Kingbird Highway

1. The Genesis of a Lifelong Obsession

As long as the day was unending I would be staring out the car windows with all the intensity of a nine-year-old boy, scanning the fences, the wires, the open fields, the distant treetops, and the sky, because I had a purpose, a mission, a passion: I was watching for birds.

Early fascination. Kenn Kaufman's journey began at age nine, fueled by a childhood curiosity about nature and a deep admiration for bird expert Roger Tory Peterson. He devoured Peterson's field guides, realizing that each bird had its specific habitat, and to see more species, he had to visit more diverse places. This insight ignited a restless desire to explore the continent.

A rebel's path. By his teens, Kaufman's interest in birds intensified, leading him to break local "Big Day" records on his bicycle. Convinced that formal schooling was a waste of time compared to real-world birding, he decided to leave high school at sixteen. Despite parental apprehension and a school counselor's disapproval, he secured permission to travel, setting the stage for his extraordinary adventure.

The West beckons. Initially, Kaufman's research focused on the birds of the American West, believing it to be the ultimate birding destination. Though his family moved to Wichita, Kansas—"not quite the West"—his discovery of the Western Kingbird solidified his conviction. This early experience reinforced his belief that the path to seeing more birds lay in constant movement and exploration.

2. Hitchhiking: A School of Hard Knocks and Unseen Worlds

You build up a resistance to cold and boredom and hunger and lack of sleep, but then other things start to catch you off guard.

The road as teacher. At sixteen, Kaufman embarked on his first solo trip, initially by bus, but quickly transitioning to hitchhiking. This mode of travel, though initially forbidden by his parents, became his primary means of traversing North America. It taught him resilience against discomforts like hunger, cold, and sleep deprivation, and honed his ability to navigate diverse social landscapes.

Dangers and insights. Hitchhiking exposed Kaufman to both the kindness of strangers and the harsh realities of the road. He encountered dangerously drunk drivers, hostile locals, and even police arrests, learning to be blandly respectful while internally rebelling against authority. This constant exposure to the fringes of society fostered a growing cynicism, yet also offered unique perspectives on human nature and the vastness of the American landscape.

A double life. Kaufman's life on the road created a stark contrast between his identity as a respected birder within the burgeoning birding community and his anonymous, often marginalized, status as a hitchhiker. This duality shaped his experiences, forcing him to adapt and learn survival skills while pursuing his passion. The road became both a means to an end and a profound, transformative experience in itself.

3. The Rise of Competitive Birding and the ABA

The list could turn birdwatching into birding, an active game, even a competitive sport.

From pastime to sport. Birdwatching, traditionally a passive activity, transformed into "birding"—an active, competitive sport driven by list-keeping. The invention of modern field guides by Roger Tory Peterson in the 1930s and Olin Sewall Pettingill's "Guide to Bird Finding" in the 1950s revolutionized bird identification and location, making continent-wide birding accessible.

Information revolution. The 1960s saw a second information revolution with Jim Lane's detailed "Birder's Guides," providing precise locations for rare species. This, combined with informal "hot lines" for rare bird sightings, fueled a demand for organized communication among birders. This led to the founding of the American Birding Association (ABA) in 1969 by James A. Tucker.

The Big Year challenge. The ABA fostered a culture of intense listing, with members tracking life lists, state lists, and "Big Year" totals. Roger Tory Peterson's 1953 record of 572 species and G. Stuart Keith's 1956 record of 598 species set the bar. By 1970, Jim Tucker predicted someone would break the 600-species barrier, inspiring Kaufman to attempt his own Big Year in 1973, only to discover the record had already been shattered by Ted Parker.

4. Mentors, Rivals, and the Camaraderie of the Road

By the time the boat returned to Key West I had made friends with birders from all over North America, people with knowledge to spare and information to share.

The Tucson Five. Kaufman's 1972 Dry Tortugas trip introduced him to a vibrant birding community, including Joel Greenberg, and the legendary Ted Parker, who had set the new Big Year record of 626 species. Back in Arizona, Kaufman joined Parker, Greenberg, Mark Robbins, and Dave Hayward, forming "The Tucson Five"—a group that challenged him to sharpen his skills and learn from Parker's uncanny birding genius.

Diverse influences. Throughout his travels, Kaufman encountered a spectrum of birding personalities. Rich Stallcup, the "Pirate of Point Pinos," taught him to appreciate the magic and adventure of birds beyond mere listing. Harold Morrin and the Lancaster County Bird Club exemplified a supportive community, while meticulous birders like Harold Axtell emphasized the importance of deep, precise knowledge.

The unexpected rival. A pivotal moment came when Kaufman met Floyd Murdoch, another birder attempting a Big Year in 1973. This direct competition transformed Kaufman's quest, pushing him to pursue every imaginable bird, no matter how remote or inconvenient. This rivalry, though initially daunting, ultimately fueled his determination and expanded his birding horizons.

5. The Unpredictable Journey: Setbacks and Serendipity

Luck is always a factor in birding.

The role of chance. Kaufman's Big Year was a testament to the unpredictable nature of both travel and birding. His cross-country dash for the Loggerhead Kingbird in Florida was plagued by bad luck, including a five-hour walk in North Carolina and an arrest for hitchhiking in Virginia. These setbacks highlighted the precariousness of his journey and the constant need for adaptability.

Unexpected discoveries. Despite the challenges, serendipity often played a crucial role. Missing the Loggerhead Kingbird initially led him to discover a Stripe-headed Tanager and a Lesser Black-backed Gull—species he might have otherwise overlooked. Similarly, a flat tire during the Texas Big Day, though a setback, became a memorable anecdote of their record-breaking triumph.

Learning from mistakes. The most profound lesson came from the "Spotted Redshank" incident at Brigantine, New Jersey. After hitchhiking 2,500 miles, Kaufman discovered that the highly sought-after rarity was, in fact, an oiled Greater Yellowlegs, meticulously identified by Harold Axtell. This humbling experience underscored the importance of deep knowledge and careful observation over superficial identification, marking a turning point in his approach to birding.

6. Taxonomy's Shifting Sands: The "Great April Massacre"

As humans with an interest in science, we crave precision. Looking at nature, we want to draw sharp lines to classify things, defining the limits of the species and the genus and the family. But nature does not work that way.

The fluidity of classification. In April 1973, the American Ornithologists' Union (AOU) announced significant taxonomic changes, "lumping" many previously recognized species into subspecies. This "great April massacre" drastically reduced birders' life lists, including Kaufman's, as species like the Cape Sable Sparrow and Eurasian Green-winged Teal lost their distinct status.

Impact on birding. For listers, these changes were a blow, as they only counted full species. The Cape Sable Sparrow, once a minor celebrity and a Florida endemic, became merely a local variety of the Seaside Sparrow, leading to a decline in birder interest. This highlighted the arbitrary nature of human-defined boundaries in the face of nature's continuous evolution.

A deeper truth. Kaufman reflected on the irony of chasing birds that might soon "not count" on his list. He realized that while scientific classification aimed for precision, nature itself was "fuzzy," full of transition and contradiction. This experience began to shift his focus from the mere act of tallying species to a more profound appreciation for the birds themselves, regardless of their taxonomic status.

7. Alaska: The Ultimate Frontier for Avian Discovery

Nome had looked like Alaska to me. But this place was something different, beyond any preconceptions.

The call of the North. Alaska represented the pinnacle of Kaufman's North American birding quest, a vast wilderness teeming with unique species. His initial plan included seeking northern forest birds, seabirds on the Pribilof Islands, and common Asian vagrants around Nome. However, a letter from Harold Morrin dramatically altered his perspective.

Gambell: A world apart. Morrin's letter revealed that the remote village of Gambell on St. Lawrence Island, halfway to Asia in the Bering Sea, was a hotspot for rare Asian strays. This news immediately redirected Kaufman's journey, leading him to an isolated Eskimo village where he encountered an astonishing array of birds, including the Great Knot, Common Rosefinch, and the legendary Ross's Gull.

A spectacle of life. Gambell offered an unforgettable spectacle of avian abundance, particularly the evening flights of thousands of alcids—auklets, puffins, and murres—streaming past the shoreline. Kaufman also found unique species like the Spectacled Eider and McKay's Bunting. This experience, at the "edge of the world," transcended mere listing, offering a profound connection to the wildness and resilience of nature.

8. The Texas Big Day: Pushing the Limits of Endurance

Once more to prove that this kind of birding was the furthest thing in the world from bird watching.

The ultimate challenge. In April 1973, Kaufman joined an elite team—Jim Tucker, Stuart Keith, and Joe Taylor—for a "Big Day" in Texas, aiming to break the national record of 227 species. This intense, dawn-to-dusk sprint across diverse habitats, from Houston's pine woods to the Rio Grande Valley, demanded extreme focus, rapid identification, and an unwavering commitment to an impossible schedule.

A test of skill and strategy. The Big Day was a blur of frantic driving, quick stops, and split-second identifications, where every bird heard or glimpsed counted. Despite setbacks like a flat tire and unexpected lulls in migration, the team's collective expertise and Tucker's meticulously planned route kept them pushing forward. The goal was not just to see birds, but to maximize the species count within a single 24-hour period.

Record-breaking triumph. As daylight faded, the team found themselves just shy of the record. A desperate search for night birds—Pauraque, Eastern Screech-Owl, Elf Owl—culminated in the elusive call of a Barn Owl, pushing their total to 229 species. This exhilarating victory, achieved through sheer determination and teamwork, solidified Kaufman's place among the top birders and demonstrated the extreme, competitive side of birding.

9. Beyond the List: A Deeper Appreciation for Birds

When you see something that you know is a once-in-a-lifetime bird, that makes it beautiful, no matter what the hell it actually looks like.

Shifting priorities. As his Big Year progressed, Kaufman's focus gradually shifted from merely accumulating species to a deeper understanding and appreciation of birds. The "Spotted Redshank" debacle, where a rare bird turned out to be an oiled yellowlegs, highlighted the importance of meticulous observation and profound knowledge over superficial identification.

The beauty of the common. This realization led him to look at all birds more carefully, whether common or rare. He found beauty in the "drab" Lesser Prairie-Chicken, perfectly adapted to its arid plains, and in the "unmistakable" Great Gray Owl, a silent hunter of the moonlit Yosemite meadows. The act of truly knowing a bird, understanding its place in its environment, became more rewarding than simply adding it to a list.

The journey's true value. His Mexican trip with Ted Parker, though not counting for his Big Year, offered a glimpse into the rich biodiversity of the tropics and the thrill of discovering an Eared Trogon nest. These experiences reinforced the idea that the "list is just a frivolous incentive for birding, but the birding itself is worthwhile. It's like a trip where the destination doesn't have any significance except for the fact that it makes you travel. The journey is what counts."

10. The End of a Quest, The Beginning of a Life

Had I accomplished anything? That was a good question.

The final stretch. By December 1973, Kaufman's year list was nearing its end, with only a few elusive species remaining. His journey took him to Baja California, where he sought endemic birds like Xantus's Hummingbird, despite rumors that the region might soon be excluded from the North American listing area. This reinforced his belief that "bird-list regions, like political regions, were just human inventions."

A California first. His year culminated with a significant discovery: the first Rufous-backed Robin ever recorded in California, found during the Yuma Christmas Count. This unexpected triumph, a testament to his honed observational skills, provided a sense of accomplishment, even as he questioned the ultimate meaning of his record-breaking year.

An uncertain future. As the year drew to a close, Kaufman reflected on his 69,000 miles of hitchhiking and the profound changes he had undergone. He was tired of the road, yet uncertain of his future without the quest to drive him. His journey, however, had forged a deep connection to the natural world and a unique perspective on life, setting the stage for a future dedicated to birds, even if the path remained uncharted.