How I Became a Bird Watcher.

If someone would tell me I’d be interested in ornithology when I retired, I’d cross them off as being a bird brain.

Exercise is important to me as it is to many. My elected form of working out in the many years I daily lashed myself into a sweat was — running.

I’d try to get in at least 7 or 8 miles a day. There is a park close to my old house in suburban Philadelphia. Its convenience made it possible to run there on weekday mornings before I left for work.

Weekends when time was less of a premium, I’d treat myself to different venues where I’d drive and maybe even throw in an extra mile or 2 of running.

Some of the most challenging and interesting trails I’d drive to weekends were on the 240 some acres cut in the forest around the John James Audubon Center.

Yup, it’s where the French-American self-trained artist, naturalist and ornithologist spent the early years of his marriage to Lucy Bakewell. He and his wife later moved to Kentucky. There he eventually painted the classic “Birds of America,” a compendium of every one of the 453 bird species found in North America. The work is lauded for its accuracy of color and realism. These wonderful paintings and many of Audubon’s journals are found in the Center Museum.

The Center draws bird watchers from all over the nation, especially on weekends.

And a few runners, like me.

Its trails are hilly and laced with treacherous exposed tree roots. Not exactly perfect conditions but if you were careful you could get in a good run without plowing into any of the many bird watchers who mostly kept off the trails and pitched camp few feet into the woods. Their binoculars were always fixed on one or more of the varied species that found the welcoming atmosphere of the Audubon Center woods to their liking.

Whadda bunch of sissies!!

My Story

One beautiful Saturday I laced up my running shoes in the Center’s parking lot all set to start running on my favorite trail. It appeared to be a busy day if the number of cars already parked in the lot was any indication.

I took a deep breath of pristine autumn air and took off.

About halfway through I’d successfully negotiated the rooty trails. Although the paths were lined with bird watchers, I managed to avoid them also.

I concentrated on the running and they had their binoculars and eyes trained on the trees.

As fate would have it, the big toe on my right foot had a collision with a particularly high ground root and I fell twisting my ankle.

A sharp pain shot through the part of my right leg from my knee to my foot.

Writhing in agony I shouted the word that’s usually reserved for unfortunate occurrences like this:

FUUUUUCK !!

I looked up and saw at least 6 bird watchers standing around me, binoculars trained on my sad visage.

How embarrassing!

How painful!

How painfully embarrassing!!

“You okay man?” I saw a mouth move behind binoculars.

Jezzeue, I thought, wonder how I look magnified?

Aided by 2 of the men, each half a crutch, I was able to traverse the mile or so back to my car. Their compatriot bird watchers continued their mission in discovering unique birds and adding to their lists of lifers (different birds seen at least once in a lifetime).

What species would they list me:

Pink Faced Trail Tripper?

Talking to my crutches on the way to the car, I discovered they were regular guys who traveled to the Audubon Center from Massachucetts.

They liked the Red Sox, Celtics and Patriots.

Like I said, “Regular guys!”

Not what I supposed bird watchers to be.

Epilogue

I was diagnosed as having a high ankle sprain. The doc wrapped it up, told me to take it easy and watch where I’m stubbing my toe.

I survived.

Twenty some years later, I don’t run any more.

But soon after my embarrassing accident I bought a set of binoculars and I started my list of lifers.