BOB KORNEGAY: A bird man is odd-man out

Birding is a wonderful pastime. I’ve been at it avidly and seriously for a little over seven years now and there’s no other outdoor pursuit I enjoy more passionately. That was evident December a few years ago when I earned myself a speeding citation on the way to Saint Simons Island, Ga. to get a look at a rare-for-these-parts Snowy Owl. I got my bird and never begrudged the rather hefty fine. Time was, that would have been way out of character. Not so now.

“Where to in such a hurry?” asked the officer.

“Saint Simons,” I replied. “Going to see an owl.”

He gave me a quick don’t-get-smart-with-me look before looking me in the eye, pausing, and saying, “You know, I believe you’re serious.”

I returned a sheepish grin and nodded. The policeman looked pleased, doubtless happy that he’d just heard the story of the day to pass around later back at the station. I can hear him now: “Hey, y’all, I pulled over this really weird bearded guy with a ponytail this morning and you ain’t gonna believe his excuse.”

Yep, one thing I’ve learned about birding; birders are the proverbial odd men out. That fact was reinforced recently as I renewed acquaintance with some folks I’d not seen in quite some time. The looks I got ranged from disbelieving to sympathetic and they all drifted away from me as fast as social protocol would allow. It wasn’t golf, fishing, hunting, or football. Their minds couldn’t process it. One guy just stood there open-mouthed. I thought for a moment that he might attract a few gnats in the process and thus lure in a rare winter hummingbird or two, but, alas, no such luck.

I also learned something else that day. One must choose his words carefully when conversing with non-birders. For instance, it’s okay to pass around your birding life list and point out your sighting of a lark sparrow or great cormorant, but bragging about your dickcissel or your bushtit will often earn you a punch in the mouth. Utter words like selasphorus or phainopepla and they think you’ve joined a dangerous religious cult with a penchant for speaking in strange tongues.

Non-birders likewise have trouble with references to birding equipment. Sure, they all know what binoculars are, but just try to draw them into a riveting conversation about 80 millimeter objective lenses or eye relief. The former, to the non-birder, conveys no semblance of interest and the latter is something purchased in a squeeze bottle at Walgreens. Of course, if you’re still determined to be the life of the party, you can try a bit of birding optics humor. With a wry, tongue-in-cheek smile and the air of a brilliant raconteur, explain to your audience how a spotting scope soon becomes a “spotted” scope when used for viewing gulls at a landfill. Perhaps you’ll have greater success with that bit than I did, particularly if you refrain from broaching the subject in the middle of dinner.

On the other hand, being branded a birding weirdo can have its advantages, especially when folks realize you haven’t recently escaped from a hospital for the criminally insane. For instance, I’ve found that landowners are much more likely to grant me permission to go birding on their properties than they are to allow me access while toting a gun or a fishing rod. The one down side is not having the acreage all to oneself. It can become rather crowded, both with fellow birders and the property owner’s buddies, folks he will invariably call to come over and take a look at these nut cases he’s just turned loose on his back forty.

But, hey, that ain’t such a bad thing, either. Personally speaking, it gives me the opportunity to show folks how incredibly sexy I look in cargo shorts, knee socks and the stereotypical birdwatcher’s pith helmet. I bear a striking resemblance to a fat version of Miss Jane Hathaway from the old “Beverly Hillbillies” TV show.

What? Too young to remember that episode? Okay. Just put down the paper and forget it. You ought not be reading about dickcissels and bushtits, anyhow.