By Clay Christensen

I’ve been listing birds since 1987. In that time, I’ve seen 312 species of birds in Minnesota, 1,038 worldwide.

That’s a respectable amount, and I’m happy with it. And that’s about where my life count is going to finish.

I don’t go on birding trips anymore. Flying is fine, but airports are no fun at all.

Earlier in my birdwatching life, I went with a couple of friends to notable birding spots: Churchill, Manitoba; Nova Scotia; Costa Rica; the Peruvian Amazon; Monterey Bay, California; Ecuador (twice, northern and southern).

We’d usually be part of a group tour, led by an in-country expert. With a group, you encounter all kinds of people, not all of them as enthusiastic about birds as you are. There are identifiable types of members.

There’s the one who never sees the bird to which the guide is pointing (that was me, often enough), and then whines, “I’m not seeing it! I’m not seeing it!” I sometimes said it, but I don’t think I whined it!

Then there was the lady in Costa Rica. We were with a group, hiking through the forest. Another group was some distance behind us. We were in an area where a Resplendent Quetzal had been sighted. Suddenly our leader stopped us. Above us, on a branch over the trail, was a male Quetzal, a big bird, red and green body, streaming green tail feathers, sitting quietly watching us watching him.

One woman in our group was going to do a favor to the group following us. She turned to face them, pointed straight up and hollered, “Resplendent Quetzal!” at the top of her lungs! Whereupon the bird flew off into the forest. She was very quiet during the rest of the walk.

I used to monitor the St. Paul Audubon birding hotline for sightings of birds I hadn’t added to my life list yet. Then I’d head out to try to find the bird, usually with a buddy.

But I’m not doing that anymore.

I’m happy for those who have found a rare bird. I enjoy the photos, but I’ll leave it to others to actually lay eyes on the bird.

I belong to a group of birding friends who call ourselves the Monday Morning Birding Bunch, about six to 10 folks who go to a local park or nature area to see what we can see.

Each week, a different person decides where we’re going to go, keeps a list of the birds seen on our trek and writes a report listing those birds. He or she is also responsible for deciding where we go for coffee — a very important responsibility!

 I haven’t been out with this group for several months. Walking on trails has become very dicey. I’ve started using a cane outside and haven’t figured out how to juggle binoculars and a cane. Plus, my hearing is starting to go.

A couple of birds have been a hearing test for me over the years: the Brown Creeper and the Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher. Their vocalizations are so very soft that I always said if I could hear them, my hearing must be all right. Well, I can’t hear them anymore.

Quite frankly, getting up early in the morning isn’t as much fun as it used to be (indeed, if it ever was). I need to get the dog out every morning, on a leash, because I don’t have a fenced yard.

So, the Monday morning routine would require getting up around 5:30 a.m., and that’s too early for me! I’m not blaming Rocky. He’s just being a dog, and a great one at that.

I watch yard birds and the ones we see on our walks, but I miss having a buddy to confirm an identification for me. There’s a book titled “To See Every Bird on Earth,” by Dan Koeppel. I never had such a lofty goal, but I do want to identify every bird I see!

I feel crestfallen if a bird flies by and I’m not able to identify it. Anal retentive much!?

I’ve written a book titled “The Birdman of Lauderdale.” I enjoyed doing that and it fulfilled a life ambition.

Now when I watch birds, I try to figure out what the birds are doing. I watch the interactions among birds at the feeders, look for courting displays, one adult feeding another. And watch the shrubs and trees for migrating warblers. I use the opportunity to refresh my identification skills.

I doubt I will see a new species alighting on my feeders and so my life list of birds likely won’t be growing. And as I said at the top of this column, I’m okay with that. 

Clay Christensen, a longtime birder, lives and writes in Lauderdale.

Photo credit: The face of a Sawwhet Owl, the cutest! Photo by Clay Christensen.