The World Series of What?

The appeal of birding New Jersey for 24 hours

By Brian Sullivan

Swarovski Optik

If you've ever wondered what it feels like to be a nerd, try explaining the World Series of Birding in your best English to 20 Belgians who have made their lives as businessmen and bankers. The weekend before the World Series of Birding this year, my girlfriend introduced me to her extended Belgian family. First I had to overcome the hurdle of explaining the merits of ornithology, and why I'd dedicated my life to the study of birds. Then my girlfriend announced that I would be "competing in a birding contest" the following weekend?the idea of which raised their collective eyebrows.

As the words came from my mouth, I realized how ridiculous it all must seem to anyone who doesn't understand the beautifully distorted psyche of a birder.

"Well, a team of five people sponsored by Swarovski Optik piles into a van at midnight and spends the next 24 hours racing around the state of New Jersey ("New Jersey?" one was heard to say) trying to identify the highest number of bird species."

Seeing the confusion in their eyes, I reluctantly expounded, "Well, there's more to it than that. We spend the entire week before mapping out our route, traveling all around the state trying to pin down the locations of all the breeding birds, and then we time everything down to the minute, starting from the first second in the Great Swamp, to the mountains of High Point, to the coast at Cape May." Somehow I thought this further clarification would help, but I think it just made things worse.

Looking at their blank faces and slowly blinking eyes, I realized that this event can't be summed up in a few sentences that make any sense to nonbirders.

The absence of Red-headed Woodpeckers at the usual spot can throw a wrench into the Big Day route.

Photo by Isidor Jeklin/CLO

So I carried on?For example, there are the months of planning and strategizing, of trying to lay it all out before you in a logical way. These early efforts are, of course, rendered moot by the first few days of scouting when you realize that your best laid plans need to be altered significantly because everything has changed from the previous year. The Red-headed Woodpeckers haven't been seen at Yard Road in the north, which means we'll have to find them elsewhere, putting a real wrench in the flow of the southern route.

Scouting along Old Mine Road may help save precious minutes later.

Photo by Tim Lenz

Then there's the week of scouting and the mental back-and-forth associated with collaborating with the other teams?if we share everything we have, can we expect the same in return? Then there is planning the route again given all the newfound information?while leaving enough time to see the birds we're stopping for, actually identifying them, and remembering that we're still at the mercy of fate as to whether a given bird will show up or remain hidden in the short time we've allotted to spend there.

Despite all these things—the technical ways one plays "the game," the things that consume the left side of your brain throughout the day—it's the subtle right brain experiences that I'll remember most. It's the camaraderie, boasting, and reverie the night before. It's lying there in a sleepless fit while your mind spins with every last detail, every turn, every potential bird on your portion of the route, and feeling the pressure of coming through big when the reins are handed over to you. It's eating WaWa subs for 24 hours straight, or any other food that comes out of a bag for that matter, and remembering it as being delicious. It's the bouts of inane silliness combined with deadpan serious birding throughout the day. It's the heightened sense of awareness of your surroundings, not letting your guard down, and always expecting the unexpected. It's sitting in the Great Swamp at midnight, moon blazing overhead, listening to birds sing the same songs that were sung long before humans walked the earth, or ever dreamt of a contest like this.

Seeing my corny enthusiasm for the event was enough to convince most of the skeptics in my audience that it was all worthwhile. Even the most stalwart holdouts were converted when I added the "ace in the hole" that the event raises hundreds of thousands of dollars for bird conservation. The World Series of Birding is an incredible contest, equal parts Cannonball Run and championship chess, strategy and execution. For good reason this model has been copied with various twists and turns the world over to further conservation causes. I, for one, can't wait until next year so we can once again play?the game!

Brian Sullivan is project co-leader of eBird and a member of Team Sapsucker, the Lab's champion World Series of Birding team.

For permission to reprint all or part of this article, please contact Laura Erickson, editor, Cornell Lab of Ornithology, 159 Sapsucker Woods Rd., Ithaca, NY, 14850. Phone: (607) 254-1114. email: lle24@cornell.edu