There’s never a bad day birding

No photo tops this post because on my last birding outing I took no photos of birds. In fact, in my 30-mile drive south to Palmyra Cove late this morning, I only saw three of the meager 14 birds I observed across seven species.

That’s it. Two cardinals in flight, and a third bird (probably a red-eyed vireo) that was tantalizingly close in a tree right in front of me. I couldn’t focus my binoculars quickly enough before it flew off.

It was hot and humid. I was sweating profusely and dragged a bit on the back end of a two-and-a-quarter mile walk. Not even a single gull flew by.

A bad day, right?

Wrong!

There are no bad days in birding.

Even if I had neither seen nor heard a bird, I had the privilege of walking through wooded paths and strolling along the sandy beach of the tidal Delaware River, the Philadelphia skyline in view — on Independence Day, no less.

I’ve made a few afternoon trips out to Mercer Meadows Pole Farm and found so few birds that I returned to my car and didn’t log the visit on eBird.

But those days are rare, and although they are a little disappointing, I still appreciate them because they bring me outdoors.

I have lived my life in cities and suburbs, and I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be “outdoorsy.”

I’ve become that over the past few years, with the gear to prove it: trail shoes, hiking boots, hunting boots, floppy hats (one with a havelock), a rain hood for my camera, and more.

For my transformation, I credit the birds. They enrich every day, even if only a few of them reveal themselves to me.