My Birding World

I’ve been writing in this blog since 2018. It has brought me so much joy to share my experiences. At times, I’ve written obsessively, posting multiple times a month. Other times, I’ve taken an extended break. Life requires that we have moments to pause, reflect, and rest our minds.

This year has been one of those times where a longer break was necessary. For the first part of the year, I was exhausted after a marathon race of participating in the Big Year competition. When I finally regained some energy around birding, then summer reared its ugly head and I had to switch gears to surviving the hottest summer I’ve ever experienced. Staying indoors to escape the heat caused my birding world to narrow dramatically to just my backyard. Even the birds found it too hot and largely stayed in the shade and out of sight.

Despite being house-bound to escape the heat, I did have an opportunity to make some interesting observations. Namely, the California Scrub-Jays have commanded my attention as of late. I never really paid attention to these local birds, but watching a large group of them take over my backyard over the summer offered some fascinating insights into their behavior.

For one thing, they are certainly mischievous. I’ve had to battle them to keep my container garden growing. I don’t mind that they bury plum seeds and dog food in my pots, but I do get annoyed when they start messing with my plants. One year I tried planting garlic and we had an extended battle over keeping the bulbs in the ground. Each day the jays would rip out the garlic and damage the bulbs. They wouldn’t eat them, so apparently the jays just didn’t want the garlic in the pots. I had to stick with growing garlic indoors in water (which is easy and yummy, by the way).

This year I tried planting more flowers in the backyard. I thought that succulents would be a good option in this environment, so I purchased two tiny succulents to add to two small pots. Over the course of a week, the jays uprooted the succulents and flung them across the yard on multiple occasions. Even after I lined the edges of the pots with a bunch of BBQ skewers, they still managed to grab the plants and toss them aside. I ended up relocating the pots close to the backyard door, which seems to have finally dissuaded the jays from messing around with these particular plants.

Despite the frustrations with gardening, The jays have been fun to watch as they bathe in the bird bath I set up. There is definitely a pecking order where one is permitted to splash around in the water while the others are sidelined and forced to watch. Only when the alpha bird decides it’s done do the other jays have a chance to drink and bathe.

One day while indoors, I heard a jay calling and I said to my husband, “They must be taking a bath.” Sure enough, there was a jay splashing around in the water. I realized at that point that they have a certain call that I interpret as, “Hey guys, I’m taking a bath!” I can hear that particular call from across the house with the blinds closed and know that they are playing in the water. According to All About Birds, researchers have identified at least 20 different types of jay calls. I think I uncovered one of those calls and can now partially speak jay language!

If you have any California Scrub-Jays around, it might be worth paying a bit more attention to them. They are certainly funny creatures to watch.

Last year I embarked on an incredible journey – my first Big Year competition, sponsored by the San Joaquin Audubon Society. The Big Year is a competition to see as many bird species as possible in one year, and in this case we would be competing within county borders. It proved to be a great way to meet the local birders and to get to know the birding spots here, which was a perfect set-up for newcomers such as myself.

During the year, I experienced many beautiful moments of awe, of being lured into the spell of a rare bird popping by for a day or two. With every rare bird report, I could count on seeing a familiar group of birders later that day as we all rushed out to find the bird. I enjoyed the conversations and friendships that followed.

Because of the Big Year, I went out of my comfort zone by exploring new areas and landed several “lifers” (a bird I’ve never seen before) as a result. I also paid more attention to the birds around me, which undoubtedly aided in my discovery of a Costa’s Hummingbird making my backyard its home. It’s these experiences that I will treasure long after the Big Year is done.

In the end, my husband and I landed first for team effort! We were tied for third in the intermediate category, and placed sixth overall. Not bad for newcomers that were just getting acquainted with an area.

A bucket list item is checked. A new year begins. Now what? After a year of grinding, suddenly I’m left with a feeling of uncertainty of how to bird “normally.” I’ve been focusing on my backyard and observing the bird drama. White-crowned Sparrows establishing a pecking order within their foraging unit, Anna’s Hummingbirds aggressively defending their feeder, and battles between jays and mockingbirds for the prime spot in a tree. There’s been so much to explore within my own backyard, and for now that is bringing me the peace and relaxation I need to wind down from 2023.

Birders often like to keep lists. A popular list is your “life list”, which is a list of birds that you’ve seen over the course of your life. When you add a new bird to that list, it’s called a “lifer.”

There’s a tradition that some birders follow when they add a lifer to their list. You celebrate with a Lifer Pie. For a fun story and the history behind this tradition, check out Audubon’s article, “Birding Is its Own Reward, but ‘Lifer Pie’ Makes it Even Sweeter.”

My sister likes to celebrate with an alternative sweet reward: a Bird Day Cake (as opposed to a birthday cake – get it?). As someone not particularly fond of pies, I prefer this mode of sugar indulgence much better.

Now opposite of getting a new life bird, there’s this thing called “dipping.” Say there is a bird that someone else has reported. If you go out looking for it but end the day missing your target bird, that’s called dipping.

I’ve dipped a ton this year. There were a lot of rare birds reported throughout the county that were required viewing in order to remain competitive for the Big Year. Despite multiple attempts to nab said bird, our efforts were for naught on countless occasions.

Take for example a recent adventure to find a Franklin’s Gull that popped by for a brief visit to a sewage pond. Upon hearing the report, a mass migration of local birders landed on this spot. I was running errands in another county when the WhatsApp chat exploded with updates. My husband and I raced home to grab our gear and rushed off to the ponds. Upon arrival, we walked as quickly as we could to the group who “had the Franklin’s Gull in their scope.” I took a quick look – no gull. Where was the gull? “It was just here, where did it go?” Gone.

We stayed for an hour-and-a-half, long after all the other birders left, looking for the gull and it never returned. As we set to leave, another birder came by and we wished him luck. Apparently our words are magical because as we pulled out of the lot, my phone blasted a text from the birder saying he got the gull. We rushed back to find him. “I had him in my binoculars a moment ago, but now I don’t see him!” The light was quickly fading and the gulls were leaving. No Franklin Gull for us. That is a great example of dipping. (The next day we returned and did find the Franklin Gull, so it was only a momentary setback).

Returning to the topic of Lifer Pie, my sister came up with a brilliant food-related idea to cheer up an otherwise sad ending: celebrate a dipping event with dips! Artichoke dip, hummus, dipping sauces accompanying fried foods, tzatziki, anything you like.

It’s probably best to find a dip that is on the healthier side because there’s a lot of dipping that happens with birding, although that just makes the successes that much sweeter – figuratively and literally with Lifer Pie!

Our backyard has seen a lot of bird action since we moved to San Joaquin Valley. California Scrub-Jays love to hop around and cache food in various places, including the lawn and (rather annoyingly) my garden pots. Black Phoebes like to snatch insects from the air in the evenings. White-crowned Sparrows, Northern Mockingbirds, and Eurasian Collared-Doves will poke around the lawn edges for scrumptious bits of food. Occasionally a hummingbird will hover around the Crepe Myrtle trees looking for bugs.

More recently, Anna’s and Black-chinned Hummingbirds have enjoyed my new mason jar feeder. I even had a magical experience with one impatiently sipping from the feeder while I was still holding it. I spent many warm evenings over the summer watching the two hummingbird species go to battle over this food source, giving me a great opportunity to soak up their personalities.

One evening, I stepped out into the backyard to look at my container garden and to see who might be at the feeder. As I bent down to look at the tender seedlings poking through the soil, an unfamiliar sound caught my attention. I glanced at the feeder and noticed that the call was coming from a little hummer perched on a branch not commonly favored by my usual visitors. I cautiously crept indoors fearing I would scare the hummingbird, and grabbed my husband and our cameras.

After a brief photoshoot, I had convinced myself that this was a young Black-chinned Hummingbird and went back indoors to eat dinner. I was content to carry on with the evening, but my husband rushed through dinner and went straight to his computer to review the photos. Annoyed that he left me to finish my meal alone, I slurped up the last bit of my soup and then casually joined him to look over the images.

This hummer was so cute! Its few gorget (neck) feathers were a vibrant purple, and it sat like a little puff ball patiently observing its surroundings. I started to wonder – is this actually a young Black-chinned Hummingbird or something else?

Grabbing chairs, cameras, monocular, and a phone to record audio, we quietly set up to watch the hummer – who was thankfully still there – as dusk started to arrive.

There was indeed something different about this one. The few gorget feathers were too purple. It didn’t seem as “necky” or as stretched out like the Black-chinned Hummingbird. And its mannerisms felt different to me, giving off a sense of peace and calm while he watched for nearby food competitors.

A Black-chinned Hummingbird arrived, evoking a series of TINKS from the new hummer. I managed to nab a recording of it. We continued to watch it for a half hour until it flew away for the night.

How lucky I was to capture the TINK audio! My heart started to race as I reviewed all the Anna’s and Black-chinned Hummingbird calls, wondering if we had simply heard an unusual vocalization from our familiar friends. However, none of the recordings lined up with ours. On a hunch, I called up a Costa’s Hummingbird and clicked on the first call. Excitement flooded my system as I heard an exact match. Could it be that we just saw a rare bird, and from our own backyard to boot? A quick post to our local birding group confirmed the ID. What a thrilling moment! 

It was only because I happened to step outside for a moment and observe an unusual call that we ended up spending time with this beauty. It goes to show that it’s not required that we memorize all the birds in a field guide. Instead, get to know your local birds well enough so that when something unique comes through, you’ll notice and pay attention to it.

I’m quite sick of summer. The long, hot days and blindingly bright sun have overstayed their welcome. I’d like to think the birds are annoyed with summer as well. They are mostly silent these days, with the exception of the starlings practicing their cover songs. Birding over the summer has largely been uneventful.

As I trudged through June and July, I kept looking to August for a bit of relief. No, it’s not cooler in August by any means. But the birding excitement starts to pick up – it’s sandpiper migration! These tricky little birds offer an advanced lesson in bird ID, and when you’re in the midst of a Big Year, it’s time to learn (and refresh your memory) fast.

In San Joaquin County, some of the best shorebird spots are around the Delta and water treatment plants. On mornings or evenings that were “cool” enough, we would venture out to the appropriate habitat and carefully review each peep (little sandpipers). Least Sandpipers and Killdeer offer good anchor points for IDs. The Leasts are the tiniest of our peeps while Killdeer are easily recognizable with the double-rings on their breast, red eyes, and persistent calls. From there, you can compare peeps in question with the Leasts and Killdeer based on size differences, bill shape, breast streaking, and sometimes leg color.

No matter how much I study, I cannot absorb the ID markers of a Semipalmated Sandpiper, which is a sandpiper that we need for the Big Year. It’s strikingly similar to the Western Sandpiper, the subtle differences being its overall size and its bill shape. Other peeps have more defined features to grasp, such as the Pectoral Sandpiper with its larger size and heavily-streaked breast, and the Baird’s Sandpiper with its long primary feathers that uniquely extend beyond its tail. These are solid structural features, not subjective features that require experience with the species – hard to do when it’s rare like the Semipalmated Sandpiper.

After many days spent in the hot sun looking through all the sandpipers, we finally spotted all the expected species that come through the area during August plus some bonus species, including the Semipalmated Sandpiper, Baird’s Sandpiper, Pectoral Sandpiper, Solitary Sandpiper, and Stilt Sandpiper. As the month – and therefore summer – finally comes to an end, our visits to sandpiper habitat will soon shift to looking for warblers and other fall goodies in wooded areas.

This morning was pleasantly cool, and the sun cast an orange glow through the trees. Fall is almost here, and I can’t wait!

I have sensitive skin. I can simply look at a grassy lawn and break out in hives. I have to watch what I put on my skin, including fabrics, lotions, and cosmetics. For sun protection, I rely on wide-brimmed hats and a long-sleeved sun shirt, applying sunscreen only to the few remaining spots that still hit the sun. I can look rather over-dressed in the summer, but it lets me avoid slathering on icky sunscreen.

But what does this have to do with birding? One word: Mosquitoes.

Last summer was our first in San Joaquin County. In addition to the miserable triple digit heat for days on end, we were exposed to a level of biting bugs that we weren’t accustomed to in the Bay Area. So we generally just stayed home to avoid both the heat and bugs. But now with a Big Year competition in progress, we have to figure out how to deal.

Years ago, we tried natural mosquito-repellent bracelets during our Oregon road trip. A fine idea, but we went home with more than a few mosquito bites. A couple years later when we went to Texas, I tried the regular OFF! bug spray, and I found it miserable. I was so fixated on this chemical on my skin that it made it hard to fully focus on the birds. Earlier this summer, we tried a botanical-based OFF! spray, and while it did work, I noticed that it irritated my skin a bit. So far the options I’ve tried have not been ideal.

Time to try another approach: my husband bought nets to put over our hats. I dreaded the idea of wearing this highly visible thing over my head to parks where everyone else is in their summer clothes and lathered in bug spray. We were certainly going to look very silly.

One late spring morning, we gave the nets a try at Caswell State Park, which is often not terribly crowded but offers a lot of biting insects during the non-winter months. I put the net over my hat and, as predicted, felt completely embarrassed. I wouldn’t make eye contact with the few people we saw in the park. But after a few minutes of walking around, we noticed dozens of mosquitoes hanging off our clothes and bouncing off the nets, unsuccessfully penetrating our armor. Aha! Suddenly I was feeling better about our new gear, and especially excited to have found a non-chemical solution to the bugs.

While it was unnerving to hear the mosquitoes buzzing around our heads, I was able to mostly focus on the birds and I was feeling quite happy – that is, until we walked past a family just entering the park. One of the parents loudly commanded, “Look at those weirdos!” It made my heart sink. My excitement wore off and I felt embarrassed again. But also angry. Why would someone say something so mean, and at that, loud enough for others to hear?

We were feeling pretty upset at the comment as we drifted to another part of the park. I tried to distract myself with the birds, but the shame lingered. It really bothered me to have a quick assessment of my needs culminate into a proclamation of being a weirdo by a complete stranger.

After a few minutes of silent brooding, I heard a sudden commotion and loud yelling. I turned around to see that same family racing back to the parking lot yelling, “I’m a [beeping] mosquito magnet!” They scrambled into their car and bolted out of the park. Yup, that’s why we were wearing the nets! We shared a good chuckle at the turn of events.

I have sensitive skin and this silly thing is allowing me to go into nature during the summer. Does that make me a “weirdo?” It’s a reminder to be kind to one another. We may think that someone is doing something “odd,” but let compassion take over your commentary, whether silently or out loud. Everyone is going through life with invisible stories that inform their decisions. Let us be kind.

Later that morning another lady commented that I had a nice hat and asked about the net, which she said made me look like a beekeeper. I told her it was for mosquitoes. After presenting her leg full of mosquito bites, she said the nets were a good idea. That was a pleasant interaction and I appreciated her gentle curiosity.

At my old place, I tried out several bird feeders over the span of a few years. The first was a finch sock that attracted Lesser Goldfinches and House Finches, and it was a joy to watch. However, it got really messy with seeds strewn all over the place, and I feared attracting vermin. So I took it down. Then I tried a traditional hummingbird feeder with homemade sugar water. After a particularly hot week and forgetting to clean it, the feeder molded so badly that I had to throw it out, unconfident that I could clean it well-enough to be safe for the birds. I tried another feeder to attract finches, and while it wasn’t as messy, a disease broke out amongst the birds and Audubon advised taking in all feeders in the area to stop its spread. 

It’s a lot of work maintaining feeders. You have to make sure they are kept clean for the birds’ safety. Seed can get expensive and make a mess causing other issues. Sugar water can attract ants and molds quickly in the summer heat. Although feeders bring joy, I didn’t have the energy to keep up with the required maintenance. 

Fast forward to now, I succumbed to an impulse at Tractor Supply Company and bought a teeny Mason Jar with four silicone red flower portals for the hummers. I figured that it was such a small thing that I could keep up with it better – plus the wide mouth would allow for easier cleaning. So far it’s been a hit with the Black-chinned Hummingbirds, and now Anna’s Hummingbirds are taking over.

A few days ago, I cleaned the feeder in the early evening just before the hummers tend to arrive. There was a female Anna’s dancing around the dead apricot tree where I hang the feeder (we asked the landlords to keep the dead tree in place because the birds love to perch on it). The Anna’s was working its way along various skinny branches, picking at bugs caught in spiderwebs. A sudden inspiration hit me – would the hummer be bold enough to drink from the feeder while I hold it?

I approached with a painfully slow scoot so as not to scare it, holding the feeder around my chest and carefully positioning my fingers so that I could grip it with minimal movement. The Anna’s kept an eye on me as I inched closer and closer, my breath quickening with anticipation.

I got just close enough and the Anna’s flew over to me, dipping into the rubbery red flower and gulping up the new batch of cooled sugar water. I was so stunned that I couldn’t even look at it for fear of moving the feeder and spooking it. But, for what seemed like eternity, I finally moved my eyes down and watched this precious little bird downing the homemade nectar. I could hear its buzzing wings keeping it afloat and could sense how light this teeny little thing was. 

I accidentally adjusted my finger which moved the feeder, and the Anna’s instinctively pulled away. I watched it shift over to take a hard look at my ring, as if wondering whether it was a silvery flower worthy of further investigation. Its observation complete, it flew in front of my face and hovered, forcing us to literally see eye to eye. It was so close I could see the bits of web still clinging to the tip of the bill. Time slowed down as I was caught up in its gaze.

Was it telling me to scram? Was it showing a display of courage against this huge giant holding a previous food source? Or perhaps it was giving me thanks or curiously staring deep into my soul.

Admittedly, I was feeling terrified at having this needle-bill mere inches away from my eyeballs. The Anna’s that have hung around lately have been particularly aggressive towards the Black-chinned Hummingbirds, fiercely chasing them away at every opportunity. I wasn’t going to take any chances and I quickly spun around. The hummer flew off a short distance, waited for me to return the feeder to its normal spot, drank some more, and moved on, leaving me with a pounding heart and a huge smile across my face. 

The Big Year has been an experience like no other. When I first started this challenge, it made perfect sense for me to enter the competition. For starters, I always try to see as many birds as possible each year, so this was a natural extension of my personal annual challenges. Then I’ve always dreamed about participating in a Big Year, getting annual inspiration from watching The Big Year movie each New Year’s Eve. When my local Audubon Society announced the county competition, it was a no brainer for me to join.

January and February were great. My husband and I, working as a team, picked up so many birds. We were out birding every day, sometimes squeezing in a quick bird list during work breaks or lunches. We attended every Audubon-sponsored bird trip and, like a sponge, soaked up all the tips that the local birding community had to offer. I frequently updated my spreadsheet that tracked the birds we’d seen and carefully planned our next visits – until a bird alert would force us to pivot to a new location in a hyper search for a unique bird. It was all a thrill.

Until it wasn’t.

Before pursuing this Big Year, I was already burdened by life’s pressures and health set-backs, but I figured that this would give me an escape. Instead, it added to my feelings of overwhelm. By March, my body started to scream, “STOP!” I had been pushing through migraines and waking up too early for field trips when I should have been sleeping in. Chores were left undone and I was eating fast food and sugary sweets much more than I care to admit. I was also feeling really down because we kept on driving all over the county to see rare or infrequent birds, spending countless hours on the road and in unfamiliar places only to not find the damn bird and later see it reported that day by someone else. I was worn out and discouraged.

So I started to rest. I stopped going on field trips in March to allow myself to sleep more on the weekends. We prioritized grocery shopping and I figured out ways to pack lunch and healthy snacks. I tried to incorporate at least one day to focus on being a homebody to do chores. I limited the long birding hours to just a half day, or at least break up a long day with other non-birding activities to recoup.

I think back to my post on birding meditation, where I described the peaceful nature of mindful birding. Reading it, I feel a sense of calm, remembering what it’s like to fully immerse myself into the activity without worrying about getting that target bird that could make-or-break our ranking in this competition. The Big Year disrupted the meditative quality of birding for me. It also caused me to sacrifice other important activities, like cooking or tidying up my home. This hyper-competitive spirit certainly isn’t nourishing, especially if you have a lot of other responsibilities tugging at you.

I’m looking to strike a balance between going all in for a competition that I’ve always dreamed about while also prioritizing my self-care. I’m working to find a place of peace to enjoy this friendly competition, try my best, and respect my personal limitations. This will be increasingly important as we head into spring migration, where the birding frenzy will suddenly pick up again for weeks on end.

Seeing my first Bullock’s Oriole for the year filled me with so much excitement, as the splash of vibrant orange color was a welcomed relief from the dull, dreary, and wet winter days. I am looking forward to tapping into that joy as we welcome a new set of birds arriving for the breeding season. 

It’s the first weekend in March. The birding has slowed down substantially – we are in between winter birds and the upcoming spring migration. I had hoped this would translate into a slower pace for me with a little time to recover from a very busy two months of intense birding, but I’m having no such luck for rest.

My goal this weekend was to find a Violet-green Swallow. These gorgeous swallows, sporting their namesake purple and green plumage, apparently only visit this county for about two months, and now is the time to look for them. It’s a now or never situation, as they won’t show up again for the rest of the year.

The Violet-green Swallows were already spotted at the Mokelumne Fish Hatchery. Last weekend we drove out there and couldn’t find any swallows, let alone our target bird. Needing some rest, I didn’t feel like driving all the way out to East County again this weekend. But I was convinced that we could spot them in my end of the county and today we headed to Ripon to test our luck.

We headed over to the Ripon Sewage Ponds. As gross as that name sounds, water treatment plants offer awesome birding, even if it does get a bit stinky at times. Thankfully today the chemical fumes were not wafting in our direction, so we spent more time looking over the first two ponds. Recently, an Iceland Gull and a rare Glaucous Gull were spotted in South County, so when I saw a large group of gulls plopped in the middle of the ponds, I spent some time scoping them in hopes of finding a goodie. A few petite Bonaparte Gulls and a Ring-billed Gull were the only deviants from the hundreds of California Gulls. Nothing unusual.

I scanned the Black-bellied Plovers, pretending that I know how to find and ID a rare Pacific-golden Plover. The plovers’ bellies were just starting to show hints of black as they transition from winter to breeding plumage. One plover in particular caught my eye with tan feathers extending further down its breast than the nearby plovers, but once it tucked its bill into its back and fell asleep I gave up on the opportunity to turn it into a rare bird. But no matter – today was about the swallows!

I saw a couple of swallows near the parking lot, but they were the expected Tree Swallows with their blue-green backs. But I had a particular spot in mind to find our target bird. Something was calling me to the end of the four main ponds where the geese like to hang out in a grassy mini-field. 

Dragging my scope and camera with me kept my hands occupied as we walked to the field, so I listened intently to the sounds around me. Sandhill Cranes rattled overhead, a pair of Yellow-billed Magpies called to one another, and a Black Phoebe cheerfully chirped as it snapped bugs out of the air.

Upon reaching the mini field, I found that there were indeed swallows. Score one for intuition! Next was the arduous task of picking out each swallow for review, keeping it in my field of vision while it dances around the air in its acrobatic flight pattern. One by one, I glued my binoculars to a swallow and carefully checked for extensive white in the face and white extending up the sides of the rump to the back. FInding the white is an easier ID feature to pick out amongst the Tree Swallows in flight versus catching the purple and green colors. It felt like a Dr. Suess book: One Swallow, Two Swallows, Tree Swallow, Four Swallows. All were Tree Swallows chattering to each other. After some time of scanning with no Violet-green Swallows popping up, it was time to call it quits.

That’s the thing with the Big Year. I have “dipped” (missed a bird recently spotted by someone else) so many times I’ve lost count. And that doesn’t include ventures like this where I’m going out on a limb to find a bird that hasn’t been spotted in the hopes of being the first to report it. But you keep on going out, trying each day to get the birds, because today might be that special day when the bird cooperates.

For our efforts, our consolation prize later that day was a South County specialty: a Cassins’ Kingbird spotted, ironically, on Bird Road. 

I like challenges. I really like year long challenges. It is therefore fitting that every New Year’s Eve, we watch The Big Year to gather up some excitement for the upcoming year. Although I imagine myself competing alongside the movie characters, in real life I often compete with my family to see who can spot the most bird species from January 1 to December 31. So imagine my excitement when San Joaquin Audubon announced that they were sponsoring a County Big Year for 2023! Now I could move from daydreaming about a Big Year to actually doing it alongside many other birders.

Being new to the county would put me at a great disadvantage. In my old town, I knew exactly where to find key birds. I could tell you the exact patch of bramble where the Pacific Wrens hung out in Reinhardt Redwood Regional Park. I could predict when a pair of male Black Scoters would arrive at the Richmond Marina during the winter. I had a firm grasp of the various habitats and the birds that might show up each season. But here, I had zero idea of the places to go, let alone having intricate knowledge of the birds’ favorite spots within a hotspot. But I didn’t let that stop me from entering this competition!

To prepare, I signed up for hourly rare bird alerts plus daily eBird needs alerts – a customized list of county birds recently spotted by other birders that you need for the year. I had already joined the San Joaquin Audubon listserv and joined a new WhatsApp group for bird findings. I created pivot tables using eBird data and I poured over bar charts to track seasonality. I arranged my schedule to ensure that I could participate in as many Audubon-sponsored bird walks as possible. And I’ve been out birding every single day, often pivoting my birding plans on a dime to chase after a rarity.

It’s exhausting. Even worse, it’s only been one month! As I tracked the eBird annual top 100 birders for the county, I was feeling like I couldn’t keep up with the locals. Despite access to historical data, it simply doesn’t match intimate knowledge of the area collected from years of experience. It’s one thing to find a park, it’s quite another to know the exact spot in which the bird is found.

One particularly rough day left me in tears. Work pressures, birding pressures, life pressures – it was getting to be too much. If I wasn’t birding, I was working. When I wasn’t working, I was birding. There was no time for chores and I barely squeezed in time to pick up groceries. Why was I doing this? Isn’t this supposed to be fun? Why do I feel so stressed out? Is the stress worth it? I started to seriously question my participation in the Big Year.

“It’s a marathon, not a sprint,” my sister wisely told me one evening. In other words, don’t pressure yourself to see all the birds all at once, which is exactly what I was trying to do. Always one to nudge me on, she encouraged me to think about this as a fun bucket list item. At the end of this year, I will be able to say that I finally lived out a dream of participating in a Big Year and be proud no matter my ranking in the end.

I chewed on this for a while. Whenever I compete, I’m in it to win; but the bucket list mindset alleviates a lot of stress. Yes, I’m still pushing to do my absolute best and hope for an underdog win, but releasing the pressure with a shift in my mindset is proving to be helpful.

As a result of this competition, I’ve been meeting new birders and seeing them every weekend on bird walks. They’ve been kind enough to share tips with us newcomers. Their generosity is something very special that I’ll treasure. If nothing else, I’m happy to have expanded my birding circle and have fun with new birders so far this year.