The Book of Nature

Friday, Apr. 01, 2022

The sun hadn’t even risen and already I’d messed up the day.

I’d risen early and gotten on the road while it was still dark, intending to watch the sage grouse dance, but I’d misjudged the distance. As the sky in the east lightened, the clock told me I’d never make it to the site before sunrise. Arriving late not only risks scaring away the birds, but also arouses the ire of the other birdwatchers who had shown up on time.

Annoyed at myself, I considered returning to the chores awaiting me at home, but I’d set aside the morning for birdwatching. I wasn’t too far from the site where Lewis’ woodpeckers frequently are seen. I’d been there twice before, looking to add the species to my life list, but struck out both times. 

“Maybe third time will be a charm,” I said.

When I got to the parking lot, it still wasn’t fully light. I sat in the car and read my daily prayer, feeling virtuous because that’s something I usually don’t do until just before bedtime. 

Any virtue I gained from the prayer vanished after I grabbed my camera and headed out. Immediately, I saw a woodpecker-shaped bird on a tree, but before I could determine whether it was the species I sought or the more common Northern flicker, it flew away.

Muttering to myself, I walked up the trail. To my left, a white furred shape bounded away. I swung my camera and managed to get a few hasty shots of a hare in winter coat before it disappeared in the distance. I thought it was a snowshoe hare, but later when I looked it up I learned that jackrabbits also turn white in winter, and the photo shows the latter’s black-tipped ears.

A pair of kestrels, feathers fluffed against the chill, watched me pass their perch. House finches sang. The unmistakable long-tailed silhouette of a magpie swooped in the distance. Almost a mile up the trail, a dark brown bird scrabbled in the brush. I watched for several minutes, but it refused to give me a clear look. The birding app on my phone told me that my best guess, a hermit thrush, had never been reported in the area.

The unidentified bird finally flitted away. I continued on. Black-capped chickadees made their appearance, as did a couple of robins.

“God has, in fact, written two books, not just one. Of course, we are all familiar with the first book he wrote, namely Scripture. But he has written a second book called creation.” So said Francis Bacon, and as I walked I tried to read God’s power and beauty in what I was seeing, but rather than communing with the Creator I felt annoyed by what I’d missed: the chance to watch the sage grouse, the possible sighting of the Lewis’ woodpecker, the inability to confirm the identity of what I was fairly sure was a thrush.

Returning to my car, I saw again the mysterious bird, which still refused to give me a good look, but I did catch a glimpse of the telltale red tail feathers of a hermit thrush. I also managed to get a photo of a Lewis’ woodpecker. It’s not a great photo, but it clearly identifies the bird.

The best photo of the day is of a golden eagle, which perched on a power line and regarded me disdainfully as I took shot after shot, so close that I could see each individual feather of the magnificent bird. 

Looking back on the hike now, I see the highlights: the white hare bounding away, the thrush scrabbling in the bushes, the eagle dismissing me with its golden eyes, the new species for my list. I also realize my failure to fully enjoy them while I was experiencing them. I always want perfection – to get excellent photographs, to immediately identify the species. I focus so much on that that I fail to enjoy the beauty, the sheer wonder of creation, to pause and give glory to God for the ability to walk on the snow-covered trail, to consider the infinite variety of the plants and animals, to give thanks for the chance to read another chapter in this book of creation.