© Lora Denis
Last Saturday, I almost missed my birding outing. When my alarm woke me up, it was still dark outside. The weather report promised severe fog east of Toronto and it was drizzling. Hardly ideal weather conditions for spotting a grayish, drab-looking bird called the Townsend’s solitaire.
The night before my very first birding trip, I was nervous. Not only was I entirely new to birds and the natural world, I didn’t even know how to use binoculars. By “entirely new” I mean I couldn’t even identify a robin. And, since I’m being honest here, I showed up for my first outing ...
I had no idea what to expect from my first Christmas Bird Count this weekend. I was nervous about meeting a group of unknown, yet likely much more experienced birders for the first time, and slightly terrified that under pressure to impress strangers, the only bird I’d be able to identify would be a robin. ...
At first, I thought the point of birding was spring migration. Birders rise before dawn and spend their days pointing their binoculars at the quick moving warblers in a frenetic attempt to ID the avian wonders that dot the trees. The irrepressible excitement of my new bird-group at the sight of the season’s first yellow ...
Red-winged blackbird © Shutterstock, BG Smith
During the week, I’m a writer, editor, writing coach, and lecturer who sits at her desk for long stretches of time, crafting sentences and researching obscure details about the culinary predilections of Peter the Great. But on Saturdays I transform into a Tilley hat clad birder who sets her alarm clock for an unseemly hour ...