Thank you so much Doug. You encapsulated the impressions of those rare
moments so well. I had a similar experience this February with a flock of
Snow Geese at Big Ditch. When they exploded like thunder to cross the dike
to the sea, it made my heart stop. I felt as if I were under a "canopy of
bird".

Regards,
Scott Underwood
Bothell, WA
mailto:sunderwood at horizonsoft.com

-----Original Message-----
From: TWEETERS-owner at u.washington.edu
[mailto:TWEETERS-owner at u.washington.edu]On Behalf Of Doug Plummer
Sent: Thursday, May 03, 2001 8:07 AM
To: tweeters at u.washington.edu
Subject: Why we bird


So much of the time we recount our pleasure of a birding trip by the
quantity of the day list. I certainly pursue that acquisitive pleasure when
I'm in a good area, and when I actually know the birds well enough to
compile a decent list. But yesterday morning reminded me of why I bird.

I'm alone on the mud, at Leadbetter Point, early morning, high tide. Those
masses of shorebirds that I'd been craving to see have arrived. Distant
smudges of shorebirds drift across the horizon, as well as plump, ragged
lines of hundreds of Brant. Now, on this shore, all around me, is the
frantic peeping of several hundred Westerns. I stand still, they come
closer, it seems I'm just another stranded log to them. The spotting scope,
redundant. It is one of those rare occasions when I feel completely in this
spot, in this moment, enthralled with the life of birds about me.

And then I see the Peregrine, like a rocket, treetop level, headed my way.
Every bunch of birds lifts from the beach in turn, like a zipper pulling
open, north to south. The birds before me lift in a single instant and
vanish, and the mud is suddenly empty. The chatter of the flock is gone,
replaced by the soft murmur of wind.

Doug Plummer
Seattle, WA
mailto: dplummer at dougplummer.com