A Million Dollar Bird - The Yellow-Billed Loon

This is the famous, Yellow-billed loon.

This is the same loon being camera shy.

This is a regular old, Common loon, so you can see the difference.

     Yesterday, I did something really ridiculous, but very gratifying. That combination is often the case for me. I have the most fun when whatever I'm doing involves a little risk. Out of the blue the night before, I got a phone call from a birding acquaintance. "What are you doing tomorrow?" He asked. A laundry list of boring stuff that I should do flew through my head like a flock of angry crows. But what I said was, "Evidently, I'm going to be hanging out with you!" He laughed, then invited me to go with him the next morning to see a rare bird. That always involves risk, because you never know if you'll see the bird or not. And, you could waste a lot of time and moolah on the quest.

    Birders call dropping everything to go after a rare bird "twitching." I don't know why it's called that. Perhaps because when you write a check or slide your credit card across a counter to pay for the crap-shoot you're about to embark on, it makes you twitch. It made me twitch when I said yes to an ocean- going boat trip ticket to the tune of forty bucks, I can tell you that. Keep in mind that it's the very end of October in Maine and the Atlantic ocean is most inhospitable. We weren't going on a sunbathing, endless buffet cruise to Aruba. Layers and layers of clothing were required, a double dose of the anti-emetic of your choice (I like Bonine), water, gloves, a hat, lip balm and a prayer book are prudent choices. It's advisable to take something to eat too, so that when you hurl overboard you've got a donation at the ready. There's little worse than tossing your cookies without the cookie. I have experience.
     The weather forecast was for a gray, cold day with sea swells around four feet. All in all, not too bad, or at least not as bad as it could be, even though 'swell' does rhyme with 'hell' for a reason. I packed a bag of general necessities and my bag of camera equipment which weighs roughly 500 pounds. Since I was going birding with a tribe of big shot birders, I had to take my binoculars, too. Normally, I just use my camera's long lens like a huge monocular when I want a close look at something. But, if I had gone on this trip without bi-noculars, I would have looked like a complete moron. So, I took them. I have powerful, but heavy binoculars which are made to sit on a table top, not hang around the neck. Real birders have shoulder harnesses for their 'binocs' which keeps them from swinging wildly, but I don't. They also have lightweight and expensive Swiss and German binoculars. When birders are together, in the down time between birds they compare equipment, "Bet you're glad you're dragging around those lead fifty-forties today, John!" Stuff like that. They also talk about rare birds they've seen and the money spent and hardships endured to see them. I have little to contribute to this, since I'm a birding hacker by comparison. I am completely out classed and out 'glassed' by them, and I know it. Additionally, between my enormous camera and lens and my clunky binoculars around my neck, I looked like a psychotic yoked oxen, so I kept out of the discussion. 

   The bird we were all hot to see, or more accurately, freezing our keesters to see, was a Yellow-billed Loon. It's also called the "White-billed Diver." It looks just like a Common loon, but with a pale, yellow bill; appearing comparativley white.  The largest of the loons or diver birds, it's a bit bigger than the Common loon by about two inches and has a slightly longer bill. They are birds of the Arctic circle only rarely descending to the lower forty-eight. In all of bird record keeping in the State Of Maine, there has only been one ever seen here before. To see the bird this time was a really big deal bringing out all of the birding top guns in northern New England that could afford it or were just plain crazy enough (that's my category) to make the trip. Ultimately, we would ride seven miles out to sea to see what we could see in the hopes of twitching the big bird.
     We left out of Portland Harbor aboard the Odyssey which is actually a whale watching tour service. The boat captain droned away on a scratchy P.A. system about various landmarks as we left the harbor. We did see a porpoise or two and tuna, but no whales. None of us cared about that, either as the "tuna" we were after, our "catch of the day," would be the bird. We did pass enormous flotillas of Common loons, more than I had ever heard of at one time, never mind to have seen. I counted well over two hundred, numerous of them in rafts of 30-40 birds at a time. A group of loons is called an "asylum." I don't think there is a term for a group of birders, but there should be.
     As we rolled further and further out to sea across lead colored water, even the birds got fewer and fewer. Thin jokes were handed around the group about all of us getting dipped. That's what birders say when you set out to twitch but turn up a loser. A few times, someone would yell, "Look! Look! Over there! Two o'clock off the bow!" and a wave of arms with binoculars would swing up like the legs of synchronized swimmers. But, nothing. I added up the costs of this birdless, cold, dismal trip: Ticket - $40, gas - $10, parking - $10, lunch - $5. Total: $65. I was beginning to mull over my sandwich. I was thinking how happy I was to have brought one because soon, I could boredom eat.
     Then, suddenly the captain backed off the boat throttle idling down the engine. "There! There it is, ladies and gentlemen, what you've all come to see! We're coming up on the Yellow-billed off the bow!" His excitement radiated through the lousy sound system. The mob of birders scrambled en masse to one side of the boat like roaches when the light goes on. Abundant oohing, ahhhing and pointing created a haze of happiness above the crowd; everybody was delighted. Even the other passengers - the non-birders were caught up in the glee fest. I forgot about my sandwich and started taking pictures, what I had come for even more than the bird.
     In the end, sharing a rare bird or any other once-in-a-lifetime experience is the greatest equalizer. If the bird had not been twitched, but missed, we would all have spent the same long, gray and expensive day, a day lost from work, a day not taking care of business at home. To have the supreme pleasure of something so rare, regardless of experience, wealth or even interest, is a glory shared with another nonetheless. There is nothing finer. After the fact, it was a million dollar bird.

To see additional photographs of the Yellow-billed loon and other birds and Maine scenic landscapes from the same trip, click HERE. Thanks for looking.