2020 Already?

The First

The year started off like any other Big Year. Before New Years I had to submit myself to the discomfort of long-distance airplane travel. Thousands of miles overland to position myself for a strategic start. Like other Big Year listers, I’m after a dazzling species total. I’ll be playing the country like a game of Risk, arriving at key localities in time to capitalize on natural phenomena like migration and vagrancy. BUT here was the key difference. That flight that brought me here? It’ll be my last for a year. Anddddd.... I won’t be riding in those four-wheeled distraction capsules called cars either. I’m abandoning the whole gammit in favor of unicycling and walking and birding. I’m about to test the hell out of my capabilities on all fronts: and that thought invigorates me like nothing else. The United States is my maze; my home its center. I am confronted with a relatively straightforward challenge here: time, distance, and birds being its objects.

The first: beginning, newness, and opportunity embodied in one day. New Year’s day is a day of celebration and, for birders, a day to set the pace for the year. I find myself on this day in 2020 setting the pace for a Big Year. Today I am to officially join the ranks of the hardcore birders that designate a year of their life to one primary purpose: seeing a hell of a lot of birds. Despite the magnitude of this endeavor, my morning is off to an easy, unhurried start. Remember my desire to live a self-defined, unhurried pace? Now is the time. So I arise before sunrise for some preparation and then head downstairs to enjoy a freshly prepared breakfast. I casually go about eating my thimbleberry yogurt concoction as the daybreak of a new decade reaches the west coast. Behind me plays soothing flute music, transporting me to one of those intimate/love type scenes from Lord of the Rings. I’m left in an odd mystical state, almost aroused by the prospect of the appearance of some elf queen. But my mind quickly snaps back to reality as a plump and energetic Anna’s Hummingbird catches my sight—the first bird of the year, a symbolic moment.

Before long my uni is loaded up, and I’m trying, but failing, to free mount it. Perhaps its a weight imbalance, lack of strength or lack of finesse that’s keeping me from mounting it. Maybe I’m just not heavy enough. Maybe it’s a combination of factors. As I clamber onto the Battlestar while gripping a mailbox, I wonder if I’ll be able to mount it later on in the journey. It doesn’t really matter to be honest, it would just make me look cooler.

Putting on down the road, I’m grateful for the quiet and low-traffic of New Year’s morning. Undoubtedly residents are sleeping off their hangovers. Me? I’m going for the neck of Nisqually, hoping to capitalize on the first and start the year off right. Golden-crowned Kinglets giggle at me as I make my way down the road, a bit wobbly but confident. Perched at 499 species in the United States for my lifetime, I wonder if I’ll break 500 today and if that bodes well for a year of 500.

My hand hard on the break, I descend towards the National Wildlife Refuge. I become aware of the idyllic weather conditions today. What a day to start a year! After yesterday’s baptismal downpour, I am reborn into a world of potential. It was as if the Pacific Northwest was evaluating me, giving me despair lined with the promise of a brighter future. The pre-pubescent cackles of hundreds of Cackling Geese herald my arrival at this waterfowl oasis. The din of I-5 is constant, and I’m glad that I am not on it. Without batting an eyelash, I duck into the treeline along the entrance road and stash my gear. Now, it’s business time. Birds that were just birds yesterday now hold a new significance to me. Among the suite of common species, I pick out a Hutton’s Vireo and some Fox Sparrows, good omens for the day ahead.

The next hours are spent nose to the grindstone, although my pace is relatively leisurely. Among conversations with a few of the hundreds of visitors taking advantage of this heavenly day, I scan the flocks that pepper the wetlands, ticking away at a virgin year total. And, as two nice lady birds aptly pointed out, I more than likely set the unicycle Big Year total. But I’m far from finished.

Washington Kids are Easy to Please (The sign says “Dirt Digging Area”) 

The discovery of a Eurasian Wigeon introduces me to a trio of lady birders. After setting foot on the 2 mile boardwalk to the reach, I reluctantly break away, abandoning companionship in favor of maximum birding potential. In a way, I think it’s appropriate that this self-powered, solo adventure began on a solo day. Working down the boardwalk, I feel as though I am the only one around with any haste, which is a quality that I originally set out to destroy. But I figured that speed can also mean efficiency, and the onlooking and frantically foraging Greater Yellowlegs assured me of this natural strategy.

Jonathan Livingston Mew Gull 

Before long it was time to wrap it up and amble on over to the grill for a quick bite in the fading daylight. Shortly thereafter, I saddled back up and made the long and miserable climb back to the plateau, where the Kinglets still found humor in my antics as their day wound down.

The last minutes of precious daylight were spent scanning the waters of the sound at the Inn and appreciating the rosy culmination of a successful January 1. Man, what a day.

In the Zone (Photo by Traci Moss)

As always, donations to the charities in my header are greatly appreciated!!!