10 THE AUDU BON BU Lil Peis 
The Intangibles of Bird Watching 
By CoRA CLARKE MCELROY 
THE NUMBER of people who are professionally interested in the study of 
bird life is not great. Their reward is that of the scientist who translates 
his fragment of the unknown into the known. But thousands of people 
watch and study birds for other satisfactions. Perhaps the total of their 
observations has been and is of considerable value in estimating the number 
and distribution of birds, in fixing the time of spring arrivals and fall 
departures, in learning nesting habits and other facts. But the individual 
does not derive his devotion to his hobby from the bits of information he 
may contribute. 
Those of this large group of non-professionals who limit their studies 
to a few birds in their yards or near their homes, may learn more of real 
value than others who do field work over large areas. They may have 
delights denied those seeking a wider acquaintance, but for the latter there 
is a freedom of the spirit and a sense of intangible things that they cannot 
put into words. 
Many bird lovers join organizations for bird study and find comrade- 
ship with others who have the same interests. And how comfortable to find 
oneself in a group to which no one belongs who is looking for “contacts” 
profitable to himself either socially or financially. Should a misguided 
individual join a field trip, for instance, for any such reasons he would not 
be likely to make the mistake a second time. Such organizations are the 
Chicago Ornithological Society and the Illinois Audubon Society. 
Last May the Ornithological Society made its anual trip to Waukegan. 
The day was perfect, warm, quiet and sunny. There was a profusion of 
wild flowers in bloom; the spirits of the crowd were gay. All this was 
obvious. Yet there were humorous and dramatic features that possibly 
escaped most of the group. Our guide met us at the station and said he 
thought we could find the yellow-headed blackbird in a certain slough. Few 
had seen one that season and with great eagerness all set forth in cars in 
pursuit of the yellow-head. As I got a view of the twelve or fifteen cars 
filing down a lonely country road, suddenly I saw it all as a cartoon in a 
paper—the startled yellow-head leading the long queue of cars and looking 
back over his shoulder at them with an expression of open mouthed amaze- 
ment as he flew ahead—the inmates of each car leaning out on either side, 
peering through field glasses or telescopes and exclaiming “Oh, there he is!” 
“Where?” “Look! the yellow-head!” This cartoon remains in my memory 
as vivid as though a Shoemaker had actually drawn it. 
In the afternoon of the same day a group of us were looking for birds 
out on the flats, when three small sparrows flew up ahead of us. They were 
friendly and allowed us to come within a few feet of the small shrub in 
which they had alighted. No drama could have been more intense. The 
audience stood about the tiny stage, watching breathlessly through field 
glasses for the reappearance of the players. Who were they? One said 
“It’s a Leconte,” another “It’s a Nelson.” More thought they were clay- 
colored sparrows, although one of the most accurate observers thought the 
