There’s something uncanny about birding in 2025.
The Humboldt birders have hit the ground running this year. Everyone in my feathered circle is out there with single-minded dedication, chasing rarities, putting in long hours day after day, birding like there’s no tomorrow because — well, let’s not go there.
I’ll admit I’m not a huge fan of 2025 so far and some of the changes it brings. It’s entirely possible I celebrated New Year’s Eve with a glass of warm milk and my head under the covers by 8 p.m. And I definitely wasn’t dreaming about seeing some improbable number of bird species.
But something changed. Maybe it was the casual suggestion of a friend while we were birding the hotspots around Arcata on Jan. 1 and racking up a pretty decent count. “Why don’t you try for 300 this year?” she asked.
Three hundred bird species in a calendar year in Humboldt County is a very good year indeed. Only eight birders achieved it in 2024 and I would characterize them as “serious” birders, the ones who chase every rarity even if it’s hailing or the Giants are playing, who travel to the far corners of the county on a regular basis with complete disregard for the state of their shocks and who have an encyclopedic knowledge of bird calls.
Historically, I seldom migrate very far afield to find birds. Every spring I have to re-learn even the commonest bird sounds. And given the choice between chasing a rare bird in the rain and enjoying a big bowl of chocolate ice cream, I’d be looking for a spoon.
This year I’m inspired. Things will be different. At the sound of the rare bird alert chime on my phone I’ll hurtle out the door as if my La-Z Girl has an ejector-seat button. (Of course, there’ll still be ice cream when I get back.)
This newfound inspiration is why I recently spent a long morning in Trinidad looking for an incredibly rare Blue-winged Warbler spotted the evening before right in the center of town. It’s a gorgeous bird, bright lemony-yellow with blue wings and a bit of a black mask, typically an East Coast resident. It was a pretty rough stakeout, too: basking in the sunshine and unseasonably warm weather, coffee from the Beachcomber and views to forever from nearly every street corner.
In the end, I saw more birders than warblers of any species, but I’ll keep trying. On the way home, I purposely chose Scenic Drive hoping to pick up a few easy ocean birds, like a Black Scoter or a Pigeon Guillemot, to add to my year’s tally; I even held up traffic briefly while snapping photos of a suspected Tufted Puffin. Of course, I didn’t see any scoters or guillemots and my puffin turned out to be a free-floating buoy, but that’s the kind of commitment it takes to hang with the serious birders.
It’s likely that I’ll have to commit to something else in 2025 and that’s going on a pelagic (ocean) birding trip. I know a few birders who love these all-day boat excursions and never miss a single one, but they’re gifted with strong stomachs and don’t object to getting vomit on their shoes. Neither is true of me. Plus, I’m not a great swimmer should that be required for whatever reason, several of which I can already picture in my mind. The ocean is full of toothy, tentacled creatures that sometimes bite holes in boats, as documented in Jaws. I probably shouldn’t have seen that movie when I was only 5 but my older brother convinced my mom it was a nature film.
Even without a rare warbler or a pelagic trip, my efforts so far this year have gotten me a third of the way to my goal and netted me some terrific birds, including a Burrowing Owl and a pair of beautiful Harlequin Ducks. But as every birder knows, it’s not the first hundred birds that matter — it’s the last 100. Those birds are few and far between. You have to put in the hard graft for every single one. That means I’ll need to limit the time I usually devote to less important matters, like dusting and doing my taxes. If that’s what it takes, I’m all in.
So why this year? Well, I guess the answer is, “If not now, then when?” A lot of us who believe in science are looking for ways to stay positive, to turn a crapfest of bad news and worse news and a planetary existential crisis into a personal best.
Until 2025, it’s been enough for me to see just a few more species than I did the year before. I’ve always considered that a pretty decent goal for someone who’s had a few hard knocks over the years, one in love and one from an SUV with a distracted driver.
But when the future is uncertain, it feels strangely freeing. The weight of the past falls away as if we’ve loosened our grip on a 50-pound bag of wild bird seed and all that’s left is right now with its infinite possibilities. Like finding a Blue-winged Warbler in the heart of Trinidad.
We all have improbable, even impossible dreams hidden inside us just waiting for the perfect catalyst to spur us into action. Maybe 2025 is the year to chase one of those dreams.
If not now, then when?
Sarah Hobart (she/her) is a freelance writer based in Humboldt County.
This article appears in 2025 NCJ Pet Photo Contest Winners.
I’m sure there is a support group for people who chase after birds with a camera, but their meetings would be too frequently interrupted. I really enjoy these articles!