Spark Birding – An ABA Young Birder Essay

by ABA Young Birder, Kaia H.

Spark bird – the bird that ‘sparked’ a birder’s love for Earth’s feathered wonders on wings. The name itself stirs memory and a magical sensation for any birder, young or old, novice or expert.

That may be because, in some sense, it is magic. If you are as lucky to have one, think back to your spark. Were you entranced in wonder with the subtle coloring of a dove, catching your breath as a hawk swooped by with a fierce gleam in its eyes, or at peace hearing the rich song of a warbler? Whatever the kind of spark you had, it really is magical and almost unnaturally amazing.

The moment of a spark is so magical, some birders divide their lives in two parts: before the spark and after the spark. First, the time in their lives when birds were just another voice in the background, another part of nature. And then their whole world was transformed in a whirl. After the spark, birds were always in mind, as the new birder sought to enjoy the sights and sounds of birds and nature like never before.

The amazing thing about spark birds is that no two are the same. They are different for each person. Different birds, different habitats, different experiences and connections and lives. A spark could be a scene of buntings shining among green foliage, like sapphires set into the fabric of the earth, or a majestic falcon diving though the air, seemingly the ruler of the sky. There are thousands of spark stories each unique in every way. Some may not even remember a spark bird, but were rather inspired by friends or family. Many birders state that they have loved birds for as long as they remember. That is amazing in its own way.

My spark day – the day of my life-changing spark – was on a snowy February day in 2022. Snow flurried down in soft clumps, coating the frozen ground in a white blanket. Birds were everywhere, hopping atop the snow, chirping from branches, and going crazy over the sunflower seeds in the feeder. Juncos were fighting over food, chickadees taking turns at the birdbath, and many species of birds that I didn’t know were flying about on silent wings.

Previously, a friend of mine had successfully hand-fed a Red-breasted Nuthatch in late fall. That started getting me into bird watching, but my spark had not yet come. I really wanted to hand-feed a bird, which led me to be out in that blustery storm that February day.

Back to the winter wonderland scene: I was attempting to hand-feed a junco, with little success. My patience was wearing thin, and the cold was threatening to freeze my ungloved hands. I was just about to go inside when a strange bird swooped from the sky, landing lightly on a nearby birdbath.

I had no idea what bird this was, but I was instantly intrigued. As I studied it more closely, I noticed the beauty of the tiny bird. It was light brown overall and had an underbelly as white as the surrounding snow with pencil-fine black streaks on its chest. Below the bird’s wing was a pale sunflower yellow patch, catching my gaze like a ray of sunshine. But what really caught my attention was the face. A clean white throat, a brown head with hints of rufous, and, the most amazing part, a dark eye twinkling at me. Its expression was curious, almost sweet.

Longing to discover what this sweet little bird was, I rushed inside, covered in snow, and uncovered a wildlife guide. Creeping back to the freezing snowscape, I observed the markings of the little songbird, which was now being bullied off of the birdbath by a pair of juncos. As I approached it to get a better look, the tiny mystery bird fluttered to a dense bush, out of sight.

Flipping through the stiff pages of the bird guide with frozen fingers, I found myself lost in a section of the book I would soon be very familiar with: the warbler section. The image of the little bird still burned in my memory, glowing, sharp and clear in all of its winter splendor. I soon flipped to a picture that closely resembled my mystery bird: same pale brown back, snowy underside, and golden patches. The only thing the photo-bird lacked was the gleam of life in its eyes. And at the top of the page was the name of the bird: Yellow-rumped Warbler. My spark bird.

And so that was the start of my birding story. After that, I questioned every bird I saw. Slowly, I learned many things: the difference between hairy and downy woodpeckers, that most owls don’t ‘hoot’, and that the hummingbirds I saw every summer in Colorado weren’t Ruby-throated Hummingbirds, but Broad-tailed Hummingbirds. I gathered countless bird guides, several pairs of binoculars, and eventually a camera. I soon strayed from the backyard birds and started seeking rarer sightings in marshes, lakes, and forests. I learned to quickly identify birds from sight, sound, behavior, or a combination of these. In a few years, I could easily leaf though a list of birds in my mind and match it to the bird, and move on.

And that’s where my mistake was. Not the fact that I could quickly identify a bird, but the habit of never pausing, always moving on too rapidly to the next bird.

I learned this when I was on a pelagic seabird boat trip two summers ago. I remember the experience vividly. We were out to see puffins, and after the full three hours on the water spotting seabirds, our boat began to speed back to the bay. As we skimmed over the water, two juvenile loons shot past us.

“That’s a Common Loon,” I mumbled to myself as I looked down at the paper checklist in my hand. Since I had already seen a Common Loon, I simply added the bird to my mental count. I assumed the second loon was another of the Common Loon’s kind. Later, just minutes before we would reach the shore, my sister and I had been talking to another young birder, marveling at a White-winged Scoter that we were easily pacing with the boat. Then an experienced birder walked over to us, his huge camera in hand.

“Did you guys see the Red-throated Loon?” the birder asked. Wide eyes and quick glances from the three young birders confirmed that a Red-throated Loon would be a lifer for all of us. But had we missed it? Was there a chance we could still see it?

“What? No! A Red-throated Loon?” We all cried simultaneously, “Where?” The birder then told us that of the pair of loons, the last loon had been, not a Common Loon, but a Red-throated Loon. Reviewing and comparing photos confirmed that it was indeed the very same pair of loons that had flown by minutes ago and it was, indeed, a Red-throated Loon. We all breathed a sigh of relief. We had all seen the loon. So I was able to count the bird on my life list.

However, once I got off the boat, I realized that yes, I saw the new loon, but I never saw it, not really. I never saw the Red-throated Loon for what it was. Something was missing in it, but I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it. Later I figured it out. I had missed an opportunity to observe a really cool loon, just because I thought it was a Common Loon. 

But good things did come out of that. Even though I did overlook the loon, I learned. Mistake: assuming that the Red-throated Loon was just a Common Loon; overlooking it, not taking time to study the bird and really ID it. Lesson learned: No matter how common or drab the bird may appear, always take an extra moment to see the bird. Not just double-checking the ID, but also taking in the bird and all of its magnificence. Not just moving on after checking the box in the list, but really looking at the bird. That is what I learned that day. 

However, I’ve found that the more common the bird, the easier it is to overlook. Take the Blue Jay for example. Where I live, they are so common, I often find myself either ignoring the bird or simply marking it on the checklist, when truly, the Blue Jay is a magnificent bird. Most notable are the wings and tail shining a glossy sapphire highlighted by bold black bars and bright white. More subtly, the Blue Jay has a soft snow belly. The look is completed by a black stripe running from throat to nape, framing its mischievous face and dashing crest. We grow so used to these gems that we forget about them.

Drab, brown, uncolorful, or unpatterned birds also are somewhat overlooked, mostly by nonbirders. Sparrows and shorebirds are often so hard to identify that the poor birds get a bad reputation. Some birders, however, prefer the subtle beauty of the brown and grey or the stripes and streakings of the drab birds. Sparrows, shorebirds, and other less colorful birds are gorgeous and amazing if one looks for it.

Another interesting angle to birding is technology. With new technology like Merlin, eBird, and other bird identification apps, I find it even easier to overlook birds. They are very helpful to birders and important to science, but one may miss observing a beautiful warbler just because Merlin picked it up on sound ID, and “great, got it, we can move on” is a common response. eBird is designed to count birds and checklist by county, state, country, or hotspot, which is great, as it does encourage people to get out and go birding. But I have always found eBird checklists to be missing something. Every time I submit a checklist, I feel it takes away from my birding outing. I even avoid reporting birds to eBird for this reason. I have met other birders who also feel that eBird somehow takes away from the joy and beauty that birds bring – that the perfect pixelated names on the checklists never tell enough.

I also find this rushed approach, overlooking-the-common-but-amazing-birds, with some obsessed birders. Of course, being obsessed with birds is awesome and there is nothing wrong with it. However, one can take it too far by only caring about the rare birds, blowing through the other common but amazing avian species. By slowing down and enjoying the most simple birds, you get to experience that same spark all over again.

As I said at the beginning, a spark bird is the bird that sparked a birder’s deep and (hopefully) undying interest for birds. A spark usually only happens once, so it is a truly singular moment.

Or so I thought, until that day on the pelagic seabird boat trip.

After that, I looked at birds longer, observed them more closely, and overall, enjoyed birds and birding more. Every bird I saw ‘sparked’ me again, and a wonderful thought formed in my mind.

What if a spark bird instance doesn’t have to happen just once? What if birders could be sparked by different birds, all the time? Every time one found the spark of a bird and themselves, their fascination for the avian species could be further renewed and heightened.  

This is where my two topics fuse into one. Spark birds are amazing and magical, and finding a spark bird is a truly amazing moment. However, after a birder’s first spark, one may find themselves taking birds for granted. Overlooking the common ones, not caring about the drab ones, or like I had done, blowing past everything so fast, the birder doesn’t even get to enjoy the birds they are looking at. But, if we can learn to appreciate birds for the beautiful creatures they are, we might be able to be ‘sparked’ again. Of course, that first spark bird might remain the best, brightest spark, but seeking to find the beauty of birds and their spark is truly amazing, and is the best part of birding.

So don’t take the beauty of birds for granted. Don’t just mark off the common species on the checklist and move on. Instead, take time to truly see the bird, to listen to its song, and to look for its spark. Find peace, or energy, or excitement in birds. Remember that while it may sometimes be fun to move quickly from bird to bird, every bird is an amazing miracle, and deserves to be enjoyed. Find spark birds every day and never forget that no matter how drab or common or maybe just plain annoying that bird is, it is part of the world’s beautiful tapestry of life.

There are birds outside right now – little (or big) balls of energy that inspire. So get out there, grab your binoculars, and find yourself some spark birds!

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