Benched Week 27: birds of a feather

I have a great friend who is batty about birds.

In many parts of the world, Scott has caught and banded songbirds, hummingbirds and saw whet owls. But as long as I have known him – since college days, when we were roommates – he has been most passionate about birds of prey.

So it’s not surprising that, when I called him to ask if we could have an outing on Friday with my daughter, Grace (who had the day off from school), he suggested Hawk Mountain Sanctuary.  It wasn’t the hands-on experience he had given us before banding hawks at private stations, but the wind was blowing perfectly, promising an impressive aerial show.

And it was blowing.  Unrelentingly cold.  The first bite of winter. When we arrived at the North Lookout, there were already a dozen or so people huddled in parkas.  I found the closest thing I could to a bench: a rock shelf nestled under an overhang.  Grace squeezed in beside me, as we tried to give less for the wind to gnaw on.



The hawks came by sporadically, and none very close.  Grace was the first to spot the bald eagle rising from the forest below us.  Her news rippled across the crowd, now augmented by a class of school kids.  Binoculars pivoted to where she pointed.  People were genuinely excited.

 

I envy this about Scott. He belongs to a worldwide community of people who share his passion.  Sitting on a rocky ridge for a whole frigid day to watch birds fly by borders on the fanatical for me, though I have gladly done it with him in the past. But I am a dabbler.  There are many who are as hard-core committed as he is.

That’s something that’s a part of my search at this point of my life – some passion in my life that will connect me to a community of like-minded people.  Is it art?  Old movies? Storytelling?  Faith?  An international fellowship of bench-sitters?

I know this: enthusiasm is contagious.  Scott’s love for raptors, freely shared with my kids, has made them appreciate the magnificent birds.  Same goes for me.

Up to a point.  When the snow shower we had watched crawl across the valley finally reached us, I called it quits.  Leaving early meant we missed sighting a few golden eagles, which would have been awe-inspiring to see come soaring through the swirling flakes.

But those dedicated hawk watchers saw them.  It’s only fitting.  There should be a reward for being hard-core.