Failure to Obey the Signs

Recently, while strolling along a wooded path (on the grounds of a classic Ohio roadside attraction) with my family, we came upon this sign (above): "Keep Off the Dinosaurs."

Our kids are reasonably well-behaved creatures, so we did not think anything of it. Well, I guess I thought the sign had a pinch of the kill-joy spirit in it, but that's life these days in the United States of Litigation.

We walked onward.

Moments later the unthinkable happened. Liam was attacked by a raging triceratops.

Perhaps there should have been a sign for the dinosaurs saying "Don't Eat the Tourists."

Thank heavens I had my iPhone with me or I wouldn't have gotten this photo of the attack. We'll need it for the lawsuit.




[ok, just kidding. Liam is fine. So is the triceratops, according to its lawyer and agent.]

The ABA Needs to Soak Up the Fun

Pages and pages have been written lately about the future of the American Birding Association—some of it fairly pessimistic, some of it quite optimistic. Recent posts have tended toward the latter, which is reason for hope.

I don't have a lot to add to the chorus of voices suggesting how to save the organization, but I do want to make one suggestion to the ABA as a whole, and especially to the incoming president/CEO: Please make it fun.

I've been an ABA member since the mid-1980s. Back then I was trying my level best to fit in with the more experienced birders I encountered. I knew then (and still know) what it's like as a bird watcher to feel not good enough to "hang" with the big dogs. That's a problem that's plagued the ABA almost since its inception: new bird enthusiasts not feeling comfortable joining because they felt inadequate in skill level and experience.

I've heard other things named as THE reason for the ABA's decline.

"It's just a club for listers!"
"Is it a conservation group or a birding group or both?"
"All that super-difficult bird ID stuff in Birding magazine is way over my head."
"The conferences are too expensive."
"It just doesn't matter like it once did."
"It's too serious!"

That last reason may be closer to the mark than any of the other ones.

In the fall of 2008, I participated in a facilitated visioning session for the ABA. The half-dozen of us in the session worked for an entire day discussing what the ABA had done in the past, what it was doing currently, and what it might do in the future to maintain and enhance its standing in the North American birding community. I thought (as did the facilitator, and most of my fellow volunteer participants) that we came up with some really great ideas and recommendations. Sadly nothing ever came of our work—at least not yet.

If all of our recommendations could be summarized in one central theme, it would be to make being a member of the American Birding Association an engagingly fun experience.

An enormous factor in being a bird watcher for most of us is the social connection we enjoy with others who share our interest. When I look at my actual, real-world friends, most of them are birders. When I look at my Facebook "friends," the same is true.

However, being connected hasn't always been so easy.

As a young birder in the 1970s, I had no clue that there were others my age who shared my interest in birds. It wasn't until I joined a local bird club that I connected with fellow bird watchers, albeit much older than I.

In 1978, my family started Bird Watcher's Digest. We reached out through the mail to bird clubs and newspaper columnists writing about birds and nature in order to find content and subscribers. The ABA was newly formed, too, but not yet a well-known entity.

In the fall of 1979, when I went to band hawks as a volunteer in Cape May, New Jersey, I found out that there were people who did bird stuff for a living! Five or so years later, I discovered the American Birding Association and I attended my first ABA convention in 1990 in Fort Collins, CO.

Today it's far easier to find and connect with others who share our special interest. The ABA, if it is to survive and grow, needs to facilitate these connections. And it needs to make sure that EVERYONE is invited, and that EVERYONE is having fun. Like the host of a really awesome party, where everyone is having such a blast that they never want to leave.

Think this is vacuous? Perhaps it is. But it's worked for me here at Bird Watcher's Digest, in the content we create, and in the events that we coordinate.

Certainly the ABA needs to promote responsible birding. It needs to publish important data. It needs to support the development of the birders of tomorrow. It needs to figure out how to run itself like a business with good financial decisions and an elimination of the conflicts among membership, staff, and board. It needs to figure out how accomplish all these things AND how to be relevant in a world where everyone can be connected all of the time.

Make it fun, and all of these challenges will be easier to overcome. People have so many choices for spending their time, attention, and money. We humans are social creatures. We tend to gravitate to things that make us feel good. As bird watchers we might even need a bit more "feel-good" stuff since we've only recently emerged from the socially stigmatized days of Miss Jane Hathaway. A fun ABA will attract more members, which will help the organization become more relevant, which will attract more members...

Here's hoping that the months and years ahead will see a lot of F-U-N put into everything the ABA does. I, for one, believe that the hobby of birding needs the happy sense of belonging that a healthy and engaged ABA can offer. And so I'm going to do what I can to help things move in that direction.

Owl is Lost

"I have a baby hawk or maybe an owl and it's on the ground right by the swimming pool! There are kids and dogs all over the place. What should I do?"

That was the call I got early on the evening of August 4 from the manager of a local swimming pool. After a few questions from me about the bird's size, shape, color, and eyes, we determined that this was probably a fledgling eastern screech-owl.

I told the manager to pick up the fledgling gently and place it up in a tree, out of grabbing reach of youngsters and leaping reach of dogs. And if this was not possible, or if he could not pick up the owl to call me back and I'd drive into town to help him. I did not hear back that night, so I assumed all was well.

The phone rang again the following morning. It was another pool employee this time, calling to report that the baby owl was back on the ground. This was no good, so I made plans to stop by to help on my way in to work.

This time of year here in the Midwest, young owls are "branching" out from the nest. During this phase of their lives, the young owls are testing their wings and learning some of the life skills that will sustain them in the future. They are still being fed by the parents at night, however, and I did not want to kidnap an otherwise healthy fledgling just because it seemed like a good idea.

Pulling into the pool facility parking lot, I, and my friends Lisa and Jeff who were visiting from Boston, found two women and a very concerned young boy. The owlet was on the grass beneath a white pine tree.The pine, where the manager had placed the owl the night before, was only slightly larger than the one Charlie Brown puts up for Christmas each year—not really a safe place. Clearly the owl had tried to fly and had ended up grounded again.

Sure enough, it was a young red-morph eastern screech-owl. I crawled under the pine tree and looked it over carefully. It seemed tired but appeared to be physically unharmed. No drooping wings or balance problems, and no blood or mussed feathers that might indicate a car collision or an encounter with a predator.

It would not take the pieces of thawed beef I offered on some long tweezers, so I called the Science Chimp for a phone referral. She confirmed my plan was the wise move—to find the owl's nest cavity if possible and return it there, or, at least to get it up into a larger tree where it would be safe until dark.

I glanced around me for likely trees. There were many smallish deciduous trees in the park surrounding the pool, but none looked likely as the owl's pint of origin. Across the road by the river, large ashes, mulberries, sycamores, oaks, and water maples grew and most of them had cavities where an owl family could live. I felt certain that this little guy or gal had glided across the road from these trees, landed on the ground, and was unable to fly back again. I would return the owl across the road.

The poison-ivy jungle.

The trouble was the entire tree-clad river bank was covered in a vine-y tangle of poison ivy. I walked closer. There was a low-hanging water maple branch with a partial cavity at its base. If I could get the owl there, I'd feel good about its chances of surviving until night when the owlet would emit some begging calls and its parents would likely resume their flights of food.

Poison ivy and I do not get along so swimmingly. I glanced down at my Teva sandals, sockless feet and bare legs (not a great day to wear shorts). There was no way to reach the branch without tip-toeing through the ivy. The pool was not yet open so we had no option to wrap me up mummy-style in towels. I was going to have to dive into the ivy, deliver the owl to its branch, and high-step back out again. Then I was going to have to wash my legs in bleach lest I go into fits of scratching that would make Fleegle from The Banana Splits look pest free.

Just as I was about to scoop up the owl for my mission of mercy, my birding and music pal Steve McCarthy showed up, fully clad in his always-fashionable business-casual attire—including long pants, socks, and normal human shoes. He'd been up the river at the dam looking at the season's first snowy egret.

Steve McCarthy, bird rescuer and local raconteur

Apprised of the situation, Steve did not hesitate. He took the young, lost nocturnal raptor and delivered it safely to the water maple branch.

The owlet in its new, safer roost spot.

He even snapped a few of these images with my cellphone's camera. What a guy!

The owl was much better concealed in the new spot. It's just right of center on the main branch.

I gave careful instructions to the pool gals to watch for the owl for the next few days. I told them its parents would be feeding it and that it should soon be fully flighted and thus better able to avoid ending up back on the ground. They promised to call if they found it again. I never got a call so I'm assuming that all's well that ends well.

Or should it be owls well that ends well....ah, whooo knows.