Is Birding Enjoyable? – by Sarah Kelsey

“I FINALLY GOT YOU. YOU ARE VANQUISHED.”

Thus started the rare bird report of the primary Black-billed Cuckoo reported in Paulding County. It was the following half that startled me.

“I FINALLY GOT YOU. YOU ARE VANQUISHED. BLACK-BILLED C🤬NT—”

Oh my! After the em sprint, the all caps ended and the report listed the conventional figuring out traits one ought to put in a uncommon hen report. “Slim cuckoo with red eyering, smallish black bill, and lacking the rufous flight feathers of YBCU.” [That’s “yellow-billed cuckoo” for those unfamiliar with four-letter bird codes. Four letter words other than c🤬nt.]

The report closes with, “Paulding Forest is the #1 migration hotspot in the Piedmont I’ll die on this hill — Paulding County first and my GA bird #319.”

I embrace your complete report as a result of 1) clearly I want to return to Paulding Forest!, and a pair of) this report captures a lot of the birding expertise. The frustration. The itemizing — not simply life record, however state itemizing and county itemizing. And after all, a correct textual content description for a uncommon hen report. (I personally am responsible of writing lazy uncommon hen studies like, “Continuing,” or “Crappy photo later!”)

“What did that cuckoo ever do to you?” I commented as I shared the hilarious hen report with some associates.

The report jogged my memory of one of my favorite iNaturalist posts , depicting what I assume was the observer’s lifer Florida scrub-jay. I base this on the commentary be aware that reads, “Fucken FINALLY!!!!”

I shared that iNaturalist put up, too, with my associates. It prompted one buddy to ask:

“Is birding actually fun?”

I paused.

“Sounds stressful,” my friend added.

I paused again. I wanted to respond, “Of course it’s fun!” but I could not deny that at times, it is stressful. What came to mind was a story.

One September Sunday, I drove over an hour to Georgia Highlands College where a tropical kingbird had been reported. I didn’t realize this wouldn’t be my typical search for a rare bird; this was a stakeout. I arrived to find a group of birders, some in lawn chairs. I realized with some dismay we would not be exploring the trails to search for the kingbird; we would be sitting and waiting. This was not my kind of birding. I wished I’d brought my knitting.

Before I became a birder, I would not have understood why anyone would drive a long distance to sit, waiting, for a single bird, instead of exploring the surroundings. Perhaps stakeouts reminded me of the stereotypes that initially repelled me not from birds, but from the hobby — a competitive endeavor focused on species as numbers, points on a scorecard.

One of the birders approached and introduced herself and the rest of the group, who readily welcomed me to the stakeout. For more than an hour, I chatted with them and sat, taking in the blue sky, warm sun, and peaceful greenery of the nearby forest.

Finally, a small silver-gray bird emerged from the forest canopy, landing on a curved, slender branch at the edge of the clearing. For several minutes he perched on the branch, posture regal, with a belly the bright yellow of lemonade, of sunshine, of joy — for joy was what he brought. I could feel not just my own but the spirits of everyone in the group rising up from the ground, towards the sky, to that high, curved branch above.

It was collective joy — a shared moment with strangers, knowing that we were all feeling the same joy and that we had something in common even if we had never spoken to each other before and never saw each other again. That afternoon, I understood that this was fun, not just chasing rare birds, but waiting for hours for something that may or may not show up.

Back to the present day, to my conversation with my friend who so astutely pointed out that birding — especially looking for a specific bird — sounds stressful. After telling the story of the kingbird stakeout, I shared the theory I’ve been developing for awhile, and now I will share it with you — my theory of Four Stages of Being a Birder.

This theory is a work in progress. I think it applies, in some form, to most nature hobbies that involve keeping track of a life list and searching for new additions. I base this theory on my own experience and what I’ve observed in other naturalists, though I acknowledge it is not universal. For example, I started birding at thirty-five; the progression of my mindset probably differs from those who started birding as children.

The Four Stages are not linear. They do not represent a one-way progression; one might shift back and forth between Stages Two and Three. Even after reaching Stage Four, some days one might temporarily be back in Stage Three.

Everything is new. Everything is exciting. You are constantly learning and adding to your life list. Everything is fun!

You’ve learned a lot. You’ve built up skill. You are finding new things and still adding to that life list. You definitely like birding; now you’re sure, you are committed to the hobby. Maybe you have started investing more in the hobby, in gear, travel, or simply time. At some point, however, you find yourself in Stage Three.

You’ve learned a lot, you’ve built up skill, but you’re hitting a wall. Now there’s not much new to add to your life list, at least not without traveling far. Anything local you could still chase is more difficult to find; you haven’t built up enough skill for that yet. Failing is frustrating; you think, if you had just done something a bit differently, left earlier, learned more, had more time and tried more often, perhaps it would have turned out differently.

Also, you may be embarrassed at feeling so frustrated in the first place. After all, you weren’t supposed to be fixated on lists, species counts, treating wildlife as points on a scorecard. You may encounter what I think of as the “smug” or “judgey” variant of Stage 4, a Zen birder who not only has surpassed the desire for lifers but also criticizes those who have not yet reached that state. (I think of a conversation I had with someone who criticized those of us who chase rare birds as not paying enough attention to everyday birds, as though one cannot do both.)

Embarrassment at feeling frustrated leads to more frustration; the feelings feed off of one another in an irritating cycle.

At some point, the frustration fades. You no longer feel the rush to find everything right now. Whatever season has just ended will come again next year. You can just relax and enjoy whatever birds are in front of you. You have reached Stage Four.

Everything is fun again. You have built enough skill that the familiar is new; you notice new details and behavior. The pressure of the list has subsided. You can appreciate Carolina wrens and chipping sparrows. You might still chase a rarity, you might still have a nemesis bird (mine is fox sparrow), you might slip back into frustration from time to time, but for the most part, you can just chill.

In 2023, I visited Wheeler National Wildlife Refuge in Decatur, Alabama, and, from eBird, discovered that an Atlanta friend was there at the same time! When we later met for dinner, I asked, “What lifers have you seen this weekend?”

He responded, “Oh, I don’t really see lifers anymore. I’ve already seen them.”

I was floored. Was it disappointing to have nothing to search for? NO. This was something to strive for, to have real life experience, to have observed in the field just about everything one would expect to find in my region, to no longer feel the pressure of a chase or the pressure of the season slipping away — fall migration, winter duck and sparrow season, spring migration, and summertime…well, I don’t know what to call summer birding season. (According to an email sent to the Georgia Birders Online (GABO) listserv four years ago, for us, summer is the season “to endure.” I often think of the email’s dramatic yet appropriate closing line — “The time to endure is upon us.”)

Here is why I judge the judgey Zen birder; I think we have to go through the preceding three phases in some form to reach that Zen, even that unpleasant Frustration Phase. The point of looking for lifers is not merely to check things off a list; it’s that observation in the wild teaches lessons that books, recordings, photos, and videos do not. While it may seem or at times even feel like adding points to a scorecard, the true point of the search is experiential learning. I’ve noticed that most “lifers,” whether they are birds, bugs, or something else, become less scarce shortly after I’ve first seen or heard them. For example, yellow warblers eluded me for a couple of years. Now I not only recognize them — by sight and sound — but this spring, I observed them in my own backyard!

At some point in 2025, I found myself in Stage Four. At Kennesaw Mountain during spring migration, I realized I was paying just as much attention to year-round residents like brown-headed nuthatches as I did to migrants like rose-breasted grosbeaks.

I have an outline of my whole journey through the four stages and my birding origin story, as well as thoughts on chasing lifers and going through these four stages with non-bird wildlife. But having passed the 2,000 word mark with this post, I’ll save those stories for another week. I will stick with the question posed earlier: Is birding fun?

Of course it is! Yes, it can be stressful, like any hobby, anything where we challenge ourselves and stretch our minds, acquiring both knowledge and skill. More than six years after I committed to learning my local birds, I can say with certainty that birding is absolutely fun.

I’d like to learn others’ perspectives. Has anyone tried birding and concluded that it is not fun? Are the “four stages” relatable? What’s your nemesis bird? What’s your spark bird? Do you chase rarities? What’s the last rarity you chased and what’s your latest life bird?

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Georgia Botanical Society has a number of free field trips arising this summer season!

Dragonfly Week runs from July 4th through 12th. The British Dragonfly Society has recognized this week for years, and I think we should celebrate here in the U.S., too!

World Snake Day is July 16th. (I cannot find an official webpage for it.)

National Moth Week is July 18th-26th!

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