I'm going to share an embarrassing personal story with you. Several years ago, I was in Southern Oregon

leading a birding tour. It was a warm day in early summer. My group and I were walking through a

beautiful forest at the edge of a wet meadow. We were actively birding, looking at every direction

with our binoculars trying to find all the birds we could in the area. We were actively birding, looking at every direction with our binoculars, trying to find all the birds we could in the area.

We were seeing species like willow flycatcher, yellow warbler, song sparrow, and western tanager.

Suddenly, one person in the group called my name as they were peering intensely through their binoculars at something.

They said to me, I see a bird, I think, way up there on the hillside, in the Douglas fir trees.

I think it's an owl.

The other folks in the group had seemed only half interested until that magic word was uttered,

Owl.

We all snapped to attention and started scrutinizing the far hillside

with our binoculars. I saw something. It was at least a quarter mile away, but there was something

gray and modeled catching a little light between the branches of some large conifers. I made a snap

decision and said, okay guys, we have an owl, we have an owl.

I tried not to be too frantic as I set up my spotting scope. I said, this is a big deal, guys,

I think it's a great gray owl. And that would be a big deal. The great gray owl,

Strick's nebulosa, is often hard to find,

and it's a highly sought-after species among birders. So there I was. I got the scope aimed at the distant bird, focused it hastily, and asked people to take a look. Everyone was

bubbling with excitement. My heart was racing, I was

grinning, feeling proud of myself for being such a fabulous and talented, and while we're at it,

ruggedly handsome, birding guide. Each person in the group stepped up, squinted through the

Scopes viewfinder, then let the next person have a go. They were saying

...