Early one warm February morning, I slowly walked from the concrete drainage into the grassy, but rutted, drainage ditch that runs along the north and east sides of our subdivision. Ditch is really not an appropriate word, since this trench is approximately one-half mile long and one hundred yards wide. This ditch was once a creek bed that has been deepened and widened to accommodate the building of homes in an area subject to south Texas' notorious flash floods. At the east end of this drainage, the creek resumes and the creek bed is surrounded on both sides by thick underbrush, mesquite trees and a few remaining oaks.
This area was my bird-watching destination for the morning. Last week was the first time I had been birding in this area, and I had a brief glimpse of the elusive Green-tailed Towhee, (within 12 months Kaufman & Broad put a subdivision on this land) today I hoped for a better look. I stopped on entering the drainage area and scouted both sides for birds in the brushy spots along the wooden fences behind the homes that line this part of the ditch. Last week I saw a pair of Curve-billed Thrashers here and suspected that they were building a nest, but I didn't see them this day.
As I headed east down the drainage ditch, I saw a bird silhouetted against the sky sitting in the top of a tree. Using my spotting scope to get a close-up view, I quickly identified this bird as a Mockingbird. But as I continued to look at it, I decided, "No, it's a Loggerhead Shrike. The early morning light is just doing funny things with the bird's plumage." Having decided that, I moved on towards the beginning of the creek and the underbrush. Just as I entered the dry creek bed, a bird flushed from a brush pile and lighted low in a small tree about thirty feet away. I pinpointed it with my binoculars and identified it as a Curve-billed Thrasher. I eased forward a few steps, set up the spotting scope and zeroed in on the bird.
Well, it did resemble a thrasher, but not exactly. Possibly an immature Curve-billed Thrasher. As I moved on, the bird remained perched, unconcerned with my presence or movement. A few minutes later I spotted another fairly large bird to my left. Using my binoculars, I decided it did look like a Mockingbird, sort of. Again, I suspected the subdued light of a cloudy morning was playing tricks with my eyes.
I reached the area where I had last seen the Green-tailed Towhee, but it was not as cooperative as it had been last week. As I stood there I noticed a bird near the top of a tree across the creek bed. On zeroing in on it, I realized it was of the same species I had been seeing. This time I acknowledged to myself, "No the bird is not a solid brown tone; its back does have a pattern similar to a chevron; and the wing tips do not extend below the tail, which was not cocked upward at a jaunty angle." I was forced to admit that it was not a Loggerhead Shrike, not a Curve-billed Thrasher, and definitely not a Mockingbird.
Unfortunately, I had left my bird field guide on the table at home, but it would not have done me any good. This bird wasn't in the field guide. That "not knowing" is part of the lure of bird watching: The mystery of trying to unravel nature's identification marks when you have the bird in view, and the book in hand. Another part of the lure of bird watching is successfully identifying that elusive feathered masterpiece of nature and experiencing the sense of satisfaction of momentary success. I still have not identified the mystery bird from this morning. But I will be back, looking for it again and again until I unravel nature's code, and reach that point of momentary satisfaction: "Aha, so that's what you are!"