Wanna Chat?

By Keith Michael

Inside Voice (IV): Uh, how about, ‘No.’ Please don’t talk to me.

Outside Voice (OV): Sure. I just heard that there’s a Marsh Wren over at Gansevoort Peninsula in Hudson River Park—in the north salt marsh. ‘Build it and they will come.’ It’s amazing. Before this marsh was added to the waterfront two years ago, there probably hadn’t been Marsh Wrens visiting lower Manhattan in a century. Wanna walk over there with me?

IV: Please don’t say, ‘Yes.’ I do love the camaraderie of looking for birds with others also interested in looking for birds. I especially love to inspire people to look for birds. But honestly, I don’t like to talk very much while I’m looking for birds, and I really don’t like to talk while I’m looking at a bird.

OV: Hey, great, let’s go. Recently, there were dueling star avian attractions around town: a white-eye-ringed, though otherwise bland, Connecticut Warbler in Trinity Church Cemetery at Wall Street, and a flashy, white-spectacled, Yellow-breasted Chat at the, of all places, busy block-through Verizon Plaza near Sixth Avenue off of 42nd Street. Both birds stayed for several days in these small green spaces which left plenty of time for them to attract their satellites of admirers. Through the electronic grapevine, if a “special” bird shows up, a cacophony of bird watchers and bird photographers shows up too. A few years ago, there was a chicken-like, strutting gnome of a Virginia Rail that lured a crowd to Abingdon Square Park.

IV: I don’t know if this Marsh Wren will be special enough to pitch a birders’ circus tent. We’ll see. Really, I hope that we have the place relatively to ourselves, other than tourists asking us to take photos of them looking toward Little Island. Of course, among the potential bird admirers, there are friends. A simple head nod will acknowledge, “Ha! You’re here too.” Then, it’s back to keeping a lookout for the fancy bird of the day. But then there are the dreaded run-on monologues: “I’ve had better views. The light’s bad. Terrible background. I got a new camera/lens. My settings were wrong. Didn’t I see something you posted? Oh, that wasn’t you. Have you seen the (insert any other bird in any other location that is not here)? I just got back from (insert any far-away destination) so I’m barely awake. The bird’s too far away. The bird’s too close. There’s too much clutter. Maybe yesterday was better. I heard that earlier was better. Maybe later will be better. I think I’ll try for the (insert another bird somewhere else.)” Please, stop talking!

OV: Particularly at this migratory time of year, NYC’s multitude of tiny parks—magnets for tourists, office mates on their lunch breaks, office-less laptop wielding entrepreneurs, idlers, security personnel, dog walkers, joggers, the whole panoply of urban life—can easily become a days-long stopover for an A-list migratory bird. In Manhattan alone: Why Bryant Park? Why Madison Square Park? Why Abington Square? Gansevoort Peninsula? Trinity Church Cemetery? Through happenstance, each park can become a bird’s smorgasbord for a few days to refuel for the long travel days ahead.

IV: While looking for the celebrity bird, I like to find the other birds who lead equally elusive, poetic, difficult, photogenic, humbling lives. Maybe it’s a local Catbird or Mockingbird. It might be a tail-bobbing Palm Warbler who’s travelled just as far next to an elfin Winter Wren who’s even more difficult to catch a glimpse of. It’s possibly more exciting to see a rusty Hermit Thrush tugging on a too-big-to-eat-in-one-bite worm, a choir of newly arrived White-throated Sparrows, or a Common Yellowthroat browsing the fall chrysanthemums who suddenly composes a Matisse-worthy explosion of patterns and colors.

OV: Just last week at Verizon Plaza, and this conversation reels out over and over again in pocket parks all over the city, a well-dressed Italian tourist, flummoxed by the dozen, long-lensed photographers rushing around the park, ventured, “Scusi. What you all are looking for?” Smiling, among the multitudes, I volunteer, “It’s a bird. Special. Not rare. But only a few show up each fall. Nice to see. Bright yellow. Here, I’ll get a photo on my phone with the name: Yellow-breasted Chat. Oh, sorry, there, it’s flying. Bye.” (Head-bobbing apology.)

IV: Answering this polite question teeters between my wanting to be helpful and enthusiastic, but really, in its brevity and trying to use simple English, my just wanting to run with the other, chatty, photographers, and follow the bird.

OV: This is where the Marsh Wren has been seen: the Gansevoort Peninsula salt marsh. No other birders or photographers along the whole north side, only the mid-day, happy barks of dogs in the dog run.

IV: Oh no, that means that we have to find that skulky Marsh Wren on our own!

OV: Watch the marsh grass for any movement that’s not the wind. Sorry, I’ve been talking the whole time. What’s new with you? Shh, there’s the wren, bathing under those reeds.