by Paul Kerlinger

"It’s just a black-crowned night-heron!" Marvin yelled over to me. I had asked him what the bizarre-looking bird was that landed only thirty feet from me.

"But it's almost dark out. The sun set 10 minutes ago."

"They're mostly nocturnal," Marvin informed me. "They come out at night to feed on small fish, crabs, and other stuff. During the day, they roost in the trees behind the amusement park."

To me this bird opened a whole new world. Here I was, fishing peacefully on a rocky islet in Long Island Sound. Suddenly, I could no longer concentrate on catching striped bass or relax while watching the skyline of Manhattan. This night-heron left me unsettled. I watched as it hunted the tidepools lined with brown algae at the edge of the island. I wanted to know more about it and why it was nocturnal. I didn't really care if I caught any more fish.

For me, the black-crowned night-heron was an initiator bird. That little incident in the near darkness of a rocky islet in Long Island Sound changed my life. During subsequent fishing trips I saw many more black-crowns and I learned more about them. Although I had always looked at birds and knew many species, I never was as intrigued as the moment that night-heron appeared out of the dusk. So great was my interest in that bird, that I began to watch and study other birds. I was hooked.

For about twenty years, I had no idea that other birders had similar experiences or initiator birds of their own. Then I met Mark Levy. For Mark, an investment counselor from North Jersey, the initiator bird was the least tern. While vacationing near East Hampton, Long Island, Mark was struck by the vulnerability of beach-nesting birds like least terns. He previously had no idea that birds even nested on the beach.

Mark became aware after placing his blanket and other beach paraphernalia near a nest. His attention to the sun, sand, and surf were interrupted by a small bird making noise above him and diving at his head. He wondered why it was so close and why it was agitated. Looking around, he noticed two tiny forms on the beach only a yard away. Baby terns! They were nearly invisible against the sand. He had almost stepped on them. How could they survive such harsh conditions, not to mention all the people who walk and sit on the beaches? Mark was hooked. In the days and weeks after this incident, he commenced learning about birds and is now a dedicated birder.

Were Mark and I different from the rest of the birding world, or do most birders have an initiator bird? Being a scientist, I formulated an hypothesis. Perhaps most birders turned the corner into birding via an initiator bird. An epiphany like mine might explain how so many different types of people get into birding. To find out if my theory was correct, I asked dozens of birders if there was a single bird or incident that made them become avid birders.

The answers confirmed my suspicion: Lots of people have initiator birds. There are several common threads. Initiator birds are often large, colorful, or rare birds like hawks or egrets and herons. Thus, they are more "accessible" or interesting than small, drab, and common birds. Egrets, the birds that became the logo of one of the largest environmental organizations, have captured the imaginations of many a non-birder. It was their beauty that made avian advocates out of enough people near the turn of the century to protect egrets and herons from the destructive practices of the millinery trade. After converting thousands of people, the beauty of egrets and herons eventually saved them.

Hawks, eagles, and falcons, because they are large, dramatic birds, have been initiator birds for thousands of birders. I remember my father pointing out hawks to me as they circled over our suburban neighborhood. I was impressed, but not hooked. Perhaps I was waiting for my night-heron, or perhaps I was not ready.

While I was the director of the Cape May Bird Observatory, I was able to see the actual process of seemingly normal people being hooked by hawks. They are first seen on the hawkwatch platform. Slightly bored, but mildly interested. A good flight seals their fate. After several hundred sharp-shinned hawks or a dozen peregrines fly by, you know they are hooked by the dazed look in their eye or the drool that meanders down their chin. The next time you see them is back at the Bird Observatory buying field guides or attempting to up their credit card limit to purchase a pair of thousand-dollar optics.

One young college student is memorable. On a brisk October morning, with hundreds of hawks passing overhead, he attended a hawk-banding demonstration that CMBO sponsored. All it took was a "face-to-face" with an adult male northern harrier. The student was mesmerized by the "gray ghost," as this bird is called by veteran hawk watchers. Seeing this bird at an arm's length instead of hundreds of feet away, it suddenly became real to him. After that, he was a regular at the hawk watch.

My wife Jane did not call herself a birder, but always liked looking at birds. On a trip to Cape May, she was surprised to see a great egret. She had seen them previously in South Carolina and did not realize that the species occurred in New Jersey and that they migrated. This, and the revelation that there were lots of other interesting birds in New Jersey, converted her. Now whenever she sees a great egret, she thinks back to the first ones she saw in New Jersey and South Carolina. From that day, her interest in birds grew and she now considers herself a birder.

For Bill Garren the initiator bird was not one of the big, sexy birds, nor was it a vulnerable beach nester. Instead, Bill's initiator bird was the drab purple sandpiper. An inveterate surf angler at Island Beach, New Jersey, Bill always scans the beaches for birds as he fishes. He once picked an Iceland gull from amongst thousands of herring gulls. He was dumbfounded one day when he saw a sandpiper working the water's edge on a rocky jetty. He apparently had never seen shorebirds on the rocks. The purple sandpiper (whose name doesn't describe the species) is a rock-loving shorebird that visits New Jersey jetties every winter. Garren figured out what the birds were and has been looking carefully at birds ever since.

Fred Ditmars will never know what the initiator bird was that got him started. During his stint as president of the New Jersey Audubon Society, Fred informed me that an LBJ (little brown job) was responsible for his conversion. While vacationing on Cape Cod, Fred was intrigued by the small brown birds that flitted near his rental cottage. After his trip he bought a field guide and determined that he probably had seen a song sparrow. From this mundane experience, a birding career commenced. Fred still enjoys the "little brown jobs" even though he now knows what they are.

What makes a bird an initiator bird? That is, how does one experience with a single bird change a person? I do not have the answer, although I believe that it is not the bird so much as the person involved and the context in which the bird is seen. For me, a lifelong angler and nature lover, I had looked at birds before, but never with the same interest as when the black-crowned night-heron entered my world on that rocky islet. I was ready to be converted, I just needed a shove. That night-heron made me think, and it was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever witnessed.

What turned you into a bird watcher? Was it a single incident or did your conversion come more gradually. I'd be willing to bet that you also have an initiator bird or experience.

Recently, while fishing at dusk on the bank of a tidal creek behind Stone Harbor, New Jersey, a black-crowned night-heron flew only a few feet over my head. A flash from twenty years earlier blew through my mind. Deja vu. No, it was real. I wondered about the night-heron. I stopped fishing, walked back into the marsh and tried to watch it in the failing light. Hooked again!

Dr. Paul Kerlinger is an ornithologist and environmental consultant, and lives in New York City. He is the former Director of the Cape May Bird Observatory.