and I'm addicted to bird watching,
or as more serious enthusiasts refer to it, "birding."
There is no monetary reward (although networking for jobs may be included), no awards (though a Birding Cup tournament occurs at Shaver's Creek Environmental Center annually), no scorekeepers (well, other than the "Top 100" posting on eBird.org), and no division of interests or classes of "birders."
Alright, nevermind, the last one isn't really true either (there are "feeder watchers," duck hunters, and rarity chasers). I guess birding is just like every other hobby. Some people are addicted to it and even name their pets after avian interests (Mergus [the genus name for New World mergansers]), while others walk their dog with eyes to the skies. Some record birds in their yards without even leaving their house. To the opposite end, rarity chasers drive/fly/walk hundreds of miles at a time to see Caribbean specialists and Southern Texas rarities like LaSagra's Flycatchers and Bare-throated Tiger-herons, respectively.
Where do I fit into this picture? I started as an opportunistic birder with cursory intentions. As I walked through the forest along Lake Raystown, I would notice the Worm-eating Warblers and Scarlet Tanagers caroling through the canopy, Carolina Wrens and Black-capped Chickadees quarreling at the feeders, and the ubiquitous "name-sayers" (definition should be obvious) like Eastern Phoebes and Red-eyed Vireos flitting through the understory. I never wrote down the species with the temperature, cloud cover, and relative humidity, let alone the date and location. Life was enjoyable with the seasons moving unobtrusively through my senses.
All of that changed when I traveled to Ecuador for a semester abroad in the Fall of 2009. Two things augmented my outlook on birding that semester. First of all, I opened a book on the incoming flight that I didn't close for a month. The title is "Living on the Wind: Across the Hemispheres with Migratory Birds" by Scott Weidensaul. After studying the science of Ornithology at the Raystown Field Station with Juniata College, this text brought the inspiration. As Scott floated through a tropical river on his back watching ornate flycatchers, kingbirds, exotic parrots, and wintering wood warblers, I sat on a life vest viewing Yellow-tailed Orioles, Kiskadee Flycatchers, Scarlet Macaws, and Water-tyrants. On a pelagic trip in the North Atlantic Ocean, he witnessed storm-petrels, shearwaters, and skua, while I sat on the bow of a scuba diving vessel scoping out Galapagos Petrels, Blue-footed Boobies, and Elliot's Storm-petrels. I could repose in a hammock on my host family's roof and envision Eskimo Curlews blocking out the sun with beating wings as well as Brant and Red Phalaropes courting on the Alaskan coastline. When the book closed, my binoculars never left my neck. I would hike for miles along coastal cliffs watching hundreds of Swallow-tailed Gulls gather at their nests, covering every "crook and nanny" along the lava-based vertical landscape. Occasionally I sat, avoiding cryptic Marine Iguanas, and glued my pupils to the horizon to glimpse a Red-billed Tropicbird with it's lengthy plumed tail. Thus, the addiction began.
The second stimulus for my avian awakening was the realization of my unique situation. I was in Ecuador for a 4 months. When would I ever spend that much time in another country? Beside that, when would I travel here again? So, I started recording every bird I could identify. Wake up every morning by 7 am for a 9 am class and watch the colibri (hummingbirds) in the Eucalyptus trees. Euphonias, Beardless-tyrannulets, Brush-finches, and Flower Piercers perched on the chain-link fence beyond the Lemon and Avacado trees of the backyard. Then a breakfast of fresh papaya and strawberries and a fast-paced slalom a la Universidad (Fast and Furious is entertaining on a student-sized TV in Central PA, a 50 year old Marketing Professor squealing tires through rush hour on a downhill Andes freeway is a whole 'nother movie). After class, I found the book store and bough "Aves del Ecuador" (en Espanol) from local advice for $65 (best purchase of the semester). I spent the next month on the mainland, visiting cloud forests, lowland rainforests, alpine meadows, and talus slopes. I saw Carunculated Caracara, Rufous-bellied Seedsnipe, Squirrel Cuckoo, Rufous Motmot, Great-horned Owl, Paradise Tanager, Shining Sunbeam Hummingbird, Many-banded Aracari, Black-tailed Trogon, and Hooded Siskin. Then I flew to the Galapagos Islands and spent 3 months studying the minute differences between Small and Medium Tree Finches on Isla Floreana, diving patterns of Blue-footed Boobies, and diameter of personal bubbles of Galapagos Penguins. 4 months in Ecuador, surrounded by birds.
Next thing I know it's Christmas Eve in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania and I'm sorting through booby oriented souvenirs from the Galapagos. Now what? I've been inhaling an exotic feathered world for 4 months. I did what felt natural: drive to Little Buffalo State Park and search through pine plantations and scrubby forest edges for Red-breasted Nuthatches, Winter Wrens, Long-eared Owls, and American Tree Sparrows.
Addiction is back . . . stateside.
