While he was not the first to attempt a “Big Year,” his book has become a classic among birders and launched many similar ventures, like the 1998 contest chronicled in the recent book and movie “The Big Year.” His quest is detailed in his book, Kingbird Highway, which was published in 1997. In the 1970s, while still a teenager, Kaufman dropped out of high school and hitchhiked across the country, traveling nearly 70,000 miles in 12 months in an effort to set a record for the number of bird species spotted in a year. The violent demonstration at the feeder was not only a lesson about the ephemeral nature of life in the wild but also offered a glimpse into what it is like to go birding with Kenn Kaufman - even on bad days, the species just drop out of the sky. Then it took off across the marsh and was gone.
The scene lasted only seconds but was like a John James Audubon print: the small bird motionless in the clutches of the raptor the larger bird, all sharp beak and fierce eyes, pausing just a moment to catch its breath or get its bearings. “A sharp-shinned hawk has taken one of the sparrows. Kaufman leaned closer to the window glass and calmly explained the cause of the commotion. Kaufman was discussing the winter plumage on the goldfinches when suddenly the birds scattered as if caught by a sudden gust, and a large, brown form blew by the window in a blur. And there was every reason to be optimistic - Kaufman is a birder of international fame and the author of a popular series of field guides.Īnd so against all odds, there we were at the Black Swamp Bird Observatory near Oak Harbor, beginning our tour by watching flocks of goldfinches and American sparrows flit about bird feeders in a wind-sheltered cove. The seasonal migration that makes the western Lake Erie basin one of the hottest springtime bird- watching spots in all of North America had yet to begin.ĭespite these obstacles, Kenn Kaufman agreed to lead a writer around the marshes to get a feel for the bird-watching opportunities here. Visitors to these lake marshes would need to be blindfolded to avoid seeing birds in spring, when swarms of migrants pass through the region during their long flights between winter homes in the South and nesting grounds in the North. It was a particularly lousy winter’s day along the shoreline between Port Clinton and Toledo, overcast and cold with winds gusting in a way sure to keep most winged creatures huddled in the leeward boughs of big trees.
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