One friend is a thirty-something professional photographer with a background in fine arts and graphic design who got into photography because of birds. The other is a forty-something heating and cooling contractor with a background in big game hunting who got into birds because of photography. He hasn’t touched a gun since he looked at a Cerulean Warbler through the back of a camera two years ago. And of course here I am walking around with a camera because half a lifetime ago I tried to draw the birds I was seeing and discovered I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.
One friend wants to turn bird photography into his life’s work. The other wants to retire and travel around the country photographing birds for the rest of his life. And of course here I am still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. Birding is sometimes described as an adult treasure hunt. I’m down with that. It brings out, or maintains if you will, the child in all of us. It’s hunting without a gun. It’s research, it’s discovery, it’s travel, it’s collecting, it’s sharing a passion. It’s deep in our human DNA.
It’s 6:30am. Sunlight is bathing Elephant Head, but the canyon itself is still in shadow. We round a curve and come to a screeching halt. The Madera turkey flock is walking down the road, several toms in full display, tails fully fanned. I ask if anyone wants to try for photos. My friends look at me like I’m from Mars. It looks like a Chinese fire drill (now politically incorrect but still metaphorically perfect) as we burst from the car in the middle of the road, leaving three doors wide open, motor running, everyone scrambling for cameras and lenses.
Two hours later we’re near the Warbler Pools with our cameras on a Painted Redstart when a birder comes down canyon and reports a trogon above the first stream crossing. I cannot pry them away from the thrall of the tiny red and black warbler package even though the trogon is a life bird for both--beauty at hand worth more than possibility upstream in the bush. I laugh and compliment them for being true birders and dedicated artisans.
At the end of the day (to use the latest overworked cliché in its original meaning), we have a choice: head to Green Valley for dinner so we can come back up canyon for nightbirds, or stay for the sunset in which case we’ll have to forego either dinner or nightbirds. It’s unanimous. We linger for the sunset and are rewarded with Sphinx Moths on purple thistle right at our feet. With really little else in common, we are three friends sharing a passion for the beauty of nature’s palette. So common in birding.
