Bowled over by birding

ORNITHOLOGY: IT’S MUCH MORE THAN MERELY WATCHING THE BIRDIES

This trip swayed Sibusiso Mkwanazi to invest in a cardigan and binoculars.

When a black South African like myself valiantly declares to family and friends that he is embarking on an ornithological journey on board a catamaran in the middle of nowhere, whether in Bilbao (Spain), Frankfurt (Gemany) or even our own Vaal dam, a less than enthusiastic response is to be expected.

I was met by heaps of disapproval and my intentions were simplified down to: “No, you’re going to be on a boat and looking at birds that we all see on our way to work!” All the days start off the same way, with me questioning how I am always the only black (and relatively young) person in attendance. Is it perhaps because my people found out that the bird count would involve water and you know what they say about black people and water ...

At first, I found myself feeling like an outcast in the middle of a members-only club and what made matters worse was that, as a writer, I found it extremely dif- ficult to grasp most of the foreign terminology (such as Accipiter, which are birds of prey in the Accipitridae family; patagium, the tip of a bird’s wing; and gorget, which forms part of a bird’s plumage). And by the way, this was all on dry land during the briefing period which was meant to make the actual bird count less complicated.

As most birdwatching is done bright and early around the world, I usually arrive before everyone else. As I know that I struggle to tell the difference between a pigeon and a dove, I wonder why I am even tasked with not only counting these darn things, but also classifying them. I have met a number of seasoned birders over the years, who have made my life a whole lot easier. One of these was a German named Hans Krause from the city of Frankfurt.

Krause let me in on a little secret called the General Impression Size and Shape (GISS) system which was developed for novices like me who, without fail, think of medical malpractice upon hearing the acronym CWAC, which actually stands for Coordinated Waterbird Counting.

GISS allowed me to follow a sequence of recommended actions that eventually led to me to proud- ly declare my first classification, which looked like a red-billed teal. I was sure that according to its size, shape and general behaviour around water, it had to be a red-billed teal, until Krause and the rest of the birders on our catamaran gently mentioned a million reasons why it could not be.

The system proved to be particularly handy when it came to birds of a similar feather that insisted on flocking together, and after a few minutes of determining if they were large or small, sussing out their upper mandibles’ (beak) shapes, trying to work out what colour the tips of the wings were and if they had skinny legs or not, I was thoroughly convinced that birds are by far the most uncooperative creatures of them all. How was I meant to catalogue all this information if they refused to sit still?

Once I got into the swing of things, I found it easier to classify the fowl, but it turned out I was still missing a few basic tricks when it came to counting.

I excelled at tallying up single feathered creatures but when the time came to total up entire flocks, I failed dismally until the entire

birding group on the catamaran suggested that I should count the furthest bird first, so that by the time the nearest one was in close proximity, I would have a rough idea of how many birds made up the flock.

It was after these wise words that it finally dawned on me what the big fuss is all about when it comes to birding. Yes, we were all

here to classify and count water birds and supply various organisations around the world with our findings, but birding is a social activity that requires participants to consult with fellow birders.

We all referred to the various birding reference books and after much deliberation and a drink or two, it was decided that the particular bird we were looking at could have been a red-billed teal – but in the greater scheme of things, I was consoled that as a novice on my maiden voyage, one bird did not really matter.

When I peered through a spotting scope or adjusted the focus on my binoculars, it didn’t matter that I was the only black person on board and it was of no significance that I thought I heard Krause shout lesbian, when he actually was declaring a Caspian. It felt gratifying to know I contributed.

Birding might still be reserved for retired and old, white males, but I am proud to publicly acknowledge that I plan on lay-buying a cardigan with elbow patches and am more than keen for the next excursion.

What draws me even more to birdwatching is how the daytime hobby allows you to explore whatever part of the world you happen to be in. I had time to take a tram to the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, an opportunity to walk through the markets in downtown Frankfurt and to savour each city’s culinary delicacies.

I excelled at tallying up single feathered creatures but when the time came to total up entire flocks, I failed dismally.