It was May 11th, when I arrived at Magee Marsh. This was only my second time being there for the Biggest Week. [Editor’s note: The Biggest Week in American Birding is a birding festival in Northwest Ohio. The Biggest Week is sponsored by our friends at the Black Swamp Bird Observatory and draws tens of thousands of birders to the area every year.]
It was so much colder this year, and rainy too. When the lake wind swooshed over the marsh, the trees creaked and swayed, while the birders shrank deeper into their coats. As soon as I left the warm shelter of a car, and the cold gripped me tightly, I wondered how I would see such birds like the warblers, vireos, and orioles. How could they possibly be out in such horrible weather?
My spirits rose when I saw my friends, two fellow birders I met three years ago. We squealed with excitement and ran to hug each other. It was so good to see their faces again after what felt like forever (even if it had only been a month!). My friends wore the golden guide hats, the hat I would earn that day. I was excited to test my leadership skills. I was confident I could identify most of the birds, and felt ready to help younger, less experienced birders. Even if I would make a mistake in identifying a bird, or have trouble speaking in front of a crowd, I was ready for it. For these “bumps along the road” would help shape me into a better leader, and a better birder. Soon, a group of Ohio Young Birders had gathered at the east end of the boardwalk, accompanied by Kenn Kaufman, Steve N.G. Howell and Matt Shumar. I received my golden guide hat there. I was so thrilled to wear it, and excited to prove I was worthy of it.
To start off the walk, we guides had to introduce ourselves to all the birders who would be participating with us. I was a little nervous to talk at the center of attention, but with a loud voice and good optimism, I did well. We began to comb through the edge of the parking lot since the weather was unpredictable. This was when my doubts about the birds and the weather were left to rest. Instead of the cold, shivering and hidden birds I imagined, they hopped from branch to branch and flitted from bush to bush, practically setting a show for us. The birders of our group, young and old alike, whipped out their cameras and binoculars. Some of the younger birders hopped about, their eyes bright. “What was this bird?” “How about that one?” We answered with gusto, working our birding skills to the best of our abilities. I even saw birds I wasn’t sure about, but then I could turn to the more experienced birders. Most of the birds were low to the ground, feet or even inches away from us, foraging and singing. Maybe the cold weather was a blessing. The cold had brought the insects down to the natural floor, and the wind made the trees harder to perch in. The balance between the birds and the people was so magical, it seemed too good to be true, but this beautiful, mutual trust was as real as day. We all marveled at these tiny warblers, who traveled long distances to be here.
The experience that day was of no compare. The warblers seemed to be curious, checking you out inches away from your face, while you watched and maybe even talked to them in a soft voice. They would seem to listen, as we would listen to them sing their songs. The balance was again, magical. I will never forget it.