GARDENING
Over the years I have been proud to declare myself a “citizen scientist” when I‘ve gone out to monitor bird numbers in places as far-flung as New York City, or the Glenorchy rubbish tip.
The subject was seagulls on both occasions and although gulls might be considered by many a non-attractive species, I was happy to do my bit in the interests of research into their habits and numbers. I may have been making a mistake, however, proclaiming myself as a citizen scientist.
According to the doyen of bird monitoring in Tasmania, Mike Newman, I and all the other birdwatchers who take part in bird surveys across Australia should proclaim we are merely enthusiastic but dedicated amateurs making a contribution to the science of ornithology in our own way. We should not tread on the true scientists’ toes or give the impression that we might have more expertise.
Dr Newman, one of only three Tasmanians to be awarded a life membership of BirdLife Australia, discussed the role of the amateur when he gave the keynote address at the annual meeting of the national organisation’s local affiliate, BirdLife Tasmania earlier this month.
The rebranding of the term “citizen scientist” came as a disappointment to me. I was never interested in science at school, never went to university, and started life as a messenger boy in the world of journalism. So, to carry the “scientist” label had given me much pride.
The “amateur” carries a sense of the eccentric about it too but, then again, anyone who dodges muggers in Spanish Harlem, Manhattan, to count numbers of laughing gulls, or braves icy winds at the Glenorchy tip on a winter’s day to survey the silver gull and kelp gull (pictured) must be considered eccentric, if not mad.
Dr Newman’s point is that a line can be drawn between the work of the amateur and the profession of ornithologist, if not a rigid one.
The scientist might consider the surveys compiled by the amateurs as “grey literature” as opposed to the peerreviewed publications of the professional researchers, but the former still provides vital information for scientific research.
As Dr Newman pointed out, there is much cross-pollination between the scientists and the amateur.
“The amateurs need expert help, and the professionals desire data,” he said.
The convener of BirdLife Tasmania, Dr Eric Woehler, said the Tasmanian records went back way before monitoring became – dare I say it – more professional. The Tasmanian records, approaching 1.6 million of them, extend to the 1840s when pioneers started to jot down bird sightings, including those of the “stump bird”, the dusky robin that was noted perching on the stumps of cleared trees.