“Now is the winter of our discontent,” wrote William Shakespeare in “Richard III.” Shakespeare was obviously a birder. His Romeo and Juliet knew the difference between larks and nightingales. He certainly knew winter. And discontent.
Maine birding is still pretty good in winter. The forest and ocean host Canadian breeders fleeing the frozen north. Backyard feeders are active.
Still, as January drags on, there is a certain discontented yearning for the return of colorful songbirds from their tropical vacations.
If you’re reading this column, you’re a birder. But what species of birder are you? What species would you like to be?
Many people are content to watch birds at the feeder, even if they don’t know the identity of every bird they’re seeing. Eventually, an unfamiliar bird shows up, piquing curiosity.
Species moving northward have been tricking people for the last few years. I’m talking about you, Carolina wren and red-bellied woodpecker.
For birders in the feeder-watch group, maybe this is the year to figure out what non-feeder birds are in your backyard. It’s simple. When the songbirds return in May, just find a singing bird and look at it. They tell you where they are.
If they’re playing hard-to-get, cheat. Try Merlin, the free downloadable app from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Installed on your smartphone, it correctly identifies most birds and incorrectly identifies a few more.
Armed with a few tools and a little experience around home, it won’t be long before you wonder what’s in other people’s backyards. Maine is rich in varied habitat. Every backyard is different.
Penobscot Valley Audubon is currently planning a series of morning bird walks around the Bangor area, a good chance to visit local hot spots in May. With hardly any effort, you’ll evolve into the next species of birder.
You’ve become familiar with local birds. You know most of what you’re seeing, and you can identify a few birds by sound. I mean, c’mon, most people know a chickadee when they hear one.
This is the year to venture farther afield, and experience a few more birding opportunities that Maine has to offer.
In northern Old Town, you are exactly halfway between the Equator and the North Pole. Travel south, and deciduous trees start to dominate the forest. Head north, and conifers begin to take over. Proceed west, and elevations increase. Drive east, and the coastal plain prevails.
There’s a different set of birds in every habitat. This may be the year to explore our state from a birding perspective. It’s got secrets, and you can find them.
Perhaps you’ve done all that. You’re longing to evolve again, into a species of birder that explores beyond Maine’s borders. It’s never been easier. You can start your exploration while still on the couch.
Many states, including Maine, have established birding trails, sharing their best birding sites online for free. Many states have birding festivals. Maine has four. Look up any festival itinerary online and see where they go.
My go-to resource is eBird, another online app from the Cornell Lab. Using its many features, I can research a broad geographic area or narrow my search down to a specific hot spot. It will even tell me where to find birds I have never seen before. That’s how I know there’s a boreal owl roosting daily in a particular park in Quebec City. It’s currently the top bird on my personal must-see list.
Birders evolve. As your skills improve and your adventures expand, the act of birding itself changes. I don’t bird the way I used to. I am more aware of bird habitat preferences and behaviors. Most of the time, I don’t even need a good look to identify a bird.
That’s not necessarily a good thing. One reason I travel is to recapture the exhilaration of being a beginner, to see and hear birds I can’t identify right away. I want to struggle, for what fun is winning without effort?
Use the winter of our discontent to dream about spring. Resolve to go on a bird walk, attend a festival, explore the state.
Get familiar with your birding tools before you must use them. For instance, maybe a new camera is in your future.
I guarantee that if you don’t practice photographing chickadees right now, you won’t be able to quickly dial in all the proper settings of a modern camera when an unusual bird poses for you this summer.
That will be cause for discontent.
