Freebird
There’s an old barstool conversation starter that asks “if you had to choose a superpower, would you pick flight or invisibility?” I always choose flight. Not for me the life of skulking in the dark or fading into the shrubbery. I want to fly.
Maybe that’s how the first bird took to the air. The choice was to run, burrow, or dive from the planet’s predators, or learn to soar high above life’s gnashing teeth and claws. Think of the cackle of a raven, the trumpet of a swan, the morning melody of a robin. What they are really saying is “look up, way up! I’m above you and your earth bound troubles. Foolish human. I am free”.
Yes, I’m projecting. But searching for ways to peek into the secret lives of our avian neighbours became an obsession for me in those months when we all found ourselves caged and tethered to our homes. Sneaking into the woods with a long lens on a short winter’s day somehow made me feel free. You can’t doom scroll when you’re peering up into trees, nor can you obscure your senses with ear buds when your straining to hear bird song. Bird watching (and photographing) is a multi-sensual experience. Just try it.
Sure, I’m aware most are oblivious most of our lives to the presence of the birds that surround us. At least until we turn 50, when we suddenly notice what has been there all along, and start dropping bird facts on our friends like seagulls unloading ballast over a French fry stand. “A hummingbird in your hand weighs less than a marshmallow!” “Owls fly on silent wings!”“Eagles have sex in mid-air!” Fascinating. At least, for some.
So that’s why I take pictures of birds. When I started out I focussed on craft, learning how to gather sharp images of a small subject that rarely stands still. Then my interest morphed from collecting to chronicling; trying to capture behaviour whenever possible. Birds are both curious, and act curiously. Many are intensely clever, and it is sometimes confusing as to just who is watching who.
On a more ominous note, I’m aware I am recording a dwindling population. A 2019 study, the first-ever comprehensive assessment of net population changes in the U.S. and Canada, found bird populations have dropped by 3 billion since 1970. (Journal Science, Decline of the North American avifauna, 2019). This is staggering, deeply sad, and a direct result of human activity. I honour those who work tirelessly to try and arrest this trend. I want to do my part.
Which brings me to one last thing. When I take a photo, I share it, almost immediately, on social media. I want people to take notice of the beauty that surrounds us. And I want them, just for a moment, to marvel.
As you read this, migrating birds are following ancient flyways, along fault lines and mountain ranges, guided by gravity, polarity, and stars. Billions of creatures world wide, continuing a ritual that began eons before we crawled out of the mud. They are a separate civilization, bound by rules all their own, obeying instincts and directives we still struggle to decipher. Birds are beguiling, they are still among us, and they need our help to continue to exist. We may be running out of time. You start by looking up.