Bird Watcher Mob Story

I’ve never come across bird folks. Birders. People who intentionally seek out birds to view. 

… 

I’m actually not sure what they like to be called and after what I’m about to tell you I don’t want to offend them further. …I’m terrified to offend them. 

The time? 9am. The date? Tuesday. November 19th. The temperature? 44 degrees fahrenheit. I was trying to fit in a jog at Montrose beach in Chicago between dropping my kids at school and work. My jog begins with a unique kind of gymnastics - a routine that would make Simone Biles weep. All the elements of this routine involve contorting my body to put on yet another layer of clothing in the small confines of my front seat. For context, my sister will run with me when we’re together in the same 44 degree weather and wear shorts and a thin long sleeve shirt. 

My layers include:

–knee socks

–leggings

–t-shirt

–sweatshirt (hoodie for wind protection)

–kayaking waterproof jacket that creates a furnace inside because it doesn’t breathe and I like it that way.

–hat

–one earbud that does not keep me warm but pumps podcasts full of parenting advice into my left ear like a small sage. The right ear sage quit after I took my sweatshirt off too quickly.

I squeeze out of my car and begin the jog along the dog beach. I have to be vigilant. I must cross the dog beach to reach the regular beach and there’s always a 50/50 chance these off leash city dogs will bring joy or terror. For instance, one time a border collie leapt and caught a frisbee six feet in the air. “Wow!” I thought. “What brilliance!” Another time, a giant rottweiler named Poseidon jumped on me with sandy wet paws and bit my arm. I know his name because his owner was screaming for him to get down. I was not hurt because? Layers. But, not cool Poseidon. Not cool.

After I pass the dog beach I reach the bird sanctuary which sits adjacent to the water and is part sandy prairie and part wooded area. Not too large. A football field or two? I jog out on this 100 yard break wall/pier that juts straight out into the water and is shaped like a question mark. About 15 feet wide. It blocks the huge waves from the beach. As I get a few feet out on the breakwall I scan the water. I love it. Its color and the waves are never the same. Like days or emotions or children. Today the waves are choppy but not huge, and it’s the color of mint chocolate chip ice cream after it’s been melted and stirred together by a vigorous five year old.

As I jog further, I see a clump of people in puffy coats half way to the end of the break wall/pier. As I approach they stare me down, but I see their long 2 foot camera lenses and I assume they are stoic photographers who might lack a knack for social cues like nodding or hello-ing at people on great lake break wall/piers as they jog by in layers. But no. One turns sharply and with a smile on his lips but the devil in his eyes says, “There’s two snowy owls at the end of the pier there.” And I squint the hundred feet and say, “Oh cool, I’ll jog slower so i don’t disturb them” … and they stare harder and lean in. Then one thrusts binoculars at me with a frown and says “Want to see?” I say “Sure” and I look. There, at the end of the break wall/pier just sitting on the cement, are two snowy owls. And they are magnificent. One looks just like Harry Potter’s white speckled owl and so I say, “that one looks like Harry Potter’s white speckled owl!” but nobody finds this interesting or fun. … They keep staring me down. And I start to fear for my life. Now this whole time, I will say that I had that parenting podcast pumping into my ear and this may have slowed my processing. But I have the feeling that if I take one step further, someone will jerk me back by the saggy back of the kayak jacket I’ve never kayaked in. The passive aggression has reached its height and I stammer, “I guess I’ll turn around here,” at which point all their shoulders relax as they lift their 2 foot lenses back up, point them at the owls, and take pictures. 

Now there must be a birder app or messaging system they’re all on because as I jog away, more birders/birding people are flocking to this spot. And by flocking I mean maybe one pereson every minute or so with a 2 foot lens hanging around their neck. None of these people make eye contact with me or acknowledge my existence so clearly someone in the puffy coat mob was shaming me on some message board so that I would be subtly punished for my lack of bird sensitivity. 

I now have a deeper understanding of the seriousness of Birding/Birders/Bird People and their ability to use subtle hate as a tactic. You shan't come between them and a rare bird sighting. And if I had frightened those snowy owls away with my ignorance or simply my want to exercise my right to jog on public break walls/piers, I truly believe I would not be here today to tell this story. So please. A cautionary lesson for all. If you see a clump of people with long lenses staring at something far away, turn around. And back away slowly.