Status Updates From The Big Year: A Tale of Man...

Early summer in the marshes of Denali: eleven years later, the mere thought still made Komito break out in shivers. He had to find those bastards before they up and left for their bug-infested sex hovels to the north. Shortly after slamming the door on his rental car, he heard trilling overhead. Five birds dropped into the short grass - Smith's longspurs, every single one. Somewhere in Denali, mosquitoes wept.

…In a way, birders were like golfers: everyone. in country club locker rooms always knew whose golf handicaps were real and whose weren't. After decades of experience in both sports, Komito had learned to trust more birders than golfers.”

“Whenever Komito met a nonbirder, the question was always the same:
How do you know that somebody actually sees a bird? Why do you believe them? Can you really just take it all on faith?
Invariably, Komito would answer the question the same way: the only way to get a reputation in birding is to earn it…