How they heck can they test us already? I feel like I don't know anything yet!
From Day One, mentors explain over and over that the test results don't really matter; this is a test to get our feet wet and to let the mentors know where we stand; we have plenty more tests (six tests in total), so if we don't do well on this one, it's not a disaster.
What I hear: blah blah blah blah blah. It's a freaking test, okay?
And here's the thing to make the Field Tests completely scary beyond all get-out: they are so very random. By random, I mean, you can't control what birds show up. The tests are live, in-the-field "what's that bird?", either the one who just called, or the one who just flew overhead, or the one sitting in that tree over there. You can't practice your essay answer on this one; you have to be able to make the call in the field.
In brief, it's an approach that totally nails your skill and knowledge level. You can't fake this stuff.
That's the scary stuff. The non-scary stuff is that it's maybe not completely random, after all. The Field Tests are held in typical birding locations, and we have every expectation that on test days we'll see the same birds we usually see in those places. It narrows the field some. And.......for those things that we're tested on that are not birds or bird calls, the plants and habitats, we should be able to scout these things out and learn them well enough to identify them on test day.
That's the theory, anyway.
And that's part of why I'm so nervous a couple of weeks before test day. I've been trying like the dickens to learn these blasted plants, and I just feel completely unprepared. I ask one mentor for help, and he tells me to study the plant guides that we've been directed to acquire and read. Friends, have you ever tried to use a plant identification guide that employs the dichotomous key (a kind of fancy way of saying a kind of decision tree)? Maybe one day it will make sense to me, but the profusion of scientific/botanical terms makes following the key nearly impossible to a neophyte like me. Here's a choice: Opposite Simple Whorled Leaves vs. Opposite Compound Leaves? Huh? There's a lot to know before you can figure out the stuff you already know you don't know.
I give that the good old college try, then I go running to my mentor Tina for help. Luckily for me, she is a plant guru and says, of course I'll help you. It turns out the only day that our schedules mesh is the Sunday before the Saturday Field Test. It turns out that that Sunday is part of our rainy, monsoon weather. But it also turns out that I don't have a choice - they're not going to postpone the test because I'm insecure and unprepared - and lucky for me (again), Tina is a great sport, and so we do plant ID lessons in the field, in the rain. We pull leaves off trees, and look at the catkins and trunks, and I label things and try to take copious notes. Tina points out stuff to me that I would never pick up using the books alone. Relief in sight. I may not get all the plants right, but I won't miss them all, either, and for now, that's my very low bar.
It's probably a good thing that I have to be in New Jersey for work in the days immediately preceding the test; it makes it harder to obsess over it, and it makes it impossible to go camp out at the test site for the entire week. The test site - Bear Creek Lake Park, per the schedule - is not a place I've really birded, so I'm nervous about that; if I were home, I'd most likely be going out there every day just to get a sense of the place. I take a suitcase full of reference books that I stay up late in my hotel, reading, again and yet again. I take my binoculars, and go out birding along the Raritan River, and feel good - confident, actually - at my ability to spot and hear the Gray Catbird, and the Song Sparrow, and the Tufted Titmouse, even if that last bird is not a Colorado bird at all.
When I get home from New Jersey, there's an email from Michael, the tester: the test location has moved. Bear Creek has been flooding, so we'll start at the Wheatridge Greenbelt instead.
It feels like a gift. It feels like the tester knows me, and my nervousness, and knows that I feel completely at home at this location. It feels like a test designed to calm my nerves; this is the place I've birded more than any other location in Colorado. I know what birds are normally here, and where, and in what season. It feels like a Godsend.
So, oddly enough, as I approach the test site on Saturday morning, I'm amazingly calm. I've reviewed the bird lists for the location. I feel - if I may be so bold - actually a little bit confident.
Until I'm standing in the parking lot, and realize that people are looking through binoculars at birds flying high overhead, or birds perched off in the distance in trees against a white early-morning sky, and I have no freaking idea what they are. Oh dear. I forgot that anything is fair game for the test, and that includes things I just don't really have much of a handle on yet: birds in flight, birds from a long distance.
Yikes.
So my nerves are back to jangling as we get started. Michael says, essentially, "game on", and that means we're in test mode. Test mode means that the tester calls out things (one of the four categories: bird seen, bird heard, plant, or habitat), and we write our best guess on the 3 1/2 by 5 inch index cards we've been provided for our answers. To keep track of the difference between the various categories, we have codes for everything except "bird seen"; "h" precedes the name of the bird we just heard; "pl" precedes the name of the plant; and "ha" precedes the habitat name. This is a silent test: no talking. Well, no sharing of answers. It turns out that we talk a lot, sharing information about exactly what bird we're looking at or listening to, and how to see it.
Because, folks, that's half the battle: seeing the bird in question and/or hearing it. It soon becomes clear that I'm going to miss a lot of answers just because the bird was gone before I even knew it was on the test.
Our first question should be a "gimme": what habitat are we in? We're standing in an asphalt parking lot, looking out over an RV sales lot, with street lights, fences, and a freeway in the background. I'm actually shaking as I timidly write down "Urban", but I think that's right. This will turn out to be the right answer, but I won't know that until we stop for a review after we've had more than 30 test questions.
Next up: a "heard" and it's an easy one. Northern Flicker. But I often get Northern Flickers and Blue Jays - a bird I know to be common here - mixed up, so I'm nervous about this answer, too. The next question is a seen bird - the first of the test - and I miss it. I just plain do not see the bird in question.
Crap. Is this how it's all going to be? Because if it is, it's going to be a really, really long day.
And so we get into a rhythm. It's clear that even the most skilled among us have the same challenges that I do, trying to hear and see everything. We all pitch in and try to help each other see and hear what we're being tested on. From time to time, people get frustrated ("I can't see it!), and I'm right there, but my nerves are calming. I know I'm getting some birds right; I also know I'm missing some. It's the ones I can't see or hear clearly - sometimes after working on it - that make me crazy.
We hear Black-capped Chickadees (easy!) and Canada Geese flying over head (a cinch!). We see Yellow-rumped Warblers (no doubt, with that butter butt), and more Yellow-rumped Warblers. We get easy, low-hanging fruit like Mourning Doves and European Starlings and a Eurasian Collared Dove; Killdeer call, and Blue Jays start up their cacophony. A Belted Kingfisher is an easy ID, both by sight and sound. We get an easy plant (there's Rabbitbrush all around us). I finally get my "seen" Northern Flicker.
Now, here's the nice thing about the test: as long as the thing - whether it's a bird calling or singing, or flying or sitting there, or a plant, or a habitat - presents itself multiple times along the way, we get multiple tries at it. So that first Northern Flicker (seen) that I miss because I just plain don't see it? Not a problem, since Michael calls out another one, and another one, mixing things up nicely, but giving everyone a fair chance to get the bird.
And here's the other really nice thing about the test: our score is cumulative throughout the year, and we know from the get-go what we need to "pass" this course: 100 birds by sight, 40 birds by sound, 24 plants, and 16 habitats. Once you've seen a bird and have credit for it (say, that Northern Flicker), you don't have to get it right again, and even if you miss it later in the day, or on a later test, you still have credit for it. You never get dinged for a wrong answer.
After 34 questions, we stop and review the stuff we've seen and heard. Chuck is assisting Michael as the "recorder", so he runs through the things we've seen, and we get to self-correct our score sheets. It's an honor system thing; really, what would be the point of cheating? I come up with my own way of marking my score card: a big "+" in front of a thing I've gotten right, and an equally big "-" in front of one I've missed.
The thing is, I pretty much already know which ones I've missed. I'm mostly interested in a) confirming the things I got right, and b) getting the right answer for anything I've missed, so that I know for the next time.
We cover 98 test questions at this location. I'm feeling pretty good about it, overall, but really have no idea how I'm doing in terms of overall correct answers. That, after all, is the goal. But our pace is too fast, and the listening and watching far far far too intense to allow anytime to go back and try to tally up the numbers. There will be time for that later.
We leave Wheatridge, and head up to Red Rocks, a place that's chosen, I'm sure, because it's an ecotone: a place where several habitats converge. I'm pleased with how I've been doing with my plants, but at Wheatridge, I did criss-cross River Birch and Alder. It annoys me since I really worked hard to distinguish them in my mind; apparently, I didn't really get them straight. At the entrance to Red Rocks I do the same thing with Wild Plum and Hawthorn. Damn! This makes me a little crazy, but, in honesty, I knew I might mix up these two, so it's no real surprise. We spend only a little time at Red Rocks, getting just 15 new test questions (including a "seen" Peregrine Falcon, four new habitats, and seven more plants), then head up to Genesee Mountain Park.
It's exhausting. It's intense, and it requires complete concentration, both in watching and listening. To be the tester has to be incredibly tough: imagine not just hearing or seeing the bird and calling it out as a question, but also needing to KNOW THEM ALL! Yikes. Yes, there are three Master Birders here for the test - Michael, Chuck, and Dave, who is helping by carrying a scope and helping us all to see/hear the "right thing" and helping Michael and Chuck with IDs in the few instances they need to consult another person - but it's got to be equally - if not more - intense for them. We students just hope to get this stuff. The testers are expected to already have it down.
At Genesee, another place I've spent a fair amount of time birding, we get the birds I'd expect. Mountain Chickadees, Western Bluebirds, Pygmy Nuthatches, Steller's Jay, a Clark's Nutcracker, and - a treat - a Brown Creeper. We get some more trees and plants that I can ID: Ponderosa Pine and Douglas Fir; Wax Currant and Mountain Mahogany; and the ubiquitous Mullein. As the day wears on, I'm able to still identify stuff by sight, but my hearing is just gone. When I can hear the "right" bird, I mostly just can't place it. It's an ear-brain connection that is just plain worn out.
At the end of the day (roughly 4 p.m., after a 7 a.m. start, going pretty much nonstop), we take one last run-through of all the test questions; then we're sent packing. Everyone is responsible for transcribing their correct answers to an answer sheet that we then email to Michael, who keeps the master record of our past tests.
Even though I'm exhausted, I'm eager to get home to tally up my results. I'm feeling pretty good, overall, about the day, but I'm not sure how that translates into numbers. Coming in to the test, I've thought about this, and figured that if I perhaps check off 20 birds today "seen" and maybe between 5 and 10 "heard", I'll be doing good. Given how I feel at the end of the day, I wonder if maybe I can be so bold as to hope to have gotten 25 or (gasp!) even 30 "seen" birds.
So I'm ecstatic when I come up with my final tally. 37 birds seen; 15 birds heard; 14 plants, and 10 habitats. I've just checked off a fairly substantial portion of my total program requirements, and we have 5 more tests to go. I have no idea how anyone else has done, and it doesn't matter at all. I have every confidence that everyone in the class will, in the end, "pass" and get the certificate. We may just all do it at different rates. (I think I really don't want to know who did far better than I did, or if anyone was more challenged. What does it matter?)
I spend the following days poring over the results, concentrating on the items I missed. A few of the mentors will tell me to stop beating up on myself, but that's not at all what I'm doing: I just want to learn from my mistakes so I can get these things the next time around. I don't mind so much the birds I've missed because I don't know them (that early morning Townsend's Solitaire, out of its normal habitat and a bird I've only seen a time or two in my life? I'll take that as a great learning moment) or didn't see them well (a Mallard flew overhead! I missed a Mallard! But I didn't flipping see the thing, so I can let that go). I've learned to really look at a bird (head down, ashamed: I missed the Rock Pigeon. For reals. Unbelievable. I heard an American Crow, then Michael called out a "seen" bird, and I barely looked, just expecting it to be the crow. Boy, was I wrong. Won't do that again.)
But it leaves some low-hanging fruit for next time, and that kind of feels good. Oh yeah, that next time: next Field Test is on December 7, and the target is Ducks. Ducks! I know Ducks better than these freaking land birds, or at least I think I do.
I can hardly wait for that test. If nothing else, I'm pretty sure I can get that Mallard.
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