The 300

My quest ended November 17, 2007. Standing on a gravel road ten miles from Jonesboro, Nick Anich and I had just scoped several Cackling Geese in a large flock of Greater White-fronted. After 40,000 miles on the road, endless hours of driving in the dark while fighting sleep, burying the Prius in mud three times, running the battery down once, receiving one richly deserved speeding ticket and one warning, and discovering whole new genera of DEET-swilling, biting, and orifice-seeking gnats, what did I feel at that precise moment? Relief, to be sure, but mainly I felt resolute. Arkansas year-bird 300 represented the achievement of my public goal, but the real goal, the private one, remained.

Those of you who have read my posts know that I took doing an Arkansas Big Year (ABY) very seriously. Among other things it was to be my introduction to the Arkansas birding community, a means of establishing my birding bona fides. However, the specific goal of 300 birds was an afterthought. Doris Boyles mentioned the number in casual conversation and it stuck. It was a nice round number, easy to remember, and theoretically achievable, having been exceeded by Kenny and LaDonna Nichols in 2005.

What's the worst single thing about doing a Big Year? In my case it was being away from Pat and Skip much too much. I needed their support and they gave it, though Skip, our English Springer Spaniel, was a bit less understanding. Without them on my side, if not by my side, reaching 300 would have been the failure of a hollow victory. A downside to Big Years that I did not anticipate is that the moment you tic a bird, it becomes a trash bird, noise to be filtered out, ignored. Soon almost every bird you see is a trash bird, annoyingly taking precious time you need for finding good birds. What's the best thing about doing a Big Year? The birds, of course. And the birders.

My year-long enterprise was conducted in public, with as many posts to the ARBIRD listserv as bird species. My successes and failures alike were open to all. The highlights were many: seeing the first state record Northern Shrike and the second state record Cave Swallow; having the sixth state record Calliope Hummingbird turn up at our backyard feeder; finding Ruff, Red Knot, Sabine's Gull, Prairie Falcon, Bewick's Wren and Cape May Warbler; adding Thayer's Gull, Black-legged Kittiwake, Sprague's Pipit, Smith's Longspur, and Red-cockaded Woodpecker to my year list; and standing next to a tree containing a juvenile Sharp-shinned Hawk and hearing Bill Shepherd deadpan, "That's the smallest goshawk I've ever seen." Missing the same Red-necked Phalarope twice was my most painful failure. That miss came at a crucial time, when it seemed that success or failure of a year-long effort might hang in the balance. So many people pulling for me. I had let them down. Even now it stings.

Stretching beyond everyday pursuits to take on challenges requiring significant physical and mental effort, and not a little pain and discomfort, is my way of learning new things about myself and about life. The Red-necked Phalarope episode was instructive. How would I react? Truth to tell, for a few days I simply went through the motions. I birded everyday, mechanically, out of habit. But soon I regained my momentum. The endorphin rush, the tingling on the back of my neck when in pursuit of the next target bird, returned.

Reaching my public goal ironically presented a new challenge, a challenge to my private goal. The temptation was to coast through the remaining month and a half of 2007, chasing whatever rare birds, if any, that others found. Instead, I told Pat that I needed her help. I had to push extra hard for the remaining few weeks. I needed her support more than ever at the end. She gave it, without reservation. And so I birded hard right up to the last day of the year, finished with 307 year-birds, and met the personal goal I had set for myself by answering this simple question. At age 60 could I still take on a year-long mentally and physically taxing challenge and never give up, never let up, always give my all? I was enormously gratified to answer that question in the affirmative at midnight December 31, 2007. I am still alive.

Dennis Braddy
Little Rock, Arkansas