After a productive hour in the parking lot, we finally move along the trail deeper into the forest. Oddly, the sightings cease. Via starts making bird sounds—“psssp, psssp”—hoping to attract a curious bird or two. No luck. The naturalist keeps things interesting, pointing out some wildflowers (blue curl, boneset), some sassafras, a member of the tropical laurel family (birds love the berries) as well as a few butterflies—a monarch, a cloudless sulphur and a beautiful red-spotted purple. It’s nature in its glory. Akers spots an immature bald eagle circling high off in the distance—“I know it’s immature because it’s sticking its tongue out at us.” Via hands out Tootsie Pops, and we amble back to the cars.
On Saturday night, the VSO group gathers at the hotel for “the tally.” Akers starts calling out a long list of bird species, one by one. “White pelican?” Silence. “Brown pelican?” “Yes!” “How many?” And so on. Individuals who alone have seen a species are queried about where they saw the bird. Rough estimates of the number of birds of each species spotted are recorded. It’s all a bit inexact, but the data is still valuable. In the end, Akers, Via and Beck tell me the group spotted about 115 species. That’s lower than normal for Chincoteague during the migratory season—the VSO usually spots 130 to 150 species—but dry conditions reduced the number of warbler and sparrow sightings. No matter: It’s been an informative and entertaining couple of days.
VSO president Spears had told me that “birders are almost universally great people to hang out with. The experts help the novices, and the novices ask questions that make the experts feel like they know something. They are all good people.” He was right about that, and I went home with a deeper appreciation for both birds and bird watchers.
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