A Fish Out of Water on a Bird-Watching Vacation

My husband is the avid birder, not me. So why did I go with him?

an illustration of a woman reading a book and a man bird watching with bincoculars

Michelle Kondrich

Jane Eisner

AARP

Published August 20, 2025

On my first day in Anchorage, Alaska, I already felt like an outsider. For years, my husband had dreamed of going to Alaska for an intensive bird-watching trip, and now, in celebration of his 70th birthday, his wish was finally coming true. I had agreed to come along, with some apprehension.

Our great Alaskan adventure did not get off to an auspicious start. That first evening, as we were strolling around the lake adjacent to our hotel, looking for ducks and other waterfowl, we encountered one member of our group, then another. I listened to their conversation, trying hard to familiarize myself with the shorthand language of devoted birders. The lake wasn’t very “birdy,” one said. Birdy. That was a new one for me.

Soon we saw several ducks — more precisely, scaup — bobbing on the choppy waters, disappearing and reappearing. For a moment or two, their behavior, their very presence, captured my interest. For a moment or two. While the others stared intently at the water, patiently attempting to discern the ducks’ markings and other features, I walked ahead, anxiety welling up inside me. Is this what it will be like? Standing outside the circle of familiarity and passion, unable to join in? Or maybe, if I’m honest, unwilling to do so?

I turned around to head back to the hotel.

“I’m bored,” I told my husband — words I immediately regretted, since I knew how he would reply.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking concerned.

My husband is an avid bird-watcher. I knew that from the moment I met him, when he ended our first date early because he was going birding first thing the next morning.

Over 45 years of marriage, I’ve come to admire the patience and awareness that he brings to this avocation. Birds can be beautiful and intriguing, entertaining and mystifying, and the act of finding them, listening to them and understanding them enables one to observe nature in a deep, respectful way. It can be meditative. He’s always happier after an hour or two in the park with his binoculars.

a woman holding binoculars with trees and mountains behind her

The author traveled to Alaska with her husband, who’s an avid birder.

Courtesy Jane Eisner

Still, this trip was of a different order. The nine-day excursion was focused almost entirely on spotting, identifying and swooning over the myriad birds in this northern climate. This had long been on my husband’s bucket list, and I didn’t want to spoil his experience. So after our lakeside exchange, I uncharacteristically kept my opinions largely to myself. It required restraint on my part and generosity on my husband’s — understanding why I sometimes walked away while the 11 others in our group spent 20 minutes by the side of the road searching for an elusive Bohemian waxwing.

And I tried to join in, but I kept feeling like I didn’t quite belong.

On our first full day of birding, I forgot my binoculars. Classic. Sigmund Freud must have been laughing.

Each evening at dinnertime, the group gathered with our excellent leaders to review the wildlife we’d seen that day, with everyone consulting booklets we’d been sent beforehand listing the birds and mammals we might encounter on our trip. Everyone but me, that is. I’d left my booklet at home. Sometimes I skipped the evening entirely. Other times I sat there feeling like a quiet intruder, or someone who had deliberately separated herself from the group and was therefore missing a key element of the experience.

I just couldn’t go all in on this.

I came to the realization on this trip that if we are lucky enough to have interests, they can be broad or they can be deep. People with deep interests — those who travel the world to listen to opera or spend all their free time on the golf course — immerse themselves in a single passion, perhaps to the exclusion of others. Most of the people on this tour fell into that category.

Further, for many on the trip, birding seemed to be the organizing principle of their lives. Some vacationed only to watch birds, while others structured their days to participate in as many birding outings as possible. At another time in my life, I would have considered them obsessive. But now that I have met them, I admire their ability to focus with such determination and energy. It’s not for me. It’s not for many people. But it can make for a life richly lived.

I did share their joy and wonder at seeing the elegant Arctic terns, which migrate the longest distance of any bird on the planet, and hearing the loons issue their haunting call. I was not removed from the birding ethos entirely.

But it was clear to me that I fall into the category of people whose interests are broad. That is why, after a full day in Anchorage, when we drove to Denali National Park and Preserve, I was excited to see the creatures that make Alaska so special. On a five-hour bus ride through the park, we saw moose, bears and caribou against a backdrop of mountains still laced with snow, even though summer was a week away.

And a few days later, from the charming town of Seward, we took an eight-and-a-half-hour boat ride along the Kenai Peninsula, where we saw whales and dolphins, harbor seals lazing on the rocks, and puffins showing off their bright-colored beaks. The variety fueled my enjoyment.

I also realized that when embarking on this kind of journey, especially later in life, it’s important to establish an understanding with your partner. My husband and I did that early on. This was his chosen experience, not mine, and my lack of interest should in no way have diminished his enjoyment and excitement. At the same time, he couldn’t expect me to share that enjoyment and excitement. I can’t be him. I didn’t want to become a “real birder.” I wanted instead to appreciate the beauties of nature and its feathered inhabitants … without striving to figure out whether that was a lesser scaup or a greater one.

That trade-off can be useful in many situations in a lasting marriage. Which means that next time, I get to choose our vacation.

%{postComment}%