Subject: [Tweeters] Eurasian Wigeon at Fill
Date: Jan 4 23:16:45 2008
From: Constance Sidles - constancesidles at gmail.com


Hey tweets, today I want to talk about frustration. Birders, for the
most part, are a cheerful, optimistic lot. We're always looking forward
to the next great bird, and we know there always will be one somewhere.
When we see each other in the field, we always greet each other with a
big smile as we share the experience of seeing nature's most beautiful
creations.

We don't often talk about the dark side of our passion, but we all know
it lurks behind every birding expedition: the chase that fails. You can
see this black cloud hovering in the blue sky of our lives when a group
of birders is all "on the bird" and a newbie shows up, eyes filled with
anxiety that "the bird" will have flown a mere microsecond before the
newcomer arrived. The anxiety is there for a reason. We've all
experienced the awfulness of those moments when we were that newcomer
and the bird had flown, never to return. At those times, the yawning
pit of despair opens and we plunge in, wallowing in the misery of the
"if only's" - if only my kids hadn't needed breakfast before I buzzed
out of the house; if only I hadn't made a wrong turn two miles back; if
only I hadn't gotten behind a farmer's tractor that filled the road and
seemed capable of a speed no great than 5 mph.

Today was my turn. Phyllis Moss called me to say she had just found the
Bohemian Waxwing that's been hanging out at Magnuson Park. She and I
had both huddled in the rain, along with Gene Hunn, a day before,
trying to scare up this bird. While the raindrops dripped onto my
glasses and I wished for the thousandth time that someone would invent
windshield wipers for spectacles, and while no waxwing appeared despite
all the dues we were paying by getting soaked in the rain, Gene dropped
the bomb on me that he had found a Eurasian Wigeon at the Fill during
the Christmas count. I had suspected that the large wigeon flock that's
been floating on the lake south of the Fill might harbor a Eurasian,
and for days I had carefully looked at every single wigeon head, but it
was in vain - all the wigeons were Americans.

At times like these, I begin to question my skill as a birder.

So when Phyllis called this morning to say the Bo was back, I knew I
was being given a second chance. I leaped into my car and raced over to
Magnuson. Alas, Phyllis reported that just before I arrived, a group of
troglodytes had unleashed a pack of barky dogs into the scrub where the
waxwing was feeding (this, despite clear rules that all dogs are to be
on leash in this area). The dogs ensured that every bird had fled.
Phyllis kindly stayed to help me relocate the Bo, but we couldn't find
it again.

Bummed out, I made my way to the Fill to see if I could find Gene's
Eurasian Wigeon. The light was fading fast, and a storm was moving in.
There wasn't much time left. The flock was there, and I settled down to
look at every single head. Alas, two Bald Eagles showed up and began
winnowing through the flock, trying to find a weak bird. Half the ducks
flew off to who knows where, and half flew to the main pond. So I set
up there to go through each bird again, when a dog-walker showed up and
wanted to know what I was looking at. Nothing, since every bird had
flown.

My husband found me slumped on my camp stool half an hour later. I was
too dispirited to move. I figured if the rain didn't melt me into the
landscape, I could sit there for a few months and maybe I would see a
good bird, if one landed on me. My husband kindly offered to get the
car and meet me in the dime parking lot. He also offered to walk the
puddle-covered grass trail to flush the meadowlarks that have been
hanging out here, but of course that didn't work.

As he disappeared over the horizon, I gathered up my stuff and began
the long trudge to the parking lot. Along the slough that separates the
Fill from Gadwall Island, I noticed a row of wigeons with their heads
tucked in, fast asleep. Idly, I scanned their heads, more out of habit
than hope, when wonder of wonders, there was the Eurasian Wigeon!!

Years ago, Robin Williams starred in a remake of Orpheus and Eurydice.
In Williams' version, heaven is a place where all you have to do is
wish for something, and it appears. That got me thinking about what
kind of heaven I would wish for. I couldn't think of one. I wouldn't
want to be able to wish to see a particular bird, and poof! it would
appear. That would take all the fun out of finding the bird. Birding
for me is a treasure hunt that constantly uplifts me, surprises me,
fills me with joy, but an essential part of that hunt is the
possibility that I won't be able to find the treasure.

I don't claim to enjoy those times. But without the misses, the finds
wouldn't be as glorious. Today was glorious because of one sleeping
duck from Siberia. - Connie Sidles, Seattle

constancesidles at gmail.com