[va-richmond-general] article from Washington Post on Northern Lapwing in Maryland

Kathy Kreutzer
Chesterfield, VA
 
  <http://www.washingtonpost.com/> washingtonpost.com 
Bird-Watchers' Hopes Aflutter 
The Faithful Flock to Frederick in Quest to Spot Rare Specimen 
By Elizabeth Williamson
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, February 17, 2005; Page B01 

Not since Shrimpy the kelp gull blew in to Maryland from South America
in the 1990s has this region played host to such a rare, well-traveled
and positively unusual species as Jim Swarr.

The retired ophthalmologist from St. Petersburg, Fla., joined fellow
birders from South Carolina, Pennsylvania, West Virginia and the
Washington region in the muck of a Frederick County cornfield yesterday,
hoping for a glimpse of the Northern Lapwing.

The bird, whose wing feathers glow with a metallic sheen, usually
winters in East Asia but was seen for the first time in Maryland this
week, pulling worms from a puddle of melted snow. It may have gotten
lost on its way south from its Northern European home or been blown off
course by high winds, but either way, its appearance, news of which
spread through the Internet, provides dedicated birders such as Swarr
with one of the biggest thrills of their sport.

"This is an exciting bird, a vagrant Code 4, very unusual for North
America," Swarr said, consulting one of six bird guides he carries in
the back of his Honda minivan. The guide lists V(4) birds as having been
spotted only a few times in North America over the past three decades. 

Swarr is a full-time "chaser," a birder who will go anywhere, at any
time, to add a species to his "life list," a record describing in
obsessive detail each new bird and the time, place and conditions under
which it was sighted. 

Since last summer, Swarr has clocked 51,000 miles in his Honda, building
his life list to 660 species and, like many birders, spending thousands
of dollars pursuing his sole leisure activity with money he has saved.
"It's addictive," he said. 

He has walked along a two-mile seawall off the coast of Vancouver to
visit a pair of McKay's Buntings gone astray from Alaska. He has driven
cross-country to California to list a Nutting's Flycatcher. He has stood
in sweltering Texas heat for a glimpse of a Roadside Hawk, rare in those
parts. And he has stood with thousands of others near a tiny airstrip on
Martha's Vineyard, watching, through $1,500 binoculars, a Red-Footed
Falcon sitting on a traffic sign.

This day, Swarr explained with narrow-eyed seriousness, is not going to
be the day he "dips," or fails to spot his quarry. "I always get my
bird," he said.

With that, he took his position yesterday with 10 other die-hards in a
ditch, bracing against a chilly wind rich with the scent of damp
cornstalk. There, smoking a long and aromatic pipe, was F. Glenn Smith,
a retired divorce lawyer from Columbia, S.C., with 702 birds on his life
list, including a couple from the island of Attu, Alaska, where he had
gone "to see what blew in from China, Japan and Russia." There was Chuck
Berthoud of Hershey, one of a delegation of Pennsylvanians who were
"shut out" on Super Bowl Sunday, not because the Philadelphia Eagles
lost in football, but because they had missed the Redwing sighting in
Bucks County, Pa. "We're really wound up now," he said.

And there was John Fox, a patent examiner from Arlington, a
self-described piker who said he became interested a couple of years ago
when he looked out at his bird feeder and thought, "What the hell are
those?" But the Lapwing, he said, "is one of my dream birds."

The Northern Lapwing winters in Asia Minor, the Indian subcontinent and
Southeast Asia. It is about as large as a crow and has a black and white
face, a majestic black crest and near-iridescent wings of green, black
and bronze. Its cry sounds like "chee peewi . . . peet . . . air
willucho weep weep ee yo weep," according to the Sibley Guide to Birds.

The sound of the birders was louder as they compared notes, seeming only
rarely to peer through binoculars. Fox, outclassed, gathered his camera
gear to get into his car. "I'm a jinx," he said, and headed off to try
his luck in another spot. 

An hour passed, the remaining birders saw nothing, and some gave up. Not
Swarr. "Come on," he said, piling into the Honda for a trip around rural
Thurmont, in northern Frederick County. The back end was stuffed with
clothing, bedding, nine maps and the six bird guides. Swarr peered out
the top eighth of his windshield, scanning the skies. 

"Ah!" he said, training his Swarovskis on a treetop. A kestrel. Then
robins, Canada geese and a single turkey vulture. Hardly life list
material.

Passing farmhouses and cows, he faced the prospect of dipping. "Hmmm,"
he said. "Maybe not today." 

Swarr would have to wait. But at that moment, on Blacks Mill Road, John
Fox the dabbler, wild-haired and windblown, was emitting the cry of the
victorious. 

"Got him! Got him!" Fox shouted, beaming from the ditch. "Caught him
flying!"

C 2005 The Washington Post Company


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