“The heavens have opened!” a beefy middle-aged American guy raised his hands in Hallelujah-mode as we arrived at the birding site in Candaba---about 50 kms north of Manila.

He wasn’t definitely suggesting that our kooky band was heaven’s answer to whatever his predicament was. Leading our troop was my peejay-clad-toddler, walking in a boozed-up fashion, half-angry-half-excited about the goings-on around him. He was miffed about the fact that he was two hours short of his required sleep. A twelve-hour sleep makes him a nice little boy with jet-black mopped hair with an engaging toothless impish-grin. Unfortunately, today wasn’t that kind of day. So, I lagged behind him, pie-eyed with tousled hair—the complete look of a frazzled mother. Should the zine moguls decided to come up with a stressed-out-mom magazine, I bet I would’ve easily made it or its glossy cover page—but that’s another story.

Following closely were my three older kids, sweltering under the afternoon heat. Behind them was my equally sweat-up husband, all baking beneath the Central-Plain-Sun. Blame it on our DNA, we just don’t thrive well in a low-altitude-high-temperature setting. We’re like fish out of water when plucked from our mountain cool environment. We were NOT a pretty sight. Really.

It took me half a second to realize that he was of course referring to our friend and trusty bird guide, Alice, who was armed with “Randy”---a short tube refracting telescope, &ldquo Tinkerbelle” ---her faithful companion-slash-binoculars, and that indispensable Kennedy Field Guide book.

Rumor has it that that said chunky guide is believed to be the most to-drool-for book on Philippine birds. Bad news is the local bookstores don’t carry them anymore. They said the Wild Bird Club hoarded every single one of them. I noticed Beefy Guy salivating over Alice’s Kennedy Guide. But I had to run after my toddler lest he jumped over the creek and waded with the local ducks.

Alice and Beefy Guy hit it off instantly. Before they got to learn each other’s names they first driveled through birds here and birds there. Beefy tagged along a non-bird enthusiast with him that morning, a slightly-older chimney-smoking Californian. It turned out that Old Timer, as Beefy fondly called his companion, was mercilessly trapped in blahdom for the last six hours or so.

Listening to their repartee was like a whiff of cool breeze in a steamy February afternoon. Forgive me, but I really dig comedies over schmaltz.

“I’ve been in the company of philistines for a loooong time today and am I glad to have another enthusiast around here,” Beefy told Alice.

“Goofy is more like it,” grumbled Old Timer. “He promised we’d only stay here for a couple of hours but I’ve been sitting here for eternity while he goofs about the birds.”

“I may be a goofball but I’m nice,” retorted Beefy.

“Yeah, but I’m so ashamed to be with you.” Old Timer snapped back. “Look at you. You come here with just a pair of binoculars, a low-tech digital camera and a thin book. And she (referring to Alice) comes with several pairs of binoculars, a high mega-pix digi-cam, a telescope and that thick bird book. YOU are so UNDER-GEARED!”

That was a good punch line but before Beefy could recoil, Alice blurted out, “I see a gargany!”

For the life of me, I could not understand how Alice can identify a bird 200 yards away. Talk about the power of glance! What’s more, she can tell a bird just by its chirp. She quickly positioned “Randy”, her telescope, so we could admire the bird’s beauty up-close.

I once thought birds were just birds and it never really occurred to me that different species with different chirps exist in our country. This was our family’s first ever birding trip and it’s really a pleasure to see the vast avian fauna that inhabited the Candaba Swamp---one of the most important wetlands in the Philippines as migratory birds favor this 32,000-hectare marsh as a winter refuge and breeding site.

We were getting the hang of the bird watch routine, which goes as follows: The goofy tandem (Alice and Beefy) sees a bird; Alice then positions “Randy”; we peek; we gush; we identify it in the Kennedy Field Guide; and I then jot it down in my pda for our Life Bird* List.

We were actually having fun as the list grew longer. My toddler was beginning to enjoy the show. A tern fleeted about a few meters in front of us, trying to catch fish in the pond. We were told that in the peak months of the migration season---around November, thousands of birds of different species are seen in these swamps. It was certainly a lot better to see birds in their natural habitat —not in cages. I’ve always thought that birds in captivity are one of the saddest creatures on earth. That actually makes me cry more than a drippy soap.

That afternoon, we learned that a coot is not just another word for stupid but is actually a black bird with white feathers on their fronts. A raptor isn’t a dinosaur but a bird predator. Harriers are not necessarily aircraft doodads. ‘Dabbling ducks’ just dip their heads in the water for a catch while ‘diving ducks’ really swim underwater ala Michael Phelps. I was also coerced to learn a tad bit of botanical taxonomy as it was my first time to know the names bayakbak (a kind of water grass) and tukal (lotus-like flower) which the birds feasted on.

On a more personal level, I’ve realized that I love the tufted duck, the yellow bittern, the northern shoveler, the black-crowned night heron, the little grebe, the purple swamp hen, the common king fisher--which was really not-so-common with its striking orange and blue feathers. And of course, I love our very own Philippine duck and the chestnut munia. They’re probably all my spark birds**.

A friend told me once that her spark bird was Tweety Bird from the Looney Tunes. What a philistine! I silently chuckled and wondered whether I was still an ignorant philistine after that remarkable experience or have I evolved into a believer--a goofy birder? While I was deciding on my identity, Beefy Guy and Old Timer were about to venture in another verbal jousting—

Alice was talking about bird enthusiasts who flock to Candaba to view the birds that flew to the Philippines during migration season…Japanese, Europeans, Americans—like Beefy who found about Candaba in the internet, and even Scots.

“Oh, the Scots. I love Scottish food,” Old Timer interjected.

“You mean you like haggis?” Beefy’s nose crinkled. The thought of sheep’s maw stuffed with sheep-intestines and kidneys must have churned his stomach.

“No, I mean McDonald’s.” Old Timer knowingly replied.

That was really laugh-out-loud-funny. However, it also struck me as funny in a mirthless sort of way that foreign birds come to migrate to the Philippines for our rich marshlands and reed beds while many Filipinos migrate to foreign countries in search of the proverbial greener pasture---never to return. Yet, when the Philippine mallard ducks fly North with the visiting birds, they remember to fly back home to our soil like the hobbits longing for their beloved shire.

Birds see differently, I surmised. And so do goofy birders.

Hundreds of white egrets flew in the air and interrupted my reverie. They began to roost on the eucalyptus trees around the marsh, giving out a snowy white hue from afar. Wow.

As dusk settled and a cool breeze gently blew, I silently thanked God for allowing my family and me to see the beauty of our country. Indeed, there’s beauty beyond the squirm-worthy coup attempts, corrupt officials, amazing pollution, political tiffs and trashy TV shows that infuriate the bleep out of every self-respecting Filipino.

I can still honestly say that I love this country. Thank heavens for goofy birders.

*bird seen for the first time.
**bird that got one hooked in bird watching

Merrilee R. C. Montana, mother of four, does not deem herself as a certified goofy birder yet. But she now asserts that she loves birds and doesn’t really mind becoming a full-fledged ‘goofball’.

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