When Birding Starts Keeping Score: hobby, sport, or something in between?

Once upon a time, bird watching was mostly a slow, slightly soggy art form. You went for a wander, found a honeyeater doing honeyeater things, nodded like a wise forest monk, and went home feeling quietly smug, especially if you managed a shot or two.

These days? Birding and bird photography are developing a noticeable scoreboard energy.

Lists. Leaderboards. Challenges. “Big Year” goals. Photo comps. Social media “rare bird” sirens. It’s starting to look less like a stroll and more like a sport with binoculars.

I'm not even going to mention the AI factor (that's a topic for a whole other blog post!).

And honestly… it’s both brilliant and a bit… empty.

The “Big Year” effect (aka: birding with a stopwatch)

The Big Year phenomenon is basically a self-imposed (or informal) race to identify as many bird species as possible within a year, in a defined area.

It’s been popular enough to spawn a whole pop-culture branch of birding, including The Big Year book and the 2011 film adaptation, where the gentle pursuit of birds gets upgraded with competition, obsession, the occasional moral wobble and Jack Black and Owen Wilson. Big names. Hollywood does-bird-watching kinda vibes.

Then there’s Listers: A Glimpse Into Extreme Birdwatching (2025), which leans into the modern era: two brothers living in a van for a year while chasing a Big Year-style contest. Very entertaining with plenty of adult humour thrown in.

This is the core shift: birding isn’t just “what did you see?” anymore. It can become “how many did you see, how fast, did you get the shot and did you post it before anyone else?”

Why the competitive vibe can be wildly fun and exciting: 2 things not usually associated with bird watching.

Let’s give credit where it’s due. Competition can be a surprisingly good coach.

It can make you better, faster. You learn calls. Habitat cues. Seasonal patterns. Flight silhouettes. You level up your field craft without even realising you’re studying. You pay attention. You strive. You learn. You improve.

It gets people outdoors and engaged. Anything that pulls humans away from couches and into wetlands is doing something right.

It can funnel energy into conservation and citizen science. Not all “counting” is ego-counting. E-bird, i-Naturalist. Events like the long-running 'Backyard Bird Count' show how mass participation can generate valuable data and community momentum - and deepen appreciation for nature - which can only be a good thing.

It can sharpen your photography too. A little challenge can push you to experiment: better light, cleaner backgrounds, stronger compositions, more storytelling, not just “proof of bird”.

Where it gets messy (and why I'm in two minds about it)

Now for the other side of the feather.

The joy can get replaced by pressure. When everything is a score, a quiet moment can feel “unproductive”. That’s a grim trade.

It can encourage risky or unethical behaviour. Chasing rarities can mean intimidating birds, stressing nesting sites, or pushing too close because “it’s for the list” or “it’s for the shot”. Even well-meaning people can slide into bad habits when the stakes feel high.

The crowd factor. I've seen photos of dozens of bird watchers and photographers clustered together, all trying to catch a glimpse. Pappa-bird-zi. Personally, I did find it a little disturbing. But I'm a lone wolf and a dedicated solo birder. That's not something I'd like to be a part of - but that doesn't necessarily make it wrong.

It can turn community into comparison. Instead of swapping stories, we start comparing numbers. Instead of inspiration, we get… leaderboard fatigue.

It can narrow what we value. If only the rare, weird, and flashy “counts,” we might overlook the everyday wonders: the reliable locals, the seasonal regulars, the little behaviours that are actually interesting once you stop sprinting. Extraordinary shots of everyday birds.

A useful question: what are we optimising for?

Competition isn’t automatically bad. It’s a tool. Like a long lens: brilliant when used well, awkward when it’s pointed at the wrong thing for the wrong reason.

So maybe the real question isn’t “Is competitive birding good or bad?”

It’s:

• Does it deepen your connection to birds, or turn birds into collectibles?

• Does it make you more considerate in the field, or more desperate?

• Does it bring you community, or just comparison?

• Does it leave the birds better off, or on a scorecard?

A Recent Story

You might have seen my attempts at finding the Ground Parrot in Beowa National Park via my birding adventure.

Since posting part one, I ran into an old friend who is a guide on the Light to Light Walk, where I've been back on 'repeat search', quietly observing the area in the pre-dawn hours looking for what is essentially a needle-of-a-bird in a coastal-heath-haystack.

So, of course, I was asking my guide friend for updated intel about his most recent Ground Parrot encounters. He's on the track dozens of times in a year. Oh yes, they're there, he said - and a recent pair of photographers managed to count 14 birds in the one morning.

Whaaaatttt?? Incredibly lucky? Unfortunately, no. It was the portable speaker they took, blasting out calls on repeat so they could gather as many shots as possible. My guiding friend was perturbed - as was I.

Is this what bird photography is coming too? Everyone carrying speakers to get the shot? I sincerely hope not. Or am I blowing this out of proportion?

Over to you

I’m genuinely torn.

I love the motivation, the skill-building, the shared excitement and the inspiration that comes from a little bit of healthy competition. Seeing someone's amazing shots and striving to do better. Figuring out what they did and when. Learning more. Moving forward.

I'm not innocent either. I can be competitive. I love to get a shot as much as anyone.

But my heart loves the slow practice, the quiet meditation. The Ichigo Ichie moments. Not caring if you get the shot. Where the reward is experiencing, not winning. Not likes, not scores. And definitely not speakers.

Both can exist - but I think the balance matters. Is there a line you won't or shouldn't cross?

When you head out with your camera or binoculars, are you looking for a scoreboard … or a story?

And if you choose the scoreboard, does that change what you do and when? Is it a journey or a destination?

There's a spectrum there, from “peaceful bird monk” to “competitive van-birder”.

Where do you sit and what's your thoughts?

🐦 📸 xx Sonia