Many birders can tell you the bird they saw that got them "hooked" into birding. The hook bird of the late Roger Tory Peterson, famous bird illustrator, artist and original author of the modern day bird identification field guide was the Northern Flicker.

My own interest in birds started at a very young age. Before I knew what was happening to me, I had a hook bird too. We lived in southeastern Pennsylvania. My dad's family was from Delaware and the eastern shore of Maryland. Much of my childhood was spent along the creeks, rivers, ponds, lakes and wetlands of the Delaware and Chesapeake Bays.

Ever since I can remember, I had an interest in birds. My mother would throw bread crumbs out in winter for the "snow birds," as she called them. Later in life, I learned these "snow bird" were properly called Snow Buntings. Many days of my youth were spent attempting to lure a House Sparrow with bread crumbs spread under an orange crate propped up by a stick with Mom's clothesline attached.

One summer day, at the age of 9, while fishing at a nearby river, I became aware of a strange looking bird standing on a nearby log. At first, I had to convince myself it was real; it stood motionless.

Without warning, the bird suddenly darted his head into the water and captured a minnow. Holding the minnow tightly in its bill, the bird flew off, across the river, uttering a hoarse croaking call, as it flew out of sight. My mind was filled with wonderment over what I had seen. No one else was with me to recall or even verify the exotic bird and its amazing minnow catching feat that I witnessed. I quickly picked up my fishing gear and headed home.

A nearby neighbor was a biology teacher at the local high school. I knew that he had an interest in birds, since he fed them in his backyard. Ringing his door bell, I anxiously waited. As soon as the door opened, I began to ask him questions about this strange bird.

Being a good teacher, he gave me a field guide to look through to identify the bird. As I began to leaf through a 50's version of the Golden Field Guide, I was first struck by the thought of how many different birds there were. At that age, I could have told you what a Robin, House Sparrow, Starling and Rock Pigeon were but that was the extent of by bird knowledge. The illustrations were beautiful and depicted so many wonderful birds. The second thought that I had was how neat it was that someone had taken the time to create a Field Guide for identifying birds.

Slowly turning the pages of that Guide, I methodically worked my way through it, not skipping a page. Hopefully, I would find the bird that I had seen. My heart beat increased, as I began to worry whether I would remember the details of the bird, since I had never since such a bird before. It was so different from any of the birds that I was familiar with. At last, I saw it. It was drawn perfectly, as my mind remembered it and my eyes had seen it. I showed my neighbor and he said, "A Green Heron, it's a fine bird." They are fairly common he told me. Well, it was the most uncommon bird there ever was I thought, since I had never seen one before.

Later at dinner, I couldn't wait to tell my Dad what I had seen that day. It was his tradition during dinner to ask each of us kids what we had done that day. Fortunately, this was summer and school was out, so I had no explaining to do about what trouble I had gotten into at school. "During my fishing trip," I proudly announced, "I saw a Green Heron catch a minnow." My Dad asked, "What's a Green Heron?" I couldn't believe my ears. How could I know something that Dad did not know, I thought to myself? Dad surely knew everything. I showed him the Green Heron picture in the field guide and Dad said, "We always called them mud hens." "Nope, they're Green Herons," I answered with authority. Later, I thought that I might be onto something, knowing the proper names and other stuff about birds, especially if Dad did not know all about them.

Later, while studying the pictures in that Field Guide, I saw another exotic looking bird. It was the Black-billed Magpie. Next Saturday, I thought to myself, I will go out and find a Magpie. There were many fruitless Saturdays, spent looking for the elusive Magpie in Pennsylvania, Delaware and Maryland. Little did I understand at that young age about bird ranges and that the Magpie did not occur there but lived out West.

Thirty-three years later, business required me to make my first trip to the Intermountain West. I was picked up at the Boise Airport and was being driven to a meeting. Suddenly, I yelled to the driver to pull over and stop the car. He did so, while I grabbed my binoculars from my brief case. While I was gazing through the binoculars, the driver asked me nervously, "What is it? What are you looking at?" "A Black-billed Magpie," I happily told him. He thought that I was crazy, even after I had explained that I had been searching for this bird for a long, long time.

Years later, during a trip on North Carolina's outer banks, I saw a Peregrine Falcon and mentioned to my birding acquaintance that it was the first time that I had seen a Peregrine in the wild. He mentioned how neat it was to get a new bird for my "life list." "What is a life list," I asked? Well, this will have to be another story . . .

Bill Fenimore retired and opened the Layton, Wild Bird Center, so that he could pursue his birding interest, especially educating the public about birds and their critical habitat needs. Bill gives free seminars, workshops and leads field trips on nature, with a bird focus through the Wild Bird Center. Visit the Wild Bird Center web site at www.wildbird.com/layton.