If You Want to Slay Your Nemesis, Sacrifice Your Pants
Misidentification, Redemption, and Triumph at Magee Marsh
My first misidentification of my first visit to Magee Marsh came within five minutes of arriving. As a birder and native of Northeast Ohio, that’s a bit embarrassing—not that I misIDed a bird in my home state, but that I’ve never visited one of the birding meccas of the world until I was on the brink of 50 years of age.
And I was juuust about ready to put it off another year.
My original idea was to spend two nights and parts of three days at Magee Marsh, participate in The Biggest Week in American Birding, meet some birding icons, get a book signed by Kenn Kaufman, recruit some podcast guests, and maybe squeeze in a little birding too.
But I procrastinated in my planning, and before I knew it, the final weekend of the Biggest Week was upon me. I hadn’t registered, I had no accommodations… I had no solid plan at all.
So, I’m not going to Ohio this weekend, I told my wife Alex on Wednesday. I was relieved. I’d just cleared a weekend to get some long-delayed yard work done and prepare for an upcoming family trip to Michigan. Our son Santiago’s Odyssey of the Mind team qualified for the world finals for a second straight year, held this time in our previous hometown and his birthplace of East Lansing. The trip was coming soon. In fact, as you’re reading this, I might just be out birding with my friend and mentor.
Alex looked at me like I was nuts. When I explained that I didn’t feel prepared for a trip to Magee, she rationalized that the first time is always confusing, so I should go and get a feel for things. Keep it simple. Just go birding and then next year I could make a Big Thing out of the Biggest Week.
Made sense. Just go birding. I love birding! So on Friday I gathered up our two sons so Alex could spend a weekend outlining her new novel uninterrupted, dumped them at my brother’s house to spend a weekend with their cousins, and early Saturday made the two-hour drive west to Lucas County. My goals were elegant in their simplicity—bird the hell out of the Magee Marsh boardwalk, see a ton of warblers, and at last conquer my nemesis bird.
Some six months later, I arrived at MM at 7 a.m. fully equipped with binoculars, camera (with empty SD card and charged battery!), and (un)lucky (when it comes to my nemesis) birding hat.
Two minutes onto the already-crowded boardwalk, I spotted my first warbler, a good one and, readers might remember, the subject of a recent post. The numerous Prothonotary Warblers at MM gave me ample opportunity to redeem the photos I had botched at home.
The early morning was overcast and windy, and a few minutes later I came upon a knot of birders who were watching a lone branch sway violently back and forth. Clinging to the branch was a nondescript little songbird.
What do we have here? one birder asked as he pulled abreast of me.
Little Warbling Vireo holding on for dear life! I answered.
IT’S A TENNESSEE WARBLER!!, barked a bearded gent in front of me, and I had just enough time to see I had indeed been mistaken before embarrassment reduced me to a thin gelatinous goo that sluiced through the slats in the boardwalk and onto the cold ground below.
I was at risk of becoming one with the swamp forevermore and defiling the earth with my incompetence, but happily the prospect of more birds gave me the power to reconstitute myself and carry on. Thank goodness, because boy were there birds to see, and at eye level!
The sheer number of people who converge at Magee Marsh is daunting at first, and the boardwalk was getting jam-packed fast. I have a touch of claustrophobia, but when the stakes are this high, you get over yourself and acclimate to the rhythms of the place. Bearded grump notwithstanding, almost everyone was cool, the mood was elated, and all the gathered birders were eager to help point out what they were seeing. I felt I was experiencing community at its finest. With all the gigantic cameras, backpacks, tripods, strollers, and emphatically pointing fingers, it was impossible not to bump into people. People didn’t care. I guess that’s the power of shared joy. Rarely have I felt such collective euphoria, and it didn’t matter if birders were observing something common (a Robin’s nest), or elusive (a skulking Mourning Warbler). If only there was a way to elicit this feeling on a crowded four-lane highway.
I reckon the boardwalk feels capacious enough during the off season, but on Saturday traffic was constricted. All the people gathered were like plaque in an artery, slowing the flow, except this was a beneficial plaque because that’s exactly where you wanted to stop—the bigger the clot, the better the spectacle you were in for.
People were especially excited for the wealth of Prothonotaries, who were clearly the stars of the boardwalk. Three Canada Warblers garnered similar enthusiasm. I’ve never managed a photo of a Canada, and my first will have to wait. Same for Wilson’s Warblers—I saw four and photographed none. I’m not mad about it. I was equally happy to not photograph a particularly in-my-face Blackpoll Warbler. Some of these birds were just too close for a telephoto lens. I should have used my phone on the Blackpoll, like I did with this Swainson’s Thrush.
I’ve seen dozens of Common Nighthawks in the sky at one time. A life goal was to see one perched. Check! There must have been 30 lenses trained at all times on this nightjar, who clung to its swaying branch above the parking lot for hours.
Another birding first was a Green Heron on a nest. I could have walked past this dark mass 30 times without noticing it. Amazing what so many keen eyes can find.
The highlights were coming so fast I almost forgot about my nemesis. Almost.
One of the best encounters of the day was not with a bird, but with a birder I know from social media who just happens to be my guest in next month’s podcast. How wonderful to meet SK Winnicki in person, and it was almost as wonderful to watch them in action, pointing out birds with such ease and confidence, helping others ID what they were seeing, pouring forth a wealth of knowledge I can only dream of having at my disposal. Our gap in ability wasn’t a Mozart vs. Salieri situation, this was more like Mozart vs. Nate Bowler. I genuinely felt I was watching a maestro at work.
It was SK who got my mission back on track. Two of my nemesis bird had been spotted that morning, they informed me, one not far from the boardwalk entrance, between the parking lot and the shore of Lake Erie. It shouldn’t be hard to find the location—just look for 50 people gathered around a thicket. No, I wasn’t the only one who wanted this dratted bird. After we talked for a few minutes more, I hustled to the site.
Indeed there were many birders surrounding a fair-sized wooded grove. Some were standing, some kneeling, and some flat on their bellies. What united them was the direction they were looking. In a narrow path leading to the beach, there was a crowd with binoculars and cameras pointed extra intently, it seemed to me, and that’s where I started.
There’s movement on the ground, someone whispered as I joined them. I staked out a spot with a decent vantage point and kneeled down. A sudden tearing sound and a searing pain in my leg stalled my efforts, but for a moment only. I’d tend to that later. For now I regrouped and was quickly rewarded.
There it is!! one birder whisper-shouted.
I saw it but couldn’t believe it. Gray hood. White eyering. Olive back. Yellow belly. An adult male walking along the forest floor, like they do.
Connecticut Warbler.
He ducked behind a sizeable tree and didn’t reappear for a while. Other birds, normally wonderful, were now unwelcome distractions. Clear out, Canada Warbler! Amscray, American Redstart!
The Connecticut reappeared briefly on the other side of the tree and hopped up on a fallen branch, its gray head clearly showing and the eyering popping. Cue lifer euphoria the likes of which I’ve rarely felt before.
As is their wont, the bird vanished from sight for a long while. We sat and waited. I wanted a photo, of course, but how do you photograph a rumor? A ghost? The wind? The Connecticut is at least that difficult to capture. Thank goodness I had the presence of mind to make a recording when he struck up his unique BEEcher-beecher-BEEcher-beecher-BEEcher! song.
In the end, I got four looks at my onetime nemesis in an hour of stalking him around the grove. Many others did too. Whether their sightings required a blood and denim sacrifice, I do not know, but I was happy to pay the toll for life bird #431.
After this triumph of triumphs, I made my way back to the trail. I needed to thank SK for the tip. Their idea of finding a Connecticut Warbler patch to mend my jeans was genius stuff, but whatever the fate of my pants, my gratitude to SK will last forever. And thanks forever to my wife, too, who told me to stop being an idiot and get to Magee Marsh.
By now it was almost 6 p.m. My feet were sore, and lugging my camera around all day had just about wreckled my goddam back. Still, it was hard to tear myself away. The boardwalk had largely cleared out, but the birds were still showing. I picked up a couple more I hadn’t seen yet. Ruby-crowned Kinglet. Least Flycatcher (I think). I decided when my camera battery finally gave out, I’d call it a day too.
The battery died capturing this male Bay-breasted Warbler with a snack, which he repeatedly batted against the limb until dead.
The battery wasn’t the only exhausted thing as I trudged back to the car. I sat down for a moment to appraise my day. Seventy-four species, easily the biggest birding day of my life. Twenty warblers, also a personal record. Next up—eat dinner, buy a bottle of rye, find a tent site, and crash. But with no juice in the camera battery (yes, I only had one), I decided to head back to Akron and recharge everything. At my brother’s house, I downed my #LiferRye…
… quickly checked out my photos (I took fewer than I thought), and settled into a chair, theoretically to watch No Time to Die, but sleep swept over me within seconds. When my eyes flicked open at 5 a.m., I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. Instead I found a bed and slept three more hours. My next trip to Magee Marsh would have to wait another year.
Takeaway—Birds Can Save the World
Yeah, the birds at Magee Marsh made a huge impression on me, but what really blew my mind was not just the kindness of the people gathered, but the incredible diversity too. ALL kinds of people were there (though my photos may not reflect that). Where was all the crap that’s supposed to divide us, make us want to hate each other, fight each other? I guess one of the rules of the Biggest Week is you have to check your baggage at the boardwalk entrance because all I saw was shared awe at the spectacle of spring migration and birders helping birders. And in that beautiful marsh, among all those beautiful birds, it became impossible to fathom how or why humans could be willing to compromise the natural beauty of the world and the health of the planet in the name of some phony conflict. I suppose the problem is figuring out how to pull the stopper and let Magee’s magic flood the rest of the planet. I don’t know how to do that, but I do feel that a world saturated with a love for birds will be a happier, healthier, more peaceful world.
End homily.
Postscript
On Monday, back in Pittsburgh, I received a text from my friend Elizabeth in our very tiny birding group chat of four. The text included an audio clip and a question—What’s this bird? When I listened, I heard the unmistakable song that is now tattooed on my brain—
Audio courtesy of Elizabeth Pagel-Hogan
I answered—
Connecticut warbler wtf
Where is this??
Our friend Sofia, also at the scene, responded with the coordinates. After a 20-minute drive and a ten minute wait, we heard the Connecticut sing out. Yes, after chasing the bird for four years and taking countless Ls, I got the damned thing twice in three days in two different states.
Birding 🙄
Featured Photo—Eastern Kingbird
A terminal white tailband is certainly the Eastern Kingbird’s signature field mark, but this was the first glimpse I’ve ever gotten of the fabled reddish-orange crown, usually concealed beneath a wealth of crown feathers. This stunning bird rested long enough between flycatching sallies for me to take many pictures. Here you can see just a sliver of orange as the wind parts the crown feathers. Magee magic!
10/10 Recommends
I know I’m the last one to the party, but Magee Marsh really is that amazing, with its eye-level views of warblers and incredible overall variety of birds. And there’s more to MM than just the boardwalk. Had I spent more than five minutes scanning the beach and Lake Erie, the gulls, terns, and shorebirds would surely have pushed my count even higher.
That’s all for this week. Have you been to Magee Marsh? Have you participated in the Biggest Week in American Birding? I’d love to hear about your birding adventures in northern Ohio in the comments!👇
Until next time, thanks for reading, and don’t forget to bird your marsh off!
nwb
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This post was human generated. All photos by Nathaniel Bowler.
So glad you went on this journey and found a world of fabulous humans (and birds!) all congregated in this tight yet wonderful space!
Congratulations on the Connecticut! And isn’t that always the way it goes with a nemesis? You try and try to see it, and once you do you’re bound to stumble upon one without trying soon after! The same thing happened to me with an American Bittern last week 😂
I’ve never been to MM because I can never convince myself to leave Chicago during May!