"The sandpiper is there now, 30 yards from the end of the jetty, on the left."
These were the words I was greeted with, without preamble, seconds after getting out of the car at San Francisco's Heron's Head park. An older gentleman took one look at my binoculars and knew why I had come: to get the bird. In certain places, a pair of binoculars is like a secret sign to others that you are one of the initiated, a member of the fraternity of birders who understand the importance of getting the bird.
I thanked the kind birder enthusiastically, my giddy smile bearing witness to the fact that we had indeed just driven 100 miles to see this one bird.
And what a beauty he was!
Denizens of rocky Arctic shorelines, Rock Sandpipers breed on mossy tundra in western Alaska and far eastern Russia. These hardy sandpipers winter farther north than most other shorebirds, along the frigid, wave-dashed rocky coast of Alaska and the Pacific Northwest.
That being said, this particular individual has been spending the winter a little farther south than usual. And as always, a bird out of its expected range causes a buzz in the birding community. That is why Eric and I made our way to an obscure little spit of land jutting out into the San Francisco Bay, and how the other birder there knew at a glance the purpose of our visit!
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Range map of the Rock Sandpiper.
Orange indicates summer breeding range; blue indicates winter range.
Source: All About Birds |
While it is true that I was happy to "get" this bird (birder lingo for adding a species to whatever list(s) you happen to be keeping at the time), birding is about far more than this. I was more pleased at being able to sit down on a rock nearby to quietly watch this beautiful bird go about his day, admiring his feathers, the russet hues of breeding plumage just beginning to come in, and contemplate the incredible distances this bird has traveled and the things he has seen on his journeys.
Birding takes its loyal devotees to all sorts of odd corners of the world, and
Heron's Head park is certainly not a place I would have ever stumbled upon on my own. In an out-of-the-way corner of the city, a half-mile long jetty built of refuse and rubble supports a tiny sliver of protected habitat, including critically threatened saltmarsh. Though small, the park and waters around it support upwards of 200 species of birds throughout the year, and an eco center offers educational opportunities for city kids and adults alike.
All over the world conservation efforts, large and small, are in place to protect the birds we so dearly love and the habitat they rely on. And I have found the very act of birding often takes me to places I would never have heard of otherwise, introducing me to more and more inspiring stories of habitat restoration and hope.
No, it's about much more than just getting the bird!
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