"One was a species of falcon called the Eurasian kestrel (Falco tinnunculus), a long-tailed, swift-flying bird about a foot long or longer. The other was a shorebird called a Pacific golden plover (Pluvialis fulva), a plump creature about 10 inches long, with a black belly and golden highlights in its feathers."
I saw those reports on my bird mail list service, but I didn't go running after them. If I had a car I'd probably do more of that, but my interest stems more from trying to see what's going on right in front of me, rather than the pursuit of rarities for their own sake. David Sibley suggests that there's a sexual distinction here, with my position representing a "feminine" concern with the environment, as opposed to a "masculine" preoccupation with hunting and listing. As a servant of the Goddess, I'll take that as a compliment. Not that I won't go looking for a rarity, given half a chance. The Kentucky Warbler was one such, seen this past weekend, but it was being tracked by others, while I find it's always more fun to discover something for yourself. Rarities attract crowds, as shown at the bottom of the Plover page. It's great to see the bird, but the atmosphere is hardly contemplative. Even Central Park turns into something of a scene this time of year, as hoards of local and tourist birders arrive for spring migration. The funny thing about most of these rarities is that they're only rare because they are out of place, thrown off course by storms or genetically defective navigation systems. If you go to Europe, you'll have no trouble seeing the Eurasian Kestrel, but birders there would run to see one of ours. For all that, the two species are common in their places, and look and act virtually the same.
(Archival note: I cited these Kestrels, as featured in Hopkins' The Windhover, in an old post…)
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- dave 4-25-2002 1:31 pm
I saw those reports on my bird mail list service, but I didn't go running after them. If I had a car I'd probably do more of that, but my interest stems more from trying to see what's going on right in front of me, rather than the pursuit of rarities for their own sake. David Sibley suggests that there's a sexual distinction here, with my position representing a "feminine" concern with the environment, as opposed to a "masculine" preoccupation with hunting and listing. As a servant of the Goddess, I'll take that as a compliment. Not that I won't go looking for a rarity, given half a chance. The Kentucky Warbler was one such, seen this past weekend, but it was being tracked by others, while I find it's always more fun to discover something for yourself. Rarities attract crowds, as shown at the bottom of the Plover page. It's great to see the bird, but the atmosphere is hardly contemplative. Even Central Park turns into something of a scene this time of year, as hoards of local and tourist birders arrive for spring migration. The funny thing about most of these rarities is that they're only rare because they are out of place, thrown off course by storms or genetically defective navigation systems. If you go to Europe, you'll have no trouble seeing the Eurasian Kestrel, but birders there would run to see one of ours. For all that, the two species are common in their places, and look and act virtually the same. (Archival note: I cited these Kestrels, as featured in Hopkins' The Windhover, in an old post…)
- alex 4-29-2002 8:38 pm [add a comment]