Birders run ‘afowl’ of the law

NATURAL PERSPECTIVES

If you bird long enough, sooner or later you’ll attract the attention

of the police. The reason is simple. Birders behave strangely and are

notorious for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

If one of us were going to be arrested for birding, you’d think it

would be Vic, since he’s the main birder in the family. But I tend to

get into more trouble.

Vic does admit to a couple of run-ins with the Navy. Security

patrols have detained and questioned him on several occasions when

they spied him peering intently through the chain link fence with

binoculars at the Seal Beach Naval Weapons Station. Several other

local birders have had the cops called on them while they were

birding there, too. It’s all in a day’s work for a birding hobbyist.

Look at a bird, go to jail.

When I had my run-in with the cops, I was hot on the tail of a

rufous-backed robin, a rarity up from Mexico that was hanging out at

the Environmental Nature Center in Newport Beach. Before all you

birders grab your binoculars and go racing off to see it, I should

point out that my tale of woe is not a recent one. I doubt that I

would attract much attention from law enforcement these days.

Grandmotherly types aren’t generally known for raising havoc and

creating mayhem, although Vic says I’m exceptional in that regard.

Many years ago, Vic and I heard early one morning that a

rufous-backed robin was in the area. Work could wait. So could taking

a shower, brushing our hair, eating breakfast -- you get the idea.

Birders are obsessive in pursuit of birds, especially rare ones. I

quickly pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a ratty old sweatshirt.

Actually, that was pretty much the extent of my wardrobe back then.

We had finished our doctorates a few months earlier and were still in

the depths of poverty.

In those days, Vic was a postdoctoral fellow at UC Irvine and I

was a postdoctoral fellow at the Harbor UCLA Medical Center, so we

took separate cars to look for the robin. Mine was a trusty but rusty

Toyota station wagon, a vehicle that was definitely out of place in

appearance-conscious coastal Orange County. I hopped into my ancient

conveyance and headed for Lexus-land.

Since I have absolutely no sense of direction, I followed Vic down

the freeway and soon arrived at the nature center in Newport. We

joined a crowd of early morning birders seeking the rare robin. I

believe that it was Sylvia Gallagher, then Sylvia Ranney, who pointed

the bird out to us. We oohed and aahed, but I had to get to work in

Torrance, a good hour to the north. I checked off rufous-backed robin

on my life list, bid farewell to Vic who was lingering over the bird,

and left the woods.

I pulled my old car out of the parking lot and headed back to the

freeway. At least I thought that was where I was headed.

Unfortunately, I am geographically impaired, barely able to find my

way home from the grocery store without a Geographic Informational

System. In strange territory, I inevitably get lost. I turned this

way and that and was soon totally disoriented in an upscale Newport

Beach neighborhood of immaculately manicured mini-estates and winding

streets.

Before I could find my way out, I spied another bird that looked

interesting. Birders will drop anything, including life support, to

see a new bird. I pulled over, studied the bird with binoculars, and

soon identified it as a mere mockingbird with feathers wet from

morning dew. I sighed and put my binoculars down. I was still lost,

but not for long. Some helpful residents must have been concerned

about my situation, because they phoned the police. A cop soon found

me.

I’m sure you’ve all done this. You’re driving along and you see a

cop car tailing you, so you pretend you don’t see it and hope it will

go away. That never works. You pretend that you’re invisible. That

never works either. The cop quickly tired of the game. He turned on

his flashers and tapped his siren, so I knew I was busted. I pulled

over.

He sized up my means of transportation, manner of dress, and lack

of personal grooming and probably assumed that I was homeless. At the

very least, he wanted to know what I was doing in that ritzy

neighborhood, apparently peering into homes with binoculars. I tried

to explain about the rufous-backed robin. I got a deadpan cop stare.

Before he called for back-up or ordered a psych evaluation, I showed

him my field guide and rattled on about exotic stragglers, life

lists, periodic irruptions, and a lot of other birding babble.

He soon categorized me as a harmless idiot and gave me directions

to the freeway. I thought I was free. But alas, he pulled out his

ticket book. He noted that I had not yet registered my car in

California despite the fact that I had been in the state for several

months. I had been meaning to get around to that, really I had. I was

still driving with Connecticut plates. Expired Connecticut plates. I

was so busted.

That’s the real story, but the way I like to tell it is that I got

arrested for bird watching.

* VIC LEIPZIG and LOU MURRAY are Huntington Beach residents and

environmentalists. They can be reached at [email protected].