Dummies Guide To Birdology, Er…Ornithology

Nothing makes you feel more like a rube than a comment by a Yankee lady with set jaw, her diction pure Katherine Hepburn, as she looks up at the nearest branch:

 “Oh my! There’s an indigo-crinkled cornmucker!”

Most of us don’t know birds from Bunsen burners, but I’m thinking there must be a way, not to learn exactly, but to fake it!

And why do we wish to appear as if we know our birds? Because it’s stylish! It makes us feel as if we’ve got nine generations of whaling captains in our background, and yacht clubs hoping to sign us up. But we decline, politely. We’ve got better ways to spend our time – “Oh look! there’s a greeble-nosed finch-fuster!”

First, let’s eliminate all the common birds we already know, and therefore the knowledge of which holds no cachet: seagulls, crows, cardinals, bluebirds, lost parakeets. Okay, we good?

Now, you can thank me when you see me, but I’ve devised a plan for faking birdology wherever you wander on Martha’s Vineyard. I’ve sped-read through the excellent field guide, Vineyard Birds II, by Susan B. Whiting and Barbara B. Pesch. These gals tramp over hill and dale with binoc’s around their necks and inventory birds by environment. They've even been kind enough to supply drawings.

The way to scope this out is to concentrate on a single quirky bird per land mass. For instance, on shorelines, we’ve got the choice of Least Tern, Purple Sandpiper, Snow Bunting, Piping Plover, Horned Lark, and Ruddy Turnstone.

Forget about the Piping Plover. We know all about its nesting season off Norton’s Point on Chappy, and how resented those little buggers are by fishermen with squelching jeep wheels. Why start a row when your buddy might disinvite you from the derby dinner?

I’m extending my vote for the Ruddy Turnstone with a deep rust-colored bib on his chest. Whether or not you actually spot the Ruddy T., you can work this into your line of bull with a comment such as, “I thought that sandpiper was a Ruddy Turnstone, but this would be a little late in the season.”

By the way, don’t try this if you’re wandering the moraine with an actual ornithologist such as the above-mentioned ladies, or Vern Laux, the “Keep your eyes to the skies” guy, who has thankfully removed himself to Nantucket (so we can avoid just this sort of embarrassment).

In brackish ponds and salt marshes, we’ve got a menu of Belted Kingfisher, Black Duck (duh!), Savannah Sparrow, Snowy Egret, and Black-crowned Night-Heron. I'm partial to Snowy Egret because it sounds like an elegant critter, and you could easily fake this one, as you crane your neck to distant bushes and gasp, “I just saw a Snowy Egret!” Say it with a regretful look at your companions, as if they too could have benefited by the golden luck this elusive winged creature confers on all who spot it.

For fresh water ponds and marshes we’ve got the Common Yellowthroat, the Spotted Sandpiper (double duh), Red-Winged Blackbird (yawn), Gray Catbird (still bored?), the Green Heron, and the Bufflehead. We’ve got to go with the Bufflehead because that is SO cartooney a name, and we’re wondering, are we not, why we don’t adopt it as a good dis for others, as in “If you weren’t such a bufflehead, you would have come to Kate Taylor’s concert last night!”

Not too tough to spot this little guy; he’s a cutie with a plump white body, black head, ebony wings. If he’s nowhere in sight, fall back on one of your birdology gags, “I usually see a bunch of Buffleheads around here. Wonder where they’ve gone?”

In pelagic areas, you can show off simply by throwing around the word pelagic. (It means off shore birds glimpsed by boat beyond a twelve-mile limit.) However, if you’re standing on a windy cove, you can haul out “pelagic!” and start looking for a Northern Gannet, Cory’s Shearwater, Northern Fulmar, Wilson’s Storm-petrel, and Razorbill. They all sound ritzy, and you’ll be taken for an old salt if you select any one of them for you fictitious sighting. For the time-being, should you spot a dark bird with a band of white on its tail-feathers, call out in total awe, “Oh, there’s a Wilson’s Storm-petrel!” Companions might ask if this presages a big blow coming in. You’ll need to improvise from there.

Let me now break it down into smaller morsels, just for the sake of getting you off and running in your new birdology venture: In woodlands look for the Tufted Titmouse (white underbelly, Mohawk hairdo) because that’s one of the funniest names in the feather world. In fields and meadows, try the American Goldfinch (yellowy body, dark cap and wings; very finchy) because you can have some fun with this, such as, “American Goldfinch, but I discern some Nova Scotia banding under its eyes.”

For your backyard, where you’re most likely to be hosting some pals – or they’re hosting you – and you’ve all been plied with drinks, try the Carolina Wren (cute, small, white belly, dark top, long beak) because anyone who can say, “There’s a Carolina Wren!” sounds like he or she owns hand-sewed quilts and jars of rose-hip jelly.

If you’re tanning under the Aquinnah cliffs and you’d like to draw attention away from your naked body, look up at the rocks and exclaim, “There’s a Yellow Warbler! Oh! Flew away!” That’ll keep your comrades gazing up at the skies while you discretely slip on that sarong you meant to wear in the first place.

Okay, are we bird savvy?

Don’t be afraid to fake it!

And buy Susan and Barbara’s book so that while you’re at it, you might learn something!