AMB Class #2: Playing with Fir

Class #2 comes just two days after the first field trip.  Yeah, that one:  the one that left me feeling so rotten.  Those two days have been full of lots of soul-searching (is this really the thing for me at this point in my life) as well as Galapagos photo processing (when you take 6000+ photos in the space of ten days, you may never get done with the photo processing).

Oddly enough, these two thing dovetail nicely.  For every doubt I have about the AMB program, there’s a photo of a cool bird.  For every concern I have about whether I’m suited for this, there’s another memory of a cool bird experience (like, say, watching a Waved Albatross courting ritual) and being completely awed by it (credit to Melissa for a fabulous capture and memory, one that makes me smile and laugh every single time):

http://www.flickr.com/photos/melissa_vet/9452753909

So on this Monday evening – my first official AMB class – I leave home a good 90 minutes before class starts.  There is no way that I’ll be late tonight.

This puts me at the Audubon Nature Center plenty early for class, and that allows me to pull out my binoculars and stand outside and listen and watch.  The Nature Center is a great birding spot:  the habitat, I am learning, is a mix of Emergent Wetlands and Lowland Riparian and Open Water Streams.  Combined, these habitats provide large numbers of birds and much diversity of species year round.  

Tonight, I stand outside, listening.  I am learning, as a birder, that my ears are far more useful than my eyes, especially when I first enter a new area.  Tonight there is a bird singing, with a whiny, plaintive voice.  I don’t recognize it.  Chuck, the mentor who will be teaching tonight’s class, is standing near me, listening, too.

Lesser Goldfinch (female), Genesee Mountain Park
7/13/13
Habitat:  Douglas-fir Forest

“Who is that singing?” I ask.  It seems like I’m forever asking versions of this question these days (the most common being “who is that?!”), and Chuck answers quickly and helpfully:  it’s a Lesser Goldfinch.  I’m grateful for the answer, and I’m thankful that I got a direct answer rather than the Socratic approach.  That Socratic approach?  Maybe a good learning method, but it can also be very annoying when you just really want an answer.

But I’m annoyed at the answer, too:  this is my four percent bird!  I need to learn this thing!  Dang.  I think I need this program, and I need it badly.

We go inside the Nature Center to find the mentors (I’ll tell you more about them later) setting out sprigs of greenery on the tables.  If it were a couple of months later, I’d think these were Christmas decorations.  But as I watch the various mentors carefully placing a cone here amongst the green needles, and another there with some different green needles, and then a piece of bark there, I understand that we’re doing hands-on learning.

I’m not sure what I expected, but from this moment on, I realize how extremely well organized this program is.  The folks doing the teaching are – to a person – knowledgeable, good presenters, engaging, interesting, and captivating.  Most importantly, all of the folks who present information tonight – including Chuck, who leads this class – clearly love this stuff.  And they are eager – so very eager – for those of us in the class to learn.

And I am blown away.  Completely.  And.  Totally.

Let’s get real:  these people are volunteers, and to put in the kind of time in preparation and participation:  well, the love comes shining through.  

Did I mention that I’m blown away?

Wilson's Warbler, Cherry Creek State Park, CO
9/8/12
Habitat:  Lowland Riparian, in migration
Narrow-leaved (Sandbar) Willow

Oh, and did I mention how much fun this is?  We get handouts that tell us how to differentiate between pines and firs and spruces and junipers.  Together, we pick up the greenery and compare.  Ah, I see this pine has needles in groups of twos and threes (so it’s either a Ponderosa or a Lodgepole), and the Douglas fir has single needles and this Bristlecone pine has needles in groups of five.  Who knew?  Amazing!  Wow, look at this cone:  it’s got little thingies (called variously snake’s tongues or mouse's tails;  I’ll stick with “thingies”) sticking out.  That makes it a Doug fir cone.  (Soon, we'll learn that these thingies are called "bracts", but no need to get ahead of ourselves just yet.)  And so on and so on.

Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Echo Lake, CO
6/23/13
Habitat:  Spruce-Fir Forest
Engelmann Spruce (see how the cones grow up?)

Hey, this is going to be fun!  The lecture that follows puts things in context.  Why do we care about this tree versus that?  Why study habitat;  for heaven’s sake, this is a course in birding!  Well, understanding habitat helps us to ID birds in the field, since different birds exist in different habitats.  It’s the first thing to look at even before you see a bird.  What would you expect to see here?  What birds nest here, stop over on migration, summer or winter here?  Studying habitat is also a springboard to understanding conservation issues.  You can’t be a birder and not become (if you weren’t already one) an ardent conservationist.  It just doesn’t work that way.

Wilson's Warbler, Echo Lake, CO
6/23/13
Habitat:  High Elevation Willow Carr - even though this guy is in a conifer
He was flitting and singing in the willows, where he nests.

Chuck leads us through a description of terms and concepts we’ll need to know, all related to habitat.  Abiotic qualities are the physical attributes:  elevation, north/south orientation, etc.  Biotic qualities are the botanic ones;  greater plant diversity impacts the numbers of birds and of species.  We’re introduced to the concept of biogeography:  why does a bird exist in one area and not in another?  Then we start talking about specific habitats in Colorado.  Colorado is home to a multitude of habitats, one of the most diverse states in the nation.  With the abundance of habitats, we’ll only be able to survey the full list, and then do a deeper dive into the ones we’ll see close to home.  That list is still incredibly impressive, as we range from the Shortgrass Prairie of much of eastern Colorado to the high elevation Alpine Tundra of the high mountains.  Tonight, we cover in detail habitats ranging from Lowland Riparian to Montane Riparian to Willow Carrs.  For each habitat, we’re presented a sampling of “indicator species”:  the birds that fairly well define the characteristics of the environment.

American Pipit, Mount Evans, CO
7/7/13
Habitat:  Alpine Tundra

As he hits on each different habitat, he points out an indicator species:  the bird you can count on seeing in this habitat.  That doesn't actually capture "indicator species" but it does the trick for me right now.  And for many of the indicator species, we get another mentor presenting a species profile of the bird.  We cover High Elevation Carr, and voila!  We get a detailed description of a Wilson's Warbler.    Alpine Tundra?  Here's a bunch of stuff you never knew about American Pipits.

I love this.  Utterly and completely.  What a cool program this is.  How do I sign up?  Oh, I’d forgotten:  this is my home for the next year.  Most excellent!

American Pipit, Mount Evans, CO
7/7/13
Habitat:  Alpine Tundra or possibly Krummholz

My head is buzzing with new concepts like Ecotones (“edge habitats” – places where two major habitats come together), and “Carr” (no, not the thing you drive), and  - my favorite – “Krummholz” (literally – from the German – “crooked tree” – indicating the transition zone from subalpine forest to Alpine Tundra, where the trees grow crooked and one-sided because of the effects of the winds).  I leave class still trying to figure out what the heck a “forb” is, but it feels like a good challenge, not one that will defeat me.

When we wrap up for the evening, my head is spinning, full of new concepts and terms and thoughts.  There is so very, very much to learn.  I feel like I’m back in fifth grade again, and I absolutely loved fifth grade.  How could I have ever thought that this wasn’t the best thing I’d ever done? 

Field Trip #1: Judy, Don't Be Late

Our first field trip is scheduled for Saturday, August 3, at 8 a.m. at the Audubon Nature Center at Chatfield.  I’m home from vacation, and ready to start my AMB journey.  To say I am eager would be a stretch;  I am far too tired to be eager or excited about anything.

The Great Galapagos Adventure of 2013 was many things (wonderful, inspirational, educational, eye-opening, exciting…..just for starters);  the one thing it was not was relaxing and restful.  I arrive home on Thursday evening, August 1, happy and full of pictures of the stuff I’ve seen – pictures both in cameras and in my mind – but also utterly and totally exhausted.  I’ve made the mistake of planning to work on Friday, mostly just to catch up on email, but people have scheduled meetings throughout the day.  Then late in the day, I discover that no matter how careful I was while in Ecuador (I brushed my teeth with bottled water!  I drank only bottled water!), it turns out that I was not careful enough, and I have a late-onset case of turista. 

Uh boy, just what I needed when I’m going on a field trip in the morning.  I offer up a small prayer, one that maybe does not fit so cleanly into Anne Lamott’s “Help Thanks Wow” definition of prayer.  Mine goes more along the lines of “Oh really, God?   You think this is funny?”  But I’m too tired to really do much about it other than swallow handfuls of Pepto-Bismal tablets (these pink things that made their way to and from South America safely, thank you very much).  I cancel a dinner date with a friend, and head to bed at 7 p.m.

It’s a sign of how exhausted I am that the alarm, set for 6 a.m., wakes me out of a sound sleep.  11 hours of solid sleep?  I must have been tired.

But sadly, the turista is not something that goes away overnight.  I consider calling in sick to my first field trip, but really, it’s a fleeting thought.  Having been late to my interview (no matter that the interview itself was late!), then missing Class #1, I just don’t see how I can skip this first field trip.  So I’m up and out the door at 7 (having swallowed another handful of pink Pepto tabs as well as some Immodium), planning to be there at least 20 minutes early for our 8 a.m. start.

So it surprises me that not more than ten minutes later my cell phone rings.  It’s Karen, one of my interviewers from the AMB program.  She says, “Where are you?  We’re waiting on you.”  We quickly ascertain that there is a NEW schedule – one that nobody thought to send my way – with an updated start time for today.  A start time of 7 a.m.

Suddenly my 20 minutes early becomes 40 minutes late.

I want to cry.

And I want to scream.  That prayer last night?  Well, yeah.  Let’s not talk about how I followed that up in the car. 

The good news out of all of this is that today’s field trip is really a “Field Trip Lite”:  a practice field trip walk on paths at the nature center, along with a practice test.  All of the testing for this program is done in the field:  no hypotheticals, but real birds and songs and calls and plants and habitats.  The further good news is that Karen tells me that while they are going to start without me, they’ll have someone wait for me at the Nature Center.

Still, I’m panicked.  I pull into the parking lot and grab my binoculars and hat and waist pack, and hurry.  My camera, my trusty companion?  No time.  It stays behind;  I don’t have time to fuss with it.  Dave – the guy who administered the test – is there waiting for me.  He’s as calm as a lake on a windless day.  I come running up, and he asks, do you need to use the restrooms before we head out to meet the class?  Well, if you’re paying attention, you know I do, and for this gentle gesture from this man I barely know, well, I fall in love.  I think Dave is about the greatest guy in the world.  If I didn’t have to run to the loo, I may have embarrassed us both with a proposal of marriage.

My bliss lasts just a moment, though.  We walk down the path and quickly catch up with the group.  Out of a planned practice 15 test questions, they are already at number 10.  Michael, the test leader, starts enumerating the next test questions.  That bird that we’re hearing?  What is it?  And here’s another:  name it.  Take a look around, what habitat are we in?  And so on.

We have 3x5” cards to write down our answers, and instructions on how we should label these things.  But the thing is, I’m so rattled by all the things that seem out of my control – being sick, being late.  And now, it seems that I’ve missed oceans of information in just my one missed class.  My eyes and ears are attuned to Blue Boobies and brilliant tropical hummingbirds, not Colorado avian life.  I hear birdsong I think I should know, and have no idea.  I see a bird on a tree snag and think it’s a flycatcher of some kind that I should know, but I can’t get the specifics (it’s a Western Wood-Pewee, it turns out).  This habitat?  I have absolutely no idea what that even means.  My 3x5” card is pretty much a list of numbers with no responses.

Oh.

This.

Sucks.

The practice test is done before I’ve even figured out the rhythm of it.  I’ve done miserably, even on the few items I’ve been present for.  I really just want to crawl into a hole and die.

We continue on the path, and things improve.  I start getting into the rhythm of my surroundings, and kind people (mentors and fellow classmates alike) help me out.  I see a brilliant bird, just briefly, and Jeff, one of the mentors, points it out as a Lazuli Bunting.  I start to pick out my own birds after that, slowly getting back into the right environment.  That noisy bird is a House Wren;  that buzzing thing, a male Broad-tailed Hummingbird;  that noisy bird over there is a Yellow-breasted Chat, something I magically recognize even before the people around me name it.   I follow up my earlier not-so-friendly prayers with a quiet “thanks”. 

We end the field trip with a session about preparing for the “real” field trips, gathered outside the classroom in brilliant August sun.  I’m trying to soak in everything I hear, but mostly, I just want to go home.  I’m tired, worn out, really, and it’s no way to start out in a year-long program.  I pick up the books I didn’t pick up last Monday, classroom reading as well as The Notebook – the thing I will become a slave to in the coming year, or so I’m told – and head home.

At home, I’m feeling pretty dejected.  I’m tired, oh so very tired.  The good vibe of the vacation has been replaced by worry if I’m doing the right thing entering this program.  I spent the morning birding – something that usually leaves me feeling good and relaxed and challenged and – in its most elemental – at peace with the world.  But today, that hasn’t happened:  the entire experience has left me frustrated and angry and insecure and stressed and tired and sad.  How could a good thing go so bad, even before it has started?

But I have photos to finish processing, so I log on to my laptop, and start working on the photos I brought back from the Galapagos.  Ah, there’s that Sparkling Violetear that Jared helped me edit.  Wow – the photo is better than I remember.  And there’s a Small Ground-Finch.  Can I differentiate it from the Medium Ground-Finch?  By the way, where ARE my photos of Medium Ground-Finches?  Some picture jars a memory of our wake-up announcement every morning during the boat trip:  Wilo, our Ecuadorian guide and naturalist, would announce breakfast and tell us our disembarkation time for the morning.  Then he would add, every time – changing the names each time to rib different members of our group – “Bob and Jared, don’t be late”.  It became a running joke, one of the signature riffs of the trip.  Ah, what a great time that was.  Wilo never once said, “And Judy, don’t be late”, even though I kept waiting for it.  I miss those days so much already.  But it’s only a very short time before I’m lost in the grace and peace of those islands.  And the birds that inhabit them?  Well, they give me joy, over and over again.

Red-footed Booby

Warbler Finch

Small Ground-Finch

Galapagos Doves

Juvenile Frigatebird

Cactus Ground-Finch

Immature Frigatebird

Medium Ground-Finch in breeding plumage

Galapagos Warbler

Waved Albatrosses, courting ritual

Charles Mockingbird
Only one of from 50-200 of these birds left in the world

Striated Heron

Eliot's Storm-Petrel, dancing on the water

Chestnut-breasted Coronet

Sparkling Violetear

AMB Class #1 - Galapagos Trumps Class!

Woohoo!  I got into the AMB program!

But wait.  You already knew that.  Or else this was going to be a very short blog.

So that takes us to Class #1.

The program is very structured, with a calendar of Monday night classes (27 of them in all) and 30 Saturday field trips (if you include all the testing trips).  There are all kinds of other requirements, but the classes and field trips make up the bulk of the program, with a requirement that you attend 75% of these sessions.

So you might imagine my concern, at the end of my interview – when I thought I had the thing pegged – and I had to say:  Um, there’s one little problem, and it’s that I’ll have to miss the first class.

In the abstract, that just seems like bad mojo.  Really, you have to miss the first class?

But when I told this to my interviewers, adding the explanation “because I’ll be in the Galapagos on a trip I’ve been planning for nearly two years”, the Audubon folks didn’t miss a beat.  Almost in unison, they said, “Galapagos trumps the first class!”

So that’s where I was when the rest of my class – twelve of us in total – met for the first time on Monday, July 29.  They were doing introductions, and reviewing class schedules and requirements, and getting books handed out (both loaners and required texts supplied by the program).  They all got The Notebook:  I’ll have much more on this later.  And heaven knows what else they got, and what else they learned, and what all I missed.

But I was off in the Pacific, seeing incredible birds.  Did I feel bad about missing that class?  Of course.  But did the trip to the Galapagos (and add to that a day in the cloud forest of Ecuador) trump the first class?  Well, I'll let you be the judge. Here are some of the birds I was seeing while I was off, missing Class #1:

Tropical Mockingbird, Quito

Lava Gull, Isla Mosquera

Nazca Booby, Genovesa

Short-eared Owl, Genovesa

Yellow Warbler, Santa Fe
(our Yellow Warblers in Colorado haven't the red cap)

Galapagos Mockingbird, Santa Fe

Red-billed Tropicbird, Espanola

Swallow-tailed Gull, Espanola

Brown Noddy, Floreana

Blue-footed Booby, Santa Cruz
(just about the most iconic bird in the world!)

Whimbrel, Santa Cruz

Masked Trogon, Guanga Lodge

The Interview

My interview for the AMB program is scheduled for 6 p.m. on a Wednesday night.  To be very honest, although I'm eager for the AMB program to get started, I'm actually distracted right now by my excitement for my upcoming Galapagos trip.  And really, I have no idea what to expect of the interview.  I've passed the test.  I've met and talked with many of the class sponsors and mentors already, in various other birding activities as well as the previous AMB-admission activities.  So my mind is not totally in the game when I leave home at 5 for the 30 or 40 minute drive down to the Audubon offices at Chatfield.

But the traffic catches my attention.  It stops, then crawls, then stops, then crawls.  I adjust my arrival time calculation.  First:  I'll get there 20 or 30 minutes early.  Then:  I'll get there 5 or 10 minutes early.  Finally, that horrible realization that I AM GOING TO BE LATE!  What kind of impression will that make?!?  Oh. My. God.  I am SO embarrassed at what now seems a horrible lack of planning;  I should have left home a good 30 minutes earlier!

By the time I roll into the parking lot of the offices, I'm a full ten minutes late.  I grab my bag, and run down the outside stairs to the Audubon office door, grab the handle and...it's locked!  WHAT?!?  I peer through the windows, and sure enough, it's completely dark inside.  Oh holy crap.  I've gotten the location wrong.   Maybe it's in the meeting room upstairs!

So back up the stairs in a hurry, and through the front door - into a room with 30 or so law enforcement professionals - mostly men - sitting in a lecture.  I see the sign:  "Boat Safety Seminar".  The entire roomful of uniform-clad individuals has turned to stare at me, dressed in my hawk t-shirt and flip-flops.  One nice man walks toward me, asking if he can help me, and I back my way out of the room as my face turns red with embarrassment and confusion. 

I'm lost.  No idea what to do.  I pull out my iphone and double check the message confirming the time and place of the interview.  It clearly says Audubon offices at 6 p.m.  I have the date right.  Maybe I'm not at the right Audubon offices?  Are there other Audubon offices?  If I'm not smart enough to get to the interview (let alone get to the interview on time), maybe I'm not smart enough to get into the AMB program.  I shuffle back to my car, unlock the door, sit down and wonder what to do next.  I have a phone, but no numbers and no idea who I would even call.  I think that I may just have been crazy to think I could do this program when I can't even get to the freaking interview, let alone handle a year of this very demanding program.

As I sit there feeling absolutely defeated, a car pulls in next to me, and a woman emerges.  I recognize her as Karen, one of the mentors.  She asks, "Judy?" and introduces herself, calmly telling me that she and the other interviewers have all been stuck in traffic, but nobody had my number to call and let me know.  Relief floods over me.  I may have been late, but not nearly as late as my interviewers.  In fact, I'm so relieved that I nearly start laughing.

So this is how my interview goes.  The other interviewers drift in; there is a fair amount of disorganization; I've lost my nervousness and any sense of formality.  The interviewers pull out my application, and pretty much ask the same questions that I've already answered in writing.  Why do you want to be a Master Birder?  Why this program?  What experience birding?  Volunteering?  And on and on.  I spit out canned answers - the same ones I wrote on my short entrance essay - they nod and make notes, and then it's over.  I feel confident I'll get in.   Then I walk out of the dark basement offices, into bright early-evening sunshine to birdsong, and wonder what to do.

Of course, there's really only one thing to do.  I go birding.

Trumpeter Swans, Cordova, AK
7/31/11

And I think about the answers I gave to questions, and the things I left out.  I told the Audubon folks that I first really got interested in birds on a trip to Alaska in July 2011, when I went there to run my 49th-state marathon.  What I didn't tell them was how I had thought I would make that trip to Alaska with The Doctor, and how I had thought we were going to get married, and how I had thought we were going to live happily ever after.   I didn't tell them that I was devastated when The Doctor broke up with me on Valentine's Day that year, and  in the ensuing months, I didn't really know why I should get up in the morning any more, but that somehow my great friends Mel and Suzi and Benji and Amie all came together to make that Alaska trip happen anyway.  I didn't tell them how all those Bald Eagles and puffins and swans gave me - if not something to smile about -  a reason to get out of bed every morning.  I told them about my trip to Florida that next Christmas, and how the big birds fascinated me.  What I didn't tell them was how Melissa's invitation for that trip was a lifeline to me, since I didn't have a clue how I would spend the holiday without The Doctor that year, and how the birds and the sun and the company of Mel and Suzi helped me forget that the year before, I'd been in Vail, in Colorado snow and sunshine spending the holiday with what I thought was my future family.  And I didn't mention that my mom got sick, for the last time, just days after that Christmas trip, and how I went back to Iowa and spent most of February of that year shuttling between the Super 8 motel and Mom's nursing home.  And how, even in the frigid zero degree weather, I found solace in walking outside with my camera, trying to catch the House Sparrows in the weak winter light. 

Cedar Waxwing, Onawa, IA
2/21/12

And how, one morning, a flock of Cedar Waxwings surprised me at the Super 8, flitting about in the juniper just outside the breakfast room window, and how I found some joy even in those hard days as I stood out in that cold air snapping photo after photo, wondering how exactly I instinctively knew the name of this bird.  And how my mom loved seeing my photos, and loved hearing about the birds:  something she could relate to ever so much more than she could to my marathons, even though she had supported me completely in that effort.  And how, on the last day of my mom's life, I took my brothers one by one over to a place on the Missouri River - just 7 miles to the west - where I had found a goodly number of Bald Eagles, and you could sit on the side of the road and watch them perched in trees, sometimes swooping down to hunt;  we went in groups of two so that we could each have some last moments alone with her. 

Bald Eagles, Missouri River near Decatur, NE
2/22/12

And days later, on my long lonesome drive back to Colorado, when nothing at all seemed to matter any more, and I wondered how I could ever live out the remaining days of my life without either The Doctor or my mom as part of it any longer, still, something caught my eye, and I pulled off I-80 and watched in wonder as thousands of Snow Geese flocked on steaming ponds and fallow fields along the roadside.

Snow Geese, Nebraska
2/29/12

No, I didn't tell them all that.  How could I, even if it's the real how and why for me?  Are the stories we tell always some watered-down version of the truth;  the version that our hearts are willing to own in the light of day?

After the interview, I went out and watched some Bullock's Orioles noisily make their way through a tree just outside the offices.   Some Black-capped Chickadees were moving through the same trees, and one - to my delight - came to pose for photos. 

Black-capped Chickadee, Chatfield State Park, CO
7/10/13

Then I drove over to the Kingfisher Bridge, and caught an American Goldfinch flitting through the trees overhanging the river.  Goldfinches were one of my mom's favorites;  one that she watched for on the feeders she kept outside her kitchen window.  I watched the sun set in the west, amid clouds that never threatened rain.  The craziness and rush of getting to the interview were forgotten;  the birds were showing me how to slow down and live, as they do whenever I give them a chance.

The Four Percent Bird

The post-test message comes:  “Score 96% Kudos to you!”

Well, of course, I already knew that.  It translates to one out of 25.  One lousy bird that I missed. 

Some people see 96% and say Kudos!  That’s good!

I see 96% and say Damn!  I missed one.  That sucks!

But, as I said I knew that.  And, truth be told, I was lucky to just miss one.  I got really, really lucky with the MacGillivray’s Warbler.  I wasn’t real sure on the Ring-necked Duck.  That Blue Grosbeak:  lucky I had gotten a decent photo very recently, or maybe I wouldn’t have known the bird by the rusty wings.

But still, it stung that the one bird I missed – the four percenter – was a bird I’ve actually seen:

Lesser Goldfinch, Wonderland Lake, Boulder, CO
5/29/12

I vow that I won’t miss this bird again!

AMB: The Entrance Exam

How did I get myself into this AMB (Audubon Master Birder) thingy, you might ask, now that you know what a fun year it’s going to be?  

Well, first there was the information session.  In marketing terms, we’d call this the loss leader.  A fun evening at the Audubon Nature Center, replete with so many goodies that it’s a good thing that I arrived hungry.  Lots of current AMBers and other Audubon luminaries to share with you how grand (and daunting) the program can be.  It was all going too well until somebody said, “of course, that’s all after you pass the test”.

Test?  What test?  I’m getting into this thing to learn about birds.  I’m barely a hatchling myself.  And I need to know something to get in?  Yikes!

But I’m not one to let something like a little test keep me away from something I want to do, so I duly show back up at the same Nature Center a couple of weeks later.  Tonight:  no goodies.  Just a few AMBers to administer the exam.  The pool of applicants has dropped to a total of eight (I will learn later that some other folks with conflicts have set up separate testing sessions).  Nobody standing around chit-chatting;  everyone sitting in two rows of tables set up in parallel, answer sheet and pencils at our ready.  The mood in the room isn’t exactly somber, but it sure isn’t the party vibe of that information session.

We’ve been told the test will be a photo test only, and that’s calmed my nerves some.  Twenty-five birds that are common in Colorado.   In truth, going in I’m only worried about trick questions, or the need to differentiate between similar species.  Sparrows scare me.  Gulls scare me.  Warblers scare me.  Swallows worry me. Female ducks baffle me.  I’m also worried about the quality of the photos.  One AMBer told me that when he took the test many years ago, the photo quality was not very good, and he missed a Mountain Chickadee.  And he sees Mountain Chickadees every single flipping day:  he lives in the mountains, surrounded by trees.  If he could miss a bird so basic…….  Oh dear.  Maybe my nerves are not so calm.

Dave*, a Master Birder whom I’ve met on several occasions in the Beginning Birding Class (more on that to come), runs the test this night.  He tells us that we’ll go through the slides once, then we’ll have a chance to see particular photos that we might have questions about.  Is everyone ready?  Then alrighty, let’s get started.

American Robin, Crown Hill Park, Denver, CO 3/20/12

Bird #1 is up on the screen.  A Burrowing Owl.  It’s an easily recognizable bird, so not at all a problem to ID.  But this is not a bird you see every day.  Holy Smokes.  I thought they might allow us a gimme or two, say start out with an American Robin or an adult male Mallard in breeding plumage.  Cripes.  I write down my answer, but feel just a little uneasy.

Mallard, Drake Park, Bend, OR 11/23/12

Bird #2 is easier and I breathe a quick sigh of relief.

Ring-necked Duck, Belmar Historic Park, Denver, CO 3/25/12

Then Bird #3.  Yikes.  Oh crap.  It’s a duck, and I think it’s a Ring-necked Duck, but I get Ring-necked Ducks and Scaups mixed up.  They are in the same family, with similar coloring, and oh crap!  Is the ENTIRE FREAKING TEST GOING TO MAKE ME CRAZY?  I write down my answer, worry over it, and then we’re off.

Greater and Lesser Scaups (maybe), St. Vrain State Park, CO, 3/31/13

Lark Bunting, Pawnee National Grassland, CO 6/15/13

The next birds seem easier, but my confidence is in the toilet.  We have an Osprey, and a House Wren and a Horned Lark and a Lark Bunting.  That Lark Bunting just happens to be the state bird of Colorado, and I just got some fabulous views of this species a few weeks ago.  So I’m rolling along.  That is, until Bird #10.

Uh oh.  I have no freaking idea what this thing is.  It’s a bright yellow bird with a bunch of black on it too.  I think, “I don’t know my warblers!”  But then I don’t really think it’s a warbler.  Everyone around me is writing.  This has been true for every single slide that comes up on the screen:  everyone immediately writes.  This is no exception, except that I don’t write a word.  I’m stumped.  But Dave is moving on to the next slide, and I need to put something here, so I write “American Redstart” and then (as if to qualify my bad guess with more details) I add “female” ever so lightly, since I somehow think the female that species has yellow and black plumage.  The truth is, it’s a wild-assed guess, pure and simple.

Blue Grosbeak, Cherry Creek SP, 5/23/13

The next birds roll by, and I hit a stride.  There are no gimmes, with the possible exception of a Northern Flicker.  There’s a Sandhill Crane and a Western Meadowlark and a Blue Grosbeak, a bird that a lot of people will struggle with. I’ve seen it recently and recognize it easily.  And then around Bird #20, a slide comes up, and we all stop in our tracks.

Not a single person writes down an answer.

What *is* this bird?  I scan through the possibilities.  It’s yellow with a gray hood.  It is not a bird I have any experience with.  Still, nobody is writing, and I timidly write “Warbler” with a space before it.  Still we sit and stare at the photo.  I’ve been watching the birds reported around the state on a daily basis, and have been trying to find some of the warblers that I haven’t yet seen.  One of those is a MacGillivrays – a name that is easy for me to remember since Dave MacGillivray is the long-time Race Director of the Boston Marathon – and I think I remember that the drawings I’ve seen look like this bird.  Maybe.

I write it down.

Finally, we’re in the home stretch.  We get a Snowy Egret and a Great Blue Heron:  consolation prizes for making it this far.  There’s a Wilson’s Warbler and a Stellars Jay, and finally we’re done.

Great Blue Heron, Grayton Beach SP, FL
10/10/12

Wilson's Warbler, Echo Lake, CO 6/23/13

Stellar's Jay, Deer Creek Canyon, CO, 7/8/12

We get a chance to review birds that we have questions about.  I want to see Bird #10 again, but I wait to see if anyone else struggled with it.  People start to call out slide numbers, and I start to feel a little better.  They have questions about birds that seem like slam dunks to me.  Well, that’s encouraging:  I’m not the only person here who really needs this class.  I ask to see Slide #10 again, but I’m still stumped.  I leave my lame guess in place, and we hand in our tests.

Then somebody says, “Hey, can we go through the slides again and get the answers?”  Dave and the other AMBers in attendance oblige.  I’m hugely relieved to have gotten the Ring-necked Duck (a duck that I think should be a Ring-BILLED Duck, but bird names frequently confound and confuse) correct.  And I’m thrilled – THRILLED – to have gotten the MacGillivray’s Warbler right, too.  We walk through the slides, and – with the exception of my own true mystery – I think I’ve gotten every thing right.  But the nemesis bird?  Stay tuned for next time…………..

*I plan to use first names only in the blog, unless I’m given explicit permission to use full names, in an attempt to allow the mentors and my classmates a modicum of anonymity