Stolen Water by W. Hodding Carter

Author:W. Hodding Carter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2007-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Bill sets up another Kissimmee River day for me a couple of months later so that I can witness a day in the life of the river’s scientists and hands-on saviors.

At 5:30 A.M., in the middle of March, Stephanie Melvin and I head out to listen for and count birds. A thick, sweet smell hangs in the air. I’m running around in the dark, asking, “What’s that smell? What’s that smell? It’s so lovely.” It’s from the orange blossoms, trees that wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for the old canal days. Stephanie has short blond hair and reminds me a lot of the manatee scientist Ann Spellman. She’s attractive but not soft. She’s wearing jeans and a light gray shirt and could be a scientist in a movie—good-looking, no-nonsense (think Anne Heche). She’s a senior environmental scientist specializing in wildlife ecology, masters in wading birds.

We zip down the river by airboat into a fledgling broadleaf marsh, stopping in a half foot of water. The mosquitoes are hungry and happily find me wearing shorts.

“This is where we did baseline counts. Now we’re doing post-restoration,” she explains. She starts banging her Palm Pilot. “I just started using this thing.” She punches some more buttons, nothing happens, and she sets it down.

“Okay, what I do here is a six-minute survey—you need to be very quiet so I can hear them,” she says. I’m a little startled that birds are counted by their call and not by a visual sighting, but if you know your bird calls, she explains, hearing a bird is a lot more definitive than seeing one. So, for the next six minutes, she calls out what she hears to Ken, the tall, lanky manager of SFWMD’s Riverwoods headquarters. Ken is driving the airboat for the morning and recording all the data.

This is how it goes.

“Common yellowthroat—fifty to one hundred (feet). Northern cardinal greater than one hundred. Common yellowthroat greater than one hundred,” she calls out. She’s listening so intently, her binoculars unconsciously held up to her right ear. “What is that?” she asks, slightly annoyed. “Okay. Red-winged blackbird fifty. Common yellowthroat greater than one hundred. Common yellowthroat greater than a hundred. Sedge wing less than fifty. Marsh wren less than fifty.” I eventually learn how she uses the data: if the bird is within fifty feet she can estimate the mean abundance—how many there are. If it’s greater than fifty feet, she uses the information to help create a species list.

It’s more than just beautiful, this listening so intently to a bird’s call—it elevates the birds to an exalted position. This must be the attraction to birding—the missing link I’ve never understood. All these crazed birders out there aren’t getting excited about seeing a little ol’ common yellowthroat. It’s all about hearing. They give voice to nature. Virtuoso performances in a world of virtuosos. I’ve listened to birdcalls before but never so intently, and today I’m hearing something else—a distinct message from each bird, declaring its vitality.

“Bittern flying over.

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