That's What Makes It All Interesting

Back when I worked in printing, each morning I would go downstairs to talk to Vinnie, who was, at once, my vendor, my mentor, my advisor, and my therapist. I would tell him of the disasters I was confronting that day: paper not delivered, wrong paper delivered, wrong ink used, book bound upside down. Every day a new set of problems to extricate myself and the company from. Vinnie listened while scribbling out work orders or adding up estimate sheets. When I was finally done with my litany of woe, he'd look at me and in the soft voice I could barely hear (and couldn't hear if the presses were running which is why I'd visit before the pressmen clocked in), he would invariably say, "Larry, that's what makes it awwlllll interesting." 

The phrase came back to me today after my second birding debacle in a row--and I'm using the word fully aware that these events wouldn't register as a microscopic speck on the real current debacles we're living through. 

If you've been following these entries, then you know that I've been looking for Red-headed Woodpecker since the year started. Since my supposedly reliable spots have turned out to be anything but, I headed to Cloverdale Farm in Barnegat yesterday. I had seen RHWO reported there. Cloverdale, a sweet little former cranberry bog and Christmas tree farm, has in the past had the woodpecker there--I've seen them in a swampy bog, on the power line cut, along the road, and once even at a feeder just outside the park boundaries. I tried all those spots yesterday and more, walking the perimeter 3 times and checking all the wooded areas. I saw Red-bellied Woodpeckers investigating a hole in dead tree, I saw 4 Wood Ducks, but once again, I did not find a Red-headed Woodpecker, never mind the two that had been listed. 

I am going to be discreet and vague now and use the wrong pronoun, because I don't want to embarrass anyone. After 3 hours I figured I'd tried all I could. I then ran into one of the people who'd listed the woodpecker. I said I hadn't been able to find "their" Red-headed Woodpecker. They said the last one they'd seen was back in NOVEMBER and was a juvenile. "Wait a minute," I said, "You listed two the other day." Momentary confusion then the explanation. 

In the financial world, if someone wants to buy 100 shares and winds up ordering 1000 shares, that's called "fat finger" syndrome. On the taxonomic order on the eBird list for this area, Red-bellied and Red-headed Woodpecker are one above the other and it is easy, especially on a smart phone, to hit one when you mean the other. Which is what happened. Which is why I couldn't find a Red-headed Woodpecker, walking around 3 hours in mist and light drizzle. In a way, I was happy though. I hadn't failed. I was just looking for what wasn't there. 

Today, I drove down to Tuckerton. I stopped at Tip Seaman Park (site of last year's Western Kingbird debacles) and pulled out my phone. There was a message from my informant at Whitesbog: Sandhill Crane in Rome Pond. I hesitated for less than a minute. The thought that came to me was that I'd never be able to enjoy birding Great Bay Blvd, or even be able to concentrate on birding, knowing there was a rare bird at Whitesbog, one that I didn't have on my patch list. So, I just drove back 30 something miles, 40 something minutes, hoping the crane would stay for an hour. Rome Pond seemed like a weird place for it to be. I think of Sandhill Cranes in corn stubble fields, not on mud flats. 

Just as I was approaching Whitesbog, I got another message, saying that either there were two or that it had moved to a bog across from where my informant usually parks. Where my informant usually parks is Ocean County. Now I really wanted the bird, which, of course, wasn't in Rome Pond. I phoned him and then got the equivalent of, "OOO, you just missed it," because as we were talking, he was also watching it fly off toward the ranges of Ft. Dix. 

Maybe, we conjectured, it flew off and landed in Otter Pond which is just outside the Ft. Dix boundary, and which, for the last few years is not a pond at all, but a rapidly succeeding grassland. I put on my muck boots and walked over there, crossing a few treacherous bridges but, naturally, no surprise, of course, there was no Sandhill Crane there. Again, though, I was happy, in a way. If I had stayed in Tuckerton, I would have been beating myself up for laziness and fecklessness. This way, at least, I'd tried. Although at $4.15 a gallon, I wasn't thrilled with using up 60 miles worth of gas for no productive reason. 

When I got home this afternoon, I looked out the back window and there, for the first time since October, were two Wild Turkeys. 

That's what makes it awwlllll interesting.