~ Anne Kilgannon
Greetings South Sounders! We have successfully navigated this transformational moment in our society history, though it will take some time to tidy up all the loose ends and get used to our new name. But names do matter; they tell the story of identity and what we value, what we have learned about our organizational history and what we want for our future. Recently I came across an essay* by one of our birding super stars, Roger Tory Peterson, in which he mused about what individuals who are besotted by our feathered friends called themselves and how they described their pursuit. He made clear how each label was layered with meaning and value judgments.
Peterson laid out the challenge in his title, “What Are You Really?” “Are you a bird watcher, an ornithologist, an ornithophile, an aviphile, a bird lover, bird fancier, bird bander, birder, bird spotter, lister, ticker, twitcher—or what?” He immediately went on to identify his own place in the mix: “I am primarily a bird artist and a bird photographer, a visual person obsessed by birds.” But he revealed his affection for his multicolored subjects and a self-deprecating sense of humor when he added, “I watch them, and they undoubtedly watch me; their eyes are better than mine.” He went on with this line of thinking to declare, “I favor the term bird watcher for general use because it is inclusive. It describes almost everyone who looks at birds or studies them.” He sweeps everyone into this category, from those delighted by birds in their backyards and at their feeders to the scientists who make it their profession to understand bird behavior in detail.
Peterson makes an important distinction though, when discussing ornithologists who have academic titles to bolster their authority: too often they would just as soon have a bird “in hand” than “two in the bush.” Infamously, these birders never held back on “collecting” even rare—on the cusp of extinction—birds to fill their museum drawers so their feathers could be cataloged. They disdained mere watchers as not adding to science. Other Auduboners struggled with the distinction between their own scientific interests and the growing movement they were encouraging to save birds. Frank Chapman expressed the problem squarely, when he wrote, “…we cannot place a gun in the hands of these thousands of bird lovers we are yearly developing.” He was an early promoter of cameras, which in his day were newly being mass produced and available for most budgets.
Peterson was quick to ditch “bird lover” as acceptable, saying that you could be, perhaps, a dog lover but birds are wild and free, not pets. Nor could he accept “bird fancier,” which also implied ownership. He notes that in England “birder” is the going term but he was still equivocating. “Birding” as a verb intrigued him, however. He recalls its introduction by Florence Merriam, an early writer on the practice. Her 1896 book—still a delightful read—“A-Birding on a Bronco” charts her adventures in the west searching out local birds. Peterson was not certain whether or not she employed a shotgun, but as one of her other books, “Birds Through An Opera Glass” reveals she was firmly of the school of observation, not oblivion.
He even resorts to a dictionary in his pursuit of an all-purpose word but, as he muses, the human and bird interactions are very complex indeed. Are duck hunters birders? They certainly know the habits and identities of their prey. Another angle involves what we might say is the level of involvement. Peterson recommends keeping a list of birds seen and identified, making one a “lister.” Or working backwards from a printed list, a “ticker” as species are observed. He admits to keeping his own life list and indulging in competitive exercises to add to his ticks. He democratizes the practice by noting that lists can cover the whole world of birds or just the birds in your backyard; we can choose our scale of inquiry. Peterson does cast shade on the tickers, however, who “merely follow other birders around and scarcely look at the birds when they are spotted but wait for their leader to call them off.” Where’s the passion, where is the real interest?
Lastly, Peterson explains the strange habits of “twitchers.” This began as an English word to describe maniacal birders who, at the slightest rumor of a rare bird sighting, will head off in a mad dash to see it and add it to their lists. Somehow word would seep out that some outlier bird had arrived on the wind and twitchers would spring into action no matter the cost or danger to life and limb. Electronic reporting has only added to the allure. His informant confessed it was such an exciting pursuit that twitchers would be visibly shaking from their efforts. The level of emotion was extraordinary, much beyond that of a mere lister.
And for Peterson, it was this level of true engagement that was key. His own fascination and love of birds, his caring for them, monitoring, and studying their life story as well as their field markings, diets, troubles, and survival that mattered. He said again and again that he preferred “his” birds wild and free to live out their lives as nature intended. That he made great art from his observations was his tribute to them and gift for the rest of us. Happy birding!
* This essay was originally printed in Bird Watchers Digest of March/April 1984, and reprinted in a collection from the Digest as All Things Reconsidered, by Roger Tory Peterson.
Photo credit: Bird Watching at Oxbow Bend, Grand Teton NPS, Public Domain.
