Originally published in "Winging It", Volume 6, Number 3, March 1994.

"Winging It" is the newsletter of the American Birding Association,
P.O. Box 6599, Colorado Springs, CO 80934, 1-800-850-2473.

Reprinted with permission.


Why Heard Birds Count
Kenn Kaufman

At its November 1993 meeting, the ABA Board of Directors voted (by
an overwhelming majority) to make a change in the official bird-
listing rules. According to this change, birds identified by sound
will qualify to be counted on any list reported to ABA--including
world life lists and ABA Area life lists, which formerly required
that the bird had to be seen. For purposes of listing, heard birds
will be on equal footing with seen birds.

Most members are aware of this change, because it was already
mentioned by Greg Butcher in Winging It and by Dan Williams in
Birding. But since this was the first time that the entire Board
had acted to change the listing rules, ABA members may be inter-
ested to know how this came about.

Many readers will recall that a 1991 survey in Winging It sought
members' opinions on whether the rule should be changed, allowing
heard birds to count on ABA Area and world life lists. The results
of that survey (some of which were published in Winging It, March
1992 and June 1992) were quite revealing. Some 85 percent of the
membership at that time did not respond, implying that they would
go along with any policy suggested by the ABA. Among those who
responded, opinion was almost evenly divided. In the absence of a
strong majority either way, our Listing Rules Committee took the
conservative approach of not changing the rule. The rule that
remained in force at that time stipulated that, for ABA Area or
world life lists, birds would have to be seen to be counted.

However, the survey in Winging It had elicited many extensive
comments in addition to simple yes/no votes. These comments
were very valuable, for they provided good insight into the reasons
behind the two opposing viewpoints. There were well-stated
arguments both against the change (i.e., against counting heard
birds) and for the change (i.e., making heard birds countable).
However, boiled down to simplest terms, those opposed felt that
this change would have a negative impact on the sport of birding.
Those in favor felt that it would have a positive impact on the
birds themselves. And both of these aspects merit serious
consideration.

Impact of the rule change on birders

ABA came into existence as the first organization to promote the
hobby and sport of birding . . . and at the outset that mostly
meant listing. The pursuit of lists has come in for some bashing by
ornithologists and "serious" birders recently. However, many of
these same people got their early field experience by running
around the countryside, playing the listing game for all it was
worth. It's hardly fair for them to criticize those who are list-
chasing now. Bird listing remains a perfectly legitimate pursuit.
It requires more brainpower than most outdoor sports, it often
leads to greater knowledge of bird distribution, it rarely harms
the environment, and it's a lot of fun! And even with our broadened
scope of recent years, ABA remains more relevant to the concerns of
the listers than any other organization.

So with that in mind, how did our correspondents think that the
change in listing rules was going to detract from their birding?

One argument was that listing heard-only birds could lead to sloppy
birding or misidentifications. The obvious flip side to that, of
course, is that any kind of listing could lead to sloppy birding.
The desire to tick off another new one could tempt people to fudge
their sightings. But we know that, by and large, this never hap-
pens. Bird listers derive great personal satisfaction from their
lists, and they want to be sure of every addition.

Birders in general are oriented toward a visual approach. Most of
us tend to be conservative about anything that's not actually seen.
This is not likely to change with the new countability of heard
birds. (The new rule doesn't say that you have to count heard
birds, just that you can count them if you wish.) No one is going
to say anything like, "The trip leader pointed out the chip-note of
a Cerulean Warbler, so I'm counting it on my life list." And if
someone ever did, so what? It would be a sad thing for the birder
who did not try to see this little gem of the treetops, but it
wouldn't hurt anyone else.

However, the most frequent argument against counting heard birds
was that it would make lists less comparable. This is where we get
into tricky territory. It prompts us to look at the competitive
side of birding and to ask, when are lists really comparable
anyway? What can a comparison of lists actually prove?

In most sports, the scores mean something. On any one golf course,
the person who consistently gets the best scores is likely to be
the best golfer. The target shooter who hits the most bull's-eyes
is probably the best shot. But what about scores in birding? Is the
person with the biggest list the "best" birder? No, not
necessarily. It doesn't work that way.

Let me illustrate with a hypothetical comparison. Birder A goes out
every week to make a thorough survey of the birds in her three-
county home region. Birder B never goes out at all --not until the
hotline reports something he "needs" for the state. Birder B has a
bigger state list, but who really knows the birds better? What's
the point of comparing their lists?

There are many things that confound comparisons. For example, some
people always go on guided tours, having all their birds pointed
out to them, while others insist on finding and identifying every
bird for themselves. Some people will count a bird after a quick
glimpse, while others will not count it until they have gotten to
know it thoroughly. Can you say that their list totals are really
comparable?

In giving these examples, I'm not criticizing anyone's approach.
The "right" way to work on a list is simply the way YOU enjoy it;
only you can decide. All I'm saying is that--although a birder's
list may mean a lot to that person--comparisons of people's list
totals are virtually meaningless. Bird listing is a great game, but
it's a game in which we compete only against ourselves. There's
nothing that ABA can do, nothing that anyone can do, to make list
totals truly comparable.

Of course, a change in rules won't force anyone to count heard
birds on their life lists. So the objection seems to be driven by
the fear that somebody else will get to count that elusive bird
without having to work as hard for it. Taken down to this basic
level, the sentiment doesn't sound very appealing, does it?

Some perspectives on hearing, seeing, and "knowing" the birds

We might say that what birding is all about (as opposed to bird-
listing) is getting to know the birds. And there are many different
levels of experience that contribute to how well we know them.

One level would be simply to read about a bird, or to look at
pictures. Another level would be to hear the bird in the field.
Another level would be to see it. But there's no reason why that
should be the cut-off point. Just because you've seen a bird once,
that doesn't mean you know it.

Let me re-phrase that. Maybe you know the birds but I sure don't.
Although I've spent most of my life birding, I still don't feel
that I know the birds thoroughly. I've seen the Kentucky Warbler
hundreds of times, maybe thousands, but I've never seen its nest.
Without stopping to check a range map, I can't tell you the status
of Turkey Vulture in North Dakota. I've never seen the courtship
display of the Sanderling. I don't know the diet of the Bufflehead.
And I've seen Great Gray Owls in several states and provinces, but
have never heard one! There's a major gap between seeing a bird
once and actually knowing it.

On the other hand, sometimes you can learn a lot about a bird by
just hearing it.

Suppose you have heard Common Poorwill in several places without
actually seeing it. Don't you know something about this bird? You
know it begins calling at dusk, and that it may still be calling in
the hours after midnight when many nocturnal birds have fallen
silent. You know it does not inhabit deep forest of the mountains,
nor usually unbroken desert flats, seeming to favor canyon walls,
rocky outcrops, and foothills. You know something about its
distribution, based on your own experience. You can guess that it
must sing from the ground and forage from the ground, because you
have found it in places where it had little else but the ground on
which to perch. You have had field experience with this bird, and
if you are keeping a life list, there is no reason why you should
not count Common Poorwill.

Ultimately, though, these philosophical points had little to do
with the Board's decision to make heard birds countable.

The impact of the rule change on the birds themselves

If this had been solely a debate on the sport of birding, it could
have gone either way. But it was our judgment, finally, that this
was a conservation issue.

This reflects the unique nature of our pursuit, of birding as a
sport or game. If the czars of sport decide to change the football
rules, the football itself is not going to care. But we're not
playing a game with inanimate objects. Our actions can affect the
living birds for better or for worse. And it seems clear that our
attempts to see (rather than just to hear) those super-elusive
skulkers can affect the birds for the worse at times.

This was very clearly reflected in the comments from members who
wrote in. Of the hundreds who supported the counting of heard
birds, the vast majority stated one overriding reason: a desire to
reduce the pressure placed on hard-to-see birds and their habitat.

Do birders ever cause disturbance to birds? Of course we do. (And
so does everyone else. When you drive to work in the morning, you
may flush the doves that are trying to feed along the roadside.
What are you going to do about it? Stay home?) The warbler that
stops feeding and comes flitting over to check out our screechowl
imitation is disturbed, yes, but only for a moment, and this is
only a minor event in a day when the bird is frequently responding
to other things in its environment. The disturbance we cause is
usually minor, and we more than balance it out by our support for
environmental protection.

Occasionally, though, we may slip over the line into irresponsible
behavior. (I'm sure that I have, perhaps many times, so I'm not
preaching here.) And it's particularly likely to happen with those
birds that are easy to hear and hard to see. It's an uncomfortable
feeling to recall such situations: when that calling nightjar or
rail or owl is being extraordinarily invisible, when time is
running out, when birders who have traveled X miles and spent X
dollars are worrying that they won't get to count this bird when
some reckless member of the group starts to suggest desperate
measures to push it out into the open . . .

But what if the voice were countable and the birders didn't have to
see the bird? Instantly, those desperate measures would seem less
tempting. Reason and responsibility would be more compelling. The
marsh or the thicket could be left intact, the spotlight could be
turned off. We've heard the bird, it counts.

That scenario, essentially, is why the Board voted to change the
listing rule. Everyone knows that the American Birding Association
has been taking the lead in promoting responsible birding. Our ABA
Code of Ethics is widely noted and quoted. The Board saw that a
simple change in the listing rules would make it far easier for ABA
members to pursue their lists without straying into irresponsible
behavlor.

And if the heard-birds rule results in any reduction of pressure on
the birds or on their habitat, then the change will have been well
worthwhile.

I'd like to close with a personal note on Yellow Rail, a bird
mentioned often in the heard-versus-seen letters.

For a few years, under pressure from birders, a wildlife refuge on
the Gulf Coast was offering "rail buggy" trips to look for Yellow
Rails on their wintering grounds. A balloon-tired tractor would
pull a trailer around and around in wet meadows, flushing re-
calcitrant marsh birds out into the open. Although we were assured
that this did not cause permanent damage to the birds or their
habitat, I can recall feeling distinctly uneasy about it. Watching
the panicky rails when they were finally driven to fluttering
flight, wondering about the confused birds that ran toward the
wheels instead of away from them and then never re-emerged, looking
back at the broad swaths of flattened grass, I had to wonder about
the wisdom of our attempts to see these birds. And what had we
gained, anyway? A quick look at a frantic bundle of feathers with
a white patch in the wing? Oh, boy. Lifer look. List 'em and leave
'em, and don't look back too carefully at the tire tracks.

Contrast that to another memory--of a night in the Prairie
Provinces when we went to listen to Yellow Rails and made no
attempt to see them. After the long northern twilight had melted
into darkness, after the Le Conte's Sparrows had fallen silent,
while the ghostly winnowing of the snipe drifted across the
meadows, we sat on the road and listened. And presently we heard
it: that sudden crackling tick tictick tictictic tictick tictictic
tictick tictictic, startling in its loudness and urgency. Another
one answered from far across the marsh, and then another from off
to the south, and we sat and listened to their odd metallic chorus.
Apparently there were about five territorial male Yellow Rails
within earshot, and we could follow their progress as they moved
about the marshy meadows, rattling out their percussive calls. The
rails were in their element here. They were in command of the
marsh, in harmony with summer on the high prairies. It seemed only
natural when we turned around and saw that the sky to the north was
painted with the wavering curtains of color of the Northern Lights.

At that moment I wanted to forget the winter sightings, banish them
from memory forever--forget those frightened, clumsy birds that had
scuttled away from the crushing wheels. It was infinitely better to
hear the Yellow Rails. This was a lifer experience worth counting,
worth savoring, worth repeating again and again, with no harm done
to the birds themselves.