My Birding World

I step outside to an unfamiliar grey-orange cloud draping itself across the horizon. My brain tries to make sense of the air and pretends that it’s the iconic San Francisco fog rolling in from the bay. My watery eyes and burning lungs argue that the heavy fog is actually smoke.

The Bay Area has been covered in smoke for a week and Friday was so far the worst day with an AQI of 246 in Oakland (0-50 is good air, 300+ is hazardous). The deadly Camp Fire continues its wrath, destroying everything in its path. Simultaneously, LA is battling fires. California feels like it’s in the midst of an apocalypse, and sadly the destruction is dismantling lives.

Birding typically offers me an escape from life’s worries. Each day this past week, I slip on my N95 disposable mask, breathe in its plastic-smell that I hope is properly filtering the smoke, and squint my burning eyes in search of birds. Some days it seems like the bird activity is minimal. I wonder if this is due to the fires.

One thing I’ve noticed is how eerily quiet it is, like stepping into an acoustically-treated room. When I hear a bird chirp, its voice is magnified against the deadened air.

I was delighted to see a hundred European starlings whistling in a whirlwind of mimicry upon a telephone wire. A Bewick’s wren pops out of a bush expressing its feelings with a crabby call that sounds like glass marbles scraping together. A distant call in the distance alerts me to a peregrine falcon flyover, and I catch sight of it just in time to watch it glide through the orange haze.