Birding through dementia
This is an excerpt from Why We Bird, a new book published this month by Golden Gate Bird Alliance.
By David C. Rice
For fifteen years I took annual bird trips with the hawk-guys [a group of friends who loved raptors]. Then Marty, my best friend in the group, in only his sixtieth year, suffered dementia. While he still could, we all wanted to take one last trip together.
Our first destination was the Diablo Range, east and south of San Jose. Just a ninety minute drive from where we lived, it still looked like the California of a hundred years ago; the slopes are too steep to develop into foothill ranchettes. Birders usually explore this area in the spring, when the breeding birds are loud and colorful, but I did not think our trip could wait that long. Marty already had trouble sharing thoughts and feelings, and his short-term memory was almost gone.
When we told him about the trip he was excited. He still wanted to see birds. John Baker wrote, “honest observation is [not] enough. The emotions and behavior of the watcher are also facts, and they must be truthfully recorded.” I wanted to go birding with Marty one last time, but I did not know what the trip would reveal.
American Dipper by Robin C. Pulich, from Why We Bird
Early the first morning at a roadside pull-out I estimated an extraordinary two hundred Western Bluebirds and three hundred Cedar Waxwings in the sky, in the tops of trees, and on the fence near our van. Many were feeding on mistletoe berries. Marty seemed to enjoy the big flocks. A few pull-outs later we learned that dementia had not impaired his ability to find birds. He was the one to spot a distant woodpecker halfway up a hill against the side of a burnt tree. Later a Greater Roadrunner ran, paused, and ran again along the base of a cliff. I was glad to show it to him. He had seen roadrunners as a child in Southern California.
At one stop Marty tried to tell us that Native Americans had used buckeye seed pods to paralyze and then catch fish. He was looking at a buckeye tree as he talked but was unable to remember its name. It took us a while to figure out what he meant. After staring at the depth of his loss and my helplessness to do anything about it, I consoled myself with the thought that birding was a perfect activity for him today.…