During this three-week period -- without going full-on manic -- I managed to tally 15 different warbler species in the riparian and woodland areas within a 10-mile radius of my house. Typically, I birded alone; initially in the cool, early morning hours but, as the days progressed, I was going out at any time of the day.

On a few occasions, I was happy to have company on my morning outings. My friend Mary, someone I bird with about once a week all through the warm season, was naturally one of my favorite companions. I also led the White Mountain Chapter of the Audubon Group on a productive warbler foray along Billy Creek. Another group trip included four of my oldest friends here in town, as we celebrated a birthday by enjoying the gift of bird song. Then there was a feathered extravaganza with a new birding partner, as Carla and I positively hit the jackpot with an easy stroll that logged a whopping 40+ bird species.

The day that stood out from the rest, however, was a leisurely morning walk with Mike: a friend, colleague and neighbor who I met way back in the early 1990's when we were both new to the Arizona Game and Fish Department. To say that our birding was “leisurely” is perhaps somewhat inaccurate. True, we did not move quickly nor cover much ground but the fact that our pace was slow and the distance we covered was negligible (no more than two miles in roughly 4 hours) belies the intensity of our birding effort.

From the minute we stepped onto the trail, both of us were in high search mode: our heads and eyes slowly -- but constantly -- in motion seeking the slightest movement or sound in the vegetation or on the water. Initially, we walked along a tiny stream, lined on both sides with willows and various forbs and grasses. Later, the creek transitioned into a marshy area and eventually a spring-fed pond. As we walked and quietly made note of the birds we were seeing, I got to thinking about my history with Mike.

Over the years, the two of us have spent a fair amount of time hiking, kayaking and even doing a few javalena and elk hunts together. During all these outdoor activities, we have both always essentially been birding -- even when we weren't carrying binoculars. Invariably, I've noticed how different Mike is from others that I have spent time with in various wildlands. He tends to talk less but say more than most people I know. In fact, there are times when I have to look around to make sure we are still together as he also has an uncanny ability to step so lightly that one would never know that he is near.

Clearly, the ability to move quietly is an asset when it comes to finding certain types of birds. Another trait that is essential is good eyesight. Here again, Mike is unusual in that he not only has first-rate visual acuity (the ability to see detail at a distance) but he also has excellent peripheral vision which aids in the detection of motion; also very valuable in birding.

I, on the other hand, have never had good eyesight. Myopia runs in my family and, from an early age, I've been mole-like in my acuity (though I somewhat make up for it by having good hearing). I had hoped that after cataract surgery a few years back that I might get to 20:20 but, no such luck. In fact, I've seen some negative side effects since my surgery, including a very annoying and worrisome dingy film that seems to now vaguely occlude my vision.

Other traits that help in bird watching that both Mike and I possess to varying degrees include balance and agility. Now if you're thinking to yourself: why would birders need to be agile and have balance? It's not like they are athletes (or unicyclists, jugglers or Ninjas). Well, trust me, if you're serious about looking for birds, then very frequently your eyes will be up high and not on the ground to watch your footing. And, if you are on trails, then you can bet you will be tripping over tree roots, rocks or some other obstacle that you normally would heed. As such, good balance and agility can definitely help in avoiding injury, embarrassment or -- most importantly -- having to take your eyes off a bird.

Another asset of serious birders is patience. While I am normally a very impatient person, I generally manage to fight that tendency any time I'm in Nature, as I know I need to in order to really take in all that Nature has to offer. Mike, on the other hand -- for as long as I have known him -- has always been supremely and innately patient. It is no surprise that Mike is also one of the most efficient and productive fishermen I've ever known.

Perhaps it's the angler in Mike that had him opting to focus his attentions on the southside of the trail (the aquatic side) while I knew that my best bet for finding warblers would be on the northside (the wooded portion). Before long, Mike had spotted two species that are often hard for beginners to find: the cryptic and stealthy Sora and the Virginia Rail. Meanwhile, despite the ache in my neck (aching because I had my neck perpetually tilted back so that I could better scan the leafy portions of the abundant oaks and pines), I had had good looks at Wilson's and Yellow warblers; two species that superficially look identical (in the case of the females) unless you really take the time to focus on their subtle differences.

A bit later, as if to test our respective powers of concentration, Mike opted to focus on a couple of small groups of ducks (in “eclipse” plumage, which is to say, a stage of waterfowl molting that is drab and confusing) to see if he could determine whether they were Cinnamon or Blue-winged teal. I, meanwhile, turned my attentions to the swallows which we had early-on identified as including Barn and Violet-green swallows but we had left a third type unidentified until they had become a more common member of the mixed-species swarm. As it turned out, I finally resolved that the third type was the Northern Rough-winged swallows.

Our respective attentions were eventually reunited on the same bird as a Northern Harrier (a type of raptor) came swooping down over the marsh and put the various water- and reed-dwelling birds into a noisy panic. The harrier took her time flying back and forth over the open water selecting her potential brunch, although she never did make a kill in our presence. Male and female harriers are sexually dimorphic, meaning that each gender has its own distinctively colored plumage: gray colored backs in the males and brown colored backs in the females. If you think that gray and brown sound boring, well then, you will just have to wait until you see a gliding harrier to know how stunning they can be.

We methodically continued on our way along the banks of the marsh and then the pond up until we eventually came to water's end. Then we slowly made our way up the gentle hill that leads into the non-riparian section of forest. The morning was still young but, because we were in the midst of an unusually severe hot spell in our area, we could already feel the sun beating down in those patches of the terrain that were open to its rays.

Despite the increasing heat, the birding was still productive and completely enjoyable. In fact, clouds of aerial insects had steadily been expanding as the morning wore on and therefore provided an easy bounty to foraging birds taking advantage of the late-summer bug hatch to re-fuel as they migrated south. While the birds feasted on gnats and flies, we feasted our eyes on the birds that dove into and through the hovering swarms. We added a couple more warblers to our list as well as a few different types of flycatchers, several sparrow species and, of course, then there were the always abundant mixed flocks of chickadees, nuthatches, goldfinches and bluebirds.

When we returned to the trailhead and prepared to part ways, both Mike and I were buoyant from the exhilaration of the morning's bird watching. We didn't keep strict tabs on every species that we identified (neither of us being “e-birders,” – “e-birding” being a common practice among birders to officially -- and electronically -- log their positive id's into a global data-base) but we had each learned a little bit more about the birds we watched and had added, both qualitatively and quantitatively, to our own mental data-bases.

I pedaled my bike home and walked in the door where the air was cool. Uncharacteristically, the cool air had the effect of suddenly making me feel very, very tired. I made a cup of tea (revved up with about a shot glass worth of honey) and sat down to rest my sore back and my even more painful neck. On the radio, the classical station DJ played a sad, slow piece by Eric Satie and I felt myself slipping into a bit of malaise.

Deep down, I knew my mood wasn't due to the downer music nor the aches and pains that were, most decidedly, a sign of my “getting up there in years.” No, I knew that the origin of my ebbing spirit was the fact that I had to pack for a long trip and hit the road in only two days. Does this sound odd to you? I know it would have sounded crazy to my own self back between the ages of 15 to 55. In those days, I lived to travel and see new sights; take new adventures and add the excitement that comes with an element of risk.

So, what is the moral of this story? Well, I guess for me it is that, while I still enjoy traveling and exploring new wildlands; somehow I find that I simply don't want to miss anything that happens here at home, right in my own backyard. With that thought, I got up and made a butter and honey sandwich. I'm old; life's journey is long and one needs to keep the tank full of fuel. Let the migrating warblers fill up on bugs -- me, I have my own form of nourishment!