Birding Blind

Turns out, you can learn a lot about a bird from its song

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In the final hours before suppertime, my daughter bounces around the backyard bellowing, again and again: “Who cooks for you?  Who cooks for yooooou all!?” It is not a question; she knows who cooks for us all (lately, it is her dad). She is hooked on repeating the catchy mnemonic phrase for the song of the Barred Owl, while her sister plays the rhythm of the White-throated Sparrow on her flute, “Old Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody!” It has gotten a bit noisier around our house since we started learning to bird by ear.  

When my first child was born blind, all the overly protective instincts of a new parent kicked in, intensified by how little I knew about blindness. My husband and I met fellow parents of blind children who taught us to foster independence and confidence in our child. We formed the Louisiana Parents of Blind Children Southern Saturday Club and started getting our kids together for activities like art lessons, hayrides, and audio-descriptive movie nights.

This spring, our small group decided to head out to Acadiana Park in Lafayette to learn about birding—a wonderful, multi-sensual experience that immersed us in the smells of the woods, the feel of fresh air on our skin, and the pleasantly noisy sound of bird songs in spring. Mud puddles and chocolate glazed donuts made the morning complete.

Before our excursion, our family repeatedly listened to the Peterson Field Guide to Birding By Ear and focused on recordings of birds we could expect to hear in the woods of South Louisiana at this time of year. We crammed the night before—listening repeatedly to the buzzy trill of the Northern Parula, the “Chick-burr” of the Scarlet Tanager, and the “Purty, purty, purty” of the Northern Cardinal. 

How do birders learn to hear and distinguish the myriad bird vocalizations? With practice, patience, and curiosity, they pay attention to rhythm, pitch, repetition, and volume. In communicating with other birders, they find ways to describe the vocal qualities of what they hear—is it reedy, whistle-like, or buzzy?

Several families—siblings and grandparents in tow—joined us that Saturday morning, despite lingering rain. On the cusp of peak migration season in South Louisiana, the trees were noisy—repeated whistles coming from high up, a buzzy trill even higher, a darting, “Chip!”  nearby—layer upon layer of sounds. Our guide, expert ear-birder Robert Dobbs, immediately identified fifteen species by their song alone, “Oh, and did you just hear that Ruby-throated hummer buzz by?” he asked as we all did our best to follow along with the barrage of sounds surrounding us.  

In his role as the Nongame Ornithologist for the Louisiana Department of Wildlife & Fisheries, Dobbs spends a lot of time in the field making official bird counts. “For expert birders and ornithologists, upwards of ninety percent of bird detections are made by ear,” he explained to the group. 

Birders listen for songs, calls, and non-vocal mechanical sounds to solve the intricate puzzle of identifying birds—which can also involve noting the bird’s size, length and structure of bill and legs, plumage coloration, markings and patterns, and behavior. Birders can greatly reduce the species that need to be considered when identifying a bird by considering only the birds likely to occur in a geographic locality, habitat, and season. 

“Songs and calls offer a completely different suite of signals that may be used to identify birds,” said Dobbs. What we hear in the springtime are mostly songs, more complex vocalizations birds use for attracting a mate or establishing—and maintaining—territory. Calls are shorter, often one note, used to announce location or a threat. Non-vocal mechanical sounds, like that of the buzzing Ruby-throated hummer, are sounds birds make with their wings, feet, beaks, and other body parts.

[Read this story on a tree frog that sounds like a bird, from our May 2016 issue.]

As we walked, Dobbs would snap his fingers in the direction he wanted us to listen. It was no easy task for any of us to pick out the exact warble or whistle he was homing in on. Despite common assumptions, blindness does not necessarily equate with supersonic hearing. What might seem like a blind person’s extra sensitive hearing ability is typically that person simply using their auditory powers to their full capabilities, out of necessity. As beginner birders, we all had to strain our ears in hopes that the bird of note would repeat its song again so we could commit it to memory. 

How do birders learn to hear and distinguish the myriad bird vocalizations? With practice, patience, and curiosity, they pay attention to rhythm, pitch, repetition, and volume. In communicating with other birders, they find ways to describe the vocal qualities of what they hear—is it reedy, whistle-like, or buzzy? Many birds have names that derive from their songs like the Chuck-will’s-widow and the Carolina Chickadee. Certain mnemonic phrases help to remember birdsong like the Red-eyed Vireo who seems to say, “Here I am, where are you?”    

If you are like us and only just learning to bird, author, educator, and scientist, Trevor Attenberg advises to first learn exactly which birds are common in your area and at what times of year, then create a short list of five to ten birds that you will encounter most often. Focus on learning these songs. As a blind birder, Attenberg recommends The Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s website at allaboutbirds.org, which has quick access to lots of recordings and is screen reader compatible. 

April to May is the peak migration season in South Louisiana and so it is also the noisiest, as we learned on our excursion. The month of June is a great time to hone your ear-birding skills, as migratory birds have moved on and resident birds have quieted down—leaving the soundscape a bit simplified in comparison to spring.  

Towards the end of our excursion, Dobbs guided us to a low, wet area where we were certain to hear a Prothonotary Warbler, commonly known as the Swamp Canary because of its sunshine yellow head and breast. Instead, it was a Brown-headed Cowbird at the edge of the woods who broke a brief silence with its “Bubble, bubble, zee.” Dobbs regaled us with stories of how this brood parasite lays eggs and abandons them for other birds to hatch. As we all shook our heads at the oddities of nature, the Swamp Canary sang out, “Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet!” The brightness of this small bird’s song was somewhat obscured by the sounds of the kids splashing in puddles—at this point, they were more enthralled with the mud at their feet than the complexities of birdsong in the trees.  

[Read more about the Swamp Canary in this story from our June 2012 issue.] 

We all went home just a little muddy but with our understanding of the world expanded. In our backyard, we are still listening for songs we might recognize in the trees. Our oldest child keeps hearing the “Chick-burr” of a Scarlet Tanager while I seem to be followed by the happy buzzy cicada-like trill of the Northern Parula—a joy to hear, though I have yet to see one. Last year, it was all just birds to us, chirping away. This year, we hear so much more. 

Learn more about birding by ear with these resources:

birdability.org: Supporting accessible birding for all

birdscanada.org’s Birding By Ear For All course

larkwire.com: Uses games to teach bird songs

losbird.org: The Louisiana Ornithological Society; Learn about meetings and field trips for birders in Louisiana. 

xeno-canto.org: International bird song sharing