did (199) without his texts and calls and persistent guidance. He didn’t have to do any of that. He’d only known me a few short months and had gotten along perfectly well in life without me. And yet he did.

I didn’t really have any adequate way of paying that generosity back, but I vowed to offer the same kind of help to birders whenever I could. Pay it forward, as the expression goes.

Of course that doesn’t mean I’m done accepting help.

Regular readers know I’ve been a bit whiny about owls since launching this Substack. I suppose that’s what happens when you go more than a year without seeing or hearing one. (For the record, my last owl encounter was the single miserly trill of an unseen Eastern Screech-Owl on January 5, 2024.)

A few days ago, one of my beloved readers, Nettie G, and I were talking Ravens when this exchange got me all fired up.

Nettie: i will trade you ONE Raven for the scary flock of crows that actually swoop around the Giant Eagle in my neighborhood and terrorize all living things for miles.

Nate: Hmmm...you'll have to sweeten the deal a little. Throw an owl in and I'll send you TWO Ravens

Nettie: oh my Mr. Bowler I will trudge through the snow and threat of icy trails to get you an owl. I KNOW where he hangs a lot of the time. IF i survive love is coming your way.

As touched as I was by her zeal, I don’t want to be responsible for any reader’s death, even in a cause so noble as this. More rational than sending Nettie on a perilous journey was getting off my ass, driving down to Frick Park, and looking for the bird in question myself. Nettie told me the general area a Barred Owl was being seen, and en route my buddy and fellow Substacker Holly gave me additional tips on where its roost was located. Thanks to Nettie, I knew where to park. Thanks to Holly, I knew which direction to hike.

Birders helping birders.

Finally, as I made my way down the trail, a kindly couple and their dog, no doubt diagnosing the reason I was gawking slack-jawed at the trees, stopped to ask if I was looking for the Barred Owl.

“YEP!” I said, aware but not in control of my maniacal tone.

“Would you like us to show you?”

“Yes, please!”

Unphased by this possibly offputting level of enthusiasm, they turned around and graciously backtracked to the location.

Slump, you are officially over.

The Barred Owl was a state and county-first for me. I thanked my guides profusely, and we chatted for several minutes more. They learned I’d been birding Allegheny County for a little over two years. I learned they’d been enjoying the owls of Frick Park for four decades. As they turned back to the path, I noticed a sign on the dog’s collar that read “Future Service Dog.” It occurred to me that this kindhearted duo was not just in the business of helping people find owls, they were in the business of helping people. Period.

What a joy that not every encounter with strangers takes place online, and that not every interaction between the unacquainted involves sniping at each other. People helping people. Pittsburgh’s own Mr. Rogers had some things to say about that over the years. How lovely to know his spirit of kindness endures.

Anyway, I spent about 20 minutes with this sleepy owl, snapping pictures without getting too close (three cheers for zoom lenses!). Not once did its eyes open, and that was fine with me. I was content to watch it sleep and marvel over how something so simple as a fallen branch can create a vacancy for an owl to call home.

I was eager to get home and see the photos, but I was stopped halfway to the car by another dog-walking couple who asked if I’d seen any good birds.

My turn to backtrack.

“Wanna see an owl?” I asked.

Featured Photo—Red-tailed Hawk

I was sitting here earlier trying to decide what to use for this week’s featured photo when all of a sudden I heard our trio of American Crows lose their collective minds. This wasn’t the standard triple “Caw!” that alerts me every morning that they’re here and ready for breakfast. No, this was the kind of perturbation that signals an invader. Must be a hawk, I thought as this gorgeous Red-tailed swooped into view of the back windows and perched, determined to show off why it’s named the way it’s named.

Birds helping birders. Thank you, beautiful hawk, for solving my problem.

10/10 Recommends

My recommends the next several weeks will be some of the birding Substacks that have become essential reading to me. Need some sunshine in your life? Please subscribe to…

Rock n’ Hawk, by

James Freitas

—Practically oozes wisdom. Beautiful insights on birds, nature, personal challenges, and growth. Overspilling with gorgeous photography.

Love Letters to Birds, by

Kelly C. Ballantyne

—Infectious joy for birds accompanied by stunning drawings, paintings, and photographs. On the brink of inspiring me to draw some birds myself.

Meditations on Nature, by

Neil Barker

—Like a B12 shot. A beautiful three-line Korean-type sijo poem followed by stunning photos. Takes just moments to read, but you’ll want to linger.

That’s all for this week. Do you have a birding mentor? Has some generous birder given you tips that led to a memorable lifer or unforgettable sighting? Seen any owls lately? Tell me about it down below 👇

Until next time, help a birder out! 🦉

nwb

This post was human-generated. All photos by Nathaniel Bowler unless otherwise noted.