There’s an annual event in the world of birding called the Big Sit, and it’s full of great birders.
The Big Sit involves anyone--individuals or groups from around the world, each creating a 17-foot diameter circle on a specified date and tallying the number of bird species seen or heard from within their circle for a 24-hour period.

photo courtesy Bill Thompson
Then, having stolen a nap, and racing the sun up the stairs to the tower, they wait in the early hours of the morning.
The eastern sky hints of dawn.
Silhouettes stand in shadow.
Funny hats top bulky jackets--the air is still and cold.
A fine mist swirls around their light and covers every object with heavy dew.
From the next ridge, where nothing more than ragged treetops emerges from a great gray lake of cloud, an owl calls, and calls again. My favorites, Barred owls--and sounds I know well.
In the distance, from behind the western wall of fog, a faint twittering is heard. And then silence--as all wait again, hands cupping ears forward, sifting small sounds from the heavy night air. A little “peep” passes in the dark-- and I learn it is the flight call of a Swainson’s Thrush.
Again, the twittering. Coming closer.
I hold my breath, face into the sound, and overhead, the little invisible bird I wait to hear each spring passes through the darkness toward the dawn.
My first Woodcock welcomes morning to Indigo Hill.
To bird with great birders is a gift.
Their lives spent listening, observing, learning add depth far greater than can be captured on the page of a field guide.
There are birders who sketch birds,
birders who write about birds,
birders who follow birds around the world or gather information to advance our knowledge of them, who, perhaps, become the greatest birders as they take others into the circle with them.

photo courtesy Bill Thompson
