Birding is what connected us so I hope that birding is what can heal us.
I know the term “bird watching” or “birding” might sound silly to some, particularly to those unfamiliar, but I’ve been thinking a lot recently about what it means and why it is so captivating. Birding is the perfect je ne sais quoi. To define what birdwatching is or means to those who pursue this hobby is like trying to define an emotion, which can be philosophically impossible. (Tim Healy does an excellent job trying to define this emotion over at his blog and if you have the time, I highly recommend reading “What Birding Is.”) All I know is that cultivating a deeper appreciation for nature and finding joy in observing the beauty and behavior of birds fosters a sense of community among people from diverse walks of life. It unites us.
Right now the US birding community, especially the Cape May birding community, is in a state of shock. Life is inexplicably random, seemingly unfair, and extremely fragile and the ripples of Tom Johnson’s legacy and influence are making waves throughout so many lives. We lost one of the great ones and right now we are all gripped by the fierce reality of Tom Johnson’s passing. As Brian Sullivan, one of Tom’s friends and an author far better at articulating points than me put it, “The fields of ornithology and birding combined have suffered a massive loss. Tom was one of the rare people who had the mix of skills needed to break down the boundaries between these two worlds—he deftly communicated the magic of birds and the power of science to anyone in his path.”
I honestly have no words at all so it seems silly to be attempting to write anything, but I know that I should at least try. Tom deserves that.
To describe Tom Johnson in words is to do him a disservice. No words could ever capture his essence quite like meeting him would. And no words could describe his booming, baritone voice quite like hearing the words “nice job” and the genuine emphasis behind them would. Tom was one of those people that everyone loved. He was larger than life and I’m not just saying that because he was 6’6″. He was kind and funny, extremely smart, and beyond talented when it came to spotting, identifying and photographing birds. He had a personality that drew you in as if you belonged. He was the kind of person everyone wanted to be around because his mere presence had a way of making everyone better around him. And in a day and age where you might think it has all been done before, Tom was out there pushing the birding boundary and proving there was more to learn. He had an insatiable appetite for learning about the natural world.
I remember when I was new to birding and I first heard the name Ted Parker. I remember hearing these tales about a guy who was so good at detecting birds, something I was so inexperienced at, that I spent hours reading about him and all that he did for science. Ted Parker was an ornithological legend who died well before he should have. I was recently reading about him (again) and found on eBird’s website (of which Tom was a world reviewer) they do a little write up about Ted. This quote from one of the people who knew him best stuck out to me: “He [Ted Parker] was one of the greatest field experts on South American birds who ever lived,” says Cornell Lab director, Dr. John Fitzpatrick. “Besides having superb technical and physical skills, he was always sharing and synthesizing his immense knowledge for others. There will never be another one like him.”
Tom isn’t Ted. But he’s certainly like him. Tom had superb technical and physical skills and was always sharing and synthesizing his immense knowledge for others. Ask anyone whom he guided or bumped into while birding. Heck, even ask the best of the best in the field. Tom has some mighty big shoes to fill, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the new naturalists in Cape May all hear these tales about a guy who was so good at detecting and analyzing and living out his passion with birds that they aspire to be just like him.
You may not have heard his name if you live outside of the states but he was a true legend amongst North American birders. The Ted Parker of our birding generation, which is to say the very best of our birding generation. We were lucky enough to call him, and his fiancé Melissa, dear friends. So that’s why this hurts so much. Losing a guy like Tom so young so suddenly is the kind of unspeakable tragedy that leaves everyone who knew him and loved him crumbling in the wake.
The stages of grief are a weird set of emotions and the denial I felt after reading the heartfelt message from his fiancé, Melissa, was real. This was a guy who was supposed to get married in two months. He couldn’t be gone. He was only 35. We were supposed to have decades left to talk and ponder about the world’s mysteries.
I know this is a blog where I usually catalog our adventures but I just can’t do that today. All I can say is my first experience in the Australian Outback was a weird one. I don’t think I’ll even write about our time at Mt Ive Station. It was beautiful in a simplistic way but I was too busy wishing with all my might that one of the finest birders I’ll ever know and that I’ll ever have the pleasure of knowing was still around to hear the tales to notice the oasis of grasses and shrubs around me. Wishing my friend was still here. Tom was an avid reader of our blog, just like he was with many others. He always cared to hear what his friends were up to. I’ve written about our birding jaunts together before, such as the time he talked Ross and me into joining him on a pelagic from aboard a cruise ship, I made an Instagram video about the time we chased (and dipped) the Steller’s Sea Eagle when it first showed up in Maine (both Ross and Tom got that one back but it’s still an ABA dip for me), or the time we birded Florida together, picking up a whole slew of Caribbean rarities and finding some of our own, and I’ve been meaning to do a write up of all the times we’ve birded in Cape May together just because I know Tom would love to read about the morning flight or “Night Club” shenanigans, but for some reason I never got around to it. And right now I’m really wishing I would have. I would love to go back and reminisce about all those times staring up at the fall Cape May sky. It will surely look different moving forward.
I met Tom through Ross, but he impacted me just the same. All of the bigger than life words flooding social media about him are true and part of me wants to share them all here because his profound impact on each of us can never be overstated. (And because it would be nice to have a place to collect all of those fond memories.) Again, Brian Sullivan puts it best, “Few of us will achieve this kind of impact in a lifetime fully lived, much less in one cut short at the age of 35.”
Ross shared this to his Facebook upon hearing the news and it describes their relationship:
“I’ve known Tom almost my entire life. I met him when I was 14 when we became teammates on the same World Series of Birding team. Shortly after that, we were coworkers conducting points for the 2nd PBBA (Pennsylvania Breeding Birds Atlas) together. We always kept in touch and when I moved back to Philly a few years ago, our friendship grew closer as I spent countless days birding in Cape May.
I woke up this morning, half a world away, to the shocking news. Everything felt off. It didn’t feel real. I spent the day wandering the rocky red slopes of the Australia outback. As Melissa put it, there’s no where to hide out here. I thought of Tom. I cried. I thought of Tom more. It was unconscionable that the friend I had just been talking to 48 hours earlier was gone. It was surreal. Two months from now Tom should’ve been birding through the same hills as me. Watching the splendid fairy wrens, listening to the white-browed babblers.
A few days ago, Tom sent me a message as I drove back to the hotel at 0300 from a successful hunt for a Plains-wanderer. I responded with a long WhatsApp voicemail about the experience. His response upon seeing the long message, “damn, did you cut a new single with Taylor Swift?” That was Tom. Always quick with a witty response. But then he listened to the message and responded as Tom always did with an enthusiastic response. Who knew that’d be the last time I’d hear his voice?
As mentioned more articulately by countless others, Tom was a giant amongst men. His birding skill, sincerity, and general bravado for life was second to none.
Tom was more than just a friend, he was a mentor. Few birders I look up to as much as him. He was always pushing the envelope of field birding and dragging me along with it. A few years ago, I bought a thermal and it quickly became apparent how effective it was for watching birds migrate at night. I was going to be leaving for Africa soon and Tom recommended a powerful flashlight from a mammal watching site. I bought the light, but before I left, I visited Cape May and we tried out the thermal/Acebeam combo for watching birds migrate over. The results were stunning. We could see the birds, no wait, we could PHOTOGRAPH the birds migrating. The excitement, giddiness, and downright awe we both had was unforgettable. Night club was founded and the rest is history.”
I joined Ross on that trip to Cape May to try out the thermal/Acebeam for the first time, as I often did. I was always more of a spectator unlike Tom who was identifying and learning all at the same time. I’ll never forget Tom’s exclamation after that night, “field test complete! I’m going to get one of these too.” And he did.
I realized while putting this together that all of the good selfies are on Tom’s phone. He was always the one so good about documenting the occasions.
Tom was a bird guide for FieldGuides and I encourage you to go read Tom’s full bio on their site, but I will leave this remembrance here for all to read because it so accurately describes a beacon like Tom.
“There are some people you are just glad to know. Directly, closely, casually, peripherally, deeply, or once for a half hour. You are glad to be in their orbit, however many times you have the chance to spin around. They have a gravitational pull, whether you’re at arm’s length or on the other end of a Zoom signal bouncing off a satellite somewhere. They give a comfortable feeling, a warm embrace of acceptance and caring, of thoughtfulness and consideration, of curiosity and attention, of knowledge and sharing, of this moment together being precious. Such a source of joyful gravitation was Tom. We fortunate satellites, entangled near and far, now find ourselves bereft without that pull. We can hardly believe it, and we will miss you terribly, Tom, but you shine in our hearts.”
I hope that we can at least all learn from Tom. I hope that as we remember him we cling to the things that made him the best and the reasons why we all suddenly became better because of it. Let us be the booming baritone (although Tom’s could never be duplicated) saying “nice job” to the person who just started to gain an interest in birds and spotted something interesting. Let us mean it when we say “nice job.” Let us show others the same unnecessary kindness that Tom showed us. Let us reach out to people to remind them that we hear them even when we don’t have to. Let us have a genuine interest in other people’s lives. Let’s reach out just to say hello. Let us at least try to emulate his essence. His humanity. Somehow Tom was a community all by himself. Let us do our best to be the same.
This was not supposed to be the next blog post I was going to publish. I was going to wrap up our time in Taiwan. Ironically, I was going to mention about our other birding friend that left this world too soon. But because of that reference I couldn’t share that post without first giving Tom the acknowledgement he deserves.
Melissa, I am profoundly sorry for your loss. But I must add, there’s a reason a guy like Tom would choose a gal like you to be his life’s partner — you’re incredibly smart, exceptionally talented, fiercely independent, and share the same passion for those creatures with wings. Melissa, may you still continue to fly.
Like I said, birding is what brought us together so I hope that birding is what can heal us as we pick up the pieces and remember Tom’s legacy and the mark he made on everyone he came in contact with.
Since Tom was as big a Taylor Swift fan as we are, I’ll leave this passage here in the words of Taylor herself:
No words appear before me in the aftermath
Salt streams out my eyes and into my ears
Every single thing I touch becomes sick with sadness
‘Cause it’s all over now, all out to sea
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
You were bigger than the whole sky
Beautiful tribute. Sympathies to all who mourn his loss.