There are many ways to enjoy birdwatching. The true definition of birdwatching is the act of looking at a bird.
A side line to birding is photography.
I have been a passionate about bird photography since I got my first camera at age 19. Cameras have come a long way over the decades to the present moment. I followed the evolution of changes with each exciting step.
Now anyone can be an expert photographer with a little knowledge of your camera and learning a few techniques in postproduction software.
On the Labour Day weekend I was checking out one of my favourite birding and shorebird photography locations on the Avalon Peninsula at the old American airstrip in Argentia.
The wide open terrain has gone wild reverting to crowberry barrens and grassland between the crumbling runways. It is especially attractive to the shorebirds that eat berries such as whimbrels and American golden plovers.
The vast open flat terrain attracts other shorebirds looking for a safe place to rest.
One of the unique features of birding the Argentia runways is that you have free run of the place in your car. You can drive around in your car like on an African safari searching for birds. The car acts as a barrier between you and the birds. Of course the shorebirds can see your car but that is not as threatening as seeing a human figure.
I was into my second hour of hunting birds safari style over the various runways.
There were only a few whimbrel and golden plover present but there was an unusually high number of semipalmated plovers.
While searching the last runway I heard the pipping call of a whimbrel and saw it through the open sun roof as it sailed in high from the north. It appeared to come down somewhere way down the runway ahead. I continued my methodical search of the runway vastness stopping now and then to scan ahead with binoculars.
After several scans I was surprised to see the whimbrel again but only 60 metres away. Normally a whimbrel would have flown off before I reached this point. It was eyeing me but soon began to preen indicating that it was not that nervous about my presence. It was close enough to try for a few photos.
Without warning it flew coming toward me and passing over the car and then landing by some rain pools 200 metres away. This was no ordinary whimbrel showing such little fear. I made my way over to the bird on a zig-zag course so that I was never approaching the bird directly.
The light was good. I could see by the pink base to the lower part of the bill that it was a young bird of the year. Probably just in from the Arctic nesting grounds it might have been the first car it had ever seen and perhaps it not yet seen a human being.
I was well within the danger zone of your average whimbrel. I felt a surge of adrenaline as my eye pressed into the back of the camera while my index finger pressed down on the shutter button. The bird drank water from the pool with its long curved bill. A somewhat awkward feat considering its long curved bill.
After a few drinks the whimbrel walked off the tarmac and into the vegetation. Here were the insects and berries needed to refuel this feathered flying machine engineered to make a flight from its high Arctic nesting grounds to wintering grounds in South America and return every year of its life.
I was elated with the pictures I had secured.
While it was gone I drove up closer to the rain pools to take pictures of the half dozen semipalmated plovers that were bathing in the pools. These are friendly sociable birds by nature and relatively easy to photograph. After fifteen minutes I saw the whimbrel was back out of the tall grass and walking toward me. I froze. It passed the first pool and came all the way to the pool closest to my car. It was so close I could barely fit the whole bird in the lens. This was surreal. All the warning barriers had been disarmed. I was illegally close to a wild whimbrel. It was relaxed. I was not! Every muscle in my body was tense and focused on reaping in as many amazing photos as I could. After a few good deep drinks and a wing stretch it sauntered back toward the vegetation. It stood there for a full two minutes before entering.
It looked back at me with those big dark eyes as if it had something to say.
At that moment I would have given a fist full of 20s for a bucket of earthworms as a farewell gift to that bird. It walked into the foliage.
I began breathing again.
Bruce Mactavish is an environmental consultant and avid birdwatcher.