I arrived to the park mediating upon the centipede-like movement of vehicles along the drive, the winding dirt road without boundaries, careful to not topple over my vehicle while watching for the movement of birds. I spotted shorebirds first. You can’t miss their mottled brown bodies, jerking heads, their love for low water and damp edges. Most of the mid-sized birds were dowitchers, needling the muddy water constantly, sewing deep breaths of air into nothing you can see. You go breathless just watching them; it almost feels like you can’t exhale 100 percent. I’m going through the Rolodex of shorebirds in my mind, identifying the rest, recording numbers and notes for as many as I can. But shorebirds were not my target species, even though these are my First of the Year sightings (FOYs), so I drove on. Normally I would have stayed longer, spent more time here. But time is an interesting proposition when you’re birding, especially for a new exciting bird you’ve never seen before; you balance yourself between wanting to find it as fast a possible, and moving slowly and methodically so as not to miss it. And when you find it, you simmer in the moment. You sip on life’s surprises and discoveries.
I move forward trying to recall the notes from a birding internet site that divulged the exact location and habitat my target bird has lived in for the past few weeks. These scribed instructions stored in my head are my only talisman. “Second blind,” I remember it saying, but I only see placards numbered 1,2,3...and find not a blind nearby. Did I miss it somehow? Am I that bad with directions? Am I that bad of a birder? At the next pull off I get excited, lots of waterfowl here. I take out my binoculars and scan carefully. Northern Shoveler, Blue-winged Teal, more and more of the same, all amazing in their best plumage. The sure volume of them is impressive too, but I’d be more in awe of them if I weren’t in search of a cinnamon red, glossy duck with a jeweled-red eye. I drive up a little farther as I see a few stragglers hanging out in the back edge. I get out of the vehicle, which no one seems to do here. Everyone I’ve driven by stayed inside like it’s dangerous or against policy or will piss off the nature gods. Am I doing something wrong or improper, I think for a second, or a minute. I don’t know because time here in the bright sun melts and seeps into you like butter on bread. No, I decide this is a wildlife refuge, they want you to experience it on foot, not just from a vehicle. There are no signs pointing out any restrictions for pedestrian traffic. And “nature gods” don’t exist do they? This is when I catch myself, my mind cranking like a windmill that looks slow from a distance but is cranking fast if you could see it up close. I’m thinking too much, not enjoying the birds, the obvious beauty of this expansive place that my simple words can never adequately capture.
Breathing in deeper now, breathing out through the mouth in an exaggerated way like my Physical Therapist taught me. Wow, look at those Northern Shovelers again, exhaling, paused to consume the moment and somehow digest it for later. Now, inhale now, now on repeat in my head. Exhale. I walk a little farther find what seems to be a blind (there it is, a blind!), and a second blind after that. I walk briskly, put my binoculars on some more ducks, more Blue-winged Teal closer than I’ve ever seen one. There must be at least fifty here. I walk a few more steps, about half-way to the second blind, and find another opening between a few bushes. Red! I see red, a crimson red, red duck! Cinnamon Teal, a male with that bold ruby eye, cinnamon body, gold streaking tail feathers, and black bill. Wow, gold I say to myself, those tail feathers are gold. That’s all I keep saying to myself, melting into the moment. My satisfied smile surprises me. I wasn’t thinking. I was just looking, smiling. Happiness. Wow. That’s all there is.
