Today commemorates the First Little Year International Birding Expedition. We went to Point Pelee, Ontario, which is about an hour south of Detroit. We plan on going to northern Michigan tomorrow to see the rare Kirtland’s Warbler, so this trip is truly global in scope. We left yesterday and stayed overnight in Motown at my sister’s house. Even though we left Chicago kind of late, we couldn’t resist stopping at the Indiana Dunes. We drove around for about an hour, and all we got out of it was a CHIPPING SPARROW.

It was raining on and off as we drove to Pelee. It’s a spit of land that points south into Lake Erie and is reputed to be one of the best migrant traps on the continent. So we were pretty excited. It was crowded when we got there, and we saw dozens of crazy-looking people with dopey Tilley hats, expensive bins, and repulsive birding vests bulging with God-knows-what useless crap. We, on the other hand, travel pretty light. Or at least Pole does. Because of some vestigial sexism in her chromosomes, I have to carry the scope, the field guide, the notes, and the camera. Not a lot, really, but still more than nothing, which is what she carries. Today, though, I didn’t carry the scope because we were looking for warblers.

The first one we saw was the YELLOW WARBLER, and good reason why because they were over the place. We also saw:

WHITE-CROWNED SPARROW
LINCOLN’S SPARROW
VEERY
RED-EYED VIREO
BLACK-THROATED GREEN WARBLER
BLACKBURNIAN WARBLER
GRAY CATBIRD

The Lincoln’s and the Vireo were both lifers for me, but not for Pole. This kind of ticked her off, because she expected lifers, especially at a place like this. After a while, she says to me, “I’ve made a decision. If I don’t see a lifer in the next 15 minutes, we’re getting a guided tour.” The next 15 minutes were liferless, so we paid for the tour. (Far be it from me to get in the way of a frigging “decision.”)

Our guide was a woman named Mary Ann. She seemed very young, and that, along with the dopey speech she has to give at the start of the tour, didn’t make us hopeful. But once we got in the woods, she really knew her shit. She had all the calls down pat, and when she heard one, she was usually able to track down the source. With her as our guide we spotted the following:

MAGNOLIA WARBLER
CANADA WARBLER
MOURNING WARBLER
WILSON’S WARBLER
NORTHERN WATERTHRUSH
CHESTNUT-SIDED WARBLER
BLUE-GRAY GNATCATCHER

Not a bad haul. I have to say, the Chestnut-sided is one of the best-named birds there is. You just can’t miss that wonderful chestnuttiness. And right on its side, too! None of these birds were lifers, either, but Pole was content. The only other people on the tour were a married couple, and so Pole, as the best birder of us four, was teacher’s pet. Once, as Mary Ann scoured the trees, she asked her, “See anything fancy?” That just cracked teacher up. By the end of the tour, Mary Ann said, like a real Canadian, “We saw a lot of birds, eh?”

We then broke for dinner, going to a nice Lebanese place called Freddie’s that Mary Ann recommended. (She could do no wrong at this point.) The tour was a good idea. We had never paid for one before, but we probably will again in the future. If you’re led by someone with talent, it’s worth it. By the time we finished dinner, it had started raining in earnest, so — even though we went back into the park — there was nothing going on. So back to the States.

Going through U.S. customs was an experience. There were a long lines, and ours turned out to be the slowest. When we pulled up to the booth, there was this customs guy with a shaved head leaning back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t say “Hello,” or “Welcome to the United States,” or anything the least bit civilized. Instead, it was this:

Customs Asshole: Nationality.
Scrubb: U.S.
Customs Asshole: Why were you in Canada?
Scrubb: We went birding at Point Pelee.
Customs Asshole: (Makes no comment, but gestures fellow citizens in with dismissive, disgusted wave. Simultaneously furrows apelike, loser brow.)

What a shmuck. A little knowledge may be a dangerous thing, but so is a little power. This guy is babysitting the safest border on earth, and he thinks he’s hot shit. The Canada custom official, on the other hand, was courteous and efficient. We love Canada.