Watched by a Bird
It began simply. He didn’t want much. First, to be outside. It was a brilliant day filled with sunshine. And he wanted a photograph or more of Trumpeter Swans. The first wish, easily gained. Photographs of any bird always low percentage. He knew. Half of the photos he had taken with his aging camera were of birds. Most of the photos he had discarded. He estimated that less than fifty of the thousands of photos of birds were good enough to keep. Boone wanted to be outside. Out in the sunshine and in the air tinged with the hint of spring. Outside where more of the earth was snow free once more. Outside, where the swans were.
He went. His camera and tripod his only companions, Boone drove himself to the river. The parking lot was muddy, he parked on the driest spot. It was encouraging to park in this place near the edge of the city, the river ran just in front of the lot. There were always waterfowl in the river here. Today was no different. Getting out of his pickup Boone watched mallards swim upstream. Not wanting to scare them off, he did not look directly at them. His ears were attentive the French Horn call of the Trumpeter Swan. No calls came. With camera and tripod in hand he walked to the bridge across the river and looked downstream. No Swans. His original plan was now clearly not possible. He shifted to a new plan-walk along the river on the hiking trail which paralleled the water. It did not take him a dozen steps to realize the trail would be too muddy for safe walking. He shifted his plans a third time.
He would go into the cemetery which bounded the river and the trail to the west. Boone knew there were always birds in the cemetery. He had often marveled at the great numbers of birds alive and well in a place where the ground was covered with the grave markers of the dead. Boone also relished the silence and peace of a cemetery. With snow still melting off the unplowed cemetery roads no one would drive in, Boone was completely alone. The quietness and peace encouraged him to set a slow pace. He knew that moving slowly would also enable him to hear and see the subject for his morning photography: birds.
Walking around the ice patches to prevent an accidental fall, He found himself alongside an American Elm tree. The other thing Boone was delighted with in a cemetery, especially an older one like this, was the trees. Mature oaks, ash, hackberry, maple, aspen and birch trees were spread throughout the many acres of this large sacred place. The conifer trees were also well represented. There were white pines, blue spruce, some red pine and cedars. He remembered how his teacher, who took Boone and his class on cemetery study field trips years earlier, would say, “Cemeteries are places of life.”
He stood and listened. His eyes read the names etched in the granite and limestone of the tombstones. He took a deep breath and relaxed, and as he did, his ears began to hear the cardinals calling. Cardinal calls came from at least three locations. One was south across the street from the cemetery, too far. A second came from the north more than half a block distant. The third was just down the hill, and close. Boone began to scan the trees in that location. If he could see the bird, he would know how to approach it for a photo. Cardinals are skillful at concealment. He couldn’t see it. Yet, he knew which tree it was perched in. Keeping himself concealed by walking behind and alongside trees, he worked his way slowly to where the bird was stopping beneath the screening shadow of spruce branches.
Turning his head slowly each time the bird sang, he was at last able to see it. Frustration struck at the same time. The bird was concealed by branches of the maple tree. There would be little chance for a good photo unless the bird changed positions. Then it sang. It was the call he thought male cardinals sang. This was a female. As he thought about the new discovery he’d just witnessed, he forgot about being frustrated. Male and female cardinals sound the same! Nature discoveries always pleased and satisfied him. He decided he would do something to get the female cardinal to move to a better spot and a potential photo. He knew birders use a mouth call to bring birds in for a closer view. The call is a simple repeated sound- “Pish, Pish, Pish.” He tried it. He watched the cardinal’s tail twitch. Yes, she heard. He repeated the call, with just a bit more force and volume. She twitched her tail rapidly three or four more times and then launched herself to the east. For a brief moment Boone thought she might fly to the very spruce he had concealed himself under. She didn’t. She flew across the cemetery drive and out of the cemetery to the burr oak trees in the east. Bye, bye birdie. He was not surprised. He wasn’t in control of a bird’s actions. This had happened to him many times before.
As he stood beneath the spruce, he realized he was hearing other birds nearby. He repeated the “Pishing” call. Small birds flew past. Then one landed on the spruce branch above him. He hardly dared to look up for fear he would frighten the bird away. Slowly, he did. It was a female pine siskin. She watched him as he slowly lifted the camera for a photo. Boone was surprised; she stayed on her perch. He took two quick photos before the shutter sound frightened her off. He immediately opened the photo file to see the photos. They were dark because of the shade, but they were clear, sharp enough he thought to qualify for the collection of less than fifty saved photos of birds. “Wow, a good one,” he thought.
The second cardinal called again from the north. Boone had not changed his goal of a clear photo of a cardinal. He began the stalk northward. It wasn’t far. He stopped alongside the twin trunks of a burr oak and peered westward between the tree trunks. This bird was a male. Brilliant in spring red color, Boone found it almost right away. He was not surprised that this bird was even more concealed by small branches. Perched in a flowering crab apple tree it sang the same cardinal song. It put crisp goodness in the morning. But Boone knew he could not get a clear photo of this bird either. Moving behind the cover of a large headstone brought him closer, yet the fine branches of the crab apple shielded most of the bird. Boone took photos, but they showed only a red blotch in the viewfinder. The shape of the cardinal was unclear. He discarded the idea of cardinal photos-for this trip. He knew there would be more.
He did hike further north expecting a surprise that never came. The surprise of the day had already happened. This day, the roles had been reversed. He had been watched by a pine siskin. He had photos to prove it. Boone smiled as he hiked back to his pickup. He had come to watch and photograph birds. Yet, he was the one who had been watched. The thought pleased him. He could still visualize the tiny siskin perched above him, staring down at him with the camera. He had wanted just two things for this morning hike. To get outside. He had done that. The morning was spectacular. He had wanted photos of Trumpeter Swans. He got photos. He never expected a pine siskin. He planned to repeat the activity. Outside was always worthwhile, so were the surprises it provided.