Kingbird Highway

Did you read "coming of age" books when you were in high school? If so, what did you really think of them? Like most people, I read these books but I was unique among my peers because I never liked them, even when I was "coming of age". The authors of those books always struck me as being pathetic self-involved crybabies with no purpose in life beyond whining about "being misunderstood" by the world because the people around them wisely refused to indulge their every desire -- most of which were utterly ridiculous anyway. So I initially hesitated when one of my contacts at Houghton Mifflin informed me that Kenn Kaufman's famous "coming of age" book, Kingbird Highway: The Biggest Year in the Life of an Extreme Birder (NYC: Houghton Mifflin, 1997), had recently been republished as a paperback, and would I like to review it? After reminding myself that I was probably the last person in North America who has not yet read this book, that the book was free to me and that, if I didn't like it, I could pretend it got lost in the mail, I agreed; Okay, I'll read it.

Choosing to read this book was a good decision, a truly fabulous decision, because I thoroughly enjoyed Kingbird Highway from the first sentence to the very last. I enjoyed this book because, unlike all other "coming of age" books that I've read, the central character, who is the author, was not running away from anything; instead, he was running towards something, something he loves: birds.

When the book begins, Kaufman describes several events from his childhood that ultimately led him to drop out of school at 16 years of age so he could try to see every species of bird in North America and keep a list of them -- a birder's "Big Year". But the author added his own special touch; instead of relying on his own transportation -- he was a teenager, afterall -- he would hitchhike from one "birdy" location to the next.

Why was he interested in keeping a list of birds? According to Kaufman, "keeping a list was a way of keeping score. The list could turn birdwatching into birding, an active game, even a competitive sport." So Kaufman launches his Big Year in 1972 with the goal of becoming the first person to ever record 600 species in one year. However, only one month later, he learns that a college freshman named Ted Parker has not only broken the "600 barrier" the previous year, but also set a new record for the total number of North American birds seen in one year: 626.

Impossible! No one could ever break that record! Dismayed, the author gives up his dream and wanders aimlessly for several months, before he was drawn back into birding once more. Yet, despite his initial disappointment, the young Kaufman was still intrigued by pursuing his own Big Year. Eventually, when he is bird-watching in California, he meets a birder, Rich Stallcup, who encouraged him with this sage advice;

The list isn't important, but the birds themselves are important. Every bird you see. So the list is just a frivolous incentive for birding, but the birding itself is worthwhile. It's like a trip where the destination doesn't have any significance except for the fact that it makes you travel. The journey is what counts.

The journey is what counts. Buoyed by this advice and more determined than ever, the author, wiser and better prepared this time, begins his second attempt at a Big Year in 1973. Even though he is searching for as many bird species as he can possibly see in one year, in the end, he discovers so much more.

This tale is beautifully, poignantly written. The author has the wonderful ability to describe scenes and details so the reader is transported alongside him to a rainy roadside, a windswept seashore, a dry desert. In this wonderfully written adventure, we learn about the mythical Rowlett's owlet, an invisible and silent owl that Kaufman and his birding friend, Mark, invented to amuse themselves on long road trips; we are frustrated when the author is thrown in jail on his way to join a group of friends on a birding trip; we freeze when the car that the author tries to sleep in during an east coast winter night becomes as "cold as an Eskimo's tomb"; we are concerned when the author's borrowed scope washes away during a Texas Christmas bird count; we are disappointed when a misguided European shorebird turns out to be a common migratory American shorebird; and we are delighted when the author meets and befriends legends such as Ted Parker and Roger Tory Peterson. And we are right there, right next to the author at a ferry terminal somewhere in Maine during this magical moment, a moment tinged with sadness;

As I walked in the front door, with the glare of early morning sun still in my eyes, I had the illusion that I saw someone I recognized. She was sitting in a chair near the door, reading a magazine, and she looked for all the world like -

But it couldn't be her, of course. She would have had to talk her protective father into giving her permission. She would have had to drive all night from Baltimore, taking the freeways and turnpikes north through New Jersey and New York and New England. That was the only way she could be here now, putting down her magazine and rising and coming toward me with a smile on her face.

If I could have looked down the years then and seen everything from beginning to end - the good times, the best times, the bad times, the bad decisions, the indecision, and then finally the divorce - I still would not have traded anything for that moment.

It is only in the Afterword when we learn that the author has hitchhiked approximately 80,000 miles and spent less than $1000 total in one year while listing 671 species of birds. But as the story ends, the reader realizes that the author rarely mentioned The List at all; instead, he spent more time reflecting on the birds he saw, the people he met, and even on the value of his dream of pursuing a Big Year. Yet, there is a sense of triumph, of accomplishment, intermingled with the bittersweet realization that this was a truly special time in his life, a unique time that was rapidly coming to an end, even while he still was living it;

Any bird-listing attempt limited by time - a Big Day, a Big Year, even a Life List - was like a reminder of mortality. The day ends, the year will end, everything will end. Time is short, reads the underlying message; make the most of it.

I wish I had read this book years ago, when it was first published, but nevertheless, I am so pleased that I had the opportunity to read it now when I might have otherwise never read it at all. I highly recommend this book to everyone; whether you are a rabid birder, a casual bird watcher, someone who enjoys a good adventure story or someone who simply loves to read truly engaging prose. The time spent reading this book is time spent living two lives.

Kenn Kaufman has published eight books about nature, is a field editor for Audubon and a regular contributor to every major birding magazine known to humanity. He is the youngest person ever to receive the Ludlow Griscom Award, the highest honor of the American Birding Association. His natural history pursuits have taken him to all seven continents, but he has made a special study of North American birds. He resides with his wife in Ohio.