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vaneramosThe sun has barely risen over calm water stretching to the horizon. Lines and clots of people crowd the sand. Everyone talks, points and compares notes, but the hubbub remains hushed. Those who speak loudly or push are tolerated, ignored.
Before us lies a long spit of sand, the southernmost point of Canada's mainland. At this time of year the tip is covered with gulls, terns and ducks, observed from a polite distance by the flock of humans.
Seeing a bird that looks familiar but I can't name, I turn to a salty, older fellow next to me. He carries a large scope and looks like he knows his stuff.
"What's that smaller gull standing alone, off to the right, among the terns?"
Before he can answer, the younger man next to him interrupts, "It's a Bony's."
But I stare at him blankly for a moment, so he elucidates the jargon: "A Bonaparte's gull."
I catch his brief look of puzzlement. It takes an experienced birder to spot the different bird in the flock, and a novice not to know what he meant by a Bony's. I am both.
I used to be experienced, but have forgotten much of what I used to know. Years have passed since I had any friends who were interested in getting out of bed at the crack of dawn on a chilly spring morning and trudging around with badly dressed people. Birders are an eccentric lot. But recently I discovered that a few of my newer friends are ornithology enthusiasts.
Jon is one of them. We met when he moved to Guelph a year ago, and have talked about doing this ever since, but it took us until now to get around to it.
Tuesday afternoon we drove to my parents' place. I grew up a half hour from the park. We had a pleasant visit and dinner before Mom and Dad immersed themselves in the Senators game. Jon and I moved to the sun porch and played Scrabble.
Wednesday morning we got up at 5:30 a.m. and drove to Point Pelee. The main attraction is songbirds flying overnight from Ohio and landing on this overgrown sand spit that projects miles into Lake Erie.
We had good conditions. A cold spring has delayed the migration. But Wednesday morning was clear, still and mild. I have seen more spectacular days at Point Pelee in early May, but this one wasn't bad. After a brief, early visit to the beach we spent the next few hours exploring the woods. We saw about 80 species, including one lifer for me (one I had never see before) and several for Jon.
On the drive home Jon admitted he had lost his motivation for birding until now. Our outing has whet his appetite again. I'm delighted to share it with him. I arrived home feeling exhausted but high-spirited.
Before us lies a long spit of sand, the southernmost point of Canada's mainland. At this time of year the tip is covered with gulls, terns and ducks, observed from a polite distance by the flock of humans.
Seeing a bird that looks familiar but I can't name, I turn to a salty, older fellow next to me. He carries a large scope and looks like he knows his stuff.
"What's that smaller gull standing alone, off to the right, among the terns?"
Before he can answer, the younger man next to him interrupts, "It's a Bony's."
But I stare at him blankly for a moment, so he elucidates the jargon: "A Bonaparte's gull."
I catch his brief look of puzzlement. It takes an experienced birder to spot the different bird in the flock, and a novice not to know what he meant by a Bony's. I am both.
I used to be experienced, but have forgotten much of what I used to know. Years have passed since I had any friends who were interested in getting out of bed at the crack of dawn on a chilly spring morning and trudging around with badly dressed people. Birders are an eccentric lot. But recently I discovered that a few of my newer friends are ornithology enthusiasts.
Jon is one of them. We met when he moved to Guelph a year ago, and have talked about doing this ever since, but it took us until now to get around to it.
Tuesday afternoon we drove to my parents' place. I grew up a half hour from the park. We had a pleasant visit and dinner before Mom and Dad immersed themselves in the Senators game. Jon and I moved to the sun porch and played Scrabble.
Wednesday morning we got up at 5:30 a.m. and drove to Point Pelee. The main attraction is songbirds flying overnight from Ohio and landing on this overgrown sand spit that projects miles into Lake Erie.
We had good conditions. A cold spring has delayed the migration. But Wednesday morning was clear, still and mild. I have seen more spectacular days at Point Pelee in early May, but this one wasn't bad. After a brief, early visit to the beach we spent the next few hours exploring the woods. We saw about 80 species, including one lifer for me (one I had never see before) and several for Jon.
On the drive home Jon admitted he had lost his motivation for birding until now. Our outing has whet his appetite again. I'm delighted to share it with him. I arrived home feeling exhausted but high-spirited.
