By John Kinghorn, Avitourism Project Manager, BirdLife South Africa
To most, there is a prima facie difference: one looks up, the other looks down. One listens for songs, and the other reads the silence. And yet, for anyone who has spent time in the bush, exposed to masters of either of these, it soon becomes evident that these two art forms go much deeper than any face value interpretation may indicate, and are, in fact, far more alike than they may seem.
As vision and creativity are essential components of any piece of artwork, discipline, patience, and awareness are all integral components to both birding and tracking. The art forms – or styles – may vary, but they never detract from the core principles that guide them. Whether one is following the call of a cuckoo or the spoor of a leopard, one is learning to interpret signs; trust one’s senses, understand the land, and connect to nature in a deeper, more meaningful way.
In a world where we often find ourselves in constant pursuit of instant gratification, one that often rewards speed and distraction, birding and tracking pull us in the opposite direction. They reward slowness, curiosity, awareness, and presence. They coax us into becoming students of the finer detail, forcing us to become the readers of subtlety, not spectacle; noticing the unexpected, not just the blatantly obvious. This is where the stories of these two art forms overlap most beautifully.
Listening as a Way of Seeing
Excellent trackers have to be exceptional listeners. They don’t onlyfollow impressions in the sand; they tune into the quiet information carried on the breeze – alarm calls, wingbeats, rustling grass, the sudden silence of a flock of birds, or ‘bird party’. A Rattling Cisticola chattering anxiously over a patch of scrub, a tonal change in the call of a Grey Go-Away Bird, or even the single, high-pitched “skree” of the invasive Common Myna means far more to a skilled tracker than a simple bird call. It is a signal, an alert, a clue that something larger, potentially more threatening, may be moving nearby.
Birders share this same intimacy with sound. Ask any experienced birder, and they’ll tell you: you hear far more birds than you ever see. Identifying a species by call is an art form in itself, and it requires the same sensory tuning that a tracker uses to interpret the bush. Both rely on patterns, what is normal, what is unusual, and what it means when nature suddenly shifts key.
A patch of bushveld that is ordinarily a hive of activity with bird calls, suddenly falling into eerie silence? A tracker raises an eyebrow. A birder stops mid-step. Yet somehow, both know something has changed, something that may or may not reveal itself, but both will agree that it is something certainly worth paying attention to.
Reading a Landscape Like a Book
Some use the analogy that tracking is not too dissimilar to reading: reading stories, reading moments in time, or even reading movement or body language. A single print or impression that a tracker may come across may be interpreted as a single letter or a punctuation mark in a much bigger sentence; it can be a comma indicating an animal’s pause, a dash showing its burst of speed, or even a full stop beside a place it used to rest. A tracker will read each punctuation mark or letter, following signs with faithful precision, piecing together the punctuation marks and letters to eventually form a sentence. Nature is constantly writing and rewriting the book, and it is up to a tracker to turn the pages and read the story.
Birding, too, can be linked to this analogy; a form of reading and storytelling in every sense. The landscape before a birder becomes pages adorned with punctuation marks and text, and full of clues. The briefest of single-note contact calls are to a birder what a scrape in the dirt or broken twig may be to a tracker. Additionally, certain trees attract certain species, certain habitats influence distribution, the time of year dictates movement, and the presence of food may affect population concentration. A birder scans these spaces, or pages, in much the same way a tracker inspects soil – their eyes sharpened for shape, colour, movement, their ears primed for context.
To find a bird successfully, one must understand not only where it is likely to be, but why it prefers that specific place. This level of understanding of an area’s ecology, bird behaviour, preferred habitat, and seasonal movements mirrors the exact mindset of a tracker who interprets animal movement based on food, water, shelter, temperature, and threat. Both crafts require not only knowledge, but also imagination, foresight, vision, and forward thinking.
Following What You Can’t Always See
I think many will agree that one of the greatest joys of tracking is the suspense, the knowledge that you may trail an animal for hours without ever seeing the slightest hint of the culprit in fact being there. And yet, the experience is still enriching. Each impression sharpens the senses, deepens one’s focus, and strengthens our connection to the land and the animal we’re trailing.
Birding offers similar moments of pursuit. Similar bursts of suspense and adrenaline. A call in the distance is not only another sign to interpret, but also a challenge. A flash of movement in a thicket becomes a mystery; one should consider whether or not it is worth solving. Even when the bird remains unseen, the journey remains exhilarating, and it is often the journey that birders will reflect on more than the bird itself.
Perhaps it is the “thrill of the chase” for some, but the true masters of these arts will explain how it is the opportunity to learn to appreciate the journey more than the result. To fully comprehend that patience is not a passive act but an active discipline that requires one to engage fully with the present moment.
Humility in the Face of Mystery
Arguably, the most compelling similarity between these two arts is the humility that they teach us. Nature does not always behave according to textbook descriptions. Birds refuse to perch in convenient lighting to reveal all their finer details to us. Animals double back on their tracks. Wind smudges impressions. The weather silences bird song.
Both birders and trackers often get it wrong (yes, you read that correctly). However, this is a crucial part of the lesson, and half of what makes these two arts so impactful on our lives in more ways than one. Being wrong teaches us humility and prompts us to pay closer attention to detail, question our own way of thinking, and continually strive to learn more and further our own understanding of things. It helps us become better versions of our professional and personal selves.
A Shared Path Forward
As conservation pressures intensify, the skills honed through birding and tracking become more important than ever. Birders generate incredible amounts of citizen-science data that help researchers gain deeper insight and understanding into migration, distribution, and population trends. This, in turn, better equips dedicated conservation organizations, such as BirdLife South Africa, with the tools they need to implement crucial conservation work to save these species.
Similarly, trackers provide invaluable insight into animal behaviour, habitat use, and ecological change on the ground, skills that are now becoming widely applicable in combating poaching syndicates and the fight against wildlife crime. Both help connect communities to nature, inspire stewardship, and cultivate a sense of belonging in the wild. They remind us that conservation is not only the work of scientists and policymakers, but also of ordinary people who care.
Two Doors Into the Same World
Ultimately, birding and tracking teach us the same lesson: Nature is always speaking to us. The real question we should be asking ourselves is whether we are listening. Irrespective of whether you tilt your head upward to the forest canopy or rest your eyes on the sand beneath your feet, you are stepping into an ancient dialogue, a relationship that humans share with nature and the land, and an art form that has been practiced for millennia.
Birders and trackers may walk different paths, but they share the same quiet devotion: the art of noticing. And in a world increasingly full of noise, this is an art form that has never been more valuable.
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