Rare Bird Sightings: Observational Navigation from Lake Erie

Labyrinth navigation does not always serve as its own end. In his Framework, Gollesten indeed describes congression as the most authentic mode of navigation, but he also acknowledges a host of other meaningful navigational modes. In an oft overlooked passage in his more meditative, pastoral, and colloquial Book 12, "Earth, Sky, Creature, Weather: Restructuring Natural Boundaries in the Built World," Gollesten, in a moment of uncanny prescience, muses:

The authentic [author's emphasis] labyrinth is not inimical to the natural landscapes and organisms in which the boundaries and corridors are structured. In fact, we see in the Classical epoch of labyrinths, which, we may firmly assert, is a veritable Golden Age, that the architects commissioned were those men who dwelled closest to the habitats of labyrinth sites. Urban architects were deemed ill-equipped to establish edifices who could merge man's structures with sky, earth, creature, and weather. Thus, we witness a staunch effort in Classical Labyrinthology to fuse artifice with nature. The authentic labyrinth, then, preserves the natural order while altering Nature's physiognomy.

It is well known, and well mourned, that Modern Labyrinths did not value the fusion of artificial and organical. Rather, incepting in the early days of the Industrial Revolution, we behold the birth of new paradigm, the paradigm that man's structures do not merely rival nature's complexity, but in fact best nature's 'legerdemain.' Indubitably, this paradigm is predicated in the Cartesian project of the domination of Nature, as nefariously delineated by and fallaciously quantified by Aaldi.

Displacement was the modus operandi; some even argue it was the modus vivendi in this Dark Age of labyrinthology. Yet, inevitably, flora and fauna developed ways to thrive within and among the boundaries of the labyrinth, perhaps in that Darwinian fashion which is causing so much contention still in this day. It is reported by a British navigator in the early 1800s that the English Claret-Bellied Pheasant, purported to be hunted to its extirpation, was healthily living and propagating in the Derbyshire Amber Labyrinth. This was the first of a genus of reports documenting the conservative properties of labyrinths.

As man sullies the soil and burdens the beast, perhaps the labyrinth stands as a refuge. I speculate that we will grudgingly testify to man's destruction in the age to come, an age in which technology removes man further from his authentic being, and in which Nature becomes enemy. May a time come when the naturalist must navigate the labyrinth to observe the remaining survivors of a species?

And here we arrive at another mode of being the in the labyrinth: observational navigation [...] (Black Thicket, 501-503).

Gollesten's musings on labyrinth as refuge, as conservation sui generis, prove eerily correct. Today, many scientists have joined forces with labyrinthians to identify rare, endangered, and reputedly extinct species of flora and fauna within the boundaries of labyrinths. Their efforts, moreover, have engendered preservation campaigns that have successfully rendered a number of labyrinths as wildlife reserves.

Gollesten's musing, directly and indirectly, have also created a class of labyrinthians known, fittingly, as "Observational Navigators." Observational Navigators primarily walk labyrinths to study, explore, and wonder at the interface between the natural and the artificial in labyrinths.

While I am mainly a Metaphysical Navigator, I frequently enjoy Observational Navigation. In fact, one of my favorite holiday traditions involves birdwatching and bird counting in labyrinths across the country. As I mentioned in a comment to Alex's last thread, during this season, after visiting family in Cleveland, Ohio, I stole some time for myself to visit the Lake Erie Labyrinth northeast of the city.

My labyrinth birdwatching began casually, but, after descrying a number of rare birds, I chose to join the Audubon Society's annual Christmas Bird Count. This year marked the 109th Christmas Bird Count, in which thousands of citizen scientists count birds from December 14 to January 5.

The Lake Erie Labyrinth is considered a Class 2 labyrinth, or, more vernacularly, "of medium navigational difficulty." On this visit, my first in over 5 years, I came equipped with my binoculars. Natives, in recent years, have reported hearing the distinct mating call of the rare Gray Whooping Crane. However, no natives have yet observed the exquisite bird.

Before dawn, on a lightly pluvial day, which, I believe, is ideal navigation weather, I embarked in my waterproof brogans to trek the 6 miles of marshy grounds to reach the entrance of the Lake Erie Labyrinth. The labyrinth is situated in a lake basin and is built of softer rock compacted from glaciation tens of thousands of years ago. Given that the labyrinth was erected on wetlands, the boundaries have wide, thick bases that gradually taper to their crests. During two hours into my navigation, the sun rising just above the boundary ramparts, I espied a twiggy structure at a juncture, formed at the corner of the bases of two walls. On closer inspection, I beheld two blotchy eggs, at which time I realized I was observing a nest. Then, startled, I craned my neck at the sudden eruption of a stentorian "whoop" overhead.

It was the endangered Gray Whooping Crane.

I fumbled for my camera to capture this majestic creature, over 5 feet long and with a wingspan of nearly 8 feet. I was not quick enough, and, chagrinned, I continued my navigation.

After another two hours of navigation elapsed, I was approaching the center, which opens into a wet, grassy meadow of sorts about a mile from the Lake. Just when I thought my patient vigilance fruitless, I saw two cranes descending from the sky nearly a half-mile away. This time, my camera readied, I zoomed in and captured these tallest of North American birds right as they were alighting:

While the photograph does not make its namesake apparent, the Gray Whooping Crane is thusly christened for a narrow band of dark gray feathers that vertically line the anterior of its neck, which biologists believe is a either a geographical or sexual selection adaptation.

North American Whooping Crane populations number only in the hundreds, and the birds have only recently begun to breed naturally after man reduced them to near vanishing point. I was privileged, or should I say blessed, to have witnessed and photographed this exceedingly elusive bird.

I encourage all of you labyrinth enthusiasts out there to undertake Observational Navigation. What you see may help preserve some of this planet's most threatened beings. And ecolabyrinthians, continue your noble project.

And, we here at the CLP wish all of you a very Happy New Year. Bon chance as you begin to fulfill your Labyrinthian Resolutions in 2009!