Hey tweets, Yesterday, my husband John and I took an odyssey to Ocean Shores
to see the stint. Odyssey is definitely the right word, as we drove through
squall after squall of weather so bad I thought our windshield wipers were
going to fly off, I had them going so fast. John and I kept telling each
other that the clouds were surely breaking up ahead of us, but that was just
idle chitchat. In reality, we thought we probably should have brought the
ark instead of the Civic. But by some miracle, when we arrived at Ocean
Shores, the clouds parted and the sun shone brightly.

It was perfect. John's ideal of a chase like ours yesterday is, you drive
up, you see a bunch of birders with scopes and smiles, you ask if anyone is
on the bird, you look through a kind stranger's optics and there it is.

And there it most certainly was, feeding along the edge of the sewage pond.
While I was taking my time gazing upon the wonder that has somehow arrived
on our doorstep, John stood out of the wind, talking to a workman who
operates the Ocean Shores STP.

John told me later that their big topic of conversation was birders and how
nutty we are.

I guess John has lived with a nutty birder long enough so that he doesn't
question our state of mind anymore. In fact, I can't even remember the last
time he railed against driving 300 miles through hail, gale-force winds, and
horizontal rain on the off chance that an "eyebrow" bird might still be
silly enough to hang around a sewage pond. I must admit that John is still
enough of an outside observer to feel grateful when the wind is blowing away
from the sewage. He knows all too well that I can't smell a thing when I'm
on a good bird and thus am highly likely to be totally happy while
surrounded by an odoriferous miasma the likes of which would have caused
medieval housewives to slam shut the windows and haul out the garlic.

In fact, John has absorbed enough of our love for what Pete Dunne calls the
feather quest to get excited himself when a rarity on the order of the
Temminck's stint shows up here. So he did his best to explain to the sewage
worker the appeal of a bird that had the size and general shape of a
puckered lemon on legs. A drab, brown, sour lemon at that.

I appreciate John's efforts, as I struggle myself to tell friends and family
how high my spirit soared at the sight of this little, nondescript bird.
It's certainly not the bird's bright colors - it hasn't got any. Hayman et
al. describe a Temminck's stint as "distinctively plain." How's that for a
backhanded compliment? Its size is small, it's bill is average, its markings
pretty much nonexistent. *Distinctively* plain is exactly right. Nor is its
call melodious - kind of a Jimminy Cricket who can't carry a tune.

And yet. This bird epitomizes to me the most sublime beauty. Every brown
mantle feather is edged neatly with darker brown, matched with a dark line
up the center. Its breast is delicately lined with pale brown streaks, like
fine crewel embroidery. Its little yellow legs flash in the sun, if you are
lucky enough to be there when a sunbeam gleams out, as we were. When it
spreads its wings, they tower above the bird's body like the wings of the
Sydney opera house. You know those wings could lift that body, and you hope
they will stay a while longer. And yet. When the bird does fly, showing its
diagnostic white outer tail feathers, you sigh with pleasure. No doubt
there, it is indeed a mega-rarity.

I suppose the sewage worker went home that night to tell his wife all about
the crazies he had met on Friday. I hope he did. I'm glad to belong to a
species that is generous enough to believe that someone else may be goofy,
but he'll do whatever he can to accommodate that goofiness.

I also feel glad to belong to a community whose members want to share the
joy of such a find. Who needs Santa Claus when you've got the Sullivans
around to find rarities?

So let me be the first to submit my wish list to Ruth and Patrick: The
Temminck's Stint was fabulous, fantastic. I love it. But now that I've seen
it, I wish you would dig out a Terek Sandpiper next. If that's too much to
ask for, then I wish for a Spoonbill Sandpiper. There are only 43 shopping
days left till Christmas - I hope I've left you enough time! Thank you, Ruth
and Patrick, for finding and then sharing this glorious bird. - Connie,
Seattle

csidles at isomedia.com