`Blanche DuBois, in the play “A Streetcar Named Desire” by Tennessee Williams, lilts that she “has always depended on the kindness of strangers.” I never saw (or read) the play but I did watch the movie version (the one where Vivian Leigh plays poor Blanche) decades back, and was amazed that not only would someone willingly trust strangers, but that Blanche could take things even one step further and “depend” upon them. 

Recently, I had a few different experiences with strangers and, as is often the case, I learned as much about myself as I did the people with which I interacted. Nature buffs, and “birders” in particular, are similar to musicians in that when you get a few together in the same place and at the same time, they are invariably going to have a blast pursuing their shared passion, collectively. That’s a generalization, of course, and, at least in my case, since I tend to be a loner at heart, it often takes me a while to warm up to folks I haven’t birded with before. 

My first example of interactions with a stranger occurred only by phone – both talking and texting. In the days leading up to one of the monthly bird-watching field trips I do with the White Mountain Audubon Society, I had a call from a woman who wanted to participate in the upcoming outing. On the phone, she sounded both tentative and enthusiastic. The day before the excursion, she confirmed that she would join us and would meet at the appointed time and place. Early the next morning, two people called to let me know that they couldn’t make the outing and so I was only expecting the new person and one of our regular participants – Ken, an experienced birder who has become a good friend and regular birding partner over the last couple of years. 

Ken and I waited at the trailhead for about 10 minutes past the established rendezvous time. I decided to text our prospective new participant and asked if she was on her way. She immediately texted back and said something to the effect of: “I changed my mind, I don’t feel comfortable being out with strangers.” I shrugged my shoulders, showed Ken the text, and suggested that we not keep the birds waiting any longer. As we walked, Ken, who had been pondering the situation, said: “I wouldn’t want to live my life in fear.” I agreed, but also said that I could understand why a woman by herself might be hesitant to meet strangers (especially men) for a walk in the woods. The topic duly addressed, we proceeded down the path and in no time had re-focused on what Ken thought might be the song of a Grace’s Warbler, high up in a pine. 

As for my second encounter with strangers, it is also a birding story. It started with a phone call from a man in Tucson who had talked with a mutual friend, Mary Ellen (a long-standing member and past President of our local Audubon Chapter). Mary Ellen had suggested to the fellow (his name is Jim) that since he was planning a trip with his son (Matt) to visit the White Mountains, they consider giving me a call so that I could take them out and show them some local birds – while there is some overlap in species between the White Mountains and the Sonoran Desert, there are also quite a few different species found only in one place or the other. 

Because Jim and Matt were planning to stay in Greer on a Tuesday and I also had plans to meet my friend Anne for a hike in the same area on Wednesday, I decided that after birding with the guys, I would then go camping somewhere nearby on the Apache-Sitgreaves Forest so that I could meet Anne the next morning. As it turned out, the place where Jim and Matt stayed (the Edelweiss Resort and Restaurant – a charming establishment nestled deep in the evergreens and adjacent to the Little Colorado River, or LCR) was also where Anne needed to stop to coordinate some business she had with the resort. My impromptu trip to go birding with strangers was developing into what almost seemed like an appointment with fate. 

I should mention that when I had chatted with Jim on the phone, I had asked what kind of birding he and Matt wanted to do: mostly drive-and-stop birding or combining a hike with birding? Jim said that both options sounded good but that he needed to mention that his son, who was in his 50s, was recovering from a stroke and, as such, we probably shouldn’t hike too far. Either way was fine by me, as the birds don’t particularly care whether they encounter humans in the middle of the wilderness or just off the side of a quiet rural road. 

And so we met at the Edelweiss that Tuesday morning and before we even left the parking lot we ticked off several of our forest bird species – nuthatches, thrushes, and jays. When the time came to drive to our first site, Jim suggested that his son drive with me, which turned out to be how we carpooled for the rest of that day. Nonetheless, during our several stops to look for birds, I got to know both guys reasonably well and was impressed to learn, for example, that Jim was a retired professor who had taught history at Weber State University in Utah and who had written a biography of the noted zoologist William Hornaday. Matt had received his degree in anthropology but since jobs were few and far between in that profession when he graduated, he had opted to be a self-employed tradesman; handy at many forms of construction but decided to focus on laying tile and other floorings for his career. 

We drove to various spots along the LCR and some of its tributaries, as well as three nearby bodies of water: Bunch, Tunnel, and River reservoirs. Back in the 1990s, when I had worked at Canyon Creek Hatchery, I had stocked the LCR and the three reservoirs with trout, but, since I had seldom visited the area in the many years that had passed since my days working at the hatchery, it felt nostalgic to be back. At several of our stops we had good looks at bird species that Jim and Matt would not easily find in the lower elevation desert; namely, Red-faced and Yellow-rumped warblers, a Williamson’s Sapsucker, and Mountain Chickadees. We also relaxed in the shade and chatted while watching common species that frequent our mountain reservoirs -- including Osprey, Bald Eagle, Double-crested Cormorants, and a Great-blue Heron. 

In the six hours I spent with Jim and Matt, I felt we became friends via the brotherhood of birding. I was very impressed by both men: Jim, who was amazingly vigorous well into his 80s and obviously an accomplished academician and natural intellectual; and Matt, whose active mind had evidently not been slowed down by his stroke and who continued to live a rich life by building up his strength and endurance during what must have been a trying period of recuperation and recovery. 

In fact, since Matt wasn’t at all disinclined to discuss his recovery, he had said at one point something I will long remember. He said that in several respects he felt that he was approaching a return to what his life had been like prior to the stroke. But, he also said that he had noticed that there was one realm in which he was now a much different person – he said that nowadays, he felt that the emotional part of his brain, the part that is responsible for appreciating Nature and other forms of beauty (music, art, et cetera), had become so hyper-sensitive that anytime he was in the presence of plants, animals, streams and natural geology, he couldn’t help but feel a sort of choked-up awe and amazement. His words nearly brought me to tears myself; they were such a brilliant distillation of the way so many of us feel toward the natural world! 

After a productive and enjoyable day I parted ways with Jim and Matt and drove off to look for a campsite not too far away but not in an official campground either. This kind of camping has become known as “dispersed camping” and I didn’t have to go but a few miles before finding an ideal site in the Fish Creek area. Earlier, while I was still looking for a campsite, I had stopped to ask a parked Forest Service employee if campfires were still allowed and he told me that yes, a small fire was okay and that I was lucky because in a few days campfires would not be permitted. 



So, everything was coming together; a touch of Kismet, perhaps. I had had a good day birding with strangers who had become new friends; I had found a sublime campsite far away from other people, and tomorrow I would have a fun hike up the LCR with Anne. I unpacked my meager necessities for the evening and read for a spell in the lengthening shadows of the pine, spruce, and fir trees. When evening came, I built a small cook fire and grilled up a tasty pork chop to have along with roasted peppers, raw carrots, and a couple of toasted corn tortillas. By 8 PM, I was ready to turn in and was surprised by how late into the evening a Tom turkey kept up his gobbling to his flock of hens; assembling them all together, high up in their roost trees. Eventually, the turkey gobbles were replaced by the hoots of a Great-horned Owl and I drifted off to sleep knowing that tomorrow I would be privileged to enjoy a second consecutive day in paradise.