My Best Worst Birding Adventure
- Kevin Burrell
- 5 hours ago
- 5 min read
I usually write with the conviction that faith elevates the practice of birdwatching. But sometimes faith can sabotage it. Thus begins the tragic tale of my best worst birding adventure.
Six of us loaded into two Malaysian taxis, negotiated through an interpreter. My five friends and I had come to Kuala Lumpur for ten days to assist with a retreat for missionaries across the Pacific rim. Our duties necessitated full days at a brisk pace, but in the middle of the week’s schedule was an open “excursion day”—an opportunity to simply explore. The planning team had created several hard-to-pass-up options—Batu Caves, shopping at the Petronas Towers, and more—but I had convinced these five stalwarts to go rogue with me, a choose-your-own-adventure trip, one hour west by taxi to the coastal city of Kuala Selangor, gateway to a nature park called Taman Alam (That’s Malay for “nature park.” But it sounds way more exotically travel-savvy in Malay).
My Trip-Advisor research called Taman Alam “stunning,” “a hidden gem,” and most importantly, “home to a hundred and fifty-six bird species.” Though none of my friends were birders to speak of, I charmed and cajoled them with the promise of authentic dockside seafood and a post-dusk firefly river cruise. I’m not a fan of seafood or fireflies, but I am fond of traveling with friends. It worked. Birds, seafood, fireflies… with birds in all-caps.
The drive took us west, well outside the urban landscape of Kuala Lumpur. The highways eventually narrowed to two-lane roads flanked by thickly packed banana trees and coconut palms. Hand-painted road signs rose above the dense tropical undergrowth, advertising fruit stands and convenience stores, though these were mostly closed for Ramadan.
This is foreshadowing.
My binoculars and field guide lay in my lap, ready to be deployed, as we meandered toward the coast, my mind cluttered with the colors of barbets, bulbuls, sunbirds, and flamebacks. This was my first time birding in Southeast Asia, so every sighting would be a likely lifer.
The humid air of these coastal lowlands began to give way to the scent of saltwater, and soon we were navigating the streets of Kuala Selangor, approaching the vaulted gate of Taman Alam.
Which, it turns out, was closed for Ramadan.
None of my pre-trip planning or excursion-day anticipation had prepared me for this possibility. True, many shops in Kuala Lumpur had been closed for this Muslim observance. But a nature park? Nature is open and wild and free, untamed and unenclosed. Nature laughs at gates. The website never mentioned Ramadan or barbed wire, and certainly not in the same sentence.
I worked my way through all five stages of grief in about three minutes, standing slack-jawed before the immovable gate (or more accurately, the seasonally-immovable gate). My friends made some valiant attempts to encourage me. They walked along the gate, peering in, calling out, “Hey, I think I saw something move over here” or “Hey, did you hear that?” or “What about this tree over here?”—trying desperately to score me at least a bird or two.
We birded the gate, peering through the metal chinks, hoping something might careen over the wall or flutter miraculously down onto one of the taxis. Behind this mocking wall, a hundred and fifty-six species frolicked in their coastal paradise, no doubt enjoying a quiet day with the place to themselves. We stood outside with nothing but our imaginations, longing for more, wondering what it might be like to take a step inside.
Don’t feel too sorry for us (me); we still had a unique outdoor seafood experience (Open for Ramadan. Go figure). We boarded boats at dusk to cruise a firefly-resplendent lightshow (Boat rentals were also open for Ramadan. How thoughtful). And we did meet some reasonably nice monkeys. And four birds. When life gives you a fence, I guess you do the best you can on the side you’ve been given.
Meanwhile, even as I write this, a world of feathered wonder flourishes somewhere behind the walls of the Taman Alam [“Nature Park”] Nature Park.
When We Get In
In his glory-packed essay “The Weight of Glory,” C.S. Lewis writes these hopeful words: “At present we are on the outside of the world, the wrong side of the door. We discern the freshness and purity of morning, but they do not make us fresh and pure. We cannot mingle with the splendours we see. But all the leaves of the New Testament are rustling with the rumour that it will not always be so. Some day, God willing, we shall get in.”
For Christians, those last four words should confidently inhabit our every waking hour. One day (Lewis again), “The door on which we have been knocking all our lives will open at last.” Gates that barred our entry will swing open, and the scene we’re ushered into will be accompanied by this loud and bold proclamation: “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God” (Rev. 21:3).
We shall get in.
In the meantime, we find ourselves skirting the edge of the fence, peering through the chinks, scrapping for a few birds. We encourage each other with light hints of the weight of glory that rests beyond: “Did you hear that?” “Did you see that?” “Do you think that might be…?” Lewis one more time: “For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.” Hints of greater realities. So we keep looking. We stand outside the gate holding nothing but our imaginations and a promise. “I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also” (John 14:3).
What will it look like on the day when we’re not forced to walk the periphery, catching the occasional distant whiff of a tune, a scent, a living Savior’s heartbeat? What will come unleashed in us when we’re not left merely to wonder (to guess or ponder) — but to be caught up in the best wonder — the heart-in-your-throat electric instant when faith is made sight?
As a pastor, I realize that much of what I do is skirt the edge of the fence, exploring the little evidences and pointing them out to others, peering through the fence and trying my best to describe what God's word says is inside. I’m trying to point our hearts to a place I’ve never actually been. What makes that reputable is not the eloquence or experience of the preacher in describing it, but the excellence of the promises that undergird it. All God’s promises are yes in Christ (2 Corinthians 1:20), and he assures us that, by faith in Christ, at the trumpet call...
We.
Shall.
Get.
In.
The fulfillment of the whole trip of our lives. The reason we got into the taxi in the first place.
Lord haste the day when my faith shall be sight.
